Best Outings Poems
The golden hour for rising has arrived, and there are violet roses in the sky,
So, I bid hello to you, my robust friend, as the vibrant, cerise birds float by.
The obsidian night, it was very long, and was filled with pleasant dreaming,
Like scenes from the heart of jade forests, where lush nature is screaming.
But the dark hours seem as ages past, since you have risen on the horizon,
Reflecting your glory in the limpid waters, as day slowly begins to brighten.
So nice to see you again, my old friend, peering in the doors and windows,
As beautiful songs from emerald trees, begin their daily, rapid crescendos.
Soon all the world will be colorful and glad, like skyward birthday balloons,
Drifting on backlit skies of somewhere, like the aromas of various blooms!
We've traveled a long way, you and I, and like orioles, we've gone together,
Screaming our joys at midday hour, as warmth blankets the divers weather.
You trail every individual, peach dawn to dusk, and from season to season,
Forever going in and out of our lives, silently, and without apparent reason.
My work as a seasonal park ranger, has kept me in the glitter of your gaze,
As gorgeous wildflowers pursue us all, down the myriad, natural pathways.
Living with my family and my cat, and having a happy life on Pretty Street,
We danced all through deep amber days, terribly soon to become obsolete.
And often enjoyed memorable outings, birthday parties, and get togethers,
Like the euphoria of your floral days, are inclined to following predecessors.
Days at the beach, days at the park, ballgames or fun backyard barbecues,
At the happiest of times, everyplace I look, the first thing that I see is you.
And in olden, golden days, when I played on and on, your warmth was felt,
Like the presence of bittersweet autumn rose, though unseen, lately smelt!
Sweet summer evenings, you gazed redly, to say your melancholy goodbye,
Like the redness that strangely appears, when you're trying hard not to cry.
Crickets in the lilac bush, butterflies in the grass, all smile to greet the sun,
And yellow days are started and soon done, in dreamlike, skyward visions!
Flowers titter in warm, fragrant meadows, and oceans shudder with delight,
People beam at your kind warmth, and robins sing once they see your light!
"Fragments and crumbs of life,
all the little pieces"
John Ruskin 1853
Having lived with our Mom in Sydney for six months
Federal Police returned us to live with our father
He had begun working as the art teacher
at a small Christian school in Tasmania
He and other staff members lived at the school.
I was 8, my sister 6. Geneva was experimental then.
Elementary students were taught together in one hall.
Desks divided from next, talk was completely disallowed.
An American curriculum called ACE was adhered to.
As the art teacher's daughter, naturally I washed all the brushes.
Three utterances compiled in class per day earned detention.
Despite it being 1991, rulers whapped knuckles on occasion.
Cherished butterfly catching buddy, best friend, Penny
Fed apples from ample pile to fence wire necked horses
Dawn saluting dairy sold milk for locals, chapel on site
Peers lived a wall away, an idyllic community lifestyle
Generally, three afternoons per week, my father took
My sister on playground, shopping outings.
I stayed home. Instructed not to go outside.
Staff's children grassy antics gazed at through glass.
I ate vitamin c tablets by the dozen, and scrapings of butter.
A staff member bought all our groceries from a limited list.
I sang for company. There was no radio or TV.
My Dad and sister returned at nightfall. Chewing on sweets.
Alone in the house, I imaged it was a cruising ocean vessel
I sailed down the dim driveway, swamped by giant pines
I took apples, a cow, a Bible, pencils for sketching horses
Sailing on jaunty sun hugged foliage, I was captain
'Geneva Has Evolved'
Constance La France
All The Little Pieces Contest
25th August 2020
~My Trip With Love~
A arrival from Montreal to San Francisco seeing my son and his children.
B beautiful red roses on my approach expressing their love towards me.
C for caring to have an eye contact honoring my motherly devotion & fidelity.
D for dreams come true when i sleep at night in my own studio.
E for enjoy having our breakfast first day while exchanging our life time stories.
F for faithfulness towards one another was so important since his childhood.
G good friends who invites me to their homes to meet their families.
H for happiness when I run to the restaurant help greett his customers at work.
I interfering with my sons life is a long forgotten issue, a perpetual respect .
J for jokes we exchange together through evenings laughing endlessly.
K kissing me good night when the night is over for me to retire.
L for love that I get from both of them when I cook an oriental dish.
M morning ride on a tour with family & soft music while driving.
N for never do I complain about any subject when shared together.
O older, but I don't let them feel my arthritis pains when I am visiting.
P for pictures are taken as souvenirs from this fabulous journey once a year
Q quite evenings when I leave my son and wife to have an intimate night.
R for roll up my sleeves to clean their home to amaze them out of love.
S surprise when home from work to a house clean & table set for dinner.
T transport for me is the subway my independence not to bother him.
U unique love between a son and mother, he is my rock. Best friends.
V variable outings touring the city while discussing his children's future.
