Way back in the woods all nestled away
I found the place where Leprechauns play
To find the place I had to first find the door
Keeping it hidden is what the Waterfall is for
Behind the falls there lies a mystical cave
To scale the cliff one must be very brave
As you enter the cave these words are true
The most magical of places is waiting for you
The cave is not dark in fact it’s rather bright
For thousands of crystals are beaming with light
As you pass through the cave it is so clear to see
There are places on earth where men shouldn’t be
As I stepped out of the cave on the other side
My own amazement I could never hide
There were waterfalls, Rainbows & Butterflies galore
I felt as though I had stepped through Heavens door
As I took to the path it suddenly occurred to me
This path is made out of gold, as gold as could be
I looked at a tree stump and got lost in the spell
For the sign in front said, “The Leprechaun Hotel”
A hundred tiny windows were all beaming with light
For the sun had just dropped, dropped clean out of sight
A whole world had lit up right before me
Mushrooms were homes for Fairies you see
Sometimes in life we embrace the magic of a spell
Mystical creatures in heaven, far as my eyes could tell
The fairies were tiny angels that lit up the night
I’ve never seen anything so beautiful and bright
Then all at once a feeling took over my soul
And I truly felt that it was time I should go
As I turned to leave I heard a Leprechaun say
From all of this gold you’ll just walk away
The fairy said, “One wish is granted to you”
“Make any wish you like and it will come true”
I explained how wealth was once all that I sought
And my dreams and wishes were already bought
You see God sent an Angel who planted a seed
That sprouted our love, which is all that I need
Inspired by a wall painting at my Dentist office
and written for my wife.
They ask me why I’m so happy
Asking me, if I just won a prize
I replied, well I reckon I did
Today is a wonderful surprise
When you have a past like mine
My today is always bright
There is no better feeling on earth
Than the joy of doing right
I may be an old man on a cane
My heart is skipping along
I learned to embrace the meaning
Life is a beautiful song
True life has its ups and downs
There’ll be forks in the road
With a smile I’ll stop for a while
Help you with your load
I had me a bag of popcorn today
It tasted exceptionally good
In fact, I will go as far as to say
Better then it probably should
For years, I had a guard in the pen
Popped him a bag each night
Then he would simply throw it away
His twisted little delight
He knew, it was those little things
Ate at our heart and soul
Movie with the wife Friday night
Popcorn in the bowl
I had a bag of popcorn today
Wife sitting at my side
I had a smile, which lasted awhile
One I could not hide
They ask me why I’m so happy
Asking me, if I won a prize
I replied, I reckon I did
Today is a wonderful surprise
For some reason today I was thinking about C.O. Talbert and
how he would pop a bag of popcorn even though he didn't eat
popcorn. He did it just because he knew it would make everyone
want some. I always felt sorry for him. His life must have been
very disappointing. The moral here: when you learn to appreciate
the little things in life your popcorn will taste a whole lot better.
Here further down the hillside slope
Down close to the creek with hope
My husband bought a house, land
Fenced in and made many plans
Subdued the land to cow pasture
And planted a garden, fruit trees sure
Fathered another child to call him sir
The creek seemed to like the stir
Enjoyed the children for a little while___
Loved them so that it made her smile
Today she loves grandchildren the same
No girls there are in frills ___tame
The creek keeps on flowing to the sea
The land is mostly stripped of trees
(This is my adaptation of Robert Frost's poem "The Birthplace". I hope that it does not insult
< Cascading lakes and streams
The loon stands out it seems
Minnesota's state bird
I know it must sound absurd
Adopted in nineteen sixty one
Wails and yodels heard under the sun
Black and white bearing red eyes
Wingspans five feet can make one cry
Body lengths up to three feet
Yet clumsy on lands and moss peat
They are high speed flyers
And great underwater divers
They can dive up to ninety feet
In pursuit of fish they want to eat
They are even on our license plates
An critical habitat drawn on metal slates
Twelve thousand of these unique birds
God that has to be a lot of turds
But for now I'll enjoy it's captured views
Of this beautiful loon and it's most colorful hues
Written By Katherine Stella
Entry For Mini - Blog Beautiful Bird Contest
By Constance ~ A Rambling Poet
At Ben Bulben’s feet Sligo stands
The home of such creative hands
Where poet William Yeats did grow.
The Nobel Prize his poems did know.
On my trip to this emerald isle,
I yearned to visit a long while.
As sun poured through the misty sky
Shedding warmth with its golden eye,
I stood beside the lough in awe
At dancing diamonds that I saw
Near Connemara’s tall twelve bens
O’er lands of ancient souls that wends.
I sense their haunting watchful eyes
And feel my roots where rivers rise.
I hear the voices lost at sea,
They echo on eternally;
As with the thousands who took flight
During the worst potato blight.
Their sadness streams across the seas
Where most souls died with unheard pleas.
Those sad and tragic days long past,
And Erin’s joys returned at last
To verdant Lee and sandy shores
To music heard across the moors,
To people with the kindest hearts
Is what this isle to me imparts.
*Erin go bragh means Ireland Forever
*lough means a lake
*Ben means Irish, a mountain peak
The sweet green hills of Iowa were once my home
Till I moved west where buffalo once used to roam.
I now live in a valley, mountains all around.
It’s lovely, but there’s not one firefly to be found.
I don’t miss Iowa’s muggy air, for here it’s dry,
But how I miss the pretty farms with corn so high!
I miss the summer twilights spent with family
And seeing mighty Mississippi roll past me.
To stay here where I am now seems my destiny,
And yet an Iowan’s heart will always beat in me.
Whilst the clock ticks, appear memories of her past
For three faces she owns, which would be the one that lasts
Would it be the one from old, or the one from her recent past
For three faces she owns, which would be the one that lasts
Many words were shared, to the future forget the past
For three faces she owns, which would be the one that lasts
Whilst the clock ticks, reality now met her past
For three faces she owned, it's the older one that lasts
We went to the zoo that fine summers day
Seeing many an animal in captivity play
From all over the world, five continents all
Where many are thriving, and many will fall
I find it ironic when we view and we stare
For outside we slaughter, in their dens and their lairs
The above line tells me that the zoos are the place
To save her gems whilst us humans lose face
As her marvels diminish, we praise these acres of land
And salute those who cared and drew up their plans
For the zoos they created are their dreamed thoughts ahead
Without these few acres, many species would be dead
So next time you visit, either a zoo or a park
Look beyond their boundaries, as you stand in the Ark
If I were to work a miracle I know what it would be
In selfish quest I'd ask to grow in someone's company
Then we could prosper sharing precious moments in life
If I could have the same children, I'd pray she would be my wife
I would treasure the ground she walks on, in joyous harmony
For before I requested this miracle, she opened my eyes to see
Many things we share, architecture and music are two
There's history and geography, she says binds me and you
But it's the music that cements us, especially with Queen
If I were to work a miracle, then this would be my dream
Finally I've made it to paradise, surrounded by the sea
Tranquil blues in shadow, are what it's peripherals be
White buildings reflect the sun, an image I'll never forget
To watch our sun disappear, the most beautiful of sunsets
Whilst the night comes down, such beauty continues to be
My eyes now in capture, to the sight that confronts me
She stands in proud like stance, a lady unknown to thee
Tanned, so beautiful I witness, impressed my eyes do see
Torso shaped with black, white lace adorns it's low
It's the she that wears it's colours, that makes it's beauty flow
Hair of dark curls hang, like the "Gardens of Babylon"
Flavours of life emanate, my heart appears in throng
As I sit here in La Ola, on paradise by the sea
It's where I witnessed that girl in the dress, captured, I am thee
On a slope graced with green
White marble stands in proud salute
For beneath these engraved pillars of memory
Lie the resting places of heroes
A solitary green fir looks down
As if sheltering the lost and the taken
So many names, from all walks of life
A father, brother a girlfriend or wife
On a sunny day, they glow radiant like their lives
On a dull day, they stand out against the greys
For the living, life goes on
Tomorrow is another day
This evening I listen to a Rock 'n' Roll band
Their track is Civil War, as our world now expands
To us it's the same size but to others they despise
For the want of greed exists in their killer hungry eyes
Where do I start, to say of their evil spread
A different starvation leaving the world in evil dread
It's not our today's but our yesterdays years
That our history tells us, of our everlasting torn tears
Cambodia, the Lebannon, and Sri Lanka's Indian sun
Rebels who demand better at the end of a gun
Guaetamala and Peru with their Shining Path
Villagers in terror decrying it's ever last
Democracy is our power in it's controllable exist
Like the Shining above, how long will our future paths persist
Recent news in the Arabic World, has taken tyrants by surprise
For decades they have stolen with their torturing infidel lies
I could go deeper and deeper to describe these evils acts
In wanton blood spillage, to increase civil war torn facts
For this is the world we live in, it appears we determine to live
Maybe in our lifetime it will be on our doorstep, we open, our lives will sieve
The sky on days become too full
And gravity will start to pull
And capture every bubble frame
While popping corks off rich champagne
The trees will fool and start to dance
And still the time on every branch
With baron shrine and fruits to bare
The wind that strokes and blows through hair
On top-down journeys come to pause
And settle howls with loud applause
Before acceding way too fast
They leave a trail that sprouts from past
Of flitter flatters in delight
And pitter patters out of sight
Extending dreams as arms beseech
To touch the always out of reach
Parting ways, they kiss goodnight
Before the lips close way too tight
The watermarks miraged for miles
With poppy sighs and angel smiles
A substance of the rarest rare
The healing voice of hearts that care
The silver clouds left in its wake
Remain untouched for heaven’s sake
It can’t be met from anywhere
But viewed to share the secret stare
and ponder why it’s so reborn
Transparent in its naked form
It paints the sky with gold perhaps
For all to drink from natures tap
The air contains the future’s plot
Seen at times, at others not
It’s written in the stars you see
Eclipsed by mind and soul-ar key
Failure amidst surrounds of air
That doesn’t mean love isn’t there
There is that barn again
The red peeling paint shouts
Old worn gray tired it says
Memories running track
Back in the fourties when
Youth did reign rule really
When the paint was new red
Dancing and prancing here
Singing joy fiddle plays
Squares were formed to music
Kicked up her heels in time
Red paint new drew her beaus
Well now that tired worn look
Only need new coat_paint
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
Its the morning after the night before
As i leave my new wife, whom i lovingly adore
My orders came through, overseas i head
With my band of brothers, not knowing what's ahead
Married for days, whilst conflict takes him away
Holding sheets where we slept, my memory bouquet
At the bottom of our bed, there lies a virgin white rose
With a note beneath i am in momentary froze
I sit and stare as to what it might say
Knowing this is the day my love flies away
My darling Tinks i leave this white rose for you
Its pristine appearance describes my darling so true
It symbolises you, so innocent so pure
With your love in my heart, i will return i assure
Think of the day, from these distant lands from beyond
For the morning after the night before, we will respond
This virgin white rose, so bridal so pure
You and its safety i will secure, for you to return for our future
The day you come home, it shall lay on our bed
And we will continue our lives, as you have always said
I will go about my tomorrow's, thinking of you every day
And prey that this virgin white rose, never turns deathly grey
Somewhere in the city beneath the BLISSFUL sun
A gardener has planting to do with her green thumb
WHISPERING by are butterflies with ELOQUENT colors to the eye
Perched above on a limb the neighborhood bird begins to sigh
It declares with LILTING and TRANQUILITY a SPLENDOR to be heard
Thrusting quickly overhead a bluebird cries with DULCET words
Further down the garden path the FRAGRANT LAVENDER came WAFTING past
The rhythmic swaying to the grass gave way to summer at last
Inspired by Andrea Dietrich’s “Word warrior challenge: beautiful words”
A different time, a different place
A different life and different face
Different wants and different needs
Different values and different creeds
Different Pomp and Circumstance
Different songs and different dance
Different likes and different hate
Different foods on different plate
A different boat on a different sea
A different you and a different me
The snow rests red and heavy
through the valley and the glen,
with MacDonald honor lingering on
in spite of Campbell sin.
