TRIO

By Bella Karoli

Bella's parents started her education a couple of years before she started school. She began writing in 3rd grade. Simple poems and stories branched into songs and music about a year later. Being reared on opera and German music fostered a lifelong interest in languages and varied ethnic music. Friends of ma

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meraki Media LLC
• Release date: Jun 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781955846097

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Copyright © 2022 Bella Karoli

All rights reserved

First Edition

ISBN 978-1-955846-07-3 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-955846-08-0 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-955846-09-7 (ebook)

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Contents

Poetry

A Christmas Poem for All Year ‘Round

Christmas Eve

Triolet

How Best to Write

Heimwaerts

My Three Little Boys

Short Stories

Cemetery

Ghost Dog

My Little Red Truck

Oval

Precious Memories

Queen of the Hill

Reluctant Dolphin

Bella’s Magic Box

Music Lyrics

Joe Courtney’s Place

How Can I Tell You

Poetry

A Christmas Poem for All Year ‘Round

‘Twas the night before Christmas and throughout the house,

nothing was moving, not even the mouse.

For once, the computer off quietly sat,

while I settled down in my Santa Claus cap.

The kids’ DVDs were all put away,

and the mouse pad lay cooling from the use of the day.

No Internet chatter, no on-line foray

into web sites we shouldn’t be in, anyway.

The monitor glowed with reflected tree lights,

And I sat back thinking, It’s one of those nights

when the peace and the love of those all around

added up to a heart full of profound

thoughts about Christmas and what it all meant;

that a God-child to mankind from Heaven was sent

to fill up our insides with knowledge and worth

for our soul’s striving journey while here on the Earth.

If each one, I thought, could let that light in,

It wouldn’t be long and we’d wipe out the sin

which keeps us from knowing our true inner self.

To find ourselves – in God - there is real pelf.

He gives us enough so we’re never in need,

But the world doesn’t listen, so we’re caught up in greed.

If greed were for God instead of for gold,

our striving’d be worth it! We’d never grow old

or tired or worn out or sick or depressed;

we’d sleep through the night in sweet, healing rest.

We’re all in this world, some more so than others,

and act like we’re worthless instead of like brothers.

We lie and we steal, we cheat and we kill

and give not a thought to doing God’s will.

So why do we celebrate God’s Son, not made,

but born of a woman, in a manger laid,

who grew up to die so we could be saved?

We sure don’t respect that! We act so depraved!

We celebrate Christmas, not for man’s gifts,

but for His gift to us – our spirits to lift;

to give us repose, health, wealth, and joy,

knowing we’re saved by our Father’s sweet Boy.

All that we need through our Father is given.

KNOWING He loves us makes our lives worth living.

Our hope is reborn every year to remind us

to put away sin, let our past be behind us –

to go forward, renewed by belief and our faith

which tells us to make each day count, and don’t waste

our time on petty, material stuff.

With God in our hearts, we have always enough.

His Son came to give life, not death and destruction.

The world gives us that! So go put your tux on,

Your evening gown, too, your jewels, fancy hairdo,

And dance through your lives as God meant you to!

With Truth and with righteousness, peace, faith, salvation,

prayer with power: in the Spirit, supplication.

These are our real gifts from One faithful and true.

And now that you know that –

Merry Christmas to you!

Christmas Eve

(revised)

"Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house

not a being was moving, except for the mouse.

The stockings that hung on the fireplace with care

in hopes that dear Santa Claus soon would be there

had little round holes neatly chewed through

so little round presents (like candy)’d fall through.

Mom in her jammies and Dad with his cap

were both snuggled in, though he’d had a long nap.

That the mouse felt left out they’d simply no clue,

and it really just wanted a present or two.

Up on the roof came a golf ball-like clatter,

which sent both the parents to see what was the matter!

Through sleep-groggy eyes they peered up to the roof

where stood eight hefty reindeer on toe-pointed hoof.

How nervous the man! How excited the mouse!

They each ran to see Santa enter the house!

Sure enough – a big man in a brilliant red suit

Slid down the chimney, with presents to boot!

He filled all the stockings and then turned to go,

but a loud Crash! Kerplunk! cut short his Ho, ho!

