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Couplet Nostalgia Poems | Couplet Poems About Nostalgia

These Couplet Nostalgia poems are examples of Couplet poems about Nostalgia. These are the best examples of Couplet Nostalgia poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Couplet | |

If You Are The Ocean...

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...

Details | Couplet | |

The Box of Stuff

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.

Details | Couplet | |

The Mightiest of Poet's Still

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.

Details | Couplet | |

Dutch Hill Park

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.

Details | Couplet | |

There was a time

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.

Details | Couplet | |

The Kirk by the Sea

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

Details | Couplet | |

Seagull's Song

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.

Details | Couplet | |


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

Details | Couplet | |

Mother's Wisdom

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.

Details | Couplet | |


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.

Details | Couplet | |

Washed Away

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.

Details | Couplet | |

Interlude in a coffee shop

To sip coffee with you,
Reading the newspaper,

Sitting close
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.

Details | Couplet | |

When Time Was a Friend

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

Details | Couplet | |

Dear Rapunzel

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.

Details | Couplet | |

Bon Jour

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.

Details | Couplet | |

One Last Hug

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!

Details | Couplet | |

Not Like We Did

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

Details | Couplet | |

Bugle Calls At Fort Carson

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

Details | Couplet | |


Old letters stained by umbra of the night

Each crumpled phrase falls as ravens alight

~Juli-Michelle's Rhyme Battle: Round 6 ~

Details | Couplet | |

You're Beautiful

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

Details | Couplet | |

A Tribute to Jack Russel

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.

Details | Couplet | |

Dehydrate Me

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 -               

Details | Couplet | |

Past Time

I am ten and crossing home.
Two players missed it, as it rolls on and on.
An error if you're scoring the play,
but I call it a home run on my first day.
I am ten, and I have found my first love
in a tattered ball, and a hand-me-down glove.

I am twenty, and I am throwing hard.
Beading sweat, please stay in the yard!
Each pitch thrown with a hope and a prayer.
Scholarship athletes can't be only fair.
Medical school looms larger than the Show.
A privilege for few, but I don't want to go.

I am thirty and I cannot put it down.
Sundays the old men come around.
Love of the game a common bond.
The bat is no longer a magic wand.
Reminiscing about those bygone days.
I can no longer beat out those close plays.

I am forty, and I watch with delight.
My own boys throwing with all their might.
A lump in my throat, a moist eye.
I contentedly look on and sigh.
I've passed down the love to the next generation,
and I wouldn't trade that for a standing ovation.

Details | Couplet | |

Safe Harbour

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.

Details | Couplet | |

Life in focus

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

Details | Couplet | |

ABCs of TV Shows

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

Details | Couplet | |

Jumpstart - collaboration with Poet Destroyer

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

Details | Couplet | |

Writer's Block

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…

Details | Couplet | |

Saturday 1975

ABC’s Schoolhouse Rock
was worth setting the clock

learning on the weekends
and having fun with friends

American Bandstand
and Soul Train worth a grand

during the day I’ll play
night I’m dancing away

ending it with Saturday Night Live
in the year nineteen–seventy-five

Details | Couplet | |

43 Cents

43 cents in my prune-palmed hand.
Clumped in a circle; flat coins.
Brown for the pennies that hold my thoughts
and silver for the ones it joins.

Cupped in a hand with room for more
yet weighed by the heart as less.
Dumped on a table to bounce and flop
while left for the owner to bless.

Details | Couplet | |

Remembering My First Lost Love

Meeting my first lost love came unexpectedly.
Although I was young, I still remember him...sadly.
Dressed in  a dark dress without ribbons or bows,
Slowly walking into the room to see my dad's dad,
I saw my grandfather for the very first time...dead. 
He was handsome, like his picture, in a nice suit.
He had been out in the world on his own pursuit.
Emptiness, not knowing joys consumed me that day.
I wondered how it would have been with time to play.
His skin, pale and gray, was cold when I kissed him.
I wondered if he ever ran to the beach for a swim.
Hugs and kisses were never known and no Granddad laugh.
The preacher there said a prayer on Grandad's behalf.
In the chapel, there were folks I had never met.
Back in 1956, I felt my first regret.
Many times I thought of him as years passed by.
I wonder, would he wipe my tears if I should cry.
Or listen to excitement when I learned something new -
Long ago, when granddad died, we said adieu.
But even now, I think of him with family love
And hope we'll have a chat someday near God above.

June 7, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soupn Member Contest:  Remembering a Lost Love
Sponsored by: Gail Doyle

Details | Couplet | |


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

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Another Point of View

Many years ago, with the west still wild,
I lived happily as a carefree child

In North Dakota, the Flickertail State
To which only the hardy emigrate.

You might like my home state or maybe not,
Extreme weather was either cold or hot.

Its residents are robust, sturdy folks,
Who often are the butt of uncouth jokes.  

There is a fact that is undisputed,
I am sorry now that I uprooted.

More millionaires per capita live there
Than can be found in any state elsewhere!    

lFor Michael's "Change of View" contest

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My Attic Treasure Trove

By Sashi Prabhu (zeauoxian)
Contest: treasure trove

Austerely laid my eyes firmly on my garden far side Tattered page piles, from my attic treasure trove, littered outside. I picked up a dog eared page of the days of sitting together, In this garden, cuddling and smooching in cold weather. On such a glorious winter day, I scribbled on this page love notes, A long time ago, by the way, in double quotes Nostalgic now the dismal, Melancholy tenors that fill in, Memories of “au revoir”, replete my poignant heart to its brim. A wind now blows this dog eared page & it flies by the old gum tree Dully chase it with some rage &as I see the page, begin to read all about me…………….. For the last two lines, the paper is vacant void & bare, Heart’s healed wounds to open with quinine drenched text I would not dare.

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Oh Boy

Hey, this is nice floating around in here
No sweat and no strain, got nothing to fear
Whoa! What is this? (Don't mean to complain)
I think I got flushed down somebody's drain
Ouch! What's the deal? Must you be so damn rough?
I refuse to come out! Don't like it? That's tough
Crap, I'm exhausted; I'm too tired to fight
The lights! The lights! Turn off the freekin' lights!
Slap ME on the ass? That hurts you old cow!
Okay! I'm screaming! You satisfied now?

Hello...Pleased to meet'cha, and who might be you?
Daddy? Yeah, right, so what else is new?
Good lord, I'm burnt out, I could use a short rest
Where? Well okay, right here on your chest?
Wow, this is cool! It's really kinda neat
Like hearing the sound of your gentle heartbeat
Yes, rock me a little, I sure won't refuse
And hum me a tune while I take a quick snooze...

***Had the priviledge and pleasure of being the first to hold my son after he was born.
There was a picture but alas, it is long gone. Now the only picture that remains is the one imprinted in my memory... 

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My 67 Ford

Though I was young and less than legal age,
I had a friend who co-signed forms… rampage!
At twenty-one, to me she seemed mature.
A confidence of trust that is for sure!
Oh how I loved that year; I was nineteen.
Yes, it was then I took out my first lien.
What fun to have a car to call my own.
All I had to do was pay off the loan.
With, pride…I loved my 67 Ford.
That Galaxy 500, I adored.
I could hardly believe it was so new.
A one owner one-year-old car; yahoo!
I was a tiny gal in a big car.
It was just the ticket for going far.
I could drive to work or go out with friends.
I loved taking trips on those long weekends.
In that car, I felt gladness and had clout.
Sometimes there were problems, without a doubt.
One afternoon, with the engine ablaze,
I screamed for help; my heart sunk in malaise.
I was picking up a friend from her work.
All that excitement was just a life perk!
Some nearby man came running to my aid.
He extinguished the fire while I prayed.
The dealer fixed the car without a charge.
I was back on the road, a kid at large!
We had a problem with a gunshot wound.
Believe you me, by my friends I was lampooned.
A 30.06 was on the back seat.
When it went off you could hear my heartbeat.
My sweater on the trigger; it was cold.
It carried that wound until it was old.
I traded it in; I was twenty-five.
But the Ford still lives in life's fun archive!

