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Large Hands

At six foot four, and an eighth of a ton, A gentle giant of a man, he was; Father to three, and himself a fine son, Devoted husband to Jean, without pause. Phone man, painter, in ocean liners he cruised, Accompanied by family and friends; Sweet song in his heart, but never the blues, Wisdom and patience, in life his clear lens. He loved a recipe, and showing concern, With actions, like always asking about you; His life well balanced, his legacy earned, Sharing his Jesus—the Gospel's Good News! Taking time for grandkids, he humbly shared, Both time and his money, an open book; Bouncing upon knees, for great grands he cared, Teaching scriptures, over breakfast he’d cooked. Eighty-two years was his Lord’s master plan, Fifty-eight to a soulmate, solemnly wed; What mattered most, to this giver of men, Was baking and breaking, life’s finest bread. A Soldier whose honor, served us all well, Humbly he loved, these United States; His strong Christian faith, now clear as a bell, His given name, you ask? Twas—Walter Yates! (Rest in Peace Dear Friend. We miss you, sir!)

Copyright © Michael Wegman | Year Posted 2015

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new year’s eve
a ghostly frost coats his chair
front porch so still
car horns downtown
turn back the clock

new year’s eve
no moon    no starry night
no dad to share
in a sudden breeze
a leaf floats down from somewhere

early new year’s eve
the last trolley car dings by
that long yellow row
if he’s aboard
he doesn’t get off

new year’s eve
late cold coming in
clear as a bell
he points
the big dipper

on new year’s eve
dad and brother made ice cream
mom put on her new coat
i got one too
the vanilla stain still there

Dave Austin

Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2015

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it is surprising
how fine black and white can be
one listens better

one notices more
each word clear as a bell
folks keep their clothes on

blood flow minimum
black and white blood not so gross
favorites are great –

clark, cary, spenser.
katherine, audry, ginger
to love without lust

as I get older,
caring not for violence,
i watch more and more 

Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2014

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The Christmas Gift

My friend had a Christmas gift
He wanted to give me;
He shushed it was a secret
And I couldn't see.

It's awful not knowing
What a present is:
It's like getting stuck
In a cryptogrammic quiz.

He laughed
When I begged for a hint,
With an evil snicker
At my hapless predicament.

But as I steamed,
I looked about:
A light snow was falling,
And it was so very peaceful out.

The year had its struggles,
We nearly lost the place,
But that sudden promotion
Put me at a more amiable pace.

Janell gave me an awful scare
When she found a lump on her breast;
We prayed pretty hard,
But she aced every test.

Sadie and Jeff
Gave a grandchild last spring:
The sweetest, dark-haired girl
That life could bring.

I felt a little misty
As I stood there,
But he hadn't told me about the gift
And it just wasn't fair!

I thought of the fancy paper,
And I saw my grandbaby stand;
I thought of the lacy ribbon,
And I felt my wife's hand.

Something was happening to me,
I couldn't tell,
But it dawned
As clear as a bell.

There were gifts
That I had gotten,
Not in boxes and paper,
How could I have forgotten?

Saving our home
Was a gift, indeed,
And my wife's health,
What more did I need?

The grandbaby, in my arms,
Made me feel alive;
You know, I heard angels
Right there in the drive.

I wanted a gift,
But what gifts I'd received;
"Merry Christmas," my friend grinned,
"Now do you believe?"

Copyright © Joel Bjorling | Year Posted 2014

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Desize Me

The world, his wife, or her partner, and the kids
Are mostly upsized, overweight, bloated or even worse obese.
Millions of scientists, doctors and nutrients can't figure out why
Too many theories, too many claims and counter claims, conflicting.
Finger of blame swings wildly around like roundabout in the park swinging in the wind
Fat, carbs, protein, meat, dairy, fast food, you named it has been blamed.
Diets galore, too many to mention, all tried in vain as more weight is gained.
The equation is simple: Calories eaten in food versus calories burnt in activity.
A Calorie excess means body stores fat, you get fat.
A Calorie deficit, more burnt than eaten, means body burns fat and mass, and you lose weight.
The sad fact is that modern Western food is far to rich.
It is processed and enhanced to be bloated with sugar, fat, protein and calories.
You and me get fat, even when we eat three 'normal' healthy meals a day.
The food is too rich, the portions too large, so we each too much, even without eating fast foods and junk.
Exercise helps, but what you put in your mouth matters most.
The evidence out there is clear as a bell.
The obesity epidemic started in the 1970's when the food processing revolution began.
Primitive communities that adopt Western foods get fatter and fatter.
The problem lies in the food we eat: We eat too much; and the food we eat is far too rich.
The solution: Only eat the better half of each meal, eliminate processed foods, and fast for longer each day.
Eat well, eat less, watch what you eat, enjoy the little you eat, enjoy fasting, and be more active.

