They organized a church bazaar,
To raise money for the poor.
A booth for selling chances
Was set up, outside the door.
When I bought the raffle ticket,
My reasoning was murky,
And I could only just believe it,
When I won that doggone turkey.
Now, the kids were all excited
When we brought the critter home.
So we placed him in the barnyard,
Where he'd have lots of room to roam.
Since the date was late October,
I'm quite sure you understand,
That to have him for Thanksgiving
Was my awe inspiring plan.
Well, the turkey was no birdbrain,
As I was very soon to find.
That bird knew what I was thinking;
Why, I declare, he read my mind.
I let the children care for him,
To my most profound regret--
He turned on his charming manner,
And, quickly, he became their pet.
But that fact did not deter me,
I told myself it didn't matter.
I was dead set and determined
To see that gobbler on a platter.
When the kids perceived my purpose,
They turned on the tears and pleas.
Then, the wife joined in their chorus,
And that brought me to my knees.
So I told my grieving family
They could dry up, and relax.
I concealed my disappointment--
Went and put away the axe.
Came the dinner of Thanksgiving,
Not a sad face could be found.
And our live Thanksgiving turkey
Was the gladdest bird around.
We gathered around the table,
And I humbly asked the blessing--
While Tom gobbled down his corn, outside,
We had hotdogs and dressing.
As spring brings life to all that sleep
Spirit, body and mind renew
Joy reflects in bursts of blossoms
Heralding new birth to God’s creation
As man and nature journey as one
In a dance of celebration
Hope reborn in all that live
As the summer of life screeches by
Visitors invited, welcome to share
Love, laughter, living and dying
Soon comes bittersweet joy of liberation
Knocking, bearing gift of freedom
As mountains rise along the way
As the autumn of life drifts in
The lights of my eyes will grow dim
Yet the hummingbird still sings
Joy of my vision, my rock
Through light of day or darkest night
Like a child I trust, I sleep
As the winter of life arrives
When my tresses turn white as snow
With the sound of my voice just a whisper
Though shallow breath, my prayers ascend
To the joy of my salvation
Just beyond invisible gates
I will in quiet adoration kneel
Note: Written 9/17/09
By Audrey Carey
Entry for Constance La France's "Why Oh Why" Contest
Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat!
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?
Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...
After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!
My theme is: Happiness In Childhood
Within these walls…
Fragrant aura of comfort
Freshly washed baby hair and sweet breath;
Passed around in soft pink pajamas
Laughter and wit from older minds;
Even though the stories are well used
Awkward ramblings of youngsters;
Still testing their wings
Warm delicious wafts of seasoned meat
And sugared pies
From a kitchen full of women;
Sharing recipes and secrets while sipping Chardonnay
Rambunctious giggles from upstairs;
Playing children’s games in pretty clothes
While piles of coats, hats, and purses
Sleep soundly on the guest room bed;
Along with one gray tabby cat
Crisp fallen leaves dance with shimmering snowflakes,
The first of the season
In a chilly November breeze
Just outside the door;
Painted a vibrant red
Illuminated by glowing amber post lamps;
Stalwart sentinels for our
Within these wonderful walls
Tonight I found friends
Not in human form but;
In the land, sky and nature.
I strolled along a country road,
Taking in what the
Good Lord bestowed.
The sunshine, green grass,
Birds of the air.
One could almost hear
Our Father's voice in the
A deer ambled
Out on the road,
Not noticing I was there.
Thoughts of Him that put
Us both there.
The locust sang their
Songs in the trees.
The glorious afterglow
Of the evening, as the
Sun bids a farewell
Oh, thank you Lord
For friends like these.
Everything is so still as the morning slowly comes,
from afar, the sound of a babbling brook is heard.
Perched high up, I wait for daylight to surround these peaceful woods,
as I sat listening to the dew dripping from the trees.
What a beautiful place to be, on such a cold November morn,
the first day of Deer Season has finally come.
