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Narrative Memory Poems | Narrative Poems About Memory

These Narrative Memory poems are examples of Narrative poems about Memory. These are the best examples of Narrative Memory poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Just an Old Memory

She’s just an old memory of a younger man’s dreams
An image of love hard to find
I can still see her eyes, taste the joy of her lips
In the deep recesses of my mind
Hair that was flowing, a smile that was glowing
An angel with earthly charms
Felt her heart beat in the tropical heat
Got lost in her loving arms
Sometimes I wonder if it was only a dream
An old sea story that I told
But I remember those eyes like a radiant beam
A treasure greater than gold
I wonder now if she waited on shore
With the fire in her heart still burning
And I wonder if there were tears in her eyes
Realizing I would not be returning
She’s just an old memory that haunts me today
A storybook love affair
A blanket, a beach and two bodies entangled
On a tropical island somewhere.

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The Empty Tissue Box

My heart was in such pain
I felt like I was going to go insane
I just don't know what to do 
And my eyes full of tears that distort my view

I fell to my knees and felt the urge
My muscle tighten and pin needles struck me like a surge
My body was warm and with feelings so confused
My mind felt sadness had fused

I could not conquer my fears
I just sat down and fell into tears
When some close to you passes on
It felt like a warmth has gone

So I raised my hand towards a box that was empty with no tissue
I first was embarrass and had a little bit of issue
All my friends hugged me and said sorry for your loss
So now I cry in my bed and toss

April 14, 2013

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Come sit by the fire... let's reminisce About this and that, about life and love Watching a robin take its first flight Or a squirrel scurrying up a tree The sun coming out from behind the clouds The gentle breeze blowing the leaves in fall The gentle snow flakes softly falling in winter Covering the ground like a warm blanket Or is it the laughter of a baby The purring of a kitten The sound of cows mooing in the field The twinkling stars on a warm summer's eve A shooting star The hum of the city Which tells us we're one of many Enjoying life on this amazing planet of ours The roar of a jet engine Taking people away on a happy vacation The sound of a marching band The smile on the cashiers face As she wishes you a great day So many images throughout life Remind us how amazing it is to be alive To experience these simple pleasures To conjure up these amazing vignettes Of the wonders we see and feel every day I still remember my very first day at school That was seventy-three years ago But it's just like it was yesterday Attending my very first baseball game And none other than Jackie Robinson Playing second base for the Montreal Royals In his very first professional game I could go on and on but as I age My memory is not as reliable as it once was Memories are wonderful to try to hold on to To look back on a life filled with happiness and joy Of course, there were some sad times But they were far outnumbered By just the simple pleasures we all experience My life was amazing! © Jack Ellison 2014

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Straying Juvenile

My younger sibling, I brought you painfully up,  you brought me "pain"  fully
I myself struggled through  constant hard times, your constant struggling with yourself, hard timed me
I cleared a pathway through life for you, you clearly thought the pathways were lined with gold 
Today I had to repair,  Mums front door, the door you caused to be kicked down yesterday
I love you and will defend you, even when you are wrong, which as you know, you never are
You lost your parents some way back and now it seems you somehow lost your way

I can't believe you did this thing, I can't believe you did
The shame on mum and dad's memory and then you run and hid

You cannot mess with men like this, they follow no set rules
Wealth becomes a god to them, they do not suffer fools

I pulled you from a hole today, I pulled you from a hole
The talk was death to stinking thieves, I saved your very soul

You lost your mum and dad so young, is that why you rebel but life is not a one way street, I lost them both as well

You brought me lots of grief tonight, you brought me lots of grief
I brought you up as many things but one was not a thief

I handed back, the things you took, I gave them all right back
The men who stood at mums front door had shot guns in a sack

The offer that they offered me,  was one,  to not refuse
Return the goods the "bastard took"  or read it in the news

If mum and dad were still alive, for this you would pay dear
If mum and dad were still alive, do I make myself clear

I can't believe you did this thing, I can't believe you did
The shame on mum and dad's memory and then you run and hid

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He Loved You

He loved you too, you know
Loved you like his very own
In away you were
You came into his life as my friend
Through the years you grew to be my brother in arms 
Along the way you became the son he never had

He loved you as a friend
He loved you even more as a son
A son he never had
When things began to spiral out of control
You stayed when so many others ran away
You helped when I couldn’t

You meant a great deal to him
You never looked at him differently 
Nor did you treat him differently
You stood by his side
When he fell, you stood by his side and mine
You were willing to help me fight his battle for him 
You were there from the beginning 
You were there until the bitter end
Always remember my friend, my brother
He loved you more than you’ll ever know

Dedicated to close Family friend Rodney Howard. He loved my Daddy just as much as I did/do.

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A Letter To My Hero


November 19, 2001

Dear Doc and Doris,

	It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you. I believe it was some years ago at the Sims reunion. That was several years before we moved here to Florida after my retirement.

	I talk to Dorothy and W. D. fairly often and got your address from them a couple of months ago.  I also have a recent picture of you that was taken at Mike’s funeral in Marlow.

	I suppose it was something about that picture that caused me to begin reflecting on when I was a kid in Cameron many years ago.  We lived down below the railroad tracks there just south of the jailhouse.  I was just a kid 6 or 7 years old. Then later we moved to Houston where Dorothy and Daddy went to work in the shipyard.  I remember during those years thinking often of my cousin Carl Sims and his brother Melton Sims who were far away fighting the war against the Germans in Europe.  I still have pictures of you somewhere showing you in your uniform.  Doc, I remember how proud I was to tell everyone about my cousins in the army and how I wanted to grow up and be a soldier and fight the Germans.  

	In the last couple of years those memories have been revisited with the release of the movies “Saving Private Ryan” and even more recently, “Band of Brothers.”  Having never experienced the horrors of war, I look upon these two movies as the most realistic presentation of wartime action ever made.  Even at that, I’m sure they haven’t portrayed what it was really like. 

	Doc, I write you now having much more hindsight than when I was an impressionable kid.  But the years have not robbed me of the pride I have in calling you my hero. I think of those years when I was but a child and you, a young soldier. I remember how excited I was to hear any news about my cousins in the army. And I remember the sadness in hearing of Melton being killed in action. 

	Though time has painted a different picture for each of us, those things that linger in our memory can still be seen through the eyes of a child and a young soldier. I look at that recent picture of you and still see my hero. I see a young soldier in uniform and feel the same pride well up inside a young kid in Cameron.  
Doc, I wanted you to know these things.  I could have kept them hidden inside my heart and never told anyone.  But, they are mine to do with as I please. And I choose to send them to you and Doris with the love I have for you. As Christians, we know that the love we are sharing in Jesus Christ will be eternal. I believe the respect and admiration I hold you in for what you did will also last forever.  

	Maybe we will get back to Texas one of these days.  If so, I hope to have the time to come by Mexia and see you.  If not, who knows, someday a kid may tug on the sleeve of a young soldier. The young soldier might turn to find a freckle-faced kid, joyful in the presence of his hero.

	Doc, if not before, I’ll see you in Glory. I send you respect and most of all, love.

With eternal admiration,

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A Dream That Came True

A Dream That Came True.

In my mind's eye I had seen her undress a thousand times
 sending hot flashes that exploded with her moaning
 Months before ever summoning the courage to speak to her
 I practiced the words befitting her splendor!

 She had been noticing my adoring glances as she 
 adjusted her skimpy bikini in the bright sun
 Showing just what a man, any man would hope to see
 I moved closer anticipating her charming refusal
 to my shock she answered a quick yes and our date 
 that night was on!

 I asked her to wear something sexy and she replied
 how about I wear no panties?
 My stammering answer made her laugh that laugh
 the one that sent shivers up my spine in anticipation

 It is on! We met at theatre and hardly watched the movie
 for her hands were busier than mine!
 A nice change to feel the heat of a woman so anxious
 I almost wept with joy! What a thrill! She had kept her promise
 No panties!!!
 None under that sexy short skirt that had made the other men 
 openly lust for her charms! I saw and was amazed that this vision of
 sexual beauty was actually with me!
 What happened later that night you can imagine,
 the earth shook, the sky fell and I heard a ringing bell!

 We married two months later and it was pure sex and bliss
 Non stop sex night and day.. Ahh, the memories that last a
 Nothing that great can last forever. We burned like the Sun for
 a few years and then it happened..
 The crash!
 My motorcycle hit a tree ,I was rushed to the hospital and woke up 
 three days later to discover it had been only a very vivid daydream!
 My heart broke , I was sorry to have came back to the world! Then, 
 O' yes then in walks a vision so lovely my heart almost stopped

 A new nurse. So hot the paint on the walls started melting.
 Over she floats to my bedside. I sat wide eyed looking like a fool!
 Awestruck with anticipation! She took my hand, took my pulse .

 I fumbled for words, I fought for control. I begged for help to impress
 Finally, finally I felt power return and I asked her to just pinch me!
 Pinch me! Let me know I am not dreaming again..
 She laughed and pinched my left cheek. The lower one! I felt the earth
 begin to rise. She noticed and laughed,
 LAUGHED THAT LAUGH!!! That laugh!
 That laugh came from those sweet lips. I begged for help and she smiled,
 O' that smile!
 As she turned to leave I asked her to see me again and she said yes!
 I shall return in two hours to give you your bath.. Then winked at me!
 Longest two hours of my life! 
 Then I woke up still laying beside my crashed motorcycle!
 With a broken leg and shattered dream!!! 
 Fate can be so cruel.....
 So damn cruel...... Then the door opened and I hear her say with a 
 smile. Time for your bath darling !!! Its late and I'll block this door!
 Then she removed her clothes. Crap, dreaming again I thought...
 And that is how I met my first wife. Yes she was a dream!!
 Something that great never lasts, never lasts.... 

Robert Lindley

Dedicated to my first wife.... and some of it is even true!!! 
Found this last week while rummaging around in some old files I had... 

