You lay upon the warm wet earth
ripped from limb to limb.
Your present shape denies the girth
of your form in its prime.
Cut short in life denied your worth
about you ivy climbs,
my love for you evokes the hearth
a fire which knows no end time.
Now fallen, slain, cast for rebirth,
the core of you sublime,
an earthly stump, at forest skirt
reminds me of grand times.
soon I too will go beyond the earth
recalling passion's prime
through the veil of life unearthed
my heart returned to thine.
I often scribble in the sand
The words I find so hard to say
And hope the wind will come along
And blow them all your way.
Author: Paul Callus
Contest: Five Lines or Less
Sponsor: Black Eyed Susan
The single white rose captured the old gardener's attention,
He lovingly cared for it, like it was his own grand-daughter,
The roses were just like family and friends in his eyes,
He gave them bright sunshine, and plenty of fresh water.
He had always planted roses in reds, yellows, and pinks,
Yet, it was the one white rose that he favored most,
The old gardener admired it's innocence and elegance,
A quality that the other roses just could not boast.
This precious rose was pure white, like new fallen snow,
Which only a cold, late November day could bring,
It's delicate petals were soft to the finger's touch,
Similar to that of a feather, in an angel's wing.
The old gardener was perplexed and astonished,
Only this rose bloomed through spring, summer, and fall,
Each of the other roses had withered months ago,
The frost and cold weather did not affect it at all.
With a smile, the old gardener took one last look,
Unknowingly, death would soon come without warning,
After he had settled down for a nap in his chair,
He drew his last breath, later on that morning.
His funeral was held on the very next day,
Loving words were spoken, as he was laid to rest,
His grand-daughter approached, with tears in her eyes,
As she placed the single white rose upon his chest.
The cemetery was a quiet and peaceful place,
Where family and friends gathered to remember,
A gentle snow began to fall upon the casket lid,
Brightening the gloom on this final day of November.
The old gardener's soul departed from this earth,
Lead away by a choir of angels, on delicate wings,
Then on through the pearly gates of heaven's garden,
Where the white rose still blooms, in eternal springs.
Written by: Kelly Deschler
November 25th, 2013
Sitting by her open window,
Was a girl deep in thought,
Lost within a book of Poe,
A perfect poem she sought.
With a curious eye,
He watches her pen,
For she gives it a try,
Every now and then.
He will visit her forevermore,
In silent hours of midnight,
Casting his shadow on her floor,
Within the full moonlight.
Mysterious, nocturnal bird,
Calling out to darkened land,
Speaking such wise word,
Which I cannot understand.
I am lonely, I must confess,
It's just you, me and the moon,
You are much like me, I guess,
So, please sing me another tune.
A messenger of death,
Wailing songs of a banshee,
Has my grim reaper cometh,
Was this warning meant for me?
My soul was projected,
In the shadow of a fowl,
A raven I had expected,
Not the silhouette of an owl!
Returning home again after many years away
I find our secret path along the Fundy Bay
That happy place where long ago we played
Where all our dreams and promises were made
Once again I lie down where daises grow
In fields above the banks where salt winds blow
Golden memories rush through my hungry soul
Returning pieces of my heart lost long ago
I close my eyes recalling all the things we did
Just the way they were when we were kids
And I know without a doubt that you are here
As your love for me falls from my eyes in tears
We lie like angels looking up at clouds of cream
As we watch them take the shape of all our dreams
We laugh so hard at all the things we do and say
To us life is just a stage a place to laugh and play
We find the trail that takes us down to meet the ocean
Where we swim in waves of jubilant emotions
Then we walk along the shore together hand-in-hand
And we write our love forever in the sand
Author: Elaine George
An ancient river, centuries-old shops and restaurants steeped in a 2000-year history and
culture set the scene. The ambiance seemed divinely contrived to facilitate the purposes of
our meeting and the very fodder from which the greatest poets are sustained.
Not newcomers to the area, Kay P. and I were assigned to the Army Security Agency Field
Station in Augsburg, Germany in 1974. We were colleagues in the intelligence community
with no romantic overtures to our relationship, save an appreciation of poetry and profound
philosophical discussions. Kay wanted to spend the evening with a poet, so we planned the
evening to be appropriate for the purpose.
At the time and place, we quickly found ourselves hopelessly immersed in the philosophical
foundations of my writings throughout the evening. It was the first time since Vietnam that
I'd felt worthy as a person. I still recall sipping the red wine and feeling the warmth of the
large hearth inside the Balkan eatery. I still see the swans gliding by on the Lech flowing by
When windowpanes begin to weep with autumn's chilly dew,
I'm taken back through seasons passed to one delight held true,
A rendezvous that time allowed, a gentle evening spent
Amid a time of long discord when days were dreary bent.
I feel the stretch upon my lips, the smile returns once more.
