Sunrise against my neck
that no cheap tan booth could ever match.
I ring the doorbell in anticipation of joy’s injection.
I needed it.
Because I left my cell phone in the car,
as I didn’t want to hear any chimed email
or text annoyances.
And the car just got cleaned,
only for the birds to have their way
on its waxy shine.
Time to grab the flamethrower from my trunk!
But, before I could scream in Braveheart declaration,
there she was.
Her 6 yr old smile,
made of 1/4 inch gaps between innocence enamel,
captured me like no other could.
“Tio”, she preached in angelica sonata.
As she held me,
with puppy love warmth.
Even the rainbows fell to its knees.
She took off my jacket with ferret-like perkiness and
asked me to sit on the floor with her.
But, not before offering to toast me some Eggo waffles
with a big glass of Ovaltine…
…in her Little Mermaid glass,
proudly made in North Korea.
It even had the dictator’s initials and a bucktooth smiley face stamp, signed in glitter
Thank God I just took my online course in Child Safety.
I was ready!
As I sip on Little Mermaid’s curves,
shaped in plastic, swirly straw weirdness,
a sound blasts off from a Barbie radio.
My 2 yr old angel galloped into this heart of mine,
with Tinnitus piercing scream & laughter,
tackling me in Incredible Hulk lunge.
“Hi Tio”, she whispered, before she hopped back upstairs,
laughing maniacally with rapid head tilts, left to right to left.
Boys will fear her.
And I couldn’t be more proud.
After two moments of silence,
my 6 yr old angel places her Dr. Seuss book on my lap,
as she sits in front of me.
“I can r-r-read
with my eye-s
She carefully completed the sentence,
as my eyes instantly fill with leaky pride
and an ingrained smile.
10 minutes later, she shut her book and asked me how she did.
“I am so proud of you my angel.”
“You have come so far.”
I had to hold back tears because I didn’t want to throw her off.
Yet I think she knew,
because she kept her head down and smiled with gentle starburst.
And it was then where I heard her say,
“Those who matter don’t mind,
those who mind don’t matter.”
But she was quiet, looking at me with tilted head & smile.
For it was my inner child,
© Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2011
You grow so fast, already showing glimpse of awesome creativity
and transform discoveries from the industrious nature of your observations
so squat at my feet and raise your attentive head up high
to be equipped for this compulsory journey oh sweet creature of my seed.
My hands of your molding and chastisement
are already the processing engine of your refinement
my strong willed mind and love soaked heart
complete the stages as you hold steadfast
to the train I’ve prepared for you
Listen attentively as I perform this segment of my duties
and lets take a tour round the routes of wisdom
and gallivant the landscape of experience
while I pedal your feet and smoothen your soles
Seasoned flavored virtues are an armour through which
life’s shots are overcomed
and a colourful behaviour becomes a saviour in times of need
Labor not your whole life in chasing vapour
for out of vigour, flour is made from wheat,
Bread from flour, but all for a time of enjoyment and satisfaction
Guilty syndrome is exhibited when a person answers unasked questions
and don’t force out jokes from your head
or else people will think your sense of humor is on a life support
Sunset is no accuse for the clock to stop running ad infinitum
thus, an excuse is like a punctured umbrella
it’ll still not stop the invasion of raindrops
Your natural desires are borderless, but your ability
to strongly control them is what makes you distinct
from other species in the animal kingdom
Love has no prefix, suffix or adjective
it is what it is and as powerful as
causing natural instincts to be abdicated in favour of kindness
just for the carnivore to embrace abstinence.
He who begins a tale becomes its reference
don’t say what you cannot defend in court
rumour is a bad odour which spreads beyond the neighbourhood
and puts a noisy siren on your personality
Bad companionship will lead you to the garbage
and corrupt friends will join others
to marvel at the immortality of your adopted stupidity
Wash your face every morning with these words
and take your every meal with these lines
then would they be spices
to which your life is preserved.
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2015
Now that am older
I seek more answers
In the same manner I did
Those days gone, of fetching firewood to cook a cherished meal
I seek more answers
Not in the manner I did
Fetching sticks in the forest to be used by teachers for spanking and whipping
Oh how I dreaded those days, those chilling days of punishments for poor grades, tardiness and noise making
And there my hate for math began....fearing it even to this day
that math teacher that came drunk to class and we mostly got beatings for nothing
I seek answers to understand our family dynamics
Interesting, odd, sad, puzzling, beautiful, worrying, entertaining,
Is some of the descriptions
The reason we are the way we are
The beings we become in unexpected fate
I've heard your many stories of "emergency" during the colonial rule
I've seen your youthful strength that grows more beautiful with aging days
You always say "it's the Lord"
I remember how when we were little you always got us to wash our feet before getting on your bed
How you then proceeded to pray for your ten children, your many grand children and your ever increasing great grandchildren
Telling God each of their names
My sisters and I always thought you said some of the longest prayers
But now that am older I know why
The number of family members I have to pray for increases with new age
Like the last video i took of you singing and dancing with some of your great grandchildren,
The melody of my life becomes more fruitful with each new beat
Cucu, maitu (kikuyu words for grandmother)
Copyright © njeri hunjeri | Year Posted 2015
Staring, vapor locked, at my Hammond B-3 console organ, which dominates my
kitchen. Surely a symbol of my madness. I can't help, but think, if the keys were
the days of my life, and the black ones represented the bad days, are there
enough black keys?? Fighting petulance, self-pity...losing...
