Last year I found a way
To double my salary
It was simple enough
To join the US Army
An 88 ASVAB
Could have earned me safety
Just another desk job
That would hardly suit me
"Let us try"
I'm an Active 12B
"Essayons", let us try
To be all we can be
And then as soon as I was in
We declared war on Iran
But having trained in the winter
I was eager for the sands
So go on, take my pin
And drop me on the map
Over ¾the mortality--
Infantry and a half
And they walked me 'round the base
Singing all sorts of things
About mothers without children
About how the widows weep
They sing "he's a US soldier
And that's all he'll ever be"
Because that soldier never came home
And he never heard us sing
"Let us try"
I'm an Active 12B
"Essayons", let us try
To be all we can be
And if I died at war
Would that be such an awful thing?
Five hundred extra thousand
For a man that doesn't know me
And people don't roll eyes
At that kind of legacy
And even if I went home
Well I don't know where that'd be
your mirth warmed a room....like rich coffee
with cinnamon rolls on sundays
Appearing in the night, my dreams lucid in your grasp,
I wonder if you are really there;
Whilst pondering over the appearance of this brass clasp.
In its reflection I search for you, you are my air.
Please tell me it will be okay,
Where shall I go, you are all that I know
Please tell me you know the way,
Where shall I go, please take me home.
I see I love you in the word forever and a day,
Why does forever seem like a tailored bet.
Though the word forever has gone astray,
I miss your tailored vest on sundays rest.
It is something similar to 1960’s dance.
I guess it is something much like a trance.
What about what you want from love -
a morning brew, the steam that curls,
on Sunday cold, in blankets deep,
while outside, the quiet world swirls.
What about the flowers you choose -
soft petals wrapped in winter light,
handed to her with a silent wish,
to see her smile, your heart taking flight.
What about the song, a melody sweet -
her voice, though off-key, fills the air,
played again, for no reason at all,
just to hear her laugh, so full, so rare.
What about the quiet, shared gaze -
eyes that speak without a word,
in the stillness of a morning spent,
where love is felt, not just heard.
As a woman, I dream to be wanted like that -
to be seen, cherished, held close,
but by Monday, I’m forgotten,
left with the ache of Sunday’s ghost.
Sunday's not Sunday unless there's a roast.
It's the day of the week that I cherish the most.
With the veg on the hob and meat in the oven.
The aroma that wafts is a gift sent from heaven.
It's a time for the family to gather round the table.
Which keeps families together and families stable.
Gathered with the family, we laugh and we cheer.
It's the warmth of this day that I hold so dear.
With the carrots and the roasties lined up on the plate.
It's a smell just to savour and i just cannot wait!
So bring on that gravy and serve up that meat.
As this is the time to make Sunday complete.
Whilst we sit at the table, tuck into this feast.
My plate overflowing. This dinner is a beast!
With a belly so full, a home filled with aroma.
One eye on the sofa, for the incoming food coma!
Surrounded by loved ones, we share in the cheer.
It's the day of the week that feels so sincere.
It's a feast for the soul, now time for a toast.
That Sunday's not Sunday unless there's a roast.
A Month of Sundays
Sunday I had a dream
And Monday I had to work
Tuesday I shone a beam
Wednesday nowhere to park
Thursday I shed a tear
Friday wept alone in the dark
Saturday was full of fear
Sunday I walked in the park
Monday I couldn’t wake
Tuesday spam and pasta bake
Wednesday, poor mid-week
Thursday failed to peak
Friday, lottery is lost
Saturday early morning frost
Sunday another dream
Monday was mundane
Tuesday full of rain
Wednesday I was born
Thursday around Cape Horn
Friday, hopes are high
Saturday no eyes were dry
Sunday I had a dream.
A month of Sundays.
David Cox 14/03/23
Come down to river
‘tis cold you’ll quiver
Amend
and find the Giver
He will deliver
Transcend
Love’s a caregiver
Come down to river
Descend
No need to contend
when angels defend
God praise
No need to pretend
A life with no end
sans grays
Eternity spend
With Jesus your friend
Good pays
With the heart ablaze
sing salvation’s praise
Shiver
with the Spirit’s gaze
Let go sinful days
sliver
of the past a haze
baptised in Sunday’s
river
I
joy (Jesus, Others, You) since last Lord's Day
We call it Sunday - first day
In the week, each new week
For Jesus rose on a Sunday
Jewish Sabbath remains on Saturday
( Well ... From sunset each Friday)
II
Lord, I thank thee, deep gratitude
Dankbaarheid is 'n sleutel, key!
I learn to focus on thee
All I do, to please Trinity
But if it's me, I lose the key
To joy each new day.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, the others
Then me (especially Gospel of Grace, Mercy)
Thank You For the Sundays
(written on the 10th Sunday of the search)
By Franklin Price
04/10/2022
God, I thank you for the Sundays
The beginning of each week
The Church doors are all open
For the fellowship I seek
For some time, I have been searching
In a different place each Sunday
For the feeling of His spirit
That will last much more than one day
Been directed by the hand of God
In the Churches that I choose
By following God's guidance
Do not think that I can lose
Once I've entered and I'm seated
I find the reason that I came
It's the worshiping and preaching
That are praising Jesus' name
In each Church, I've found His presence
Found His blessings in each place
This search has brought me closer
To the spirit of God's grace
I'll continue on this journey
As long as God is guiding me
When He says this church is the one
I'll settle there respectfully
Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Amen
Little feet trampoline upon king size bed
laughing and giggling
with happy faces from life still fresh
taking flight with fairy wings
soaring high from pixie dust
hear the dogs barking in joy
as mom and dad hide under the pillows
can't get up for school
can't sleep in on weekends
cherish days of innocence
you are only young once
you become old forever
there is no Never Land.
SEURAT SUNDAYS
the souls
body
in art sensations
hues
contrasts
diverse reflections
radiant
whirling dots
uniformed &
structured
flecked intricacy
precision
pigments o
of solar
spectrum
lustre in blended
fusion
interplayed
harmony
in imaginative leaps
of the eye
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
Memories of garden walks
Primrose paths, intimate talks
A coin tossed wishfully in a fountain
Gazing up at snow-capped mountains...
Lazy Sundays in our reading chairs
Sunset, sipping tea in our town square
The glow of ruddy cheeks twilight demarcates
A last toast to Friendship ~ to sow and cultivate
Church on Sundays and a fried chicken dinner
starts the week off is a winner
That big Sunday paper you read in leisure
those funnies are the real pleasure
Chores put off to another day
Sundays are just made that way
Talk on the phone with family and friends
making promises to soon meet again
Sundays are lazy a slow day of peace
when all you do comes at it's least
Sunday naps enjoy the rest
Monday hovers so be at your best
Smile and hold the one you love
Sundays a gift from Above
A ghoul on a stool made him drool
So the vampire skipped Sunday School
The B-positive queue
Was too long to pursue
At the Blood Bank in Liverpool!
When the time is Sunday,
it goes by so quickly, that soon
becomes Sunday again...
but when is monday
everything becomes slow,
time does not pass
as we desire...
24 hours is a century,
the week does not finish...!
Is always Monday......
Sunday, never comes... !
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