Again, I smell the Balkan fare prepared on Lech's old shore,
The mood is cast in high regard, the wine is tart and dry,
As Augsburg ripples in the wake when swans go gliding by.
The ancient windows frame our view and day begins to wane
As rivulets meander down and streak the dampened panes.
The ambiance of ages passed beseeched us not to leave
And held us in its warm embrace throughout the ebbing eve.
My heart was scarred, without regard and hardened by the war
But her esteem unveiled its worth, while nothing had before.
She saw the child that once was me, I'd long since cast aside,
And bade he climb astride his mount, engage his life and ride.
Now, she is but a memory, whose kindness soothed my heart,
For we embarked upon our lives on paths ordained to part.
Her subtle way escaped my eye till time had made it clear
That her esteem had set me free, that night I hold so dear.
The poetry that filled my soul remains these many years,
Impassioned in my warmest thoughts when autumn first appears,
When windowpanes begin to weep, a-glisten with the dew,
And I return to seasons passed, to one delight held true.
It hovers here, a moon opaque,
obscuring mountain trails I take.
No other living things appear.
A moon opaque. . . It hovers here.
I follow on along a ledge;
below a swirling river’s edge.
In front of me, the canyon’s yawn.
Along a ledge, I follow on.
I see no hue when fog congeals.
Oh, doom of one who no more feels!
The moon has fled, as so have you.
When fog congeals, I see no hue.
Now all is dim; it matters not.
My dear one’s heart I have not got.
No use in living without him.
It matters not. Now all is dim.
At peace I’ll be if I should fall
to murky water from this wall.
Oh, yawning canyon, swallow me.
If I should fall, at peace I’ll be.
'for the Gothic or Romantic (old/new) Contest of Giorgio Veneto
and now for the contest of PD
Sometimes on the road of life
Change becomes the norm
When you think, “The sky is true”
The horizon brews a storm
Some storms last but a minute
Like a ship they sail right by
Other storms seem to be
As endless as the sky
Some storms come with a flood
As life gets washed away
Other storms shake the ground
As mountains crumble into clay
Storms come in many sizes
They come in many shapes
Storms come in many forms
Some bless while others rape
As we face the storms of life
They change who we are
Sometimes, we’re the clouds
Other times we’re the stars
Storms have one thing in common
One day they too shall pass
As a car rolls to a stop
Storms run out of gas
After the storm has passed us by
A seed sprouts to a flower
Each petal seems to be
Exuding strength and power
I have weathered many storms
Their lines map my face
In their wake I have found
Love is my saving grace
I don’t know what this poem means
I don’t know if I ever will
All I know is that right now
This poem is how I feel
Walking through the land of shadows
wearing my yellow shoes
With each and every step
I created color and hues
The shadows started retreating
As color permeated the ground
Out of the darkness
I heard a horrible sound
"You do not belong here
I command you to go away
You are in the land of darkness
You must listen to what I say"
I kept on moving forward
Not sure what I would see
Where was the voice coming from
I looked behind a tree
Light and color expanded
Traveling up to the skies
The entity that scared me
Was right before my eyes
As my shoes banished the darkness
The entity was reduced to tears
Without the aid of shadows
He couldn't tap into my fears
I reached down to touch him
I told him he was safe
He looked up with confusion
As I gazed upon his face
"Are you here to destroy me?
Have you come to take me away?
There is a purpose for shadows
They create hope for brighter days."
I heard what he was saying
The shadows have their reason
In order for spring to come
We need a darker season
So I removed my yellow shoes
Watched as the shadows returned
It was time for me to go home
With this strange lesson I had learned
Remember that night, one of so many of course
When the waitress asked if we were on our first date
We’d talked for three hours till our voices were hoarse
The laughter we shared no one could create
It must have been the joy in our hearts she saw
For eighteen years there’d been no one who meant more
Never for a moment did our love withdraw
I joked and said it was the cologne you wore
Impotence had rendered you last in some eyes
But there was no man who made me happier
My affection for you never compromised
Of my self-worth, you were the certifier
The last time I saw your 95-pound frame
As you lay smiling in the hospice bed
My adoration I just could not proclaim
Couldn’t look back, still wanted to look ahead
My head on your hand, tears formed a puddle
So much in my heart, but at a loss for words
I waited for your angel as we cuddled
Finally they arrived, not one, they flew in herds
The spirit of contentment shone o’er your face
I swear to this day I saw your spirit rise
You faced your death with such dignity and grace
I could not bring myself to utter goodbyes
But now as I pray, the words finally come
“God blessed me with a special friend always true
And now as I hear heaven’s harps ever strum
I know there’ll never be another like you”
*For my dear friend Chris who died on Christmas Day 2005
Entry for Gareth's "Last Words to a Loved One" Contest