Narrative Anniversary Poems

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Details | Narrative |
My name is Gary Fields
And I am at the Poetry Convention
Their are a myriad of Poet's
They are all in contention
There are so many that I may
Want to mention'
So, pay attention
Fore they must do this
In abstention

At my table there are three
Their are four including me

The second choice in my contention
IS Dr. Ram Mehta
He is such an easy catch
He is a voice/a reflection
He shares' so much love and affection
Being one of so few words
His disposition is the best
And his Human Psyche will
Never rest'

Could this be some sort of test
That his deepest guarded  secret's
Are guarded close to his chest

Being a doctor and all
It is unlikely that he will ever confess

Third at the table is the X DESTROYER X POET
Due to the lack of word's
She always' have something for ya
And will certainly destroy ya
If not, then simply ignore ya
Fore she deserves' to seat here

And not just on the foyer

It is a main bone of contention
There is no reason why I can't  enjoy ya
Or at least releave the tension

With her advanced degree
her suplituding pensoin for Poetry
It seems' that her messages' are
Aimed straight for me
She give's to this her all
She never seem to miss a call

And to past the test
One may think that
She seem's to be a little obsessed
Most of all
She keeps' her secret
Buried so close to her breast
And what wonderful breast they
Might be

Only saving for us
The one's she profess to be the best
But never the less
She rises' among the rest

Fouth at the table is Ms. Sweetheart of Poetry
Wish she will spend more Poetry with me
And plain not just ignore me
Because I'm a fan of her now
She introduced me to this race
She is all ways' on the case

She is fully comfortable in her space
I just hope that she won't have to use 
All of her mace,
She composes' herself with grace
Fore this is so much an adventure
And not just some silly old Snail Race
If I haven't said enough by now
Then it is because I am running 
Out of space, or being run out of town
But, there is always one next year
Same time, manybe not
The same old place


Gary Fields
Dr. Ram Mehta
LINDA Marie/Sweetheart of Poetry

Carol (Next on Deck)

*******For the Contets "Tt The Convention
                                            JUNE 2011

Copyright © Gary Fields | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |

My husband Chris Adams loves to wine and dine my needs
In the most expensive places, one can eat.

Arriving in LIMO style
A humble waiter greets
After I viewed the menu I replied, 
"Hun I am ready to order."
A T-bone steak -- fully cook the meat.

At our table, walked a gorgeous snake-eyed women
She leaned over my husband's seat
Approaching Chris with a big wet kiss
I stomped on my husband's foot
I gave him  the look, of all looks
She slithered with her tongue in Adams ear 
She whispers 
 "Go to that hotel and relax, I need some cash"
With one stare I yelled, "Chris how dare you cheat!"
"I had enough, I want a divorce MR. ADAMS!"
I reach over to slap him,  
He replies, "She is my mistress Bath-Sheba my dear EVE!"
"I do not love her."
"I understand if you want a divorce!" Mr. Adams replied.
"But, remember, no more furs, luxury suite, 
 Winters in Barbados,
 Summers in Tuscany."
"Infinity or Lexus, and first class plane seats."
"Forget about the Yacht Club."
"Party by the swimming pool, that land a hundred feet."
"It is up to you my Kitty Skat Eve to give it all up."
"You decide if these diamonds you want to keep."

Without thinking of taking a leap.
I saw Mr. Adams business partner Cain with a Jezebel in his arms.
I ask my husband Chris in a small peep. 
"Do not tell me that Cain commits Adultery too?"
"Cain's blonde looks really cheap as if she works the street."
"Well, our mistress is prettier and looks real sweet."
"Honey, our mistress Bath-Sheba is worth the keep."
"Mr. Adams tonight you can call me Steve and not Eve,
 Whatever it takes to satisfy your needs plus my gold lust!"

