Each day Annie Lesley opened a can
Her eighty-six-year-old hands trembling
As she sat with her cat and ate pet food
What is wrong with this elder’s rendering?
Pride swallowed to remain independent
Large, sunken eyes peered from her weathered face
Her late spouse a decorated hero
Annie’s lifestyle a national disgrace
More enlightened cultures all over the world
Have revered their seniors throughout history
Asians and Native Americans
Are just two who honor their ancestry
Polynesians, other Pacific tribes
Respect the wisdom that comes with age
Seniors are welcome in family homes
But here in the states they’re placed in a cage
Bone-thin Annie Lesley chose to be free
Amazing neighbors with her endurance
When social services tried to intervene
She fought with remarkable resilience
Old photos on walls told many great tales
But only purring Tibby was listening
Each morning she rose to care for her cat
Until the day that Tibby went missing
In tears she claimed he must have been poisoned
Though in cat years he was older than she
Each day she sat by the window, staring
Awaiting the homecoming of Tibby
She’d been abandoned by society
Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation
For sacrificing her spouse in World War II
Annie received little compensation
This widowed war bride never had children
Her mate had met his fate in Normandy
Posthumous awards she dusted each day
Annie’s life was defined by loyalty
To a man and a cat who never came home
And the vigil she kept all alone
Ended quietly one warm summer night
When an angel came to take Annie home
With a can of cat food in hand when found
Annie had nothing else to eat in her house
This is the way a veteran’s wife died
And tear stains had blemished her faded blouse
Although seniors’ wisdom is heeded
In societies that grow from history
Too many like Annie lead lonely lives
Wisdom untapped, they die in poverty
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire
Over the top lads, for old Blighty! Hold the colours high!
Say a little prayer for me, for this summer day we die.
My brothers from the ripened field and blackened mill, shop floor,
Your brother in a killing field to fight a rich man’s war.
In bloodied mud and shattered wood, fight legions of the brave,
Unwitting youth, you’ll do your duty until you’re in the grave.
A sergeant greets a fresh-faced boy, “welcome to the slaughter!”
Here you die from three diseases, bullet, gas or mortar.
In arms we fight together and in leaden hails we pass,
We die amongst the filth and stench that once was verdant grass.
“In the morning we will remember them” we hear the leaders call,
Those fickle words of history, will not remember us all.
Copyright © Howard Bull
You are the light of my world my precious son
filled my days with happiness and fun.
Always smiling, never blue
how quickly you grew.
shine so bright.
Strive in all you do
now, and for your whole life through.
Spread your wings and fly; my job is done.
You are the light of my world my precious son
Contest – An Invented Form – Andrea Dietrich
syllables checked 11,9,7,5,3,1,3,5,7,9,11
name of new form - mission almost impossible!
~awarded 3rd place~
~awarded 1st place by Carol Eastman~
Copyright © JAN ALLISON
We will walk then, you and I
When daylight shuts her weary eye;
Down the streets where beggars sleep
And drug crazed addicts spend their keep.
On streets that wind through thick and thin
Past monuments of broken sin
The painted whores who smile a lot
A rejected child that time forgot.
The evening hymn that sorrows sing
The call to prayer that church bells ring;
The sounds and smells that rape a city
The calls for help that won't find pity.
Do we have time to heal the curse
That captures all the universe
Or would it really be worthwhile
To quell the question with a smile?
But we have walked these streets before
And hoped our ears could dim the roar
Of silence gripping cold nightmares
That come unbidden up the stairs.
We share the night with lesser fools
Who stake their plight without sound rules
For each new challenge finds old pain
That lives to give then comes again.
Copyright © elizabeth wesley
I have seen fair lady April
Dance with daffodils;
I have seen the misty dawn
Light moors and windy hills.
Painted in dark shadows
Of a sunlit afternoon
I have smelled the heady scent
Where blue hyacinths commune.
I have heard the curlew's call
As she sailed the wild dark sea;
And seen the sailor guide his ship
In the dream that used to be.
