Best Blanket(A) Poems
She’s just an old memory of a younger man’s dreams
An image of love hard to find
I can still see her eyes, taste the joy of her lips
In the deep recesses of my mind
Hair that was flowing, a smile that was glowing
An angel with earthly charms
Felt her heart beat in the tropical heat
Got lost in her loving arms
Sometimes I wonder if it was only a dream
An old sea story that I told
But I remember those eyes like a radiant beam
A treasure greater than gold
I wonder now if she waited on shore
With the fire in her heart still burning
And I wonder if there were tears in her eyes
Realizing I would not be returning
She’s just an old memory that haunts me today
A storybook love affair
A blanket, a beach and two bodies entangled
On a tropical island somewhere.
Security Blanket
No chance of rain tonight,
No bogeyman, when I turn off the lights.
A phrase I found and adore with the warmth of your security.
You are the reason I attain true maturity.
I love when you lay down next to me,
Like the high tide of the sea,
You move all the warm emotions inside.
My arms are the comfort you use to seek and hide.
Your nestle holds a true rhythm that hums its own song~
Nothing comes close to breaking this precious bond~
A sweet cradle-song only I hear,
You play my grin, without the strings of a puppeteer.
My heartbeat needs its fix and drug,
Your sweet, charming smiles and hug,
Is all I need to succeed,
You are, my only creed!
A kiss, I give on your forehead,
Into a poet’s world where your blanket a dulcet lullaby,
my arms are your bed.
“Goodnight Sweet Child, Sweet Child of Mine!”
By; pd
In the outskirts, where whispers weave through the wind,
there stands a farmhouse, its timbers groaning with secrets,
a silhouette etched against the horizon’s fading light.
Once, it was alive, pulsing with the beat of day-to-day,
but now, it’s shrouded in a cloak of solitude,
walls lined with the echoes of laughter long gone,
rooms filled with the heavy air of stories untold.
The woman who lived there, a mystery, a shadow,
wandered its halls like a ghost, her presence barely felt
but in the gentle ivory caress of piano keys
that floated through the night, a sorrowful symphony
played to an audience of moon and stars.
Folks in town, they gossiped, cruel jests hidden behind closed doors,
labeling her a recluse, a witch, a specter of the past,
never understanding the weight of loneliness she carried,
a burden that bent her shoulders and dulled her eyes.
She found peace in her music, notes rising and falling,
like the breaths she drew, deep and resonant,
a language only she and the night could comprehend.
The farmhouse, with its peeling paint and creaking floors,
stood as a testament to her existence,
its decay mirroring the abandonment she felt,
doors no longer opening to welcome guests,
windows looking out with a yearning for the world.
Inside, the piano waited, its keys now silent,
dust gathering like a blanket, a comfort in the stillness,
each particle a memory, a moment frozen in time.
And so, the house remains, a relic of loneliness,
a monument to the misunderstood,
its story floating with the wind, carried through the fields,
a melody played on the strings of time,
eternal, echoing, alone.
The promiscuous length of daylight
in the month of June,
spawned from a sunrise that
allocated a childish franchise.
The moorland breeze; that, to
rely upon when indulgence in dewy
pastures, leaves one reminiscencing
in how once the silvery moon shone.
Gildersber wrapped in winters
relentless white blanket, a pledge of
sledge irons to polish in youthful
exuberance, before life to
cherish in tracks of sheer delight,
when profound in greyness
the sky gave one a reason
for happiness.
This simple memory of one’s
sentimentality, somewhat indistinct
yet a zest of devotion in life
across the deep ocean.
Although elsewhere in this a
time warp of evanescent
I only have to dream
to be with you again!
© Harry J Horsman 2008
Singular snowflakes spread-out
blanket a dreary barren berm
that overlooks the dormant meadow
bringing a brightness to fields of grey.
Smiles overcome me as I watch
the proud red-breasted robin
pick at pieces of weathered brush
choosing just the right one
to comfort her nesting baby.
Whistles echo out of the rustic kitchen
where a steamed up copper kettle sings
waiting patiently to pour into perfect tea.
The first sip commands my attention and
wraps tightly around me, leaving a feeling
like your precious smile on a cloudy day
Quietly I sit absorbing the peaceful morning
like the baby robin in anticipation your return
I am alone but never lonely in the night.
Dusk beckons from the garden. Oh, night, sweet night of mine!
My bruises fade into the ebony sky, camouflaged in twilight...
Hideous scars are obtrusive in daylight.
