The head learns new things, but the heart forever practices old experiences. - Henry Ward Beeecher.
He was madly in love with her.
Forevermore was a real promise,
It was not for a few days
But rather forever and forevermore.
They met one Saturday morn.
She was sitting on a bench
In front of one of several cottages.
She adored the shade.
All around a wisteria climbed the walls
Purple flowers adorned the site.
“Don’t touch the seeds or pods, my friend.”
He advised the beauty sitting in the shade.
“Wisteria can cause irritation.”
They soon became acquainted
And went for walks across the cobbled paths.
They picked wild flowers and held hands.
After work, they always met
For a tasty dinner in the Wisteria Cottage.
It was a habit they acquired forevermore.
Soon it was wedding bells for them.
They vowed love, hope, and patience forevermore.
Placed 1
A mournful moon ascended,
Haggard,
Bland,
Weak.
Silence unfurled upon the grassy plain.
Gloomy shadows:
I felt so depressed
And lonely.
All around a sense of nostalgia,
Of reluctance
That made me wince in pain.
I sat beneath an old, gnarled oak tree.
The air was mute
But not peaceful!
Still, sparse stars swung in perfect symphony.
Dreams descended on restless somnambulists.
The waning moon continued
Its steady downward course.
The dark green plain stretched afar.
Where were their ghostly shadows?
Spectral and weird darkness seem to dissolve.
The moon was now at its resting place.
Soon, the sun would clear my befogged mind.
“Death can never separate us. Each time you feel a gentle breeze, It's my hand caressing your face.” By Mary Lucas
The first bell intoned its dreary dirge.
The feel of emptiness spread all around.
I was not afraid. I felt tall and steady.
Night began to obscure the light of day.
I began my lonely trek around the desolate place.
I met no one nor did I want to. I repeat.
I was not afraid. Some candles were still lit
All around the paths. Not that I had any difficulty
To find my way. I had walked that path too, often.
Suddenly all around a wild wind whispered all around.
Still, I was more concerned about names and ages.
How many die young! I feel tears brimming in my eyes.
Yet no tears fell. The light dimmed casting long shadows.
A lone raven cawed, a warming call. I did not care.
The dirge bell rang again, a mandate and a warning,
I pressed on, undaunted but free.
I entered the mausoleum as was my habit,
Lay myself down in my comfy coffin and slept.
Placed 1
A while ago,—you seemed a fantasy—
and like a fragmentary apparition
or a flutter flitting past my faint cognition
—to my buzzing thoughts: you the rose, I the bee.
And though my hiving mind, admittedly,
swarmed all around a phony superstition,
(you—o’ flower), yet,—(and, malintution?
aside;)—you roused in me the gayest glee.
Now, you go as a prickle—as the sting
of a hard thorn, each every random while,
and seek to nib my nose, or pique my eye.—
Well, since convention bars my asking “why?”,
I’ll try to win another petal’s smile;
—though, must you be the blossom of my spring?
The briny’s ebbed and now far out of sight
And all around a vast expanse we see
With debris left by the retreating sea.
And stretch of golden sand, a real delight.
On rocks are barnacles there clinging tight
Waiting for next high tide to set them free.
A risky life they have, you must agree,
Being at the mercy of the tide each night.
Now on mudflats left by departing tide
This wader slowly struts and keeps keen eye,
Searching to see where the lugworms may hide.
Hoping to spot sand spirals there to try.
Each one he stabs as he then wanders wide
For those lugworms are vital food supply.
In the heart of the forest, birdsong fills the air,
As sunlight dances through the trees without a care.
Leaves rustle in a gentle breeze that whispers low,
And blooming flowers in a meadow seem to glow.
The river flows with a peaceful, calming tune,
Glistening in the light of the silver moon.
Mountains rise majestically in the distance, tall and grand,
Their peaks reaching towards the sky, a rugged land.
The scent of pine fills the air, fresh and clean,
Nature’s beauty all around, a serene scene.
As the day fades into night, the stars begin to shine,
A reminder of the beauty that nature can define.
I feel and see the wonder and in awe of its embrace.
The sound of metal scraping on asphalt, echoed through the frosty morning air, as the trailer slid and skidded, leaving chaos and destruction there.
The semi-truck came hurtling fast, its trailer swerving, out of control, I felt the impact as it struck my car, a moment that shook my very soul.
My mind was racing, filled with fear, as I fought to keep control, the truck careening all around,a scene that was beyond my goal.
The trailer flipped, in slow motion it seemed, a moment is frozen in time, my heart was pounding, my breath was short, as I braced for what I feared was my last climb.
