Rumors swirl about the return of Ole Man Jack's bitter breath
that only he can breathe...
Lonely shelves and coolers line empty aisles that echo
Searches for eggs, bread, and milk are fruitless
Dark, grey skies hang as snow softly cries
Now the hunt for extra oak and hickory__
Candles are gathered while tidying comforters and blankets, too
Spring and her bright, joyful blooms are sleeping
But today, Ole Man Jack is awake with his heavy, bitter breath
deep in the underbrush of the ying ying forest
there is a path of posies and a faerie named Norest.
Norest has prettied up her home with window boxes, each with a lily.
Her home has fluffy comforters, warm tapestries, and a parrot who is silly.
Once a year she holds an autumn tea for her favorite people.
They play finger games like “here’s the church, and here’s the steeple."
Norest is a hostess who bakes tasty pies, scones and fruitcakes.
Sometimes she adds banana splits and berry power shakes.
No one wants her smoothies, they are orange and green.
But if we are going to honor a hostess, in Ying Ying she is the queen.
Unfortunately, her parrot can be beyond silly, sometimes he is mean.
Often her guests run out screaming, never again to be cherished or seen.
Her mother was a seamstress, her aunts and grandma too
She had grown up into it naturally, serious seamstress Sue.
Her house was full of fat quarters, there were pins on her floor
Tiny bits of embroidery floss followed all her clothes out the door
She liked quilting, she was an expert, a hand-stitching queen.
Did not allow anyone to say “hand-made” in any kind of mean.
Her jackets were quilted concoctions made of a variety of fabric pieces.
She made comforters and bags for her six daughters and three nieces.
Sue's expensive sewing machine was going twenty-four seven.
Can she take all of the things she made, when she goes up to heaven?
Sue did not worry about any of this, she sewed all day and night.
Wore her spools upon her head also, she was a truly crazy sight.
Willy, a wild mammoth lives in my yard
Shedding head all over in clumps
Neighbors come by and collect it in bales
Making comforters, pillows and plush cushions
They bring casseroles, carrots, croissants and canapes
Willy has the best life, and he knows it
Milking it for all it is worth
Where we sleep there might be quilts
Or comforters or spreads
Or blankets made in varied styles
To warm us in our beds.
Some might prefer a cashmere throw
Or one hand-knit in wool,
While others cozy up to down
And can’t resist its pull.
A cotton blanket, or velour,
Keeps many feeling snug,
While weighted covers, loved by few,
In most evoke a shrug.
A coverlet atop a bed
Will make it look complete,
Yet lots of sleepers get along
With just an unlined sheet.
Still, no matter what your preference,
Any cover is okay,
But be careful that your partner
Doesn’t tug it all away!
True love
To love is not to possess,
To own or imprison,
Nor to lose sense of one’s self in another.
Love is the coming together of two,
To better yourself as you grow and start your family together.
Love is to find comfort ,
in who we really are
Removing dependency,
Whilst perfectly joined in the solace of permanent commitment
To one’s self,
and to eachother
Love is stronger when it flows freely,
Communicating openly and honestly.
moving lovingly like the oceans tide
With synchronicity, kindness and harmony
Love is finally,
despite a child’s greatest fears or an adults deepest wounds,
A chance to be openly free
Showing who you really are–and secretly always were,
In the very core of your being.
Love is being on the same team even when fighting, best friends forever, confidents, soul comforters.
Love is a never ending journey
Shared and bound for eternity.
9/1/2022 - OHMYWEDDING
Poem entitled
"You don't know my story"
By Bob K Queminee
Stop mocking at me/
Allow smile to embrace me/
As I flip the pages of my story/
Society is good enough to accept it
I have become enemy of history/
My pillows were my comforters/
My tears running amok like deer/
I didn't sleep without praying at night
I'm a son of the poor/
My mind is corrupt of my past/
My face sneers in hyperbole/
Because of the pain I endured so long
I can retrospect from the Genesis/
A point where education rejected me/
I weep when I sat alone in my room/
My friends greeted me with gossips.
Hard time gave birth to me/
Hunger was willing to fill my stomach/
Red light was my normal selling spot/
I sold food stuffs to sustain myself/
My soul chases happiness/
Smile spilled my face in public/
My inner peace is preventing shame/
Your fists of words can't stop me
eyelids are lovely
comforters for tired eyes
later, see sunrise
sometimes are flirty
some send loving secret codes
some flash lovely odes
10/12/2020
Opus# 5
are you a rightie
or a leftie
i'm not
talking
politics
relegion
turn signals
or decisions
it doesn't matter
what makes you
tick since i'm
ambidextrous
but not a
jekyll or
a hide for
certainly not
a phd
merely
a ba but
better
then
a bs
yet i often
butt my head
and try to think
ba ba black sheep
which i was the
family one
but
my
wool has made
some wonderful
comforters
No Getting Back to Normal, a 9-11 Poem
by Michael R. Burch
for the survivors of 9-11
Intrude upon my grief; sit; take a spot
of milk to cloud the blackness that you feel;
add artificial sweeteners to conceal
the bitter aftertaste of loss. You’ll heal
if I do not. The coffee’s hot. You speak:
of bundt cakes, polls, the price of eggs. You glance
twice at your watch, cough, look at me askance.
