The money given to you, please, count,
Even if the giver were a fount
And his trusted Nice Nickname "Money,"
For if you got shortchanged 'Not funny!'
He'd waited for you to cash count
And you hadn't thought a cheat A fount...
To lost money raised challenges mount,
Not unlike climbing a once climbed mount.
Always count money released to you
Or cascading tears would be soon due,
The missing sum from it not a clue:
What is left the rest of what you blew!
The rising sun seems to tell me:
What you saw so far was a dream,
Ended has now the night nigh grim,
Do thou red band of spectrum see,
The nightlong dream was just your past,
Go with the spell of light I cast
And try stretch 'now' longer to last,
For, future unfolds dressed as now—
Hold it to heart and not somehow,
Fill your cup of joy to the brim,
The fount's ever full from within,
Your job's to turn grey into green.
_____________________________________________ _____
The sun rises every day and has something to say. We never care to listen. But today's sun is determined to say its say.
_____________________________
08.14.2020
I met you when we were young,
in that second tunes were sung.
Like hummingbirds resounding,
your sweetest smile astounding.
Young were we with love anew,
sung with beauty our song true.
Resounding beaut melodies,
astounding fond memories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For we bestow hope with love,
giving me what I dreamed of.
Now with your hand I shall stand
tall and proud as God has planned.
Love so rare is much adored,
of all we share in accord.
Stand with me on a high mount,
planned from heaven is love’s fount.
howmanyayllbles.com
Jueju-Qijue With A Twist Poetry Contest
Charles Messina
March 26, 2019
Through autumn leaves a brook pours forth
God's life-sustaining fount of wisdom.
*Entry for John Freeman's Crystaline Contest
In the dim and distant past
Long before I wed my wife
I had encyclopaedias
For those questions in my life
I’d look to them for answers
And I’d find them all with ease
One quick consultation
And solutions were a breeze
But now they sit forlornly
On the bookshelf in the hall
They gather dust and cobwebs
And are never used at all
My reference books redundant
They just sit there and they rot
Never to be used, because
She knows the bloody lot
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