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The Best At The End Of The Day Poems

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

Be on Guard Against Poets

My sweet child
My daughter
Be on guard
Be on guard of the man
Who plays on your heartstrings…
Not with flirtatious smile
Nor with flexed muscles
Not with devouring eyes
Nor with intellectual prowess
Or clothes so fine

No, these you can resist
You can set boundaries
And be done
The threat, false alarms 
Their charm easily undone
Your defenses will withstand
The groping hand
The false charm
No, don't be alarmed

Oh, but child
My precious sweet one
Be on your guard
I beg you
I implore
Be on your guard
From the man named, “POET”
A man who wields words
Who crafts and designs them
Like a carpenter with wood...
Who makes them into jewels
With a jeweler’s touch...
Who makes them sweet delicacies
That simply melt in your mouth

He can shape and design his words
To fit your every need
He writes down your dreams
As though they were his own
His words an homage
To your beauty
Your form
The light in your eyes
The way you entice
Your captivating smile
Your dark tresses
Cherry lips
Or the curve of your hips

BE ON GUARD
Oh, dear one
Be on guard
For he means to take you
To sweep you away
In the tide of beautiful rhymes
The rise of fall of passion
Making your body move in time
He means to ensnare you
To capture your soul
He means to dominate 
To slowly undress
Intoxicate with his words
So you forget common sense
He wants you to eat from his hands
Choice morsels of love
While he whispers in your ear,
“There's more where that came from.”

My child
Be on guard
For words cannot pay
Your rent or expenses
Cannot save your day
Words won’t be there
When you cry in the night
They won’t be able
To turn on that light
Words won’t be your lover
With hands nice and slow
That touch you in places
Words can never go

My child, 
My darling
Listen to me
Stay away from those poets
They’ve got potency
They will woo and bewitch you
Throw fairy dust in your eyes
But at the end of the day
Only a few don’t tell lies

My child, my sweet
Get a man who will be
THERE IN PERSON
BODY and SOUL
With hands that caress
And with eyes that speak
Of your body in that dress
Spoken words make you weak
With lips that touch yours
That say you’re divine
That lick from your navel
That sweetest of wine
Stay away from those poets
Be on Guard
Save your life!
For a poet, my child
Is the greatest danger in life
The greatest beauty
The greatest dream
The greatest heartache
The greatest strife
Be on guard
BE ON GUARD
SAVE YOUR LIFE!

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

By Default

We drove home in the fog, just my father and I
after a shattering night of hospital haze
We had waited for news at the end of the day  
Until the end of the world came before dawn

Coming home in the car, unable to talk,
our hopes and our tears had nowhere to land. 
If just one would escape, where would it go?   
No shoulder, ...no dam.  How would they stop?...
 
My Dad was in shock, as he stood  by the gate, 
         a glaze in his eyes, ......    and a million years old

My feet froze in place, my knees shivered cold
but without hesitation, I reached for his hand

I took him inside, and with deliberate intrusion
I fed him some soup, and put him to bed
He was the child, and I the adult
Day after day, somehow by default
our roles were reversed, ...and I became strong
My childhood had ended,.....and his had begun



_______________________________________________________
Written originally for  "The Fault Line" Contest 4/23/15
sponsored by Anthony Slausen
Submitted for Brian's Contest: Late April 2018 contest

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

Guess Who's Back, Offence And Pain Aint Two Of The Same

Who'd have thought words make them react like this,
failing to see my wit, just the unattractiveness.
An eye for crudeness that'll overpower the humorous.
I'm sure within their brain a tumour lives.

Has your face ever felt the force of a fist?
It'll twist your perception like a contortionist,
because offence and pain aint two of the same.
One requires staples so that the blood's contained,
the other's just a thought you'd rather not maintain.
I get that neither are a source used to entertain,
but at the end of the day crudeness aint pain.

Offence is just a nuisance you choose to refuse,
it aint a scar, a cut or a bruise.
Scars are something you can never remove,
but when I got mine I made jokes that amused.
So can you help me now please and give me some clues,
when I'd been hit by a knuckle duster I was less confused.
Do you really feel pain when I'm crude and rude?

Please explain how words upset and leave you offended.
How does it feel and how do you end it?
Is it just simple natural sounds that you can't stand?
Compare that to soldiers losing limbs and can't stand.
If this is you I've just one thing to say my friend,
your life is easy if words drive you around the bend.

POTD
5/7/2018

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

read this please

They hate you because your you
They make up lies and call it true
They're fake behind your back
Hoping someday that you'll crack.

