Poem | |
Inspired by Andrew Wyeth Watercolor Painting -- Wind From the Sea, 1947
Standing in the old house
A strange mixture of feelings erupt within me
My roommates Depression, Loneliness, and Hopelessness
Greet me with strangling arms and leering grins
I don’t fight them anymore – somehow they are a part me
So together, in this house, in this room
We endure the somber solitude of the day
A sudden chill fills the room
Death enters – its foul breath chokes me
My three companions prostrate themselves
Pressure builds in my bowels
Bile rises in my throat
A heavy weariness fills my bones
He’s calling – hissing my name
I can’t breath
Death surrounds my soul – crushing me
I hear groaning . . .
Strange guttural sound -- it’s coming from me
Deep painful darkness fills me
I beg Death to take me . . .
Through the open window
A gush of wind enters
A sheer curtain hanging comes to life
It’s spirit lifts inwards and up beckoning me to dance
What is this wonder?
A limp ragged curtain – faded, stained, frail -- has life
Reaching toward me . . . frayed fingers of thread motioning
Old friends rush to me – Joy, Hope, Love
Death’s grip slips – I gasp a breath
Looking up I see the open window
Boarded by old bare wood, hard with age
I realize it’s daylight now – soft shadows
A curving road leading to the water
I can taste the saltiness in the wind
Trees in the distance
A calling from the sea
Seagulls, waves, laughter
Joy breaths into my nostrils
Leave this place – Depression cannot hold you
Simple pleasures I will give you
Cool breeze on a summer afternoon
Laughter of friends
A walk in the garden
The Sea . . .
Depression laughs in my ears
Through that window lies heartache, treachery, poverty, misery
It will chew your insides up – blood will pour from your lips
Pain and suffering awaits if you leave this house
Death waits to take you home
An end to this constant noise – the peace of total emptiness
Another breeze and Hope fills my eyes with light
I see colors – vibrant alive filling me with warmth
Leave this place, take a journey to the sea
Let light fill you and be your guide . . . see -- opportunities abound
For laughter, love, forgiveness . . . for life – abundant life
See the rainbow upon the Sea
Hopelessness rushes toward me
Kisses my lips and whispers
Light burns and blinds
They will see clearly your secrets
Spotlight focus – ridicule scorn . . . ugly disgust . . . self-hatred
Love rushes in and embraces me
Light, fresh, empowering
My heart leaps with pleasure
Arm and arm she leads me to the window
Much pain and sorrow – yes . . . also Love
A powerful love that transforms, refreshes . . . frees
Breathe deeply of the Sea air – fill your lungs
Go – you are loved deeply and completely
Looking out Looking in
Poem | |
Tiger in a Cage (a stab at men)
Like a caged tiger.
You do not know what is in my den?
There is no worse feeling than the way I pace back and forth repeatedly.
A headless collar is all you see.
The closer I get, the more you seem to pretend.
To you these stripes look more like dots.
As you, continue to hold my lines and strands in your hand.
You stroke my stripes as if they were a loft of dental floss.
An ORANGE all squishy and rot.
Rough and tough!
You cannot peel what you cannot feel.
You do not know me at all?
You trust me.
You lace me.
You cannot describe the buds.
You cannot feel my fingertips.
A taste of nothing out of your lips.
Indian BLACK streaks in my skin.
How did you manage to even get in?
We mount this unspeakable stability.
A man-eater swallowing her growl.
This hunger is piercing throughout my veins.
Hiding the powerful black star sapphire in my eyes.
Every move I plan ricochets.
A tiger, a tiger in her cage.
Only in your world, I am my own prey.
My wildness is rarely found above my skin.
Every day I wear this heavy coat, my stripes continue to sink in.
It is a solitary confinement when you are around.
You cannot see the black diamonds under this unbearable frown.
Dingy claws, tapping……
Natures dew bestows a toneless mixture of orange and black tattoo.
These stripes, belittle my self-esteem.
The moon flashes overlapped our taboo.
Never will you see a tigers gleam.
Spirituality waiting to rise above the trees.
It is my choice, to stand behind these unbreakable twigs.
Fertilizing like pollen under a blanket of bees.
