Bob had been a lonely man ever since
His wife of fifty years had passed.
“Lord, let me join her.” he would pray.
“Let this day be my last.”
Each day, he went to the cemetery,
Just a short walk down the street.
After their talk, he would water her flowers
And hear passers-by whisper, “How sweet.”
One gray and misty morning,
He had hoped for sunnier skies
To plant fall bloomers at her graveside;
But there, to his surprise…
Stood an old dog beside her stone;
Thin and dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as Bob approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as Bob planted flowers,
Carefully sniffing each one Bob put in place.
Then, after the last one was planted,
He sniffed it; then turned and licked Bob’s face.
Bob smiled. “I had a dog when I was young…
Pal…he was a mighty good one too.
So, if you don’t mind old fella,
That’s what I’ll call you.”
Pal may have been an old dog,
But he was smart and handsome in his way;
So they made a deal, Bob would give him a meal
And a bath, if he decided to stay.
Pal loved his bath, then rolled in the grass.
He slept on a blanket in the den.
In the night, he dragged it next to Bob’s bed.
He intended to be Bob’s best friend.
Pal was such a good dog, housebroken too;
Never made a mess or got in trouble.
He knew about newspapers, slippers and Frisbees;
And when Bob called, he‘d come on the double.
Yes, Pal gave Bob’s life new purpose.
A special bond of friendship was cast.
And never again did Bob pray,
“Lord, let this day be my last.”
For twelve years, the very best of friends,
Together night and day;
And so it was, until one evening,
Pal quietly passed away.
Bob held Pal in his arms and wept.
“Oh, Pal…my best friend…you saved my life.”
He caressed Pal as he reminisced;
Then, sometime in the night, Bob joined his wife.
The next morning, an old woman,
Tears welling in her sad and lonely eyes,
Brought fresh flowers to her husband’s grave;
But there, to her surprise….
Stood an old dog beside the stone,
Thin an dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as she approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”
He sat calmly as she took old flowers
And put fresh ones in their place.
He carefully sniffed the fresh ones,
Then, turned and licked her face.
She smiled through her tears.
“I had a dog when I was young...
A good one too. His name was Pal.”
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
Once again, the powers that must
In rise again in what we trust
An overseas conflict, another war
Just what in the hell are we fighting for
Families are asking, Korea has just passed
Generations again reft, how long will it last
A country in need, to rebuild again
Flags at half mast, in wind and rain strain
Once again into war, sent by the Washington Post
To send back reports to hit home the most
Military observers were the first to be sent in
Another chapter of man entering existing sin
I'm witnessing our ariel power, Lam Son 719
US planners determine their incursion, saying all will be fine
Along the Mekong River, we'll carpet bomb their supply trail
Tons of munitions and napalm, this spread surely cannot fail
Many sorties are being flown, for the wounded and the dead
Whilst Nixon and his cronies, aren't thinking with their heads
The news of losses has reached me, nineteen have been killed
Eleven missing, fifty nine wounded, more American blood spilled
Seven fixed wing aircraft, more sons in action loss
Whilst back at home more protests, fading the dyeing's gloss
To to this job that I do, I was never prepared for this
To witness such bloody scenes, and ignore that life is bliss
How can I write about a soldier, whose name I'll never know
Killed at nineteen years old, his family he'll never see grow
Or even explain to his parents, when carried from the AH-1
His body bullet riddled and limp, when lifted it bloodily run
I never went back to the theatre, called the Vietnam War
Having witnessed the wanton killing, what were we fighting for
This colonial conflict that started, us on the side of France
So many came back as strangers, many to live in trance
James Fraser's entry into the contest " WORLD OF WAR: VIETNAM "
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2011
Thank you – Zamreen Zarook
Thank you is a sweet word in the nature,
You may be a guy of adventure,
May be you are a person of agriculture,
What matters is your architecture.
Never forget the people, who guided you,
In no degree neglect who were with you,
Don’t ever overlook a creature, who gave a smile to you,
Because, you will meet them above you.
People forget the past due to selfishness,
They have no time to remember their unawareness,
Society, most of the times behave in awfulness,
They will understand when their lives come in to bitterness.
Be a person to thank and remember,
Don’t consider them as December,
Because, you might need them in November,
So, always be as a good subscriber.
