Best Few Short Years Poems
Nature in it’s utmost,
has no wont of haste.
Time has little meaning,
and there is no waste.
One year or a million,
matters not at all,
everything that lives,
eventually will fall.
Ashes turn to ashes,
and dust goes back to dust.
All Flora and Fauna,
are building up the crust.
So death is there abetting,
something else to live.
Everything that breathes,
some day will die to give.
Yet in the few short years,
man on earth has faced.
Through the eyes of greed,
mismanages his waste.
He thinks he’s here forever,
even though the rivers die,
the soil is full of poison,
pollution fills the sky.
The earth will be a sewer,
and won’t support the curse,
that stole the pristine beauty,
that it was meant to nurse.
So nature in its wisdom,
will balance without haste,
and in five million years,
will manage its own waste.
For many years, the creek, ran passed as a drain,
Polluted and unloved; a poisoned murky vein.
A favoured dumping place, for household unwanted things -
out of sight, out of mind; and no good what it brings.
Life was almost non-existent in the creek
and weed infestation makes it sad and bleak,
but turning a blind eye has gone too long,
and allowing this pollution was so wrong.
So, ‘friends of wattle creek’ were duly formed
and at meetings their ideas quickly warmed,
with working bees to help remove the mess,
and from there, reclamation could progress.
Weeds became victims, of mattock and the hoe;
there’s room for native vegetation to regrow.
Five hundred seedlings were there every week,
and planted by the ‘friends of wattle creek.’
Through the years, there were many setbacks,
from mother nature and her natural attacks,
with flood and storms or sometimes howling gales –
and thankfully, it was just the weak that fails.
With the foliage and the flowers an attraction
for lorikeet and honeyeater squabbling action;
weebills and pardalotes, were giving lots of cheek,
to warm the hearts of ‘friends of wattle creek.’
Undergrowth is cover for the wary bandicoot,
and the sugar glider dines on native fruit.
In the shallows of the creek; water is now clean;
once again, a spiny crayfish can be seen.
In a few short years, the volunteers with vision,
turned away an eyesore, with a right decision,
now it’s paradise restored from something bleak,
and all thanks goes to the ‘friends of wattle creek.’
The health of wattle creek is quite amazing,
and ‘friends of wattle creek’ deserve the praising.
Native fish are thriving; bird numbers are on track;
it warms the heart to know – the platypus is back.
For many years, the creek, ran passed as a drain,
Polluted and unloved; a poisoned murky vein,
but is now a thriving green belt, captivating all,
and the ‘friends of wattle creek’ are standing tall.
For you, the first to teach me poetry,
I wrote a little poem at age nine.
I don't remember writing any more
till I had you for English in ninth grade.
One day when we were talking at your desk,
I saw a single laminated sheet.
I took a closer look and realized
the childish cursive on the page was mine.
You'd saved "My Winter Poem" all those years
and brought it as my gift. I almost cried.
I smile now as I vividly recall
this scene from over fifty years ago.
As teacher and librarian, you earned
the praise of all. We recognized your love
of students, language, books, and our small school.
We knew how much you wanted us to learn.
If I had never told you how I felt,
beyond that day when I was just a teen,
I'd be without excuse, but I did claim
the opportunities to give you praise.
In our last conversation at a school
reunion just a few short years ago,
I told you how I often think of you
when choosing just-right words for poetry.
I recently shared memories of you
with others who held you in high regard.
We wiped our tears and said our last good-byes
to one who taught much more than books and rules.
He claimed the highest perch
in the breeding loft and was, by far,
the biggest pigeon in the flock.
I named him Hector.
A thick, puffed up ball
of red feathers and testosterone
made him stand out
and was a gift from a leading fancier
eager to improve the bloodlines
of my rather lowly lot,
some of whom were descendents
of birds rescued from the local
railway station stock.
Poor company
to the haughty
racing thoroughbreds
of the Queenstown pigeon club.
Hector had only one leg
and would stand balanced
on a single pin. I often wondered
whether he was gifted to me
as a joke. Unfortunately
he was no good at breeding
as he kept falling off the hen
before he had the chance to mate.
It seems pigeons need
both legs to balance long enough
to conclude the act
and poor Hector would
always topple off too soon.
He found no outlet
for his lust and added no royalty
to the genes
of my rather peasant flock.
Before I reached my teens,
interest in pigeons had waned
and the few short years
of racing them came to a close.
By then Hector had escaped
carrying his frustrations
and pedigree off into the blue.
Much to the chagrin
of the local racing elite,
a small, scruffy hen,
part progeny of the railway
station stock, had scored
a number of prestigious wins.
The club was glad
to see me go and my name
somehow quickly fell
from the honor wall
like Hector off a hen.
Technological age.
Advancement of advancement,
Digital acceleration unlimited.
Gifted and pocketed,
This watch,
Dull dark silver,
True and tested mechanic,
Short and sturdy chain,
Analogue accuracy.