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written 20th Aug 2001

As I woke up this morning
 instantly, I began mourning
For "I should be holding you, this special day
 but, I know that there "is no possible way

Wondering, if you'd think that I would forget
 is just "one more thing, I am left to regret
I pray, that we will be re-united together again, real soon
 till then, I've blown you a birthday kiss, I sent via the moon

Overwhelmed, I feel as if I love you even more "today
 "yes, today is special, after all it is your birthday
But, I couldn't forget you, no if's, but's or maybe
 for you were blessed, forever to be my baby

You are now my "six year old lovable, Hannabelle
 and no one on Earth, could "ever love you as well
Known now for eternity, making this a very special day
 t'was only this day, you became my daughter in every way

                              written for my daughter Hannabelle
                       *For a mothers love is never bound by distance*

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Thunder and Lighting

Love is prominent but lies are still troubling the arch in my back is still aching  thru my core/ To calm to peaceful Today not enough appreciation from you
You make me feel less important.
 How many more audition do I need to perform for you?
 Your Personality changes like the weather negative energy creates “Thunder and Lighting” 
   Your Ego is higher then the altitude in Denver 
You are the weather that changes everyday I never knew when its cold are warm 
Today I was prepared for a Sunny day / But  like the weather you change unpredictably have me puzzled just wondering Why?
 I was not prepared for your  precipitation/ you never allow me to grasp your feelings never appreciate my love  you was only  obsessed with yourself and not my heart.  When its cloudy or rainy outside my vision gets a little blur and  fuzzy when you are around.

Meteorologist Predicate Sunny and warm air with the chances of early morning cloudiness’

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My friends and I had midnight hide and seek
One had to stand by a tree and not peek
In my state of hiding great I was hard to find
My friends decided to just be unkind
They all got together and decided to hunt me down
I first hid in the river near my house and almost drown
When they walk close by me I silently move through the grass
It was very hard to see, but I crawled a long time and almost ran out of gas
Then I heard one say that they were going up and wait by the tree
I had an idea that made a way to make them see
A shadow that ran in the distance thinking that would be
I had my horse pull a little manikin to make them think it was me
My friends took their flashlight and shined it toward it
I thought I had them but one thing was clear they did not fall for it not a bit
They all laugh and started to call out my name
They all asked how the heck did you have time to pull that trick that was so lame
I did not answer so they kept on looking for me, but I was so quick 
Some of my friends started to get really mad and tick
I was a master of doing weird things they all knew what I can do
The night was still young and the grass was collecting dew
I decided to make a distraction once again
To think of it, it would probably make the night end
My friends finally surrounded my tree house
I was quiet, so quiet, more than a mouse
I had some rope in the tree house to make my escape
To distract them I made a loud noise like an ape
The tree that my tree house was in was at least forty feet up
I had some stash in my tree house a drink or two in a cup
My final hour is about to end I did not want my friends to catch me till I got to the tree
I took the rope and tide it on a branch and pushed off and that was the key
I landed on the garage roof and sneaked my way to the tree
My friends knew me to well that they plan things before I could see
They had a fish net ready for me to step into
I thought that was kinda wise and some what like pew
The few feet by the tree there was two of my friends that was ready
Up in the tree they both jumped down and pulled me up in the net fast and steady
They thought they had won, the person had to tag me before I touch tree
She ended up having to get something to stand on to reach me
I swung my weight back and forth till I ended up touching and the game ended
My friends and I were so full of surprises and that is what the game handed

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Upon A Bed Of Petals

                                                        Upon A Bed of Petals
                                    The fragrance is so heavenly full of romance
                            With petals smooth and colorful it puts me into a trance
                                    The light shines upon the area of which they lay
                               With the oasis of beautiful smell I fall in a deep delay
                                    The aroma of sweet beauty comes a dream
                                With motion that reveal emotions with great steam

                                                        Upon A Bed Of Petals
                           Comes a well spent year with joyous laughter and self appeal
                                   With open arms we embrace the life that is surreal
                             Comes a time that we do have to dream with petals of life
                                         With occasional choices of passion and strife 
                                   Comes a venue of flowers of many beauty with value
                                      With another part of each season we stand true

                                                         Upon A Bed Of Petals
                                  The scent of life passes through and makes new
                                With loops that can be seen in an open sky so blue
                                   The wind takes one petal or two to show a trust
                          With to passionate people lying by the petals love is entrust
                                     The beauty is that the petal lasts in memory of
                              With two people passion with love rules true and above

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- EMMA -

My Emma I remember so well - an old lady with roses on her cheeks 
Lived in a cozy little white house with a garden so beautiful - flowers, berries and fruit 
Emma was old with a bad back and her feet were weak - but she was never grumpy 
The winter was hard for old Emma - lonely - no husband - no kids - no family 
When spring came - Emma came out to the garden - she loved it 
When neighbors or children came by - she waved and shouted 
  "Come into my garden and pick yourself a big bouquet of flowers" 
When summer came - she waved and shouted 
"Come into my garden and pick yourself some berries - they are red and nice" 
In the autumn the same - "Come into my garden and pick yourself some fruit" 

* Emma died many years ago - but the memories I have cherished in my heart

- * From reality :)

A-L Andresen :)

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Good Bones

Winding around the curve of the road
the brilliant blue of the morning sky had faded
and seemed it had been left out too long in the sun......
Something,...... some new kind of threshold, waited in the November chill
We didn't know yet, just what it was, but the memory 
would be imprisoned by our young, and eager eyes
for decades, to come

We had arrived........
with an alive sense of enthusiasm and a vivid anticipation

We left our children in the car, for a few minutes
until we saw the perfect yard.....that seemed to go for miles
the hills surrounded.....and a battered, eye-sore house, somehow had found us

I remember the house half timbered
with white paint peeling on the southern side
We had been expecting nothing much,
nothing more than a weekend's new adventure
not realizing we were entering the future
while the grey haired woman, who met us there, 
produced a key, and unlocked  the door.
We looked out behind us, 
where our children were already running up and down the grassy slope
"Twin Pine Real Estate" ,  scrolled across the door of the woman's car parked next to ours

If hesitation and....common-sense had overruled
The story would end here...

I do recall.....we said it all......
"Ramshackle dump" ! ? "Good bone structure"
"Good inspiration"  "They'll think we're crazy"
"With sweat and guts......."IF ....AND....or  BUT!"
"Elbow grease"........"Dedication"     "Celebrations"

We fell head over heels........we'll... beg, borrow, steal!

We hollered out to call the children
and then brought them in.   They shared the wish, 
to own a place to call our own, a home, some land, a mountain view
our grand ideas of property....of priority, of possibility, of probability, ..of family.....
Everyone would work, everyone would reap,  
A house we loved.........a dream to keep
and years have come, and years have gone...... the place that we still call home

9/16/14  A Special Memory Contest: sponsored by Regina Riddle

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Old beggar on the bridge
Hand outstretched for coins
Sees himself on duty 
Near the Orne River bridge
On  D – day.
Straightening up as coins are given,
Sees himself snapping to attention
As the medal was pinned.
Shuffling towards the all-night café,
Sees himself heeling and toeing
Through the NAAFI  hall.
Age is in the mind.
He sees himself bigger in his prime,
And the vision is enough
To carry him across the bridge.


D day....June 6 1944  invasion of Normandy

Orne River Bridge...strategic target needing to be taken even before the invasion

NAAFI = Navy Army and Air Force Institute = organisation in UK looking after food supplies for soldiers

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The Day My Sister Broke Her Finger

One day my mother, my sister Debbie and I were out in the parking lot at school.
My sister Linda came to the car crying. She had an ice pack on her hand. When we got home,
my dad, who works at the hospital looked at her finger. Then my dad took Linda to the hospital.
When they got home, they told us that her finger was broken. The next day, she got a cast on 
her hand. Four weeks later, my sister got her cast off. I was happy that she was happy.

                                                        THE END

March 23, 1998
©2014 Honestly JT

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A Mothers smile

The doctors have been slaving
but they have worked in vain
A thirteen year old boy has no future
A tumour gnaws at his brain
But his mother is smiling .

She calls his friends over
and begs , Please help me
Help the final days of my baby
To be all they can be
Still she wears that smile.

We play the games boys play 
Our friends play too
Though he may be dying 
To himself he is true
and still his mother smiled.

Whenever he giggled 
He did so with delight
Then home to hug mother
As day turned to night
Still she wore that smile.

His days growing shorter
His time almost nigh
We'd sit by his bedside 
Still not knowing why
His mother wore that smile.

In the arms of his mother
Our friend passed away
I love you, I love you
I can still hear her say 
He closed his eyes as his mother smiled.

He now rests in forever 
Where only true love can be
The smile of his mother
Was his last memory 
Now I understand why she wore that smile.

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Everywhere she went
She sprinkled some ashes
Leaving a part of him
Releasing a bit more of the sadness
lessening that ache
Celebrating him
Remembering his goodness

I was not everywhere
Still I took part in the ritual
Released a bit of my own sadness
Held back some tears
Celebrated his goodness

His ashes sprinkled in a family orchard
At the base of a tree
A place of beauty
Spectacular like his soul
Off the end of a dock on lake Okanagan
Oh how he loved the beach
He wished to play along the waters edge
Like the big kid he was
Even though he didn't know how to swim
Still his ashes floated with ease
Now he has no limitations
I left a bit of him on a sailboat
So he can be carried to new places
He loved to travel

His ashes came with us to Italy
Allowing him to be part of our adventure
I laughed when my mom told me
She left part of him in the Vatican 
She was gleeful
My mom the rebel
Playful and brave
One of the many reasons he loved her so
He was with us in Florence
A part of him there along ancient streets
In vineyards
Quaint villages

We traveled to the Amalfi Coast
Along winding roads
More like a donkey path than a highway
Mom in the backseat saying oh shit
Not usually one to swear
Bob's ashes in her pocket
I don't know if she thought of him then
Later she remembered their time in Greece 
He was never far from her mind

Somehow this ritual
Made me smile
It is added to my memory
Allowing me to be thankful for Bob
For mom
For a life well lived
For a love well loved
A soulmate celebrated

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Indefinite Love

I saw a young lady who was so perfect that she made my heart beat
I could not figure it out and now I really don't know I had to take a seat
She smiled like an angel in the heavens with glorious blinding teeth
She seems so kind and full of life and never put people beneath
I do not have a bad thought or a moment without any ease
I notice that because she pulled me up and smiled with a tease
She kept things close to her like my hand and my heart
She knew that I was just the man that gave her a good start
I never had a thought of leaving because of a fight
I will never part with her because she is my sight
She looks forward at all times and never looks back
She knows how I am if some one would hurt her I would attack
I will never leave her side with out her knowing she is safe and sound
I am the man of her dreams I will never let her down hard on any ground
She loves me with all her heart and I know this because she gives me the look
She knew how long I waited for her to notice me, I remember it was long time it took
I waited by her side when she was ill and could not walk 
I held her hand and made her smile when I told her I love her, when I talk
She noticed it in my voice the feelings with care
She never looked at me in a blank stare

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A Genuine Memory of Love

Wish I could rewind the hands of the clock,
Only love songs with you I'll slowly rock.
There's many things I didn't get to say,
You left me & gone on a rainy day.

