At awe by my mothers beautiful mind,
when it came to writing I always felt so blind.
Literature class advised us to write,
for the first time I did not feel bright.
Sneak a poem of my mothers i did,
boy did I feel like a little kid.
Praise my teacher gave me for such a lovely write,
my mind here and there like a kite.
Lucky me open house was here,
the poem posted on the class wall had me at fear.
Suggesting my parents to skip that class,
trying to avoid the coming sass.
She read it and thought to herself that it was idolized,
her eyes got big as she realized.
Quiet she kept as she knew how embarrassed I was,
of course it gave her a buzz.
It was cause of that day we look back,
and my mom gave me some slack.
She later taught me it's as simple as rhyming,
and with the emotions I have priming.
Copyright © Royal Ninja | Year Posted 2013
Person of colour is coherently germane,
He is never insane.
Some things about this person of colour may seem strange,
He is simple and he is yet to engage.
This person of colour loves the critics,
It is from them, he ticks.
This person of colour is natural,
And so, he is not a trial.
This person of colour loves to exchange
Ideas beyond his range.
This person of colour loves keyboard,
Tis with this he comes on board.
This person of colour is a charcoal- a black beauty.
This person of colour is me.
Copyright © Abdulhafeez Oyewole | Year Posted 2013
My sizzling flame has faded in the midst of Summer's embrace
and taken my virgin flower of delicately woven lace
In subtle shadows and fading light
silently in bewilderment I crumble without sight
For each year of happiness and silver dream abound
now a resonating memory silent without a sound
As I walk the cobble stone path where our days had found no end
I raise my arms above and pray for this love to mend
If only a God-sent chance should fall my weary way
this love I would cherish endless with each passing day
In subtle shadows and fading light
each memory of you held forever in soft moonlight
Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2012
There's a bench at the high school where I graduated
The wood is cracked, chipped and all weather faded
But in its prime, there each morning faces smiled hello greetings
And was always the agreed upon place, for after school meetings
Many then, lovers initials are carved upon her wood
Though young love didn't last like we thought it could
Also, many peace signs and let's stop Vietnam
Even, one I love John Denver and a, I rule at pac man
Under her bottom is petrified gum of every flavor
Stuck there, because gum in class was considered bad behavior
Like some people need but one name to be known
The Bench, was like a city of its very own....
Originally posted 3-19-2013, On A Bench Contest
Copyright © Donna Jones | Year Posted 2013
Those happy, golden years, the children growing up—
Great days of joy, some tears, sweet nectar in our cup.
So blessed the three of them had come into our life,
Each one a special gem—years spent with little strife.
Oh my, those years went fast—so soon an empty nest.
Can’t hold on to the past, but sure those years were blessed.
The empty nest took hold, such quiet filled our days.
Kids followed dreams of gold—we lifted them in praise.
We filled our days with friends, and came and went as pleased.
Life changes as it lends us time to feel appeased.
Few years went by, behold! A second chance to spend
Our time again to hold small babes, with joy attend
To love and cherish each, and watch them grow each day,
To play with them and teach! What joy had come our way!
Time passed…grandkids of five no longer babes for sure,
Well on their way to thrive, now grown up and mature.
Again, the years went fast—another time to test—
Can’t hold on to the past. Oh my, those years were blessed!
Our empty nest, twofold! Such quiet fills our days!
They too chase dreams of gold—we lift them now in praise!
We celebrate with cheers the cherished life we spent,
Two times of golden years with young ones, heaven sent.
Sandra M. Haight
Contest: My Lovely Children
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Contest: Golden Days
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
Iambic Hexameter, Internal Rhyme, Couplet Rhyme
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015
In moments when the twilight sparks
To gently flare as dark embarks,
Tender comes eve swinging a hum
While air-brushed clouds, on flight, succumb.
Yet, through the lull of sky, I hear
Their voices billow quite unclear
Whispering mildly, still I know
Those refrains from seasons ago.
