At the window, palms under my chin,
such beauty I see, out the frosted pane,
I was mesmerized, it showed in my grin,
so picture perfect, the snow covered lane.
My daydream was dashed, Mom called from the door,
"time to brave the cold and clear the sidewalk,"
grabbed my winter coat and boots from the floor,
I hate this chore, but knew not to back-talk.
"Don't slip on the ice, watch out for the plow,"
I hear, as orange shovel meets concrete,
shouldn't the county have this done by now?,
this takes all day, with snow piled up in feet.
Why freeze for allowance, I'll never know,
yet, I still find myself shoveling snow.
November 18th, 2014
Sara Kendrick's contest - "Jobs"
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 -
'...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.
Super Bowl Sunday is finally here
same excitement as Staubach and Griese
drinkers have an excuse to drink more beer
today’s Super Bowl not sure if I’ll see
the Super Bowl is much more than a game
those commercials bring excitement also
Fritos and Pepsi will also get fame
for many the game is the only show
I’ve have been to two Super Bowl parties
last one was the Chargers and the Niners
I worked those Mondays without a tardy
I’m not granddad I’m not with those miners
so eat drink and enjoy the game today
once the work week starts there is no more play
Oh, slaves of the nation who works and sweat!
Tired and restless--but still flee overseas
to support a hungry future that frets.
With barks and claws gained from descent degrees,
if we must succeed-- oh, let us nobly work
so our blood and sweat may not fall to scrap,
veins swollen yet act by act we don't fall to smirk.
Freeing a flood of effort through thorns of gaps
though greedy compatriots act like monsters,
their eyes open wide but gone blindfolded by lies
some struggles and shout, aiming to conquer
bracing away from forms of guns and bribes.
Slaves are we but we're brave enough to replace
those crashing obstacles with lace of grace!
4:29 pm; December 12, 2014
Dating a beautiful redhead girl will be the greatest moment of my life. She’s like an Irish princess, even better. Her hair is so red, it’s as if she’s on fire. Her beautiful eyes are like a pair of emerald gems when I look at them. And her pale skin is as beautiful as pure, white snow. It seems to me that all attractive redheads are amazing, and most of all, they’re down to Earth. This redhead is also like a beautiful, Irish Princess, even from the Emerald Isle (Ireland). I never dated an attractive redheaded girl before, but it’s about time that I did. Plus, there are other beautiful redheads who are famous, like Kay and Danielle Panabaker, Emma Stone, Hayley Williams, Lindsay Lohan, Lily Cole, and others. Not to mention Julienne Moore, even though she’s happily married. I wouldn’t mind dating a beautiful redhead, but she has to be from the U.S. or Ireland. She’s like that redheaded warrior from Brave. She’ll be my Irish Princess one day (Irish girlfriend), and I’ll be her American prince (American beau). I say, if I were to get into a serious relationship with this attractive redhead, I won’t break her heart; I’d also be honest and truthful to her. I know that female redheads are sensitive and I also know that she doesn’t want to be brokenhearted. All I know is that if I fall in love with a redhead girl and I become infatuated with her, there’s just no telling.
"Too young!", were the words, that everyone said
While working our way to get a degree.
First time on our own, and now, newlyweds
Plus, looking for jobs, yet happy were we!
In a brand new town, now, a brand new wife!
Pinching our pennies, and dollars much more
Hitting the sidewalk, .a busy new life.
Finally, a job found, at Rolf's Clothing Store!
Old geezers, would ask me "Would you help me, dear?"
Keeping composure, ..(must not crack a grin!)
"A suit, ...some undies: What size should I wear??"
My tape-measure panics,..(where to begin?!!)
Measuring inseams from crotch to the hem!
Is not a task, I'll be wanting again !!!!