I have known precious moments
In the echoes of a song;
But I never knew the comfort of
A place where I belong.
Copyright © elizabeth wesley
I called to the winds of autumn
As they wrapped up the dying year;
"Oh stay for a moment and tell me
Of answers I need to hear".
Who is the rival of prudence
Who is the merchant of crime
Who closes the eyes of beauty
And steals the hours of time?
Who brings the winter to age
From the springs of the fountain of youth
Who is the companion of sorrow
And destroys the justice of truth?
Who's the apprentice of Satan
The Prince of the Power of Air
Whose appetite is transgression
With more than enough to share?
Who weakens the power of the great
Who slaughters the wisdom of wise
Who brings the honest and gracious
To depths that others despise?
The winds of autumn now answered
With a voice like a phantom call
"It's an evil afflicting so many
Who drown in the drink alcohol."
This is the spell of the devil
Who casts his net from hell
An addiction with power to destroy
Gathering all who are caught in its spell
For his net will gather the unwary
To beguile lost souls with his breath;
This is the destruction of lost dreams
That perish in the arms of death
Copyright © elizabeth wesley
The Flame, aflicker, licks and flays,
illuming evening’s negligees
With braided curls she swirls and sways,
and flits and floats in light ballets
A Flame, to conquer creeping fog,
flew dancing towards a random log
Her flight perplexed a leery frog
beside a silent somber bog
The Flame, a ripple, all alone
alit on leaves where birds had flown
The aching twigs began to moan
A rising breeze began to groan
The Flame arrayed an ancient oak
with torrid tongues and veils of smoke
A beaver bailed, the dam had broke
The leery frog soon ceased to croak
The Flame uncoiled and lashed midair
and cauterized with utmost care
A cold coyote fled her lair,
left trapped behind... a torpid bear
The Flame, unfurled, went wild and grew,
enkindled cats and caribou
Remaining... not a residue,
as reeking vapors bade adieu
The Flame revealed her strength unshackled
Flora, fauna crisped and crackled
Fire Witches clucked and cackled
One more forest stripped and hackled...
The arsonists were well aware
the Flame would travel everywhere...
The weirs are gone, the land is bare,
and soon you’ll find a city there
Copyright © Terry O'Leary
Daddy never did understand.
That violence doesnt bring comfort.
A lost soul seeking acceptance from a unwelcome hand.
She was silent no one ever knew.
The secrets behind her bruised eyes.
A shocking victem none but all had a clue.
She cried to empty walls never speaking aloud from fear.
A confession of pain and shattred trust.
this is only what angles hear.
Scars selfinflicted are better than that
As she lays a broken shell gazing at the celling.
She questions if others know what will they say.
Doing whatever it takes to stay numb.
Innocence lost a parent should never betray.
The guilt was placed apon the wrong head.
Void of all emotion.
No child should yern to be dead.
At times it gets to uncomfortable so in
another direction we steer.
For at times it's just to painful to stomach.
What only angles hear.
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo
Their lives begin, that special day
Your hardest job, is on the way.
Walking and pacing, all night long
Knowing that one day, they’ll be strong.
Watching them crawl, then walk and run
Treasure each moment, share their fun.
They grow so fast, enjoy each day
For sometime soon, they’ll move away.
Years of school, sometimes they will drag
We’re filled with pride, we parents brag.
Teaching our kids, always be kind
Lasting friendships, many will find.
Do as I say, not as I do
We all have said, our parents too.
The truth comes out, don’t cheat or lie
Don’t try and skimp, to just get by.
Take the right path, we try to guide
Sometimes they don’t, we let it slide.
Knowing they must, find their own way
Life is tough, on track they must stay.
Bumps in the road, many will hit
We as parents, just have to sit.
Learn from mistakes, it takes its’ toll
Their independence, that’s our goal.
The hardest part, is yet to come
When high school years, are said and done.
We’ve done our jobs, as best we could
We must let go, or so we should.
Give them their wings, and let them fly
As we sit back, and often cry.
