Each day Annie Lesley opened a can
Her eighty-six-year-old hands trembling
As she sat with her cat and ate pet food
What is wrong with this elder’s rendering?
Pride swallowed to remain independent
Large, sunken eyes peered from her weathered face
Her late spouse a decorated hero
Annie’s lifestyle a national disgrace
More enlightened cultures all over the world
Have revered their seniors throughout history
Asians and Native Americans
Are just two who honor their ancestry
Polynesians, other Pacific tribes
Respect the wisdom that comes with age
Seniors are welcome in family homes
But here in the states they’re placed in a cage
Bone-thin Annie Lesley chose to be free
Amazing neighbors with her endurance
When social services tried to intervene
She fought with remarkable resilience
Old photos on walls told many great tales
But only purring Tibby was listening
Each morning she rose to care for her cat
Until the day that Tibby went missing
In tears she claimed he must have been poisoned
Though in cat years he was older than she
Each day she sat by the window, staring
Awaiting the homecoming of Tibby
She’d been abandoned by society
Lost in the world’s most “progressive” nation
For sacrificing her spouse in World War II
Annie received little compensation
This widowed war bride never had children
Her mate had met his fate in Normandy
Posthumous awards she dusted each day
Annie’s life was defined by loyalty
To a man and a cat who never came home
And the vigil she kept all alone
Ended quietly one warm summer night
When an angel came to take Annie home
With a can of cat food in hand when found
Annie had nothing else to eat in her house
This is the way a veteran’s wife died
And tear stains had blemished her faded blouse
Although seniors’ wisdom is heeded
In societies that grow from history
Too many like Annie lead lonely lives
Wisdom untapped, they die in poverty
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009
These eyes have often been solaced
by twilight's cotton candy pllows moving silently
towards a sky's velveteen blanket
and angels'silver gowns
By gazing over hills
to where old country church bells
and crickets play harmonious sounds
These eyes have often been solaced
by honey coloured shadows
pouring moonlight zest
across the rose plum of my cheek
By little antique lamplights
which illuminate my soul 's dark cobbled street
By winds carrying sea-salts to a fragrant golden sand
By tides washing out corals to a distant land
These eyes have often been solaced by your return
to this vacant room inside my heart
By the hush hushed whisper of your voice
By the embrace of your arms
By the way you love me
By the way you need me
By the way you want me
Like an autumn bonfire
before next sunrise'dew fall
By the way you lean on me
Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014
A strange claim
Of a man of passion
Let the children come to me
For what man would refuse the smile
The innocence of a child
He parted his kindness
His love of all tribes
Animal and man, felt the kindness of his eyes
His tears grew this world
His voice made all of us listen
He made fisherman, philosophers
He made masons run free
He sang to ladies of the night
With the wine from wells of passion
Caliphs and Abu Nuwas soon followed
Love belongs to no one tribe
No sect or religion
It’s the flower that seed's travels the globe
Like feathers floating in the wind
When you see a child with no food
A woman with no smile
A man with no home
You make a balloon or funny face
You grow a rose
You build a hut
Trust in the kindness underneath
It will kiss you on your death bed
You shall rise to the heavens
You loved the universe
Notes: This is one poem that for sure can be peeled like an onion. First of all, I am working on a poem based on historical fact, and documents from the Vatican, that will serve no other purpose than to tell an age old story. Yes part of it takes place in current day Turkey.
Second, I have a friend who resides in Turkey, and we met over the internet, and over the years, have become friends. I know him to be kind, to all people and animals. We are simply friends that have shared stories, laughter, and hardships at times. Whether someone lives next door or half way around the world, true friendship and honor is hard to find. You can not give it or receive it. You can only both earn it over time.
No man is perfect, we are what we are, but when you see a world in turmoil, as we do these days, maybe this small event or moment carries weight. I myself am not so nice. So then I must say this, My friend Volkan is, not to me, but to countless people. A smile and kindness costs nothing, and the world needs more of this richness.
