Walking through the land of shadows
wearing my yellow shoes
With each and every step
I created color and hues
The shadows started retreating
As color permeated the ground
Out of the darkness
I heard a horrible sound
"You do not belong here
I command you to go away
You are in the land of darkness
You must listen to what I say"
I kept on moving forward
Not sure what I would see
Where was the voice coming from
I looked behind a tree
Light and color expanded
Traveling up to the skies
The entity that scared me
Was right before my eyes
As my shoes banished the darkness
The entity was reduced to tears
Without the aid of shadows
He couldn't tap into my fears
I reached down to touch him
I told him he was safe
He looked up with confusion
As I gazed upon his face
"Are you here to destroy me?
Have you come to take me away?
There is a purpose for shadows
They create hope for brighter days."
I heard what he was saying
The shadows have their reason
In order for spring to come
We need a darker season
So I removed my yellow shoes
Watched as the shadows returned
It was time for me to go home
With this strange lesson I had learned
Now where does this Highlander start
To thank those commenter's, present and past
So many read and absorbed
Their kindness to me always lasts
Dr.Ram and Carol Brown
My African Queen 'Miss Wilma Neel's
Michael from New York City
Whose comments I internally feel
There's Andrea, the Utah babe
And Carolyn, from Florida State
Their writing I so enjoy
For their words reverberate
John Loving is such a wonderful guy
There's Sara and Doris too
Deb Radke and Sharon Ruebel our newbies
Made welcome to our literal zoo
P.D. Skat and Constance
Barbara, Iolanda and June
Francine from lovely Nanaimo
Many thanks to all of you
To Ruben, Celene and Raul
Your past writes have helped me grow
Along with so many others
You have helped my words to flow
Blimey! I better not miss out the Brits
Sarah, Brian, Sharon and June
And Anna Marie, away down in Wales
I have read in my front room
Many dudes I also have to thank
Harry Horsman the Geordie boy
The two Roberts, Dufresne and Hinshaw
Whose writings bring so much joy
There's also the bard called Peranteau
Billy the Kidster, Cecil as well
HG, Catie Lindsey and James Goff
Who marshalls his words real swell
And lastly there's the thousands of others
This character has ran out of space
Keep the ink in you pen gently flowing
Your names to me is your face
Golly! this is turning into a story
And many told by the above writing troops
As I marvel at your writing ingredients
Keep writing for this wonderful Soup
Unravel your ego
sit down for a spell
Let the cool green glass
of deception dispel
Wind all your hair
'round the wheel and dissolve
Tell me your story
and we'll be involved
You will be captain
and I your first mate
in the skies of forgiveness
pop bubbles of hate
We'll write out our names
with invisible ink
and laugh 'till we hadn't
a thought left to think
Sipping hot cocoa
'round fires of trust
we'll bandage depression
with cider and rust
and blow concentration
'till wishes ensue
and glisten in glass
like reflections of you
Amidst these inlets and islands
Lies a land of a patriot nation
Where clans decree their might
Together in mixed relation
From the Lowlands to the Highlands
Family names of a forgotten past
Deliver us to their present
For these surnames are here to last
Sunrises and sunsets have so greeted
Many a morn and an eve has been seen
To be born into such a nation
Through their eyes, you see just your dream
For to be born on the land of the heather
Through Glens of bracken and fern's
Birthed into one of their clans
Your first breath you have duly earned
Amidst these inlets and islands
Lies a land of a patriot nation
Where clans decree their might
Welcome to Alba, the ultimate creation
A melody from yesteryear
Plays softly on the wind--
A mix of myrrh and honey,
A wistful sweet and bitter blend.
Fond memories of bygone days,
Of long departed friends.
Of hollyhocks and lilacs,
A reverie that never ends.
A vision of a one-room school
Set in a woodland glade--
Of children playing joyfully
There in a spreading oak tree's shade.
A farmer toiling in his field
Behind a horse and plow.
No air conditioned tractors
As modern farmers do it now.
A rustic, weathered, country church,
A Sunday morning bright
Glows fondly now in memory,
Bathed in nostalgia's hallowed light.
A barefoot boy with fishing pole
Beside a lazy stream.
A song in perfect harmony
Played in that golden summer dream.
Oh memories, sweet memories
Locked in my soul to stay.
