Nightmares, jungles, blood on hands
Unjust war in distant lands
Scars that no one else can see
Memories doing battle with his sanity
Off to war, a rich man’s fool
Rich man’s son was off to school
Some came home in boxes, statistics mount
Media smiles announcing body count
Working man’s sons without a voice
Off to war without a choice
Coming home to hate, the fire fanned
Misdirected Anger in his native land
Dismayed with the war, activists groups
Pointing blame at the drafted troops
So many dead through the bloody nights
Protecting rubber trees and oil rights
After the storm, there was no calm
Soldiers coming home from Vietnam.
Dedicate to Vietnam vets who served valiantly,
unappreciated at home
There is no love, without our God;
Search your heart and home it’s not hard ~
I cannot stay if He’s not there,
A sense of loss would fill the air.
Fill this house with truer faith
Let, our hearts hope in Him always --
He‘ll heal spiritual beggars,
His glory abounds forever…
Search your heart and home it’s not hard ~
There is no love without our God.
Enter, for the kingdom is nigh,
Reach in and ask He’ll not deny.
There are blessings awaiting you,
Hope in Him, and He’ll see you through…
Open your heart, for it is home
Remember God is on the throne ~
When despair strikes – Give it to God,
Search your heart and home it’s not hard ~
Adell Foster©2009 Adell1
Comments: Mid Swap: Created by Jenny Buzzard from England. This is a strict structure that
repeats the first and last line as a center couplet. A syllable count of eight per line with
rhyme scheme as follows:
NOT JUST ANY SUNSET
This lunar sunset was what he’d most miss -
They always said death was like this :
Slo-mo and black-and-white
Like an old movie trite.
It had happened to him twice before : then
At rush hour on the G15 highway outside Shenzhen (1)
In his new red car when he was twenty;
And again on the pad at Dongfeng launch facility - (2)
An accidental fire in the cabin and abort
When the oxygen supply fell short.
The sun had glared at him all day from the black night
Familiar stars visible, coloured bright.
He ran through his old lectures in his head
The cool ones - yellow orange, red,
The hot ones which stare and emblazon,
As everything slips slowly down to the western horizon.
No loss of heat from sun, but shadows lengthening now,
Black, black, lengthening inky shadow.
His pen wrote fast across his paper notepad deformed
But the inky marks now in Pudonghua formed (3)
As his English slipped away.
He’d been here so long . . . . a month? A day?
Day is 15 earth days, night is 15 nights
And sunset lasts a whole earth day bright
Moon was full, his earth was darkened, like night.
A blue watery ball with edges of light:
While the earth eclipsed the sun
A red halo around his spinning home was spun.
Sun’s entry on earth’s western limb made slow
Red flares - crowns - as the solar disk slid low,
And earth’s red light bathed itself on white rocks beside,
He felt a last touch of home inside.
So unlike his own sunsets of the past
In his home in Guangzhou, seen last (4)
Over the Pearl River delta with bent light (5)
At the heavy monsoon rains’ height.
This taikonaut’s last sunset . . . . . his radio dead, (6)
His pen drops, and he slowly nods his head,
As sun’s warm arms envelope his earth fond,
And he slips his surly bonds. (7)
(1) A well-known dangerous highway in southern China
(2) Chinese equivalent to Kennedy Space Centre
(3) Pudonghua (=Chinese) is the language spoken in southern China
(4) Major mega-city in southern China, near Hong Kong
(5) Pearl River is the river on which Guangzhou stands
(6) Astronaut = cosmonaut = taikonaut
(7) This line is closely modeled on a line in “HIGH FLIGHT” by John Magee
Entered in Nancy Jones's Contest "LOSERS"
'neath my family tree I found
something green and blue and brown
hatching out beneath my touch
that I love so very much
can you take it home tonight?
feed it soup and hold it tight?
I can't have it ,Heaven knows,
it wants to wear my sister's clothes
and dance around in town all day
and make confections out of clay
put it in a sachel bag
make it march and wave a flag
until it learns it must conform
it's just too different from the norm
and when you make it tow the line,
I'll take it home and make it mine.