© March 2, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest:  

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A Treasure Trove of Love

Sweet memories folded inside Grandma's quilts and afghans A cedar chest of forgotten trinkets caressed in my hands This treasure trove holds a young girls dreams of love A drop in Heaven's showers raining from above Every drop gathers love from the garden bestowing affection She wonders will she vaporize before she sees her own reflection From the clouds, she hears, "do not fear", a voice true and wise Love will grow, love will bloom, soon the vapors will rise Heaven keeps all the love raindrops cannot contain The clouds expand, the love will burst and rain will fall again In the continuum of life, she will learn love never dies The young girl will share her love; clouds will bring blue skies By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders for Treasure Trove contest (Linda-Marie, Sweetheart of PS) Sixth Place

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Smile Your On Candid Camera

<                                         sphinx ~ head
                                             who ~ said

                                           roman ~ God
                                           without ~ bod

                                           shadow ~ illusion
                                           causing ~ confussion

                                           butte ~ mesa
                                           I ~ guess ~ a

                                           transition ~ zone
                                           with-out   ~ phone

                                            oh ~ my   ~    cydonia
                                            don't ~ all ~ just ~ wanna ~ ya

Entry For
Carolyn Devonshire's
Sphinx Head On Mars Contest
G.L. All

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Crossing the Yellow Lines

Pavers of life worn down with ware
Solid blocks built upon, set with care
October years spent mending the cracks
that Septembers years most surely lacked

Crossing the yellow lines
with a quivering spine
as November draws nearer 
December years decline

Autumns harvest of memory troves
feels winters cold remembrance slow
Golden nostalgia, like falling leaves,
too briskly escapes in winters breeze

 © Debra Squyres

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In My Dreams

~In My Dreams~ I can’t believe it look what I see! There you are looking at me. How did you know we just talked of you? A thousand miles from home, can this be true? To see you there is like the lottery win I never thought I’d see you again. The world is small and gets smaller each day What a fantastic thing has happened today. Your eyes are just as I knew and remembered You hair a little thinner that I think was intended. I never thought you would be so tanned Gosh how I have dreamed of holding you hand. How come you are here in my hiding place? No matter, I always wanted to look at your face. Come here; come hug me I just can’t believe So strong and warm for you I did grieve. You have never met your brother –in-law! I felt a bump on the head I was then on the floor. I cried as I realised it was not as it seemed For my little dead brother was just in my dream.
©20/09/2012 ~GG~

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Summer Fun---grammer school days

The day was hot as red rose sunny
We gathered eggs from holes like a bunny

Down to the grocer’s store we went
Sold our eggs funds on candies spent

With grandma abed off comes the coat
On goes the sneakers shaped like a boat  

Big brother goes racing up to the gate
The youngest trying to be quiet shout wait

Round the corner comes the show truck
Reels of movies in boxes securely tuck

Hercules Ben Hur High Noon Dracula and such
We saw them o’er and o’er he hadn’t  much

Big brother hops on the truck going up the hill
The youngest and I ran behind we know the drill

Hopping onto trucks is a skill perfected by boys
We girls had to be content playing with toys

Inside the show house the movie starts
Everyone must hear our throbbing  hearts

Written Sept. 8 2012
For Craig's contest: Summer Fun

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Hieroglyphs unknown by Champollion

Kids are playing with strange blue graffiti
So, they wrote several times: ”Neffertiti” …

And drew the most beautiful queen`s head.
The whole history of Egypt written in red, 

With sacred hieroglyphs unknown by Champollion:
The Pharaons` destiny dandles a dewy dandelion…

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This Land is My Land

Snow, snow, drifting down on little towns and farms, Snow, snow glistens on the oaks’ and maples’ arms. River, river from the north, with thaw of ice it flows, Mighty Mississippi, past my little hometown goes. Blooms, blooms, pretty blooms, and lilacs scent the air. Blooms, blooms paint the land beneath a rainbow fair. Hills, hills, soft and rolling, low and grassy mounds, Hills, hills, some are ancient natives’ burial grounds. Stars, stars, flitting stars that wink in twilight skies, Stars, stars, tiny stars are summer’s fireflies! Corn, corn, fields of corn, so wide and green and high. Corn, corn, stalks of corn keep reaching to the sky. Leaves, leaves dance on streets while children walk to school, Leaves that tango, red and gold, as days and nights grow cool. Home, home, harvest home, where crops are gathered in, Home sweet home, as I recall, is hearth of kith and kin. (Can you guess my home state? It's Iowa) By Andrea Dietrich For Skat's MY LAND IS MY HOME Poetry Contest

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Fog horn on the far off  Neva  dock
A  canal  bridge to open and  unlock:
Today I heard  its  sound 
Unmistakable  note found
Implanted down in my head, 
Coming today a word long unsaid
Across the railroad tracks  it calls 
To me through cracks in walls 
And half-closed lattice  windows,
Across the shadows  and  meadows
From far away in the salt water - 
An ocean-bound  huge transporter .

Took me back  to  porridge oats
And blanketless  beds with cold coats, 
Sharing a pillow  with gran and mum
In a cold unheated tiny bedroom -
But warm as only a mother’s arm can be -
Listening on foggy nights  with me
-To horns open Tyne’s swing bridge  old,
And in foggy winter days cold
-To lost ships off  Cullercoats  moan 
Trying to find the walls of stone,             
The welcoming piers of heaven:
Sandy river’s  saving haven.

I was taken aback to be taken back
Thus, on my  hustling  life’s track
I forget the real roots.   I need 
To recall from what did I proceed, 
For  often does my boat get tossed  
And  in  the fog  I am  sometimes lost.

The Horn’s lament  is familiar 
Like a  family voice or a prayer,
As a bird recognizes its mate’s call
No  need to ask what it is at all.
It is friendly.  To  it I return. 
To hear it  I yearn. 
Like  my  mother’s laugh,
Like grandfather’s cough -
I Know it like  my own face,
It is easy to retrace.

As I walk on Nevsky Prospekt
Turning back the pages of neglect,
I hear it in the depths of my heart.
It reverberates  as a note apart
And I feel  it in  the mist 
Of time.  It insists.  I have missed 
Its plaintive call  for so long.
As a salmon returns where he belongs 
To his birth river on the foam
I am drawn inexorably  home.

Bustling  Tyne ships are now gone.  
Only pleasure yachts that leisurely yawn.
No  battleships or  tankers to see,
No river smells of sweat and tears salty, 
But the horn’s fossilized  lament  remains 
In sand-banks  and sea-lanes
And memory banks retraced :
Memories never to be  to erased.

Life’s  mist becomes  too dense.
Guide  me in the fog thence.
Lead me to back to reality.
The horn is searching for me 
From the past through  the  cracks
And lattice of my old bridge tracks,
Opening my mind to echoes of the past,
Holding my soul  sound and fast.

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Take a step back to a simpler place,
Where the world revolved at a slower pace.

Think about Andy, Opie, Barney and Aunt Bee,
Enjoying life in the small town of Mayberry.

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I Have Three Favorites

Part I
Three TV shows stick in my mind.
Specific memories are hard to find.
There once was a series, long ago.
I would always cry at the end of the show.

“I Remember Mama” was the program's name.
Their family stories set my heart aflame.
Love's influence stays strong in my soul.
Family ties remain love's precious goal.

Part II
Jack La Lane was a “family name.”
It was not a drama or a prize-winning game.
After school each day for many years,
Mother and I exercised to his cheers. 

Healthy eating and exercise,
He daily did enthusiastically advise.
Scrunching the face and tensing the mouth
Would keep the sags from going south.

Daily healthful lessons and time with mom,
Soothed my fears; I felt safe and calm.
Those pleasant memories remain to this day.
Jack La Lane helped my family play.

Part III
“Today's Show” co-anchored by Barbara Walters,
Before “Women's Libbers’ and bra-less halters. 
Set a successful example for all to see.
Reporting with kindness and harmony.

Her interviews were thoughtful; guests at ease.
I would run home from school, the moments to seize.
She modeled womanhood by success.
Serenely she brought me through personal distress.

My life is quite different than hers ever would be.
She remains a part of my childhood history.
Thoughtful of others, from her, example,
I learned to be strong in a world that is hostile.

Three favorites each different, somehow, the same,
All made an impact upon my life's game.
Sincerity of heart was the common thread.
Caring for others, like them, did in my heart embed.

