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Life Places Poems | Life Poems About Places

These Life Places poems are examples of Life poems about Places. These are the best examples of Life Places poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Tanka | |

When Love Creates

Eyes to eyes now meet Tenderly our lips touch We, adventurous Rhythmic vibrations rejoice When love creates little ones .


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lucila

So I walked into my local supermarket
to buy my weekly shipment of Kit Kat bars,
Cinnamon Toast Crunch,
and Ovaltine powder mix.

As I shake off the snow on my fake Timberland boots,
my skin,
coated in frozen animation,
thaws into warmth’s teardrops from
the supermarket’s 75 degree vents.

This moist sense of happiness was quickly interrupted
when I heard Wilson Phillips, “Hold On”
over the PA system.

Thankfully, the cutlery isle was just to my left. 
So, now, I had plans!

But, before I could commit felony’s song,
I saw her.

A Portuguese goddess
with a strut that can ruin a man’s dignity.

She had Autobahn curves,
dark brown curls of hair & visuals,
and thick flesh meat that even Vegans would envy.

Her face lacked Maybelline coated misapprehension.
Thank God!
Cause I never did like clowns.

After staring longingly at her,
like a crack head with impulsive eyes upon a broken/unlabeled bag of baby powder,
she breezed past my stifled posture and clocked in to work.

She didn’t even get a chance to smell my $500 cologne called “Piece of Me”.

So with new-found urges to grab all my groceries,
like a burglar who really has to pee,
I rush to express checkout. 

There she is.

Her register beeps in coupon lady’s rhapsody,
while my register needs a cleanup on Isle 9.

Now it’s my turn.

With girlish inner-screams of boy-band intensity,
I say, “Hi”.

She scans my apples, while I scan her melons.
The melons that the customer ahead of me didn’t want…
…they were on sale.

Go fig.

As if she read my mind,
she asks,
“Are you feeling warm now?”

“All I want is to be the heat in your moment”,
which I almost said.

But, “Now I am”, is uttered.

As she smiled with seductive demure,
she handed me my receipt
with her phone number on back.

As I left the market,
I began to get cold again.

These winds of change
became gusts of numbness.

I locked myself out of my heart.

I turned around to go back inside.

Only to discover, 
she didn’t have the key.

© Drake J. Eszes


Details | Couplet | |

A Bag of Popcorn

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. 



Details | Narrative | |

Pride of the Motherland

Riding an elephant
Down the narrow trail looking triumphant
Scanning the golden landscape
Like Hannibal with enemies in flight
Sight from a lofty height
King of the jungle moving
With lioness by his side

Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro
Guides by my side with packs on their backs
Some paths steep with rocks
Boots slipping below our tired feet
Beautiful birds in unison flight
Moving with terrestrial light
Stunning sunlight summit on the peak

Praying in an Ethiopian Church
Preserved in rocks built by humans’ hands 
Never touched by conquest plans
Protected from the invaders’ footsteps
Queen of Sheba and Solomon’s nest
Touched by Arch of the Covenant
Mary, Joseph, and Jesus once slept

Eating yam, sipping palm wine, and tasting milk
Freshly squeezed by experienced hands
Taste of life in the mosaic grassland
Sustaining and soul refreshing
Cradle of humankind adorning
Invaded for its gold, riches, and human capacity
Birth of life on earth with tenacity

Respecting its living and arduous journey
Essence of life once was and is again to come
Riding a camel across the hot Sahara sand
Once wet now dried, exported gold from Mali…
Treasures from the hearts of once African empires
That which was, is, and shall forever be
Africa the birthing Motherland
We still love and respect thee!

~~~~~~~*******~~~~~~~

Seventh Place Winner
"African's Pride" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Adeleke Adeite
June 30, 2010

~~~~~~~*******~~~~~~~


Details | Narrative | |

Tea Leaves On The Bosphorus

Tea Leaves On The Bosphorus

Seated at a table by the stirring water,
My eyes absorb the shore of Asia.
Minerets and aged worn stone
Stand haphazardly along the banks.
Istanbul is a lady with secrets
She'll lure you with her unrevealed virgin beauty,
Then seduce you with her ancient lovers.

Grilled sardines filled my charger
Fish pulled from the strait just minutes before,
Lay garnished with parsley and mint .
Red pickled turnips and warm flat bread
Are the implements that help feed me 
And scoop up the humus,
Turkish nourishment for my soul.

