I heard him close shut the attic door,
I snuck in and saw him on the floor.
He found the box that I stored away,
As I turned to leave I heard him say.
“Mom, could you come here for a few,
Whose badge is this and what does this do?”
Placing the hat on top of his head,
Come close my son I softly said.
With a saddened tone I lowly spoke,
Pushing words over the lump in my throat.
That box of stuff belonged to a man,
Who left one night with his keys in hand.
He heard his pager go off late one night,
He jumped in that suit and dashed out of sight.
To answer a call, not knowing for sure,
The dangers his heart would have to endure.
He’d always been brave right from the start,
And was a good man with a courageous heart.
He wasn’t a man like typical dads,
That was mainly because the job that he had.
That box of stuff is his way to pave,
The bright good man you’ll be someday.
Because in that box that you delved into,
Belonged to a man who looked like you.
If you can understand I’ve never known why,
Before you were born that man had to die.
I cannot imagine what he went through,
To save a stranger he never knew.
He faced a danger he didn’t deserve,
He gave his life to protect and to serve.
He wasn’t respected most of the time,
But still he laid his life down on the line.
With all this that I share this day,
There’s a few final words I’d like to say.
All the stuff that’s within that box,
I want you to know belonged to a cop.
There’s a lot of things he never saw,
He lost his life defending the law.
And one of those things that he didn’t see,
Was watching you become what you came to be.
You’re brave like him in the things you pursue,
I know he’d be proud of the life you ensue.
It’s been along time that my heart has cried,
I still remember the night that he died.
Much has happened since the night he was slain,
I think you should know that you bear his name.
Yes there are times that I still get sad;
But I want you to know that man was your dad.
So put the box up my little snooper,
Now that you know your dad was a trooper.
If you are the ocean, then I am the mist
which kisses the morning the way children kissed
their mother at breakfast to start a new day
If you are the ocean, then anchors aweigh
We'll sail through the evening and on to the light
The daystar is dawning, we'll keep to the right
like Peter and Wendy to Neverlands' door
we'll sail on forever and touch every shore
If you are the ocean, come wash me away
to some misty morning and there we will play
on beaches you've loved all your lovely life long
If you are the ocean, then sing me a song
of sailors and treasures and I'll have to say
If you are the ocean, come wash me away...
Hark! The mighty sage’s quill,
Leaves remnants of genius, still.
Reminding me of richer days,
Where wines could really come to age;
And gods among the people dwelled,
In works of master poet’s felled.
Where aerie tales and thoughts of fancy,
Awaken something everlasting.
The faded thoughts of vestments tore,
Through mournful tales of days of yore.
I bore inquisitive insight,
To mouth a masterpiece delight;
Reciting thoughts from Edgar Poe,
In poetry and foul-like prose.
And as I muttered, “Nevermore”,
I pondered on his lost Lenore;
A femme who captivated thought,
His inspiration to the plot.
And in his wording wizardry,
So haunted by his imagery,
Moves me to expound wanton lyrics
To every soul who dares to hear it.
And with immense humility --
No pen shall cite as good as he.
I took a walk down Columbia Street
Back to the place where we used to meet
Where we played as kids until after dark
And hung out together up at Dutch Hill Park
Although alone, I could hear the sound
Of laughter coming from the merry go round
Sometimes we'd meet there in the early dawn
The dance hall, pavilion and the swings are gone
I saw those pine trees and I thought of you
And all the crazy things we used to do
Like sleeping out underneath the stars
Hanging upside down from the monkey bars
A swing made from a rope and an old tire
We baked potatoes on an open fire
Squirrel nut zippers and an RC coke
Transistor radio and we'd have a smoke
We walked in the woods and we climbed some trees
We scratched our faces and we skinned our knees
Never dreaming that it would ever end
If I could, I'd do it all again my friend
Those memories I have will never part
I carry Dutch Hill Park inside my heart
And all those memories of yesteryear
Heading back home now I shed a tear.
John chapter 15 verse 12---
This is my commandment,
That ye love one another, as I have loved you.
There’s a wee Kirk overlooking the sea
Lowly and humble but special to me.
Inside is the font where I was baptized
The aisle where I walked with joy in my eyes
The altar we faced when making our vows
With God watching o’er us, then as of now
The brilliant stained windows to Peter and Paul
Shedding their light of peace over all
There in the nave a white marble plaque
Honouring the ones who never came back
But of all of these pleasures that I want to share
Is the presence of love that waits for one there.
