Poem | |
ON THE YOUNG MANS BALD
EYES BLACK AS
NIGHT STARED INTO
FRONT OF HIM
PATHS WHERE THE
CHILDREN HAD ROLLED
THREE BALLS OF SNOW MUCH EALIER THAT VERY DAY.
PATCHES OF GREEN GRASS
STUCK THROUGH PACKED
IN THE MIDDLE OF HIS FACE
A CROOKED CARROT POINTED TOWARD
THE HOUSE WHERE CHILDREN SAT LOOKING
OUT THEIR WINDOW AT THEIR NEW FOUND
FRIEND. HIS BUTTON MOUTH SHAPED FOR
HIM TO LOOK HAPPY SEEMED TO SMILE
AT THEM AS THEY STARTED TO BLOW
KISSES AT THEIR WONDERFUL
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Poem | |
The innocence lost so long ago
The undying faith we used to know
The gentle rain of a summer's skies
You can find it all in your child's eyes.
The world was right one time it seems
And we could reach beyond our dreams
To meet a challenge of any size
That fire still burns in your child's eyes.
In a world of anger and miscontent
And the frustrations of a life misspent
And you wait in fear as the storms arise
You can still find peace in your child's eyes.
Take the time for all those things
Hear his words: feel the joy he brings
There is no hate; there are no lies
There is only love in your child's eyes.
Poem | |
There are so many different kinds of poo,
it's amazing to see what passes through.
is something everyone has to do.
Yes. It's true!
I do too!
Look at this poo all covered in nuts.
It stinks far worse than rotten fish guts.
Oh me! Oh my!
Oh me! Oh my!
It stinks so bad,
it caused that fly to die.
So some poo is quite smelly.
Some poo looks like jelly.
Some poo is very icky,
especially when it comes out sticky.
Some poo smells high.
Some poo smells low.
Some poo slides out fast,
and some poo comes out slow.
What kind of poo is your favourite to do?
Maybe an in-between sort of doo-doo?
The smelliest poo is made by the razor-backed Zonkzifferack.
Boy, when the razor-backed Zonkzifferack decides to drop a mighty stack....
....stand back! Yes. Please stand back!
There is nothing worse than the poo attack of a razor-backed Zonkzifferack.
Then there are the infamous Knack-a-croodle Crows.
Their poo smells like that of a Summer rose.
Not at all unpleasant to the nose.
Nothing wrong with those Knack-a-croodle Crows.
Look! Over here.
That poo is making a quick dash.
Oh! What a huge splash!
Now look at the poo over there.
It's all covered in hair.
There's also poo that floats like a boat,
or sinks very quickly in the drink.
Poo shaped liked cats,
poo shaped liked rats,
poo marching along wearing fat hats!
the next time there arrives a choo-choo,
making poo is something everyone has to do.
Nothing to be ashamed of through and through.
Whether it's new
whether it's blue
or possibly a bit old
even covered in mold....
....everyone has to make poo.
Even Ms. Brown, the teacher,
and Mr. Collins, the Preacher.
Your Mommy makes poo.
Your Granny makes poo.
I do too!
Yes I do.
*R.I.P. Dr. Seuss
Written: January 28th, 2012
Poem | |
Screaming at the Sky
Mothers screaming mournfully at a deaf sky
holding their heads helplessly as they cry
pitiful tears for innocent, defenseless children slaughtered
in fatal cross fires, deadly drug wars
drive-by shootings, and cases of mistaken identity
on blood-splattered streets, senseless endless violence; but
who really gives a damn, only grief-stricken
mothers screaming mournfully at a deaf sky.
Poem | |
My poems are conceived, not within the womb,
which long time now has been devoid of seed.
My poems are born from a need to be heard:
my thoughts, passions, sentiments and beliefs.
They start as fragments,
flecks of ash from my mind's abyss,
a restless volcano that never long sleeps.
The particles of ash collect and form together.
Feverishly I rush to absorb them all
as captured words on scribbled scraps of papers,
employing metaphor, play on word,
or sounds deliberately paced, and grace of rhythm.
I mold my poems meticulously to my image,
and then they emerge, fatherless but freed.
Each, my voice, shares her sisters' ways,
but unique, is cradled in the pages of my book,
where, satisfied with my labor, I can turn to them
and often look as a mother does on her infant babe.