Though I walked away, the injuries were real, more than just a few bruises to reveal, my back was sprained, my pelvic bone cracked my life was forever changed, my future attacked.
The sun sets in a golden hue, (A)
A sky of pink and orange, too. (B)
The trees sway in the gentle breeze, (C)
And rustle softly through the leaves. (B)
The birds sing sweetly in the air, (A)
Their melodies so light and fair. (B)
The flowers bloom in bright array, (C)
A burst of color on display. (B)
The beauty of nature all around, (A)
A wondrous sight that can astound. (B)
So take a moment, breathe it in, (C)
And let your heart and soul begin. (B)
Let's go there, where together means forever;
Where couples get into a relationship but leave never.
No sorrow, no complications, no death;
Where nor even stars can determine lovers' fate.
Where serenity lingers all around; A state of perfect equilibrium.
Where not only red Rose is the sign of love, but also violet Dendrobium.
Entering any favorite mall,
A row of seats you wence recall
mega signs displayed everywhere
why, you can't help to stop an stare
First, you notice those folk gathered,
in seats all around a booth of glass
an author about to be a star, record, what mattered
long last, she or he can Publish in front of class
He or her turns on greenlight "OnAir", all go silent,
she is up-to-bat, she knows this is her Debeu
that crowd waits patiently, at that moment
loudspeakers come alive, 'SPEAKER' wants to interest you
Mr. or Mrs. tells you to keep your seat, quiet to imply
During this time editors scramble as papers fly
beats that Photobooth, in years gone by
beats that Photobooth, in years gone by
Their story-tell envokes all emotions, to touch our heart,
all five senses are somehow wakened...
realizing this Publishing Booth, On -This -Spot
has potential, why, virtually real pride has emerged
I am a tree beside a rippling blue stream,
birds nest in my gnarled branches;
oh, I love the little babies tweeting for food.
Gentle winds whisper through my leaves,
even restless wild winds torment me;
but, I am strong and my roots are deep.
Come rest beneath me- just you and me,
let the rippling stream calm your soul;
while all around a thousand birds are singing.
_________________________
January 24, 2021
Poetry/Verse/A Thousand Birds Singing
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1323-402-24
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Open Poetry I
sponsor, Charlette Puddifoot, Judged 01/27/2021
Happy, smiling, round and sweet, gurgling at their mother's feet,
fed and clean and warm and happy, snuggled in a clean white nappy.
Crying, hungry at empty breast, cold and swollen stomach as the rest,
war-torn panic reigns all around, a child lays dying and makes no sound.
Oh! the injustice of these children's lives-some happy, smiling-while another dies
sometimes this world just is not fair, one death's too many-what to compare.
God in your compassion help us to see-we cant let this happen-we cant let this be,
Guide us God with your saving grace, help us give all children a smile on their face.
The road ahead is almost yellow
Somewhere bright somewhere faded
Waiting for its soon-to-come fellow
In the air crispy murmurs
Alder and Birch look cravingly
Squirrels running at their feet
Gathering seeds and nuts so wisely
Stashing better than our closet
Maples flare red and orange
Tall shadows in the afternoon
All around a tinted transience
Thanksgiving for what we owe
Fallen leaves crunch under bare feet
Flying southward, birds clap their wings
Your lonely back looking lovely
Nothing to hold on, leaves keep falling
Your eyes at harvested pumpkins
Your nimble fingers knitting a pullover
Bamboo needles seeking more light
Who does cross your path now
September 16, 2019
Fall Into Fall Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
This story is from long ago,
It’s about two people under the mistletoe
It was a cold winter night with snow on the ground
The lights from the Christmas tree were draped all around
With popcorn and berries dressing the tree,
with toy’s all around a beautiful Christmas tree
The Children in their beds happy with glee
Snug under their blankets watching TV
When all of a sudden we heard a great sound
And as we ran all around only to see
It was Mickey the Mouse, on the children's colored TV
As we walked out the door we looked above
And there we saw a mistletoe
With a note placed upon, that read,
We did this for you, this present we give to you
We heard a small voice whispering so low
I wonder if they will kiss,
Under The Mistletoe.
English Sonnet
'tis not a calm bright day that tests our grit
nor guarded safe repose within our lair.
No test is it to keep a candle lit
when winds are calm and placid skies are fair.
Within the tossing tumult of a storm,
no way to steer and know where we are bound -
where all around a snarling evil swarms;
it's there our own true inner peace is found.
So many of our demons we invent;
they circle waiting for our faith to fail.
We have within the spirit to prevent,
so even in our death we will prevail.
There, in the midst of all, we are set free
to want, to love, to strive, or just to be.
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