Happy New Year 2011!

My New Year's Resolution

I will not throw the cat out the window
Or put a frog in my sister's bed
I will not tie my brother's shoelaces together
Nor jump from the roof of Dad's shed
I shall remember my aunt's next birthday
And tidy my room once a week
I'll not moan at Mum's cooking (Ugh! fish fingers again!)
Nor give her any more of my cheek.
I will not pick my nose if I can help it
I shall fold up my clothes, comb my hair,
I will say please and thank you (even when I don't mean it)
And never spit or shout or even swear.
I shall write each day in my diary
Try my hardest to be helpful at school
I shall help old ladies cross roads (even if they don't want to)
And when others are rude I'll stay cool.
I'll go to bed with the owls and be up with the larks
And close every door behind me
I shall squeeze from the bottom of every toothpaste tube
And stay where trouble can't find me.
I shall start again, turn over a new leaf,
leave my bad old ways forever
shall I start them this year, or next year
shall I sometime, or .....?

Robert Fisher

Merry Christmas 2010!

 

Jingle Bell Rock

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock
Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring
Snowin' and blowin' up bushels of fun
Now the jingle hop has begun

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock
Jingle bells chime in jingle bell time
Dancin' and prancin' in Jingle Bell Square
In the frosty air

What a bright time, it's the right time
To rock the night away
Jingle bell time is a swell time
To go glidin' in a one-horse sleigh

Giddy-up jingle horse, pick up your feet
Jingle around the clock
Mix and a-mingle in the jinglin' feet
That's the jingle bell rock

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock
Jingle bells chime in jingle bell time
Dancin' and prancin' in Jingle Bell Square
In the frosty air

What a bright time, it's the right time
To rock the night away
Jingle bell time is a swell time
To go glidin' in a one-horse sleigh

Giddy-up jingle horse, pick up your feet
Jingle around the clock
Mix and a-mingle in the jinglin' feet
That's the jingle bell
That's the jingle bell
That's the jingle bell rock

Video Here 

Fuego's Freedom

Fuego’s Freedom

If you could’ve sworn you’d seen a horse
Charging out of a flame
Or forming out of an autumn leaf
Maybe you’ve seen Fuego’s spirit
For he is a whinny into the moon at night
And a fiery, restless creature
Starved of freedom
His mortal self
Couldn’t live off fenced pasture
He is now a wild thing
Every October he scours the scape
For a place as remote and wild as his spirit
Fuego may pay you a visit
During his journey
For a loco sort of liberty
Will Fuego, a whinny into the moon at night
A restless spirit, an autumn leaf, a stray flame…
Find his long lost freedom…
In you?

by HorsesForever, age 10

Mirror Mirror

Mirror, Mirror, Bloody Fibber

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Can't you show me tall and slim?
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Must I look so bloody grim?

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
You're distorting my poor waist!
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
And why the heck am I defaced?

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Why have I a double chin?
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
And what's the stupid, goofy grin?

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Pointless asking ‘Who’s the fairest-?
More bloody likely, 'Who’s the queerest? ’
Now look, I paid a big bucks for thee,
So why can’t you be nice to me?

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Who’s the fairest of them all?
Me, you say? Ah, that's better -
Mirror, mirror, bloody fibber!

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

A Poet's Cat

A Poet’s Cat

A poet's cat sedate and grave
As poet well could wish to have,
Was much addicted to inquire
For nooks, to which she might retire,
And where, secure as mouse in chink,
She might repose, or sit and think.
I know not where she caught the trick -
Nature perhaps had cast her
In such a mould philosophique
Or else she learn'd it of her master.

William Cowper

Happy Thanksgiving 2010

I’m Thankful for You

Thanksgiving is the appointed time
for focusing on the good in our lives.
In each of our days,
we can find small blessings,
but too often we overlook them,
choosing instead to spend our time
paying attention to problems.
We give our energy
to those who cause us trouble
instead of those who bring peace.
Starting now,
let’s be on the lookout
for the bits of pleasure in each hour,
and appreciate the people who
bring love and light to everyone
who is blessed to know them.
You are one of those people.
On Thanksgiving,
I’m thankful for you.
Happy Thanksgiving!