(The moral of the story is what some Eve's  
will do to keep their investment, I mean Adam's.) 
A joke and dedication to  Chris D. Aechtner 
For THE Eve in Eden* (Contest) *

Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |





(C)1982, 1996, 2006 ALBERT WILLIAMS

Copyright © Albert Williams | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |

Forgot the anniversary
Or nearly did
Had I –
There would have been no loud words
Not even weeping
After all these years  (I’m thinking)
Expectations stale
Fond smiles are few    but
There would be a certain period of contemplation
The entire house quiet
The cats? – how do they pick-up vibes? –
The cats are in hiding
The air? – our house is not large – sultry
Just a hint of ash
Vesuvius threatening
The old saying – “Silence speaks   at times
And this for several days
The bill will be tremendous!
Dinner out
A show – Broadway if available
Belated gifts
Everything I do is noticed    criticized
After a month we’re back to normal
How boring
Wasn’t that fun                                        

Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |
A Woman’s Worth
By Nate Spears

Her purpose in this world is hurting
She’s never been a designed of perfect
But she is a mom, so she’s super
She works
She cleans
Then roll up her sleeves ; and
Take care of the kids; and
The house 
Making it a home
For a beautiful family to roam
Building wonderful memories
Becoming a woman of worth
Keeping her faith through Christ
Keeping her pace through health
Keeping her sanity through managing
This is a woman’s worth 
I’m giving you

Despite of all the stress 
She receives her family with open arms
Through all the mess
She’s a fantastic mom
A wonderful woman 
Deserving a round of applause
Plus a standing ovation
For always being an American sensation
That held this continent down since day one
Since the Plymouth Rock landed on us
Thank you for her giving
Thank you for her living
Thank you for her children
This is ,
A woman’s worth.

Copyright © Nate Spears | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
“Birth day” is the actual day one exits from the womb, (thereafter, “birthday”, is but a colloquialism for the anniversary of that birth).  Well … today is mine.  I’m finally old enough to drive … (times 4.56!).  Now, I’m old enough to vote … (times 3.476!).  One of my sons, too, this month, will become a half-century old … which makes me realize: I’m older’n dirt!

It is truly amazing:  Once you reach this age, it really, truly is incomprehensible that so many years have passed since taking that first breath – because our minds don’t allow us to think we’re “aged”!  Our thoughts tell us we can still lift that couch … or a 100 lb. sack of seed … or a box of twenty books.  But … the actual attempt proves our minds still have their roots in the concrete of yesteryear, while our bodies  are entrenched in the reality of … today, (that’s easily confirmed by a quick glance in a mirror!)   Contrary to popular belief … we are NOT as “young as we feel” … and to defy reality by allowing our minds to trump our body’s limitations, when it comes to physical exertion, is courting a hospital stay – or worse.

For those of us whose physical attributes have waned, we have great difficulty in accepting the fact that we now are relegated to the task of “watching”, not “doing”.  That’s the final hurdle we, of necessity, must overcome before we can truly accept … aging.  Our children, whom we used to tell and guide in what they could/should do, and when … have now matured.  We’ve taught them as best we could, and it is now their turn to drive the carriage – and, if we’re lucky, and don’t try to “boss” them, we may be asked to become passengers.

There comes a time when our day in the sun becomes a rocking chair in the twilight.  We need to prepare ourselves to recognize that change of circumstance and situation.  

It’ll be difficult for some of us … because WE’VE always been the one “in charge”.  If we are to survive with our dignity intact and retain relationships with those we love … we have to find a way to hand over the reins – and MEAN it – to the next generation which we ourselves have spawned.

Our remaining decisions will be:  Whether or not to re-bait that fishing hook … or what channel to watch … any decision more meaningful will need to be made by … our kids.

Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
My parents’ repeated refrain -
“Money doesn’t grow on trees.”
In my dreams, a lush tree grew
with leaves of high numbers,
nothing under a twenty.

On our 25th Anniversary,
our church threw
a surprise party.

After the pot-luck dinner,
a gaily wrapped gift box
sported a top slit, waving
a bit of green. As we pulled,
a chain of bills roped up
through the slot, coiling
ribbons of green.

I had seen “Money Trees” 
as special occasion gifts,
but for the one and only
time, we experienced the gift
of “Money in a Box.”


Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
What's YOUR name Little Angel? 
My name Jo nan Nomi. 
Jo-Anne Naomi, That is a beautiful name. 
Tankyou. MaMa this is DaDa right. 
Yes Jo this is YOUR Daddy. 
Are you staying here with us Daddy. 
 Daddy will be with us just for today, but he will be back FOREVER, soon

After breakfast: OK Jo get ready for pre-school
"Nubbies", she grew up over breakfast
And she will come home as a Junior High Schooler. You only have a short time with us
You will see 44 years in the next couple of Hours. Now follow me to the bedroom.

