Narrative Happiness Poems | Narrative Poems About Happiness

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I was seventeen, had one year left of high school and a boyfriend I didn't even love. It was the end of summer, and I was on the verge of a night indelible because it was incredible for me. If "tall, dark, and handsome" had a face, it belonged to one who walked into the store I worked at nightly all alone. He brought with him a smile just for me - beautiful, magical, seducing. Were he music, he'd have been the warmest song to ever touch my soul. Perhaps it was the moon, lunacy-inducing, that made me crave his visits more and more, for he'd come each night into the store, his ritual to tease me with his glances; then stand in line with just one purchase, engaging me with words deliciously belying that he spoke my native tongue. Did he know I fairly worshiped him? And where was Aphrodite to let her dear Adonis wander free? I learned eventually he was staying with a brother and soon would be returning to Quebec. I do not know, but I can now infer the moon waxed full by the time he asked me out, for I had waxed complete in my audacity. Knowing it was his last night in town, I closed the store up early and fled with my Prince Charming. The stuff of poetry that night transpired. . .fodder for the several poems of romance I've since penned. Sitting in his car in front of my own house, late at night, into the early morning. . . The way he gazed into my eyes, teaching me of butterfly kisses and his breathing his sweet breath along my ear lobes, the way our fingers interlaced, the way he caressed the small of my back. . . He taught me how small things can be just as sensuous as that act of love that virgins do not know, and he branded me with a yearning for a sweet romantic love I'd never felt so strongly, nor would I ever know again as wonderfully as I was shown that night, for others in my life I've kissed, yet I have never missed them. My dream love wrote me postcards from Quebec. Then it all died out. I married. A few years passed; then I got a call from him, completely unexpected! Somehow he'd tracked me down to my new home. I took the call, as I held my firstborn baby daughter in one arm. Heart in my throat, I told him it was nice to hear from him, but I was married now. So though I'll never know what "may have been," I'm still left with the memory I chose to make with him that one day of my life, my very best, because for just one night, I was Cinderella. A prince still holds my slipper, and infinite romance lives on inside my poems. For Frank Herrera's First Love Poetry Contest

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2010

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And The Road Begins?

Mornings are dreadful time in life unless waking beside gorgeous woman hopefully 
a not married one  husbans can be such a downer.
And when ya wake to a warm beautiful creature by your side.
And the first thought that comes to your mind is i wonder whats for breakfest.

Then ya probaly cant read the menu to start with and desserve 
to have a oversized weight lifter re arrange your ribs.

Im a southern man once means several things  non of which means im normal.
And this morning finds my yerning for a trip and widespread  mischief.
My amigo had vanished after are trip south of the boarder I remember saying 
to myself as i watched him  running naked across the dessert  being chased 
by the flying monkeys  he was surley seeing after his consumption of a foreign substance 

There goes a fine american.

I would have ran after him  but  but i didnt want thoose things to turn there attention to me 
I herd they had a thing for southern  actscents.
And theres nothing  worse than a bunch of horney flying monkeys trust me 
Ive delt with this problem  befor.

and being it was happy hour i knew my slightly insane amigo would understand 
in all his naked glory.
Besides  I left him some sneakers  and a sixpack.
And kept his credit card for safe keeping.

Naked men have no place to keep credit cards and I figured he was in no state to handle 

So as i sit  behind  the wheel  ready to to get lost in the madness of fast food and
  the ant hill of insanity that is wall mart i turn my thoughts to vegas.
For where would a lost nude slightly insane person  run to and feel at home.

I had turn the music up to drown out the sound of whoever was in the trunk.
I figured if i had put sombody in there  in a drunken moment.
It had to be for a good reason.

And so with slightly hungover mindset are road begins.
and so with that do the games also.
And i figured hanging around with a cops wife wasnt the smartest idea.
That and im allergic to bullets.

My muse and 16 year old spirtiual advisor had phoned me to say that.
I probaly needed to Invest in the spirt of Jack Daniels  today.
And hey she had went to church more than once  so who was I to argue.

With a five five spitfire by the name of tinker.
so with A unknown companion in the trunk not helping my hangover i was off
to the races  Untill next time kiddies. 
Adios and im off to find my amigo.

Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009

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Raspberry Wine

Musty antiquity 
Spice inside
a cauldron 
of ripe reason. 
Five months 
brewing boiling 
now the suave coolness,
animals don’t know
how to simmer their lovebroth
like this.

Only the Titan breath, what they desired remained. 

The world was dark, centralised 
the centre imposed
upon her perfect
his horned chest 
woolen jumper swollen with clues
breasts rising like meringues in a brick oven 
on her lips hung her whole life 
he extracted from her lips 
what he knew she was 
dying to give.