Copyright © John Anderson | Year Posted 2017

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Dad's Gone

You tore a hole in my heart my dear old Dad
when you left and went away
The dreaded disease you bravely battled
refused to let you stay

The calls home now are not the same
your voice I cannot hear
However sometimes, I sense that you’re there
and standing very near

I picture your haircut, that timeless flattop
colored in wisdom’s grey
Your beautiful smile and those calloused old hands
gently pointing the way

I see your blue eyes so filled with love
and wonder when they turn my way
What do you see way down the road
and what are they trying to say?

Your words I hear as clear as a bell
though inaudible in my ear
I think of the things you would have said
when helping my path to steer

Dad, you’re gone yet you’re always right here
I carry you in my heart
Somewhere down the road we’ll join up again
when we never have to part

Copyright © david kettler | Year Posted 2015

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holy candle blues

“holy candle blues”

in the rust red sunset - angel brother bends his blown glass ear over the wall of eternity listening in on my sweet restless rathouse jam

she entered peeling story-caked walls riding a lightning broom swept me 

out to half dippermoon bridge 
we swung downtown where
waltzing heirs warmed six-figure derrieres above smorgasbord fires
I faked all the right questions into hell’s Paradise

panting at the emerald city ****** waiting beneath her olive skin gypsy thin cocktail feast
ignoring the runaway beast

and someone beamed—they make a great couple
as we sweat to god’s blistering last-chance desperate romance bugle call
my ragged sailor heart pirouetting out the hornpipe door over muddy cliffs 

on the way down a devil in white linen gown serving dark red obsession wine flaming flambé soft brown coconut limbs 
the fly doing backflips in a honey pot 

over the lava baked sea 
a million miles away 
the moaning rusted ship creaked like a red infection begging to be freed from the last ripples in a skin game port

You knew all along prophet of the beautiful tracks
That my ramble played in a forest of doom
I surrender dear monk in the sad samba night 

that wind pushed me mountains away
flushed me out of hiding in the prehistoric pubescent
road-burnt grotto
at the piano bar you played me like a thundering chord…till a

midnight candle grabbed the shades
and a fire came roaring down in flames

we crawled like god’s sweet snails to the clear-as-a bell day

glaring up to the dark blue smoke where a cherry red sunset angel rained wild woolen ashes down on love’s last twitch…applauding the singed curtain call
live! live! ... he cried from his bongo perch on heaven street 

hot orange coals fading in the chilled breeze
words we’ll never speak again you and I
Unless fate has too much time to deal strange train cards

this harp strung midnight reverie 
sad violins hijack innocent dreams and twist the arm of violet coated wishes  

In my hidden dark room 
holy candle blues…
whispers of sea wind blowing 

Copyright © michael amitin | Year Posted 2014

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I don't know why Cliches are Bad

Every poet worth their sault
Every teacher and professor declare you will prove to be as dense as a London fog
Using clichés
But I think clichés make it clear as the nose on your face
That there are things as beautiful as the day is long
And as far as the eye can see
As many to enjoy as there are chins in a Chinese phone book
So my advice to young writers,
From time to time abandon the ship USS Proper Expression
Be above board
Do an about face
Make clear as a bell
That a rose by any other name does still smell as sweet
That absence still makes the heart grow founder
Airing dirty laundry is a no no
And if you must have an ace up your writer's sleeve
Let it be a cliché!

Copyright © Americo Petrocelli | Year Posted 2016

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Whitney Elizabeth Houston: Gone Too Soon

A Tribute to a beautiful Lady with a beautiful soul...

