When it left the Arctic it was as a wild angry wind
that stormed its way across the ice bound Arctic ocean.
Blowing the snow clad icebergs and whipping up the ocean.
As it crossed Alaska and into Canada it had gentled
now it played games with leaves and softly kissed flowers.
Gaily it soared over the Rockies and tugged goats beards
causing them to shake their heads and stamp their feet.
In Playful mood it swept on hugging the coast awhile
then veering inland, it travels the plains and grows in strength
turning into a raging tornado causing havoc as it passes.
Moving ever southward it basks in now warm sunshine
and skips over the gulf of Mexico filling yachts sails.
Deep down in South America it turns into a wild fury that
uproots trees snapping them in half like matchsticks,
Then onward once more dancing past the Falkland islands.
Its destiny is now in sight and with triumphant roar
it rushes on over the Antarctic ocean and slides up
the icy barrier then screams its way across the tundra
yet slowly it loses its power and as it reaches the incline
this moody wind fades away until with final breath it dies.
I am crying yes crying
why I hear you asking
It is because I am moved
by a poem on here
So sadden by her words
how could it come to this?
a guiding light, a friend
an inspirer of fine words
Linda you were first to greet me
it was you who smoothed my way
gave me help and advice unselfishly
introduced me to contests and more
Poets should not fight like this
WHO THE HELL GAINS?
In The End NONE!! All LOSE
no sparkle left just matt dim and dull
Linda your words touch my soul
more far more they inspire
Never hang up your pen
Return soon we need your love and input
Always your friend and fan Shadow
No name appears on my stone
there are no flowers strewn
grasses grows knee high
full of thorny brambles
How did this come to pass
that so soon I am forgotten
no longer in memories am I
no one tends to my grave
Yet but a few short years
have passed since my death
my name once on many lips
now only sighed by the wind
as it passes my resting place
Now, forsaken, forgotten
out of sight and out of mind
nothing now remains of me
just my crumbling bones
moulder away deep in the earth
It started high up in the clouds,
the moisture balling together until
it became a perfect tear drop hovering
then falling down, gaining speed.
Bumping into others amalgamating,
spinning dropping ever downwards.
Landing with large splash on a leaf
and trickling, running ever down.
Joining still as it flows on
over the edge to the ground.
The rain drop fell into a puddle
and spread out reflecting the sky.
Glistening, sparkling and pulsing
It follows the contours of the land
giving life to all as it passes by,
relentlessly advancing with glee.
Not over yet, it flowed into a lake
now a vast body of water it continues
onwards, ever onwards. One day it
will return to the sky. That's another story.
cool, tranquil, mysterious
you make my soul delight
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
contest Old or new poems in five or less free poetry
The man stumbled on, wanting to get as far away as possible
the sights he had seen and lived through too terrible to contemplate.
How could another human deliberately inflict such awful things on another.
He could see a gentle stream of smoke arising from the distant chimney
and headed for the shelter it offered, staggering on until he reached it.
It was a pretty cottage nestled deep into the hillside and isolated.
He tumbled through the door and collapsed on the floor.
Mistily he drifted in then out of consciousness unable to focus
aware vaguely of a gentle touch that soothed and replenished.
He drank from the cup pressed to his lips and then let go.
The old lady shook her head at the follies of mankind,
and set to work bandaging his festering wounds.
She made a drawing potion to clean out the poison
that had taken a fierce hold racking him with fever.
Then she covered him and stoked up the fire.
For three days he lay in a coma muttering about the war,
not an ordinary one, oh no, this war caused carnage.
Evil stalked the land every hand turned against the other.
Sons killing fathers and brothers and to what point?
A simple disagreement about Creed had started this.
Weakened by the ravages he was slow to fully heal
yet he learned much from the old lady causing him to rethink.
To look at things with eyes a-new seeing the other point of view.
These new values he took with him when he left thanking her gratefully.
He set out on a new route, his task now to heal and bring peace.
Standing a-midst the crowd on a small hillock he taught them new values
not by preaching as such but by parables that showed the way to peace.
After all he would say; Pause and Think, For What are We without hope?
Everything gone by can be changed, all we have to do is care and act.
So lit the small flicker in your heart and fan up a healing blazing flame.
