So many numbers out there, but which ones do I choose
Twelve takes center stage, the day I joined the family tree
Seven, the time I rise and get ready for work, or just to go out and play
Four, a time to return home, or perhaps do some errands along the way
Nine the day I got married and a new journey began
Fourteen, Valentines Day, a night of love and romance to plan
Twenty -eight, the day my beautiful daughter entered the world to join me
Twenty-five Christmas Day, a festive time I am sure we all agree
And who could forget nine / eleven, that fateful day when terrorists had their way
Just think of all the numbers we have to deal with every single day
Without numbers, we would not be able to figure almost anything out
Just think of an election when they went to count the vote, finding a winner would always be in doubt
Pitch black, invisible shadows
Darkness creeps on doors and windows
Sky is dim and the stars don't shine
The night is drowned in drowse of wine
Light is shy on tales of gray
Even daybreak is a sad slay
For, the grim of dark afternoon
Shut the light of the dawning moon
Who could forget that dark of day
When the world was capped in gray?
Even the light of brightest dream
Was drowned in shock of freaky scream
Promise of morn is half concealed
Even the face of dawn is veiled
For the shadow of yesterday
Caps the heaven in mist of gray
Shatterer of Worlds
Good morning saboteur of words
What is it today, what is it today now?
Fatman or little boy?
Bubble girl and Busy lobster
Seems so distant now
lead us all astray somehow
It sounds shielded and protected
Cluster pearl, hawk and chase
Doesn’t sound nearly as destructive
Author of code names
What’s it gonna be
what’s it gonna be now?
Am I divine strake
Would my life will be at stake
Experiment canceled
Who could forget about the trinity test?
The life you’ve messed
Of course they’re not planned
Caused disarray come what may
Are they randomly chosen?
Who’s heart will be broken?
How I've held onto somehow
Doesn’t it surprise you now?
Goodnight shatterer of worlds
This might sound absurd
Who’s it gonna be, who’s it gonna be now?
It won’t be me again
I made that clear in the end.
Picking up the pieces that you’ve left
Put my bullet vest
To the test
If I see you
Iron-clad this time,
I'm brand new.
There I was in the 1970s
an impressionable sort of guy
then I learned about a lady
who when she sang I did sigh!
One of her albums just shook me
'we're children of coincidence
and Harpo Marx', where did he appear?
her music was filled with confidence
Ar that time of life, I was down
life didn't mean much these days
but Dory Previn was a voice of light
speaking to me what her music says
So many great tracks, I loved so much
'The Comedian', 'Wild Roses and 'I Wake Up Slow'
but 'How I Gonna Keep Myself Together'
inspired me to be able to musically grow
Of course who could forget the final song
the magical ' The Owl And The Pussycat'
sadly Dory passed away in 2012
thankfully her music lives on the fast track
(Dory Previn was my star of yesteryear, (1925-2012)
I just wanted to write about my favourite album. Why it is my favourite album, what a lot of special memories it holds, What feelings within me it still holds.)
A book that I plucked
from an antiquity of books
filled my nostrils
with a smell that I will always know
and always love.
This love cannot be explained,
but neither could any indifference.
At the back of the hall,
distant from and opposite to
the comical speaker's rostrum,
behind rows of chairs filled
with the attentive and the obliged
and the hands raised in angst
to express righteousness
and cleverness
(look at me ! hear me !),
I, too, would be righteous
and clever some day
(wasn't that clever ?),
but those dusty old books !
And who could forget God's hand ?
It thrust earthword,
its sword gleamed
a split second before cleaving
a wicked man in two,
skull to groin,
a dusty old book
among dusty old books,
explored with petrified daring
by fingers so tiny they're forgotten.
A platoon of books competing,
all to be explored in turn,
some more readily than others,
all old, all dusty, all so rich in scent,
none to be forgotten,
never to be forgotten.
5th July 2020
The breeze has stirred the trees with tender strains
of promises. Refrains we could not keep.
But left behind, a fervent song remains,
in fields of grass, where summer goes to sleep.
Our silhouettes, once sketched beneath the sky,
of fingers, gently placed upon my breast,
are only dreams I've kept. And now I sigh
from memories the years have laid to rest
The seasons do recall. Who could forget
the blush of gold upon the summer's cheek?
Those days are gone, without regret, but yet
each dawn brings back the youth we long to seek
When summer's gone, and we, as well must go,
we'll rest our hearts in leaves of afterglow
You irritate me.
You touched your daughter.
Actually, you touch not just yours,
but God’s!
You sick and twisted man.
You try your hardest to get it in
But she knows better than to let you.
You detest what a father should be
and act like nothing happens after.
All this, you see, will just past away
is what you say.
But no, Memories last through time.
Who could forget what you did?
You sick and twisted man.