Give us crimson wool
to weave a plaiden memory
of the massacre at Glencoe
and deeds of treachery.
Let the stigma of a traitor
forever mark their name
as long as Scotland bears the scar
so recalled shall be their shame.
I sometimes think of traveling to a mysterious distant land
To Cairo and the River Nile and walk on Egyptian sand
The Ismalia Folklore Festival brings together many nations
In the land so aptly called The Land of Civilizations
I ask for Wadjet to protect me as I see all that I can
At night, Nut puts on a show that could not be produced by man
I see the children playing with hearts so full of love
Thanking Hathor for the blessings that were sent from far above
Osiris please stay away as I'm not ready yet
I need to change my life as I too long have followed Set
Egyptian thoughts come and that's when this old sailor cries
As I remember a beautiful woman with dark Egyptian eyes
I pray to Anuket to once again see the River Nile
And to Isis that she would return the magic for a while
The mystery and the culture are only part of what you'll find
I smile to myself as Egyptian thoughts cross my mind.
A staff is more than handhold, its worn
to the grasp, trust in what fell down from above.
The llama's sure foothold fits like our staffs
in the rocks climbing upward to the top to the sky.
We risk the blaze of sun, for the wide wings of condor
soaring, spiraling, hunting for a meal, never assured
except for his hold on the sky, flight, supreme
over the rocks and tumbles and worn out straw
of season of cold passing into days of warmth.
The spindle clatter, the roil and curve of weft needle
a prayer to on high, like the spirals of rock to the sky
the sun speaking to us at feet, these are complete
to the rest and remain of our escape to safety
in the cradle of our summer retreat, waiting for stars
to fall among us, waiting for stars to carry us away
from homes built within a circle of spires, three spires
to bring the ley lines of power into our grasp, to offer
escape from the dust and dung we live in, amazed.
3rd march2012, by: Sashi Prabhu (zeauoxian)
Form: rhyming couplets
Sandy tracks, still and dormant, lie await for us,
Virgin sands of Malvan beach, its breeze my body salty caress.
Through the grooves of coconut palms swaying tall,
We trudge to the sandy shores backpack and all.
Green thatched leaves. Crowns of glory, shade it extorts,
Swinging hammock to nest me in my denim blues shorts.
A strong breeze blows saline pelagic scented odor across,
Blue waves melt to foam, kiss shores, hued shells emboss.
Lonely eagle soar virgin blue skies,
More of the brood join in and glide past fishing boats floating by.
A murder of crows feast on our eaten table,
As in the warm waters we dip, the crows our food they garble.
The waves sound gushing rhapsody repeat,
Us jovious beach bums in water enjoy the sunny heat.
Dry fishing boats on logs they are on the sands to park,
Lie along akin, like silent serpents, waiting for dusk to embark.
Sea gulls they glide over silver wavy waters,
Food seeking dives perform, for them that’s what matters.
A pack of dogs they frolic with glee,
As the fisher folk heave coir ropes dogs from there flee.
Golden sunlight darts out of stagnant clouds formless,
Group of lads, beach volley ball they play tireless
As I sit ten meters away from wet sandy shores,
Melody erupts as waves repeat encore.
An eighteen year old sailor on the Riviera in the Spring
Mademoiselle Your smile can make my young heart sing
Cannes, Nice, Monte Carlo who could ask for more
I volunteered for the USO, so on duty days I could be ashore
I held her hand and said bon jour, i danced with her that day
Looking into her eyes, Aime-moi, s'il vous plait
Stopping by a sidewalk cafe, we had a glass of Beaujolais
Then I walked her home and promised to meet another day
Two days later I returned but she was nowhere to be found
I saw her one more time before my feet left solid ground
It was a one time memory, a love not meant to be
She returned to college and I returned to the sea
I still have those memories and the wonders that we saw
But to cry, i'l n'est pas necssaire pour cela.
I think back sometimes and it cuts me like a knife
France will always be a special part of my life.
Since the 19th century, she stands looking out to sea
A guardian of the sailor, a survivor of tragedy
The Captain lost his pregnant wife and son and five members of his crew
Now she waits just like her sister when a sailor's return is overdue
Her sister stands in Moss since nineteen sixty two
They stand and face each other across the ocean blue
The Dictator, a Norwegian vessel, aground she did run
Nine people died off the shore in eighteen ninety one
The Captain returned to Norway when his healing was done
In Elmwood cemetery he sadly left his wife and son
On thirty seventh street in Virginia Beach the Norwegian Lady Stands
A monument to all who sail and walk on foreign sands
A is for algae, red, green, blue cells, soaking up sun, sliming teeth
B is for bacterial mat, clumping underneath, earliest born, never asleep
C is for coral reef, the place we all find cover or the sand parrotfish chew and release
D is for diatom, all seeded calcium, all float free, all denizens barely seen
E is for eelgrass, nursery meadows of the anchovy, and other browsers of green
F is for fan worm, filter feeder like a flower, 8000 species on which fish feed
G is for giant kelp, floating on bladders of air they’re forests of cold waters clean
H is for helmet, the royalty of snails who protect our feet, queen, emperor, king
I is for isopod, the chameleon crustacean, they color match what they eat
J is for jellyball, or cannonball jellyfish, not upside down or moon, avoid their heat
K is for keyhole limpet, favorite food of ochre stars, will erect its own wall
L is for laver, the sea lettuce of nori, it swirls red skirt as ocean falls
M is for mermaid’s purse, the sack of the skate whose yolk keeps them alive
N is for nerite, the prisoner striped snail of the rocky zone as numerous as a hive
O is for oyster drills, the snails that slurp oysters and use them to lay eggs
P is for pleurobranch, a sea slug answer for oranges, with one active leg
Q is for quahog, the bivalve seaman who can survive eating the mud
R is for rove beetle, the one waiting to snatch the unwary beach hopper for good
S is for saxitoxin, those red tides produced by mating that can paralyze humans
T is for tubular sponge, they squish, bore and encrust as space lends
U is for urchin, those spiny skinned balls, no eyes or noses but dig food in sand
V is for Venus, Music Volutes dined or Vampire Squids skimming along land
W is for whelk, not the musically inclined, but the slow moving snail in a shell
X is for X and a half, the six rayed star, hungry for anything on the half shell
Y is for yucca, blooming on the beach, they bloom nice and tolerate the sand
Z is for Zostera marinara, the address of eel grass when they're feeling grand
All of this green life is what crunches, stinks, dries and slips underfoot
The rest that find the housing and dining compatible means someone’s on the look.
< Horses and snowflakes
Illuminating to it's tongue's pallet's plate
Open carriage rides
Falling flakes in the eyes
City strewn lights
Hoof's echoing through out the night
Cider drank it
New York's Central Park
An home for many after dark
Four miles of bridal paths
Drawn coaches to bring you back
So horses and snowflakes
Fills this ones poet's pallet's plate
Written By Katherine Stella
My Theme Was Both
Horses And Snowflakes
This Is An Entry
For Constance ~A Rambling Poet 's ~ Contest
Hugs that we once shared, lasted just a glimpse in time
If only I could read her mind, and imagine what I'd find
Would I find a woman of truth, or a woman of trust
Or a woman with a mind, whose mind has turned to rust
To drift into another's world, and promise them the earth
Hugs that we once shared, does it really make them worth
They only lasted a glimpse of time, happened they never should
If I could turn back time, your damn right I would
Viewing this vista of extraordinary scene
Scenic she's creative in historic darkened means
Meaningful silhouettes, black squared, dark undulations
Undulated to her visitors, their close clanned relations
Relative they may be, but so different in their norm
Normally they would be, differential in their clans
Clannish their panorama, now dusk before their dawn
Dawn is when there's life, a new day has spawned
Spawning oranges and reds, the dusk now bows to the suns wooing
Wooing this extraordinary scene, now my eyes are viewing
<> Not for Nette's contest, I just loved the image, and it's theme <>
This is a journey, a trip call it what you will
It follows the footsteps of my ancestors, and allows my thoughts too spill
Firstly let me take you back, to tell you so little of my past
Indigenous I am, from the "Stolen Generations" I did not last
This is why I must make this journey, to allow me to find the real me
To retrace the few steps I made, to rediscover what my young eyes seen
How ironic that the person I'll ride with, is the son of the then official
Whose deliberation to round up us children, the scene, locale
It's now the morn of our travel, where I look I find hard to see
The peripheral of the distant horizon, is all that really captures me
The town where I grew up so young, barely to the age of five
Perth, now bustles like a termites nest, zig zagging in busily strive
Into the bush we go, to a place where us youngsters so enjoyed
Moore River Native Settlement, which soon became children void
As I walk my arid lands, patterned in the heat of this day
I recall with every step, where us Indigenous children played
We could survive on the smallest of fruit, water we could easily find
Even the son of the then official, said that we are a superior kind
He marvelled when I spotted tracks, traces of where animals crossed
Remembering back to when I was five years old, our lands always talked
We opened up as we led our horses, introduced all those centuries ago
They opened up my lands, rivers we walked, now the white man flows
This is a journey I had to make, it's called, it's in my will
No more "Stolen Generations" no more will my culture spill
TIDES OF TIDINESS
If I was God, the geographic world I would bless:
I’d start by tidying up my world map for it’s a mess.
First let’s examine the ideal - man-made edges can’t be beat.
Look at places like the USA -Canada boundaries - wow they’re neat.
Saskatchewan and the Four Corners - geometric perfection.
Australia’s states too, and Africa, especially the northern section.
It’s the instinct of all poetic geography teachers
To want to tidy up the world map’s ragged features.
The British Columbia coast needs sweeping with a big brush and
All those islands pushed till they’re joined to the mainland.
Same goes for the chilly south coast of Chile:
So many islands and peninsulas - it’s just silly.
And also the fjorded Atlantic coast of Norway:
Smooth? Neat? Geometric? No way!
The Canadian archipelago too might as well be joined up together
Cos it’s one frozen mass all the time in wintry weather.
Of those messy lakes of Canada and Finland we have no need:
With God’s giant blotting paper I’d make them recede.
And don’t get me started about the crazy course of a river.. . .
Pure logic and efficiency I can deliver:
The Amazon rises only 60 miles from Peru’s Pacific coast
But clearly it felt the need to have something to boast.
It should have gone west instead of 4000 miles east to the Atlantic
A wasted effort, silly choice - it ended up being absurdly gigantic.
And I have bigger complaints, such as South America
Being fitted back where it belongs into the coast of Africa;
And the Red Sea’s coasts, moved apart like edges of torn paper all raggedy:
Dunno whose idea that was, but it ain’t foolin nobody.
Obviously they should be stuck back together jigsaw fashion
To satisfy my geographical neatness passion.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
*This is the latest in my series of Nutty Geographical Poems.
Take a glance at your bedside atlas to see the places mentioned.