Turning the page, is hard to do
Wondering if, they listened to you.
Reach for the stars, follow your dreams
It takes time, forever it seems.
Your heart will break, can’t let it show
It’s so difficult, letting go.
Copyright © Kelly Zakerski
The steep waning of duskfall held by one
Cuddled by a wheeze , the dim air’s pale light,
Nestling upon boughs of memoirs undone
As scenes rise mildly with an ached delight.
Although fall plunges into my own depth,
Giving way to chills of winter ,prolonged
So must spring blossom with a fragrant breath
For roam I must through peaks of Augusts’ song.
And musings dip upon the faltering wings
A blazed remembrance of seasons’ refrains;
Snuffed by love’s risk, hardened from cold warning
Oh time withers, breaks ...still I call your name.
Hearts evade pleas, sweet moments gone astray
That now I rest on a crib of old stars
But such is life allowing what is the way;
To gather new treasures...near or afar.
Judy Konos' C'est La Vie
Copyright © nette onclaud
The saddest eyes I have ever seen, were green
Filled with broken promises and broken dreams
And looking closely in them I could see
Every horror and trauma she had ever seen
And the tortured past… that her life had been
And I cried the tears she could not cry
As she hid behind her broken eyes
Copyright © Elaine George
It seems that all my life I’ve seen some darker times
Now and then the times I knew were more than I could stand.
But, learn we must, from all hard times and soon we come to know
It’s trying times that we go through that makes a boy a man.
When we feel weak at heart and think we’ll never make it
Our spirit strengthens us to somehow carry on.
It’s then we learn that just at midnight things could get no worse
And soon we see the darkness fade and midnight brings the dawn.
Every midnight has a dawning
Every dawning has a day
Where daylight shines on things remembered
And some things lost along the way.
And every passing daylight
Brings evening into play
Where we’ll face another midnight
That brings, yet, one more dawning day.
It seems a pattern thus emerges,
Monotonous as it may seem,
Every midnight brings a dawning,
Filled with all our daylight dreams.
Dreams are meant to bring survival
To those who may have lost their way.
Who found the darkness of the midnight
Kept the dawning light at bay.
So, as near as I can figure,
There’s this we can rely on
However bleak the darkest midnight,
After midnight comes the dawn.
Written by John Posey
Copyright © John Posey
God is all colours
And He is no colour,
For He lives in the black
And He lives in the white.
He lives in the mixed,red
Olive, brown and yellow,
For He lives in the heart
Where colours out of sight.
God is all creeds
And he is no creed.
He lives in the Muslim
And He lives in the Jew.
He's there in the Hindu,
The Christian, the Buddhist.
In all true believers
And the doubters too-
So why all this predjudice
Because of colour?
Why all this thinking
There's a chosen race?
Why are we fighting
In the name of religion?
When surely God wears
Every human face.
Man has differences
Man has opinions.
That is the way
The human race is run.
God is only ONE GOD
However we see him.
He's one for all,
So that all can be ONE.
Copyright © SYLVIA Coulstock
As my spirit look down on the flesh,
Will it be angry or happy at death,
Will the life that I have lived be an inspiration,
Or will the whispers be negative conversations,
Will the church be full or will it be empty,
Will the tributes be 2,or will it be plenty,
Will the few that knew me laugh at me,
Or will children and elders cry for me,
Killed violently,would someone die for me,
Would my over-seas friends,really fly for me,
When "Across the Bridge"is sung,and the dust thrown in,
Will I be spotless or filled with sin,
Will the pastor preach that the Lord I had found,
When I am burnt or put under the ground,
Will my kids be comforted,I prepared for death,
Or will they be angry,I left them in debt,
One thing is for sure,death for the living,
So live your life to the the fullest,from the beginning....
Copyright © Richard Palmer
The heartaches of living are many
The comforts of living are few;
The truths we are told are not many
And the lies we were told have come true.
Anxiety's anguish and burnings
That trust, now frustrated brings
The endless sorrows and yearnings
Are lost in the exhaustion of things.