11/12//14 For Sara's Contest: JOBS
Being the little sister in a family with mostly boys
Was very hard and difficult liking all their toys
I loved to play in the dirt , could throw any ball
Played "running bases", "tag", and loved "off the wall"
My sister was way older and she was never home
So I was forced to battle with my brothers on my own
I fought my battles valiantly, but each time I would lose
Being youngest in a family,I often became the muse
I cried many tears those many years ago
For competing with those boys,I had a lot to show
I grew older,strong, and smarter and chose a tough career
Cooking for a living in a man's world, I showed no fear
Those brothers had taught me to always fight for what's right
A women could cook as well as a man, and besides I had a knife!
My worst job that of washing DeLaval,
Machine for separating milk from cream.
Yes, I remember that so very well.
That nasty job was truly a bad dream.
We had no running water on the farm
And had to heat it on the old wood range.
Water cooled off fast, couldn't keep it warm
And needed kettle boiling for exchange.
Wash water soon turned into milky slime,
The water from our well was very hard.
With no sewer to accept it at the time,
I had to pour wash water on the yard.
My daddy was so proud of his machine,
But I was she who had to keep it clean.
For Sara's contest: "Job"
Who pays this roaring mass?
Which pretends it has nothing to do with me?
Yet keeps pulling its antenna,
To watch what I do?
Who pays these seat feelers?
To gawk at me
Even when I am yawning?
Who pays this swam
To creep into my bolts
And unlock the secrets
Of My private business
Who pays us?
For I have been possessed by their intrigue
I find myself doing what they do
Yet I am not paid at all
I am going on strike
This boss has to pay me
Because I am becoming a workaholic
yet earning Revenge
Saturday mornings my list was quite clear,
Pull out the comet and toilet bowl brush.
Windex, perfect to polish the mirror,
Finish the toilet with one final flush.
Scrubbing the sink till faucets do glisten,
Empty the countertop, free from clutter.
Scour the bathtub, with so much ambition,
While under my breath, complaints I utter.
Our shower the biggest job of them all,
With its showerhead and sliding glass doors.
Standing inside to scrub ceramic walls,
Finally finished by washing the floors.
Child labor I’d cry when I was not paid,
When I grow up, I am getting a maid.
10 syllables per line
O' laundry day, I cannot bare the thought
Of piling up these clothes any higher.
The devil on my shoulder says I ought
To take a match and set'm all on fire.
My knuckles, bitter with blue detergent,
Scrape against the corner of the machine
And although the pain is not urgent,
It makes me want to throw my head back and scream.
The sweat on my wrist takes the sweat off my brow
Every time I enter the basement.
The dryer's not done - oh wait - Joy! It is now,
So on with the folding and placement.
The day is spent - my clothes are finely done.
I'm ready to go out and have some fun!
Being short, I was asked to play an elf
For a mall Santa who had his own beard
The elf suit I’d not have picked for myself
Spock ears, curled shoes and red tights – I looked weird
The regular elf had caught a bad flu
While jolly Saint Nick downed too much eggnog
Rascal Rudolph, sans the eight-reindeer crew,
Grazed on manger hay like a “boarish” hog
Children wanted to sit on Santa’s lap
But his halitosis cast most away
One large boy created quite a mishap
He slid and cracked Santa’s over-packed sleigh
Today I’ll not venture into a mall
They remind me of my worst job of all
*Written November 10, 2014 for Sara’s “Jobs” contest
They assigned me me to write a sonnet about the life of a drunken writer
whose dream wouldn't shatter, but his foolishness wasn't in the past tense;
he spent endless hours reading blogs of people who didn't make sense...
in chat rooms he found geeks, charlatans and a casual liar.
These are the ones who can text all day as kids do for fun...
what's the excuse for being late and perform with a brainless head?
Here's proof of his laziness: he didn't write anything to earn him bread.
" Wake up, your work is piling up...you snore as pigs in a barn! "
the co-worker in the next booth sneered as the boss approached Fred
who stuttered and tried to explain why he couldn't get the work done...
while his breath stunk and couldn't stand him looking awfully mad.
" I need that article by tomorrow, or you'll get a pink slip and are gone! "
" Sir, the last article was a hit...you liked that sex-pot with those boobs! "
" Why can't I write about today's generation who have the speed of raccoons? "
Get-go scrupulous attention,
live to cornucopia,
Coherence in familial bonds
must ever stay,
Romantic evening is
reminiscent of happier times,
Are the ones standing by you
on your final day!