By Joanna Fuchs

Palo Duro Canyon

Palo Duro Canyon

The Canyon is 120 miles long, as much as 20 miles wide, and has a maximum depth of more than 800 feet. Its elevation at the rim is 3,500 feet above sea level. It is often claimed that Palo Duro Canyon is the second largest canyon in the United States. 

The largest, the Grand Canyon, is 277 miles long, 18 miles wide, and 6,000 ft. deep.

It is located in Northern Texas 27 miles southeast of Amarillo. It’s a 2 hour drive from my home. I visited there 30 years ago when my parents took me to see the play “Texas”. The play takes place outdoors in the hills of the canyon during the summer months and is amazing to see. 

I’m hoping to make a return visit someday.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Palo Duro Canyon

    God with his infinite power, millions of years ago
    In some important hour carved the Palo Duro.
    He leveled the plains around it and capped it with a rim of stone...
    Most any child can bound it, creation, that's God's own.

    In the center he placed great rocks, and springs on the mountainside...
    Then flowers and ferns and flox, and stately shading trees abide...
    He placed meandering streamlets, flowing from side to side...
    And many side canyons and inlets, controlling torrents and tide.

    Vandals may attempt to destroy God's marvelous works, divine...
    But oh, let future peoples enjoy, Palo Duro's wondrous design...
    Was there ever before such beauty, such blending of tints and hue?
    To preserve it now is man's duty...
    May he to this trust be true.

    L. Gough
 

She Danced

She Danced

She danced to forget the loss of love
She danced to remember the passion of love
She danced to lose herself in rhythm
She danced to find herself in rhyme
She danced to dry her tears
She danced to face her fears
She danced until heart and soul were healed

Blue Pueblo

Salad is Incompatible with Life

Salad is Incompatible with Life

Yes, my waist is fifty inches -
Big for me because I'm short.
And yes, I like my cheddar cheese
When partnered with a vintage port.

Okay, okay, that double cream
Is always served with pud,
And cake and biscuits with my tea
Are just no bloody good

For my poor hardened arteries.
But see my point of view,
Please dear wifey if you please -
A Salad makes me spew!

I'd rather eat a bowl of air
Than crunch away on greens;
Drink water from the toilet bowl
Or nibble on my jeans!

But salad! Are you there?
You know it makes me snappy -
So let me fill my face with grub,
Stay fat, and die young happy!

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

Happy Halloween 2010!

  Haunted House

There's a house upon the hilltop

We will not go inside

For that is where the witches live,

Where ghosts and goblins hide.

Tonight they have their party,

All the lights are burning bright,

But oh we will not go inside

The haunted house tonight.

The demons there are whirling

And the spirits swirl about.

They sing their songs to Halloween.

"Come join the fun," they shout.

But we do not want to go there

So we run with all our might

And oh we will not go inside

The haunted house tonight.

- by Jack Prelutsky

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month

Domestic Violence

History echoes the screams of women--
violated, abused, ravaged.
Some have heard the death knell--
the last sound ever.

Others live in fearful isolation
with humiliation and pain
endured through many years
silently suffering, lost, nowhere to turn.

Survivors live in seclusion
detached
distant
distrustful

The seclusion every suffering animal craves
to be let alone
to lick their wounds
to heal.

Barbara Baskin 2010 

Autumn Fantasy

Autumn Fantasy

In my autumn fantasy
Endless miles of blazing color
Spreads beneath my feet,

Light mist lingers through the trees;
Swirling gently with each breeze
Colors mesh in focus
Then fade;
In waves of brilliance and subtle haze,

I gather leaves;
Their unique beauty surrounding me
Inhaling their scent appreciatively,

I'd gladly coexist in this fragrant mist
My gaze defining the trees shapes and forms;
As I feel the sun on my face
Now warm,

I could stroll forever
In this place,
In awe I am of beauty
Supreme;
As only seen in a dream,

And when the sun has faded from the sky,
On a bed of soft leaves
Will I lie;
To dream again
In ecstasy
Of my autumn fantasy.

