It was a long time ago, in another age
Where the shifting of the wind
Knew where I began
A place so far away,
Somewhere distant, in childhood country
Before the fog had set in,
Before time lost all trace of me
Where have they gone?
Those merry dancers with whom I played?
When we were queens of the carnival, kings of the parade?
Before being dethroned to mid-life corners
Hearing the music, without playing the drums
They tell me to take this age with grace
Yet everywhere I turn, is young
I'm still the same, I have not changed
I lived a time where love was wild and thoughts were too
With high regard, when eyes were glued
Now inside I'm torn in two...the old and the new
Trapped between this nowhere place
Myself and someone else
Until each barrier becomes a bridge...
Have I been shaped too square by passing years, to fit in circle's place?
My memory recalls those beautiful tomorrows
Now long buried in yesterday's ground
There are other ways to measure time
Besides growing older and graying hair
Recorded music fills the room
Left playing from an earlier time
When October skies showed fading traces
Of empty days and sad old faces
The "others" of whom I had no fear
Now those shadowed remnants from my past
Are stalking at my heels
Will somebody care to ask? Will anyone need my mind?
Is there something they want to tell me?
Will they patronize, or just be kind?
Care enough, make me useful, give me value, call me beautiful?....
Not yet the age I'll someday be
Still, I feel the sting of losing me
How I ache for all those love songs
How I ache for someone needing, someone pleading...
For advice....for my worth, for an answer, will they want me?
How it haunts me.....Will they see me?
Touching me....reminding me of who I am................not just who I was...
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010
For the lark she sings in her morning song,
That brightens up my day.
The pitter patter of tiny drops,
Clouds fill the sky with grey.
The dampened ground, that familiar smell,
Now quenched refreshed anew.
Brings forth forgotten memories,
Of a time that I once new.
Like grains of sand they ebb and flow,
Those minutes of the day.
In lines of endless moments,
That brought forth that child at play.
For is this just like déjà vu
For some time I’ve been alone.
Now standing here now humble,
To all these things I’ve known.
With gentle face a youthful pose,
As we danced the night away,
A tender touch a knowing gaze,
No need for words to say.
For what is love but a feeling?
As hearts melt into one.
With the blessings of good fortune,
Now Care free and full of fun.
For they say that hopes eternal,
And all things come to he who waits.
Or is that for other people,
For nothing seems that straight.
Given in reflected thought,
To those oh so special years.
Brought back in just a heart beat,
I wipe away the tears.
© N windle
Copyright © nicholas windle | Year Posted 2014
in the sun
The skin became the bark of a tree
the soul turning to brittle scars
for uncaring worlds to see.
is a pile of
old owl bones
sewn into banks of midnight creeks...
even the plump, over ripened ones
no longer look at me...
but if their car was desert flat,
their oil grim reaper black
they'd paint a wormy, water colored smile...
slide it through my barbed wired heart
so long as I could spin the jack...
so I spin it until their potholes turn to satin-
in the sun
the mind has smoothed over
like pebbles in Saturn rings..
a forgotten spice in the conversation of life
an hour later the word snuggles up to me
Tomorrow or forever( which ever comes first),
I'll stay wrapped inside
till my skin turns back to ivory
to an easter egg yesterday
to a time of bouncing ball and spinning jack,
when the mind was a great silky nest...
the face a flowered meadow place
where watercolors swirled all day,
the heartworms kept at bay.
I'll stay hidden within the briar,
till the jewels of memories sooth
every scar - every stripe,
the molten knots of cruelty,
till the sweetened fruit reclaims the tree.
until then only my curtains breathe...
...stayed in the sun
Copyright © Anthony Slausen | Year Posted 2013
They are lined up along the long hallways
wheelchairs protruding, blocking the corridors.
The aroma of antiseptic spray attempts to mask
the pungent smell of body odors.
The loud blare of the big screen TV
reverberates from the empty day room,
while medical staff busily sort paperwork
behind the sterile counter tops.
Each ancient face, each frail body
huddled beneath their blankets
reflect a unique history, a life story
that is waning with the passage of time.
Men and women, now trapped within their
weakened bodies, once vibrant and strong
now confined and consigned to wait
away from the public eye, burning daylight.
Written on 4/28/2015
Copyright © Laura Leiser | Year Posted 2015
Letting go of all the space in between
A theme, that use to be
Long gone before I woke
Sadly Today's my birthday
So here I am singing a song
Happy Birthday to myself
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
sometimes i talk to myself,
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all.
