Best Runs Poems
Just for a day I'd hide the clock,
And in my bamboo rocking chair,
I’d gently rock and rock,
I’d pay no mind to what others might have to say.
Each minute of this day, I'd do things
in my own way.
I wouldn’t take or make a single call,
I'd turn my phone off and leave it way
down the hall,
I'd go back to an old-fashioned way,
Writing letters to convey what I had to say.
I'd feed the koi in the garden pond.
And watch them dance and play.
Beside the jasmine blooms, upon the
soft grass, I’d lie,
With eyes closed I’d make a wish for chaos to pass me by.
Chaos would never say goodbye and
so I mustn’t delay,
Just for a day I would take back
freedom, come what may.
I’d gather the dreams silently waiting
by the doorway,
And never postpone enjoyment
for a far-off day.
And from the great, big blue sky,
I’d grab my piece of blue before
the pond runs dry.
by Zyrool
7/26
Warming thoughts cannot heal
In between those moments of words
When thought are not enough
My feet are shaking as I fall on my knees
But my prayer was heard
I has no dreams left
Listening closely to the melody of life
Into my failing grace, again I would follow life music
You've made my heart beat once again
and the sorrow in my soul existed in vain
A new step on the journey has begun
The storm gave birth to a rainbow
23.01.2015
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
There is nothing so peaceful,
like watching nature covered in a new sheet of snow
The pleasures of life in our frosty wonderland
Fluffy snow and ice,
will get your heart pumping
of adventurous experience
My horse is powerful, muscular, beautiful and graceful
Ride through snowy forests,
over peaceful hills to beautiful mountain views
A horse has its own will, quick - but also patient
Lovely glimpse of a fresh carpet with snow powder
Find yourself laughing in the sharp air,
after dashing through the snow
Together we celebrate today's traveled miles,
with amazing memories
22.01.2018
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
My pencil plays in my hand....
Outside a card house that can barely stand...
I sketch a paper train on the wall...
Watch it travel from in a frame to the hall...
It passes through pictures from one to another...
From black and white scenes to colors that flutter...
The card house falls as the train pulls in...
And the path of my pencil tears a paper not thin...
When the river runs dry
When the river runs dry, tears of sorrow fill this poets eyes
The words just won't flow, as the blank page clearly shows
All life dries up as ideas and thoughts they get torn in two
All around us can see it and sense it they feel the sorrow too
For what is life without freedom of thought and it's expression?
All poets like their words to be heard and read without exception
Our Maker well knows our needs, knows us better than ourselves
When the river runs dry, He gives us clean waters found in his well
When we go to him and drink deeply of his fresh waters of truth
Our soul and spirit are invigorated renewed like the days of our youth
Our prayers are answered as copious tears shower down from on high
We drink it all in till we're dripping wet, that's when we understand why
When we rely on ourselves our own thinking from our imperfect minds
That's when there's trouble, the page is blank and so the river runs dry.
John Derek Hamilton
April 17,2016
A dry and barren moat
around historic tower, London’s pride
for many years in restful dormant mood
dreaming of days gone by
when swords clashed and armour creaked;
the yells and screams of battle filled the air.
Testament of courage and pain;
did those who fought there die in vain?
A dry and barren moat
now back to life to mark Remembrance Day
with a gushing flow of poppies dressed in red
reflecting thoughts of Flanders.
Who dedicates these scarlet blooms,
to souls that rest in earthen tombs?
A dry and barren moat
its open bleeding heart that drips with recollections
of destructive devastation and needless deaths.
Governments rise only to fall;
cries still trapped in the tower's wall.
A dry and barren moat
where visitors now see the red carpet
in place to praise bravery.
Haven't families of lost soldiers
earned a red carpet too?
Let them saunter somberly
above the moat, across the fields.
Such is the costly price of war;
buried loved ones we'll see no more.
A dry and barren moat
encases the historic tower,
a silhouette reminder at sunset
that no one wins a war.
A lone bugle plays taps;
it resounds through the crisp air.
A sad family walks away,
leaving tears on a floral spray.
---------------------------------------------------
Paul Callus & Carolyn Devonshire (Nov. 2014)
Sensuous dreams, a love that was lost,
Wind over fire, rain after frost.
Willow trees blow, firecrackers spark,
whispers of love alone in the dark.
Lusterous hearts, undying love,
caressing your body, reigning from above.
Kiss me once my heart does plead,
kiss me twice, my soul shall bleed.
Raindrops patter in my face,
within my heart, I see his grace.
I love you more, he said in tears,
releasing his hopes, his dreams and his fears.
You'll live in my heart although I cry,
you'll live in my heart, until the water runs dry.
Let’s face it.
My birth place has left its trace
a fixed stamp on a face called race,
on this, a surface of brown color I carry
with me to stay till they burn me or bury.
When the choice of race or color is not with any
so why suffer or claim its supremacy over many,
Though the color of vital fluids that runs in us is same
yet we embrace the color of the sheath to suit a frame.