Oh melody, sweet melody,
A haunting song of yesterday.
The pro-Hanoi Vietcong many years ago
In the 1950's Diem's government they'd overthrow
All opposition was crushed killed or jailed
These elected ones to their people they failed
This Buddhist country so religious in belief
Now politically torn apart, impending future grief
In the early 1960's with the CIA in place
Discussing with Vietnam's generals, Diem, assassinated in disgrace
With the Vietcong army, growing from strength to strength
Another communist foothold, going to any lengths
In 1965, with 3500 U.S. Marines in place
By December of that year, 200,000 in many a base
These U.S. Marines, in their defensive mode
Over the coming months, peace would soon erode
With the Tet Offensive upon us, and the "Battle of Hue"
The Americans were now involved, this bloody war now brews
One decision to end this conflict, came in 1969
Nixon sent 18 B-52s, bordering Soviet airspace line
He wanted to show he was capable, to end this bloody war
But as the months and years progressed, the body count would soar
The anti-war movement was gathering strength, also in 1969
But the "Green Beret Affair" started to undermine
A U.S. Army platoon raped and pillaged, the village of My Lai
Where civilians were massacred, and many left to die
In 1970-71, Cambodia incurred wars wrath
Where they and the country Laos, were in the U.S. bombing path
Also in 71, there was the cutting of the Ho Chi Minh trail
But arms and supplies got through, this mission to no avail
Later in the same year, the Anzac's withdrew their soldiers
The U.S. also reduced, many of theirs from Vietnam's borders
In 1973, Nixon declared the suspension of offensive action
The Paris Peace Accords took place, peace with this warring faction
Between the years 73 - 74 under Trà, the Vietcong grew in strength
There was no mass offensive, to lure the Americans to their trench
Gradually they marched to their target, to see their enemies eyes
To their city of Saigon, now over a million humans have died
The average age of the American to die in this bloody war
Was just nineteen years old, never knowing what they were fighting for
So many came home from this horror, leaving themselves behind
Because so many came home different, home with a different mind
Even to this day, many Americans look back and ask
Why their elected Congress, feed them to these tasks
The sad thing about Vietnam, it continues to this present day
Where governments make decisions, asking guns to hear their say
Together the Owl and the PusyCat were married
Then again sailed out over the deep blue seas
Searching forever for the great Land of Nod,
To the place where they could find true peace.
True peace, true peace… Where they could find true peace.
The love that twined forever within their hearts
They sought throughout all the wonderous lands
Going to the place where they would live in peace,
A place where true peace, rules and lives in the hearts of the land.
The land, the land… Where true peace lives in the heart of the land.
Alas, the love of the heart, though truly not easy to find…
Is easier to find than the love of peace, found throughout the land.
So it’s said they will continue to sail, until that day comes true,
And when they land for the final time, will be up to me and you.
Me and you, me and you… That day will be up to me and you.
The Highlands, our Kingdom, our many Lochs and Glens
Our beauty woos fair maidens to be at the side of Highland men
Their futures to be part of our history, Queens to our many Clans
As we stand and salute the Saltire, by the side of their Highlander man
Such a Princess exists, in a far away land from the Scot's
To our shores we'll grace her beauty, once seen, forget me not
Onclaud, by the name Nette, shall stand by her Alba man
Upon a Ben she'll stand so proud, admiring the lands of her married Clan
She'll walk through purple heathers, thickened by natures sun
Amidst ferns and ancient bracken's by burns so crisp in run
By her side he stands this man, kilted displaying his kin
Claymore at the ready to grace his enemies skin
His Queen, their Kingdom, their Castle, resting on the shores of the River Ness
Overlooking forests and greens, salmon runs in richness finesse
When the night befalls these lands, in the Kingdom of the Lochs and Glens
It's understandable as to why they be wooed, by these historic Highlander men
Once again, the powers that must
In rise again in what we trust
An overseas conflict, another war
Just what in the hell are we fighting for
Families are asking, Korea has just passed
Generations again reft, how long will it last
A country in need, to rebuild again
Flags at half mast, in wind and rain strain
Once again into war, sent by the Washington Post
