Death is not our story's end
Far from the garden where we tend
Flowers of love to blossom and send
Fragrance on the winds aloft,
Drifting into your dreams so soft,
Bringing you back to our garden croft.
Categories:
croft, death,
Form: Rhyme
Embers trailing an afterglow of dawn,
welcoming harmony lingers aloft,
as chess pleasures the first move of its pawn.
That will make Mary quite contrary yawn,
passed Mary was Harry down his hayloft,
embers trailing an afterglow of dawn.
Into the John Harry quickly withdrawn,
Mary takes her sweet time as she so oft,
as chess pleasures the first move of its pawn.
Here sits down Harry as breakfast is on,
then sat Mary talking ever so soft,
embers trailing an afterglow of dawn.
Harry is done, washed up, and waits for Vaughn,
Mary's done, washed up, and waits for Miss. Croft,
as chess pleasures the first move of its pawn.
Mary's the first to leave on down the toft,
Then Harry, his friend, and a boy named Shawn,
embers trailing an afterglow of dawn,
as chess pleasures the first move of its pawn.
Categories:
croft, analogy, boy, girl, growing
Form: Villanelle
A cool Autumn morning we caught the bus,off at eleven without much fuss.One
and half return from Croft to Leigh a birthday treat from Dad to me.Hopped on a tram to Burden park to see Stan Mathews make his mark.Through the turnstile into the town end,crushed and crammed like cattle penned.
Mathews, Mortenson versus Nathaniel Lofthouse,a match for connoisseurs to watch. Wembly star Stan playing on at thirty eight still making inch perfect
crosses on a plate. Shimmy,side-step,feint and dazzle,leaving the defenders in a
right frazzle. Our ageing hero displayed all his twinkling skills,the complete pro
without modern-day frills.Most pundits considered Stan an aged has-been but no better talent had ever been seen.
Categories:
croft, soccer, sports,
Form: Rhyme
EMOTION
Emotion can be thought as soft
Unlike hard thinking in a brain
Proudly holding a solution aloft
Yet no time for feelings to reign
No fields of gold, merely a croft
But it’s open people who emote
Categories:
croft, emotions,
Form: Rhyme
Do you remember our relationship?
It was cold, named love; out of feelings' grip,
We were together, life was not our trip
?We wooed, was it really a blessed courtship?
When we kissed, I thought your lips are not soft,
To sow roses, your body wasn't my croft;
Our words were seldom love and care aloft,
We won't be a good couple, I thought oft...
Aft long discussion, we separated
All our promises declared outdated
Remained calm, separation was our fate
Out of each other's sight, with no debate
Should we bring back days which pleasure couldn't create?
End was end, forget that abandoned hate...!
September 21, 2022
Categories:
croft, anxiety, dedication, devotion, emotions,
Form: Sonnet
Half sunk in peat and sodden moss,
redundant, clutching at the sky.
Rough stones nearby tell of a loss
long past. We look and can but try
to see beyond this relic on the hill
and hear the plaintive echoes still.
Categories:
croft, history, sad,
Form: Rhyme
rain rain go away
snow and ice to come instead
this mixed up weather
December 30, 2021
Karen Croft
Categories:
croft, seasons,
Form: Haiku
On the first day of January I resolve to:
Be more patient and not let my temper get the best of me.
Next I resolve to lose weight-
I know the typical resolution for those who like food!
This will have to blend in with my first resolution of patience
On the contrary if i can lose weight and have patience then
i will be motivated to work more and do my next resolution of paying off bills
My fourth resolution is to travel more and get out of the state of Ohio
My final resolution is to write more, publish more and have fun doing it!
I am definitely ready to start the new year-
with patience to work towards a beach body, travel with no bills hanging over my head and the reward of people reading my poetry.
Karen Croft
December 30, 2021
Five New Year's Resolutions
L Milton Hankins
Categories:
croft, adventure,
Form: List
Bones remain, retain, and nourish
the under-croft, the terrain,
the meadow green.
Bones replant. They are meals for
the mouths of ghosts.
The dead feed the living,
and the living cut down the alive
to feed themselves.
The world must eat itself.
This is called husbandry and farming.
It is also called shopping and carrying,
killing, and butchery.
Those that eat only vegetables
also partake;
for the leaf and stalk
are seeded in the mellowing marrow
of a long planted bone-sown mire.
Often bones are dropped into the soil
as if the dirt were an ocean
and the land all that is or was left-over.
This is known as litter.
A grave is a half-way house,
Urns are waiting rooms.
Worms wheel the bon-rich earth
towards the sky for its blessing.
Osseous is the ancestry that seeds nations.
What follows bone and bone ash
becomes the crop, the tomorrow-cart
laden with its bone harvest.