Somehow, before the call of morn
When foggy mist glides on hawthorns,
And daybreak hails a new sunset
I trace past journeys now at rest.
Amidst the quiver of my dreams,
Beloved voices float midstream
On to pathways that bless each name;
Marked deeply in my soul, aflame.
Andrea Dietrich's Let's Get Technical Contest
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014
My abiding memory of 2015 is of events that are so sad
With my father’s death, it’s the worst year I’ve ever had
It has been the most challenging year for me
But with amazing support I remain pretty happy
I don’t want to dwell on events that have past
My memories of the year 2015 will always last
I want to leave the year on a humourous note
With a true tale of a gift that didn’t get my vote!
Mum and I went out to a local church fete
It’s very well attended and the raffle is great
We perused all the stalls and brought a few things
I got some lemon cake and some brand new earrings
The raffle stall bulged with wonderful prizes
With boxes that ranged in all shapes and sizes
One pretty white gift box really caught my eye
Four ‘Dior’ perfume miniatures for a lady to try
We brought some tickets then sat and drank tea
I said to mum, I’ve seen just the prize for me
The raffle got drawn and mum’s ticket was pulled out
I collected the prize of Dior perfume without a doubt
Mum told me I could have it as a Christmas gift
I was overjoyed and it gave my heart a huge lift
The gift box was placed under our little tree
Its pretty gold ribbon was there for all to see
I didn’t open the box on Christmas Day
Until Boxing Day the pretty box did stay
We were going out to friends later that night
I thought my new perfume would be just right
Taking the pretty white box from under the tree
I pondered which scent would be perfect for me
Upon lifting the lid of the perfume box
I returned to the school of hard knocks
To my consternation and my deep chagrin
There was a void where the perfume once had been
An empty box was my only present from my mum
My gift is that I still have mum, so my poem is done.
This is a true story - someone had put an empty box as a raffle prize!
Contest: My abiding Memory
Sponsor: Viv Wigley
9th January 2016
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016
I was young and innocent and I only had eyes for you
You were my constant companion the whole day through
But you fell into a puddle and mum hurried you away
I was oh so sad, I cried and cried so much that day
I found you hiding from me, high up on the washing line
Pegged up by your ears, but my teddy now looked fine
When I look through old photos its plain for all to see
‘Lying on teddy’ you really meant the world to me
21st June 2015
Penned after looking through old photos of me from aged about two
My teddy bear was called lying on teddy because I used to lie on him in my sleep and he went from a cuddly round bear to a flat bear
Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015
I was fascinated by frogs, dinosaurs, and outer space.
Comic books, video games, and fast cars to race.
I got my clean clothes dirty and skinned my knees.
I spent my afternoons climbing high up in the trees.
Came home from the playground with shoes full of sand.
Went fishing, and held up my catch with my bare hand.
I would get on my rusty, blue bike and ride to the park.
Where we played games of tag or catch almost until dark.
After school, I would go play baseball with the boys.
Then, stay up late, listening to music and make noise.
My homework sat in my backpack and never got done.
I was too preoccupied with finding adventure and having fun.
I was the tomboy that liked building Lego block walls.
I was also a girl who played with pretty Barbie dolls.
Richard Lamoureux's Gender Bender Contest
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014
It’s the night before Christmas, still I am annoyed
Visions of North Pole, now crumpled and foiled
While youngsters prepare for deer bells to ring
Above moon-filled sky, voices caroling.
Fireplace adorned with trimmings on Yule rug
Awaiting Ole Claus to sneak by... humbug!
Wishes for red bike never came last year
My card he ignored, did it disappear?
Now,I wonder if you really exist
My eyes smolder as I’m not on the list;
Even Mama dances by the flames so proud
Repeating your name like a tune, aloud.
“Dear Santa, I doubt the speed of your ride
How can you bring presents in hours, worldwide
My, is this St. Nick a fantasy’s weave?”
Then note falls,“like love, you have to believe!”