© July 20, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Favorite Television Show/Episode Remembered 	 
Sponsored by: Shani Fassbender

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Southern Exposure

Y'all c'mon down 
any ole' time, 
we'll be awaitin' 
with watermelon wine. 

Y'all are welcome 
to come define 
our red-neckedness 
among the graceful pine. 

We'll say, "Hey Y'all," 
and be inclined 
by our southern-ness 
to rip it up, divine. 

So bring it on, 
you raw moonshine, 
let yourself be red 
in the southern design. 

There's nothin' like 
fresh off the vine 
for a sweeter night, 
so poised and unrefined. 

Y'all c'mon down, 
form a headline, 
make newsworthy noise, 
along the coastal line. 

We're awaitin' 
the joyous sign 
you ain't forgotten 
our infamous dateline. 

We are still here, 
a fresh resign 
of America's 
disheartened central spine. 

Y'all c'mon down 
any ole' time, 
we'll be awaitin' 
with watermelon wine. 

Y'all are welcome 
to come define 
our red-neckedness 
among the graceful pine. 

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I'd thought I found eternal rest
cold hands folded, still, on my chest
but I hear echoes from the past
the trumpet's sound, fierce bugle blast

Coming alert, I look around
burst out laughing, see the sound
source - back to sleep with merry wave
at geese, goose-stepping on my grave ....

Alan McAlpine Douglas

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last dance and remembering

Last dance and remembering…

One more year gone
Another page is turned
Looking like a yearbook photo
That has me concerned

What is there left to do
What is there left to say
If another year comes faster
Than this one went away?

Each year I take a minute
To look through a folder of mine
“Personal” is the label on the faded cover
But I wonder if there’s a sign…

Of longing to remember
All of the good times I framed
In news clippings – pictures now faded
By time that’s been claimed.

So will you dance with me?
And walk with me this one last time
Through this year of love lost and won
And then through years gone by.

After all, we may not ever
Go back home again
But there is a tiny, fleeting solace in
Taking time to remember when

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A Rainy Night Visitor

The air is drunk on the scent of trellised roses
Snails draw trails on a rain soaked white washed shed
Shapes draw eerie life like human poses
Stars reside among white clouds overhead. 

I saw her framed in the arbor in your garden
Chatting with kids now raising kids of their own
Her visit did not illicit a word of pardon 
She would be proud to see how they have grown. 

My shadow a shimmering path across the grass
Invited me into worlds now torn apart
But present tense reigned over memories past
As my mind bowed gracefully to my longing heart. 

I was not surprised or saddened by her presence
She is ever present in all that matters most
At times like this when I feel her very essence
I wonder who's alive and who's the ghost. 

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Peter Pan Envy

Peter Pan Envy 

I envy Peter Pan
He never get’s old as a man

He can fly back and forth to never-never land
To his lost boys a merry band

If I had Tinkerbelle’s fairy dust and could fly
I would go up and up into the sky

I would fly up to my wife who’s in heaven
And take her back to nineteen fifty-seven 

The fifties were a great time in life
It was when I met my future wife  

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Piano player in Rotgut's saloon

“Go west young man”, the neighbors said; but they wisely stayed at home.
From pianoforte to pianoforte, saloon to saloon, town to town I roam.
Surrounded by Phillistines, “soiled doves”, cowpokes, and dullards,
Gamblers, dealers, dance hall girls, and other assorted drunkards.
If a fellow’s feeling generous, he might leave something in my jar,
Or even offer me a drink of the “good stuff” behind the bar.
I guess my fortune can be made where folks are hot, dry, and thirsty,
Playing sad songs on old pianofortes that are musty, dusty, and rusty.
I grew up playing Beethoven, Chopin, Bach and Wagner.
The only songs these cretins know are all by Stephen Foster.
A gambler in a pink silk shirt once asked for a Franz Lizt tune.
I was so surprised, I fell off my chair, to the amusement of the room.
The “faded rose” smells like a horse, and looks the worse for wear.
But if a few more drovers buy me beers, I probably will not care.
If I should wake up next to her, I won’t know what to say.
But she’ll just pretend to be asleep as I quietly slip away.
Through hazes I might recognize a face; or maybe they all look the same.
But in town’s like Rotgut, last night’s best friend won’t remember your name.
I hope someday, somewhere I’ll find a good pianoforte in tune--
But that’s something I’ll probably never find in a one-street town saloon.
If they don’t happen to catch my name, “Eighty-Eight Fingers” will usually do;
That’s all any of them remembers anyway, after they’ve had a few.

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I will not listen to iris eyes,
those lids for covers; frightened lies.
And cannot hear the nostril's fear
that calls you to me over here.

is all I'll say.
And keep my distance
and my way

I will not listen to faint of heart.
Half a story; a lie apart.
And cannot wait for one more pause.
A lie; your drama; without a cause.

is all I'll say.
And keep my distance
and my way

I will not listen to yellow bellies
who's waves break lies to coward's deli's.
And will not watch a brow fall down
without it's fear; without it's crown.

is all I'll say.
And keep my distance
and my way

I will not listen to crooked smiles
who's heart beats twice in self denial.
And will not watch the gizzard sink
to form a gully's fear of shrink.

is all I'll say.
And keep my distance
and my way

I will not listen to jointed nose
that prays for healing, as one knows.
And will not notice the patient smile
that lies back to you a waiting while.

is all I'll say.
And keep my distance
and my way

is all I say.
Going my way.

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Harvest Time

You may like Spring when flowers smell sweet
Or going to the beach in the Summer heat
You may like Winter when snowflakes fall
But I like Harvest Time best of all
I like picking apples and baking pies
And carving Jack-O-Lanterns with glowing eyes
I like the air of a cool crisp morning
When Jack Frost has come without warning
I like it when leaves turn yellow and red
That's when a blanket feels good on my bed
I like sitting with family and friends
Watching the sunset at days end
Then dressing up for the Harvest Ball
Yes, my favorite season is the Fall

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Comic Book

Fractured little comic book
cracked along the spine.
Must and mold exhaust you.
Dullness shows the time.

Turn a page for reading
fuzzy art in blocks.
Squares with tiny bubbles
or just a place to talk.

Staples down the middle.
Two through every fold.
Half the book is over
and several stories told.

Flipped upon your back
where ads take all the space.
Toys for boys and girls
and all the dreams we'll chase.

Fractured little comic book.
Thank you for your grace.

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summer remembered

wearing coverlets of haze, were sweet summers to remember, when barefoot toes touched fragrant grass, that wilted in September
............................ For Juli-Michelle's Rhyme 6 contest

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Sally's Fortune Cookies

Sally's broken fortune cookies
are piling in the back.

Orders being broken
by men who won't take flack.

Boxes dropped by workers
anxious to get home,

cracking Sally's cookies
and leaving them like Rome.

In time I'll go for coffee
when Sally's counting pieces.

With luck she'll give me several
until the dropping ceases.

They'll come in tiny bundles
wrapped in plastic bags;

that some will come with fortunes
and some will be in rags.

The truth is that they're tasty
and worthy of their ranks.

I'll have to say my blessings
and Sally: say my thanks.

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London Time

A step in time I took one day
On specters mist who led the way
Down cobblestones and garden paths
Armless statues guarding baths
Armored beasts reflect the sun
Gallant knights are all for one
Hedge puzzles line the gardens fair
Hide and Seek for those that dare
Ladies clad in whale bone stays
Surreys pulled by chestnut bays
Sticky buns and honeyed mead
Cards and races slate the greed
Then on he led to shanty town
Down rows of tenements falling down
Sewage stench accosts the street
Where doxies in the alleys meet
Walking peddlers hawk their wares
And homeless children, no one cares
Disease spreads rampant through the town
Renaissance Art, the churches frown 
Then through the mist he leads again
Back to my time; my heart to pen.

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On the Junkheap

Long before Nintendo or Atari were invented,
At birthday time you bugged your folks and maybe they relented
And added to your toys a game you’d coveted, I’d bet:
A marvel made of solid wood, a real Nok-Hockey set!

The game was table-sized, although you’d play it on the floor.
No matter if you won or lost, you always wanted more.
Your wooden stick hit wooden puck and aimed it like a rocket;
The object was to sink it into your opponent’s pocket.