They hate you because your real.
no matter what they say you always heal
They're surprised to see you rise,
That you're not affected by all these lies


They hate you because you smile at them
It shows them that your a real gem
You are always true and do your best :)
Sometimes these haters just cant test

They hate you for no reason
Despite it all, you smile
whatever the reason
At the end of the day
All i'm gonna say
All i plan to be 
IS ME


-Sanderline Fleury :)

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

I bring this to you

The bright candle burns the last hours of day away.
At the same time, sun gleams through the window.
It sets beyond the hill through tall trees standing still.
I would like to capture every sunrise and sunset I see
From left to right here to bring this to you as well.
So I can share what I see at the beginning and end 
Of every day, from where I live on the hill.
The birds are fluttering around as if it is morning.
They are singing happily in the evening air.
I bring their song to you also, maybe a tune to cheer.
Maybe as a stitch to mend your broken heart, maybe a smile
To have at the end of the day, just to know you are truly ok.

Heidi Sands

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

Gina the toilet cleaner

They call her big Gina
You'd know if you seen her
She is a toilet cleaner
She wears a white smock
Armed with bucket and a mop
She likes to keep things clean
And is a real scrubber
If you know what I mean
She whistles as she goes
With disinfectant wafting under her nose
She replaces toilet rolls
And cleans the toilet bowls
She really loves her job
She has a cat called Doris
And a husband called Bob
Her job is dirty and often smelly
She has a tattoo of a toilet on her belly
At the end of the day
She puts her mop and bucket away
Goes home and has a shower
Then cleans the house within half an hour
Her husband makes her mad
Leaving the toilet seat up
She puts toilet water in his cup
Of tea to sup
She has a daughter called Pru
She dreams of being a toilet cleaner too
She doesn't care about the smell of poo
Just her dream comes true
We should all appreciate toilet cleaners
Just like big Gina.


''Warning! Toilet water in tea. please do not try at home.
 could be dangerous and doesn't taste nice''.


Peter Dome.copyright.2014. Aug.

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

A Day In My Life

 

Not sure what I do but I sure am exhausted at the end of the day,
so I decided to think about it and made this list . . .

I sleep (not enough, probably)

I eat to much, sometimes

Write poetry that sooths my soul (every day)

Print out and file said poetry

Spend too much time on poetry soup (reading and commenting)
Love it, love it, my safe haven forever

Work  (gurrrrrrr) honestly my job is too stressful

Watch way too much TV

Check out Facebook

Watch Utube videos

Listen to the news, Local, Canadian, World

Play with my cat, oh, that I like, here kitty, kitty

Read the newspaper

Cook a meal and invite a friend, sometimes

Work on my scrap book (endless project)

Sew, well I have the sewing machine ready for action

Go for a walk with my camera(new hobby)

Talk to my friends and family each day

Take a walk to art gallery for inspiration

Do the dishes

Tidy up my nest (my sister says I made a nest for myself)

Take a bubble bath or shower

Wash my long hair (many steps involved, girls understand that)

Listen to music (and dance around)

Water my wilting plants

Meditate

Read

Put the rugs back in place, (stop it Pearl Smudges)

Have a nap

Sometimes, I make jewellery

Look at my clothes, why not

Laundry if I feel strong

Sweep and dust the nest

Drink tea or perhaps a café

I have been known to have a chocolate bar at 3 pm

Feed Pearl Smudges some sardines (stinky)

Clean her litter box (yukky)

Re-arrange my jewellery (means put it away)

Iron a uniform for next day (nurse)

Think and ponder life in general

Sometimes, often, I go shopping for stuff

Go for a coffee with my cell phone

Look in the mirror and decide make-up is needed

Tidy up my desk of dictionaries and papers and cups

Take out the garbage (how can one girl have so much)

Stand and look at my art hanging on the wall

Recall memories with tears (not a day goes by)

Re-arrange the furniture, it never seems right

Just sit and relax


Well, very sure there must be more but now I know why I am exhausted,
at the end of each day, however, I would not change one thing . . .

_____________________
April 27, 2015


List

Submitted to the contest, Today I Accomplished, sponsor Sara Kendrick

First Place



Poem Of The Day, April 29, 2015

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

I AMUSE MYSELF

When no one else is around 
I AMUSE MYSELF while sitting down
And bring myself loads of joy when I pretend to be 
A stand-up comedian amusing all my friends.

I amuse myself then.
Nothing else to do while sitting in the pews.
I might as well count my blessings, and
I AMUSE myself while confessing.