Nancy Ellen Crossland

Silence

Silence

Listen.
Do you hear it?
The low, soft nothing of silence?

Silence.
I wallow in it.
I wrap it around me -- a cloak of comfort.
I am alone.
I come into myself.

Silence.
My mind is set free.
I think, I wonder.
I feel the words flowing.

Silence.
Blessed silence.

Barbara B. Baskin 2010

A Raindrop's Life

A Raindrop's Life

The cloud is expectant and heavy
I am one of its children being born in the sky
Then, my mother is ready- she releases me
And I descend to the earth from on high.

I fall in time with the other children,
We travel downward, faster and faster we go
Toward our destination.
We feed the earth, waiting below.

We soak the ground, giving it life.
We fill streams, rivers, and seas with their share.
We wait patiently to arise again,
To gather again in the air.

We wait inside another cloud,
As we pass once again through the sky.
Our mother is ready and releases us,
We are born once again in the sky.

Mike Winegar

The Railway Train

The Railway Train

I like to see it lap the miles,
And lick the valleys up,
And stop to feed itself at tanks;
And then, prodigious, step

Around a pile of mountains,
And, supercilious, peer
In shanties by the sides of roads;
And then a quarry pare

To fit its sides, and crawl between,
Complaining all the while
In horrid, hooting stanza;
Then chase itself down hill

And neigh like Boanerges;
Then, punctual as a star,
Stop -- docile and omnipotent --
At its own stable door.

Emily Dickinson

She Sang The Old Songs

She sang the old songs

Songs of lilacs and shady lanes

She sang the peace songs

Songs of home and front porches

She sang the love songs

Songs of heart and Sunday walks

She sang until time and rhyme were one

Blue Pueblo

Free To Be You And Me

Every boy in this land grows to be his own man

In this land, every girl grows to be her own woman

Take my hand, come with me where the children are free

Come with me, take my hand, and we'll run

To a land where the river runs free

To a land through the green country

To a land to a shining sea

To a land where the horses run free

To a land where the children are free

And you and me are free to be

And you and me are free to be

And you and me are free to be you and me

The New Seekers

Live For Today

Live For Today

In the camellia tree sits a lone sparrow
Watching a butterfly flit among the blossoms.
Neither caring about the ‘morrow,
Just today, for today is awesome.

Barbara Baskin 2010

The Ship of Gold

The Ship of Gold

It was a great ship carved from solid gold:
Its masts touched to the skies on uncharted seas;
Venus, goddess of love, her hair streaming, her flesh bare,
Flaunted herself on the prow beneath a blazing sun.

But one night it struck the great reef
In that treacherous ocean where the Siren sang,
And the horrible shipwreck tilted its keel
Into the depths of the abyss, ineluctable coffin.

It was a ship of gold whose diaphanous sides
Revealed treasures which the profane mariners,
Loathing, Hatred, and Neurosis, disputed among themselves.

What remains of it in the brief tempest?
What has become of my heart, a deserted ship?
Alas! It has foundered in the depths of the dream!

Emile Nelligan

The Violin

The Violin

You must use the body - its curves,
its hollows, the spring of the sound, which
brings back what is absent, what has
been and is now gone, fading. Cat-gut,
fret, the busy machinery of longing,
which takes its strength from the
presence of absence, the body's darkness,
the wood carved out, thinned and
made to flex. There is a pain at the
source of it - so easily broken, this tree
without a heart, the sap dried to amber
patina. Only in the sound can you
hear it move, the veins in the blood of
the body that is no more. The bow pulled
along the taut strings, a pitch that
is all but unbearable.