Ambience, randomosity, the
haze of a lantern
stage-lit movement in dust
eyes swivelled, bottles made
their pleas to be known
wise ancestral spirits

The gallery browsed.

Time stuck
between the molars. 

Abandoned corner;
hazelnut liquer, pomegranate
blood and something else.
They sat on the ground 

with this raspberry wine 
and sipped each other 
profoundly, irrevocably. 
She, mineral rich
rivulets of stone-clean water, 
soft aquamarine. He, present
like limestone
crumbling to a silent past,
frictitious, only lovers perch
on the cracked mantle 
of reality like this,
only they hear the moment's plea 
for recognition.

Copyright. 2009.

Copyright © Jim Marshal | Year Posted 2009

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My Cousin's Wedding

My cousin shared her wishes and dreams, On our star gazing night, she whispered them so sweet As a shooting star glided down from the sky, She said, I wish ….. I wish…. all I wish are these tonight Someday, I will marry a smart, rich and handsome guy And have a grandiose banquet on my nuptial rite We’ll be dancing like a lovely prince and princess , With all my wedding sponsors on their best suits and dresses All in pink ,that’s the motif I will surely request. She kept into her dreams as several years passed by, Still searching for her prince charming who’s hard to find Unconsciously going beyond the age to give birth to a child, In a hurry at age of seventy, she took a rich ninety years old guy. The wedding was held after a day or two, The guy seated on his wheelchair with rheumatism on his toe She headed slowly at the alter to accept his shaking hands, Two nurses followed, so with sponsors dressed up in printed brown. The highlight of the wedding rite started at once, They held tightly with a nebulizers on the other hands, But the words of oath, they took time to pronounce False teeth were both misplaced and nowhere to be found. Reception followed grandiosely in the guy’s mansion, I saw many old men and women still eager to dance on the floor, With hunched back, shaking knees, they twisted rock and roll Then, sweet music played and my cousin danced with her groom. But, we all wondered how did he stand alone? He’s so heavy , I knew my cousin couldn’t help him at all, With our great surprise, his nurse was at his side like his crutch Everyone thought , he’s really a smart guy! Was he not? Then, everyone followed them so happily on the spacious hall, And in trio, they held each other so tight and moved like a fool.
Written: Sept. 15, 2012 First Place Contest: My Cousin's Wedding (funny poem) Contest Judged: 9/30/2012 Poet Sponsor: Joann Grisetti

Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2012

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Playing Make-Believe

I have many happy dreams of my childhood life,
      Mother and father and grandma made it special;
Playing make-believe was something I really loved,
            I  could do that for hours and hours and hours.

Father made me a table and chairs for tea parties,
      I  even had a cabinet for dishes donated by mother;
Pretty dishes that I dreamt of having myself one day,
            And now I have lovely vintage dishes in my home.

                              (I like to set the table with mixed-up dishes)

Grandma provided some of her old clothes and jewels, 
      Now I have a passion for vintage clothing and jewelry;
I adored my dolls and still I have many of them on shelves,
            They used to sit on chairs listening to my stories.

Mother said, "that girl sure can tell stories and stories,"
      I could ramble on for hours and hours and hours;
And the bud of a writer was blooming in childhood play,
            And now I write poems and stories gossamer.

                                (I write of my childhood dreams and my life)

It soon became clear that I loved animals of all kinds,
      Carrying them home for repairs and tender loving care;
Father said, " she will either be a vet or work in a zoo,"
            I became an advocate for animal rights and protection.

Always I have loved cats and my first came at Christmas,
      Snowball was her name and I dreamt of owning all kinds;
A steady succession of cats have brought me happiness,
           My old fat cat reminds me of a childhood stuffed toy.

                              (My kitten needs to grow into her big ears)

Of couse I dreamt of meeting my prince charming,
      And I did,  the moment I saw him I knew love;
My heart and soul is his forever and for all eternity,
            Our love is like a stream that goes on and on.

I once had a good job with the welfare department,
      They sent me to Hudson Bay to help the Inuit;
That work was so rewarding and filled me with pride,
             But the child in me had dreamt of much more.

                           (I loved the beauty of the north not the poverty)

I never dreamt that I would ever become a nurse,
      But I am and this job brings me happiness;
Helping the elderly has become my mission in life,
            A frail hand in mine brings me tranquility. 

So much of the child who was me remains,
     That little child dreaming and rambling on and on;
She still exits in my soul and she still dreams,
            Even sometimes she plays make-believe.