I still didn't give you that gift,
Just once more in my arms, you I wished I'd lift.
Your many attributes & words I did admire,
Like Jesus is the only way to escape Hell's fire.

A granny so awesome you showed that you care,
And a strong shoulder needed you were always there.
Teach all daily to do what's right,
And there's victory for us if we unite.

How can I forget whenever you call,
A short prayer was said for me & all.
I'm ever thankful for your blessings & love,
I'm guilty for not giving you what you deserve.

Through grief & pain you were holding strong,
Still hoping your days on earth were more long.
But you will always stay deep in my heart,
Because of the great things to me you taught.

"Don't trod the road that's broad & wide",
I'm trying hard so I'll see you on the other side.
Surely you're up there looking down,
With flowers, white dress & a golden crown.

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Remembering When

I remember when...
We'd run around the yard.
And play 'til the sun set.
We had so much fun.
Never had any regret.

I remember when...
We had all those fights.
With every word that was said.
I wish I could take it all away.
No longer feel this dread.

I remember when...
We use to be so close.
When we had it all.
Let's forget the past.
Our love was never small.

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He was only a puppy
A golden retriever
I would whistle and beckon
but he wouldn't leave her
For she was his owner 
His only true friend 
and he stayed with my sister
Right up to the end .

In her early twenties
She found that lump in her breast
In the fight for her life 
She must now invest
I remember so well 
The tears in our home 
Dad bought her that dog 
That she so wanted to own .

She must find the courage 
To stand and to fight 
Sandy made her smile
Much to my parents delight 
Only a small boy 
I wanted to play 
In her moments of darkness
My sister pushed me away .

He was only a puppy 
A golden retriever
I would whistle and beckon 
but he wouldn't leave her
For she was his owner
His only true friend
and he stayed with my sister
Right up to the end .

I played schoolboy games
She fought like a tiger
I climbed little tree's
She was climbing the Eiger
Sandy was there
To help her recover 
I know he understood
Much more than her little brother.

I remember the doctor 
Claiming she was in remission 
Now I played with Sandy
With my sisters permission 
I took him for walks 
Because I had energy to burn 
but I knew something was wrong 
When the doctor returned .

He was only a puppy
A golden retriever
I would whistle and beckon
but he wouldn't leave her 
For she was his owner 
His only true friend 
and he stayed with my sister 
Right up to the end .

Sad realisation
No more can be done 
Tearful birthday 
As she turned thirty one 
When I close my eyes 
I still see sandy's head on her knee
My sister finding the courage 
To smile for me .

Bed in the living room 
She can't climb the stair
When the lord called her name
Sandy was there
When I heard him whimper 
I knew my sister had gone 
Up until that very last moment
He had helped her stay strong .

He was only a puppy 
A golden retriever
I would whistle and beckon
but he wouldn't leave her
For she was his owner 
His only true friend 
and he stayed with my sister
Right up to the end .

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My Hidden Fear

People are my weakness and hidden fear
I just feel that some words they say set me in tear
For example I gave a person a smile one day and they gave me a glare
I did not know that smiling in the world today cause people to stare
These types of stare gave me chills down my spine a feeling that made me blind
Why? why is my weakness the people who are very unkind
Hiding is all I can do when people give me a unkind view
I get to a point that my fear seems to wonder and stew
People are who they are and what should I even do
I don't understand that they are evil and some times nice too
My hidden fear are people just because they are always around
That is no argument and my feeling are perfectly sound
The hate builds up in my mind, but does not bother, how my heart feel
I learned to undergo a change that my feelings become like steel
Hard as it should be in situations needed I forget how to use it
So it becomes my weapon and it is to some people heartless just a bit
My hidden fear is what I see in people today
They harm others and they think it is okay
That is why I fear my feelings for others at times because it is so confusing
My hidden fear is some what bad and some what a blessing

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Lost in Loss

The fog hung thick about him.
So thick he could shove it aside.
It clung to him,
As young love clings to an even younger kiss.
An enduring memory, that in deed was all to brief.
It wrapped him in a sense deprived embrace.
Foreign arms in his all too familiar and fragile world.
Shaking the perilous cliff,
That his courage balanced upon.

He was suddenly assaulted,
By the smell of burnt pine and hemlock,
The sound of burnt and hacking screams,
The sound of a monster roaring... Consuming.
It's frame lit up the world around it,
And in the process forever darkening his.

He approached the long dead skeleton.
That once was his home,
The purpose he once had,
And the void that had replaced it.

The grey film soon broke.
The sun stretched down to bathe him in the clarity he had once known.
Reaching to help him.
But, the light was always reaching.
Trying to break through, dampened isolation.
The fog, perpetually inside him.
Dampening the fires that once brought meaning,
Embracing him... taking from him.
As it once took from him.

The fire of life that had once given him purpose and meaning,
Now just a smolder, continually dampened by the fog
Taken roost in his soul.
The fire of his life, his fate that had looked so bright,
Devoured by the worldly conflagration made
Of heat, 
And wood, 
And screams.
Now just a charred skeleton of what once had been.

He called to his daughter,
With the pain of cagastric ruin,
"Come on, time to go."
Now just a smolder of what once had been.

-Comments are appreciated.

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My Name Is Jack

My name is Jack but who am I... really I'm not a famous personality I haven't made any outstanding contribution to science I've tried to be a loving caring human being But will I be remembered after I meet my maker Or will I soon be forgotten as I pass into history So many famous people who leave us Are remembered for a while But then fade from our consciousness I'm sure I'll be remembered for a little while But dear life continues And soon I will only be a distant memory Only those close to me will carry me in their hearts That's all I wish for, all I would expect My name is Jack but who am I... really © Jack Ellison 2014

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Life Is Like A Maypole


I recall the time my parents created a maypole,
                       in our backyard to celebrate the arrival of spring;

      it was quite wonderful and fantastic,
                            a delightful memory to remember  . . . 

            it consisted of a tall pole and rolls and rolls of ribbons,
all in different pastel hues of pink, yellow, green and blue;
                        the pole itself covered with greenery and flowers,

                  my parents worked on it for days and days . . . 

                                                we children came up with costumes,
some so weird and humorous that we all laughed at each other;
father played music on an old record player and mother sang,
            in a high pitched voice and clapped her hands to the beat . . . 

                                and us, the children skipped around the pole,
     sometimes waltzing, sometimes doing a jig of sorts;
     each holding a ribbon while chanting,

                             "go over it, go under it, go over it go under it . . .  "

and all the time trying not to get tangled up in the ribbons,
                  or knocking into each other;
                                                 making us laugh out loudly,
       now the laughter has faded but that memory will linger forever;
    and to me all those different coloured ribbons,


                    family, friends, happiness and childhood abandon . . . 

                                         and each of these I hold tightly in my soul,
for my entire life, I will never forget the magic of childhood;

                        the love that embraced me and the happiness,
                found under a maypole that spring day . . .  

January 25, 2015


For the contest Life Is Like A Maypole, sponsor Seren Roberts

First Place


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Are you happy chatting with me now?
Because I am always happy seeing you around
And listening to your hello…
And you know I love you…

Because you are in my thought,
I have a beautiful dream…
And in my dream you are holding my hand
And we kiss while walking near the river side...
Black hawk are seen flying over...and over...again!
And we laugh and come back to kissing...
I am waiting and excited.

Yeh...then what’s alluring,
you are wearing all red... 
Your long dress is red
And undies are too red 
And both bra and panty are red
You are dressed all red…

So sexy with red indeed...
Bring a red dress, red panty and red bra…
when we meet…
I want it to be real what I had dreamt.
You are so sexy in red…

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A man with no plan

Running down the Valley
And the script cant lie at all 
The fasting sun rises
The harder the fall
It aint fair
It isn’t the end 
But to forgive me 
Is the pain you cannot mend
To put it in your shoes
And you remain strong 
Im weak
Cause for me this road 
Is no dead end 
And this useless blood I leak 
Red roses and violent skies cannot retrieve 
What has been lost 
And im stuck in grief 
Believe me when I say Im sorry
Acknowledge my pain
Cause too many tears have dropped
Too many shed like rain 
Left me in vain
And here I stand hopeless
Just another chance
And ill put your needs in focus
Like the bright eyes of a locus
I merely adopted the heart ache 
Like you my best friend
But your moving on 
Put me aside and lets pretend
All I needed was a hand
To hold me at my worst
Wings to raise me at my weakest
Forever I stand
A man with no plan

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An Incredible Savant

I recently watched a documentary on savants In particular, Daniel Tammet, whose mathematical abilities As well as other astounding mental capabilities Will not only blow your mind You'll probably say to yourself, “this is some kind of trickery What he does is impossible for the human brain to comprehend” Yet when matched against a computer He is able to do calculations up to 100 decimal places in his head Without a single number out of place He is also able to learn a new language within a week And then appear on television and carry on a conversation In that language with ease to the utter astonishment Of those conducting the interview I'm aware there are skeptics out there... but THIS IS REAL At twenty-something he possesses extraordinary mental abilities That defy all logic or comprehension If you're interested in watching this amazing documentary The URL is If you saw “The Rain Man” starring Dustin Hoffman You'll realize how accurate Mr. Hoffman's portrayal was IT'S A MUST SEE!!! © Jack Ellison 2014

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A Summer-Colored Memory

So many memories I have are summer-colored,
like those walking-down-the-lane days recalled in various hues of green.
Green for Grandpa’s cornfields spread all around us
and green for the grass on which my sisters and I used to run and play.

Besides that color green, which prettily surrounded me through all my childhood,
I think a favorite memory would be
the colors of one lovely day spent with my family,
the family created by my spouse and me and a day our kids were young.

We lived near San Francisco. 
Few troubles plagued us then and I loved our short time in California!
One summer day at last we went to see the beach of Santa Cruz.
I don’t remember details of everything we did.
We walked along the boardwalk, naturally.
I’m sure the kids, both pre-teens, enjoyed the rides. 
Even I was every bit as excited as the two of them.
I’m sure my spouse and I took pictures, ate good-tasting food 
and watched our children doing things all children love to do.