The TV drones oeuvres of high romance
in syncopated lip-synch. Should I feel
the underbelly of Love’s warm Ideal,
its fuzzy-wuzzy tummy, and not reel
toward some dark conclusion? Disappear
to pale, dissolving atoms. Were you here?
I brush you off: like saccharine, like a tear.
Keywords/Tags: 911, 9-11, 9/11, terror, terrorism, terrorist, attack, aftermath, victims, survivors, consolation, consolers, condolences, comfort, comforters, memorial, tribute, sacrifice, sacrifices, grief, loss, heal, healing
Break Time
by Michael R. Burch
for those who lost loved ones on 9-11
Intrude upon my grief; sit; take a spot
of milk to cloud the blackness that you feel;
add artificial sweeteners to conceal
the bitter aftertaste of loss. You’ll heal
if I do not. The coffee’s hot. You speak:
of bundt cakes, polls, the price of eggs. You glance
twice at your watch, cough, look at me askance.
The TV drones oeuvres of high romance
in syncopated lip-synch. Should I feel
the underbelly of Love’s warm Ideal,
its fuzzy-wuzzy tummy, and not reel
toward some dark conclusion? Disappear
to pale, dissolving atoms. Were you here?
I brush you off: like saccharine, like a tear.
Keywords/Tags: 911, 9-11, 9/11, terror, terrorism, terrorist, attack, aftermath, victims, survivors, consolation, consolers, condolences, comfort, comforters, memorial, tribute, sacrifice, sacrifices, grief, loss, heal, healing
LOST IN MY LOSSES
Losses upon losses
My losses lost me
I lost them all
Now, I have nothing else to loose
I only wonder who will lose me now
If only I get lost like my losses
But, I’m not chasing after my losses
But, should I lose myself enduring my losses?
Let it be counted as collateral damage
The pains alone have inflicted enough damage.
My comforters comforted as always
Yet, none gave me comfort in anyway
I got tired of the replay; I lost my way too
I need directions; my mind is blind to them
I can’t see that I couldn’t see; lost my mind too
Voices in my head rendering multiple messages
I’m trying hard to understand them; yet my mind remains lost
I’m talking to myself but still can’t hear myself
It’s not strange that all these strange things made me strange
In conclusion, I got lost in my losses.
Lordvip
Marriage bed’s empty though Love's nest is near,
Comforters gathered can’t pillow flown warmth!
Poetry’s widow? Both lovers feel lost!
Poetry born though perhaps worth the cost?
Buried at work, Men support Women's child,
Often miss most of a child's growing up,
Village required to survive, find a place.
Creation! Spirit's the heart of life's race.
Apnea too tweaks my daze at this stage,
Quality nights need Love's help to find peace,
Restless leg movements make snuggling feel wrong,
Aberrant thoughts hint REM dreams aren't that long!
Pills now aid sleep, then reverse meds at dawn,
Needed for wakefulness if I would drive!
Age, no retirement! Is all life a test?
'Risk' in investment, still I’d not divest.
End never easy for life that Death reaps,
Even when welcomed, a sadness pervades.
Death! It the loss of all dreams where I stand
Or, more a gateway to peace, (God?) has planned?
Lord! Oh, the Grace felt at dawn's sweet surprise,
Softly you nestle as dawn meets my eyes
Rhyme now upended with love's life extended,
Metered that choosing and sharing aren't losing.
Long Tooth
April 14th of 2019
I am a fake so many times a day,
It is crazy
Pretending to care when I don’t.
Pretending things are okay, when they are not.
Sometimes I pull myself into my pajamas and crawl into my bed with the
fluffy comforters, three or four seconds after I come home from work.
Knowing I can be real only in my dreams.
Praise women!!!
Praise women
For they raised us,
For they never abandoned us even when life was difficult,
Praise women,
For they never gave up on us,
For they are our mothers,
Our comforters,our rocks,
Praise women,praise them,
For they cared for us,
They gave us love,
Gave us hope and life,
They raised us to become better people,
They stood by is,
Even when we lost faith,
They are mothers of all professions,
Women of all trades,
Women who know best,
Praise women,praise them,
You strike a woman,you strike a rock!
Praise be unto them,
Praise them,praise them!!!
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