To send back reports to hit home the most
Military observers were the first to be sent in
Another chapter of man entering existing sin
I'm witnessing our ariel power, Lam Son 719
US planners determine their incursion, saying all will be fine
Along the Mekong River, we'll carpet bomb their supply trail
Tons of munitions and napalm, this spread surely cannot fail
Many sorties are being flown, for the wounded and the dead
Whilst Nixon and his cronies, aren't thinking with their heads
The news of losses has reached me, nineteen have been killed
Eleven missing, fifty nine wounded, more American blood spilled
Seven fixed wing aircraft, more sons in action loss
Whilst back at home more protests, fading the dyeing's gloss
To to this job that I do, I was never prepared for this
To witness such bloody scenes, and ignore that life is bliss
How can I write about a soldier, whose name I'll never know
Killed at nineteen years old, his family he'll never see grow
Or even explain to his parents, when carried from the AH-1
His body bullet riddled and limp, when lifted it bloodily run
I never went back to the theatre, called the Vietnam War
Having witnessed the wanton killing, what were we fighting for
This colonial conflict that started, us on the side of France
So many came back as strangers, many to live in trance
James Fraser's entry into the contest " WORLD OF WAR: VIETNAM "
On golden sands in naked lay
Adventurous hands in touching display
His Maidens skin like fine porcelain
Lips in touch, loves to gain
So caressed she becomes so moist
Groans of excite in wanting voice
Her perfect pink lips lure me to kiss
Sweet she is in hungry bliss
In spiral licks to her lips I head
As she welcomes me home on natures bed
Slowly I enter whilst warmed by she
In kissing touch sharing her honey we be
To her nape I kiss whispering words of love
On natures bed, blue ceiling above
Our movements of joy like the oceans waves
Excite her firm breasts, her pertness I crave
My head in her hands as she entices my bite
Kissing, licking her pert nipples in hardened height
Our bodies now joined in writhing glow
Sharing words of love as our loving shows
My pillar of man between her Vee
In rhythmic motion thee and she
Spontaneous we are in pleasurable voice
Arched she becomes as our bodies rejoice
The release of man cascades her inner walls
Warmed and pink my eyes now befall
A gentle kiss to her heaven I plant
In loving groan, my Maiden now pants
Up her torso I kiss to her lips I share
Sweet tasting honey to her eyes I stare
In gentle touch our moment now lived
Memories we share, for our love we give
A regular walk to the park
My baby’s favourite landmark
Not more than half a mile away
Where kids like to run and play
In the centre of the busy town
A place filled with giggling sound
Not only by little princes and angels
This place is liked by parents, as well,
Rows of beautiful flowers
A big wide tree in the corner
The green grass covering the ground
Swings,slides and see-saws all around.
The Kookaburra, this terrestrial Kingfisher like bird
With it's onomatopoeic call, laughter in it's world
They inhabit arid savanna's and humid forests so lush
Also suburban to residential, as all around them humans rush
These beautiful birds are sexually dimorphic in their look
Their plumage sometimes differs, but in some your not mistook
The Rufous-bellied, Spangled, Laughing and Blue Winged
Are the four Kookaburra's who chortle as they sing
These beauties from Australia, are carnivorous in their eat
From lizards, snakes, insects and mice, they sure do love their meat
Oh to hear a Kookaburra, in their wild and natural place
Their another of natures joys, that human eyes do grace
I am never jealous, but theirs an evil in my eye
Step forward and cross me, and soon you'll wonder why
No matter where you are, it doesn't matter where you hide
For I'm the clever one, who'll find you and watch you slide
There are some things that you will never own, nor I, so read my words
For if I have to find a reason, my actions are seldom heard
These actions I speak about, are the watching of your life fade
And the squealing through your last breath, your body in dying cascade
I am never jealous, but theirs an evil in my eye
Step forward and dare to cross me, and soon you'll wonder why
The world is small enough, it takes nothing for me to try
I can only ever promise, take what is never yours, and you will rightly die
Amidst a flowery meadow we walked this sunny day
Two in love a wandering to find a place to lay
We happen across an Oak tree, as old as old can be
Below it's green filled canopy, we lay in love so free
We chatted and chatted for ages amidst this greenery
Our minds knowing our eventual, to be naked and so free