White is pure sure, Black is beauty, Brown wears the crown
are post-its we stick, if it gives us benefits;
White will slight, Black always lack, down with Brown
are labels we level, if we gain in our exploits.
Browned off, I put this in black and white,
tethered to a color of coat we are born with,
who we are is bound by the color that covers us,
Indeed skin color runs deep.
15-Jan-2018
Contest: What is White?
Sponsored by: Debbie Guzzi
Time Runs On Past Every Bend
Down new trail with purpose and gentle ease
chasing hope and new morn's glowing smile.
Flowing along with a sunrise breeze
heart stopping awe, every once in a while.
Branches overhead wrapped in deep forest green
bird songs filling this emerald isle.
Sun gracing the screaming sky blue sheen
above this leaf carpeted aisle.
Hoping time here never dares to end
as wanting heart finds its needed glow.
Yet find that time runs on past every bend
and brings Nature's all, along in tow.
Down new trail with purpose and gentle ease
spirit flows along with a sunrise breeze.
Robert J. Lindley, 7-05-2016
Like a river that carves its way,
The language flows; learning starts each day.
Babbles of sound, first words take flight,
A gurgling stream, bathed in morning's light.
Sentences grow as tributaries join,
Grammar's banks keep the flow in line.
Meanings unfold, a widening delta vast,
Understanding deepens, and knowledge is amassed.
Tiny word parts, pebbles smooth and round,
Building blocks strong, on fertile ground.
Culture's whispers carried on the breeze,
Accents and slang, like rustling leaves.
Like a river, language never moves,
Old words fade, while new vocabulary grooves.
Technology's dam gathers knowledge vast,
Analyzing speech, holding the past.
Sounds have their rhythm, like rapids so clear,
Writing captures them, year after year.
Machines mimic, bridging the spoken word,
Translation's bridge, for all to be heard.
From villages nestled to cities so grand,
Linguists like guardians, on shifting sand.
Preserving tongues, endangered and frail,
Languages flow a timeless tale.
Brain pathways formed, like a river's bed,
How we understand, in our minds are bred.
Theories explored, from every nation's shore,
Human expression, forever.
A river of language, forever it runs,
Learning and speaking, under life's setting suns.
In an other dimension
There lies another world
Deep forests of green
Moss, fern creepers unfurled
Thousands of birds
Species similar to ours
Atmosphere the same
Moon and bright stars
The difference here
Is the attitude of life
No savaging hunters
In bloodied strife
Birds and snakes
Side by side
A girl runs through the trees
With the Lions pride
Kids bathing
In Crocodile waters
Splashing and yelling
No wanton slaughter
A world without food
No rotting decay
Animals and plants
Live day to day
Somewhere in time
Living structures changed
Purely oxygen feeders
No humans deranged
Life has a life
As they will pass away
But not one will fall
To a victim of prey
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy3.php
My love for you is deeper than the longest river. Higher than the lowest valley. my love runs so far and wide I'm scared of our love sometimes. For only God's hand on us can make me feel both blessed and in disbelief. My love runs deep wanting and waiting for your return to me from along hard day's work. My lovenever changes nor will I ever judge. My love runs deep from here to eternity, my freind, lover, and destiny. my love runs deep.
Why is diahrrhoea known as ‘the runs’
When it makes you sit on the loo all day
Oh hang on a minute, I’ve got to go …oh heck I must rush
The contents of my stomach need to pour out of my tush
English spelling used*
13th November 2014
It is night
2 am
I am driving to the store for cigarettes
A short trip
Or it would be
Except the light turns red
The minute I reach it
I slow my car to a crawl
Hoping that I can inch my way forward
That if I just take my time
It will turn green and signal
My departure
It doesn’t turn green
And so I sit
At a red light
With not another car in sight
I sit tight
Just like I was trained to do
A good citizen
A willing slave
Even when it is clear I could move
Even when not a soul would be harmed
By pushing on the gas
And blowing the light
I sit in the dark
At the light
A quiet symbol of control
And wonder what it means to be free
And this is quite possibly
The greatest argument
For not buying cigarettes
At 2 am
If more people sat
In the dark
At lights at 2am
Then the makers of lights and rules
Might tremble
Black squirrels bound skewways
from the house, shadowshifts
falling darkly on
dusty white autumnal
snow. Paw prints run
makeshift memories soon
snowed over. Leaping
on tree trunks they wind their
way upward on paths of birch
bark in quick roundhouse runs.
I watch them go from
a seat by the door
and eavesdrop on the
dripping eaves trough. Icicles
hang like stalactites
and
drip
their
dew
onto
the
driveway.
The heater blows dry
air over my face as
dust rides recirculated
draft flows and floats upward
in a beam of magnetic
light. A thin frosting
of human sloughcells
settles on the windowsill
in a regiment I
attack with the duster
before they regroup and
resettle. Single cells
born of a single self. I
pace circles on the
fading cream carpet.