Shhh, listen, strange sounds coming from behind, as I turn to look,
I can't believe my eyes, he is big, so big, sniffing, and grunting
he comes closer.
Counting the points, yes, ten I see, trembling, I take my rifle
in hand, zero in, he is mine, monstrous rack..
The echo rings through the woods, perfect shot, he is down,
shaking I climb to the ground to take a look at this BOSS of the Pines.
My first hunt of the season, and what a deer, one for the record.
I have two and a half months of this to listen to......
and this is his dream every night, and I hear it every day.
Through the air they came,
shattering the silent peace. A voice,
"is that the rain, it is the rain," as
they danced aloud on the metal
A memory asleep sparked as a
mighty flame;early in June when the
rains would come, the thirst of a
dying earth to quench, awaken
I remember the plain, that big plain
where children pranced: dead
brown, had life surely sprung in
awesome green, and gaping mouths
therewith would close. The healthy
plague spreaded, thus green life
I remember the trees, some fruit
trees, when their naked armes
would bud, then fruit came, along
with the wild birds who had their fill,
and the children, rambling with long
rods and plastic bags to gather the
spoils for later a feast.
The sleeping lands awoke and
happiness could breathe once more.
The dancing fades now and the
memory slowly sleep, for I will
always remember the rains.
Some sounds like the noise of bees
Hovering around the atmosphere
Or like rain drops on our roof tops,
I opened my round window
The window of my hut,
I wanted to know
Why my sleep won't mellow,
All i saw was sorrow
As the atmosphere turned green.
The cassava farm was over shadowed
Banana plantation feebled,
Apple orchard struggled
Yet their efforts stifled,
Lemon grass for mama's herb withered,
Rose flower shattered and our
Groundnut farm tattered.
Suddenly,the green army fled,
Tears exuded from my eyes
As i sputtered in pain,
Mother filled with melancholy,
Father tore his heart in grief
Villagers hope captured and crippled,
So their travail displayed as
Everyone mourned over
The locust plaque.....
BY: CHARLES MELODY (LIGHTNING INK).
They call me the dying month, the bringer of cold harsh winds from the north.
I sneak up upon unsuspecting late summer well wishers, wrap my cold hands around their cheeks and come forth.
Moving silently across the country side, I graciously give the kiss of death to the once green leaves.
In my path I leave nothing but skeleton shapes twisted and old, they are nothing but shadows of once mighty summer trees.
In death however comes beauty of colour, the brown crispy leaves illuminated by the red autumn sky.
The stage is set and the players cast, the final curtain call is all but nigh.
With a crunch under foot, hat and scarves protecting such delicate pale frozen skin.
The first frost falls upon my deathly hands, I greet winter as my old friend with an honest grin.
Like the leaves from the trees my time is short, but the cycle continues without me and I die knowing my part has been played.
I close my eyes as you do in bed, into winters night will an autumn evening fade.
My time has ended and I bow out gracefully, for the work I've done I feel no shame.
As all things that share a purpose and live with meaning, it's time for us all to return whence we came.
I’ve a vast store of mem’ries about Chicago
as I’ve lived there for a couple of years
helping out in the parish of many immigrants,
especially Mexicans and Puerto Ricans.
I’ve made friends and a number of them
still continue to correspond by emails;
it’s like a treasure-trove of relationships -
where friendship makes a big difference.
I still remember when I get invitations
from people of other cultures in their homes;
their different cuisines and customs,
a great experience, a wealth of culture.
Chicago’s known for many attractions,
home of architecture with modern skyscraper
the neo-gothic Tribune Tower in the north
along with white Wrigley building in the city;
rich in architectural history, a sight to behold!
Its classic and modern architecture so far,
complements each other in visible terms,
with innovative ideas and creative designs
a special city with marvelous history.
Daniel Burnham, the famed architect,
designed the Merchandise Mart and others
significant to his life like ‘Paris on the Prairie’,
a tapestry of combined art of old and new.
