When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender
and exchange inestimable treasures
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013
"I heard an angel speak last night and he said "write" - Elizabeth Barrett Browning
that was the last word he whispered before his eyes closed forever...
I close my own eyes, bite my lower lip, 'til I taste tin, stone angel crying with me...
The wind sends chills through me, as the heavens threatened to weep
brown leaves skittering between my feet, seeking for shelter.
How I related to those leaves: dry...brittle...dead.
I look at the Angel that watches over him,imploring for answers,
begging this Guardian to take pity on me, help me remember.
She only looks at me, with tears in her eyes, her beautiful face
always looked enigmatic to me, for she was smiling...
and yet those tears hinted at sadness,
seemingly reprimanding me with her look.
I bow my head in shame, and reach for her hands,
but I only feel cold, hard stone...not unlike my heart
My throat catches, I can hardly breathe--
I loosen my grip, feeling it might burn this time
...from guilt, for forgetting...
I glance at her magnificent wings, and wished I had them, too,
if only to fly away, but my feet are stuck on the ground,
with a heart buried in regret.
I whisper one word: "Sorry":spoken so softly, I think I only said it in my heart;
I say it louder, my body wracked with sobs, my heart bleeding crimson tears of anguish.
I look at the Angel and notice something on her sash--
One pristine white feather lay there-a stark contrast to the moss covered stone.
I take the feather, notice wordings etched on the sash--and scraped off moss,
Tennyson's words go straight to my heart...
" 'Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."
The memories come back like a flash flood, assaulting me, bringing me back to that day.
He told me he had an angel carved to be with him at his grave,
since I, his angel, couldn't always be there for him. And that he understood,
that it was okay. I shrugged it off, told him I love him forever.
I still do, that's why it shamed me that I also love another now.
Seeing those words, I felt such a sense of peace, like he was embracing me,
smoothing out my hair like he used to, telling me it was all right.
I blink back tears, and say "Thank you" this time...I hug the Angel and I felt warm.
Drizzle and sunlight bounced off each other as I walked away.
I turn my head around to his grave
--and the Angel looked on with a smile.
Constance's Angels in Cemeteries contest
June 18, 2011
Copyright © binibining P.iNk | Year Posted 2011
What makes the decision
To flick the switch
To end ones life
For the sake of it
Bullied at school
Fork in the road
To let death rule
Daughters and sons
What ever affects them
They just can't outrun
Sadness and tears
By all left behind
Will they ever understand
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009
My hands and feet are numb
for I am cold and I have no
home to give me warmth.
A home and warmth are two
things I search for that is why
people call me a bum.
I have not eaten but I have
prayed and my prayers have
not yet been answer for I have
not eaten in days.
So I'll just lay in my place of
sleep and pray once more as I
search for warmth, for I have
found my home, The streets.
Copyright © THE POET 174 | Year Posted 2008
We swallow boulders:
(lead words, molasses covered prejudice, glass shards of promises long broken)
Mouths open wide and heads tipped back
like Hawaiian fire eaters.
Chipped teeth are bits of porcelain history,
sliding down our throats in rivers of neglect
The stones settle,
Our stomachs are filled up, anvil weight
'till we can hardly sit, hardly stand, or walk.
We drag our feet in pain, as the quiet indicator that
we've had rocks for breakfast,
lunch, dinner, for years,
in the hopes that someone will recognize
the broken concrete footprints behind us
and touch us gently on the forearm:
"Honey, are you alright?"
(and isn't it the first sweet trickle of kind words that crumble
the already cracking facade?)
There's no stopping the torrent then,
tsunami tears and a heaving, convulsing
to the point of cathartic vomit-
boulders of every shape and size
tumbling out of our mouths and filling the room;
broken teeth and granite eyes
until we no longer see the floor, the walls...
And then serenity.
The hand has moved to the shoulder,
forming a universal hug.
"I'm here now... and you're ok."
We stand up, together, and leave that room,
a soundless void of yesterday,
to absorb the impermeability of stones,
carrying our gait buoyant, without gravity.
No weight at all now, and barely a second glance,
but to turn out the light - and lock the door behind us...
Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2006
You made the mistake and now,
your afraid to face this day.