We share a look from across the room and I saunter into your arms,
No matter how hard I try to defy, I can never resist your charms;
You slip a hand behind my head and drag me into your kiss,
You tantalize my senses as I lose myself to bliss;
Desire takes over my body as you take my breath away,
We stand in utter silence, we’ve nothing left to say;
There is an overpowering smell of whiskey and cheap perfume,
But locked in a passionate kiss, we’re alone in the crowded room;
Your kisses taste so potent, I savor the exotic flavor of you,
Your intoxicating to my senses, like the sweetest morning dew;
Wrapped in a fervent embrace, our bodies meld to form one;
I lose myself to you and it’s only just begun...
THE BLUE MOUNDS*
It started when she sat there
At the age of five or six
Wandered off in chase
Of bugs who watched her from gray sticks--
Felt a thrumming in her veins
That set her hair on fire
stronger than the booming
She imagined in god choir
Suddenly aware of space
But not of time passed by
Looked up to blue rock haze
Against a thunder sky
And distant on the blue rock
Bison herd was racing west
Dust-framed in a golden haze
She grabbed her hammered chest
*Blue Mounds--now part of a park in SW Minnesota
Lakota Sioux burial grounds, sacred site--a herd of bison roam here
Everyday I view images, of a creature beautifully be
Through my eyes I see a maiden, such beauty in she thralls thee
It does not matter what she wears, or the way it's worn
She would look beautiful wearing rags, shredded ripped or torn
To her locks I mention, draped against porcelain skin
Like a magnetic I'm now drawn, her beauty draws me in
Next I value her loves, such intelligence abounds her soul
History, the arts and music, knowledge has been her goal
Everyday I view images, of a creature beautifully be
I can only feel so honoured, that she's fallen in love with me
< Coco was his name
Spider monkey all the same
Dad worked for zoo
Feeder of Coco too
Brought the little guy home
Boy did Coco love to rome
Droppings here and there
Mom covered up his dairy - air
Shoulders he did seek
Knocking younger ones off their feet
Bananas and salted nuts
Made Coco dance and strut
Each day a animal of new
Dad brought home from the zoo
But the one I'll remember the most
Was coco who shared my daily toast
Como Park Zoo
St Paul Minnesota
Coco And Daddy
Can You Imagine
A Monkey Playing
With 10 Kids LOL
heirloom roots dart unto tropical spaces
seven thousand islands stitched by dainty laces
where ripples of meadows form formless
there, lovely women gather milkfish with kindness
of gumamela leaves sun-kissed, peach-dressed.
On tinted valleys, a gathering of eagles astonished;
forests of green brush coconut - combed tresses
and temperate sky curls into sunset wishes
while crickets are led to peaks of tobacco embers.
Billowing grass huts cling to the clang of village pails
as serenades of tanned guitars speak of folk tales,
till rustic gaiety shifts rice grains open to gliding
unto coastlines made of Asian waves rambling.
A paradise on miles and miles of Pacific heredity
her limbs swaying into pearl necklaces so daintily,
such movement my lips burst of hibiscus seeds
a grandeur spread on a carpet of ancestral beads.
This is my morning and night broth, my daily gland
miles of guava trees dwelling…my birth mark, homeland.
*gumamela—a hibiscus plant found in Asia
* my country is the Philippines
SKAT's MY LAND IS MY HOME contest
by nette onclaud
There is a place where deserts bloom and loving is the law
Where miracles are commonplace and sorrows come to fall
When desires flower amidst the fields of singing lily throngs
And sin, with its razors edge, is a foregone ancient song
It is a place by streams of life, where marigolds do thrive
Where misty aqua canopies supply pleasures to our lives
Then luscious verve and greenery on mountaintops do grow
And pleasures we past put aside, no longer do forgo
Here, patchwork friendships sawn asunder are seamlessly re-sewn
And trees of men and sapling sons for times long lost atone
Oh, how I long for these dear times when nations breathe as one
When frozen tongues of languages have melted in the Son
No pain, no sickness, no sullen thoughts - no lurking death to fear
To see the work of one’s own hands, for all eternity to cheer
This passionate air, this prospect true, this paradise re-claim
Oh, how I strive to walk the path to see this righteous reign
How many of us, go down in history
Well she went down on me, just you wait and read
It happened ten tears ago, boy was it out of this world
The moment she took me in, boy her kisses swirled
We were so suited, atmospheric was our attraction
Bare to naked I was, receiving her reaction
Cheeky was this first Lieutenant, her hands everywhere
I succumbed to her intentions, near explosive was my stare
It's only when I looked down, two eyes espied in pout
Pleasured by her wanting, me I'm inside out
I found myself amidst, convulsions so far from home
Lost in pleasured dome, ring a ring a rosy roamed
Taken, spent I am, we rejoiced in our elation
History has been made, communication on the Space Station
Weak audible creaks from a faded pub sign
Preludes a visual crash, combed by critical eyes
Though the structure was sound
The worn brackets were faint
Flaking words curled and dropped
With the tired peeling paint.
What ever flicked the switch, to decide from their within
To deem another not worthy by the colour of their skin
We, upon this wonderful planet, we're each and all the same
Nature decreed our colours, born we are of different acclaim
No matter from where we come from, no matter to where we go
We all sail the rivers of life, and our many colours should flow
The next time you walk your streets, in cities and your towns
When the sun shines upon us, we're neither white nor brown
For although she shines on us, to her we're all the same
We are shadows, we are no different, so why do others claim
< Driving along in my automobile
Seen homeless man holding sign will work for his meals
Should I stop or should I just Go !
Should I give Or Should I just say hell No !
But what if that was me
Crying out with such pitty
Not knowing where to get next meal
Three kids crying at worn out heels
Cardboard boxes to call our home
Dumpster diving for pieces of foam
Think I'll give him a piece of my pot
Opened wallet and gave him alot
A nice twenty came on out
Wiped out was his sadden pout
Drove by an hour later
Homeless camp wiped off roadmarks slatter
Wonder where dirty Dan had now roamed
Just hope he finds a better suitable home
A run-down barn nestled among low and gentle hills,
it adds natural charm to a breathtaking landscape.
On sunny mornings, it adorns itself with sunrays,
making the screeching ravens flee to a shady spot.
Its paint is peeling off due to an abandoned state,
it once echoed with the constant moos of cattle.
It can almost hear the tractors heading for the harvest,
emitting fumes to disperse the wildflowers' strong aroma.
Mockingbirds are too annoyed to welcome another crisp morning
with their thrilling notes that can make the radiant air so festive.
Cowboys riding on fast horses gave life to these fileds, once tallgrass prairies...
even they have left these lands where buffalos, elks and coyotes freely roamed.
Driving back home, dusk changes the color of fields, clouds, hills and sky...
shadows invade the lonely barn on Greenpoint Road followed by many stars.
Past lurks in picture, this I know,
A presence from the long ago.
Her life was hard and mean and cruel.
She cleaned without a modern tool.
Here she was shunned, demeaned, bereft.
Past would not follow when she left,
And so it lurks, just out of range,
Hoping somehow a past can change.
Glad to have left her past behind,
She has moved on, new life to find.
She prays wayfarers will beware
Of past that proved to be a snare,
And run from horror in that room
Or it could be a burial tomb.
< sphinx ~ head
who ~ said
roman ~ God
without ~ bod
shadow ~ illusion
causing ~ confussion
butte ~ mesa
I ~ guess ~ a
transition ~ zone
with-out ~ phone
oh ~ my ~ cydonia
don't ~ all ~ just ~ wanna ~ ya
Sphinx Head On Mars Contest
Live…Breathe…Believe in your star…
It is with you wherever you are,
It never leaves you for a moment,
The saint light is in its current.
In storms it helps to reach the land,
Its warmth it gives to you my friend,
It cherish you and gives you strength,
It leads you through the whole life length.
It lights up your soul when it pains,
It brightens up your days when it rains.
It gives the warmth to your heart,
It shows you the right way to start.
Until the last breath it will shine,
That magic star of yours and mine.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
Lord only knows how the settlers survived
When in Arizona's desert they arrived
I visited there in late November
And the piercing heat I still remember
Air conditioning's great invention
Brought to this state renewed attention
The population grew by leaps and bounds
Many homes were built on the sandy mounds
"There's no humidity," some still will say
Yet none survive without AC each day
(AC stands for air conditioning)
Oh lovely Netherlands, you are now my second home.
You leave me thrilled and enchanted where ever I roam.
I smiled when floating down streets made from the sea,
Touring on charming glass covered canal boats with glee.
There’s beauty in the coolness of a windswept day,
As I rode the wind on my bicycle and joyously flew away.
Then I set out to visit famous paintings I was shown.
Each lovely museum has a quaint charm all its own.
One famous museum displayed art of Vincent van Gogh.
It has a cool theatre inside, most tourists don’t know.
I just had to visit Den Haag’s St. Mauritius to view
Vermeer’s “Girl with a pearl earring” and other art too.
I toured through Madame Tussaud’s Wax museum happily.
Johnny Depp and George Clooney were there waiting for me!
Oh lovely gardens of Keukenhof, my time’s worth BEST spent.
I’ll never forget your bright tulip hues with their heavenly scent.
Hartelijk bedankt oh lovely Netherlands, land of the free.
Alstublieft, alstublieft I beseech you, don’t forget me.
April 22, 2014
*Hartelijk bedankt - heartfelt thanks
*Alstublieft – please
Now this is a little story of the caravan that rocked
Whether parked in roadside lay-bys, the locals were never shocked
They travelled from the Highlands and motored so far and wide
Exercising their freedom, oh my! that you couldn't hide
They lived just south of Ullapool, and further north than Perth
But no matter where they parked, they always made it worth
Now this couple they liked to journey, to places so far from home
To York, Scarborough and Edinburgh, so capital in their roam
Where ever they went they took in the sights, so beautiful they grace
But every so often their caravan rocked, but never in a windy place
Their holiday nearly over, it's time to head back up the road
Passing places where their caravan rocked, their travelling home abode
They pass such lovely places, like Stirling and Callender
Stopping of at Granton On Spey, their holidays take them afar
Now very close to home, boo! it's work in a couple of days
But they don't mind, for their caravan rocked, without a wind to sway
I woke up in a dream on a coast I've never seen
But somehow in a way, I knew I'd be here one day
I'm detecting a touch of Spanish, language it is not
All I see is leaving Galleon's, raped, now forgot
I'm seeing centuries before me, colonial now so free
The Japanese like them before, ravaging in spree
On a beach I walk to the light, attracting I to enter
I'm there, as I walk through, my viewing now centred
Into this lush land I walk, not knowing where I'll be
There's something that desires, I'll know when I see
Walking, walking, walking, it's all I appear to do
Clearer my mind becomes, I know I'm walking to you
Further my weakened feet, stride through their weak
I know at the end of my journey, I'll meet whom I seek
A village, a town nears, as I look back to whence I came
Awakening in this dream, praying this person feels the same
The clear pictures, taken by the satellite orbiting around Mars
for over a decade, have finally arrived here and fascinated us.
The Sphinx head in Egypt and the one on Mars have many veritable similarities...
wouldn't you agree? But who built the one the Red Planet: the extraterrestrials?
Leave that to the imagination, or try to solve the mystery of the ancients;
now, don't assume that life will be found there despite those striking images.
Although scientists speculate that Mars has water, only facts are a true possibility;
no assumption can come close to such a reality, if it hasn't been explored entirely.
Until NASA builds another spaceship and sends more brave astronauts into space,
we must hold our breath,...'till they return with proof of another extraordinary race.