Still the effects of your eclipse, bounce off my wall.
I am telling you!
You don't know me at all?
The roads these loads continue to grow.
Far ahead, I am the gravel under your toes.
Crouching like a Tiger hiding the way a dragon breathes.
You don't know how I feel!
I am a tiger in a cage please set me free!
"Breed to Breathe" by Napalam Death
Poem | |
Brimstone's way up past the clouds
Highlights against the ocean line
Beautiful sunrise, warm texture
Warning, the rooster!
Glorious yellow and orange mixture
My source of great inspiration
Horizon against the wind
Unmatched - beauty mark In the sky
Itty Bitty Co.
Poem | |
Nestled in hills of Pine Mountain, Georgia
Butterflies thrive at Callaway Gardens
Pavilion filled with cornucopia
Vibrant beauties are captured on the lens
Floral-filled setting surrounded by glass
An international mixture abounds
Each majestic beauty in its own class
Flittering, fluttering, flying around
Magnificent magenta and sapphire
Flaunting deep purples and vivid yellows
The Lord blessed each with stunning attire
And they seem to be such carefree fellows
Pavilion visitors stand in great awe
Marveling at creatures without a flaw
*entry for PD's Butterfly contest.
Poem | |
In the cradled of life's dark garden,
It dwells amongst the murky waters
Behold the creature from the black lagoon.
Nay what is this creation, neither fish or
Yet a blending of both, a high bread's mixture,
Intelligent, and cunning, the last of his species,
Brought unwisely did men, bring beauties
Forbidden fruit, unto this lost oasis of Eden.
For alone sentinel awaits to partake in such
A luscious morsel.
So does it not say in biblical text, go forth
And multiply, by a driven basic instinct he
Cautiously watches from the thicket brush.
What a graceful motion moves within the
She swims idle caught unaware, the bride
To be herself, charms him with every stroke
Across this lake placid.
With Chameleon like stealth, the groom appears,
Taking his prize to their cavey honeymoon retreat.
So tenderly he greets his mate, from shocks
Dreamy like state she awakes, and recoils in repulsion.
No love's scorn, and tragedies broken heart,
Can do more damage than rejections expulsion.
Bullets may have cut the flesh to the bone,
But was it not beauty, which killed the beast,
And the last sight he saw, was his love in
So ends natures final verse in this evolutionary
The creature from the black lagoon now lies
Dead, upon this tragic stage of life.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Poem | |
Round orbs stare into my eyes,
Sparkling with the beauty of the sun caught inside;
They laugh and smile on their own.
Brown-golden suns reflect in the center,
They lead out to the most beautiful green.
Transfixed, they are the most beautiful things.
They hold pure un-judging love;
My heart beats a startled thrum,
Unsteady with this love.
Staring me straight in the eyes,
They speak, they whisper, they sing, they cry.
I trust them, more than I've ever trusted anything,
They don't lie, they don't hide.
Tears fill my eyes, for reasons that are not sad,
They pour out and down my cheeks,
Tinted with the painted blue in mine.
I stare at the most beautiful mixture I've ever seen,
Rimmed in long black lashes,
They stare only at me.
God gifted me with this art,
To stare at such beauty;
To hold its gaze for all of time.
This mutual stare is claimed forever as mine.
I swear I'll never let it go.
Beautiful green and gold,
Beautiful suns, my love they hold.
His beautiful loving eyes...
Poem | |
It was somewhere in Cambridge, when the amalgam of substances
began to cloud our judgment.
The changes were between vague and blatantly obvious, but
we were masters at this terrifying craft.
A small dose of opiates added with
at least two beers causes a distorted reality.
Nothing too off the wall except for the truth in knowing
you can’t fly among the stars above the mortals.
Four misguided miscreants let loose upon the England populous.
God help poor Britannia!
Usually at the helm of this godforsaken voyage, was Tony.
His plans were often of ridiculous proportions
many which either involved an attractive woman or
a ruckus full of dangerous consequences.
A vulgar yet honest vagrant.
Dante was a force to be reckon with.
Not only did he talk a big game, but he also delivered.
He was a Ciroc and Patron connoisseur with a
knowledge of the appropriate attire for any occasion.