I shun the blinding sun. I despise the white, hot spotlight.
Under clear azure skies, where can I hide? Night shelters from all
I am and all I can never be. Yes, you understand me...
The darkness is a quilt sewn by God's own hands.
My security blanket, a comfort falling from grace.
Jasmine explodes as I stroll through the misty air of night.
I walk in solitude and dine on the celestial confections
in the delight of wakening blooms. I dance
through their showering reflections. I am queen of the imperial sky!
I reach for the glass slipper drifting nigh. Yes, you know me...
Velvet robes cascade over my bare skin like mountain streams.
Gentle hands stroke the nape of my neck, the feeling familiar
yet thrilling. I am alive and reborn in starlight!
Moonshadows play peek-a-boo like mischievous children.
My playmates, do not abandon me. Your laughter is my serenity.
Crickets serenade from swaying grasses. I am uninhibited under their spell.
The winds drape me in their tender silence, never loosening their grasp
in my dreams of contentment. Yes, you feel me...
I am parched...Oh night, you quench my thirst with your succulent nectar!
On the cusp of midnight, the ripening fruit clings to the vine.
I taste the exotic fruit, a glorious surprise!
I run wild from daybreak, my desire cannot be tamed.
My thoughts cannot be coerced or contained.
I am free under the twinkling, watchful eyes of the sky. Yes, you see me...
The night bursts forth invading my soul as I bathe,
drenched in blossoming jasmine. If I am dreaming, never wake me from
my starry night to plummet to a waiting reality,
a reality I may never know, never understand.
It seemed to Hank it was jes' a couple of hours ago since he'd hit the hay.
Now the risin' sun jes' peekin' over the hills heralded another day.
His old hound dog, Spooks, tugged at his blanket a-wantin' to play,
And his faithful hoss, Ol' Dan, greeted him with a raucous neigh.
He pulled on his boots, Stetson hat and bandana, his usual attire,
And stirred last nights camp fire embers to bring alive the fire.
He ate his usual grub of beans, biscuits, coffee and bacon,
And suddenly realized that is was Sunday, if'n he warn't mistaken!
"Wahl" he mused, "I don't reckon the boss'll mind if'n I tarry here a spell.
I'd jes' like to chat with the Lord this mornin' and tell Him all is well."
Hank sat on a log sippin' his joe from a tin cup a-gazin' across the vale,
Thinkin', "I don't need no fancy church to worship. They's confinin' as a jail!"
"Lord, you know I ain't gittin' rich cowboyin' and that's fer damn sure!
Er, 'scuse me Lord fer cussin'. I'm tryin' to make my sinful tongue more pure."
"I don't need no earthly possessions when all about me is Yer great Creation.
These here mountains, rivers and cowboyin' that I love is my compensation."
"I'm a-thankin' Ye fer them eagles soarin' on the wind and fer Yer eternal love,
And fer the pristine Colorady sky, the moon and stars shinin' from high above."
"And finally Lord, when this old cowpoke comes to the end of the trail,
I'd be obliged if'n I could dwell in Yer Corral when I cross that mysterious veil."
"Thank Ye Lord fer lendin' me Yer ears and I promise to keep my cussin' at bay."
"Wahl boys, we'd better skedaddle and git to herdin' them steers to earn our pay."
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
On Wednesday nights there is action in Midtown...
A unique opportunity to serve the Lord has been found.
About a minute past dark the homeless can be seen...
They are looking for food and a good meal is their dream.
A bowl of spaghetti tastes like a banquet meal...
And to some, a hot roll is even a big deal.
The Spaghetti Man and His friends are making their rounds...
And hungry people being fed makes joyful sounds.
A blanket, a pair of socks or even a trash bag...
A clean towel is much better than an old dirty rag.
The Spaghetti Man and his friends are on the streets to serve...
Showing love and compassion without any reserve.
Jesus is with them in Midtown on a dark Wednesday night...
He is part of the team and He is making things right.
This Homeless Chef is touching a life or two...
And he covets the prayers from me and you.
TK<
The warmth
of a summer dream
shines tenderly,
as
red petals of love
blanket a soul;
thawing
the bitter chill
about
her heart
and
revives this spirit
with
passion and love
before
she awakens.
©Ana Espinola Collins
Rain fell inexorably down,
filling every ginnel and spit
'til all was a blanket, a crown,
and naught projected up from it.
