Where have they gone, the simple days of old?
Though filled with toil, their melody was sweet—
A blending of the common joys that hold
That special place in memory's retreat:
Warm home fires burning, families gathered close,
The day chores done, the evening shared with zest,
That tranquil peace that hovered to disclose
Life's humble ways and means were surely best.
But now the complex song of modern man
So filled with discord drowning out the good
Of basic joys inherent in life's plan,
Makes happiness a gift misunderstood.
And why must progress hush the old refrain
To play this frantic tune we so disdain?
Sandra M. Haight
Premiere Contest: Contest No. 227 any form-theme max of 14 lines
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2014
The trip to church on Sunday wasn't long
Down dry dusty country roads closer roamed
Hearts did rejoice when singing love's sweet song
Precious memories now deeply intoned
A home filled to the brim with kith and kin
No evidence of the grief she suffered
When in her youth tales of such loss did spin
By age of twenty-five her life crumbled
Joys of a young bride with husband beside
Darling daughters three in tow~gone~from life
Oh, life issues such hard brazen blows inside
No longer was she a mother and wife
Her faith in a loving God never failed
She had strength of character which prevailed
I have been doing some research about my biological family
I found that my father's mother was married in her youth
and had three daughters which all died as did her husband..
She married my grandfather and then had four sons which
all lived..She never gave up her faith through it all..What strength.
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2014
A Child's Thanksgiving Prayer
Lord, I thank thee as I sit to eat,
For mashed potatoes that I helped to make.
And thanks, dear Lord, we're having something sweet.
Besides the beets and peas, there's pies and cake!
I thank thee for the sweet potatoes too
‘Cause Mom put tiny marshmallows on top.
They melted into white and taste goo;
Bless Mom, this time her cooking didn't flop!
And thanks, dear Lord, my cousins came today.
I only get to see them once a year.
It snowed, and so we're going out to play.
Only my aunt Ruthie isn't here.
I'm glad she caught a cold. Forgive me, Lord.
It's just she talks so much we kids get bored.
A Dad's Thanksgiving Prayer
Thanks, Lord, for this day of our Thanksgiving.
I've got a nice long weekend thanks to thee,
Starting with what I call really living-
Football on TV for me to see.
I'm thankful for this turkey on the table,
And for my wife, who bought it at the store
Even though she had to read the label
On how to cook the thing and even more . . .
Because this was her first time hosting dinner,
There was a lot my poor wife had to learn.
But the pumpkin pie turned out to be a winner,
And the gravy(which I love), she didn't burn!
And praise to thee, my kid is not as bad
As those that my wife's sister Annie had.
A Mom's Thanksgiving Prayer
I thank thee, Lord, for this Thanksgiving Day,
For helping hands to clear away this mess;
For snow to tempt the kids outside to play;
For all my family and the meal's success.
I haven't seen my sisters in a while.
Though Ruthie's gone, I'm glad we all can chat.
The men are in the den. Each wears a smile.
They're chugging Buds and happy getting fat.
I'm thankful too that Mom and Dad are here.
They're taking all the kids to see a show
Tomorrow while the men are drinking beer.
I hope nobody gets into a row!
Bless Mom and Dad. The kids will have them hopping
(Especially Annie's kids) while we're out shopping!
For PD's "Gobble, Gobble, Gobble.. any food, thanksgiving
or turkey poem CONTEST.. Poetry Contest"
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
His light eyes sadly stare; I know him not
although he has my intellect and wit.
A lifetime now of answers I have sought,
his puzzling pieces in some box to fit.
Square pegs can’t be confined; nor can I find
that missing part to let me understand
what I might do to ease his burdened mind;
to know why he could not take hold my hand. . .
The infant boy I cradled at my chest
desired not my sustenance but grew.
A melancholy soul, and yet he’s blessed
with oh, so much - and eyes grey-green tinged blue.
To heal the soul behind eyes so like mine . . .
Alas! Their tint I barely can define.