                             (That girl dreaming , she now dreams poems)

August 11, 2015


Submitted to the contest,  New or Old 5
Sponsor, Eve Roper

First Place 

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

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Life's Little Secret

I never really realized How crucial friends can be I used to think that one or two Would be enough for me But now I think I'm changing How I view this need to share The good things and the heartaches With ones who really care We moved here from the city With a group of folks like us To wile away our golden years To relax and avoid the fuss Since moving to this paradise I'm now a different man I welcome conversations Bout neighbours and their plans To share each other's happiness And cry when losing one We're all so very much alike No matter where we're from It's not a competition To see who wins the prize It's all about companionship To feel the bonds that tie Now if I were just to count them There'd be twenty-five I'm sure Some more close than others But all of them top drawer So if you see me walking tall And whistling a happy tune It's because I've found my paradise No more doom and gloom © Jack Ellison 2014

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014

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A Christmas Conversation

Daddy, were you alive when Jesus was born?

No honey, he was born a long time ago, over 2000 years ago.

Where was he born Daddy?

In Bethlehem, a small town in the desert in a manger,

Whats a manger Daddy?

It's a place where they kept animals to feed them.

You see when Jesus was born the Inn was full, so 
they had to get Mary to a warm place to give birth to Jesus.
that was the only place they could go.

Daddy who is Jesus' Daddy?

God is his Father honey?

But who is Joseph?

The Chosen Father, who God chose to raise him, Mary's Husband

I don't understand Daddy!

God wanted a son, he could not have a son without Mary and Joseph's
help. God asked them both if they would help him, without even thinking
they said yes. God gave to them a great gift, God gave them Jesus.

At that moment God gave us all a great gift, He gave us the Son of Man.

The Son of Man Daddy?

Yes honey, you see God is not Man, not one you can touch, Jesus
was, he healed people who were sick, He showed people how to love God 
and how God loves them. There is one more important thing
I want to tell you honey.

What's that Daddy? Jesus did a coupla more things I think are 
important, there are many of course but two I like.

Go on Daddy!

Jesus taught us how to love without conditions, like the way I love you 
and you love me and your Mom and Brother. But how to love everybody
like that.  The most important thing is, is that he died because we humans
broke God's laws, which means we sinned. He died so God would
forgive us.

Wow Jesus really did love us didn't he Daddy...?

Yes he did baby, and the really good thing is he still does and always will.

Come on it's time for bed!

Not until I say my prayers Daddy!

How bout we Pray together tonight?

I'd like that Daddy!

So would I baby, so would I .

Jump up on my back and I'll give you piggy back ride!

I love you Daddy!

I love you too baby, I love you too.........

My Christmas wish is you all have Conversations like this with your 
kids. Trust me they bring tears of joy!

May God Bless you all this Christmas Season as he has Blessed me.

    From Mary, Josh, Shay and myself  MERRY CHRISTMAS and HAPPY NEW YEAR

                             With Love.....Taz

Copyright © Richard Pickett | Year Posted 2010

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Mountain Solitude


In solitude of the edge of day, there is a crimson blush along the hills

And a world switches direction, if to tumble into eternity

Where shadows of the mountains, high, hover silently, over asphalt roads,.....
     bend and curl, and morph their shapes... to follow curves of earth

When the shadow of a lonely pine becomes longer,.......
                                        than ever the tree was tall

When my own silhouette, so dark and stretched, and long,......
                                        seems to walk between earth and sky

In utter harmony at end of day,  my arms seem longer,...
               long enough,... to reach the evening star

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

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Birth, in a Quiet Room

“Well,” She asked; her eyes wide. Beads of hot sweat glistening on her brow like miniature 
crystal suns. Her angst was palpable. “What is it!”
     The air was still. There were no words. Just the sound of bodies breathing in – and 
     “Congratulations.” He held out his arms, handing the mother, her baby, “You have a son.”
     The moment shone like glass in the center of the heavens – pure and eternal.
     It was redemption from every wrong thing she’d ever done. 
     It was the shining eyes of God smiling onto her exhausted face; lighting it with hope.    
     It was the only place there was – the only time, the only space. 
     It was the only feeling that existed. 
     They were the only two incarnate souls in the room; on the planet, and in the universe.
     This was her child –
     her son.
     And she was his mother.

     (there are no words for such things. suddenly, I feel like an intruder. there are too many 
eyes, words and moments here. so it is here, I take my leave; leaving this mother and the 
only soul in her universe to their perfect moment. they will have many more moments in this 
lifetime; but none as sacred, as human, or as eternal as the first look from life to life; 
mother to child; heaven to earth, as the very first. None.)
“It’s a boy.” she whispered. Her throat a crumbling tunnel; stunned, but not really. Like 
she’d known it all along. “My baby boy…” She smiled into his ancient, brand-new face; 
tracing his delicate cheek with the back of her finger. “He’s perfect.” 
     She ran her palm along the bottom of his soft, miraculous foot, and laughed. “Look at 
your feet – they’re huge!”
     And as she wiped the tears with the heel of her shaking hand – smearing what was left of 
her mascara - she looked in to his, as close to heaven as one can get, eyes, and said, “Hi.
I’m your mama.” He smiled at her. He knew. He’d known it all along. “And I’ll love you 
     The world closed its shades then. Leaving the sacred to its history; the moment to 
eternity; and their universe to its quiet, little room.