Unlike, however, mortal children can do,
when I am through with them, they do not change,
and fully formed, they rarely disappoint.
As some have loved the fruit of my own flesh,
I hope they'll love my poem children too.
For Carol Sunshine Brown's WHO WHAT WHERE Poetry Contest
Poem | |
One Halloween night when I was five
Rain pelted city streets, we stayed inside
Dad lit the Jack-o-lantern candle
Told us the tale of a famous vandal
One “Headless Horseman” in Sleepy Hollow
‘Twas Ichabod Crane he chose to follow
Crane ran breathlessly, was terrorized
(At this point my father’s eyes looked wild)
Thundering behind him through the forest
The hooves of a horse and a rider headless
Carrying a sword to strike Ichabod
(Dad grabbed a spatula, swung it like a rod)
Not just we children but our mother too
Gasped at the thought of Ichabod pursued
High winds cut off our electrical power
As in our kitchen three children cowered
Orange light from the pumpkin’s evil eyes
Showed Dad seemed to have dematerialized
The youngest, I felt something run through my hair
I screamed aloud in horror and despair
The lit pumpkin fell from table to floor
Darkness as I ran through the kitchen door
Leaping into bed, pulling up the sheets
Dad snuck into my room, whispered, “Trick or treat”
So if you think I am a drama queen
Please realize that it’s all in my genes
Poem | |
You say you're Cinderella,
Or would you like to be.
Does this mean that you've found,
Your Prince charming in me?
You also say you're Jasmine,
So, Princess, please be mine.
A whole new world I'll show you,
A world of love divine.
Your favorite is Tinkerbell,
So I'll be Peter Pan.
Together we can fly away,
Off to Netherland.
And if you're Sleeping Beauty,
Then i will be the one.
To kiss your lips, open your eyes,
And fill your life with sun.
And if I was the Beast,
And your name was bell.
I know that I could count on you,
To free me from my spell.
And if I was Prince Eric,
Would you come with me?
As my Ariel I'd show you,
A lover deeper than the sea.
Just like a disney tale,
Filled all with love and laughter.
You and I will be together,
Happily ever after.
Poem | |
There once was a little snowflake
that was beautiful, cold and white
He was created up high within the clouds
during a storm one winters night
There were millions and millions of other flakes
but, no two that look alike
So, every snowflake received a name
and, his given name was Mike
Now as long as the wind was blowing hard
the more Mike hung around
But, it made him large and heavy
For, now he's heading towards the ground
There was Susan, Steven, Jimmy and Kyle
There was Sally, Kim and bill
They all came down together with Mike
as they landed on a sill
Of a cold and frosty window
on that stormy winters night
They gathered all together
as they waited for morning light
The sun then rose above the horizon
it's light...lit up every flake
The colors that came from all Mike's friends
a rainbow it did make
The beautiful snow lit morning
left Mike nowhere else to roam
But, he was happy to be there with all his friends
as he made that sill his home
Poem | |
Dance with me
I have borrowed mum`s summer hat
Dressed up with lipstick and pearl necklace
The good smell....do not say it but it`s mum`s perfume
The high heel red shoes are mum`s and they fits
me almost I`m nearly four years old and a big girl
I have dressed up so nice just for you
Dance with me dad, I`m your little princess tonight
Poem | |
Bebo was a bird
who could not fly
He kept flapping his wings
'cause he knew he must try
There were two other birds
that were laughing at him
As he was jumping and flapping
up high on a limb
It must be so hard
to be stuck in a tree
Said, those two silly birds
That were laughing at me
I do not like you
get out of my tree
Don't you have somewhere to go?
Don't you have somewhere to be?
Bebo then said
let me get back to my endeavor
Or, I'll be stuck in this tree
forever and ever
He knows he's a bird
he eats worms and sings
He just needs a good breeze
to get under his wings
Bebo worked hard all week
to get into the air
Then he started to cry
Yelling, this isn't fair
With tears down his cheeks
Bebo looked at the sky
He said, I know I'm a bird
so why can't I fly?
The wind then spoke out
and said, It's not how you try
You must climb to the top
You must get really high
Then open your wings
and face into me
I will help you find flight
just get up there, you'll see
Bebo went to the top
of his lonely old tree
He opened his wings
and, waited to see
The wind then picked up
and, carried him high
Bebo was laughing with joy
'cause now he could fly
From that day on
Bebo was happy with flight
He said goodbye to his tree
and, then he flew out of sight
Poem | |
Inside the Dishwasher everyone rushed!