Sheila Black

The Bench

The Bench

Under a Maple tree near the city park entrance,
sits a nondescript, weathered, plain old bench,

Hundreds have passed by and many to rest
Like mothers with toddlers tying up a loose lace,
Kissing scraped knees or wiping a face,

That old bench is a meeting place Tuesdays
for widows Mildred and Grace,
Who chat over lunch that they take turns to make,
discussing TV shows, world events,
pains and aches,

Then there are old Army pals Walter and Ray, who meet on Thursdays,
Checkers they'll play,
while reminiscing about those former glory days

Who would know a simple bench with such a history
of events?

A place where love began or love has ended,
Then again sometimes where hearts are mended,

But to most it will only be
An old bench near the city park entrance

Nancy Ellen Crossland

The Beast

The Beast

Its appetite is voracious,
Its manners less than gracious,
Taking, taking, never giving,
Consuming the lives of the living.

Having no conscience or remorse,
Once loosed it always stays its course,
Destroying all that is in its path,
Never considering the aftermath.

Destruction is its nature, you see,
Though it has no dislike for you or me,
It ever follows its natural bent,
Being impartial in its ravishment.

by Richard Ellis
 

Ride 'Em Cowgirl

Ride 'Em Cowgirl (lyrics)
sung by Sherrie Austin

Hey, there cowgirl Where ya going to
Has the trail you're on Caught up with you?

You've always known The dice would roll your way
If your luck ran out You could up and ride away, hey.

Chorus:
But cowgirl where's your home You always ride alone
Why don't you settle down Make a good man happy, oh
But you're always on the run Is it somethin' or someone
Or a dream you haven't found That keeps you in the saddle
Oh, ride 'em cowgirl.

You've had lovers Yeah, they still come along
But you never let Them love too long
Now it's twilight time And the sun is sinkin' low
As your heart moves on To another rodeo, oh.

Repeat Chorus

Time will always be the faster gun
So can you share the reins
Before your race is run.

Cowgirl where's your home You always ride alone
Is it a dream you haven't found That keeps you in the saddle, oh
Ride 'em cowgirl

Moonlight

Moonlight

As a pale phantom with a lamp
Ascends some ruined haunted stair,
So glides the moon along the damp
Mysterious chambers of the air.

Now hidden in cloud, and now revealed,
As if this phantom, full of pain,
Were by the crumbling walls concealed,
And at the windows seen again.

Until at last, serene and proud
In all the splendour of her light,
She walks the terraces of cloud,
Supreme as Empress of the Night.

I look, but recognize no more
Objects familiar to my view;
The very pathway to my door
Is an enchanted avenue.

All things are changed. One mass of shade,
The elm-trees drop their curtains down;
By palace, park, and colonnade
I walk as in a foreign town.

The very ground beneath my feet
Is clothed with a diviner air;
White marble paves the silent street
And glimmers in the empty square.

Illusion! Underneath there lies
The common life of everyday;
Only the spirit glorifies
With its own tints the sober grey.

In vain we look, in vain uplift
Our eyes to heaven, if we are blind;
We see but what we have the gift
Of seeing; what we bring we find.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Summer At The Lake

SUMMER AT THE LAKE

The down of the swan’s bow dances waxen
on the soft water surface,
indulges in ease,
being unable to think of the next tempest.
Emerald dragonflies are carving jags into the cheesy air,
twitch into the small inlets,
are whirring on the spot during the next breath.
Their copper colored abdomen is laced up
as the waistline of a female motorcyclist
wrapped in leather.
The corpses of last and distant year’s leaves
rest on the muddy floor of the lake –
lost in growing old, blacking on,
bordered by dusky beechnuts.
The water crinkles on the cheeks,
plays and washes against its swimmers,
around the rushstalks ascending over, slenderly from the depth
and the precious butter balls
of the flowering nuphars.

