I have a wife, a son and two granddaughters,
I have nightmares.
A 'having' cannot be held onto,
a Keep, a Fast, a Hold, all are synonyms
for a fortress....
my aspirations crumble like ancient walls.
When I pluck a pretty wildflower
from a verdant meadow -
a momentary kiss of joy,
an enlightening ray of sun....
then cometh the regret, the withering,
a racing time outpaces any moment.
I have bad nights,
the dark always wins over any internal light,
I am transfixed, wide eyed looking at phantoms
that burgle my mind,
or do I rob theirs?
Who built this machine that
both devils and angels struggle to maintain?
Grace is doled out into my open palms,
and I must watch the blessing evaporate
before it reaches my lips.
I have bad dreams.
“Doing the little things can make a big difference.”-Yogi Berra
**************************************************************
A Tipping Balance
Dipped down the depth of a ditch by vile men
And shattered by the heartless hands of fate
I swayed with hope at the tip of one end,
At other, dark despair drowning me straight.
It was a tough tug of war with despair
Oft driving me to doors of depression
And hope at times lifting me up from scare
Of sinking in stormy seas of tension.
In time the flame of faith in the divine
Doled out a tipping balance towards hope
That did in my life steer some streaks of shine
And altered the contours of my life`s scope.
Now with hope and the flame of faith aligned
The tipping balance rests with the divine
precipice
and the granite unmasked
not my heart in immobility
Injustice
Disguise of righteousness
Not my soul in perpetual quake
Punishment
That which he doled smiling
My body he forced, never will be...
me
Each night she left him bleary -
his mind foaming in a glass
of Guiness.
Disappointments wore her life thin,
nuptials picked to a fugue and dinge,
by his thick-tongued spiel.
“I can change him.”
Nothing changed.
Long she withered and waned.
Friends doled out sympathy
like spreadable butter,
yet her bread was dry.
Long she withered.
Daily she wiped
a vinyl calico tabletop
wet with spilled beer
and self-pity.
She got a second job.
Still searching for my permanent address,
seeking where I really live, fit in.
Suspended between life’s already-happened
and soon-to-be-memories moments.
Longing for a white-picket-fenced home,
landscaped in self-trust, self-respect,
with room for a full-of-love heart.
Instead, I discover a crumbling castle,
mossy, dank dungeon of the mind
imprisons me.
The jagged nettles of cruel abuse
doled out by my dark thoughts
pierce my soul.
Spirit sapped, barely staying alive.
Hope, in one tiny sliver of daylight
in the cracked castle wall,
penetrates the darkness.
When push comes to shove,
will there be enough shove left in me
to rise above,
to finally reside in happily-ever-after?
My choice.
My long ago mother
used to string together cheap jewelry,
baubles and glitter threaded onto silvery strings
for a begrudging merchant
who kept a cramped second floor office
near what I later knew as Smithfield Market.
I would go with her
for I had nowhere to go but with her.
The very thought of 'nowhere' now
fills my mind with the muddy puddles
I used to jump into as we walked for miles
to a place where she sold
her time absorbing, paid for hourly
and tedious labor.
A place where an elderly, sour
and sniffing man doled out
a few coins into her open hand.
A scant amount and never enough of it
for us to ride a London bus
back to where we came from.
(My uncle who has been my father’s younger brother was almost like a father to me. He began his life as a commissioned officer in the Indian Air Force. He married my mother’s sister and is connected to me from both sides)
"I carry your heart with me(I carry it in my heart)I am never without it" Quote _ by E.E. Cummings
Gone you are, but shall not be forgotten
Love you and cherish the values you sowed
Through life’s strenuous paths you have trodden
With truth and uprightness you were endowed
You sired four children, a beautiful brood
From a heart of gold doled out love and care
You showed the path and your trail they pursued
Climbing ladders of success, they did fare
Heaped not any wealth, but worked without rest
Taught your children to accept life with grace
Gave up your pleasures to give them your best
You braved your days through life's perplexing maze
Uncle, to King eternal, you have fled
In our hearts, your loving memories flood
Sept.14.2022
Lost to Heaven- My Uncle
Writing Challenges- In My Heart- S forms
Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Peace and war
Often lived here over the years
Even though initiated by the few
Tears were created between many
Relaxation and growth was the PS purpose
Yet they in themselves had to be fought for
Still, with time, peace would prevail
Offences are still doled and taken
Until all are free of mistakes so it will be
Perfection is not what brought us here, poetry is
PSing since '06 ;)
When I ruminate in trepidations forlorn,
Darkness traversed in search of dawn,
Vying fertile shores, oceans I crossed,
Nightmares that my dreams doled out;
Looking back now, how I fondly recall--
In those hardships success was born.
As I watch frigid woes glinting on snow,
Winters that melt and in rivers flow,
Parched-leaves tinting autumn’s glow,
I wonder how seasons in throes know;
Behind clouds of despair rises arc of hope.
When I spend today in tempests bygone
Brooding in defeat of conquests lost,
Yesterdays that were callously tossed;
I once again follow footsteps of the past
Imprisoning my triumphs of tomorrow
Arresting winsome ambitions of now.
Learning the lessons from where I was
I reassure anxieties perturbing my life:
Travails of turbulence won’t last long,
For a darkest night too brightens in dawn,
A rainbow forms after a storm is gone.