The empty plates are cleared by a handsome waiter
With dubious intentions I feared,
But I was flattered none the less.
A bowl of yogurt was placed before me,
And my admirer arrived with a comb of honey.
He held it high above the creamy cloud and let the heavy ochre
languidly pour atop the milky whiteness of delight.
After his seduction,he left me alone to my pleasure
As I lapped at the sweet and sour heavenly temptation,
that parted my lips and elevated my being.

As I recovered from my rapture, two eyes caught mine.
The heathen that destroyed my diet approached the table uninvited.
He pulled up a chair and sat down across from me.
In his hands, a cup.
He offered to tell me my future.
White, small, as fragile as an eggshell with the top lopped off.
Within was a dark tea with floating leaves.
In a chivalrous attempt at English conversation,
He handed me the libation and the offer to read the remains.

I, alone in a man's world, unmarried, and of a certain age,
Did not need encouragement and I accepted his offer.
I drained the tea in one gulp and returned it to his hands.
He placed the cup in one palm , then turned it upside down,
Allowing the remaining fluid to drip out around the cup and onto the table.
Once the cup was upright again he studied the leaves, then he spoke.

His voice was soft, at times , unintelligible
His reading was honest, and truthful, and painful.
His prophecy, amusing, and entertaining
His vision and it's accuracy were astounding.

Fifteen years later, the leaves delivered on their promise.
Long fluid lines inside the cup foretold of a marriage,
To a man who  would cross a sea to find me.
Two shorter drippings were the children that now delight me.
The  tea ring that he was able to complete around the cup ,
Was the warmth of a love that would soon envelop me.


Tea, anyone?





Details | Limerick | |

Viagra Falls

There once was a man from Niagara
whose wiener's so long it would stab ya'

but when it got little 
his pills became skittles   
until he O.D.'d on Viagra

© ~JSLambert  2011*****A classic "stiff" competitor, standing "firm" amongst other "members" in the "thick" of the competition:) hope everyone gets "a rise" out of it!


Details | Limerick | |

I Met This Charming Moonbeam Last Night

The arms of the willow started to sway
and this curious glow rippled my way.
While flirting with my feet,
nature played a song so sweet.
The lake our dance floor 'til the sun's first ray.


Details | Free verse | |

EULOGY FOR THE ELDON GALLERY, WATERLOO


Once, it sold cultivated 
pigment, before it became 
a catacomb of cardboard drapes.
Makeshift out-of-business signs
made me wonder if the gallery owner 
intended his display,
subtitle: irony frames rage. 

Gone, the watercolour 
weeping chartreuse, a harsh backdrop 
of morose blues; Gone,  the oil 
on wood, knife strokes applied 
so thickly, it almost moved; Gone, 
charcoal sketches of thunderstorms 
greying the shores of Port Elgin.

Dark, now, halls that sheltered 
dreamscapes, art undisciplined, squeezed 
into corners, elbowing for attention. 
I ache 
                                for one dove 

that clung to an azure sky, 
the coo of my name, 
but I'd been unable to take him home 
to my cube cage. He deserved 
a rectory or a view that would provide 
sanctuary. His wings had beat against 
pulse points; one feather
tickled a memory 

of a robin that aimed 
for a cloudless sky but
collided with a picture window —  
its point of contact left a scarlet smear.
Grandmother carefully wrapped 
the corpse in yesterday’s news.

I trudged to the garbage can, 
unseen, found D-E-A-D
in its shroud, snuck to the garden 
and buried it under tall phlox, 
florid snap dragons; a child sobbing, 
wrenched by a world 
where beauty is fragile, 

                                disposable.

Today, people walk along the street, 
hold devices that fail to signal
that something living slowly
starves to death, atrophies; I watch
a happy girl point to a puddle, 
but her mother fails to see 
the large coin it holds.

There had been a portrait, 
like a sun shower, its perfect fault lines 
of light and rain, a woman shoed in waves, 
almost overtaken, her footsteps 
stolen by unnatural foam…
I am so sorry, artist unmet, 
do you even know 

                                you've flown 

into a shut window. 