Everyone these days talks of how technology is ripping apart society and this may well be true, but this is a choice we all make, technology is merely a tool. One can also use it to build bridges and friendships.
Normally I would be shy to give such praise, however events have taught me that, its better to speak good words than be silent.
Thank you, for helping building a better world!
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
It was a long time ago, in another age
Where the shifting of the wind
Knew where I began
A place so far away,
Somewhere distant, in childhood country
Before the fog had set in,
Before time lost all trace of me
Where have they gone?
Those merry dancers with whom I played?
When we were queens of the carnival, kings of the parade?
Before being dethroned to mid-life corners
Hearing the music, without playing the drums
They tell me to take this age with grace
Yet everywhere I turn, is young
I'm still the same, I have not changed
I lived a time where love was wild and thoughts were too
With high regard, when eyes were glued
Now inside I'm torn in two...the old and the new
Trapped between this nowhere place
Myself and someone else
Until each barrier becomes a bridge...
Have I been shaped too square by passing years, to fit in circle's place?
My memory recalls those beautiful tomorrows
Now long buried in yesterday's ground
There are other ways to measure time
Besides growing older and graying hair
Recorded music fills the room
Left playing from an earlier time
When October skies showed fading traces
Of empty days and sad old faces
The "others" of whom I had no fear
Now those shadowed remnants from my past
Are stalking at my heels
Will somebody care to ask? Will anyone need my mind?
Is there something they want to tell me?
Will they patronize, or just be kind?
Care enough, make me useful, give me value, call me beautiful?....
Not yet the age I'll someday be
Still, I feel the sting of losing me
How I ache for all those love songs
How I ache for someone needing, someone pleading...
For advice....for my worth, for an answer, will they want me?
How it haunts me.....Will they see me?
Touching me....reminding me of who I am................not just who I was...
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010
A t f i r s t, a l a z i l y f l o w i n g r i v e r
Timeless warm glow of a summer’s day
In love with the world’s vibrancy
Inaudible, clock ticking
Safe in seeming endlessness
Each day a lifetime
Some wished away
Sweet life full
A n t i c i p a t e d
milestones fly past, too fast
Children’s years wax eternal
While ours accelerate quickly
Scenery outside the train’s window
Ever more beautiful, yet blurring, faster
© Thomas W. Quigley
Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016
It sits upon my widow sill,
after all of this time,
the Magnolia bloom you sent
Wilted and shriveled,
once the purest white -
now browned with age
Yet what it is,
is just as beautiful
as what it was
We all age, change
collecting wrinkles and new colors
staring in the mirror
wondering, where did we go
how could this happen
it was just yesterday we were – young, beautiful
Though as I tenderly hold, lift
this flower I know
it still retains
a hint of fragrance,
that sweet aroma of love,
the essence of that day
and its loveliness remains
as if time has no meaning
We need not look any further
than this alluring scent
to know that a bloom
will forever be as beautiful
as every yesterday
it was shared
You are beautiful -
we are all beautiful
regardless of how time
has wilted us -
Open your eyes,
find the fragrance
Written for the Beauty in Disguise Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2016
Some days I feel so damned old
Like my zest is starting to mold
Seems my feet are always cold
My golden years ran out of gold
I'm sitting here on this old swing
Watched the ending of another spring
The birds with their eggs under wing
The warm gulf winds start to sting
I remember swings used to be fun
We'd jump out and land on the run
All those years chasing the sun
Now those memories are called homespun
And all in the blink of an eye
Young goes to old on the fly
Shake my head and let out a sigh
As a hundred springs pass by
by Daniel Turner
Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2017
Listen to poem:
"bag of bones"
I wonder if when you look at me
You can't bring yourself to like the vanity
Lost somewhere inside -
I wonder if beauty lives..... in you???