                                  To be Continued


Copyright © HGarvey Daniel Esquire | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |

Old Rinzburger was dead, 
only his wife has doubts. 
Death certificate had been signed.
by the banker, his best friend, 
He will soon take bids on his property.

An ancient once busy windmill 
dominates the old Rinzburger place
as a memory that comes and goes
in the mind of great-grandma.
Her dementia is getting worse.

Her only child and his wife, 
the last of the Rinzburgers,
have five grown daughters. 
Sixteen grands smile, recalling
Gram's special Christmas feasts.
Like the old family mill	
grandma is one of a kind;
she was driven by the wind
to serve her family and friends
especially during the holidays.

This Christmas may be their last 
Grandma has come as a guest.
Someone brought fried chicken,		
deep-fried from  KFC, with lots of
biscuits and gravy and sides.

The younger male cousins
brought sacks of White Castles,      
and mom picked up a couple of
salads from Kroger-deli
and Haagen-Dazs for dessert.

The winds of Christmas blow,
winds of the past, winds of the almost gone,
winds of the present, and future winds.
Will the Rinzburger fortune be lost;
will the family will drift apart?

Grandpa died last Christmas season
and the old windmill may succumb
but both memories will survive
being torn down, demolished.
Thoughtfully, a grandson asked:

"Why just tear it down? 
It would make a fantastic museum?
Folks could visit and learn so much
about their ancestors' way of life.
And another spoke up:

"We could remodel or modernize it.
Maybe build an addition with electric
power.  We could provide 
jobs for people at a new plant.
Still another grandchild said:

"My vote is to sell it, and donate the funds
to support medical research on
Alzheimer's.  Gran-daddy 
would have done that for Gram."
Then Gram herself waved a fragile hand.

In one of her more lucid moments
she commended all their ideas
"The Rinzburger name may die
but your Grandpa's spirit lives strong."
He would be proud of all of you.

PS: Two years down the road, Rinzburgers gather;
Gram left them on last Christmas Day.
Building and hiring for a new mill  - well-underway. 
The windmill stands in front - a museum.
AFA is slated to receive a generous yearly check
for the Rinzburger Winds of Christmas Fund.

Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2014

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Black History Month(2016)

I once toiled in delta fields of cotton, knowing that such toil would not always be my lot. When filled, the cotton sacks were so heavy that I wanted to drop.
Cotton roes were long, grasses and weeds were tall; even the dust was hot 
In ovens of the sun, from sun rise to setting sun, I wanted to, but did not stop
I often wanted to rebel and call it quits; but I thought it best that I not

Work was hard with little gain, and I was God forbidden childhood labor
I never ceased to believe that, ‘this too would pass‘, and soon God would grant us favor. In the midst of poverty, there was trust in our God, and help from a neighbor. One had to decide early in life that he would learn  more than drive a tractor. I dreamed and believed, always realizing my best move was, “The Education Factor”

Every Black History Month reminds me of those ‘not so Good Old Days’
I am reminded to keep praying and never forget, ‘Lest we be condemned to repeat them’. Man’s inhumane treatment to one another eventually crosses every barrier, color, or culture. There’s a deep rooted hurt and wounds inside of mankind that seem to force us to inflict hurts. The noblest laws and highest of courts, though helpful, can never cure our deepest ails

I was inspired by Black History Month to write these few lines as my personal contribution. The longings and aspirations of any people demand the primary focus be one of prayer. This prayer is just as real and relevant for not only Black America, but for all America and the world

Dear God:
May this generation of Black Americans never lose the knowledge of their father’s God. May they ever believe, retain, and refer to the two great documents of the Bible and the U.S. Constitution. May they determine to keep focus on their sacred teachings about God, family, church, and country.
May they never  submit to a mentality of dependency upon their government.
May they ever thrive to contribute their talents and challenge their country to Excellency. Let them never lose sight of the dreams and aspirations of their fore fathers. Let them never forget the price paid for their present freedom and prosperity. Let them remember that their deceased loved ones are like ‘a cloud of witnesses’. Let them always believe, like prior generations, they too can overcome anything. And Let them, like prior generations, pick their peek and climb, ever ascending, never quitting.

