If you are the ocean, then I am the mist
which kisses the morning the way children kissed
their mother at breakfast to start a new day
If you are the ocean, then anchors aweigh
We'll sail through the evening and on to the light
The daystar is dawning, we'll keep to the right
like Peter and Wendy to Neverlands' door
we'll sail on forever and touch every shore
If you are the ocean, come wash me away
to some misty morning and there we will play
on beaches you've loved all your lovely life long
If you are the ocean, then sing me a song
of sailors and treasures and I'll have to say
If you are the ocean, come wash me away...
Copyright © Johnette Loefgren
I heard him close shut the attic door,
I snuck in and saw him on the floor.
He found the box that I stored away,
As I turned to leave I heard him say.
“Mom, could you come here for a few,
Whose badge is this and what does this do?”
Placing the hat on top of his head,
Come close my son I softly said.
With a saddened tone I lowly spoke,
Pushing words over the lump in my throat.
That box of stuff belonged to a man,
Who left one night with his keys in hand.
He heard his pager go off late one night,
He jumped in that suit and dashed out of sight.
To answer a call, not knowing for sure,
The dangers his heart would have to endure.
He’d always been brave right from the start,
And was a good man with a courageous heart.
He wasn’t a man like typical dads,
That was mainly because the job that he had.
That box of stuff is his way to pave,
The bright good man you’ll be someday.
Because in that box that you delved into,
Belonged to a man who looked like you.
If you can understand I’ve never known why,
Before you were born that man had to die.
I cannot imagine what he went through,
To save a stranger he never knew.
He faced a danger he didn’t deserve,
He gave his life to protect and to serve.
He wasn’t respected most of the time,
But still he laid his life down on the line.
With all this that I share this day,
There’s a few final words I’d like to say.
All the stuff that’s within that box,
I want you to know belonged to a cop.
There’s a lot of things he never saw,
He lost his life defending the law.
And one of those things that he didn’t see,
Was watching you become what you came to be.
You’re brave like him in the things you pursue,
I know he’d be proud of the life you ensue.
It’s been along time that my heart has cried,
I still remember the night that he died.
Much has happened since the night he was slain,
I think you should know that you bear his name.
Yes there are times that I still get sad;
But I want you to know that man was your dad.
So put the box up my little snooper,
Now that you know your dad was a trooper.
Copyright © Raul Moreno
Two impish girls by a ridge of the sea
frolicked with wavelets lapping merrily
as pink buckets swayed, in each little hand
where clusters of moistened grains polished the sand
bedecking castles on bright August skies;
mermaids we dressed in ferns waiting to dry.
Patty and I guarded the moats from the bad trolls
with candles on gates as swooshing tides cajoled;
a vignette we held in deep friendship’s mind
when crests besieged our kingdom, how unkind
as we fought the tides with shovels dug around,
our legs standing firm to parry the roaring mound.
But on our twelfth year, she caught a fever;
Patty grew hazy, our beach empty right where
all sandcastles dissolved from red to gray
and no more turrets to chisel away .
Now, summers without pails are a memory
of two impish girls, on ridge of the sea.
Memories of The Sea: Isaiah Zerbst’s Contest
Copyright © nette onclaud
Hark! The mighty sage’s quill,
Leaves remnants of genius, still.
Reminding me of richer days,
Where wines could really come to age;
And gods among the people dwelled,
In works of master poet’s felled.
Where aerie tales and thoughts of fancy,
Awaken something everlasting.
The faded thoughts of vestments tore,
Through mournful tales of days of yore.
I bore inquisitive insight,
To mouth a masterpiece delight;
Reciting thoughts from Edgar Poe,
In poetry and foul-like prose.
And as I muttered, “Nevermore”,
I pondered on his lost Lenore;
A femme who captivated thought,
His inspiration to the plot.
And in his wording wizardry,
So haunted by his imagery,
Moves me to expound wanton lyrics
To every soul who dares to hear it.
And with immense humility --
No pen shall cite as good as he.