Poor old lady;
-perhaps you should not pass judgment
For one day
I might be
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016
one feeble couple barely survives
a broken gate swings in the wind
Sponsor: Rick Parice
Contest: One Broken Monoku
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2014
For the lark she sings in her morning song,
That brightens up my day.
The pitter patter of tiny drops,
Clouds fill the sky with grey.
The dampened ground, that familiar smell,
Now quenched refreshed anew.
Brings forth forgotten memories,
Of a time that I once new.
Like grains of sand they ebb and flow,
Those minutes of the day.
In lines of endless moments,
That brought forth that child at play.
For is this just like déjà vu
For some time I’ve been alone.
Now standing here now humble,
To all these things I’ve known.
With gentle face a youthful pose,
As we danced the night away,
A tender touch a knowing gaze,
No need for words to say.
For what is love but a feeling?
As hearts melt into one.
With the blessings of good fortune,
Now Care free and full of fun.
For they say that hopes eternal,
And all things come to he who waits.
Or is that for other people,
For nothing seems that straight.
Given in reflected thought,
To those oh so special years.
Brought back in just a heart beat,
I wipe away the tears.
© N windle
Copyright © nicholas windle | Year Posted 2014
We are polar opposites trying to connect,
Walking through a field of land mines.
Sometimes we don't make it through
Without becoming a bit maimed.
I am the steadfast flower in your garden,
The one that always grows back.
Even if abused, I find a way to blossom.
Tethered together by an invisible cord
Our deep love somehow endures.
We knew how different we were before
We felt compelled to share our lives.
We told ourselves opposites attract.
Now as age and illness becomes entwined
We have become shells of our vibrant
Selves who once took on the world united.
I refuse to succumb to the harsh winter
As I cling to the hues of our harvest years.
I will keep it at bay with songs in the sun
Warming both our hearts 'till winter comes.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2015
Time is boundless when you're young.
You want school days to fly
so in summer you'll be sprung
loose upon the world. Touch sky,
Butterfly! Vitality is yours; songs unsung
will surely come by and by.
One day you go away,
leave home, friends; finally. . . Youth.
Some tread steadily; others stray
from convention's pathway, and truth
unfolds to you its grey.
Life quickens its pace.
You'll stumble or run
or walk with grace
beneath a waning sun.
Midway a rut
confronts you. . . Worse,
an unexpected cut.
This is one PD will never have seen for her contest. It is a form that requires six parts, and the form is not listed at Soup. Stanza one uses six lines with six words per line (not syllables, but words). STanza 2 is a five-line stanza with five words per line. You continue in this way decreasing lines and number of words in the lines until you arrive at a single one-word line in the bottom stanza! Maybe I will try this form one day in a contest!! (I rhymed this, but it does not have to be rhymed)
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014
Looking back again, back into the past,
it was written in sand, all those questions we asked
on those last days of summer, something was wrong
as the leaves started turning, and shadows grew long
There was dust on the tables, and the clutter remained
where never before, .... had it not been restrained
You were known for your grace, now your pride was at risk
Quickly swept, polished fine, brushed away with a whisk
This just wasn't you, having bricks without mortar
You were never unkempt ...now a life out of order?
You would never have allowed such things out of place
Something so small, would have been your disgrace
There was something to blame, something was strange
Even small tasks, we noticed, had changed
Another piece of a puzzle, fell into place
Your trace of bewilderment, when a name was erased
Your memory lost, and a world gone absurd ...
Then, once it was you....alone and disturbed
Lost and afraid, but mostly confused
Forgetting the day, many things you would lose,
or someone you loved, so much undefined
shoved back to blind spaces, your words couldn't find
Dust motes collected where never before,
would settle, make home, in your mind evermore
Without any warning, without any sound
until you were gone, and the years fell around
Dreams that you had, were drawn in the sand
into the traces of dust of a far away land
Inspired by Isaiah Zerbst's Contest: "Pick a Title"
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014
I close my weary eyes
I quake and tremble
The meaning of life losing its hold,
Losing its wonder
In this magnifying, mystifying Sadness
Where is the river,
Where is the ocean
To drown these sorrows...