For the Relationship themed Poetry Contest of little know nothing
and now used for PD's 100 in a Row Contest -#4
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011
Original poem - Verse - June 8, 2013
Many came with flowers,
rainbows of roses and lilies,
solemn people came and went.
And then it was quiet,
the white snow fell upon me,
as I lay waiting in my eternal peace.
In a low voice father spoke,
with tears so fondly all those years,
then an elderly man came to be with me.
Often my beautiful mother came,
so mournful she came on the coldest days,
then one day she came to be with me forever.
Many times grandmother came,
oh, I remember her sweet, lovely voice,
then she came one dark night to be with me.
Many times a little girl came,
she crooned my precious name, Susie,
her eyes so dark and sad with weeping tears.
And even now, so often,
a woman comes with raven hair falling,
could this be the little girl who is still weeping.
I hear the names she whispers,
she does not cry just for me but for all,
who lay with me beneath the grass, rain and snow.
The Makeover - Sonnet - March 15, 2015
Many came with flowers, rainbows of roses and lilies,
Solemn people came and went, then it was calm;
Snow fell upon me as I lay beneath the barren trees,
It was quiet when father read me a lovely psalm.
In a low voice father spoke to me so sadly for years,
Then an old man came to me beneath the azure;
Often my beautiful mother mourned me with tears,
And soon she also came to be with me forever.
With her sweet voice many times grandma came,
Then she was with me and I soothed her fears;
A little girl crooned Susie, my precious child name,
Could this be the young woman who still weeps tears.
She weeps and prays for all the names engraved in stone,
All who lay with me where wildflowers have grown.
March 15, 2015
For the contest, The Makeover, sponsor, Roy Jerden
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
Mother’s Love (Sonnet)
Love begins at the time of conception
When a mother’s dear child grows in her womb.
Her life is changed to thoughts of protection.
Excitement and wonder of gender bloom.
This new little life will bring heightened joy.
A new baby is what dreams are made of.
It matters not if it’s a girl or boy,
Birth will bring happiness and so much love.
Teaching a sweet child as he or she grows
Is a most important tool used each day.
To teach how compassion and kindness flows,
As they emulate and do things our way.
A mother’s love, with every endeavor,
Is a gift to her children forever.
© 2014 Connie Marcum Wong
Happy Mother’s Day to every Mother and Step-Mother and Grand Mother and
G. Grand Mother. Happy Belated Mother's Day to those of you in countries
where you have already celebrated Mother's Day.
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2014
Why does a child have to go to school?
Why do we have to spend so much time working?
This seems simply cruel.
Isn't it just irking?
Some people say school is important for learning
Couldn't a child learn on their own?
It would cause much less yearning,
After all, we can learn from our phones.
I can somewhat see a parents point in sending their child to school.
But why would you choose what we wear?
It just allows us to look like fools,
We may as well come to school bear.
As you can see school is not fair,
So please don’t force us to go if you care.
Copyright © Annika Johnson | Year Posted 2013
I know a scamp who chortles frabjously
as in the springtime galumphing he goes.
And just to show how wacky he can be,
he makes his tongue point up to touch his nose!
He has no wicked claws or eyes with flame
to match those of the manxome Jabberwock.
But just beware his jaws. Although he’s tame,
he can’t be stopped once he begins to talk!
I vouch that he can jabber endlessly
and have me at the end of my short rope.
My ears just might fall off one day, for he
gyres gibberish just like a gyroscope.
I dub my beamish grandson “Jabberwack”
for how he acts and how he loves to yak!
For Debbie Guzzi's "Go Ask Alice" Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011
The voyage long, begun at dawn, and then
the winged beast of metal rolls wheels to ground,
loved ones, inside and out, bear only grins,
and recount old tales of "remember whens?"
The hours of waiting fast recede, unwound,
as passengers embrace their long lost kin,
they grab their bags, head toward waiting cars
with hope and faith, forget the "might have beens."
"Worth the wait?" said Gram, Gramp smiles without a sound.
