I woke up and suddenly I felt the August rush. Perhaps it was because
it was August twenty-fifth, just a few days away from September. I could
tell by the chill in the air that soon all the flowers would die and all the
children would be back to school.
Backpacks
little snacks
tots with pouts
Where did the summer go, how did those waterslides get tucked away
so soon. That garden that just a few months ago was at the height of
scent, is now laying dormant, very little bumble bees in sight.
BZZZZZ
Gee Wizz
many sighs
I wish I could turn myself into May, and crown the world with newborn
seeds of love and beauty. May is the month when my cheeks blush and
my heart awakens.
Ready not
like a tot
I'm whining
Because summer is surrendering and my roses are longing for one last
caress from me. Please God, come next year, let the flowers grow again.
I know soon it will be Autumn, but this is not the end....
Will he be visiting you with more than a lump of coal?
(A dark voice whispers)
Love and loneliness
Unspoken dreams of romance and broken hearts
Shall have no reunion
But instead
Like fettered beasts to the slaughterhouse
They will stare foolishly into the distance
As they are abandoned,
Pleading for hope and a new companion
For deaden souls deserve no salvation
Such is my curse of the Dammed
Running or walking throughout
Every living nation
Men or women
Especially at Christmas
Swimming naked in pools of hate and judgement
Shall become as one
As they hear my approaching bells
Under the gaze of my cosmic gun
Love and loneliness
Sadness and pain
Will be their everlasting daylight
In their souls window panes
My silver mistress,
Mother Moon
Will seal their fate
On the twenty-fifth
When presents are received
For the spiteful and jealous
The hateful and cruel
Who loves to deceive
You better pray to change your ways
Before Christmas Eve
Or you might get a visit from me
Even if in me,
You do not believe
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
On his twenty-fifth birthday, elated
He decided to go hunting.
He let the fresh air of the early morning
On the slope of a wooded hill, fill his lungs.
A small vale stretched beneath him,
Whilst behind the trees rose a small sheer cliff.
That was where he saw the golden oriole.
It was a beautiful specimen, all yellow.
Martin admired its graceful flight.
And the bird seemed to enjoy itself, too.
He observed it intently as it glided, soared, turned,
And flew happily over the old gnarled trees below.
Suddenly, a hellish black kestrel appeared in the sky.
It hovered above, eyes glinting, beak poised.
The oriole sensed it immediately.
Irrationally, it defied the bird of prey,
For it continued its fancy flight
Until the kestrel began its dive.
Then the oriole flew directly towards the cliff
And inexplicably disappeared.
It was the worst birthday of Martin’s life.
It's twenty fifth of May
Alas, you're miles away from me
flash back of mosaic memories
when i was in your sight
brings back scents of home
exuding like curry
from mom's kitchen
as you serenade her
with songs she used to sing
to make me sleep on rainy eve.
Oh Dad, with gratitude
on your birthday
this rouge roses I send,
tied with a rainbow
that will never end.
If I seem a little manic
Come December twenty-fifth
I’m just on the verge of panic
About getting you a gift
So please forgive me my remissness
As I crouch beneath the tree
Since I’m “present” here on Christmas
Let’s just say I got you me.
Most of us should know that the fourth Thursday,
is called a Thanksgiving Day celebration.
The first Tuesday after the first Monday,
we elect the leaders of our nation.
Maybe you even know the first Sunday,
is when Daylight Savings comes to an end.
But did you know on November the first,
National Pomegranate Month begins.
Also, Native Heritage and Military Family Month,
Epilepsy, Alzheimer’s, and COPD awareness.
How about NAN-O-WRI-MO or Pancreatic Cancer too,
we’ll throw in No Shave November just for fairness.
The first Wednesday is Eating Healthy Day,
the first Thursday is Man Makes Dinner.
The first Friday is Samoan Arbor Day,
and of course, Black Friday is always a winner.
Who can forget World Vegan Day,
or Coronation Day of the fifth Druk in Bhutan.
It’s Liberty Day in the Virgin Islands,
Self-Defense Forces Commemoration in Japan.
It is Veterans Day on the eleventh,
Pneumonia Day on the twelve.
Parfait day on the twenty-fifth,
if you don’t care about your health.
I could just go on and on listing them,
but just between me and you.
We’d still be here reading next November,
and we probably still would not be through.
NOEL IN TIME
I’m neither pagan nor a druid
In the olden times it was Yule
And mead a much loved fluid
A log is better than daily gruel
Many believe in the Virgin birth
On the twenty fifth of December
It wasn’t then, for what it’s worth
Changed to fit, so you remember
With many hijacked pagan dates
Such that festivals neatly coincide
None should ever tempt the Fates
But many still love Christmastide
Like many others I love this myth,
celebrate once (or twice for the Sith);
Geeks know 'Han Shot First' is truth;
May the fourth be with you
if you know the real date is May twenty fifth.