Renowned architects with their respective styles
such as Frank Lloyd Wright and his prairie designs,
Louis Sullivan and his visible ornate facades
Ludwig Miles van der Rohe for modern styles.
Oh, Chicago, known also as the Windy City
so rich in history and its uniqueness too,
the time when a huge fire razed the city
destroyed lovely buildings in 1871.
Well, with the growing skyscrapers in the city
Chicago Spire, for instance, with its 150 stories
designed by a renowned architect Calatrava,
stands as the tallest building in North America.
With the so-called Trump Tower in its 92 stories
and then, Waterview Tower with its 90 stories,
Sears Tower, the skyscraper with its 110 stories,
that’s the only tallest among buildings in the U.S.
Oh well, this is Chicago in the landscape of beauty,
as a windy city, as well as a gateway to reality;
there’s meaning to trace back in history
there’s continuing progress towards this century.
Sick of the monsters
that track my steps,
given the chance I'd
lay them to rest.
they trail my every
Gotta lose 'em
before the moon
Grab my carving set
and begin to think
attention- I get the
their frail skin,
I find the image of
blood in and on my
Cross-eyed and close
to the cliffs edge.
The moonlight sheds
time on the
and i drop my knife.
For they are me, I
was them, and soon
we will be together
Looking back it was
a full moon's end.
Deep in the woods I hear an angel's lyrical call.
Tranquil and serene, a majestic summer waterfall.
Where the oaks and wildflowers shade the creek,
reflections fall to earth from rays of destiny,
refreshing my soul and setting my spirit free.
I smell the aroma of rain mixed with the paradise breeze.
Tranquil and serene, a natural wonder and rainbow of peace.
A cascading sparkling jewel,
above a wave rippling whirlpool.
Upon the wind rides the angel's lyrical call.
Tranquil and serene, a majestic summer waterfall.
In the center of our galaxy
from 1992 through 2003
astronomers were able to observe
a star, orbiting compact radio source
The star had an orbit with average radius
and period 15 years.
From this information astronomers estimated
the mass of Sagittarius A.
v = 2π(1.4x1014)/(15x365x24x60x60) = 1.86x106 m/s
a = (1.86x106)2/(1.4x1014) = 0.0247 m/s2
0.0247 = (6.673x10-11)M/(1.4x1014)2
M = 7.24x1036 kg
7.24x1036/(1.989x1030) = 3.6 million suns!
Astronomers infer that Sag. A is a
supermassive black hole
(it cannot be seen)!
OH LITTLE STAR
LOVE IN THE WHITE OF NIGHTS
With storms my passions dance and play
As winter swirls above our heads
Sleep's embraces grab you tight
Hawaiian visions crowd our bed
Deep in frosty winds of night
While you are dreaming balmy skies
I trace the beauty of your back
And lick the whiteness of your thighs
Sometimes you smile,
sometimes you groan
But it’s my delight
to hear your moan.
I snatch you from that ivory shore
And wake you begging me for more
Cold spells get to a slow start this year,
with this month's full moon -
known as the Beaver moon.
It makes me think though;
of my homeland where people walk
and enjoy the precipice of the night.
While in New York autumn holds
symbolic meanings and stories to tell;
with a giant wind that looms over a coastline;
it's another landscape that beckons across the farmland.
Withered leaves drop and fall on the ground,
trees in their creeping sadness
continue to lose the sojourn of their youth.
At their height and moving branches,
make me stay up and watch them through the present time.
As I gleefully walk right up to the shrine of Our Lady,
there's a missing whisper, a song to my ears;
those birds spilling down the garden's main avenue.
Like an army, an orchestra that provides
melody in the midst of sympathy.
As a magical moment of Mother Nature,
I see enormous changes in forms and shapes;
an attempt to thrive for another threshold,
keeps me believe the power beyond
filled with images of life.
Mermaids and watermelon
Summer time I became an aquatic creature
My best friend and I cooled ourselves floating
Around and round the pool or rocking on an innertube
Waves as high as a couple of girls could splash.
