Waking with a smile, eyes bouncing green, dear husband
makes me hold back my scream, desire to pull over sheets.
Later, I find you sitting like Buddha, gazing at the land,
shifting as each birds lifts and soars and tweet tweets.
I watch you in silence, pick up slippers, my piles of papers
find my own breakfast to leave you undisturbed in dream,
you thank me so many ways, your face relaxed, finger tapers
held on belly, sometimes I wonder if you see past the gleam
Of heavenly contentment, lap of pool, sun blazing warm
the face so bruised by clenched jaw now so smooth
I never dare to battle you, drive you against walls or alarm.
Retirement is a silence of weighty falling before well oiled groove.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2014
P aranoia permeates, etching itself into your fractured face,
A cacophony of constant pressure; life remains a stressful race,
N othing to hope for, no positives like promotion in the workplace,
I nability to love, relationships lift anchor and set sail without chase,
C hildren crushing dreams under mortgages; age grows with disgrace
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
The Beach of Promises
Fingers entwined, barely touching,
turquoise waters teasing your dancing toes,
strolling along that serene deserted beach,
our promised dreams within aching reach.
Hands clasped, holding on,
sea-breezes tickling the nape of your neck,
walking together, alone, vowing to never breach,
the dreams dreamed on that faraway velvet beach.
Hands in my pockets, alone,
traces of you linger, teasing,
lost in my scribbles, your memory fading out of reach,
my thoughts ablaze, now and then,
catching a whiff of your fragrance,
wafting through alleyways of nostalgia,
your hand in mine on our pristine beach.
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013
To live is to Learn.
To learn is to grow up.
But at our elderly Age that doesn't mean much....
AAAhhh... The choices and freedoms that age does bring...
They open the world of childhood again.
This childhood is filled with fantasy and such…
Including Dragons, and Trolls alive to the touch.
I wish, I wish, you could see them with me.
We could laugh at their antics, together you see.
To live is to Learn.
To learn is to grow up.
But as my body grows old, my mind’s still young.
My husband and I are like the two parts of the moon.
He comes from the light side to pull me there, too.
His reflections of love keep me there, each day.
To live is to Learn.
To learn is to grow up.
But never stop smiling, along the way.
It’s your reflection of love that’s given to the world, each day.
It makes everything brighter, and everything OK.
To live is to Learn.
To learn is to grow up.
To learn is to find how to give your own reflections of love.
For contest: Reflections of Love
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2013
Crossing boundaries all
On and off the ground
Testimony of breaking records
In domains many as well
For whom responsibility
And not simply duty was but God
Scaling heights many
Turning living legend
Master though with dream and
Later achievements massive.
Born with a promise to run
And lead others to run after-
Friends or foes.
Soft and cool
Tender but bold
With passive resistance
Sans complain and no pride
Crowned but with no crown
In hearts all adorned
For years long and ages to come
With humility all
Confidence and pride of nationals all
And respect commanding from opponents too,
Saying good bye to self,
The first ever love
Who I think had considered
To achieve Nirvana
And turning God
By complete merger in
“mamekam saranam braja.”
Copyright © GOBINDA SAHOO | Year Posted 2015
The distant past
the lonelly valleys echo
with fear and distrust
It captures the heart
And takes it to a ride
Their echoes sre heard
In that distant past
The valleys listen
And bow down in honour
Their red tears
Afraid of wiping them
Reality hidden far away
Far away in the distant past
In heart muscles they align
Just above reality
When the echoes open their heart
We get dismayed
Lonesome bewilder our hearts
The hearts that soon crumble
They soon meet with the ancestors
Who in a rude shock wonder
How soon and young we join them
The echoes remain still
Untill the valleys
but our hearts are a battlefield
Where emotions fight
the fight of unending battles
untill soon we depart
Copyright © john ngugi | Year Posted 2015
“a little time to give... a little time to live, time always means so much”
Before I knew it, I could retire, everyone said it would be so great,
Having nursed for 37 years I got full pension so I took the bait.
The first few weeks I slept in and did things I never had time to do,
Then I found those things got boring, the time no longer flew.
First I did the self-help thing, got into exercise and joined a Gym,
Started a new diet, lost 65 pounds, boy I actually looked slim.
Got a new hair cut and colour, went out and bought new clothes,
Thought I’d become a better human being, but then who knows.
Signed up for a watercolour class to improve how I painted,
This transformation somehow made me feel somewhat tainted.