A savant of the good life.
Rico was small but dangerous.
A mellow individual with words cool enough
to give the devil a cold shoulder.
The cool head amidst our savage expeditions
except when the spirits possessed him
causing a unique transformation.
A human wrecking ball of loose inhibitions.
Finally, there was me.
A laid back but slightly eccentric hedonist.
Forever seeking for any instant gratification and
always serving a dish of offbeat worldly wisdom to the masses.
An aimless joker who does what he please.
The streets of Cambridge are gruesome at night.
All types of freaks, monsters and nutcases
under the guise of party addicts fiending for the next fix.
We were just like these misfits
only further down the rabbit hole.
What seemed like a stroll into the seedy nightlife
soon became a submersion into another dimension.
Our mannerisms became over exaggerated.
The pleasant embrace of euphoria was as if
the good Lord touched the depths of our souls.
Warmth, peace and relaxation….
Tranquility of mind, body and spirit…
A transcendence into Nirvana…
Thanks to the sweet nectar from
the land of milk and honey.
Mother of God, this was amazing!
This is a high we didn’t want to come down from!
To onlookers we were madmen;
a product of the uncanny side of the spectrum.
However, little did they know
we were gods among mortals.
Our illuminating vibe attracted a
group of voluptuous women.
In this instant, Tony decided to seize the moment.
Using charms only he could apply, he
stated a question: “Hey! What that mouth do?”
The lovely raven-haired woman of the group
responded with an immediate action of a lustful kiss.
It was a mixture of seductive and sensuous
with a spontaneous flair.
The woman replied, “That’s what my mouth does.”
Tony was at a loss for words.
I had full belief this woman was a man-eater.
Somehow with a simple kiss she managed
to swallow Tony whole.
After the encounter, the group vanished
within the night.
Cheshire cat grins encompassed
Even though this event was minor,
we knew it was the beginning to a series
of outlandish events.
Poem | |
IS SITTING BACK THERE JUST WAITING TO TORMENT ME
but its an ILLUSION
THE GREAT MAN
what does He want all of a sudden
whats His game
i know His intentions are good but im TIRED of being protected
G onto it may distort my memories
i try to let go but the fear paralyzes me
its a mixture of REALITY and FANTASY
i havent REPRESSED any of it
the slate is CLEAR MENTAL STABILITY
PROPERLY PREPARED PATIENT
confirming my preconception that WE ARE ALL USELESS AND WEAK when we sleep
IM READY TO BEGIN
THIS NEW JOURNEY
Poem | |
When velvet petals blend with moonlit drips
I wander through rims of skyline’s debut,
evening chimes, drifting on prayerful tips
time away from rushed hours, while air brings dew.
Along crocheted rims of skyline’s debut
soft -laced flowers taste a hint of basil,
time away from rushed hours, while air spills dew
when color of blush deepens, my cheeks thrill
Soft -laced flowers taste a hint of basil,
leaves adorn the forest in twilight’s hum,
when color of blush deepens, my cheeks thrill
as mixture of red and white grows plumb.
Leaves adorn the forest in twilight’s hum
evening chimes, drifting on prayerful tips
as mixture of red and white grows plumb,
when velvet petals blend with moonlit drips.
Contest: Think Pink, Anthony Slausen
Poem | |
A woodland path in the dappled sun- hushed and quiet
where I come free my breast and silently ponder.
I gaze upon a spiritual calm and listen to its quiet song
releasing tranquility of mind that does wander.
Between branches of towering mixture of spindly trees
encased in morning sunlight smoky haze;
I hear the rustle of hanging leaves falling gently as a sigh,
conceding tired mellow heart to praise.
In far distance echoes soft cries of lonesome blue jay,
quickly taunting squirrel gives harassing reply.
In shadows of bushy foliage, sunlight fails to cast
hides ground creatures that have come to spy.
A cool soothing breeze sweetly lulls an inward peace
capturing solitude within fractured soul.
Suddenly troubled trapped mind feels timely at ease
when moment seized a woodland stroll.
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Third Place Winner ~ "A Woodland Path” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
July 6, 2011
Poem | |
My feet are cold; my tiredness lingers;
My back aches from stooping so low.
