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Featured Poetry: Week Ending Sunday, July 13, 2014
As I've grown older, I've found,
that my body has gotten more round,
as I try it,
another new diet,
I always add another pound.
She had hair that was dark as the darkest night
Brown eyes that shined like a beautiful light
Her lips made the brightest Rubies look dim
Odds of forgetting her were less then slim
But then again
What he wouldn't trade for one last night of sin
He was out looking for someone to meet
She was walking desire on a deserted street
When they said goodbye it was all for the better
Deep down he knew he had to forget her
But then again
What he wouldn't trade for one last night of sin
They said their hellos - Then said their goodbyes
Everything in-between turned out to be lies
He knew he could never get her out of his head
But tonight his wife would be waiting in bed
But then again
What he wouldn't trade for one last night of sin
Back home after they had put the children to bed
Images of the role playing still fresh in his head
He watched her undress out of the leather and lace
He studied each curve and the beauty of her face
But then again
What he wouldn't trade for one last night of sin
© 2007 Michael Jordan
All Rights Reserved
How do I tell the truth without telling a lie?
Spill my guts and walk away
Leaving someone else to clean up my mess
I threw the rock that broke the glass
Now to kiss and tell and wish you well
You had all the best and I'm left with the rest
Just a coward hiding in the fray
Trying to live up to seeing the sunny day
Worried that light might shine through the shattered glass
and find that I was the one who broke my heart in two
The Book Shelf
Home to many books
Yeah the oak bookshelf has got the looks
Of books worn and torn
Tattered with worms
Tales of scorn
and of loves forlorn
Einstein up there
What's up with that hair?
And Emily Dickinson, what a creature!
How she did love that preacher
Shakespeare if you dare
A prodigy of words to care
Basking in all them books
Perhaps makes one have precocious hooks
or vice versa
as you may read of your vice curses
With book in hand, I'll never feel alone
They are my best friends with just the right tone/r
All this whispers my quilted pen
to begin to write and read again!
By Susan J. Mills
All was calm on Christmas Eve night,
the tree lights flickered off and on
while the angel on top shined so bright
reflecting on the snow capped lawn.
Two cookies with hot chocolate,
set aside for Santa to eat,
praying he would not be too late
to partake in his yearly treat.
The cat lay curled under the tree,
coals in the fireplace dying.
Nestled warmly is sleeping three;
with anxious little hearts sighing.
Big brother wanted new stuff,
little brother did not care.
Sister wanted just enough
ribbon for her hair.
Mother wanted food on the table,
a turkey with stuffing and greens.
Dad wanted his work to be stable,
sharing something other than beans.
This year they did not ask for much,
times were getting very hard.
Grateful to have a purse to clutch
and house with a big backyard.
Copyright © 2008 By Caryl S. Muzzey
THE BLESSING OF HAVING A MOTHER
We've all been blessed to have a mother
Though she may be living or gone
But the impact she had on our lives
Will still go on and on
It was through her gentle teaching
That we learned right from wrong
Her wisdom was so far reaching
Her knowledge true and strong
Her efforts to correct us
Whenever we'd rebel
Was often done with scripture
Which mother knew so well
Her correction was usually tender
Most often with a smile
Sometimes done with humor
But loving all the while
Seldom done with anger
Unless we went too far
Which brought a trip to the woodshed
Or out behind the barn
The pots and pans she rattled
Yielded our favorite food
And just like the guy on TV
It was always “Ooo, so good!”
Needle and thread were always close
To mend my pants for me
She dried my tears and wiped my nose
When I would skin my knee
So as you recall your mother's love
On this, her special day
Whether she's here, or heaven above
You can be proud she showed you the way
Curtis Moorman – Mother's Day 2000
Words reflect the man,
yet it reveals not the true
nature of the beast.
What you read is a
verbal mask, a secret self,
in an ink disguise.
One may write humor,
then be revealed as sullen
and melancholy.
Or write heartfelt prose,
to be found a true cynic,
to whom love is bunk
Thus we praise the words,
but would we applaud the man
once divulged to us?
Often, to write well,
an inner demon must be
allowed to break free.
Imagination,
cleverness and some guile,
does make a good read
As can honesty.
Which is rare when found in form,
and harder to write
You must not fear it,
if you wish it to come forth.
It seeps from your well.
Dip deep your quill pen,
into your true self and see
your writing change face.
Gone will be your shield.
Open to criticism,
will take true courage
Linear form hewn from tree
cold to touch
of bare feet
© Feb 22 2010 Charles Henderson
He was all the things
I wanted to achieve in life
And then some.
How may I give tribute to the man
I miss more than the air I breath?
I could say that he was loved
Or that he was the smartest person I knew,
I could talk about endless lessons
Told and repeated over the years
In his absence.
I think it is important to say
That throughout my life
He was always there.