With warmest regards and the saddest lament
I write this small note with the best of intent
The newspaper’s account of your husband’s death
Made me feel as if I was short of breath
As the son of a Veteran who twice went to war
I’ve often wondered, what my life would have had in store
If my father had not returned home one day
And I had to share my grief on public display
I was not born the first time he went away
And was just ten when he left again, somehow feeling betrayed
I didn’t quite understand why he had to leave
It took a while to learn not to grieve
I read that you have two little boys, just six and eight
I can’t imagine what you say to make their restless dreams abate
My mind used to play out my greatest fear
Misplacing his last tape recording, saying his coming home date was near
On return tapes to him, I played guitar and talked too
Trying to make him feel like he was home, even if untrue
I write this note to help me remember
That even though my father returned in December
Many that go off to war, do not
And sons, daughters, spouses and families are caught
In a process of grieving that abates only with time
It takes as long as it does, there is no magical chime
To help you and your sons with your journey that I feared most
Enclosed is a contribution to their foundation host
Not at all a fair trade, just to help provide for their well being
I know you remind them that their father’s love is all seeing
I flat out nailed my first interview
Young and dumb without a clue
Then hired on the spot, no lying
Nervousness was my only crime
When suddenly his questions stopped
Damn it man, our eyes locked
I stood up in fear, my hand out
Ready to go home and just pout
His words were "your hired"
"I like the way your wired"
He shook my hand withe ease
Then we talked about the leads
I then asked him for an advance
Five hundred bucks, a slim chance
So when I left that interview
Holding five hundred buckaroo
I felt I had conquered the world
I drove home to kiss my girl
Caught every single green light
First time for everything, right?
Once there was a mouse that envied the castle on the hill.
It looked way more glorious than the hovel he lived in.
Every day he dreamed of what life there could truly be.
Dreams of wondrous food, plus beautiful rooms only his mind could see.
Sights from the windows each day, would deeply stir his very soul.
There would be glorious kingly meals, only a great chef could bestow.
There would be a fancy, cozy bed in a room with beauty all around.
But venturing up the hill… that is not even remotely what he found.
All the windows were too high with nothing near to climb upon.
And clouds were always obscuring any view that might be found.
The family was too old with no children to drop crumbs upon the ground.
The furniture was ancient wood with nowhere comfy to hide from their hound.
The spaces were damp and drafty wherein he found to make his bed.
Nothing was anything like what he always dreamed it would be, in his head.
So he finally scurried back to the cottage, that home he’d always deplored.
Strange, the little cottage seemed to shine, and wasn’t a hovel any more.
While he’d been gone it seemed they had missed… giving him his nightly desire.
And they had got together to build a little castle just for him, set by the fire.
Then each night they had left a beloved, yummy piece of popcorn, solely for his lair.
He had been a loved little pampered pet, nothing better could be found elsewhere.
The moral to this story is dreams are only dreams that may not come true.
No matter how green somewhere else seems, always give a warm comfy home it’s due.
Remember it’s a home filled with loving hearts… and not other things…
That will make it… The Perfect Fit for you.
Bestiary: Type of Medieval poetry
Soldier boy, oh soldier boy
Why don't you hide up those tears?
Hold in your mind those nail- biting fears
March till you drop, sing the marching song
Even though, for home you heart it does long
Don't cry no don't cry
Always care to try
Hold up your head
For death cannot tread
Oh soldier boy, oh soldier boy
Why don't you hide up those tears
For this night your safe, soften those fears
Lay down so quiet and hum your wholesome song
Hum how much for home your heart does long
Don't cry no don't cry
Always care to try
Hold up your head
For death cannot tread
Now soldier boy, now soldier boy
Could this be the morn when death does appear?
And I know it will be hard to hide up that fear
Don't let him in, it's just the funeral song
Pretty soon now for home, your heart will not long
You will not cry, oh do not cry
For you always cared to try
Soldier boy hold up that head
For now you layed on eternities bed
What would we do without technology?
I think we would all fall into lethargy.
I am upset because the computer is down
It's got me running all over town.
Trying to get a new modem is rough
When the provider gives you nothing but guff.
So you say to yourself "Myself I say...
Go get your writing fix in some other way!"
So over to the local library I trot
Where I can hit a keyboard and keep it hot.
Yet, I dread to go home to that box I have there
Because all I can do is sit and stare.
I could pick up a pen 'n paper I suppose
To try and write some witty prose.