When the day is gone I'm sleeping I amuse
Myself with my nightmares as I'M screaming

I amuse myself with fun and jokes GALES of
Laughter thereafter.  FUNNY patrols the halls 
Of speckled jest. HA! I amuse myself at my
Own request.

When muscles are weak from laughters cause
I amuse myself with my APPLAUSE.
I create a funny story recite it to myself
And listen to my own glee.

I amuse myself with peals of SPASTIC 
HILARITY.  With trick and folly it's all the
Same.  I amuse myself with silly games

At the end of the day I'm amused by the moon
As though it sits beneath its HALO  laughing quietly
At me.

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

MOCKINGBIRD - crown of sonnets

#1
"It is a sin to kill a Mockingbird.
When playing games with rocks or guns, defray,
them, please, ...shoot old tin cans!"  "Whispered words 
of Mockingbirds, only heal wounds of the day"

Virtues are cultivated, children are weeds, 
exploring a small southern town. Seeds, so rare,
spread moral ivy, filling knotholes, threading trees,
lining streets, during mad-dog summers. 
Scout, one sprout with solid roots, sifts wrong from right
in spite of bull-headed pride. Stirring
up dust,  where resistance incites,
although, brother, Jem, gently, grows more reserved.
Scout, Jem, ...best bud, "Dill", are bronzed by summer's sky
Moral's compass guides them home, as night returns
#2
Moral's compass guides them home, as night returns
yet challenged, the precocious child
making  assumptions. Folks would confound her!
Some people were an oddity and quite beguiling
Summer would sigh with ceiling fans, softly purring,
people napping, long afternoons.  Wilted yawns
of a lethargic town, might seem undisturbed,
with complacency, behind pruned shrubs, tall grass, mowed.
Yet stilted air, would suffocate, with racial slurs
and secret hate.  Some hid by day, and spending
their nights in masquerade, while crosses  burned.
We'd see a face, pretentious smile, falsely blend
Integrity, at bitter cost, split wide the seams
in 1930.   Civil rights were just a dream
#3
In 1930, civil rights were just a dream,
and motherless children were coming of age.
Bare feet were swift.  Bandaged knees and hands unclean,
would slam old screen doors, to seek lemonade.
A ghost, they feared, in the raw sided house,
watched close. A tree in his yard, hid treasures he stashed.
The three Musketeers, upon discovering, shout! 
Armed by bravado, they are ready to dash.
Putting yourself into another man's shoes,
is a lesson, soon learned by Scout and Jem. 
They've faced their fear, and will make a friend.  "Boo",
the 'phantom', a new best friend left trinkets and gems.
Kindness learned, role model intact, was Atticus Finch.
A measure of integrity, inch by inch.
#4
A measure of integrity, inch by inch,
advocate for those who won't stand a chance.
Folks down on their luck, where dollars won't stretch
in a depression full blown. Money is scant.
Fighting for the underdog, who have no paycheck.
What's right is right. What's wrong, is wrong.
Someone must stand at the end of the day,
where flies fill a courtroom and tempers grow stronger.
Regardless of skin, be it  black, be it white
Unfit, by standards of  talcum shaved chins,
if injustice is war, he'll give his lot.
The falsely accused, he'll defend, to the end
Those who wallow in mud, eventually sling lies
when honor goes to hell, and folks sit idle
#5
When honor goes to hell, and folks sit idle,
false accusations can simmer,  slowly inciting
bigoted people, into mobs, spewing cries
of hate.  Screaming "rape" into the night.
Ignorance and prejudice, are all of one stuff
with corn-likker sauce and gravy mentality,
amphibian worms, as if from a trough,
gorging on mania. They covet brutality.
Led by Bob Ewell, with arrogance oozing.
Clan- fed, tantrums squirming out of control.
Small minded men, choosing squalor, alluding 
the truth.  Some would sell their mother's soul.
They have lied on the stand, where justice treaded thin.
Where white man's word, over a black, always wins.
#6
Where a white man's word, over black, always wins,
was a rule of the thumb, during those years...
The innocent man, Tom, shackled, condemned,
taken away and waits to die, and endure
With Indian summer, waxing and waning,
Atticus chooses the simplest words.
His children need, wisdom, and calm understanding,
in trying to explain, that most men are good.
He tells them, gently, how someone so crude,
even Bob Ewell, no matter how evil
perhaps in his life, was misunderstood.
The hellish of summers begins to unravel.
But another ill wind, would brew up a storm,
to bring more than a flurry, into their home.
#7
To bring more than a flurry into their home,
burnt embers of color, drift down, red and yellow. 
Carved  pumpkins, and a grieving autumn, looms
in the night. Roaches encroach, deep in the shadows
As Scout rushes homeward, behind her on the trail,
a whiskey-breath nightmare, with evil intentions
Then, someone appears!  Halts this devil,...,Ewell
is not immortal! .....as we come to conclusion.
A guardian presence,  waiting to rally
has kept a vigil, guarding children who run,
swiftly through thickets.  Lonely Boo Radley,
appeared like an angel,  a bird seeking the sun

