The ranch on which I hang my hat, though short on most the frills,
Is thirteen sections, give or take, of rugged trails an’ hills.
We call it ‘home’, our little world, our very own frontier,
Amongst the cattle, sheep an' goats; the varmints, hogs an' deer.
Today I watched the breakin' dawn an' whiffed the mornin' air,
A time I often set aside for things like thought an' prayer.
A Mockin'bird an' Mornin' Dove, an' other birds at play,
Were there to sing an' set the mood to start another day.
This mornin' saw the strangest thing, like time itself had merged,
An' all the souls who once were here, appeared an' then converged.
In swirlin' clouds of mist an' fog, right off the bluffs they rolled,
Till all had gathered in the glen, the modern an' the old.
The Indians, conquistadors, an' other ancient men,
The soldiers from this country's wars, an' cowboys from back when…
They all had come from yesterday to help me understand
Our link with those who came before, to heritage an' land.
A crazy notion, so I thought, that they could just appear,
But as the morning went along the reason got real clear.
They rode along with me that day to show me things I’ve missed,
The things I’ve seen a thousand times an’ some I’d just dismissed.
Those wagon roads of long ago, still evident today,
Are carved in rock an' rutted earth, not apt to wash away.
They linked the missions, forts an' towns those many years gone by;
An' left their mark for all to see, as modern times grew nigh.
The artifacts an' weathered ruins attest to yesterdays,
When others came an' lived their lives in very different ways.
We've seen their skill in arrowheads they honed from fired stone,
An' craftsmanship in beads an' tools they fashioned out of bone.
At ever turn and trail we took was something to remind,
The Maker must have had a plan laid out for humankind.
The Earth He made’s been feedin' us a half-a-million years,
An' used it's wonder, force an' change to challenge pioneers.
I do not know if they'll return or if they’ll feel the need,
But I’m prepared to ride the trail, where ever it may lead.
We all are spirits ridin’ time with bodies of the Earth,
Whose time has come to take the reins an’ offer up our worth.
The land has been the legacy we cultivate an’ reap,
The life has been the heritage our father’s fought to keep,
An’ we are bound throughout our time with those who came before,
To put our hearts and souls to it, and make it something more.
Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2009
Take me beat me and mold me
I am yours to do with what you wish
No matter what you do with me
I am still considered quite a dish.
I can modify your hardness
I can let you know when to boil
I can conduct a heat in you
And I will never let you spoil.
I don’t react harshly, if you get me moist and wet
You’ll still love me in the morning, on that I think I’ll bet
I will still be malleable, no matter what you do
You can beat me to transparency, and yes you see right through.
I am a bright yellow colour, with a lustre some would die for
Keeping me in good condition, would never become a chore
If you really wanted to, you can put me in your mouth
I can even adorn your body parts, North, West, East and South…
I don’t react to an acid tongue, except those that are vitriolic
But you can dissolve me with the acid, called nitro hydrochloric.
You can pour me when I’m so very hot too hot for you to play
Then you can finger me when I am cool, and play with me all day
You can eat off me, or with me, the choice will be yours
They say I came from outer space, in fact in meteors
But one thing I will say I don’t wear out or lose my lustre, it is told
So if you pick me up treat me well, I am you little nugget of gold.
Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2012
Eeney meany is what I will say
Which God shall I pray to today
It all depends on how I fee
And which one gives the better deal..