Copyright © Zamreen Zarook | Year Posted 2013
It’s a mother-in-law’s right, her prerogative
To ‘drop in’ on her son almost any time,
But a mother-in-law should always be prepared
For almost anything she may find.
So, Mother Cready dropped in unannounced;
But as she approached her son’s front door,
Suddenly it opened. “Ta Da! Do you like my happy dress?”
His young wife stood there in her ‘all in all’…nothing more.
“Oh, my word!” Mother Cready exclaimed with surprise.
“Why are you naked? Are you insane?”
Just as surprised, the young wife pulled her inside.
“Please, Mother Cready…if you’ll just let me explain.
You see, when Mac has had a rough day,
When he’s been under a lot of stress,
Sometimes I meet him at the door
With a smile and a kiss in my happy dress.
It always relaxes him and makes him happy,
Then he makes me very happy too.
It works for Mac and me, Mother Cready;
Maybe it would work for you.”
“We’re too old for such.” scoffed Mother Cready.
“Perhaps if we were young like the two of you.”
But, on her way home, she decided
She was definitely going to try it too.
So, she bathed and put on some nice perfume,
Fixed her make-up and her hair.
She was thinking some very sexy thoughts,
But she had to hurry…no time to spare.
She heard her husband’s car in the driveway;
And as he approached their front door,
She threw it open. “Ta Da! Do you like my happy dress?"
She stood there in her ‘all in all’…nothing more.
She saw a little grimace cross his face,
But that was not the worst.
Then he said, “I appreciate your happy dress, my dear;
But maybe you should have ironed it first.”
ALTERNATE LAST VERSE
“Well…your ‘happy dress’ could use some ironing;
But my birthday suit could use some starch.”
He kissed her. “Bet you and I can work it out.”;
And off to bed they marched.
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
He is my fortress and my strength
His love he has proven at length
In times of sickness and in times of health
He has remained open not stealth.
In youth we loved passionately
With children we loved affectionately
In middle age we loved calmly
With age we love patiently.
Many decades we leave behind us
Yet a few decades remain ahead of us
We are free to say what is on our mind
Knowing we’ve survived the test of time.
When money we had little of
When children were ill
When we were hurt by family or friends –
When one was ill, the other thrived
we held on
so neither was ever left behind.
This is the legacy we leave
Not of a love that is divine
But of a love that has ridden the roller coaster ride
Copyright © Natala Orobello | Year Posted 2013
I'm watching you age
into wiser smiles, measured steps.
(Your lines look beautiful)
Gravity of life reshaped
our foolish expenses of energy
(Oh, the hurrying we did together)
wasted vanity of emotions.
I love our becoming...
more vast of vivid moments
(Our expanding normal bits)
gnarled with experiences.
Copyright © Misheel Chuluun | Year Posted 2012
I sat in a kind of wasted skin stupor and
try to make sense of my reality idiom in pisces
blue A minor sequence aqueoushumor blind sigh-ted
by a dubious passion to be a teacher of pious on
metaphors to go to the holy innocents of a yestertommorrow
I talk ramble by day of the slammer sociomenace
while they glassed eyed park their sick l cells in
unneutral and (in double park synapse in tow---let me catch an old
glimmer of naked frenzy-taut as a stretched, cracked
brittle rubber band praying for one last turnstretch to
flipfly a higher band than the last cloud pattern, given
to the raised eyebrows of montoya clammerings of hocus
pocus Jekyll/Hyde explosive endeavor trick or treats
without the brownwhite wrapper or the righteous look
pinch pout pocket of a boy dowell. Keep the false faith friends,
Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2013
At thirty five I am starting hear,
That old age will soon be here.
The wolf whistles,stares and male conversation,
Are now friendly comments and admiration.
"Don't you look good for someone your age!"
This compliment is all the rage.
Comments of beauty,intelligence and fine figure,
Have been replaced with "How's the kids?" and "Lovely weather."
In younger years,when all dressed up looking smart,
My husband would drool and nice compliments would start.
How proud he was to show me off to his mates,
But now no comment except "Hurry up we will be late."
The mirror shows signs of the years going by,
The wrinkles,blemishes and crows feet don't lie.