Guileless life, a battlefield of
For evolution of the race, you
ought to play,
Contentious hard work makes
Hypothecate moulding for
betterment as if in clay!
Sun gifted you its brightest
Fragrance added through each
Brew your friends well for a
Appreciate nature add up to a
Life is fugacious yet addicting,
its secrets camouflage,
Adopt blithesome attitude,
risible for a hearty laugh !!
Written by - Dr Upma Sharma
Contest name- Take two
Sponsor- Nette onclaud
Previously entered into
Shakespearian Sonnet competition
sponsored by Karen Puff,
Written actually on 26/1/14
There is a brush of wind sweeping roughshod over the shore
Festering foamy white caps on the crest of the waves
Disembodied voices I think I've heard before
Are rising from the mist of the liquid haze
White-feathered angel wings spreading wide and low
Swoop down below the angry crimson wide
Welcoming home the trollers, row by weary row
As the beacon skims the waters, and the coming of the tide
The sun is clinging helplessly, on the edges of the earth
As one last vessel, trudges in, looking worn and spent
Lagging far behind, and longing home and hearth
Yet with sense of work well done, after long day's sweat,
It burrows in, at end of day, from all those travels, far
The one last vessel, weary worn, cuts a furrow in the stars
For Francine's Contest :"On The Ocean Waves"
Started in the season of buds and sweets
Ended after a course as the sun sets
Full of doubts from assorted tricks and treats
A departure is as good as it gets.
Flashing on the thoughts of once a timid
A few Zs are enough to bring pleasure
Could not blink at how stress becomes rigid
Situation calls for a strong measure.
Being used to this torture brings comfort
Ironic as the reasoning may seem
Ignorance is the delay of some sort
Though bitterness stands as it goes extreme.
Taking a walk is a sequel to gain
Another phase is eager for no pain.
Looking back, the timid grew social wings
Mimicked those of butterfly’s and dragon’s
Alights on the spot where others’ smog clings
This becomes one of daily traditions.
Indebted for the wisdom of mentors
Who prevailed upon with supreme concern
Never had given up hope as the source
Truly mastered the mix of mild and stern.
And yet leaving has been contemplated
Personal growth needs to be magnified
Epiphany has been compensated
Being torn by progress and warmth that died.
Halfhearted with the decision that’s made
Still, such recurrence if the timid stayed.
The Grace of Allah be with you always
That fateful day, we met in the Philippines
A short interview and you said okay
An agreement that was a way to begin
Appreciate your kindness like brother
No barrier between us and for all
True humility brings you closer to others
Promotes well-being is your ultimate goal
Many times I stepped to ask for your aid
You stepped up to be prudent and sensible
Always speak in gentle tone and well said
Your leadership is such exceptional
To me, to others you are a true friend
Your kind-heartedness will always remind
23 October 2014
Every morning I walk pass through this ‘little’ lady
I make a mental picture of a heart shaped flower
Held in my hands; close to my heart; am willing to offer her
I make every eye contact count like every dance a street of my heart
I seem to have that dim; dreadful silly obscure look
Each time I see her from afar coming
Every time we work pass by; and I fail to be a man; to speak
I hear the music banging in my brain; then I conjecture good moments to come
When I will stop playing someone else’ part; a part alien to me
I think of holding her hands like we are standing on the mountain soil and saying
You’re my work set; I want to come first with you
In my soul and brains I feel a cabin fever for not being a man
She is like a lover my heart seeks; someone to make a promise to
In the wonderland where two lovers make vows knowing they are too closely knitted.
On the sands of time
How will his feet print on the sands of time?
The query he is so bothered to ask
Emirates, ere hit and run dashes his rhyme
And creates deep holes of vast pending task.
Will those little lights yet glow when he’s gone?
Or will they die off when he’s in that hole?
This, he meditates in his deepest lone,
Scribbles verse, should unexpected grips whole.