In Our Lord's name. Amen.
02012016  Contest, Any poem written in 2016

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |

This is my poem No. Seventeen Hundred Gadzooks, that's a boatload of poems Think my brain would have turned to mush Or perhaps I'd wind up in a home Nope, it appears I'm as prolific as ever Have delayed my downhill slide Inevitable as it is, I'm fighting it off still With the help of my blushing bride Still call her honey after all these years I refuse to let time win the battle No matter the years or how grey I get This dude refuses to get rattled It doesn't hurt that I come from good stock Seven siblings lived to seventy or more I tend to overeat, I break all the rules But I'm still winning the damn war So getting back to my poems, let me know If you notice I'm on a downhill slide Sure wouldn't want to embarrass myself After all, I've still got my pride © Jack Ellison 2015

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |

Not long ago, in a charming dream,
I saw myself -- a king with crown's treasure;
I was in love with you, it seemed,
And heart was beating with pleasure. I was sitting in my room, thinking about you 
when i got a thought in my head and wondered if it was true
i remember you saying you loved me, and you wanted the world to know it
if that is true, then tell me, why dont you show it
when we are together, and someone comes around
you pull away from me and stare down at the ground
you only hold my hand, when no one can see
you only speak of your love, when its just you and me
that kind of makes me wonder, if all your words are lies
but then i dont see how they can be, when i look into your eyes
you sound like you love me, and you look like it too
but why dont you act like it, if your love is true?
Let me know if anything i can do..for i can sing that passion's song by your enchanting knees.
Why, dreams, you didn't prolong my happiness forever?
But gods deprived me not of whole their favor:
I only lost the kingdom of my dreams.

Copyright © moha lakers | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
The old woman argued relentlessly, her case.
Resolute, she raved in her conviction; 
two thousand and one reasons were there for her to be mad.
Eleven was given to questioning eyes.

It was September, 
and Bernice brought home the bourgeois man, 
and the two fell 
from the pedestal
they held among friends in the big city, 
(the city) a melting pot, 
now a city in affliction.

Bernice’s brown eyes combed the neighborhood; 
two boys, with open arms, 
played aero planes; 
Across the street,
the rug pilot laughed his ass off 
as if mocking the bourgeois man,
and his woman hid her face in rags …, 
in degradation – 
but her sad eyes openly mourned her son’s suicide.

Grief of that magnitude brings offense, 
and the bourgeois man was red with wrath, 
and he abhors the old woman 
with every inch of his being. 
Racism was reversed.
He avowed by God to ruin the rug pilot, 
and the people that loved him consented. 

Hearts were left to wonder
what makes men so cruel.
The reasons for the old woman’s rant was explicable, 
and of the grounds for the revenge 
the negros conceded, 
in only one instance. 
Revenge was foreseeable, 
and the spirit breeds more phobias.

Copyright © Earle Brown | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |
My anchor

I met you on a summer day

Mists had cleared and dews long dried

The sun, blazing and scorching

Forced earthling to bow to its rays

On the day you gushed into my life.

Your immense beauty overwhelmed me

I succumed to the scent that derived from your skin

My gaze stuck on your oppulent face

On the little movements as your chest heaved in and out rapid breaths

I sensed your heart race away in a gallop to my touch

Would I ever catch up to it I wondered.

Still that day you captured my heart.

I recall your smile - so pearlescent

Your laughter- a melody of a morning lark

Like waves in a summer breeze, your voice was

Grapping my knees, overpowering me

On the day you touched my soul.

On that day, time stood still

Deathning silence enveloped the space 

And but for a while, only you and I existed

Earth opened her arms and wrapped us in a warm embrace

My heart filled with gaity and bliss, your eyes shone.

You awakened me from a slumber

Decaded by lonesome and emptiness...

You breathed life, lifted me

And off my heart raced to meet up with you...

I cannot forget that day.

For once my inhibitions were lost

My resolves weakened

I forgot my status and prestige 

I gave in to love.