In a dash, my bike turns up to my delight,
Jingles fade out, “Ho, ho, ho; bless this night!
Contest: Story Poem about Santa Claus
For Carol Eastman
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014
Born American, sixth generation of great-grands all German,
not much liking sausage or sauerkraut, English speaking all the way,
except the Germany of my ancestry was fought over and broken
so I’m a bit of France, Germany, Poland, Hungary all the Holy
Roman empire, dissolved down, fought over, egotized, horrified
and remade Into some new state where English is as common as German.
We share a love of flowers in the face of cold and rain, I drink less beer
and wine, meet up somewhere, anywhere around the world on a beach.
From my parents and grandparents, I know to serve up too much food
seven sweets, seven sours and drink and whirl the night away to a band.
Hardworking sorts, unafraid of a little dirt, loving dirt, the turnover
and young sprout brought to fruit, wearing overalls and then washing up.
To sit before a pressed linen table cloth, served up on the finest china,
the cha in my father’s name, the uff da, and other exclamations.
The morning rosaries, the blessed churches where we give thanks for all good
and the setting aside of pride while we work together to make our food.
Sure there are aprons for cooking. Shorts for summertime. A dive into any pool.
What do I know of being German, not much, it's just somewhere in my roots.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013
It seems ages since we met over your long, golden hair
an hour glass on the table keeping the meter.
It seems like too many dress up doll days when we played
take me to the river but don’t get our feet wet.
It seems we lost our inner selves painting our faces
painting our nails, singing karaoke at the bars.
Oh, to regain those lost years of our youth, unwrinkled skin
turn back all the pages, like winding gold on a spindle.
Instead we have just leaves, grieves, and grandchildren
with their laser guns, plastic skin and smug attitudes.
They never challenged gamey little midgets with foul intent
they had us to pad them safely with money, love and scent.
Dear Rapunzel, do please let your hair down one more time
and play climb out of the cellar and up the apple tree with me.
Signed Your Dearest Play Mate.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013
When I closed my eyes and fell asleep in the premature hours of dawn
I never dreamed Your face would be
The next I’d look upon
My vehicle came to rest against the square concrete pylon
And those who found me declared to all
“It appears as though he’s gone”
They said I had the look of peace upon my face so fair
And in my lap my hands were laid
As if God placed them there
Just underneath those hands of mine my Gummy Bears were found
How is it that they rested there
And were not tossed around
You chose for me the greatest dad and mother one could have
And my sister; she’s so beautiful
Will you hold her for me Dad
For all of those that knew me knew how much I loved the game
But they also knew I loved you Lord
And someday you’d call my name
I’m grateful that I prayed the prayer to receive you in my heart
Now I know for sure that heaven is real
And we two shall never part
My final game was played that day as I heard you say “well done”
I ran into my dwelling place
Where I’m truly “safe at home”
Dedicated to RJ Ledesma jr who was called from this earth much to soon. May you rest in the Lord's care till we see you again. October 29, 1992 - September 24, 2011
Copyright © Janice Smith | Year Posted 2013
Wandering memory lane, childhood days of yore;
Aunt Minnie and Uncle Carl whose spirits go before.
Grandfather, stoic and silent; Grandmother, full of chatter.
granting to us a legacy of conduct and values which matter.
Wistfully, I walk the lane, gathering into my heart
visions of carefree days, to fill my rolling cart.
When clouds hide the path and my wheels hit a snag,
I'll pull out loving memories, banish thoughts that drag.
Memory road is congested, we must guide the sleigh
through centuries of lessons and throw the trash away.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2015
Enchanted magic beans,
They were always enchanted to me.
Worth their weight in gold,
They never ever got old.
Some people would complain,
Some would look at them with disdain,
But magic beans meant the world to me,
They brought me warmth and satiety.
When you were of little means,
Your mind had to spark with creativity.
You could not always expect the next best thing,
Avoiding magic beans like a bee sting.