But what stood out for me was our time spent on the beach
and how we all jumped up to greet each wave that tumbled toward us
time and time again to knock us down.
What pure pleasure in the splashes of blue that fun-filled day,
the blue of the Pacific, which chilled me at the start
until I warmed to it as the yellow sun in blue of sky above
smiled down on us.

Yes, the blue of sky and water
and the constant shining yellow of the sun:
those would be the colors of my favorite summer memory -
when times were good and we were young and simply having fun.

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For whoever think story telling is that easy,
Would properly from this hilarious incident,
scene or whatever you might call it, would know is not.


Just some couple of months ago, I was invited
by a friend who knows me too well, back then in 
school as a funny guy and story teller and so he taught this
night, that his grand pa (who is a famous story teller 
of his village) had fall sick, I would be in a better position
to cover up for his father's so called responsibility
to his people. "For he (my friend's father, Williams) is a good story teller.
But what about me who has never faced 
the ample crowd with my 'cripple' tale unless sharing it with friends?" I mumbled.

In the middle of this enigma, my friend, John called me to the hot seat
to tell my tale to the unbearable crowd of adolescence. 

"God why am I here this day... But it shouldn't have been this day" I retorted.
The barbarian noise from the seats infront of me showed that truly I was 
in the middle of something and not lost...

"Uncle tell us a story!... Brother tell us a story!" the crowd shouted.

This day, I needed a free moment but they couldn't let me be.
"Once upon a time" they heard me said and they all resited.
" I am sorry, I am sorry let me restart it all over again".

Now in old man's voice, I told my tale before them:

"Once upon a time,
In our mothers' womb, when she
Ate, we ate. Goodnight!"

They all cannot but burst to laughter while I stood and walked to the room with my 

Anything after good night means nothing more till the next day.
Maybe I escaped the night by dissatisfying the emotions of those children,
in that scene, what about my friend? 
"Have I not brought shame to John's family? Did I do the 
right thing that full moon night?". My heart beats!


Not even do the audience remember or care to ask me: (In kid's voice)
"What if my mother do not eat while in my pregnancy, what will happen to her?" or 
probably care to tell me: (Back to old man's voice) "What lesson they have derived from 
the tale before their departure... Oh! No sorry, my bashful departure from their sight." 

Note: The tale: "Once upon....Goodnight!" is a Haiku form of poetry.  

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Physically and Mentally Abuse

I was born in a world of poverty and soiled life of a third world country
The way I lived till I was five years of age was walls of boundary
These walls had towers of guards that had no heart or care
If a child would try to climb the wall they lose their life I swear

Father had drank and threatened my mother with a knife
My father lost his job and wife and that was the hardship of life
He stopped my mother from taking off with me in her arm
Hoping that my father would ignore and left me be with no harm

When my father went off to drink one night and came home with rage
My brothers stood by my crib and took a beating that set up the next stage
My father had woken up to three scared children half starved and in pain
His final words as he walk away from the orphanage gate live life do not go insane

I was still a baby in the orphanage; the caretakers did not really care about the babies
They stole items and materials those wicked men and maternal evil ladies
They starved all the babies because it cost a lot to keep them alive
As a child of that age I could feel the sins and greed that gave out bad vibes

I was ignorant about what I drank and ate, as I see white maggots move in my bottle
As I see them move I thought about how they were playing and some were hostel
They ate each other to keep each other alive in a manner that took me by surprise
In the back round I hear others throwing things with sounds of painful cries

I got very strong at a young age I was able to start pulling myself up over the cage
My feelings were to see my brothers with strong lungs that I cried out of rage
My two brothers came to see me and sneak food into my crib
The caretaker would find the food in my hands as they grabbed it and hit me on my ribs

As painful as it was I kept eating the food with blood in my mouth as it was instinct
I sometimes laid in my crib dazed and confused with smell of death so distinct
With all my might I kept myself strong and climb the small wall
I finally was old enough to get out of the building and I could hear my brothers call

With tears of joy with short legs that ran as fast as my heart
I ran to my brothers arms and held their hands to have a new start
I grew stronger everyday but more things came into my life in a manner of dismay
If my brothers stay by my side I could smile and everyday their would be okay

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My First Time

Gnawed nails dig into worn plastic armrests
Stinging alcohol burns the skin
A sharp point glints in the fluorescent light

Rough hands grip the shoulder
Restraining it against the comfortless chair
He says to relax,
But the tremors intensify.

Deep breath
Lungs release
Cartilage crunches
Blood flows

Shiny metal ring
Rests against the ear
A new opening in the body
Diverging from natural design.

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My Old Jalopy

Just had to buy a new battery For my seven year old beat up jalopy Actually I'm exaggerating just a little As cars go it's a very fine copy A four door sedan with all the extras And a dashboard readout to die for Numbers as big as all get out Couldn't really ask for much more But sure can't fool police officers Saying you didn't notice your speed "If you've trouble reading those big numbers Blindness is what you should plead" Aside from that, the time has come Maybe a Porsche or even a Rolls Royce More likely a stylish Mini Cooper Will most likely be my first choice Nice dream, silly boy, now back to reality You're not a teenager any more Better grow up, stop living in the past Grim Reaper's knocking at the door! © Jack Ellison 2014

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I Promise, A Boundless Love

"I Promise, A Boundless Love"

Even the rain won't stop to fall.
The world won't flood, no more.
For I am now to shed a tear,
Of a wounded heart, where you are here.
As long as the moon light up the dark,
The fire of love will stay in heart.
If ever the rest might start to fade,
I promise to remain the same.
Cause my love for you is boundless,
Won't easily change nor easily ease.
And I promise, not to hesitate.
To visit you always at your grave.

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A day of weary mind and body, 
She found herself in a comfy bed, 
So soft and relaxing, she lay back. 
Then both eyes started to rest, while 
hands were together on top of her stomach. 
So comfortable feeling, she started to snore. 
Sign of tired and stressful days she absorbed. 
She began to sleep so deep and dream suddenly occur. 
Her soul started walking a long narrow pathway. 
Taking slow motion and feet couldn't move so fast. 
There's a tiny light shining in a passage. 
She can barely move and reach the end of the road. 
She saw an old woman waiting for her at the end. 
The very familiar face she longed to touch and kiss again. 
"She's my mom!" she shouted aloud. 
"Mom, wait for me! I wanna be where you are." 
But the image suddenly disappeared. 
So she tried to run as fast as she can. 
When she reached the end, she felt a cold hand on her shoulder. 
A voice of a young lady saying,"Ma'am, wake up!" 
"Are you gonna take this bed?" 
"Is it for cash or thru credit card?" 
She stood up hurriedly and blushed. 
"No. Thank you! Your bed is soft and comfy, but I should go back." 
And her rest was over, now full recharged. 

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A Rocking Chair's Life

Said goodbye so many times,

To its occupants that once were babies.

New cradle to so many grand parents,

Gently rocked to sleep by memories.

Grandpa once told me he felt a kinship,

To this chair that creaked once in a while.

His limbs and its were very much the same;

Only difference was it would always have new customers.

As a little boy it was my rocking horse,

I climbed its high back like spiderman.

Couldn't tip it over no matter how hard I tried;

Just swung on a wooden toy that Grandpa hated to love.

My father sat there in that very same chair,

Swaying away in a chariot he had surely earned.

I sat next to him then and we reminisced,

Knowing that soon I would take his place.

Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved

"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."

© 2014 Robert William Gruhn

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Paper-Cup Porsche: True Tale from the Mental Ward

Of all the kooky Coo-Coo's in the nest, Charlene by far was my favorite. Poor Charlene had virtually lost her mind after the sudden tragic death of her son, and because of that, and in addition to her hilarious antics, we were all quite fond of Charlene.

She was an African-American woman, somewhere in her sixties I supposed. Hoary, snow white hair, diminutive in stature, not lean but not heavy, and entirely unpredictable. A fellow smoker, she would always accompany the rest of us out onto the patio where we all grumbled about our mental problems, b!tched about the staff and exchanged war stories. This was always my favorite time to share with Charlene because, without warning, she would often suddenly break out singing gospel songs as if we were in church and not the loony bin. Charlene would sing her heart out, and though not the best singer in the world, I found this erratic behavior endearing, because she would often not only carol "negro spirituals" but also many songs I knew by heart since I also grew up in church. And this was not just singing; it was like she was in actual church, arms waving and dancing around, as if the spirit of the Lord had abruptly invaded her animated body. Stomping, stamping, wailing, flailing: singing her little heart out for us. It was an awesome spectacle to watch, to say the least.

I clearly and vividly recall the day my parents and best friend came to visit me. As I was showing them around the place, which was actually very resort-like for a mental hospital, and introducing them to my new crazy friends, out from nowhere came Charlene with a paper cup in hand. She was "vroom-vrooming" all over the place like she was driving and steering a car. She even made screeching brake noises as she rounded corners, frightening the more sensitive patients in her wake. My parents and best friend, and those of us on "the mend", could not restrain our laughter. While Charlene "vroomed" past us, I yelled at her over the car noises and said, "Hey, Charlene; whatcha doin'?" and, without skipping a beat, she yelled back, "Can't you see? I'm driving my new Porsche!". Needless to say, we were all doubled over with laughter. 

In all my time spent in mental wards, this is by far my favorite and most cherished memory. It turned out that Charlene actually lived in the same town as me, and I would often see her in the grocery store where I worked (after I was "all better"). I always said Hi to her and called her by name, and she would just look at me in bafflement and hurry on with her buggy. One day she finally asked me how I knew her, and I whispered in her ear (as not to embarrass her), how we had met in the hospital, and she took me aside and whispered in a conspiratorial way, "Oh, honey; that was a baaaaaaad time!". I just gave her a friendly, reassuring pat on the back and smiled, to signify that for the time being, we both were better, and that's all that mattered. Al Fin.