Giggles and sunshine my summer fun times.
Mom would cut a watermelon after it was cold
The juice washed off in the pool and no one noticed
Summer time I grew fins and gills
That went perfectly well with little girl thrills.
Mom didn't know I would jump off the top of the slide
Right into the deep water....double dare you to try it!
the suns up , Its that magical day of the year
My heart is racing to go where I celebrate it
I've reached that place I long to be today
Its so familiar yet each time its a new adventure,
The season's songs fill the air
I see amazing decorations everywhere
Santa and his elves are here today
Families, friends,gifts are in every sight,
Lo and behold the magnificent tree
The atmosphere's cold but warm inside
I could stay here forever
I wish today will never end
there's nowhere else I rather be right now
This is the best place to celebrate christmas
For it is none other than my favourite shopping mall
I dont know much about her
but I heard she wasnt that talkative
She didnt like being alive
She was numb to all the pain she had to go through
I heard she didnt like anything that was green
She ate roman noodles everynight for supper
She always wore flannels and bellbottoms
Sometimes i seen her wear dresses and fancy tops
But lately shes been wearing band shirts
She wears converse shoes and uses an army bag for school
I know that she dosent like to communicate through talking... only through her peoms
or sometimes even her songs.
I see her drawing and painting all the time
She draws famous people
She would like to be famous and not so unknown
When she tries to speak to anyone they always walk away and leave her alone
When she gets home she goes upstairs to play her bass guitar
She hates chocolate cake but loves chocolate
Her family left her behind because she cant forget her past
Sometimes when shes alone she contemplates the meaning behind her life
Her favorite color is gray because her life is black and white
Everything she says is false according to the world
She is not so innocent
I understand that she dreams about the perfect life
When she opens her eyes they are pitch black
She is someone that is fake
She acts nothing like she should
She is very grungy and unclean
She knows of no safety
and of no time
Her life is smashed into pieces by the giant sun
She will always be a ghost
She knows of no god
She crawls around in the world of death
She remains forgotten
Memories of Christmas through the years,
Have brought lots of laughter and many tears.
Memories of those who have gone on home,
Sometimes leave us sad and alone.
The good times that were had by all,
Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, their happy faces I recall!
The gifts that were given, the fellowship we shared,
The love we all had, showed each other we cared.
The trees were so pretty, the food, oh so good,
Sometimes we would go caroling in the neighborhood.
We would exchange gifts by drawing names,
Some would get clothes, others might get games.
The homes would be decorated with ornaments and lights,
And we would all feast on the many delights!
There would be cakes, cookies, sandwiches, pies, and punch,
Some might eat a lot, others would just munch.
Before you knew it the night would be gone,
And the wait for next year would seem so very long!
But Christmas means more than just these things,
As we remember the birth of the Christ child and the salvation He brings!
He came into this world in a meek and lowly way,
Born of a virgin and in a manger lay.
The Shephards were frightened as the angels came to say,
The great news of His birth on this special day!
Born in Bethlehem, God's only son,
Savior from our sins, He is the only one!
So as I remember the Christmas's of old,
The greatest of all, was the one the prophets foretold!
A Dalmatian is a dog on a mission
to save lives when Alpinists are lost,
or even worse are buried underneath
an avalanche that carried them down the valley.
Hear my bark, I am rushing to find them;
I sniff several times and warn the rescue team
that they are still alive, but not for long.
I may hear voices calling for help,
I quickly run to that spot and start digging with my claws,
hoping that they can breathe a minute longer...
and with my breath I start melting the snow,
making a tunnel for them to get a glimpse of the bright sky;
a frozen hand reaches out to me, his feeble voice is heard,
" I am alive, come and pull me out of this icy hole! "
The helicopter arrives in minutes landing feet away;
joyful commotion fills the hearts of the rescuers,
" Hold on, young man...you'll be okay! "
When the pale boy, barely eighteen, is pulled up,
he broadly smiles and pats me on the head;
I bark back to show my happiness,
being proud that the mission was achieved without a loss.
