Guest Poetry and SongsFriday
(With a nod to William Carlos Williams)
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
sun shines on asphalt
wind blows cool from turn 9b
I drift by sideways
‘Twas a Month** after Moving
‘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
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
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
On to Next Page of Guest Poetry>