Long Belonged Poems
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On a rural country road, surrounded
by balsam scented pine trees.
Was a special place, that I felt inside,
was always meant for me.
It was an old rustic farm house, that
showed her age, throughout the years.
If you walked on her arthritic floors,
squeaky sounds, is what you'd hear.
Fruit trees of apple, pears, and
cherry always gave us treats.
You had to pick them early, cause
those outdoor critters, love to eat.
The smell of warm baked apple pie
was always lingering in the air.
Grandma was always cooking, and
grandpa sat, in his lazy chair.
We had a red brick fireplace that
kept us warm at night.
And roasted tasty marshmallows,
satisfying our sugary appetite.
I can still see our cat Frisky
meowing to get out. He had a special
friend, they played together, and ran
about.
The Sunday family dinners that are
now my memories,
Were cherished special moments,
that will always, stay with me.
I remember sitting and rocking, on
that front porch swing.
Enjoying the lovely sounds, that the
blue birds bring.
Every once in a while, I take a deep
breath, as I go by that old house.
Thoughts flood my head, and my
heart pours out.
Oh father time please take me to a
place, I once belonged.
A special place, that meant so much
a place, that I call home.
9/6/2015 Contest sponsored by Verlena S Walker. A child's first home.
that day my smile
sucked you in,
to places where things
crawl because they are too tall to walk
and yet you stood up,
you stood out
not twisted,
like you always belonged
like that space was carved with you in mind
the mold that fits
the one thing that change form
and yet it stays the same
the comfort
the easiness
pure joy
from that day
it still remains a mystery
whose plot it was to make
me smile
who wanted us to meet
it can never be this easy
to like something so quickly
to feel like you've come home
even though you never left
still feeling that day
still feel you standing tall
as if the mold was made for you...
12/05/2011
Time is the only gift that keeps giving
as it ticks relentlessly away.
It is an indifferent benefactor
brutally fair with its pennies.
Each dawn sees more hours in our account.
But it never checks the balance,
there is never any carry-over,
no borrowing, debt or overdraft.
Time is endless; it ticks on regardless.
Its account respects not its waste,
nor wise use, nor measured or frivolous use.
Procrastination is ignored.
It waits for nothing
why should it?
It catches up with us
as we catch the clock face
counting the past,
which is the one tense,
that time forgot long ago.
Time is merely a witness,
watching on CCTV.
We speak of spending time
as though we possess it,
but it never belonged to us anyway,
it was never given, only taken,
as it ticks away.
Saving time is a delusion
it ticks away.
Tomorrow is an illusion,
a tick for another day.
time well spent
is a drip drop splat
in the ocean's séance,
that ticks away, ticks away.
Time has no use at all.
It is totally indifferent.
It leaves no traces of its passage,
which we observe in tree rings, wrinkles,
scars, sediments, stories,
relics and memories.
Time knows nothing of such things.
We imagine we are moving through time,
yet we are the hourglass
through which the sands of time can move.
The past never exists.
The future does not yet exist.
The present vanishes before
we can touch a finger on it.
The past is a recollection
future is anticipation
present is participation
time has no reflection.
Yesterday, today, and tomorrow
all exist concurrently.
Time began with the Big Bang
the downbeat for existence.
It is the sound entropy makes
as it unfolds order into disorder.
It is an ever expanding passage
relentless in its ticking.
Its rhythm is indifferent
to whether we dance
or simply count the notes.
That gentle rain embraced the sky,
Dark clouds whispered dreams nearby.
You arrived dressed in purest white,
Becoming my heart's silent light.
My soul crowned you secretly,
Queen of every hidden memory.
Destiny smiled another way,
Leaving my hopes in yesterday.
Then truth unfolded without warning,
You belonged to my closest companion.
Every blooming dream fell apart,
Silence settled inside my heart.
Still your smile visits every rain,
Washing away but leaving pain.
An unfinished love became my art,
Etched forever upon my heart.
Love may fade, respect remains,
Time may heal forgotten pains.
Some stories never seek an end,
They simply become poems within.
Back in the days when fences were constructed to lean on
I had my fathers smile my mother's apron now they're gone
Along with brother's camera and his filming laughter reels
Along with sister's bumbling ways and admiration reals ...
Fences are made to keep in or keep out. Sometimes
Erecting them can be a way of protecting or rejecting
No one knows the power of a fence more then those who
Crossed the holocaust fences and survived. Fences can be
Easing posts for friendship or wired spokes with big fat
Signs that say " Keep Out" it all depends what side your on
Back in the days when my dad build a fence for grapes and vines
I knew what belonged to other people and what was truly mine
Along with my cat, my bird, my three ring binder and my fence
Along with my heart and my soul, I knew what to let in, hence ?