But that makes my hands ache these days
Since I learned the keyboard and its simpler ways.
So I am just writing this ditty about technology lost
Because when it's down...my keaster gets frost.
And if any of you have been looking for me
My e-mails won't open so I just can't see.
Here in the library you can't speak very loud
Not the way to handle a furrowed brow.
Because I can't speak, hear, see, or write
I guess I'll just go home and call it a night.
Mother’s Day depresses me
because the way Mom sees me
when I came home from service
she rarely gave me notice
and labeled me not normal
never was an animal
she always looked down at me
to her I shouldn’t be free
is it some kind abuse?
she was very nice to Deuce
Deuce was her old friend
my life there to end
I feel guilty for having these thoughts
I always knew my life at home rots
There have been times in our land
When our nation has had to take a stand.
It first began at Bunker's Hill
Where so many men were then killed.
All through that war with the British King
Men here in America were fighting and dying.
They were the first "Veterans" of the US,
When duty calls, there was always a surplus.
Always men of courage it takes it seems
Like those with Jackson at New Orleans.
There were "Veterans" who fought both South and North
When the country was split, her sons poured forth.
Healing those wounds would take some time
But in the end it came in line.
Of course no one remembers the row with Spain
Where America sent her men once again.
The "War to End All Wars" was more than a saying
As loved ones and sweethearts were left home praying.
Oh, Chateau Thierry, the Argonne, Belleau Wood and more
Are now in our history as battles of that war.
Then came the biggest war of all
When the world went crazy in '39's Fall.
Our "Veterans" were there too,
In Africa, Europe, and the Katmandu.
From Casablanca and Casserein on Africa's shore,
To Sicily, Anzio, Normandy, and the Bastogne's of that war.
The Pacific saw its share of death and hell
From the first bombs at Pearl Harbor to Gaudalcanal.
Many "Veterans" died at Iwo Jima, Saipan, Okinawa too,
They shed their blood for me and you.
After the end, we thought we might have some order,
Until the Communists in Korea crossed the border.
The Vietnam era was one of upheaval and race,
Some "Veterans" coming home even received a spit in the face.
For their part the "Veterans" were not to blame,
And for our country, it was a time of shame.
Dessert Storm and Dessert Shield put them in the MidEast
Where terror reigns with sate for a feast.
Yet, the soldier, sailor, or airman know,
If his country calls, he must go.
They follow the traditions of other "Veterans" you see,
They put their lives on the line for both you and me.
To the ones who have worn our country's uniform I say
"Thank You, Veteran", we should honor you with more than one day!
"That's not my elephant!" You could hear her say,
As quickly she ran, caught on film, heading this way.
The 2nd graders all laughed as they watched the movie,
Many of them thought it was really "Groovee."
For this was a film shot of their teacher Ms. Ella,
Whose performance in it was anything but stellar.
She was running for her life as the big bull feigned his charge,
The one she was supposed to ride wasn't nearly that large.
But it made for a good chuckle when she showed her class
The home movie of her trip to India's Kyber Pass.
Soon it was lunchtime...the cafeteria line was fun
As they laughed about how fast their teacher could run.
Spaghetti was on the bill of fare
Passing it up...one wouldn't dare.
Because they would need all their energy tonight
They had a test coming on the Bill of Rights.
Ms. Ella was a good teacher and her kids liked her a lot
But her tests were difficult as if she had some plot.
She would send them home with work to do,
But they learned from her film, not everything is work too.
My quiet place is when my son is at school and my husband is at work the house is so quiet at times I can't remember the joy and fun. I get mighty lonesome at times but I know that I will have Caleb home soon and Wayne sometimes gets to drop by and say hello. He comes and goes so fast I get to feeling like we don't connect with eachother very much.
I get in my comfy chair and open the door and blinds to see the nature outside. Nature is my most written about subject especially the birds and flowers.
The different colors in the sky and flowers are a great inspiration to me. I know others who can be in a room full of people and tune out life and keep on writing. That is not me.
I need to be in a comfy envrionment.