Your thoughts are racing through
You wonder if your family looks at
you as a disgrace, but you'er mother
takes you and reasures, your very
much loved in grace.
Even though your much to young
for this breathing little thing this
You couldn't just throw it out
like it was a peice of trash.
So you grow up and take the
path that led you to your best
mistake for years to come.
Copyright © Emily Kroeger | Year Posted 2009
His fragile fevered brow is soaked with life’s sweat
Nearing the end, his death has not arrived just yet
Shivering, his body is on fire, he makes a gentle sigh
His frame broken down by the years now passed by
The end of the final chapter, his book has grown old
Soon in a faith filled church, his past tales will be told
He’s a person, loved, surrounded by his living history
His family hold one another, parts of his closing story
Go quietly now love, for the time has come to move on
Hush now, your wearied tiredness, is oh so nearly gone
Soon the warmth of living will become so stiff and cold
Leaving this earth’s dusty soil, so as to join an eternal fold
He enters deaths doorway that will close quickly behind
A peace beyond imagination, a kind welcome he will find
Tears flow, fond goodbyes are spoken a kiss of farewell
Do not mourn too long have faith, know he is now well.
Patrick Brennan © 2010
Copyright © Patrick Brennan | Year Posted 2010
I sit beside you
listen while you bare your soul
this is a safe place
no judgement just ears
Heart fully engaged
No easy answers provided
That is not what you need
How did you keep this burden to yourself?
You must have been so lonely
As I look into your eyes, I feel the tears running down my face
Your breath rises and falls within me
we are forever joined
I see you
You are not alone
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2012
I do not know?
Trapped in this world in this body not mine
I am stranded here on this earth alone
stuck in a shell that is not my own
Small is the world that has taken me in
here in my body, under my skin
Out of this pod, is my heart's pine
Swirling thoughts capsize my brain
they thrash and smash against these walls
until the mass of this body tumbles and falls
Trapped in this world in this evil flesh
where light and darkness have no room to mesh
in this body I sin, again and again
Copyright © Tiffany Demske | Year Posted 2007
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
Your contest I don't want to be in my friend
You want our lives to be a forever contest
Your best friend you always say that I am
Do you always need to be one up on me
I get something new and tomorrow you have it too
I get an illness and you have it or had it only worse
I say I love something and you always loved it first
I want to be me and you be you, as life isn't a contest
"The Contest Contest" of Joe Flach
Written by Carol Brown 03/15/2012
Copyright © Carol Sunshine Brown | Year Posted 2012
So, here we are again, my dear
Our wondering hearts are trembling with fear
Of the step we took in the pale moonlight
Now, beholding each other in the bright sunlight.
Remember our plan? We'll take it slow
We'll allow our hearts and love to grow
Without the pressure of passion released
Too soon - but now, where do we go?
Is it time for us now to say good bye -
Do we gather ourselves and give it a try;
Are we done, my love, and now we start
On a future that tears our love apart?
Oh, help me now to understand
How we lost control of our senses and
That now, our passion being fulfilled
We ponder if our love is stilled.
Yes, here we are again, sweet dear,
Two wondering hearts now filled with fear
For the step we took while under the moon
Was it too soon, my love - too soon?
Submitted for: In The Mood For Love Contest
Sponsored By: Shadow Hamilton
Copyright © Neva Romaine | Year Posted 2010
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2013
Flailin’, flailin’, flailin’;
There goes my ball sailin’
Into a trap, the water or the woods.
Flailin’, flailin’, flailin’;
You can hear me wailin’,
“Why won’t that damn ball go where it should?
Drives go right. Putts go wrong.
I shank my wedges or ‘skull’em’ long.
My golf game’s just no damn good.
I’m swingin’ too hard & lookin’ up;
As if I’ll actually see it go in the cup….
As if it ever really would.
My alignment’s too far left or right.
My ball can find the only tree or trap in sight,
Even if the shot starts out lookin’ good.
These days, I carry some special tools:
A handheld weed eater with extra spools
And a pruning saw, in case I’m in the woods.
I’ve even tried to ‘buy’ a better game.
No matter. My scores were just as lame.
Those new clubs didn’t do what they should.
Bogies & doubles...even triples... are common scores.
I very rarely get pars any more.
Believe me, I’d change it if I could.