So pure of heart, and a thing so rare
It is a sin to kill a mockingbird

__________________________
Re-submitted for Skat's Premiere Contest: #4

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

I Don't Care What You Think

I no longer care
What you think
Yes, I don’t
I say what I want
I write what I feel
I dream my dream
My moments are mine
My words are mine
I won’t fit in your box
I won’t fit your understanding
Of whom I must be
I am, simply me

Don’t tell me what to do
Don’t tell me what to think
Especially, don’t tell me how to behave
And if you tell me what to write
I’ll just walk away

I’m tired of trying to please the world
I’m tired of trying to live a role
Pasted on smile
Hide the pain
Hide the passion
Hide the wild
Act like a child
Meek and mild

No…I don’t care anymore
You take me as I am
Or you don’t take me at all
Because…
At the end of the day
There is someone with whom I sleep
Someone whose soul I keep
Someone whose love I need
Someone whose heart I feed
And that SOMEONE
Is me

Eileen

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

Quiet Time With God

QUIET TIME WITH GOD

In the quiet time of the evening at the end of the day
I hold communion with God while I kneel down to pray
He listens intently with kind, loving care
As I come humbly before His Throne in prayer

He knows all my needs before I even speak
And I marvel at how He can be so unique
As to take time to listen to my every word
And leave me with the assurance that I know He has heard

I recall how in darkness I wandered about
My life filled with bitterness, anger and doubt
But then I made Jesus the Lord of my life
When I learned through His death, He bore all my strife

So now in the evening when I am alone
I take all my burdens to His Holy Throne
And there as I pray, I'm filled with His Grace
I'm thankful that one day, I'll look on His face

He'll stretch forth His arms and welcome me home
To live in His Glory, never more to roam
So, you see, I am thankful to know I have trod
The road that leads me to a quiet time with God

	Curtis Moorman
	June 2002

This poem was written in the hope that all who read it will think it important to start each day with God.  A quiet time, upon rising, is a good way to begin the day -- just you and God communing together will make your day go better.

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

For the Love of Lippy

For the love of Lippy I've done it all...
And I would do it all again
For my heart, for my joy, for my friend
Oh what a world you got me into!
Some days so long and hard, I thought I'd never make it through
Except for knowing that at the end of the day, I could spend some time with you
We weathered the disasters and wrong choices... mostly mine
But we've reveled in our successes, in our friendship and in our time
So many places, so many changes, what a life we've shared
You've done what I've asked, you've mastered your tasks
And for you I will always be there... as you have been there for me
When my mind is blood red and my heart is stone gray
You stand before me pure white
And your mane dries my tears and your coat soaks in my sorrows
And your eyes always reveal "The Light"
Given to each other by one greater than us who knew what we both would need
Never a truer companionship than with you my faithful steed!
From long lazy rides in lush green fields on warm bright summer days
To tranquil wooded trails and dusty old roads, you've carried me all the way
You saved my heart, you saved my mind, you saved me from it all
And I owe you my life, I owe you the world for answering my call
For you I do it all...
Always in my heart I know you'll be, no matter what time brings
For it cannot separate two spirits joined
Or the memories that make their hearts sing
Together we answered the call
For you my wonderful friend... I did it all

-Alias Pluto Lela
Lipizzan registry #XL007
2-12-81 to 2-9-13   -served as therapeutic riding horse

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

A Poem About Nothing but Love

A Poem About Nothing but Love
By: Tyner Twine

"I edited a few parts from my original poem.
As tribute to my first love's requiem.
Nevertheless, this simple soul song is the same,
 Written all for love and not for fame. 
A poem of love I wrote on hot summer day,
remembering the love that has, for so long, faded away."

Would someone  care to explain
Why people write poems in a way
That adorns with jewels something so plain
That expresses emotions beyond the insane
I lift my quill and dwelt on the thought,
And realized the reflections I made and forgot...

