Snow Globe Memories – Mystic
As my wrinkled old hands grasp the glass ball,
I watch as the glistening snowflakes begin to fall.
I gaze into it and give it one last shake.
There’ll be no room for all I was hoping to take.
My heart strokes the strings of memories, sublime.
This little snow globe has stood the test of time.
I watch the soft flakes settle on an old oak tree.
Alpine trees echo enticing chants, beckoning me.
I was bound for paradise, such a splendid upward climb.
The alps bringing peace, when church bells chime.
My wanderlust cured, no more would I roam.
Such amazing years I have spent in my mountain home.
Lost in the vision of my little snow globe here today.
As the last of the snow has settled, I really want to stay.
Along with some other treasures, I pack it in my port.
My love of this home just couldn’t be bought.
I wonder if there’s a snow globe that depicts where I am going.
I’ll miss my lovely chalet especially when it’s snowing.
I’ll keep my wee globe with its snow falling under the dome,
and I’ll take the snow in my glass ball to the old age home.
On a dark rainy morn
She wakes with a big yawn
With no time to relax
She slips into her torn rain mac
Out the door with guitar in hand
A day in the city is her plan
Already half soaked she picks a spot
Her stage was the front of a large shop
Playing her homemade jingles and tunes
Hoping to make a buck or two
Seen as a public disgrace
Police move her to another place
But with her music so sweet
A crowd gathered in the street
With a feeling of overwhelming
She sang and strummed into the evening
The early dark nights draw in
Forcing her to pack it in
She picks up her Puddle filled cap
Full of coins and cash
And heads to her squat in the poor faction
With a small feeling of satisfaction
She practice into the small hours
Hoping to bloom like a flower
Will someone spot her talent filled shoes
So her superstar dreams will come true
You think I look pretty good
But you don’t know me at all
It would appear that I have it together
But dig this baby I’m not done yet
Who would have thought
That I would be here now
I can’t explain it at all
So why do I even bother
Others will have it all together
And I envy them so
Pack it in and start again, you say
When will it be my turn to take a bow.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Sit down clown and drown your sound bubble before I puncture it with my slam,
I'll show you an epic wham bam epigram 'cus I am the lion and you're a lamb,
your jam lacked glam like expired meet attached to smelly feet and moldy ham,
It was so lame that I wonder if you're insane, maybe you should book an exam.
You added to the pain in my brain with each row as the flow wasn't on show,
you managed to increase the decrease over again and couldn't maintain a glow,
the lightbulb is dim or needs replacing because you're disgracing poetry with below
average rhymes that set a new standard of previously unobtainable shallow.
You don't seem to know it but trust me you're either rusty or just no poet,
it's time to pack it in or relentlessly practice and stop the plummet,
I've noticed you're a little bit hopeless so I'm hiding the rope so you know it,
you came along for the ride, lost your pride, so go and hide but suicide don't commit.
Broken And All Hope Lost, What Does One Do
I am old, tired and I no longer want to write
the old kettle is broken and tea leaking out
Kitchen is a hot mess and floors are dirty too
the ancient windows are shattered, O' what a sight
just time to pack it in, of that there is no doubt!
Where does eagle fly when its feathers are all gone
into canyon walls crashing into a sad heap
Nature may speak loud and although man may ignore
we all end up buried and cast into white bones
with our destroyed dreams and that eternal deep sleep!
So tell me, what real Hope can you, my friends, now give
that an old dog can chew on that is not crushed rock
Lights are off, this cold hurts so and heat is not on
Fighting for my survival and this life still live
as the trumpet sounds and I hear that old tick tock!
I am old, tired and I no longer want to write
the old kettle is broken and tea leaking out
Kitchen is a hot mess and floors are dirty too
the ancient windows are shattered, O' what a sight
just time to pack it in, of that there is no doubt!
R.J. Lindley
November 10th, 1990
Rhyme,(Where Dark Shadows Prevail)
Burn Out The Day
We look into hearts of love to unfold
pause and really think before you write
Each of us is being examined by the world at large
With faces in the window having storms in the night
I think I'll pack it in & buy a pick up
look to the east cause momma that's where all the fun is...
Share with others your new found faith
There is strength in numbers have you forgotten Water Gate.
Spineless zombies in the river of lust
Exchanging lust for love to a world in a rush
Look at what those before us had to go through
A beautiful array of blissful care
Shattered glass out on the parchment decorum
eyes, ears & feet
A given chance at which to meet & greet
Warhol had his Campbell Soup Can's
Jessie Jackson had his slogan, "Yes we can"...
Rodney King just claimed, "Can't we all just get along".
Burn out the day, that's the end of this song.
This man cannot grasp
His task at hand.
With fervor he tries
Diligently.
Trying, working, his
Sweat soaks his brow.
It is getting dark.
What will he do?
He tries to finish
But, can’t get it.
The sun sets, time runs
Out, defeated.
Time to pack it in.
He bows his head.