A melodious voice was her forte
With perfect range she could sing anything
From nursery rhymes to R & B love songs
She rendered each one with perfect pitch

Her voice seemed to  sparkle; as clear as a bell
Thrilling audiences in church; filling concert halls
Nurtured by her Mother who sang Gospel tunes
Always her mentor at home and on world tours

Her gift was eagerly shared with young and old
How love for her expanded our globe
This journey was not always kind to her
She was taken to places she’d never been

And the  world was saddened by the change
Fans and family prayed and she survived the fall
She came back broken; we cried and loved her anyway
Whitney Elizabeth Houston, another genius at her craft… gone too soon!!!


Copyright © Annalise Brigham...a.k.a. Audrey Haick | Year Posted 2012

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Cold Case Part Two

The female Black Widow Spider, they all do the same
When they copulate with their mate, the next thing you know he is dead
And so goes the cycle, kind of like the game you play
The  Statues of Limitations, it has no time frame
But little lady, God has a price on your head
You will pay, come Judgment Day

Old Joe, was a proud Mexican man when he was alive
They said that he could fix anything, Helluva mechanic
After work, would always have a few beers with his friends
But you made it to where he could not survive
God, the way that he died was traumatic
They all remember, he had a lot of friends

They maybe be old and can't remember five minutes ago, yesterday is clear as a bell
Of all the good times they had with Old Joe, the tales they told me
They way that he died, left a bad taste in their mouth that will not go away
They get to talking, do they have a story to tell
Sooner or later you will have to plead guilty
I figure that old cocaine, will run out on you someday

Old Joe is in the grave, cause you put him there
But his spirit will come to visit you, when you are trying to sleep
You see sweetheart, God has a way of not leaving you alone
If I were a gambling man I bet you don't have a prayer
At night, I reckon you will be counting sheep
The thoughts of Old Joe's ghost will be chilling you to the bone

"Just thought I would drop by and leave a few recollections in your head"
"Not to worry you any, just something for you to think about"
"I know you keep telling everyone that you are not guilty"
"But we have to remember, that is not what all of his friends have said"
"When the jury come back, I don't think that there will be any doubt"
"Sooner or later, we all have to face reality"

Copyright © Danny Nunn | Year Posted 2010

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The definition of Kismet is “destiny or fate” This power is alive and well Examples are constantly paraded before us To me it's as clear as a bell A much greater power influences our decisions As we blindly follow our hearts We must be willing to adhere to it's guidance And be responsible for our part Kismet is instrumental in the choices we make Without conciously being aware It helps us through many difficult situations Moving forward with a confident air By trusting your inner voice, you won't go wrong You'll usually make the right choice Never pay attention to the many other temptations Listen only to your trusting inner voice The definition of Kismet is “destiny or fate” This power is alive and well © Jack Ellison 2015

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2015

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Blond hair & blue eyes, yes he remembered her well

Those pointy ears and tiny voice still was clear as a bell.


Her velvet shoes and ballroom gown were perfect for the dance

He knew the spot he'd take her was perfect for romance.


They danced and sang the night away with hopes of more to come

The meal they shared was exquisite and it made her hum.


The ring he had remembered for he picked it especially

For the lady that had caught his eye it would fit perfectly.


He hoped that she would be his bride, lovely for all to see

The mother of his children, a perfect wife she would be.


His nerves were wavering, his stomach in knots

Every where he looked all he saw was dots.


The words they tumbled over his tongue his mouth was cotton dry

The look that came across her face he new it was worth the try.


The tears that streaked her lovely face he knew were tears of joy

The words that came pouring out were yes, my lovely boy.


Copyright © Cheri Golden | Year Posted 2008

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I Pity the Poor Protester - A Song

I Pity the Poor Protester 
as he tries to make his case 
discredited at every turn 
by the ones who run this place 
now he’s got some big ideas 
with new tools in his hand 
and he still can’t put it down in words 
that they will understand 

To cut these iron chains 
Tear down the old machines 
Will take more than words 
Will take more than dreams 

I Pity the Poor Protester 
as he takes his virgin punch 
in the basement of his enemies 
while his friends are out to lunch 
and if his idealism turns to hatred and disgust 
he’ll be no stronger, and no longer 
someone you can trust 
but if he’s genuine 
to shake him from his cause 
will take more than fists 
will take more than laws 


I Pity the Poor Protester 
I really wish him well 
though his message may be muddled 
it rings clear as a bell 
for through his growing network 
if you read between the lines 
injustice comes in many forms 
and comes too many times 
he’s losing everything 
some have too much to lose 
I Pity the Poor Protester 
now whose side do you choose?