*Inspired by Deborah's, You Must Have Been A Beautiful Baby, contest; and every mother 
who has graced this sacred room.

Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2009

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One Simple Twilight

Do we ever really notice them? Those rare and perfect moments? Do we pay enough attention? Do we care enough to keep them safely tucked away? It was summertime I'm not sure of the year We were sitting on our front porch steps Our children were playing in the yard The air was warm, the grass was green and fragrant The sun had disappeared over the trees, and the nearest hill The sky shone with hues of purple, pink and orange You pointed as a first star appeared Then reached for my hand, carressing it with the roughness of your thumb We never thought to get a camera Or to write about this particular moment in a journal We never mentioned it the next day....or the day after that.... Perhaps something we should have done Just so that we would never forget such a perfect twilight....
~ For Frank's Contest: "Stand Out Day" By Carrie Richards

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

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A Jan Allison Inspired Poem

Thanks to Jan for inspiring this one She's quickly traveled to the top With her witty and charming repartee Her poetry rolls out nonstop She recently said she was a “student of life” Hope I can say the same of me Through the many long years passing through Learned how to be happy and free Not always easy but with a positive outlook You'll get over those difficult times Without a doubt you're going to discover Your mood will turn on a dime Take it from me, the Ole Jester Jack Wasn't always so “happy go lucky” But I'm certainly happier than a lot of people My life is really just ducky! © Jack Ellison 2015

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015

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Making Lemonade

When you're walking Scuffling along in trouble's shoes Head hanging low Mumbling moody blues Well me, I'm making lemonade Why can't you Taking bitter adding something sweet Maybe a smidge, no a heap full of hope Heck, by days end I'll mix it up Movin' straight to, getting crazy in root beer floats When all you see is red Awful thoughts pound your head "Honey do this, honey do that" I'm sitting back Feet up, sipping lemonade again You look my way and say "Boy, he's got it made" Not so my friend I just taking my lemons And making me some lemonade instead There's so much "other time" To have your little gripes Or your petty cries But, now let's toast away the grind And partake in some lemonade on ice You've come this far "And guess what? You've got your health" Check your pulse you're still alive So change your ways Brother, embrace the lemons Squeeze fresh into winner ala mode And "live baby, baby live! in lemonade days "Ahhh ... such sweetness"

Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2012

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Tea is Served

Gathered in the shade of her quaint little garden, 
 where a trellis was woven with rose climbing vines,
   something enchanting, had been deftly designed, 
     on an ordinary day, on a May afternoon.

A teapot was held, with her large knuckled hands, 
to a bouquet of her friends, (also neighbors of mine),
by the most gentile’ of women, that I've ever known…

It felt like a scene from a time long ago, when decorum was proper, 
 and manners were too, 
    before composure, and poise,.. were a thousand years old,
          where propriety still mattered, and was as precious as gold.
Lilting voices would chatter like the birds on the wing.
Laughter was singing, across fragrant grass, 
Flower frocked ladies, around a few scattered tables. 
Linens and laces, under ashes and maples.
Silver coifed hairdos, with apple cheeked faces, 

  And me?   There I sat.... quite out of my place... 
   Drinking it in, in the cool, dappled shade. Taking a sip, with a small plate on my lap
Delightful surprises to bewitch the eyes…
Delicate confections, cucumber sandwiches,
made by her hand, for just this occasion.
Branches of jasmine, covered verandas.…
Rose petal blossoms, painted on china.  
The most beautiful tea set, oh, how divine! 
Envious eyes, covetously pined for it!

She wore a floppy garden hat, a dress of mauve, and there she sat.
Her weathered skin, her cheeks of rouge... a smile to love, would have too,...
She had lived a war, and more than one.....iron strong, a generous heart
Knowing eyes, and sparkling wit, 
She would hold your hand in hers and smile,... listen well, of that I'm sure
  and then would sip and chat awhile, of this and that…
                                                         and you would learn to love, somehow

I sipped my tea, and watched it all, and never thought of future things. ~

But now I sit here all alone…the chatter gone, the birds have flown.
Where once her charm, her love of life
the grand old ways, have slipped away

Soon after, in the autumn chill…word soon spread that she was ill 
      I was away, and never knew.….I hope, oh Lord, she was not alone ….