Bone-flowers scent the air
from the empty canals of nowhere.
Bones scaffold wingspans,
they riddle citadels of stone.
Bones in tombs and catacombs
are pabulum for the larder.
A storage for generations.
Categories:
croft, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Flaws and faults blame each other.
Demonized like Succubus-Incubus.
Philautia, amour propre cursed lover.
Garden fountains, tears and mucus.
Morally peaceful dignity of lover.
Love is aloof and leaves the circus.
Categories:
croft, love, teen love,
Form: Vaasokht
A tulip in a vase
on a rigid stand
does it really hold a thousand words?
or a thousand strokes
as the artist paints
it upon a fresh canvas?
What is going through their mind
with each stroke,
each dab of paint,
each mark it leaves behind
what memory does it hold-
whose life does it embellish
or is it just a painting
thought of by the artist
to spark the interest of the onlooker?
Karen Croft
October 5, 2021
Categories:
croft, nature,
Form: Free verse
A cool Autumn morning
we caught the bus
off at eleven
.without much fuss.
One & half return
our village Croft to Leigh
a birthday treat
from Dad to me.
Hopped on a
tram to Burden park
to see Stan Mathews
make his mark
Through the turnstile
at the town end
crushed &crammed
like cattle penned.
Mathews& Mortenson
versus Nathaniel Lofthouse
a joust no connoisseurs
could never grouse.
Wembly star Stan
still playing on at thirty eight
still making inch perfect
crosses on a plate.
Shimmy side-step
feint & dazzle
leaving the defenders
in a right frazzle
Our ageing hero
displayed all his twinkling skills
the complete pro
without modern-day frills
Most pundits considered
Stan as aged has-been
but no better talent
had ever been seen
Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007
Categories:
croft, soccer, tribute,
Form: Quatrain
Curling
around the house,
the breeze was unfurling,
moving dead leaves in its twirling
fingers, apparently
satisfied with
whirling
The dance
lured the lovers
to come out and romance
under the willow's shadowed trance,
soft whispers of the breeze
inspired their love's
warm glance
Showers
gently fall on
them, even as flowers
bloom open with piquant powers,
they laugh and enjoy love's
passionate few
sweet hours
The soft
zephyr played with
trees in the woods and croft,
with laughter ringing, it does waft
mingling with mild murmurs
of love in skies
aloft
The breeze
lingers to look
at the lovebirds and tease
them with silky tendrils that squeeze,
meandering with ease,
watching o'er them
'mid trees.
05.28.2021
Form: "Heptastich"
(Syllable count: 2.4.6.8.6.4.2 with rhyme scheme: abaacda)
For Constance La France's ""Z" contest: new or old"
Categories:
croft, romance, sweet love, wind,
Form: Verse
Bones and their ash remain,
retain and nourish
the under-croft, the terrain.
The meadow green.
Bones replant.
The dead feed the living,
and the living cut down the living
to feed themselves.
The world must eat itself.
This is called husbandry and farming.
It is also called shopping and carrying,
killing, and butchery.
Those that eat only vegetables
also partake.
A grave is a half-way house,
Urns are waiting rooms.
The soil nurses bones,
worms wheel the earth towards the sky
for its blessing.
Osseous clouds seed nations.
What follows bone and bone ash
becomes the crop,
the tomorrow-cart laden
with its bone harvest.
Bone-flowers scent the air.
Bones underpin bridges and wingspans,
citadels of stone.
Bone dust scaffolds every stem and branch.
Bones in tombs and catacombs
are food for the larder.
A storage for generations.
Stars shed their elemental dust,
becoming bone fodder.
Bone ash is the genesis
of all unknown beginnings.
Categories:
croft, poetry,
Form: Free verse
There it stands, desolate and alone
That roofless shell where the winds
Still whisper of the past
When scampering children's squeals
And wheeling seabirds' cries
Rose thinly through the air.
A thatched croft from which a healthy living was scraped
A shirt-sleeved man, braces showing,
Bald pate bunneted against the sun,
Bent over to tend his plot
An aproned woman cheerfully shooing away the hens
To collect the eggs for the evening meal
Beside a silvery sea stretching
To the horizon
Hiding the city lights and its imagined pleasures
Until those dreams drew the young away
Watched sadly by the elderly pair
Their exodus damning
The island to its desolation
Where still the birds' cries squeal
And the wind through the grass softly whispers
Surrounding the now silent croft
In the salt sharp air
What homely pleasures such a life once offered
Now the graveyard of fading memories
While the once busy city streets
Stand empty drained of life
As the virus continues to take its toll
Categories:
croft, bereavement, happiness, loneliness, memory,
Form: Free verse
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