Copyright © Art Wright | Year Posted 2013

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Oh No not Trump

Oh No not Trump

He was an act appearing to be plastic
And always shiftless being so sarcastic
Also accusing as well as then abusing
Not much at all about him is amusing.

Who do you think candidate sounds like?
With a loud voice never needing a mike
Accept him as President and not prepared
Thought of this caused me to be scared.

One of the good old boys always being
Is odd ball like this really worth seeing?
Pile of it on us he is sure to dump
It is none other than Donald Trump.

Definitely will have to call him hard sell
Sound of his name is clear as a bell
Sound like loud swan who is a trumpeter
Has relatives who fought at Fort Sumter.

He and Ben Carson are a cross between 
something waiting to happen and something
that should never have happened in the 
first place.

James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet 

Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2015

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Quiet is the Kingdom of Death

	As the wind blows and whistel's in anger makeing an uproar quiet is the Kingdom of 
	As bombs go off and guns fire all around makeing people cry out quiet is the Kingdom of 
	As the fire trucks go by screaming and wailing. Quiet is the Kingdom of Death.
	When people are dieing screaming, or begging, or not saying a word. Death is there 
reasuring them silently that there is nothing to fear.
	But when is the Kingdom of Death filled with noise you ask?
	Death is there and say's softley in your ear "We are noisey when someone in Death 
comes back to life".
	As the denizens of Death sit silently in their kingdom they wonder "Why are we feared? 
We offer shelter from the chaos and we protect them in are
	kingdom." But then they here an answer in the quiet Kingdom of Death. They here it 
clear as a bell as they ferry a person over that person he sobed
	"NO! Please don't take me to your kingdom I'm afraid to die."
	As they here the person crying sense he can't be revived one denizen drift's to the 
person and ask's him quietley Why are you afraid to die?
	The person stops his crying and looks at the Pale ghostly figure and say's I'm afraid 
because I don't know were I am Heaven or Hell.
	The denizen is quiet for a strech of time and finall answers the person saying That he is 
Heaven for Hell is not quite it is loud and noisy and sad
	you are in Heaven which is quiet and filled with silent joy. So young one don't be afraid 
to be dead it is peacfull here.
	And as the person walk's away quiet is the kingdom of Death.
	As car's scream by office buildings and people yell quiet is the Kingdom of Death.
	As people cry in pain and fear quiet is the Kingdom of Death.
	As war's rage on both sides fight and then one win's quiet is the Kingdom of Death.
	In those war's even when one side think's it's won The kingdom of Death is real victor 
for they ferry the dead and thus cause the losses Death
	forever win's. But they stay quiet in the Kingdom of Death.
	Fore quite is the Kingdom of death.

Copyright © Andrew Hale | Year Posted 2010

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Ramblings of an Old Woman

Ramblings of an Old Woman

I’ve lost my hat, its completely gone
It’s on your head, you put it on
I’ve got one glove on my right hand
T’other’s in the fridge as right as rain
It’s stifling in here and your coat is on
I’m late for work and I need to run
No work today, it’s time for rest
Since twenty years, your job has ceased
Did you put the dinner on for Bert
I’ll get the iron to straighten his shirt
He passed away, don’t you recall
Please take care not to trip and fall
You’re my lovely little girl, dear Sarah
Your daughter’s not here, I’m just your carer
You’re just like her. She’s missed so much 
Try not to cry, and I’m very touched
My clothes are damp, they need to be changed
And your nightie’s on under all that garb
I’m even forgetting how to talk
As well as my ability to walk
I want to help and make life better
Your specs are in the dish for the butter
I’ll put the kettle on for a cuppa
And do something for your supper
Make sure to put water in the pot
I’ve broken so many when I’ve forgot
The smell of gas is no longer there
The controls are immobile fair and square
Your safety secure for the moment
But I won’t get better, you must know that
I remember before as clear as a bell
But life in the present is just a shell
I love to hear your tales of the past
A dialogue of stories unsurpassed
This living book for me to recall
A piece of history with which to enthrall