Maybe next time, he
Thinks to himself.
With a last big sigh,
He lays to rest.
For soon the morning
Breathes new attempts.
This man cannot grasp
His task at hand.
With fervor he tries
Diligently.
Trying, working, his
Sweat soaks his brow.
It is getting dark.
What will he do?
He tries to finish
But, can’t get it.
The Sun sets, time runs
Out, defeated.
Time to pack it in.
He bows his head.
With a last big sigh,
He lays to rest.
Maybe next time, he
Thinks to himself.
Give it all to me;
every last ill word
and every/
aching creature
in your heart
that's ever stirred
Give me all your sadness
your deepest depths
of endlessness
and ever jagged corner
you no longer wish to feel
Then bring me that old cage
with the broken lock
and spinning wheel
Bottle every ounce of pain
left spinning around-
inside our head;
pack it in-
an abandoned box...
Labeled things she could have said
Pack it in
As emotions rush,
tears of anguish will flood,
Until you pack it in aces,
of yesterday's ecstatic moments.
Written Dec 19th, 2015
© Dr. Upma A. Sharma
For "Something with great impact- poetry contest"
Words -18
Sponsor- Nette Onclaud
Awarded 6th place win
I was told to "Pack it in."
"No!" I am not a quitter.
I never give up until I win.
>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<
20 Words
Lin Lane -December 18th 2015
Something With Great Impact
Contest Sponsor-Nette
Rubbing my forehead, Hand in my hair,
All I see is paper, are there any words out there?
I search and I search, racking my brain,
It seems my idea has gone down the drain.
I woke up excited, ready to write,
Was I just dreaming? It is late at night.
Go get some coffee, splash water on my face.
You call yourself a writer? You're such a disgrace.
I wonder if others have felt just like this,
Shouldn't writing poetry feel like pure bliss?
Ok I admit, I am trying to be witty,
But when I am tired I get rather giddy.
Now; Back to the task of writing a poem,
Pull up saggy eyelids, don't let your mind roam.
And if you can't do that or hold up your head,
Then just pack it in and go back to bed.
Na, I don't think I'll do that, I think I'll just write,
How hard to write a poem in the middle of night.
Brenda Meir-Hans
Written July 2013
6th
Winter Leaves
by Odin Roark
Seemingly adrift
Without care
Emblematic of interim homelessness
Yet
They rest unraked
Awaiting the next frost
The next thaw
The cyclic disintegration
The sequence they know so well
Still
We
The conscious ones
See not the wisdom of their seasonal trial
That arctic-like mission
Taking them to where they need to be
Come spring
The mulch of the winter
Delivers the gift
The nutrients for realizing
Spring’s glory
The cycle’s inevitable reconnect
Some might see it like love
Except nature knows
Without the up down
Bloom /wilting
Life/ death
There is no continuum
Blossoming
Lest we forget
The same tree
Bush
Vine
Doesn’t pack it in
Just because
Temperatures go seasonally cold
When will we learn
The heart
The mind
The being
Like all of nature
Is meant to be susceptible?
And
Like our favorite flower
We too
Are vulnerable
The difference is
The plant knows
Cycles are not only innocent
They are like the nature of everything
Knowing reality loathes tampering
And perhaps
The reason leaves naturally go on
Nurture the next generation
Without agenda
Is they’re gifted over us
They don’t have sentience
To mess them up
I still look through
young man’s eyes,
though
skin and bones are
aging,
my mind’s eye
disagrees with it,
despite
what mirrors
displaying.
How could I have
these coltish
thoughts,
"I should
be out there
playing,"
some say it’s time
to pack it in,
and spend
more time with
praying.
This can't be, I
shall not let,
existence
be simply delaying,
the inevitable, the
lonely slide,
death’s
scythe intense
belaying.
So off I go to enjoy
romp,
though
hair is quickly
graying,
rather spend my time
sowing,
than on
the winter haying.
Gotta Play the Game
by Odin Roark
Okay
There's this big choice
Pack it in
Or play the game
So it goes with
That societal barometer
Called Retirement
Some of us
Know nothing of such nonsense
Others
Well
Their club dues
And tee time fees
Speak another language
Now the game
Has many rules
Make up your own
If you wish
It's all about beating
That dumb death trap
Called Retirement
So
For those of age-be-damned mindset
Put it out there
Youth is more than a state of mind
It's craziness never subdued
Give the creaky joints
Some Glucosamine and Chonodroitin
Slap on the skin goo for liver spots
****'m if they don't like suspenders
Or mumus
Eat your veggies though
Fox News even supports that
Avoid sobriety
And trip into wherever you need to be
‘cause
No one knows
Where you need to be
Better than your stubborn self
Which is an earned right of passage
The other way
With a shot of Jack in your paw
You're that person that's always wanted
Adventure
Freedom
Your own experience
And just a little bit of
Wisdom for a chaser
C'mon kids of "Age Be Damned"
Time to parrrrrtttteeeee!
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