Creature of mystical powers
please will you give me an answer
May i please ride with you tonight
through dark skies of sparkling starlight
I long to join you in your flight
you pause allow me to alight
We race through the dazzling skies
I grip very tight with shaking thighs
Looking around me so full of wonder
thinking nothing could be greater
Then flying down I hug you tight
let you return to twilight
contest Any New Poet written 05/22/2013
The trail was long and very dusty
great clouds churned up by hooves
of the vast herd being wrangled on
300 more miles of eating their dust
Bandana's tightly wrapped round faces
cries of "get up there" ringing out
bawling calves separated from mothers
hiss of hot branding irons scorching
A rumbling constantly moving mass
stretching back as far as eyes can see
horses reeling back and forth, pushing
always pushing them on, 200 miles to go
Storm is approaching as they settle down
tightly bunched up wranglers keeping watch
hard as nails falls the rain, lashing down
cattle milling round and round as flashes
Of lightning light up the sky causing
restless beasts to try to break and flee away
tumultuous thunder now joining in causing panic
"Keep them circling, don't let them break out"
Came the cries of the foreman as they tried to hold
chuck wagon knocked over as through camp they run
woe to anyone on foot or even a thrown rider
"keep them going south, They will stop at the river"
Gradually the storm quietens and dies down
first light shows how scattered they are
some needing to be shot where they lay mangled
the rest pushed through the river to the plains
Here they can be regrouped, lush grasses to eat
no urgency now 10 miles or so a day we push them
letting them gain some more weight, 50 miles to go
the foreman sends two men on to warn the yards
At last they see the rail tracks, only 15 miles away
"one last big push lads and we will have them there
tonight we will wet our whistles and eat like kings"
hot tubs to soak in, washing away dirt that is caked
We push them into the waiting pens as they bawl and churn
settled now with fresh hay and water the plaintive calls
of mothers looking for their calves, the wranglers push
them together keeping the bulls apart, they will ship first
Now work is done, 800 miles or so we have driven them
it is time to relax and let our hair down, find ladies
of the night with which to dally for awhile, some poker
played, several fights break out over who gets which one
As dawn breaks low rumbles from the pens as the cattle stir
the town but for a few still fast asleep, until the train
spitting steam and smoke arrives, and buyers now alight
many offers are made and rejected out of hand, these cows
Are already sold to keep our armies fed as they war against
the Maverick Indians, that are plundering the homesteads
30,000 at first of drove, now reduced to 27,000 or so
loaded up on the train our job is done we are homeward bound
contest Epic Only
There was a plantation of fir trees
for some unknown reason, most of them
were three to four years old but one,
it was only in its first year of growth.
When Christmas drew near, the loggers came
and started to cut down some of the oldest.
The little fir asked "What is going on?"
The other trees said its Christmas time.
They will be taken into people's homes
then they will be decorated and lit up.
Parcels at their feet sharing the joy
of Christmas, a real honour to be chosen.
"I want to be a Christmas tree," said the fir.
You are much too young and far too little,
they take most trees when they are four,
you will have to wait and do some growing.
"I want it to be spring, it said not winter
then I will be able to grow big like you".
Soon the loggers had finished cutting down,
now there were large gaps in the rows.
The little fir thought lots of sun helps,
at last the spring came and with it growth.
The little fir stretched as high as it could
filling out as it reached upwards for the sun.
In the morning men came and started to plant
soon there were lots of little trees around.
One worker said," strange there is one little one
should we cut it down". "No leave it to grow bigger".
The little fir grew all through the summer
enjoying the hot lazy days while it could,
it saw many changes over the weeks and months
as autumn passed away the land cooled down.
Then came the snows of winter, a blizzard or two
the snow lay heaped around the little fir's roots.
It will soon be time for the loggers to come
then all us four year old's will be Christmas trees.
"I wish I could be a Christmas tree like all of you".
"You will have to grow a lot more before they take you".
The little tree sighed, it so badly wanted to be one,
next day the loggers came and took the older trees.
Once more the rows looked very bare and also bleak,
the little tree hunkered down to wait for spring.
Then one day a little girl and her dad came
they walked down the rows looking at all the trees.
"That one", she shouted, "dad", pointing at the little fir.
"It is rather small, would you not like a bigger one".
"No, no", said the little girl, "that one is perfect.
I can reach to do most of the decorating of it's branches".
Fantastic thought the little tree, I am a Christmas tree
they gently cut it down and carried it to their truck,
when they got home they put some growth power on the base
and planted it in a great big pot that was a shiny red.
The tree looked around the room in awe struck wonder
there were flashing lights around the snowy windows.
Cards strung over the fire mantle, so very colourful,
streamers hung from corner to corner looking so gay.
Then they started to put baubles, tinsel and lights
and a lovely angel to go on the top it felt so good,
at last the little fir would know what Christmas
was like, it watched all the fun as the presents.
Were passed around and eagerly opened with sighs
and shouts of delight, the tree smiled at their joy.
Now finally they sat down and ate their dinner
with many toasts being passed, at last it was over.
Then next day they took the little fir outside
and put it in a cold frame to protect it for the winter.
oh wow! it thought I will be a Christmas tree again next year
and so the little fir tree got it's dearest wish.
contest Children's Christmas or holiday Tale
I am the shadow that passes through your mind
as you remember times long gone past
the wind in your hair as you stroll
a soft touch as a leave brushes your cheek
A certain scent I always wear
tells you I am near to you
yet when you turn around
you find you are alone
You can sense me watching over you
but when you reach out all you catch
is a shadow that slips away
leaving just memories behind
You can hear my voice in the breeze
carried down from the mountain top
feel me when you bath in crystal streams
and in the beams radiating from the sun
I am everywhere yet also I am nowhere
just the shadow that protects you
I am the spirit that dwells within you
the shadow of our love for each other