We turn to face each other, leaning in we share a kiss
Our eyes know our looks, to be in desirable bliss
Lips now touch like whispers, in gentle delightful flow
Urging excites our wants, our desires in us grow
Slowly I undo her buttons revealing charms so sweet
Her body reflects my attention, in pertness rising greet
Cupped I kiss her gently, her hands run through my hair
Her torso openly naked, whilst the Oak can only stare
Sighs now resonate across this meadow of colour
She whispers words of crave, delight my wanting flower
I touch, I kiss and caress, this bloom in radiant pink
Two now become one, as we start to love in sync
Frantic kisses now shared in lusting craving require
Our orchestrated echoes confirm our wanting loving desire
Amidst a flowery meadow we walked this sunny day
Two in love a wandering to find a place to lay
Our passion and love flowed in this lovely flowery place
Below the oldest of Oak trees, lovingly we graced
Who is actually out there
That the multitudes believe
What religion is really there
That they all see
How many are actually out there
That makes them all believe
What religions are actually out there
That they all see and believe
How do they know they are there
What have they seen that they believe
All their religions they say that are out there
That have never ever been seen
So many scripts and fables
Passed down through the times
Passages from village elders
Etched and changed their minds
Do believers look back even further
To well over two thousand years
When the village elders decided
To suppress, enhance their fears
Do believers go back even further
When the land produced their gods
Volcanoes, lightning and thunder
Became their staff, their rod
As I return from beyond the dark
On travels that you can't comprehend
Others actually know where you came from
If told would send you round the bend
All that you believe in
Was passed down through the years
The elders of human history
Suppressed you, to contain your fears
We photographed this shoot
Against frosted glass
In the shape of hearts
That captured her class
Her long blond hair
Catches the light
Her curvaceous shape
My love for her grows
White silk robe
In midriff drape
This vista, my view
I am left agape
Our shoot closes
The applause we take
As i turn to my Tink's
My darling, its you who makes
Autumn clouds drift over the Wenatchee River
Changing from blue to a metallic silver
I walk it's shores as the greying breaks
As it captures ochres and greens in reflection shapes
Translucent ripples in undulation dance
Insects skim the waves with their life they chance
Trout break the surface to share my view
If I am the first man to be here, what a debut
Ancient rock from a long ago past
Scatters it's slopes in sporadic cast
Stones and boulders of all shapes in sizes
Carpet this podium like neolithic prizes
I go back to my canoe, the way out I came in
A Scotsman leaves humbled in his skeletal skin
To be here for this moment brings a tear to my eye
As I turn my head and look back, reminds me why
He was the bard from Stratford, and as a teenager
he helped his father in his trade; he married and had children
and became the most popular and admired play writer
in all England...acting was also his other pleasurable passion.
Curious Queen Elisabeth was one of the thousand spectators,
who came to see him in the Globe theater...she shed tears,
and was stunned by the performance of his timeless plays,
and yet, some of his fellow-poets criticized him for his writings!
I wish I had lived in that Victorian era so intellectual and refined,
and had met him in person and had showed him my ample admiration;
I would have asked him the secret, which made him so legendary and loved...
and he would have whispered it to me, to make me revel in that revelation!
I have read his inspiring works, and tragedies rampantly occur
from " Romeo and Juliet"...the Verona's immortal lovers, through" Hamlet "
whose insanity was undoubtedly caused by the specter of his father;
and why didn't Shakespeare choose less dramatic plays not ending in death?
He wanted to teach us indelible lessons to show us how the human spirit
can be passionate, adamant, loveless, envious, cruel, unfair and treacherous...
to outline all kinds of guilt: from murder to envy so well-expressed with eloquence;
it's no mystery to anyone how he conjured up such plots with grief, madness and wit!
Shakespeare was no ordinary kid, and he played with his siblings on Henley Street,
neighbors saw him trot to his grammar school, later he would make everyone weep;
early in adolescence, did his prodigious mind envision one from a vague thought?
It's no wonder that he is widely read even today...hear his speak, he'll impart worth!