My buddies said it must be me,
A teaching pro I should go see.
They said he’d fix my game…..if anybody could.
The pro said, “Hit some balls while I watch you.
Just set up and hit’em like you normally do.
We’ll see if I can do your game any good.”
After the first bucket of balls I hit,
He calmly said, “Take two weeks off…then quit.
Take my advice. You really should.”
Now, what really has me vexed,
I’m wondering what I’ll try next.
That pro’s advice was no damn good.
So, I struggle along with my flailin’ game;
But, strangely enough, have fun just the same,
Finding hope in rare shots that are actually good.
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
She walks along an avenue
some call the Vale of Tears.
Her sorrow sheds a drop of dew,
from eyes that vail a tear.
She whiles alone, her gaze unmet,
behind a veil of tears.
But can she flee from sadness, yet
with no avail of tears?
In time, the Rue of No Regrets
will countervail her tears.
Vail: let sink
Veil: something that conceals
Avail of: use to one’s advantage
Countervail: offset, counteract
Inspired by poems of KC
Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012
" From the debt of my heart"
The African child
Sat behind the bamboo fence
He was sober and tense
Sputtering and wondering.
He forsook the bush meat
And the gathering under the moonlight
For sobriety and the causes of his uncertainties.
His clothes were like dried leaves
His feet like openings in the eaves
He longed to see a brighter tomorrow
He clarified the causes of his sorrow;
Sins of the father,
Fighting not to make things better
Therefore darkening the weather,
Making his destiny falter and bitter.
Tears exuded from the sound of his flute,
His fears enlarged like a parachute
But one thing he never understood,
Watch and pray, oh! African root
For your foundation is stinky, filthy,
Faulty and guilty...... watch and pray.
Copyright © Charles Melody Lightning Ink | Year Posted 2011
THE HOSPITAL FAIRYLAND
They walked together, hand in hand,
Into life’s magical fairyland.
Where there was no trouble, where there was no pain.
Where life could really, begin all over again.
Where were no men in little white coats.
Forcing you all, to stuff drugs down your throats.
Forcing you to do, what you didn’t want to.
Telling you it was all for the best, for you,
People shouting, people crying.
Most of the people talking about dying.
What is this hell, we’ve all come to?
It’s called coming off drugs, we all have It to go through.
Where will it end, what will we do?
None of us really, has a clue.
We are given more pills, we are told, we have to take.
To the men in white coats, life’s a piece of cake.
We are the prisoners, they guard the doors.
Some try to creep out, on all fours.
Into hell and back, we go for a ride.
Eventually if we’re lucky, we come out the other side.
Where we can walk, hand in hand.
Into life’s magical Fairyland.
Where there is trouble, where there is pain.
But at least we can start, living again.
Copyright © pat dring | Year Posted 2008
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
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
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010
Obsessed with the thought of you
wondering if it's only me or
if you sometimes remember the sweet things you've said
and if you meant them how I took them
or if I'm just obsessed with what's in your head
Obsessed with your very sentences
Every response I take personal
I know it's selfishness
Have you not noticed my eyes?
They hold secrets that only you can unlock
if you'd just take time to fill the thick juices of my pride
It's just boiling with lust, passion, trust and distrust
and other things I obsess over so much
I find myself writing to free myself from this prison I've created
where only you and I reside
I become confused about what I'm really feeling inside and I
try to rid the thoughts that are highly debated as false and I
begin to cry and
think of casting love spells so that the universe can deliver this affair
I know it's unfair
but I don't care
I'm obsessed with what hasn't happened between us
I'm obsessed with your heart and that the fact that
I don't think you've even noticed my selfish innuendos
and secret undertones that blatantly express my lust
Or maybe you have and you calmly remain in resistance of distrust
If you could only read my mind by simply touching my fingertips,
I'm sure I'd catch you out the corner of my eye biting your bottom lip
I'm obsessed with the passion and thoughts I think you have
Obsessing over an experience that I may never have....
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012
I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...
Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed,
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised.
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us.
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow.
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you.
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2011
You are a million miles away
thinking of you I am today.
I want to write to tell you so,
although i'm sure you already know.
My body may be far away,
but my heart is what will always stay.
True love is very hard to find,
but you my dear, are one of a kind.