My mom would bring home our magic beans,
She would then drop them into the swirling seas.
She stirred them in a cauldron boiling hot,
I then waited for my sustenance cooking in the pot.
Today I still gather magic beans,
Even though I am no longer of little means.
The happy memories come flooding back,
As I pour magic beans from their overflowing sack.
January 16, 2015
Copyright © Ed Belcher | Year Posted 2015
A Brave Soul Goes Home
No mortal power ever on this common earthly plane
Can call you back as Heaven makes its final gain.
You mind was one steeped in such numeric certitude,
Possessing a spirit with a most certain pulchritude.
Your life strode a period of only six decades plus two,
But in God’s divine plan he knew so well the real you.
You developed in time a zest for friendship and love,
Which God felt with such passion in Heaven above.
Your life had its great share of such suffering and pain,
But that never dampened your spirit on this mortal plane.
God was most aware always of your charitable nature,
As you helped those in need—victims of human nature.
Your departure from us was sadly short and unexpected,
But God’s plan and wishes for you were always expected.
And so Brave Soul we mourn your loss from our mortal home,
But we take solace in knowing God’s called you to His home.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
April 27, 2015 (Rhymed Couplet)
*A special tribute to a departed and most loved family member.
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015
Can you remember this feeling very much.
Hearing something in the kitchen making a fuss.
I can remember it so well, it's like yesterday.
Pots and pans wrattle, as I'm outside to play.
I would be playing in the dirt or kicking a beach ball.
Hearing mamma in the kitchen, hoping she'd call.
I know that she's cooking dinner in there.
I'm not sure what it is and I don't really care.
I am completely dirty from my head to my toes.
Is there dessert or ice cream, she only knows.
I can smell the cooking from the yard and all sides.
With realization I know it's sloppy joe and french fries.
How it was when I was young.
Freedom around the yard I could roam.
I loved my mamma and daddy for just being there.
I'd be nothing without them, no love or no care.
-No contest, just some things I was thinking.
Copyright © Donald Williams | Year Posted 2013
The lonely street stood still in the night,
Buildings grew tall all around with dim light.
Sound of my steps echoing in the alleys,
The air is moist like a mountain valley.
A bright neon light a few blocks away,
With a beer and an arrow pointing that way.
A few cars lined up beside the street,
I work my way through them not to discrete.
I walk up to the door with my collar pulled high,
The cold air chills me, as a taxi rides by.
Thumping of music can be heard from behind the door,
Some kind of music that I've never heard before.
A slight push on the door opens to a big room,
Louder now I heard sounds and the smell of perfume.
Smell of smoke and alcohol fills my lungs,
So thick is the smoke, my eyes burn and stung.
My eyesight dances across the room that's filled with so many,
I hear a man ask his waitress if she has change for a twenty.
I can see the bar all the way in the back.
With a lot of alcohol and a huge wine rack.
This was what I saw when I went out that night to the bar,
People gather and have fun in a place called The North Starr.
Copyright © Donald Williams | Year Posted 2014
The city streets are littered with sodden remnants of fall,
a chilling wind moans low between brick walls;
my vacant arms enfold my shivering form
to shield a heart grown weary of the storm.
There is a melancholy feeling to damp leaves upon the way
as though some precious spirit has packed and moved away.
The sidewalk's sheeted puddles reflect the faces that I love
peering through the golden ramparts in God's city up above.
I bend beneath the streetlamp where my face with theirs' will blend
remembering us together the way it will be in the end.
Copyright, November 12, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014
Living day in
Living day out
Working as hard as I can
To get money to pay the bills
Searching for food for the family
Trying to get through the day
As best as I can
All it matters
Is to get some money
To be able to not to think
How am I supposed to support?
My kids, my husband, and I
It all hits me like rain pounding the roof
Is this how life is supposed to be?