Dampened by the frigid water below,
I breathed warmth into my numbing fingers.
Again, I dipped my shovel into the coarse gravel
Of the stream dredging up with a gurgle
A mixture of pebbles and sand;
Into a bucket I poured it, firsthand.
In this wilderness I'm not alone, there's bear.
Mindful I am of the sounds around me;
A churning stream, rustling leaves, an elk groan,
Snapping twigs, anything that would put a scare
Or raise my hair. I looked around for a tree,
Somewhere to flee before darkness set in.
Not far from here, I spied a log cabin.
Into this stronghold I placed my supplies;
Nature's calm was just a disguise.
I latched its massive door; and bolted each shutter.
In its stone hearth, I started a fire;
Basking in its warmth worries melted like butter.
Outside, darkness enveloped the cabin;
Strong claws raked its walls peeling away its skin;
Relentless growling resonated through the dusty din.
Suddenly, I awoke huddled next to a glowing flashlight.
Shivering against the muddy walls of a beaver's lodge,
I could hear the bear feverishly ripping
Through the muddy grass, and the disjointed timbers
Above me. Deep beneath the surface darkness arrived
Just, as my flashlight flickered, then died.
Poem | |
An empty echo bellows from within the depths of a chasm. Endless and cold, it moans an apathy that desecrates the sanctity of love and alters the signal of all feeling and emotion. It reaches and bites the heart, concealing from vision its true mission of destruction. Tightly wrapping itself around the soul, it plunges its deadly sting through its victim, cutting off the gentle flowing mixture of happiness, sincerity, laughter and devotion. Mindless faces speak a meaningless language. The lips seem to move in an endless array of contours as a lone silhouette vanishes with the last beam of light. Alone it stands as it silently waits for time to pass. Alone in these vast depths of indifference, there is no hope, no salvation from the inward conflict that evaporates the soul. Bow your head little sparrow. Weep the tears that none else can. Reveal the pain that none else will. Lift your eyes to a destiny. Take the future up in your tiny wings and bring it back to me. Together we can cry over the past and fly away. Darkness is the absence of light, yet you and I see. Within the chasm flickers a small candle. To you and I little sparrow, no freedom is too distant, no change too great. We persist with love where blind hatred dwells. Lingering within us is a hope, a dream and purpose that lifts the wind beneath our wings. We've tasted the bottom of the chasm. Together we can cry over the past and fly away..........
Poem | |
I met a Hippie walking down the street.
She had long hair, big eyes.
Wide-bottomed trousers, orange-red,
Covered in an intricate pattern
Of strange designs, flapped round her feet
And from her shoulders over a flowered blouse
Hung a black satin something
With bright green frills on the edges.
From her neck dangled to her breast an emblem
In a circle – a unity of Love and Peace.
I passed by her and she glanced up.
I smiled...she smiled...and we moved on.
A smile can work wonders.
The couch and chairs were empty
And we sat comfortably on the carpet.
The candle threw an eerie light
Which came to nought in the depths
Of the room’s shadowy corners.
An odour of incense drifted around us
And a distorted candle flame
Was reflected in my cup of coffee.
We spoke of art, painting and poetry
Treading on the romantic,
Passing through hazes of religion:
A mixture of love, knowledge and mystery,
Probing into the eluding outlets of LSD,
The restful release of meditation,
The yearning of youth, disillusions of life,
The roots of joy and depression,
The understanding of oneself.
Smoke rose in bluish transparency.
The ring on her finger was big and it glimmered;
She opened a poetry book at random
And began reading from Tagore.
I was silent. Her voice was soft.
And when she stopped we said not a word.
There was no need – we both understood.
Contest: Any Poem#22
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Poem | |
In the beginning it was dust
being tossed around in the wind with no direction
wandering for a home that could not be found alone
laid out on hot pavement dried out and seeking
then the rain fell upon, mending together to form clay
bringing forth a new life form
from which by itself was alone and dead
water shall be made available to all
which shall give the texture to work with
few will absorb into a ready substance
seeking to be like the lamp stand which set the example
washing away the stones which caused it to separate
the Potter shall embrace with guidance
pouring the perfect mixture on a solid foundation
for this new creation to be molded
for all has been brought forth to press on
Just as clay while being formed into his creation
will fall and try to go on its own
for it has no support within itself
and has to be known it can not do it alone
but he watches closely and with his hands
he continues to mold and patch all things right
for he knows its path and direction
for only by staying in the center of his hands
shall it be raised up into a finished product
set up to be baked by the fire to purify
which then can be filled with overflowing water
Poem | |
Hey there Sweets, take my hand,
I'll lead you into my candy land.