Details | Bio | |

RITES OF PASSAGE

Remember the day
Apron strings loosed,untied
as maternal voices faltered and cried
Remember the day
When a soprano voice lost its elan
and a boy became a man
Remember the day
Peer pressure would not hide
and diffidence was replaced with pride
Remember the day
Desire,with warm whispers heard
questions,answered with just three words
Remember the day
Filled with joy and love
a union blessed from above
Remember the day
Holding a first-born,so wee
as two self-absorbed,became three
Remember the day
Trust was born-a-new
a changed life came into view
Remember the day
Genesis as a work of art
with gifts to share and impart
Remember the day


Details | Free verse | |

Still.

For this desire
to someday be accommodated,
we shall sit in front of the fire,
lodge chairs at angles akin to talking low,
honey cognac thick,
whispers even thicker,
and you will tell me life.

From the moment your memory begins
you will unravel the senses in dark licorice words
by crackling light.

We will throw lithium on the fire
and watch the shadows turn red
in our laughter

...just children, really, despite our age...

The night will wane as good nights always do,
and we'll sleep on and off in the chairs,
in the midst of the other's story.
It won't matter, as it all becomes a dream anyway
and we'll never tend the fire till it gives up it's coal.

At 5 am our voices will be hoarse
and our legs will be angry at us for pretzeling them,
so we will rise to make strong coffee.
You, grinding powder brown beans,
and me finding two perfect cups for hand holding,
brushing past you electric in the process.

After the brew, after our lives have been told, 
at the precise red photograph of sunrise,
we will sleep.

My head will fall sullen on your shoulder, 
angry at my inability to control my eyes to stay with you a moment more,
and this new world, which has spun at twice it's
normal speed since meeting you,

will suddenly, 
finally,
be still.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Highlanders Estate

My door is open
I welcome you
To my Highland lands
Off heathers and hue
 
Cross the bridge
Of centuries old
To my castle of grey
In it's regal fold
 
Stand with me
In the great hall of my past
Like generations
Us Fraser's will last
 
Climb spiral stairs
To a turreted tower
Look out on my lands
As the northern lights shower
 
Turn to the left
Look out to the fields
They stretch for miles
Many harvests they yield
 
The moat leads off
Into a river so pure
With it's salmon ladder
Caught to mature
 
Lets take to the horses
To forests of pine
They carpet the glens
In greenery fine
 
Centuries old
Camp fire and cheer
Weeks away
Chasing the deer
 
The welcome we received
When we reached home
Venison and pheasant
From our Highland roam
 
Off the great hall
To the room of the past
Where tartans and paintings
My ancestral past
 
Open great fireplace
Lights up the room
Claymores and armour
In past battles bloom
 
The evening draws
Arrival of guests
To feast on the roam
For the food we are blessed
 
Midnight approaches
Bedtime retire for all
As i look out my window
In awe at it all



http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland.php


Details | Blank verse | |

A Brief Childhood

In the back of my head, in the garden shed,
I see him as clearly as fresh white paint:
A little boy sat on the creosote floor, 
Dragged grazed knees hugged up to his chin, 
So familiar, so resonant and never faint. 
He shivers and weeps on the wooden ground, 
Alone, almost silent, with hardly a sound, 
In retreat from a world he cannot understand 
That Is ruled and defined by a callused hand.

It's his seventh birthday and a slowing flood 
Of mucus and blood flows from swollen lips, 
A tooth bares a nerve and a jagged chip, 
But the pain means no more than dandelion clocks 
Or cuckoo spit; the act alone the gestalt of it.

Some days he would walk for miles, 
To see beyond the next hill, around the bend, 
Kicking slowly along, his shadow twice his size, 
Dwarfing him, tracking him, a passive friend. 
Perhaps to find some haven, someone to 
Take him in, rescue his heart, and want him;
But strangers, though kindly, approached 
With the dusk and it always ended the same way:
"Where do you live?" they would say
And thoroughly drilled, he would quietly reply,
In emotion drained monotone,
His address and number of the telephone,
And they always took him back home.

Some days he would walk for miles,
To sit on the edge of the viaduct, 
Perched perilously with nothing to lose, 
Dangling feet in small scuffed shoes, 
Dropping pebbles and stones to the 
Rocks and undergrowth far, far below, 
Imagining if he may fall in their stead, 
What then would be left to know?