For a moment then, my fantasy became

My own Utopia was created

And there we dwelled, 

in an island with no harm or prejudice

Rejoicing in the make believe

In our own reality but for a while

Yet in my heart you existed

And there you shall remain 

For my eternity and for my salvation...

(C) Reserved 2015

Moliehi Molupe-Koeshe

Copyright © Moliehi Molupe | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
Twenty one years of your love,
Twenty one years of your hugs,
A tale of our happy home,
All wrapped in one poem,

Our wonderful kids,
Twenty one years of bliss,
We now sing in chorus,
How much this means to us,

And it doesn't need to be said,
The best times are ahead,
Where our love always will,
Grow even moreso still,

I love your scrunched up grin,
You are indeed my best friend,
You have cared for me always,
And now I want more todays,

When you jump in my arms,
Full of pure love and charm,
I thank the Lord for all I have,
As a spoiled husband and Dad,

So on this most precious and revered day,
Vickie, I love you in every possible way,
And thank the Lord you agreed to marry,
Me, on this great day, our anniversary,

Copyright © My Gull Wheels On | Year Posted 2009

Details | Narrative |
  She smoothed the worn out roses on the apron in her lap
lamplight mellowed roughened knuckles
as she spread out her treasures
Like Silas Marner,thumbing his golden coins
Martha gently fingered every token of her life's journey
   Some she even kissed,tenderly,reverently,recalling
some dear face,a memory,attached as surely as if it was
etched,permanently ,on her heart.
   Martha smiled,whispered,and prayed as one by one she
placed her keepsakes back in a cedar box
until she came to the one thing she always saved til last
Her wedding veil. still crinkly and alive though yellowed with time
she took it up and put it on.Stiffly she hobbled to the mirror
In the looking glass she was nineteen and aglow with love 
   Arthur stood behind her,smoothing her hair.
she turned as he lifted the veil to kiss her,
  Come my love,let's go down to dinner,he mummered in her hair
She took his arm and let him escort her to the dining room
   The reception was a great success,or so the nurses told her
as they dressed her for bed and carefully put the mischievious
veil back in the cedar box beside her bed.

Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006

Details | Narrative |
Loneliness sways me slowly.
My heart starts to feel weary.
Am I getting tired to experience love?
Oh God! Grant me this so- called strength.

I thought you're the perfect man for me,
But it start to fail me.
You're imperfection ruins me.
Oh God! Grant me this so-called courage.

My love for you would never change,
Since.. we exchanged our solemn vows.
Now breaking some great promises,
Oh God! Grant me this so-called trust.

Why do I feel these crazy things right now?
Am I neglected? or not content with me somehow?
Waiting for your good response,
Oh God! Grant me this so- called patience.

Little by little, I'm about to lose you.
Uttering lips are shut into coldness.
Our happy days turn into quiet hours.
Oh God! Grant me this so called-passion.

Why you let me feel that I am nothing?
Am I not worthy to be your lady?
Or you've just realized that I'm not the one?
Oh God! Grant me this so- called faith.

Time flies and I need an answer.
Looking for that or letting you go?
But I couldn't bear this kind of emptiness,
Oh God! Grant us the unity of love.

Would I give up or stay at your side?
A silent cry is my reply.
I'm losing hope and yielding with sighs
Then one night you whispered, "You're the only one whom I love."
"I've got busy with my future plan."
"To renew our vows on our 20th, my love."
Then I yelled, "Oh God! Thank you for your undying love."

Copyright © Veronica Nicolas | Year Posted 2017

Details | Narrative |
55 is the sum of consecutive numbers from 1 to 10
55 is a semiprime
55 is the 2nd member of the semiprime family
55 is a natural number
55 Cadillac, an album by Andrew W.K
55 is the name of a song by Kasabian
55 years of infancy
55 years of manhood
55 years of inconsistency
55 years of consistency
From hope to despair
From despair to hope
Nigeria at 55
55 years of independence
55 is beyond jubilee