It’s kind of retro now, I guess, or maybe just passé.
It’s not the type of game that modern children like to play;
And that is why the set I saw did not evoke a smile,
‘Cause there it was just sitting on a curbside junkheap pile.

It’s sad to reminisce when all those remnants from the past
Remind us how the years have disappeared so very fast;
And all those things we valued once when we were young and brash,
Just like that cool Nok-Hockey set, get thrown out with the trash.

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Santa Laughs in July

A Christmas kiss for that Miss Surely her lips he could not miss Heartwarming and enticing That beau was truly in-loving A kiss since so long due Filled with artful cue A Christmas kiss in July The magic in this month did fly A time when laughter was on those lips Except for her and him who strayed from those trips Surrounded by doom and gloom A kiss which made each other bloom Love, wonderful state of bliss Lacking in it caused them to be amiss Repaired by a Christmas kiss in July Santa could only laugh from the sky

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 Write me a way out of sadness and pain
Make it a whimsical , happy refrain.
Pen my way down to the old berry patch
Where we built a house of palmetto thatch
Write  me a path back to childhood's domain
High on a ditch bank at play in the rain.

   A Florida trail that you pencil in gray
Made of oyster shells out of the bay.
Lay out the map made of words that unwind
To take us to someplace that waits in the mind.
An inroad to knowing what means more than gold
A pathway to healing the heart and the soul. 
  So much time has come and gone
And now I'm left all alone
I think of Florida and I smile
So, please write me home, just for awhile

Written with my niece, Johnette Loefgren

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Old Barns And Memories

*for That Old Red Barn contest sponsored by Rick Parise

They sat on the creaky old porch swing
Looking across their dried up fields

He was remembering a favorite tune
Sang it sweetly into her good ear

She flashed a smile into his eyes
Gazed at their barn still standing proud

"Oh Pa" she whispered,"do you recall
When we met at that barn dance long ago?"

He grinned at her the way he did
And thought about that sweet young gal

As they danced the lovely night away
In that big old barn on down the road

Now memories are all that's left to them
But they're built strong like those old red barns

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To Mister Narcissus

To be up is to be exalted by one’s own self,
Where conceit reigns high upon the shelf,
And self camera shots of high decadence,
Have brought forth absence of altruistic prevalence.
Self love invigorates the status quo,
But not without its toll upon the ego.
An age of likes has bestowed upon the many,
A single photograph can bring about plenty.
Nostalgia remains for selfless virtue,
To whence modesty prevailed over hairdo.
Is it not the void within men that seeks appraisal,
For the keen features that lie ever so hazel?
Be not lovers of these “perilous times”,
As foreseen by St. Paul for their vainglorious crimes.

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Thunderstorm in Venice

A testament to human will it stands,
Fair maiden of all the foreign lands.
An equilibrium between Earth and sea,
Maintained in grotesque ecstasy.
The gentle lap of waves doth speak,
Of times ere now, of bygone weeks,
Of countless Romeos in ages old,
Emotions worth their weight in gold,
And whispers in the dark I hear,
Every time I saunter near
The unlit alleys and ragged walls,
Creaking bridges and eerie halls,
Fair Venice why art thou so dark?
Distress'd art thou, thy face is mark'd--
With horror; in words which no man dare etch,
Captured forever in this gloomy sketch.

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The Old Red Barn

The morning sun glows the orange horizon.
Children asleep, soundless, in the back seat,

The daybreak dew sparkles on breezy leaves.
Sunflowers bow toward the distant east.

Winding roads traversing far-off landscapes.
The hum of the engine mesmerizes.

Peacefulness shines through a few floating clouds.
Blueness not quite showing in skies above -

No other vehicle for miles around.
The window rolled part way down, breathes freshness.

Golden grains wave with poise in western fields
Black and white cows moo, in pastures, grazing.

Wake up!  Look Children!  I remember well.
The old red barn in the distance, smiling.

© November 4, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen

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Another Day in PA

with gas prices soaring
I’m no longer mooring

I’m becoming my parents
without twenty-five cents

where I live use to be mines
sinkholes appear with no fines

just another day in PA
no sinkholes here so I’ll play

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Home Upon a Shore

From the back of a cul-de-sac the world one knows goes round and round
Woodlands to the rear, afore the home unplanted ground

The living scent of ocean and suburban family sounds
Mild days upon the sand, fresh night seafood on the town

Neighbors but in name, more aptly titled ghosts
Each group upon its own deck isolated in its roast

Few times a year a trip into the city for sport or rarest art
Salted pretzels, honeyed nuts, or steaming dogs upon a cart

One day all torn asunder, a household bound in strife
Pictures last not till forever, at least not in modern life

A home, a family, one small tale carried on to future years
To leave it all behind, a day of hopefulness and tears

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Two Women at a Window, ca.1670

It's another mild day and the sky glows white
The air is still and cool as the midday light

Admirers giggle, perhaps at a young caller
One hunches over, the other stands taller

They don't look wealthy, yet they don't look poor
Perhaps trusted servants, but what can't they ignore?

They've taken jolly notice, as if on a whim
Of a miming youth who should be pruning a limb

Posted at the window the younger one peers
At this croaking lad, flattered by what she hears

Hunching near the potato patch across the way
He waves in a fluster with a few word words to say

He's glances side to side, behind the wall, stepping back
Emerging again from a passageway's crack

Between the tool shed and the gardener's house
He sneaks with the startle and twitch of a mouse

She remains calm, though tickled by his manner
For he might as well wear a bright purple banner

The older woman chuckles in faint squeaks
Hidden by the shutter around which she peeks

The younger one looks quite near seventeen
With floating white sleeves rolled up yet clean

Her girlish neckline, cut wide and low,
Displays to her suitor how well she can sew

Her hair is tucked with a bow on one side
Her grin is reserved with her eyes opened wide

Could her silly boy still have his pruners in hand? 
Is he skilled with the saw and tilling the land?

Two women at a window, quite content
Is this how many of their moments this day are spent?

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The attic holds such fascination
I climb the ladder in trepidation.

The attic is a time machine
Most things hidden and unseen.

I lift the hatch and take a peek
The old rocking chair begins to creak.

Dust coats the old wooden chest
The lid embossed with a crest.

All the games of yesteryear
In the corner uncles spear.

Boxes piled high with books and photos
Most containing all my heroes.

Snakes and ladders, ludo, lots of games
They belong to my brother James.

Oh look! my old train set
On the shelf fathers cornet.

A place where I come and dream
Oh! just hit my head on the beam.

Underneath the old guitar
Just found my 007 car.

I think I'm getting rather mellow
I may return again tomorrow.

I descend the ladder and close the hatch
Now I'll go and watch the match.

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My Past 2

In life’s rear view mirror I’m able to see, My past, intently, staring straight at me; Saintly or dark side the two never change, Leaving me powerless to delete or arrange; Those foregathered affairs found yet vexing, Matters that to others might look perplexing; But when under Jesus’ blood and by decree, That once forgiven; Jesus will no longer see; A Past and Opinions; at times both will stink, One never change’s, one does with each blink. So a past is little more than a read only file, Latched in, are memories, inducing my smile.

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Who Is She

She is so and very pretty
And a bit too witty
She has a bright smile
Making every moment worthwhile
She brings out from me a side
Too good for me to hide
I'm under her lovely spell
When did she cast it? I can't tell
But I do know how
Known a long time ago, not now
She did it with her eyes
Them, with magic, she dyes
Their power incredible
Making her irresistible
Her overflowing hair
Its beauty, too much for me to bear
Enters the mighty fate
Just when things are going great
I lose my memory, my mind
Information I can't find
To my condition there is no cure
They say its cause I'm poor
But I know someone in front of me
I know her, but who is she?

Poet: Ali Akl
Contest: Romance 
Sponsored by:  David Williams
Date: 25-12-2011

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You played my mind 
With that tricky style

That untamed shimmer in your eye
Leaves my world upside down

You disappeared like Houdini
And came back with nonchalance

You shared a new world
Then took it all back

You held me and soothed me
You whispered love to my soul

But you lied, and you stabbed me
Yet I stand tall, unbroken

You are too real to be real
Too believable to believe

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Holidays are Here

The holidays are here, they feel so warm
Even if outside the snow is causing so much harm

My Christmas tree is glowing
With little lights and decorations, so lively and flowing

There, I sit and enjoy the glowing essence
Of the festive season which makes me reminiscence

With eagerness and zeal, I anticipate,
The golden surprises Santa shall leave for me and my cellmate

Yes, the jail is my home,
Not a house but one with love and care, yes, my home

Here, I spend with my brothers of deed
This Christmas holidays, even if the aroma is one of bitterweed

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Sudbury Noodles

If people were noodles and lakes were their soup,

Sudbury's basin would be a great scoop.

