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Free verse
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This is poem is dedicated to my father.
Although we differ in how
We see some areas of life
You are my father.
The one that supported
A family with many sacrifices
Gave advice and support
Through my life.
Stand besides me in
Health and sickness.
Thank you for being my Father.
For Stand By Your By Man Ladies Only Contest.
Inspired by Silent One
Fourth Place
9-19-2015
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Rhyme
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In the shadows moving with stealth
Preying on the weak his adrenalin to his health.
A vile slithering serpent, an agenda to bring harm
Beware the snare of his extended arm
The doer of evil, the maker of hate
The spreader of vicious rumors.always on his plate
A spinning Web of lies,,to reel in the naive
A creator of falsehoods,,to twist what you
believe.
So keep your guard up high, protect your fragile heart
From this monsters clutches before he tears you apart.
And to you the pretender you know who you are
Karma will find you it knows who you are.
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Rhyme
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For you I’d lay awake through open heart surgery
I’d walk through fire and shower in mercury.
Whatever it takes, if only you knew
I’d relight the sun to make the world brighter, For you
I’d burn my heart with a lighter.
Maybe you did know
And you watched me burn as long as I’d endure it
I became what you want and you punished me for it.
Always the fool to believe in forever
Not realizing my time was already up
Avoiding conflict my puerile endeavor
I cried the water that filled your cup
It was then I realized I was not the fool
I was a girl in love without knowing what it was
Sitting content in toxic garbage
Offering up my mental health
For you I was willing to hurt myself
But it wasn’t my fault
Partially at relief is a girl stuck in the 2nd stage of grief
No jabs to the heart or fire to my skin
I cried the river I should’ve drowned you in
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Rhyme
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I never felt as though my gender offered an advantage or that my race offered a place ahead of any other,
I felt as though I must compete with anyone who challenged and that it was unlikely I would be the best on offer,
I always felt it was the man who had to work much harder to supply the family needs that see it growing larger
I always knew the woman in my life was mine to flatter and treat her to the finer things so she knows that she matters
As the man I stand alone whenever there is danger protect my family with my life as dying is my honour
and for this I only wish my family have it better in happy health so I myself can die with them much stronger
So if this is a man’s world it’s a man’s sacrifice
giving what is never given so others will survive
women get the recognition I wonder if it’s nice
in a man’s world it’s a man’s will and duty to provide
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Free verse
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To my Grandma
November 21st 1957- May 7th 2012
A mother proudly raising her 3 beautiful children.
A son that will soon go fight for our country
A daughter that will be blessed with four children
An other Daughter that will be gifted in the arts.
That will always be there for them
To make a joke
Or heal a wound.
A Wife to a solder of the old red white and blue
For 34 years of being married on July 19th.
Always being there for him when he needs her most
And happy care for him in sickness and health.
A grandmother to four young girls
An artist and a poet
A rock-star at heart
A soon to be teacher
And a little princess
Has cared for and looked after
Was there to talk to when no one else would listen
Would love to hear or see their talents
Always had a blasted watching their favorite tv shows or movies.
That's what I think an awesome grandma is.
I go to her resting place and with a smile tears rolling down my face i say
"I love and miss you Grandma"
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Free verse
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Perhaps?
Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn’t?
Perhaps it’s just what we’ve been given?
Perhaps for you it’s so far away?
Then why do you think perhaps for some it’s here to stay?
Perhaps the grief and pain it brings makes it more like an enemy here, right here within?
Perhaps this is our war?
The days to come, so far removed from the days before.
Perhaps we have to fight to win? No soldiers we are but National Health Service heroes we’ve seen.
Perhaps it’s time to face ourselves?
We bleed the same, no matter what our coloured skin tells?
Perhaps we can find a better way?
Perhaps our hearts and minds can lead the way?
Perhaps the hate and fear can die?
It can for me with no questions why.
Perhaps I see you and feel your pain? Perhaps for me you do the same?
Perhaps one day I’ll see you there and I’ll approach you free with no distance care? Perhaps you’ll walk right up to me and perhaps as strangers we will smile and hug for humanity?
Perhaps?