I've found a love so pure and true,
loyal and honest , that is you.
I am proud to say we belong together,
no matter the distance, our love will not sever.
and when we're together again you'll see,
so happy, together, forever we'll be!
Copyright © lisa macmaster | Year Posted 2007
I cry,not the tears of joy,I cried when our
athletes rompt the Olympics,
I now cry,tears of anger,tears of disgust,
Tears,enough to drown the wicked,heartless
people living among us,
I cry tears of astonishment,tears of mis-trust,
So many great lives, disappearing from among us,
I cry,not with fear,but with revenge on my mind,
the taste of blood in my mouth,
Cherisher's of life,lets take back Jamaica,
east to west,north to south,
I cry for the weak, time to be strong,
Stop entertaining senseless killers,
walking with them hand in hand,
I cry because these killers have not given
our children the chance to grow old,
Their lives snuffed out,before reaching their goals,
I cry with the intention of washing, this senseless killing away,
Cry,cry with me Jamaica,cry with me Poetry Soup.....
Copyright © Richard Palmer | Year Posted 2012
The missing light,
That love comes again...
Are like a hard glide,
In a shining rainbow's light...
All dreams and fantasies,
Can be reality,
Is based on reality...
But all histories aren't the same...
Sometimes, we dive,
In our lives...
For what you see,
For what it is...,
'Cause time passes,
But, memories remain...
To your heart,
The body, does,
The mind, thinks,
And, the heart, feels...,
While, the soul, lives...
To remember the past,
To live the present,
And to wait and pursue the future...
Listen to your heart,
Before you are telling goodbye,
Might lead to demise...,
But, remember that destiny can be changed...
Life is unpredictable,
But space and time,
Could be controlled...
And even if some die,
We may survive...
Might have an endless beginning...
All that remains,
Is to be reborn...
Copyright © Ruben A. Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013
A strange sight upon a lonely road.
A dream ripped in half.
Looking closer, I wonder what was the travail.
An old price tag attached, making me wonder at what price it was sold.
Along the edges, tattered and torn, it gave forth an evil laugh.
As if some sly devil concocted a way to turn someone pale.
Onward I traveled, with pack upon my back.
To the left and right of the road were littered with more broken dreams.
So many that one could not keep track.
Some having been blown into the parallel stream.
So, I checked the pack upon my back.
And, yep all my dreams were there in a stack.
Cold winds howl, trying to rip my back pack to shreds.
Freezing were the winds, but forward I march.
Never losing sight of my dreams in spite of many dreads.
They all hold up strong even though many times I'm in a lurch.
Suddenly I see people returning to the road.
Going back and picking up their dreams.
Dusting them off and restoring them to their pack.
Each and every one said to me, you are quite bold.
To go forth and not let the cold winds of fate not destroy your knack.
To face life as it comes and not give up even if offered gold.
Good, bad fortune, are likewise of no importance.
Put a failed dream back in your pack and maybe a new day will appear.
Where you can unpack that dream and give it another go.
But, for today, march forward, today's failure might tomorrow's dance.
You gave it your best, and win or lose, that game has ended with a spear.
Win or lose, that game is done so pack it's knowledge away in your pack and grow.
Suddenly down the road a new vista appears and a brand new game.
Left high and dry or victorious are the two possible ends of any venture.
But in truth, knowledge is all you will have, win or lose.
For tomorrows game is just around the bend, all the same.
Win or lose, the game of life only ends for the moment within sight of the new adventure.
So, to quit and call it the end, only makes you look like a goose.
Copyright © James Ray Morris | Year Posted 2010
Wind beaten, lashing
Against such, beauty still shows
Even Roses strive
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2015
The world use to taste like oyster's, and my hunger reflect the possible.
"Why I cann't see my shadow, cause my destiny goes forward, into the
Been out and about for too long, all within me are sad songs.
I can not see my shadow, trying not to look back leave's me
"Along to face the battle's, the battle's of, Why I cann't see my shadow's".
Its Been a long journey, this road that leads to homeliness and despair. A
road without future endeaver, a road I wouldn't reccomment to noone, a
road with danger, a road were noone care's.