Copyright © Ken Duddle | Year Posted 2013
Miles in a coaster, a day and hours elapsed,
Felt the utmost relief when the whirling wheels halted;
So weary and dizzy, even a smile seemed so hideous
But an in peace slumber I desperately craved for;
Eyes wide-opened at the chirping of euphonious birds,
Stirred myself with hankering for the glimpse of exquisite village,
But still a dawn blanketed in frosty mist, sight diminished,
I’d only steal the blurry scene of Tang valley;
An hour after, when the glorious sun showed its perky visage,
Outside I stood relishing the splendor of the hamlet
And savoring the icy breeze wafting underneath my nose
With succulent aroma from the Mother Nature;
Amidst undulating hills and mountains down lay a quiet place,
So called Tang enclosed by rich vegetation and iridescent river
That embellishes the heavenly place superfluously picturesque,
Enticing all man into the blissful homeland of Tang Valley;
Houses clustered and down beneath the farmyard,
Divine school stands with its pride upheld
And hallowed veneration anyone would esteem,
It is so-called Tang Central School elevated of late;
Established in 1965, primary to middle since last year,
Now shines the school proud and gratified of its new recognition
As the central school bestowed with prerogatives and autonomy,
And concurringly, rejoicing its Golden Jubilee in eons;
Postures upright like inert figurines in a park,
Crescendo of unripe singsong voices spring at eight and thirty,
Crooning the sincere words of praise and homage to Tsa-Wa-Sum
That infuses the all hearts with never like joie de vivre;
A trickle of erudite whizzes and astute greenhorns
Gathered deep delved into a bond of kinship with no antipathy,
But an unremitting fondness amongst solicitous brethren-
A purveyor of ecstasy as its depiction I call for the beautiful home.
Copyright © Karma Dorji | Year Posted 2015
YOUTH AND OLD AGE
Get off your galloping horse of youth’s impressions
Stop looking down upon old age with contempt
You still on the planes of doubt and uncertainties
Having not yet made in life any real attempt
Not even a hill of problems have you ascended
Neither have you faced a serious thunderstorm
How is it possible for you ever to be assuming
Without experience your elders to reform?
You better stop and think for a single moment
All those whose heads have turned white or gray
How many hills of harms and mountains of troubles
Have they been through and climbed to this day
Your youth, a spectacular time, for you to enjoy
Dreams to make of what you would wish to assure
Sadly though the future for you a possibility is only
For everyone knows that nothing in life is for sure
So the preferable thing you ought to be doing
Is to listen carefully to these experienced old folks
For better it is to learn from mistakes they made
Than knowledge to gain from your very own faults!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
30 NOVEMBER 2013
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2013
Together the Owl and the PusyCat were married
Then again sailed out over the deep blue seas
Searching forever for the great Land of Nod,
To the place where they could find true peace.
True peace, true peace… Where they could find true peace.
The love that twined forever within their hearts
They sought throughout all the wonderous lands
Going to the place where they would live in peace,
A place where true peace, rules and lives in the hearts of the land.
The land, the land… Where true peace lives in the heart of the land.
Alas, the love of the heart, though truly not easy to find…
Is easier to find than the love of peace, found throughout the land.
So it’s said they will continue to sail, until that day comes true,
And when they land for the final time, will be up to me and you.
Me and you, me and you… That day will be up to me and you.
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012
Watch how easily souls are gathered
When words are falsely spent to mock
Unfettered as if hearts so mattered
Like tossing bread crumbs from a dock.
The least of ducklings are discerning
Fooled they're not by false repast
Paddling toward a chance of earning
While food through rippled currents last.
Fear rises from life's ledge
Only when you are looking down
Peering up from waters edge
Only warm sunlight can be found.
Trade only notes in eider down
And keep your carriage dry
Nary ye nest with unknown colors
And place not your fortune in a lie.
If it walks like a duck,
It could be a goose...
Feeding the Ducklings Contest
Copyright © Charlie Smith | Year Posted 2016
I remember the day when comments were the main
They're all very instrumental to the Soup's mainframe
Some comments are influential that created other writes
And many were like tuition that kept us crisp and bright
But there now appears a drought growing larger every day
We need to increase our comments as they help us write our says
Maybe it's time for change, for the Soup to alter it's route
Many foundations have recently left, will others follow suit
The columns showing us the views, tells us nothing at all
How many have clicked on a poem thinking that's a bit of a trawl
So another poem was open and not a word was read
So basically the views are worthless, because comments are our thread
We can learn from our comments but we will never learn from the views
It's our democratic choice for all, of what we do and choose
Nothing stays the same for ever as it appears to be
It's still the worlds best poetry site, that's down to you and me
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010
Honesty is the best policy
That's a lesson I was taught at school
But today in a world of trickery
Is that merely advice for a fool?
