Long poem by
Diane M Quinlan | Details |
baseball, bird, change, childhood, games, holiday, lost,
“Seasonal Walks in the Park!”
A walk in the park after a springtime morning rainfall
Is to hear the droplets fall from bent branches overhead
That can shock and moisten one’s brow walking below
And make note on the many water stains spotting the lanes
The grasses have turned into rich shiny green blades
Water drops remaining give individual blades sparkle
And soon the lawns will need to be mowed often
And made and kept ready for park picnics and games
The dissolving clouds open gaps for sun rays piercings
Adding sunbeam warmth down on upturned faces
The sun-warm breezes will temp visitors to carry their coats
And others perhaps persuaded in removing their shoes and socks
Some will have their feet dampened on the grass from droplets of dew
As they venture and tread about the newly showered lawns
The blades of grass will squeak when running shoes tramp through
And if recently cut than grass blades will stick between bared toes
Spring’s love potion is inhaled and felt by all touring about
Seasoning desires for familiarity towards the fairer sex
From past haunts of pleasantly spent park delights
Where wooing couples will be affected to a time stand still
The early morning rainbow has faded and day’s clear skies are imminent
The air fresh from receding mists mingle heavenly and tweak the nose
Dew worms break through and inch their way along above ground
Turning out from under the now soft rain moistened soil
This stirs the well-known smell of earth worms movements
And birds sing out invitations for all to join in this feed
Mother birds will return and hungry hatchlings will have first kills
And fathers will be released then of their nest guard duties for this share
All daytime and nighttime visitors will become love-struck
In their search for springtime’s romancing love calls to one another
The park comes awake to the frenzy and welcomes young and old
To meet, greet, and form new and old friendships offered all around
The park's excitement is truly felt when a love-knot becomes first tied
Crawling babies born from previous spring time passions will be noted
They will learn the high-step toddle soon enough bringing them to romp
Once they have experienced that first feel of having to crawl on prickly grass
Young voices are heard mingling along with loud hand claps
All friendly ‘high-fives’ are brandied about within the new met groups
This is an all- time game ritual passed between friendships bonding
All this showmanship will form new team players for ball-park games
The ice-rink’s wooden forms are being removed and taken away for another year
Memories of skating parties last held are brought to surface
The recall of being half frozen and then thawed
When invited to sip a mug of hot chocolate steaming and full-bodied
A freshly painted baseball diamond will replace the rink area now
This ball field will bring many ball park players to home-plate
While proving to others they are ‘out of bounds’
Their devotion to play after school and during holidays is well kept
The flapping and snapping of new kites sound overhead
Straining their ties against the cruel breezes putting them down
Watchers walking about are made to feel free
The breezes jostle skirt and pant legs to tease about
Children are held clasped in grown-up hands to hold them fast
Their first walk about in the park has been a long time put on hold
Even the elderly are childlike and have a bounce given to their step
Walking around the park’s perimeter evolves a lifetime’s returning event
A seasonal change brings about new and different facades to the parkland
And they never fail to have a special allure to draw all outdoors
No matter what the weather call that day or night will bring
Walkers are in want of fresh-air walks found in the park grounds
And dogs always have to reacquaint themselves to the lay of the parkland
Their bones need burying for great hunts in all seasons to become lost and found
They love to leave their markings on pure white snow banks as calling cards
The park sees all and sees to all that visit and never will tell tales of any kind!
Diane M Quinlan
Long poem by
Sarah Bryant | Details |
Tavira is my town
The place I call my home
Rich in history
Much like me
Many secrets does it hold
Ancient times still apparent
Different people now
A different time
How many footsteps have trodden the cobbled streets?
With donkeys or on foot
How many couples once kissed on the seven arch bridge?
Warm tender embraces
How many photographs posed for?