Going down hills
Going up hills
Having great times
And some bad times
You think your life should be easy
It is not supposed to be
Life is difficult for a reason
*MAKE LIFE WHAT YOU WANT IT TO BE. LIVE EACH DAY, THE BEST WAY YOU CAN, LIFE GOES ON UNTIL YOUDIE. BE HAPPY BECAUSE YOU CAN DIE ANY MINUTE NOW. SO LIVE IT UP!!!
Copyright © Mikayla Mitts | Year Posted 2014
Copyright © 2013
Skittles and a soda
against a gun in its holster?
One day that scream
will be known as a teen
not a heinous lying Fein
What a sinister ploy and twist
with a loaded gun and no fist?
Had everyone sitting and waiting
doomed by a verdict just delaying
Was this just an optical illusion
or, a devious planned conclusion?
Now, this generation too afraid
wearing hoodies will get you dead
But, the Klan was still glad
hoodies they've always had
A verdict they too saw,
ushering in martial law
Copyright © Les Pruitt | Year Posted 2013
My arms are empty my heart in such pain
For I know that I may never ever see you again
That mother’s love so strong, gentle and true
Has to be put aside, forgotten in favour of you
Who knows how long this sadness will last?
Will I ever recover and get over the past?
My prayer is fervent and is always the same
That you be cherished protected this is my aim
It was different up to the very day you were born
I had made up my mind and had always sworn
We would stay close together whatever the cost
But I looked into your face and was immediately lost
You deserved better than me and my rebellious boy
We prepared for you as if you were a living small toy
Reality changed the moment I held you so close
I knew then and there that I did not have a choice
And so we said our goodbyes that cold winter day
I cried so many tears that I struggled to find my way
Out of the refuge into the wide world once more
Your loss to remain with me an open weeping sore
But my awful sadness became someone else’s true gain
My sacrifice made sure two strangers would forever remain
In my debt grateful to me for the selfless gift I had made
This knowledge alone helped make my deep sorrow fade
What of the future who knows what life may bring?
Perhaps a connection that will make my heart sing
For whatever the heartache, the trauma and pain
It is as mother and daughter we will forever remain
©Copyright Dilys Brown 3rd September 2013
Copyright © Dilys Brown | Year Posted 2014
I took a meandering jaunt through my mind
I searched every crevice to see what I’d find
Some memories were useful, while others were not
I stumbled on some things I thought I’d forgot
About halfway through, well…I made a sharp right
and what lay before, was a rather strange sight
I can’t say for sure that my mind played a trick
what I saw was a woman, except she had a…
Quick as the wind, well I turned right around
and I ran and I ran and I ran ‘til I found
I was feeling quite nervous, and starting to doubt
whether there was an exit, or any way out.
But then from a distant recess came a noise
it sounded like laughter of young girls and boys.
So I followed my ears just to see where it led
what I found weren’t children, but monsters instead.
“Neutrals” is what they were labeled I think;
and all them hated both blue things and pink.
I didn’t have time for their nonsense at all
but when I tried to leave, they all grew super tall!
The neutrals were giants with size 18 feet,
they were angry and shouting, I had to retreat.
Their wrath was a rainstorm with nowhere to hide
I’ll not say much more, but this bit I’ll confide:
This jaunt through my mind, isn’t crazy at all
most of it came off today’s Facebook wall.
*Apparently there is lots of controversy today over Target changing their signs to be gender neutral, and there is a lot of noise about gender identity, hyper-gendering, neutral gendering etc. It mostly all seems like nonsense to me...if you couldn't tell, haha.
Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2015
My sister wrote a poem for me
Of christmass's gone and past
The time that was so special
We thought would last and last
The time is always changing
And we all know this is true
And things are not the same for us
So what are we to do?
We take the precious moments
That we shared some years ago
And know we will always have them
And never let them go
For no one can take the memories
That we hold oh so dear
As long as we could remember
And so how much we care
Copyright © Veronica Aicher | Year Posted 2013
Wow!... words cannot express,
Such beauty, such finesse.
The shape and color of those eyes,
No description will suffice.