The dry formations in this barren land stay tall,
Pools holding life drying in the dinosaur wasteland
I am bones...
I am bones sinking in the waterless chalk
I keep these eyes shut
To hide inside my meditations
My ears have grown accustomed to the silence,
And sensitive to the drops of tears
They dry too quickly,
For the sun is against the moisture
And all for the fossilization of my soul
Where is the river?
Where is the ocean...
I do not ask with hope-
I am too ancient to beg for miracles
To dream, yet, too long I have slept
I ask on account of who I once was,
A land so lush and plentiful
See now only the dryest thrive
I am bones on the brink of history...
The elements have claimed me
Life will return elsewhere
I am become by the rock and the sun
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015
The void calls through gossamer veils and widow's peak.
Shifty-eyed now of necessity I lie, bone-wrapped
in rosaries black as my rheumy eyes, death speaks.
Uncomforted by down or velvet, role trapped
corseted, board stiff with age like calf skin vellum
peeled and bloodied by the dual edged knife of man.
The scene is set and I shall not whimper, as do some,
or call to God, or blame the fates of those whose clans
remain earth-bound, when I have left this mortal glade.
Pigment on canvass, linseed loosed, stretchers taut, displayed,
all of this, I've had a plenty, and been royally paid.
My life was art, and it was art that fanned my life's flame.
So, stretch me on the pine boards and lay my edges down;
monochrome me in umber, drench me in shades of brown.
Self Portrait See About the Poem
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2013
When orchids bloom in beauty life's aglow
to hold emotions locked in deep repose
in young desire and love warm thoughts will show.
Affection holds its ardor as it grows
to burn inside young hearts in evening tide.
In darkest night the heat will burn and rise
till naked, love's sweet flower blooms inside
and once again my love the past implies.
I'm not the dreaming soul you think you've known,
this willing need that cannot be denied,
is naught if not in love my feeling's grown,
as sad, the winds of change cast hearts aside.
Is not the pain of youth our last great stand
as time, with heavy brow, is nature planned?
As time, with heavy brow, is nature planned,
to start the quest the instant life began.
It ticks each moment past with second hand
through infant life, to youth, and then to man.
The years go by as sequenced seasons pass
and miss each gentle touch of mothers breast.
As hair of grey like waves of grain amass,
we enter life's most cruel and crucial test.
How quick the mind in once unfettered thought
is now but clouds of muddled pother dust,
and as the time moves deep in minds hard fought,
the turning wheels soon slow to so much rust.
No thought for life and love can further grow.
Too soon the beating heart begins to slow.
Too soon the beating heart begins to slow
as passion spent prepares to take its toll,
and shooting stars burn down to subtle glow,
the mind's illusions dream of heart and soul.
Yet warmth and need can still ignite the flame
if sparks in coals of burning love remain.
Though slow the beats count down each ardent frame
our need for touch and fervor we retain.
For what is good without loves sweet caress
on lonely night or stormy sullen day,
to tightly hold each moment we possess
and guard the heart from anger and dismay.
The light of heaven's long goodbye's unplanned
when passion's ember burns the gentle hand.
When passion's ember burns the gentle hand,
so, too, pure hearts can suffer in loves pain.
but lessons taught, no matter how well planned
can lead us down this broken path again.
Emotions find the cracks in crystal yen
then ebb and flow in watered essence's glow,
and grow the seeds of doubt to wonder when
through chinks in life's burst dam our love will flow.
But fill each crack with heart's warm trust and truth
and once again love's flower starts to bloom
like soft bright petals only found in youth,
we feel the sun burn past our time of gloom.
Through life the warmth of pain awaits each day
with flames of love that flicker old and grey.
With flames of love that flicker old and grey
the hope of life's sweet nectar I once gave.