There I lift my pen
THEN PAUSED and reflected:

How should I begin to write,
About lads and gals with love at first sight?
Though I have tried as hard as I might,
To close my eyes from love's delight,
He won me over without a fight,
Now all I see is love's pure light.

I wondered... Now I shall write:

Have I become some kind of fool
Who let Love ruin my poems and rules?
Who let Nostalgia come and play
With distant Beloved's memories on a working day?


Have I been foolish every night,
To think his arms are holding me tight,
To wish that he'll come home to stay,
That he'll make love to me every night and day

I think these thoughts and was appalled,
How | felt too warm and oh, so galled
In thinking that these thoughts might stay,
and be my ruin at the end of the day.

Love, oh love, is a cruel thing for fools if I might say,
Though it is delightful it has a price to pay.
Fool, fool, fool! With love as her tool... I am.
Beguiled and ruined.

Oh ~ why can't they just write about trees?
Or how honey flows and comes from bees?
Why can't they just write about the Sky?
See the clouds and the mist and the birds that fly?

Why can't they just write about life?
How calves are born and how they die?
How flowers bloom with the light of the moon,
How the sun rose up and set too soon?

Oh, a foolish poet's heart of clay,
Be molded with the warmth of fate's faint sway!
For life changed drastically above,
As the fool that I am
Writes a poem about nothing but love.

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

taliban

T	hose beautiful little girls you tried to kill
A	 s they waited in their school van at the end of the day
L	ive another day to remind you, once again, you've failed!

I	n terrible suffering, yet they shine for the whole world to see
B	e it known, innocent blood cries for better tomorrows
A	nd like the dust beneath the feet of these little ones
N	ever will you rise to the heights for which you murder to attain!

~*~

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

A HUMBLE MAN - CHARLES WOOD

A humble man is what I am before you.
You see, I am not worthy to say…
“Sir, may I have your daughter’s hand,
But please yield to your wife’s pleas:
Calm down a while as I explain what’s deep in my heart.
Why deprive your daughter of a possible life of pure bliss..?
Because sir, understand that love’s triumph seldom fails.

You see sir, “a humble man standing before you is what I am.
The love and protection you have for your daughter I understand.
But you see “simple is what raised me,
A simple man, with simple needs.
A simple man who is able to love deeply and fairly.
Yes I have made my fair share of mistakes.
Might have scarred an angel or two, 
But who was ever born with a heart of gold..?

A humble man is what I am before you.
You see sir; the heart is simply out of our control.
How can one ignore a beautiful feeling?
A feeling that pulls hard at every fore of your soul.
How at some point we all wish we could roll over and forget its undying existence. 
But sir, who was ever given a constraint heart..?

Yes, a humble man is what I am.
You see, I work sir, to earn a living
You may as you have, call it slave work,
Unworthy to have your daughter as my own.
But you see, these hands are built,
Built to struggle and earn a better life,
No man was ever born fulfilled sir,
And no man ever chooses to be born poor.

A humble man is what I was brought up to be,
But you see sir; it hurts me to see your daughter turn her face away
Turn away, to hide soft tears, which ooze dejectedly from her pure eyes.
What crime have I committed not to be regarded worthy..?
Because you see sir, at the end of the day love’s triumph seldom fails.

 A humble man, with a heart that will strive, 
Simple ways that will overcome all tribulations, 
A heart that has been pulled from its place of sheer hopelessness
Hands that will slave for a better life and future for your daughter.
An upbringing that will sweep her off her feet every chance there is;
Is what I am sir.
So you see sir, please listen and understand that love’s triumph seldom fails
When two hearts are willing.

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

NA IN CONTEST - NEW LIMERICK COLLABORATION

My penchant for writing was showing
The comments I received were ‘glowing’
But at the end of the day
I get another N/A
My success in contests is slowing!

WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON ON 1st September 2016

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO PUT YOUR CONTRIBUTION IN A COMMENT OR SOUP MAIL IT TO ME



Winners winners everywhere but not a one for me
Sadness is a heavy burden over my N/A poetry
I'll blame all my losses
on the judging albatrosses
I think I'll toss them all into the depths of the sea

WRITTEN BY LIN LANE

The contest was posted as judged. 
To open that link, my mouse trudged. 
My write was not there! 
I knew, with despair, 
To NA trash bin it was nudged! 


WRITTEN BY SANDRA HAIGHT

Never say never again 
for time will soon erase that pain. 
Dry your tears ,don't be sad, 
who is to say what's good or bad. 
Someone else might love your refrain

WRITTEN BY BRIAN STRAND

I checked the list not once but twice
It wasn't there to my suffice
I sulk my head
Then cry in bed
That mean old judge she isn't nice

WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH

Wrote one that was such fun to read 
To a contest I posted full speed 
People thought it a hoot  ... 
It was given the boot 
Tell me what must I do to succeed!