Copyright © Rose Johnson | Year Posted 2017

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A room filled with sadness

A room filled with sadness 

Standing alone in a room filled with sadness
Photograph smiles in a frame on the shelf
Ashtrays are filled with a death wish still breathing
Lighting another in spite of myself 

A hand full of pills and a glass of Jack Daniels
The tube shows a movie, Bogart and Bacall 
Through heavy eyes, I am still thinking of you
Only the floor there to meet as I fall

When on the door comes a knock unexpected
Shattering plans that I must put on hold
Closing one eye as I look through the peep hole
A shadowy figure is there in the cold

Twisting the lock and then turning the handle
Chilled is the blast that runs into my face
There I find death with his sickle untarnished
Needless to say my sad heart starts to race

“What are you doing, you can’t be that stupid
It’s not your time for this world to depart
Just for some girl who has left you here crying
Wanting to die for a damn broken heart”

I stopped and I thought as I heard this thing speaking
Then shoved my finger inside of its chest
“I’ll do as I please you know not what you’re saying
It’s my time to go and I think it is best”

“God what a loser, oh wait, I meant Satan
Fine, suit your self, we’ve a place you can lie
Swallow those pills but I’ll take that Jack Daniels
I will get thirsty while watching you die”

I thought of us and what I would be leaving
How much it hurt you had found someone new
Then of my heart that was shattered in pieces
The sound of your voice when you shouted, “we’re through”

That you are happy with some other poet
How every scar of my life has now bled
Why would I want to give you satisfaction
Knowing you’d smile when you heard I was dead

Then like a bolt or a light bulb exploding
Came a decision as clear as a bell
I’ll stick around in this room filled with sadness
It’s got to be worse than that place he calls hell

This is one of two poems I have written for John Hamilton’s Lost Love poetry contest, but haven’t decided which I will enter. I will post the other in a little while. : ) 

Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017

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night sky
    big dipper
        little dipper
            wet feet
                starry eyes

night sky
    clear as a bell
        shooting star

night sky
        big and orange
            zoom in    zoom away

night sky
    gadzillion stars
        midnight express

Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2012

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Softly Spoken Scream

I was once out walking
on the road of life one day.
Didn't know when I fell down
that, that was where I'd stay.
I didn't even know that I tripped.
I was tripping on something else.
I didn"t have any directions
but I sure didn't ask for help.
I wondered where I was going
at least a couple times I think.
I told the guy in the mirror once
and then left him with a wink.
I laughed it off so easily. 
I thought it was the life for me.
Sometimes someone would pull me aside
and try to make me see.
I thouight they were just jealous.
That they weren't having any fun. 
their lives were just so serious
and I was strolling in the sun. 
Then one day I woke up
and it was pouring rain.
I tried to think where I was
but remembering was a strain.
Getting lost in yesterday
with tomorrow still a dream.
Watching satan laughing
at my softly spoken scream.
I thought that I hit bottom.
But much to my suprise.
I looked and found a trap door
with a basement there inside.
I still didn't think it was my fault.
I blamed everything else instead.
The only way I was getting out
was either institutionalized or dead.
I prayed to God to help me.
To get out of my personel hell.
Then I heard my conscience
and it was clear as a bell.
That guy that was out walking
has now found someone to blame.
That guy that fell and didn't get up.
They're one and the same.

Copyright © Allan Granstrom | Year Posted 2010

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Sensibly Desensitized

I don't know why they say clear as a bell
When many're hidden behind walls 
or in steeples
While some who're consortin' n' courtin' hell
sportin' their shame as glory 
in their glass houses 
n' any chance they got takin' shots
at third world peoples
But when rudder is scrapin' the bottom
how could they fathom or even utter demoralized?
In this ticker tape parade they keep gloatin'
how they got it made when in fact they're-
Sensibly desensitized 

