Listen to poem:
1st Grade With Miss Harvison at Thatcher Elementary
Miss Harvison’s smile greeted each taker of
An assigned seat of big kids desks
in our very first First Grade class
at Thatcher Elementary
It was early in September after a
Long summer and a
Successful year of half-day kindergarten
The beginning of numbered grades
All in a row
12 years was my first glimpse of forever
Miss Harvison was no taller than the
Tallest boys among us
And I was proudly one among them
Gray hair and pale blue eyes
Thin with the skin of an aging angel
She made learning fun
She made us want to come
For another chapter of Dick & Jane
And adding numbers
Miss Harvison never married
But by 1960 knew 50 years of children
She was 25 when she first arrived
And had her first 30 in a
Baptism of fire
She knew everyone
by name and by heart
It was the start of a life-long
love affair with teaching and learning
Miss Harvison has always lived in the
Memories of a thousand and a half
Half-pints seated in neat rows
The children who became her students
Her measures of a meaningful life
Copyright © David Walker | Year Posted 2021
still deep silence
of the great unknown
do you lie beyond time
what were we then
when dinosaurs roamed
before women and men
in the grand scheme
of all living things
what comes after human
what of it then
when the cosmos move
and not one of us can
when humans die
does nothing reside
Copyright © NG Rippel | Year Posted 2021
A BAIRN’S GARDEN
shiny red wagon
annuals planted in soil
a curious garden
Kim Rodrigues ©2016
Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2016
Come along and sit with me
And let us share a memory
Of a Spring morning with a gentle breeze.
When spied a cardinal perched in a cherry tree;
Resplendent red plumaged vision;
Radiating from soft white inflorescence;
Variegation searing the moments influence;
Homage to creations inspirational brilliance;
Copyright © Kenneth Cheney | Year Posted 2019
Listen to poem:
Rhythm: Trochaic tetrameter. i.e.,
Each line as: BAH-bah BAH-bah BAH-bah BAH-bah
1 “Hi, Corona, thy name means crown.
But all thy deeds in pain us drown.
Many losing jobs, homes and hope,
Are not sure how they now will cope.
2 For months schools and colleges closed,
For us many problems have posed.
Online class is not fun, my friend.
Good if soon it comes to an end.
3 Deaths one million by September.
Scary number to remember!
Why hast thou become a killer?
Please, leave us, mad graveyard filler!”
4 “I am only a messenger.
Neither killer, nor avenger.
Many see me as an evil.
But the wise will see my goodwill.
5 God, your great and loving Father,
Sees you drifting from Him farther.
Fun and entertainment centered,
You are now much conscience blunted.
6 Money you chase; but not wisdom,
Depth in spirit, or God’s Kingdom.
With your science and tech power,
You think you're a mighty tower.
7 God sent me to help you to see
Powerless how you are. Hence flee
From all your sins. Follow God’s way.
Then I'll fly away, as you say.”
Posted: 20 October 2020
Updated: 22 November 2020
Copyright © Michael Ponnambalam | Year Posted 2020
A HUMMINGBIRDS TALE
I rode upon a Hummingbird’s wings.
There were no ropes, there were no strings
In a slow blink of an eye,
we slid across a windless sky
arriving before a open flower
like rain dropping from a springtime shower.
We stood still hovering before some captive scent.
There was no cost there was no rent,
as nectar flowed through hollowed tongue
and pollen flaked upon her beak
she moved but little, but soon would seek
another flower’s seductive call, although it did seem
that time stood still at the space in between.
And then like a laser beam she zoomed on her way
to glean the sweet juices of a fresh new bouquet
And as I watched in prodigious awe,
I tried to refocus on what I just saw.
My thoughts grew alive in a meditative muse
in a haze my mind would ask quite confused
how 60 flaps per second in logic could ever occur
as a billow of feathers surged forth like a blur
scouting out a aroma that would claim her attention
Oh by the way, did I ever once mention
While alone with my hummingbird I sensed
a whisper from above
was guiding his creation with mystical love.
Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2017
The story of life is knowing our God indeed.
Knowing the Lord Jesus Christ
fully and completely. He is the way to the
Father and the giver of their blessed
The power from on high to guide you every day
and every moment of your life. For I know my Lord
stands by me closer than a brother. He is there
to deliver me always and bless me all the time.
I give God thanks and praise in Jesus name,
all the day.
My wish for you today is that you will
accept the savior in your heart to stay.
Don’t wait another moment of the day!
is only in the hands of the Creator absolutely,
not me or you. We can be safely assured being in
the Hands of Jesus.