Tell me which flavor do you adore,
take a taste and taste some more.
I'll be right over, please do wait.
I love your candy, it tastes so great.
I'll offer up my soul to your fate
If you put your treasures on my plate.
Red and white stripped candy cane,
Twisting down it drives me insane.
Peppermint is a guilty pleasure
When in lick after lick I can measure.
I am partial to your Sweet Tarts
All your flavors are off the charts
A mixture of both sweet and sour
Like I'm sucking nectar from your flower.
Oh Sugar, won't you try my Pop Rocks
Those little pieces will knock off your socks.
With a crackle, crackle and a pop
Against your tongue it will not stop.
Please don't stop, you get me going
When I'm with you my sweet tooth is showing
I want a bite of your Kit Kat
Come on and show me where it's at
M&Ms, Kisses, sucking on a lollipop
Once we get going we're not going to stop
I love it baby just like I knew I would
I'm on a sugar rush and it feels so good.
I will go to the greatest of measures
To sample all of your guilty pleasures
Come on and take me by the hand
As I come inside your candy land.
Collaboration Casarah Nance & Tim Smith :)
Poem | |
"'He,' whom speaks into existence those things which were not as though, they are...." ~
Fables; to dream these seemingly impossible things!?
A compiling compound upon the pages of a lifes, forever tarnishing of stories....
Drinking this mixture of both poison and cure; night after night and, day upon day
Finding but, these mostly barren tainted walls; no repreives and no relief; vacancies
This continuing onslaughts never ceasing to slay, the spirit of a living hope ~
Until one day the precious heart so finds, no more air left to breathe; condemned
Slowly, it dies....
Depicting cycles repeating themselves once more as, deeper, into the mire they fall
Beauty desperately countering within; framed moments to stem, these portraits; illusions
Painted upon the canvas of creations reasons not knowing thus, nothing to win and or, lose?!
Destinies foreclosures; deposits towards the paradigms of, signed sealed and delivereds
Reciprocating affairs, amid the not so magical mystical mystery tours; misled....
Ponderings upon the reparians reflective waters; refrains perceptions; lost in the muse
Bleed me a river please and then, break me in two, time and time and time, again!?
Quondam sleeping now as, waxings cankerous sores somehow, speak their tolls
Tomorrows, priceless tears....
Diagnosis being it so hopeless then, let us gather in what we can, while we can; deja vu
The house, of fallon dreams?!
Note: Smile ~ I was listening a bit earlier to the song, "Beautiful," by Mercy Me & I thought
About certain lives & souls so, painted them a poe ~ "My 'Love & Warmth,' Always," John!:) ~
Poem | |
Poet Destroyer what a peculiar name
A protective layer of sorts
Reader beware, stay at a distance see the parts she wishes you to see
I look beyond the shock and awe to the woman beneath the words
The girl named Linda with a heart of gold
I wonder who has hurt her, bruised that tender heart
Creating a mixture
Intensity, Passion, Love
The layers innumerable, a dove in eagle feathers
Capable of great heights
A predator persona with an angel heart
Striving for connection yet holding back some parts
If you look closely you will see a tender hearted girl draped in mystery
A hugger a unicorn lover
She loves to laugh and she longs to be free
Poet Destroyer still Linda to me
Appreciation in honor of Pd
Written May 13, 2013
Poem | |
"Love comes in many flavors....but the taste of it, is unforgettable"
It makes a very large batch.
And when I finish, there will be
Enough for my family, my friends, and quite possibly
Everyone who lives on our street.
On my tiled kitchen counter
I have gathered..according to the recipe,
The butter, the sugar, the corn syrup,
Nuts and chocolate...all the necessary delectable
Ingredients to make my mother's
Melt-in-the-mouth butter toffee.
