Long Full of life Poems
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Nothing changes, you know.
The weather I mean.
Its just like any other spring day.
Sunny, green, full of life.
I imagined it being much different.
I thought I would wake up feeling weak, weak in the bones.
But no. I felt, honestly, better than I have in a while.
There was not hint from the god damn weather.
In Shakespearean writings there is always weather to foreshadow a terrible event.
Foreshadowing a tragedy.
A hurricane. Tornado. Even just a good ole’ storm!
But no. You gave me nothing but false hope.
The birds were chirping,
Louder than ever.
As if they were mocking me,
Laughing at my naivety.
Even Odysseus needed a storm to tell him he was in harms way.
No one told me I would feel like this.
No one told me I would feel dead,
Dead on the inside.
In my advanced literature class,
They say to use the weather to depict the scene.
Use a sunny day when someone feels..
Rejuvenated.
Well that’s irony at its finest, right?
I’m far from rejuvenated.
In fact I feel like I'm withering into nothing,
Nothing but pure misery.
So, God, next time,
When you want to pull a “prank” like this,
Please have the curtesy to send
Bad weather.
Driving this old country road always puts my mind at ease
Gently rolling hills, some cows, creeks, some trees
It's another rainy day drive
The green hills look so alive
Full of life, not the usual brown
How I wish you were still around..
These green hills... These green hills...
I miss you baby, I miss you so..
I see you everywhere I go..
It’s the first day of a new year
And it still feels like you're here
The drive is different this time, I know
Miss your smile surrounding me, can’t let go
I remember we stopped at that farm over there
And sipped lemonade in the warm air
They took our picture on the front porch swing
You laughed so when i tried to sing..
These green hills... These green hills
I miss you baby, I miss you so..
I see you everywhere I go..
Passing mile marker ninety-three
Oh.. you got so mad at me
I wouldn't stop to see the baby calf
I wish i did, now makes me laugh
There's a lot I'd do different now
I know our time is past, yet somehow..
Green hill memories, they won't let go
They're part of me, this I know..
These green hills... These green hills
I miss you baby, I miss you so..
I see you everywhere I go..
I'm ok for now, I still go on..
Life's still full, maybe its just begun
But I know these green hills will not compare
With those we'll see in heaven's air
These green hills... These green hills
I miss you baby, I miss you so..
I see you everywhere I go..
Everywhere I go…
Some have asked about how song turned out. Check for on itunes under my name Shawn Sackman. Thanks.
EARTH is our beloved home, it is like NO other place we yet know of in the entire Universe, full of life, love, beauty, excitement, and wonders almost beyond imagination, yet we abuse it and take it for granted every DAY ...
And it is overflowing with hatred and misery right now, on a scale that's truly incomparable to anything in our past ... we HAVE to start fighting the animosity and the lies and the apathy, or there will be no future for our progeny, or a world worth living in ...
HATRED has to end, and the only TRUE place we need to fight it is in our hearts, because hatred begins AND ends in EACH of us! Please ... I'm no better than ANYone - I have my own hatred - but I'm TRYing to recognize it and change, and that has to be the priority for ALL of us ...
Or this beautiful, wondrous, miracle of a planet ... is DOOMED.
THE ABSENT YEARS
life becomes so sweet
so precious life to the eye
life in all its forms –
the rock strewn stream bubbles life
even those worn-round pebbles
a silver fish drowned
soaked to death in my shower
strange how sad i felt
after watching it struggle
after offering nothing
like mixed emotions
when i tangle spider’s web
the tiny worker
tiny artist full of life
and i so full of myself
death now seems all round
and i only half alive
in my absent years
floating down that rock-strewn stream
drowned silver fish, sad spider
Dave Austin / written 2013
A very favorite writer of mine who died in 2017. God bless my friend, Daver.
Reposted 6/21/2020 for The Uncontest Poetry Contest of Anthony Biaanco
As I sit on the bench, watching nature's lively moments,
The Tufted Titmouse, Chickadee and Nuthatch look at me
Their small beady eyes are staring in the air
The Robin bounce near the Mourning Dove on the lawn
I can hear the Woodpecker hammer and the Black Crow caw
Goldfinch and Eastern Bluebirds sit on stair posts to the porch
Or they choose the thin branches of the holly bush nearby
The lush garden is filled with Aster, Dalia, and Roses
Colors burst where the Hummingbird visit red blossoms
This magical, fluttering beauty, ignites my inspiration
In a breeze reaching me, settling in my soul, where I sit
Feeling light as the white trellis, balancing between the rocks
I am secure in a garden full of life, simply watching the birds
2/10/23
Entry for a simple pleasure Poetry Contest. Sponsor: Julia Ward
Theme chosen: Watching birds in the garden.
Sometimes I just sit and write, whats on my heart,
it makes no sense, in the beginning when I start.
As I write, the words begin to flow,
a meaning is now beginning to grow.
Like a garden, my paper is to me,
as I write, fruit comes forth to be.
By the time I reach the end, a garden in full bloom,
my answers, keeping me from doom.
An escape from reality, to grow my very own,
pages full of life, in the words I’ve sown.
To go back and read them, when I need to see,
for those thing’s I write, are a part of me.
I share them with you, hoping to spark some fires,
to get others, to see their hearts desires.
A young lady, Kathy by name. A young man, David by name;
Siblings, sitting across from me at the Christmas dinner table,
filled with food fit for kings and queens.
Their uncle Ed sits on the left, and to their right is their mother Susan, who sits next to her father and mother, Bill and Grace, who sit next to Grace's mother Mary, who is full of life at 95 years of age.