Entered in Amy Green's contest, " Wow Me With Inspiration "
Drive across the country
Let imagination flow
Tumbleweed and flat lands
Reveal a western show
Mile markers pave the way
Across this land sublime
Wind blows through the car
On my arm sunshine
Generations of people
Spirits across the land
Occupy a history
Of faces in the sand
Deep inside our spirit
Adheres to our respect
This peaceful land of bounty
No one shall reject
Fresh cut grass lingers
The present rescinding more
Where old shacks and farms
Grasp our inner core
Land abound with wisdom
Dust has settled down
Enjoy driving the distance
See another town
In the green countryside of Wales,
A castle sits, dark and decaying,
It holds many ghostly tales,
That the locals keep relaying.
Surrounded by majestic, rolling hillsides,
Covered by a gray, misty shroud,
And cliffs high above the blue sea tides,
Where voices still ring out loud.
What was once a beautiful garden,
Where all the children used to play,
Has been left to whither and harden,
Just as the castle was left to decay.
Long cobwebs hang like curtains of lace,
In windows that remain dark and cold,
Someone still walks the crumbling staircase,
Just as they did in the days of old.
They walk the towers and through the halls,
Making the dusty, wooden floors creak,
Their portraits still hang on the walls,
Where the voices of the dead still speak.
The empty rooms will never make a sound,
But, if you listen hard enough to their history,
Stories of romance and love still abound,
Along with secrets of murders and mystery.
Written by: Kelly Deschler - August 8th, 2013
Giorgio V's contest - "In The Faraway" - the theme is gothic
My spirit resides in a small family’s home.
I serve to divide up the rooms of that place.
I haven’t got legs; therefore, I can’t roam.
I guess what they see of me there is my face. . .
a surface, which smooth, is painted beige-white.
No ears do I have, and yet I hear all.
No eyes, yet I see everything day and night.
No lungs, yet I breathe; I am every wall.
When holidays come, I inhale such delight:
the sweet scent of cinnamon and fresh baked bread.
I love it when sun through the drapes casts its light,
and also I’m warmed hearing everything said . . .
and sounds of the children laughing with glee,
the soft sounds of love making from their folks’ room
and their music, when played, which permeates me,
dispelling those lonely times I feel such gloom. . . .
for there was a time the kids colored on me.
Their mother got angry, but all I recall
is how small hands scribbled on me eagerly.
Now I long for their touch on my every wall!
Poem about Sudbury, Ontario, Canada
Where's Blueberry Hill?
Is it north; is it west?
All the people are talking
and they say it's the best.
Little fingers are picking.
All the children bent down
filling baskets with berries
on the far side of town.
So; where are these berries
I see marked on the map.
In this place called a district
of the Minnow Lake gap.
I stood on top the leaning tower of Pisa
And watched as the tourists walked by.
I felt just a little bit closer to heaven
When surrounded by her bells in the sky.
I visited Rome in the springtime,
With its colorful flowers galore.
Seeing Saint Peters sparkle in sunlight,
You couldn't ask for much more.
I have ventured down and around
A narrow cobblestone street,
And marveled at ruins near the edge of the city
Where the old and new come to meet.
While viewing the beautiful fountain of Trevi
And watching as young lovers kissed,
I could feel the cool breezes blowing
As the fountain caressed my face with its mist.
I remember the wonder of Michelangelo's David
And the pigeons that flocked to his arms.
How proudly he stands in the city of Florence
With her glorious art that defines her charms.
Beautiful Italy, where rolling hills of
Vineyards produce the finest wine,
And its grapes so plump and juicy
Can withstand the test of time.
In Venice, the city of romance,
Where lights in the evening dance on the sea;
Where all of one's cares seem to vanish,
And all of your worries will flee.
Oh beautiful Italy,
Where lover’s dreams come true.
A land of love and romance
Where I fell in love with you.
Italy - for "Somewhere Over the Rainbow Contest" by Debbie Guzzi
Meandering silently on this warm sunny day
Past the artists with easels perched.
Oil paints, scenery, still life, it all,
Taking it in, on the Rive Gauche.
The brush strokes capture the beauty
While life on the left bank goes on.
I wander past, hands in pockets,
Appreciating the beauty of Paris’ sun.
The nightlife in Paris is as they say;
Burlesque, lively, bon vivant.
But, Paris by day, walk face to the sun
Shows a side more intelligent than fun.
Appreciate the art, the culture, the joie de vivre.
It is here for all, the Louvre, Notre Dame, la Tour Eiffel.
Take with you your thoughts as you wander the city.