Smiles as we light up the Christmas tree
Giggles from little ones sitting on Santa’s knee
Caroling in the newly fallen snow is pure bliss
Standing beneath the mistletoe hoping for a kiss
Snowball fights abound in the park
We’ll bake Christmas cookies and drink hot chocolate
Children’s’ faces of joy on the twenty fifth
Wide eyed with wonder as they open their gifts
But the saddest day of the year comes next
Alas it falls on December twenty six
We’ll sadly mark the calendar to start it all over, and then
agonize until it’s Christmas time again.
My twenty fifth Christmas arrived with grief.
Snowflakes and anguish transcended belief.
My mother’s fifty sixth year would be her last.
Stage four had arrived, embittered and fast.
Engaging moments were invariably made.
Our last family Christmas was splendidly played.
No sibling rivalry, not one single rift.
I couldn’t have wished for a finer Christmas gift.
There was tinsel and lights, stockings hung with care.
The smell of freshly baked bread filled the air.
Christmas music played; we gave Mom our best.
That year was tops, better than all the rest.
Six weeks later, I watched my mother die.
It’s been twenty-five years, I still hurt and cry.
Merry Christmas Mom, in my heart you will forever stay.
I will always treasure God’s gift that I received on Christmas day.
12/4/21
A Christmas Gift Memory Poetry Contest
Sponsor: BJ Legros Kelley
She hands me the flowers with a shy smile,
that pretty little girl of nine,
stop by their shop each Friday for a while,
to buy woven strings of jasmine.
She is always there by her mother’s side,
little fingers deftly weaving,
in two and threes she ties jasmine buds wide,
she waves to me as am leaving.
Jasmine adorns women's hair on Friday,
a tradition in Hindu homes,
For wife and daughter I buy on my way,
for their jet black hair neatly combed.
as years roll by old memories I weave,
like white jasmine buds on a string,
to university my daughter leaves,
to be a doctor on her wings.
twenty-fifth birthday we throw a big bash,
family and friends come to dine,
for food, sweets and drinks spend limitless cash,
and a few baskets of jasmine.
candles and cakes and happy, cheer and laughs,
her medical friends wish and sing,
one of them I recognised half and half,
once a girl with jasmine string.
Written 24/06/2021
Surprise me poetry contest
Charles Messina sponsored
10,8,10,8 syllables abab rhyme sequence
It's April twenty-fifth and it's still snowing,
Lightly raining down upon the town.
Pretty as a picture, wind is blowing,
Melting quickly as it hits the ground.
The streets awash in slush it wets my shoes,
So rubber boots are needed to transgress,
The puddles 'long the street where once there grew,
Small flowers 'fore the winter put to rest.
It's the last snow of the year and cold and wet.
Jack Frost has packed his bags and finally left,
But there's a chill still left behind lest we forget,
That he'll be back again a lingering guest.
For now we're looking forward to the summer,
Days of picnics, barbecues and summer sun.
We'll forget when minus ten seemed a bit warmer,
As we frolic in the sunshine having fun.
The Beginning
By Joji Varghese Kuncheria
Four decades ago my sojourn started,
In my mid - twenties, as to be precise,
A journey of a lifetime so joyous,
By a lad daring, bold and determined,
To perceive, explore and conquer the world,
From my land of coconuts and spices,
To the horn of Africa full of bliss,
Circumspectly moving spellbound and stunned.
So it all began in warm Nazareth,
In a province of Abyssinia,
Arriving on Christmas, the twenty fifth,
An hour by bus from Addis Ababa,
On a beautiful day of the Sabbath,
Journeying through the fields of Injera.
************
A-s you wake from slumber,
N-ight chill fades away;
N-ew light starts to shine,
A-fter the break of day.
B-eacon twenty-fifth January
E-arly begins to ascend;
L-et the tears disappear,
L-et the raindrops
E-nd.
O-ne Wednesday morning,
R-egard and wish are known;
T-ime to pose for a while
I-n the stuffed toys
Z-one.
M-ake a stepping stone,
A-iming towards success;
R-ising above the crowd
I-s not without a mess.
E-arly twenty-fifth of August, just learn from your error;
L-et your life correct the wrong, use the failure to your favor.
S-tepping stone to triumph
I-s truly hard and rough;
L-earn to reach your goal,
A-s the going gets tough.
G-et up when you fall down,
A-llow not your heart to moan;
N-ever ignore your mistake being a stepping stone.
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