Owi Ivar Nandi

Remember

REMEMBER

Rose of crimson red
A vibrant hue
Petals soft
With drops of dew,

Plucked, admired
Fragrance inhaled
Within a vase it's quickly placed,

Beauty of this lovely flower
Seemed to linger only hours
Too soon faded color seen
With petals limp and dry,

But long after memory of its beauty first gazed
Its fragrance still inspires

Nancy Ellen Crossland

On The Wind

On the Wind

Freedom whispers
on the wind...
Lo! The wild horses
run!

Born unto vast
prairies,
And stabled 'neath
the sun.

Bathed in cloud borne
waters,
Summer's storm their
symphony;

Brethren to the
Zephyr,
Starlit night their
canopy.

In the cadence
of their hoof beats
One hears
Mother Nature sing!

Freedom whispers
on the wind...
Wild horses
are awing!

© 1998, 2003 by Barbara Anne Dunn

Dawn

Dawn

Dawn blushed; betrayed her waking sky
To gently break another morrow fine.
Night waned – the black receding – highland
Reaching for the early morning wine.

The chorus rendered frantic caws and
Chirps and other avian song,
Mapping out the 'mine and yours, ' and
Goading more to sing along!

Quiescent water – deep of lake –
Reflected out the hazy red, but
Through the glass, a flick, a break:
An urgent tail from hidden bed!

And in the meadow, waking faces
Calmly spread a coloured veil;
The dew disclosing spider laces –
Oft with once a fly’s travail!

Dawn blushed; revealed her inner peace;
She handed on another blissful day.
Night ebbed, relenting to release of
Warming blood that gives to her display.


Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

What Have We Done?

What Have We Done?

Lying dormant underground a thief of life is waiting
To steal the breath from those unaware
Unknown to man until this time when care has not been taken
To save our souls from what is lying there

Now who is to say what can be done to stop the devastation
That spreads like fire among us one and all
As we discover that which we have done to live
Is now the very thing that heralds our own ending call

To live the lives that bring our ease we care not what we take
As we remove every resource from the ground
Then stand in shame when all goes wrong
When the sun goes down

We have burned a path among the trees and vines that protect us
Stolen the very air from our skies
And now we stand among the ruins of our own creation
Watching the Earth as we know it say goodbye

Copyright *Neva Flores @2010

Struttin' the Peacock Rag

Struttin' the Peacock Rag
(Just a note. The males lose their long tail feathers in autumn
- not that it stops them struttin' the peacock rag)

Flash the blue high stepper
Doffing the green fedora
Sparkle the blades
Down the legs
And strut the peacock rag

Wink your wings to the ladies
Croon that old siren song
Hop with the rest
Show her your best
And strut the peacock rag

Spring is your casino royale
Summer is Reno and Vegas
Swooning the hens
Mooning the wrens
And strutting the peacock rag

But alas it is now coming winter
The tail is tattered and bare
Lost the last feather
Damn this weather
And strutting the peacock rag

You waggle your tail boldly
And furl your pinions up high
Sadly only stubs
No eyes, only nubs
Trying to peacock rag.

And the ladies are all a twitter
Giggling in a dither
At their silly peacock rag.

Lynn Kincade 

White Eagle

White Eagle (excerpt)

The white eagle searches the sky
For the hope of the awakening below
In circles of light
The ever-reaching eye of truth
Pierces it way into you

For the purity of its flight
Will surely bless you
In the inner peace of internal bliss
To an ever increasing world of creativity

The white eagles wings covers your way
In the protection from the spirits
That has chosen you to follow
And then to lead
Among the difficult paths
To effect humanity’s plight

David Lester Young 11-24-01

Great Oak

Great Oak

Ancient, yet steeped in wisdom;
Massive, yet enlightening;
Never tired of growing or vexed by seasons,
You stand glorious in summer;
Monumental in winter.

And as you overlook your forest
With sagacious governance,
They all defer to you - dependence in hand:
Children of the undergrowth;
Arboreal underlings.

Veneration earned, you now command
The awe that few can.