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Ballad
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bob dylan, robert zimmerman
blind boy grunt, and elston gunn
may you live forever old
and write many more poems
may you be recognized even more
and take those awards in your stride
may your story be forever told
forever told, forever told
may your story be forever told.
may you see the light of every new dawn
and the sun set in the west
may you continue to do the things you love
and be content in your heart
may your story be forever told
forever told, forever told
may your story be forever told.
may your birthdays be plenty
and may you enjoy many more
may you live long and well
and enjoy the rest of your life
may your story be forever told
forever told, forever told
may your story be forever told.
may you always be remembered
and your legacy live forever
may your health stay well
and you be seen as someone bold
may your story be forever told
forever told, forever told
may your story be forever told.
Your story will be forever told
forever told, forever told
Your story will be forever told.
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Free verse
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This poem is written for a mate’s dad
The family left feeling awfully sad
For their Poppabear passed this week
A better life he tries to seek
A Son, A Brother, A Father too
Your babybears were very proud of you
Yes you had your demons with fags and the booze
Alas your taking your final cruise
You gave your children a better life than you had
That’s why they are proud to call you dad
Your early days with your brother were difficult and hard
No contact from parents not even a card
But you stayed true to your word
Gave your children love that’s not absurd
Even though you struggled with your health
Your love to the kids was better than wealth
As a former soldier and a guardsman too
I’m sure your send-off won’t be all blue
As a Guardsman you will stand tall
Erect to the front you will not fall
A handsome and witty chap you were
Direct to the point that was for sure
As a man who didn’t mince his words
Assertive and polite but did not curse ?
So Poppa Bear you will be missed
Now your babybears are getting Pxxxed
RIP DAD we loved you so much
A single white feather is all now we can clutch
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Free verse
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There is a difference between what is wrong and what is right.
World War Two was fought by men and women who were prepared
to die for our way of life.
These people lived in a world that we at best can try to understand.
They stared into the eyes of death and died fighting evil to defend
the hopes, beliefs and the children of this land.
I see a man who lived in a world I did not know. Though relatives of
mine were there with him defending all we know. Their stories always
recalled with a solemn painful sorrow. Not a hint of hatred or racism,
just not prepared to let evil overthrow.
The life this man has seen. Stood up to fight one of histories most
evil regimes. The people he will have seen and known, some of those
smiles never came back home. Now he walks for charity. Raises millions
for the health service of this country. I can not find the words to state
my pride for his selfless dignity.
This man is everything right about this country. Though some would
use the spirit of his memory to forward their own philosophy. Can you see
the wrong and right without staring too intently? The real hero who fought
for our country being a soldier for the health service we all need.
Or is it just me?
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Rhyme
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I Don’t Want
I don’t want my boy to grow up,
I don’t want my child to age,
I don’t want his hair to thin and grey,
or fear a war we wage.
I don’t want for him to need a job,
work each day to pay the bills,
I don’t want him feeling aches and pains,
I don’t want him taking pills.
No need for him to feel the pain,
that love and living brings.
I want him to sleep late each day,
and strum his guitar strings.
I want my boy to stay a child,
and be forever young.
No care or worries about anything,
just all day having fun.
I don’t want to cheat him out of life,
the joys of wife and children,
but the worry that this life creates,
makes peace of mind forbidden.
I don’t want him worrying about his health,
or job cuts at the office.
To his heartbreaks and his tragedies,
I won’t be an accomplice.
I don’t want him waiting up all night,
for his kids to come strolling in.
I don’t want him counting the days until
his retirement can begin.
I don’t want him worrying about how he’ll pay,
for tuition, lights and heat.
I don’t want him trying to feed five mouths,
with just one piece of meat.
Transforming into cats and dogs,
like kittens and puppies grow,
everyday my boy grows taller,
a trend not about to slow.
His voice keeps getting deeper,
too soon he’ll be a man,
small hints of teenage attitude,
but he still holds his daddy’s hand.
c Copyright 2007
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Rhyme
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TROLLS
I remember them; hard plastic things, with very long hair, they came in an arrangement of colours, quite a strange affair. Everyone had one, they were quite the rage, but: there was always had to be the one that others would upstage. It hair came in a mass of rainbow colours, if you had one of those, your mates were well jealous, but: it never stopped anyone collecting them, for that they were quite zealous.