With you in pleasured touch we both would lay
and from my lonely heart my life you'd save.
As time moves on, though wisps of shadows fade,
like honey to the bees love yet tastes sweet
but tender touches lost in dark of shade
remain recalled reflections of conceit.
Let not the scourge of time erase the stain
of need for heated pleasure so ingrained
and loves mosaic tender heart's refrain
then end to end our love we'll share unchained.
As brown the leaves float free from trees unmasked.
but moments gone, as youth filled questions asked.
But moments gone, as youth filled questions asked,
no more of young loves wonder we request,
for in our soul the answers are unmasked
when stars align to find the lover's quest.
In length of day, like shadows, darkness grows
engulfing heaven's promise lost in fear,
and clasp strong hands of those we hold so close
from moistened cheeks we wipe a lonely tear.
No soft and tender touch upon the brow
when, tick, the clock calls out the lonesome hour,
can change the path of fate we follow now,
when life's sweet taste turns bitter, tart and sour.
As we in fervid dusk filled evening lay
the feelings lost to seasons never stay.
The feelings lost to seasons never stay
and life grows cold as little sand remains.
But, o'er the heart the mind has little sway
when strong emotions bleed through burning veins.
Does anger, love or hate in time still lie,
awaiting passion's burning deep inside,
or ease in mellowed thoughts as days go by
to tarry in the place where senses hide?
The smile upon my face may turn in joy
though deep inside my heart my feelings burn
as eddies swirling lost in loves sad ploy
awaiting their frenetic fierce return.
Like comet's tail our hearts burn bright and fast
for in the end it's just one soul that's passed.
Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2016
For in the end it's just one soul that's passed.
Alone I'll lie in sod of greenest grass
to answer for the sins that I've amassed
at gates of gold I'll see if I may pass.
In to this world I entered all alone
in cold and dark and dank so old I grow,
on thoughts of younger days I bitch and moan
with little hope of changing what I know.
But, now as time reflects upon my skin,
the lines of life grow deep upon my face.
I feel the fear of darkness closing in
and of my soul it leaves but little trace.
So lay my corpse upon this bier stone cold.
The end of life so often is foretold.
The end of life so often is foretold
from storms of pained emotions we retreat.
When colors fade to black as we grow old
we search for gold from rainbows we can cheat.
Through lonely thoughts of our demise we trod,
yet try, we still, to save our lives from dust
With souls we've fore to sold we offer God
if but in his creation he would trust.
In promise lost we bide our time, we cope,
for what remains beyond our short lived lives.
The heaven of our father's faith's our hope,
inside of us is where this hope yet thrives.
Is our eternal faith enough to know,
when cold the winds of fate speak soft and low?
When cold the winds of fate speak soft and low
I hear its voice sing smooth in morning dew
and all of life on wings aloft will go
and fly on breeze of gentle pastel hue.
So sweet the taste of life will linger on
with rainbow flavors left upon the tongue,
like cream filled candy, but too soon it's gone
dissolved like so much piles of beetles' dung,
I know that life is precious as fine gems
reflecting each new moment that we live
with flowers' petals sweet upon their stems
our time in life is all we have to give.
As years in life pass slow like buds in cold
in warmth and light the blooms of time unfold.
In warmth and light the blooms of time unfold
to search through lost emotions is our goal.
In hope that we shall keep from growing old
we capture fading thoughts to keep us whole,
but when the final sunset has gone dark
the memories we cherished are all lost
and only ghostly photos leave the mark
of lives that pass like melting winter frost.
I can not bear the thought of you alone
when life has passed for me and I am gone.
What good of all the sweetness you have known
if lonely night awakes to lonely dawn.
Forever lies I've promised, you will see,
as petals fall, my life will cease to be.
As petals fall my life will cease to be,
yet time goes on without a moment lost
and still the winds of fate persist and blow
without remark or care or pennies cost.
What worth am I but in your care and love
or have I lived my life in selfish need.