Drug's are not for everyone, either is hardluck. I wonder if tomorrow will
there be provision for all to make a "buck". ($$)
'Yes-yess..(yess).... I been so-down lately, No my spirit is of the sanity of being poor.
"Why I cann't see my shadow, cann't explain it, even if answer's of
crying to feel the world, is in response once more. Been so-down lately, Why
want oppourtunity come knocking at my back-door.
Not the front, no dare not make others think, favors is clearily my best friend.
When I am ashame to face the world today, my shadow will not follow me,
when I am weak, and excuse's are to no end, then I do see a shadow, but
it is the shadow of someone who once was a "friend".
The world use to taste like marshmellow's, and I didn't have to beg.
The job market was plentiful and so was happiness and worshippers to no bitter
end. "Why cann't I see my shadow", there is joy at the end of the rainbow.
"Why I cann't see my shadow", are the pain in my life so severe.
One day I know I will get back up, One Day (when) it happen, maybe I will be
there to see if my shadow is able to show my tear(s)...
Copyright © John Streeter | Year Posted 2010
She is a loving mother,
her pain is like no other.
Kids taken all at once away.
A price too steep to have to pay.
Holds her head up high,
when all she wants to do is die.
She thinks her pain is masked,
but as you see, its no easy task.
She's strong and still fights,
even when they say she has no rights.
She dreams of seeing her kids,
trying hard to keep the pain hid.
She goes to court and really fights,
only to come home alone and cry at night.
Still, she continues this uphill battle.
Her confidence, they constantly rattle.
Goes to work and tries to smile,
as her heart is breaking all the while.
Wish I was a much better sister,
who called and let her know I missed her.
I had my own tumultuous issues,
it was she who really needed the tissues.
I just had a crappy, low life man.
By her side her family should stand.
Instead they all give her grief.
Do they not see her pain will never be brief?
No, they all say they are sorry, but they're full of lies.
Didn't they know it was her LIFE in demise?
A better sister, I'll try to be.
Her back she never turned to me.
I hope she knows she's loved and cared for.
Her smile I'd like to see more.
I know that's no easy task.
But that I will still ask.
As they push her to the brink,
She's stronger than she ever thinks.
A combined effort for Kristy.....
Copyright © Aleera Canino | Year Posted 2009
Life changes like the seasons
Laughter bubbles, tears flow.
There's a quiet look as the mind reasons
to let the sorrow go.
Colors change as hearts do,
Flavors seem so rich.
As a new beginning follows through,
The paths to truth have switched.
Thunder rumbled as lightning struck,
Water flooded the ground.
A different storm, life crumbled.
I watched as it tumbled down.
But now to rebuild with new parts,
Tears provide the mortar.
One fourth respect, One half love
With laughter as the other quarter.
I'll cry tears for all the pain,
But it lessens everyday,
And life has taught to put trust in fate,
And love will find a way.
Copyright © Windyann Plunkett | Year Posted 2007
The greatest holiday gift I ever received
Goes back so many, many years
Before my life became turmoiled
And before my tears for fears
I was a child like many out there
Torn, strewn and split of kin
Mother and father in differences
Confused at seven, wearing their same skin
For I was one of the lucky ones
To a Highland Estate I would go
It's on the west coast of Scotland
Where my holidays desired me so
Secretly I internally smiled
For a whisper of where I was heading
To live with a movie star hero
No longer my life was in dreading
We were picked up by a man so fine
His manners were an absolute joy
Regimental he was in his approach
To me, just a seven year old boy
We travelled through the village of Plockton
Crystal clear waters edged to it's shore
I knew from this very moment
Being here ebbed previous family sores
On entering his house I was in awe
Movie pictures came to my view
They were images of James Bond
At seven I was totally through
A voice called to me
Hey James! sit down and I'll tell you me
Still in circles in walking awe
This is what he told thee
My name is Patrick Dalzel Job
In the Second World War I served
But this recognition I bestow
Humbles me to it's deserve
This honour that's been given
Was blessed by a colleague in war
What desired Ian Fleming to be so striven
Possibly, what we were fighting for
We served on the same destroyer
Fighting to make the future free
His tribute, in his novels I became
James Bond, it's incredibly me
Not many seven year olds have stayed with James Bond.
This seven year old Scot's boy has, maybe I learnt?
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2012