Seldom came in clothes, they were just happy to be nude, nobody thought anything about the fact that might be rude. Then; their scope expanded and they came back dressed in clothes, and, their lovely little belly buttons were no longer exposed, coupled with; a health and safety notice because of the risk their hair imposed. But; if you didn’t own one, you were just not part of the gang; while across the nations all the toy shop tills rang.
Now; some are collectors’ items and worth a lot of cash, with people searching through their attics; looking for their old troll stash. The Dam tailed trolls from the ’60s were the most expensive ever sold, and, if you have one of those, well; it is worth its weight in gold. Mine; cost nothing more than a couple of bob, but; I must say after all these years mine is still up for the job. Undoubtedly Trolls will be here, a long time after we have all gone, they will have taken over the world, for that; you can all be sure to count on.
"Now; I bet some of you on seeing the title were thinking of the other type of Trolls we have come to know. Well; strange enough, I have had a few of them too, But; I don't make a point of collecting "em, they're worthless . . . : /
Indiana Shaw . . . : )
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ABC
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In the vast domain where currencies converse,
Fear and courage in the Forex universe.
It's more than a gamble, a financial ballet,
Diverse perspectives in the trading array.
Risk management, the wise trader's guide,
Navigating currents, where fortunes reside.
A dance with volatility, charts unfold,
In this market tale, stories untold.
Autotrading robots join the scene,
Executing trades with algorithms keen.
Yet amidst automation's calculated might,
Human insight still steers the night.
Institutions play a role profound,
In the Forex orchestra, where echoes resound.
Their moves, a ripple in the market sea,
Shaping the currency symphony.
Bigger whales, guardians of vast wealth,
In charge of exchanges, controlling the health.
Platform prices dance to their sway,
In this financial theater, night and day.
The market, a canvas of highs and lows,
Where fortune's river in complexity flows.
Yet amidst the chaos, a mantra remains,
Risk management, reigning over gains.
The Forex tale, a narrative complex,
A blend of skill, luck, and market reflex.
In the midst of uncertainty, traders persist,
Navigating the currents, in the market's twist.
In the vast domain where currencies converse,Fear and courage in the Forex universe.It's more than a gamble, a financial ballet,Diverse perspectives in the trading array.Risk management, the wise trader's guide,Navigating currents, where fortunes reside.A dance with volatility, charts unfold,In this market tale, stories untold.Autotrading robots join the scene,Executing trades with algorithms keen.Yet amidst automation's calculated might,Human insight still steers the night.Institutions play a role profound,In the Forex orchestra, where echoes resound.Their moves, a ripple in the market sea,Shaping the currency symphony.Bigger whales, guardians of vast wealth,In charge of exchanges, controlling the health.Platform prices dance to their sway,In this financial theater, night and day.The market, a canvas of highs and lows,Where fortune's river in complexity flows.Yet amidst the chaos, a mantra remains,Risk management, reigning over gains.The Forex tale, a narrative complex,A blend of skill, luck, and market reflex.In the midst of uncertainty, traders persist,Navigating the currents, in the market's twist.
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Rhyme
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I never imagined things would come to this
With you, life is filled with such bliss.
All the laughs we share,
No other memories could compare.
I love your smile
It's more radiant than the sunset's reflection off the ocean.
More beautiful than the tidal waves in motion.
My life is complete,
All the times with you are set on repeat.
Your voice when you sing
Brings a smile so wide
Up to my eyes
You make me feel hypnotized.
Rewind, pause, play and fast-forward are four buttons
If life had buttons, things would change all of a sudden
You could go back
When things start to crack
You could pause and stay in that moment
Just because
You could play
And go day by day
Or fast-forward and see
What life has to offer
Can I press rewind?
Id go back and give you all my time.
From the very beginning, ive felt weve had this connection.
Since then, I’ve tried to show affection.
Id press rewind
And show you more
My feelings for you would galore.
Like a firework in the sky
Like a bird soaring high
Id make you want me
Just as much as I want us to be
Id give you every dime
Id give you all my time
Id walk every mile
To be your every laugh and every smile
Can I press fast-forward?
To see what life would have to offer
Would your hand be in mine
Would our fingers intertwine
Would we dance and sing
In perfect rhythm and harmony
Would we go on an adventure
To explore the whole world together
Can I press play?
Stay in this moment
And take it day by day
I want you now
To you, I wanna say my vows.