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister,
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it.
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room,
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy,
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
is daddy raping her?
is she doing drugs?
is anyone beating her?
did anyone molest her?
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse.
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat,
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why?
because daddy yelled
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...
Copyright © cassie hellberg | Year Posted 2013
I might make a noise right now
There will be a time when I go silent
Will you miss my racket?
In those days of silence?
I will no longer yearn for your presence
Like I do at this very moment
Will you wonder?
Will you wish?
For that good morning?
I might be a nuisance right now
I might ask you the same thing over and over
My voice will go silent
All I ask today is be patient with me
Please love me; with your ears
Please love me; with your time
Before all you will have
Is my grave and the memories…
"Thoughts of the aged - loneliness don't discriminate "
Copyright © Wilma Neels | Year Posted 2015
How did a cherry kiss? Bitter flower petals with sweet pistils.
So laden they act as halos while we breathe the love
in a pink hollow, silence sounding like taste, acting like epistle
to hold this moment in a silvery image, like moon, or dove
low, low, a bowl formed while sunshine flickers above.
Chains of yellow petals hang over our deck, the leaves hands--
offer welcome resting branch, our sheltered home.
Seeds follow close, fragile like beans, hard case to feed the land
crawl before God, they say, be grateful as we weed and stir loam.
Together seeds and flowers and hands make a life a poem.
Awaiting the sumac, the flame at summer's ending is fruitless
we've passed the feathering, the pimping of red underneath bristle
the deer horn softness crawling out in oddest places in a mess
lining the sand pond, above the purpled iris, the pestle
of stone and sun, no rain to bring down sumac's fiery trestle.
Vulturous crows squawk and fight the ring-billed sea gulls
waiting, one in the bared hollow hands of the cottonwood
the other fat-bellied and waddling after rain finally dulls
we're under hoodies, under shivers, our neighborhood
waits the pinking and mossing, will it unfurl new wood?
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2014
Many years ago, when we were all young,
We really thought life, would be so much fun.
While playing dress-up, trying on mom’s stuff,
Putting on make-up, we found to be tough.
Then came our schooling, and boy things would change,
“Those aren’t our parents”, when they acted strange.
Sometimes they were hip, but old-fashioned too,
That’s something I swore, I would never do.
Wishing you were older, adults had it made,
They would do nothing, yet still would be paid.
That is how little, we all had known,
We surely found out, once we were grown.
Loving the twenties, we’d go out with friends,
When we went shopping, we followed the trends.
Doing what we wanted, and staying out late,
It didn’t matter, what time we all ate.
Then came the thirties, and most of us wed,
Watch what you wish for, my parents had said.
We had to work hard, many bills to pay,
I guess they were right, what more can I say?
Raising your children, was hardest of all,
Needing some advice, your parent’s you’d call.
It seemed so easy, they needed no rest,
So now it’s your turn, you learned from the best.
The forties arrived, that was a shocker,
We’d spend lots of time, just at the doctor.
Back aches and headaches, so tired you’d be,
Trying not to cough, or else you would pee.
The fifties would come, and your grandkids too,
Where were your glasses? You hadn’t a clue.
You searched here and there, and under the bed,
“Hey grandma” they laughed, “They’re right on your head”.
Here come the sixties, now let’s have some fun,
You are retired; your work is all done.
To dinner with friends, you dressed and you wait,
They never show up, you have the wrong date.
Now the seventies, with friends playing games,
If only you could, remember their names.
You try hard to hide, those under-eye bags,
Gravity happens, and everything sags.
Enjoy every day, and have a good laugh,
All the steps you took, led down a new path.
Live life as it comes, each year a new page,
One thing is for sure, everyone will age.
Copyright © Kelly Zakerski | Year Posted 2009
as if Time
to exit with
not a shout--
for the final
nyet, I do
Copyright © Nola Perez | Year Posted 2014
Along a pier, on a bench,
An old man sits all day.
Passers by not lending time,
To what he has to say.
They'll never know the loves he had,
Or ocean blues he sailed.
If they had just a moment,
Oh the tales that he could tell.
A gent with fishing rod in tow,
The "big one" but a dream.
The old man pleads with aching hands,
Would you come sit with me?
A flashing glance, a fleeting wave,
No time for you old man.