His son beams at 'the wife' and passes round cigars.
The world is right and bright again.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012
(These would include the younger brothers of Wounded Thunder,
the character I made up in my previously posted poem).
These were sons of Thunder Storm and “Flower,”
from Wounded Thunder down to Thunder Bolt.
“Bolt” was fast; the touchy one was “Shower.”
And Thunder Struck was somewhat of a dolt.
The cute one pampered by fair Prairie Flower
well-deserved his name of Thunder Squall,
and like another brother Thunder Shower,
got teased, but even louder did he bawl!
Both “Squall” and “Shower” vexed their brother “Cloud,”
for Thunder Cloud by moodiness was led
and always scowled at them for crying out loud!
Great Thunder Head filled everyone with dread,
but the wild son who proved the biggest sap
came home infected. That was Thunder Clap!
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013
A mother carried you in her womb,
Her happiness moment is when you were born and she met you.
A mother is tender and nurtures you.
She does everything to take care of you.
A mother is your protector who keeps you out of harms way.
She worries about you night and day.
A mother is your supporter and inspiration.
She guides you in the right direction.
A mother is your comfort when you need an ear,
She is the only one who is true and dear.
A mother sets an example,
There is nothing too great for her to handle.
A mother's love is unconditional,
All the decisions she makes are rational.
A mother is valuable and strong,
Not afraid to tell you what's right when you're wrong.
A mother does everything to give you what you need,
She's there cheering you on to succeed.
A mother will always be your mother,
She is irreplaceable because you will never get another.
A mother goes over and beyond,
Nothing can come in between a mother and her child's bond.
A mother is truly a gift that needs to be appreciated,
She is the reason why you were created.
A mother would die for you,
She lives her life for you.
A mother sacrifices her wants for yours,
She is your own personal super hero and more.
May 10, 2014
~The One and Only~
Copyright © Pamela Bland | Year Posted 2014
I don't believe in miracles, only you.
A sigh of love could say it all. This is true,
that ever since you looked at me I have known
I would never feel the same, oh how I've grown.
Never again will we mire in doubt. This time
You and I will cast the shadows from our minds.
This time I would learn from you all that I can,
what it truly means to be your perfect man.
How holy it feels to see behind your eyes.
My love has touched your core, infinite in size.
A universe of happiness now we bring
in union that defies the need for this ring.
My darling Veroni*, what have you become?
Where once there were two, now all I see is one.
*Vera + Yoni = Veroni
Copyright © Yoni Dvorkis | Year Posted 2009
If I Were Rich
If I were rich, where would I live and why?
Perhaps that would depend on what is rich.
Is rich a state of mind that we apply
to wants, compared to what we have, to which
we wish for more? Suppose new wealth for me
would fill a greater want to move somewhere
away from home? Perhaps live happily
aboard a yacht to languish in the air
of sea with endless waves that splash the shore?
Just sunny skies and cotton clouds to see?
Unwise to change my life for want of more,
when more might lead to lone tranquility.
If I were rich I would not change my ways.
With family close by, live out my days.
Sandra M. Haight
Contest: If You Were Rich, Where Would You Live and Why?
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015
Have a blessed birthday Michael J
Today I knelt for you to pray
May His guiding light shine on you
God’s grace I pray will bring you through
May you have strength on your birthday
With family this holiday
Celebrating with faith like new
God’s grace I pray will bring you through
As your son returns home today
Like a rainbow brightens the day
Continue to wear a smile too
God’s grace I pray will bring you through
Have a blessed birthday Michael J
God’s grace I pray will bring you through
© Joseph, 11/20/07
© All Rights Reserved
Hello Michael, have a blessed birthday and Thanksgiving holiday with your brave
son and family. May God bless each of you always and as a family! The Kyrielle
Sonnet is a French form from the Middle Ages. It has 14 lines (three rhyming
quatrains and a non-rhyming couplet). It has a repeating line or phrase as a
refrain in the last line of each stanza. Each line within the Kyrielle Sonnet has
eight syllables. There are times when a French poem links back to the poem’s
beginning; therefore, a common practice is to combine the first line of the first
quatrain and the refrain in each quatrain as the ending couplet for the poem.
Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2007
Steel resolution, made a thousand times
To reach across black rift between closed hearts
Carefully constructed, a thousand lines
Rose incantation, enchanted restart
Dim hourglass of the blind excuse dancer
Clings desperately to its final grains
Dark wolf’s mouth slavers, he smells your cancer
Speak now, or forever we keep these pains
Knock on your door, thunderous echoes fade
Younger guilt and fear restrain me no more
Resolve not weakened, steady hand not stayed
Blade drains poison, flowing blood you ignore
One thing stands clear at your onrushing end:
It takes just one to break, but two to mend.
Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016
Grow not too tall nor so far away son
Plant not your tendrils deep in new ground
Thinking newness your past can now outrun
Stay in touch let your heart remain homebound
Tree too tall without deep roots falls subject
to any strong wind, let those roots remain
Planted in truth grow toward right_connect
With justice, let love's seeds grow don't constrain
Reach up to touch shining stars capture love
Reel it in let love flow through you to all
Love is key_even though at times unheard of
Remember God's Word don't be like King Saul
Don't grow to proud, high, mighty, arrogant.
Intellect_ learning _start to mightily flaunt
Click on "About This Poem"
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2012
'...and then the lighting of the lamps.'
Swallows flit and dart, the glow of evening
settles o'er the fields, the day is fading;
sunset gilds the sky with glorious luster,
vibrant reds and golds, and softer shading.
Lamps are lit, the countryside is flickering
in candlelight, the cows are coming home;
peacefulness descends in waves of twilight,
the animals are safe, no need to roam.
Horses tethered to their posts are waiting
for the exertions of the day ahead;
farmers partake, extinguish their candles
to darkness, and then take themselves to bed
to pray for courage to endure their toil,
for days they spend in harness to the soil.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2012
Figuratively there is good and there is bad
Intuitively we know there are high paths and low
Rewarding goodness; not hatefulness when so sad
Eliminating love, the thief comes to take what you know
And there are consequences for each choice made
Children who wander lives without a mother nor dad
Destitute families who’s last night never laid
Unless a miracle occurs their lives will be bad
So, in the course of suffering and destitution
Come magnificent family courage and strength
And some how a divine illumination
Causes a peaceful and caring restitution
And the answers come often at the end of time
But, looking back, They’re no more blind
©2016 All Rights reserved
Copyright © Bonnie Jennings | Year Posted 2016
No saints amongst us write a father’s song,
He writes his own which claims no innocence,
As tones of sadness urge he move along,
His pen now takes the stand in his defense;
Atop the desk where sit respondent’s words,
Are pictures taken of his darling girls;
For them he’d fight an army full of swords,
And let none question love's resplendent pearls.
Though flawed imperfect flesh is worn as own,
And lonely eyes are often blind by mist,
He states emphatic that he’s never thrown,
Not once in life an angry violent fist.
May all now know forevermore this claim –
I’ll fight ‘til death for they that share my name.
Phillip M. Garcia, Respondent
Father of Ava Elise Garcia
Father of Lily Belle Garcia
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2016
Countries should be inclusive
And not make millions flee
Of fear for an elusive
I am not sure of country
Or city, street or home
What is my nationality
I do forever roam
This means I cannot give you
One contest rule you need
I wish I could, for I, too,
Want roots under my feet
Family's all I have here
A treasure that I hold dear
January 1, 2017
For contest: Sonnet about where you live
Sponsor: Silent One
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
Shall I compare thee to a winter’s day?
Thou art much more shrivelled and much more cold
Rough winds shake the withered leaves of today.
And your stomach hath too many a fold.
Sometimes too hot your sister shines,
And often is your grey complexion dimmed;
And you always smell like my uncle’s swine
Except your upper lip is less well trimmed.