A paper road and car of clay,
A garden made from pencil shaves;
With fields of crayon flowers drawn,
Beyond the shoebox house and lawn;
Old wax paper forms the boat,
That sails under a cardboard moat;
A fence made out of new toothpicks,
Erasers used as driveway brick.
A crafty home in taped décor,
Now sat atop my basement floor;
A dynasty of paper trails,
Completed with a sign, “For Sale”,
Was printed in the Classifieds,
To see who’d purchase such a buy;
One hundred callers did implore --
The only place they could afford.
Tents of various colours in parade across the sands
It's summer time in Brighton as the sun beams down so grand
Families too many to mention, on blanketed abound
Whilst laughter resonates from the children all around
Even nature has her say as the waves caress the shore
Just like yesterday, and so many years before
Gliding terns and seagulls grace the thermal flow
As they anticipate the pickings that present them down below
Rock pools gather attraction, a learning call for the young
Explained by thoughtful parents, of how we all began
Sails of shapes and sizes appear against the blues
Boats and ships aplenty in sailing tacking cruise
My day now nears it's end, on this wonderful Brighton Beach
So many joys surround me, I'm so thankful their in my reach
Expecting 2 get something special
U end up getting part of the 'all'
So 2 compensate 4 the loss
I remain on the path 4 gloss!
Y'all c'mon down
any ole' time,
we'll be awaitin'
with watermelon wine.
Y'all are welcome
to come define
among the graceful pine.
We'll say, "Hey Y'all,"
and be inclined
by our southern-ness
to rip it up, divine.
So bring it on,
you raw moonshine,
let yourself be red
in the southern design.
There's nothin' like
fresh off the vine
for a sweeter night,
so poised and unrefined.
Y'all c'mon down,
form a headline,
make newsworthy noise,
along the coastal line.
the joyous sign
you ain't forgotten
our infamous dateline.
We are still here,
a fresh resign
disheartened central spine.
Y'all c'mon down
any ole' time,
we'll be awaitin'
with watermelon wine.
Y'all are welcome
to come define
among the graceful pine.
Alba, remember, but will you remember me
Be where I can see you, but me you will not see
For I have been finally, driven underground
Returned to where I came, to die without a sound
And all because one day, in the month of February
An Aura appeared to me, my eyes caressed to see
Amidst these living days in absorbency two became
No culture, just our pasts, no one was too blame
In our living lives we choked, in throw ejected we
Poisoned absorbency bled, as we look around and see
In decision midst we're lost, to be answered soon
Alba, remember, but will you remember us
Looking at the moon?
" Many thanks Mr Tony Carey for the inspiration through your track title "
The finest place to stop
is on the very top.
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...
Peter Pan Envy
I envy Peter Pan
He never get’s old as a man
He can fly back and forth to never-never land
To his lost boys a merry band
If I had Tinkerbelle’s fairy dust and could fly
I would go up and up into the sky
I would fly up to my wife who’s in heaven
And take her back to nineteen fifty-seven
The fifties were a great time in life
It was when I met my future wife
A ticket from the police is what I don't need.
Driving through this town, I'm watching my speed.
Let’s travel to the edge of the earth
With sunshine in our veins
Let’s see how much this life is worth
As we leave out all our pains
We’ll go for miles, and we won’t stop
The sun will soon attack
Our lives we’ll trade, our hearts we’ll swap
We’re never coming back
A whole new start, a second chance
Floats softly into June
We’ll wade our time in cheap romance
As we howl at a transient moon
An ice cold flood of independence
Forms our own wicked sense of style
Our world needs more transcendence
This world just needs to smile
The ringing in our ears is no longer just a sound
The image of freedom is no longer just a dream
Because this limitless world is just a playground
Or so it may seem
< riding home with brother and friend from convenience store
this masked man got out of his trucks door
asked each boy what was their ages
made them place bikes in ditch or face guns gauges
Jacob was the oldest of the three
just 11 good gracious golly
St Joseph Minnesota close to St Cloud
days weeks month lined with flowering shrouds
his mother and father got congress to sign an act
for crimes against children and sexually violence attacks
now there is a bridge of hope
called Jacob Wetterling foundation so families can cope
our little lost sheep
we still to continue to shed tears and weep
for there is still an unmarked date
where death has not been filled in on your headstones slate
Taken Oct 22 1989 From St Joseph Minnesota
In Search Of Jacob Wetterling still goes on
You Are Not Forgotten
Was just a walk beyond the road -- a shortcut past the bog,
No different than the night before but this night there was fog.
I climbed the pleasant hill from which the ‘yard had got it’s name,
So cold and dark it was that night, a dim light I did flame.
Blackest of the blackest eve’s I thought I might go blind,
So quickly paced, I past the stone’s of relatives that died.
Just past the breeze that got the willow shaking in the night
I saw someone just standing where my path comes into sight --
I wondered why tonight they’d chosen
To walk the same path I was roamin’
A closer look, not man nor woman…
So still -- as if their form was frozen…
“They must be lost“, I thought out loud, no light to find the path,
So maybe they’re just standing there awaiting someone’s laugh.
Or maybe they are frozen stiff by seeing my form too --
I couldn’t move though, be it just another passing through
My flashlight though, so dim, was shining on them, so it seemed…
…No looking up, no squinting eyes or arms to hide the beam,
How could they not have noticed me, the light is right upon them?
And just as I brought down my hand to light the way so trodden…
I heard them move in front of me
That form that stood beside the tree
A quick response I shone the light
Back at the path ahead in fright
No person was still standing there…
Just Trees, beyond the path I dared --
I stood there for eternity a-gasp and scared to death,
Staring hard upon that spot where someone drew their breath.
They’re somewhere past the beam of light that’s dimming by the second --
The eerie melody from lonely crickets only beckoned.
A sudden crackle at my feet as if one stopped behind,
I felt my heart beat through my chest, I thought I’d lost my mind.
I thought I felt a windy chill then whisper past my ear,
But turned to shine my light upon no stranger standing near.
That instant -- I had dropped my bag and ran towards the gate,
I swore I heard them running too I had no time to waste.
So as I reached the entrance, looking back I think I said,
“If you’re still there, I’ve changed my mind, I’ll take the street instead.”
New York City at night,
Is like an upscale carnival filled with lights,
Message boards and fancy advertisements,
Keeps one’s eyes in perpetual excitement,
Call a taxi, you’ll go exceptionally fast,
Like the gravitron that’s spin makes you gasp,
Walk a mile or two,
And the volume of brightness will illuminate your view,
On some blocks you feel like you’re in outer space,
Bridges are the stars, that from a distance, stunt your pace,
The buildings begin to possess Saturn’s rings,
Streets look like the universe drenched in colorful strings,
New York City at night,
A giant meteor shower of visual delight.
By: Sabina Nicole
Contest: Lights at Night in a City
Crop, copy and paste.
These are the days of edit and waste.
Digital pictures matching our taste.
Everyone fuzzy in dot-matrix.
Saved as a file in some special place.
Not just a folder, a name with no face.
Shared with our friends all over the net.
Nobody wiser to that they've not met.
Clicked on again to remember the time.
Scrolled by a mouse; through thumbs in a line.
Dragged in and dropped to folders where bound.
Making them searches of files to be found.
Beautiful pictures fill up my screen.
Some of them larger than what I have seen.
< birds in perilous flight
illuminating to this watchful eye's sight
outstretched wings ~ soaring high
bidding ado ~ waving goodbye
homebound is their quest
offsprings await safe return ~ back in nest
red sky ~ tonight
glad ~ I've captured this flight
oh fly ~ my feather friends
hope to see you ~ once again
for this love ~ so brand new
what's drawn ~ me to you
Heaven Sent Smiles Contest
Some times they say the great and mighty do fall…
And the penguin story of greatness, should be heard by all.
Polar bears are mighty and cunning with massive brute strength.
But they messed with the penguins, a mistake, I do think.
The polar bears went after the penguins and cute little chicks.
So you’ll never guess what those cute little penguins did.
Using the most courageous penguins as a target so nice.
They lured all the polar bears, for the first time, out onto the ice.
The greedy bears moved out in force for the kill.
But the penguins pushed the ice flows into the currents windmill.
So intent on dinner and full of themselves, were they that day…
That the polar bears didn’t notice the ice caught in the currents sway.
The polar bears were way out to sea, before noticing their plight.
And, by then, the penguins were safely at home tucked in for the night.
You might say, the current was a friend to the penguins that day.
For it eventually sent those polar bears to the North Pole far away.
Now the moral of this story is here to easily understand.
Brute strength is not the greatest thing to cherish; it is far greater to plan…
And, never turn your back on a penguin I say.
They’re the reason there’s no polar bears at the South Pole, to this day.
Tell Me A Story Contest
Write me a way out of sadness and pain
Make it a whimsical , happy refrain.
Pen my way down to the old berry patch
Where we built a house of palmetto thatch
Write me a path back to childhood's domain
High on a ditch bank at play in the rain.
A Florida trail that you pencil in gray
Made of oyster shells out of the bay.
Lay out the map made of words that unwind
To take us to someplace that waits in the mind.
An inroad to knowing what means more than gold
A pathway to healing the heart and the soul.
So much time has come and gone
And now I'm left all alone
I think of Florida and I smile
So, please write me home, just for awhile
Written with my niece, Johnette Loefgren
To U.S. born both wild and free
There is no worse place one could be
Than in a prison cell for years
For most men ‘tis a gruesome fear
But to souls in other lands
Where freedom’sjust a word that stands
On paper-- but an object dead--
With it you cannot bake your bread.
In movies in these lands they watch
Thugs whose pants fall off their crotch.
Who off to court they go-- then jail--
No mention made of tears or bail
Third Worlds watch the U.S. cells
That should resemble Dante’s hell.
Instead they look so germ free clean
Like the quarters of a Queen
Luxury in killer's cell?
How can thieves live-- oh so --well
U.S. jail is no bad life--
Well, you might miss someone's wife
As one boss of one small store
Told me-- as he scrubbed his floor:
“Me, I'll fly to U.S. land
Kill some guy and live so grand."
His tune said joke-- but it was not--
(U.S. TV makes brains rot)
But-- twas no secret-- truth could tell
He'd snuggle in Obama's cell.
Victoria Anderson-Throop © December 1, 2012
As I sit there looking out to sea,
Reflects a picture of a different time.
Its white washed walls set against the granite rock,
As the sea pounds it, with waves of brine.
A bridle path runs along the cliff,
Worn down, by previous generations past.
Now given way to the bracken, and the wild tuffs of grass,
Walking westward the little path, towards the lighthouse winds.
As dusk moves in with the setting sun,
Its light now begins to shine.
A stark warning to all mariners, as they sail on around the coast,
Now completely automated, except for the keeper’s ghost.
Over 300 puddles of Sudbury lakes
once scraped by a glacier in hundreds of shapes.
Now filled with fresh water for everyones taste
like playing or boating wherever they're placed.
Some fish them or ski them in winter or summer.
Ski Doo them; Sea Doo them and bring them in Hummers.
There's swimmers and soakers with masks and with fins
to snorklers and divers with tanks and black skins.
With sunshine for tanners at rest on the shores
to moonlight and coolers; our social outdoors.
So don't ask your friends who they're coming to see.
when Living With Lakes means sharing is free.