I've tried so hard, for you, to rise above
but in your eyes do you just see my greed.
For am I who you wanted me to be,
the perfect man to share my life with you,
or did you wish for me to just be me
and give you love and promise to be true?
When end is near I know in you I'll dwell
in whispered songs of love my heart will quell.
In whispered songs of love my heart will quell
so soft it beats when broken scars are healed
yet pain of loss for you I can't dispel
when left to dream of all that you've revealed.
The secret words of love that you have told
in moments sweet and pleasured touch exposed
to me are bits of life for me to hold
when fantasies of you have been reposed.
Now laid to rest inside my very soul,
I've loved you strong and deep for oh so long
for in my life you've played a leading roll.
Without you dear this life would be but wrong.
Though many words as yet I wish to tell
with tender tears to you, I say farewell.
With tender tears to you, I say farewell,
my sweet, my life, my love, my need, my soul.
From you the one for whom my heart once fell,
this world of pain will now exact its toll
Too soon my corpse in death will lay stone cold
and tears from you will be my sole repose.
The troubadour whose words sing songs so bold,
alas, is left struck mute in death's last throes.
Will loves last flower fade without perfume,
to die unsmelled with human heart's adieu
its fragrant scent to linger in my tomb
or heaven sent, will stay and comfort you?
At end of life my love I hope you'll know,
when orchids bloom in beauty life's aglow.
Life's Fading Light
When orchids bloom in beauty life's aglow,
as time, with heavy brow, is nature planned,
too soon the beating heart begins to slow
when passion's ember burns the gentle hand.
With flames of love that flicker old and grey,
but moments gone, as youth filled questions asked,
the feelings lost to seasons never stay
for in the end it's just one soul that's passed.
The end of life so often is foretold
when cold the winds of fate speak soft to me.
In warmth and light the blooms of time unfold,
as petals fall, my life will cease to be.
In whispered songs of love my heart will quell,
with tender tears, to you, I say ...farewell.
Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2016
The house sighs.
It has heard it before:
how the stairs creak
under halting steps,
more slowly each day.
With dusty eyes,
it looks out
on the leaf strewn patio.
The pathway between the hedges
has grown narrow.
The house remembers
giving way to hushed voices,
rooms that feel heavy with sadness.
After a long silence,
the bustle of strange feet,
On the wall
a faded rectangle remains,
shadow of a green landscape.
For contest: Form P
Sponsored by Broken Wings
Copyright © Agnes Krampe | Year Posted 2017
No Future is the worst and so,
I’ll dream of places I will go,
Fantasies are for such as I,
Facing the wall, the wall.
Tomorrow I’ll drive to California,
Oh, the flivver’s old but full of gas,
What’s stopping you? You say.
The wall, that blooming wall wall.
I will fly over the Himalayas,
And think of Tyrone Power,
The peeking little snow flowers,
Oh, but yes, there’s that d---- wall, the wall.
Filled with the wanderlust,
Gotta get outa town or bust,
No one will have to know, but then
There’s the wall, the wall.
Copyright © Sunlite Wanter | Year Posted 2016
I see you coming, old age
Approaching at an ever accelerating pace,
Your face so grim
Your expression so austere
Your look so menacing,
A frightening sight you are
Many battles I have fought in life
With vigor and youth at my side
Thus victorious I emerged
Now that my allies slowly abandon me
One after the other,
I am left alone the last battle to fight
A battle, I know beforehand I am bound
At this moment as trials begin
When all seem to get tougher by the day
A new ally I have found, willing to help me,
All my courage to amass for to confront you,
Oh merciless old age:
The wisdom I have acquired all these years
Of my life! *
© Demetrios Trifiatis
18 June 2017
* This poem was honored as POTW on the 25th of June 2017. I thank everyone who has appreciated it as everyone who visit me and comment for without their love nothing would have been possible. THANK YOU PS!
Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2017
Inside your eyes, I feel a world.
Night and day, eyes of a world.
Time has healed wounds, or forgotten them.
Heaven is closer with each breath you take.
Emotions wax and wain like the motions of the moon.
Early to bed, early to rise, life continues.
Your hopes and dreams have came and went.
Every hour ticks by, tick, tock, it reminds you.
Some memories will not fade away, for this you are glad.
Open the doors the last days of life.
Fear not the other side, for it comes.
Age has brought you wisdom, stories and bred new life.
Gifts now to be given are those of your stories.
Entrust me with your stories, your legacies, your memories.
In the eyes of age I see
time is but a grain of sand on an endless beach.
We are one with the spirit of time
let memories of your lifetime teach.
I will listen.
Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2014
in the sun
The skin became the bark of a tree
the soul turning to brittle scars
for uncaring worlds to see.
is a pile of
old owl bones
sewn into banks of midnight creeks...
even the plump, over ripened ones
no longer look at me...
but if their car was desert flat,
their oil grim reaper black
they'd paint a wormy, water colored smile...
slide it through my barbed wired heart
so long as I could spin the jack...
so I spin it until their potholes turn to satin-
in the sun
the mind has smoothed over
like pebbles in Saturn rings..
a forgotten spice in the conversation of life
an hour later the word snuggles up to me
Tomorrow or forever( which ever comes first),
I'll stay wrapped inside
till my skin turns back to ivory
to an easter egg yesterday
to a time of bouncing ball and spinning jack,
when the mind was a great silky nest...
the face a flowered meadow place
where watercolors swirled all day,
the heart worms kept at bay.
I'll stay hidden within the weeds,
till the jewels of memories soothe
every scar - every stripe,
the molten knots of cruelty,
till the sweetened fruit reclaims the tree.
until then only my curtains breathe...
...stayed in the sun
Copyright © Anthony Slausen | Year Posted 2013
Gary's Yard Sale, the story
Authored by Chuck Keys
Among the rustbelt cities of yesterday,
Along the edges of the Detroit River,
A short distance to the side,
Resides a slice of Victorian times,
Excesses exceeded needed,
Where age confronts time,
The day before meets the day of,
And greets tomorrow.
Those in the hood
Meet and greet among
The scraps of forgotten memories.
Lawns filled with bygones of size,
Tables filled with important somethings,
For important that evolved into history.
Where memories become linked,
Each to a stored thought,
Treasured, pleasured or disdained,
To a person,
Of late or present,
To a future of who knows what.
During the day,
The history-of and the future-of talk,
Of where they were,
And where they hope to be,
The dust is blown off with the wind,
From the east, west, north and south.
The yard sale, the graveyard of the past,
The arena of the present,
Life and death of the sale,
Dance together, coupled,
Where Mine, becomes Yours' while
Gary the Conductor, orchestrates to perfection,
The operatic enjoyment of history,
Buyer meets seller, exchanges
Are made. As is today.
*This poem is dedicated to Gary and Ann Harris of Northville MI USA – May they and
their Yard Sales age forever!
© Charles H Keys, 2010. All Rights Reserved. V1.4.09252010
Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010
“You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed.”
from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince
Though he yapped and whined,
I still loved him so.
He was my dear friend.
He'd turned old and blind
when we let him go.
How can my heart mend?
Written 10/15/14 by Andrea Dietrich
For the Design Your Tableau Contest of nette onclaud
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014
At a carnival- in my dream
I saw an old man had made
a rocket - and blasted off
I saw it go overhead and at first thought
It was a decoy
because no-one could come back to Earth safely
From such a blast
Then - I assumed because he was old
he wanted to die in a
Blaze of glory
Next I see his rocket turn into a parachute
And he has on snow skis and poles
We all make a space for him to land.
As he lands - the street turns into a river-
and he manages to land upright
on the skis - on the water.
But I think then he had a heart attack
From the joy of landing
Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2014