Thy eternal summer did long since fade
And lost possession of that fair thou ow'st;
And Satan brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives death to eyes.
Copyright © Jeremy Lin | Year Posted 2012
The Sacrament of Confirmation
Confirmation perfects baptismal grace
The Sacrament gives the Holy Spirit to root us more deeply in divine filiation
Incorporate us more firmly to Fr. Christ
Strengthen our bond with the Church
Associate us more closely with her mission
Help us bear witness to Christian faith in words accompanied by deeds
Like Baptism imprints a spiritual mark or indeliable character of the Christian soul
For this reason one can receive this sacrament only once in one’s life
A candidate for Confirmation has attained the age of reason must profess faith
Be in the state of grace
Have the intention of receiving the Sacrament
Be prepared to assume the role of disciple
Witness to Fr. Christ, both within the Ecclesial bond
Annointing of the forehead of the baptized with sacred chrism
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2012
MEGANS HIT - the Baseball Sonnet
There on the deck, I took a practice swing
tormented in the possiblity--
then hope was dashed--I found no hope to bring
up to the plate, when Ump cried out, "Strike 3!"
I was the last to bat--in this last game--
just oh for three, my record said it all!
And in the dugout, faces all the same,
the looks of gloom! Just waiting for my fall!
I took my place, right up there to the plate.
Out on the mound, the picher grinned at me--
as if he hoped to make my swinging late,
or throw me one--I couldn't even see!
He'd walked a batter, waiting on first base,
to tie the score, if we'd get in the race!
"No girl can hit!" I heard the catcher call,
and echoed from the bleachers was the same,
we made our stands, the umpire cried "Play ball!"
(the umpire was my Daddy, in this game.)
I gripped the bat, the windup came too fast!
As did the ball, but where it should have been!
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled at last--
The fastest ball that I have ever seen!
"She'll never swing!" the catchers words for me--
then threw the ball out to the pichers hand!
While out on first, my runner waits to see
if I can swing, or only make a stand!
Right in my face--the picher scouled a bit--
while I choked up--and readied for a hit!
All set to hit--I made it then my dream!
and came the ball--I could not swing at that!
"Strike twoooo!" the umpire made it scream,
then said to me, "You've got to swing the bat!"
The bat it weighed a hundred pounds or so;
"She'll never swing," the pichers eyes did say,
With that he gave his very best, I know!
I glued my eyes--as it screamed straight my way!
I never saw the hitting of the ball!
but won't forget the cracking sound of it!
Nor know again the feeling of it all
of this my very most important hit!
The sound it made--that ev'ryone could hear--
a batters dream--but pichers' greatest fear!
The ball soared hard and high past second base!
then seemed to drop so slowly from above,
as quick as I could get us in the race,
I watched it bounce right off the fielders glove!
The tying run was just ahead of me!
Ole "Never-Steal" now ran like not before!
And right behind, fast as my feet could be
I gave my best! And then I gave some more!
The crowd gave out the seasons wildest plea!
As I yelled to the runner just ahead,
with all the grit that I could find in me,
"I'm going in! And if you stop--you're dead!"
Ole "Never Steal" was giving all he could
and on his heels--I made my promise good!
We saw the ball come by as rounding third!
Not once a hesitation in it all--
and as the umpire watched without a word--
he swept his arms, to make the tying call!
The score was tied--third baseman set to throw--
now ready at home plate, the catcher stood--
and through it all--my only thought was GO!
but if I did--I'd have to make it good!
I knew the ball was thrown down to home plate!
The catcher poised, and glued where he should be!
I had to slide, and heard the ball hit late!
"She's SAFE! She's SAFE!" my Daddy yelled to me!
Now layed to rest--our coaches greatest fear--
the only game we won--throughout the year!
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2014
The soft warm shades of twinkle lights,
reflects, muted, from love worn orbs.
Serenity it does afford,
to all our weary souls and hearts.
Each decoration is a part,
to the testament of years rewards.
They glow richer, as love absorbs.
Sweet memories, they do impart.