W wanting those happy days to last forever. But will return next year.
X xylophone for enjoying the music of our last dinner together.
Y yearning from my depth to have wanted my stay to last longer.
Z zone when we said farewell at the end of the visitors area. Tears of joy.
Visiting my sons once a year is my dream come true forever. The love for my children has always been, "The Endless Love Of A Child".
Therese Bacha
. 28/5/2013
An ABC poem :For Alfred Vassello
alone now
I roam through memories
recalling treasures of the past
journeying back to seaside treks with my husband
riding to the city to see Broadway shows
reliving nights of romance
even visiting John’s grave
in the best of times
memories carry me to ocean jetties
where vows of love were exchanged
as waves lapped gently against rocks
if only we could feel these sensations again
family outings at the beach
building sandcastles
burying Dad’s feet in sand
sauntering along the festive boardwalk
hiking through woodlands with friends who have passed
wanting to hug them again
feeling the weight of concrete
preventing my spirit from moving on
as I reach out to heaven
seeking a sign
praying for guidance
hoping past joy will be restored
confined by sadness
I roam through memories
alone now
For Drake’s “I Roam” contest
4/23/11
The bed offers cold
where you used to lie
a chill that lingers
when dawn paints the sky.
Your abandoned chair
across from mine
is a constant reproach
and an unwelcome sign
of a love that died.
On outings with friends
I feel their pity
though I wear my best mask
and try to be witty.
The places I visit
are different and yet
something always reminds me
won’t let me forget
the love that died.
Time has its way with all wounds
I've discovered
granting healing to some
letting Death cure the others.
And with every new wound
the scar tissue spreads,
fibrous and nerveless,
‘til sensation is dead.
And it’s hard to say
if I fear this or not
maybe this ether
is what I have sought
all along.
Small things like family outings and book readings,
Trust and Godly fear, to feel Him near,
A heart that sings of homecomings on poet wings,
True friendship dear - small things bring sweet cheer.
08/13/17
Those we have loved and passed are never far from us, often visiting us in our dreams
and always with us in our memories.
Quote by poet.
I went for a walk in the countryside it, was a warm June day.
My wife Sue accompanied me, and we had packed a picnic.
After an hour we stopped on the top of a hill overlooking a
valley where a river flowed through it and we just stared at
its serene beauty. We loved outings like this where if only for
a short time we had the whole wide world to ourselves.
Sue picked some wildflowers to press and frame so she
could hang them on our wall at home. Suddenly I heard a
loud ringing, it was my daughter checking to see if I was okay.
I told her that I'd been having a beautiful dream and that her
mom was with me, but she had died tragically six years ago,
leaving me with dreams and only happy memories of her.
Candles and nightlights flickering bright,
blackout curtains shutting out the moonlight.
Snuggle down cosy with blankets tight,
perhaps the war will end to-night.
Dripping setting from Sunday's roast,
spread so thick on Monday's toast.
Meat bones simmer on the old gas ring,
Pa's homemade soup,the 'real thing'.
Paper chains cut and glued,
beer in glass bottles brewed.
Christmas puddings with threepenny bits,
the Meccano present made to fit.
Sunday school outings upto Coombe hill,
my first ever train ride,so quite a thrill.
Walks over corn fields to the Bugle Horn,
crisps and lemonade upon their lawn.
A weekly soak in a round tin bath,
towelling off by a fire in the hearth.
A viewpoint from childhood scene,
growing up at sixteen,Beech green.
He seemed very much like those white dogs before,
With a raggedy coat, pointed ears and much more.
But the likeness soon ended to those dogs gone away.
For he'd never known kindness or love in his day.
He didn't know words, didn't even know stairs.
His nose, from the kennel, was chaffed of its hair.
Boredom was passed licking fur from his paws.
The pads on his feet bordered long, ragged claws.
He paced back and forth mostly all of each day:
Slept in a tight ball to keep cold nights away.
Wary of children and grown men alike:
Startling sounds made him cringe out of sight.
He was hungry and thin: I could feel every bone.
He stayed by me like glue and was scared left alone.
He wolfed down his food in an uneasy rush.
He didn't know combs and felt fear of the brush.
But time has now passed since the dog came to stay
From that harsh, lonely kennel on a hill far away.
This little white dog now seems mostly like them:
Those former white terriers, my sweet, loyal friends.
He now spends his time . . like before . . by my side.
But something has changed, for he's not there to hide.
With all of this good there is even much more.
He now plays with his toys and will ask for the door.
He eats with good manners, sleeps sound in his bed:
Stretched out in contentment, fun dreams in his head.
He loves his car outings and with each early spring,
Explores the old pathways our daily walk brings.
I'm so happy to have him, as he sits on my lap,
Or sleeps by my chair for his afternoon nap.
He never will know all of the bad things again.
His life will be happy with me as his friend.
Yet as good as it's been for this dog to find me.