Copyright © Tammy Armstrong
I took a walk down Columbia Street
Back to the place where we used to meet
Where we played as kids until after dark
And hung out together up at Dutch Hill Park
Although alone, I could hear the sound
Of laughter coming from the merry go round
Sometimes we'd meet there in the early dawn
The dance hall, pavilion and the swings are gone
I saw those pine trees and I thought of you
And all the crazy things we used to do
Like sleeping out underneath the stars
Hanging upside down from the monkey bars
A swing made from a rope and an old tire
We baked potatoes on an open fire
Squirrel nut zippers and an RC coke
Transistor radio and we'd have a smoke
We walked in the woods and we climbed some trees
We scratched our faces and we skinned our knees
Never dreaming that it would ever end
If I could, I'd do it all again my friend
Those memories I have will never part
I carry Dutch Hill Park inside my heart
And all those memories of yesteryear
Heading back home now I shed a tear.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr.
The pendulum motions to and fro,
From the clock upon the wall.
As the second ebb like grains of sand,
For one by one they fall.
Through the window of the dim lit room,
For outside, lies a world of grey,
For thoughts now turn to yester year,
That seems so far away.
With freckle on skin and golden hair,
Topped with lace like bonnet fair.
Upon a face a smile of glee,
As little feet splash in the sea.
A bucket clenched in fingers tight,
With spade to match its colors bright.
In awe and wonder of many things,
Through eyes so young that new life brings.
N Windle. MMXI.
Copyright © nicholas windle
John chapter 15 verse 12---
This is my commandment,
That ye love one another, as I have loved you.
There’s a wee Kirk overlooking the sea
Lowly and humble but special to me.
Inside is the font where I was baptized
The aisle where I walked with joy in my eyes
The altar we faced when making our vows
With God watching o’er us, then as of now
The brilliant stained windows to Peter and Paul
Shedding their light of peace over all
There in the nave a white marble plaque
Honouring the ones who never came back
But of all of these pleasures that I want to share
Is the presence of love that waits for one there.
Contest: The Church by the Ocean
Sponsor: Constance ~ My Dear Heart ~
Written by : Margaret Foster Sept 26th 2011
Copyright © Margaret Foster
Sailing on a ship of dreams, through a deep and starlit night
The wind softly hums a lullaby, as the sails catch the pale moonlight
Indigo waters fade to lighter hues, when we reach the Morpheus shore
Where the anchor is tossed by a somnolent crew, in the place we are to moor.
The ship settles down in a harbor, cradled between two arms of land
As though lulled to sleep within this embrace, the keel leans upon the sand
The tall mast reaches up to the heavens, to nestle amidst the clouds
While waves gently rock the quiet deck, with each dip of its massive bow.
Troupes of fish dance past the stern, silver scales casting prisms of light
While birds on the shore flutter exotic fans, with no thought of taking flight
Time halts to stand on its tiptoes, strained in balance it tilts and shifts
Then the stars wearily blink their eyes closed, and the tide sets the ship adrift.
The anchor is heaved and hoisted, each link draws a series of sighs
While the captain stands quietly before the helm, gazing at the brightening sky
His eyes crinkle up at the corners, emulating the soft rays of the sun
As Awaken brushes the horizon, with strokes of topaz, sapphire, and plum.
A yawn of breath unfurls the sails, with snoring puffs they billow
As tangy brine streams down my face, drops dew beads on my pillow
Floating thoughts of an uncharted course, bound on the seas of night
Sink as the waltz to the seagull’s song, bows into the morning light.
Dedicated to Evans Mckeil, who gave poetry the voice to sing, and the feet to dance.
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald
Immersed in the sound of the low rustling wind
Memories and places they haunt yet again
Passed by so quickly as each falling leaf
Drifting and flowing on an unyielding stream
A current to carry from birth right on through
Filling our moments with cares which ensue
A mind lost in remnants of lovers and friends
Babies and children and time long since spent
Familiar, intangible, just out of reach
Longing for ghosts that my heart doth beseech
Winter is looming and summer is past
A time for remembrance the years gone so fast
Beauty is captured in my last breath of life
The sparkling colors in the warm golden light
Do mimic the glory and wonder be told
In those bright days of autumn and a life to behold
Copyright © Sara Ray
We nurture them within our bodies, birth them in a blinding pain,
suckle them on breasts so swollen, till we think we’ll go insane.