Then you'll not know my secrets,
How sure giant ones to land.
Not sailfish fought for hours on end,
Bursting through the sky.
Nor great whites conquered, whales harpooned,
Nor where the mermaids hide.
A lass sashaying, book in hand,
Of romance she does read.
His crooked finger motions her,
Would you come listen please?
With rolling eyes, a turned up nose,
His answer once again.
Then you'll miss the most daring ventures,
Ever known to man.
Expanding near a century,
Ore exotic lands and seas.
My passions, loves and tragedies,
Would bring Shakespeare to his knees.
So when you see an old man,
Sitting there alone.
Most all desires that you have dreamed,
He has lived and known.
He can fill you with adventures,
A knew world to you unveil.
If you'll just take a moment,
Oh the tales that he could tell.
Copyright © Arlene Smith | Year Posted 2014
You see him at the store sometimes
He doesn’t walk too fast
His stride has slowed throughout the years
He slowly moves on past
The hair upon his head is white
If there’s any there at all
He may be stooped or bent a bit
A cane so he won’t fall
He smiles but you don’t know his name
He waves a weathered hand
You might smile back and say hello
There goes a nice old man
What you don’t see beyond his face
His life of ninety years
The wife he met the kids he’s raised
The joys and work and tears
The letters won for high schools sports
The girls he used to date
The time his father grounded him
For coming home too late
The war he fought for freedom’s sake
Tales too hard to speak
The friends he lost the wounds he bore
The tears upon his cheeks
The job he worked for forty years
That kept his family fed
The home he built with his two hands
The church group that he led
Time and youth have slipped away
His mind is not as clear
His friends have mostly left this earth
He’s lost his wife so dear.
When next you see an aged gent
Who passes through your day
There’s more to him than leathered skin
There’s much that he could say
He doesn’t want your sympathy
Nor pity could he stand
Don’t treat him like a feeble child
Approach him as a man.
He still remembers all he’s done
He hasn’t lost his pride
Respect his years for you’ll be there
And know his heart inside
Copyright © John Curtis | Year Posted 2013
[“It nourishes the spirit and feeds the imagination” ~ Ryszard Antolak]
In the desert of Abarkuh
this magnificent cedar stands,
a symbol of beauty and happiness,
liberty and justice; the triumph of life.
Was it Zoroaster or Japheth
who planted this sacred Iranian tree
which has withstood the test of time,
defying nature’s most fierce elements?
There it stands, savouring memories
of distant years, witness to the birth
and growth of modern civilization.
It bears no fruit, but it feeds the spirit
and offers shade to those who seek it.
Age takes its toll. Weary yet defiant
it clings on to stubborn faithful roots
waiting for the master to call its name
while swallows huddle in its welcoming
branches, whispering, as the sun goes down,
keeping her company right till the very end.
Period of Time ~ a 4,000 year old tree
Contest: Punctuation Personified
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015
Time Is An Eternal Book
Time is an eternal book with covers so worn
it embraces us even before we are born
Pages may be long and very deeply stained
sadly in this life so much is unexplained!
There are pictures of our infamous deeds
proof our our fruits and barbaric seeds
Times we refuse to help those in dire need
They were bountiful crops, we were the weed!
Yet recorded also our moments of victories
times we gave of ourselves and loved others
Life recorded complete with its mysteries
How nothing beats the love of our mothers!
Near the end we may see the spilt ink so bad
Yet know its too late and our future is sad!
Robert J. Lindley, 07-23-2015
Note- A Sonnet , a Message and a Truth..
edit- "spilt" is spelled in its common usage and form not a spelling error by the author( *spilled).
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
Dribble down our chins
Flee now our present sorrows
Scribble down our sins
We may resent our tomorrows
Wish the alarm would snooze itself
Yet wish we were counting ewes
Wish our charm would excuse wealth
Net fish with thieving crews
Spend us sweat, spend us time
Cheek by jowl, nose to the grind
Make us debt, make us dime
Shriek and howl, clock rewind!
So we have lost
All of yesterday's joys
At our great cost
Chronos makes us his toy
Copyright © A.E. Rivenbark | Year Posted 2014
Time Has Passed, Colors Are On The Wane
Time has passed, colors are on the wane,
Saddened smiles are dancing once again.
Youthful perfect days are now deceased,
Into dark midnights, aged and released.
Like shreds of colored glass they yet shine,
And cut softly into this heart of mine.