One time a person's word was his bond
A handshake was used to seal a deal
Today, no oath can be relied on
For some are always trying to steal
I shall be honest in my action
For to myself I have to be true
In each and every situation
No matter what others say or do
Peace of mind is most important to me
That's why I shall always strive to be free
To act in all truth and sincerity
For honesty is the best policy
I tried to write this poem in the style of some poems I learned and loved as a child. I have a special fondness for balanced rhyming poems. I think they are easier for children to learn. I believe it is important for children to learn the importance of honesty and I dedicate this poem to them.
Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2014
There's something I feel that I still haven't said,
Quotes that haven't straddled my lips.
When poetry wheels don't turn in my head,
Words can cast a solar eclipse.
©2012 Honestly JT
Copyright © Honestly J.T. | Year Posted 2013
Quatret Poetry Soup contest
Who can describe Nothing?
Clue—it’s a little tricky to define.
For you see, Nothing is Something.
To disagree you should promptly decline.
If your notion is nothing is not anything,
That is somewhat asinine.
Take a donut hole for example.
Make sure my remarks sound snide.
Do not linger If the hole is ample
For your finger to fitly abide.
If so, the hole, your theory does trample.
Has the donut now injured your pride?
I say holes are definitely something.
I may step in a hole and break a leg.
How could this be if the hole is nothing?
This is my plea, kind Sir, I beg.
A hole is not Nothing—it’s Something.
An orifice is something in a keg.
Copyright © James Tate | Year Posted 2015
Two thousand thirteen; high school graduate,
the older of two granddaughters close by,
with love of reading, writing, she knew that
to teach would be 'the apple of her eye'.
Of many colleges searched out she found
none seemed to please her goals and course design.
Then one fine day, it came to both of us...
my local 'Alma Mater' might be fine.
Though close, she lives on campus to pursue
an Education with English degree.
And she proceeds to learn and thrive; even
directs the college club of poetry.
So, now this little change enhanced my life;
a reason to again become involved
in my old college, going back and forth
to visit her, and so my time evolved
into attending many school events,
to reunite with old professors there.
I graduated at age forty-five,
so many greeted me with welcomed care.
This choice of her attending my old school
opened the door for both of us to share
the love of English, writing poetry;
she lives on campus, yet is just right there.
One year to go, and she will graduate.
These past three years did nothing but amaze
how we both shared my 'Alma Mater' school...
my granddaughter helped me relive those days.
Sandra M. Haight
I graduated Mount Saint Mary College in my hometown
in 1984. My granddaughter will graduate in 2017.
The college has excellent Education, Nursing, and Business
degree programs. It is less than five minutes from my home.
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016
When I was young I hated school;
in playing truant saw no harm.
How could I throw away the fun
which I enjoyed on grandpa’s farm?
My mum was strict and had her way
while the pied piper played his fife!
So common sense won in the end;
I taught in schools most of my life!
Contest: Two Lenses
Sponsor: Sara Kendrick
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2016
(3 May 2014; For my son Steven, an ACCOMPLISHED guitarist)
Real musicianship can truly drive you nuts—
There really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
Practice, study, memorize, then more practice--
Is this just an obsession or complete madness?
Learning chord inversions, arpeggios, and scales
Is like reaching Heaven by crossing through seven Hells.
It wouldn’t be bad if there were only a dozen majors,
But there’s also those other dozen minors.
What’s worse, it seems we’re never finished
Because there’s also augmented and diminished,
The major/minor/augmented/dominant sevenths.
