Long Champing Poems

With these winds of July ever sweeping the earth,
How should I follow the footprints of men that believed that no man shall auction another?
... Here, dawns are graceless, birds are no longer early to chirp...

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The falling man, one photograph captured in time
       An unforgettable image, imprinted on this mind
        He represents us all, weather we like...

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                         I
“Charge!” they said and charge they led
   ...

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...To Save Strays Deserve Lagniappe

Ruff lee, e'er since
     aye waz za lil whippersnapper
     watt wit dis awful temper, yet
     obedient to a pooch...

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And if by love they should be saved
lift them by angels
in innocence to a horizons trumpet

They who have fallen unnumbered
to the hate of bullets
and the factions of brush aside politics

And then by flag those nations...

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Today's Date July 24. 2015
Contest Entry---First written Spring 2015
game bullying, hero, silly, sports, strength, word play,, 

Champing At the Bit! ©

I hear the roars in the almighty arena
I like to see many a game played...

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I wait for no other days
so I pinch this one


I haunt rocks and trees
to caress 
with each ebb and flow


I celebrate a minute
and dedicate it to hours
honouring a moment


just one,


this,
as I breathe from the
firmament of...

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( To a fellow local poet, Susan Booth, who is taking a sabbatical)

Blank page or white screen champing at the bit,
both restless for the whip of pen or key
mind struggling for a word or phrase...

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Champing The Seasons

A March spring rose like December,
pale shadows meet, by my shutter,
blues screech, that I brooded over,
... my gist be faint, cause a clutter.

As seasons shift their daily quest,
recurrent graduate the stressed,
the day soon...

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I sit and wonder,
wonder why I sit.
Why am I unmoving
champing at my bit?
But still I stay.
always away.
Im waiting for a reason
to get out of it,
but here I remain,
sitting still, 
still here I sit.
I want to...

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TRUE FREEDOM

The true freedom we breathe in

from the  bondage 

is the labor and tear 

of yester years;

the sore and pain

defeat and despotism 

of the past

is an ever memorable

gift  by the west;


after the freedom...

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