I wish I was asked this question when I was five years old
For it's a question I would have answered as my words unfold
This never happened yesterday, it was way back, 1966
What made our neighbour decide, to ignite his floorboards sticks
Our whole house woke in panic, smoke billowed everywhere
Into the darkness we stared, at five years old and scared
Thoughts running through my head, confused in a darkening world
Then suddenly I could see, my vision became un-blurred
What I took I couldn't grab, for it was already a part of me
For I, I took myself, and thanked my eyes to see
But going back to the original question, just what would I grab
It would have been an image of my brother, he was seven, and he was fab
On a darkened road, in the dead of night,
A wrong road taken, now a sorry plight.
No more gas, and so turned around.
Forest and fog on a moonless night abound.
Frightening sounds from within the woods
God protect me, I beg, as I close the hood.
There’s a light off yonder, twinkling thru the trees.
But I truly fear what there, waits for me.
I see a man with a gun stalking thru the trees.
With a bobbing lantern, he has seen me.
Good or evil… this is quite a test.
I jump inside. Locking the doors fearing death.
I see he’s old and withered as his eyes meet mine.
And he laughs eerily as he sets the gun against a tree to recline.
Can’t be too careful in these old hills, he explains, as he gives his name.
Taking a wrong turn out here can be a dangerous game.
Strangers are rarely welcomed, as some are up to no good.
Now, lets see you’re gas level, then what’s happening under the hood.
Sure enough I’d run out of gas, so he gave me a few gallons to last.
With written instructions to the closest station for gas…
He said he’d call the owner so someone would be there waiting.
A harrowing night ended rather well…with a thank you and a blessing.
It could have been worse… I could have been dead.
Now I’m just grateful… It was he who was there, as my light up ahead.
< my pal Joe
well don't you just know
his illuminating writes
will drawn you to his pages site
epulaeryu ~ burlesque ~ didactics ~ or sonnets
you'll wanna wear a nice and sunny bonnet
land sea or air
let your imagination take you there
inspiration bounded for your soul
my pal Joe surely does know
glad he's just a phone call away
to lift my spirits in so many ways
and if you want succulant mango
first you'll have to dance to the tango
So please stop on by
to give my pal Joseph Spence's poetry a try
Praise Your Poetry Pal Contest
"In a land full of corn, you've got to just laugh a little."
The gravel flies out from beneath,
The hicks smile with half their teeth.
The corn grows,
The horses have shows.
Flat paths and lanes lead,
All starting with the soil for the seed.
As country plays on the station,
Under God is our Nation,
Playing close with friendly people,
BINGO tonight or riding the bull.
Views on the Mississippi river,
During the winter we all start to shiver.
Living in a reality world,
The doors are slim but few are curled.
For it's Iowa the seasons come,
The bottles are opened with whisky and rum,
Talk is everywhere about our city,
here there are plenty deer to hit in pity.
Tractors fly in style,
Come visit and you may stay awhile.
For there's casinos and bars to see,
A castle called Jumers; grab a key.
Viewing beauty from the peer,
The beauty found in every mirror.
The MidWest lives fine,
It opens up glory in one to shine.
The traffic flowss through each town,
On the way through going up and down.
The hills with cows astray,
The nights over; back to the day.
The city people leave for work,
Sending off messages as each is a perk,
Neves lending a need to be,
Opening new things to see.
For it's Iowa the grass grows green,
The people are friendly; not too mean.
The glory of the state is here,
The glory is very near.
Talk and walk the Iowan way,
Come visity and maybe you'll stay!
A SIMPLE DAY IN AFRICA
Blame the white
For the books in school
Blame the white
For the traffic rules
Blame the white
For Round house now square
for a land unfair
White men left
They have packed and gone
White men left
Now tribes on their own
White men left
Now its knives not guns
Now the hate
spreads with springtime sun
shake the dusty skies
glares in every eye
gather tribe by tribe
break the rules
and you’re vilified
This once nation of peace and calm, lies close to chaos and anarchy
It's Government will be in struggle, imploding indefinitely
What gives a person the right to carry a gun on to our streets
When challenged by the police, they can't accept their greet
Knowing they are totally wrong, some can't even admit defeat
Community drums now sound, then the morons take to our streets
These little sheep from hours earlier, turn rabid in bravado show
Turning on who can not defend themselves, as their manic strife grows
Businesses that survived two wars, are engulfed in a matter of hours
It's time to pass new laws, enforce to the full their powers
How many of the arrested have jobs, mortgages and families to feed
Yet they plunder the lives of others, to fill their moronic greed
They even try to help the injured, then decide to rob him as well
Society once again turns violent, as the media show and tell
Days of rioting abound, whilst the moronic multitudes grow
Is Anarchy their cry, many couldn't spell it I'll let you know
In a few days it will be over, families and businesses torn
I wait in anticipation, for the next calm before the storm
Whether we are black, red white or brown
We are all born to wear freedoms crown
Liberty is gifted from mother to child
The freedom from birth as viewed from her smile
No one has the right to take either away
However its been done on any given day
Retribution is not, the answer for this
Its our civility laws, that return us to bliss
We enter this world free, with impending forks on our roads
What gives us the liberty to freedom unload
Whether we are black, red white or brown
Some of us will end up to be freedoms clowns
From the back of a cul-de-sac the world one knows goes round and round
Woodlands to the rear, afore the home unplanted ground
The living scent of ocean and suburban family sounds
Mild days upon the sand, fresh night seafood on the town
Neighbors but in name, more aptly titled ghosts
Each group upon its own deck isolated in its roast
Few times a year a trip into the city for sport or rarest art
Salted pretzels, honeyed nuts, or steaming dogs upon a cart
One day all torn asunder, a household bound in strife
Pictures last not till forever, at least not in modern life
A home, a family, one small tale carried on to future years
To leave it all behind, a day of hopefulness and tears
To my left it stands weathered by seasons of time
Memories so many, absorbed in it's walls
Even a fire could not deny us of it's history
Ones thinks of the efforts to save this once fine structure
Now ram shackled to ruin, it brings tears to ones eyes
Built just before the Civil War, it hid many a lost soul
Many a storm caressed her wooden frame
Whilst sheltering beasts remained safe from nature's anger
Summertime's were so joyous with barn dances
Even weddings were celebrated within these walls
Sadly economics became it's downfall
My great grandfathers red barn, a shadow of it's former
As you travel through the mid west
There are many eyes like mine, viewing and sharing similar memories
< left behind
I truly understand
" God's" choice in plan
for " He " needs bigger wings
to carry all my things
and when those clouds spread eagle
it will become finalized and legal
my final destination
will be "Heaven's" sensation
and the reunion will be nil
with family and friends lying still
so for now I'll wait
for my sweet "Lord" to set the date
to return for only me
in clouds more of three
Left Behind Contest
On a night in November with a full moon sky
There is a graveyard in the Highlands where spirits fly
Scriptures of old are chanted by the past
As they rise through the earth as the red ones are cast
Gravestones levitate with precision and ease
As dark angels in black glide through the trees
To a stone they surround as they circle above
Slowly they transform into an ebony dark dove
Upon this stone it perches as it awaits the await
For when the red butterflies fly, the light they desecrate
The sky turns from night into a reddy dawn
As the moon hits their red their spirits now flown
They land where they land, guided by the dark dove
Their quest is to capture and lure life's love
In the village near the graveyard on this November night
A population in fear, in fright of their light
Before the sun rises souls are drawn as if sprites
No care for the living, their presence leaves blight
A new day starts as if the previous night never happened
For when the red butterflies fly, come this November night
You may be summoned
I had a lekker time in Egypt
even though I didn’t visit a crypt
I drank, smoked, had fun with friends
later back on board someone stole my tens
still had fun on the last night there
and the cab ride was quite a scare
that was one of the ports I have seen
as a young sailor at age nineteen
On a patrol for the good so far from their home
Professional in their minds, never to roam
But this is a world, where feelings are forgotten
Damning souls of destruction fuelled with gun-cotton
For on rocky outcrops and deserted sand paths
Lie hidden dangers to take life from it's grasp
Coalition troops, our children just boys
Doing their duty for their orders employ
On missions they set out to rid insurgent scum
Against a tactic so great, guerrilla warfare hit and run
Recent news has informed us, that another has been downed
A father, uncle or son, leave another family tear drowned
Another hidden device in his face has exploded
Their hunger to hate once again has been loaded
Medics rush in to save the life of their soul
Knowing when he's home, another stat for wars toll
Many weeks he recuperates, behind bandages and care
Visited by friends, but only his children do stare
His strength now regained, but not the man he once was
A silence beckons then turns to applause
Assisted by comrades as he is led to collect
His medal of valour whilst inside he reflects
In his future years knowing his children grow strong
For he's in a dark world, where he doesn't belong
Emotions so many will follow his years
For when this blind man cries, we must share in his tears
SAVIOUR CHURCH, GRIBOYEDOVA CANAL, ST. PETERSBURG
In defiance of its Soviet museum-death
Reflected in water moved by God’s breath
The five-domed Saviour church gives
Hope, for its bulbous gold dome yet lives
Silent spheres sing of new life glowing
With gold-edged scales reflecting, showing
In watery swaying flashes
Like shoals of precious trembling fishes
Each scalloped wavelet free of bondage
A floating rocking hollow image
Each preserving part of dome
Like cell-life survivors, seeking home,
Always dividing, always merging,
A breath behind them always urging
Each insubstantial golden sliver,
This restless gilt amoeba-river.
Passing boat’s wake - the song of cupola,
The surface is alive from passing gondola
Shimmering millioned changing shapes
Countless gold-coin waterscapes
Myriad miracles – smithereens of gilt -
Tremulous treasure, shining spilt
Water calms from images manifold
To cells quiescent, edged in gold.
They coalesce. From many are spun one
Music of the sphere living in the sun
Of God’s golden dome - museum dead -
By the life-giving saviour water of canal fed.
Ever watched how a reflection of a church or other object in moving water produces small swirling part-images, each undefined but still clearly part of the object's image? It's fascinating.
Copper pennies she would save throughout her younger years,
to indulge in penny poker with her husband and her friends.
She’d tuck away her winnings in her special penny tin,
hoping each and every week that she would win again.
But alas her nights of poker would come crashing to an end,
with her husband’s passing followed by the death of poker friends.
She kept her tin of pennies for the memories they possessed,
their significance in her life was more extraordinary in her death.
For when she passed the hurt was so intense I could not bear,
for her gift of life to me was gone, my soul was in despair.
Then suddenly without warning pennies started to appear,
strategically left in places to remind me that she’s here.
The places I have found them are remarkable I attest,
like atop of my salt shaker, for to her salt was the best.
I found one on my keyboard as she knows the time I spend,
working diligently on a computer from morning till day’s end.
Of all the twelve I’ve found so far, the most incredible I think,
is the one left on my birthday in the center of my sink.
For each one I receive I thank my mom from deep inside,
For sending pennies from heaven makes my aching hurt subside.
This story is quite sincere, so I felt it must be told,
As all my pennies from heaven are as precious as pure gold.
New Hampshire Has Spoken
©2012 C. Brent Cloyd
Romney is choice of the republican elite
With thirty-nine percent he’ll be hard to delete.
Paul’s crowd is excited and nipping at his heels
They’ve made monetary policy issues real.
Huntsman says third place gives him a ticket to ride
So on down to South Carolina he will slide.
Gingrich has fallen and he is madder than heck
His story is about the cards in Romney’s deck.
Santorum is still smiling and is headed south
Will his message relate or is he just a mouth?