From dawn through till night
Memories locked safe
To reflect, to smile
Making a history of your own
From medieval times to modern day
The river flows silently towards the Oceans mouth
Two rivers twine, the Gilão and the Sequa
No one knows why it has two names
Another secret never to be told
Tavira is a town to find yourself
To discover, to explore
To sit beside the river
Peaceful and serene
Enjoy an expresso in the brilliant sunshine
Or relax in the shadow
My town has many churches
37 so I hear
Glorious magnificence on display
The carvings of another life on the walls
Depicting the life of Jesus for us to see
The Igreja da Misericórdia
Said to be the best
But there are many to admire for sure
Structures centuries old
A place of prayer
A holy site
Speak to God in his own home
Feel welcomed, arms embrace
Walk up worn steps to the top of the town
Draw pure fresh air down into your lungs
“The view of Tavira” awaits silently
For that first gasp as you see what it hides
Visit the restaurant of the same name
“A Ver Tavira” for that special treat
Magnificent views of the river and town displayed below
Whilst you wine and dine your loved ones
Romantic and inspirational
Feel the tranquillity
Feel vigorous and strong
The world is out there waiting to be grasped
Reach out your hands and touch it
Nearby we are proud of our castle
Tavira boasts one of its own
With a gate fit for a king
King Manuel I was the first to walk through
In the 13th century, long ago
Preserved and protected
On display for us to admire
Take a step back in history
Feel the ambience, feel alive
Ilha da Tavira, the island of golden sands
Lining the glistening ocean
The gentle waves lapping your feet
Inviting into its swell
A scene of pure sanctity
What better place to contemplate
To dream, be yourself
Make castles in the sand
Tavira has plenty of seating
Benches are dotted around the town
Socialising a way of life here
Happy faces, laughter
Affectionate greetings, emotional goodbyes
Families visiting relatives
Holidaymakers enjoying the atmosphere
Tavira staying in their hearts forever
Restaurants are full
Serving local cuisine
Octopus the speciality here
Not to all tastes I admit
But the choices are plenty
Fish freshly caught is a must
As is medronho, or firewater as it is known
One quick shot, straight down in one
Warms your heart in a different way
Small cafes are thriving too
Tables filled with wine, beer and coffee
Outside the streets are flourishing
Musicians presenting their talent
Stalls line the streets in the summer
Selling trinkets and local goods
If shopping’s your thing you’re in luck
There are many to choose from here
From jewels of the finest kind
Or an ashtray as a souvenir
Turtles guard the bandstand
Silently they watch
This bustling town full of people
Its history never forgotten
Many statues stand proud and tall
The monument in Praça da Republica
Remembering the First World War
A permanent legacy to them
And to others who fought and returned
With Cabanas to the east
Santa Luzia to the west
Tavira sits in the middle
A secret uncovered
It surrounds you like the biggest hug
A town where hopes and dreams are achieved
Memories made and kept forever
The secrets I will keep safe
Make my own history and recreate
In the heart of the Algarve is Tavira
In my heart it will stay
A special place
Much like me
Tavira is the place to be
Tavira is my home
Long poem by
Cynthia Alvez | Details |
I wrote this poems some years ago when I was invited to be on a television program to read a Christmas poem to children as they gathered around me...I had not written a Christmas poem when the invitation was extended and wondered what to write as there were so many Christmas poems already...It was then I decided to write about the day before the night before Christmas...thus this poem which the children and listening audience enjoyed...
The Day Before The Night Before Christmas
It was December the 23rd
And Santa was packing his sleigh
Saying to his reindeer, "We've got
Lots of traveling to do today,
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and I
Have lots of surprizes up my sleeve!"
The reindeer grumbled and were ill-at-ease,
Santa was worried and asked "
aren't you pleased?"
One reindeer who asked not to be identfied,
Stepped forward and replied,
"Christmas now is just a word!"
The other reindeer joined in,
"There is no peace on earth,
No good will between men!"
"No good will between people!" a liberated reindeer
Santa was aghast and could not believe what he
Had just heard,
It startled him, it made him sad,
Why, Christmas was the time of year to make folks glad.
A time for celebration, for spreading good cheer,
A joyful, happy time of year!
"I'll do some spot checking!" Santa said to Mrs. "C"...
"Christmas has lost its true meaning, this cannot be!"
"This is tragic!"
And with a little Santa magic, he transformed himself
Into a little child with a polka dot face,
This way he could represent every race...
He went caroling the world over and begged
Passers-by, "Please sing along!"
But no one would join him in song.
Santa was cold,
His coat was tattered and torn...
No one offered him shelter,
They looked upon him with scorn.
He stopped at several houses but no one
Would let him in...
Some shouted, "Come back again!"
They were busy decorating and wrapping
But no one would open their door.
Santa saw a family strolling hand in hand,
"What does Christmas mean to you?"
He asked stepping up to the man.