Wondering if I can stand another minute alone. Atop my organ, music books,
and the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe, another mad poet.
Plagued by physical agonies that merely complete a perfect circle of anguish
and distress. Even to worrying of misspelling a word again. Pure lunacy.
Remembrance of my 1863 death at Missionary Ridge, something I became
aware of as a young child before I'd ever heard of reincarnation. Or just an early
sign of the madness to come??
I am lost in a befouling miasma of deep despair. My life's hopes down to 2
desires; one last music band, and taking my son to Disneyworld. Money is
meaningless to me.
I am well aware that death is as natural as life. And I would venture to guess
that the loss of my father, my young cousin Billy, my dear friend Mark Trotiner, and
too many others, are "Business As Usual" in this universe. But not for me.
Being terminally ill myself is something I have long since come to terms with.
And what a reunion it will be!! But I must continue to go on surviving as though I
cherish this long and barren life.
My writing, especially my poetry, my poet friends, my music, my musician
friends, and a few relatives and others; these are the meds that work for me; not
the 30 or so pills I must deal with everyday. So thank you all.
And now an addendum, one which brightened my day:
Mark Trotiner long maintained that he gave Mark Knoffler (Dire Straights) the
idea for his hit song "Money For Nothing", when Mark Knoffler came into the
appliance chain store he worked in way back then, where he bought, and drove
off with several T.V.s, singing the prototype words he'd gotten from Mark Trotiner.
Over the years, I tested him repeatedly, looking for the tale-tell deviation in the
story one finds in a false tale. He never faltered, he never failed.
Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007
The window guys came to install the new glass. They took away the old glass that had become filled with moisture. The seals had failed, the result of nineteen years of Okanagan sun beating down on them. It's funny how we don't notice how things deteriorate over time, it happens so gradually, then one day you wake up and see and wonder why it took you so long to notice. I have had this happen with relationships so now I am ever vigilant when it comes to the ones I love. Unlike my windows I don't wish them to be replaced or perhaps I should worry that they may wish to replace me. The light is now shining into our home and as I look at my wife I smile and we look out the window together. The view seems better with someone I love by my side.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2012
I wander through my journey, interspersed with joy and pain, always grateful
Though not by choice, some days are somber; yet others follow with abundant joy
In my solitude, memories come alive with the recall of some old song from another time
When life was carefree in everyway! No worries and not one care!
First heard as a child; the title now lost to me, so I’ll call it "Mama’s Song"
It’d start off soft and slow; its rhythm smooth, graceful, incredibly beautiful!
Then lingering on my mind, gently reviving memories lost somewhere in yesterday
It’d calm my spirit, take me away- away from countless, mundane tasks
All necessary things, but they arrest my days, imposing, threatening, vying for attention
There’s a constant battle that rages within, and I often ask, “Should I lay down this burden
of joyless pursuits which hinder valid expressions from my heart? Should I?
And to what profit? Surely monetary gain is a necessity, but at what cost to my spirit??
Were I guardian only to myself, I’d simply choose to live lean somewhere by the sea
I would cast my net for food, and barter for grain and herbs. However, the compass is set
So, I escape in the melodies, with my eyes closed, and fly high, above this terrain
Sailing on the massive wings of a Condor, unafraid; over rugged pathways and
Jagged edges of mountains that rise above the seas, far away from this place of constant
weariness, on my way to a place more tranquil, somewhere in yesterday
I hover over rivers that give life to green valleys below, quite an amazing view to see!
Like black velvet ribbons they meander through the changing landscape
At an angle they shimmer like fine crystal in the afternoon sun, and in one breath,
I am there! At Mama’s feet, studying her as she sews dresses for my sisters and me
I watch, I listen to her, softly singing; feel her contentment and peace through the song
Never complaining, never too tired to go beyond the call, to love and care for family
Teaching by example, using less words, her quiet spirit, ever steadfast, strong
Those times when I feel I can not go on, when afraid I'll falter, I still hear the the melody
and "Mama's Song"!
Note: For Mama - Thank you for putting us first! For the many lessons learned which we nowteach our children. RIP w/Papa!!
Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2010
You haven’t left my heart
You haven’t left my mind
I’m just trying
To give you some time
Something happened in your life
You don’t care to explain
Or just can’t talk about
Until you feel the time is right
It’s o.k. my friend
I can understand
Just don’t think of my silence
As coming from an uncaring heart
For I would freely give
All that I’ve got and am
To be by your side
To be your confidant
For you mean much more to me
Than a simple hello
Or kiss in the night
You’re the very hope
That brings light into everyday
And I’ll be there for you
In any way that you allow
You’re not just a hand to be held
A touch to be felt
Or a pleasure conquered
You’re the very hope
Of what life could be
Were I to be the one
To win your heart
So while you take this walk
Know it doesn’t have to be
Or really isn’t alone
For you haven’t left my heart
You haven’t left my mind
And should you need or care to reach
My hand is always here
Copyright © Mike Hamill | Year Posted 2010
You came into my life, why? I didn’t invite you, I never wanted you around, you
know this , but you will not leave, you don’t know how much I hate you, and yet I
don’t hate anyone or anything. When you hate, to me, it is the same as killing. If I
only knew how to kill you ……. It would have been done many times over. I awake
every morning and there you are, ready to make my life miserable, the one thing
you enjoy most in your life. Wherever I go, you follow bringing your misery into my
life. Why cant you just leave and leave me in peace? I fight with you every day, and
it hurts so much, so much it hurts to fight with anyone, even you. There is one
way and only one way to rid you of me. I think of this often, but then where would I
be? I would not be, because you are part of me, your name is bi-polar. Handed
down from my father and from his father, and from me to my son, but he refuses
to recognize you, so he fights you without help he could get. If he would only say I
know who you are. I hurt for him everyday, and then I pray.