We're done with the frivolous fancies
They sufficed in times of the past;
When we gathered the poppies and pansies
We knew the dream couldn't last.
When all who are weary are sleeping
Collecting their joys and their cares;
Their planting now ends in the reaping
Of thistles and thorns and the tares.
What happens when dreams are all scattered
As leaves are tossed in the storm;
When our faith has been hopelessly shattered
And hopes and our dreams won't conform?
What we had should have been and therefore
It might and perhaps it will be;
And if not, we should prepare for
A flight from reality.
We speak of the worst and the wiser
But the wiser and worst are as one;
Philosophy is the despiser
Of all that lives under the sun.
There is nothing concrete but confusion
There is nothing decisive but death
We imagine our lives an illusion
For life is an ephemeral breath.
Copyright © elizabeth wesley
Beyond the hills of Auburn
Past the river, through the trees
I found a secret garden
Pretty as you please
A field of red corn poppies
Cosmos and blue bell
Candytuft and blazing star
Bedecked a wishing well
Scarlet sage and tidy tips
Covered a distant knoll
A quiet little gopher
Lies sleeping in his hole
Resting beside a trickling brook
Beneath the weeping willow
I have a bed of scarlet flax
With yarrow for a pillow
Today, I was truly blessed
When a robin dropped me here
You see in any other place
A gardener I would fear
For I am but a lowly weed
That most would only shun
But in this secret garden
I am loved by everyone
Copyright © Dawn Drickman
Running barefoot through the open field
No worries, enjoying what the day will yield
Free spirit, given free reign to roam the town
Sun up to sun down, laughter all around
Dreading Mom's dinner bell, such a sad sound
Knowing the day was over and we had to settle down
Mom was a special lady, such compassion and care
Whenever something was wrong, she was always there
She was a mother, doctor, taxi, chef, she deserves applause
Looking back, I didn't realize how good it really was
Nurturing us from the time we were so were small
Just kids, wild and carefree, Mom took care of it all
The times have changed, we are off on our own
No longer able to do life's daily chores all alone
Mom needs nuturing as she is now on the decline
Time to give a helping hand, time to shine
Copyright © Tim Smith
Somewhere someplace not far away a couple lied together.
No talk about the future no talk about forever.
They had lovers of their own their lovers were not there.
It's best if kept a secret the love that they would share.
Lost in loves great passion covered in each others sweat.
They're going to have a baby but they don't know it yet.
In nine months the baby born a secret softly cries.
So much still for him to learn of life conceived in lies.
Often he just played alone it seemed it was his way.
Then one day the secret was sent outside to play.
He grew strong like others did he gave it all his best.
Without one clue he never knew the truth beat in his chest.
Overwhelmed again and again the sadness he can't shake.
The devil whispered in his ear “You are a mistake”.
Still he tried through tears he cried to somehow rise above.
Getting lost time and again in his search for love.
When the walls came crashing down his whole world fell apart.
Welcome to the world of secrets and to your broken heart.
Shattered like a piece of glass his dreams fell to the ground.
Somewhere up near heaven even angels heard the sound.
Tears poured from his heart and soul through both day and night.
Searching for some healing in words that he would write.
Broken in so many ways all he meant for good.
Forever somehow secret where some misunderstood.
Now he walks in shadows seeking shelter from the rain.
Don't you dare look in his eyes you'll get lost inside his pain.
Like the secret long ago he spends his time alone.
It seems being by himself is now his comfort zone.
Asking nothing from no one wanting only just to give.
The only dream he still dreams is live and just let live.
A million miles on his heart and tears that he still cries.
So it is for secrets and those conceived in lies.