He is the beginning and the end to everything.
He is able to give you life today and forever-more.
Copyright © Ronald A. Williams | Year Posted 2017
a LOVE NOTE /// from BILLY the KiDSTER
PD why do I love hassling you
morning time, I rise up to shine
P.D. you are forever on my mind
how can I be in love with you?
((BILLY THE KIDSTER OBSESSED WITH YOU my QUEEN))
PD give me a sign
that you are on the line
my heart is blind
PD all I do is waste my energy on you
if you are a guy that is okay
at times I find myself thinking gay
if you are a girl oh well
I've been with many and I still do not know what to do
this mystery about you drives me insane
a game of cowboys and Indians with you, I play
I will be John Wayne
you can be my Sitting Bull
you can scalp my head
if you do not want it in
maybe I am not your type of Kid
P.D. I want to be the one in all your files
a song for you I dedicate
a crush, you crumbled me
using poetry as bait
PD, I'm obsessed with you
is making my dream, fantasize more about you.
a face I do not need to know
I can imagine you in any way
if you are a man, it's okay I am gay
if the package, says the girl
you will be my queen, for you I will cook and clean
bring you flowers every day
until one day
I meet another in cyberspace poet
after all I am Billy the Kidster
I enjoy bothering you.
((to the readers Billy the Kidster Claims he is the POET DESTROYER))
another text from Billy
(I really do consider you a very close friend to me, but if you want to cut off ties with me, I'll understand and not take it personally. If I did offend you PD, I'm very sorry. Most Sincerely, theKidster, Billy)
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010
Listen to poem:
Memories come rushing back
of the friends once forgot
in the mists of living angst
behind the veil of private death
the exclamations that surprise
distant echoes of the past
breaking walls built with lies
that no one cares for this life
one or another is enough
the darkness broke by a light
lit from above to reveal
what came before the misery
a recollection that does not care
for the darkness left behind
asking for a smile to spring
when reminded what life brings.
Copyright © Sean Green | Year Posted 2019
Feel the autumn breeze
Rustle through the trees.
View how painted leaves abound.
Watch the dappled sun
Play on every one
As they drift toward the ground.
See the harvest moon
Say good-bye too soon
As the colors fade away.
Let yourself be lost
In the lacey frost
While in mounds of leaves kids play.
September 2, 2014
A Lovely Alouette (revised)
Contest Judged: 9/14/2014 12:00:00 AM
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich | Send Soup Mai
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2014
No tugs at his line; it just goes limp
Mighty fisherman feels like a wimp
Looking back at his bait box
Wasn’t prepared for the shock
A gull flew off with one of his shrimp
I was talking to an elderly gent who was fishing from shore in Ormond Beach and this
actually happened as he was giving me "fishing instructions." We had a good laugh watching
the seagull steal the bait!
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009
It’s a joke to be woke
You silly bloke
You’re listening to vile folk
Blinding you with political smoke
Dousing your brain
In a putrid soak
Of the evil, daft and deranged
Feeding you lunacy
Of the mundane
Its quite comical
And really insane
To believe it
All to be true
Question it not
Says the elite few
Make sure to tune in
For more mayhem
And acceptable sin
This is a fight you cannot win
Just accept the program
My has been
We have you and your kin
As we toss your morals in a bin
And serve you a morbid din din
Of s*** that makes no sense
While trying to erase
Your programming’s past tense
And insert the new
Wicked woke ways
To break down your defense
Of knowing wrong from right
To block your sight
From the light
To curtail your will to fight
To destroy your mental might
And supplement it
With a revolting blight
Of disgusting attitudes
Paying the ghastly
Platitudes of cliché
While celebrating it as a new way
For the progressive decay
To tell a lie long enough
Will begin to produce fluff
and spread like a plague
infecting the mindless and the vague
who never bother to question at all
and simply sink to their knees
in an obedient fall
and listen to the call
of the demon’s song
repeating the lyrics
they know to be wrong
evil knows its audience well
they are the salesmen of hell
they know how to quell
to the infection
from which you swell
and revive you from where you fell
away from reality and logic
it’s why you were picked
why you were licked
as a delicious treat
you were always someone
who could be beat
for this horrific mission
of not questioning your leaders
but being cerebral bleeders
spewing on cue
what the elite few
tell you to say
you’re the robot
for the day
paving the way
for the wicked to play
But I pray
For it all to end
So, we can all mend
My heart for humanity
My will against evil
Will never bend
Eric (and sometimes not)
Copyright © Eric Nolan | Year Posted 2023
Every sight of this angel takes his thoughts back
the nurse’s suit to half way her legs sweeps his lustful track.