Placer orb was where he conceived this tongue;
Whence his momentary opt to torch the ground
Ere it will be too late to dong a gong-
Then the planet will guest still air of sound.
For the world abrupt visitors, he scribes
This anon writ, ere God sends His un-bribes.
Fr. Christ said “I am the living bread that came down from heaven...
If anyone eats this bread
He will live forever
Who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, abides in Me and I in him"
Essential signs of Eucharistic Sacrament are wheat bread and grape wine
Communion with the Body and Blood of Fr. Christ increases the communicant’s union
with the Lord God.
Receiving this sacrament strengthens the bonds of charity between the communicant and Fr. Christ
It also reinforces the unity of the Church as the mystical Body of Fr. Christ
The Church recommends the faithful to receive the Holy Communion at least once a year.
Fr. Christ Himself is present in the sacrament of the altar
He is to be honored with the worship adoration
To visit the Blessed Sacrament is a proof of gratitude
Expression of love
Duty of adoration toward Fr. Christ, Jesus our Lord
You carried my emotions from the start
Each emotion bound in the small black note
Each one coming straight from my chilly heart
The music you make is my antidote
Through the preludes my comfort softly lay
By way of mazurkas my soul does fly
But to divulge you must learn how to play
Although learning is not a piece of pie
Piano brings emotions around town
You have the power to bring my heart up
Or throw me on the floor and beat me down
There are hard times when I just want to cup
My hands in my face and rock back and forth
And think Piano is a friend of worth
The book is red, bright red, that’s plain to me.
Okay, it’s black, but that’s just years of grime.
It is the office dictionary, see?
And when it is consulted – every time –
a new thumbprint is left to join the rest.
Across the years it’s been consulted – ooh,
let’s see now – several thousand times at least;
collects detritus from the desktop, too.
Sometimes we check reality, exact;
illusion is a well-thumbed word as well.
Oh, yes, the book’s bright red and that’s a fact;
you only have to look and you can tell.
And yet we’re startled when that colour’s seen
so brightly where my coffee cup has been.
The mountain is now made up of hands
the meek huddle under the shelter of the moon
an effected lake brings snow too soon
staring across the mountain sands
I trust the ache in my gut to be righteous
sweat begins to condensate on my brow
rumours abound in my self conscience
i know everything, but nothing now
the mountain lady pursues me for my skill
i tread across the beaten path of hands
like the harsh shriek of the electric trill
i have overloaded my sweat glands
"the task is upon you, young man"
the mountain lady said as I ran.
The smile of a child,trying to climb on his foot,
trusts the mother to hold on ,and that builds his youth.
the child as a youth moves on every possibility
trusting on his teacher and his reliability
Then the life takes the youth to the next level,
challenging his credibility and making him face hell.
Along with experience he learns the legacy,
that trust is more when there is intimacy.
Slowly by pace the trust grows cent by cent
with gradual involvement and engagement.
Then there's a task and a timeline to keep,
and he finds trust works very well in a partnership
And finally the task is achieved and a smile on his lips,
The glory is great ,and such simple is the skill of leadership.
(Blank Verse Sonnet)
The wagons slice a trail across the plains
in search for gold or land to claim and build
abodes where independence rules supreme;
my great-grandfather leads them west for gain
all while his wife and sons work on the farm.
The trails he carves become long rails of iron
throughout a nation sworn by force of law –
that each man’s peace now lies within his hands.
Yet greed breeds theft, and swag digs ugly wounds
across the land where freedom banners wave;
while bondage of the poor and frail prevails
and brother murders brother, flushed with rage.
A government now sets the bar too high,
as mothers, east to west, spill bitter tears.
I slave away
And during the day
I read, I watch
I plan, I dream
Making everything seem
That in a few years it will all come together
But in a few years will all of this matter?
I’m a jack of all trades
But a master at NONE
I slave away
Until the day is done
But for what?
Am I doing all of this Just to have something to do?
