Dedicated to Deb Radke
The cottage reeks with
fluid tides of hope,
My baby’s here.
I’ve still no word
coming down the line from Dover.
Spring rains have come
and with it comes the tears all over.
I weep again, my child it seems,
will never know her father.
Today down by the spring
I prayed the prayer so often said,
sorrow turned desperation.
I found a ring left in the cup, since
yesterday laying there, scribed “M”
upon a jeweled stone.
My heart leaped in
I heard his voice inside my head,
where also his face I saw.
I turned and looked...
no one was there...
please God give me
this one discretion.
There must be peace somewhere to find.
I look but must be led
by your grace and mercy.
Again at chores, the babe
asleep, the knock came loudly.
A letter from Michael O’brian maam,
please sign here for delivery.
I hurriedly skimmed,
he was dead,
two days before,
Our little Rose, still in my care,
to receive his name
if she so chose
and all else he owned in Dover.
A ring for me
it seems was gone,
a large garnet with the letter M
on the stone, had disappeared
A seed was planted in winter,
planted in sweetness of youth.
It was a gift from Michael.
He left me alone in the spring---yet,
his flower grew in my garden.
Our error was human.
First feeling trapped, then love,
from this Rose in my life.
Forgiveness is divine.
Love is eternal.
11 Jan 2011 Charles Henderson
Don’t you remember, love, how we danced that first night;
beneath the sun’s rays, toes dipping in the cooling sand,
to the tune of our favorite song –
with me humming the best I could –
(I sounded terrible, but you told me I sounded divine, remember?)
while falling all over myself, and your delicate feet;
and you, trying so hard not to laugh as I made such a fool of myself!
Did you ever think we would go
from being love-sick teenagers dancing on the beach,
to a couple of old-timers reminiscing
about our best years – our long ago days together?
If there is any part of that teenage girl
left within that beautiful head of yours…please;
please, just look in my eyes as you once did…
look at me, sweetheart…
Don’t you remember?
My love, do you hear?
They’re playing our favorite song…
*Inspired by Izzy Gumbo's Solfege Contest
I really hope I did this right! :)
In the warmest of seasons,
when the cheerless moon of a remote town
rises from beyond the fir and maple-covered hills,
in great suspense and silence,
a brief song is played by this guitar
with a few chords and numerous notes:
making up the merriest melody
sustained by a perfect and simple harmony...
I am the author and the composer,
expressing my feelings in an unusual norm,
regardless how the critics will judge it,
for words and music should have an effective form:
free of impurity, lively and up-beat,
something likable by every singer,
to make such a unique composition notable,
and be remembered by every mortal...
I play it to my oldest friend, a royal friend who listens
and seldom gets bored by the lively strokes of the strings;
melancholic moon, I like to see you smile for a change:
to be sad is evoking death itself when no bird sings,
and darkness shows its cadaverous, unmerciful face!
When fear is very real and perceptible in each sense,
life departs from us and evil spirits frantically dance;
melancholic moon, gaze down and lighten up your rage...
