Their feet still fly
arms raised to the sky
Their hearts still yearn
the fire yet burns
Their hopes still soar
as in days of yore
They'll soon storm the world
their passions unfurled
Old folks say their generation’s doomed
values upside down, introspective gloom
Throwing storied traditions to hell
(Perhaps that rings a bell) …
Dear friend, before you hang yourself in utter despair
Gaze in the rear-view mirror ~ See you and me there?
in a love carriage two passive passengers,
all their exchanges through facebook or messenger,
jokes are shared and some health menu recipes,
no spoken words just thumbs up, or “I agree!”
the journey moved on and a few months have passed,
he would say nothing in case she feels harassed,
she perhaps likes him too, but wouldn’t say so,
both in love but fear should the answer be “No!”
history has taught them pain of broken heart,
why a couple who once loved, now live apart,
afraid to stir the cauldron of hot desires,
wish to go along life lonesome and retire.
a donut and coffee starts a day so well,
in surprising moments life then rings a bell,
he paid the bill with a smile and a thank you,
the girl at the counter was her, and she knew.
So it was the two met and then chose to wed,
without coffee, doughnut, their love would be dead!
Of eleven children he was the first
and from an early age
for research had a thirst
his love of dogs was no surprise
highly regarded
he received the Nobel Prize
altho' no longer around
of all those that ever were
I clearly like the sound
as with food it goes so well
and if nothing else
the name 'Pavlov' rings a bell
Passionate about poetry
I don't choose the muse
the muse chooses me
but when I need her most
then whereabouts is she
abandoned and self-mocked
not word one could I pen
with writer's block
my fate cast to the wind
but if the wraith had knocked
as does opportunity
I couldn't tell
on the other hand
her silence rings a bell
so left to my own devices
of weft warp and weave
forged in fire ashes to ashes
dust from the stars
I perceived is what we are
and word-weary all I could conceive
Gold is such an awesome word
many seek it for all their days
but it eludes the vast majority
no matter their efforts it stays
Poetically with your pen in hand
you ponder many a thought
so to bring forth insightful lines
such a gift can't be bought
In the scriptures a class writer
one such King David was so
the Psalms were his delight
prophetical his words high or low
Being a Scot read much of Burns
a famous bard he did forthtell
packed so much in his short life
so inspirationally rings a bell
Looking at life's direction
finding your golden thread
that's your goal at the end
pen in hand this you were bred
(This piece was written based on
the poem "Nothing Gold Can Stay"
BY ROBERT FROST)
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Rossetti Dante Gabriel
as both painter/poet rings a bell
But upon him morbity did sit
witness his 'Orchard Pit'
By the side of the mountain
I stand quietly,watching from
a distance
The valley of our roaring laughter
Our used-to-be musical arena
Where the ground deemed helpless
but to dance in happiness
The roses optionless,but to bow
in respect
The songs we sung,the rythmns we
alternated with our heroic voices
A place where we composed the verses
As the wind chipped in with Angelic choruses
The crimson sunshine glow
Embraces my melanin forehead
Triggering the composition of my mindset
Flashing back in,all the joyous moments
we shared
With no particular scene to spare
The serenity of the air we inhaled
The rythmitical melodious colabo we made
Rendering the nightingale bird choiceless
but to cloud in jealousy
Still all,abide by me like a shadow
With no significant signs of fading soon
Your looming shadow of rejoice
The echo of your vibrant smile
Still rings a bell in my heart
And this I promise you
Even in your absence
The reflection of sorrow,will know not
my existence
For happiness was our daily vocabulary
A steering wheel,it gets me going
Until the journey of two
Is achieved by one,clouded in the shadow
of the other
NOT ONE BUT FOUR
Who are the British, do they exist,
these nationals of her Britannic majesty
so often shortened to ‘ Brit’.
Eighty years, and more
I’ ve walked this shore but ‘Brit’
I see not, here, where I, sit.
A kingdom united, yes that
rings a bell, but, am I
a ‘Brit’; No, No, do let me tell
of Four Kingdoms, as one, England
Scotland, Ireland and Wales. This
quartet, the crux of my tale.
Many things each maybe, ..but never
a ‘Brit’. We are Scot, Irish, Welsh
or English..now do you see ?
Each nation, unique and distinct,
language reinforces my point, as in
English, not British, this poem I ink
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2012
Who are the British, do they exist,
these nationals of her Britannic majesty
too often shortened to ‘ Brit’.
Four score years, and more
I’ ve walked this shore but ‘Brit’
I see not, from where I, sit.
A kingdom united, yes that
rings a bell, but, am I
a ‘Brit’; No, No, so let me tell
of Four Kingdoms, as one, England
Scotland, Ireland and Wales. This
quartet, the crux of my tale.
Many things each maybe, ..but never
a ‘Brit’. We are Scot, Irish, Welsh
or English..now do you see ?
Each nation, unique and distinct,
language reinforces my point, as in
English, not British, this poem I ink
Cherubs promised they would not tell
Cardinal Pell visited Hell
Now Pell is there
More people swear
Whatever he did rings a bell
we all wish you well
hope this rings a bell
its getway time
go where there;s sunshine
where they pop whips
and wine sip
HAVE A WONDERFULL TRIP
silence
the gift of time
a wink
a strike
that lights a candle
a breath
that bops a gong
a smile
that rings a bell
a mind
that stirs a chime
that stops
and listens
till the very last sound wave
travels
resonates
through air
giving
the gift of time
one precious moment
eternity in a capsule
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~THE TIME WE ARE GIVEN~ 2023
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
it rings a bell
you can tell
when its near
this time of years
its fun beach run
its the day of play
SU,,ER GET AWAY
We moved into a nice, new place
Our bosom bear much joy so dear
A dream our hearts tell tales embrace
In name so far, and yet just near
They call the village bearable
Perhaps to make it memorable
For in my mind it rings a bell
Not far beyond a golden shell
Beloved bard his play was made
Where gondolas sail a river
And sellers night and day do trade
Unafraid of vile demeanor
We think that in this place we could
Save more of Shylock's interest
Not be in debt more than we should
That God may spare us from distress
Despite the merchant's due unworth;
Their romantic lutes sing nimbly
Rialtos ply foods of all sort
Nearby our holy assembly
Well stay a year or two perhaps
And swear to pay no sacrifice
As sorrows may just fill the gaps
For in Venice, life can be nice
you can tell
by the smell
it rings a bell
the smoke you can choke
it cook and hook
things that bust
its the
SEASON OF CHESTNUTS
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