WRITTEN BY SEREN ROBERTS

I entered a new contest today 
I didn't make the list, got N/A 
That has to be so wrong 
My praise was a mile long 
The judge was out of it on that day 

WRITTEN BY ALEXIS Y

There are contests you'll never win 
You'll lose before you even begin 
So don't waste your time 
With your best rhymes 
You'll just be tossed in the N/A bin! 

WRITTEN BY JOSEPH MAY


My words meant so much when first written
So glowing the praise they were get 'in
From the published results
I endured such insults
That my dream of a Pulitzer lay smitten

WRITTEN BY CHARLIE SMITH


I once wrote a poem that fit 
All the contest descriptions. And it 
Was praised with much grace 
I was hopeful to place, 
But completely forgot to submit!

WRITTEN BY AGNES KRAMPE

I put my N/As in a row
Was like a long queue to a show!	
Some resigned shrugging, 
Bit of sighing ‘n frowning, 
But such fun, so here again I go!

WRITTEN BY SAN WOO

For new contests, these poems I write, 
The others feel my writing is bright, 
But when the results come out, 
My name is Nowhere About, 
For the judge has found it Not Alright.

WRITTEN BY  JO DANIEL

My inspiration for words are on track
I pat myself on the back
What the hack, I cracked
Another N/A I’ve racked
No more entries for this maniac
 

WRITTEN BY EVE ROPER


As a poet wannabe, and new to this space 
enthusiastic by a 1-3 place, and grace, 
I feel bad for the true poets here, 
My apologies but kiss my rear, 
This is tongue and cheek, I’m here for the race!

Never knew what N/A did mean, 
As I’m pretty new to the scene, 
I'm back to support Jan, 
Now folks that’s a TRUE fan 
Better limericks I haven’t seen. 

WRITTEN BY MARK PAUL VAN DER MERWE

A funny poem I had written 
Fit I thought for a competition 
I'd celebrate with bacon - 
The sponsor was mistaken! 
A N/A has made me stay hidden 

WRITTEN BY TEDDY KIMATHI

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

Soul Consciousness

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Soul Consciousness
Sponsor: Catie Lindsey

I have a soul.
I share a spirit.
I am now whole.
May my heart hear it.

There is a constant inner connection between the spirit of our souls and our physical bodies. As we embrace our beliefs, values and actions all have a deep awareness into who we really are. Who we really are stems from our consciousness. We must be fruitful with our thoughts as they have a standing on our health, mind and body. As we age, we progress into a single living being starving for the emotion of true love. True love is not an action. Love is not buying jewelry or flowers for Valentine’s Day. Our physical bodies feed off others thoughts and desires as they wait for each other’s words of truth and our touch of relief of just being with that person. Being conscious keeps us aware of what is going on in our mind and strengths. If we live free from distractions and more for the beauty of our essence, we shall see the glory that awaits us after our life is over. We carry our essence with us into the realm beyond physicality and our spirits know that yes, at the end of the day God has given us the awareness into human interactions between the spirit and the body. For without the Creator, and His Mighty Soul, there would be no reason for praise. We praise in gratitude and joy. An unconscious mind feels no true joy. True joy is found in the depth of our spirited, embraced, accentuated truth. An unconscious mind is not in total control of life’s circumstances, for us who are aware of the decisions and consequences, we are truly set free and are on the path to God’s righteousness.

Beliefs in realities come within our true self,
understanding of the spirited body reveals our vitality,
there’s a connection between mind, soul and health,
the core of our being will embrace this simple reality.

Where we find depth in conscious awareness,
we find the heart of the Creator’s deserved praise,
inside our credibility develops a feeling of fairness,
we shall carry throughout all our warmhearted days.

After life is over and we have completed our mission,
we will meet the One who has given us worthy existence,
we need to embrace our actions and decisions,
carry on in our afterlife without definite resistance.

My verse is in response to these questions:

1. "Why is it necessary that Soul consciousness be achieved while in the physical body? Is this the purpose of our souls being encased in a physical body?"

2. "When all is said and done, why is God still God at the end of the day, Creator of Heaven and Earth, creator of all therein, including man (and his Soul) worthy of all praise?"