I expanded my horizon with broadway shows and art displays,
Yet my retired life felt empty, I seemed to be wasting my days.
So I sat down and thought about what it is that I truly love,
What fulfills my soul - I had to give my brain a little shove.
Returning to basics, at the bedside is where I want to be,
I decided to volunteer at a hospice, palliative care is for me.
Supporting dying people and their family, to be caring is all I want,
Listening to their struggles and life’s stories always continues to haunt.
Working at Day Hospice we provide support for the respite stay,
In addition I visit patients at home, so the caregiver can get away.
The touch of a hand, the warmth of a hug is so very little to give,
These people have limited time, only a few days or hours to live.
Often unsettled before the person dies, they need to tie up loose ends,
So I do whatever is required, for the person who wants to make amends.
If I can make a person’s last moments, ones that are filled with peace,
Comforting the family, sitting quietly as the person’s last breaths cease.
My life will not be wasted and I no longer have the urge to read MacBeth,
My retirement and work at hospice allows me to love my patients to death.
Written by Lee Ramage
August 30, 2011
For A Rambling Poet’s contest
“A Poem- Please”
Copyright © Lee Ramage | Year Posted 2011
Blanket covered cold
Attacked by white Gas of
But unbearable silent
Cripples into the home
Like a snake
To live with loneliness
Get Scattered past
Comes like a shooting star
Burning and blasting
As a thunder bolt
To the vulnerable heart
Like a novel keeps turning pages
Last chapters of the age
Tries to be active
Like a butterfly
While the birds are vanishing
Letting to the cold
Heater in the home
Makes warm the room
Cooks once in a way
Finding the present to share it
At the evening table
Cold darken lumpish light
Turns to here and there
Trying to realize
The nature of life
A sigh of pain
Or a sigh of relief
Likewise something missed
In the life of four seasons
Udaya R. Tennakoon
Copyright © Udaya R. Tennakoon | Year Posted 2013
Here, I dwell in no man's land,
On the flip side, there's men unwomanned,
They can be a miserable band,
Desperately seeking a hand,
I read their profiles for online dating,
Is this pulp fiction they're creating?
"Honest, sensuous, sincere men here,
Tactile and reliable...", Great, my dears,
All searching for affection,
BUT, I want your ex's true opinion!
Can I have her phone number, please?
What do you mean she's overseas,
Like forever and permanently?
Oh, really, really, really.....
What does your ex say about you, please?
Why complain about her to me?
Honestly, why are you unwomanned?
While, here I dwell in no man's land.........
Copyright © Julie Grenness | Year Posted 2016
Got drunk as a skunk, at a debutante
Eye catching tat I want. With no regrets
a masterpiece of art that I can flaunt
clearly expressing my love for Begretz
Fritz loves Begretz on a red crimson heart.
When the artist was done the tattoo read
Ritz loves Begets on a red crimson heart
With grieve I departed , I know I’m dead
Pearl, in no way cared, that was a big void
I’m all wrinkled wishing I was younger
Instead of guessing and getting annoyed
now you know the tattoo is no longer
Young and reckless, no more needs to be said
I’m still alive with the life that I led
Which Of The Four Would You Choose - cartoon #4
Sponsored by: Sara Kendrick |
Sonnet: 10 syllables per line, rhyme scheme abab, cdcd, efef, gg ..Fourteen lines with last two lines like a summary of the poem..
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2016
Lyrical On 44th Street
The argument started at the table
He was too soft,
too timid to quote Gable
She said ,"Your dreams aren't keeping the lights on.
If I see you writing again, your son and I will be gone."
He said, "I been writing this book for ten years.
I got a letter from the mayor. I won a certificate."
She said, "It's just paper. We can't eat it. It aint worth shit!
For six years you haven't been a father at all.
You got a son who can't even catch a damn ball.
You're worth a nickel as a husband.
As a father, not even a dime.
Where's a boy going in this world
Writing stories and rhymes?"
She tossed his unfinished poems on the kitchen floor
His bound manuscripts out the back door.
She said, "Horace, I'm warning you.
Get this work out the trash
You'll find a wedding ring in there too."
For three days those dreams festered in that trash
Covered with Pasta, cooking oil, Marinara sauce
Everything he had ever written was lost.
He watched the Sunny Hills Sanitation Company
Turn down 34th street and make a left at the corner.
One last time he tried to warn her.
He could barely hide his tears with his hands.
She said, "Now you can grow up and be a man."