Clinks, clanks, rattles, 'Ouches' and ' Ohs'!
"Would you pa--lease, settle down!" said Deb--They hushed.
"Now we can hear...let's just see how this goes."
Curious, Peter, looked out through a chinc,
And watched Vie and Chris-- approaching by twos.
They opened the door--and who do you think--
Standing there wearing her fine Jimmy Choos,
Ms Lost Sonnet!--spoke not a word--but winked.
Wilma Wine-Corkscrew, dressed in purple hues
Gave the 'all clear', and Peter spread the news.
"We're having a party Ms Sonnet, please,
Won't you join us? It's a magic party
For Peter", said Ruben Rotisserie.
Bob Blender poured her a drink--quite hardy.
Connie Candellabra was flaming bright
As Ms Sonnet swept past to the soft couch.
Carolyn Cookie Jar screamed with such fright,
"Quick! She's on fire!" Then Lost cried, "Ouch!"
"I'll save her", said Catie Collander. "Here!"
But the water leaked through her like a sieve.
Susan Spatula yelled, "Have no fear, dear!"
Yet, the fire held on and would not give--
Others tried, but could not stop the fire.
Then Peter said, "I wuw twy! I can do it!
With 'Awwy, I can fwy! Way up highya!
Togethwa, we can save Ms Wost Sonnet!
Awwy is my fwend. He tawks funny, too!
He's aw the way fwom Engwand and he is
My Supwa Cape! So I can fwy! It's twue!
No H's wive theaw--his name is wike this:
'Awwy--not Hawwy." So now, they all knew.
"Did I 'ear some bloke colling my name?"
"Yes! 'Awwy, me! We've Ms Sonnet to save!"
Harry Handtowel--AKA, Super Cape--fame
Was now on the neck of Peter the Brave!
With no hesitation quickly they flew,
Smothered the fire and saved just one shoe.
Brittle and weak, Lost needed more than glue...
"She needs magic! Oh! Paweeze! What can we do?"
"Peter...we only made enough for you".
Said Carol Crock-pot. They all cried, "Boo Hoo..."
"Then give huw my magic! That's what you do!"
So quickly they sprinkled the magic brew.
Ms Sonnet was greatful--then said, "Adieu".
"Peter, you've done well," said Anne Assam Tea,
"Let's all have a cup'a tea and you'll see...
"'Magic's believing in yourself, --frankly,
Do that--and you can do--anything!"
*Special appearance by "Lost Sonnet", courtesey of David Williams...with much gratitude, thank you all for appearing ;)...Peter has many adventures to come...big hugs, love you all, cap'n deb
Poem | |
His narrow eyes, misguided lies
Misguide his narrow plan,
To cleanse the world from demons, he
Was called The Preacher Man.
“I see no proof, I hear no truth!
Your science is a sin!
You’ll burn in hell if you rebel
And let the Devil win!”
The Preacher Man then took a stand
To convert the sinners by the hand
“You’ll see the Lord you’ll praise the Lord!
You’ll follow blindly Christ the Lord!”
The more he chased, the more they ran
From him, The Preacher Man.
Leviticus was hideous
To the innocent righteous folk
“The fags all shalt be stoned to death!” (Lev 20:13)
The terror he provoked.
His crucifix read “Six six six”
The people use to claim
He’d always clutch on to a crutch
To get him through his pain
His acid tongue and Sabbath stung
With nails through his hands he hung
“My sacrifice is worth the price,
For council in the Lord’s advice!”
His rapture soon began
That beast, The Preacher Man.
His leather book of horror shook
The children to their knees
“Dash the babies against the rocks (Psalm 137:9)
And hang them from the trees!” (Joshua 10:26)
From town to town he went around
Proclaiming he could heal
“The pain of grace upon your face!”
(His wallet was concealed.)
So lock your doors and hide what’s yours
Protect your children from the w----
“I’m commin’ for you, I’m gunnin’ for you!
I’ll say that I’ve been pray’n for you!”
His ministry infests the land
He’s called The Preacher Man.
Poem | |
Time now Mama, get the tree,
Hand the box of ornaments to me,
I'll put them on the tree most carefully,
It'll be super pretty, just you see!
Colorful balls, red, gold and green,
Lights are the brightest I've ever seen!