I ask, I pray, I watch
No time for fun
Not until ALL my work is done
In hopes to better my future
In hopes to better myself
Not leaving my dreams to be lived by someone else
I’ve read all the books
I’ve done all the classes
I’ve listened to the masters instead of the masses
7 steps to wealth
12 steps to riches
The ticket to the money train
The key to the treasure box
I’m overwhelmed by all this “want this” & “want not”
Who am I?
Who will I be?
I guess only God can look in and really see.
Maybe I’m looking over all the important things
Maybe my “riches” aren’t exactly what they seem
Maybe it’s love, patience, giving and kindness
Maybe its overcoming life’s struggles, chaos, and madness
Maybe it’s in the strength of my mind over the dismay of the world
Maybe it’s in my parenting of my sweet, teenage girl
All this time I thought I had failed
I thought my ship to success had already sailed
I thought I was a jack of all trades and a master at none.
But my kid said, “No, Mom, you’re wrong.
You’re a master at one.
You raised me right, you raised me well.
You’re a great mom! I can tell.”
Wow, well people do say
You can’t buy happiness
And I’m one of the few
That believes this is true.
For all the work, learning, and adding action to plans,
I’ve found that I’m rich in character, integrity, and helping my fellow man.
So I stopped thinking of all this “wasted” work I had done over the years
I realized that through the blood, sweat, pain, and tears
That my efforts, dreams, and goals weren’t in vain
Instead of money, homes, cars and other material things
I got something that money cannot buy,
Beautiful, smart, and wise.
Yes, I’ve mastered something
And this something is great!
And here I thought it was way too late
Yes, I’m a jack of all trades
But now I’m a master at ONE!
In all my years
I’ve become a great mom!
I’m truly a success
Because of you Jess!
A cooling ev’ning eased the heat of day,
Too bright the sun that withers on the skin
Throughout the working day, no words can say
The pain of being stuck in work within.
To work all day when summer paints the sky,
Unkind it seems and never truly fair;
The promised cash that reasons justify,
Is no salvation to a greater care.
The working day will end but leave me cold,
In the silence of my old, empty room,
For she’s not there for me to love and hold,
As night begins to fall in dusky gloom.
Yet with the night I feel her presence near,
As whispered words softly caress my ear.
Form: English Sonnet
What do you do if you can't find a job
and all your monthly bills keep piling up?
Collectors are as vicious as the mob,
You wonder when all these problems will stop.
You changed your lifestyle hoping for the best
and started your life over with clean slate,
Then you are faced daily with many test
some of them you wish would disintegrate.
When what you need is not just a handout,
('Cause people do get tired of a leech,)
but a blessing to turn your life about
and you will see nothing's beyond your reach.
It's time for you to use the things you've got
and trust the Lord to help you find your lot.
Copyright © 2007 Jacquelyn Sturge
Down by the River Seine, where light abounds
come take a walk with me, a sheer delight,
just listen to the distant flowing sounds
of Paris coming to another night;
to hear a distant concertina play
is magic to mine ears, c'est magnifique,
and only Paris lives, in such a way
that brings the love of which the poets speak;
to see this city shroud itself in glow
from all the love, of which we are a part,
is seeing birth that few in life can know
and all this love of Paris, is its' heart.
Je vais me promener--come join my walk
forgetting life a while, let's idle talk.
Born in a leaky roof
Chains normatively bangles
Where bales’ pay tribute
Their fate decided by others
Those who think themselves gods
Like dogs they penetrated
Only to recoil like serpents
Swallowing the hunters game
He violated their rule
And spoke against their doctrines
He slept but they were gone
Buried he was in our minds
To die a man
Is to forever live
A phenomenon known lone
To the great one
For in accord they both are
Otherwise called a failure
When I came, the roof trickles
The wall disintegrates
The barn full less
Our good for carts
I left the roof without leakage
The wall integrated
Our harvests unmarketable
And our roads for automobile
I am because I make marks
And not as I detach made marks
Speedily sprouted, sheltering shrubs
Yes from sun-like Sirs
Planning to fertilize our farms
And mechanizing micro melons
‘966 found them chopped
Them the Irokos
Ironically from well meant members
Yet again, they too felled
In their quest to unite and grow
Our hearts aches, bleeding and saturated
Yet our mouth guffaw
For our mother had lads
Sons that could lay inert
That others may sprout
Spending money here and there
Pennies, nickels, dimes and dollars
Prices raised without a prayer
Leaving my pocket with a holler
Groceries cost more and more
Utilities are higher and higher
I don’t really know what for
I sometimes wish I knew the supplier
Mortgages and interest take a chunk
What do I do about the price of red meat?