Edwin C Hofert
Copyright © Edwin Hofert
Memories Of Bygone Days
O' yes, how well I remember her still
giant black oak atop big wooded hill
Those treasured days now long flown by
our free spirits flying so very high
Summer days within Nature's fine realm
majestic views that did so overwhelm
Cloudy days in the meadow far below
flowers galore, O' what a great show
My lady and I went up there to park
glorious scene set our hearts to spark
Under canopy of that old massive oak
she sweet words of undying love spoke
Our tree saw our love start to bloom
picture of that oak in our bedroom
Two years it watched our love grow
how was it to ever see or dare know
Life came and flew on us so fast
love came deeply but failed to last
Fate sent us onto far different treks
love destroyed, both lives were wrecks
Now I pass that massive tree on the hill
memory recalls her beauty , what a thrill
Time destroyed the scene it ruled then
O' the love of what should, could have been
Robert J. Lindley
note : Area cleared in the early 90's , only tree atop that hill
is that lone mighty oak!
A sentinel to the destruction that the world, man's world, wrecks
upon man and Nature alike!!
Copyright © Robert Lindley
Ride the railway, passing the water tower,
Painted production high like a sun flower.
Howls of the engine, hooting as an owl in the night.
Buildings are the trees that come into sight.
Structured stone the jungle, vines the electric cable,
Survival of the fittest, one must be strong and able.
Wildlife runs on rubber, headlights the hunters eyes,
Camouflage the chaos among the concrete lies.
Chemical clouds collect to make shapes in the sour sky,
Blade of helicopters and wings of airplanes birds fly.
The complexity of industry echoes in the acidic air,
Beast hide in plain sight, protection of their lair.
There is beauty in the broken, birth in the breathless blur.
When the railway train passes through the industrial nature.
March 23, 2015
Copyright © Casarah Nance
Living a life full of love is necessary
Let's bring lots of bright cheers and smiles
Everyday start refresh and reach for the stars above the sky
Try to see things better and make it worth awhile.
We know that the world spins out of control
Yet you can keep all this craziness out of your door
Nothing can make you do things you don't really want to do
If you have a dream- just work hard and make it yours
God works in so many mysterious ways
And all the time I just know that.
He is more than ready to rain all His blessings
On you right there and where you are at.
Never take love for granted-Open hearts door
You're supposed to nurture love and much more.
Dorian Petersen Potter
Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter
The gentle breeze blowing in her hair
Sunshine peeking down from high
On the beach entrenched in her book
Another long Summer day passes by
No worries, no cares, only a dream
Of when her sweet prince would appear
She's waited a lifetime of pure misery
Without anyone close or to endear
Is it written in the pages she reads?
Between the lines is the meaning she needs
Stories of love and lives that were set free
Knowing there'll be answers to her pleads
Her eyes on her book as the sun starts to set
Not having any fears, apprehensions or regrets
Copyright © Tim Smith
Life and cigarettes burn to fast.
We waste are time.
So within the moment you bask.
A pretty face has to age.
Every story meets it's final page.
When life breaks you over its cost.
Then you'll sing a lullaby to the lost.
The lights in the street hide all but the truth my
You can act.
But you can never mask your fear.
In dark rooms you sell all but your soul.
A wicked moment a stolen encounter.
All things take there toll.
That sweet face has tuirned hard your so warm
to be cold.
A secret that the bitter have already told.
Can you wash away there stench as from
the past you are tossed.
In dark corners blood stained angles
sing a lullaby to the lost.
Is this hell or a nightmare that knows no end.
A cell to most.
To others the only refuge inwhich they
she falls to the floor a lost look needle
Most will rememeber a doomed fool.
Others her wreckless charm.
She was a junkie and a easy lay.
More bones are broken.
Over words others say.
She sold flesh but payed the ultimate
In a dingy corner of th world.
Were the angles sing a lullaby to the lost.
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo
He served as a deacon in his church and was as pious as they come.
(But on the side, he sold whiskey from a thirty-gallon drum!)
He taught the junior high Sunday school class and was a Bible scholar.
(But on the side, he 'stilled moonshine way back up in the holler!)
He was faithful in tithing ten percent of his ill-gotten gain.
(For his John Barleycorn he used only the best obtainable grain!)
He occupied the same pew every Sunday listening with attentive ear.