Ever graceful, your evangelistic branches
Cast their serene shadow
Of reassuring calm.

Mark R Slaughter

Enjoy A Cup OF Tea

You must be completely awake in the present to enjoy the tea.

Only in the awareness of the present,
can your hands feel the pleasant warmth of the cup.

Only in the present, can you savor the aroma,
taste the sweetness,
appreciate the delicacy.

If you are ruminating about the past,
or worrying about the future,
you will completely miss the experience of enjoying the cup of tea.

You will look down at the cup,
and the tea will be gone.

Life is like that.

If you are not fully present,
you will look around and it will be gone.

You will have missed the feel,
the aroma,
the delicacy and beauty of life.

It will seem to be speeding past you.

The past is finished. Learn from it and let it go.

The future is not even here yet.
Plan for it,
but do not waste your time worrying about it.

Worrying is worthless.

When you stop ruminating about what has already happened,
when you stop worrying about what might never happen,
then you will be in the present moment.

Then you will begin to experience joy in life.

Vietnamese Buddhist monk and philosopher,
Thich Nhat Hanh

Leaves of Silver

LEAVES OF SILVER

Leaves
Shimmering, silvery
Illuminated by the sunlight
Glistening now with each breeze
Cascades swaying, turning
As a few have been caught by the wind
They twirl and tumble then;
Standing upright
They are soldiers marching
Marching in a joyous parade of nature

Nancy Ellen Crossland

Bird in a Gilded Cage

Bird in a Gilded Cage (Excerpt)

"She's only a bird in a gilded cage,
A beautiful sight to see.
You may think she's happy and free from care,
She's not, though she seems to be.
'Tis sad when you think of her wasted life
For youth cannot mate with age;
And her beauty was sold
for an old man's gold,
She's a bird in a gilded cage."

Arthur J. Lamb

Path of the Feather

Path of the Feather

To follow the path of a sacred life,
To see the beauty of a feather...

~ Within a sacred space...for just one special moment ~

Pausing long enough to find yourself,
Pausing to pick it from the ground...

~ It sings to you of the legends...it makes you alive ~

A trace left by your native brethren,
A gift to make your soul come alive...

~ Following the trail of little bread crumbs sprinkled about ~

It whispers you are on the right path,
It speaks that your life is sacred again...

~ We are our own Shaman ~

Heathyre A Perara

Choices

Choices

I go to the mountain side
of the house to cut saplings,
and clear a view to snow
on the mountain. But when I look up,
saw in hand, I see a nest clutched in
the uppermost branches.
I don’t cut that one.
I don’t cut the others either.
Suddenly, in every tree,  
an unseen nest
where a mountain  
would be.

by Tess Gallagher

The Lighthouse

The Lighthouse  (excerpt)

The rocky ledge runs far into the sea,
and on its outer point, some miles away,
the lighthouse lifts its massive masonry,
A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day.

Even at this distance I can see the tides,
Upheaving, break unheard along its base,
A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides
in the white tip and tremor of the face.

And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright,
through the deep purple of the twilight air,
Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light,
with strange, unearthly splendor in the glare!

"Sail on!" it says: "sail on, ye stately ships!
And with your floating bridge the ocean span;
Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse.
Be yours to bring man neared unto man.

---Henry Wadsworth Longfellow--- 

Free

Free

I only wanted to hold it a moment
Before it took flight
I had gazed at it often
It had brought me such delight,

It's amber and black wings
So vibrant and light
Flitting from flower to flower
Hour upon hour
In the bright sunlight,

Then so cautiously I approached
Afraid to breathe
Afraid it would leave
It seemed to sense my eyes so intense
It became so very still,

I reached gently to hold it
No, it wasn't to be
We cannot capture beauty such as that
It must not be kept selfishly
For it was made by gentler hands
For all the world to see.

