Long Has Poems
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~Autumn Has Come~
(Rick's 32)
Autumn's come
Weather is cool
Trees change hues
Gold browns copper greens reds
Trees start losing their leaves
Leaves then fall
Sometimes they soar
In the wind
Autumn's fun
Great holidays
Pumpkins, masks
Adults kids have great time
Halloween's a fun night
Treat or trick
Then celebrate
Thanksgiving
Yes, autumn's
At last is here
I'm happy
No more sweat, hot weather
Relax, eat piece of pie
Have good time
With family
And thank God
For all friends
For everything
Autumn's come
Is a time of Thanksgiving
To look back and give grace
Summer's gone
But be glad that
Autumn's come.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2010
September.26.2018
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain-
~Author's Notes:
" The Ricks' 32 " is a poetry form or style created by Erich J. Goller (Vienna) in 2008.
For the usual life to digress
From the norm to the average
Standard has to meet it's distress
Not considering any group or age
Wonder is unusual to think of
Living is nothing compulsive
And the virus palliative isn't thereof
To some personal risk becomes aggressive
Children won't drive safe love
Adult may set the distance right
Monitoring won't let fun cum dove
Everyone is just of beaming fright
Yet, God is wonderful to all
Despite the stop put to work
Financial status is still in its fall
Many manage months of smirk
Just as it is then and now
People acknowledge all as berk
Those who survived wonder how
Truly it isn't all by ones hard work
Who has the heart and courage
Wins at the end
To the top
Don’t stop
For man was born for a reason
So he keeps dreaming
And has a vision
Through that his mission
Yes people ever did it great
But you can do it greater
For there is no one greater
And none is lesser
Every one has it
But nobody has it
So make good use of your time
For whom you become
Is beyond understanding
That we still searching
Be who you are
Go as much as far
The storm may hit you
Life might be crooked to you
The battle might be sore
Stand still, don’t fall
But be courageous
Be serious and stay focus
For who has the heart and courage
Wins at the end
Love Has No Reply
Love has no reply it just waits-
love has no reply - it just prays-
Love understands- as it hopes
that rage will be quelled-
That the core of your heart will
be overwhelmed-
and overruled-Disenchantments
of the venial mind-are allowable
If you never intend to exhale-
then inhalation is inevitable.
Demons seek company -
Presenting illusions to keep misery
side tracked' in sorrowful elegies
The cardinal mentation-
will automatically
tick, when your tocking and;
Tock when you are ticking.
You came here with no instructions--
Love requires no action
Does not have to reply
No matter the jargon
the meaning of "no “is the same.
Whether you wax or wane,
with wagers parlayed
invest in the" WAIT" like the yellow light
"Spread your bet-green light- keep moving
Not always smart- to bet on a sure thing.
Red light stop wait -think about
what you're thinking of doing-
win, win situation.
Prior truth is not necessary for
what is "yet to be believed"
Permanent solutions
should never be applied to a
temporary condition.
The efficaciousness of the syringe as a method in seeking answers to concepts is horribly ineffective.
Love has no reply--- No outside stimuli -
No do's or don'ts ... from the I ...
Strictly and inside Job.
While I was stumbling through the garden,
on one drunken night this last week past.
I came upon a shimmering path,
that I didn’t see when I was there last.
Just where it would lead, I wasn’t quite sure,
but I heard music adrift the wind.
So I stepped upon its golden stones,
and I followed it around the bend.
There before an archway stood Jesus,
feeling ashamed, I dropped to my knee.
He told me to stand and walk with him,
for he had some words to say to me.
He said son, your day is nearly done,
Heed these words, before it finds the end.
The only way to get to heaven,
is for you to repent all your sins.
Do away with your pain and anger,
all the hatred for your fellow men.
For each one of them is your brother,
no matter the color of their skin.
If you would not judge another man,
just by the circumstance of his birth.
But let the goodness that he shows you,
be the truest measure of his worth.
If you would only take the time to,
listen to the heart that beats inside.