And symmetrical double-flatted diminished sevenths,
And if this harmonic mess is not enough,
All those dissonant Jazz chords get really tough…
Such as the sustained seconds and fourths,
The sevenths add nines, sixths, blah-blah-blah, elevenths.
And if learning all this isn’t already extraordinary,
There’s music theory and music vocabulary.
Instead of just saying “get louder”, you have to “crescendo”,
Or for “fast” or “slow” you say “allegro” or “lento”.
Then there are names like Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian,
Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, and Locrian.
(All being modes derived from scale C-major,
Plus each major scale also has a relative minor)
Multiple pattern exercises on guitar fretboards
Are even worse than finger drills on piano keyboards.
Worse, the string tuning on a six-string acoustic guitar
Is not quite the same as on a 4/5/6/7-string bass guitar.
It’s hard to get up on stage and routinely play
That same song, for the umpteenth time, in an inspiring way.
No wonder musicians seem to all suffer manic-depression,
From trying to play a full sets with unique expression.
All the advances in music equipment and technology
Bless and curse musicians like two-edged swords, you see,
Because all this work they do to sound like a maestro or genius
Can be counterfeited on a computer by a musical ignoramus.
But computer geeks won’t ever find that special place,
That fugue-like subtle sacred state of grace,
Which for brief moments is like deep meditation.
No, that’s the forbidden domain of the real musician.
To suggest that musicians all are just “gifted” naturally,
Is the absolute superlative worst insulting irony.
Truly, real musicianship can drive you nuts—
No, there really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014
“What are we ever going to use this for?”
Students ask every single school day.
So sit back, grab a coffee, get comfortable,
And all the reasons, to you, I will say.
Fundamentally it’s about allowing people to
Fully realize the value of their own mentality.
To make them know ethics and empathy,
Solve problems, be social, owning morality.
Education develops language and literacy,
Listening and comprehension sufficiently.
It develops an ability to solve small and large problems,
Solving them efficiently.
Students will learn, first hand, how to explore
An active community with a rich diversity.
And how to repair self-esteem, cooperatively respecting others,
Whenever they face adversity.
They will refine gross and fine motor skills,
Learn how to set targets and achieve their goals.
And whenever things seem to become too much,
They learn how to jump over potholes.
Education is not about capitalism which produces too much,
Sharing nothing, at too high a price.
And it’s not about communism failing as an ascetic morality,
Essentially a fool’s paradise.
Education creates peacemakers, healers, restorers,
Storytellers, and lovers of every shape and form.
It creates people with moral courage to make this world a habitable,
Happy, humane thunderstorm.
Copyright © Lewis Raynes | Year Posted 2016
The work I did was playing with the angels
We read and painted, dressed up for Halloween as rangers
The Universe so close from dry, paper mache
With older kids we even wrote an Etheree
The work I did was traveling to Europe
With twenty of my students and an antelope
We colored windows facing the lights of Paris
and even opened a brasserie "Gateau de Bliss"
So, Carolyn, you made me smile opening this album
When asking "Where the Wild Things Are? " Ka-boom!
Again it's "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs"
...but empty are long gone Elementary School halls...
Copyright © iolanda Scripca | Year Posted 2010
< Toaster Strudel - Trochee
I just crave toaster strudel
Piping hot pastry
Cool icing so can doodle
So get to popping me one
Time to used noodle
Pop tarts boring just no fun
Choose toaster strudel
Rhyme Scheme: a/b/c/b or a/b/a/b
The meter is trochee, which means alternating stressed and unstressed beats in each line, with each line beginning and ending in a stressed syllable. This is a simple lyrical type little poem, so rhymes will be basic, nothing fancy. The poem itself should give a description of something of interest to the poet and often the meter lends itself to humor, much as a limerick does. There is not a set number of these quatrain type stanzas, but a typical 7/5 Trochee would consist of two quatrains, with the second stanza serving to tie up the idea presented in the first stanza.
Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2012
Oh how well I do remember
Dear Miss McConnell’s typing class.
Fumbling fingers seeking home keys,
And so afraid I wouldn’t pass.
The quick brown fox jumps over the…..
I was assigned that exercise.
No lettering on the keypads,
My fingers had no help from eyes.
Dropping out was not an option,
In Miss McConnell’s typing class,
For she tolerated failure
About as well as she did sass.
So with real determination,
I had achieved to some degree
Enough success for Miss McConnell
To give a passing grade to me.
These were manual typewriters
A secretary’s tool for years.
There was no way to fix our errors
Than with whiteout and messy smears.
My expertise on the typewriter,
Won me a job and first pay check.
I was so happy Miss McConnell
Had saved me from the hunt and peck.
I was wary of electrics.
I didn’t like them very much.
They would stammer and keep typing
When they felt my heavy touch.
But of course one can't stop progress,
And my manual was replaced.
But not until today's great wonders
Could errors simply be erased.
Written April 16, 2013 for contest "The Typewriter"
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2013
The element of fire in one’s birth sign
Connotes a person zealous and upright.
Goal-oriented, with desire to win,
He thrives on challenges; for truth he’ll fight!
The person “grounded” (element of earth),
Is prudent, stable and reliable.
He’s good with business and enjoys it when
His senses are aroused; he’s physical!
The element of air, that of the seer,
Is given him with quickness of the mind.
The great communicator keeps informed;
To self-appraisal also he’s inclined!
A bearer of good will who serves mankind
Is he with water’s sign. Emotions flow.
He freely gives, but then when he is hurt,
He’s shy and rarely lets that feeling show.
Four elements known as Triplicities -
Each representing three astrologies!*
NOTE: Everyone probably has a little bit of each
element in his astrological chart because one is born
with his sign in the moon and in all the other planets in
addition to the sun (one‘s main astrological sign); however,
some people have a preponderance or even a lack of one
or more elements in their charts, and that is what makes us
*Fire represents Leo, Aries and Sagittarius
*Earth represents Taurus, Virgo and Capricorn
*Air represents Gemini, Libra, and Aquarius
*Water represents Cancer, Scorpio and Pisces
For "The Four Elements" contest, sponsored by Barbara Gorlick
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010
A WORD IN A BOOK
No book is written with one word
No matter how vital it may appear
For that we carefully have to think
Every word, for the book, is so dear
A verb, an adjective, a noun one may be
That describes what we are and do
Or he is a period, a colon or a comma
That emphasis puts and gives us a clue
Each of us a meaningful role plays
In life’s voluminous book sublime
On the chapter titled “Humanity”
In the paragraph of space and time
None of us more significant must feel
From the other words next in line
Regardless how trivial they may seem
It is them that our functions define
Our gratitude to all words around us
At every instance we have to show
For without their valuable presence
We would never be able to glow
What kind of a word “king” would be
What sort that of a “general” of glory
If “subjects” and “soldiers” were not there
To assist them write their story?
© Demetrios Trifiatis
01 NOVEMBER 2013
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2013
The elders speak in timeless tones to reconcile the past,
And offer truths from which we choose to fill the roles we're cast.
But though the sage will muse how well the truths can guide our way,
So few will heed and recognize the worth of what they say.
The elders speak a sacred tongue in soft and whispered tone,
Of olden days and simpler ways, of souls who now are gone.
They tell of lies and blunders made throughout the ages passed,
And beg we put their truths to pen, for all to know at last.
They come to me at varied times and occupy my thought
With facts and lore of times before, and other things they've brought.
They seek to put a record straight or make an error right,
When history's lacking in some way and needs a ray of light.
At first, I’d cringe in shock and awe, was overwhelmed and dazed.
At times, I’d feel too small to deal with issues that they raised.