300 lakes or just a bit more.

Some have been counting and some are just bored.

Sudbury's water is healthy and clean

leaving our noodles shining with gleam.

Fresh water soup minus the salt,

fresh as going into; fresh by default.

Trees for our parsley cover our shores

keeping us fancy and breathing for more.

Soup we serve fresh out of each bowl

welcoming noodles the world whole.

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Ode To The Whippoorwill

I remember in the evening's dusk,
The singing breeze in the drying husk;
Along woods edge, the whippoorwill's cry,
So alluring its call angels would sigh.
Yes, I remember the whippoorwill,
But do the angels remember still?
The call that echoed  the end of day
When man would put his labour away;
And meditate with the singing breeze 
And the whippoorwill amongst the trees.
I wonder if angels sigh of choice,
For never now do I hear its voice.

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perfect create

Life isn’t always really great,
It very much depends on your fate,

Many-a-times you want to dictate 
But, you are not even in a position to state,

You want your issues to abate,
Whereas they amplify at an alarming rate,

Often, good things happen quite late,
You expect them to occur at a particular time but they spring on some other date,

What you can do is just wait,
For opportunities to knock your gate,

You may never know 
Who is going to be your mate,

You ought to be loved 
But you still are a recipient of hate,

You wish your woes to deflate,

You feel nostalgic memorizing the blissful moments 
Which facilitate you update,

And your life to completely translate,

That results in producing
A magnificent individual-  “A perfect Create”!!

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A Long Long Time Ago

A long long time ago, actually it was much further back than that
No one really knows the date as it's become just a human stat

Somewhere out there, the universe was set alive
And it's taken millions of years to realise it's not our prize

It's so hard to get your head around, the events on that day
Where science as we know it, raised it's head to say

From the particle dust, as it swirls in past eons of time
Planets that we have come to know, or we'll discover as our space age climbs

They said we would never find water, on the Moon or the planet Mars
Deep inside our sleeping satellite, behind those lunar scars

Only a few years back, we impeded on it's crater scarred scape
And followed up with a probe, and the readings we can now relate

To leave our planet earth, rocket propulsion desires water
It's part of mans science mix, to the universe and her daughters

What we have discovered is not much, it could be enough for our very next step
If we actually agree to behave ourselves, the very next step is not so inept

A long long time ago, actually it was much further back than that
All that us humans dream, will become our histories stats

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It's The Beauty Inside That Counts

Beautiful people
Under God's steeple

Just reach out
Stomp Holler Shout

Let one know
They're Loved So

Inspirations Aspirations
Show Em Representation

Tell Em their doing a great job
Never call them a big fat slob

Lend them your ear
Help wipe their tears

Illuminate their thoughts
Help them with their sought

Open new doors
Let less fortunate sleep on maple floors

Spare a dime
For you commuted no crime

Break bread if you must
For in God we trust

So beautiful people shine on
Come join all in this Heavenly bond

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The Store

Hark! The bells on St Clair Avenue,
  In yon Cascade hills to gulf's shining hue.
The rising sun burns like a solar pyre
  Upon frond and bough, sill and spire:
That brings to an end sleep's tranquil hold
  Unbending in its gentle fold.
To rise again the indiscernible day
  From my chamber where I lay:
And downstairs to my breakfast sit,
  And listen, as if from a pulpit,
Theological instruction in white livery
  Served hot with my bacon, eggs, and tea!
Spin twins - Barzey and Della,
  Not to be trifled with let me tell ya!
Soon lanes and byways beat soca and reggae,
  And all roads lead to Broadway.
There the smell of molasses, oil, and grain
  Perfumes the air in Port of Spain,
Where the streets a human thread weaves
  Its vagabonds, beggars, merchants and thieves.
So mill the halls of commerce so grand
  And wheels of trade where the land
Reclaimed the sea its depths to keep -
  Where still waters run deep.
All that ebbs and flows there in the end
  Are the fortunes of my countrymen.
Drivers and porters, cashiers and clerks,
  Begin their stationed daily works:
Traders and vendors -  cries and laughters
  Echo through the dusty steel rafters:
Their bills of sale to ledgers fill
  On the bound handwritten pages still.
Soon loaded cigarette vans roll
  Riding every bump and pothole -
Me and Yankee riding shotgun
  Headed for bandit country on our morning run!
O what theatre, its people I espy
  In the burlesque street that passes by:
Behold the "King of Broadway" Mr Ali,
  Holds court at Trestrail & Company -
That Little General - my "padna" in ole talk,
  A puppet master on the sidewalk
He's safeguarded for nigh on forty years -
  His voice still ringing in my ears!
In the back room, Yankee and Stowe
  Load their goods barrows to go:
Cane sugar, grain, oil, tobacco, and rices,
  Salt and flour and island spices.
Vat, Old Oak, Budweiser, Dewars, Jim Beam,
  And walls of paper by the ream.
On old post-war flatbed trucks that come,
  Town and village and enclave from.
Silton too, a working man sheepish still,
  Like a smiling minstrel does his will:
Now inescapably slowed (the passing years),
  A lifetime of service proudly bears.
O the pulse of Africa - the Eastern face -
  And Westminster rule's last colonial trace...
All Empires are like a dimming star
  And remind us of who and what we are.
I was born and bred a child of Trinidad
  And verily so I am still that lad -
Thus is my testament to what I saw
  In a day in the life at The Store

March 1990

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You'll Get A Rise Out Of This

The rise of Atlantis
For this I don't want you to miss

Coming of the new world
With Justice dressed as it's girl

An apple from God's slate
Filling the hunger for ones plate

Safe harbor to now call home
Empowered by minds that love to roam

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Lover's Corral

I have waited centuries for your touch,
And even now I can barely get enough.

I cry to you, baby don’t ever leave,
For you are all I need to believe.

Believe in this journey they call life,
I can no longer feel the tip of the knife.

When with you my wounds heel fast,
I am finally ready to forget the past.

Never have I felt this rush before,
A true sensation I can’t ignore.

I feel younger, stronger, prouder,
I won’t hold it in, I shout it louder.

Skin tight, our temperatures fuse,
A race for you is one I will never lose.

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He had seen a lot of it 
In his lifetime growing up here

Gently falling snow 
All about the roads and fields 

Each and every year it comes 
Gentle and unexpected 

Just like tears of ice 
Somehow misdirected 

He often wondered 
How each year it looks so new 

White and frozen, crystalline 
A winter’s rendezvous 

Looking out he wondered, how many 
More years he’d live to see 

The snow, like feathers falling 
With pleasant urgency 

Many stories ran through his mind 
As he watched the winter’s rain 

Of car rides, and family trips 
of life lived through a windowpane 

Memories of his so very special 
now and long ago 

Captured in the falling 
Of precious, newborn snow

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Bitter Sweet

What was to be can be no more.
What lies here now did not before.
He broke her heart so she broke his
She still remembers his soft kiss.

The web of lies did break with ease.
As one another they tried to please.
When temper flew they broke apart
But nostalgia remained in their hearts.

Now tears find their ways down her face
As she reflects upon her fate.
She remembers him with happiness
But her bitterness cannot be missed.

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Snowy Night

The clock struck twelve, we took a stroll,
And wandered, happy, in the snow.
We crossed a road, no cars, no bus,
The street deserted but for us:
That night it seemed the world was ours.
The moon was hidden, and the stars.
If anyone looked out and saw
Us dancing, laughing - and my fall,
Perhaps they wondered at our mirth.
As snowflakes drifted down to earth,
We stopped to have a snowball fight.
And snow kept falling all that night.

For Francine's Winter Couplet contest - walk

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Ode to the Ozarks

Growing up in the Ozarks, for brother, sister and me
meant, for the most part, that we were totally free.