But one thing irritates me the most,
how this has affected her soul,
how this affected her outlook on life.
how this has been embedded in her,
making her feel like a computer with a virus.
You sick and twisted man.
I want to do bad things to you,
like kill you,
or banish you to hell.
But, I have been taught “we also forgive us who sins against us”.
So I forgive you, and love on you as if you are me.
it is written “Love your neighbor as yourself”
and I will.
You lost and forgiven man.
In the fall we used to go to the old Johnson place
To pick apples from the aging trees out back
They patiently stood with lichen covered grace
A once grand old house now off the beaten track
Boxes and buckets and bags we'd carry along
Who could forget Mom's big picnic lunch
Picking was fun and Dad sang an old song
We were always a boisterous and happy bunch
When picking was done and we'd eaten our fill
We'd dangle our feet in the sweet little stream
Then tired ,all headed for home, excited still
Thinking of pies, sauce, and apples with cream...
In the fall we used to go to the old Johnson place
To pick apples from the aging trees out back
They patiently stood with lichen covered grace
A once grand old house now off the beaten track
The breeze has stirred the trees with tender strains
of promises. Refrains we could not keep.
But left behind, a fervent song remains,
in fields of grass, where summer goes to sleep.
Our silhouettes, once sketched beneath the sky,
of fingers, gently placed upon my breast,
are only dreams I've kept. And now I sigh
from memories the years have laid to rest
The seasons do recall. Who could forget
the blush of gold upon the summer's cheek?
Those days are gone, without regret, but yet
each dawn brings back the youth we long to seek
When summer's gone, and we, as well must go,
we'll rest our hearts in leaves of afterglow
_____________________________________________________________
For Francine's Contest: Summer's End -- 8/25/13
Chester Bennington's gravelly scream
Was to me, at one point, a melodic dream
Somewhere down the road I couldn't face the pain
That or my ears wore out under the strain
And who could forget that DJ who brought to life
That Asian stereotype?
When Mr. Hahn's hands were in sight
You really had faith the song would turn out right
I couldn't stay hardcore - the time had come to sit
I took detours listening to how others sing
But I never took any shame in it
Cause I knew for a fact that exploration was their thing
Yeah, Linkin Park
Was my original spark
And once kindled it was never the same
Before I knew it the whole house was aflame
Though difficult to believe - reading what I write now
This group irrevocably affected my life somehow
I now scan for stories in a rapper's rant
'Twas Shinoda that taught me that...
NOTE: I realize, after posting this, that not everyone will know who Linkin Park is (or have heard the name before and just isn't a fan of that style of music). But I think everyone can relate to being inspired by some sort of celebrity. Whether they're a singer, author, painter or whatever.
James Cameron made it big with Avatar
Again and again he raised the bar
The film was tremendously beautiful
But the plot was unoriginal
But of course who could forget Titanic?
Lenny plus heartbreak equals a classic!
I've seen the ending, but that's not the point
My girl swears that it won't disappoint
Like or smite, have to admit you crave more
Jimmy's is where it's at whether you're
A fan of trees that store mem'ries aglow
Or Leonardo DiCaprio
My Baby Girl
What happen? I remember that you’d just started walking
and before I knew it, you was talking.
Pre-school, Barbie dolls, bakers ovens,
And I’ll never forget the Pig tails and everything having to be purple!
Cake decorations and art lessons.
Oh and who could forget those piano sessions.
But now, your toys
are laptops, cell phones, designer jeans
bubble gum, boots and boys.
What happen to my Baby Girl?
The only thing that’s the same is that you still love purple.
Now in your teens
you’ll soon be ready to drive a car
oh, just look at you... so talented, so tall and beautiful
soon you’ll be done with high school and college,
I need you to know, because your so clever
and you can have whatever you endeavor
I see your life going far.
Just be true to yourself and always stay faithful
and remember; I’ll love you forever because your My Baby Girl!
C. Gill
10-17-2008
Dedicated to Caroline
I don't know what it is that makes you
smile sometimes.
And I don't know why you laugh the way
you do.
I don't even know what makes you cry
sometimes.
All I know is that I am gifted to have
been in your life for a single moment.
You try to mimic my every move,
sometimes you succeed.
I could go on and on about your
beautiful face, your gorgeous smile,
and who could forget your baby blues.
Every time you come up to me and say,
'Mama Cuddle' I want to cry.
Because I don't feel worthy to have a
child like you.
People say you can't live on love.
I say................. just watch us.
Then there is that other Jack who has
burned his posterior by his
tremendous leaping over
that hot candlestick, but
he is okay now
and ready for
another
happy
day.
And, who could forget Miss Muffet yet?
She of such terrible fright when
that silly old spider sat
too close to her tuffet.
Wouldn't you run off
if it were to
happen that
way for
you?
THE END .... whew! Glad that's over with .... smile