Two hundred and forty-nine years of freedom, away from our oppressors
Let’s celebrate big time with fireworks, friendship and food
Let your orange, white and greens fly high and proud
Pledge to protect peace, unity and diversity
India is here, India is cheer, we are one, strong and fit.
Twp hundred and forty-nine years of freedom, away from our oppressors
August the fifteenth is our day to fly our flags and shine.
To show that we value democracy and appreciate our freedom.
Patriotism will be in full swing, our food and friendships will flow.
We will show our pride in ourselves and each other.
What is that creature who lingers on the ’49 Ford? Asked Boss Hog.
We looked but were not sure until we saw the sniffing junk yard dog.
The red car with rust? The bookkeeper asked, wondering too.
Oh, yes, said Boss Hog. Is that a Faerie from the ocean blue?
I can go ask her I offered, but she flittered fast and away.
So I did not get to find out on that lovely October Monday.
It was a faerie, the junk yard dog said. I saw her filigree wings.
I thought it amazing that he could not only talk, but he sings!
Don’t tell me about a resolution,
tell me in six months about the transformation.
"He wasn't supposed to be...forever forty-nine"
it was the last photo taken
after family vacation
candles aglow a top his cake
my brother's rosy cheeks
ready to blow them out
...forever forty-nine
we were all gathered around
singing gleefully
wondering what wishes
he was about to make
was he wanting to be
...forever forty-nine
i glance back at the photo
he was always older than me
he never made it one day past
...forever forty-nine
we were supposed to age together
yet i am now older than he
"the last photo we have of my brother was on his forty-ninth birthday as he was about to blow the candles out, he never got his wish, unless his wish was death because he passed the morning after his forever 49"
September 16,2019
Writing Challenge 2, September 2019 - The Photograph
Sponsor, Wiishkobi Ode
It takes stamina
to dance when your whole leg clings
to its plaster shell
Forty-nine poems posted
Mostly in a row.
Where, oh where did all the poems
By other writers go?
I've got fifty-three dollars and forty-nine cents
And I'm aiming on spending it all
I drove in my car
To this dive of a bar
And I'm planning on hearing "last call"
Mr. Bartender, please
You're the one who now sees
How much I''m in need of a drink
I came here to forget
I don't want to regret
And I would like to know what you think
She has left me again
Cause that ***** of a friend
Keeps on filling her head with all lies
So I'll drown in my beer
Since I'm having to hear
Another one of her goodbyes
I'll just leave her alone
Cause I know before long
She'll come running on back home to me
And I try to convince
Myself not to wince
It is what it is, let it be
But inside of my head
I keep thinking instead
What if this time she doesn't come back
What will I ever do
If we really are through
And I'm left with nothing but jack
I had fifty-three dollars and forty-nine cents
Minus six beers and change for the phone
She is meeting me here
For one last bottle of cheer
Now I won't be leaving alone
Confessions to a Bartender
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