Paper, glitter, from a child's hand.
Delicate hand blown glass Angels.
Beneath a star that rests above,
popcorn and cranberry garlands,
tiny hand painted, silver bells.
Thirty Five years of Christmas love.
For the contest: Holiday Hearth
Sponsored by Linda Marie
Copyright © Paula Swanson | Year Posted 2011
When I was young, I had a great disdain
for Campell's nasty soup named Alphabet.
One Saturday it was our mother's threat
we had to eat it up or home remain
and miss the matinee. How inhumane!
Mom left the room; I never will forget
the thing which I'd repeat without regret -
I took that slop and tossed it down the drain!
When Mom returned, I'd "downed" all of my soup.
Again she left; Mel went to dump HER meal
and at the sink got caught. Poor nincompoop!
She missed "Red Riding Hood" while I, the heel,
went out. Our mom was left "out of the loop."
My little sister did not even squeal!
(Some slang words here for my non-native friends:
a "nincompoop" is a foolish person,
"out of the loop" means to never be aware of something
and the last verb "squeal" means to "tell on someone"
I always tried to get away with murder when I was young
and I can't believe my sister missed the movie by not telling
on me! On the other hand, I really enjoyed "Red Riding Hood" heehee)
For Frank H's
A Childhood MEMORY Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012
They said he would grow out of it,
All night I’d listen to his cough,
His nose dripped and wouldn’t turn off,
When it got bad, he would vomit.
The doctors wouldn’t promise
Their treatments would pay off,
After years, they acted a little lost
When he showed almost no progress.
I kept praying for his healing,
Suddenly, good news without question,
Test results showed normal breathing,
The doc said, “Stop the medicine!”
I’m still reeling from the feeling,
That, my friends, is divine intervention.
*This poem is based on true events.
Copyright © Kim Bond | Year Posted 2014
May You Guide
And determine our stride
That we stay on course
While we Carey this Cross
I trust in You
That this path is true
They say You only give us what we can bare
I have faith in You that the conclusion will be fair
May You Bless us All
We will need your strength
So we do not fall........
Copyright © Ninette Carey | Year Posted 2014
(Joy Over Sinners' Repentance
The tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to listen to him
The Pharisees and scribes began to complain
"This man welcomes sinners and eats with them
" So to them he addressed this parable
"What man among you having a hundred sheep and losing one of them would not leave the ninety-nine in the desert and go after the lost one until he finds it?
And when he does find it
He sets it on his shoulders with great joy
upon his arrival home, he calls together his friends and neighbors and says to them,
'Rejoice with me because I have found my lost sheep.'
I tell you,
In just the same way there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need of repentance. (LK 15:1-7)
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2011
Friday night the weekend begins for most
Mothers, Fathers, with family members host
To be together with those they LOVE most
While a lonely man speaks with his Wife's ghost
On my computer the POETRY site
Saturday mornings some comments I write
My former students all work through the night
An old man see's his Wife's Heavenly Light
After Church, there is my A A meeting
Forlorn lonesomeness,now takes a beating
I get home; Featured POETS; I'm greeting
Images of my lovely Wife : Fleeting
Monday, a new week, new POEMS I shall start
I pick up my quill and write from my Heart
Author's note: Dear Andrea, all lines have 10 syllables(Thanks for the Spelling)
I still have to work on the format - aabb- This looks like aaaa but it's not ; a - just happens to rhyme with - b -
Copyright © HGarvey Daniel Esquire | Year Posted 2013
I’ve had many families in this life
of origin school navy and here too
I admit the best ones came with a wife
we all know life at times can be a zoo
I’m no Robert Young from Father knows best
wife and I are planning a family
I’ll have more gray hair coming from no rest
having this life there’s no reason to flee
poetry has renewed my life some how
always knew writing was therapeutic
expressing my true feelings here and now
I can relax when life is real hectic
my life may not be the greatest at all
no matter what I have always stood tall
Copyright © Robert Heemstra | Year Posted 2013