Because it can tell us right from wrong,
and the difference in truth and lies.
God can still the darkest of waters,
and lift you over the highest wall.
Hold you steady if you might stumble,
he’ll pick you back up if you should fall.
He can show you the way to heaven,
and remove the bourdons of your load.
He will give you the direction signs,
it is up to you to walk the road.
I awoke sitting on the park bench,
I’d fallen asleep so it would seem.
I left there and went straight to the bar,
and I drank away that crazy dream.
Love has a gentle grace
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth on Mother’s Day
Love has a gentle grace; you have not seen her
unless you’ve looked into your mother’s eyes
and seen her faith
—serene, composed and wise—
that you’re the center of her very being
(as once, indeed, she carried you inside.)
Love has no wilder beauty than the thought
that you’re the best of all she ever sought.
(And if, perhaps, you don’t believe my song,
can your mother be wrong?)
###
Your Gift
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
Counsel, console.
This is your gift.
Calm, kiss and encourage.
Tenderly lift
each world-wounded heart
from its fatal dart.
Mend every rift.
Bid pain, “Depart!”
Save every sorrow
for your own untaught heart.
Keywords/Tags: Mothers Day, mother, child, children, family, love, grace, faith, beauty, wise, wisdom, courage, gentle, tender, tenderness, care, caring, nurture, nurturing, mom, maternal
Our society has drifted away from the truth—
not all at once, not with a shout,
but like a shoreline loosening grain by grain
into a patient, swallowing sea.
We learned to soften the edges of what we know,
to wrap the blade of fact in velvet tongues,
to smile as we swallowed splinters,
calling it grace, calling it peace.
The more dangerous it is to speak it,
the more it hums beneath the ribs—
a live wire, a held breath,
a pulse that will not consent to quiet.
We have seen mouths close like doors in a storm,
seen eyes turn away from the naked shape of things,
as if truth were a body left out in winter,
too stark to touch, too human to claim.
And Justice—
we were told she was blind,
but I have felt her hand:
it is not blind, it is heavy,
it is cold as iron left in the dark.
Justice is a cruel hard hand
that cannot ever keep it—
truth slips through her fingers
like water through a fist,
like a name forgotten at the moment of need.
And still, somewhere,
in the quiet between heartbeats,
truth waits—
not kind, not gentle,
but alive,
and asking now to be spoken.
Every dog has its day
even the cactus will bloom one day
so try try try until you win
and one day, your life will begin
When the truth never prevails,
and the untruth fails to fail,
do believe, its just the obscured sky.
Your clouds will pass by and you will fly
When people lead you on,
and make you feel down,
remember,Life is not a running race
and there is no urge to chase
Don't be petrified to take risks
Don't ever rely on your luck.
Don't try to turn your clock
and don't trivialize yourself, because
Every dog has its day
even the cactus will bloom one day
so try try try until you win,
and one day your life will begin
The eagle has landed
A very electric man who has vast riches
has hitherto behaved as your next-door neighbor
he might think he is that neighbor
He is not
An eagle sits on top of a tree, on branches further
down lesser birds that fly in formation
the eagle flies alone and harbors a loathing for
ducks and gees
He knows argumentative crows can be bothersome
he leaves a trail open for them, a path
that he can pretend to join when a hunt is not
disturbing the eagle's instinct
This is, if we like it or not, the way the nature
someone is doomed to be the leader
to keep the rabbits in check, les they should demand equity
When the poets fall silent Man will not only lose his voice but also the notion of Life. ~Suzette Richards
Steeped in the pain of his slain countryman,
surrounded by the turmoil of real fears
which lay exposed on the stone-cold tarmac,
a poet dipped his ink in the spilled tears.
He had a name … He had a name …
A mother’s son had stood up to be counted
during a time when voices were made mute,
indoctrinated to a point of stupor.
A poet observes and remains resolute.
He had a name? He had a name.
No statue would be erected in his name
as he was not the first man to be slain.
At the next roll call of the civil unrest,
this poet’s words ease some of the naked pain.
He has a name. He has a name!