We had freedom to explore, to roam about at will,
there was no one to fear in those Arkansas hills.

We searched for wild plums, grapes and berries,
knowing Mother would make luscious jams and jellies.

We listened for the owls in the stillness of the night,
the call of the whippoorwill, waking us at first light.

The woods were calling, luring us farther each day,
eager to investigate, we did chores without delay.

We gathered mushrooms, springing up after a rain,
Mom would "fry them up," serve lunch fit for a king.

Terrapins and "tumblebugs" were fascinating to watch,
we spent time in stillness observing their steady march.

Wildflowers were abundant, struggling up through rocks,
signaling us that it was time to shed our shoes and socks.

We ran barefoot in summer, our soles tough as leather,
one pair of shoes per year, saved for cold weather.

We climbed over rail fences and through barbed wire too,
where persistent beggar's lice clung to clothes like glue.

We made our own toys, such as the "guide & wheel,"
keeping the wheel rolling took practice and skill.

We swept leaves away, hauled rocks till muscles burned,
built outdoor playhouses, impersonated adults by turn.

Fueling our imaginations and fostering dreams untold,
our play brought us together in a love we'd always hold.

This poem would go on and on if I named every pleasure,
suffice it to say instead we've many memories to treasure

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Freak Me Out

Flower Power was an ongoing craze
That was way back in the 70s days.

War was raging; folks were talking jive.
Young military men fought to stay alive.

No spiffy crib for those Viet Nam dudes.
They camped with Jack squat fighting governments feuds. 

Back home, truckin’ was the name of life's game.
Hunks and chicks kept their hormones aflame.

Trips to Woodstock in a shaggin’ wagon.
Smoking their pot like a lit up dragon.

Casanova wannabes got stoned on dope.
Parents back home could barely cope.

To young folks, then, good times were b****in’.
Each went for their dreams burnin’ an’ blazin’!

Rock on brother; life was not a rip-off.
Life was groovy; love was just a spin-off.

© February 6, 2011
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

THE DECADE OF THE HIPPIES!  (mid-sixties to mid-seventies)

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Talk That Way 	
Sponsored by: Craig Cornish

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Oh, to be Young

Oh, to be young again
To do the things I did then
To run and play, dance and sing
With not a worry about anything

Oh to be young once more
Before middle age crept in the door
Before the pull of gravity
Made these wrinkles on my knee

Oh, to be young and in my prime
Happy-go-lucky all of the time
All my dreams were ahead of me
Knowing just what I wanted to be

Oh, to be young an physically fit
Doing things just for the fun of it
Crazy and wild and taking risks
Before I had herniated disks

Oh, to be young and so smart
No worries about a broken heart
Thinking life would always be
The way it was for you and me

Oh, to be young and free
I would not go back, you see
Unless I knew what I know now
Mistakes I made, I'd fix somehow

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Interrupted Reading

Her knuckles bend, they don't pretend, beneath her head plopped in pale dread
Tucked tween these both an ear relieved from being grieved, both eyes near dead

Slouched where she dreams she merely leans, foreign sounds invade the fable
That preoccupies her state of mind as she reads near the table

The palm with which she grips adventure now lies limp upon her lap
It's hostage near released, with spine all creased, yet private flap to flap

Upon her cheeks no glimmer, tightly drawn lips dimmer than dry sands
Her whispering twin tornado tunnels funnel huffing reprimands

What draws her sight, what steals an ear and makes pompous this quiet girl?
Why does her charm befall decay; why does bitter a prude unfurl? 

Her grace befalls corruption by a swiftly knocking eruption
Followed by brassy squeaks twisting, breaching thought; this interruption!

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The whole truth and nothing but the truth...

Aren't they gone as quickly as seasons? They were the glorious days of ardent youth,
when I loved the fairest girl and sang, " Yesterday. " Then Irene bought me a flute.

Everything I own today, I've built with patience and deligence with no rules to obey;
and may I say how proud this accomplishment makes me to have done it , " My Way ?"

I've a flair with words and I write about love as Dante, Shakespeare and Keats did: that's why I am always dreaming and listening to " Love Is A Many Splendored Thing."

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We will be rich my love and I

We will be rich my love and I
But not with what money can buy

No world trip do we expect to take
Yet happiness will not be at stake

New York for Christmas we can forget
The Spanish villa cannot be met

Music and song at our command
Poetry and prose at our demand

With special ones to spend some time
Spirited children with whom to dine

Friends like gold in thick and thin
No money can buy, whatever the win

Country walks on shortening days
Barren trees by leafy ways

Winter sunsets on a winter's bay
Fireside natters at the close of day

We will be rich my love and I
But not with what money can buy

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Almond blossom, not amaryllis...
sweetness against pridefulness.

Say it with some intense feeling...
seek that flower expressing loving.

Almond blossom or lemon blossom...
revering love with an incredible charm.

Childness must not be unfaithfulness...
feel the sublimest joy of blessedness.

There are sweet memories with a primrose...
be captivated by a cheerful, delicate pink rose.

Almond blossom over a bunch of beauties...
you wouldn't let your choice ruin possibilities.

Oh, did you forget about the white water lily?
You may need it for truthfulness and fidelity. 

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Rolling in faster than I can respond
Trying to keep up with what’s going on
Feels like it’s swirling out of control
Everyone wanting a piece of my soul

Can’t breathe without someone reporting
Can’t write without someone retorting
Feel the night wind with watching eyes
Accusations, assumptions, blatant lies

Hiding in darkened, hidden places
Searching the eyes of shadowed faces
Looking for those who remember me
Who know who I am, who can set me free

A fever is burning from deep inside
Clouding my judgment, darkening eyes
Removing the light that offered me peace
Taking from me its sweet relief

Exposed as you read the words I have written
Exposed as you feel the emotions I’ve hidden
Afraid when I touch on the fringes of fame
Terrified when you speak my true name

Try to live up to the world’s expectations
Seeking through truth some real salvation
Trying to render what is believed
To be the core of who they want me to be

Pleasing everyone save my very own self
Being all that I am to everyone else
A poet, a goddess, a writer, a dreamer
An angel revealed, memories linger

Waking with passion of stories untold
Writing these memories so others will know

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Your Beautiful Morning

Dreaming seemless 'tween moonray and morninglight
waking to find a beautiful body just met that night
like waking from one dream to another
and one is happy to have met the other

A half-smile hidden behind cascaded hair
and the other so happy to have her there
even if 'twas for one night
'twas a dream worth waking to in new morninglight

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Moving On

Blow off the dust - it has been settled 
for far too long. 

Reach into the depth of the cupboard 
and retrieve the memories. 

Shine the torch into the crevices 
of the past and watch the 

spider scurry into the safety of darkness. 
Hurry away, weave a web of yesterday. 
Forgotten experiences lurch into the present 
as we discover keepsakes kept for posterity - 

discarded - then recovered again. Just in case, 
and just in case are placed ready for transit 

to pastures new. Destined to gather different 
dust, which will be dispersed when discovered 

again, who knows when - or by whom. 
Possessions loaded, we journey on. 

Door closed firmly on the past. Double 
check the lock. Keys fondly held for 

an instant...... then posted through 
the letterbox.  Too late for second thoughts 

as they clatter to the floor and echo 
in the empty hall.  One last look 

- and we're gone - 
 moving on towards tomorrow.

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She's out of my life

Jealousy, greed, or something in between.
A belated response: my chance has already been.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush -
you being with him reminds me of the path I should’ve took.

A mocking jeer at my self-indulgent indecision,
clouded sense of self-worth, I truly believed I was omniscient.

Disregarded your beauty, the pure essence of your personality.
Sacrificed what could’ve been the love of my life, for the sake of my vanity.

Lamenting the error of my ways gives rise to nothing other than pain.
I thought I was a player, but got played by the game.

Engrossed in whatever seemed the biggest challenge, when it was clear-cut,
we were intended for one another and I messed that up.

Don’t want you to be my Rosaline, be my Juliet:
Otherwise I may lose my mind in a cyclone of regret.