Like sad whimpers from a crying child,
Forever - Lost beauty, fading in the wild,
Or heartache pain refusing to mend,
Punishing dear life at its fading end.
The pity! Such splendid days never last,
As we endure yet more anguish from the past
For we need the end to hold all the more
Love and joy to even out sadder days of yore!
R.J. and Robert J. Lindley- a collaboration.
Note- This old sonnet , found late last night has
been about halfway re-written and retitled this morn.
Thus its the old me from 1975 and the much, much older me
from, November 2015. As such its a collaboration.....
Don't blame me, my muse insists!!
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
The Old Soul Ponders
The Old Soul Ponders
Old soul, ripped its tent and retired
into another long daylight fog
Pay the wages, old age is soundly mired
in the barks of a lazy dog
Serpent like- Each day twists its tail
where angels fear to ever tread
Sticky- Those tentacles leading to Hell
rude awakening even for the dead
Tunnel is long and dark with no light
thrashers cutting stalks for the corn
Bruised thoughts invade before the fight
as wisdom belches out its high scorn!
Alas! Wise words shot me in my back
as blood soaked my racing feet.
For courage was never what I lack
Yet Time eternally laughs at our defeat!
Robert J. Lindley , 11-17-2015
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
There was a time long ago
which my mind cannot go
I was born that I know
what happened next it's a no no
These days and months afterwards
are all just a blank
there I was with no parents
just me myself with no rank
For these long six weeks
before adoption rescued me
if I knew my mindful state
it was most difficult to see
This period surely was hard
not knowing what life would come
everything was freely unknown
of what this lad's life would it become?
At six weeks of age adoption came
a couple wanted me as a son
despite my stammer with it's restrictions
life became a story yet to be done
Copyright © Gordon McConnell | Year Posted 2014
The sky fades
I'll be free
The good day
Copyright © Emidifi Defi | Year Posted 2013
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
Never once have I been enclosed in exhaustion
Until now - like a black woolen blanket, drenched.
I've looked and crawled and even found unceasingly
Before screaming from the riverbank: "This Is What It's For."
But now I can hardly whisper,
Sensing, maybe, a changing tide that sends the fish away
Or remembering past moons that moved them to more fertile feasts.
Yes - both it must be.
For now the water's meandering isn't hopeful wanderlust;
It only serves to annoy me.
And is it me or has its flow slowed?
Although now more than ever I note its swiftness
In comparison with the glassy new-born lake
Or the black curmudgeonly seas.
The gulls still call but no longer in triumph.
It seems it's morphed into a dirge
Though their wings still hang a crisp angel white in the sky.
Gliding, though again more slowly,
Before snatching a fish with ease;
Now it's mockery in their squawking.
Trudging through muddy waters,
I feel more akin to washed up wood
And the log floating on
Than to the swift fishermen
Across the river.
I sit and listen to their songs
Carried by the soft wind,
Encompassing the gull and my own fragile breath
(A song of a son lost at sea and I can't find where to put my hands).
I taste their hope in the sand and the sun
And it oozes from my eyes.
Copyright © Matt Fergoda | Year Posted 2014
In our fast paced twentieth century world..,
We oft' have neglected to stop to smell the roses,
Oft' we used to bow our heads silently to pray,
As we reflect back to the sixties is had launched a pad to rebellion !
With a vast amount of liberal bias and thinking,
No wonder why our nation is sinking..,
Sinking amidst a cuss pool of mere morality..,
For now it is a quite different time,
A very unique but different type of day..,
An end of the age of innocence,
One hath been enlightened..,
From seeking truth,
Some fresh out of a garbage can..,
Yet for Gods' sake,
He hath such an amazing plan !
Hence, to shun the broad road,
Yet to seek to venture in the narrow..,
Such as a distant bird in flight !
You might see this creature venture out at night ?
Of the Eagle nor the Sparrow..,
It used to mean something to have a sense of common courteous..,
To hold open the door for your neighbor ?
Yet for the time being we relent and waiver..,
Would you prefer another taste of a certain ice cream flavor ?
To ponder we must be content with who we are in the inside..,
Nor, a mere fancy suit or blazing sport's car,
Life is a roller coaster..,
In what you do while busy making other plans..,
Finding solace among the height of nature.,
Such to think at what is quite simple,
As a young child reflects on his or her poster board,
Playing with their magic crayons..,
For in eternity it is such a very long time !