"What should I do?" I asked myself, “Why should I care at all?”
But time has shown that I should trust the wisdom of their call.
I honed my skills and craftsmanship, and dedicated time.
I lent my pen and acumen, and love of word and rhyme.
I judged them not for wrongs they did, their ignorance or views,
For though they erred, the lessons learned are much to dear to lose.
It's not so much the words they say, or lives they lived and lost,
Or ways they tried to go and guide, no matter what it cost.
But what they learned from what they did and left for us to muse,
Much more than gold and treasured gems, are lessons wrought with truths.
I believe many of us charged with making our history palatable for the generations to come
get far too involved in our own sensitivities. We seem to place inordinate significance on our
judgement of our ancestors' ignorance, wrongs done to one another, and politics. As a result,
we overlook the value of the lessons learned and passed along with their legacy. It is the
cost of the wrongs done, the lives lost, and the errors made that inflates the value of the
lessons from which we have to learn... and leaving those lessons in the past is yet a greater
cost, or loss, as the case may be.
Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2009
Riddled face, weary under clouds quite late,
night of hope screeches of decent meal to eat.
A boy cups his hands again, a hunched fate
plucking tin can on lanes primed for the elite.
Cold the body wrapped like soiled paper bag
approaching cars and men with dollar points,
and bypassed like a nameless stamp, a rag
while he coughs for some gentle plea: coins, coins.
Then, the waif rushed to me near the helm
claiming a folder got pinned on my backseat door,
with pure kindness in his eyes; I felt ashamed
casting doubt on his intent, my breath appalled.
“Thank you”, let’s talk a while was my invite
as we dined, the stench of poverty I dismissed.
Gazing at a warm face that spoke of grim plight,
he longed of math and arts , important on his list.
This boy, stirring me back to values of kindness,
received a free education in lower grade school.
The folder he saw, a prize I won as bonus
reclaimed my sense of charity, my inner jewel.
Thank You Contest: Patricia Ellis
Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2012
ALPHABETH POEM: A FOR APPLE
An Apple a day
Keeps the doctor away,
Giving fiber in each bite
Protecting against the mites.
Everyday eating apples
Or drinking some snapples,
All well and fruity
As though its your duty.
That red, green or yellow apple
The choice being subtle,
The pectin in the skin
Makes "going" a win.
Contest Title: THE ALPHABET CONTEST - LETTER A
4/16/2016 12:00:00 AM
Sponsor: Unknown PoetrySoup Member (not listed)
Copyright © Rainbow Promise | Year Posted 2016
Greek apostolos = someone sent, messenger
The names of the twelve apostles are these
First Simon, who is called Peter [Roman Catholic’s 1st pope] and
Andrew his brother
James the son of Zebedee
John his brother
Matthew the tax collector
James the son of Alphaeus
[Judas [Jude]] Thaddeus
Simon the Cananaean and
Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Him
Mt 10 2-4
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2011
The right of every man to follow his conscience
In choosing and practicing his religion
Acknowledgement of religions are not saying
That all religions are equal or equally true
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2011
rewrite of former poem
We are shiny sleek, black birds,
don’t underestimate our wit,
we are of the corvid family,
the most "intelligent,"
We are passerines,
the largest of their kind,
19,000 feet up sometimes –
look and us you’ll find-
For thirty years or more,
we may fly upon this earth,
weighing up to 4 1/2 pounds,
but only an ounce or two at birth-
We mimic other’s speech,
and are among the smartest fowl,
we’re clever and we’re shrewd,
and like a wolf, can howl,
A constable, a conspiracy,
an unkindness – we’ve been called,
teamlng together for take-downs,
we often make larger prey fall-
We make complex decisions,
and love to frolic and play,
even with 54 inch wing spans,
we can do aerobatic tricks all day,
We nest in desert rock cavities,
or in tall forest conifer trees,
and high up in beach cliff crevices,
hanging out over the coastal seas-
On land we take others’ food,
that we’ve managed to cunningly seize,
letting others do the hard work first,
then taking what we please-
In ancient times we fueled the myths,
of symbols good and bad,
and though we have a wide repertoire of calls,
Our croaking may drive you mad……
Copyright © Genevieve Mika-Stevens | Year Posted 2015
Covetousness or Greed begets
In our souls unkindness
And want of Charity or Love
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2011
The trees speak of ages past and long ago
Lost and forgotten
recalled by history
written down by some wise sage.