So, I clasp the hand of a leisurely walk
Unfettered by constant tick of time clock,
Passionately answering call of my heart
Bequeathing moments that forever last.
August 8, 2022
Placed 1st: Free Verse -Old or New Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Life, a fleeting dream, warbling on meadows:
A season of spring and season of snows;
Sometimes in sunshine, sometimes in shadows,
Joy of autumns and woes of wintry throes.
And it journeys on, vying gleam of dawn
Only to confront grief of fate forlorn:
Of conquests lost, trepidations bygone,
Of nightmares roiling reveries of morn;
Lamenting goodwill that yesterdays tossed
And despairs of hardships hurdles doled out
Until bridge of life triumphant steps crossed,
Where blossoms of success its prairies sprout.
Where fruits of life on trees of acclaim grow
Claiming winsome now, defeating sorrow,
Lauding bliss sublime, free of grieving throe,
Cherishing today and dreams of morrow.
July 16, 2022
Placed 1st: It’s All About Three Q’s Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Life
Rhymes: abab, cdcd, efef, ghgh
(Rhymezone)
Syllables: 10 per line (HMS.com)
Amazingly, Alice assaulted an antelope
Because Bobby’s beavers became bold,
Considering cantilevered canines
Deliberately devastating donor’s doled.
Evelyn entirely excited electric eels
Failing forlornly from forward fencing,
Gaining ground gathering genuine gold
Her happiness heralded high financing.
I indicated initially incapable innocents
Justifying joyous juxtaposition jousting
Keeping kind Kenneth’s kindreds knit
Losing language like legally lost lusting.
Maybe minding manners means more
Neither newness nor novel necessary,
Occasionally opening old occlusions
Promises perfectly positioned pituitary.
Quite questionable quicky quirks
Rage rampantly removing regulations,
Summarily startling some supervisors
Touching their tempermental trepidations.
Until unusual undertakings understood
Veritable vigilantes visited volunteers,
Wildly waiting where we wandered
X-citedly X-iting X-istential X-ospheres
Yonder youthful yaks yielded...yikes!
Zebras zigzagged zestfully ziggurat-likes.
Those who saw prairies bloom
Remember well the dams he built
Filling their abundant reservoirs
Growing harvests they cherished
Being the only bridge they had
Standing over turbulent streams.
When the nights reign moonless
And clouds churn mighty storms
Most people still remember him
As ray of light when they were lost
For he was their only lighthouse.
His words enlightened their hearts,
His actions charted pristine paths,
Defying fiercely allure of wrongs
Sacred was the sermon he doled out,
Illustrious was he~ held in regard.
Though he’s gone, he left his mark,
Some have heard his clarion call,
Inspired to follow in his footsteps,
Planting the seeds of his message,
Carrying his torch~ seeds to harvest.
Esteemed is their beneficent voice
Tolling of selflessness and sacrifice,
Dedicating to others purpose of life
Alleviating sufferings of human plight;
Keeping the flame of goodwill alive
Trekking through rains and clouds
Leading the way, guiding how to find
The rainbow on other side of sky.
March 17, 2022
Placed 1st: A Brian Strand 1092
Placed 2nd: Being A Light To Others Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Twenty Pints of Sunshine
David J Walker
It seemed to be the only thing
In abundance on the farm
The light and heat
The shine so bright
Long days
short nights
And work doled out in the mornings
Today we will bottle in bell jars
20 pints of sunshine
And call it canning
A summer seasons planning
Saved for the
Short days
The long nights
Of freezing winter weather
To be opened
It says
When sleet falls in December
When the woods are wet and dreary
When the farm is fallow
When sunshine can only be found
In pint-sized
Bell Jar bottles
Pandering For Votes
Tom’s Opinion
July 17, 2021
Our country is filled with protesters, and activist’.
Many, filled with hate, are motivated by feelings of entitlement.
Their hunger is never quenched,
and a helping hand has become a way of life.
They quench their thirst from a pool
fed by the success of others.
Politicians give away tax dollars
through some program under the guise of helping the poor,
but it’s all about pandering for votes.
They know, you seldom bite the hand that feeds you.
Socialist believe everything should be doled out by big brother.
But I agree with Ian Steward Richardson who said it best,
“There are only two places socialism works-
one is in a beehive, and the other is in an ant hill.”
1 Timothy 5:8
“But if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel.”
King James Version (KJV)
Sipping coffee and reading papers,
I let the years of memories rewind,
Like winter and autumn,
You held me so close,
Like spring and summer,
You let me unfurl,
They were days of joy and tears,
With every minute captured and feared,
Never to be overlooked in the breezes of time,
Because you framed my soul,
So delicate and cold,
Wrapped in ribbons of golden,
With hands like seasons,
You secured every blueprint,
In bearings they had doled out,
And when some stranger would uncover me,
He would find a picture of a lady so smudged,
Carelessly,
Sipping coffee and reading papers,
Laying there still and silent,
Waiting for my audience to settle down,
Waiting for the shivering lines to straighten,
Within the boundaries of the floor,
To narrate a story
Of their fame, turning into gold,
Just like nights covered by spells and charms,
That last until digital breaths fade away into beeping alarms,
And still, I lay there swirled and curled,
Embracing freedom blazing and bizarre,
Capturing the view,
Of my remaining audience few,
And serenely fall on the morning dew.
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