As a child I would sit with him
And I remember how much
I loved his reading to me,
And oh yes his face,
Those blue eyes
And his dramatic expressions
While telling his story.
We had a bond he and I.
Stronger I think than most perhaps
But then all little girls love there Dad's.
I don't remember him
Ever raising his voice to me
Other than to call for me
To come in while outside playing.
Everyone loved my Dad
And he in turn loved
Everyone and life in general.
He taught all of us so much
Over the years.
Even as a young adult I remember calling him
On several occasions for his input
In one way or another.
He would say...
"Never go to bed angry" and
"Don't cry over material things,
They can always be replaced".
I think out of all the things he taught me
And above all else
That I hold dear.
I miss him saying simply
"I love you"
And of course that was
Accompanied by a big hug.
My father, my friend
My mentor
For all my life.
Oh how I miss him..
I’m on a beach on Maui, beautiful surf and sand
Gorgeous bodies right in front of the Grand
A couple over there, perfect tens the pair
Loving life out in the sun and air
Quick glances and some stares
I remember that look when you were near
I miss you like crazy… you loved the beach so…
You’re in a better place now.. eyes closed I know…
The young family next to me, so happy it shows
That used to be us, seems long ago
Our kids are older now, they’re still such a blast
I’m so lucky to have them, not living in the past
The nest will soon be empty, many good times had
Not easily forgotten, never sad
I miss you like crazy… you loved the beach so…
You’re in a better place now.. eyes closed I know…
I’m sure lonely on a crowded beach
My next step is still out of reach
When you were here the world was mine
With you gone I have trouble ‘being fine’
I visit the tree with the view that we found
I talk to you there cause i know your around
I miss you like crazy… you loved the beach so…
You’re in a better place now.. eyes closed I know…
I’ll move on they say, it just takes time
I know you’re telling me to, but it’s tough to unwind
My love for baby, it will never be the same
I guess that’s why time has to heal all things
I miss you like crazy baby… you loved the beach so
You’re in a better place now.. eyes closed I know…
Miss you like crazy, baby… I’ll be with you some day…
This I know….
Giggle till ya? 9/8/11
Whoop’s, “that’s too funny oh stop your making me pee my pants.” Now that’s a good one, I’m so wet I need to change my pants.
Please stop my jaw hurts; I’m really serious it feels like it could fall off. Oh my stomach is killing me; you’re too funny I can’t stand it. Wait I think yes I did, “I peed in my pants.”
My whole body hurts I haven’t laughed this hard since I don’t know when. I think I’m going to pass out, stop I mean it. Laughter, the best medicine my butt I could have a heart attack.
Whoop’s what’s that smell? Yeah between the hiccups you guessed it, special delivery right in my pants. I was drop down laughing so hard I couldn’t help it; what do you do when ya laugh till you cry and then laugh some more. Laugh and laugh then pass it on!
Debbie Knapp
Stone heart petals
fall softly
in the lavender of her gentleness...
the melody of her smile
offers angels to tired eyes-
I walk a little straighter
(concrete morphing to diamond cascade)
down the path of her light
reaquainting with the footfall of youth...
as she sips my raggedy dreams
and briar patch truths
she rides life,
like a starry stream fire~
Toting stone heart petals
back into the lavender of her spirit-
**He climbs so high above the sky I'm afraid he can't come down
**And yet, why should he descend at all if he is likely to wear a frown?
Missing you is like feelings of thee morning dew. The very first time I glanced at you, something like a widow a woman that husband has died. Wishing we had just a little more time. Wishful thinking believing everything you ever said was true shows how bad I want to be with you. Reminiscing over here dwelling on the past, indicating a desire of admiration I grasp. Adoration and appreciation is what I feel for you, longing suffering missing and enduring the lost just to speak to you. From morning till midnight, sunset to sunrise moving into the afternoon time I’m missing you. Arousing emotional response in motion missing you is my religion. My system of belief, therefor you’re an apostle sent by Christ making me a flock of one in your missionary. Leaving me with anxiety and tension I stay missing. Impatient for your fulfillment, missing you is an addiction and psychological dependence. Needing to see you even for a minute, in a recession I remain unchanged retain missing you.
With kind eyes
And gentle soul,
You brought
Flowers,
Soft words,
And sweet touches . . .
To my table.
You filled my empty heart
And hungry spirit.
You brightened
My drab and lonely world.
You touched
The hurting places . . .
At my table.
. . . Now . .
With sad eyes
And silent words,
You come to me.
My friend,
I’m filled and strong,
Let me,
Your waiter be.
No note,
the bed unmade,
the milk, imprisoned in plastic,
left to grow solid on the kitchen table.
Winter’s gray made me insane, and
so I flew on steel wings to Buenos Aires,
where the air is humid and smells of unwashed
sins, and the angry sun beats down
on oceans of grass,
and the red wine flows,
numbing my Yankee brain.