July 10, 2012
It’s mid-October, and the cool morning air
refreshes and replenishes the players as they march
across a muddy lacrosse field, the low sun
that manages to peek through the gray clouds
glistening off the beady surface of grass blades.
The stage is set for glory.
Peering from my window
Through a thin veil of frost,
It seems that an unseen force
Had resolved to obscure my vision,
As if it were saying,
“There’s nothing out there but darkness
And frightful frigid discomfort
That is best left to creatures
Who are suited for such environs.”
Hastily I wipe the frosted pane
For a glimpse of something rare,
When the Earth
Seemingly bickers with the Sun,
Demanding a moment more of its
Radiant solar comfort
Only to be abruptly silenced by:
Old Man winter,
Who masterfully placates this
Sibling wrangle and
With authority unquestioned;
With Winter’s command.
The murky rolling waves subject
to the whims of the February's wind,
far above the secluded lighthouse;
the roaming aircrafts vanish through thick clouds,
leaving behind a trail of hazardous vapors...
but the geese and seagulls can't continue their existence!
And still the sea offers them its promise,
a distant shore untouched by man...
by his greedy ways and incompassion,
causing the extinction of many species;
my reflection is based on fact :
we can't survive without them!
The stylish wild birds engage,
as if striken by a sudden rage,
in their frantic, daily dance over the marina,
as I listen the melancholic lyrics of " Nessun Dorma "...
the exquisite area of Puccini,
which comes alive through the extraordinary voice of Bocelli!
At four the fog thickens and shrouds the shoreline,
the brass lampposts light up with reluctance...
to shy away the presence of any ghost;
I, in transitive joy, hide my treasure beneath the tides,
hoping someone will find it and remember my work...
long after my thoughts will be no longer alive!
The wind blows,
The flowers blossom and grow,
The seasons come and the seasons go,
The waters incessantly flow,
Yet my heart is still full of woe.
It has been years,
Since I have let myself shed tears,
Or relinquished my fears,
For you, who all of a sudden just disappeared.
You were my angel,
Ever since my heart is twisted, by your spider's web it still dangles,
In your spider's web it gets more tangled,
And everyday a little more mangled.
At least I still have a heart,
What little you have not torn apart,
You always thought you were so smart,
Playing with my soul from the start.
If I ever see you again,
My heart will surely begin to mend,
Because against you my heart cannot defend,
As sad as it is... on you my happiness depends,
And I pray you will learn to love me again.
Nothing is more delightful
and simply remembered by a sweet word...
than a walk through a green forest,
to find a remote spot on a low hill
and put those daily worries to rest;
the anxious eyes long for that vision
of a last, unforgotten season:
the gentlest rain which brings
a familiar fragrance from other lands...
when spring hides its flowers!
Whenever the lonely poet dreams,
his unerring hand is quicker that the flowing streams:
the distant vison of his flourishing thoughts
is carried to unseen places;
and all he wishes is to feel a sublime peace...
when spring hides its flowers!
The wishful child ,led by his mom ,searches
the leaf-covered paths with a sorrowful glance,
even the robins and blue-birds can't confort him,
or give him some kind of hope for his unleashed whim;
and will he relish the joyful promise of each year,
as a gentle hand caresses his blonde hair...
when springs hides its flowers from his zealous eyes,
and one of those adolescent dreams unexpectedly dies?
I, once, was like him: curious,cheerful and so restless:
seeking surprises in unexpected places...
finding myself in front of simple wonders
that couldn't be perceived by the adult mind,
as if they were another mystery, not the creation of God...
when spring didn't hide its flowers!