Date Written: May 25, 2016

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

Care of Heaven

Hello dear friend – so – what’s new?
Tell me - How have you been?
There’s so much I want to share with you
But I hardly know where to begin

The news from here’s both good and bad
But life can be like that, I suppose
Most things are going well, though we’re all still sad
When we’ll be through missing you - no one knows

Are you an Angel looking down on me?
Or have you become part of eternity?

This letter will travel very far
By air-mail – on the wings of a dove
She’ll turn left at the Northern Star
Watch for her flying high above
With an envelope addressed “Care of Heaven”
I’ve sent it to you, with my love 

Tell me - do you slumber, do you still dream?
Can you float on clouds all day long?
Have they got more than 31 flavors of ice cream?
Does a harp now accompany you in song?

Have you ever seen the face of God?
Are the streets truly paved with gold?
Do you spend your summers in Cape Cod
Head for Tahiti when the weather turns cold?

I know it’s silly to go on this way 
But I wish you were with me today

This letter will travel very far
By air-mail – on the wings of a dove
She’ll turn left at the Northern Star
Watch for her flying high above
With an envelope addressed “Care of Heaven”
I’ve sent it to you, with my love 

Sometimes, at the end of the day
I think I hear you softly say:
“I’m still here - I haven’t gone away”
Is that my heart playing tricks on me?

Remember that park  - the one with the pine trees?
It’s as beautiful as it was back then
Whenever I visit I have sweet memories 
And pray that we’ll see each other again 

And so, dear friend, you’ll always be missed
I seal this envelope with a kiss 

This letter has traveled very far
By air-mail – on the wings of a dove
I’ll think of you always, wherever you are
And picture you somewhere high above
Happy to be in the Care of Heaven
Enfolded in infinite love

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

Color of Sun

You'll find a piece in the puzzle, that is part of the past
under billowy white clouds, and the sizzling sun
in a wood sided home. where the trees are in bloom
where there's room for a childhood, that has only begun

There is a piece of the puzzle, outside in the yard 
while wheels of a tractor come alive in the fields
There's a five year old girl skating sidewalks, with cracks
rollers, beneath her, singing "clickity clack" 
while a rustle of whirlwinds is fast on her heels
to rife with the ruffles she wears on her back

Faces she knows will be leaning on fences
Lifting up smiles, and knowing her name  
Where the same furrowed brows, and most without shame 
work for the gain, of a few measly dollars
And mothers will holler..."Come home! Time for supper!"
As the sky has turned copper, at the end of the day

There is a piece of her, dreaming out under the elms,  
where a heart might be broken, and the stars cast a spell
What is home harbors there, where her heart wants to dwell
In a room with a puzzle, spread out for her eyes
To sort out, and covet, and search for the sky

Where there's room for a childhood that has only begun
And a piece in the puzzle the color of sun

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

Peas In A Pod

They are two peas in a pod....this pair having fun
I can't help but smile, as I sit on the steps
by the old front porch, watching them romp
on the cool green grass, in the warm winter sun

This sunny little boy, with the gold in his hair
And his funny best friend, wagging a tail here and there 
Their spirits are one, it is hard to divide them,
And their souls seem half child, half canine, combining...
Running the length of the yard as they play,
Jumping the jumps as if one and the same
Dancing the dance as they wear out their game....

Shaking my head, I must ponder the bond
It's no wonder instead ...., as they're both gifts from God

Squeals of child laughter,  as loud as he can
A wag of a tail, like a circular fan...
If the child could wag and his dog could holler
They would gladly trade places, I'll bet you a dollar

Two of a kind, with spirits to spare
That can cause one to laugh or pull out your hair !

From my perch by the porch, I'm watching them play
Love is so simple, at the end of the day
Filled by these moments, these small gifts from God
Love is so simple, as two peas in a pod
Here is a sample, just watch it unwind...
Just as God made them...they are two of a kind........




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Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

Black Sky


Black - DARKNESS in the night sky above tinged with PURPLE hues,
Black - NIGHTINGALE singing in the swirling shadows of a GOLD moon;
Black - MELANCHOLY scents that drift with the swirling GRAY clouds,
Black - TASTE of the lingering cool LAVENDER breeze of day;
Black - VELVET inky night sky like RED silk caressing,
my skin.

(Darkness, purple, nightingale, gold, melancholy, gray, taste, lavender, velvet, red)

___________________


Darkness and purple swirls entwined and entangled in the night sky,
   And nightingale quietly stirs and under a gold moon begins her song;
     The melancholy sound floating amongst the gray walls of homes,
       Oh the taste of dawn touched with the azure lavender of the sky;
          And the velvet of night creeps away until the red sun will dip again,
                                                                                  at the end of the day.