Just like wine, you're finer when older,
And beauty to the eye of every beholder.
©2013 Honestly JT
Copyright © Honestly J.T. | Year Posted 2013
My old home town, 12 years old and playing in the hay
preparing feed as I waited for sunrise, that fateful day
The suns warm rays broke the dark crispness of my world
Just as if windblown leafs, the rays of light began to whorl
It nudged life, to wake from sleep, on this November day
Then painted my world in colors, instead of moonlit gray
Thankful to see the sun, tend animals, I didn’t disobey
I cleaned up, caught the bus, to learn at school this day
A simple, wonderful life, in a world that's about to change
As we listened, we learned our ideas aren't so strange
My teacher's and classes are great but, I must confess
we'd see movies, even watch TV, but not to an excess
After lunch I had history, maybe he had a movie to see
But, in class he looked sad as I heard the intercom key
"Our President has been shot, teachers turn on your TV"
As we watched tears flowed, it wasn't a movie we'd see
Learning of fear, uncertainty, hope and prayer I bereave
That life is like a roller coaster, on this day, as we grieve
My world and life changed this day, seeing life so brutal
Was it pointless to live free, an effort seemingly so futile?
I struggled with this many years, then in 1969, I choose
It's better to die free, than live in fear of what you oppose
A fragment of my life.
Started writing this for Broken Wings contest
but, I lost track of time
Copyright © Tom Larrow | Year Posted 2013
Giant swarming horse flies
Swatting hands and fishing poles on deck
We hit the lake wide open, the whole time craning our necks
The sun heats our backs as the motor sputters and spits
We stop and cast waiting on the fish to hit
A few longs hours in I loose determination and start to slouch
I watch the line on the ripples and take a piece of bait from my waist pouch
I bait my hook with a glittery jig and throw out once again
I'll be damned if he didn't latch on, "Look I see his fin!"
My pole bends over as I keep tension on the line
I hear my reel screech and whine
He thrashes with fury and swims down deep
I see him jump. Oh this one I will surely keep!
I haul his 24 1/2 inch body onto our boat
He's a nice bass. I admire him and take my camera from my coat.
What a great day spent on the lake.
Copyright © Roxanna Ressler | Year Posted 2011
Memories haven’t blurred
Of how we were once love birds
And sat here together
In good and foul weather.
And of how the ones more bold
In ultimate pleasure rolled
In this coarse garden bench
With some cheap paid-for wench.
And of how after they left
Someone slept after a theft
Or a beggar for a night
Lay here and forgot his plight.
21 Mar 13.
Copyright © S.Jagathsimhan Nair | Year Posted 2013
It seems I wanted too much:
or may be just a touch.
May be a little bit more:
happiness with the one I adore.
May be a good morning kiss,
or sweet words: “My honey I miss”.
It seems I wanted too much:
to be happy as such,
to fly in the sky like a bird,
to be understood without a second word,
to listen to the songs of my Lord,
to give a smile and behave like a child.
It seems I wanted too much:
to live without any mistakes,
without any heart breaks.
I wanted my soul not to be cold,
to live without any storms,
to feel your heart warmth.
It seems I wanted too much:
to turn into a dove,
to swim on the waves of love,
to meet with you every dawn,
to have the wings of a swan
and never be alone.
It seems I wanted too much...
Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
Copyright © Larisa Rzhepishevska | Year Posted 2013
I was thinking of buying a new house
So I’m here with my son and his spouse
Sitting outback looking up to the sky
Hoping to see something go bye
Wishing for a sign to see
Something from my wife to me
To move into an empty and cold house
I would leave behind memories of my spouse
I don’t want to leave those memories behind
More memories in the house then in my mind
When my kids were small
They would play and mark up a wall
I see memories on every wall
Where my wife painted over marks from a ball
A memory in every room
Some good some with a little gloom
It’s something that will always be
Even the gloom is a memory to me
Copyright © Michael Gelb | Year Posted 2011