The fall down the stairs snapped his ankle
Like a spindly twig, fractured some ribs,
Dislocated his jaw.
The children's ward, antiseptic and bright,
Young nurses in uniform, starched and white
Were so kind to him, he almost cried, bringing concern
And orange squash and a paper straw.

Sometimes it’s like this when things go wrong, 
A scapegoat is needed to blame things on. 
People thought him shy, with head bowed low, 
Lost in comics and books, lost in himself, 
Denying the threat of another blow. 
He was not shy, just hiding and biding, 
Keeping his head down and trying not to show.

Life is a scoundrel, and time a cohort thief, 
Stealing a childhood with no reprieve, 
Leaving only the slow burning sense of relief, 
That an unpleasant childhood seemed mercifully brief.


Details | Couplet | |

Let's Start Today

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
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2008


February,2,2008


Details | Couplet | |

Erin Go Bragh

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.

© 2013 

*Erin go bragh means Ireland Forever
*lough means a lake
*Ben means Irish, a mountain peak


Details | Rhyme | |

A Palindrome Tale

A Palindrome Tale

I’ve got a tale to tell you of travel, love and lust
The travel, it was joyful, my love life was a bust
I met a girl in Tulsa, next day my diary read
A slut nixes sex in Tulsa; “Dammit, I’m mad” I said
So I went off to Europe to see the Mona Lisa
I thought it was in Italy; but as I pee, sir, I see Pisa!
A Delia saw I was ailed; I’m a fool; aloof am I
When she offered me spaghetti, I said “I prefer pi”
And then I found Naomi – Naomi did I moan?
I did, did I? I can not lie.  I headed back to home
And then I met this Madam; as mad as Adam, she
Evil did I dwell, lewd I did live; God saw I was dog tired
Live not on evil they did say; Then my luck expired
Revered now, I live on. O did I do no evil I wonder ever
No sir, panic is a basic in a prison where I dwelt
Ned, I am a maiden; not a banana baton had I felt

Mdailey	3/31/12

A slut nixes sex in Tulsa; 
Dammit, I’m mad 
as I pee, sir, I see Pisa!
Delia saw I was ailed 
I’m a fool; aloof am I
I prefer pi
Naomi did I moan?
I did, did I? 
mad as Adam
Evil did I dwell, lewd I did live
God saw I was  dog
Live not on evil 
Revered now, I live on. O did I do no evil I wonder ever
No sir, panic is a basic in a prison 
Ned, I am a maiden
not a banana baton 





Details | Couplet | |

The Homeplace

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 
his work.)


Details | Free verse | |

New York City's Greenwich Village

                                          Greenwich Village breathes,
                                       She inhales exhausted tepid air,
                                And exhales blustery winds of possibility.
                              The lady blows away the veils of dishonesty.

                                       Tangled streets strung together,
                                   Knotted masses of pearls and poetry,                  
                               Entwining marbled heroes,rounded arches, 
                                  Crucifixes,and snakes penned on skin.

                                  Artists, tourists, vagrants,and scholars,
                                   Know the calling of its siren song well.
                                   People living on the fringe of humanity,
                                    And those from the upper crust, fuse.

                                     The village is the one spot on earth
                                Where you can expose your primal desires,
                                     And explore their depths unfettered.
                                 She is a lovely harlot who lives to please .

                                   Musicians and thinkers engage in chess,
                             Neighbors line the benches of it's central park.
                                  Children run naked through its fountains.
                                  The poor and idol rich roam, anonymously.

                                    A reader of fortunes lays out his cards,
                                 Lovers tango,who knows which one leads?
                                 Perhaps all the seekers will find their way,
                                   And the leaders will learn how to see?

                           Lady Greenwich Village,the canvas of New York life,
                              Her face painted with brilliant spattered oils.
                                Each of us can add our own divine colors, 
                            Dripping and blending with individual uniqueness.



Details | Narrative | |

The Wedding

Wedding Night in Raqqa

 

 

Cyclonic violet vision

 

Etheral and immortal

 

She swirls her sand baked torso.

 

Evoking the initial collision of primordial seed,

 

Swathed in gossamer purple veils,

 

Writhing to the stomping and clapping

 

Of jeweled ankles

 

And henna stained hands.

 

The tribes have united for my wedding to their son.