Written by Mystic Rose
Inspired by Harry Horseman
I'll never be what you want,
That time has passed.
This town, family, friends,
All live here.
This isn't my home,
I never belonged.
Wishing the best for me.
Through your looking glass.
Steady hand that you held ready,
Will not bring me in or keep me safe.
I've always known how you feel.
Felt loved.
But is it real?
You've never seen me for who I am.
I wonder if this relationship will end.
Faking my whole life for you,
This just won't do!
I have PRIDE on my side,
That has saved me and seen me through.
My Way
When I hear the song, “My Way.” I think of the narrow road I used
to walk in the valley of my Shangri-La, with lions in the tall grass
green crocodiles in the ditches and wolves in the woods
My dog came along on my wandering, she accepted the wildlife but had a fear of sheep that stopped feet when she came near
Behind a low wall, an ancient mule lived, belonged to no one but itself; the animal was glad to see me, knew I had a few slices of bread and kind words stroking its flanks, to my dog's annoyance.
So, we lived, the grapes on vine full of juice and free to eat, what more can anyone ask for.
One day, when the mule died, they came put a rope on her hind legs, dragged her to a hollow
a digger dug a hole; I mourned her passing, but the next year an abundance flowers grew on her grave the nature honored her passing.
Oh, how old we grow, the dog preferred sitting on the terrace when
not sleeping on the sofa, I had a scooter and drove every day to my secret paradise, but my visit was much shorter than before
The wildlife had been in my mind.
My dog died, I buried her in a cave between two sandstones; our time together had been too short, but happy.
I continued to drive, but the road was dusty, the wind blew and I had a wintry heart.
So, old man, you did it your way, but who is going to bury you?
The sun rose in the west today – or, perhaps, I was standing on my head?
I went to a funeral for my very best friend, but the chap wasn’t even dead!
Said he wanted to be eulogized while drinking a pint of beer.
I think the things we said about him, weren’t exactly what he wanted to hear.
“He was, or is, an egotistical old bastard – doesn’t surprise me in the least,
that he wants to attend his own funeral service – God, what a horrible beast!”
And that, my friends, was from his Mom; the best friend a boy ever had.
“When finally they put his body in the ground, I think we’ll all be glad.”
Egad!
Global warming took a holiday, as the snow piled up real high;
that bugger for whom we passed the plate, took out his wooden eye.
The casket was full of cold cuts;
The bartender doubled as the priest;
I took another shot of tequila,
while the sun started setting in the east.
The ladies started undressing;
my organ started to rise;
I played Beethoven’s “Requiem”,
with it pointing to the skies.
The only tears that were shed today belonged to the corpse who was still alive –
His ex wife sang that old Gloria Gaynor tune, “You know, I will survive!”
The next time he throws a party for himself,
I think he’ll choose a different theme –
And maybe the people who come and get drunk
won’t be so awfully mean!
Woohoo who
Little girl can't you see ( yes )
That you belonged to me
You belong to me,
oh little one darling
Can't you be
My only flower
Be my victory yeah hey
I'm surrounded by your blossoms
And the fragrances you wear
I can tell by all the conditions
Well well well
Feels like cool water is coming out,
... of a faucet on a hot summer day
O and little darling, little girl
I want you for my flower I want you for my world
Oh can't you see
yes darling you you you belong to me
Like the foam on top of a root beer float
Like a comedian telling audience a good funny joke
you belong, you belong you belong to me oh yes
You are my world and you you you girl
Belonged to me
Like a baby needs his mother
Sister needs her brother
Like cereal and milk that you put sugar on it
Like, like the leaves on a tree
All this is meant to to be
You you belonged to me
5/2/70
Written words & Arranged music zby James Edward Lee
My wife found a grocer that opens from 6 to 7am for seniors only before serving the general public. And I kid you not. Yesterday, on an early morning mission for my wife to purchase mustard greens, I was in the checkout counter at 6:35am, and I must have been home by 7:15. Nevertheless, this is not about my wife or her mustard greens.
Emptying my car of groceries, I suspect he/she saw me first because when I saw him, he was halfway up my front lawn. Occasionally, I will see them in groups and rather interesting for observation but not today. Today, he was alone for reasons yet unknown, and he seemed to feel that he belonged. It's more uncommon to see the likes of him than a bird or cat or dog, or a squirrel. This creature of the featered family was busy in search of a morning snack and did not appear to be on the wrong track. No. In fact, he seemed to be very focused and paid me no mind. I say snack because one would think food findings to be much easier in the wilds than to think of finding a real nutritious meal in such human places. Perhaps this gentle creature is wiser than me.
Anyway, he continued across the edge of my neighbors' lawn, and I proceeded with my morning tasks, losing interest in my early morning friend, the turkey.
However, since he is now my friend, I must advise him to not visit these parts in November.
040420PoSp