"Presents for one and all said he!
"Trees a glitter, houses in holiday dress!"
"Toys!" said the little one, jumping with glee...
"If you are really good, Santa will bring you a color TV!"
"But he won't find your house on the other side
of the track,
You are poor and ugly with that polka dot face,
I know Santa won't find your place!"
They laughed and scoffed,
"Why you are a disgrace!"
"Christmas means a brand new car!" said the next
The next lady said, "Christmas made me spend every cent!"
Poor Santa was really sad,
No one had said Merry Christmas,
"This is really bad."
He shook his head as he pondered, "Is Christmas really dead?"
No one mentioned the babe in the manger,
Or the wise men who traveled afar.
No one mentioned Mary or Joseph or the
Bright guiding star.
Santa slumped his shoulders
He head beack home,
His heart was heavy, he felt all alone.
The suddenly, bells chimed; it was Christmas eve.
A lone man appeared and took the little child Santa
By his tattered sleve.
"Come child," he said softly, "I'll share my meal with you,
It is not much but it should warm you through and through."
He wrapped his worn scarf around Santa's cold head
Santa thanked him...
"Merry Christmas!" the stranger said, "I am traveling to
Bethlehem" and he was gone again.
Marry Christmas!" said Santa ss the stranger disappeared
From sight..."Christmas lives!" he shouted,
"The reindeer were wrong and I was right!
Carrolers sang in the distance,
Deck The Halls! Silent Night
Long poem by
cherl dunn | Details |
OLD CHRIS CRINGLE HALLOWEEN JINGLE
Did you know that Santa always had a secret desire,
To explore and experience the holiday known as Halloween!
This jolly spirit whom brought the world of mankind such joy,
And wonder on the Twenty-five of every December, had a
Mischievous side, a childlike curiosity about this
Spookiest of Haunted holidays!
So when Mrs. Clause went to take care of her allying
Sister just before this mystical season, Old Chris Kringle,
Made up his mind to go forth unto the world of men
And see what this spooky hullabaloo was all about!
A magical being himself, he thought it best to appear
In a childlike form, dressed up of course as an elvish imp,
After all this whole experience was brand new to him,
He knew not if this costume, would help him to fit in,
Or not, but the excitement over rode judgement's
So Santa grabbed an old pillow case, put a sign
On his bedroom door, do not disturb getting some
Extra zzzz, while Mrs. Clause is gone on family business,
So in this way those nosie elves would not get curious!
Than sneaking out the back door, he loaded up a tiny sleigh,'
To one alone reign deer, and road off into the darkness
Ready to investigate this holiday known as Halloween!
The full moon above seemed to light up the dreary shadows
Below, as Santa landed in the village of sleepy Hallow,
A party was going on in a large manor house, what better
A place to begin Chris Kringle thought to himself!
All within were dressed in variations of costumes,
Laughing and singing, bobbing for apples and feasting,
What festive scene to behold Santa Clause decided!
Dark and devilish decorations, were hung from high to
Low, pumpkins all lit up with grinning smiles all carved
Out hallow glowed in a sinister fashion!
It Kinda of creeped the elderly gentlemen out to be
Honest, but he was going to investigate this dark
Legendary season no matter what, outside little
People came knocking at the door, dressed as vampires,
Werewolves, witches and more, forgetting he himself
Had changed his personal form, a large lady spoke
Excuse me little master, shouldn’t be outside with the
Others, whoops Santa said your right, and he joined
With the others!
Every house on the lane, was all lit up aglow, with
Pumpkins, and dark macomb designs, grave stones
Marked RSVP, or black cat motifs what does this
All mean he thought, wired to say in the least!
He’d almost made up his mind to return home,
As fast as he could, when he heard the voices of
Children ring out, trick or treat and candy of all
Types poured outwards to these eager monstrous
Tike's, now I understand free goodies at any age
Is a wondrous thing?
At this point old Saint Nick was hooked, as the
Years of sneaking out to partake in this ghoulish
Holiday past, he learned that other things were
Involved in this spookiest of holidays, but the spoils
Of this sweet toothed holiday could not be denied, and the
Happiness of children’s faces hiding beneath their sticky masks, made
It all worth it to Chris Kringle, this jolly fellow from up north.