My home is a quiet lonesome
Other dwellers roam free
My home is lonely with just me
Others don't care to be
Informed of my heart and souls depth
My home calls me to go
Where One knows and is known truly
Beyond the sky's rainbow
For Sara Kendrick's contest My Quiet Place
I’ve heard it said that heaven is home
Is it true, is heaven considered home
If heaven is home I’ll be there some day
When will that day be I can’t really say
Lots of people there I will see
Only a few are waiting for me
I’ve had many dogs with me here
I guess I will see them again up there
My mother is waiting and so is my wife
I’ll be going home at the end of this life
Copyright © 2012
(A Purpose So Clear)
Like children we fear
In secret a somber tear
Like learning to walk
Babies listen to talk
And reach for a hand
To help them stand
This too, we all must do
By HIS Hand made anew
my lowland and its flatness
westernmost always my sea
dunes and dikes protective mattress
villagers sing their warm heartfelt plea
bracing fragrances excite
salty winds homely statements
windmills and hamlets always in sight
wooden shoes vocalize on pavements
white clouds and greenest meadows
nowhere views without a bike
lots of white and black dots create cows
always water behind the dike
©Ellie Daphne 2013
EIGHT Lines any KIND
Contest Judged: 1/12/2013 12:00:00 AM
Sponsored by: Debbie Guzzi
10th place awarded.
re-written after judging (3rd stanza)
Erie sounds cry from the blackness of night
Dark clouds casting shadows over tonight's moonlight
Stumbling down an unfamiliar path I wind
Among obstacles challenging both body and mind
A wrong path taken, will I find home?
Or spend a night among nothingness alone
Then in the distance I see a single shaft of light
A candle in the window, everything's all right!
It may be dusty, gross or reek;
It’s sure to sell if it’s antique.
For Susan’s Antique contest
Beauty lamented when faced with that babyface
O do give me more loveliness, with red lace!
Such innocent eyes,
Cunning and wise!
The age of that baby girl
Revolved around two in our world
Yet, she was an attractive one
Charming one, magnetic one
None could get jealous of her beauty
Except beauty itself in all simplicity
If she was hungry, she ate like a bird
If she was thirsty, she drank only curd
If she fell while running, she stood and smiled
If she cried, her surroundings made her not feel exiled!
Dressed in her favourite red dress,
She listened to old stories on her mattress
And fell in deep slumber while dreaming of the Lord
And how it is like in his peaceful abode!
At two, this cute babyface, surrounded with black hair
Could only jump and exalt at life without any care!
Desert dust devils reign supreme
Swirling in conditions extreme
Dry, cracked river bed yawns wide
Depleted source long denied
Lost to his instinctive traits
He halts to sniff a draught of air
Frenzied digging does then occur
Grubbing for ants, worms or mice?
He digs a deep hole in a trice
Ground darkens to a muddy brown
The scent of water.......his home found.
THE LONG ROAD HOME
Our home in the country sit's deep in a valley.
Once a month our small town has a home town rally.
Country living and country folk is what we live for.
We all are willing to lend a hand or to open a door.
Tall trees winter grass and the scent of spring flowers.
Chickens laying eggs,cows grazing in summer showers.
People of Prue,Oklahoma have nothing bad to say.
We socialize and join together in church and pray.
We got a church,post office,store and a school.
We got our own lake so there is no need for a
There's plenty of room for dogs and kids to roam.
.As you travel the long road home.
Entered in Brian Strand's"A free choice any form/theme Max 12 LINES"contest
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
One of the taken three,
Has returned home to me.
Five years he has been gone
So some days he is still withdrawn.
I am happy to have him here,
I no longer have the fear,
That he will not be free
As he is home with me.
There are new journeys to be had.
He will triumph though, like a good lad.
He is after all my son,
He will have his victory in the long run.
Of him I am very proud,
This emotion is allowed.
He is now a young man
Moving on with his plan.
He is enrolled and going to school,
Where he will shine and rule.
My son will show them all
How well he can stand tall.
Drops of sweat slip from my furrowed brow
Eyes squint, select a number and let fly now
Miss again, a millimetre is a mile once more
Aimed for triple twenty, only got double four
The walk of shame, my oh so familiar friend
Silence broken, on alcohol I forever depend
The steel point of eyes bore into my neck
My opponent leaves me a juddering wreck
I lose the match; the wife won’t give me a kiss
I wish I could have been anything else than this...
Blood mountains divided, staring back quartz veins.
Decending and rising, as footings lay claims.
