Best Each Month Poems
How About This for Veterans Day
A monthly Monday morning military meeting
Would be great for them as way of greeting
Talking about things happening another day
Of past successes and prices they had to pay.
Enlisted Term of Service (ETS) had expired
Veterans honorably left service or retired
And here a home they all have selected
Exist in society again and highly respected.
Should show them what they mean to us
Give them this one day a month to discuss
And talk about old times gone by and past
That in their many minds will last and last.
May have survived or died across an ocean
Have priest do a one day a month devotion
Who is of sound mine, body and good health
Even retired veteran with knowledge a wealth.
A 0700 meeting on 3d Monday of each month
would be a great way to show how much we
appreciate them like all. I am preparing this poem
out of respect for those to be recognized on this
great Veterans Recognition Day. My dad was killed
in an accident on the Aircraft Carrier Intrepid CNA-11
now in New York Harbor. This makes me a War
Orphan and I am also a retired veteran myself.
James Thomas Horn
Retire Veteran and Poet
RiverSea Plantation
Bolivia, NC
January brash and bold,
Brings the worst of winter's cold.
February's stay is brief,
Green sprouts showing some relief.
March may come in like a lamb
And soon become ferocious ram.
Changeling April flirts a bit
And well may have a stormy fit.
We revel in the days of May
And beg her to extend her stay.
We could not bear she leave so soon
Did she not bequeath us, lovely June.
When perfection comes, it comes in June
While July plays a hotter tune.
August can be warmer still.
September brings a welcome chill.
October can go either way
With cooler night and warmer day.
November comes with wind and rain
Predicting winter's wrath again.
December brings the holidays
Silver bells and Christmas plays.
These happy times help us forget,
About December's snow, a bit.
Accept each month the best you can.
God needs them for His yearly plan.
By: Joyce
I can not give account of ways that I love you
For there’s no conscious thought to clothe the undefined
The boundless universe has left me not a clue
And so the vastness of my love stays unconfined
It is beyond the reaches of your searching mind
A feeling and belief that you are all I need
The end of this conviction you will never find
And fibers of my life on wonders of it feed
And so you rest in comfort and you are content
Though not a seasoned word I’ve uttered or expressed
The knowledge of my love my eyes to you have sent
You feel it’s sovereign power on body I’ve caressed
There are no ways for me to show my depth of love
But rest assured that time will testify for me
Each day, each month, each year and life in heave’n above
Will be the ways you long for through eternity
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Fate gifted us, drinking passion from its chalice,
Waking flames serving first to increase our ardor;
Summer, your sweet roses covered our great palace,
This time away from your touch, became much harder.
I look across this wind-blown majestic ocean,
Mind turns to epic sadness of our parting hour;
I begged then for distance erasing potion,
I tried to remain your rock hard castle tower.
The desperate, longing look- your beautiful face,
Informing me the dire depths that you found this clutch;
I reminded, you no distance, could our love erase,
Or lessen my need to feel your soft, gentle touch.
Last week, I sent you a love-soaked, tear-stained letter,
Now, I board ship bringing me to my one true love;
Reading my golden love sent, you will feel better,
Not again, my love's touch, shall I deprive you of.
~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Eileen Manassian & Robert J. Lindley
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~
Mardi Gras
Ever since the flames licked
my fair pink burning flesh,
nothing in my life has remained the same.
I had to go back in to
save my little brother Chris.
Life without him would kill me,
besides myself I would forever blame.
Even though it’s been ten years,
my face still feels the pain.
Having to go through high school
with a scarred face is just lame.
I’ve got the body of a goddess;
I must admit I’m beautiful from the neck down,
but the hideous burn scars
on my face have remained.
Months after the accident
weeks before school started,
a knock at my door came.
An anonymous donor sent a box
full of beautifully hand decorated
Mardi Gras masks made for only the fairest lady,
that’s the day I got my new name.
Each month a new box of masks
would arrive and I would wear everyone.
I became known as the royal shapely, disfigured lady.
Mardi Gras was my fame.
One night a mysterious white box appeared,
inside rested the most unique and intricately
adorned mask of all. It was a pure white mask adorned
with a delicate French ivory lace, fluffy pure white
dove feathers and shiny white pearls outlined the mask.
White is normally considered lame
but this was breathtaking, nothing plain.
Inside the box was also an
invitation, asking me to attend
the prom with "Masked Bandit" Lane.
I couldn’t believe it! All along it was
my handsome next door neighbor and
Chris' best friend, who had been sending
the ornate masks to me. He was my hero now,
my enthusiasm could hardly be tamed..