What a Halloween jingle for old Santa Clause to speak,
Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good
To eat, but it is after all Halloween is it not, HO, HO, HO
Munching on his goodies treats, laughing all the way!
By Cheryl ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO MYSTIC ROSE, LOVE YA SIS
Long poem by
cherl dunn | Details |
In the eases softening breeze leaves rustle in the crisp
Autumn air, as the creeping shadows begin to claim the
Hallows of the darkening night, layer by layer the blackness
Swallows whole the last remaining essence of light,
At dusk's twilight’s fading hour!
Within isolation's remote venue, the spiritually forgotten
Slithering forth as a vaporous residue oozing outwardly
From fractures breakages in the castle walls, phantoms
Do creep in silhouette form, these the disembodied
Severed from their living life force!
Decades stacked by historical bones of the murdered,
Slaughtered and tortured to death, privations materials
Of strength for the strong bricks needed, with bloods
Lubrication and fleshes supple distinction, a fortress
Of pure evil was wrought and made!
In this demonic lair of the supernatural, pricked has
Been the thin veil of humanity, releasing the backwash
Of the neither world, it elopes forth dispelling, draining
Within a crimson whirlpool of the vile and distained!
The whistling howls of the past deceased, echo hauntingly between
The mangled ruins of the torrents, as the heavy footsteps of
Armed soldiers clamor above, upon the battlement towers!
Yet nothing outside can be seen by the naked human eye,
Except a chilling presence, chased away in the breezes
Storm clouds gather as if a woven tapestry of the demonic,
Clamoring thunder bolts clash, against the earth shattering
Lighting grappling at the roof of Dracula’s Castle!
For it is a dark omen, an ominous ushering of his awakening,
The dark master of evil will soon walk amongst the living
Once more, as the children of the night howl, in a terrifying,
Nightmarish tribute unto their satanic lord!
For buried beneath the rotten floor boards of his ruins castle,
Hidden within the moldy, musty tombs of generations of death,
And decays mummified putrid flesh, a narcissistic demon dwells!
This unsanctified grave robber of the living, the devil’s unholiest
Of spawn, whom survives on the life essence of humanity?
The beast at wing, transforming at deceptions beckoning,
To capture the innocent victim unaware, of his menacing
Threating presence, until it is far too late for escape!
Behold the vampiric cobra ready to strike, at the bare exposed
Throat of innocence, in the throbbing fanged points of
Penetration lies an ethereal passion, the consummation of
Light being totally consumed by the ultimate darkness,
Nay behold mortal, the birthing of a newly born vampire!
In the chilling of the blood there is life, it’s the viral
Infection of the afterlife, this creature with insights
Enhightened senses flares outwardly against the moons
Translucent light, extending its gargoyle like wings,
Unto the dark dominion of his black fathers kingdom!
Count Dracula is pleased, with his newest dark disciple,
Returns unto his place of ancestral birth, to rest again
Until night falls abyss absorbs the sun once more,
Than this darkest of lords, shall walk amongst his
Undead kindred, as their ultimate master of destruction!
Welcome curiosity’s transgressor, know that you have been so warned,
For you’ve entered the deadliest of the twilight zones,
Here humanity has little standing ground, except to feed
The undead tribe of a vampiric father, known as Count Dracula!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Long poem by
cherl dunn | Details |
In the reflected colors of the Christmas trees twinkling lights,
A tiny figure hides amongst the festive bundles, packages and bows,
Trying to remain perfectly still this child of wonderment, awaits
To see if Mr. Santa Clause will come!
On a small side table near the fire place mental lies Santa’s traditional
Holiday offering of milk and cookies, and next to these sugary treats
Is a white envelope marked in Crayola Crayons, To Mr. Santa Clause,
Unable to stay awake the child falls asleep at last, dreaming she
Saw this jolly old man dressed in red and black, but was he real,
She believes in him, this wonderful spirit whom brings joy to the world
On Christmas Morn!
Wait what was that on the rooftop, it sounds like bells and heavy
Hooves, the child is shook awake by all the commotion, remaining
Perfectly still, Abagail watches in sheer paralyzing excitement!
It’s him I know it she thinks to herself, and just in that very second
A man of ageless grace appears before the sacred fireplace mental!
The Jovial fellow moves with stealth complete silence, from stockings,
To tree, as if on a holiday mission of great importance, but then he
Stopped cold in front of the side table, Abagail is filled with happiness
Because she knows Santa has found her special letter that she made
Just for Mr. Clause!
