As seasons come and seasons go,
the leaves will fall and skies will snow.
With gentle rains, leaves re-appear;
then summer sun…another year.
And as the seasons come and go,
the years march by, age starts to show.
And as we age, we seek the truth,
and in the Autumn, long for youth.
As seasons come and seasons go
we reassess the things we know,
and reminisce of moments past
and all our memories amassed.
And as the seasons turn once more
we find new paths, new dreams in store.
Though winter chills, the heart still sings
for every end foretells a spring.
And as each season blooms anew
we treasure moments we’ve accrued;
we hold our grandkids to our breast
and thank the Lord, for we’ve been blessed.
December 11, 2025
Poem of the Day - December 12, 2025
I see you and you see me
from across the room;
sweet is the heat under your
unwavering gaze.
A small smile tugs at your lips
as your eyes light up;
I see fire that well foretells
sunshine exploding.
The wind speaks to us in whispers or roars-
accumulating unbalanced scores!
_ by Poet
Listen to the wind, as it speaks to us-
in a tiny whisper or an explosive rush.
Grasp what it foretells as it swishes by.
The wind's calm or violent moods can ease or crush.
A whispered breeze can cool the summer heat,
caressing us in a soothing, uplifting way,
as we find joy in its relaxing touch
beneath the sun's blaze on a hot and humid day.
Conversely, though, the wind can take a turn
to power local storms or those formed out at sea;
howling and churning- pushing giant waves
and signaling the tragic scene we can foresee.
We hear wind growling when it reaches land.
As a hurricane, it speaks fear along the path.
Trees, structures, and life- tumble by its force,
while the angry wind howls, vocalizing its wrath.
A force, gifting pleasure or horrid pain
from a kind whisper, stormy day, or hurricane!
Listen to the wind, as it speaks to us.
Cali is a descendent of Babylonians
She practices necromancy
conjuring spirits of her ancestors
her rituals and spells are world-renown
bullies who misunderstand despise her
they fear her visions and insights
she often foretells what comes to be
This terrifies those who cannot
Ignorance often courts violence.
Cali’s spiritual guides warn her of the bullies
She escapes their ignorant pitchforks
Praying for their spiritual enlightenment
There is a persistent embrace,
a longing and a kissing,
a childlike giggling,
a free and predictable smile.
Life foresees every dawning,
foretastes every light ray,
foretells every essence,
forecasts every ambience.
Life proclaims every mountain top,
every sultry, tangled jungle,
every scorched and waterless desert,
every fathomless ocean floor.
Dreams are uncharted roadmaps,
virtual animated realities,
virtual luminous mysteries,
virtual unconscious answers.
When we are manhandled,
our humanity maligned,
our freedoms denied,
Hope must never leave us.
Hope is a relentless tomorrow.
When we flee the crackdown,
the masked, menacing Gestapo,
our imprisonment in foreign Gulags,
Hope must never leave us.
Hope is a relentless tomorrow.
For there is always a daybreak,
ever another awakening,
ever a perennial blossoming,
a season of conception.
Hope must never leave us.
Hope is a relentless tomorrow.
in the hush of dawn a crow gives a cry
a shadow of death a whisper of why
his call resounds through the desolate streets
perched on a branch where the living he meets
his black eyes pierce through the veil of fear
for his voice foretells the end is near
another soul to the darkness will glide
to leave the earth to cross the divide
he watches mourners as they gather around
their whispers rise their grief profound
he sees their tears their anguish and pain
but knows their loss feeds death's endless chain
with a sweep of wings he takes to the sky
his duty done as the living ask why
he fades away to the silence he keeps
while sorrow lingers and the lonely weep
the crow's cold cry may chill to the bone
yet it warns us all how fleeting we own
this fragile thread of life we hold dear
for death awaits each soul drawing near
I am a warrior/
In this life of mine/
Willing to ride or die/
For what I believe in/
The will of steel/
This heart of mine/
Is thumping war drums/
Calling to all/
To fight for your life/
This is not for/
The weak or cowards/
In the end/
Life will end as the prophecy foretells/
For all the hate the world breeds/
Struggling through inner wars/
Temper our souls/
Which brings light/
To our warriors souls/
Stand up and meet/
What's coming head on/
And earn the warriors badge/
Never give up or hide/
From reality/
Willing to fight, no matter what/
We win some, we lose some/
Never stay down a victim/
Battles come in all sizes/
Stand up and be proud/
Of being a warrior in life/
Robert Sherriff- Nobody’s Home - poet – author - singer-actor – model - American Historian.
Trump or Harris
From a young age, Trump has exhibited the characteristics of a privileged child, using his family’s wealth to avoid the draft during the Vietnam War.
In stark contrast, I deeply respect Kamala Harris as Vice President.