 

I ,foreign and naive, swoon to the power

 

Of ancient rhythm and verse,

 

Ripe, fertile gestures,

 

Pregnant with  throbbing pulses

 

And scattered beats of flailing arms,

 

Bleating tongues, spinning robes.

 

A cacophony of incessant chant rose from the dancing women,

 

Growning louder, feverish in their pleasure

 

And the nearness of release.

 

I join in the dancing.

 

They swath me in voiles and lead me to the center

 

I dance, and I succumb to my wedding night in Raqqa.



Details | I do not know? | |

I Am From...

I am from cartoons,
and plain cereal with sugar.
I am from the leaves that fell,
and the wind in which they stir.
I am from the county fair,
with ice cream on a child's nose.
I am from that mystery book,
that can never be closed.
I am from the confusion you get,
when you can't figure it out,
and from that one mysterious boy,
you want to know all about.
I am from the blue tears,
that stroll down your face,
and from broken hearts,
from the boy you chased.
I am from the blue skies and green pastures,
where angels will fly.
The place I dream of every night,
Where no one ever cries.


Details | Alliteration | |

Roundhouse Runs

Black squirrels bound skewways
from the house, shadowshifts
falling darkly on 
dusty white autumnal
snow. Paw prints run

makeshift memories soon 
snowed over. Leaping
on tree trunks they wind their
way upward on paths of birch
bark in quick roundhouse runs.

I watch them go from
a seat by the door
and eavesdrop on the
dripping eaves trough. Icicles
hang like stalactites
and
drip
their
dew
onto
the
driveway.

The heater blows dry
air over my face as
dust rides recirculated
draft flows and floats upward
in a beam of magnetic

light. A thin frosting
of human sloughcells
settles on the windowsill
in a regiment I
attack with the duster

before they regroup and
resettle. Single cells
born of a single self. I 
pace circles on the
fading cream carpet.


Details | Personification | |

Whispers Within



I am the spirit of satin stardust and the antiquities of golden memories alive I call to you from the rising warmth of the sun and greet you in the misty morning light I am the steady and rolling drum beat echoing from the jagged heights above I am the mysterious curves of the raging waters' and the freedom birds of love I rise above the white summer clouds in lilting songs of grace and roam with the western tail-winds to take you home again I am a Spirit of our gracious Lord God Almighty of love hope and faith I have come to tell
Dedicated To P.D.


Details | Sonnet | |

Fresh Pillow (Kyrielle Sonnet)

At night I lay my soul to sleep,
Closing my eyes there is no peep,
This soft bed is just so mellow,
My head rests on this fresh pillow.

Forgetting the stress of the day
I am in bed without delay.
Soul at ease— the mind must follow,
My head rests on this fresh pillow.

Satin sheets over my shoulder,
Keep me warm—not getting colder.
Fantasy dreams I now billow,
My head rests on this fresh pillow.

At night I lay my soul to sleep,
My head rests on this fresh pillow.


Details | Couplet | |

Whilst the Clock Ticks

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 *~*


Details | Free verse | |

Amazement--- My Spirit

I stand in voiceless, transfixed gaze, where once two towers pierced the sky 
And through a fog of stinging tears, I'm still amazed that through the years,
emotion's grip, still chokes a phrase

A day, so many years ago, we traveled up to see the stars
from high upon a rising spire,
not knowing then, what we have learned

How fragile life will bend and curve,
and take away in one brief day, the voice of reason, never heard

I'm back again, and through the pain, I read the names, now carved like graves
Where water streams three thousand tears, and years can't wash away the pain
Where bitter comes the taste of rain

Yet, reverently, the voice is clear
of hope and pride, where life begins

Raw photographs have not been blurred, in spite of where my heart was plunged,
into the darkest dungeon known

And still the blackest smoke has turned
into amazement, where I've grown

to treasure good before it's gone...


________________________________________________________________
For Contest Sponsored By FJ Thomas "My Spirit"


Details | Free verse | |

Summer Perdition

A sheet of glass, this expanse of water.
How its tranquillity mocks my unrest.

Colourful beach balls and balloons
travel the park in diminutive hands.

Bodiless voices call in the sun
and bounce off these sizzling surfaces.

It is not surprising I wear cool clothing
and masquerade serenity.

Swollen laburnum pods harbour their horror -
wombs cradling their malignancies.