And looking back …I think of that….. and how strange the fact….. how odd it is…..
that something owned by someone grand, a china cup, so delicate, 
                                                                                 so fragile in the hand,
can last beyond the grave...intact,….
                    although a dear, enchanting friend, her life would have to end…..

                                                     ~ ~


Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

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Feels So Good

The little town known as Feels So Good.
    Was a jolly little village hidden deep in the woods.
The people there would never go to sleep.
    Hidden back in the woods so deep.
They never got big they never ever grew.
    They averaged in height about an inch or two.
Mostly all they did was run and play.
    That’s what made Feels So Good, so good they say.
The sun always shines it never gets dark.
    Another reason they’re happy, happy as a lark
Their sky is always blue, and that’s the only blue to be found.
     Happy thoughts and smiles they pass all around.
If you’re ever down their way just do as I say.
     Take a sip of their water and get ready to play.
You feel yourself shrinking but it feels so fine.
     So you can run and play in their warm sunshine.
Well I guess I better go and take me a sip.
     Then I can run and play hop, skippity, skip.
Goodbye for now but you’re welcome to come down.
     And join us in this merry little town.

Copyright © Ronald Bingham | Year Posted 2007

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Desolate near a mountain top,a maiden sighing high;
While floating gently above the ground,
Clouds went tiptoeing softly by.
Beside this sierra tall and steep,
Yonder where the insects creep;
This angels eyes now beckoned:
I clambered up the slippery side,
Not waiting for one second.
A confetti of butterflies,were making way on wing;
The maiden now opened her eyes,when a lark began to sing.
Beneath some trees,the rustling leaves;
Were conferencing just in murmur,
This heart began to pound so fast,it seemed so full of fervour.
Now stars came out and brightly shone,
They danced along my way;
My woman now with song and dance,
Had woken out of slumber;
A sign to mean the time had come,
To know we're two in number.
I smiled upon that lovely face,
So full of joy and feminine grace.
We made love now,like two so skilled;
A night it was with pleasure filled.

                                                    --- Princefreakasso
                                                        (Artist and Poet)

Copyright © Prince Freakasso | Year Posted 2009

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Quit That Tapping

like the raven 
who taps taps upon 
your chamber door
do not fret my Virginia
for it's my shadow
moving across the floor
this is what I'm telling you my darlin
and nothing more

beneath lattice
I still call your name
come to me virginia
come hear the tap tap 
upon your chamber door
for only you my love 
I surrender and never more

wind howls in blanket snows
here I stand so all alone
broken hearted and misconstrued
my Virginia who lies under stars and moon
just a tap tap upon your chambers door
tis I and nothing more

tales of hidas truth
blackbird sings harps cords
just like the tap tap upon your chambers door
my sweet Virgina whom I adore
for there'll be love waiting and nothing more

as I lay right next to you in this tomb
I counted only seven who have even knew
the times of this raven who 
tapped tapped upon your chambers door
twas only I and will be never more

Tribute To Edgar Allen Poe
And His Young Bride Virginia
Also To His Poem The Raven

Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2009

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LOVE being felt caressively,so sexually, 
intimately,intentively makes me feel so 
radical,speaking hypothetical-ly of how it 
makes me feel,

So real,the thrill I always feel,the ideal of me wanting to kiss,

I can't resist what this is, which is you only you.

No one else has made me feel what I felt, 
get me so hot until the point I melt,

I sweat began to pelt upon each other,

There is no other that makes me feel what I 
feel when we together for now until forever.

The LOVE we feel physically, mentally and emotionally.
But just to think I'm only speaking hypthetically.

Copyright © DeVonta Reese | Year Posted 2006

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Upon A Gentle Breeze

As seeds spread new life,
to the corners of the world,
out there somewhere,
he is praying for that special
A season is not forever,
it lasts for only a while,
now dry those misty eyes,
and put on that hopeful smile.
Between the pages of a love that
has passed,
a faint little ember,
will bring a love,
that will last.
Hearts can't be made,
to go against their will,
when one tries,
then comes a barren chill.
Patience is a virtue,
such a difficult task,
and you are it's keeper,
if love is to last.
Open new windows,
let the seeds come to you,
upon a gentle breeze,
comes a love,
that will be true....

Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2008

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Went to the man who sells emotion
To buy anger, get sad free
He held up a cup of happy
Said he had a deal for me

Said “I know what you’re looking for
Too bad it can’t be found
Not enough forgiving
And a little too much sound

But I can give you something 
To help take of the edge
A little sour maybe
But it’ll pull you from the ledge

You see this one’s called happy
And some say it doesn’t exist
They say it lives in fairy tales 
But I’ll show you it’s no myth”

He gave me a drink of his potion
And the world began to fade
I saw only what I wanted
In the world my sub-conscious made

There was nothing there to choke me
Nothing there to bring me down
But a little too much forgiving 
And not quite enough sound

So I reeled back from my daydream
And said it’s not for me
I need my world of chaos
Not a blindfold dream

Copyright © Joshua Aguire | Year Posted 2008

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The Key

Those raging waters caress my soul,
so many are here waiting, as His words unfold.