I am no genius or pretend to be,
and my humanness and wisdom are always
reflected by a justified action and a truthful word:
to draw the attention of the stubborn;
and playing a brief song with this guitar, elates me
and dissolves my grim look of loneliness,
to confidently get me through this lovely and eternal night,
but hesitant and murky moon, turn on that luminous light!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
A long time ago
A little boy - he was only three
Blue eyes and hair white like snow
The sun was his playmate
The rain was his enemy
Drip, drip wet and cold
He asked for YELLOW boots
Yellow boots wondered his mom and dad
Boys use blue or black boots
No - YELLOW they had to be
The boy in just three years got new YELLOW boots
First rainy day the boy was ready
Drip, drip wet and cold
YELLOW boots are singing - they will sing the sun back
Under his big black umbrella
the boy goes with his singing YELLOW boots
This little boy was my brother
* " - A true YELLOW song - "
Sponsor: Monterey Sirak
Contest Name:THE SOUND OF COLOR
Deadline 12/15/2013 12:00:00 AM
A-L Andresen :)
It was a still October night when I was cold and all alone
as through the forest of my mind in thought I wandered on my own
The moon lay hidden by the clouds that rested heavy on my eyes
and as I stumbled through the dark I felt the wind begin to rise
I heard my name upon the wind as he was flying through the night
he called to me to come to him so he could take me on his flight
In soothing tones he spoke to me, his voice sang gentle through my mind
and in a flowing melody he spoke of wonders I would find
The wind sang out to me that night and with his song I was entranced
and it was windward my thoughts turned as in my heart his tempest danced
But still my feet stayed on the ground for I was too afraid to fly
and as the wind washed over me in mournful howls I heard him cry
As indecision split my mind my eyes were stinging with my tears
and tenderly with his caress he tried to ease me from my fears
Across my face his gentle breath had blown the clouds out of my eyes
and then he summoned to the moon who came to light my darkened skies
And when the moon had risen high his servants came into my sight
these waiting visions that I saw were whispers in the silver light
They came to carry me to him who now is waiting there for me
they said they'd help me find my way into his arms where I'd fly free
They said they wouldn't let me fall, they told me that they understand
and so I let them lead the way as I had given them my hand
Then I was lifted off the ground and we were soaring through the sky
and as I came into his arms he took away my fear to fly
Above the earth he carried me and as I watched it spin around
from in the heavens I could see all of the wonders to be found
I'll fly forever in his arms, among the stars where I will play
across the never ending sky, the spinning world so far away
Upon the wind you'll hear my song as we are sailing through the sky
and joyous is the song I sing as we are scaling ever high
I am alive upon the wind, I'm flying in his arms tonight
and like an echo I will fade as we are blowing out of sight......
Inspired by Elaine Georges' Tell Me A Story contest
Which way leads to the
land of green white
Which way are we
A country the wicked
bears the rulership, and
the people sighing
A terrible thing sprouts
beneath the sun: a
Imps come to lime-light
by snuffing air from the
goose that laid the
The blind guiding the un
The weak suppressing
the strong-a terrible
Like the overthrow of the
gods at Mt. Olympus by
A country where also
thieves appear as men of
Land of green white
A land where the
enlightened ones are
peanuts given to them.
The masses are dogs that
eat the crumbs.
Which way to go you
Iliterates stand on
podium of power
bellowing orders as milk
of sorrow known as
dividends of democracy
is passed around.
The machine of progress
manned by the
"There is better
tomorrow" we hear.
Land of green white
where rule of law walk
The proles are sentenced
to adversity,and there
endured death-like trials.
Chai! Aru! People
dancing on thorns
whimpering as they
I see a new sun rising
from the horizon,hope is
rekindled as its rays
grace on hopeless bodies.
Look!! there soon be
The passionate young man on his way to his love
Walked by a lake carrying a snow-white dove
Inside his shirt he held it close to his heart
When he heard a song - an enchanting work of art
The melody was captivating, full of sorrow -
The cries of a soul for whom there’s no tomorrow
An unknown fear gripped the young man’s heart
Dark crevasses of life to him were an unknown part
So full of life and hope, inevitability he never had to face
The source of the irresistible sound he wished to trace
He looked behind the dense brushes hiding the water
On seeing a wondrous swan his agitated mind grew calmer
He stood there mesmerized, the scene not comprehending
And a chill he felt from the bottom of his spine ascending
Why does something as beautiful as this must end?