Take heed in what you do,
Now is the expectant hour !
What will one choose to do ?
There can be no place nor need for any compromise,
Within it's vast perpetual spectrum !
One just can't put a price tag on a genuine but unique heart !
Hence, with honest integrity..,
The time for change is today !
Copyright © Mario Vitale | Year Posted 2009
(In Memory of Eva Vescovi Dixon 1910-2010)
by Tina (Vescovi) Lasley
She was a Sister, Mother, Aunt and Friend
Someone on whom you could always depend
She was Counselor, Advisor, and Mentor to all
There to pick us up if we should fall
She was persistent, tenacious and so strong willed
Not one to be stopped or one to be stilled
She was ahead of her time in so many ways
Working on war planes in her early days
Owning a restaurant and a Florist too
When it was an uncommon thing for Women to do
Arranging flowers each and every day
Making sprays and bouquets to earn her way
Raising two Sons all on her own
Without self help books and how to be shown
Working long hours, six days a week
No time for vacations or much rest to seek
She made time for us all, to sit and chat
Telling stories from the past about this and that
She remembered all the names in the photo book
When we would ask as we took a look
Her homemade ravioli’s were the best around
Her sweet potato pie could always be found
Family recipes passed one to another
Learned from the great Italian Mother
She kept regular hair appointments, clear to the end
Her “Beauty Operator”, more Family than Friend
She was loved by her neighbors and all that she knew
Long standing friendships through the years that grew
Each year, her garden she’d tend
Sharing her bounty with Family and Friend
There wasn’t a plant she couldn’t revive
Even when you thought it would never survive
She tried to retire at age 75
But missed being around people and feeling alive
Back to work she went for 17 more years
Working part time at a Florist that happened to be near
She retired a 2nd time at age 92
Finding ways to keep busy with things to do
She befriended two robins that followed her around
Moving from window to window, until she could be found
Grandmother, Great Grandmother, to such a big brood
Her hugs and kisses sure to lift your mood
She will always be remembered at the door waving goodbye
Trying hard to smile with a tear in her eye
She saw so much in her 100 years
Even outlived all of her peers
But the good Lord said, “Eva, it’s time to go”
Heaven is waiting on you to show.
Copyright © Tina Lasley | Year Posted 2010
Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass.
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are.
Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment.
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers,
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
Lucky none have seen him slip and fall.
Mustn't know his strain to stand at all.
Many wondrous stories he could share.
Pass them by as if he wasn't there.
Try to help, a plate slips from his hand.
Whispers seem a guarded reprimand.
With, "I'm sorry", asks them for a broom.
Told don't worry. Shuffles to his room.
Often teens will peek when he's asleep.
Perfect size computer room retreat.
Glance at all his keepsakes still unpacked.
Confident their future plans intact.
Enter rooms, their words become a cough.
When he leaves, begin where they left off.
Waking from a dream, he's loved again.
None must know his struggle just to stand.
Copyright © Gene Bourne | Year Posted 2014
OUR BABY GIRL TURNS 21
ON 1ST JULY 1990~ THE ANGELS DID SOMETHING ALMIGHTY
FROM HEAVEN THEY SENT US OUR LIFE-LONG DESIRE-A PRECIOUS DAUGHTER TO LOVE AND ADMIRE.
TRUE TO YOUR NATURE YOU ARRIVED WITHOUT FUSS OR PAIN--THE FIRST TIME OUR EYES MET WE KNEW OUR LIVES WOULD NEVER BE THE SAME
AS A BABY AND TODDLER YOU MADE US SO PROUD
YOUR VERY LONG HAIR, GREEN EYES AND SMILE-
ALL THOSE GOOD LOOKS MADE YOU STAND OUT IN A CROWD
YOU STARTED TALKING EARLY WITH MANY VOICEPRINTS
YOUR CHARM AND GOOD LOOKS HAVE NOT STOPPED SINCE
YOU LOVED YOUR DOLLS AND PRAMS-- DREAMT OF BEING A “SINGER”
AND VERY QUICKLY LEARNED HOW TO WRAP YOUR DAD AROUND YOUR LITTLE FINGER
YOUR BIG BROTHER DEVON--BEST FRIEND AND PROTECTER
MOST OF THE TIME YOU GOT ON PERFECTLY TOGETHER
FROM AN EARLY AGE YOU SHOWED YOUR LOVE OF SWIMMING
AGE TWO AND A HALF YOU WERE ABLE AND WILLING
TO SWIM UNDER WATER AND DO MANY LENGTHS
THIS WAS CLEARLY ONE OF YOUR SPORTING STRENGTHS
AT AGE THREE YOU COULD BARELY WAIT TO START PLAYSCHOOL
“MISS INDEPENDENCE”, WAS YOUR GENERAL RULE
THE SLIDE AND JUNGLE GYM WERE YOUR FAVOURITE SPOTS
AND TO OUR HORROR YOU WOULD CLIMB RIGHT TO THE TOP!