We kiss away each painful boo-boo, bandage each and every wound,
show them that in spite of roundness, peas can stay upon their spoons.
We intercept their nostril’s flowing, be it green or white as snow,
wiping gently ever hoping, for the day they’d learn to blow.
We give to them each ounce of wisdom, try to teach them everything,
suddenly, for unknown reasons, screw it up and give them wings.
We mourn a bit, those cherished moments, when on us they did depend,
days when we were super heroes, possessing wisdom without end.
We watch the journey proudly knowing, as they soar into the light,
Mother’s wisdom, though not perfect, lends the wind that gives them flight.
Copyright © Shelly Berkeley
As I lie in this box, all dirty and scuffed.
I remember the time I was shiny and fluffed.
Alone and forgotten, I doubt that is true?
For I was once savored in red, white and blue.
Although, it may seem like a long time ago.
I once flew through the air in many a show.
I was waved at through crowds as I proudly appeared.
So high I did blow and to many was feared.
It's just a matter of time, I'll be back once again.
I just don't like this box, and I do miss the wind.
Why must I wait until the fourth of July?
For I am important, it's my duty to fly.
Until then I will stay here, my memories in bloom.
Maybe the maid will soon free me, when she tidy's the room.
I know that she likes me, she flew me last spring.
Some kind of occasion, a Memorial thing.
This can't be my destiny, for I stand for truth.
I'm not just a toy, what's wrong with our youth?
I hear them play music of hate and it hurts.
I am use to large stadiums and enormous concerts.
How I long for the trumpet; A victorious sound.
Still I'm here when you're ready, not lost nor found.
Copyright © Astrid Ivy Gibbs
Dont despair that I dont miss you
want to hold you
wait to kiss you
I cant see you , I can feel you
with a heart line I can reel you
Right back in just like the River
HOMOSASSA taker, giver
In some light you flow beside me
seek to steer me, move me, guide me
To a place I cant remember
Like a glowing, dying ember
Of a time I cant recall
But I know you have it all
Saved on waves of long ago
Washed up somewhere I cant know
Where each tide must rise and fall
Some Lagoon where nightbirds call
Everyone sits 'round the glow
Waiting for someone to know
How to read the map to find me
Even I am left behind me.
Copyright © Johnette Loefgren
To sip coffee with you,
Reading the newspaper,
Steam rises from my cup,
I relish this moment
Cherishing your smile,
Examine your face,
Lines, changes over the years
Still, I look in your eyes
And see the young man,
The hearth is still warm
And I’m thankful for that.
Copyright © raskin bobbins
It seems ages since we met over your long, golden hair
an hour glass on the table keeping the meter.
It seems like too many dress up doll days when we played
take me to the river but don’t get our feet wet.
It seems we lost our inner selves painting our faces
painting our nails, singing karaoke at the bars.
Oh, to regain those lost years of our youth, unwrinkled skin
turn back all the pages, like winding gold on a spindle.
Instead we have just leaves, grieves, and grandchildren
with their laser guns, plastic skin and smug attitudes.
They never challenged gamey little midgets with foul intent
they had us to pad them safely with money, love and scent.
Dear Rapunzel, do please let your hair down one more time
and play climb out of the cellar and up the apple tree with me.
Signed Your Dearest Play Mate.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper
A wise man once had told me
as I sat sadly on his knee
Son, don’t be afraid to hug someone
When you get the opportunity
He said life’s too short for shaking hands
and keeping distance there
Just hug someone because you can
To show them that you care.
“You know”, he whispered as he leaned to me
with his eyes so full of love
“my daddy told me when I was small
that they came from God above”.
So he gave me a great big hug and said
how does it make you feel?
