Skies, the sunniest
Of dispositions
As far relating, run from.
Tempestuous ones.
Dark, brooding. When whoosh!
All in fright shake through.
And I, when not just in part
Their storm-force, sound do?
My first precious new born.
Today marks your 21 year old.
How times flies when it does not seem to be that long ago.
With pleasure, I welcomed you into my life.
With leisure, you have me a healthy and happy mind.
I remembered, with hard work around the clock,
The nurses, medical professions and the doctors
With their delicate and expert skill
You were delicately removed from my womb
You were cared for and lowered to the cradle.
They did a fantastic job at Royal Women's Hospital.
As soon as you were laid besides me in my bed
You quickly turned your little head
You misted my breaths one by one.
That was our first intimate, remarkable contact.
How soft and smooth the skin on your cheeks,
Your flesh breath radiated like sun rays in the sky.
I never cuddled anything like you before.
With joy and delight, my heart beat mingled
With the rhythm of you suckling on my nipples.
Today I’m grateful for knowing
that we are all sisters and brothers
and that the key to making the world our Creators envisioned
is by caring for one another.
Speaking quite frankly, I must say,
The burden of time grows heavier each day.
Reason stares cruelly, but I can only view blankly.
Growing angrier, shortsighted, and cranky.
In the past three hundred and sixty-five days,
Each moment seems to bestow the weight that stays.
Tasks pile up, deadlines loom,
Tick-tock of the clock as impending doom.
Days turn to weeks, weeks turn to months,
And before I realize it, another year confronts.
I cannot escape it, no matter how I try.
The burden of time only multiplies.
My youth is long gone, never to return.
Anile age creeps in, and I start to yearn.
For the days when time seemed to fly by,
When life was simple, I didn't need to try.
But now, with each passing moment, I feel the strain.
The weight of my responsibilities drives me insane.
Once upon a time
It just got cold and windy.
Now we have felt temperatures
Wind chills
Bombogenesis.
Snow days used to be fun.
NO SCHOOL…..YIPPEE!!!
We would ZOOM down the hills
On whatever would slide
Sleds, plastic “spinny” things,
Occasionally socks
Would replace wet mittens
Plastic bags would go over shoes
To allow easy entry to galoshes.
((Mom’s were magicians back then))
Snowballs were legal.
Snowmen were called….SNOWMEN.
Snow angels caused no controversy.
((Well, truth be told, I made a few snow devils))
((used one of the snowman’s arms for the horns))
For homework….
Tomato soup, Ritz crackers
A blanket and Howdy Doody.
((Damn, am I old))
John G. Lawless
©2/5/2023
Grandpa was a Bowie.
A tight-lipped protestant Ulsterman
who drifted into the Poblacht na hÉireann
in search of a cure for his cold heart.
His thin lips wed a soft Catholic girl.
He joined the Garda Síochána settling down
to breed Kerry Blue’s. After he retired, he still
wore his uniform, his neck as stiff as ever.
Grandma wrote letters to the Pope
begging for Papal forgiveness
for her heathen husband.
I have not been to Hidalgo County,
but if I were one day to go, I might try
to convince the Daughters of the Alamo
of my credentials to be worshiped
in a mild, concessionary way.
A complimentary burger, a free pass
to the museum, a photograph
of myself brandishing a big knife
at a picture of Generalissimo Santa Anna
that would suffice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Poblacht na hÉireann" = Republic of Ireland (Éire).
"Ulster' (Northern Ireland).
"Garda Síochána" Is the Police Force of the Republic of Ireland.
On Tue, Aug 30, 2022, 2:13 PM james horn wrote:
remember my Lord
who i always have adored
body nailed to board
always can afford
to pay for love of the Lord
worship in a horde
following drinking gord
my ship with Lord in is moored
request for him out poured
without any doubt
have heard what Lord is about
we will twist and shout
trouble in each chord
played by devil we deplored
even when we snored
know divinity
is related to trinity
an amenity
we have unity
which is with immunity
in a community
From the eyes of a child
Like the rise of the Nile
Are brown rivers of soul and bold green chemistry.
Disobedient despite being scold
Never believing they'll get old
Creating cliques of tribal frenemy
New shoes Nikes or Tims painted white
worthy of slim boy girl fight
Running on black street growing ice cold
Fearless as the bullets fall
Silver gun tossed or lost
Like grey asphalt rose
From the eyes of a child
Once celebrated but not now
For cops and robbers no longer a game
Puberty is a dark cloud
Hanging stranger fruit found
Adults who train them never to blame.
6/19/2022
The people who you call family,
Are only people who you are related too.
There opposed to be the ones you can trust
When someone hurts you.
But they might be the ones
Who hurt you instead.
And can't trust.
They might back stab you
In the back
And Leave you broken.
They might be the ones who abused you
Leaving you bleeding.
While they only made excuses
Why they did it.
Like that makes it right.
The monster in the world
Might be closer then
You think.
They might be your family.
The ones who told
You they love you.
Never loved you
Only wanted something from you.
You can't trust anyone,
Not the ones you call family.
Dead bodies are buried beneath the fallen leaves
But fallen leaves never cover the national grieves
While fighting for their beloved country,
unfortunately, many INNOCENT SUNS
will have been wounded or killed
in the battle field,
However, the wounds of their hearts
as well as the wounded hearts of the parents
who will have lost their SUNS
will never be completely healed
If some leaders sit and talk with their palms facing upwards,
others with their palms on the peace table,
Which ones do you think, at the very beginning, are the losers?
Well, I can hear everyone say, “Of course, the leaders with their palms upwards!
NOOOOOOOOO, NEVER! Not any of those leaders;
The real owners, and leaders of either country, FOLKS
The sun of peace is believed to be
in the palms of the so-called deeply patriotic politicians
or noble warriors of an army,
thinking so is a sort of mania
as the cruelty of a war is so cold and freezing
that many SUNS dies from hypothermia
For the sake of keeping the peace,
would it be wise to use the army?
Let me know how many times did the USA bring,
with a war, a country the real democracy
To me, it seems like a sort of hypocrisy
Never can you imagine how terribly bad
a handful of War Devils’ breath smells,
During the war,
they appear shamelessly
when they hear their dead SUNS’ knells
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