Against a dark premonition himself he could not defend
The song told him everything that was, and ever will be
As he stood there listening, in his mind’s eye he could see
The birth of dreams and hopes, the path and the finish,
The igniting spark, the flame and the death of every wish
The swan sang his last and was swallowed by the lake
Slowly the young man from his vision did wake
He felt the dove in his shirt frantically flutter
He gently held it high and let it go, not a word did he utter
Innocence cannot build his nest in a bosom laden
And burdened with knowledge so dark and craven
The young man continued his journey to meet his darling
A long shadow followed him in his footsteps crawling
Across the lake on yonder side, hidden by the morning fog
An old man, frail and haggard, sat quietly on a bone-white log
He heard the swan too, and watched it get swallowed by the deep
But at this lonely funeral his half closed eyes did not weep
He felt it in his bones, and knew the end was near
So the swan song filled his feeble mind with fear
Since he was a young man he searched for the answer
The question being: What comes when to death we do surrender?
He looked to the sky but in vain, he begged but to no avail
The heavens did not open; his body and spirit were broken
When with the last notes of the swan song resounding
Asking for a sign, he saw a dove above the clouds climbing
On his crooked legs he stood as straight as he could
Raising his hands he pleaded, “Take me, if you would”
The solemn swan song became a victorious celebration,
A joyous symphony of the never ending glory of creation
The frail old body fell back onto the bone-white log
Never again to emerge from that otherworldly fog
But a peaceful smile on the old man’s face remained
Having his long-lost innocence of youth finally regained
Suddenly,wild flames thud out
Of our little kerosene lamp
Mocking flames danced on me
With expertise. their hungry mouths
Ate my perfumed flesh in glee
My manful cries went heaven high
That aunt Priscilla came running wild
That Wednesday night of 10 November
Began my song of painful plea
Goat burnt skin as soft plum peeled
Sneering scissors thrust stubborn gauze and
Red rain rush quickly out, then
When on it iodine oil is released
Tormenting pains my body feel it's when
I begin, my songs of painful plea
My mouth tore in anguished laughter
Myself been prisoner of frustrating pains
When my eyes beheld my white hands
And my skin embellished with ugly scars
My soul could not but raise that song
My song of painful plea
My song of painful plea
Echoes loud across the sky
For my heart made fragments
Of peaceful past, and a
Library of scars in each tiny half
My heart will take no more
For I've done no wrong
Let happiness be a distant dream
To them who adulterated our kerosene.
My song of painful plea.
If, for instance.......you might imagine it all...
Do try,... if you can.......
Pretending, perhaps, that it was long ago....
And let's say,...that you were on the brink of discovery,
16 years old, and thinking the world lay at your feet.
It is the last week of your sophomore year,
and we would find you at a graduation party,
mingling with friends, in the dwindling twilight
Let us make it a sparkling, warm evening in June.
Try to imagine, if you can, that over the yard and trees
are strings of little lights, criss-crossed streams of light-beams
twinkling like fireflies, over the patio, over the yard
just as the swarm of summer stars
are waiting to complete the scene...
Someone may have even set up an old phonograph, so there could be dancing....
Say, for instance,..Johnny Mathis was singing "Chances Are"..
And you are entranced, listening,...sipping a coke or something..
Now, imagine this great looking senior boy,...
(whom you had seen around school, but had never met)
..walks over to stand by you..,.... can you picture it...?
And let's just say, your heart is pounding nervously,
and just when you thought you might faint... he asks you to dance!
Of course you'll say yes!!,....Just imagine!!....
Imagine then, you are tongue tied....can hardly catch your breath!
And when the song ends,...he doesn't let go of your hand?!
And just about then, .more music fills the air...
something rare, something beautiful...
Something makes you swoon, it's "Moonglow"...just think about it!
And the rhythm fits the mood..and your feet seem to move on air
And let's say he begins humming softly, and his breath ruffles your hair....
and you close your eyes, he pulls you close, with your head resting with a sigh.....
Then another song, another dance, the phonograph plays on..
And the music blends, and the night is long, and you hope the moment never ends
And let's just say, it is very late
and your parents will be waiting,....
So he asks to walk you home...and you say, ...well..of course you'll say yes!....
And finally....we might have to say..