Santa will be happy, he won't be mean,
We'll put out cookies with frosting in between.
Time now Mama, hang stocking with care,
If he brings me candy, you know I'll share.
Garland and tinsel, we must prepare,
Christmas is coming, Mama we almost there!
Elf on the shelf, I'll find him tonight,
Out the window, the world is turning white.
There is Rudolphs nose shining red and bright.
I'll go to bed Mama and stay out of sight.
Colors and sounds greet the day.
In my pajamas I get to stay.
Presents and toys, I just want to play.
Together with you Mama, and I like it that way
Poem | |
Sleep my lovely baby/PD/lady
Although I am so far away
Listen to the sweet song I sing
Feel in your heart I’m not leaving
Soft wind cuddles you in my arms of love
My warm embrace never makes you sad
Before you close your diamond eyes
Make a wish I am with you tonight
All dreams that you dream here or afar
Will be answered by those bright stars
As the moon smiles sweetly in your sight
Giving an assurance that you’ll be alright
Sleep my lovely baby/ PD/lady
Sweet lullaby I sing as I fervently pray
May God keep you safe while I’m away
In this world you’re so special in His way
This can be sung in a tune of a lullaby song which my teacher had taught me when I was still in Grade 4, I remember more vividly but not exactly the tune and the title and lyrics not anymore.
First Place Winner
Contest: Send Me To Sleep Poem
Poet Sponsor: Greatest Poet, Poet-Destroyer
Poem | |
Under the Christmas tree sits a nativity scene in the old town square. I sit on a rustic wood bench and reminisce on the stories I’ve been told about Jesus being born on Christmas Day. When all of a sudden I hear movement in the bushes; I turn my head and look over my shoulder. With a sudden fright, a tall pure white stallion with feathered wings, steps forward and says, “My name is Peg, climb on my back and I’ll take you to where it all began.” I arose to my feet and got on Peg’s back, held on tightly to his mane. He galloped off at full speed facing into the wind and took off soaring into the night full of stars, being guided by a large, bright, glowing star.
Peg turned his head and said, “That is the Christmas Star ahead.”
As I looked down below, I saw coming from the east, three men. Could they be the three Wise Men!
As we reach the star we slow down to a town. Peg said, “This is Bethlehem down below.”
Peg starts descending close to a stable and lands. I anxiously dismount and we both walk towards the stable. My spirit was overpowered with awe, there in the small dim lite stable, we found a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger, with his mother Mary kneeling beside Him.
The shepherds that were watching their flocks near the stable also came all elated, one of them said, “An angel appeared and told us a Savior, the Messiah, had been born and that we would find Jesus laying in a manger. So we immediately came to see if truly Jesus our Savior was borned. ”
Heaven was rejoicing at the birth of a Savior for all people.
The three Wise Men arrived and said, “Where is He who has been born King of the Jews? For we have seen His star in the East and have come to worship Him.” They gazed at the young Child and immediately fell down and worshiped Him, they presented their gifts to him of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
We stayed for a while in admiration of our Lord Jesus.
After a time Peg said, “ I need to get you back before you are missed.”
Together we flew into the endless night back home to the Christmas tree where I had been before.
By Eve Roper 11/18/2014 © 2014
Poem | |
Often wondering is it a steak upon Our Plates that is important...
Perhaps a Hot-dog instead and more Money for a healing deportment.
To feed a Child that is suffering or very ill and extremely sick.
We ask often comfortably what often makes the wealthy tick...
As We read on The Internet that there are Children out there just wanting Bread.
The Children eating grass in an Article was just as this is read...
My Heart torn open,wrenched,and burning with anguish inside.
My Own Home hem less,poor,and uncomfortably We reside...
Wishing We could just reach threw a T.V. Set to give a hand...
Just to pass Our Dinner to a child in a taunted hemmed Land.
My passion so large,words so strong,and My Pocket very small.
Never standing in the right position in Life to answer as Children call.
There are Children in Our World that are just eating grass.
Under seemly so by My feelings of disrepair as I pass My Own gas...
This stench of Many Self willed that preform as Our stanza has not grasped.
To reach for You now is more then an unbearable weep comprehend.
A World filling up with Starvation and Our Children in it left to descend.
To reach You now is an unwearable decision not yet made.
The Children Eating Grass just wore Me thin and They paid.
Sometime wishing I could just rob and empty an entire vault.