Then that truck turned left on 35th street
Then it turned right
And just like those dreams, it disappeared from sight
Twenty years later
He sat in the Sunny Hills Convalescent home
Sick, lonely, old and alone
He couldn't even hold a pen
Or dial numbers on a phone
He had forgotten nearly every simile
Every rhyme and every metaphor.
And every few weeks the Reaper
Carried one of his friends out that door.
And though he couldn't remember
His favorite color or baseball team
The one thing he couldn't forget
Were those lyrical dreams.
In the dining room of the hospital he had a guest.
It took two nurses to get the feeble man dressed.
A nurse said, Mr. Horace, this is your son.
Twice he had to be reminded that he had one.
He tried to reply, but his words failed.
The young man said, "Dad, I have a writing degree.
I graduated with honors, from Yale.
But what the old man didn't know
Happened late in the night
Twenty years ago.
A young child
Went into that garbage can
Sorted through the pasta, salad, and uneaten bones.
And made those lyrical dreams his own.
And now those dreams live on.
Copyright © Poet M.e. | Year Posted 2016
These two mature lovers together
been married for many a day
now both retired from employment
can enjoy time together come what may
So they look forward to days away
using the free bus pass to get about
after checking the weather and the route
they plan their day then get out
They love to enjoy the countryside
seeing it's beauty spread so wide
walking in the grass so green
marching out in equal stride
Lovers they are in fullest measure
it's grown so much in years gone by
looking at each other marks a smile
that could only be this gal and guy
They travel all across the land
north, south, east and west
hoping to do this forever more
hand in hand so much blessed
Copyright © Gordon McConnell | Year Posted 2014
I do not know?
April 14 , 2016 10 : 32 am
I love you Kobe
You were my hero.
Till the eight now lastly to the 24 .
Last night your memories struck my tears and my happiness.
It’s just so hard that you are fading away from the game.
I realize that I honestly don’t love you of your fame.
I love you because you’re my hero and role model.
You inspired me to not quit.
You inspired me to continue.
Those 60 points I witness last night were a blessing from your talent and heart.
They were our last beloved memory of you.
It made me think to believe in myself.
You’re the real MVP Kobe.
You taught us loyalty.
You taught us to listen
You taught us hard work is important.
Whenever you go I’ll go.
And you taught us dearly to love you and respect you not only as a player but as a human beloved being sent from GOD.
Heroes come and goe.
Zeroes collapses and lets us down
But a Legend like you Kobe is forever eternally.
I love you Kobe.
Thank you for the game of basketball.
Thank you for me and the fans for seeing the moment on a special wonderful game you had deeply inside your sparking heart.
Your heart has touched my heart it pounded me.
I never felt like this before when it came to my hero turned legend.
I don’t care if I have a man crush on you.
I don’t care if I’m obsessed on you as a fan.
Because all I know is that you will always be my number 1 hero my savior my idol and my everything.
I cried last night.
I saw your past games last night.
I saw a growth.
I saw a legend.
I saw your 60 points.
You were amazing , I praises you and follow your path of greatness.
When I go to bed in my deep sleep every night I think of how great and special Kobe is and how I got much love for him. So in closing I will love to say farewell Kobe. See you later no goodbyes. Thank you for the sacrifices and the memories of the game of basketball. And I understand that you have to fade away eternally.
I never let go Kobe.
I never stop thinking of you .
Kobe all day.
Kobe all night.
Kobe a hero.
And Kobe I love you forevermore and good luck on your new journey.
Rip Kobe Bean Bryant 1996 – 2016.
This isn’t a goodbye it’s a see you later.
Copyright © Cmack Estevez | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
>Some people who have me
Really love me true.
Although I am not too sure.
That's what they ought to do!
And then there is those that have me not.
And they would really love a lot.
Honest they would, I jest you not.
If you therefore do have me.
You love me quite a lot.
And if you don't you would like too.
Love to have a lot.
I cannot give you more clues.
As you're bound to guess.
What some have, and some have not.
Is money did you guess? Or not?
I only know as you might, so.
I have very little money,you know.
Until my books all do sell.
Then I'll have a lot as well.
I will not love it tenderly.
Because not long will it stay with me.
As wife will spend it rapidly.
On a house by the sea.
And of that money none I'll see.
Unless she takes me with she.
And we will live so happily.
In her new house beside the sea.
And this is all now, you'll get from me.
As now it is time for tea.
Although that last line is not quite right.
As I drink decaf coffee is that alright?