......well,.......what if..., what if from then on...
he has been the only one who ever,......ever again, walked you home?
We might just say that,......if only,.... if only you can imagine......
True story :)
This morning I have carefully slumbered into the bathroom to start the shower
Groggy and tired I turn the control counterclockwise to a satisfying temperature
I step inside the cubical and shiver with the initial shock of water pouring on me
My body starts to melt as the warmth covers me like a warm blanket
Worries and agendas come seeping through the shower tiles like unavoidable green monsters
Clouds of steam give a ferocious roar and the mischievous scoundrels scamper off into hiding,
Knowing that they will return once again
I’m taken to some place new
A beach with sand white as snow and the sun’s rays kissing every inch of my skin;
With the sounds of a soothing melody and a reggae beat off in the distance
I don’t recall the song but find myself knowing every word and sing along,
As my mood is calmed and contented
Seriously thinking of calling it quits
I'm rapidly running out of gas
Dragging up stuff from the bottom of the barrel
Scrounging around looking for inspiration
Can't seem to find any anymore
Think to myself it'll pass
Not quite so sure this time around
Maybe just the mood I've been in lately
Lost my fun loving approach to things
Perhaps my age is finally having an impact
And I'm finally growing up
Well whatever the reason
It's not exciting and new anymore
Everything has a beginning and an end
I am not resigning from the site
I am just backing off a bit
I have too many friends here that I would miss
I hope you will all understand
You guys are and have always been
© Jack Ellison 2014
Enlighten days have past
He comes excel in all, so he thinks
"I am greater than man,
I know what ignorant man does not.
Come to me for knowledge unsurpassed!".
He points to the blue heaven,
"Where is thy wisdom? For I know all.
Where is thy command? That makes the ground shake
And brings forth water that lives?"
At the great gatherings,
He flocks the shepherds, blind, mute and deaf
He answers to the multitude of questions
He asked the shepherds, "but what are thy questions?",
“I know not what do ask a man of your wisdom, but what is a dream?
What is life?” asked the young herdsman.
"I know not what you speak of", said the Man.
"I only know what i can feel, touch and see"
"A dream is dream that passes us by, like gentle breeze of fresh spring.
Life holds all things mystery and doubts.
Shepherd knows to flock, not life or dreams".
"The shepherds are those who are humble, noble one", said the herdsman
"The blind cannot see, the mute cannot speak and the deaf cannot hear".
"Who are you preaching to? Silent and amaze, the man looks on.
"If the blind could see you,
They would say, 'look here is the man who tried to humble the blind
For they can see what others cannot,
If the mute could speak, they would humble you!
And if the deaf could hear they would shamed your wisdom".
"Was I a fool?" said the Man "or are you not that young herdsman?
Who knows nothing of life and passes his days tending the sheep's?
What could you learn from such simpleton life?"
"Life I live is simple indeed,
No one knows that the shepherds are those who protects the weak"
"Nature is a friend of the shepherd; we sing the song of David
And rubs the olive oil to our young sheep, to keep away the flies".
Insulted, the man's fury turns over to the young herdsman
"Nature? Protect the weak? The song of David? Flies?
How can nature befriend a lonely shepherd? Protect who?
Song of David the Shepherd who became the king?
What flies would harm the young flocks?"
The young herdsman smiled at the frown face of the man,
Left without a word
The blind, the mute and deaf ignored the man.
An unyielding shame kept the man humbled
He wonders why the young herdsman smiled about.
He came about a bridge and crossed the rocky roads
On the hill top he stood
And saw the young herdsman singing the Song of David.
A song of songs
Of a love so strong,
A serenade of love-
The inexpressible,now heard
Spelt out ,in passion's word.
Full story @Song Of Solomon
Invisibility tastes like black liquorish, dark and bitter. And tonight, on New Year’s Eve, it was so very hard to swallow.