________________________
October 13, 2015


Verse

For the contest, Colour, sponsor, Tammy Reams

Third Place

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

The Color of Love

How to describe the color of love?  Might you frown in surprise if I spoke of brown?  Dull, pockmarked, ocherous brown. 
A tarmac of grain, stained the color of earth, that never saw rain.  
One humble old table, from an oak that would fall.  Who could have known the 
moments recalled?

Just a scarred weathered plank, with a warp in the middle. Blight she would hide with a bright checkered cloth.  Those who would sit, night after night, greeting with eyes, meeting with ears,... filling the gaps with laughter and tears 

Decades were spent, over string beans, and potatoes, bridging the gap of a mid-day mishap, a chat after school, or a new family rule.
Resurrecting a family, at the end of the day, while chomping away on unidentifiable casseroles, that filled the belly, as well as the soul.
Consuming wisdom and  noodles, in the comfort of home. 

Who would have noticed this shabby antique, wearing wax from Crayolas,  white coffee cup rings. Ink spots, and dings. And three winking holes made by father's misdeed! 
(His picture-frame project,  misjudging the nails! Three slender digits pierced in without fail!  Hammered tight, to the top. While mother's shot through the roof! 

Who could have ever guessed that a well-worn, weathered old piece of grainy brown oak could be the glorious color of love?


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Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

Loving you

You are such a strong man, and I have such a delicate soul.  I think we came together so
that we may compliment each other in this otherwise over-whelming world.

Our worlds are so different and yet at the end of the day we meet in the same place, with
the same love and smiles we gave one another earlier in the day.

Questions, yes there are many always on my mind, answers well they come and go but the
important thing is that when I look into your eyes all my answers are there waiting deep
within.

Loving you is so much easier than anything else I have ever experienced.  When my life
seems to over take me I know I have a haven in your arms and a place in your heart where I
can go and rest my soul for a moment. 

This man, this incredible person that is my lover, my friend and the one person in all the
world that understands me, how lucky I am to share a little bit of time with him during my
life.

The most important thing that I carry with me throughout my day and night is the feeling
within me knowing that he is there for me.  So strong and yet so gentle, there is no love
in all existence that compares to this feeling.

I loved you then, I love you now, and I will love you forever.

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

AT THE BUS DEPOT

AT   THE   BUS   DEPOT

Faces and suitcases with little rumbling wheels.
The seat is hard and littered with yesterday’s paper.
How can these moving actors know how it feels 
To be old and no longer a ticketed escaper?
Faces fade past - abandoned at the end of the day,
And suitcases  are piled in a corner out of the way,
With little ceremony  thrown in the baggage space over the round 
Rumbling wheels of each escaping  Greyhound.
The seat next to every dark window is filled; and it
Is hard  to wave a cheery farewell to a stage unlit,
And littered with unfinished details.
With a regretful breath  I recall
Yesterday’s family get-togethers, kids’ parties and noise:
Paper roses, children’s games, plastic toys.
How can these  faces  care about fault or blame?
Moving   to every other city you can name,
Actors  waving  through  windows,  waving  and  no one seems to
Know how  to live alone.  It’s hard, it’s empty,
It feels like a dream gone bad, the black blues,
To be part of yesterday’s theatre reviews,
Old , unneeded, socially undesirable, unwaveable,
And  no longer  economically viable, without 
A ticketed  reason to exist here in the depot.
Escaper no more.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Written by Sydney Peck
Entered in Debbie  Guzzi’s  Contest   “Et Cetera”

Details | At The End Of The Day Poem |

Opposites

We don’t have much in common
We don’t think the same
I prefer the sunshine
And you like the rain
I’d rather read a book
While you watch TV
But in the bedroom
We have Chemistry

You are conservative
I’m a liberal
I am always on the move
You keep standing still
You have few close friends
I like everyone I meet
But we dance so well
When we’re between the sheets

I like my food spicy
You prefer it mild
Your manner is mature
I act like a child
You watch your money closely
I am frivolous
But we meld into one
When I touch you like this

Opposites attract, or so they say
You and I are as different as night and day
But when we get alone and we start to play
I know I wouldn’t want you any other way

I like getting lost
While you need a map
I am restless all day
And you take a nap
I like to laugh at my movies
You’d rather shed a tear
But at the end of the day
We must have our bodies near

So watch your TV
I’ll go read a book
I’ll order take out
And you can cook
Go out with your friends
I’ll go make some new ones
But when the sun goes down
We’ll get together for some fun