Hidden treasures that lie within,
silently manifest, again, and again.

Joyful faces unknown by miles,
suddenly familiar with their journeys trials.

Searchers of peace stand side by side,
awaiting an answer to simplify.

Graspers of riches, they have no rules,
much like a thief, taking all they can use.

Desperate is the path of a poor hungry man,
survival the key in every land.

Locked from the place where comfort dwells,
seeking refuge from the flooding swells.

Mountains so high they take your breath,
never to be climbed all by yourself.

The key to a good heart, was created with love,
understanding will be given from God above.

Those raging waters such a powerful thing,
all made possible from our Heavenly King.

Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2007

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Smile And The World Smiles With You

It's the first day of the rest of my life I'm feeling reborn Filled with great anticipation Wondering what exciting things Lie just ahead It seems it's all up to us We're the ones steering my ship If things don't turn out bright and cheery We only have ourselves to blame However I am not unique Everyone controls their own destiny I've learned this fact early on There's a time honoured old saying Smile and the world smiles with you Cry and you cry alone So very true!!! So when you're feeling down And it seems like the whole world is against you Just smile to yourself It doesn't matter who's watching Soon the sun will come out And you'll have a brighter cheerier outlook To overcome anything this old world can throw at you To be honest, there are times I have trouble following my own advice But then I remember these uplifting words Smile and the world smiles with you © Jack Ellison 2014

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014

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Just for Me

In the past I remember how things were so simple
When I was little my cheeks had such cute dimples
Looking back I remember how sweet I was as a child
When I think again my heart told me I was so wild
Yet, in time my simple choices was revealed as true as anyone
The reason I was the way I am today, I did things, to get done
Finishing lots of my undone ideas was so incredibly hard
So I figure my heart and choices should never hold in no bard
I never thought I would learn heart aches and pain
With such under statement I did things for no gain
I was a child who held true to what he has learned
But as we got older those kinda perspective would get me burned
When I made up my mind that people was not kind
I led myself in a confusion that I was blind
In the past I do recall that seeing is believing
So I was the one who stood their with friends leaving
Alone, I felt I did not belong, I cherish each person who knew me
I got older too see how the world works it stung me like a bee
The feeling of tingling ran through my vain
My view of the world and people who knew me was stained
Now I know they are out for their selves with no kind feelings
Life I know is just a joke because of who I hung out with seeing
Today as I look at the world it is in such shambles and astray
And rather fallow everyone I just walk away

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

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Follow the Yellow Brick Road

Follow the Yellow Brick Road As I was walking Along my chosen path Where each step marks A notch this world hath I caught a glimpse of A Yellow Brick Road Like the one from Oz Once long ago told Now how the glimpse Came my way I chose a path to take On a sunny day Back to work from break Strolling merrily along Head held high with joy Whistling a happy song I jumped over a little crack Just purposely out of my way Being sure to be aware Never matters which day As I came up to my office Tapping a rock with my heel Then the feeling hit me The vision seemed very real A comparison factor in our minds Creating obstacles out of fear Or do we step over them To prove we are there It’s our choice to place sunshine On the path we choose to go Thus creating a happy path To Follow the Yellow Brick Road Florence McMillian (Flo)

Copyright © Florence McMillian | Year Posted 2012

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The Happiest Day Of My Life

The happiest day of my life, hmmmmm, let’s see
Would that be the day I met my true love, or
Would it be the day he returned to me 
You see, I am trying to reason this out 
Which of the days are more important 
Which holds more significance for me  
The day we met, made history sweet
The day he returned made my future bright
Let me tell you about the day we met
We were in church, on a blessed Sabbath Day
He was a visitor, I a regular member 
I sang like a nightingale, so he said
He was instantly drawn to me
But very shy he was
He tried to meet me, his friend as a front
I, not knowing my worth to him
Thought he was out for to play
So didn’t take him seriously
Even though my heart said I should
I made a fool of what was given by God
Thank God for second chances
I have gotten back what was intended
A chance of a life, with my only true love
The day he found me
Rekindle sweet memories
But this is the start of something new
New beginnings, new resolve, new me
New life, new us, new emotions
The past was the start
Today the restart
I was happy then
Today I am happier
So, I guess when he found me again
Was a very happy day 
The happiest day, however, will be
When we stand together, to say
I do
That will be, the happiest day of my life

For Carol Brown’s:  The Happiest Day Of My Life

Copyright © Joy Wellington | Year Posted 2010

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Thanks for that Memorable Day

Written by:  Florence McMillian (Flo)
Dedicated and written for my friend, Lisa Giessinger, as a special message from her to her mother, Hazel – about a most memorable day they spent together.