Happy people scurried by, but some paused to hear her play before dropping their gazes to the coins inside the open guitar case. One man shook his head and then crossed the street. Frankly, she preferred his disgust over that earlier offer to put her hands to better use. Her mother had done that type of thing. Busking was not easy money, but she had her regulars, too, and they didn't leave shame behind.
She was cold, but she owed on the basement room she rented. The place smelled like heating oil, and earphones barely blocked out the sound of her neighbor across the hall, talking to himself, day and night. Still, she had a place to crash.
Suddenly, she thought of Agnes. She often did. Agnes, her foster mom, the one who had changed anger into strength, anguish into happiness. Agnes, the mother-of-her-heart who had nurtured those crushed dreams for three, sweet years until cancer had took her away.
Stunned, she saw them. Roses. A pathway of white roses. Her breath caught in her throat. Agnes’ small garden had been filled with the flowers, and her casket had been shrouded in them. The image haunted her.
Trembling, she bent and picked up one. The petals were still warm. She was again in that small yard, the one with the swings. Her guitar was all she had, but the roses beckoned. Each flower led her further down the street, and their perfume was heady. Agnes, giving her a bubble bath, saying, “You’re my BEST Rose. And you smell like one, too.” Every rose, another memory…
The full blossoms led to the downtown church, now locked. Odd, the door was opening. There was Agnes, smiling, calling to her. Without hesitation, she ran into those outstretched arms, arms that had always been loving.
As the sun rose, on the steps of his church, a man found the body of a beautiful teen covered with snow and clutching a bouquet of roses. He said he’d heard angelic music, had followed the sweet sound and had found her, wearing a peaceful smile. The papers ran with the story. An autopsy revealed that Jane Doe had died of a brain aneurism, and she remained nameless.
But an urban myth began, the legend of a lost angel who had returned home on a cold, New Year’s Day, proving that God’s garden is closer than we think. We only need to open our eyes and ears.
*based on the Little Match Girl
For Debbie's contest
In the first grey light of dawn, a young woman begins the morning song.
The simple cadences of her song are as tranquil and liquid as the monsoon rain,
Trickling down the broad leaves in her mother’s garden.
The steady drumming on the veranda roof echoes her rhythms.
She sings of joys, of sorrows, and of love … always of love …
This morning song is as familiar and comforting as a lullaby.
Her mother brought it with her from the South,
And sang it every morning for her father.
Now, she sings for them both, as they begin the day.
Today will be special for her.
She is to meet her future husband for the first time.
She has never seen him, but she trusts her parents’ judgement …
After all, they love her, don’t they?
She hopes he will be kind, and maybe a little bit handsome …
Like the boy she’s seen in town.
But she must try to forget him …
On another veranda, a young man sits silent, listening.
He sits here at every dawn to hear the morning raga,
Entranced by the voice of a girl he cannot see.
He, too, is to meet his betrothed today.
He wishes she might be a singer, or at least enjoy the morning song,
When she comes to live at his mother’s house.
He remembers a lovely girl he saw … sly glances, shy smiles …
If his new wife is half as pretty, he will be well content.
Yes! He will …
He believes his secret is safe, but mothers see everything …
And his mother loves him. So she whispered to a friend,
And her friend whispered to another, and, well …
A good husband is not hard to persuade …
The sun has risen above the clouds.
There is much to do today – and if the young people agree,
There will be a lucky Monsoon wedding to arrange.
But first, the song.