Beneath were clock towers and tall
surfaces, drifting with foam,
buildings once rife with activity
now silent, no longer a home
'cept for fishes and floating debris,
hives not humming with energy,
still as a grave.
Love is like no other feeling in the world.
Finding someone whom you can share your life with,
trust and be happy with,
is one of the most beautiful feelings in the world.
You just have to know..
once the first love leaves, you'll never forget them.
So don't ever take a single smile, kiss, laugh, or hug for granted.
You'll always remember how it feels to have your heart broken.
It's hell.
Everyone is trying to help,
but no one really does.
You'll get sick of hearing empty words,
'don't worry about it' or
'you'll be fine'
because, you're not.
Sure, in time, things will get better,
but for that moment in time, it hurts like hell.
All you'll want to do is sit at home,
with a warm blanket, a love song, and a notebook.
Writing things about the good days.
You'll feel..
Strong, in a weak kind of way.
Happy, in a sad kind of way.
Content, in an angry kind of way.
Loved, in a hated kind of way.
I'm so angry right now.
I'm angry because love is all it's cracked up to be.
I never for one second thought his promises weren't true.
I clung to his every word like some pathetic little girl.
I'll never fully understand why this happened,
or why I acted the way I did.
All I know is;
Love makes us do crazy things.
It’s a cold coffee kind of month.
It’s a day when I stare down at a cold liquid in a clear plastic cup and think about that day so long ago when I met a girl near the window.
When we had a conversation while she drew shapes and smiles in the condensation on the window.
When I saw her again, occupying the last booth near the frosted glass.
When I saw her the third time with a blanket around her shoulders and a red beanie covering her short curls.
When I saw her for the unknown time,and this time invited me to share the warmth of the blanket that had quickly become a staple of our friendship.
When we were huddled together listening to Jack Stauber and Cavetown.
A friendship based off of a red blanket, a frosty cold window, and iced coffee.
When I saw her time and time again.
When she called me ????ts? ?af?
And I did my research and her nickname became ?e?µ????t???? f????
When she laughed at my sweet tooth and how much sugar I put into my iced coffee
When I became friends with the girl by the icy window.
When I became more than a friend.
It was a cold coffee kind of month.
But now it is spring.
I see strands of a red blanket in the booth near the window.
The beanie I had received as a gift, customized with ‘ always my ????ts? ?af?’ is chafing at my neck and is uncomfortably warm.
I look down at my coffee, no longer cold, no longer sweet.
And I look out of the window, no longer opaque with ice.
Though it is already spring, I wipe off some residual frost off and watch it melt on my arm.
I look at the window.
Frost melted and gone.
And with it, the girl near the frosted window.
she lays curled up in a blanket, a pillow for her head,
enjoying a full tummy and a lovely warm bed
sadly this wasn't the way a few days ago, no bed,
a gravestone was where she laid her head
laying besides her master, grief pouring out of her eyes
ten long years together ...then quite suddenly ...he dies
no one could tempt her away from the grave, cos in her mind
she was guarding her master, this faithful hound
a little girl saw the dog and without fear
talked quietly, whilst stroking her, the dog liked her near
"Mam can we take her home, she is so cold and sad",
"shall we go home first, have a word with Dad".
Dad was easily persuaded so back to the churchyard did go
where was the dog she wasn't in sight, little girl said " oh no"
a feeble woof greeted their call, had tried to follow them
was too weak and starving , legs wobbly and thin
hadn't noticed her by the gates, too busy talking it seems,
they wrapped her in a blanket, was the answer to her dreams
a lovely healthy dog was the conclusion by the vet
feed her small amounts but often, make a lovely pet.
so that's why Bess is lying here in a blanket cosy and warm
has a whole family to guard now, make sure no one will harm.
penned 30 April2016
so many dogs need a home or a few minutes of attention
have you a few minutes, go look and try to help at your local Dog's Home.
Why compare thee to a summer day?
What mean they with such a dull word?
Days of summer are usually gray
And hazy and overcast and blurred.
Do they mean to say you’re a kill joy,
A wet blanket, a downer, a pout…
That your feminine manners annoy,
Is that what this figure’s about?
They refer to August as “dog days.”
Are they hinting that you are like that?
And they talk about heat stroke and craze,
Do they mean you’re a nutty ol’ bat?
All of these things you clearly are not.
What they mean to say is, Wow! You are hot!
The sweet taste of your morning kiss...
For under the blanket a mystery of bliss...
Our toes tingle to what's hidden beneath....
As our hearts sing while we cling to the sheets....