I have a pocket in my vest,
Where tiny treasures go to rest.
A shiny pebble from the
playground,
A button that I thought was
neat,
And one small feather from a
nest.
Wearing a white hat
the hero of the day
Truth rides into town
veracity has no shades of grey
a bright shiny silver star
on his chest pinned to his vest
promoting the honesty policy
he tells us it's the best
and the little white lie is not legit
contrary to popular belief
it doesn't exist not one bit
it's merely another word for 'thief'
a rootin' tootin' straight shooter
is what he's all about
he'll outrun outgun the bad guys
as Truth will out
Have you seen what's going on
in Afghanistan
and all that's gone wrong
caused by the Taliban
driving the country
into rack and ruin
with impunity
is what they're doing
it's what they've done
it would be good
to put them on the run
better yet eliminate
those Barbarians at the gate
yes it would be best
to dress each one
in a suicide vest
then blow their tiny minds
up the Khyber to Kingdom Come
One Saturday in a fest
I met an old buddy in a vest
Who was mighty grateful to bond
At the side of an old pond
And tell stories of the wild west
five am orange vest
gunshot is heard in the woods
flash of white tail
I know that all I see
in Nature’s beauty
is a reflection of
heaven’s bounty –
therefore my breath
and duty, to nurture
and respect; thus I
detect in me, in the
sky, and the center
of a wave’s eye, a
radiance as of yet
to be visioned by
man – longing to be
worn in its purity
and taken onto
the soul – I fold each
beam, and tuck carefully
into a vest of memories;
the same pocket all my
treasures are kept
awaiting the awakening
of a greater, healed humanity –
WITH EVERY YESTERDAY
IS A TIME GONE BY
THOSE DAYS AHEAD MIGHT
BE BETTER IF
THEN IN THESE IFINISM WE DO THE SAME
TO BE CATCH IN THE
CHANGE BARRANCE OF SAME
YET WHICH DAYS MIGHT WE CREATE A CHANGE
TO LEARN FROM THOSE DAYS GONE BY
HALF A DAY SPENT
BEING FOOLISH
IS A HALF A DAY
SOMEONE ASKEST WHY
WHEN THE WHEELS START
AND THE GRAIN IS THRASHED
AND THE PROCESS TO MAKE FLOUR BEGANS
WE REMOVE THE HUSK
AND BLEACH GROUNDED GRAINS
TO MAKE TWO PRODUCTS NEARLY THE SAME
The forecast said it would be cool;
I packed some pants - I'm not a fool -
And long-sleeved shirts, but still unsure,
As I was heading out the door,
I grabbed my trusty purple vest
And wore it daily - who'd have guessed?
It's made of down and light as air,
Magenta-toned, to be quite fair.
So though the sunny warmth was gone,
I still felt cozy with it on.
I never will be underdressed
When I wear my UniQlo vest.
F-riday twenty-seventh January
L-ets the new dawn break;
O-pening the day with warmth,
R-ays erase the heartache.
E-arly morn has broken,
N-o more mist in the meadow;
C-old chill has vanished,
E-ven the deepest sorrow.
F-ill your heart with thrill,
U-nder the blue skyline;
L-et the clouds stay white,
G-ood weather remains fine.
E-very ocean or sea
N-ever hides from the beacon;
C-omfort and safety are certain,
I-f the life vest is put
O-n.
Reg just loved to wear a string vest
It would cover his dark hairy chest
Vests would hang on the line
When the weather was fine
String vests were the ones Reg loved best
At the airport Reg was booked on a flight
The metal scanner showed something not right
Security were impressed
His wallet’s pinned to his vest -
They let him through much to Reg’s delight!
This is a true story which was told by our friend Reg’s daughter after his funeral and I was challenged to write a poem about this
08-21-17
Been traveling through this old world,
And I've picked up my pass,
To the oldest game on earth,
Where my luck won't run dry.
And it's been a lesson forged in sorrow,
A heartache of hits with every card of the draw.
And I'm playing it close to my vest,
This hellish game is my test,
For there's never a tomorrow that can't come today,
When your heart has no sorrow and you're settled either way.
A secret close to my vest,
Close to my vest.
And I'm a stranger to no one,
But a mystery to all,
I've weathered through each season,
To every cadence of fall.
And it's been an empty chord in solo,
A heartache of notes saying nothing at all.
And I'm playing it close to my vest,
This hellish game is my test,
For there's never a tomorrow that can't come today,
When your heart has no sorrow and you're settled either way.
A secret close to my vest,
Close to my vest.
(Bridge)
Behind every light and shadow passing my way,
Are another's teardrops finding the way.
A secret close to my vest,
Close to my vest.
(Lyrics to a song I wrote and recorded onto a CD)
Cornelia’s Red Vest
Cornelia Chipmunk wears a red vest
Without it she feels pos-i-tive-ly undressed
It has thirteen pockets and twenty-one zippers
And fastens in front with some Velcro-like grippers
These pockets can hold all kinds of odd things
Like shoelaces, pencils, and bright plastic rings,
Gum wrappers, pine cones, paper clips, too
Why, there’s nine fuzzy socks – 4 turquoise, 5 blue
Ribbons and nuts and bark from a tree
Some rocks, shiny buttons, a big purple pea.
She stacks them all up in the back of her nest
And goes to sleep thinking she loves her red vest.
sensual wings
a pink visual
Nature sings
It seems casual
a date or a fling
still in a boys dream
Slowly she came
It felt magical
sugar walls sweet
The cherry as a treat
The boy felt blest
With his
warm vest conquest
Give me my vest
I want to swathe my chest
Of a planted garden love
The one which is written love
I always visit your top bikini
To where I started to exploit love
By missing and visiting, the journey begin
Give me my vest, by all the above
It make me handsome
It reveals my gentlemanly
I may mention all but all the same
My lovely, in its white and warmly
Kiss my chest, and sleep to its pillows
To whereby I sense in the world of lovers
One after the other, never ask me forever
I take you with my life ever.
Life is what it is----Full of ups and downs.
We all get sad and cry---angry and mad.
There are days that bring such darkness.
There are days that shine so bright.
Some days just getting up, takes all your energy.
Sadness can fill in around--So heavy it can sink a soul.
U Must find something to hang on to…
Keep the head up---keep it above water.
When carrying so much--one becomes physically exhausted.
It is hard to just breathe and keep from sinking.
Sharp things poke you in the ribs,
Feels like pneumonia is moving in…
Things happen that cause grief and sadness,
It can be felt so deep inside and cut you to the core.
Hang on and ride it out even in the perfect storm...
Things will calm—but until then
Keep your life vest on…
Copyright © fonda anne….mooreofme....mamao
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