Hopping and leaping through scents of black earth.
Surrounded by moss and love what it's worth.
Climbing the hill will pull at your muscles.
while healing your heart; tomorrow come tussles.
Seeing's forever and waiting not still.
Love of destruction; you rise till you feel.
Sniffing the wind that smells of the trees
while Winding you up on two buckled knees.
Then resting your fluids on top of your tongue,
Sees love far from home or a rule of thumb.
Now View the horizon on top of the mountain
Where words are in silence and chest like a fountain.
Relax and start humming and start your way down.
Returning you home and turn in your crown.
ON THE OCEAN WAVES
Ships that toss on the ocean waves have no track
To follow to lead them home by starboard tack,
Do not float abroad by evening star, or wave and throw
Their moorings to the lubbers ashore and below.
They wrest their pathway home from the deep
While landward the dry hills of home rest asleep.
Souls that search endlessly for salvation sure
Have no warrantied way to help them endure,
Cannot take or borrow the time to try new ways
To head ever closer to endless halcyon days.
These poor spirits tread a narrow path of dread,
Never knowing when, but always fearing to be dead.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written on 27 July 2012
Entered in Francine Roberts's Contest On the Ocean Waves
Go! Go to sleep!” Night said
“Where? Where?” I whispered back
Sleep - Where can this famed land be?
Where one must close their eyes in order to see!
And must I go there at nine o'clock?
How to get there? Will I walk?
Will my friends be there as well?
Or should I bid them all farewell?
And Night was silent for a while
Til she answered with a knowing smile
Sleep is the land where your dreams dwell
More than that I can't foretell.
But perhaps it’s the home of fairies
Perhaps it’s full of tales and stories
Miracles are quite common there
You could meet Hope, or else Despair
And then Night said beware;
Beware the place called Nightmare
The land of banshees, dwarves and dragons
The home of elves, griffins and kraken.
And shuddering I closed my eyes
For there the land of sleep lies
And Night continued its lullaby
Until the sun rose in the sky.
I just realized our humble abode
Is smack-dab in the middle of dinky-house road.
We muddle along in our simple ranches
And their add-ons that shoot off like stubby branches.
We fuss with our lawns but appear as mice
From outer space through a telescopic device.
We barely make waves in the grand scheme of things
Being no larger than droplets in a stone throw’s rings.
But maybe someday it won’t be that way
Perhaps we’ll be something or have something to say.
That will be larger than tiny, louder than ka-boom
Until then we’ll exist in our dinky-house room.
Bobby comes home from work to screaming kids and a nagging wife;
Feeling as if he hasn’t had a moment of peace in his entire life.
Jackson comes home from work to a dark and empty house;
Longing to fill the void of it all with offspring and a spouse.
Betty changes a dirty diaper and wipes a running nose;
The last time she pampered herself, only heaven knows.
Janet fixes another meal made especially just for one;
Wondering if her eligible days have all come and gone.
Each of them looks deep inside not liking what they see;
Convinced that everyone else in the world has a better reality.
Bobby watches his kids score a goal and his wife fixes him supper;
The pride he feels and love he shares works like a natural upper.
Jackson relaxes with a good book and listens to his favorite musician;
Comfortable with the freedom to do what he wants without any imposition.
Betty gets a big hug and a kiss from kids who say they love her;
The times she feels happiest is when she is helping out another.
Janet shares time with wonderful friends without any sexual tension;
And feels sorry for those unhappily married whose choices they often question.
Each of them looks deep inside and are happy with their destination;
Some days are good and some days are bad no matter our life situation.
I can’t complain I’m sheltered and fed
But this nagging ambition still builds in my head
Of what was written and what was said
Of a lonely road far from my bed
You don’t venture far tiny bird in the thicket
The home you mind is safe from the wicked
It’s a shame you can’t fly far away
And see all the cultures time built on its way
With the people of both peace and war
And the beauty of things in nature to adore
But your home is well kept and happy it seems
But what of your heart, your wishes and your dreams
I can’t feel shame it would make me weaker
About the wasted moments left to the meeker
The scoundrel in me keeps my heart from fever
But fever is wanted by my soul the dreamer
So tiny bird would you say you much wiser
The time you spend you count like a miser
Or is it that you take simple love in your day
In the little you make from the soil and the clay
Do the storms bother you at all little one?