That Decision would cost Me greatly so I resort to prayer that will never fault.
To Be trusted with just This Message where I sit and grieve.
When Encounters of Love yet to occur and never to beckon Evil that is deceived.
By Charlene L.Wilcox 09-29-2014
Poem | |
He walked amid the woodlands muted morn.
The scents of earth were wafting on the breeze.
For dawn had moistened yet another day.
And silence dripped beneath the autumn trees.
A rustle in dry leaves, he caught a glimpse.
His gun caressed the warmth of flannel sleeves.
The silent hunter, stalking, tiptoed near.
A golden-red meandered through the leaves.
The sun began to rise above the knoll.
It shone upon dark eyes; the gun rose high.
The pheasant flickered leaves; then, heard a crunch.
He recognized the scent; the man walked nigh.
Red feathers, brightly accented with gold,
Were ruffled as he took his fighting pose.
The cockerel next to man had no defense.
So, high above the trees the pheasant rose!
His hungry children waited back at home.
He rushed along the trail up to the crest.
The pheasant lost from view; his stomach growled.
The hunter and his gun had done their best.
At noon, the hunter rested on a log.
The water in his canteen, nearly dry,
No morsel did he eat as day grew long.
The stealthy man could hear his children’s cry.
December 1, 2014
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Structured forms - Iambic verse - Sketch a fictitious character - (Top Gun Poetry) - Poetry Contest
Sponsor Giorgio A. V.
Poem | |
Pitter patter, what’s the matter?
I hear little feet sprint and splatter.
There was no time for tiny tip toe,
There is something, something I must know!
Huff and puff, shakes the skin once tough,
Ten tiny fingers grab me by the cuff.
“Come now Mama, you must see,
A monster, a monster, grabbed at me!”
Shush and hush, quiet we must rush,
Mama’ll turn that monster into mush.
In search in stealth for something fowl
Sneaky, sneaky like a fox on the prowl.
Corner peeking, little eyes seeking,
Only motions, quietly, no speaking.
Tiny feet turn heavier than stone,
Tossing bed pillows, bed covers thrown.
Search and find, what was left behind,
Left over cookies crumbs were not kind.
With innocent eyelashes and a guilty smile,
The monster, the monster, won’t be back for awhile.
Poem | |
It is not just Santa Claus who we meet in cold December—
There is “Carolina,” and she’s the beauty of a winter picture perfect
With luscious long coal black curly hair far down on her back
As a true fairy princess, Carolina is quite beautiful with beaming
Blue eyes and that certain incandescent glow for all to see and
Dressed in a sparkling white robe made of polar bear skins
With a glossy coat sprinkled with pearls and diamonds . . . .
Out of the woods she comes so quiet in the night’s fresh snow
With a glimpse of two deer and a fox on hunt walking carefully
Carolina hopes the deer will walk around with angelic guard
The secret is that beautiful Carolina talks the animals’ languages
The birds they play in all its splendor fine without sorrows
They fly while Carolina keeps watch carefully on the horizon
Falling snow now dazzling Christmas in a ball circle most brilliant
While there is a frozen frosted sprinkling silver in the mist shining sun
Oh so!! Wonderful to behold as the Spirit of Christmas comes alive . . . .
The Reindeer come alive and begin dancing joyfully together and
Create such a melodic sound almost like bells ringing aloud
And the all the Reindeer are here in their resplendent glory:
Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen,
And Rudolph, with his red nose so beautiful and oh so bright—
And the sounds the Reindeer make stay in the minds of the little
Children just like sweetly wishing little voices wonderful in dreams
With those singing, tunes a dancing light appears so wondrous
While planes from all over the world begin landing with cargo
And one each day with loads of letters from good little children
And Santa Claus begins calling the elfin troops into action while
The Leprechauns do all the heavy work as they are much tougher
But the old fighting Irish in them showing their softer side all the
While with a drop of the old fiery dew to keep them warm smiling
Like the very wee little Devil in them - mischievous and all . . . .
They do all the heavy work for the elves as they have more of a spring
In their step while almost bouncing on the tip of the their toes like
Little jumping springs so full of boundless wonder and energy and
Then day after day the letters keep arriving and landing at the North Pole
And they begin working like mad and very busily in the North Pole factory
While Santa checks the letters of all boys and girls through a secret window
And when he shakes it he sees through the mist in a glass bubble of the
Christmas treats while hurriedly calling together all of his Reindeer . . . .