I don't know why they say plain as the nose
on yer face?
'Cause even if you're not desparowed 
with yer eyes winced n' narrowed
only see a blurred concave landscape
The fat rats got lean to keep up with the
stiff competition in the race
n' all chuckle glad's not me when another fall's
when life's got 'em by the short hairs
or what they like to believe their burly balls
so can't escape from any kinda scrape
Their GPS is locked in but'd be wise
sometimes to second guess unless
ya really groove on drivin' through
Death Valley at 124 degrees
'steada pullin' outa paper map
to get out a that hot mess-
oh there's one here in the rental car
glovebox honey I just now realized
Like when I was broken down in Mojave
n' some ol' timer desert rat thought it was funny
sayin' if you're Oriental n' lost in the desert-
you're disoriented-but if you're Occidental-
then you're disoccidented
n' at that time on the bar I was leaning
but now i think i catch the real meaning
of being- sensibly desensitized.
12-5-2016 Duncan R. M. Ferguson 

Copyright © Duncan R. M. Ferguson | Year Posted 2016

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Your rise to the top was as quick as a gazelle
I have to say it was a surprise to see how far you fell
But you got lost
Got hypnotized
You couldn’t break the spell
Swept out to sea
Dragged down by the undertow
You let your addiction swell
Played it smooth
Thought no one would be able to tell
But one day you looked in the mirror
What you saw looking back at you was as clear as a bell
The mirror doesn’t lie
You looked like hell
There are only a couple of endings to this story for you
Rehab, death or in a jail cell
The choice is yours 
I have said enough
All I can do now is wish you well

Copyright © james knox | Year Posted 2009

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Of Memories and Loneliness

I miss you so much it brings a tear
Tangible emptiness you’re not here
Days are long nights are dreary
Not tired but my heart is weary
Arthritic pain a constant companion
Feeling lost in a no way out canyon

Disturbing thoughts my mind assail
Have I really done enough or did I fail
Suffering silently not saying much
Trusting your maker always in touch
Sometimes I just long to see your face
Like Paul of old you’ve run your race

If you came back what will you see
A world filled with pain and endless agony
Families driven apart by lust and greed
Noble principles a sadly forgotten creed
I miss you and the feelings are so emotive
So difficult just penning this narrative

Reminiscing of how things used to be
How little we knew of our family tree
I recall us not always seeing eye to eye
You so honest just couldn’t tell a lie
Your closing argument would always be
Mr van Nelson do you really love me

Have to smile when I soliloquize
Happens often as questions arise
What if you could come back today
Clear as a bell I can hear you say
I can stay here but only for a while 
Must go back then you’d wave and smile
What a thought having you back with no pain
But then you’ll have to leave and we’d cry again

Copyright © Anthony vanNelson | Year Posted 2017

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Clear as a bell
Silence in the morning
Flowers adorn

The dew gently touches
The flowers
In the time of night
God replenishes the Earth
And brings the light

From above
Sit down by God's love
As we gently read the Bible

And God's will
In our lives he shows
Makes a happier life
Wherever we go

Copyright @ 2010 - Betty L. Hobbs

Copyright © Betty Hobbs | Year Posted 2010

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Anna is a charming Mom,
I met her at my gym.
A madam of sorts, quiet and calm,
Level headed, articulate, fit & trim.

Between sets we talk, of life’s little sagas,
Comparing civic cares and concerns.
Verbal jousts before noon, while avoiding drama,
Like racecar drivers, who bump in a turn.

We kayak, and camp, with kids and the spouse,
And refer to such things as time off.
On her radar and mine, busy lives we espouse,
Repaper the kitchen, life gulped from a trough.

Our friendship’s base tenet, is clear as a bell,
BFF’s with great wow, lots of passion, and flair.
Talk of family—a Top Spot on which we oft dwell,
No stats, just sheer love, great hopes and much prayer.

May 10th,, 2018

Copyright © Michael Wegman | Year Posted 2018

Details | Clear As A Bell Poem | Create an image from this poem.

as i fall

listen to me as i fall
i cannot hear a thing at all
though the rhythms and melodies are as clear as a bell
through prayer, belief, and faith, God indeed does me well

take a look at me as i fall
i cannot see a thing at all
though colors and beauty are envisioned oh so well
through prayer, belief, and faith, God indeed does me well

get a whiff of me as i fall
i cannot smell a thing at all
though fresh and effervescent scents lure me out of my self-made shell
through prayer, belief, and faith, God indeed does me well

Copyright © Marty King | Year Posted 2015