Do the storms keep you hiding waiting for the sun?
I see the light is there in the weather so destructive
Are clouds to you renewal or counter productive?
I take it we differ in thought and song
Though I can no longer say yours is wrong
But I take from you a lesson - a lovely subtraction
In the happiness to be found in simple satisfaction
Sweet angel bells caress the air
With tlling, tlling, tlling
Thrice they chime their gentle tllings
Then thrice again once more
With fluted softness, the tllinging brings
A chorale of soul-lights – Heaven sings
Thrice they sigh their gentle tllings
Then thrice just as before
And me? So sad? Such a sad, poor thing
Am soul-brushed - . tlling, tlling, tlling
Brought home to life, come home to love,
Throw wide my stained glass door
As hummingbirds, afloat mid-air
Still their rainbow wings
Astride the currents of the thrice-time tllings
Transformed beyond their core
Eric Edward, what an inspiration
Fighting for a cause in a dangerous location
Browns, greens and dark colours match
Loading shells and weapons in a particular batch
The glint in his eye of that brave young soul
Heart beating pure, being home safe is his goal
Orders given to a job he may not understand
Passionate for his country on this foreign land
Heat blazing down on his fragile body
Brotherhood so strong, never shoddy
Maybe he is used as a pawn in a political battle
Unlike weak politicians, he’ll never throw in his rattle
Leading by example in a courageous way
In a world that looses patriotic views every day.
I remember the individuals who risk their lives
They also have Sons, mothers, brothers and wives
Lets not forget ‘Sweetheart’ who worries every night
Mother to her child who worries, hoping he’ll be alright
Never judge on what is right and what is wrong
The world is a long way from singing a harmonic song
Thank you for the efforts of the brave
Hopefully one day its your life I will be able to save
Come home safe to your worried mother
The day will be soon to embrace one another.
Time to head out to Turner Field
I will surley not yield
Everyone knows my team, the braves
Even the ones in caves
To watch McCain hit a homer
And watch Chipper field a grounder
Nothing feels as such
Not a thing can get me going more than a diving catch
The seventh inning stretch
The only break we need, we are ready for a home run catch
The ninth inning is such torment
Waiting to find out which team is dominant
We cheer for the home team to win
If they lose it is like a sin
Can't wait untill the next game
And I know it will be great just the same
Time never stands still; the changes take place
that’s how it is, running the human race
the longer you wait; the farther you roam
these reduce chances of going back home
Home is more than a place; not just a word
Home is memories of things that occurred
including tastes, sounds, emotions and fears
Collected throughout your growing up years
As times moves on, what was home disappears
Things are different after all those years
You can return home every now and then
When your sentence starts with “Remember when?”
Down home cooking is the thing to know.
Baking,frying and cooking food real slow.
Going to pot luck suppers and a bake sale.
Frying up some hushpuppies and pulling fish
from a pail.
Mom's soups and stews are the best they can be.
She'll dip you up some and served with a glass of ice tea.
Our feeling's go into the food we cook.
The food's so good cause of the time we took.
Sometimes we put a chicken into a pot.
Throw in some dumplins that was what granny taught.
Desserts are the best there all homemade.
Laying under a big oak tree sipping lemon-aid.
Home grown melon by the slice.
It's so good it makes you think twice.
If your hungry stop and try a taste.
Our foods so good you won't want to waste.
There's chocolate gravy and sweet potato pie.
Beans and chili that makes you say my oh my.
Bisquits and bread made fresh everyday.
We learned to do the canning granny's way.
So come on by and grab something to eat.
Down home cooking is such a treat.
Entered in Brian
My mother screamed, “House is on fire.”
We awakened to a danger dire.
Dashing across the snowy street
We ended up with frozen feet.
From neighbor’s home we watched it burn.
Our things were gone, not to return.
Our home had burned right to the ground.
It lay there in a blackened mound.
With blistered feet we stayed in bed.
“Fifty below”, the papers said.
Our feet and our loss caused such deep pain,
I hope it never happens again.
But if it should and I could choose
I would, I think, look for my shoes.
(This is no lie. It really was fifty degrees belowthat night back in that cold winter in North Dakota.
The meadow’s breath a gift to all, the misty mornings’ dew,
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.