At thirty seven,my husband is now going bald,
"Distuinguished looking,"he says it is called.
In the companyy of attractive women my husband will flirt,
If only he knew how much it does hurt.
No more does he buy me presents or take me out on a date,
Instead on a Friday its down to the pub with his mates.
If I feel like this now at the age of thirty five,
What hope is there left,how will i survive.
As a mother,a Registered Nurse and a wife,
This combination has me speeding through life.
So how do I slow down the course of time?
Or learn to age gracefully,one day at a time.
The meaning of life is a question we all ask,
And everyone's here to complete some sort of task.
As depressed as I feel about growing old,
Stay healthy and active is the advice I've been told.
Take each day as it comes and try your best,
Advancing through life is the ultimate test.
A lesson to be learnt that is comparitively small,
Is if you can't say anything nice,say nothing at all.
Despite all the negative comments about appearance and age,
Each day is another chapter so just turn the page.
One day a handsome prince will come and take me away,
So I will sit here drinking coffee and begin to pray.
One hopes he will come and rescue me sometime soon,
Before the wrinkles set in and i resemble a prune!
Copyright © Sharon Berra | Year Posted 2015
SUBMITTED FOR CONTEST---WAITING
age, bereavement, for her, for him, heaven, husband, wife,
She will wait for him
He will wait for her
In heaven up above
Or on earth at home
Their loves have grown
Their love is forever
They are seniors now
Their love hasn't aged
But their body and minds
Grow old and weary
For their sojourn to come
That final love spent wait
For whoever is left behind
Will wait and not forget
The other one waits as well!
Copyright © Diane M Quinlan | Year Posted 2015
How is it possible? Sixty years? Ouch. I shudder to remember
those first attempts in the kitchen. At that time, the kitchen was
“hands off” to men. I began cooking at age fifteen. But only
desserts and breakfast food. I could make biscuits, cornbread,
pie crust, and fried potatoes, eggs, ham, or pork chops.
But I loved everything from fish to sauerkraut and fried okra.
He is extremely allergic to fish. He loved steak. The year was
1954. A thick T-Bone steak at the grocery could be had for 60
cents. In our first year of marriage, we ate a lot of steak.
He would eat only potatoes and corn, with his steak. I still love
baked potatoes, but soon grew tired of corn, and hungered for
veggies. Time changes everything. He now eats anything but
fish. No problem. When we dine out, I order fish.
If I haven’t cooked sauerkraut recently, he will say, “I think I’ll
go get some Polish Sausage and sauerkraut. He brings it home,
then goes to work in the kitchen. His tastes almost as good as
mine. He even makes the cornbread and stewed potatoes.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
We went to a fortune teller
After we met through penfriend letters
Having written since nine and ten
We went to a fortune teller
Marriage was her main prediction
We married with complete conviction
We went to a fortune teller
After we met through penfriend letters
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013
I know this sounds like a soliloquy,
But why did bulldust men find me?
God made Ratlotto sardonically,
Life's booby prizes always find me,
Now 70 years old is the new young,
O God of funster fun,
Is it them or me?
Yes indeed, my soliloquy,
Is it them or doormat me?
Whinging is fun for us,
No one's listening to this fuss,
Dear God of Ratlotto's booby prizes,
Any more masculine surprises?
Copyright © Julie Grenness | Year Posted 2015
A NOTE FROM THE WIFE OF A RETIREE
I couldn't buy you a Valentine's card 'cause we're always together;
whether in pouring rain or in freezing snow or ANY kind of weather.
You're with me on our "one day trips", or lunch time at the mall,
or overnight in A/C (THAT we love most of all).
You're right there at my doctor visits, or when I do my hair,
or when we visit the kids or folks-- Yep, you are ALWAYS there.