It fits comfortably in my jeans pocket,
Ages alongside my creasing lines with wear marks,
Time isn't well kept with its adolescent sporadic tock,
Certain to be set to be kept at a minute ahead,
I am directed to watch this future unfold,
While it clings to my pocket lining and present time,
And the engravings pull me back to the past,
You told me not to let this time pass me by,
As you held me tight before you passed me by,
And I never kept very good time like this
Fresh watch that sticks close to my side,
I cannot say that you were lost,
For the path you had set was more set than stone,
No improper implication should be allowed,
The wallowing whispers that beg me every which way,
They told me to go away from the very place
That I had interest to stay and investigate,
The stars sway with no stationary complaint,
Our night sky that's not so city bright,
Contains a dim white plate in-between its phase,
Much like my pocket of space it hangs,
A witless glow behind the cloudy night.
I am no more than I was except for a simple realization,
To look back and find I am not the same as I was,
Commonly known as growing up and moving on,
But I know I'll be happy in just a few short years,
Just glad I am not the same as I am now.
No name appears on my stone
there are no flowers strewn
grasses grows knee high
full of thorny brambles
How did this come to pass
that so soon I am forgotten
no longer in memories am I
no one tends to my grave
Yet but a few short years
have passed since my death
my name once on many lips
now only sighed by the wind
as it passes my resting place
Now, forsaken, forgotten
out of sight and out of mind
nothing now remains of me
just my crumbling bones
moulder away deep in the earth
Suddenly, he found himself floating through the air.
He saw no light and heard no sound, just darkness everywhere.
Trying to remember the place where he had been.
Although he wasn’t sure it seemed to him that he had sinned.
He had committed many crimes in just his few short years.
And been the cause of heartaches and many, many tears.
Guilty of offenses, he even had lost count.
Soon the man would have to face his sins and take account.
The man was given chances all throughout his life.
Lucky to find love, even he had a wife.
But soon he had destroyed their love and she was gone as well.
Plunging the man further into evil, where he fell.
Then the total darkness started turning bright.
He felt that he was being pulled into a warmer light.
That’s when he remembered the scene that had occurred.
Although it wasn’t very clear, just pieces that were blurred.
Again, he had been caught in sin but this time he would pay.
For all the lives he’d taken, this was to be his day.
There was no place for him to hide no place he could run to.
And as he felt the fires burn that was the time he knew.
Precious little Zack
Sweet, innocent and pure
Went through this lifetime
For only a few short years
I missed the opportunity of
His last years of development
But my memories stay filled
Of the younger days he spent
Even with disabilities
Born to this child
He always gave his cute
Crooked little smile
When Zack was a tot
He was mellow and quite
And when he laughed
It was a wonderful delight
His parents weren’t together
As most of us know
But both of his parents
Dearly loved him so
Zack recently turned eight
Enduring struggles in his life
I know it was God’s plan
To end his pain and strife
The time has now come
For Heaven to get an angel back
And our Lord has chosen
Precious little Zack
Love, Grandma Flo
Florence McMillian (Flo)
melodic open
blue throat chakra overflow
soft and kind words of
too much wisdom from
lil child of a few short years
prophetic and calm
sweet lines of peace stay
on her lips both night and day
giggly bluebird speak
Life is a charming word
it ends at an unknown time
and has a smaller dimension than is supposed
what difference is there between us
except the sorrows we meet?
our life's diary has limited pages...
your's is one grand day,
our's last a few short years.
our bodies meet under the ground
but we are different at the door of death.
only our life dimensions are the same
little butterfly,
the rope tying us to life
is as thin as yours
you are obliged to be lost
but we are on an everlasting road
if only our hearts could be as pure as yours!
My dearest Nathan Reide
4 years on, still my heart bleeds
I'm always here with thoughts of you
with a glimmer of clarity I catch myself
As my fingers dial your phone
For close to a year I called through
After that dreaded swine-flu
Even took you far from my dreams
no longer will I be within your loving view
I long to hear your voice for just a second or two
for years you brought my inner child out
never would I have ever conceded
You would be this once in a lifetime friend
From the first time we met on my first shift
Uptown taxis with the best night crew
Christmas eve 2000
I walked out and as I looked round
I caught you gawking at me as I came out
the words, without any thought loudly announced
“what you looking at ya fat c**t"
Our souls forever connected from that instant
You without a doubt, were my very best friend
As I have always valued our friendship
I will cherish a once in a lifetime connection we had
As a friendship from such a lovely big heart as yours
It was I who was the lucky one to have had you in my life
Even if only for a few short years
I will forever & always love you with all of my heart
R.I.P Nathan Reide
April 1977- 15 July 2009
A New King?
The future Ebenezer Scrooge will be clever and unkind, but not that bright. Will he try to rule as king of kings, and put out all the Christmas lights? Or will some politician consider it wasteful, thinking he’s always right? Some will seek to band the holiday; hearts will become cold as ice.
No more Christmas Trees?