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Will Ye My Lad

Will ye my lad, come sail with me Cresting softly the swelling sea? Hand to the oar, and face to the bow Sail we the ocean, high wave and low. The wind at our cheek, the briny sea’s dip Rocks our frail bark, and threatens our ship. The heave of the wave, our watery bower, Lulls us at night with its sleepy power. Day after day sweep we the earth, ‘Till safe we sail to our launching berth. The lightning above, the worrisome gale, None hinder us as onward we sail. Straight and true, our craft does soar Paddle we fast, spreading our oar. Will ye my lad come sail with me? None hath lived so wondrously free! All fears behind, great joy to espy, Cruise we to glory, both you and I!

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Waiting Here

Soft as a winters kiss
to me you are a dreamers bliss
tucked away behind a glimmer smile
only if you could stay another while

Softly you leave me wanting more
you leave to join the worlds daily war
but here I stay waiting here
until the time you are near

Softer than a winters kiss
alone in my bed now I know only this
that when the day comes and surely then
I'll forever be glad that you're my friend

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Growing Old

Come sit with me and take my hand,
We’ll watch soft twilight fade to grey.
While stars begin their sparkling show,
And crickets start their noisy play.

Come sit with me and reminisce,
While climbing roses trail along the vine.
We’ll talk of days gone long ago,
And memories grown sweet as wine.

Come sit with me and kiss my tears,
While birds their wings do gently fold.
I fear our time is fleeting now,
For along the way we have grown old.

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They loved my same word-for-word account 
Security and  predictability in great amount. 
Never from books -  we all preferred our own version 
With   family or  friend names,  and carpets   Persian,
And shorter   or longer with time available.
It was fun.  We   took the mickey  out of each fable.

Three pigs – what pig in his right mind 
Builds a straw-house in  country wolf-inclined?
Jack and  beanstalk – unlikely  gold-egg   get-rich 
Tale  of  idiot boy and angry mum’s  bean-pitch.
Rapunzel  with  steel-tough hair for hauling -
Seemed to us  she’d more likely be falling.

Soon heads were wedged  into my armpit or neck crook.
Light off  -  not scared of  the dark - it was our nook.
Dark was cosy  - if outside  wind or rain  immersed -
And everyone fell asleep.   Usually  me  first.

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a string of forget me nots

  I can only walk with you to the bend in the trail
I'll tell you my stories ,some dark and some pale
you'll laugh and you'll cry and you'll wonder out loud
you'll cringe at the cowards and smile at the proud

  I'm wrapping your past in a fine veil of green
strings of wild flowers around what I've seen
your mother once told me of nine silver fish
and how they forgave you and granted your wish

  a wish that you wanted to never forget
the love that she felt and is still feeling yet
here take all these fireflys to wrap
'round your wrists
she caught them last summer
alight in the mist

  we won't forget Grandfather 
daughter in hand
braving the cold in a new savage land
chopping and slashing
a path for us all
building a cabin to welcome the Fall

  Now in the fire light I bid you goodbye
feeling it all as we laugh and we cry
Time to rewrap everything that I've said
now take it away to the world in your head

   save it for someone fresh with your eyes
spin the whole web with the truths and the lies
I'll live in memories back down the trail
the road to the past
where true love never fails.

 a string of forget me nots 
all pressed and dried
each with a story ,go tell them
with pride.

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By My Side

It's been three and a half months since you left my side,
I'm still here, and I haven't died,
I still feel the emptiness you left in me.
I'm still deaf and I still can't see.
It hurts so much when I see you with him,
when I think to myself, what could have been?
I want you to know I’m leaving this place,
all because I'm alone, because you wanted space.
I'm sorry I love you and I still don't know why you cried,
I hurt myself with the thought of you, when you're not here, by my side.
I want you here with me, more than you know,
pain I try to hide, the pain you'll never know.
I swear to God, I'm not right in the head.
Too often I think I'd be better off dead.
I'm not trying to be selfish, it'd be better for you too,
if you didn't have to deal with me, and what I put you through.
They said it would get easier. Christ, they were wrong.
You’re still all I think about, all day long.
I'm really not mad at you.
You did what you had to do. 
The blame lies on me, for asking too much of you.
All I want out of life is you by my side.
For that alone I live, and for that I’d die.
Now I know what heaven feels like,
and now I know, I'm still alive.

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Shrieks of seagulls die on the breeze;
Childhood ebbs away on sunlit seas.

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Losing Alzheimers

It's this feeling I carry in the back of my soul
always feeling it there though I don't often show
that your voice is my voice and I long for your eyes
to light up, set to twinkle, unburden my skies
I miss you as someone to never be missed
I miss you like words on unlistable lists
Too grand to call mountains, too young too call old
I miss you like summer to winter's unfold
It's this feeling I carry, kaleidoscope see
I carry you with me.  Do you carry me?
Through eyes with no twinkle and tongues with no words
do you hear me still? or has silence occurred?
I know you as someone I'll just always know
I know you regardless of words spoken, so
in this sad revelation I offer you still
that I feel you now with me and I always will.

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If You Were He

He is not you
You are not he

But if he were you
He’d be with me

But if you were he
In love with you I would be.

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Genetic memories

I went to Green Key beach
with you behind my eyes,
your daughter had a silver net 
to fill with my surprise

Twenty years slipped through 
the holes with seaweed and
the shells
of broken hearted memories
but still I feel the swells

of thirsty tides that rose and fell
with all our hopes and dreams
your daughter sings our song so well
and she knows what it means

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I rest in my head without a trace of a doubt
I invent rivers and oceans and what love is about
Sceneries amazing and views breathtaking
Words of wisdom and friends worth taking
I allow in my head days of serenity
Where oceans meet and humans take pity
I can see warm winds and cloudless skies
At home I see mum's delicious apple pies
I awaken too early from my peaceful slumber
The peace I found was alas just a number
The dreams I dreamt and the seclusion I felt
Made my toes tingle and my heart melt . . .

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The Mixed-Rhymer

Tyburn and Diamante, the smarty and the glow, are now here
and they’re ready, perfectly ready, to be read by you my dear!

The wintry weather have mantled their innocent forms all day, 
and by the window they’re leaning on my last hope, their hooray.

I watch li’l Haiku, flowing, with orange flame in the evening wind, 
whilst the mystical orb lingers at the blue mountain---the fairies’ inn.

Dinner-fume is not floating-up yet, perhaps not today, from your kitchen,
so I, the mixed-rhymer, will do them the reading with pizzas in our hands.

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Creature Feature

Swallow hard or sip your fear
Many different ways my dear
Taste a couple every day
and soon they'll all just slip away
Ooh the dark or closed in places
Higher ground and scary faces
As a child, real they were
gnarled werewolves thick with fur.
Men who swore with raving madness
killed their women, raw with passion
Older shows the blood was grey
Scares me silly to this day
Drink with me around the clock
Shade the windows, make it dark
Cozy now I know we're safe
and yet still I'll hide my face
To the taste, my fear, it's pure
Facing it's the only cure...

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Breakfast on the Balcony

apricot morning
tea and the dream
so slowly 
alive in the steam
rising in mists
from the china 
she saved
from Russia 
with love
barely snatched 
from the grave
of czars
and czarinas 
in exile
in France
watching the
write words
to a dance
inspired by
the leaves on the
trees in the wind
blown on the balcony 
shared with
a friend.

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Past Memory Lane

  Yes Wilfredo I do hear it
as I listen with intent,
what has happened to the children
and enchanted time we spent?

Is the past all that we own now
is forever meant to be,
just repeating and repeating
those few years so young and free?

In that lane of dormant memories
where the music swirls around
like a broken record keeping
us forever near it's sound,

Somewhere someone plays tomorrow
on an upright in the hall,
notes that do not need to borrow
words from yesterday at all.

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In Grandma's World

 Grandma's cottage.....,

take me there,

I will go from anywhere,

it is waiting in the glen,

filled with everything that's been,

good for me my whole life long,

sing it to me in a song.

tell it to me in a tale,

of the rolling hill and dale,

where she comes by in her cart

filled with flowers,

here's the part,

where she takes me by the hand

off to her enchanted land,

underneath the maple tree,

circled by the bumble bee,

and the sureness of her smile,

says my dear,come stay a while.

there's so much to see and do

at Grandma's house.....

the world is new.

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Hearth and Home

the simple pathway
out of sound
the heartbeat burden
so slow
a rhythm you can feel
undercurrents of a dream
the one where
is like a stream
flowing ever on and on
to you 
and hearth and home.