Copyright © Daniel Femi-Alemede | Year Posted 2015

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“Full house,”   she said     “Every seat’s taken
There’s an excitement out there!” she said
All he saw was the empty stage
                             a Steinway Grand       its bench
His accompanist stood off
          cigarette in hand     just exhaling a puff
                                                              so unconcerned
He was nervous    very nervous
                                                 but then
He was always nervous    and for hours before
He’d thrown up in the rest room a few minutes ago
Nothing new
He often threw up before a recital

Wild thoughts went through his head
    (those tall    thick    billowing curtains
                                         looked strangely threatening
                         so dark blue    grotesque)
His mouth felt dry
     (what if he should choke during the opening work?)
He felt a bit dizzy
     (what if he should pass out?
                       the fall shattering his priceless Stradivarius)
Was it too late to cancel the concert?
     (he was still slightly nauseous)
What would people think?
What would people say?
His accompanist was so calm
     (his accompanist must hate him –
                 hope that he might play poorly
                   look how he raised his chin as he inhaled
                      staring eyes
      what was he looking at?
                                             What was he thinking?)
There was that one passage in the concerto 
     (he’d played it hundreds of times
                        never satisfied
                                        never quite perfect
         what if he fumbled that passage
                                        even just one note?)
His tails felt tight
     (he should have had them altered
              What if the underarms split out?)

Everything at once!
He felt like running!
     (don’t be ridiculous!)
His manager was all smiles
“I tell you, Robert, there’s excitement out there!” she said

Robert’s knees were knocking
“You all ready?” she asked
Robert nodded, yes
The house lights dimmed
Boris, his accompanist, stomped his cigarette

“Out you go!” she smiled
(please don’t tell me to ‘break a leg’) he thought

Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2010

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It’s another red-letter day
a holiday in the U.S.
a national, religious holiday
known also as a ‘Turkey Day’
a very important day.

A chance to be reconnected,
a moment of being together,
a salutary occasion for gratitude,
full with family folderol.

There are historic reasons 
this American celebration
has its origin centuries ago;
as the Pilgrims did it and -
invited neighboring Indian tribes.

To hold it with a feast –
A celebration for God’s blessing.
giving thanks for a common purpose,
freedom, justice, and worship in God.
Through Sarah Josepha Hale 
this event has become a tradition
a realization that came to fulfillment
marked with significance, thus far.

With church services elsewhere
wth family reunions all over 
with customary turkey dinner
oh, a reminder of the historic past:
at the Pilgrims’  big celebration.

In many homes and families
Table fellowships spice up the day
with turkey, mashed potatoes, 
cranberry sauce, maize, pumpkin pie
and other vegetables and desserts.
a complete picture of this great tradition.

Copyright © mark escobar | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |

Sit up
Head quite empty
No remembered dreams
Before anything else    COFFEE!
It’s the cats and me
Squeaky teeth
Sponge bath    or shower
Nothing profound 
Just life
Just plain naked
On the avenue    (back of my mind) wheels haven’t started
                                                                        their daily spin
The weather channel    (with its mindless music)
A neighborhood feel – what goes on next door    in the
Yes!    now it begins
It’s a neighborhood thing
Cannot be helped – it starts
An up-and-down-the-block thing
Mentally I’m out the door
There are streets    avenues    stores    a mall
Something is alive out there
The conviction    strangely    eases
With the first taste I start to function
And function is what it’s all about
                                                ask any newscaster
Realizing this “function”    it eases
There is some ridiculous wholeness    some sanity
The night?    the dream?  unreal!
By noon all is GO!
Another drag-ass day
I am this other person    this programmed stiff
The morning person is distant
I do not even want to recall that jelly
Some formula has taken hold
                                 has been in the veins all along
Yes!    the VEINS!
There are numbers flowing
Problems with no answers
Problems kicked aside
The “ME” has taken over
Fully astrut
Going down the same uniform avenues
Feeling the same guilt    same lust
                           Same unstoppable drive
Goodbye morning person   

Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |

When we start to think about high school 
We think about way way  back then 
Where all of us knew each other 
 But only a handful of us were friends
I remember your faces way back then  when we use to pass in the hall 
Who’d ever thought the time would come again where I would see you all
Now that the jerri curl has been replaced by the balding and the grey
We cant help but remenisis about the fun we had back in the day 
The funny way we looked and the funny way we dressed 
And all the great things we did together back at old C.H.S.
The old teachers that we hated ,the old friends that we dated 
The lunch that was so bad those exams that mad us so mad 
That old school tiger pride which was lead by mike and clyde
And even all the mess that we stirred up at recess……
Now those are the days that I remember best
As I look out today at all of you where all my joys has been entrusted 
And still I cant help but to remember the one that are no longer with us
Just to think how we were we had such a communion 
And  a lot of us would not have seen one another again if not for this reunion
We were the elite we were supreme we were  rebels without a pause 
We were  the young and the extreme that use to run these halls 
but look like time crept in and took a toll of us all
It’s been thirty years believe it only heaven knows if we’d see thirty more 
So as  we reunite today to once again  I raise my glass to the class of 84

Copyright © Robert Walker | Year Posted 2013

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We stood upon a windy hill
The sky a greying growling mass
Amid a motely gathering
Of Knights and weathered fighters
Warriors old who stood wi Wallace
And led by Moray,s standard.
They wept when both had passed
Now ready at The Bruce,s side.
Hearts filled with nationalistic pride
They brought their tools of trade
Sickles and hammers alongside
Swords and pikes and targes
To fight and die glorious nameless
For the taste of freedoms wine.
The cry of freedom echoes
From village to distant hill
As The Bruce roars out a command
Raising the sword from Wallaces hand
Towards the massed ranks of heavy horse
Floundering in scotia,s mud

The burn it flows on turned red
With  warriors life and blood.
Seven hundred years have flown
And as we stand again upon a hill
A choice has to be made
Whether to grow and flourish
To stay under anothers hand
Once again the banners fly
Under a greying, growling sky.

(to  commemerate the 700th anniversary of Scotlands fight to be a kingdom)

Copyright © Andrew McIntyre | Year Posted 2016

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MR president of his country
The governor of his county
All coming to see the celebrity
For morrow he celebrates his day
Cows are tied down to the pole
Foods and drinks lined in a row
His friends home and in Rome
All called to be part of the show

But before the cock could crow
Chief OLOWO has been laid low
His eye, closed down they can’t glow
His mouth, shots up it can’t flow
His hands, lifeless they can’t blow
His legs, dormant they can’t stroll 

He has flew off like a bird suddenly
And flown away like a river abruptly
The cows
The drinks
And the foods 
Were used for his funeral
Life sometimes could be doleful

Copyright © David Adeyemo | Year Posted 2016

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An attack of this magnitude
was completely unforeseeable;
and who thought that an unguarded city
had to feel that sense of solitude...
through an urealistic exodus so undiscernible,
and later reclaim its struck territory!

What we not the superb Twin Towers: 
the pride of the wealthiest nation on earth,
towers that can be rebuilt in years;
it's those lives that enmity cut short!
And they tried to disorientate us,
and disrupt our ingenuous and lively living
by spreading unrest and choas
with absurd and infernal thinking!

This infamy is so ineffaceable
from the mind of the unfoolish,
fair and reasoning man with greater intellect...
that it becomes so inexplicable;
a shameful act not condoned by civilization,
confirmed by unsympathetic sentiments!

What we lost truly irreplaceable
by every imaginable remedy:
its the worth, the comfort  and the unbroken joy, 
which dazzled in the NewYorkers' eyes...
making their days so livable! 
What we eternally
carved out into those shining stones:
bearing glorious names to withstand time itself1


Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2007

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Imagine how sad December would seem
if Christmas didn't exist; only the chill
and wind would be felt through the frozen bones,
nobody would live in these northern, frigid zones. 

What was the true purpose of Jesus's birth?
Some even would say that it never occurred,
and why would the Magi travel long days
and nights to pay homage to the humblest of Kings?

It was prophesied by Isaiah in the Old testament and the Wise Men believed him,
following with awe the biggest and brightest star that they had ever seen;
and didn't it seem strange that God would choose those simple shepherds
to be the first to hear that message sung by a thousands of angels?

Wouldn't you be happy when a child cries out and enters life?
Wouldn't you celebrate that event with overwhelming joy and grace?
The same way Jesus entered this world to suffer and die,
and if Christmas didn't exist, who would remember who He was?

