Little trinket gather on her nightstand.
Each holding powerful memories.
The cowbell decorated with colors,
from her once so dear football team.
It's always been louder than others,
showing through with a prideful beam.
The hand painted rock,
with the sun and white fluffed clouds,
serves as a key to a lock,
to a time her voice was outspoken and loud.
The blue rubber duck,
a dear friend gifted.
It reminds her of her luck,
because she couldn't have had a friend more fitted.
The small rubber bracelet, that a group had
made. She wishes to see them again.
The small doll with a big heart,
a pass love had given her.
She apologizes every night.
she holds these memories close,
For they are so dear to her heart.
She dreams with them near,
and she has no fears.
Verse, refrain.
Chorus and cowbell.
Verse, refrain.
Chorus, and cowbell.
Bridge.
Verse, refrain.
Chorus, more cowbell.
Instrumental bridge.
Drum solo.
Verse, refrain.
Even more cowbell.
Fade out.
Applause.
two roundels
“Mommy, let’s go ride Maxwell, Don’t say no again.”
My son has named ev’ry horse on the carousel.
“We will go soon!”, I promised but I don’t know when.
“Mommy, let’s go ride Maxwell.”
“Lots of people are sick; just how long we can’t tell.
The park is all closed up, no one is allowed in;
and we have to stay in our house for a long spell.”
“H-O-R-S-E” spells Mikey with a big grin.
I play music as he rides rocky horse, Cowbell.
Lifting a sleepy boy, I hear him whisperin'
“Mommy, let’s go ride Maxwell."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With the passage of years, we'll be able to freeze,
to kill the threat of COVID-19 and its fears.
Note Mike will still smile when he hears calliopes
with the passage of years.
Bear in mind, e-lessons we'll learn on new frontiers;
the strengths we'll gain connecting as close families.
How Face-Time helps victims to cope, shedding good tears.
Praising those who man hospitals and groceries;
remembering those who've died all across these spheres.
Thanking God for new medicines and expertise
with the passage of years.
written March 28, 2020
Contest: Quarantine Poems
Hostess: Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
Miss Bahamian Culture
a woman who pledges loyalty
to put Bahama land from the time
she was conceived out of the womb
Miss Bahamian Culture
a woman who sheds the blood
of gold, black and aquamarine
straight from her veins
as she wakes up each morning
to the pulsing beat of Goombay drums
and cowbell singing in her ears
Miss Bahamian Culture
a woman who is a true cultural icon
always clothed in either Androsia Print
a costume of cardboard and crepe paper
or gold, black and aquamarine attire
from head to toe
Miss Bahamian Culture
a woman who is a pure nationalist
who always remember where her navel string was buried
in her place of birth and tropical sanctuary
regardless of where she travels in the world
whether it be in Miami, Cuba, Japan or Vancouver
Soiree
See you Saturday
In Santa Fe
Fancy Shebang
Quick overnight boomerang
In convertible Mustang
Masked Escapade
No typical charade
Invitation says masquerade
Frame or Fame
Play the game
Hide your name
Real Deal
Say your spiel
Save the reveal
Quite Gourmet
They’ll serve Dubonnet
For floral bouquet
Midnight Champagne
Take private plane
Mile high insane
Ring the Cowbell
In a nutshell
Just another bombshell
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
It’s the joy of today and the loss of tomorrows,
a boy at the bat, all his bases and sorrows.
It’s the music we touch when we hear lovers’ hearts,
or the hustle and bustle of local food marts.
It’s the sigh of the sun and kid’s skips along breeze,
our favorite lyrics of the birds and the bees.
It’s a mother remembered by a grown up child,
or a howl as it lingers in the starry wild.
It’s the innocent bubbles of a newborn’s eyes,
or the push and the pout of a little girl’s cries.
A note crossing desks when the teacher’s not looking,
a fisherman’s grin at the fish that he’s hooking.
It’s our love and emotions, the way we see God,
or the moo of a cowbell in the dells we trod.
So we dance to our tunes and we share how we feel.
May we cherish all poets and rhymes as they heal!
there once stood a man who in dungarees trained,
all his horses to run with his denim shirt stained.
There were fresh jars of liquor and bushels of wheat.
There was a cowbell that clanged:" Time! Come and eat!"
There once was a girl who rolled free in the hay.
Then she saw a packed loft on her wedding day.
There once soared a fire that brought cries of: " Help!"
There was a whipping out back of a brazen young whelp.
He once had a large family. They left him, one by one,
as the red barn was peeling in the long summer sun.
There once was a prize mare who had pictures and praise.
There once stood a red barn. It was here in those days
There still stand two stones, where this man and his wife
became one with the land to which they gave their life.
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