My paycheck has definitely shrunk
Buying one dinner is a huge feat
Maybe I’ll get a big raise one day
I hope that will happen this May
Every second passes by me unseen
But I can feel the weight of one minute
After each hour my mind becomes keen:
That these days are adding up bit by bit.
Each week my personality alters
A year goes by and my mind starts to twist
Decades pass and it seems as time falters,
My mentality gets lost in time’s mist.
Yet when I am with you the clock stands still
If only I could exploit these feelings
I could stop the sands of time at my will
But I’m not capable of these dealings
Time now steals what I already forgot
My mind starts to fade but our love will not
There is no argument, for my lament
Is regarding the children that run all
Over my apartment complex, I've spent
Hours trying to work, so I will stall.
On my knees to God for relief at last.
They are so loud and inconsiderate.
In their own world I never shout or blast,
Then maybe chocolate could be my bate.
I feel that they all are creeps from the deep,
These kids have no right to be so noisy.
I could fix Coke and drugs to make them sleep,
Finish my work or send them to Boise!
Don't they go to school these nasty oafs?
Or just stay in bed and turn into ghosts.
Running around is good while they grow up,
When I just close the doors I can't hear them.
I center on work with my coffee cup.
To watch the kids play at times is a gem.
My doors are closed now as I calmly boil
inside, so I'll loose some weight at the hips!
My work is what matters and I do toil,
Ready to use that anxiety script.
The children are OK cuz their parents
Are nice, and I shouldn't be so upset.
I do think about moving to Florence
at times, just for a vacation, you bet.
Life is complex and summer has its ups.
I look at these kids like a herd of pups.
Dear Judy Konos,
Don't think We're down--You're country, tis of thee
For which our Flags been woven and unfurled,
this very thread, it binds us constantly,
becoming still the envy of the world.
In fifty states we grew to all we are,
and though some think God's guidance is not there,
this truth comes shining through in every Star;
Our Liberty of life shows ever'rywhere.
To tell the world, Come you, and learn our way,
there is no secret to how we have grown,
and in God's light, God's light is where we stay,
to guide you to what we have only known.
between each line, God's word is meant to share,
and "We the People..." is what keeps it there.
by veebdosa 04/16/2011 (Dedicated to my friend Judy Konos in New Orleans)
To Gooney Birds
Shifting palm trees in sandy beach sunshine
Guard an immortal violet-blue lagoon
Gooney birds beg and dance all in a line
When they land it’s like watching a cartoon
As the ship is being refueled at pier
Steaks and beer on the beach with these strange birds
An island oasis it would appear
What I observed was truly beyond words
Sailors in various degrees of dress
Being chased and attacked by vicious foul
While steaks burned with cold beer we couldn’t care less
By sunset my shipmates began to howl
A bizarre lay over as you have read
We left at sunrise all with aching head
I'm the sonneteer of another era,
Struggling for fame and dreaming of glories...
Living free in prosperous America,
Where there's hunger for interesting stories.
Invite me to share yours as thrills resume;
I will give my opinion anytime,
But perfect syllables count and strict rhyme scheme
Are required for rhythm to happily chime.
Petrarch and Shakespeare were the greatest
Poets who created remarkable sonnets;
Read their works with unquenchable zest:
You'll discover they wrote them in the hundreds!
Study the unique forms of each sonnet;
Model yours on them with true interest!
I am bewildered as to how to carry on my write ups!
With my eyes all time into the bookish stuffs;
Teachers and proffessors praise me for my talents-
But still they scold me for studies making me silent.