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Old Time Radio

“Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men” There once was an old time radio show called “The Shadow” Which is how each and every show began “The weed of crime bears bitter fruit. Crime does not pay... The Shadow knows!” Which was how each and every show ended I was young and impressionable back then and engrossed In each program as I hung on every word Our imagination filled in the visual We could translate each scene in our own minds Always conjuring up our own unique version There are so many great old time radio shows That kept us glued to the radio and still even today As we stare off into space listening to Old Time Radio Reliving those special, delightful programs The younger people of today have no idea How we were obsessed just as people today Have been obsessed with television since the early fifties These were the golden years of radio If you're old enough to remember them You'll understand the lingering appeal they have! © Jack Ellison 2015

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Dedication to Everyone

I feel that I have found a home in this cyberspace
with full of hearts and ideas in a special place
I wonder of all the people in the world to make me smile
with antics that help me grow in every mile
I do want to say to all of the people with respect
because of all of you my mind is not in a wreck
I would lie if I did not get ideas from all of you
without you my poems would not come true
I bless everyone with care 
with kindness and without dis-pare
I hold my hands high and put them together
with this I bless you with good weather
I do read some of the poems that people put out
sometimes I feel with out a doubt
I feel the pain in the poems that some has revealed
with hopes that they can read with their mind not sealed
I smile a bunch with every word
it is like a music in my head making a cord
I do want you all to know that you have made my day
to be a better day in every different array
I cherish my time with all the people in my heart
the words flow in my mind is just but a start
I'm happy with everyone in 
with hardship that came this cyberspace makes me calm
I cannot choose five cause if I do I don't think it's right
just to tell you that is just my own insight
I thank all for helping me grow with all the poems that are shown
with faith and humor, with views of kindness this site has grown

If I had to say or dedicate my poems to who 
would be the first five who reads my poems with a point of view

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Beads And Hippie Hair

How lucky can one man be To have the love and friendship Oh so many sweet adorable people Here on the Soup... male and female It's like a love-in from the sixties Minus the beads and hippie hair (Well, I'm supposing!) Those were wild, free spirited days Making love, NOT war I was newly married back then to my first wife, Linda Busy raising three young kiddies And struggling to make ends meet My rewards though were much greater With 3 super kids, a gorgeous wife and a new career The closest I got to becoming a hippie Was letting my hair grow long (shoulder length) And growing a beard Which, believe it or not, I still have today Those were difficult times back then But oh so rewarding... ahhh memories! © Jack Ellison 2014

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Before my Eyes

I watched her walk away
And my mind wondered away
Do I or Not
Count the fading heels
Count the healing strides
Count the fast passing past
Finger after finger

I never stopped and I cursed
To voice atop the last floor
How do I or Not
Steal tomorrow from the day
Beam with joy where I don’t enjoy
Look back and see you seeing me
Like children hiding nothing

The fire is gone
The bush is growing on cinder
Will it or  Not
Shoot each foil and flower
Summon you who lights the fire
Pretend nothing ever killed
The whole generation of Love

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Stone cold

He betake himself to his room
Does a clear blue sky betokening a bright day?
His motivating memory needs to retrace the day,
The reverberating revival and the doom.
In the boulevard, sloppy and slippery
Derelicts yet living on the streets
Where are the members of the expedition?
Buster! Prominent players on the pains.
In his fatherland, full of luxuries,
Where he is used and kicked
With nothing like honey moon or period
His readiness is there forever,
Like compatriots who look to their history.
For words he wails in himself is not of doubt:
What goes around, comes around
And what comes the world goes the world.
A deranged attacker, could he be?

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Quick Narrative What Goes Around Comes Around

There was a girl named Tracy Luke,
She cared so much about her looks,

She was blonde, pretty... slim and tall,
She loved her red lips most of all.

One day at school she mocked this girl,
Made fun of her looks, said bad words,

Then insulted another chick,
For being fat, ‘ugly and thick’,

Then barked at a girl who was black,
Called her a ‘colored, negro cat’

So this Tracy… she was so bad…
She bullied because she was sad…

She always had poor grades at school,
So she bullied, as though she ruled,

When she was done with junior high,
Her family told her goodbye,

She was moved to a private school,
Her senior years were not so cool,

She was the new girl, all loathed her,
For all were many times richer,

Days passed by, weeks and months would go,
Tracy was always feeling low,

The richer girls called her bad names,
Each day in class she’d be in shame,

Then one day she figured it out…
At her, her thoughts began to shout…

“Tracy, all the bad things you did
To those innocent and poor kids,

Back in your old school when you thought
You were ‘cool’ for the stuff you bought,

Are finding their way back to you,
God’s Justice, yes, is indeed true.”

So Tracy decided to stay
Patient, confirming her mistakes,

Until one day comes a new girl,
And Tracy says to her new self:

“Now this is my chance to amend,
Fix my mistakes, I’ll be her friend.

No longer will I be so rude.
I must be humble, not act ‘cool’, 

For I know now that what you do
To others may come back to you!”

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Southern Summers

A two-story house stands silent,
no longer prideful of its bay window,
running water in the kitchen,
and a shower in the basement,
or of having erased memories
of shotgun houses with no heat
and back-yard water pumps.

Its blank windows stare 
onto fields where cotton once grew 
tall and green; where stinging dirt clods 
flew from our brother's straight arm, 
whose aim my sister and I could never match.

Its closed face once laughed
at red noses, dust-crusted necks, muscles 
tightening under skin worn waxed-paper thin 
by twelve-hour days under burning skies
and the bitter taste of ashes 
blown in by a greedy little weevil.

Our minds hung heavy 
with hard-packed dirt and skimpy crops
as our hoes wielded strength and hope, 
our toil fueled by dreams 
of emerald fields and rain-kissed rows,

our memories ripe with younger days
when we swam in creeks, bucketed 
minnows, and climbed trees 
in search of possum grapes.

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Last Thoughts

With beads of sweat on my forehead,
And my arms and legs cramped.
I concealed in a little locker
Away from the horrid mayhem.

Damp and worn; fear and torn
I seldom gasped for breath,
And even tried reciting
Othello, Macbeth and Hamlet.

Alas, all in vain!
Aware with each passing minute,
That I would face the same brutal end
As my tutors and friends.

I heard them moving closer,
I say a silent prayer.
With final memories of my beloved -
I await those crazy monsters.

"Bang, Bang!" I hear them shoot.
But it now sounds so afar.
I drift into a deep slumber,
When the door goes ajar.

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Old Fashioned Romance

Love, love, the old fashioned way With courtships that lasted more than a day This new modern age of total free love Has its appeal but missing the hugs It's straight to the bedroom on the very first date Never a thought of perhaps we should wait Back in the day we wanted a virgin To experience together the joys of flirting The coy little love words that promised the moon Wishing so badly it happens real soon Anticipation built up in our throbbing veins Imagining that moment when passion reigns Now it's “pleased to meet you, let's go to bed!” Oh for the days of mystery instead Thinking of when your union's complete That moment when both are swept off their feet That moment sublime lasts forever and ever To happen today, the chance would be never © Jack Ellison 2015

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Serenade to Growing Up in the Fifties

When I was just a  little girl, we lived by railroad tracks;
We loved the steamy, smoky stacks, the wheels clickety clack.
On many days we would find, knocking at our door,
A hobo who had jumped the train, hungry to the core.
Hobos somehow had a way of letting other hobos know
Who, in towns along the way, would feed a starving Joe.
Mom surely was the subject of a lot of telegraphs,
Time after time, they found a way up our cottage path.
My aunt and cousin, Pam, would sometimes visit us,
And though the tracks might be blocked, Aunt Becky was nonplussed;
We’d hear her cheerful hello holler as she climbed between the cars,
We’d pray they’d have safe crossing, watching from our yard.
Aunt Becky was a lot of fun wherever she might be;
More than once she laughed so hard she couldn’t wait to pee.
At her house, we’d taffy pull or pour sweet boiled candy;
She didn’t need a marble slab, her windowsills worked dandy.
And cousin Pam was just as funny as any funny goes,
She drank purple Kool Aid and brought it out her nose.
Sometimes, the trains would bring the circus into town,
They’d stop across the street and we would watch the clowns;
It was our own, private show, a zoo animal parade,
A lot of fun for little kids who could not afford to pay.
Our pet chameleon we named Hinkie--we’d make him change his color,
And ice cream for the  four of us was way less than a dollar.
One time I jumped my baby bed to the chest of drawers,
It happened in my bedroom…all alone, I just got bored.
The Gospel of John was there, red, with a paper back;
Tore it into pieces, my little nose I packed.
It was in there good and solid, couldn’t get it loose;
I caused a big commotion, such a troublesome papoose.
Daddy sent my older sis to friendly confectionery,
The neighborhood store of stores--they liked us little fairies--
She was all excited, told about our bad nose problem;
They were in the business of helping people solve them.
“Tell your daddy, blow in her mouth, it’s easier than tweezers.”
And that is just what Daddy did to this naughty little sneezer.
The red book cover all flew out; they thought it was my brains;
I never took the Gospel in quite that way again.
There are tons of other tales I don’t have time to tell you,
Like how to get your freckles off by washing in the dew,
Of catching fireflies after dark and playing kick the can,
And having someone time us just to see how fast we ran.
We picked the bag-worms off the shrubs, our Daddy paid a dime
For ev’ry quart we brought to him; this system worked just fine.
He got rid of pesky pests and pay day made us run
Barefoot to the groc’ry store to buy up some sweet fun.
This tale sounds all perfection and that’s how we’ll let it go,
No need to bring in sadness and tell about our woes.
I think we kids were lucky, growing up back in the fifties . . .
It was a different world back then, this world is not so nifty.

July 11. 2014

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L O M L Always

The thought of her smiling gave me faith
From when we were little we bathe
My mother and her mother is best friends
They both took care of us and gifts they send
We pulled each others hair
And she was always quick to dare
When I smiled at her she knew it was no good
She learned to pull me up and she understood
I just wanted her attention and that she gave
She knew it in her heart love was my slave
From when we were a child with full of energy I had my way
She was the one who was my guide and she did not push me away
When I saw her cry one day and her eyes was so sad
I gave her a flower and I smiled at her and made her glad
When some one special leaves her heart
I sat by her and never wanted to depart
She is the love of my life always
She is the one who gave me my hope through out my days
So I gave her my heart and love from within
And I did not make it thin
I stood by her side since I was a child
I gave her my support when we were wild
She knew who I was and I let her go the distance
I did not hate her or give her resistance
My mother and her mother are great friends and their virtue will never end
Because of their love they both trusted us to live our ways to transcend
So my childhood friend was my best friend, and now my wife
She new it from the start that we part of each others life

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Barbara Rose

Barbara Rose

Barbara Rose her prayer she would pray for all:
I wish for the beauty of thoughts and beauty that come through life's walk through the soul
 and heartaches and laughter and love of each other..
the memories of what could have been and the life song for the future..
I wish for the beauty in words to come alive in the mist of our souls,
to show the world what words of beauty could really accomplish in peoples hearts,
that the ecstasy of life could blossom in each person lives and sing the beauty of songs and 
to reach the hardest of hearts and just be friends.
I wish for love for each of one of you..
With melodies flowing
the day is long
Blessed are those that love
and wait the wait
Enthralled and enslaved by the char
of those sparkling eyes for all the world to see
Empowered by Saviors grace
Her eyes spoke of things to come
A Love of the master for all
Compassionate feelings of her hearts
Were of her family That she had been so blessed
Her name was Barbara Rose
Dear Momma,
I love you so much
One day I will be there all the way up there
In glorious heaven with you
to dance with you
And walk the streets of gold
I miss you mom
Your wonderful smile
Your gorgeous laugh
Our long talks
You being so wise
Telling me all about Jesus.