To learn love and to trust and from anguish be free.
I too have been blessed one more time from above,
By Him sending another white dog here to love.
Fears conversation
Elaborate avoidance
Of social outings
A little old lady named Judy,
Works hard to accomplish her duties.
She cooks and she cleans,
Runs errands, makes things,
For friends and for family outings.
Sometimes her arthritis flares up.
She can barely pick up a cup;
But she's no cry baby,
She's one tough old lady,
A hot bath and a pill and she's up.
She'll finish the job 'fore she'll stop.
She loves life and she lives it a lot.
She'll keep goin' full tilt,
Until she gets kilt,
Or she runs out of gas and just drops.
Feather to feather on a branch, this early winter morning,
Are they planning outings for the day or of grave dangers warning?
A predator comes swooping by, a red-tailed hawk in plunder.
As of one mind they fly away, not one is pulled asunder.
These are the winter birds that stay, to face the stormy weather.
They mind the rules of Nature and no one asks why or whether.
The ice and snow, the winds that blow, they do not stop to measure.
For what could be one bird's nothing, could be another's treasure.
The springtime finds them once again, assembled in large groupings.
They know a single bird can be endangered by hawk's swoopings.
The over-powering scents of spring, assault them from the orchard.
The butterflies and bumblebees are courting in the courtyard.
The apple tree is leafing out and showing her pink buddings.
The robin is digging in the mud and making her worm puddings.
My own body is a tingle at the sounds and smells and scents.
A bunny with his ears attuned, keeps watching through the fence.
When summer comes, life has progressed. Among the leaves, nests hidden.
Many a chastened crow has learned that to rob one is forbidden.
Mama and Papa Swallow have filled the needs of their first hatch.
They're teaching them to fly now, to make room for another batch.
The summer flowers are in full bloom, each vying with another
To tell the nectar searching bees, they're better than the other.
The bright red of tall lilies and my roses of red hues
Urge me to plant my gardens with some yellows, greens and blues.
At last in fall, time to relax and talk about the summer.
That Robin's eggs refused to hatch, they agree was a real bummer.
They're gathered now, in larger groups, to leave for other places.
The birds that stay, send them away with wonder on their faces.
A riotous bloom of dahlias grow where other flowers have faded.
The last blooms of summer roses are looking quite outdated.
The snow of winter soon will come to cover up my garden,
But hardy plants will live through snow, fall gave them chance to harden.
3/15/14
A Call to a Religious Life
By Lillian J. Jeffery
Family pray together,
share their table with the poor,
young Agnes goes on outings,
outings with the local church,
sings in the choir
Her chosen life is Christian
her divine guide is Jesus Christ,
she starts and ends her day with pray
Stories of missionaries touch, touch
her ears, her heart, she sees the
face of God on every face
Hears, hears the voice of God
calling, calling her to serve,
serve a religious life,
she is twelve
Follows her calling, leaves
her home in Skopje, Macedonia,
joins the Sisters of Loreto,
a community of nuns in Ireland
with a Mission in India,
she is eighteen
Sisters send her to a House in Calcutta,
she takes her initial vows and name,
Sister Teresa, honors Therese of Lisieux,
patron saint of Australia, missionaries,
florist, AIDs sufferers
Teaches catechism, geography,
history at St. Mary's High School,
a school dedicated to teaching girls
from the poorest, poorest families
The door swings open,
she moves to school's principal,
loves her work, stays seventeen years.
We labored hard for decades to provide
Our kids good lives. We never hoped to be
Rich and prestigious. We were satisfied.
Life was fulfilling; closeness was the key.
Delights like cruises, we could not afford.
Church outings and short trips with family
Renewed our spirits; we weren’t often bored.
Unknown to our grown kids, we frequently
Imagined seeing distant shores--a cruise
So grand! Then they brought tickets and good news.
Each of us now would see the world’s grand views--
So many lovely places, ours to choose!
Date: September 24, 2017
Contest Title: World Cruise Contest (acrostic)
Sponsor: Kevin Shaw
June 17, 2018, entered in Robert Haigh's Distant Shores Contest
There is always forward for outings,
Always a reverse if it is missed at all,
But forward in things conjugal ever.
I have been associated with a woman,
She has an in-built, reverse-forward button.
When in good humour the forward is on,
Make an adverse statement, reverse is on.
A lady Hamlet who faces a dilemma never,
To be or not to be is not a question for her.
But always forward in things conjugal ever.
Believe me, I tend to get what ultimately I desire.
If I wish to go for a movie in 1st show,
I need to suggest her for a second show,
Believe me,I get what I desire though.
If I am cross with someone & criticize,
She tends to follow *Ravan’s dictum-
Make enemy’s enemy a friend
=================================
Ninth placement
Contest: Twist and Lock - of Nikko
Ravan, a great character in Hindu Epic Ramayan, was a demon king of Shri Lanka.