Vow to stay through sickness and health
Through the poor and the wealth
Id swim across the ocean
Id walk the land
Id hike up a mountain
Just to hold your hand
Fast-forward would finally allow you to be mine
Id skip everything just to see the stars align
Should I press pause?
And stay in this moment
just because
Right now the butterflies in my belly are fluttering
Trying to find sweetest words- stuttering.
Ill press fast-forward
Pressing pause would be torture
I want you now and to never go
That I need you to know
Rewind, pause, play and fast-forward are four buttons
If life had buttons, things would change all of a sudden
You could go back
When things start to crack
You could pause and stay in that moment
Just because
You could play
And go day by day
Or fast-forward and see
What life has to offer
Ill press fast-forward and then ill press play.
Ill skip everything and have you that day
Life doesnt have buttons so ill have to wait
Id wait patiently all my life because you are my soulmate.
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Narrative
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A homeless poet
A few days ago, I was walking home with my dollar store notebook in my hand as I walked. I was deep in thought about how I was going to fill these 250 blank pages. A voice called out to me as I passed by a man sitting on a nearby park bench, "going back to school?" he asked, no I said I'm a writer, actually a poet/writer. "Oh... so you're a poet too" ! "I am also " he muttered in a soft tone. Oh really I exclaimed, realizing that I had a bond with the stranger, I sat down beside him on the bench.
It was then that I noticed he was a little unkempt, but, had a quiet dignity wearing jeans a lumberjack shirt and a suede jacket, with Rockport walking shoes. He asked me my name I said John Derek, oh he said, as looked down at his feet, I followed his gaze as he said in a morose tone that was...my sons name too...Derek. Was?... I inquired. Yes, he died when he was 12 years old...choked on a candy...I couldn't save him. A solemn silence followed...after a few moments he collected himself and said "my name is Ed". Nice to meet you Ed I responded.
He began to tell me about his writing, how he would write about what the native people told him about nature, he started to notice and appreciate nature when he worked in Whitehorse, in the Northwest Territories. He was an engineer working for one of the petroleum giants, but because of his association with native peoples he started to rethink his career choice. He asked me if I knew where the city of Whitehorse got it's name, I said no. He said that there is a river that in the springtime it begins to rush violently over the rocks creating white rapids that flowed like a horses mane. So the area got it's name from that local rushing river, he then began to relate his poem called White horse. He related it in a calm reassuring voice with a slight halting cadence as he tried to recall it. "I wrote it in 1995 after Derek died, a kind of therapy of sorts". It was a stunning write in every way! I asked are you a published poet? He thought a little bit, as he stared down at his feet again, "no...I like my anonymity. I have them written down in my journal, I love writing". I said I would like to read them one day, "maybe one day" he said.
He then asked me if I wanted to write a legal thesis about family life and family law, as he had it memorized after his lost court battles with his ex-wife. I said no that's not what I do. He said "she divorced me after Derek died, I guess she blamed me, I lost everything the house, our nest egg, and I've been living on the streets since 2003". He caught me off guard because he didn't look like a typical homeless person, I mean, he was neat and tidy except for a growing untrimmed beard. I mentioned to him about the social facilities and services that were available in our town, to help him to find a job and a place of shelter, but he said he's happy as he is. He didn't want to be a part of a corrupt system that put him on the streets. I asked him how he managed and he said "people are kind". He said that God sent me to talk to him that day. He said he was born in 1960, the same year as me, so we chatted about what life will be like next year as we hit sixty. I gave him ten dollars and gave him my phone number in case he changed his mind.
I worry as winter approaches with the bitter cold, but he says "somehow I manage, I can handle it, God helps me". Indeed he does. I reflect on my life and how in spite of health difficulties, I have a simple life with a shelter and a wife who loves me. I am truly blessed with much more than Ed has. Ed asked me " do you know the secret to happiness" I mused...I think so, but, what do you think? He says" happiness comes from within, not from things we have". I immediately thought of the proverb written 3,000 years ago, in Proverbs 1:20 how " wisdom cries out in the very street". Solomon was right!
Ed texts me once in a while, with a screenshot of a poem, it is excellent writing. My heart breaks for him, I ask him if he wants me to post it, he says "no I like my anonymity".
God bless Ed and all the homeless this winter.
John Derek Hamilton
October 16,2019
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