I make it every Christmas, a family favorite,
Like a legacy that must be passed on...
A futile attempt to lighten a dark hour ...of long ago.
A new bride then, with inexperience my middle name..
In a tiny kitchen of blue and white
I was frocked in frilly yellow, wearing the apron she had sewn
An apron with color as warm as the butter assembled before me
My task, was to follow the step by step instructions
A recipe, written in her hand
Letters so blurred by tears that had taken up new residence in my life
The curls of her handwriting
Wrapping 'round me like the sound of her voice...
A little page from her vast collection..
Wrinkled and yellowed, with speckles, and splatters
Yellow splatters, reminding me of days of my childhood
A childhood of naivete', believing still, in a sun that would forever shine for me...
When I had so much yet to learn
But this was that ghastly year, ....that first Christmas,... without her...
It was up to me, determined to carry on
...A simple recipe, ....couldn't be that hard...could it?
My novice effort, in those first months without her
Was a disappointment. Just not the same as hers,
Faintly scorched, the taste...no delight, in the offering...
People were polite, accepted it, and ate it to be kind.
They smiled, patted my head, gave compliments...
But I knew.
And, as time passed,..experience taught me. Experience heals.
My toffee is good. Quite good...delicious, actually...
Still not the same as hers, but my family thinks it's fine.
I, however, know better.
I Have always known.
Today...I melt the butter, I add the sugar, and the syrup
Stirring while the mixture turns to amber. It won't take long.
My family waits....waits eagerly to savor the sweet flavor
The flavor of butter, the flavor of chocolate
the flavor of enduring love..........that was my mother.
Poem | |
Another day and the dishes have piled up yet again
So back I end up in front of the window
I do not glance up, but concentrate
On the dull, dirtied objects before me
I do not hear the voices from yesterday
I still wallow in the grime of gray
I smile in malcontent
As I lather the dishes with soap
Against my will, I look up
To see a lone, fat man opening a refrigerator
He is shirtless, bulgy, and he looks pregnant
My first supposition is to laugh
But I only look back down at the dishes
Not wanting to stare at the fat man
Not wanting to think he looks pregnant
For sure not wanting him to be my neighbor
Across the way
Against my will again, I look up
The fat, pregnant man is gone
I see ornaments on the refrigerator
Some pictures, some magnets
Family; not so different from my life
But yet, there is a transparent fancy of mystery
A flashy rage of difference in the silence
Oh, so quiet
The blazing sun sprays its light upon the hour
Not only are my hands wet from the soapy water
The deafening tone of quietude
Revels in me a mixture of loneliness and physical heat
A burning desire for something not seen
A desire for utter disgust of my newly found neighbors
But I find myself not disgusted at all
Until I look up again and see a fully naked man at the window
Across the way
Poem | |
Love surrounds us…though people take it for granite
Oh, but we’re unaware of it! We’re ignorant of it at times of tribulation
Vibrant, vermillion roses float in the swaying wind, like feathers, passing me by with a smile and a friendly wave
Everyone is embracing hate instead of love, embracing havoc instead of peace – WHERE IS THE LOVE?
I am longing to feel like I belong! The church bells repeats its penitent bells
Saddened by the fact that I’m trapped in my comfort zone of callous night…I want to be unchained from this solitary cave…but no angels tread the road that I’m currently on unfortunately
Hate rips my heart apart and throws it in the heartless fire…love is invisible like a caved in treasure
Ashamed because I always wanted to find avarice-devouring love, restoring joy to my absent-of-vanity verse
Rain descends like the sunset as my spirit ascends like the sunrise above the disconsolate clouds
Drenched in heartfelt relief…of experiencing love on another level – I’ll bring back to life my faith towards You once more
Tattered by heart’s wistful thumping…replace my heart with beauty’s caress and harmony, for I’m desperately in need of a savior
Owned by hatred, the monster that appears in my nightmares, the vile leader of rancorous wolves…
Fly away from the darkness that made you drink in desolation and devastation
Isolated by bliss and joy – overflowing with lamentation
Never able to find a mixture of serenity and exaltation…maybe I’ll find it in the forest’s quietude
Destined to unlock my heart’s desire…however, love is hard to find, for I’m a hopeless, romantic boy, foolish in love and frankly…blind!