So green and warm, and full of life, the forest skirt and the maids’ delight.
There rabbits dwell in lovers’ dells;A gauze filled dream in morning light.
So gold and bright, and full of life, the forests skirt and Knights delight;
The Dame and doe do lie, ‘pon hillocks high, where lovers sleep with passion's cry.
So white and fair, yet full of life, the forests’ skirt of pearly white;
Where burrowers sleep in bowers deep, and hearths light on winter nights.
The meadow's breath a gift to all, the misty morning’s dew;
A silent sigh, a heartfelt call, aA prayer to me and you.
Now, no green bloom, no home for them, the builders-men once more;
to take the glen and make man's homes, no deer will roam fourscore.
A meadow’s a home to many things, to bold butterflies and birds on wing,
Yet, few can dwell where men reside if forest's skirt, gives way to tide.
The meadow's breadth a gift to all, from sea to shining sea
America, a heartfelt call, a prayer to you and me.
Do beetles go home at night?
Or just sleep wherever they happen to alight?
Do wife beetles ask themselves
If beetle husbands are out searching the foodshelves?
Or are they having a cold one,
Listening to what the beetle guys have done?
Do beetle children ask where’s daddy today?
(And haven’t seen him since April or May.)
How does beetle mail reach them by road
if they have no fixed abode?
Do they just collect it at the post office?
Or use another communication artifice?
Next time you see a beetle in the dirt
Don’t attempt his progress to divert
Let him continue home for the night
So kids, mum, and he can all sleep tight.
As I knelt down beside the dying man,
I took hold of his bloody and trembling hand.
So far from home this lad had come to suffer and die,
And I couldn’t help but ask the question why!
To give freedom and liberty to a people who just cannot comprehend,
The reason we are here is to protect and defend.
All of their lives, dictatorship is all these people have ever known,
A nation with no will, and jelly for a backbone.
I don’t mean that they are cowards it’s just that they have never tasted of the wonders of freedom,
Or know of the values from whence it comes from.
Freedom doesn’t mean that you can always do what you want or desire,
But working together in harmony to reach a solution that’s best for all to transpire.
Being able to make choices is why this young man came so far from home to suffer and die,
It was his choice, his belief, and he felt his obligation is why.
To let someone else have a taste of what he relished is what brought him this way,
It’s the American way to help others is all I’m trying to say.
When you have something you know is good, it makes you feel good to share,
I just wish others would realize we’re not there to hurt them, we’re there cause we care.
This war has raged for many a year
Mothers & Fathers shed oceans of tears
It’s fought here at home and on foreign soil
I’m not talking about terrorist or oil
Fought from home to home and coast to coast
There are no boundaries when addiction is the host
I remember once a lifetime ago
I advocated this war with my soul
Then I devoted my mind and took a stand
Looked up at my Lord then kissed his hand
Up until that moment the day was dark as hell
For when the Lord saved me it was in my cell
There is a fact that I can’t hide
I became a traitor and traded sides
Now days I travel from jail to jail
Donate my books to the poor souls in hell
Telling them all “Please believe what I say”
“Our Lord can make this all go away”
I am a living example for the world to see
Just look at the changes the Lord made in me
Some kid said, “Boy this one got way to spun”
Homeboy pulled him aside and said, “That’s Jughead son”
Then they ask their questions and I answered my best
Told them “Take what you need and leave the rest”
I hugged my homeboy with eyes full of tears
He just caught an L with 37 years
At our age I reckon he’ll die in the pen
Someday I hope to see him again
Him and I were as close as any two brothers
I stopped by his house to consol his mother
To the mothers and fathers please never lose hope
Our Lords more powerful than all that dope
To the addicts I say, “Just look at me”
Living simple, honest, loving and free
At the end of the road my castle awaits
Provided I earn my way through the gate
Authors note: I would like to dedicate this poem to all of the mothers, Fathers, Brothers and Sisters of addicts
and or convicts in prison. To all the addicts I urge you to consider what your lifestyle is doing to the ones you
A special dedication I wish to make to Mary Duhart. Mary my heart is with you always
Coquina butterflies, in cases, in glass
30 years locked in my memory's passed
The beach just brought home with it's sand still warm
to a house full of love, to a brand new home
When he smiled then, when he caught her eyes
they remarried in whispers and sweet surprise
As a child I learned, and I learned it well
Drop into love, so with ease, I fell
I fell in a dream with the ocean's kiss
while thinking of them in happiness
'till the moment he wrapped the shore up to bite stone
'till the moment he told her he'd leave her alone
Not by free will did he swim out to sea
for the love of his life he would never bereave
Nay, but with sickness, an anchor in tow
He kissed her and smiled so she'd always know
She swam out so far, to the boundary of currents
and filled up the sea with her tears in her fury
She screamed 'till her lungs had shriveled in salt
and broke open emotion, engaging them all.