Contest: The Church by the Ocean
Sponsor: Constance ~ My Dear Heart ~
Written by : Margaret Foster Sept 26th 2011
The pendulum motions to and fro,
From the clock upon the wall.
As the second ebb like grains of sand,
For one by one they fall.
Through the window of the dim lit room,
For outside, lies a world of grey,
For thoughts now turn to yester year,
That seems so far away.
With freckle on skin and golden hair,
Topped with lace like bonnet fair.
Upon a face a smile of glee,
As little feet splash in the sea.
A bucket clenched in fingers tight,
With spade to match its colors bright.
In awe and wonder of many things,
Through eyes so young that new life brings.
N Windle. MMXI.
Immersed in the sound of the low rustling wind
Memories and places they haunt yet again
Passed by so quickly as each falling leaf
Drifting and flowing on an unyielding stream
A current to carry from birth right on through
Filling our moments with cares which ensue
A mind lost in remnants of lovers and friends
Babies and children and time long since spent
Familiar, intangible, just out of reach
Longing for ghosts that my heart doth beseech
Winter is looming and summer is past
A time for remembrance the years gone so fast
Beauty is captured in my last breath of life
The sparkling colors in the warm golden light
Do mimic the glory and wonder be told
In those bright days of autumn and a life to behold
Sailing on a ship of dreams, through a deep and starlit night
The wind softly hums a lullaby, as the sails catch the pale moonlight
Indigo waters fade to lighter hues, when we reach the Morpheus shore
Where the anchor is tossed by a somnolent crew, in the place we are to moor.
The ship settles down in a harbor, cradled between two arms of land
As though lulled to sleep within this embrace, the keel leans upon the sand
The tall mast reaches up to the heavens, to nestle amidst the clouds
While waves gently rock the quiet deck, with each dip of its massive bow.
Troupes of fish dance past the stern, silver scales casting prisms of light
While birds on the shore flutter exotic fans, with no thought of taking flight
Time halts to stand on its tiptoes, strained in balance it tilts and shifts
Then the stars wearily blink their eyes closed, and the tide sets the ship adrift.
The anchor is heaved and hoisted, each link draws a series of sighs
While the captain stands quietly before the helm, gazing at the brightening sky
His eyes crinkle up at the corners, emulating the soft rays of the sun
As Awaken brushes the horizon, with strokes of topaz, sapphire, and plum.
A yawn of breath unfurls the sails, with snoring puffs they billow
As tangy brine streams down my face, drops dew beads on my pillow
Floating thoughts of an uncharted course, bound on the seas of night
Sink as the waltz to the seagull’s song, bows into the morning light.
Dedicated to Evans Mckeil, who gave poetry the voice to sing, and the feet to dance.
We nurture them within our bodies, birth them in a blinding pain,
suckle them on breasts so swollen, till we think we’ll go insane.
We kiss away each painful boo-boo, bandage each and every wound,
show them that in spite of roundness, peas can stay upon their spoons.
We intercept their nostril’s flowing, be it green or white as snow,
wiping gently ever hoping, for the day they’d learn to blow.
We give to them each ounce of wisdom, try to teach them everything,
suddenly, for unknown reasons, screw it up and give them wings.
We mourn a bit, those cherished moments, when on us they did depend,
days when we were super heroes, possessing wisdom without end.
We watch the journey proudly knowing, as they soar into the light,
Mother’s wisdom, though not perfect, lends the wind that gives them flight.
As I lie in this box, all dirty and scuffed.
I remember the time I was shiny and fluffed.
Alone and forgotten, I doubt that is true?
For I was once savored in red, white and blue.
Although, it may seem like a long time ago.
I once flew through the air in many a show.
I was waved at through crowds as I proudly appeared.
So high I did blow and to many was feared.
It's just a matter of time, I'll be back once again.
I just don't like this box, and I do miss the wind.
Why must I wait until the fourth of July?
For I am important, it's my duty to fly.
Until then I will stay here, my memories in bloom.
Maybe the maid will soon free me, when she tidy's the room.
I know that she likes me, she flew me last spring.
Some kind of occasion, a Memorial thing.
This can't be my destiny, for I stand for truth.
I'm not just a toy, what's wrong with our youth?
I hear them play music of hate and it hurts.
I am use to large stadiums and enormous concerts.
How I long for the trumpet; A victorious sound.
Still I'm here when you're ready, not lost nor found.