So now you know my dilemma, but my meaning isn't hard:
I'd rather be right by you , then buy you a silly card!
by Wendy Lee Klenetsky - 61 Helen Avenue - Freehold, N.J. 07728 -
Copyright © wendy lee klenetsky | Year Posted 2014
A little gray on the sides
A little hanging over the line
Still all in all a catch
For somebody passing by
The theory of one’s sex appeal
Disappearing over time
Just a myth and not theory
Just like a fine wine
With age there comes true beauty
Other ideas shot to hell
For men of a certain age
Can carry it very well
So, okay some parts may stiffen
While there are others that do not
Gives no right to toss aside
Giving up the game they’ve got
With each year that draws us closer
To the day of final breath
Brings a great advantage
An experience you won’t forget
Bringing all the knowledge
To the table presented there
You’ll find a man with great respect
All others will fail to compare
So remember when you’re out there
Looking for a great romance
You can find it with a man
Who has lived the world and danced
With age indeed comes knowledge
And experience, mark my word
Combine these two together
Can really rock your world
Copyright © Joshua Vick | Year Posted 2010
Every boy has his toys,
and each girl her dolls;
and as they grow they are put away where light can't enter:
there in that closet, which often memory recalls
how delightful and merry their days were,
but wishing for a return is a constant, useless prayer...
Everyone once had the possessions of a younger age,
some were precious and memorable, others simply painful and vacant;
and who can remember being hugged and truly loved by all?
Many still reminisce the sad thought of having been offered none at all,
and how they longed to have felt a little, sweet taste!
Nobody desired that more than I did, and only mother provided that!
Blue-bells seemed blither than I.. colored flowers that have no feel,
no soul to express their joy or sorrow, had I become like them?
Larks and mockingbirds weren't as malcontent as I was indeed;
all they wished for was some rain and the quietest place to rest!
Oh, how much sympathy I felt...with no one loving them, but their Creator;
and my circumstances affirmed how true that really was for me to declare!
An evil doer can be a father, who denies his children profound affection;
malice or thoughtlessness scars the hearts of the tender ones,
to become a malady or blight that leaves many fragments of broken lives;
and shouldn't someone grab them by the scruff of their necks,
and put some sense into them when they intentionally induce pain?
This snarl...rebelled at such atrocity, although no slaps could prevent those tries!
Husbands love your wives devotedly,
mistresses are the cause of your adultery;
would the faithful ones pursue an extramarital affair?
And what are the consequences of your sin and surliness?
A curse from God for many generations,
to deny your little ones the possessions of a younger age!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009
What is the role of husband and wife
to love one another, forever in life
then after life, knowing there would be death
more love for the other, with each dying breath.
A ring but symbol, took with vow
if you meant it then, you must mean it now
my darling forever, it was promised then
sealed with a kiss, from this heart within.
What a precious gift, that a person can give
and a memory makes, with each day you live
more then a friendship, stuck better then glue
and ends everyday, with a simple love you.
Jessica Thompson 5/19/14
Copyright © Jessica Thompson | Year Posted 2014
I do not know?
Just got back from the movies,
Date night it was my choosing,
I love these nights with my man,
He's the best friend I've ever had
Job hunting seems to be a joke,
Almost as if CEO's rob their companies to snort more coke,
Politics irritate me, they'll never make sense,
If they kept things simple, it'd be less tense
See my bestie twice a month,
for an hour, sometimes four,
Always want it to keep going,
Reality doesn't allow time for more,
Come home to the house I bought two years ago,
Sense of pride we've survived everything,
Even when times are hard, it's love that gets you through,
It's what I do everyday that I love to do
I dream of a child, but time will work that out,
Got my doggies, they get what I'm all about
Much to look forward , Much I need to do
Important is exercise and eating the right food,
Fuel for your destination,
Sometimes it's hard to avoid temptation,
Eating well always keeps up the mood!
Music, writing, drawing, being creative,
Seems in our society to be kind of native,
You can go to school for this but what's the point,
Life experience is more vital and helpful tool is the joint,
This my life at my age,
Wont tell how old,
At this point interesting enough,
You didn't want to turn the page
Copyright © Sharon Morken | Year Posted 2012
He doesn’t listen at things twice
He perhaps hears them all at once
We wonder and ho! there he is!
Tiptoeing, kicks; ho! he’s jumpy
Carries the wife in his mouth all the time
And spits words full of noise, hear them clapping
He’s sharp o my God! and tells his truth,
But might Begin the Nonsense, if you surround him
He begins with jokes then laughter, ends with a cry
He is a part-timer, he teaches and supervises himself
He talks about anything, ask him the source, so he laughs!
You say a sentence and same way he repeats it
So He Might Begin the Nonsense
Copyright © Masereka Amos | Year Posted 2013