You always told me,
Love life
Life will love you back
Love people
People will love you back
Pour out your love my daughter
Love will pour back....

Keep extending love and your will receive
Be found faithful and your will be rewarded.
Thank you my momma
Love you dearly
With all my heart
Love you: Brooke

This mothers day is hard without you mom... I miss you so... 
but all the memories from you is the best I ever had... 
Love you so much.... 
This is my dear mom that left us back in July 2011.. 
She had a long hard illness but everyday to her was a blessings with a big smile on her face.
 She loved all and all loved her.. Blessings to each one of you..

Happy Mothers day to all...

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Her eyes, though once bright, are cloudy,
Shrunken and fragile the form
That long was brimful of vigor
And a will to outlast life's storms.
She stares past a blank horizon
Through a door that I do not know;
The colors she sees are mem'ries,
Scents and sounds of the long ago.

A kaleidoscope of faces
Turns merry-go-round in her mind;
While trees out her window whisper
Soft lullabies long left behind.
The sound of my cheery greeting 
Draws her back to this metal room,
Away from a creaking rocker
And her mama's sweet, gentle croon.

If is not my name she whispers
As I bend down to kiss her cheek,
But a name more dear than ever
Mine was is the name that she speaks.
"Papa," the feeble voice quavers.
I'm no more a part of her world;
The grandma that soothed my sorrows
Is once again Papa's wee girl.

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Like Watching Old Black And White Movies

Being with family is oh so comfortable Much like a familiar old blanket Or your favourite ragged worn out old sweater With holes in the elbows One that has seen much better days But one that you just can't throw away Watching old black and white movies Thinking to yourself The dialogue and acting left much to be desired By today's standards But that was part of their charm Familiar things that your sister use to say As when there was a lull in the conversation She used to be uncomfortable with the silence And she would utter “Anyway” Know what... she still says it to this day My brother-in-law and his coughing fits Who has had asthma since he was six My dear sister was warned by our dear Dad When she announced their engagement “You must realize, he may not live a long life!” My dear Dad passed away at sixty-seven My dear brother-in-law is now eighty-six years old! To reminisce with them about the good old days Is just like an old black and white movie! Oh such sweet treasured memories © Jack Ellison 2014

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The Chalice

Time can be defined as the experience of events between birth and death, and our
lives, I think, are defined by the association of friends and family who shared those
events.  The quantity of events which are shared with them builds and defines the
depth of our mutual relationships and strengthens that mutual bond.

As the bond strengthens with each passing event, characteristics such as trust, respect and admiration are created and incubated in the blending of those traits.  We come to expect and take for granted that sharing ... and enjoy it to its fullest.

Then ... after years and years, the bond is broken by the Call to the Other Side.

The void that Calling leaves is an open, searing wound.  We tell ourselves that the
individual called is in a better place.  We tell ourselves that whatever degree of stress
they felt is:  no more.  And ... those things are true.  However, large, entire sections of our lives feel as though they've been involuntarily ripped from our being.  Future
enjoyments of their camaraderie will never be constructed.  The pain created within
ourselves at their loss, is selfish because we've become so accustomed to the joys
created by the sharing with them of each of our lives that we fell we "owned" it - but we didn't ... we only shared it, and now we feel betrayed by its absence.

In the final tally, the things which can never be eradicated from our minds are the
mutually created images of those events which helped define the lives we lived - and
shared - with those who assisted in its' construction.

Remaining are the memories as our personal chalice which contains every conscious
happening of our lifetimes, along with those who shared it - and our minds will sip of its' contents whenever reverie, and thoughts of them, demands.

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I visited an orphange
saw those little smiling faces
What happiness they had,
no one can tell
as behind that joy lied,
a different universe.
they knew no where they came from,
or they will go.
their home is their orphanage
and the love contributed on them
from the strict wardens 
to every promising visitor
that comes to see them or pick
one of them.
they wait for their moment to arrive
to live in this wide world.
little do they know that they
would get more peace and joyful
in the orphanage than in this huge
painful and competitive world.

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How Hard Could it Be Part 1

How hard could it be to take my first step?

“Come to mommy, you can do it.”

“Oh you're home. Hon, look at him go.”

As I take another step, he picks me up.

He hugs me tight but gently and kisses me on the cheek.

I feel so safe, loved and happy. Perhaps that's how it was.

(I really don't remember back that far.)

How hard could it be, my first day at school.

My mom meets me at the front door of the building,

hugs me and says, “How was your first day? Did you have fun today?”

He comes home after a hard day at work and mom says,

“Hi Hon, it was Den’s first day of school.”

He picks me up in his strong arms and says,

“I knew you could do it.” A hug and a kiss on the cheek.

How hard could it be to learn how to drive a car or a truck?

“Den, come with me. Let's take a short ride down the road.”

We both climb up into Dad's blue 1955 Chevy pickup.

He stops on the back road, gets out, comes around and says, “Scoot over. It's

your turn.”

I start the engine, push in the clutch, shift and we start out slowly.

I'm nervous, I speed up, clutch in, shift again.

Oh crap, I shifted into reverse, truck stopped abruptly and backfired.

Dad looks at me, “But you did it.“ He hugs me, a kiss on the cheek.

How hard could it be to go away to college?

I'm so glad she has a phone so I can call my mom and dad.

“Hi Den, how are things going? You've got a B average.

That's great. I knew you could do it. I love you, see you soon.”

“You met a girl? What's her name? Wow, see you soon. I love you”

“You want to marry her? Big step; in Holland? Okay, we love you.”

How hard could it be to have a family?

“Oh, it's a girl. Mireille, that's a nice name.” He hugs me, kiss on the cheek.

“Another girl, Michelle, that's a nice name too.” He hugs me, kiss on the cheek.

“You finally had a boy, Michael, good choice.” Hug and a kiss.

Birthdays, holidays, weekends, visits back and forth, phone calls.

He loves them all, unconditionally. Hugs and kisses all around.

How hard could it be as life goes on?

He watches them grow up, get married and have children.

He loves them all, unconditionally, hugs and kisses all around.

We take short trips and mom and Dad go with us now and then.

We go camping and mom and Dad visit us now and then.

Every time you left, hugs and kisses all around. Always, “See you soon.”

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My Earliest Memory

 I was in a museum. I suppose there were many displays of animals mounted or posed in 
their realistic forms to show them as they appeared in their natural environment. However, I 
recall only one display. It is the one that has stayed forever emblazoned on my young 
impressionistic mind. There in front of me they stood, in all their bloody glory: two wild 
animals. One (I cannot recall now what animal it was, only that it had hold of its victim’s 
throat.) Perhaps it was a wolf; maybe a wild boor. What matters most is that it was clearly 
the aggressor and it was the victor over the other animal in its natural habitat. The other, I 
am sure, was a deer, a poor innocent deer. Though its eye sockets were now filled with dark 
marbles, I could imagine in those eyes, terror beyond words. Whoever had put together this 
display had done a most realistic job. Heavy blood matted the neck of the deer and flowed 
down its body. Blood also gushed forth from the attacking beast’s mouth. I do not know what 
thoughts were running through my mind as I beheld this scene. I only remember standing 
there utterly transfixed.

Years later, I told my mother that my earliest childhood memory had been of two animals 
posed in struggle at a museum. So much time had passed, I was not even sure if maybe it 
had not been just a dream. My mother confirmed for me that I had indeed witnessed it and 
that it took place when I was around three years old. She then told how I had stood in front 
of the display for many minutes, perhaps fifteen, just staring and staring at it. She said that 
she and my dad could not tear me away from it, and they finally had to drag me away. Why 
that is my first memory I do not know. Perhaps because it was my first visual impression of 
violence. I wish I could remember what went through my mind as I gazed on it. Later in life, 
I was to witness acts of violence in the “real world” which greatly disturbed me, particularly 
those acts of cruelty involving man against man. However, I am someone who is able to step 
outside myself and view things in an analytical and detached way. I think this makes me 
sometimes misread by the "too feeling crowd." Furthermore, I always find myself strangely 
titillated by scenes of the macabre in horror movies. I do not enjoy gore. But I very much 
enjoy a good psychological thriller. Just something about me. I don’t know what it means. 
And I have no room to explore it here! 

For the Contest of Leighann Anderson: 
Sea of Words

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Midnight at Blackfriars

Midnight at Blackfriars 
The city spires are hidden, 
It’s getting colder fast, 
It feels as though we might have 
Some snow this month at last. 
The wind sweeps keenly through St. Giles(1) 
The hour is getting late. 
Fleeting forms across the scene, 
Are making for the gate. 
December is upon us, 
The year is wearing thin, 
Parishioners from town and gown 
Now are gathering in.  
Rosy cheeks are shining, 
There’s a spirit of good will, 
We’re coming in for Midnight Mass 
The Christmas Eve Vigil. 
Forgotten is the riot  
Of Saint Scholastic’s Day,(2) 
To celebrate the Savior’s birth, 
We worship now and pray. 
Conjoining with the acolytes 
Dressed in cassock’s white, 
We’re caroling together, 
Upon the holy night. 
A gallant in best evening wear, 
Bow tie and cummerbund, 
And a high-heeled damsel on his arm, 
Is down from Summertown. 
A staff nurse from the Radcliffe,(3)  
Whose shift was at an end, 
Was seated close beside them 
Clutching at her friend. 
There the widow all in black, 
Who cleans the votive stands, 
Holds her missal open 
With stubby fingered hands. 
She blends with the congregants, 
Ignoring the celebs,  
And is back up for the service 
From somewhere in St. Ebbs.(4) 
A student in thick sweaters 
And ragged scarf of grey 
Is seated on the furthest aisle 
Hair all in disarray. 
Across the nave the prayer chairs, 
Range back in their rows, 
Filling up with congregants 
In coats and gloves and throws. 
In from the rear the friars process 
With candles all aglow, 
Up the side aisle to the chancel, 
Caroling as they go. 
Above their heads upon the walls 
Are stations of the cross, 
Reminders set in stark relief 
Of this night’s final cost. 
We see the prior in chasuble 
For the apse proceeding, 
To celebrate communion 
And give the sacred reading. 
The greatest story ever told 
Unfolds with familiar ring 
Filling our hearts with the promise 
Of Christ the new born king. 
Then with the service over, 
We make for the hall below, 
Where cocoa and mince pies and sherry 
Are served before we go.  
Outside the snow is dusting  
The chained bikes in the Fair, 
Contented now we homeward fade 
Through the Christmas air. 