Leave, then, with more thoughts and culture as well.
La Conner is such a pretty small town
That has grown and has changed for many years.
One of the first settlements in the state,
It is so much more than it first appears.
Many buildings from the earlier town
Have been recorded as historic places.
Residents point them out to visitors
With unconcealed pride upon their faces.
The town is surely an artist's mecca.
You'll find them smocked and painting everywhere.
But no painting quite catches the aura
That permeates La Conner's ocean air.
It has become a yearned for destination,
Where vacationers determine to come.
Visitors fill its one shopping street in summer
And keep coming when the summer is done.
Some shops are stocked with finest of fashions,
Where every woman is eager to shop.
Fine art attracts through other big windows.
You'll find that each place is a worthwhile stop.
The town is perched upon wide hillside,
With channel of water on West Side.
North, South and East meet the big fertile fields.
Town of La Conner is contained inside.
Fine yachts and fishing boats drop their anchors
At docks located on the Channel side.
One can almost feel the town's slow rocking
At exact moments of incoming tide.
The lovely high Rainbow Bridge spans the Channel
Connecting La Conner and Swinomish
Indian Reservation across the way.
On either bank one could just stop to fish.
As I gaze upon your curves
The devil in me smiles
Enjoying something like you
It has been quite awhile
I swear that I am so hot
Dripping wet with sweat
Thinking of your beauty
All slippery and wet
I swore this is something
That I would never do
Lost in the excitement
Of enjoying you
I guess sometimes in life
The temptation is too great
Sometimes it is impossible
We are all bound to fate
As I climb on top of you
Eyes dancing with delight
I plan to ride on you
All throughout the night
As I start sliding down
I can’t help but say
All the way to the bottom
That’s where I will play
All the way to the bottom
Then back up to the top
Once you ride a water slide
You never want to stop
Time does simply fly passing clouds on it's way
Dark or fluffy white below them life has say
Even the likes of I, who I met, where I went
Sporadic, or for a reason, I to there was sent
It's where I went that matters, and who I went to meet
For me it was a she of beauty, I'm swept from my feet
She, this dark haired wonderment, I soon to greet
Four days beside my side, gracing ones cities streets
These days of happening past, two years on passing clouds
If I were to show my heart, inside this Scotsman proud
For in it time can't change, or ever to tear it apart
If I had to go back to our together again, I'd joyously restart
His smile is like sunlight
He moves like poetry
His voice is an Arabian night
His love is a Red Sea
Heart filled with happiness, eyes much merry; cheeks color strawberry,
just running through fields of ripe huckleberry,
keeping away from the buzzing, restless bees...
going to a from their sweet hives hanging from massive apple trees.
More than childhood memories, such are these...
a reflection of youth that removes them from nostalgia; husky peasants
shaking off the husks from the golden corn;
a tasty, hot corn meal for those winter's dinners drooling on my tongue.
And approaching a torrent, I threw pebbles found on its almost barren banks
back into the spattering water that I drank sporadically until I was full,
to indulge in its freshness...squashing tiny daisies
that seemed too afraid to squabble with a giant and fight for their survival.
The southern landscape with its mild climate, was rich and fragrant,
inviting hands to pluck the delicious, tempting fruits
off their branches, scattering the thrushes engaged in musical tones;
and I tongue-tied hurried along cogitating an instant.
Would it be too childish to ask for a come-back,
to relive the cheerfulness of the oldest days, ceased by time and age;
to observe a reflection of youth take shape...
and embed, in a secret, a conversation regardless of present knowledge?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Oft' my thoughts drift back through the mists of time,
To my childhood and my humble Indiana home,
Those blissful days of youth so carefree and sublime!
My memories of those blithesome days would fill a tome!
When I hear, "On the Banks of the Wabash, Far away",
Along its slopin' banks I can see the towerin' sycamores,
Dancin' in the breeze on a languid Hoosier summer's day,
And I see a boy with willow pole catchin' catfish by the scores!
The Wabash flows silently through the verdant Indiana plain,
Meanderin' through forests and many a sleepy Hoosier town.
How I pine to return to the soil of my birth once again,
To be that barefoot boy amblin' to the Wabash a-fishin' boun'!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. l in Barbara Gorelick's "A River Runs Through It" Contest - Jul 2011