I am bewildered as to how to think positive!
With all men in power stressingupon negatives;
They say us to be optimists-
But neither thet act nor allow us to be good artists.
I am bewildered as to how to invent new in life!
With mind in tension where I thrive;
They tell me you will do great-
But the same warns me perform or fret.
So much contradicts in this world of mine-
To write and find new please give me some time!!
Golden morning light moments prior to pastel holds so many hues
Waking into beams shining on our window screens rise no time to lose
Stumbling out of bed standing taller once again things becoming clear
Automatic drive eliminating thinking slipping into gear
Sitting holding cup lost in concentration coffee waking thoughts
In my mindless state wrapped together tightly unconnected caught
Take another sip then gather a few to use lightly brushed in prose
Noticing the way that the Summer helps the muse rise from sweet repose
Wending through the day enjoying every part light and carefree hearts
Skip to summer breeze so contented with the ease life wings on to please
Endless Summer days remembered youthful romance evening foggy haze
Seasons too soon turn each carries lovers delight lately lazy days
So we savor time enjoying what we're given living hand in hand
Gardening and tied loving every moment grateful of eden
A creative mix of oil and blood,
for it only matters whats under the hood.
And the smell of gas,
and the smell is good.
Eight pistons tunring,
the rich fuel burning.
The need to race,
the urge thats churning.
The stretch of open road,
to only go fast, I make an ode.
The acceleration that stops,
the blood that once flowed.
Driving is not a sin,
it just shows where I've been.
To whom should read my words could then explain,
How much is fact or mystery they've caused,
That overhears with insight, fraught or plain
And fact remains between the words you've paused,
Shall crack the code with detail, as you will;
Enable much to understand what's read-
Words, whose pieced together have until
You've found the key to something that I've said;
This strength in words are yours to solely keep
So treasure them as if they were your own
Until a time when you shall find in sleep-
The curse to many fears your dreams have sown.
With meaning you evolve as someone who
Makes something out of nothing, all come true.
Happy thanks for happy people doing happy work to live;
With my glass of wine saluting, happy thanks to them I give.
Cheery thanks to cheery thinkers who produce the most they can,
Building up the world around them for the majesty of man;
Gleeful thanks for gleeful cities with their shops of sparkling light,
And my thanks for slender towers winking thoughtfully through the night;
Hearty thanks for heavy tables full of turkies, stuffing, pies,
And for looks of proudest loving in a mother's smiling eyes;
Thanks in earnest for the farmers who have beautified the earth
With their measured rows of science flowing musically in worth;
Thanks of praise for true philosophers, whose principles lead on
All the men whose mighty industry bestows a brighter dawn.
Happy thanks for happy people doing happy work top live;
With my flowintg glass saluting, hapy thanks to them I give.
To the Signalmen of the Watch
She is cool gray steel, slicing darkest sea.
Crewed by crazed youngsters, both man and woman.
Quiet and deadly, in following seas, free.
No light above, but the Moon and Orion.
Coffee, cigarette, red night lights aglow,
I, reading Conrad, lookouts are all set.
Only sounds of the sea and radio,
always watchful for contacts to be met.
She patrols her night box for rouge raiders.
Giant turbines in her belly turn with snap.
The night cook prepares mid watch cheese sliders.
Chaplain says night prayer, Boats plays taps.
She was built for fast work anytime or place.
I sit on watch, red light bathing my face.
Like a huge serpent, its mouth opened wide
at dawn we approached, through fisher and boat
Slowly we entered a world with tide
the West had not seen, Siam’s royal coat
The smell of incense and sweet mossy shore
Beautifully adorned golden temples shine
Large ships moored amid stream both aft and fore
Making slowly for Bangkok, our whites fine.
Entering the crowded harbor we gaze
Anchor let go, the first since WWII
Liberty launch to shore all in amaze
Rushing ashore, things to come, not a clue
The kingdom of Thailand raises her dress
I leave this exotic jewel a mess.