Lane had always adored my brother Chris and seemed
to like me too. I always knew he had
a crush on me, but I never knew to what extent.
I rushed over to his house where he was playing
with my brother Chris a heated basketball game.
I hugged him and told him that
I would love to go with him to the prom.
Just between you and me,
Lane and I will always be the
masked King and Queen of Mardi Gras
and forever in love we will reign.
Born Doris, named for our grandmother Doris Owens,
she is nothing much like grandma.
If anything, I am more like grandma
for my thrifty ways and down-to-earth practicality.
Doris, nicnamed Dorie, how we tease her when we hear
her name like the name of the spaced-out fish on “Finding Nemo.”
Dorie, who we teased as a child because she always dawdled,
always losing track of time; we never could guess why!
In that way, she never was like me, but was more like Dory
from “Finding Nemo.”
Dorie, who like me, is long-nosed and full-bosomed
and of all my sisters, has the most in common with myself.
Dorie, who got confused for me, particularly by our grandma,
the woman after whom Dorie had been named!
Dorie, who got to be the cheerleader I failed to be
but who majored in my field and never got to work as a teacher.
Instead she works today in a place for special needs adults,
working many hours now that she is divorced.
Dedicated, hard-working, studious and conscientious -
in those ways Dorie is the most like me
of all my other sisters.
Who else but Dorie would write me back 40 to 50-page letters
back in the day when all we had was snail mail!
My letters to Dorie I copied off each month as a record
of my hectic life when I was young in college and
also when I was dealing with my new role as a mother.
Dorie, my writing soul mate sister, who probably
does not write much any more and I doubt that she writes poetry!
She is busy working up to 60 hours a week!
But when she writes, her emails are long and detailed
just like mine.
Dorie, in whom I gradually saw differences from me.
More emotional, more hormonal, more maternal -
this is Dorie. More religious and in politics,
the opposite of me.
Despite all that, we love to chat.
We laugh and laugh, as I do with all my other sisters.
Dorie, who like our youngest sister Theadora,
shares with me a fascination for things such as nutrition,
all three of us sharing with each other our recipes
fitness hints, and special ways to boost metabolism!
Dorie, the sister who Mom says "leapt with joy"
inside our mother’s womb right before Mom went into labor
just for hearing the voice of me, her oldest sister.
I love all my sisters equally, but for many reasons,
Dorie is the sister most like me!
March 6, 2019 for the "What's In a Name" Contest of Kim Rodrigues
Written: May 08, 2025, for contest by Brian Strand.
Art "Sitting at the Dock of the Bay' Oil, Plein Air Series, by Michelle Held. My Poem titled "Quiet Pier’s Lament" was written using this artwork as its inspiration. It's better to read the poem while looking at this artwork.
***********
seagulls fly to the sky
over broken planks and rusty nails
searching for what has been lost
they sift through seashells and sand
scavenging for leftovers as I
look for traces of you
river drips its brown-blue hues
at low tide. I hear the water hum
and cries of birds
as I search for you among grains of sand
at the end of rickety pier
a girl stands on one leg, arms stretched wide
balancing ~ as quiet as a breath
` patient as death
her pterodactyl thoughts
soar on the sunlit wings of pelicans
or plunge into the depths
the strong bodies of eels
this life, a feeble pier
anchored by shallow utility poles
cut into thirds, like hot dogs
still hovers over a muddy bank
with each storm, new scars appear
the wind is gusting left and right
weakening what I hoped would endure
crushing under the weight of every fresh verse
now it's a relic, floorboards askew
washed away by relentless waves
with nothing to hold up my old desires
my thoughts drift away each night
yet, each month I sit in the same stiff chair
struggling to share anything new
All I am is an aging pier
with gulls perched on my rotting posts
How regretful was I
To see my dead body from the sky
How regretful indeed
Why, with utmost sorrow, did my spirit bleed
In my early thirties was I still
Life, had I lived it according to my will
Yet, so many things were there for me to do
So many things had been left unsaid
I still had not published my works
I still had so many things to write about
I still had to say sorry,
To remove from my enemy's face that pout
I still had to make the world understand me
That I was but a creature of humility
That proud I never had been, even if I had not mingled often
Even if I had always preferred to be alone
I still had to say I love you
To those who had wanted to be with me
To those who had helped in shaping me
To those, who, again, had never been able to understand me
I still had so many opportunities left
Yes, I had wanted to clear this world of its ill health
I had wanted to make my voice heard
As one with a vision, so unnerved
I still had to buy that fashionable dress
Even if it did cost more than what I did gain each month
I still had to please myself
For I did know that my life, as all the others, would last only a while
I still had to forgive
Those who did cause me to grieve
Those made of blinded arrogance
As to have caused me to choose, from them, another direction
I still had to learn
This world is so vast
That it is not easy to master it
Why, of its many secrets I had always wanted to be treated
Joyful I became though, when I saw in front me, the gates of Heaven
Thankful, for at least, while living, I never was mistaken
I did choose to believe in my faith
I did choose to bask not in that known as sin
Looking back at my lifeless body
I suddenly wished to be granted another chance
Another chance in this mundane reality
But then, the gates of Heaven did open
And I simply let myself get overwhelmed by its glory
Pray, have I always read in those books of faith
That one should never regret the mundane
For it was all false and illusory
So I walked on in this beautiful city
And forgot all about Earth
Indeed, life shall now be different
At last, Heaven was there for me to enjoy!