(1)Saint Giles Fair - Convergence of the Banbury and Woodstock Roads in Oxford extending south the Magdalen Street by Martyrs Memorial.

(2) The St Scholastica Day riot of 10 February 1355

(3) Radcliffe Infirmary - The first Oxford Hospital 

(4) St Ebbes is a district of central Oxford, England,

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Times of yore

Life is more like a book
Its chapter never closes
How do I bury my times of yore?

Each corner I turn
Each route and avenue I take
There are my times of yore 
Right in my way

Malls and shopping complexes
Brings back all the memories
The good times we had.

Our favourite restaurants
There waiter that served us there very first time 
The sport we picked on our very first date 
Excavate my yore

The first smile
The first hug
The first stroll

Our sing along song
My music collection
Her favourite T.V show 
Brings back memories of us together

I am sick of my past
My time of yore always catches up with me
How do I close her chapter in my life? 
I crushed her heart into pieces

Her innocent heart is haunting me
I carry the burden of dishonesty
The weight of being deceitful is intense
I was inconsiderate 

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Purgatory Chasm

The autumn leaves crinkle beneath my feet
Their radiant colors dulled
I see the reds and yellows as vibrant as they were
The last time we came here together.

I hold you in my hands,
The way you held me when I was a child.
Your urn jostles softly as I scale the cliff
To our favorite spot.

I open it up, and look at you one last time.
Bits of bone sprinkled in the ash,
Like the time we came here after the first snow fall,
The defiant leaves of abundant autumn
Refusing to be masked by light dusting.

Off the tip of the rock,
I turn the urn,
You flow out over our favorite hike,
As you would have wanted.
We pass through this trail
One last time.

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Third Parallel

My first love - when we ended,
They told me to pray to God,
And that he would make time,
My new best friend.
And with the love I had for you,
The despair I would fall out of.
My second love - when we ended,
They did not tell me anything,
For what really could they say?
I sit and watch the hands of grace,
Embalming memories of emotion.
Love forbidden to ever die but,
Peace in how under time it hides.
So I still know,
In spirits and parallels,
I am still with you both,
And this was never written.

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Bruce Played A One String Bass

Once was a folk singer back in the sixties It was surely my time to shine Along with the great Peter Paul and Mary They seemed like good friends of mine A group of six, The Canadiana Folksingers Appeared on Canadian TV A couple of albums and two or three shows Played banjo, sure looked geeky Hi Jolly was our biggest success Wherever we went they clamoured for it Did I tell you Bruce played a one string bass It added some charm I'll admit Wife Linda was one of the two girl singers Sure prettied up the group I'll say Didn't make much money but that didn't matter The joy hasn't left to this day Not everyone can say they were part of a group Twas a very special time in my life Wish I could go back and relive it again A great time for me and my wife © Jack Ellison 2015

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My blurred mind,
Swirling and reeling,
From your drink, 
Will try to say this is a dream.

A knife’s bite,
Hard and cruel,
Carving into me creeks of crimson
Their tributaries stain my skin
Soft and white
As new fallen snow,
And seep into your wrinkled ivory sheets.

Your insatiable desire for me
Intensifies with every slash mark.
The ropes that burn my wrists
Bind me with fear and twine.

The canvas of my skin
Stroked with streaks of red
Spotted with a bruised purple
Splashed with bits of brown
From the leather belt on the floor.

A pain greater
Than the bite of your knife,
The buckle of your belt,
The burn of your rope,
The bash of your palms,
Bores into my back before
I black out.

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Portrait of A Loving Mother

Portrait of a Loving Mother

My mother always told me curiosity always killed the cat
My dear sweet Tess, you can’t always know everything that
But mom how will I ever learn if I don’t ask?
You’ve always been such an inquisitive little chit-tat
But mom I really want to know everything to unmask
My dear, my dear, my sweet little girl Tess
Every day I will always love you I must confess
But you always can’t know every -thing that goes on
But mom you always know I have and never will tell anyone
Tess, I do know you’re one really gifted little girl
For look, I’m giving you my mother’s precious pearls.
My little eyes did swell up in tears, for I knew that my
Ever loving mother was so honest in every- thing she said and did
These ever loving sweet memories of mine, kept me in awe of 
Her honest and beauty of how an angel should personify.
I do and always love you mom in every captive moment till my final
ending days.

Written: 2/24/15

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Alan Jackson

Travelling to Reno, Nevada

Sitting in a diner in Reno, Nevada; my cousin Ray and I sat and ordered chili for two. Ray got up and went to the men’s room. Who walked in when he left was Alan Jackson (country singer.) He sat down next to me and tried to pick me up. Told him with a straight to his face I’m here with my cousin Ray. Ray came back and sat on my left side. He said to me in my left ear, you know who he is. “No I don’t, I said.” Told Ray, he tried to pick me up. Ray said go out on a date with him. I told him no I have high principles. Just because he’s famous I really don’t care whom he is. Ray and I had lots of fun even when he kept poking fun at my high moral values. Whenever are you going to get the chance again? “Told him point blank who cares?” These dang blue-eyed bandits don’t do anything for me. Did it once and I’ll never do it again. Ray said, “Look Tess you’ve got the looks and all, have you not noticed you’ve turned many heads.” Who cares, I’m here just having lots of fun with you cousin. There will be other times.

Two years later went to Nashville with cousin Ray and my best friends Al and Penny. We sat down and got real comfy with ease. Then they decided to get up and dance. I sat and watched them, then two guys came towards me; one had sparkling blue eyes, the other had blue eyes also. I didn’t say anything, just kept nursing my drink. The guy with the pale blue eyes said do you know who I am. Not really are you a country bumpkin. “Yes my partner here is Alan Jackson and I’m Vince Gill.”  I've met Alan before in Reno, Nevada. They said we’re looking for two women for dates. I’m not interested, well you’re mighty pretty and all dressed up. Still not interested anyway I’m already with someone, can you please leave. I never date blue-eyed men and that includes you two. They both left and then I heard Alan say, that was the third time that woman said no to me. A flicker of a light came to me, oh ya, he tried picking me up when I went to Calgary for a concert. Guess some men never learn. When I say no, I mean no. When cousin Ray came back he asked me what’s up. Oh ya, Alan Jackson tried picking me up again; that man never gives up.
Well Tess, you’re a mighty pretty woman and fine cousin to have. So doesn’t give them the right to try to pick me up. Ray and I always try to make it to Arizona or Nevada every two to three years. Always seem to go on the same route. So maybe we’ll have to take another route so we won’t run into them again. 

Written: 10/10/12

This is not a fictional write. My friend and I went to a concert in Calgary. After the concert we went to the Pallisades Hotel, which is what I may say that the higher class people go to. We both had entered in lounge and sat down to order a couple drinks. In walks this real tall blue-eyed man, he sure gave me the twice over if you know what I mean. My friend Loree said that man looks mighty good to her. So you go out with him, he's not my type. But Tess he's looking and aiming to get to us. Oh my what do I have to do, put a towel around my head so men won't look at me. Of course Loree just laughed. 

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I Am Going Home

I’m looking for my home That’s where I wanna be It’s not a place that I own Nor that I can even see Home is where I’ve never been But I know that it’s there Something tells me from within It’s not a place around here In any house that I may live It’s never really home for me Just a storage room and a bed And a place for my company I’m getting closer to my home I can feel it in every day I guess I should’ve known This life vacation wouldn’t stay When I finally get home My days will be filled with time From the past my thoughts have grown Deep within my mind At home there will be peace And never will I need For the wanting will soon cease Without a thought of greed Yes, I’m going home I know the time is here Should I have to go alone I will certainly find myself there! Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Reliving Those Special Moments

If it wasn't for the old Poetry Soup Keeping my brain active and alive I'd be a candidate for an old folks home My mind is in overdrive Still got lots to say and do Before my final day of departure This old world should sit up and take notice And that is just for starters My brain is literally bursting apart Waiting to share what I've learned Mistakes I've made and things I did right And how my heart still yearns To relive those special moments When my life was a new adventure Those happy times while riding the crest Such a zestful joy to remember Poetry Soup allows such things To express our gratitude in rhyme For a life complete with happy memories An experience oh so sublime © Jack Ellison 2015

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I stopped by the park today
One day before father’s day.

In the deep corner of my mind
My father’s memory opens up.
Year 1905 he was born
In a third world country
Where the farms, the mountains, the rivers, the live stocks
Were the main source of livelihood.

His voice resonating in my mind today
Early dawn during rainy season,  a shout here and a shout there  
Kick everyone in the butt
To the farm
Planting rice is never fun!

My memory brings me back to the mountains, where 
He brings me and my siblings during dry season.
There, there’s a free-flowing stream in between the valleys
We clasp our hands to serve as a cup to quench our thirst.
There,  we gather guava and duhat  fruits, self supporting trees,
Sacks and sacks of fruits we bring home at the end of the day.

Eels, catfish, mudfish, clams, snails  from the rivers
Weird, interesting foods he brings them home, I dared not to eat!
Goats,  cows, chickens, pigs from the backyard
Organically raised, no steroid to pump them up
Naturally preserved under the sun
Painstakingly stored and prepared by him to a family of thirteen!

Most of all
His compassion and love
Were etched in my mind
A shelter to a homeless couple, a land donated to a church.
His vision and hopes for a better life
Lives on.