I said with giggling laughter
“like a silly circus seal “
Well God he knew, that we would need
Something to touch our heart
When times got tough and we were sad
and needed a new start
So he created hugs to cheer us up
and make us feel brand new
Because no matter who we are
we need to feel loved too
So my son you can shake a hand
and play the average role
Or you can hug a man with open arms
and you’ll have touched his soul
That wise man who so long ago
held me upon his knee
Was the greatest hugger that ever lived
he was my dear ol’ dad you see.
But now he’s gone and I’m feeling sad
Cause I miss him oh so much
The way he kissed and hugged you tight
He had a special touch
So if I had, a single wish
to make this sadness flee
I’d wish a moment with that wise old man
A “one last hug” for me.
Hug Someone Today!
Copyright © Bernard Colasurdo
I was listening to oldies wishing the songs would not end
They carried me back to when time was a friend
A time when I wore a younger man's smile
Culottes, pedal pushers and love were in style
We rode our bicycles all over town
Put a flash light on the handlebars when the sun went down
Sometimes we'd gather in Dutch Hill Park
Play on the swings until well after dark
We smoked Luckies and Camels because we were men
Filters were for girls way back then
There were fights and laughter, sometimes a beer
A childhood lived without knowing fear
Mothers raised children, fathers worked hard
Wash was on clothes lines in the back yard
Somehow the bills got paid when they were due
Dads stopped on the way home from work for a few
Sometimes there were days without a penny to spend
Neighbors were family when time was a friend
We cherish those memories as we get old
Memories are more precious than silver or gold
I close my eyes say a prayer and to sleep I descend
Then dream of the days when time was a friend
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr.
An eighteen year old sailor on the Riviera in the Spring
Mademoiselle Your smile can make my young heart sing
Cannes, Nice, Monte Carlo who could ask for more
I volunteered for the USO, so on duty days I could be ashore
I held her hand and said bon jour, i danced with her that day
Looking into her eyes, Aime-moi, s'il vous plait
Stopping by a sidewalk cafe, we had a glass of Beaujolais
Then I walked her home and promised to meet another day
Two days later I returned but she was nowhere to be found
I saw her one more time before my feet left solid ground
It was a one time memory, a love not meant to be
She returned to college and I returned to the sea
I still have those memories and the wonders that we saw
But to cry, i'l n'est pas necssaire pour cela.
I think back sometimes and it cuts me like a knife
France will always be a special part of my life.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr.
I hear the clarion bugle calls at Fort Carson when conditions are just right,
Sounding "Reveille" at break of dawn to the mournful sound of "Taps" at night!
"Reveille" 'wakes soldiers from their well-deserved rest to begin another day
Of training to protect our freedoms, though they do it for very meager pay!
The bugle sounds "Chow Call" at noon for lunch, the most welcome of calls!
The dining facilities peal with laughter, Yankee twang and Texas drawls!
The bugle calls "Retreat" and the roar of cannon is heard to end the day.
Old Glory is slowly lowered, solemnly folded and tenderly stowed away.
The plaintive sound of "Taps" is played at ten PM echoing as clearly as a bell!
Its peaceful call heralds, "You've earned your rest, God is nigh and all is well!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw
Not Like We Did
Sometimes I wonder about the good old days
Growing up and parting ways
Sometimes wish I could have stayed a kid
They have good times now but not like we did
Painting ghosts on store fronts for Halloween
Stop at Mike's and play the pinball machine
Go for lunch down old Broad Street
Get a hamburger from Texas Pete
Friday dances in the gym at Saint Jerome
Stop at the bowling alley before going home
In the Vic is where I first got kissed
At the Coffee Cup, we did the Twist
The Coney Island and the S and A
Stopped at the pool room almost every day
Behind the Acme lot there was a circus show
Swim in the summer time at the Bungalow
Stop at the station waiting for the train
Deliver the Courier in the pouring rain
Watch a parade on Decoration Day
Flowers for Mary during the month of May
Little income but we were all well fed
Danny sold Italian bread
Back porch picnics and we played wiffle ball
Free movies in Middle Ward park, we had it all
Church picnics at Dutch Hill Park
Play in the street until well after dark
Small man thrived, a living earned
Tamaqua was where we grew and learned.