Entered in Elaine's "Tell me a story" contest
DOORNAIL (love song from a zombie)
I’m alive despite the rigors
Day by day believing
In a world so fraught
With each and every feeling
One thing keeps me moving
The very thought of you
Wanting now more than ever
Fast or slow, I pursue
Times I feel dead inside
Times so alive think I’ll burst
My desire may be raving
But for me, you come first
Life weighs heavy
It feeds off the heart
Famished, I am
Crave more than one part
Is it really living
To feel oh so much
Yet nothing in one’s stead
Not knowing another’s touch
Rend my clothes in fury
Rage surges through my head
Sufferings of the damned
Shuffling as though undead
Drift on the wind
Over your compound
My longing drifts in
You fled in terror
From love that sought
You can run
You may hide
But some day you’ll be caught
The sun cries poorly on the bare skin of my arms
It's dreadful rays melting my eyes burning the lashes
Begging me to wake up and sing a song for it
I sing my song with a voice of a violin
Move my hands back and forth they went
This was back then
I head down stairs with a noisy thump sound of my feet
I hear mom calling up to me
Good morning I would say
Hoping it was a better day
Was I dreaming or hesitating
What it this?
Flashback it was indeed
I have mother or father either
I want them back please!
The devil took them away from me
Now it's his turn for me I defeat
I run to the graveyard realized I cut both feet
I keep going cause that's just me
Running faster and faster
Ignoring the pain each step I take
Cover with armor rose in my hair
I represent faith and courage I yell about
You can't bring me down this time
I with angels by my side
Can defeat the true power of evil
Leave or be forced to leave!
He ignores and walks away
In his ugly red palms lies my parents
I love them more than you can kill
LEAVE! He runs towards me
I see a white light and head to sleep
I end up in my room still singing
I think to myself and head downstairs
My parents there
What's going on?
Am I alive I say over and over in my head.......
Is this a lie?
I looked at the room broken bottles blood fragments of clothes.
maybe a tooth from somebody not fast are to drunk to get outta the way of a conversation
The juke box had almost made it threw but it just had to
play that one song that caused it to become a target
for a flying cue ball.
And I herd someone speaking to the toilet I thought maybe
I wasnt that hungry after all.
As to what caused the riot slash the human tornado of fun I cannot say
But in my opinion that jukebox had it coming always playing the wrong songs at the right
time no one likes a smartass.
And that drag queen could sure throw a mean left hook.
While looking fierce and lip sinking to madonna at the same time that my friends take true
Seems as though the register had went on vacation but they
left the wild turkey and pretzels thank god happy hour was almost apon us.
And theres nothing worse than telling a proffesional drinker as myself
theres no snacks it's like tellinga kid theres no santa claus.
And that big fat guy in the red suit with his little dwarfs
were really just some of momies friends.
I always wondred why santa was so into getting the crap beat outta him
by a woman in a latex outfit calling herself mistress Claus.
Yes coffee always made things better mixed with some of my personal corn whiskey yeah
grandpa may went insane and herd voices from drinking the stuff but at least he always had
someone to talk to.
As I looked at the chaos that was my headquarters memories came to me in a flood the
booth were I met my first wife.
that same booth were i caught her with my best friend and worst enemy and santa i swear
he gets around.
So much for online dating dam you napster.
I should just stick with street walkers and circus people.
And I think after my tweenty first DUI
that it was good i never had a license to start with.
cause i really hate losing anything.
It's a shame about my mind.
So really other than this little get togather turned riot turned
love in turned back to brawl turned into
big kid slumber party.
It was after the jukebox had to put in it's two cents
that it all turned to .
For nothing kills the mood worse than a bad song
at the right time.
Love always Dr Gonzo
Like ice and ice
Satin purple ribbon in between
Describe the lines
Echoes, and voice in between
Like a sculpture of an angel
Holding a frozen ice cold heart
She’s the ice princess of your
Fenced in world
Defined by limits of your own mind
Co-sign her heart to dependence
For you can’t overcome the shadows of your past
And the horns sound
To glorify her
And what are you supposed to do
When the world adores the ice princess
Of your heart
If only you could melt her
To only to chisel her
Into your truest of true beauty queen
But no she’s your angel
Frozen and unmoving at times
To an exaggerated few
Sing her praises
Compliment her ways
See the angel and not your past
See the in between lines of what is not being said
Hear the silence of her words
That you are her comfort and company
And your heart is irreplaceable to her
Skate an imperfectly perfect line
As the flowers adorn your love
Yeah, co-sign your lover and skate
On the ice in the vehicle of your chariots
And the song never ends
And the story only bends
And the days grow shorter
And the years grow longer
And together you sing a song together
Melted hearts become one beating
To the sound of its
By Susan Mills
The Bird Song
Icy fingers from the lake
tenderly caress the dew.