The sound of hooves on the snow saddles up the sleigh he is very slim
To start off while all his helpers are loading up and he flicks the reins
And the bells start ringing and - in a flash of magic dust in spirit sings of
The ground waving he bade Mrs. Claus a very fond and loving farewell
And off he goes in a flash of light Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! echoing in the distance
Each chimney sliding down he eats the food throwing some to the Reindeer
Treats left after the night's over he feels so fat eating so much he heads back
Home to the North Pole while smiling so content at the children’s happiness
And ringing in his ears filled with golden smiles and wishing everyone a very
Merry Christmas he falls asleep after Mrs. Claus makes him a hot chocolate
Really tired but easing his weary bones year after year he loves his job very
Much so and all of the sheer delight that his efforts and those of Mrs. Clau
And his elfin helpers and the joy and fun of the Reindeer bring to all children
On this Earth!!
Merry Christmas to All!!
Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved (December 9, 2014) (Free Verse)
Poem | |
Buttons for game pieces, buttons on totes,
Buttons on toys, shoes, sweaters and coats.
Buttons that open and buttons that close
On pockets and purses and edges of clothes.
Buttons that decorate; buttons that don’t.
Buttons I'm sure to lose; buttons I won’t.
Buttons as filler for bean bags and such.
Buttons collected are not used so much!
Buttons on greeting cards and on jewelry!
Thousands of buttons adorning a tree!
Buttons to reset , to turn on a light.
There’s “Cute as a button” and also as “bright“!
Button up (but not down); push them “hot” (but not cold);
“Button your lip” and do as your told!
Though buttons may vanish one day from earth,
We'll wear on our bellies - buttons since birth!
Poem | |
It will hurt like a tattoo guns sting
as the ink infiltrates your skin.
Your first love will be like a tattoo on your heart,
always remembering the blessings and pain he gave you.
Be with a person who fills you with fluttering hummingbirds
even after the first and second and tenth kiss
who drinks the nectar of your demons and sucks them lifeless.
There will be men who you think will carry you forever
but after so long of holding
your feet above the water
they will throw you down.
They will not reach out a hand to pick you back up.
They will turn cheek,
kissless and forgotton.
You will stand with dirt palms
and fall back into his inferno.
There will be loves like this,
who convince you to prick yourself with safety pins,
the ones who carry guns on their backs
but never shoot to protect,
only to hurt.
The ones who drink all the water,
leave you parched in the desert of his mistakes
telling you that they are your own.
The ones who shoot arrows in your lungs
and you lye bleeding
believing that the color of your blood is true love for him.
The hour hand will spin around the clock
too many times before you leave him.
It will hurt.
You thought it was true,
but after the death of it
you will realize you deserve someone so much sweeter
than a bitter apple.
Love the one who doesn’t cheat you blind,
but instead comes to you with truths in his wretched palms
and waits for you to
but never gives up and never stops wishing that the past could rewind
that he could change the things wrong that he did to you.
Love the one who feeds your heart warm apple pie,
who cries in front of your children,
who drives them to school and hugs them when they get home.
Be with someone who doesn’t ask for you to change
but instead loves your mistakes
cradles them within his fabric lungs
breathes them in with a grin.
Love is an interesting thing.
You will be thrown out of a moving car to the side of the road.
Some will come running back to you.
Don’t jump back in the front seat,
until you find someone who buckles the seat belt for you.
Drives five under the speed limit,
takes things slowly and waits for you to be ready to accelerate.
I am here for you.
Remember me, the one who loved you first,
the one who will never stop loving you.
Come to me after he breaks up with you.
You can cry on my shoulder,
and ill wipe your tears with my sleeve.
Find a love who loves you the way
that your father and I love you,
the way that your grandmother loves you.
Find a love who already considers you family.
Who meets you
and looks into your ocean eyes
and drowns peacefully into your heart.
Poem | |
I was blessed to know a woman in my life
Who faced hard times, struggle, and strife.
A Chinese immigrant, she came from a poor town
Lost her husband, was kept from her daughter, but not kept down.
She had three other children who were born here
Getting them a better life was her biggest fear.
She had to fend for herself and them alone you see,
Speaking little of the language in this foreign country.
But, she had always lived a determined life
So she fought back...with a fork and a knife.
She opened a restaurant in a small community
Where her gracious manner made her friends instantly.