Santa drinks his milk and cookies, and opens this important letter
Written in a child’s hand:
Dear Mr. Santa Clause,
I’m writing to you not to ask for anything special for myself,
Although most children do I suppose, nope I want something
For one whom won’t ask on behalf of himself, my papa!
You see my daddy has grown all up, and has lost the Christmas spirit,
Ba Hum bug, he says Christmas is just all holiday fuss, no one
Believes in Santa Clause, anymore, but dear Mr. Clause, I and
Momma do, believe in you that is!
So what I really want from you on this special Christmas Eve,
Is for you to make my Papa believe too, give him back his
Childlike Christmas Spirit!
Thank you Sincerely Abagail
Now Santa was taking back for a minute, what a request
Of pure innocence, he smiled then laughed to himself,
Ho, Ho, and Ho yes dearest Abagail I’ll grant your request of love!
For just at that moment, Abagail’s father came storming
Down stairs, whoever you are I’m armed and will fire,
Dressed in his wife’s house slippers, darning a plunger weapon
Abagail’s father had heard all the Santa commotion and came
Down stairs ready to protect his house and home from
Santa Clause stood their making eye contact with this
Fuzzy pink slippered solider, Merry Christmas to you my friend,
Then smiling this gentle spirit of Christmas, slung his empty
Sack across his back and disappeared in a glittering shower of
Tinsel glitter, Abagail’s father just stood there in total shock,
He is real is all he could say!
Abagail came out from her hiding spot, yes thank you Santa
Clause, hugging her father with joyous tears streaming down
Her small little face, I’ve got my Christmas present at last,
My Daddy now believes in Old Santa Clause!
From that night forward, Abagail’s father keeps the Christmas
Spirit well, and Santa Clause gets extra cookies from his faithful
Patron known as Abagail, oh and a larger glass of milk of course!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Long poem by
cherl dunn | Details |
A weaving’s blending is spun within the soil of the discontent,
Legends are the roots of cultures, stories woven within the
Fabrics of societies, but the colors of truth reveal the shocking
Details of wrong deeds, justified in the name of Religion,
Even amongst those deemed as righteous acts according to
Biblical interpretation, thus is this story laid within the
Amish community as fact not fiction!
Bore to elderly parents, a seeker was conceived, blind at birth
This child of innocence light, walked amongst those clothed
In the trappings of the darkly dressed, yet he could see with
Perfect clarity with the third eye of the profit, but amongst
His people this is an abomination to God!
For only God himself shall now all things, in heaven or on
Earth, so taken to the shunning fields of the forest wilds
The child was left, given the judgement of the shunned!
Grieving did his weeping mother so, for her child of old age,
The father went to search for him, yet it was too late,
Within the mangled reeds a small lifeless form laid,
Dripping with the night dew of death!
Begging thus went these sorrow hearted parents,
To the priest at the sacred house of the lord,
Asking for their misbegotten son to be buried
Within the cemetery’s consecrated ground,
Again the answer from this holy man, denied!
But the moonlight shadow clouds hide many secrets beneath it,
As these the child’s only mourners, did the unthinkable,
Burying the lifeless figure within the satisfied ground!
But they were not alone within these quiet shadows,
And the priest was told their deadly deed of deceit,
At morning rising, again the child was raised, and buried
On the out shirks of the outer lands beyond!
As if Lazarus rising from the tomb, the boys spirit
Rose in the vengeance of the accursed, a dark phantom
Blanketed the nights sky, an omen of terror raid against
These the chosen people, or so they believed themselves!
The cattle dropped in sicknesses disease, the heathy
Became ill, and crops were plagued by insects of the fields!
The priest went forth unto the gravel of the child of light,
Which now the ground at turned an ashen black, upon this
Spot of darkness, he planted a tree of evergreen and blessed
It forever locking the evil within!
But after one hundred years to the date, of the child’s murder,
A lightning storm split the tree in half, release the demon
Within once more, again the curses sting knew life, and the
Plagues of the unjust shot forth unto the world of the living!
Another priest stepped forward, pronouncing the demonic
To rest unto the soil of discontent, planting a tree
Of evergreen again, spoken are the words of the lord
Upon this child’s grave at last, blessing his spirit to remain,
And the cloud dissipated, as mercy’s innocent could
Now rested in the arms of the divine maker’s peace!