Foggy digits turn to vapor
when the sun comes into view.
Sunlight bursts into the meadow.
Birds sing the song of a new day.
A family of deer finishing up breakfast.
I watch as the fawn begin to play.
Staring at the splendor of nature I'm humbled
by the magnificent day the Lord has made.
I'm reminded of a game of hide n seek as I watch
the sun playfully find the hiding shade.
The trees changing colors tell the season.
As the warmth of summer gives in to the fall.
Time rolling on in sweet harmony.
The bird song a testimony to it all.
As a visitor to this glorious moment
I must give the Lord praise,glory,and fame.
After a fleeting look back at the meadow
I shall go back from whence I came.
It was not an endearing place, a storybook place
With little cottages and
Loaded fruit trees from which apples could be casually filched,
Nor were there sparkling streams for pushing hot feet into in July,
Or even grassy parks where the dog and the kids could romp
And old men sit and smoke pipes.
My childhood England was industrial, dark and dirty,
And instead of the skirl of bagpipes or the weeping of a fiddle,
There were the round-the-clock sirens and
Whistle-changes of factory shifts
And the clash of steel loads being trucked to the docks.
It threatened to suffocate me,
To imprison my mind between slabs of coal and pints of brown ale,
And when I walked the streets in search of meaning I found nothing
Except a weekly cycle of movies showing how real people lived.
I emerged from it and never returned -
And quickly forgot its worthless heritage of coal-dust, and
Found real places and lived a real life far beyond the horizons
Drawn by the schools of Gateshead.
Now, however, in the silent moments of creeping age and grown children,
The steep streets pitching down to the teeth of the Tyne
Gnaw into my fattened mind and reach to the bones of my brain
Where the smell of coaldust still lingers -
And always will.
And I feel again the empty places, the dark places, the places calling
My name in a strange dialect I have long abandoned.
Somehow they seem less cold and uninviting:
Their song is not off-key;
And the horizons drawn by my own hand
Seem to merge together in that blackened townscape.
God forbid I should ever end up there for good;
But I hear its siren song and cannot shake its
Foundation stones free of my structured life.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Gateshead is an industrial city in northern England.... imagine Akron, Youngstown, Toledo, Essen, Chemnitz, or similar towns, and it will give an idea of Gateshead.
River Tyne is the river on which Gateshead stands, now a pleasant waterway , then more like an open sewer.
A song she carries in black locks,
Her treasure brings their ship to dock.
Transparent to the deafened mute,
To eloquent a note to loot.
Set to mesmerize the men,
Fixed upon this maiden gem.
So caught up in her melody,
Forgot a cast beyond the sea.
A drink to her!
A lustful hound.
A girl so fair;
In a water’s lair.
Tonight they’ll empty Davy’s fears,
And bask in heaven’s light and tears.
To smell the lavender and blooms,
A rare treasure sure to lift the gloom.
To drink and sing their past regrets,
tomorrow’s day brings toil and sweat.
For death awaits in lines and sails,
Their true mistress - the sea-bound trails.
And fare thee well…
A tale of wonder,
Sure to tell.
About this night,
Her song will swell -
Above the open sky,
They sailed from Nova Scotia‘s Pier.
The jealous ocean soon brought fear,
As waves as tall as mighty oaks;
Did crash into their fishing boats.
The mast did crack and slam her deck,
The men all struggled soaking wet.