(It was rumored about that he also brewed some very potent beer!)
He proffered an "amen" at appropriate times and wore a suit and tie.
(He was renowned throughout the county for his very delectable rye!)
His tenor voice blended well when singing, "I Love Thy Kingdom, Lord."
(On back roads he did a bit of bootlegging in his hopped-up V-8 Ford!)
He was the first to offer succor to widows, orphans and others left bereft.
(He'd run his still for years - at evading "revenooers" he was very deft!)
When folks were needed to serve on committees he was first to volunteer.
(When asked his occupation he replied, "I'm a 'Spirit'ual Engineer!")
At Yuletide he was generous with the preacher giving him a beef, cash and pork.
(At the annual church picnic he surreptitiously passed a bottle to uncork!)
There couldn't be found a finer saint in all of Boondock County, Kentucky.
(He'll continue to "minister" to parched throats thereabouts - if he's lucky!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Won First Place in the April 2011 Soup International Contest - September 2011
First Place in Paula Swanson's "Fill In The Blanks" Contest - June 2010
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw
When anger rages
Resist the urge to speak
Words will only wound
Resolve is what you seek
Simply take a quiet moment
To let your feelings digest
Remember all that is good
Let nature do the rest
Within this moment of silence
Reason will abound
Again love is found
Copyright © Dawn Drickman
FROM A HOSPITAL BED
Even if I’m dizzy with an aching head,
I must not disturb the others in the beds
In this hospital ward where not much is said
For fear of making a fuss.
It’s not much fun with nothing to do
Can’t even get up to go to the Loo
The doctors come, and ask, ‘How are you?’
It’s hard to tell them which is worse
Visiting hours and here’s Dad and Mum
Who immediately asks me why I’m so glum.
I tell them, ‘The others had ice-cream, but I got none,
And, if it was you Dad; you’d curse!’
Patting my hand, Mum says, ‘It’s all right,’
And Dad says, ‘You might get some tonight,
Cos you’re looking better, you’re not so white,
I’ll go over and ask that nurse.’
Back he comes grinning down the ward,
And sits back in the chair without a word,
To Mum he whispers so he can’t be heard
Then his eyes meet mine, his lips are pursed.
The doors swing open; a nurse comes through,
Carrying a tray and says, ‘This is for you,
You can have some now you are healing like new,
To Mum, Dad says, ‘We’ll cancel the hearse!’
I’ve broken no bones, the x-rays prove,
But there’ll be a scar and a slight groove
Left from the fencepost that failed to move
When I fell on it, off my horse
With an arm in a sling and one foot on the ground,
The other in plaster and my head bandaged round,
I’m going home soon, and my horse has been found
Across the river, but he’s none the worst.
It’s easy to laugh with no aching head
And it doesn’t disturb the others in beds
‘There is no need to fear,’ as everyone says,
‘Just ring the bell for the nurse!’
Copyright © J Eliza JAMES
THE POET’S PANEGYRIC
“There’s someone I knew with talent unleashed
and a heart that had for so many relentlessly reached
This poet sought inspiration from the living and the dead
But I can tell you this about the poet who has moved me by what this poet had ever said
I read the words from a comfort zone
which this poet created, surrounded by friends or by foes or simply alone”
His essence of soul sweeps down deserted dead streets
where the thunder still crackles, the burial bell bleats
He laughed at himself as a Royal Rhymester Clown
but bore the black pains of those all aroun’,
He echoed regrets but never a grudge
... of this I’ll say little... let his lines be the judge
THE POET’S PEN
Blind shots cry out beneath the night,
a car is cruising by.
A stripling’s blood streams words to write
... Wry rhymes to ask us why
A silly girl with child, unwed...
to many, but a slut.
The baby at her breast is dead
... Cruel couplets meant to cut
A drifter, broken, cast aside,
lies lifeless in the cold.