We had sports heroes when I was a kid
They have heroes now, but not like we did
Stadium was filled for the football game
Basketball season, the town did the same
Roller skating on center Street
Stop at the Five Points to get a bite to eat
I look back and my memory thrives
So many good people have touched our lives
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr.
As the light starts to fade, at the end of the day,
And the last rays of sunset cascade on the bay.
The fishing boats set sail, their little lamps a glow,
Off to deeper waters and the school of fish below.
Along the granite, harbor wall, the lime washed cottage stands,
The little wind swept coastal path to the causeway and sands.
At the point a lighthouse giving out its light,
Protecting the wayward mariner as he sails on through the night.
For generations have come and gone, it’s always been that way,
As tide rolls in with the fishing boats that signals break of day.
Copyright © nicholas windle
The wind doth brace my body so,
As I stand astride the moor.
Invigorated by its feel,
To the sky an eagle soars.
For what splendor and sweet freedom,
Will my soul, feel such happiness.
Given all that’s gone before me,
So much sorrow and unrest.
Oh to see the sun at daybreak,
At dawn the rising mist.
To walk barefoot on the dew tipped fronds,
And to know that I am blessed.
For upon my face the warming sun,
That leaves a kiss with such caress.
Flowers with scented blossoms lie,
On their petals my head I rest
© N windle 2012
Copyright © nicholas windle
Wow!... words cannot express,
Such beauty, such finesse.
The shape and color of those eyes,
No description will suffice.
Just like wine, you're finer when older,
And beauty to the eye of every beholder.
©2013 Honestly JT
Copyright © Honestly J.T.
Above me I hear the pounding shells,
The mechanical sound of war.
And like so many, just cannon fodder,
In my mind hard to ignore.
They say that times a healer,
My thoughts still far away.
To see the cradle of my youth,
And the haven of yesterday.
Under the canopy of subtle green,
Down a little leafy lane.
A wooden stile sit’s, a gateway,
My hope that some thing’s, stay the same.
Though the pathway to it now is worn,
By those who have gone before.
In it’s post carved forgotten loves,
Now on show for ever more.
From the time of it’s construction,
It has watched the world go by.
Sweet hearts filled, with loves emotions
A teardrop wiped, a final kiss, is this goodbye.
And through out the year it stands there,
As each season comes then goes.
A robin red breast say’s good morning,
As it shake’s off the winter snow.
© Nicholas Windle 2008
Copyright © nicholas windle
He was graced with long life as the work he required,
A present flame, aft he retired,
He deepened the souls that sat before him,
And made them express with written decorum.
He read their assignments with special attention
That challenged and called forth youth's finest rendition.
He opened the door to a life well read,
His students entangled in Baalat's web.
Gazing back through the specularium of time
One saw an intellect so immensely fine
That it slightly abashed those of higher grade,
His light joining their lights where others fade.
Moving on one lingered a bit in the past,
Still meeting challenges from his intellect, so vast.
That it scarce was contained
In the role for him framed.
His soul now borne upon the Stygian Lake
Leaves proper grammar trailing in its wake;
This gentle muse vanished in the night,
The curtains closed, doused the light.
No need for stately obelisk oe'r his bier
To greet mournful pilgrims once a year;
For though he'll be long gone,
The phallic symbol, he loved so, lives on.
Copyright © Boruch Fishman
Old letters stained by umbra of the night
Each crumpled phrase falls as ravens alight
~Juli-Michelle's Rhyme Battle: Round 6 ~
Copyright © nette onclaud
How did it come to this?
You and me down memory bliss…
Somewhere in between losing myself …
I misplaced the dust remover off my shelf…
Now I’ll march on, like a cheerful parade…
Smiling my big pearly whites, as you begin to fade...
I disguised the use, when you called me a broken down car…
Adjusting all the plugs under my hood, I reached in too far...
