Those we love don't go away,
They walk beside us every day,
A loyalty we're blessed to win,
Always there like a second skin.
Come rain or shine, true love lingers,
They're as useful as our fingers,
Their presence soothes each weary heart,
And makes all worries soon depart.
They're warm blankets in harsh weather,
Their fondness binds us together,
Their words can guard us through all storms,
With trust and guidance that transforms.
Within our heart their love's the pith,
A truth beyond mere mortal myth,
A joy that never fades or flees,
A peace that pleases, not teases.
My day is simply incomplete;
no one else has liked my brilliant tweet.
And now, the views make matters worse,
prove I’m not so clever - how perverse!
-------------
All of twitterdom seems to be lamenting the new feature of showing how many people have viewed your tweet. Pretty funny - people seem genuinely depressed at the number of folks who view their tweets without leaving a comment or a like. We are a nation/world of narcissists...
The sun is a little cold,
after the stupendous gale...
I decide I'll arrange blankets
of clouds for him...!
Fort Pueblo 1854, retaliation swift, no one was toying.
We rebels thought the British Empire annoying
Nonchalant agents ignored the plan with noncaring eyes.
It is a misnomer that the Europeans are the good guys.
We were the bad guys during the Indian Wars, totally unfair.
Giving smallpox laden blankets to the natives without care.
Making our friends our enemies, a move that was dire.
Making us less than people, a mean kind of fire.
In retaliation for the small pox deaths, White Earth led a raid.
He brought Apache and Utes in, to slay as if it were a parade.
They came to many a dwelling, and killed quite a few.
Dire displace of a woman and her sons, count of two.
The red brick walls safeguard us from the storm
soft comforter pulled up to keep us warm
in our new place
Oak leaves, like parachutes, fall towards the ground
alighting on the shroud of snow around
the bare tree's base
Brand new emotions we're discovering
as nurse pulls up the blanket, covering
your grandma's face.
// Poet's note: My wife and daughter both experienced the death of a
beloved grandmother in the year their weddings occurred. Joyful and
tearful memories are mingled, represented by these three blankets //
I make cuddle blankets for children in need,
they are sewn with bright flannel material,
hoping each child will hug it with joy,
feeling secure in a world that is upset down,
saying a prayer for each little one wearing a frown.
I make cuddle blankets for children in need,
dropped off at shelters who protect abused women
who escape with their families out of dire fear,
sometimes with clothes on their backs and no more,
prints vary from dinos to cars to satisfy the score.
I make cuddle blankets for children in need,
a project which makes my sewing machine hum,
each stitch is a labor of love as they are created,
turned to the right side and edges ironed flat,
attaching embroidery stitches as a final pat.
I make cuddle blankets for children in need,
this is something that comes from my heart,
it provides hours of pleasure for a retiree
who wants to give back to those in need,
a dream which has turned into a good deed.
Ovarian, Breast, Pancreatic, or Lung…
there’s a look that is shared the same
And staring straight into the eyes of time,
all promises gone and reclaimed
Each moment borrowed and leased from your fear,
the walls crashing one by one
Tonight no longer a sleep guaranteed
—under blankets of doubt unsung
(Dreamsleep: March, 2020)
snow blankets the ground
crystal stars melt together
form a field of white
in the silence of winter
paw prints trace a zig-zag path
Cuddling in soft blankets
feeling cherished
adding Vicks
which brings me extra comfort
and childhood memories
I pick up my warm mug
filled with hot chocolate
overshadowed by the large
melted marshmallow
floating all over the top
Life is grand!
In the quiet ebon of morning,
Thoughts arrive as droplets from the sky.
I’ve expended too much of my seventy-nine years,
Waiting on a bus called someday;
Now that the bus has arrived I discover,
I don’t have the price of a ticket,
Indian Blankets don’t populate my meadow,
And my time for planting has passed.
Little kids who go to bed
Very often wake up dead
Around their necks the blankets wrap;
While they sleep, their necks go, "Snap!"
Wake up choking in the night
Find the blankets tied on tight
Yank and pull the awful noose
Die because you can’t get loose.
From the ongoing series Lucifera's Questionable Daycare Poems & Stories.
ice snow is falling
on sweet frozen spring flowers . . .
icy blankets melt
___________________________
April 15, 2018
Poetry/Haiku/icy blankets
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1013-200-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym
Written for the contest, Haiku(theme nature)
sponsor, Mick Talbot
Third place
I cry myself to sleep at night
Unfortunately, not everything is black and white
Oh, how my soul aches from the cold
Oh, your wings of flight are so bold
I wake up for the millionth time...
Wrapped up in your blankets of benevolence
Wrapped up in your lullabies of evanescence
I relax in your blanket of...
Benevolence that I've been dreaming of...
I've dreamt a dream of my long lost love
It was many years ago...now, I'm a lonely glove
I've been trekking down Sorrow Town
I tread in dread upon the Earth with a frown
And you got me caught up in the strife,
Giving me hell in this corrupted life
But, there's goodness and hope beneath the rubble
I lost track of time, so let's get warm and cuddle
Away from harm's way...
Away from harm's way...
Come here and stay...
Don't stray away...or get led astray...
I will move you with my sway...
And keep you nice and cozy
In the blankets of benevolence...
You are engulfed in my remembrance...
Forevermore,
The one that I adore
Blankets For Jerrin
Some people might look at these blankets I have made you thinking
your grandma should stick to things for her to write
but after all dear grandson they will still
provide for you a warm and cozy night.
You see they thought not perfect were
made for you with hands of love
hands that wanted to leave for you
a touch from our Father above.
Oh yes I tried to make these blankets perfect
and beautiful to the natural eye
but the more I tried and tried the more
things well to be sure went awry.
So I settled for a life’s lesson
that I won’t soon forget this test
for when we have done the best we can do
we need not to be ashamed for we have done our very best.
Written by: Grandma Marilyn S. Jennings
July 5, 2009
Another warm blanket
smothering our soul;
its threads
bound with toxins
weave through us all.
While our north
suffocates
caught in its fold,
our Inuit future
is already sold.
The hem is dripping milk
sour from the breast.
The weight of this truth
should be crushing our chest.
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