All the secrets not revealed hidden lives of soldiers, vagabonds and pioneers
Struggling on in silence
as ghostly figures in the wood
holding on to land and freedom.
Shadow figures, bodies and spirits physically long since gone
Pounded deep below the surface
beneath the roots of trees
reborn with each new generation.
The images and faces erased now no longer here.
Struggles faded far away
allowing new ones to rise
making way for continuity.
The trees know.
They have seen it all before
to man's savagery.
The slaughter of the red man
the enslavement of the black
the demeaning of the yellow skin
Do we remember?
White men still struggke to free themselves to blind their heart and souls
in search and proclamation of justice, right, equality
Therein they lose their touch
with nature, brotherhood and God.
The trees speak
of knowledge and truth
of living life fully
of past, present and future.
It is we
who are not listening
we are not listening still.
Copyright © DM Babbit | Year Posted 2015
They're homely and balding and pale as well
And look so like Earthlings you can't really tell.
Their numbers are meager so they share many traits
Because of the limited selection of mates.
They left their home planet back in pre-history
Back when we had rockets that could reach there, you see.
But wars took us backwards in our technical skills
And Mars was forgotten as we dealt with our ills.
Now, rumors abound that the Martians still thrive
In underground cities of one million alive.
It seems that we now have a way to get there,
So secret it sounds like a lot of hot air.
A guy named Basiago is spreading the news;
Believe it or not, you can do as you choose.
He says that the program's existed for years,
Details of which fall on mostly deaf ears.
Myself, I believe him, and soon so might you;
His facts are convincing, and intricate, too.
He's bringing this out for the sake of the Truth;
So far his believers are mostly our Youth.
We relics of obsolete mindsets are blind,
Unable to see that we're falling behind
Of insights that spring from a new paradigm
That children will gladly absorb in quick-time.
The day will be dawning when Martians and we
Will once again interact regularly.
A way to go back and forth freely exists;
The cloak of our national safety persists.
We need a strong leader to rally our Youth
And get them behind him to let out the Truth.
I've given his last name here in this poem;
Go look Andrew up there on YouTube at home.
Copyright © Roderick Molasar | Year Posted 2015
To tea or not to tea 'answered'
The ultimate taste in tea,
as it should always be.
There is tea and there is the perfect cup,
make perfect tea? Yes, for all to sup.
Right! Now we can start,
making perfect tea to warm your heart.
Warm your cup and your kettle boil,
no tea-bag yet or you will despoil.
Sugar in your cup to begin,
aye! Sugar or what-ever is your sin.
Next boiling water you may add,
still no tea yet, not one wee tad.
Stir your sugar until dissolved,
your perfect cup is nearly solved.
Now! Only now place your tea-bag,
let it sit there, let it lag.
Leave thirty seconds then jiggle your string,
Straight up and down, no wiggling.
It's up to you how many dumps you do,
the more dumps and the flavor will accrue.
Warm cup, boiling water equals 82 degrees,
The flavor will always be, just the Bee's knees.
Never pour boiling water on any tea-bag,
'cos the flavor will be just blidy, blidy sad.
Now taste your tea minus the 'tannin' shock,
You'll notice the difference, like cheese from chalk.
Many thousand cups of tea I have drank,
Use this recipe and you'll have me to thank.
The Auld Yin.
Copyright © Alex Gardiner | Year Posted 2012