Oh God please forgive me for what I have brought upon my son. Son, I love you,
and am so sorry for what you go through. Maybe someday we will talk again. Dad
Copyright © Kenneth Fordham | Year Posted 2008
Stretch our mind/s with deep understanding of Wisdom
To obtain positive understanding with every complications
Counsel us with guidelines in our work
Give us Fortitude, strength, Patience and Tolerance to finish in peace successfully
Deliver knowledge in our mind/s
For us to receive Piety, goodness and devoutness to get satisfaction
With Holy Fear of the Lord-God, I/we ask in the name of Father Christ Jesus to be with us now and forever.
People can change the “our” to “their”, “him” or “his” when praying for others.
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2012
We have been together
treasured joy now for many years
we trust each other with our
emotions, with affection, tears,
Any day when you are sick or hurting
I feel your pain - significant other,
when eighter-one needs attention
we help one another...
These mutual friendly feelings
for assistance, approval, support
form our tight bonds,
usually never broken
Sharing visions, time together
we respect each other,
regardless of shortcomings
I know you, "I love you anyway"
Copyright © Perry Campanella | Year Posted 2013
"I Woke Up One Morning."
I woke up one morning as if from a dream,
I had lived from being a child, to an old age.
I was struck by anguish and fear until I realized
that this dream was my awakened past.
I walked this earth with steady feet,
Carrying my mind in my heart.
Surrounded by some who cared and
other's who couldn't.
I felt betrayed and in return I wounded myself.
Those marks are invisible, yet the pain is deeply
felt with inner scars.
Along my path, I met my mother, a passive soul!
kind, and generous, unable to express her perplexed mind.
I met my father! unsatisfied at who he was,
blowing blows of anger and frustration, into his world,
yet sensitive enough To overwhelm his children with
silence and authority, which he called love and protection
from a world he feared.
And under his wings was no such living.
I met my eldest brother, who's joy on this earth was
short lived! A soul refined with inner depth and struggle
to better himself and love unbounded by more love
to those he loved.
I met my little sister, who will represent a loving
child within a grown sensitive, and sensible feeling
woman Her inner space, glows in her outer beauty,
which remained young coming from the depth
of her feelings, and suffering, and re-suffering,
while creating from her own flesh her home.
We left our native home where we laughed,
and cried, growing, hoping to fulfill a dream
not yet dreamt.
Follows a life with pressure, discontent,
pain, submissiveness we walked, unconnected
with our partners, divided, never holding hands
along the path.
Four new lives, time, events, war, death, tears and smiles...
engulfed our existence, until all that we call freedom
brought an unaccomplished freedom
short lived, yet lived.
I met my younger brother he our enigma our flesh
and blood runs together in different fields.
Children and more children they are our treasures.
Their pains and joys reflect in our lives.
Yet, nothing can cut through the thread that holds
our lives together.
Young and old and growing will remain enduring,
with every breath we breath, away or close,
we hear each other's silences.
Awake at night we see a portrait of beauty, love,
courage, and endurance and colorful.
Awake with a warm feeling that I am
that multiplicity of them, I am not alone
as they live in me and from me as one.
Contest Old Poem You Are Proud Of. Nathan. A WIN (Honorable Mention)
Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2012
~A To Z An Amazing Couple~
A is for Allow me to write a poem about my best friends
love affair with an army man, she was 35 years old he was
the same age living together for the past 5 years.
B is for Believing his love towards her as thee perpetual
love of the century their love is amazing, their sharing is
united, intelligence, its endearment, understanding
everything for a wonderful happy life together.
C is for Creative in her work, she is a born philosopher
so much she has patience, she loves her job, she exists
to give all her entity to her lover.
D is for Destiny for a unison hopefully to be able
to have a child of their own. They try each month
the tests come out negative.
E is for Eloping one day when she gets pregnant
marry and settle down in a beautiful country side
mansion that has been bought already.
F is for Forgetting to think about moving now to their
new home until she becomes pregnant. This month her
hopes were high as a future mother would sense that.
G is for Great news was announced on the phone to her
husband she is pregnant. That evening was a unique
celebration champagne dinner for 2 in the most beautiful
restaurant by the ocean. Following that evening was their
love making an enormous pleasure together never happened
before she told me.
H is for Happiness to the beyond, apart her work the buying
stuff for the baby, the babies room was a heavenly event for
both of them, they moved that month to their mansion by the
I is for Induced her delivery in the hospital that day, and her baby
son was born in 2 hours, so healthy and beautiful baby lying in
his mothers arms looking at her with yearning eyes.