Wouldn't that envious angel, whom God expelled from Heaven with haste,
laugh loudly, knowing that we don't worship Him in spirit and faith? 
Fallen Angels are the eternal enemies of this Child, who atoned our sins
by paying with His precious vindicate the Devil's astute lies!

If Christmas didn't exist, some unbelievers would shout and rejoice,
happy to erase Christ's redemptive message from the earth's surface...
contradicting the Scriptures themselves and the Divinity behind it!
Didn't Herod the Great hate Jesus, fearing He would have become the new King?

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

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On this day 16 years ago a beautiful baby girl was born.
As I cried they took her away.
My grandmother watching as if nothing were wrong.
Photos came for a brief moment then stopped
She was gone never to be herd from or seen.
It seemed as if she just vanished.
The agencies said her new family had moved.
No forwarding address to be found.
They apologize for the inconvenience.
Trying to convince me not to give up hope.
Hope what is this, something I find hard to have.
Years have come and gone and not a word.
The last photo I reserved she must have been 3 or 4 years old.
My search it still continues today, 
but not a trace of her or her family do I see.
On this the anniversary of her birth
 I still cry for the loss of my baby girl I bore so long ago.

Copyright © caroline mackey | Year Posted 2007

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A Slow drift in warm, slimy, stagnate waters that is what we have become.
He comes in the door and doesn't speak daily; He never asks me how I am.
His only response is no....
Just a touch in all the right time and places would mean so much.
The seven year itch has a hold on me accompanied by severe sadness that no pill 
can hide.
Losing long time neighbors often has my clock ticking noticably by me.
Sickness and aging has a deep sadness gripping my heart. I know to hold on to 
hope and make the day a blessing. Overwhelming pain takes my happy places.

Tomorrow......there is hope!

Copyright © Doris Culverhouse | Year Posted 2011

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It is there when all is silent and quiet.
With sugar plums and misled toes dancing in thoughts.
Most time you can see the snow fall as kids play about.
As it is winter time and Christmas is hear again.
And it’s peace and giving again.

But do we always give thanks?
Or is it just during certain times of the year.
But do we truly remember the day!
The day when Christ our Savoir was born.
It was that of a Christmas day.

When Mary gave birth and gifts come from far and beyond.
For this day, there was a new King that had been born.
That all gave glory before Christmas was destroyed.
For there in his heart he gave Jesus unto us to rein.
That in the days at hand, we would know the true love.
And in our hearts he would rein.

It was there somewhere far beyond.
That Christmas is known as king of the year.
For it is there to which a new year rings in.
For there I say Merry Christmas and God Bless my friend.

Hope you think of the real meaning of Christmas this year..
To always be thankful through out the year.
For each day is a blessing just to breathe.
But each day was about giving and caring about the one of no name.
That in your heart, you find a love of that Christmas day.

As you find the spirit of kindness everyday.
May you share a joy of it to the passer by...?
That the spirit of Christmas lives and never dies.
That each day will be in Christ our King.
And In your heart, he will always rein
And that is a true Christmas Day!

Copyright © Steve Harvell | Year Posted 2010

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Father and my Uncle fell then,
fresh soldiers, two young men.
Highland troops, in fight-gear,
engaging battle...enemy near.   

Uncle Angus, machine gunner,
was killed, that dire Summer.    
On same day ~ father fell too;
another hit man: all plus two! 

Angus dead, wounded brother;
lost man - many injured 'other'.
WW forces  fought – retreated,
in battling on, the fight heated. 

A number wounded and slain;
so many dead...others in pain.
Every family suffered the two,
many 'fell' - 'HD' knows who! 
So  parents  grieved for both;
'news-of '... as we'd all loath!
Angus fell, enriched in pride,
Roddy hit, and others beside. 

'Roddy' restored, over years,
both could cause many tears;
he bore his wounds with him:
battle scars which were a sin! 
Peacetime is warfare's offspring,
bearing prospects: 'life's hoping';
remembering thankfully, yearly,
hope and peace...embrace dearly. 

Each child bears fresh promise,
'enrichment' is Zen's pure-justice.    
Every birth is  'petal-prospective',    
blooming/beseeching “all to live!” 

Copyright © Ewen Morrison | Year Posted 2015