Trump’s policies, such as the controversial wall targeting immigrants, give him a unique, albeit divisive, edge. Conversely, I hope to see Harris ascend to the presidency of the United States one day.
For those who have read my poem, “12th of January 2025,” you know it foretells a grim prophecy in which Trump meets a tragic end. Historically, America has shown a pattern of eliminating its significant figures in 1865, 1881, 1901, 1963, and, potentially, 2025.
On the 12th of January 2025, Trump will face assassination—a fate that aligns with America’s troubling history of silencing impactful individuals.
Biting through strings on girlish giggles
harrowing the echo of church bells;
Overpowering with sweetness
rolling in good times that tune foretells,
Magick you always want to join in,
tragic to know it’s a small circle;
Fabric that has been stitched together,
dramatic their chorus of chortle.
Placed Second in :
Four by four Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
The Four Seasons
Spring, season of birth
Spreads beauty on earth;
Flowers of youth bloom
Summer to herald soon;
Summer, season to sweat,
To sow seeds ahead,
Care for one`s seedlings
And hail harvest`s greetings;
Autumn, foliage turns yellowish,
Flowers curl with anguish
Chilly frost turns feverish:
Time heaven to relish;
Winter`s frosty, snowy cold
Retains earth on hold,
Chills the weakened heart,
Foretells time to depart.
I spied a lass, prone in the grass
Who wore a laced gown of white
But as time passed, it didn't last
Cuz she soiled it every night
The men she knew, was quite a few
She could always make them smile
But in the end, lover or friend
Wouldn't walk her down the aisle
I declare, such a sad affair
No one chose to call her wife
No chapel bells, as fate foretells
Was a spinster all her life
A Revised Edition
From The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe, vol. II, 1850
In the icy air where the stars do sprinkle bright
keeping time, keeping time
with the jingling bells of night
it is there I lay my heart, my lonely heart
Hear the mellow wedding bells
the golden bells of happiness, ringing to foretell
Through the balmy air of night how they ring with such delight
from the molten-golden notes, the liquid ditty floats
A gush of euphony within her dwells
for a future that foretells of the rapture that impels
from the swinging and the ringing of the bells,
to the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
Later how they clang and clash and roar in the throbbing air
hear the tolling of the bells, the bells, the bells
in a world of solemn thought, their monody compels
in the silence of the night she shivers with affright
And the lover oh the lover, dwelling deep inside the steeple
all alone,.. tolling, tolling, in that muffled monotone
turns her heart to solid stone, as she listens to the bells
the bells, the bells, the bells...
There must be something besides love
Another good topic for a poem
Perhaps I'll write about nature and stuff
And the chilly winds a-blowin'
November in Canada has that nip in the air
That foretells of the season ahead
For those that are into those winter sports
Bet you're can't get it out of your head
Well maybe when I was a very young'un
Snow time meant barrels of fun
But this guy's quite old and crotchety now
Snow means falling on me bum
Can't wait for spring just six months to go
The months can't go by fast enough
Perhaps I'll hibernate just like the bears
Then wake up and brush of the dust
Don't get me wrong, I'm Canadian eh!
It's the law, I'm required to like winter
They could lock me up, throw away the key
It's also against the law to whimper
(sniff!)
Written: November 03, 2023
__________________________________________
Pristine his soul and tamed to the core,
Who was semaphored by a sloping wave?
He escaped the safe harbor of the shore,
And pushed by each coxswain and crave.
God foretells a quaint future for humanity,
The hidden channel for thinking and action.
Beware of fools; this is a hazardous vanity,
He sought sanctuary in the chilly reaction.
Underground stars emerged victorious,
And the ocean served as an awful grave.
He is surely a compassionate star, glorious,
People who pulled the cast first are brave.
Their moorings have above welcoming past,
Ventured out into the sea, lacking a map.
Liberty is the root of every storm and blast,
A span is the breadth of the Earth's sea gap.
And their daily unrest is merely a brief respite,
Mixed with man's untrustworthy spiritual kernel.
Desires lacking a shore, hidden and desperate,
Quite ardent, open to faith or clan air, eternal.
Warriors of the ancient world
Unsheathe your swords of fire
To battle death and Dragons breath
Mercenaries for hire
In darkened hallways danger looms
A Sorcerer weaving spells
Magic cast from shadows past
As scripture once foretells
Caught amid the Wizard's web
Just pawns to take the fall
A futile plight but still they fight
With backs against the wall
Stoically they hold their ground
Behind bloody sword and shields
No kingdom stands with crimson hands
The moment courage yields
With Angels on their shoulders
The Wizard's spell was broken
Kneel and pray men win the day
Victory now awoken
No witnesses to celebrate
The mountains so many climb
History bleeds with valiant deeds
Now lost in sands of time
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