Duhat:   purple-like berries.  They are oblong and elongated in  shape.  Their size is 
about the size of an olive. The fruits have seeds inside that cannot be eaten.  (spit 
it out when you eat the flesh)  Most of the trees grow naturally in the mountains or 
simply in the backyards in the Philippines.  

Guava:  a tropical fruit with seeds inside that can be eaten with its flesh.  It can be 
greenish or yellowish in color.  Some varieties are purplish in color.  Guava drinks 
have been  popular in the US market.
They naturally grow in the mountains in the Philippines but they have been 
cultivated in Hawaii  or in other countries for commercial purposes.

Dry season and rainy season-  In the Philippines there are only two seasons: the 
dry and the wet season.  
The dry season is sunny(summer equivalent in US) while the rainy season is wet as 
the name implies.

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A Face That Launched A Thousand Ships

A salad a day keeps the doctor away At least that's what I've always heard Well so far that's proven to be the case Doc visits have rarely occurred Unless my bean-o's the thing at question That's really quite a different matter Memory's not firing on every cylinder Thoughts are jumbled and scattered Give them my name if I ask for help What happens if I think I'm famous Offering my autograph to passers by Might think I'm an ignoramus People will ask if I've made any movies Or held some political office Not to my knowledge I'm sad to relate But my arabesque is really quite flawless Maybe I'm famous, just can't remember You can have my autograph in case Now I'm even starting to wonder myself In the movies, ever seen my face? © Jack Ellison 2015

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The Curse of Unlimited Time

“Don’t forget to take your dose.”
My stomach in knots, as I shakily spoke.
“Baby, you know my death is coming close.”
“But mommy, I don’t want you to go.”

Doctors walked past,
Blurs of white stepping in and out fast,
As my mother and I tried to make the night last,
Pulling out memories and revisiting the past.

All of our ‘remember when’s’,
Made me wish I was there again,
Back when I thought there was time to spend,
With my mom, on who I could always depend.

“Why’d this have to happen now?”
My lips trembled as thoughts were spoken aloud.
“How can we change it, baby? Please, tell me how.”
“Cancer can’t take you! It’s not allowed!”

I crawled up beside her,
Beside my hero, my mother,
I heard the slow heart of my source of will-power,
And cursed the sickness that absorbed and devoured.

My mind rushed with things I needed to say,
Secrets that I kept so they’d stay out of the way.
But I was cut short as time ticked away,
And only one memory in my mind began to play.

“Remember when I started to cry,
That one day you never told me goodbye?
I always knew it was a silly reason why,
But you came back anyways and this was your reply.”

“My pretty little princess, I love you!
And I will always know you love me too.
So if I forget to say bye, please don’t be blue,
Because our bond is strong and will always stay true.”

The memory made up for things I couldn’t tell her,
And in this moment it made me feel the slightest bit better.
But yet all these emotions were flooding like water,
As I knew I was going to lose my mommy forever.

“I promise I love you baby, that’s all you need to know,”
And this time it was her voice that shakily spoke.
“I’m not scared of death, I’m just scared of letting you go.”
She winced in pain, death was too close.

“Mommy!” I screamed, scared out of my mind.
She smiled, then it faded as she laid there and died.
It’s indescribable what loss and longing I felt inside,
My mind went numb as I couldn’t bring myself to cry.

I need you,
I want you,
I miss you…

I love you mommy.

Dedicated to all who have lost their moms.
In sickness or old age,
Whatever it may have been,
This is for you.

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The Nineteen-Forties

Anyone who has lived through them as I have,
Knows the Forties were the most memorial of all
Of the decades of the Twentieth Century
And surely the most vivid in recall.

Personally, they were the greatest of my life.
I was married in the year of Forty-One.
Then in March of Nineteen-Forty Three,
We were blessed with the birth of a new son.

Two daughters followed him in their own time,
One born in Forty-Five, and one in Forty-Six.
But intruding on the joys of my own life,
Was the world which was in a terrible fix.

Millions of Jews and others were slaughtered,
Although at the time we were mostly unaware.
In December we entered World War II
To fight Hitler and Hirohito, an evil pair.

Our young men went to war, the rest of us
Pared down our lives to help to win the war.
The barest necessities were all we had,
And we were proud to be giving more and more.

The Forties saw the first atom bomb dropped
On Japan by our own beloved country.
I would have begged Harry not to drop it had I known
But of course no one saw reason to ask me.

Despite the war there were many new inventions,
And we slowly climbed out of the depression.
We constructed bomb shelters in our back yards.
The horrors of war had left a bad impression.

There were block buster movies in those years
And television was just in its beginnings.
Rebecca, How Green Was My Valley, Mrs. Miniver
And All The King's Men, had coveted Oscar winnings.

Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole were famous.
Peggy Lee and Dinah Shore were heard.
These singers were featured and unlike today,
When they sang you could hear every word.

This is a small taste of the Forties,
I hope that I have made you understand
That everything was bigger during this decade,
War, rugged times, and big bang and big band.

Written 3/2/15

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Summer Tale

Daytime,sunshine...crystal clear
burning through clear blue atmosphere
Tanning laserays of light
Ignite solar candled lantern aisles by night

Silent meadows and sheep grazed pastures bare
Summer's yield matching colors grown in pairs
Travelers' eyes steal glimpses of the ancient surreal
Clever celestial timing ,ensures summer's perfect weather

Past summers remembered
My skin sunburned tender
Its old age hastened ,its healing's slow,yet I've patience
Horizon gaze ,wading shallow shore waves
cold and curing,my sunburn tamed
Sand impressions proof of my presence
Vanishes as saltwater tides retreat
Forming rythmic swells, cleansing sand,fine as snow,each grain unique 
Potential their essence
Each memory ,an impassionate impression
Resolves imaginitive questions
Sacred memories remain life's essence

An unresisted inclination to explore
its endless trails is ignored
by wiser travelers who retire near crossroad trails
each day's passage,treasured memory for nostalgic tales

Blond sunlight through graying skies pale 
Dark as dusk,sunlight's cloaked in an expanding veil
As distant thunder grew near,cooling air held an odor of ionized rain
As electrical glimmers lit skies dark as eve which shadowed verdant plains

Camera eyes skygazing dusk to morn
Canvas skylight's color transformed
Night darkness followed ,silence filled this vast woods hollow
Heaven's light shone pale through eve's black veil
Pearl moonbeams and crystal starlight invite
Passage through dark meadow trails
An ancient summer tale ,
Eyes photographed evenings past

As morning passed
Harsh molten light shone through thinning cloud mass
Burning fine white sand ,each glass

Verdant flowerfields ,summer's pretty yield 
Camera eyes steal as autumn's shades are revealed

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Another Memory

Summer day and a few minutes to spare
Take a swing around where the old school once stood
Finding only a parking lot and a tear in my eye
Another memory destroyed by progress
Pep rally in the school yard
How she smiled in her innocence
Laughing all the way to the corner store
Pinball's in the back room
Lucky dangling from the corner of your mouth
Two for a nickel to play it cool
Running Scared playing on the juke box
Maybe tonight in the park
Another memory fills my eyes
Dancing in the auditorium
Drifters singing Save The Last Dance For Me
A soft kiss with Goodnight Sweetheart Goodnight
Heart pounds. See you Monday
Walking those halls with her books under your arm
Passing notes in the classroom
Detention again. Oh no! Hitch hiking home.
Back on the bus in the morning. No Smoking!!
Prayer and Pledge. A new day starts
Sadie Hawkins Dance? Yes, I'll see you there
Bobbie socks and pedal pushers
Just another memory.

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The Night of the Moon

It's the night of the moon
and though it's not in my sight.
The magic will be here soon.
The full moon takes the stage tonight.

I feel as low as the tide. 
The dark clouds set the tone.
Watching waves and sand collide.
I walk the beach all alone.

The clouds are fighting the sun.
They can't keep the bright light behind.
Sunset and beauty become one.
Doubt and hope crowd my mind.

Brilliant hues of orange,pink,and red
contrasting with clouds dark and gray
The sun paints a picture before bed
and then takes the painting away.

Splashing way out there in the sea.
Winking stars playfully laughing out loud.
I wonder,how this can be?
The night wont carry a cloud.

Where have all the clouds gone?
They've been plucked out of the sky.
The battle with the sun was been won.
I question not how, only why?

There's a bright glow in the west.
The curtain goes up for the show.
Dancing lights on the water are next.
Slowly rising the moon seems to grow.

Sometimes it's such a spiritual thing.
When nature reveals what it can truly do.
I can almost hear this moon sing.
So extravagant, it must be alive too.

My memory goes back to a time.
When the moon stole the show like this. 
I was with a girl that was so fine
and remembered that,that night we kissed.

But my memories are what had me down. 
I can't remember too many good.
There was the clouds at sundown
and suddenly I understood.

If I only kept good thoughts in my minds eye
and make all the bad ones just finish.
Maybe then my thoughts wont seem to magnify
what my memory can't seem to diminish.

Out with the bad thoughts in with the new. 
I'll fill my head with good memories only. 
But it seems that there are so few
that my thoughts might just get lonely.

That makes a smile come to my lips
and I wonder, did I just laugh out loud?
I watch enchanted as the moon slips
across the sky without a cloud.

My mood has changed I realize.
I knew I felt that pull.
Now I know hope never dies.
Hope lives in a moon this full.

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Melancholic Motes

We would tear along that path, drawn to his whistling
And the soft dulcet tones from the old wireless, yet 
Now you wouldn’t even know it was there
Unless you ventured beyond the gate
The path, long ago an entry point of dreams, no longer leads, but
Follows memories gathering dust with neglect now 
Overgrown with the passage of time

As children we would follow that path
Holding our pop’s hand, trying to count 
The myriad of bricks, to the end
Where we’d stop at the door, observe 
The large key enter its lock, clicking open a world 
That lived once in our childhood

Now I stand, near the end of adulthood, peering in the window
My reflection eyeing me pensively, though
I imagine the laughter, our useful little hands
Hammering in time with the wireless, our
Hair and clothes powdered with the dust
Gathered on the filaments of tales past

Those memories lying amongst the dust, like
The kingdom within that shed
The shelves full of everything, yet they are nothing now
-	Gathering dust
His stories lie buried amongst the particles, that
I now tread upon softly, not wanting the moment to dissolve
Into melancholic motes, as I close my eyes
In search of those stories
Buried in the dusty recesses of my mind…

John Lawless’s poetry contest – ‘Gathering Dust’
28 Feb. 15