J is for Joining close family and friends after a few days arrival
at their mansion.
K is for Kissing the baby and his dream she's a mother & his
disbelief that he is actually a father.
L is for Living together when the wedding took place in a small
church only family and the bride holding her baby boy in her arms.
M is for Married an hour ago their entry to their mansion was an
unforgettable event the house was decorated with roses everywhere.
N is for Never would they both forget how important their sons
career will be. Both vowed to stand by him grow together for the
utmost accomplishment of his success in studying as a lawyer.
O is for Ordering their breakfast after a sleepless night the baby
needing his mum every 3 hours to feed him the amazing sensation
of a full house filled with babies soft cry.
P is for Presents that he had bought for his wife a Diamond ring
with a beautiful pearl necklace which she wore with pride.
Q is for Quitting her job after years of practice was so important
as her dreams for her son to become a senetor in her goverment.
R is for Running for PM after graduating from Harvard University
His parents mansion over the years was transformed into invitations
huge gala for politicians finding him extremely adequate for this job.
S is for Signing papers as her son started to get involved with the
senators and sharing talks about her sons involvements with
politics. She was his right hand.
T is for Turning over to the secretary all the confidential papers
and she was very happy with the choice his son made about the
new secretary, his office was huge and employees everywhere.
U is for Unbelievable but true she was relieved at last and now
that her son is on the right track she will have all the time to be
again with her husband a normal life.
V is for Very close to her husbands office she decided to stop by
and surprise him for lunch at her favorite restaurant.
W is for Where is he the office was empty she has been so much
involved with her son she had neglected her husband.
She was told he went home already.
X is for Xmas was around the corner next month she went to buy
the Christmas decorations to surprise her husband.
Y is for Yelling for someone to come and help her instead she sees
her son in tears running towards her he hugged her and whispered
in her ear I have some news.
Mum dad I am already elected I will make you proud of me.
Z is for Zap will be my goal I promise you dad and mum
he got married and was elected.The first youngest to gain that
Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2013
Dad looking at that weatherboard house, Old Tooters home,
A thrifty man.. us to him did his brother send,
Saying that the place could do with a mend;
The roof had red patches of pitted rust, the cost agreed, an aluminium spray, as if were new!
A bulge I saw like a big brown bag, ‘those eaves with bees were occupied’ my Dad said,
A bee man was arranged for tomorrow morn.
Off we set early that day to arrive at 8, for to watch the bees and the man perform,
He wore dungarees and a netted hat, and held a pot of smoke as well as that.
He pointed its puffs, ‘the bees were calm’, that’s what Dad said,
The man then moved this Italian swarm, they were productive he said; moreover than the norm,
Before he went saying no to pay, as these bees alone did make his day.
He pointed to the now vacant hive, saying there would 'bee' honey, most pure inside.
He told us cut it clean in two, the lightest colour would be the new.'.
He then drove off us to leave, me, my Dad and Tooter made three.
We cut it through as we'd been told, there was honey like sunlight, then a ring of gold, the core was darker of long months ago, from each we ate squeezing the comb, it fairly gushed upon the tongue.
The first seemed sweetest, the lightest one, the gold was more subtle onto the palate,
The darker ring also was sweet yet with a herb like twist; it did us treat.
Old Tooter said there was a reason.
For ‘twas gathered in the springs plant life season.
We ate a lot till we felt queasy,
Then Dad said work would make our stomachs more easy.
We set to work upon the tin, scrubbing back rust, and knocking roof nails in;
Then dad spun the flywheel on our new Briggs & Stratton machine,
Two hours later the roof was all silvered out, Old Tooter exclaimed it was better no doubt.
What Dad had promised was accomplished to the better; the old guy even wrote us his thanks in a letter,
‘Twas 40 years ago that day; on that I ponder as I write away..
Thinking on life, on seasons.. on reasons; just where is 'home?' where does it lie?
Under an immediate or distant sky?
Is it a street, a house, City, or shack?
Is it where you are safe from harm?
I'd say yes, with close good family, like that day on Tooters farm:
I look out a window its now dark night,
Tomorrow brings yet; the soft dawn light.
As I think, I recall a yeasty savoury smell,
Mom’s currant scones fresh baked from the oven; and risen well.
For me all these things are together tied
With what is home real deep inside!
And I know I'll never be parted, from that memory's treasure,
Where love was poured in generous measure..
So if I need to know of if, what, when and where?
I'll take a walk back up memory's stair...
Back to that day of sweetness fresh from the comb,
To say loud and clear; (honey I'm home).
©Joe Maverick 12-01-2014
Copyright © Joe Maverick | Year Posted 2014
There… he… goes…
speeding down the mountain,
he’s just enjoying life.
He just wants to share
with his friend.
To his provider’s misfortune,
varies her lipstic – I mean definition.
“I was just enjoying MYself,
it wasn’t MY fault.”
“But you hurt ME.
What about ME?”
She was furious.
Her insurance rates became destined to go
THROUGH THE ROOF.
It’s so unfair for her,
she was just trying to provide for her man:
gave him a car and some freedom.
The interest her man once gave her, though,
sped off so quickly that it
deserved plenty more speeding tickets.
Deserved stars, road blocks, and helicopters;
and a much more somber ending than that of a life in Grand Theft Auto.