My wife and I are most honored to be invited to dinner where,
Except for Ed, the aforementioned ones are part of the 'same
Household'. I don't know that I have witnessed a four-generation
Household. And I am overwhelmed as I witness four beautiful generations.
Each generation from ages 18 to 95 has a history, a story, an observation,
Each of which is unique and depicts the character of that particular time.
At the beginning, Bill prayed, blessing the fellowship, food, and family.
Later on, Bill also shared a timely piece of Good News about The Lord.
In spite of wars and conflicts, viruses and diseases, atrocities, holocaust, and genocides, Mary, whom I shall remember as 'Christmas Mary', represents the 'greatest generation'. Mary, who shows no scares of pain, but an alert mind and energetic frame, was born in 1926. Mary, the mother of Jesus, surely made emotional adjustments when told there was no room for them in the inn. Amagine the trauma she must have felt when she and Joseph had to flee to Egypt to save the life of their new born. My new found friend, 'Christmas Mary', most assuredly has faced trials in her life, but has been one aglow with fulfillment, inspiration, and promise.
At the dinner table as I was sponging the atmosphere, I turned my attention to the articulate young siblings, David and Kathy. When asked their 'take' from their family experience, David speaks of 'Observation'. As a teen, he too was sponging the atmospheric fragrances of three generations. I am extremely touched by what David must be seeing through generational corridors. Feasting of the succulence from both food and family, I had been blessed.
Written,122621PSCtest. Entered 041522 Form N - Narrative Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
24 seven,
Eight,
Nine,
Ten to the second.
Heaven ate my pancreas,
Please pretend eleven likes me.
Twelve times its elapsed,
Survival wasn’t even likely.
Shelved minds,
And a brain collapsed,
He forgot the old me.
Thirteen days in hells binds,
Sustained damage behind waxed out eyes,
“Can he even see me?”
There’s a bird who abides by a tree,
And he sings tenderly just for me.
Without a word he refines his tune elegantly,
His voice rings out slenderly,
Just for me.
Just for me and my memories.
Chaotic verses full of life and energy,
Carefree expressions of a bird so elderly.
I’ll just bathe in this melody,
The critter could render thee so happily.
For the rest of my days,
True,
True,
True.
Sure I know the skies are blue,
But the sun’s a pale yellow,
And the tree shades me from reality's hue.
I feel my blissful ignorance is long overdue,
My sails cast open,
And the winds bellow on through.
This’ll take me across the vast ocean blue,
And even when my spirit is broken,
That old bird's gale will bid my blues adieu.
I’ll miss him too,
Assuming he missed me in lieu.
I’m either a ‘to-nowhere’ travelling magician,
Or just a square average citizen.
Because what’s a square without his ritalin,
A nowhere man,
Deaf, dumb and blind,
Your average pity city civilian.
It was the Eve before Christmas, every tree covered in snow,
Bonnie was walking Plato her poodle, conscious to keep to the road,
As she nonchalantly walked, she thought of Derrick her Danish beau,
He was the one that she wished to be by her side as they grew old.
.
Imagine if he proposed tonight, she thought as she strolled,
He is the moon and the stars if she should become
Lost in the dark, and her warmth if she shivered when she was cold,
Her compass in life. Although she wore gloves her hands felt numb.
Bonnie quickened her pace back, her dad said in a low tone, a guest has arrived,
Her adrenaline pumped and her palpitations went into over-drive.
She rushed upstairs, straight into the arms of her love, Derrick she cried,
He sat her down on the bed, suddenly she was full of life.
Derrick presented Bonnie with an open box, her adrenaline went crazy again,
Will you marry me he asked, yes yes, you are the love of my life Derrick,
Bonnie rushed downstairs to tell her parents, and tried to somehow regain
Her composure. Congratulations were said and accepted; Bonnie’s joy was magnetic.
They went to a popular pub in the village, Bonnie flashing her ring,
She walked over to the juke box sensually, with poise, which accentuated
Her sensuous figure, and a tantalizing cleavage, her raven black shimmering
Hair, she swept off her face and seductively Derrick she beckoned.
The engaged to be married couple swayed to the music as if they were one,
Derrick looked at his watch. It’s late , so they left the pub somewhat tipsy,
Feather like snow fell on their faces sobering them up, tonight was fun,
They agreed and exhausted, fell into each other’s arms so delightfully.
Their heightened passionate and undulating love continued till dawn arrived
And so they awoke to a fairy-tale Christmas Morn, within soaked satin sheets,
Breakfasts aromas wafted upstairs, bacon, coffee, freshly baked bread, they grabbed
Their carefully selected gifts, and donned their gowns, there were even chocolate treats.
Wow exclaimed Derrick, Happy Christmas everyone
It falls with grace.
Metallic bawls hail the strength of zinc roofs.
At the mercy of the thatch,
Drops drip from needle points of skeletal
Palm fronds.
Particles of rain descend on thresholds
Among dewed terrains.
The petrichor befriends the atmosphere,
Caressing limpid warmth with floating cold.
Lightning, a white dancing Anaconda, races with speed,
Filling the tenebrous plains with lights of hope.
Troubled skies ululate through the power of thunder.
I always recline on that liquid voice!
Rainmakers cream their palms
And roast fresh leaves of
Epochal petals
Plucked from somnolent trees.
Bubbles, green and full of life, puke,
Filling up the mouths of burning woods.
Grey darkness suggests the pleasant wars of
May through October,
When distant wayward drops
Trickle before the deafening deluge.
I hail the blandishments of July
For the society of fattened yams and the
Worthy tendrils —festooned confetti of ceremonial
Harvests.
Droughts yawn in vain when the attitude of
Wet seasons befriends the skies,
Yielding fecund grimes that grace the soil.