Yet a guardian is set in place at all times, to watch over
The tree just in case!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO THE CHILD OF LIGHT
WHOM WAS LOST TO THE REST OF US
A GIFT GIVEN BY GOD
This story was shown on TV, and I thought it should be told for the
sake of this special child, that in the outside world beyond the Amish
he would be considered a gifted clairivoant, not an abominasion!
Long poem by
cherl dunn | Details |
It is a witchy tradition to pass down your first broom to
The next generation, but poor dear sweet Mable inherited an eye
Sore from her elder granny, the handle topped end was crooked
In a twisted bent way, the middle was weather warped and taped
Together by gorilla glue, but the worst part of all the broomy
End, which instead of straw horse hair hanged like a droopy tail!
Embarrassed, Mable begged to have a different choose,
But her mother would not hear of it, it is a tradition
After all, so make it do child, is all that she would say!
On Halloween night, all the other witch children took to flight,
Proudly riding propped side saddle upon their magical broom
Sticks of pristine condition, but poor Mable suddenly came down
With a mysterious cough!
Don’t you worry her mother said, I’ve got just the cure for you
My dearest daughter, some raw eye of newt will fix what allies
You, oh know Mable cried I’d feeling better already sorry got to
Fly, leaving her dear sweet mother laughing!
Jumping upon her broom stick of utter embarrassment, Mable
Zoomed straight upwards towards the moon, it zigged than zagged
Against the night skies, this youthful witch had a hard time just
Controlling the wobbling hobbled handle, than she felt something
Give way beneath her very bottom, the middle was splitting!
In complete horror Mable screamed, and in that moment
A disembodied voice spoke upon the winds of Halloween,
It was her long past away granny’s voice, child believe in
My broom and it is a marvelous mystical thing!
So Mable spoke to this her witch’s broom, I believe in
You, and at that very moment, this object of distain
Turned into a golden rod, its misshapen bits shone
In brilliance against the moon’s illumination, piercing
Through the darkness, oh my Mable sighed!
But at the end the horse hair still clung, the brooms
Energy level was low, time for refueling so to the dark
Side of the moon, where the nearest scare station,
Was located, here a stray cat jump upon Mable broom!
Skat cat, poor Mable tried to drive this calico kitty away,
After all she was a witch you know and only a black cat
Will do for her familiar, but this kitty poised itself on
The horse hair end, as if it were her place always!
Mable tried to lose it by dodging between satilghts,
Yet Mr. Tag-A-Long four paws held on with all its might,
Alright she thought we’ll test your true grit, in a free fall
Drive she zoomed, side swapping between power lines,
And street telephone poles, but when she turned around
The cat was still there, grinning right back at her!
Again her Granny’s voice spoke to her, I’ve sent you a
Gift my girl, my familiar if you’re nice to her she,
Turn into the finest kitty you’ve ever seen, so Mable
Leaned backwards ever so slightly, and patted the
Ugly thing, and it changed right before her eyes,
Into an emerald eyed, black cat with sleek fur of
Ebony, and the horse haired tail changed into a proper
Oh thank you Granny, Mable declared, I’m sorry
I judged your gift by looks alone, I’ll never do that
Again, and from that moment on Mable the witch
Judged things on a different scale, by what lies within
Not by appearances, the end!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Long poem by
Rowdy Yates | Details |
Holidays with a change in the weather
It starts with a chill in the air. January the first day of the first month. A new thought of expectations, a new way, a plan to get in gear, a perfect way to start a new year.
February the month we confess and show our love with a quote, some flowers, some chocolate , or even a love note. This month is for couples to show their love with snuggles. It's Valentine's Day the most affectionate month to let the other know we care. The only month with a leap year.
March the month where it is all about four cloves, leprechauns, pots of gold, and green beer. St Patrick's Day the greenest holiday of the year, it's the arrival of a new season saying bye to the snow and watching the start of new things to grow.
April's first day of tricks and jokes on different folks. Easter Sunday, children hunting eggs of color under rocks and tall grass hiding under cover. Knowing April's showers help grow May flowers.
Its the month we celebrate the first day of May, then onto the 5th Cinco de Mayo a Mexican holiday. Then we celebrate Mothers and Memorial Day, thank God for their wisdom and the men and women for our freedom.
