Wry grin from bookshelf,
dark tome teethers in shadow,
bookmarked for downfall!
tarnished page a fright,
dull wobbly watermark smudge,
reeks of distant stain!
One can say my skies aren’t lofty
And my style does not appeal
To their taste I’m too low key
They don’t care if I’m real
Or a shadow of bygone
If I’m living or deceased
If I’m right or if I’m wrong
They can’t bother less – I’m pleased
With attention I provide
I respect the time they waste
Reading words I couldn’t hide
Just to fit some little taste.
Living future memories
creating moments to treasure...
Recalling bygone glory
Our last days do we measure
Weeping willows of
past twilight inkling
cast a blurred shadow
on “lily-white age”
viewed through clouded lens!
As yellow leaves wither in the autumn breeze,
only apathetic thoughts remain
in this nonchalant existence of
my diseased body and over the hill mind!
It reminds me a time of agility,
A time of struggle and celebrations,
An age when dreams of a better future bloomed,
And leaping up those stairs to pluck the petals of success.
The illusion of youth, believing I would remain the same forever,
My beauty, once admired by the mirror,
My body, that lied about its boundless strength,
And the willpower that upheld my beliefs!
Now, my poor mind, dreadfully distressed,
on the fritz of my worn body parts.
Here I am, at the dusk of my life,
panting and staring at the steep stairs
called ‘rest of my time’!
I wonder, are there any tears left
to cry over the memories of my vigorous days?
Or, has time swallowed even the sorrow, leaving only silence?
The barn rooster crows
Big and little ones arise
It’s a country life
Life of work and fun
Hunor must rise with the sun
Laughing has its turn
Everyone must try
From here to the by and by
Make the load lighter
“Where y’all going now
We fixin’ to milk the cow
You shore y’all know how”
Tomorrow we go
Downtown to the picture show
Once out the short rows
Pa ain’t keen ‘bout it
Thinks it’s the old devil’s way
To get hard earned dime
Ma says it’s alright
But we must behave ourselves
Do what the Book says
Again in the fields
Plowing the dirt with ole mule
Life turns on slow wheels
Work sunup to dusk
Ain’t no need to fret or fuss
No one gives a cuss
Milking the old cow
Plowing, praying, and laughing
Bygone country life
Know a sweet lady who was once a nurse
In a home for retired folks
A perfect personality to take care of the aged
Such tender caring she evokes
Her sweet loving nature was a perfect match
They must have really adored her
A tender loving soul with a heart of gold
A one-in-a-million type girl
Honoured by her friendship and dear sweet love
Fortunate to have met this charmer
Would sure love to spend a couple of evenings
Talking, some nights in the parlour
Hearing sweet tales bout these elderly folks
Their long and interesting lives
Tales of a joy with their dear loving families
Loving husbands and dear sweet wives
For some, their memories are all they have left
Abandoned, forgotten and alone
Such a sad and unhappy way to end a life
Golden years can be overblown
So if you have folks tucked away in a home
Please visit these precious dears
One day you'll also be thankful for those visits
Talking about your bygone years
The barn is hollowed by time,
greased by phantom tractor engines.
A rusting spade and shotgun,
laid-up in the shadowy bygone.
A dusty hayloft full of owl songs.
The mice are out in the fields,
where the corn once waved as it shone,
they know that night birds,
will dream of blood soon.
rodents burrow
into the dark for yet more dark.
Owl throats fill and billow,
as echos deep with the mossy timber.
Awake now, the owls fly silent,
as keen-eyed ghosts of prey
in the overcast.
Through all these shortening nights
and days,
the barn attends to the heartbeat,
of an old fallow farm,
and a lengthening stretch
of dying dreams.
Roaming over the wheatfields
their joints a-cranking
insecticide fog blankets the air
Oklahoma dustbowl bleeds
Relics of a bygone day, all angles they move
ravaging fields and pests, pests and fields
wheels of progress a-churning away
blackening golden grain
~ pests' entree, noonday
Know a sweet lady who was once a nurse
In a home for retired folks
A perfect personality to take care of the aged
Such tender caring she evokes
Her sweet loving nature is a perfect match
They must have really adored her
A tender loving soul with a heart of gold
A one-in-a-million type girl
Honoured by her friendship and dear sweet love
Fortunate to have met this charmer
Would sure love to spend a couple of evenings
Talking, some nights in the parlour
Hearing sweet tales bout these elderly folks
Their long and interesting lives
Tales of a joy with their dear loving families
Loving husbands and dear sweet wives
For some, their memories are all they have left
Abandoned, forgotten and alone
Such a sad and unhappy way to end a life
Golden years can be overblown
So if you have folks tucked away in a home
Please visit these precious dears
One day you'll also be thankful for those visits
Talking about your bygone years
A forever lasting lullaby,
Sung by weeping angels.
I must atone my sins,
Alone.
In the dusting of the spring time,
Sweet scented thoughts of yesterday,
Make my sulky heart sing and chime,
For memories that won’t fade away.
The buds on trees now softly sway,
Reminding me of love once shared,
Of moments that have slipped away,
Of trices when we truly cared.
But time keeps ticking on and on,
And life moves forward with its stride,
Yet in my heart, the memories dawn,
Of love and laughter by our side.
I long for one more sweet embrace,
One more chance to see you heartface!
Calm serenity masks nervous energy
Gentle eyes that twitch at every sound
No paradise where there's mistrust
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Write I, and not another, in jealousless inward discover.
The beauty of my eye and the match of my heart
In overflowing settlement think I of her with feelings tart
Pondering: what else could I have done?
The one she rests upon she loves, but I still love but one.
It’s not his fault, nor mine I think, of order that she chose.
The perfect pretty polite mystique loves on orders from Above.
Still I, my eye of mind flashes, bear the thoughts of whom arose,
No better than her to mind comes me when dreaming of the love.
If right she be for me I ask, in all the ways I see,
Why should not I be the one to call this girl my bride to be?
God knows, and so I must be wrong. For such He does decree:
Everytime those blond blue-eyes laugh in his arms, gazing happily.
~ it brings tears - every ripple I wrote in my diary ~
14.02.2023
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
A Ripple To Me Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: JCB Brul
1st place in the contest
14 syllable - howmanysyllables.com
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