A GRANDMOTHER'S PRAYER
I'll pray you strength, to face each coming day
when things aren't going as right as they could,
to tear down walls, when walls get in the way
of knowing life is going as it should;
I'll pray you light, so your dear heart can see
all through your life, your journey's not alone,
and so the night's not dark as it could be
in troubled times, as every life has known;
I'll pray you love, so love will take your hand,
so you can feel love is the plan for you,
and when it's done, your heart will understand
just what it means to love one, as I do.
I'll pray you have the wisdom God can give
and all His love, as long as you shall live.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
I was just a child of four with not much to say
But I enjoyed the times I went next door to stay
You were so sick in bed and didn't feel quite well
But you were strong and played with me so I could never tell
You body was full of cancer you were very ill
But whenever I saw you, you'd smile and I'd sit still
I'd climb next to you on your bed, I wouldn't wiggle
I saw the sparkle in your eyes and sometimes we would giggle
I'd love to sit and dress up in your necklaces and hats
Pretend I was a princess while you would just lay back
I was too young to know how sick you really were
You never ever let on, you let me play, a lot was just a blur
As I grew I was told you loved the time we shared
I wish that you were never sick and knew how much I cared.
A SONNET FOR MY GRANNY
My northern star
To the stars you belong
You were the brightest of all stars
The fairest of all
Your illumination would have quench
The burning furnace
My precious sapphire
The jewel in the heart
Of Ibesikpo Asutan
The one whose glance
Cools the hottest fire
I wish i were the sun, shinning at you
I wish I were the moon looking back at you
Set child, listen to your elder's story often as you can for we are but men A time to live a time to die sorely in life to always do good, my friend: Written books are ink and pen, by a hand So harken more to do the good, when told Living letters never to hold again is far better to hear a voice of old: for prose can write anything to get their way living histories of the feelings told are fading, grows from youth to old but stay; before you pass a place you can not go To heed my grandmother's words, I said no always to do good I fail but I know
oh mum, don't kill me if you can't afford dowry.
oh mum,don't kill me if you want a boy to birth,
oh mum, throw me alive to live on this earth,
oh mum, don't dig a hole to hide me as indian myth;
oh mum, just educate me then never feel sorry.
i shall serve you as a servant don't feel pain my living,
please ask my brother if he can protect me if dare having.
I can walk on thorns to keep you happy don't cage my
why is Indian culture don't believe that I am also human?
why is security matter for me as a man is nudity fan?
don't afraid from gangs they are coward can't face a girl,
they can't love to daughter and sisters, looking beauty
they kill girls, demanding dowry, live in a cultural
when women 'll be free in india that's facing degrading
Our greatest grandmother took a bite from
the fruit of knowledge of evil and good.
Admittedly, the act was downright dumb,
since it was the only thing which she could
have done to give offense without hope of pardon.
Our greatest grandfather, equal in blame,
caused LandLord eviction from the garden,
after attempts to hide his naked shame.
But what if Eve got more than just a bite --
and smuggled seeds in folds of her new skirt?
There’s a possibility that we might
eat of that tree again; what could it hurt?
It’s a knowledge that we seem to have lost,
despite its dreadful value and its cost.
I see them coming from two different worlds,
father was poor but had just finished his tour
in the Navy during WWII. So young and hansom
his black curly hair slicked, and arm muscles
bulging under his uniform. My mother her exotic
beauty and always dressed in expensive clothes,
carrying her books down Sunset Boulevard to
Schwabs for autographs.
Their marriage took two minutes at City Hall
no friends or fanfare. Nine months latter it
was beginning to end in Chicago when my father,
drunk, through my grandmother across the room
and broke her arm. My father stopped drinking
that day but now a dry drunk, never did change
his attitude toward women. -sonnet