His home is always
where he is –
Beneath the trestles
of clattering trains, he huddles
in the damp & sandy wind,
eyes across the ocean,
filthy in his coat pocket
His home is just
where he is –
Now inside a box behind a dumpster in the middle of downtown nowhere,
surrounded by the
bizarre aroma-therapy of steaming, festering garbage
His home is exactly
where he can
no longer go –
Inside the placid, welcoming walls
of the house
where his sanity lives
He stumbles, aching,
crying from his
crying from his soul –
His pants encrusted
with what he could not leave behind,
clutching a desperately empty bottle,
His hair in stringy,
slapping his face in the wind
He, trapped & terrified
in a life beyond his living,
by public transportation,
wishing it could all
just be over
Wishing he could somehow
force his feet to take his body
into the path
of the oncoming bus –
But the driver
will not mow him down,
will not have him on her conscience –
She refuses his anguished gift
& slams the bus to a squealing,
furious, bone-shaking stop
& screams at him
I will not do it!"
Sad, relieved, horrified, pleased,
he views the scene as
one more evidence
of his beleaguered, hated,
And laughs his drug-indentured way
back to the motel
which has a dumpster
behind which he can once more
box himself in
until he thinks he can afford to
take the public transportation system on
And maybe this time, he’ll
find his win,
And never have to live
inside these walls of pain
which he only knows as home
I rise in the morning
like a bright new flower
crawling, staggering and falling
like the leaflets of a ripe flowers.
With my four wek limbs
and my toothless mouth
sucking and pulling the nipple of her breast
and feeling her warmth.
I rise in the day
like a healthy young bird
running, jumping and singing
like a matured bird.
I rise in the evening
going back to my early age,
with weak body, my grey hair
and the wrinkles that show the age.
My two limbs can no longer
give the support without a staff
staggering, falling here and there
till i say "adieu" to the world.
"Come Autumn, come Autumn,
Paint the world!
Trees, give me gold,
And riches unfurled!",
The poor man sang,
in a pile of leaves
under the Autumn trees,
The branches digest,
And the gold fell down
Upon the man's happiness,
And all around
And for once,
The man in rags
showered with gold,
The Bird Song
Icy fingers from the lake
tenderly caress the dew.
Foggy digits turn to vapor
when the sun comes into view.
Sunlight bursts into the meadow.
Birds sing the song of a new day.
A family of deer finishing up breakfast.
I watch as the fawn begin to play.
Staring at the splendor of nature I'm humbled
by the magnificent day the Lord has made.
I'm reminded of a game of hide n seek as I watch
the sun playfully find the hiding shade.
The trees changing colors tell the season.
As the warmth of summer gives in to the fall.
Time rolling on in sweet harmony.
The bird song a testimony to it all.
As a visitor to this glorious moment
I must give the Lord praise,glory,and fame.
After a fleeting look back at the meadow
I shall go back from whence I came.
Once again the Supreme Player has dealt the unfortunate card
From the famine in my lands
To the quakes in Haiti, and the other parts
Then the floods in Australia
Now the quake in Japan
I wonder what to make of these times
In the meantime, I’m just gonna be glad to be alive
And send my heart to those who survived
Sorry for the greatest loss of your time
My kind and I will each lend a hand in kind
Continue to see yourself as worthy in the eyes of your creator
For such are the shortcomings of nature
Even we human beings who’re meant to be better,
Even the machines we make with our acute intelligence,
...always have their failures
It’s not time to point fingers of blame
It’s time to offer tonnes of help
Even he who has help worth only a feather’s weight
Will find his place in the plaque of gratitude
...For helping restore the better days
The past is what was
The present is the gift we’ve been waiting for
We must now make profit of the achievements we harnessed in yester days
For today is for the purpose of manufacturing a better day
It is so hard to move forward while fixated with the scenery passed
So please to all of us in misfortunes of a kind
Let’s carry on ahead and take from the past
....only the wealth of better lessons and faith
For as sure as one step ahead of the next will make us progress
Tomorrow is sure to erase all the sorrows and regrets
...and all the pains of yester days
Be keen, on your face a better smile to paint
Be keen, in your heart a better feeling to pump
Be keen, in your mind a better lesson to plant
Be keen, in your present a better experience to deserve
Be keen, in your future a better result to forecast