The red, white, and blue the flag with
stars, stripes celebrated in the month of June. The month we pay tribute to our Fathers along with the first day of summer. It's time for the end of school and the start of playing in the pool.
I pledge allegiance to the flag, when the Rockets set glare and bombs bursting in the air. The 4th day of July a time for barbecues and bottle rockets to fly. Thanks to our forefathers the time our Independence was signed.
August when it's the hottest month and it has National Watermelon and S'mores day. A month with out holidays. Summer is winding down and the start to school is coming around.
September's Labor Day, the working men and women's holiday, we give thanks to all you do. Then the most terrifying day when our men and women's lives were taken away, 911 the remembrance of our loved one's in a horrible way. As summer sneaks away autumn is on its way we celebrate grandparents and Native American day.
October, Columbus found out the world wasn't flat but actually round. The leaves fall from the trees and cover the ground. Halloween, tricker treat smell my feet witches and goblins on every street going neighbor to neighbor collecting and filling their bags with sweet treats.
All Saints day a Christian holiday. The first day of November Then on our way to election day. Then we stopped on the 11th to observe our veterans the men and women who gave us life, liberty, and the ultimate sacrifice. We set around the table eating turkey, Thanksgiving a day we are joined friends and family being together. Thanking God for the years blessing and endeavors.
December's with the shortest day and winter is here to stay with children sledding and snowman making and counting down to the 25 day Christmas is on its way. The day is here the children hope to hear Santa and his reindeer. It's now the last day its here and everybody cheers on a new year
Long poem by
Scott Bronner | Details |
In eternity past, the Father asks the Son to go down.
Having equal Love for humans the "Yes" comes fast.
When Creation leads to time, the world waits for 4 BC
Marking the start of the end of Satan's long rule at last.
Did Satan laugh at the poor setting for Jesus' birth here?
A cry in a cave for animals pierces the night, changing all.
Shepherds worship; later wise kings give precious gifts.
Mary and Joseph marvel, yet Herod's rage soon gives a call.
A call to leave quickly to Egypt where they'll live as refugees.
Sparing the Christ child a merciless death of those under three.
When Herod finally dies, Jesus' parents head back to Israel.
Still not fully safe from mad rule, Nazareth is their destiny.
Here the child will grow to be a man, following His parents rule.
Surprising the Pharisees with His wisdom at 12, at 30 riling them.
Preaching with authority, healing the incurable, loving the humble.
Women weep repenting at his feet; one's healed by touching his hem.
Zacchaeus risks going into a tree and finds Jesus' salvation so free.
Nicodemus comes at night to ask and ends amazed he's met God's Son
The Woman at the Well gets far more vital water than the usual kind.
And many healed can't but tell others of the miracle God has done.
The babe in the manger now stills the storm and his disciples believe
Even seeing the dead arise, like Lazarus in the tomb for four days.
Foretelling a greater rising coming but not before immense suffering.
The sword Mary was told would pierce her heart is soon on its way.
For most religious leaders cannot tolerate Jesus' lack of respect for them.
Calling them whitewashed tombs and pointing pride out to Pharisees.
Not endearing Himself with the establishment, but following God's way.
Knowing soon He'd be betrayed, arrested, tried and tortured brutally.
Still, he calmly feeds them body bread and blood wine in a final feast.
Tells them the Spirit comes, and prays they'd be one like Father and Son.
Heads to the Garden, prays to His Father for another way if possible.
Your will be done ends and the soldiers come and with Judas kiss it's done.
The most pure, innocent Man who's ever lived is now in hostile hands.
A trial by dark without witness or any rights – and off to Pontius Pilate.
Then Herod then back to Pilate whose wife dreamed Jesus was innocent.
But the people's cries to crucify win over – Jesus caught in intrigue's net.
The child of Bethlehem now hung on a Cross between two criminals.
The Light of the World by darkness and our sins is being slowly slain.
Feeling forsaken by God, but then "Into Your hands I commit my spirit."
Reunited and soon to show the world that this Child was no ordinary one.
Risen as Jesus predicted, for how can death conquer everlasting, perfect life?
From childhood to adult not one sin, not once yielding to Satan's temptations.
Proving we can have life eternal if we confess and believe in Jesus as our Savior.
Calling His followers in risen form to await the Spirit and share Christ to the nations