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Guest Poetry and Songs Poetry ain’t exactly my strong suit (see “Poetry”), but Milton Watts has forced my hand in this matter; therefore, I’m giving any poems contributed to this site their own page. I originally said that if any individual contributes enough poems of their own, I’ll give that individual his or her own poetry page. David Carlton was the first poet to have his own page, and Wayne Edwards was the second. See David’s work at “The Poetry of David Carlton,” and see Wayne’s work at “The Poetry of Wayne Edwards.” The third fellow to get his own page was Bob Hurt: see “The Poetry of Bob Hurt.” In spite of my bad attitude toward poetry, I ended up with my own page, darn it: “The Poetry of John Pinkerton.” John W. Pinkerton Friday (With a nod to William Carlos Williams) by Jay Brakefield  The two-tongued sky Was not my friend-- Though nor, in truth, was I When long ago I sought to fly. On the long mend I learned to unbend And found ways to transcend Without leaving the ground.  My Haiku by Scott McDermott   sun shines on asphalt wind blows cool from turn 9b I drift by sideways  ‘Twas a Month** after Moving by Bill Tune  ‘Twas a month after moving, and all through the house, All the boxes were empty, (thanks to a spouse). The furniture fit into all new locations, Even though some required modifications. Setting up beds was an early essential, As was locating each kitchen utensil. And finding a path to the bathroom at night, Was a challenge that often demanded a light! In spite of our efforts to carefully label, Finding some things, we still were not able. But as time went on, the mysteries were solved, Well, maybe not all of them, but that’s too involved. Amid all the hassles of getting unpacked, Grass, ever growing, had to get whacked. Bushes so tall that they needed a trim, Cleaning out beds so they don’t look so grim. Patio covered with big, potted plants, Still room for the gas grill and yard chairs, per chance? Wind chimes, bird feeders are now in the yard, Hummers a plenty, that wasn’t hard! The storage was ample. It was no mirage! Both cars now fit nicely into the garage. With a building out back and an attic above, Our stuff found a place with a push and a shove. Broken down boxes piled higher and higher, Those to be saved were stored where it’s dryer. But those that were torn or crushed or so yucky, The recycle man felt that he just got lucky. Slowly but surely the new place takes shape. It still needs a curtain, maybe a drape. The photos and paintings are hung with great care, In hopes that for years, they all will stay there! ** In reality, my “month” lasted six and a half weeks.  Willow Springs Bridge by Hendrik Bergen  Although my body is of steel My structure is worn and old I still have a purpose And I feel proud and bold I carry loads way over intent First oxen, wagons and buggies Replaced by cars and trucks Who knows where it will end So Proud I am, still the country link Between Willow Springs and Red Hill No matter my age. I think I will serve some more years. I will Pons tis Vetat Mori: the frame of the bridge is forever  The Restorer by Ken Keller  The night gripped him like a suffocating blast from the windswept North Pole. He, wondering if anything mattered to the Restorer of his self- maligned soul, sought suffering or so it seemed. This, due to recurring doubt as to worthiness, was shameful to self in his introspection, could others see pain more or less? Portrayed in agony on his deep furrowed brow, was a stare that longed for relief. Sad to say, but most often, he found none. It was his destiny in life, a true belief. Seeking love beyond the mantle of self-loathing, he reached out to anyone close-by. Finding others ready to tell of their good fate, but as for him, not even asking why? The wind has a folly of its own. It changes direction, bringing a warm gentle breeze. It’s the Restorer, bringing a change of heart, coming from just beyond those trees. I know of the sojourner in this story fairly well, and I know the Restorer he seems to seek. Our friend needs a strong mind, but it must be forthright, the Restorer will keep it meek. Trust in Him, your Restorer and all will be okay. Even when things don’t go your way, He is wise beyond belief. He knows it all. He loves it when you are His to stay. Warm gentle breezes may turn to blizzards as the seasons change. That would be large. Never forget however, that restoration begins when you have the Restorer in charge.  Magnificent Gain by Ken Keller    Laundry Day – A childhood Memory by Hendrik Bergen  I remember when my mother On Sunday night In our shed Started boiling the laundry My sled upside down A kerosene burner in between A kettle with soap and “whites” On top Every hour she went out! To check on the burner And come Monday morning The “whites” boiled and scrubbed On a rainy day Were hung on lines and rack Over and around the stove To dry On the radio, a play: “de familie Doorsnee” And the fragrance of drying laundry Is what I will remember forever!  Addiction by Amy Roman  "Addiction" A bubble pops bringing me a smile Only 5 more moves left to use Even though I have played for a while I still don't know which ones to use. Three colors form a straight bright line Now 4 moves are left to me Come on fish, it's time to dine On sprinkled donuts and striped candy! I'm getting closer to the end After 2 weeks of throwing my phone Only 3 more moves until my win All my skills I've had to hone. Suddenly chocolate begins to grow I must break it now, whatever I do I take a moment and decide to go slow For now my moves are down to 2. The chocolate breaks, but so does my heart For the owl is beginning to fall Too much red jelly has burst apart His face is scared and says it all. Maybe this game is not meant for me After all, who needs this kind of rush? I think perhaps I'm beginning to see I sadly am addicted to Candy Crush.  enough Page Two of Guest Poetry> Poetry.htmlMilton_Watts.htmlDavid_Carlton.htmlDavid_Carlton.htmlWayne_Edwards.html14Poetry_of_Wayne_Edwards_3.htmlPoetry_of_Bob_Hurt.htmlPoetry_of_John_Pinkerton.htmlPoetry_of_John_Pinkerton.htmlhttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Carlos_WilliamsJay_Brakefield.htmlScott_McDermott.htmlBill_Tune.htmlKen_Keller.htmlHendrik_Bergen.htmlAmy_Roman.htmlGuest_Poetry_II.htmlshapeimage_1_link_0shapeimage_1_link_1shapeimage_1_link_2shapeimage_1_link_3shapeimage_1_link_4shapeimage_1_link_5shapeimage_1_link_6shapeimage_1_link_7shapeimage_1_link_8shapeimage_1_link_9shapeimage_1_link_10shapeimage_1_link_11shapeimage_1_link_12shapeimage_1_link_13shapeimage_1_link_14shapeimage_1_link_15shapeimage_1_link_16shapeimage_1_link_17