To My Mother Hazel Thanks for that Memorable Day This poem is specifically Being written just for you I requested it from a friend For she knows just what to do That special day we spent together Is so very memorable for me, I’d say I want it to be memorable for you too With a poem written in a rhyming way We’ve had our ups and downs in life With probably most of them being down You raised me to know how life can be Not easy to cope, with down things all around Well I’ve stepped up to a new level To be happy no matter what the hell Of any negative surroundings to be I live thankful that my life is all well That special day started out so bad for me As I was headed for back injections again I was really happy you were taking me there With a comfort feeling knowing we are kin It seemed like the first time in a very long time Where we just enjoyed each other that day You were kind of like that sweet rose One stops to smell along the way In this path I have traveled Through many overgrown weeds It was refreshing and pleasant this time With no discussion of what someone needs We got along together talking and laughing It gave me such a lasting good impression We even ate at Don Julio’s afterwards I sure hope you had just as much fun I want you to know how much I appreciate this time we spent together Making this a most memorable day for me To truly cherish for always and forever Now let me tell you, that day did get worse With everyone putting me down everywhere You were the rose amongst the trash talkers It felt good to know my Mom really does care Even if everything dips to the downside Within the journeys of my life I may go through No one could ever take our shared moments away They’re in my heart forever and I’ll always love you I had the best time with me and my Mom If I told the world, that’s what I’d say So I really want to thank you Mom For that most memorable day Love, Lisa Florence McMillian (Flo)

Copyright © Florence McMillian | Year Posted 2012

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If Only For A Day

Serendipity came into play, when I stumbled upon a gallery,
I was a tourist in a seaside town, shopping midst a vast array
while blinding rays of sun’s reflection, caught my close propinquity
In one window, several seascapes, bucolic seaside scenes
but, one small painting called to me,..a harbinger of all my fantasies
I cupped my hands around my eyes...and that was when I sighed....
It took my breath, and I was kept a captive by the artist's pride...

A lovely landscape of a town, the village of my dreams 
This very street now, whence I stand, but from a different theme
Redolent of days erstwhile of scenes, from time quite long ago
Before the tourists trampled ground, and shopped for souvenirs
This village poised, beneath the hills...turned back two hundred years

Where cottage homes wore faded frames, on efflorescence sands 
demesne spreading wild and free, and skies were azure bands
Narrow lanes branched far away from roads that went astray
dipping down to petrichor dunes, where grasses bend in wind
A general store and a blacksmith shop, and summer never ends
Seagulls glide with angel wings, against the afternoon 
The peaceful lift that lives within, how wonderful it looms...

With a dalliance of my own epiphany, thoughts are wild and free
how ephemeral it would be if I could freeze this day
If I could pull it out to see and visit it...again,
If I could bring it back when I am down, ...this peaceful afternoon...

Where leaves would never fall from trees, so ancient in their sway
And the gentle slopes would never know cruel storms of winter days
Where tears would never fall, again, and age, a timeless thing
If I could paralyze this town, the way it was back then
If time could be my captive prize.....if only for awhile…

I'd smile, if once I were allowed, a chance, to step inside

3/15/16  For Contest: "A Day In A Town" Sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron
Required Words Used:
1.Bucolic 2. Dalliance 3. Demesne 4. Efflorescence 5. Ephemeral 6. Epiphany 7. Erstwhile 8. Harbinger 9. Petrichor 10.Propinquity 11.Redolent 12. Serendipity

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2016

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Happiness and Racism

Mark Scott-Crossley 
and Simon Mathebula
Tied up Nelson Chisale
and beat him with machetes

dumping him in
with white lions
Africa Learned 
to hate the Whites

Yet this is only
one white farmer
should we hate 
all the people 

for the act of one man
to easily do we attack
the colour of a mans skin
do the crime do the time

but don't blame others 
for the act of another man
you ask that we should apologise
for the acts of our ancestors

I ask you why?
why; should I apologise
for the act of my great grandfather,
I did not, do what he did, 

I am not responsible, for his crimes,
should you apologise, 
for the acts of your Great grandfather,
perhaps he was a cannibal,

perhaps in the the past,
he ate somebodys ancestor,
yet, do we do ask you,
to apologise for him

so why do you ask us,
to apologise, 
for the acts of our ancestors,
Hate the man who did the crime,

not the colour of his skin,  
Black people,
have also been responsible for evil,
murder and rape, happen in all cultures,

You don't expect us to hate you,
for the act of your brothers,
so why should you hate us, 
for the acts of other whites,

blame the person, 
that did the crime,
not the colour, 
of a mans skin,

Every day, 
I get up and try 
to help people,
try to teach others,

That happiness is created 
with a sense of humour,
learn to joke have fun with people, 
and the world becomes a happier place.