Perry did not know he was even in the race
Betting on the Palmetto state to save his face
< my deepest passion
outstretched wings of an eagle in fashion
encircling his domain
tride and true he remains
for mate he seeks
call of the wild
imatate like a child
fields of green
sun's new arising
take me back home
to where the eagle roams
for the capture of ones flight
is purity for ones watchful eye's sight
so come join me on this excursion
inspiration you'll be splurging
I thank you my feather friend
be safe until we meet once again
for you hold your own glory
as it's told in this tales story
Entry For Amy Green's Contest
My Deepest Passion
Spring woke the world out of its dismal sleep,
Musical sounds of life rejoiced, no longer compelled to weep,
Cocoons cracked fervently,
While light permitted the earth to see,
The splendor of such a sweet creation,
Arising with vigor and anticipation,
Marvelous pigments danced in the warm wind,
Deep in the meadows is where their lives did begin,
Like little flags in midair waving in victory,
It was time for perfection to finally be free,
Butterfly kisses consumed the atmosphere,
Gracefully loving all that came near,
patches of wings swirling in vibrant trails,
lavender violets just casually sailed,
Souring so brightly without a care,
Delicate and delightful some extremely rare,
While landing for a moment in a garden of flowers,
They drank of sweet nectar, renewing all power,
Rejuvenated, now ready to flee,
Onward they swayed towards their destiny.
By: Sabina Nicole
If people were noodles and lakes were their soup,
Sudbury's basin would be a great scoop.
300 lakes or just a bit more.
Some have been counting and some are just bored.
Sudbury's water is healthy and clean
leaving our noodles shining with gleam.
Fresh water soup minus the salt,
fresh as going into; fresh by default.
Trees for our parsley cover our shores
keeping us fancy and breathing for more.
Soup we serve fresh out of each bowl
welcoming noodles the world whole.
The rise of Atlantis
For this I don't want you to miss
Coming of the new world
With Justice dressed as it's girl
An apple from God's slate
Filling the hunger for ones plate
Safe harbor to now call home
Empowered by minds that love to roam
Dressed in black
Didn't come back
Got A Rope
Hung that dope
Dead Body Hauled
Poured the whisky
From Junction 60
Dead Man's Trail
Where slingers failed
300 circles of Sudbury lakes
looping and winding in all different makes.
Rising and falling as crust on a bread,
to cooling and stalling when yeast's at a head.
Coming in swells of white bubbled zest,
to finally receding that drying is left.
Warm in the shallows and cool the deep
while hugging the wind and sun for heat
Sudbury circles; water or ice
Sudbury circles; visit us twice
A Picture on a Café Wall
A farmer and his mule are kicking
up dust on their way to Messines.
The mule has very long ears and
the farmer wears a big, black hat.
Side by side they walk the yonder
yet, they have time to get there.
The road is asphalted now, and
dust settles on the grassy verge.
Adventures in the underground
did that grow up or down
Light on my head starring into the dark
what a funny word to be called as I imbark
Could it be because I tread water and guano up to my knees
or the sound I would make if I took a wrong step aiiee
Like an aztec two steps which way do I go
looking across the vast pothole
As I am pitching and squeezing back to the top
I am know speleologist but has any one seen the cave cop
I can see the light of day from this cavern
maybe next time let's just talk about it at the tavern
For I am filthy and dirty but not the word
maybe only to a caver if you have not heard
Into the wild I wish to go
Where birds fly free and flowers grow
To lose myself in state of mind
That other folks will rarely find
I want to find that special place
Where not a man has turned his face
I wish to sail the unseen waves
Of wind rushing through wild caves
To climb the mountains in all their height
And once atop in the view delight
To smell a rose and run with deer
Out in the wild I'll have no fear
Far away from any man
The noise and bustle that rule the land
When darkness falls I settle down
And listen to the owl's wise sound
I'll sleep beneath the watchful moon
And stars that shine o'er silent dune
When dawn springs forth and sun comes out
Awake I'll rise with joyous shout
Into the wild I wish to go
In summer sun or winter snow
To lose myself and then I'll find
The part of me that once was blind
He who's used to live in clover
does not want it to be over.
As the first rays of the sun pierce through the clouds,
daylight accends upon the land laid in shrouds.
Warmth now greets all the corners of the small town,
earlier the mists had their task to wash down.
Fresh scent of roses from balconies emerge,
in the town square the villagers begin to merge.
Men now frantically on their way to work
as hawkers with their fine wares begin to lurk
Pretty women,with their shopping bags in tow,
small children following behind in a row.
Vicker makes his way across the cobbled street,
along the way meets mayor and town's elite.
Police patrol areas that are their routes,
on the outskirts, a bunch of hiking boy scouts.
A typical nice day in little Ole Town,
evening calls, stop at the pub, the Triple Crown.
Mathnawi or Masnavi is normally poetry written in rhyming couplets. It is believed it emerged from an Iranian form around the 4th - 10th century, and the name is Persian and is not Arabic as some claim. The subject is usually heroic, romantic, or religious. Some Persian Mathnawi are especially significant in Sufism, Rumi's Mathnawi-i-Ma'nawi is an outstanding example.
Most Persian Mathnawi are normally eleven (11) syllables, occasionally ten (10). There is no limit to the number of couplets.
It has a rhyme scheme a. a.. b. b.. c. c. etc
21st June, 2012 (c)
Oh; how our lakes; do circle our reach.
In circles of puddles beyond our belief.
Halting for shorelines that make up their seams;
'till rising above them through rivers and streams.
Surrounded by ribbits of green bumpy frogs,
all woven through reeds by wet bumpy logs.
While sliders of Junebugs will turn in each arc
with legs shifting water like fins of a carp.
As winds of the water break waves to come in,
in meeting the shore in waves that have been.
So picture our lakes as healthy and fun
where Living With Lakes has just begun.
Look all around, what do we all see
The world seen so young is it what we believed it to be
For this is a world that grows with mans time
It's now a ticking clock with destruction it's chime
It beggars belief that it's so full of hate
If it exists will we ever reach heavens gate
So many people in power determine our tomorrows
They lie when they get there, growing rich from our sorrows
Citizens who are ailing have to pay for their care
Whilst the vultures in high towers, just look down and stare
Children in pyjama's fight endless needless wars
What in the hell are we fighting them for
Gun culture and drugs, knife crime seems the passion
Our kids our future, it's now their neighbourhood fashion
The more our borders we keep open, it dilutes what we share
Many queue's we will stand in, in gape open stare
The answers are out there if they just open their eyes
And if they achieve it, well then this is their prize
We need much more than the thoughts from our hearts
If anyone is out there, help us humans restart
Everyday I look around, and from what I see
Hell ain't a bad place to be
This once nation of peace and calm, lies in chaos and anarchy
It's Government in broken promises, imploding indefinitely
Students are the first to react, their future in tattered torn
Through barricades they implore, their resilience will never be worn
To go back on why you've been voted in, is sacrilege to them
Being blatant has been their response, from alleged honourable men
Days of protests abound, whilst the multitudes in gather grow
Anarchy is their cry, it's for you, whom we'll overthrow
A week has duly passed, as the masses rise in cities rife
They target Government offices, now lying empty in soulless strife
Stubbornness kicks in, by these trusted voted in
In blind they see no reason, to allow their lies to thin
We are now into the second week, enforcement officers cannot contain
Around their table the dishonourable crew, call in our fighting men
Through the barricades, dialogues from our forces gain
Brothers shout to brothers, through the same windows, mirrored are pains
For they have similar irks, to be combatant without their needs
Being posted to lands we don't belong, filling their Governments greed's
Barriers now in fall, amidst the students their brothers unite
No weapons are called upon, a non triggered anarchy strikes
Many cities are now affected, in education down
The anarchy cry kicks in, whilst the Government in place sits drowned
On the steps of No 10, it's aged door now lies ajar
I no longer speak for the people he says, our lies have gone too far
Voted in, now voted out, candidates step forward, in truthful elected cry
For whom now elected, be prepared for the reign, or future political die
When one sits on the moor at this Culloden place
Where the Clans of the Tartan lay in deathly deface
On many a night through the following years
Families would gather, and continue their tears
If you listen carefully you can still hear their screams
Run through so young ending their freedom of dreams
When one sits on the moor at this Culloden place
Where a proud nation fell, nearly disappearing without trace
On many a night through the following years
From every nook and cranny we would rise again without fear
If you listen carefully you can still hear their screams
We are now a nation so proud, their tears to esteem
Way up in the mountaintops
Where even time seems to stop
Buried like a chunk of coal
Lies the valley of the souls
The beauty takes your breath away
For this is where the angels pray
Snow capped peaks standing tall
Surround the valley like a castle wall
Doing all that they can do
To keep the valley hid from view
I stumbled upon it one day
Searching for a place to pray
I felt so very all alone
With a heart as cold as stone
It took me better than a week
To ascend the mountain peak
As I stumbled across the mountain top
My beating heart seemed to stop
As water filled my humble eyes
I prayed the truth of twisted lies
Of God I ask a single plea
Let your Son come unto me
As I descended to the valley floor
I found the peace I was searching for
To all I had gained and all I had lost
The breeze took away the cost
Into my soul it was slowly burned
Make use of all the lessons learned
One day I shall have a spiritual birth
For all that’s born returns to the earth
My spirit will fly beautiful and free
Beyond all we know and all we see
To meet the maker who made us whole
And be welcomed into the valley of the souls
Pegasus of thy night
Take me away from this eartly plight
Lay down your golden reigns
Let me climb aboard your mythical train
Stars and moon's cresant's dance
Illuminating to others who gets this chance
Gold dust sprinkles in your hair
Closed eyes for take me there
Up Up and away we go
Pegasus take it nice and slow
Lustrious valleys and sno-capped peaks
Sparkling blue waters for which I seek
Just you and me my mountain friend
Taking this journey till the very end
As I lay my head upon your shoulders
For I feel their turning so much colder
Cannot feel from my head to foot
This dust sprinkle had turn to soot
I'm decending fast and furious
Woke up from dream being more curious
Fairies rejoice and dance ballet
Scarlet brandishes the Pimpernel Palais
If I could ever come back I know what I would be
I would be indigenous born on the real land of the free
No tribe would it matter for I'd be closer to earth
And I'd probably die like the rest, for what it's worth
But to live so free for many thousands of years
Yes we were fighting, not like our future fears
If we had the guns could you imagine their world
Indigenous invasion, the whole of Europe would have heard
No Dollars, Mount Rushmore or Sears Tower
Our indigenous grandfathers would hold their power
We will never know where we all would be
What I desire to be, I'll never see
Did He die in vain, leaving no visible trace to remember Him by?
Did He fall into Satan's deceitful trap and let him continue to lie?
We can be victorious as Christ was and become immortal,
let the evildoers destroy themselves with deeds so immoral!
Did His deviate from the holy path and be easily deceived by false glory,
no, He did not give into the Angel of Darkness, but resisted with hostility.
We can be victorious as Christ was...truly divine and humble,
let others mock us with their irrationality, we will not tremble!
Did He speak against the tyrants of His day, to be praised for being bright?
No, He did not...but with His whip He cleaned a temple so impure and dark!
We can be victorious as Christ and be part of His prophesied kingdom,
and marked by true modesty and humbleness, we'll lose our humanism!
Did He want to die as an impostor to satisfy the ego of a would-be God?
No, He did not seek glorification without merit and be called the Word!
We can be victorious as Christ was by denouncing all vanity and wickdeness,
not being crucified on Calvary as He was, but be resurrected as Lazarus was!