AT AROUND THIS TIME, YOUR FIRST BOYFRIEND YOU MET-
HE LIVED NEXT DOOR, AND HIS NAME WAS BRETT
SOON IT WAS TIME FOR PRE-SCHOOL
YOU LOVED YOUR TEACHER--YOUR NEW FRIENDS WERE COOL
‘SPRING BONNETS’ AND THE END OF YEAR SCHOOL PLAYS
THE TEDDY BEAR CLASS GAVE YOU SOME REAL SPECIAL DAYS
NEXT WAS ‘BIG SCHOOL’ AND YOUR FIRST CLASS
WE WERE SERIOUSLY ANXIOUS BUT FOR YOU JUST ANOTHER ‘MISS INDEPENDENCE’ TASK
LETTERLAND, MATHS AND LEARNING TO READ
YOU EXCELLED AT ALL THAT WITH INCREDIBLE SPEED
YOUR ACHIEVEMENTS CONTINUED THROUGH GRADES 2, 3 AND FOUR
YOUR PLACE IN THE SWIMMING TEAM HELPED YOUR SCHOOL WIN MORE
OUR MOVE TO AUSTRALIA… SAD FAREWELLS TO YOUR FRIENDS AND YOUR PETS
BUT, GREAT EXCITEMENT YOU FELT AT ADVENTURES TO BE MET
A NEW SCHOOL--“METHODIST LADIES COLLEGE”
NEW FRIENDS--JUMPING A GRADE-- MET WITH SUCH POSITIVE COURAGE
YOU MADE US SO PROUD IN THE WAY YOU ADAPTED
MRS. WILLIAMSON SAID YOU WERE THEIR NEW CLASS ‘ASSETT’
THE ‘MR BEE’ SPELLING AWARD AND MANY MERITS LATER
WE ALL GOT HOMESICK-- BUT YOUR POSITIVE NATURE DID NOT WAVER
THE DECISION WE MADE TO RETURN TO CAPE TOWN
CAUSED YOU HEARTBROCKEN TEARS AND A PERMANENT FROWN
ONCE AGAIN A SAD FAREWELL TO YOUR NEW FOUND FRIENDS
RETURNING TO S.A. FOR OLD ONES TO MAKE AMMENDS
IT WASN’T VERY LONG THAT YOU PICKED UP WHERE YOU LEFT OFF AT ALL
ADDED TO YOUR TALENTS WERE NOW TEAM HOCKEY AND NETBALL
AS YOU APPROACHED THE FIRST OF YOUR TEEN YEARS
WITH YOUR LOOKS AND CHARM, INEVITABLY THE BOYFRIENDS WOULD APPEAR
SHOPPING, MOVIES AND MANY PARTY SLEEP-OVERS
CHOOSING TRUE FRIENDS AND DUMPING THE LOSERS
DANCE SHOWS AND DANCING EXAMS… YOU EXCELLED AT HIP- HOP
FUN AND OF COURSE THE DESIRE TO SHOP
THE END OF JUNIOR SCHOOL-- THE FINAL ASSEMBLY—AWARDS
TROPHIES FOR SPORTSMANSHIP AND YOUR S.R.C. PRIZE GOT MANY APPLAUDS
SAD FEELINGS AT LEAVING YOUR OLD SCHOOL BEHIND
EXCITEMENT AT STARTING HIGH SCHOOL WOULD SOON COME TO MIND
NO PROBLEM TO YOU, IT WAS ALL JUST A BREEZE
AS YEAR BY YEAR YOU CONTINUED TO ACHIEVE
SWIMMING AND ‘A’ TEAM HOCKY MATCHES ON THE ASTRO TURF
YOU EVEN STARTED TO LEARN HOW TO SURF
FRIDAY AFTERNOON CHRISTIAN MEETINGS AND EVENING CHURCH YOUTH
WE WERE SO HAPPY YOU FOUND GOD AND HIS TRUTH
THE REST OF HIGH SCHOOL PASSED IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE WHILE
YOUR LIST OF ACHIEVEMENTS REMAINED EXCEPTIONALLY HIGH
YOUR ORGANISATIONAL SKILLS WERE ASTOUNDING
COPING WITH TOUGH SUBJECTS LIKE MATHS, SCIENCE AND ACCOUNTING
IN HOCKEY AND SWIMMING YOU MADE THE TOP TEAMS
NO SURPRISE AT ALL THAT SWIMMING COACHES MOVED IN ON THE SCENE.