Yet even a sense of humour
can become twisted
people laugh at the expense 
of someone else

learn to laugh with people
learn to joke in away 
that builds happiness
without hurting others

To hate all Americans is racism
To Hate all Jews is racism
To hate all Africans is racism
all cultures have good and bad people

Copyright © Bernard Barclay | Year Posted 2017

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It was dusk, the sky was 
Almost blue-black
I was in the meadow
Picking wild flowers
Every flower glowed:
White, orange, red,
Violet, blue, yellow…
Every flower seemed
To burn by itself
Softly, gently, purely
And this beauty, these scents
These colors, made me think
That moments like this were
Buds on the tree of life

Copyright © Aleksandra Kovrlija | Year Posted 2013

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Rescue Dog

He seemed very much like those white dogs before,
With a raggedy coat, pointed ears and much more.
But the likeness soon ended to those dogs gone away.
For he'd never known kindness or love in his day.

He didn't know words, didn't even know stairs.
His nose, from the kennel, was chaffed of its hair.
Boredom was passed licking fur from his paws.
The pads on his feet bordered long, ragged claws.

He paced back and forth mostly all of each day:
Slept in a tight ball to keep cold nights away.
Wary of children and grown men alike: 
Startling sounds made him cringe out of sight.

He was hungry and thin: I could feel every bone.
He stayed by me like glue and was scared left alone.
He wolfed down his food in an uneasy rush.
He didn't know combs and felt fear of the brush.

But time has now passed since the dog came to stay
From that harsh, lonely kennel on a hill far away.
This little white dog now seems mostly like them:
Those former white terriers, my sweet, loyal friends.

He now spends his time . . like before . .  by my side.
But something has changed, for he's not there to hide.
With all of this good there is even much more.
He now plays with his toys and will ask for the door.

He eats with good manners, sleeps sound in his bed:
Stretched out in contentment, fun dreams in his head.
He loves his car outings and with each early spring,
Explores the old pathways our daily walk brings.

I'm so happy to have him, as he sits on my lap,
Or sleeps by my chair for his afternoon nap.
He never will know all of the bad things again.
His life will be happy with me as his friend.

Yet as good as it's been for this dog to find me.
To learn love and to trust and from anguish be free.
I too have been blessed one more time from above,
By Him sending another white dog here to love.

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

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My Amusing Wedding Day

'With these vows the two shall become as one.'

On December 15th. 1971
we decided to fill our wedding day 
 with  a shared passion.
Our love of horses and the romance 
of a horse drawn carriage.
My intended- for years- had preserved his grandfather's  
old sulky, just for the love, of what it stood for. 
We set about a full restoration. First to find 
an upholsterer who could restore 
the aged,  buttoned leather seat 
and to search all the old sheds around 
for a missing candle lamp. So much still needed,
a  leather horse collar, not to mention a harness
and long leather, sulky reins.

We had all the old horsemen from all around the district
offering us  advice - some joking some strict.
Be sure to throw the wooden wheels into a dam to soak
for a week so the wood swells into the steel rims, "Otherwise,
those rims will roll right away,  as soon as you  get going."

Well, the sulky was all finished shiny and ready to roll
without a horse to pull it.  We tried to break a quiet
piebald but Patches wanted nothing to do with it.
Wild eyed at what she sensed was behind her
she bucked and with her panicked hooves tattooed 
the wooden baseboard.  No- one knew of a horse 
these days that was broken to harness- 
except, of course, the Gillen's retired pacer, "Little Rocket.

The big day came and I painted her hooves shiny black,
attached a white feather plume to her forelock bridle strap.
Everyone joked, " When they ring the church bells,
she'll do the bell lap."
An old trusted friend and former rodeo rider drove me 
Little Rocket delivered me to the church in one piece.
The townspeople turned out and lined the main  street.

I'll never forget in the Butcher's shop the next day,
another customer recognized me and told me  a funny tale.
Her little three year old saw me going past and called,
 "Mum, come quick. There a woman going past in a cart 
with something - on her head." 

Still together after forty five years those fond memories
 bind our loving hearts.   When the best man in his speech
announced, " I was the only bride he knew who  had
spent more time - getting the horse ready
than on  herself."

March 7th. 2016

Not for contest
Couldn't do it in 14- 24 lines.

Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2016