Once you’re caught,
You can still go back,
though, once you leave,
you’re gone indefinitely.
Everyone else must pay your debts now.
She became dull,
she got fat,
every Christmas present gets old by the time Santa comes around again.
Not that any of any of those
physical characteristics mattered,
It was true love,
so true that the betrayal was just as true.
But it was just a speeding ticket.
Copyright © Tyler Garlick | Year Posted 2014
ANGELS AND DEMONS IN HER HEAD
and from this day and on,
no more us.
NO. MORE. US.!"
(These the earthshaking words she heard from him.)
This was the man that made her feel she's pretty.
She's nice. She's worth every care and touch,
but this time, he denied her.
He want her out from his life.
Blues skies he promised
flew fast like the wind,
so are the smiles, moon
and stars he vowed to share.
The light and shades,
they are painting nine months ago
turned fast in a minute
in an envelope-tinge of black.
a curtain flow from her eyes
as that one test.
Two red lines now change her life.
Sponge soft are her knees.
Gypsy are her shaking heels.
Chilly sweats cascade
to chaperon her tears.
Alone. Scared. Frightened. Torn.
is the athlete running
through her reverie for she knows...
She knows the world she's in may stop
and stare at her.
No lax brows
no smiling eyes
rather arched brows
and big eyes ready to claw.
Lightning fingers and tidal palms
may grace her face. Lashing
monstrous words she will hear.
All these plugs, churns...
regurgitating to her nerves.
Angels and demons knocking to her head--
they, she --all in a battle for life.
Should she tell her parents about this?
to her mama...
who didn't even care to stop
even for awhile just to ask how she is?
Her mom who prefers
going out with her friends
rather than with her?
To her papa,
who like more to watch a television?
who likes staying out 'til dawn
more than paying attention to her talks.
Yes,her phone is always new.
Her room as big as her school's classroom.
Her pocket like a walking bank.
Her parents taught her to speak
but when she wanted a talk no one there.
She walks so well.
They even tell her she could be a model.
Yet, her parents refuse her for a stroll.
Ah! She is hurting--
Her hurt is cutting deep
to her already broken soul...
like the leaning Tower of Pisa
even a collapsed castle;
a black hole
but lo! some voice within tells her:
"soon from your belly
a new life will begin..."
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi
Contest Name Tam Lin
11:49 pm, April 14, 2015
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Year Posted 2015
In a burst of color and animal choruses
Sovereign sun heralds in a golden morning –
The air was delicate with the perfume of cherry blossom
Blown in from the hem of pink rows that lined the
driveway on Grandpa’s farm
I looked across at hay stacked verdant hills that were
Tossed with yellow daffodils, purple crocus and white snowdrops
They danced to the baton of the breeze and the
Hidden orchestra of lilting bird song of that fragrant spring morn
Grandma sang to me her songs of childhood
As we walked arm in arm amongst beds of fragrant roses
and budding fruit trees that whispered promises of full baskets
that would soon be heavy laden with the Summer fruits, preserves,
Pies and jam of a bountiful harvest, a few months from now
Summer came rich with its harvest, merry hearts
and long hazy, lazy summer days and nights scented
with wisteria, frogs and cicada, chirping and croaking
their melodious summer anthem of ‘All is well with the world’
as we toasted to our full and wonderful life
Autumn brought in a more somber note and amber tones
though warm and restful, they soon told me - life is changing again
time quickly moves on - it prepared me for the winter and
the chill mirrored in the face of the full moon as it lit a silvery path
to my next season’s change
The cherry trees glowed white against the dark night sky like iridescent bones along
the snow covered driveway - they waved their bony fingers goodbye
as I crunched solemnly down the long white corridor with slow steps and a heavy heart that was beating to the mournful dirge of hoot owls and creaking limbs – I blinked back tears under that star kissed sky and full moon that lit my path
The moon reminded me- each season has its bounty that I can treasure -I held those memories close to my well seasoned but thankful heart.
Brenda V Northeast
Copyright © Brenda Victoria Northeast | Year Posted 2012
Here it comes again; softly knocking on windows at 2A.M, here comes the winter at a cold silent night, awakening my soul with the smell of dust after rain, the smell of mom holding me into bed, with the voices of my sisters playing next room, here it comes again with painful delights, here it comes again taking me back home.
Let the drops of rain knock on my door and let them ache my heart, let me taste the sweet smell in my tongue like a little boy getting wet beneath the rain, waiting to be rebuked, but none of this does matter because the burdens of life are slipping down with the rains being drifted on his coat, none of this does matter because the weight of life was just not this cold before.
Here comes the winter with empty corners in my head and echoes of laughters in my room, a piece of chocolate I can no longer find and a broken toy I’ve never thrown away, with good sweaters that never felt warm on a cold night like this, let the chilly breezes of winter take me back home again, to smell my father’s smoking cigarettes and my mother combing my hair, and the smell of coffee beans on one cloudy morning to refresh my day, oh here comes the winter, remembering me again and stopping by with few memories to take me home.
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Copyright © Samar Saleh | Year Posted 2012
Copyright © Bhavna khemlani | Year Posted 2012
It’s that time of year again...
When family and friends gather together..
To share and give thanks for all that they treasure..
The young and the old, the tall and the small..
The Vegans and the Carnivores, come one come all...