Poem | |
THE SEASONS OF MY LIFE
In the Spring time I was blossoming,
The world was bright and new.
I learned to laugh annd cry and fight,
For what I knew was true.
That there`s a time to have your fun,
And there`s a time for work,
A time when we must learn to earn,
And value all life`s perks.
In Summer time I learned of life,
Of people and the world.
I learned that life`s a mixture,
Of experience, a whirl,
That sometimes life moves way too fast,
It should be sipped and savored,
Or else it plays out way too soon,
And loses all it`s flavor.
In Fall I learned acceptance,
That what must be will be.
It does no good to fuss and fret,
`Bout what was denied me;
For some it seems are richly blessed,
While others get the crumbs,
Who gets what is up to God,
From Whom all good things come.
Now Winter fast approaches,
And what`s important now,
Is what memories I`ll leave behind,
Who remembers me, --- and how.
For At This Age Contest by Nette Onclaud
Poem | |
Chewy chocolate chip bars
finger licking good
soft butter sugars oats stir
fold in flour mixture
add chips and walnuts
spoon spread and
Just In Time For Back To School LOL
Chocolate Chip-Oatmeal-Walnut Bars
Whole wheat flour and oatmeal add whole-grain goodness to chewy chocolate chip bars.
1 cup butter, softened
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 1/4 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
1 cup whole wheat flour
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 (12-oz.) pkg. chocolate chips
1 1/2 cups chopped walnuts, toasted*
1. Heat oven to 375°F. Beat butter in large bowl at medium speed until soft and smooth. Beat in brown sugar, sugar and vanilla. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition.
2. Combine oats, whole wheat flour, all-purpose flour, baking soda and salt in medium bowl.
3. Slowly add flour mixture to butter mixture, beating until well-blended. Stir in chocolate chips and walnuts. Spoon and spread dough in ungreased 15x10x1-inch pan.
4. Bake 15 to 20 minutes or until golden brown; cool on wire rack.
TIP *To toast nuts, place on baking sheet; bake at 375°F. for 4 to 6 minutes or until pale brown and fragrant. Cool.
Poem | |
The ladder backed pecker,
like a prison uniform.
Caught-up in exposing
the truth beneath the bark,
of the poet's apple tree.
We prefer ourself in spring;
with tiny little flowers,
and the fruit of possibility.
Yet, if not for the woodpecker,
tapping holes into poems,
we might not ever see
the flesh and blood of raw meat.
I will climb that ladder back,
escape pre-decreed standards.
Tap into that syrupy mixture
and suck-out truth from hard wood.
Yes, lessons from a jail bird.
A pest in the Avian Kingdom.
Wisdom from the little rebel,
beat-out of a tree.
Poem | |
my sanity seems to unravel
like frayed shoe-laces on a rainy day
I keep tripping on in the mud
but when I go to tie them
I find myself barefoot
rooted in an unsatiable lust
for something other than reality
a blood-letting of sorts
a scream that dies
before it escapes my throat
my struggle is not one of boredom or regret
rather a confusing mixture
of powders, pills, and mind-control
and some weird state of non-commital emotion
a dark ocean of something mistakenly called
I’ve never really been in control
but I fight with a might that might surpise you
and win most battles and lose most wars
realizing too late that I’m the only one
another day of willing the sun to stay down
to allow me to drown
in a dreamscape of something greater
inhibit my feelings or leave me alone
this is something I’ll always fight
Poem | |
What is emotional stew, you ask
Describing that is in itself a task
It's a motley mix of chunks and bits
In a pot of feelings where everything fits
Sometimes the batter will taste so sweet
When joy and relief make up the meat
The stew can be peppered with many a spice
Like anger, frustration, and stubborn rice
Or a salty blend with sauce of tears
When sadness combines with multiple fears
The results may yield just one small fault
If you add boredom and apathy without any salt
The coals beneath are stoked to perfection
After dumping in your emotional selection
The stew will boil as the feelings grow
Just mind the mixture, don't let it overflow!