The doghouse needs a paint job now our dog and I have swapped
our sleeping quarters after making sure, that the penny dropped.
You see I shut up the missus which was a blessing at the time,
but to have her being speechless, in our house is a crime.
It was a Sunday afternoon when my problem starts to flare,
and me on my seventh stubby, so began her questionnaire.
‘How many beers do you drink daily?’ She first said to me,
and I shrugged ‘I dunno; maybe I’d average three.’
‘Three’ she says, ‘every day. So how much do you pay?’
I’m not sure and so I said to her, ‘five bucks each I’d say.’
And of course, this set her mind, towards onward thinking,
so, then she’s asking me, ‘how long have you been drinking?’
When I replied ‘twenty years,’ she went for something greater
to go shaming me by using, her mental calculator,
‘Five dollars each and three per day; each month five-forty bucks.
In just one year that’s seven grand, and boy oh boy that sucks.’
What could I say; she’s right – I took a bite of humble pie,
and waited for the next tirade once she looked me in the eye,
‘If you multiply by twenty, and leave out inflation,
you’ve spent one-forty thousand in a wasteful situation.’
Drinking beer is wasteful! Has she lost her flamin’ mind?
And if I thought she’d finished; that thought soon declined;
‘If you did not drink beer, do you know what you could have done?
You could have saved with interest, and our troubles would be none.’
‘You could have brought an aeroplane after all those twenty years,
instead of flushing down the toilet, all those wasteful beers,’
but then one quote from me, is enough to send her near insane,
‘Seeing you’ve not had a glass of beer, where’s your aeroplane?’
It’s time to remember,
When we hit December,
How quickly the time seems to fly.
We drift through life’s stages
As calendar pages
Proclaim that the year’s slipping by.
We mark off the seasons
For no other reasons
Than habit and need to keep track,
Yet the forward momentum
Makes days – how we spent ‘em –
Worth little, for we can’t go back.
So each month we’re still living,
There’s time for forgiving
And blocking out things that annoy.
Every day of the week
We should wake up and seek
Something out there to bring us some joy.
For Veterans Day and Myself
http://www.story-telling-around-the-world.com/Military-Memories.html
Mid-Month Monday Morning Military Men's Meeting
Would be great for personnel as way of greeting
Themselves and talk about each and every day
Of their successful past and price they had to pay.
Their Enlisted Term of Service (ETS) had expired
Veterans honorably left service or were retired
Entered civilian life after being further inspected
Are all back in society again and highly respected.
So to show what all of this may mean to each of us
Give them at least one day a month to discuss
And talk about old times now gone and by past
Which in those many minds will last and last.
Lives were full of thrills and much commotion
How about having a priest to do a daily devotion
Who is of sound mine, body and good health
A retired veteran himself with knowledge a wealth.
An 0900 meeting on 3d Monday of each month would
be a great idea like all of mine are. Am preparing this
poem today out of respect for those who put together
yesterday's great Veterans Recognition Day.
James Thomas Horn
Retire Veteran
Breathless
I look across the pasture land
At rocks from eons past
And watch the Wyoming winds
At work on the earth's crust
The mountain to the south of me
Is known as Casper Peak
And now I do understand
How it became so steep
The snows, the rains and the wind
Have all done their part
And will continue to do so
Until the earth's demise
Man and animal have trod these lands
Their footprints did their share
I see the trails upon which they walked
And the wagon ruts still there
The world did change as time wore on
In fascination I do see
What was just a little rock
Is a mountain now for me
As each day, each month, each year continues
We go along in stride
Until we ourselves do fade
Into the coming past
One day I may be
In another land
And there I'll learn about the past
And fear for the future of man
Cile Beer
Scene 2 - Easy Rest Adult Care Fascility, Doctor Mendelsohnn's office.