Will The Power of Mr. Green be in full force within a few short years?
Indeed, he will think it’s his duty to clean the planet from ear to ear. Some, wondering what will happen next, will have realistic fears.
Traditional people, and especially kids, will be brought to tears.
Help! I think I'm Lost!
Santa Clause will be forced to modernize and make changes to his GPS.
Santa, Rudolph, and the newly acquired Solar Mobil will run their fastest.
Santa will continue his timely deliveries, trying to do his very best.
Where Are The Roasted Chestnuts?
But the environmental laws will shut down the use of fire places.
So St. Nick will be like a bird searching, but unable to find his nest.
He won't be shut down, but he will be forced to operate with more stress.
Dim Those Lights, Or Turn them off!
The city lights on shopping nights will be dimmed to save energy.
Businesses will be forced to offer the best sales of the last century.
But some famous stores will close, and move into a whole new industry.
And profitable businesses will no longer succeed with their latest gimmickry.
Not To Worry!!!
But not to worry, because Christmas Day will prevail, giving new life and meaning to the real reason. Merchants will grow weary operating business as usual, and introduce new and better ways. No longer will people be injured or trampled to death chasing sales on Black Fridays. Loving parents and other good people will still be happy and rejoice in The Holy Season.
11262015 PS Contest: A Futuristic Christmas; Mystic Rose, sponsor
What would I do without my precious furry friends,
Part mischeif but all blessing and faithful to the end,
You look at me with eyes of love,
You never hold a grudge,
You think I'm far to wonderful to criticize or judge,
It seems yor greatest joy in life is being close to me,
I think God knew how comforting your soft warm fur would be,
I know you think you're human,
But I'm glad it aint true,
Although the world would be a better place if folks were more like you,
A few short years is all we have and one day
we'll have to part,but you my pets will always have a place within my heart,
Form:
your like my second mom...
but for some reason,
this is really hard
to write...
this poem is supposed to be
about you and me
well that could
turn into a
a novel...
we have been through so much,
you knew me before
i even knew
myself
10/14/96
we even we on vacation
me and you, sammie and mom
at myrtle beach
forever ago...
during that week, the best week,
i lost my very best,
furry friend
purple...
and your little sammie
who's not so little now
really thought
i still had
her...
a few short years later,
here we are,
im 14,
and scared...
if i were to loose you,
it would be like
losing my
mom
now, i wouldnt have it as bad,
as everyone else,
but like i said,
your like my second mom....
to me and mom...
your more than just a friend..
with all of our hearts
we love you...
you have a very, very,very
special place in my
fourteen year old
heart...
i would be a very strong
14 year old
if im not
crying by now...
this poem got really easy
to write...
really fast...
i dont understand
why that is...
but maybe you do
you have to explain to me
why that is
when you get out
of this
place...
when you get out of here,
me and you are gonna
take a day
just me and you
ill come over really early
and fix you a
really good breakfest
in bed
then we will take the day
and do whatever you want to do
still in bed!
then, while your relaxing,
ill go and make me
and you a
reallly healthy
lunch
i will be your servant,
for the whole
live long
day
take your time in
geting better
trust me
we can
wait...
keep doing what your doing
we will be here when
your
100%
we really have something
to be thankful for
this year
and its you
wanda...
you gave us quite a fright.
we cant imagine life
without you
darlin'
remember isaiah 40:31,
"but those who trust
in the lord will
renew their
strength
they will soar on wings like
eagles; they will run
and not grow
weary;
they will walk and
not faint."
keep your faith Wanda,
were all pulling
for you
sweetheart
When all goes down the toilet and you lose your life’s work
And you’re told to reinvent yourself, what’s wrong with you, you jerk?
Oh sure, I was this before and now I’m going to be that.
I’ll make up for thirty years work lost and soon again I’ll be fat.
You live in fear every day, on how to pay your bills.
When a few short years ago, you enjoyed all life’s frills.
You wake up in the morning never wanting to get out of bed
Knowing full well, you’ll face another day of painful endless dread.
What’s wrong with me, I’m educated, I’ve lived a life supreme.
And now that all is lost, that life is but a dream.
So why can I not invent another reason for being?
Life has much to offer, what is it I’m not seeing?
The past is the past, can’t change it in any way.
So where is this great wisdom to put me on my way?
Why am I so blind to all opportunities that await?
Why can’t I get this car in gear and forge ahead, relate.
It’s so much easier to do when you are in your twenties.
Your parents will take you in until you find life aplenty.
Face this challenge when you’re sixty one and you will surely find
That life’s not easy, terribly queasy, forever in a bind.
How does one rise above a life he didn’t plan?
How does one become a successful, shiny brand new man?
I have no answer, no matter what the advice.
All I know that life is truly a “roll of the dice.”
So even though I have days and days with endless, endless tears.
Something deep inside of me says, “Weather all these bad years.”
So if my inner voice is guided by my past pure beliefs
Then tomorrow there is a chance, I’ll get past all this grief.