To those who have done prep
Prep up for break, hanging in morning dew
Made fast with sailing twine, awaiting dawn
Brass belaying pin holding halyard to
I glimpse across harbor, Third Fleet’s mowed lawn
My eyes upon OTC, I await
One whistle, the yellow and green closed up
As I snap nylon, open pennant break
Out she flies into the morning, sun up
Tie her off and break third sub, black and white
Three whistles and downward goes, out night light
Rolled and made, starboard, outboard back up tight,
Downhaul tied, gleaming pin, ready for night
My sunrise duty, flags to break and make
In paradise the day begins like cake.
With my hands forcing a wind beaten hatch
Out into a vast world of might and spray
Holding tightly to the storm lines I latch
Rain gear lashing against my frame, I pray
Mountains of water rising and falling
Wind screaming through man made tower of steel
Stagger dancing and towing, not walking
Salt water flies into my eyes, I shield
Finally, the hatch lever in my grip
Squeezing into the signal shack, dog tight
Safe inside, warm and dry, poncho, drip, drip
Blue water and spray extinguish star light
Night on watch, in a treacherous typhoon
The howling beast stalking my metal room
To lonely sailors
Lines of polyester, a sawbuck fare
My mates, a little tea, my plight set
Smokey guitars scream over bands of hair
Cheap, watered bourbon, endless cigarette
Round perch, watching the watchers, colored lights
Elbow nudge; take the wooden pipe, past on
Back in line, another drink, eye the sites
A new view, another hit, a bad con
Munchies, chili dogs and fries, the night's end
Walking, searching for the ride back to ship
Suspended in a party with no kin
Back in my rack, open eyes slowly slip
A night of liberty, nowhere to go
These times put a lonely sailor down low
To those who have experienced the first time underway
All preparations made, standing in white
Waves and silent kisses from those who stay
Take in all lines! Whistle’s moan, tug lines bite
A slight movement, at last I’m underway!
Signal flags flutter, channel buoys made
Course set for the open deep blue, watch set
Strike below for chow, movie and the Spades
Watch wake at night’s mid, stars through Big Eyes met
Never before have I gazed such wonder
Unsteady gait acquires legs of the sea
Phosphorous fan parts the night fore yonder
The isle’s tiny lights shine like sparkling trees
My first experience with mother ship
A late night date and she picks up the tip
To those who keep the seas free
They place themselves board tiny boats at sea,
floating alone, hoping for savior's mast.
Their homes overran by threshing V.C.
We approached, fearful faces were made fast.
Their hungry eyes looking upward for trust,
one by one we hauled them aboard, swing and hoist.
There were women, children, and old men, we must!
A tent city constructed, their tears moist.
We sank their boat when they were safe aboard.
Grenades to the hull and below she sank.
We sailed them to Hong Kong, for free room and board.
Leaving them, we knew for freedom they thank.
People seek out freedom from oppression.
My shipmates and I survive a lesson.
Across the brow and onto gray steel
with awkward salute, for duty I board
Smiles around deck from self perceived Salts peel
Soft the ensign flutters, "Welcome Aboard!"
Below deck I'm pointed to rack and home
A coffin by design, my gear is stowed
Adorned dungarees and white hat, I roam
Hatches and passageways deceive below
An opening, and alas sunlight peeks
Topside, above the bridge, to meet my mates
Every man sighs and gives pause 'fore they speak
The salt air and bright sun make my heart awake
A new sailor aboard with awe and glee
I enter with trust, a new life, the sea.
To big guns and destroyer men
The alarm sounds like a dull clanging bell.
Sailors in their battle gear run for posts.
“Hatches are closed and zebra set!” we yell.
A surprise in store for Iraqi hosts.
The towers rose from the sea like islands.
They were made of steel, rubber, and plastic.
Arab men scrambling to flee in bands,
their boats speeding away, faces frantic
Big guns sound, blazing fire and metal fly,
metal islands reduced to flaming spires.
Retaliation ordered from the sky,
mission complete, we leave ocean afire.
Our first taste of battle went as was planned.
New sea stories to tell when we hit land.