There are dishes of tradition, like Turkey and stuffing..
Mashed potatoes, gravy, and cranberry muffins..
Green Bean casserole, and corn soufflé...
Are just some of the dishes of the day....
And of course a relish tray to take off the edge...
With that awesome Spinach dip in Pumpernickel bread...
So many desserts at this time of year...
But the favorite of all , synonymous of the Fall..
Is that Jack’O ‘Lantern, orange Gourd.....
known as Pumpkin Pie...
As the children play a game of touch football...
Something that is 24-7 on this day in Fall..
As Grandpa sits in the afternoon sun...
Remembering back ..when he was young...
Then the words of “ Let’s eat “ fills the air...
And everyone sits down in their chair..
Who wants the first slice ? Dark meat or White ?
Grandpa asks...then proceeds to take the first bite..
Everyone fills their plate, till it can’t hold no more...
Yet some go back, for more and more....
Finally everyone is full...can’t eat another bite..
Till the smell of fresh coffee brings on a plight...
Aahh dessert ..and the best part of all....
“ PUMPKIN PIE “ !!!! ....It appears was a "Majority Call"...
This is “ my “ favorite time of the year....
When you mention "MY" name, everyone gives a cheer !!!
So without further adieu ...Grandpa picks up the knife...
As I am the “ MAJORITY CALL “ and receive the first slice....
Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013
by Odin Roark
Astride his father’s shoulders,
Like a double decker bus,
There was always what his father saw,
And the child’s gaze beyond.
They learned together
What their senses taught them of reality.
There were so many hills his father climbed,
The boy seeing what was ahead on horizons,
The father focused on firm footholds,
Following trusted forest imprints,
Relying on tradition’s habitude.
This father is long gone now.
This boy of shoulder wonderment
Has grown wise of rugged tracks
Leading to this day.
A stormy December afternoon
Staring through a digital lens
Atop a mid-town observation deck,
The boy now a man
Stares outs across a skyscraper landscape,
A winterous tundra his father never had to pioneer.
Realizing the Now of navigating
Relies little on the primitive tracks,
Parts of the undeniable whole
Determined shelter and food,
Life and death.
The oft missing essence of success,
Impacts little of today’s aspiration,
Whose awareness respects not learned footprints,
Nor hardened determination
To stay true to a right direction,
All too often
Success honors but bushwhacked obstacles,
The opportunity to conquer any and all,
The razed aside,
Inert and live,
Banished and dead,
Leaving many to query
What lens can sharpen that which isn’t there?
Today’s existence is but yesterday’s ethereal presence,
Once preceded by integritous footholds/handholds,
The resplendent oneness of nature’s vast inner-connection,
Now all but buried beneath
A stumbling culture’s duplicitous stepping stones.
Tracks lead precariously to penthouse suites
Where an eagles nest is but a Britannica reference,
A redolent library book of often ignored history
Reminding a father’s boy
Staring through glass-layered revelation
That decisions need pondering past momentary reward,
That Nature’s swirling white layering the once wilderness of discovery
May be foreshadowing avalanche forces
Unrestrained in their ability to bury man.
Pulling his eye away from the telescope,
He considers a wind gust
Lifting snow daring not to confront the ground,
Choosing instead to swirl,
To levitate with perhaps man’s exhausted currents from below,
Struggling to rise through waning memory,
Trajectories of so many devoted fathers
Trusting honest trailblazing would never disappear.
Like the cyclic snows from on high,
Rising temperatures initiate their own revolution.
Endings return to beginnings
Nullifying load and weight.
Time’s undaunted sagacity knows
Once civilization’s latest aspiration expends,
Creation knows no better
Than to invent new trails,
New boys on father’s shoulders,
Tomorrow’s then and now…
Copyright © Odin Roark | Year Posted 2014
An African man once said to me
A parent is like a mighty tree
To understand who we’ve become
We must look close at where we’re from
He smile at me while bending down
And picked a leaf up from the ground
He pointed to the other leaves
And said “they’re here because of trees”
The leaf was just a simple hint
To help me know his message sent
From parents we are leaf and limb
And we exist because of them
And as you grow into a tree
Remember how you came to be
Copyright © gregory boyer | Year Posted 2014
There is no closer bond in our life other than with relatives.
How bad a problem between family members can also be always a thought about it from both sides with a desired reconciliation.
We can never choose on our own family, only when we get married to swear the oath for trust, our in-laws also can become the family member of us.
A Successful family is when everything is well organized in harmony with each other, so that every problem can be solved peacefully.
It will be grandiose if everyone in the family can rely on each other in any circumstances, this also give us a soothing and relaxing feel.
The family love is something that can go to the extremes between members with a limitless desire for each other and it is indispensable in a family relationship.
It’s give and take among themselves but without having any thoughts to extract benefit from each other.
We only able to meet a few people in our life in which we can treat them the same as our family member, but with them we can develop a super good friendship and they are indispensable in our life.
When our family grows then several new members has been added which makes our life becomes more meaningful and the love play a major role with mutual respect.
We would never miss our family, because we’ve learned a lot of life experience from them with joy and fun thus we becoming the person we are now.
And now we can be very proud with ourselves because of the family members we have with us all the time through thick and thin.
Our thoughts will always with them, even when they are out of sight , they still conquered a place deep inside our heart.