On one of the stockings the hole opened wide

and spilled to the tiles all the presents inside!

The toy truck was broken, the doll lost her head,

the paint set had spattered the carpet all red.

Oh, no! cried the mouse. "This wasn’t to be!

I just wanted something simple for me!"

The man glowered angrily, raised up his hand,

but Santa just chuckled and took out a wand

from his gift sack and waved it around

o’er the presents that broke when they fell to the ground.

In only a second, the presents were whole,

and the sad little mouse found next to his hole

a tiny green Christmas tree decked out with candy

and nuts and a Habitat sandbox quite sandy.

His eyes opened wide and he jumped ‘round for joy!

Just then came the children, a girl and a boy,

who spotted the mouse and cried out, Can we keep him?

The father nodded and said, "He’s a wee thin

one, isn’t he?" The girl stroked its fur.

The mouse was so happy, he thought he would purr!

He’d got not just presents but a whole family!

He thought o’er and o’er, "What a present for me!"

The kids took him upstairs and climbed into bed;

soon visions of Christmas Day danced through their heads.

Santa called out as he flew out of sight,

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!*

Anon E. Mouse 12/03/2001 *Quoted from ’Twas the Night Before Christmas by Clement Clark Moore, 1832

Triolet

This is a poetry form called a triolet. It has the specific line structure of

A

B

a

A

a

b

A

B

I learned about it when attending the River Writers Group in Laughlin, Nevada last month.

I did not title it, but probably could call it

How Best to Write

It’s best to write straight from the soul

to reach the heart of someone else.

What road’s been traveled they only know.

It’s best to write straight from the soul.

A word is powerful; it goes

from heart to heart; its healing swells.

It’s best to write straight from the soul

to reach the heart of someone else.

Heimwaerts

Mit ein Bag voll Souvenirs bin ich an dem Plane geborded.

Nack Amerika hab ich schon a Box voll Shtuff forwarded.

Der Lederhosen, Knee Socks, und a decorated Hut

Machen mir Schmart gelooken, un dann fuehle ich ganz gut.

Bin wieder Heim. Am Airport met ich so en dummes Jerk.

Er guckt mich an und fragte, At which restaurant do you work?

Die Tasch’ ist leer, die Feet are sore, die Memories are nett.

Bin tired, aber viel refreshed. Go back naechtes Yahr? You bet!

My Three Little Boys

I’ve three little rascals who think they are smart.

They’ll do anything to win over your heart.

They bring you some toys and ask you to play,

And if you say Yes, you are theirs for the day!

Colin in first, it’s five he just turned.

He was born on St. Pat’s Day, and in seconds he’d wormed

His tiny self right to the depth of my heart.

How babies can throw Cupid’s most loving dart!

My Danny’s the second, and he is all boy!

Though at times aggravating, he’s my pride and joy.

Whenever I’m low, he’s there in a snap

To place his sweet loving self onto my lap.

Mickey’s the youngest, he’s only just three;

Of all of the boys, a people person is he.

He gives the most caring, no matter to whom.

For the word negative in his heart there’s no room.

So there now, you have it: my three little boys.

Daily my house echoes laughter and noise.

The rooms are a shambles, filled with their toys,

But that’s how I like living with my three Yorkie joys!

Bella Karoli, 3/30/2022

Short Stories

Cemetery

I love the old cemetery, especially in spring. Blossoming trees, fresh flowers, grass springing up all over – it’s so lovely, even if the ground is a bit soggy from winter snows. Later, as summer arrives and everything is in full array, the variety of colors and flora makes the old place almost festive. On weekends mostly, but sometimes during the week, a family member or three will come by and lay fresh flowers on a grave or at a memorial, adding to the gaiety.

I’ve been the caretaker for this place as long as I can remember, as was my father before me. He taught me respect for the deceased’s body and for the mourners. I didn’t completely understand it until his turn came. As we – mother, wife, and I – laid him to rest, the full value of everything I’d been taught hit me. I’d always been kind and respectful, but after my father left, those values took on a fuller, deeper meaning as the understanding born of experience melded with them. I became manager as well.

I live on the property in a combination office/house. There’s also a small mortuary and cemetery for general services back toward the far end of the property, near the river. It’s used mostly by poor people