Coquina quiet in cases, in glass
in their home by the sea, in their infinite past
She'll love now no more for once you are bitten
there's no breaking butterfly wings, it's forbidden.
Enveloped in a shroud of sapphire
Lay a listless child by a fire
Who sought an adventure and lost his way
Who had mourned the passing of the day
Gone had fled the light
His home now far from sight
For hours did he moan
For he was now all alone
But then glowed the embers of the sky
The child looked up and tears did dry
His fears and sorrows gave way to wonder
No longer cursed he at his careless blunder
The stars did then smile in glee
As then the boy did see
No further did he have to roam
For they paved the pathway to his home
I have a baby panther, she is restless and carefree.
Okay, she is really not a panther; she's my cat named Blackberry.
She was found in a blackberry patch, by a girl named Tana Bech.
Who rescues cats and kittens that have suffered from neglect.
I saw her on a web site; she was nine weeks old back then.
She was curled up on a blanket and looked wiry, small and thin.
I was looking for a longhaired Persian with a cute round face.
I couldn't find one, and found myself back on Blackberry's space.
At the time I didn't know why she seemed to call my name.
This scrawny little kitten waiting for someone she could claim.
I went to meet her face to face to see if we would chime.
I was afraid the damage had been done; she hid the entire time.
Tana said that's what she did when strangers came around.
When rescued it took a hot dog and some time to get her out.
I decided to take her home that day and though, it took some time.
She made my house her home and now she thinks it's hers - not mine.
This once fearful little kitten walks like a hunter proud and tall.
When I'm not feeling well she stays beside me through it all.
She still hides to this day, when people visit she doesn't know.
I know when they are gone, my little panther's face will show.
I could afford to use the money
On both rainy days and sunny
I would buy a brand new car
Then donate mine to a crash stunt star
I'm not interested in traveling afar
I'd rather buy my friends a new car
What a treat to buy brand new clothes
A comfy coat and shoes without holes
A home with acreage I can call my own
A hot tub and pool table to come home
Shower my family with financial wealth
They can always spend in good health
Honor Veterans who served our Country
Financial aid, for they are worthy
College scholarships to those in need
To Help them strive and succeed
Take the homeless off the street
Into a home with food to eat
Hire someone to think of creative ways
Help those in need and brighten their days
I always felt the outsider, looking through an open door.
I know I was invited, but I didn’t know what was in store.
Spent most my life looking out. I never let anyone look in.
However, I really wanted them to. I never made true friends.
There were people that I knew, with whom I would hang out.
But, I remained the outsider, still possessing doubts.
Because of my unstable home and not wanting them to see,
my life was not one, like theirs and I never thought it to be
It never was that easy, to make and keep new friends.
In fact, to this very day, I will swear it never ends.
These feelings of unsurety that crawl into my head
still keep me from reaching out and keep my demons fed.
They prey upon my open mind when I’m trying to be heard
and push me back, away again, never to be cured.
When I was young, emotionally scarred, I battled to be free
and open up to those I knew. I was afraid of what they’d see.
That home that I was coming from; drinks, fighting and abuse
engraved into my very soul, I’d never win, I’d lose.
As a parent, I tell my children, to open up and trust.
They will see and keep true friends, for having them, a must.
I hope that they will always see, though no friends come by for me,
It doesn’t mean that they shouldn’t always trust and try to be
the best of friends with many others that they think are worth while.
I hope that they can keep their friends and inflict no self denial.
For if they do, then I have failed in trying to teach them right.
Because, by example, I’ll always be, forever in a fight
with all my demons that keep me from making any new friends
For to this day, I still put up walls. Some message all that sends!