Such outward masks of innocence!
And the leaves of the willow

mournfully fish the water that stretches into distance
further than vision.

Blossom strews the ground like confetti.
A green leaf anchors in my hair.

*

At the station things roll into vision -
travelling paraphernalia, fluorescent strip lighting.

I ride the escalator unsteadily.
I am concealing the necessary:

cakes of soap, folded fabrics -
appurtenances of normality.

My respectable patent heels tap hollowly
over the cobbles, the cracked paving stones.

These old garden walls
wear thin skins of lichen now.

Sunlight winks on windowsills,
glittering white paint and ceramic bowls of plants.

Wallflowers scramble up the trellis,
shockingly yellow,

their pollen cloying the air.
Canvas chairs create a Neapolitan facade:

pastel stripes sitting on pink.
One paisley curtain is fluttering

from a high open window.
Already your tenuous grip lets go.

What throttling helplessness in the throat...
Frantic fingers sift and pick over

the desperate possibilities
contained in the musty depths of suitcases,

the shadows of cool stone cottages.
These walls retain the scent of bergamot,

reminiscent of relinquished summers,
the redolence lingering in the pastel decor.

*

There is no anchor in this terrible sea.
Counsellors bring the modest comforts of select words,

cultivated smiles and cups of tea.
They attempt to smother my fear.

Cheap chipped crockery
and scalding spirals of steam.

Rings encircle these defenceless fingers
that crawl over the tea trays like insects -

cold quoits, surgical silver.
Rubies and sapphires bear testimony to obscene betrayal.

In the hollow months an emptiness will tug at me
like dragging menstrual aches.

Young limbs lie useless and inert,
motionless under starched coverlets.

Something predatory prowls the floor.
A phantom protection is all I claw.


Details | Rhyme | |

Plockton - Wester Ross

The greatest holiday gift I ever received  
Goes back so many, many years
Before my life became turmoiled
And before my tears for fears

I was a child like many out there
Torn, strewn and split of kin
Mother and father in differences
Confused at seven, wearing their same skin

For I was one of the lucky ones
To a Highland Estate I would go
It's on the west coast of Scotland
Where my holidays desired me so

Secretly I internally smiled
For a whisper of where I was heading
To live with a movie star hero
No longer my life was in dreading

We were picked up by a man so fine
His manners were an absolute joy
Regimental he was in his approach
To me, just a seven year old boy

We travelled through the village of Plockton
Crystal clear waters edged to it's shore
I knew from this very moment
Being here ebbed previous family sores

On entering his house I was in awe
Movie pictures came to my view
They were images of James Bond
At seven I was totally through

A voice called to me
Hey James! sit down and I'll tell you me
Still in circles in walking awe
This is what he told thee

My name is Patrick Dalzel Job
In the Second World War I served
But this recognition I bestow
Humbles me to it's deserve

This honour that's been given
Was blessed by a colleague in war
What desired Ian Fleming to be so striven
Possibly, what we were fighting for

We served on the same destroyer
Fighting to make the future free
His tribute, in his novels I became
James Bond, it's incredibly me





Not many seven year olds have stayed with James Bond.
This seven year old Scot's boy has, maybe I learnt?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patrick_Dalzel-Job


Details | Quatrain | |

The Vietnam War

The pro-Hanoi Vietcong many years ago
In the 1950's Diem's government they'd overthrow
All opposition was crushed killed or jailed
These elected ones to their people they failed

This Buddhist country so religious in belief
Now politically torn apart, impending future grief
In the early 1960's with the CIA in place
Discussing with Vietnam's generals, Diem, assassinated in disgrace

With the Vietcong army, growing from strength to strength
Another communist foothold, going to any lengths
In 1965, with 3500 U.S. Marines in place
By December of that year, 200,000 in many a base

These U.S. Marines, in their defensive mode
Over the coming months, peace would soon erode
With the Tet Offensive upon us, and the "Battle of Hue"
The Americans were now involved, this bloody war now brews

One decision to end this conflict, came in 1969
Nixon sent 18 B-52s, bordering Soviet airspace line
He wanted to show he was capable, to end this bloody war
But as the months and years progressed, the body count would soar

The anti-war movement was gathering strength, also in 1969
But the "Green Beret Affair" started to undermine
A U.S. Army platoon raped and pillaged, the village of My Lai
Where civilians were massacred, and many left to die