THEY CULTIVATED YOUR TALENTS FROM STRENGTH TO STRENGTH
EVERY YOUR NIGHT YOUR PASSION SAW YOU DOING MANY LENGTHS
WEEKENDS OF GALA’S AND NATIONAL SWIMMING
S.A.SHORT COURSE, YOUR P.B’S, AND FAIR SHARE OF WINNING
TOGETHER WE CELEBRATED YOUR PLACE IN W.P. SCHOOL CHAMPS THAT YEAR
SO PROUD OF OUR BEAUTIFUL SWIMMER ALWAYS AHEAD OF HER PEERS
FIRST YEAR AT UNIVERSITY YOU BECAME SO INDEPENDENT
STARTING YOUR STUDIES AS A B.Sc. STUDENT
IT WAS ALSO THE YEAR YOU LEARNED TO DRIVE
GOT YOUR LICENSE—DAD SPOILT YOU—NEW CAR—RESPLENDENT
YOUR FAITH AND TRUST IN THE LORD STILL REMAINS FIRM
AS YOU WALK AND GROW SPIRITUALLY DAILY WITH HIM
SO MUCH HAS CHANGED, AND YET SOME THINGS REMAIN
YOU BEAUTY AND TALENTS SO EASILY MAINTAINED
YOUR LOVE OF SWIMMING AND OUTSTANDING ACHIEVEMENTS IN WATER
YOU KNOW WE WILL ALWAYS BE YOUR NO. 1 SUPPORTERS
AND NOW YOU ARE 21, SWEETHEART
YOUR WHOLE LIFE AHEAD OF YOU-- TODAY IS JUST THE START
IT SEEMS LIKE JUST YESTERDAY THAT YOU WERE BORN—
OUR DAUGHTER~LOVES BRIGHT SHINING LIGHT~ WE ADORE
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND TALENTED IN EVERY WAY
WISHING YOU GOD’S RICHEST BLESSINGS ON YOUR SPECIAL DAY
HAPPY 21ST BIRTHDAY TO OUR BABY GIRL
TO HAVE YOU AS A DAUGHTER HAS BEEN A REAL PLEASURE
-YOU HAVE AND ALWAYS WILL BE OUR MOST BEAUTIFUL TREASURE-
(FOOTNOTE: OUR DAUGHTER WILL BE 23 THIS YEAR, HAS COMPLETED HER BSc. AND HONOURS DEGREE’S IN PHYSIOLOGY AND GENETICS AND NOW DOING HER MASTERS DEGREE IN EXERCISE SCIENCE. SHE IS ALSO A PROFESSIONAL TRIATHLETE—DOING SWIMMING, CYCLING AND RUNNING AS ONE DISCLIPLINE)
Copyright © Kim van Breda | Year Posted 2013
Broken,beaten,blind and lost
All but a spark of hope left to keep warm
But dig and claw on bruised muscles, on broken limbs
Until the light day fills your sight
Left blinded no more
Until the soft fresh air blows the spark to a flame and ignites your will
Until the ground beneath is solid enough to stand
Walk,until the pain is mastered and stumbling ceases.
And you can say:
This will not be my grave.
Copyright © Gillian Brown | Year Posted 2013
Ripened grapes turned to wine.
Brandy’s wine, burned in time.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Nette Onclaud’s Contest:
In its Essence
Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014
A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.
One after another they arrive
Steeping my eyes in the world
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.
My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
I use to say I hear you
Now I say "What you say?
I use to say What's going on?
Now I say I Remember
I use to hear you LOUD and CLEAR
Now I can barley hear you at all
I use to say tha'ts what WE use to say
Now I ask the question is that what we use to SAY?
Copyright © Cathy Holmes | Year Posted 2006