Hold your head up high and put on a happy face.
Good things are coming your way.
Call it what you will be it karma, fate, or grace.
Good things are coming your way.
Don’t tell me that the future’s looking bleak.
Don’t say that life has lost all its mystique.
Don’t sit there on your duff and just complain.
Find the silver lining and forget about the rain.
Don’t act as if the sky is falling down.
Don’t let your face be frozen in a frown.
Don’t concentrate on cups that aren’t half-full.
Shake off all your worries, though we know it’s difficult.
Don’t let the bad news make you lose your smile.
Don’t let judgmental people change your style.
Don’t let the shadows ever dim your light.
Chase away those boogiemen and keep the sun in sight.
Hold your head up high and put on a happy face.
Good things are coming your way.
Call it what you will be it karma, fate, or grace.
Good things are coming your way.
Categories:
boogiemen, fate, happiness, happy, inspiration,
Form: Rhyme
When I was small, I loved to hear my mother sing
It's int'resting, the things that we repress
Today, I can't recall a verse,
I just recall the lies
We'd been estranged for years when I learned she had died
and I arranged to see her only then
My childhood home was full of ghosts and boogiemen
Would they rise from the box she'd put aside?
Just wedding photos. Nice surprise,
it could have been much worse
A smiling bride. What writhed beneath, no one could guess
She'd held my father hostage with that ring
She left to me the house, this box and one more thing -
a square of silk cut from her wedding dress
I pull it, folded, from my purse
and with it, dab my eyes,
then lay it in the box, which I close tight to hide
my troubled memories away again
Categories:
boogiemen, mother, wedding,
Form: Rhyme
Night is suffocating with lots of fear
Scenes of boogiemen and vampires quite near
A haunted house sits on top of a hill
Where spiders scatter about on the sill
A single light is lit in upstairs room
Looking frightful as if to spell some doom
Lightning flashes to reveal a graveyard
Where the dead lives again in his backyard
The pathway up to the dark front entrance
Is littered with Jack-O-Lanterns that dance
There are snakes that wait for one to walk by
So they can strike at him, cause him to die
The whole land smells of great fear and of fright
Bad place to visit on Halloween night
Russell Sivey
Categories:
boogiemen, holiday, life, halloween,
Form: Sonnet