Her children would grow up in town with new friends
The restaurant she opened was the mean to her ends.
She worked very hard...sometimes eighteen hours a day
She never complained because that was her way.
Her life's expectations knew more successes sublime
The restaurant grew...one egg roll at a time.
She once told me of the anxiety she felt at the money she'd spent...
Laughing said, "My uncle said sell 2 qts of Chop Suey/Day...you've got the rent."
She was a woman who chose kindness as she felt had to her been shown
To people far and near her generosity was known.
She was thankful that she had the opportunity
To give back with love rather than animosity.
I first met her over some 30 years back
She struck me from the that moment as a person who had the knack
To make others feel at home though strangers they be
She certainly did, because she did it to me.
I still remember her caring for me...it was shown
Once caught in a blizzard, she opened her home.
So often was there a path to this woman's door
Though she stood, less than 5 foot 4.
Her heart was as big and wonderful as one would want
An earthly angel, she was heaven sent.
Though her health began to wane later in life
She never gave in to that world of strife.
Her eyesight began to fail and it was difficult for her to see
But that didn't stop her or her generosity.
She loved people and filled everyone with cheer
Ever thankful that she had had a life here.
Though she is gone I'll never forget her face
Or her love of life, devotion to family, and unstoppable pace.
To me I'll ever be thankful to have had the joy
Of calling her "Ma" ... ONE IN A MILLION~was Connie Moy!
1st Place Winner - "One in a Million" Poetry Contest
Poem | |
Struggling through the Great Depression
Growing up fatherless in the care of a loving aunt
Losing her husband, his weary mother could not cope
Working for the Civilian Conservation Corps
Trying to support his family
Attending school at night to provide a better life
Playing his sax and clarinet
Resounding notes of joy cast blessings
Filling our home with happiness many children never know
Loving eyes and deep, gentle voice
Drawing admiration from all who came to know him
Speaking softly, never in harsh tones
Accepting life’s challenges
Forgiving when his children seemed ungrateful
Nurturing, caring, standing by our sides
Picking us up when we fell
Offering support in every endeavor
Being the kind of father he never had
Teaching us to work hard and achieve
Reminding us that life offers no guarantees
Encouraging us to rebound from challenges as “come-back kids”
Gathering at his hospital bedside New Year’s Day 2009
Astonishing nurses with the depth of our love
Never leaving his side, three grown children rested hands upon his
Lingering six days in a coma, perhaps his soul already in heaven
Speaking to him, hoping he could hear
Wanting him to feel our love one last time
Siblings who rarely agreed
Concurring just this once
Feeling blessed by our father, the brightest star we see in heaven
* Dedicated to my father, Arthur Schwarz, who died January 6, 2009
Poem | |
I pursued a butterfly through the woods.
It fluttered, just always beyond my reach.
The more I pursued, the more it teased.
Stalking it, like prey, it just fluttered away.
I found a moss covered log to rest,
Sitting in a serene, secluded spot.
A butterfly came ,sat upon the log.
I caught it in the palm of my hands.
It's wings became a rapid flutter,
Trying to escape my grasp.
I opened my hands , freeing it.
If we pursued things in life,
They become unattainable.
If we sit quietly and reflect,
they become attainable.
Chasing our dreams may be
as allusive as the butterfly.
Finding them as beautiful as the butterfly.
Poem | |
And as the hills yonder
Turned red from sunset rays
As darkness engulfed the valley
And the sweet sounds of birds
Rent the cool evening air
Our cows and sheep and goats
Hurried down the footpath
As though they were late
To a gathering of clans
Or to one of their own
And we the happy herds' boys
Turned our ravenous thoughts
To bananas yams and milk
And all available munch-able stuff
To calm our restless tummies
And as the evening metamorphosed into night
And the stars of the sky reclaimed their might
We the famished children of the valleys
Approached the fireside with widening eyes
As the roughshod soldiers laid claim to all
And shot in the air to frighten us all.
And so we watched with pangs of hunger
Training our wrath and rancor and dismay
To other sons and daughters of Africa
Who for reasons best known to them
Or known only to their heartless handlers
Proclaimed themselves ‘defenders of our freedom.’
Voila! Children of the valleys of Africa
And of the cities and slums of Africa
You who gather in the evening breeze
After torrid days in the fields and streets
Only to return to a darkening sky
Sans food sans wear sans light. Voila!