I have been writing far too long.
As night time has now come along.
So now I will say goodbye to you.
And try and sleep as I should do.
Good night, goodbye, oh I meant to say.
I hope some love/money soon comes your way.
(The mad Author)<
Copyright © STANLEY Harris | Year Posted 2016
There once was a ram who retired,
who really was terribly tired.
Having serviced the lot,
he should have have been shot.
But the gun thankfully backfired.
Copyright © JEAN MURRAY | Year Posted 2016
CUPID PULLS BACK THE BOW
Their life has been their Valentine day
Cupid's heart and bow
on Valentine's day
shooting golden arrows aglow
touching their senior hearts to ballet
Chocolates dance nicely gift wrap
red roses sing delight
with a dinner and then a nightcap
to candlelight throughout the night
For two graying doves
nestled the passage of time
so much in their love
with everyday a chime
As senior's years a golden
bright eyes still excite
their love, still beholden
two little gray doves cooing the night
She flies on his ageless wings
still, to new discoveries as he sings
non contest entry
Copyright © connie pachecho | Year Posted 2017
Just as honesty plants seeds of integrity
vulnerability plants seeds of honesty.
My primary vocation
in this my gay grandfatherly retiring age
is to parent mindbody challenged adolescents
of diverse colors
as ecotherapeutically as possible
to optimize their and our wealth
growing nutritional elements and moments
into humanely co-operative organisms
with good days
more than bad.
More or less like watering the flowers
and ignoring the weeds,
or, better yet,
repurposing the weeds,
redirecting their potential energy
in a more nutritiously nurturing way.
My kids not only are vulnerable,
they know they are vulnerable,
and this tends to make them exceedingly honest
with each other
about what is funny and what is tragedy.
They are easy to parent
in this way.
Yet this same vulnerability
is their greatest risk
in a too often competitive,
and mindless of other's special needs,
We communicate connected to the feeling level,
even while learning the ABCs,
the 1 through 100 percents of good and bad numbers
and proportions and balance and symmetry,
the drawing of self-portraits,
Earth and Her Sun.
Often these inside feeling voices
do not feel well enough to care about the ABC's,
or even the needs of those we need to love
and to love us,
to be as lovely with as possible.
Inside feeling voices
become loud and angry and hurt outside voices.
I noticed this the other day
when old family friends dropped by.
Not quite as old as I
and therefore much less retired
from life's exterior competitions.
When we had time to visit several times per week,
we often began together
checking in about how our inside voices were feeling today,
happy or sad,
depressed or triumphant,
and usually some more richly nuanced place between.
Then we would turn to our big outdoor voices.
What we were working and playing on and with
in our back and front and side-yards,
the gardens and woodlands of our productive nutritional lives,
how the pets and pests
and domestic egg-layers were feeling,
and why not.
These two voices generally resonated with each other.
What we were working on with Outdoor Voices
said something about nutrition and health we were working on
as a family
with our Inside Voices,
and vice versa.
if there was nothing else to do,
no further outdoor recreations
and discernment projects,
would we return to more
yet less intimate and vulnerable
Work and play projects in perpetual interior process.
The noticing of more ornamental acquisitions
like ceiling and wall and floor coverings,
about what we could see together
through all those more interior feelings
and thoughts about relationships,
past and future and present interactions,
transactions of value and disvalue,
warmth and cooler apathy.
I remembered this yesterday
when old friends,
no longer neighbors, revisited
and we began with new floor and ceiling coverings
and ended with farewell.
They arrive so late
it is already past time to be back home
to get ready for another Indoor Voices
Which, this morning,
results in feeling blessed
to be here in this time and place
to listen and speak at our leisure
with my vulnerable no-boundary kids,
outrageously honest about their nutritional needs
speaking with full volume integrity
in both Inside Outdoor Voices,
meets and greets and eventually defeats
through honest integrity
of repurposing redirection,
feeding the flowers
and noticing how funny the weedy Outdoor Voices
feeling our way through the ABCs
and the 1 through 100% flowering days
and mean weedy nights.
I'm surprised and disappointed
my former neighbors didn't notice all the new fruit trees
and berry bushes
poppies and lilies
strawberries and tomatoes
onions and garlic
asparagus and rhubarb,
and 17 new solar panels on the roof!
My kids could care less
and probably never more
what our old friends did
and did not
other than their own Voices
vulnerably maturing into integrity,
I'm glad they noticed,
because the liked,
the new floor and ceiling covers.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2017