In his fantasy, she plays the role of a wife
surrounded by gadgets yet cares not about his life.
On duty, she gives instructions, his attention ignores to her waist
on every bend over, her stadiums cause thick sweats like paste.
Routine touches from her puts him in a heavenly zone
a goddess, a princess, a hottie and an incredible Amazon.
Such smiles showcasing her white teeth is heart borne
germinates in the inside to produce more like corn.
She’s single, her ring-less finger surely cannot deceive
stealing a kiss during a check-up he wants to achieve.
His sweet words, she perceives as a soft test
responses from her laughter like a soft baby cry is his best.
He’s next in line cos she’s with another who’s nearby
stealing a quick peck causes her first irritated sigh.
Gently smiles at him in hilarious pity but meanwhile
his advances for a while are well recorded in a file.
She appreciates his manliness and ability to be bold
‘but my husband is your surgeon, this you’ve been told’.
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016
BIRTH OF SPRING
There was a feeling, a time for a change,
and high above whispers passed lips,
someone felt it, someone breathe it out,
then He whispered the whisper all heard.
The wind told other winds, the birds overheard.
The ground's heart beat messages
to roots, that thrive for new life.
United they gave what in autumn had fall.
I saw what many saw,
green life, small life, live life.
The whisper remained until all heard,
and there was a feeling, a time for a change.
Copyright © Delores Allen | Year Posted 2021
Enter the eye that weeps
as the dragon sleeps
crawling underneath the skin
In the darkest shadows creep
wings curtains falling heavy
Iron casting cold steel
Lies within the soul
the most horrifying
of all monsters
Dead soulless weeping
Addiction of need
in darkness sleeps
Awaiting life's fate
Cold scales climb effortlessly
numb within shattered illusions
twisted in its agony
screeching nightmares howl out
Black velvet feelings
chanting inside unheard voices
The dammed living dead
Whispering silently inwardly
Dying heartaches burn
Darkening thoughts within
falling heavy on the shoulders
Clouds the sky dark
lightning force consumed by hate
Crashes in pain
colourless agony reigns
In thundering roars
at the keepers gate
creeping into the deepest dungeon
falling emotions sick
The dragon breathes
spitting fire with his every breath
burning hotly the flames unholy
scorching the very ground
on which he roams
in black ash remains
Only he sleeps inside torture
twisting and turning chains
In hot pain
buried in turmoil
In the deep
with all its fury
a voiceless flame
Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2013
West Texas is a vast, wide-open area, dusty, windy, and dry. Many a time I hid the mostly unbranded calves I took from the herd on the XIT ranch behind the tumbleweeds that had built up in the small valleys across the open plains only the moonlight could see. I tried to move at night as much as I could because rustling cattle had become a dangerous occupation as I was finding out. Cattle barons had hired gunslingers and trackers to bring justice to outlaws like me and they were on my trail. Hoping the wind would erase my tracks I moved as many miles as I could, stopping only when water was found which wasn't often enough and the cattle, I stole were gettin' weak. I was halfway through New Mexico territory trying to get to the Magdalena cattle drive to sell my stock to wranglers I knew but I had to let the calves go and save myself. I could see four mounted cowboys on the mesa under the clear blue sky with me in their sight. I ditched all the weight I was carrying except the rifle and Colt on my hip as I headed into the Sawtooth mountains when a shot rang out. My horse, spooked by the noise reared up, throwin' me off onto the hard ground below as another shot rings out. I feel a burning sensation in my side as I get up to run for cover in a grove of gnarled trees' close by. Bleedin' from a gut shot, I know I won't recover as I hear the four cowboys drawing near. "Give it up boy, you aint goin' nowhere, this is the end of the line" the cowboy said. I replied "go to hell lawman!" as I fired from my Colt hittin' one of the riders. I tried to run further in the brush when I was struck again through the back. Mortally wounded, I thought about home and the woman I loved there. The cowboy on the black steed said "your rustlin' days are over son, anything you want to say?" "Give me a drink will Ya". The cowboy dismounted and handed me a bottle of whiskey, I pulled the cork with my teeth and took a swig. Handing the bottle back to him, it was getting hard to breathe as I said "grant me my dying', wish will Ya". "What is it boy" he said. With my last struggling breath, I said "bury me in Datil".
Copyright © dave bowers | Year Posted 2021