I know I haven’t been there yet,
It’s the one thing that I do regret;
There’s no place I would rather go
Such history from so long ago
Someday I will make that trip,
Maybe by plane, maybe by ship;
To see the Pyramids and the Sphinx,
Abu Simbel and the “missing link’s”;
To visit Luxor and Valley of the Kings,
Egypt is filled with so many things;
From Giza to Karnak and Abusir,
To Saqqara and the Oasis of Ahm Shere;
I can’t wait to see them all up close,
Of Egypt I need a healthy dose;
I’m saving up to travel there,
Readying my mind - so much to prepare;
So many places in Egypt to see,
The only thing missing there is me;
~10th Place in the "African's Attitude" Contest by Adeleke Adeite~
Eyes in dream shall meet, as they lie on silken sheets
Where lips in moisten touch, caress in loving greet
Where hands address undulations, curved shapes of he and she
On silken sheets where they lie, in wonderful tenderly
In pause I kiss your lobes, you nape, your porcelain skin
Two hearts in tender touch, both welcomed from within
On the coldest of nights, we held in warm embrace
Our faces touching softly, in our private loving place
On separate lands we walk, but dreams can be the same
Maybe some day one day, we walk the same loving plain
Poetry is a world,
Pure and innocent as a pearl
It is form of view,
That is only seen by a few
Poets can unfurl their truths,
And don't need to support it with any proof
It's a place where the grass can be blue,
and broken cell phones can be transformed into glue
Where the sky is yellow,
And people rejoin with loved ones within a sweet meadow
Where flightless birds are given the sky,
To hop out of gravity and just go up and fly
Poetry is a world,
Pure and innocent as a pearl
Here because of an accident of blood
The multitudes entered in a flood
He saw her silhouette in the blue light
She blew him a final kiss that night
She held his child for him to see
Neither,would ever be set free
On his arm they numbered his tattoo
In this camp for the Holocaust Jew
He came back in forty-five
To keep the Auschwitz story alive.
Tribute to Leon Greenman (1910-2008) the only Englishmen to be sent to
The snow fell in Dewsbury Moor overnight,
They woke up at lunch to a horrible sight,
The snow had flowed through the broken gates,
And roads were blocked all across the estates,
The giros had still not arrived after ten,
So wailing was general within the crack den.
The bin bags piled up to the lower window,
Obscured by the grime-defying, beautyfying snow.
The wind whistled through the boarded up seams,
Of windows and roused men from opiate dreams,
While weary-eyed women with mascara'd tears,
Tend to their children, three in four years.
But the memories stay as the snow melts away,
How beautiful Dewsbury Moor looked today!
Man Must Find
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
Words in the night spent on heaven’s sheen
Shared with friends one has never seen.
Ramble through the mind unwitting.
In hopes that words shall be well fitting.
Occasions come with explanations gird.
Upon the heart that has not God heard.
Words that vanish in the dark
Words that hold an inner spark,
Words that hide within one’s heart,
Words that light an inner part,
Words that heard by mountain’s stones
Are filled with a spirit’s inner groan.
Whether running through the hills
Or laughing loudly sending chills
Whether sitting where ancients sat
Or hearing words that God begat,
Whether walking down a hall
Or on a court with a basket ball,
There are places inside the heart
Places that shall not depart.
There are places in the mind
Where many thoughts are left behind.
There are places in the soul
Places that know God’s greatest goal.
Whether shopping in a mall
Or on your knees giving God a call.
Whether lost within a book
Or within one’s self taking a look.
Whether resting on a bench
Embracing God with one’s soul synched.
As we wander the asphalt roads
Remember the path to God’s abode.
And if your burden ever seems too great,
Call on Him; do not hesitate.
God, our father, whose spirit stands
Will always reach for His children’s hand.
9-13-2009 Start time: 4:00 End time 4:23+13 proof read “Write Now” practice piece. 23 min.
Please know this:
Someday being a wife,
Growing to mature,
A good future,
Willing to admit
You're used to it,
Odds and ends,
Wanting to live,
Love, and give,
Questions and mystery,
These are things that interest me.
I recall upon hearing, of a town not far from here
From what I've been told, nobody enters because of fear
For this town has something darker, darker than known before
Nine crows in torment flight, await to deliver sore
Being picked upon was a common site, safe, no one was
Nobody could fathom why, was it simply just because
The day that it came to light, a darkness descended down
With a swiftness never witnessed, darkened a living town
Under their winged shadows, became people in deathly fall
It's as if their looking for someone special, hungered is their thrall
For days they dived, swooped again, soaring to their skies
This nine in tormented flight, just who can they despise
The days and weeks that passed, the town recalls that fateful day
Their Church now apparently empty, no more their light displayed
Sky aglow upon your reflection
Blue eyes of glass bestowing affection
A symphony segueing perpetually,
A Psalm of praise ascending gradually
One by one you extend along,
Road by road you chant this song
Heights you reach, you soar, you shimmer,
Your translucent eyes they shine, they glimmer
With pride you stand, built to build
A future ignited with glory, fulfilled
Your widening roofs, a reflection of sun
Amidst thy beauty, all beauty has begun
Abraj of Dubai… Decorum of future
Adornment of sky
Abraj: The plural form of the Arabic word “Burj” which means tower
Do you want to hear a story, perhaps an anecdote or two . . .
There is a place to do it, when life caves in on you.
There is a group of people who share their lives today . . .
I found them only by happy circumstance, as I was traveling this way.
They get together once a month, to tell tales of their past . . .
Each one in their particular way have stories that will last.
Each one could talk for hours on end, and there would be no lulls . . .
For the times and places they have been, are etched upon their souls.
Their pleasure in remembering is a joy to all who hear . . .
We like to listen to the tales they tell, they give us all a cheer.
The lives they have led, the people they've known, the places they've been to . . .
Are celebrated with us each month, as if we'd been there too.
The moments in time that in our hasty lives, we often will forget . . .
Are cherished now as memories, especially the ones we seem to fret.
Memories, I know, are not for us alone and need to be shared . . .
Even the ones we don't want to think on, the ones that made us scared.
The stories they share with us are not just a reason for rhyme . . .
But I wanted each of them to know, how much I enjoy this time.
Because of them, I have remembered so many things of my own past . . .
Times that I'd forgotten, but have come back to me at last.
The darkest corners of memory are brightened by their chat . . .
I, for one, know I will always be grateful for that.
Our thought are put in new perspective - even the darkest ones we save . . .
But however dark and grim they are, as memories they behave.
To all the MEMORY MAKERS present and past who grace us all this way . . .
This rhyme is for you, "Thank You" for sharing your lives with us, past, present, and today.
Whispering tinkles speak to my soul so clear.
Curving styles go past as I watch so sincere.
Restful unbroken missions set my spirit free.
Rolling scents accentuate emotions in me.
Scenes such as these are my haven from pains.
Emerging sprays from graceful heavenly rains.
Pouring down gently they separate the current,
In such a stylish way this halts any kind of torrent.
This stream that I call natures blessing these days,
Has a sanctification of its own in so many ways.
As if God has given consent for a miracle of peace.
To which has been shared with me in special release.
In dedication of the honor that I have to share with you,
Praising nature that he gave to me and everyone else too,
I write about my precious secret stream for all to know.
Revealing its location is to allow one and all to go.
Though there is not any one location that you can find.
There are many secret places where one may go to unwind.
All the wonders of nature drift along any brook or stream.
Anyone just has to take the time to find their own dream.
Sponsor Francine Roberts
Contest Name Flowing water
sentimentality has its place
it's in my heart, it's on your face
in an edict of government, for a hungry child
in the middle of nowhere, all windy and wild
it's in scraped skies over citied tall buildings
it's on the Louvre's walls surrounded by gilding
it's buzzing the field of breeze-blown wheat
at the photo-finish of a horserace dead heat
it lies with the dog quietly resting by the door
the cat's contented purr, the babies quiet snore
it's in the oven, warming with scents
it's under the tree, wrapped in presents
it's written in stories we've all known for years
it's in people you know in your daily spheres
it's right here, on this screen that you're reading
it's after, and now, and time since proceeding
it's in her hair, with its satin-soft sheen
her coy smile at you, if you know what I mean
it's in his brash boast with eased confidence
to do something of import with good consequence
it's kissing your lips, warm and alluring
it's filling your heart and quietly assuring
it's sunning itself, on sweating work days
it's enjoying each other in so many ways
it's in the glint of light shown on my eyes,
to this life lived full, and what it implies
© Goode Guy 2011-11-13
Clinks... clanks... a crash... a clatter
Pots... pans... and plates... a platter
Smells... sounds... people... and voices
Stools... chairs... tables... and choices
Ching... ding... a door... and a breeze
"Mornin'!"..."Take your order, please?"
Presents from the filigree tree
out in the back, for you, for me
with filtered limbs to lift the air
We know it well, I met you there
A ring of broken, braided twigs
We dined on wine, and cheese and figs
and gazed beyond the silver bough
out in the back, I feel it now
Many a book was read aloud
on hazy days, without a cloud
We laughed until the flowers fell
and graced our brow, we knew it well
A thousand stars to sing at night
out in the cold, you held me tight
with whispered frost upon the air
It chills me still, left frozen there
But now the filigree tree has died
I buried it, and wept and cried
for every inch it bloomed and grew
resembled love, from me to you.
There under the filigree tree
where memory was lost and found
and made and breathed
we tethered the sky on a stormy day
and lapped up the dew from the metal moon
There under belted, velvet boughs
we circled the earth
and glistened the brow
of every moment we left to ignite
like a wound to be healed and kept out of sight
There we fell to love's embrace
a shadowed laugh
a winsome face
to sew the fabric of our time
when I was yours and you were mine...
Lace filtered dawn, falling softly
Duvet of down, brush lightly
Drifting, timeless, floating here
North Sea breeze, hint of ocean air
Scent of green, languish awhile
Sunday at home, Irish mist smile
Remembered dream saved in heart
A soul remains worlds apart
Sweat pants and wool socks
a hand-knitted scarf or two
warm mittens and hats
no doubt you think I’m nuts
Rosy cheeks and runny nose
soggy boots and frozen toes
chattering teeth and quivering knees
when I dream, it is of these
Down jackets now long packed away
skis and poles just taking up space
in my crowded messy garage
snow covered runs - just a mirage
Sun screen and flip flops
sunglasses and sticky pits
baseball caps and Thanksgiving in shorts
I despair of weather reports
How did I get to this eternal hell?
where A/C costs you a paycheck as well
where tender skin exposed continues to burn . . .
I just know somewhere I missed a turn.
On a dark dewy dampened night
Stars sparkle above my campsite
A thick brisk breeze blows through
Toggles my tent nearly in two
Hunched I stand to unzip me out
Tent too cramped without a doubt
Wind blows my hair against my face
Zipping it closed with precise haste
Stepping on top of fallen pine needles
Barefoot I pray there are no beetles
Marveling the stars unerringly strewn
Against a black sky accenting the moon
Inhaling the crispness of the night
Decreases my grief with cogent might
Exhaling those troubles kept deep inside
This evening drenches a dreary façade
Loquacious crickets chirp steady songs
Forcing resolve to end the day’s wrongs
The scent of jasmine lingering on
Allows my spirit to sing its song
Undoubtedly camping feels so right
On a dark dewy dampened night~
Dumbbell lifts up and down
weight watcher clown
preens like a blow hard
pacing the yard.
Wearing a white face
with money and place
a sense of entitlement
all the way to hell sent.