I wish you a healthy life.
Author Jan Jansen
Copyright © Jan Jansen | Year Posted 2013
A twelve year old boy, village-bred and very shy
Having but token familiarity with buses, routes and places
Escorts his mom’s mom, very sick and about to die
To the town forty kms and four hours away those days
Involving three buses, two junctions needing directions
And a km on foot, where her other two daughters lived.
She sat on the road and vomited, so bad was her condition,
The boy waited without a thought till she once again moved.
Finally on reaching the house wanted, everyone there was aghast
On how we two made it and critical of my mother’s foolishness
In entrusting a boy who knew next to nothing with such a task.
(But mom with none to help did what she thought right in all seriousness)
Grand ma gets promptly admitted in a hospital nearby.
Along with others, the boy goes to see her daily. On the third
She pleads with him to stay back with her that night
But, no, he runs away because he wanted to play with the other kids.
He never knew she was going to die that night till he was woken up
To board the ambulance which was taking her dead
Back to her native village, and the boy who sat with her was I.
My dad’s dad was dead before I was born
But about him I used to hear a lot all through my life
Because he was a big landlord who owned a village
Of twelve hundred acres, as the head of a joint family
He was a monarch of sorts, albeit, without a sceptre and crown.
Trained in herbal medicines, which he dispensed for free,
And a scholar in astrology and all those esoteric things
And a man of great virtues, he was much sought after.
Then suddenly the rules changed and the system
Of joint families went and after partitioning his estates
Among his kinsfolk , without taking an inch of land for himself,
He shifted to his wife’s place where too they fed a hundred daily
But they fell on hard times with the litigations that followed
The new laws which ruined families and my grandpa died poorer .
Copyright © S.Jagathsimhan Nair | Year Posted 2011
Who tears behind the mirror?
Made me who I am
My hardened heart she took
Tenderized it with love
Took my salty tears
Turned into joyful tears
Who sighs behind the mirror
Sighs in memory
Memories and feelings
Hardships she went through
To feed my whole stomach
The woman pulling back her mucors
Does so in fear
Fear that ill not be what she hoped
That teared woman
Crys in fast and prayer
Crys for my dark self
Cries for my future
That woman crying
Tears down her body fluids
Hopefully that her anger and disappointments
May atleast flow out with them
Her body almost running dry by now
That woman calls upon God
GOD atleast make him better
That woman cries for me
That woman cries for her lineage
That woman cries night and day
How I came to be
To be what I am
I don’t know how
A slave of the world
A slave with one work song
A song entitled failure
The first stanza of calamity
The last stanza dead man where I am heading
Looking at her cry
Twists my brains
Is this what I am?
Is this my purpose to the world?
Is this the man the world wants?
Is this what God spent time Molding
Is this what the bible describes?
Just for her
Just for her I take my life back
Just for her God I stand strong
Just for her I say no
NO no no this is not me
Come mummy take this handkerchief
I don’t wannna see those tears again
I love you mummy
Copyright © FRANCIS NZIOKI | Year Posted 2012
Ever since I can remember we visit my grandmother´s house every Sunday. In the dinning room were we usually spend the while there, she has always had this big glass carved showcase lying against the wall. This big showcase of hers has all types of dolls you can imagine. Is a collection a hobby of her that since I can remember it grows bigger every time. From Matryoshka dolls until Mariachi dolls we can see up there in her collection. Dolls from many places around de world: France, Russia, China and Germany are some examples. My father tells me she collects this dolls since he was a kid, from house to house they have lived on she has taken this big showcase of hers. My grandmother is a collector, and yes she has probably more than 20 different nationality dolls, but this doesn’t mean she has been all around the world. People that know her and care for her always bring her a doll as present when they come back from a vacation. Sometimes I ask her things about the dolls, and every single time no matter her age she always remember the dolls that are the most special to her. Some are presents from other people, and others were bought by herself, but from this special dolls she can give all the exact information. Off course the majority of the dolls she doesn’t even remember from which place they come from or who gave them to her, but I see the smile on her face every time we talk about this showcase, and I feel happy myself only by thinking how an object that she has save for so many years have a great value to her. But most of all I feel happy that one of this special dolls is a present from me and every once in a while when she remembers she thanks me for this doll and tells me that is one of her favorites.
Copyright © Ricardo Cisneros | Year Posted 2012
There's a void, now
Where once a steadfast heart beat time
The soul in perfect harmony with life's uncertain pulse
With those who clambered eagerly in solace or in joy
To scale that mighty pinnacle
The Rock, within the bosom of the family
There's a void, now
But marvel at the structure, the firmness of the ground beneath
The strata richly layered with wisdom of generations past
A fault free seam constructing firm foundations
Binding those within the bosom of the family
There's a void, now
A hollow cavern
echoing the anger and the pain
Trust time; it has no fear of finite elements
The source of unremitting pain
Within the bosom of the family
There's a void, now
So fill the emptiness and catalogue the memories
Harvesting the richness of their meaning
The fullness of the seed sown long ago
To bloom forever within the bosom of the family
Copyright © CAROL ROBINSON | Year Posted 2007
There are not many things in life more important which can give us a better feeling everyday than the values in family interests.
That there is mutual respect and always consider to make decisions together without hurting each other.