Tap tattoos on a tattered hide
... Some scarlet stanzas scold
Two lovers clutch a turtledove,
enraptured by her coo,
impaled on pangs of Ladylove
... A sultry song for two
A drone of drums in distant wars
beguiling bold dragoons
who sell their souls like wanton whores
... Raw rhythms writ in runes
The stars ablaze, like tiger-eyes
’lume angels singing Lullabys
... A sonnet stuns the night
The soulless eyes of shackled slaves
drip tears that burn and blur.
Their ash, like dust, set free in graves
... Emblazing ballads stir
A hurricane, foretold, unfurled,
unravels mystic signs
as Demons dance, destroy the World
... Limned lurid lyric lines
Some die a death neath hangmen’s hands
where tainted justice reigns
for ‘thou shalt kill’, Revenge commands
... A quiet quatrain pains
While well-to-dos amass and flaunt
And follow fashion’s trends,
pale children starve and die of want
... And so an epic ends
THE POET’S EPITAPH
His words lie strewn along the sand
While breakers wash ashore
The ripples weave designs unplanned
... a verse forevermore
His tales, entwined in cryptic airs
where freedom seeds are blown,
warn Guarders of the Realm ‘beware’
... his heresy is sown
His life outlined a chronicle
along a lonesome road
It started out as doggerel
... and ended as an ode
With a little help from my extremely talented, but somewhat modest, friend “ANON” AKA JC...
Thanks JC, for the depth of your support and your breath of inspiration...
Copyright © Terry O'Leary
She slants her shining, golden glance
Across desert, mountains, rivers, plants
Greets her rising, true romance
In the purpling, opposite skies
Her lunar love, her heart’s delight
Soars to ever darker height
For each, the other’s perfect, right
It’s on their wings time flies
She seems asleep within the night
Yet always, somewhere, she’s brilliant, bright
Motionless in constant flight
Each day its own surprise
They’ll never meet – there’s not a chance
These partners in eternal dance
Of darkness, light – they both enhance
The world with their long goodbyes
As their crescent waltz achieves crescendo
Sans artifice or innuendo
Young children start to play Nintendo
While adults stir and rise
Copyright © Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson
A Reflection Upon A Long Life Lived
So many things in my life have come and gone
idle days of fishing and resting in shade
Early morn sight of mother deer and newborn fawn
so many of the sweet , dear friends made
Holidays with grandparents singing happy tunes
picnics lakeside in grove of red oak trees
Birthday parties cakes , ice cream and balloons
disappearing ships sailing upon unknown seas
Loves, far too many in my wild younger days
beautiful girls waiting for a kiss
So awesomely pretty in their hot sexy ways
so many more did I foolishly miss
Life flowed on like a flooded raging river
me with a ship and no winded sails
Too often selfish taker instead of loving giver
driving hammer without the much needed nails!
Robert L. 05-24-2014
Truth in the telling. A wild life, mistakes galore , escapades on far too many shores!
Copyright © Robert Lindley
I need more lives for me to live
In this universe of beauty;
I plan more days to find new ways
Of doing freedom's duty.
I need not more joy than this
For I am life's dear lover;
And when I wage to turn the page
I'd never want another.
The glorious pledge of sunny Spring
With sweet June coming after;
Bring autumn sighs and summers cries
Lost in winter's laughter.
With virgin moons and scorching noon’s
And stars of a thousand nights;
I'd need no heaven if love be given
With all its sweet delights.
There are many splendors for the eye
And such music for the ear;
The mind would reel with all to feel
And see to touch and hear.
There's many ways to spend the days
And more to do what's kind;
For bread now cast on waters past
Returns again I find.
There are such gifted souls to know
And many more to learn;
While a promise rests in earth's warm breast
And unknown stars still burn.
In six days God made all the earth
The bible is known to say;
Six lives I need to plant a seed
Of love with one for each dear day.
But sad if love should fly away
Or hide his face from me;
Six lives aren’t much if I had such
But one’s all that need be.
With unhappy May and sorry June
Sad dawns and weary night;
A sorry world through space was hurled
When love had lost her light.
Copyright © elizabeth wesley