I touched and fondled every mound and tendency inside of me…
All my heart needed, was a brand new battery…
I found my own cure, reviving my broken heart disease…
Blocking the sunburn from jumping, on my heart, like a trapeze…
I got rocks stored in my pocket, that came with a guarantee…
Sustaining weight on my weakened knees, reassuring me warranty…
That I will get through this, without you to drive…
I have a map of the world, traced on my thighs…
You may have held the moon, but not anymore…
There are millions of galaxies for me to explore …
Once I face the dark and horrible truth…
That I didn’t like who I was, with you…
That’s why I shouldn’t be starving, for your attention…
When all you gave me, were paltry inventions…
Instead I’ll wave bye, at my shriveled heart’s cost…
And immediately stop sniffing, our love’s exhaust…
In time you’ll be nothing but a tumbleweed …
A random thought I won’t even keep…
When I’m fully restored, you’ll be left in the dust…
And I’ll be stronger than I ever was
Copyright © Black Eyed Susan
A is for Alf alien life form
B is for Bay Watch women with form
C is for Cops reality’s top show
D is for Dear John a real funny show
E is for Emergency the Adam-12 off fireman drama
F is for F-Troop mom Larry Stork gave laughter to Mama.
G is for Gilligan’s Island much more than a three hour tour
H is for Hot L Baltimore which ran with any cure
I is for I Love Lucy a Lucile ball classic
J is for Johnny Bravo makes me sick
K is for Knight Rider a talking car
L is for Land of The Lost they went far
M is for MASH funny with sadness
N is for Nancy Drew solved crimes with gladness
O is for Office a Scranton’s favorite
P is for Police Story to me it was so right
Q is for Quincy another Klugman’s best
R is for Room 222 when it was on I’ll rest
S is for Starsky and Hutch cop show full of action
T is for Today’s FBI modern with satisfaction
U is for Ultra Man fighting monsters I was loving it
V is for V another alien invasion which I seen it
W is for Walking Tall Buford Pusser made this more than another cop show
X is for X-men a Saturday morning cartoon Wolverine is my hero
Y is for Young and the Restless never watched this soap
Z is for Zoom was a PBS show guess it ran out of rope
Copyright © Robert Heemstra
She Sings about Love, But She's Broken
On The Inside Like a Dulling Light.
- He Lost His Muse -
- But She Lost So Much More -
Maybe None of us are Talented, Maybe
Love Perpetuates Creativity.
- Onto a Steel Corridor -
- Spattered With Broken Glass -
The Only Way Out of This is To
Let The Waves Lap at Your Feet.
- So That The Shoreline Weighs -
- More Than The Deepest Fathoms -
I'll Play With Fireflies in The Twilight, and They'll
Indulge Themselves in My Eyeline Reflections.
- Fall To Your Knees in the Water -
- So That The Salt Stains Your Lips -
Sink Your Teeth Into My Neck and Bite
My Mouth, It Was How Your Back Arched.
- But Don't Ever Let it Bring You Down -
- If We Burn, We'll Burn Together, Alone -
Copyright © Conor Jordan
You know what I hate about writer’s block,
How my creativity is hidden behind a lock;
Time ticks away as I stare at my screen,
My heart beating faster from the strain of caffeine;
The cursor flashing lulls me to doze,
Til a fly lands smack on the tip of my nose;
I swing at the fly and glance at the clock,
How did 10 AM turn into 5 O’clock;
I stand and I stretch and then walk away,
And say goodbye to another wasted day;
Maybe tomorrow will inspire my brain,
Or I could be slowly going insane…
Copyright © Tirzah Conway
The mountains arise all around
Her skirts valleys trims that abound
The court house stands antiquated
For years law accommodated
On square few stores in business
No longer the attractiveness
The beauty of the peach trees pink
In bloom in the spring gone in a wink
Packing sheds closed down different now
Lifestyles different as fields once plow
Nostalgia for days of the past
Change is good but will it last
In honor of: Michael J. Falotico
Contest: "A Change of View"
Since I have always lived in one
place, I wrote about change....
Copyright © Sara Kendrick