Doing the dime
with no fear of the time.
took a left to the chin,
now the cock of the walk
can't even talk.
Supreme courts of justice
may take care of us,
animals in this zoo
will take care of you.
I pray dear God to grant reprieve
To Haitian brother in dire need.
Spirit, instill a strength divine,
Transform his heart as loving Guide.
May healing hands inspire hope,
May grace and love our prayers provoke.
Raise Haiti’s head, with conqu’ring faith
You will prevail, you will prevail. Amen.
Before I go, my love, before I go,
could we together watch the afterglow?
It won't be long, it wouldn't take too long
to you I'll be a half-forgotten song.
Now let us watch the slowly setting sun,
so soothing sweet, though end has just begun,
so brightly beaming, yet, so sadly sighing,
the day's farewell and now the light is dying.
Behold, my love, the sweetly seething sky,
the blazing burst of colors draws a sigh.
The flaming purple clouds float by on high,
the sun's farewell and now, my love, goodbye!
In a burst of fellow feeling from the sunshine to the earth
ripened blooms to be revealing soundless voices yet unheard
as they seep into my windows with the sugar scented air
set to spark imagination with a certain savoir faire
I'm entranced beyond all vision thought to signify the spring
and I wake to comprehension and the stature that it brings
for I know the movement of the earth relates to every being
and I feel the warmth upon rebirth in saplings to be seeing
In a burst of live sensations from the sunshine straight to me
theres the marked deliberation to be floating, to be free
As the scent of passing flowers find their way into my room
thus the sunshine overpowers and desires every bloom.
I've been transformed by willingness, and a desire
to move forward without keeping sad things in mind.
Confident to smile with surprise and allowing love to flow in;
faces don't avoid my glances that were unfriendly and sullen.
Something that happens unexpectadly can give someone an unusual thrill;
I distrusted people who were different from me...having no character, no will.
Followed by my shadow, fear captured me to create unnecessary fright;
my room became my habitat and escape from a society claiming their plight.
With no friends to meet at cafes and local restaurants, I closed my windows,
prohibiting a glint of sunshine...assuming it wasn't meant for me, but for others.
Glued to a wide screen, watching documentaries of tragedies and unaviodable fates;
empathizing with them, and yet convinced that I shouldn't have been grabbing at straws.
Hackneyed words came out of my mouth, a habitue' of negative and dubitable thoughts;
and filled with their drudgery,I stopped listening to positive folks, thus, doubling my loads.
How can one be transformed by willingness? Discard the habits that amount to nothing;
find the source of your uselessness, and be inspired by all who have achieved their goal.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
A girl so picturesque, so very sweet
A heart so tender, to know it is a treat.
We are here to catch you when you fall
To pick you up and mend you, doll.
All you are we shall defend
For you are quite a cherished friend.
I walk too fast on these busy sidewalks under the towering, illuminated skyscrapers,
any tourist or visitor notices the pace of my footsteps...that's so distinctively Newyorkese.
I talk with a northern accent so clear and distinguishable; and instantly anyone
who's visiting this wonderful city, recognizes it...that's so distinctively Newyorkese.
I wear the latest designer's clothes that define the image and ego of my masculinity;
it's so chic to sport the new trends and be admired...that's so distinctively Newyorkese..
I'm an avid fan of the Yankees, and at City Fields I watch my heroes passionately play;
I jump from my seat, when a player hits a home-run...that's so distinctively Newyorkese.
I find my spot on the Great lawns in Central Park, to hear a summer concert or opera;
with eyes focused on the stage, enjoying the moment ...that's so distinctively Newyorkese.
I ride over the Brooklyn bridge, when the water below glimmers, and the lights above shine;
a magnificent view, I'm privileged and glad to live here...that's so distinctively Newyorkese.
From the high sea, I can see the Statue of Liberty...the Green Lady holding the heavy torch;
at Ellis Island, she welcomes everyone and smiles, and that's so distinctively Newyorkese.
Going to a familiar cafe along Fifth Avenue, to chat with old friends and drink cappuccino;
tourists kindly ask me to take their photo, I smile...that's so distinctively Newyorkese.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Let's bring into this world peace
So all these wars and violence can cease
Let's stop all this hatred
And give the poor and homeless a piece of bread
Let's start by changing us all and right from inside
And letting God be your guide
There's so much we need to change
Even if it looks and sounds strange
We can all start sometime and somewhere
By showing in everything that we do, that we care
Let's be careful in the manner that we speak
Let's be strong and not weak
Let's show this world, that we still stand strong and tall
Let's unite together with courage and tear down every single wall
Let's bring into this world of ours much more love and peace
So a lot of this vicious circle of strife and pain can one day cease
Let's start today and let's do it right from the place in which we live
Let's always be respectful of our neighbors and our fellow man
Let's give the best of ourselves everyday and all the time that we can.
Let's stop this madness and get rid of all these illegal drugs today
They can destroy everything that you have and will kill you too
Make a vow to bring God into your life every single day
And make Him part of everything that you do.
Believe that your life will be more productive and blessed
When you put Him first in every thing
That you set your mind to do when you bring
Him closer and right inside your heart
And from you He shall never depart
So start by doing this and much more
Let's answer the call and open the door
Let's be watchful of everything that we do and say
And let's be thankful and pray to God everyday!
Dorian Petersen Potter
After one too many beers, in the wee hours of the night,
I whizzed around town in my motorbike, feeling light;
I zoomed into a dark side street and who or what did I meet
but potholes, like drunk hobos, recklessly crossing the street!
I ran over some of them, they fought back and muddied me,
made me swerve and splash into murky puddles I couldn't see.
I stopped to catch my breath on the black deserted highway
by my bike, the only one that stood by me, I should say;
but nastier than potholes, the asphalt was a different case,
it leaped and stood bolt upright and slammed hard against my face;
In a split-second eternity, I swam the eerie border
of the real and the unreal, this beery night to remember !
United into eternity
Yet crucified with Christ
Raised to a new life
A citizen of the King
Living here on this earth
God with us,three in one
Sanctified and forgiven
By sacrifice..of the Son
I was standing as in a dream
...wondering was life all it seemed
I was rambling along a road
...lost in thought,was life a code
I was staring through my window
...seeing the world come and go
I was floating in the spring sunshine
...were these surreal moments mine
I was dozing in the cooling shade
...poetic thoughts appear then fade
I was composing as in a dream
..this ode came floating down the stream
Shadows move across the floor
Sun-beams trace patterns on the door
Quiet echos in the hall
Neighbours no longer call
Space fills the empty chair
Children's voices no more sing
Telephone bells no longer ring
A place no human now takes their ease
The'For Sale' board rattles in the breeze
Silver sleeved hands, embryo breath
architect moons in buildings and nets
draped over silver streets, hissing with steam
Silver hands weaving a smooth silver sheen
Backbones erected, joints moaning cold
silver hats tipped and discovery unfolds
Pumping the heart beat through oil and vents
Silver steam breath on the sidewalk in jets
Humming of motors hung silver to dry
above all the streets in the galvanized sky
Soon there'll be windows in silver and steel
Soon there'll be footsteps, robotic and real
Silver sleeved hands on the weaver elite
building tomorrow, right now on your street.
Sweet smoke curling
'round the camp
huddled in the cold and damp
wolves howl somewhere
circled wagons strong embrace
around the buckskin
and the lace
around the children
of the plains
brave thou cold and wind
there to find the dream within
to go where no one else
beneath the chalice of the sky,
the settler's moon
and you and I.
Cinnamon smiles and sleepy cut glass
a blur, flowing colors through windows and passed
Coffee beans crunched into steam in the air
The wind blowing winter through strands of your hair
Mountains in slumber and valleys in hush
Peppermint warmth from the moment we touch
Rest of the world falls in gridlock and twine
but we have found peace in our haven sublime.
Winter is welcome with smores by the fire
We now see the sky, fluid clear with desire
The stars reflect frost on the lawn, in our eyes
With blankets and thermos we head for the skies
Cider and cinnamon, mica cut streams
Breathing in pure like the stuff made of dreams
We polish our souls, unraveling time
for we have found peace in our haven sublime.
The mystic lips of the moon
Propelled man to races
In the silence of darkness
I stood atop a looming bluff
the WIND kept asking why
I Said I couldn't say enough
and yet I could not die
clothes and hair
the wind kept saying
I still care
But all I know is space and air
you have to learn to fly
the wind slipped swiftly
'round my waist
and swept me outward
I'm sure I almost saw
the world went
The currents took me
to the moon
above the azure sea at noon
or maybe I was in a swoon
I felt so brave and high
A moment or a hundred years
or a thousand tears
I lost my mind
and all my fears
the wind and I.
Between Heaven and Hell… the earth where we live.
Where we are going is based on, that, which we give.
Within black and white…a place that’s always grey.
A place where we attempt reason, but a place, too, where we pray.
Between right and wrong, there should never be such a place.
Decide your own action; you will then decide your own fate.
All these marginal areas, those places in between,
Are places we will be leaving from, should be places we have seen.
Every action has a consequence and good ones have reward.
Choose your actions wisely, friends, and you will find accord.
You washed up as a smooth white bone
of concave breadth and marble hone
You washed up when the tide was high
Held to my cheek to feel the sky
You dragged in with the silver tide
a secret to the waves confide
You lost me then inside your spell
I felt to faint, a bit unwell
You salted skin upon the beach
when you were there, within my reach
You played the waves to sweetly slip
in equilibrium to tip
You waited there to hear my name,
to soak the sand in pouring rain
You slept awhile until my hands
brushed off debris of golden sands
You washed up like a Grecian stone
when I was walking there alone
but now I'll throw you past the shore
You're not the treasure I'm searching for...
Greetings to you, O, lovely sky
Show me my precious butterfly
Here I am before your majesty
Let us live tomorrow in purity
Like we were together yesterday
Watching the sun faded into gray
Time quickly passes
Age, suddenly, increases
Yet still, I am all alone
Sitting on your marble throne
Can’t you see me from above?
As I pronounce to you my love
In my own song of soft falsetto
Oh, remain to me, not in incognito
So, tell me Athena, my love
Whom I did not love?
Great American adventure
over the plains alone
loved ones wait and wonder
where we might have gone
charting unknown waters
to brave the starless nights
we brought our sons
we kept our dreams in sight
all in this together
we'll get there and we'll thrive
no matter what the weather
so build the campfire high
and sing a settler's song
we'll keep the wilderness at bay
till you can come along.
Home..that familiar place
to light a downcast face
Home..a place to learn & grow up
to drink slowly at life's cup
Home..sometimes filled with tears
where we confront our fears
Home..to be open and real
and tell it as we feel
Home..somewhere to dream & wish,
somewhere to hug & kiss
Home..a place to live & die
somewhere to mourn & cry
Home..furnished by love' s touch
bedecked in comforts we trust so much
I walked along the pebbled shore
In my mind I saw a door
In my soul I heard a voice
In my heart I made a choice
I sat upon the burning sand
I took the offered,outstretched hand
We lit a fire and bar-b-qued
Enjoying fellowship and food
I returned along the pebbled shore
Complete,made whole,forever more
Full story @ Rev 3:20 & Jhn 21:9 -14
On a tree he was to die
It is finished ..was his cry
A man of truth,none can deny
he gave his life..for you & I
A man mourned then,by just a few
In just three days was born anew
Leaving behind an empty grave
His purpose then.. as now to save.
Full story @John19:20-30 & Mt 28