The inner peace and trust to each other give us that feeling to come home in a relaxed atmosphere and everything goes with a peaceful mind.
If we have tensions or unpredictable reasons somewhere which can disrupt our desire immediately, always keep in our minds that we will soon be going to our home and rest where the harmony prevails.
Home is a good base to be dealing friendly with each other about things what bother us outside and we can communicate to find the solutions together.
Our home should be a place for preferred love and avoid aggression to respect the harmony in the family and get a solution for everything.
Of course there are disagreements in every family, but that can always be settled again in a close relationship with love, when we are wise enough to communicate with each other and overcome our issues.
Because when there is love in the family, there will always be more suitable solution among themselves, because no one wants to be sad.
Of course we all make mistakes and sometimes we do something wrong unconsciously but after a good face-to-face explanation, the peace will soon return again.
Understanding among each other is something very important in a good family and each member under the same roof must therefore have a task that they can arrange so that everyone is happy together and the parents remain as the leaders.
Many communication together in a family can give much clarity about how everyone think and the misunderstandings can be prevented in certain situations.
Can prevent wrong decisions or misunderstanding, in a bad situations due to an outside problem from a family member because then they can react quickly together to take everything under control.
Together resolve all things in the family one by one in a peaceful dialogue will always furtherance the harmony in every family.
Love our family and try to have everything under one sphere so that we can keep the harmony predominant.
I wish you a healthy life.
Author Jan Jansen
Copyright © Jan Jansen | Year Posted 2013
Hordes of screams sounded out all around and masses of slashed bloody villagers staggered into our village. Grownups started running to finding stuff to clean them They kept saying “Janjaweed, Janjaweed, Janjaweed” and talking about running away so they could live.
They said that hundreds of men had been hacked to death and they were the lucky ones. There was rape…and death…and starvation…and disappearing thousands, not just in their village, but in other villages in Dafur, too.
Since Uncle Sofarlo and grandma hadn’t arrived, yet, Mom became histeric. Then, someone said a man with an old woman was still in the desert and they weren’t hurt. Mama raising her eyes upward and thanked God.
I didn’t understand exactly what was happening, but a few years later, I learned first hand. One dreadful day, the Arab militia rode into my village. The first thing they did was ride over to the well and start cutting off people’s arms and pushing them to the ground. They laughed as they drew water for themselves and their camels. Then, they cut off my father’s head and started grabbing my playmates and their mothers.
Terrified, I slunk back into our hut. My parents had dug a hole in the floor beneath each bed shortly after my grandmother and the rest of the survivors had come to live with us. They told me that if those bad men came to our village that I must hide in the hole and not make one sound. So, that is what I did.
Sometimes, I would lift the cover and peek out. I saw one of those men slash Uncle Sorarlo’s head with a hatched and throw it in the well. One of them grabbed my mother by the hair and slung her into a nearby hut. Then he dismounted and went in. Her horrible screams still flash through my memory. I saw and heard appalling things happening to other women, young girls, and even the little boys.
I could hear loud voices and laughter as the Janjaweed savages watched the survivors scamper like rabbits into the desert. Next, they set the huts on fire and rode after them. Then, there was silence.
I stayed shivering in that dark hole what seemed like forever. Then, my older brother came over to help me out. He had hidden beneath his bed, too. We never saw our grandmother or cousins again, but we were alive!
Survival was the next challenge. My big brother was smart and had faith in God. It is because of his strength and bravery that we are both alive today to tell the story.
Please help the people of Dafur.
I chose Dafarian Genocide.
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: GENOCIDE: SPEAK FOR THE LOST... the FORM IS POETIC PROSE Sponsor Cyndi MacMillan
PART 1 SETS THE STAGE. PLEASE READ
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2014
by Odin Roark
They are branches growing,
A tree’s vulnerability forever their care,
Spreading roots long ago fused with love’s procreation,
Yesterday’s memory so sublime.
How fragile their early growth.
Vulnerable budding winked into the light,
Unaware initiation’s early storms,
Were but an intrepid horizon away,
Tomorrow’s wind and torrents patiently waiting.
Whipped about by uninvited tempests,
Growth became a determined willingness,
Nurturing leaves of graduating seasons,
Into the recycled mulch of knowledge,
Fermenting preparedness into wisdom.
To watch from the bows of my aging oak,
Your tenacity of will,
Expanding maturity’s girth of protection,
Now yours to honor and share,
Affording conscious coverture,
Shading your saplings’ journey
Begun barely a cosmic moment ago.
Copyright © Odin Roark | Year Posted 2015
(Apropos A Visit Home )
Tired shrimp boats sit moored
along the muddy banks of the Brazos;
their day’s catch iced down and waiting.
Tormenting mosquitoes flew
from puddles of water
pooled between blades of salt grass,
feasting on the fresh blood
of buzzed home comers.
The aroma of seafood gumbo pots
saturated the salt water air; and the clinking
bottle caps signaled the gathering of keno players.
Olympian domino players slap their table tops
with rhythms that rival the best of Art Blakely’s
drumming on a full moon Afro Night.
Teams of bid whist players
played musical chairs.
Over chattering voices, echoes of howling dogs
faded into canine whimpers
as Gulf Coast breeze blew sweet memories:
Indeed there’s no place
Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015