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Dreams Are Wishes

Dreams are wishes 

Made in your heart 

To reach for the stars 

And find their chart 

Every day dream 

Of all those things 

Your heart within sings 

Dazzled by their beam 

Never stop dreaming 

Never stop wishing 

These are gifts 

Don't let them drift! 

Sail this magical ship 

Don't let them ever slip! 

Dorian Petersen Potter 
aka ladydp2000 


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Last Dance

Remember that September
in the mountains in the rain?
You wore a sash of satin
and you tossed it from the train.

I have it in the pocket
of my old trench coat back home
along with that small locket
and your silver brush and comb.

Just trinkets and momentos of
a life that might have been,
I see you in the mirror right behind me
there my friend.

You look a little hollow eyed 
and wild
like New Year's Eve
you know I never even cried
the day I saw you leave.

Come dance a gentle dance with me
and whisper in my ear,
I don't care if no one can see
For I know that your'e here.

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  Oh far far distant shore recalled
where once our words of love were scrawled
opon the sands of Xanadu
when we were young and hope was new

  Oh far far distant dreams of times
of sylvan forests in my mind
reclining on the parapets
of castles made of sillouettes

  shadows of what might have been
behind the shades of if and when
lit by candles in the gloom
the two of us,a spell,a swoon

 Amagic wish to take us there
sussurations in the air
a gasp,a spinning faint and then
alterations on the wind

  the skein of  life,the reel of time
flashing  back  along the line
until I feel you take my hand
to write I love you ,in the sand.

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Mother's Father

  He sat on the porch beside his wife
and smoked his pipe and wrote his life
into the mind of every child
a time entranced
a time beguiled,
I can't forget{and this he knew}
about the worlds he wrote and drew.
He gave us time.....was all he had
I hear him still
my old GrandDad.

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grandpa's ride

     red rusty rubber,crackely flats
black leather broken
where grandfather sat
changing a tire in his goggles and jacket
stuck in the mire midst the smoke 
and the racket
come grip the wheel ,you can still get the
gasoline fumes and those skinny tires
there were no highways to show him the way
as new as a trip to the moon in those days
now grandpa comes out from one thirty til three
to teach us how wonderful touring can be
we zoom over fields and ride thru the town
theres no need to yield and we never slow down
the old Model T  full of power and pride
we don't leave the yard
but it's still Grandpa's ride.

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Pressed Flowers

Folding in the flowers
 in the basket in my mind
layering the poppies
with the marigolds and vines

eyes like sweet forget me nots
gazing at the moon,
gleaning through our garden
on a memory in June.

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Childhood revisited

  Childhood collapsed in a flurry of blue
somebody told her what 
love couldn't do.
she won't believe
but her heart knows 
it's true
somebody told her what love couldn't do

  she had a fairy cloak 
purple and worn
she used it to fly 
to the day she was born
so she could start over
so she never knew...that,,,,,
somebody told her what love couldn't do

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Leaves of Love

   In a locket with an old filligree
there's a photograph 
of you and me
and though time has faded
my smile
I've been loving you
all the while

  In a tintype gone dark and brown
there's a girl in a wedding gown
as she smiles at you
across the years
how that smile can wipe away
those tears

  so let's tender touch and reminesce
as we share our life we'll
share a kiss
as we turn these leaves of love tonight
won't you kiss me dear
and hold me tight.

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In a bygone age
Symbols then,were all the rage

Hanging outside,to catch the eye
A very visual...come & buy

Pestle & mortar,poles red&white
Or just three brass balls there might be

In days long past,
Few could read...but all could see.

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Love and the River

  Darkling romance with the river I love
swim in a trance
with the stars in my glove
reflecting the visions of your 
gentle shores
when you wash me away
you know I love you more
More in the mirror
that shows me your name
wet on my mouth
meant to drive me insane
trembling moment
before life began
more than a woman
more than a man
more than the price I would
pay for my eyes
kiss me with moonbeams
a current of sighs.

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 the words fall over the cliff of my lips
and as they fall they die.
nothing says the way I feel
except your lullaby.
the one your old piano plays
late on a winter's eve,
I lie upon your dark green rug
and blend into the weave.
To get as close to nothing
underneath the notes that fall,......
I watch your fingers bring to life
the memory of it all......
the tears we cried for daughters,
who flew off to the sun,
so clever in their feathered cloaks
intent on having fun.
oh sweet Moonlight Sonata,
you wrap me all around,
cocooned in friendship's
loving hands
and music's 

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Ah, memory, sweet memory,
Why do you come to torture me
With images, of a days gone by,
So tender sweet they make me sigh.
Fond memories, so sweet--in truth--
Like honey on an aching tooth.
Like nectar's taste upon the tongue,
No sweeter song was ever sung.
But that song is sung--that day is gone,
And the flow of life must still go on.
So, memories that torment me,
Go on your way and let me be.
That perfect day is gone, I know--
I'm living in its afterglow. 

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Snow banked high against the gate
Walking to school,never late

Milk left solid on the cill
Ears well muffled,against the chill

Rationed coal,eked ,bit by bit
Fire grates, so rarely lit.

Nights of cold,run into weeks
'Til grass through iron soil,peeked.

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Sentiment Slivers

A button collection in an old tin can
A dipping wax model we made of our hands
at the Renaissance Festival, one day in fall
The first sound of Mozart in Benneby Hall
A love note gone crumpled in earthenware pots
A needle thin necklace bedraggled in knots
A wooden carved zebra with amber eye shine
An old Trosser canister for coffee to grind
White toast with butter and honey in stacks
A morning mint sun folding shade on our backs
A summer of tar stains on feet without shoes
while we endeared moments we never would lose
An evening with salt on our skin from the beach
The height of emotion you suddenly reach
when peaches are washed off of sand in the gulf
You sweet and salty and sure of yourself
Seven good friends you can count on your hands
Mango tree sugar in silvering sand
A laugh like your jaws will detach in relief
A twinkle in eyes growing wise in belief
The pocket thesaurus, nineteen twenty two
My eager ambition to be close to you.

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on an upright in the hall,
songs that do not need to borrow
words from yesterday at all.

we sit by the embers
staring deep into the soul
of the one who still remembers
all the love a heart can hold.

you reach out to touch me
with the healing hands of  time.
In the flames we see how much we
share within a love sublime.

Just your breath is my reward dear
just your breathing fills my prayer
and I know that soon you'll be here ,
that you're waiting now...........

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To Valhalla and Back

To reign in your fire
to bask in your light
must be a pleasure
denied me tonight

  the light in your eyes 
still shows me the way
it doesn't grow dimmer
just farther away

  when you raised me up
when you took my hand
the world fell  away
and my heart took a stand

 you fashioned a castle
in sand on the shore
we lived in it there
till I turned 34

  then you had to go  on
a journey to France
you needed a chicken
who knew how to dance

  God bless you and keep you
as you travel far
I'll reign in your fire
as you burn like a star.

 on a fiord in Sweden or 
under the moon
the vikings are calling
I'm coming home soon

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A view to look & look again
this landscape drawn from memory lane

A place special to my sweet heart
yet  wher our romance did depart

She wandered away,away
because of words ,I did not say

Too late,too late my heart broke in two
again,again I visit our rendez-vous

Some months i wait & hoped
maybe true had eloped

One day my world opened wide
into each others arms we cried & cried

Our mutual love had not died
my love became my wife & bride.

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Santa my Love

  Lapis Lazuli
a cortical jolt,
lips love you truly,
like lightning,
a bolt 
out of the blue 
of the eyes
of your dreams,
bursting your bubble
and tearing the seams
sewn by the hand 
of a mother with care,
in hopes that 
Saint Nicolas,
soon would be there.

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Donny's family moved next door
When he was six, and I was four
At first he wouldn't play with me
I was,"just a girl", you see

When he found no other kids to play
He decided I was, "ok"
So, he taught me how to ride a bike
Climb trees and fly a kite

We did "Show me yours, I'll show you mine"
When I was seven, and he was nine
I'm glad my mom never knew
Or my butt would still be black and blue

Donny's family moved when he was ten
And I never saw him again
I've forgotten a lot about "way back when"
But I remember Donny...he was my  friend.