In 1970-71, Cambodia incurred wars wrath
Where they and the country Laos, were in the U.S. bombing path
Also in 71, there was the cutting of the Ho Chi Minh trail
But arms and supplies got through, this mission to no avail

Later in the same year, the Anzac's withdrew their soldiers
The U.S. also reduced, many of theirs from Vietnam's borders
In 1973, Nixon declared the suspension of offensive action
The Paris Peace Accords took place, peace with this warring faction

Between the years 73 - 74 under Trà, the Vietcong grew in strength
There was no mass offensive, to lure the Americans to their trench
Gradually they marched to their target, to see their enemies eyes
To their city of Saigon, now over a million humans have died

The average age of the American to die in this bloody war
Was just nineteen years old, never knowing what they were fighting for
So many came home from this horror, leaving themselves behind
Because so many came home different, home with a different mind

Even to this day, many Americans look back and ask
Why their elected Congress, feed them to these tasks
The sad thing about Vietnam, it continues to this present day
Where governments make decisions, asking guns to hear their say




Details | Rhyme | |

The Building Of Life

Your entering an elevator in the skyscraping building of life. As you step through the doors your uncertain of which floor is right. So you press all the buttons hoping to rely on your sight. Upon reaching the first floor look who steps in, it's your wife. Reaching the next floor, your child comes running in. You embrace them with happiness, as the doors close once again Then onto the next floor with a bunch of smiles you all go. Upon reaching the next floor another child runs in "Oh no?" Whats going on? This wasn't part of the plan? "Oh well I can take it, that's right, I'm a strong man." As you reach the next floor your wife says this is it. Exiting the elevator, your kids start to throw a fit. As you are about to exit you see your wifes hand on the door. Then she turns to you and says, "Why don't you go up one more floor" With the doors closing, you see tears in your wifes eyes. "Why would she be crying? Was she telling me goodbye?" Reaching the next floor, you decide to see what this floor is all about. This must be the right floor you sense, in your mind with out a doubt. As you turn to the elevator to go back down one floor to your wife. You see there is no down button, for the elevator in this building of life
Dan Kearley:11-30-11


Details | Narrative | |

Summer Scent

Summer scent is the smell of freedom
where we can escape the flavor of boredom
so we plan to have our vacation on the beach
where we can relax and fresh air is within our reach

The warm wind tenderly embraced my spirit
I felt excited on this first visit
on an island where refugees can find paradise
an island where spending time is wise

The dulcet breeze gently kisses lush green trees
and the mirthful sun smiles over the vast seas 
Where surfers play with gigantic waves
and are not certain on what road it paves

The fluffy clouds are smoothly sailing 
the birds are singing and harmoniously dancing
There are butterflies that are colorful in hue
like enchanted fairies changing colors from pink to blue

I need my sun block, it's time for swimming
the tables are full because later we're all eating
Ladies are smiling to many cool surfer dudes
Children are hungry seeing delicious exotic foods

I picked a shell that whispered peacefully in my ears
and we built castles that we fancied over the years
out of the small grains of white sands
and all you need is helping hands

God was really great in creating splendid wonders
that were loved by all especially the nature lovers
There are numerous oceans that are aquamarine
and abundant trees and grasses that are green

The brother sun was slowly hiding
because the sister moon was coming
I guess it was our time to pack
but there will come a time for us to go back

Go back to a place of leisure and freedom
where you'll not taste the flavor of boredom
It would be hard for us to say goodbye
because truly we will come back and say Hi!


Details | Free verse | |

Memories etched in the sand

Sifting warm sand 
through my fingers,
shimmering fine grains 
glitter my palm.
Sand,
filled with life’s memories
of nut brown days
of summer.

A soft silk breeze 
formed dunes
with our dreams 
that summer
when we danced to the stars.
My heart laced yours
listening to the sea
undulating waves of emotion
as we kissed 
on the velvet strand.

I still hear
the rhythm of the ocean.
Waves tumbling in unison,
a sweeping sound 
gently caressing
as we lay silently 
listening to sand
shifting over stone
to the faint chiming
of seashells.

My first love
a sea salted embrace
on a breast of sand.
The memories
forever held
in the sand
in glitter on my hand.