Nancy Ellen Crossland
 

Cowboy Poetry

Cowboy Poetry

Whether you’re young or gettin’ old
there’s ‘cowboy poetry’ to be told
‘bout those men who rode the range,
some folks thinkin’ it plum’ strange

But, ya might just wanna take a listen,
tho’ tales could cause tear drops to glisten,
stories told of times cowboys lived,
hard work, and carin’ hearts they’d give

Of nights men sat ‘round blazin’ fires,
told windy stories of life’s desires
in a form that may seem odd today,
then, ‘cowboy poetry’ was relaxin’ play

They’d express what happened on the trail,
share with others hardy-hale,
dreams of what the future’d bring
if a wide loop they could only swing

They talked ‘bout critters of all breeds,
in ‘cowboy poetry’, claimed their creeds
to settle land way out west there,
an’ along the way, a sweetheart snare

But sadly, those early days are gone,
tho’ thankfully, their tales live on
as poets tell of the cowboys' plight,
hopin’ they got the stories right…

Tamara Hillman

Love & Passion

Love & Passion

Oh, send a box of love & passion
I’m ready for it now.

Wishing to share,
Willing to be close.

Wanting to be loved,
Needing to be held.

Too long alone,
Too long without.
Barbara B. Baskin 2010
 

A Dying Brain

A Dying Brain

Do you recall how I was once your fire?
And we, a regal cloud of unity
Meandering through the closing blues of night,
Commanding stars to glitter;
Dawn to blush?

Your answer comes in ever-blanking stares:
A wall that blocks the know,
Damping down the glow that used to emanate
From clear and lucid eyes.
They've lost the will to recognize.

But hear! We are fifty years together -
And once we writhed in pleasure -
Drowning in emotion,
That which was our prime.

You don't recall.
You only lie as vegetation
Scattered on the ground:
A living mound of flesh,
Devoid of any neural mesh
To let you say 'I'm sound.'

Don't worry Dear,
For I'm aware with memory!
I'll tell you how we were.
We have our right of history!

If you could just concur.

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

Clouds

CLOUDS

Horizons void of clouds
How dull would be the scenery
To know them all by name
A visual adventure to attain,
Altostratus, pileus, cirrus, nimbus
Least we forget the all familiar cumulus,

Who has not gazed in amazement at the magnificent array
Billowy clouds on a perfect day?
Standing on the seashore where clouds meet the sea
Inspire the calmest soul to ecstasy,

Imagination soars as clouds pass by
Images, shapes we find appearing in the sky
What sheer enjoyment is achieved by watching nature's wonder,

Restful, meditative, tranquil
Everlastingly inspirational.

Nancy Ellen Crossland

Missing Piece

Missing Piece

For years I have been fixing this mess of a jigsaw life.
Going through, and studying each piece.
Fitting them in, trying to find my base,
My corners.
And when I saw where something didn’t fit,
I found the problems.
And sorted them out
Things in the wrong place.
Some pieces didn’t fit.
And a few pieces were broken,
And needed to be fixed,
But over the years
I have gotten to the point,
Where it resembles the picture it should.
It is near complete, and I know the gaps.
I can see the shapes of the pieces that need to be found.
But I can’t see them.
I seem to be a piece missing.
I can feel that hole.
But can’t see where the missing piece is.

I am missing a piece.
And it is haunting me
Like a shadow,
That is still seen in the night.

Marc Robinson

If A Child.....

IF A CHILD....

If a child lives with criticism,
he learns to condemn.
If a child lives with hostility,
he learns to fight.
If a child lives with ridicule,
he learns to be shy.
If a child lives with shame,
he learns to feel guilty.
If a child lives with tolerance,
he learns to be patient.
If a child lives with encouragement,
he learns confidence.
If a child lives with praise,
he learns to appreciate.
If a child lives with fairness,
he learns justice.
If a child lives with security,
he learns to have faith.
If a child lives with approval,
he learns to like himself.
If a child lives with acceptance and friendship,
He learns to find love in the world.

--Dorothy Law Nolte--