"Good Afternoon, Mr Potter, I am Doctor Eric Mendelsohnn. I have some
forms for you to sign. This is the payment arrangement to be electronically transferred
the first of each month" "Whoa, wait a minute, I want to know why Mr. Johnson was
sent here anyway" "He accosted 2 hikers in the woods" " In his woods, on his property,
200 feet from his home." " The lady and gentleman were afraid, his hair was flying everywhere His beard was unkept, and he wasn't dressed in hiking gear or carrying a back-pack" "He wasn't hiking he was out on a nature walk, Chef could walk that mountain blindfolded and never stumble"" Look all I know the police brought him here in cuffs. He was ranting and raving about his Rights. I felt compelled to admit him for observation and testing; which he failed; in my opinion as a physchologist." " You
know what you can do with your opinion" " Mr Potter calm down, we have Mr. Johnson sequestured in the adjoining room. His memory is failing, and He shouldn't be left alone on top of some mountain. I am going to give him some cognative thinking test now, your more than welcome to sit in on the interview""that's a good idea, I'm not signing anything until I see for myself that he's forgetful" " Please right through this door""What the F***, take that off of him right now" Mr Potter he is a danger to" "I said NOW!!
Chef are you ok" "Kenny are you taking me home: Please" "Look Doc, I'm getting a bit pissy with you right now. Get that Straight- jacket off of him right now. He recognized me right off, I don't see any signs of forgetfulness." "Ok the restraints are off can we get started now." "No, not here. let's go outside" "I don't think that is a good idea, there is too many people out there to do any responsible testing" " Ok, You said he
has a temporary room, Do it there" " Very well"
Scene 3 - Easy Rest Adult Care Fascility; Chef's room.
Stands up when He whispers in your ear
Falling down year after tear
Waiting in line till it's your turn
Being shown the door and the shade burns
He rides you and the whip flails
The widow waits each month for the check in the mail
The whisper remembers as the tree sheds each Fall
Will he see his shadow, will he see what he saw
Stands alone does the spring crocus
She waits for the Sun
And Mother spins and spins
She waits as the Robin for the peck of her egg
Dying as the bullet shreds his memory of the flag
Stands for the widow as his breath sags
The politician wears full armor as he speaks at the mic
Stand up ,vote and the reward helps to see the light
And the years go by and the body starts to lean
The wrinkles round the bend and pick up steam
To stand tall when all say you're wrong
The last bar closes with the last song
The rose is killed as she stands
Trash strewn and the wind
The Sun goes dark and a single tear
And He whispers goodnight
From North to South, East to West
From Lands End to John O’Groats,
You can always find a festival
That will surely float your boat
There are festivals of music
For blues, folk, jazz and rock
And festivals for foodies
Where you can learn to cook in a wok
If you’re not into music or cooking,
And your interests are literary
You can participate at a book festival
With story telling and poetry
You can visit a festival for the arts
Or an Eisteddford, where people sing
Or hear jokes, at a comedy festival
If singing is not your thing
Or be a viewer, at a film festival
Watching copious ‘films noir’
Or take a walk round a festival of gardens
Through a plethora of fragrant flowers
History, culture, religion, the sea
Are all covered by festivals too
Genres for everyone, regardless of age
Whatever you like to do
Festivals for this, festivals for that
For each month throughout the year,
But the festivals I like to frequent the most
Are the ones that involve drinking beer!
Her mother wears the marks of her father’s cowardly abuse;
To make it through another day, by noon, his mom is full of juice;
The divorce is getting ugly, hatred gets in the way of compromise;
The children becoming victims, to no one, should come as a surprise.
The courts are overworked; the docket is full of domestic contests;
Lawyers are appointed to represent the parent’s selfish interests;
The children are overlooked; what help can these kids possibly get?
Well, that’s where you can be the hero as a Court Appointed Special Advocate.
Just a few hours each month to spend talking to a child,
Caught up in the middle of domestic incivility in a world gone a little wild;
While everyone else is worried about the adults in these domestic legal fights,
The CASAs, as volunteers, help ensure we don’t forget the children’s plight.
If ever you have asked yourself, “What little can I do?”
If ever you have wondered, “What charitable work should I choose?”
If ever you have wanted to thank karma for all the good that you get,
I highly encourage you to become a CASA and help children who are less fortunate.