Then voices rose “Farewell to thee,
Our maiden…” then sunk into the sea.
the harmony of the clouds
in the sky sing
the silent song of snow
half notes and whole notes
denoted in the air
while winds whistle
and whispers it's constant dare
eye's worship and stare
at the greatness of the shroud
hiding us from the moon
a frozen blanket stretches
it equals the size of the sea
it speaks in the tongues of winter
cold, freezing and froze
for conditions under it's rule
the powers of the heavens
to those who do not fear
who have not shelter
and are not strong
whom time has scheduled
for an end
the sun hath no protection
for those whom winter covers
with it's shawl
it stands only to witness
the rules of winters regions
the extreme north and south
the white worlds
where solitude is inevitable
and nothing moves
except the wind
to deliver it's stiffening potion
to liquid beings flowing with
water and blood
the winter invades the south
with intentions of creating
a new ice age
but sand defends
the southern shores
time and time again
the silent song of the snow
eventually must end
giving in to the sun
to melt the weapons
of winters sin
I was ‘ Walking ’ back from grocery shopping
When I saw something, that had me hopping…
… mad, I mean… at what I seen
… a Man treating a Dog, just like a Queen !
They rode past in a top-down car
She had shades on, like a Movie-Star
My bags dropped down, due to shock…
… Now… What She got, that I ain’t got?
… Her big ears blowing in the wind
Now, I know, that’s Man’s Best Friend
But the only reason, I figured, I was Walking
is ‘cause I need a new kind-of-Talking :
Bow-Wow! Get my tail to Wagging
Bow-Wow! Ain’t too Proud for Begging
Bow-Wow! Learn another kind of Language
Bow-Wow… … see I can Manage …
I’m slowly Learning How
- to Bow-Wow
and it’s Alright Now
Now, I knew, something was wrong with that Sight
Can my Bark, be worse than Her Bite?
I started to Listen to the Canine next Door
Yapping and a Howling – made ‘em give Her More…
Then I hung around the Local Pet-Shop
I Finally figured out “What They Got !”
The next Man came, I Said, “They’s Expensive,
You may as well, get yourself a ‘Mrs’…”
Bow-Wow! Get my tail to Wagging
Bow-Wow! Ain’t too Proud for Begging
Bow-Wow! Learn another kind of Language
Bow-Wow… … see I can Manage
I’m slowly Learning How
and it’s Alright Now
Well… We were already happily Married, when He said, “Let’s get a Dog”
I sat up straight… went to sniffing, as silent-whistle-warnings, went off
I jumped in front of Him … and started to Tease…
“We don’t need nothing ‘round with Fleas !”
… and if You scratch behind My Ears,
I’ll make the kind of noise, you love to Hear ! …
Bow-Wow! Move Over Rover
Bow-Wow! Fe-Fe, Its Over !
Bow-Wow! This is My Growler
Git’ A Little Louder … Bow – Wow !
Bow-Wow… Wuff Wuff Wuff
Carol Brown… This One’s For You Kiddo’
And Your Great Sense of Humor (Smile)
This Poem is From Bygone Days
(Wouldn’t You Know… The Silly One’s Always Survive)
Hope You Enjoy It….
I sit and wonder why the song birds sing?
Do they even know of the joy they bring?
Are they calling out to join with everyone?
Come fly with me and with the sky be one.
Still they sing, at the beginning of the night.
Take these broken wings join with me in flight.
Open these sunken eyes and learn to see.
Fly into the night and set your spirit free.
They continue to sing, although the light is gone.
Searching for another to send an answer to their song.
The song carries through the darkness of the night.
The moon rises up, the stars are shining bright.
They fly into the tree top where there is a nest.
It seems the perfect spot for a bird to rest.
Deep within the branches I still hear the song.
Soon they will be sleeping, the singing will be gone.
It’s amazing such a sound comes from a tiny bird.
The song rings through the valley, everywhere it’s heard.
I listen to the song then wonder what it meant?
Then I view another to which the song was sent.