her sleeve.
She said, "if you'll spend one night
in my bed I will remove the terrible
spell."
I said, "I'd just as soon die, and
Go straight to hell."
But after several days as a toad
her offer started to sound pretty
good.
Still I wrestled with the decision
was it right or wrong or did I think
I should.
I said what the heck it wouldn't be
all that bad, one night with the ugly
whore.
So I agreed to spend the night , but
just one night with her and not a minute more.
I woke up the next morning after an
exhausting night, hoping that my actions had broken the spell.
But I found out that she was not only
an ugly crow, but she was a liar as well.
This witch was lying on the bed in
the buff smoking a cigarette with a
big smile on her face.
And I was still a green horny
toad jumping all over the place.
The Band
The band played a rousing tune,
It marched and danced in the month
Of June.
Hey, hey, the band did play, on a hot
Summer's day.
The horns and the drums were syncopated, the cymbals clashed
While the dancers gyrated,
And hey, hey, the band did play,
On that hot summer day.
The music they played was delightful, it was very loud and frightful,
And hey, hey, the band played on a
Hot summer's day.
Everything was going well, then the
Whole thing went to hell,
The horns zigged when they should
Have zagged, the drummers turned left instead of right, the whole thing was an awful sight.
And hey, hey there was no more sound, cause the band was lying on
The ground,
On that hot summer's day in June.
The Storm
A dreamless sleep overtook me, it
Was a welcome relief after a long hard day.
The wind howled outside my window
Like a freight train's whistle blowing
In the night.
The lightning cracked, the thunder roared, a torrent of rain poured, but
I slept undisturbed.
I awoke in the morning refreshed from my night's sleep, thinking and
Seeing clearly.
I guess it takes going through a storm sometimes to really see the light.
The Attic
In my attic filled with cobwebs, old boxes and memories, I found myself enthralled by a particular brightly colored carton.
It stood out from the others, even though it was covered in dust, and I bent to open it curious as to what was hidden within.
Suddenly from the corner of the room came a voice, a deep man's voice that I hadn't heard in years but I recognized it immediately.
It said, "son, is that you, it's dad."
I stammered and shook and tripped on another box and tumbled to the floor not knowing what to say.
"Son, are you okay?" Dad said.
I got up slowly, apprehensively, "Dad?"
"Yes son, how have you been these last ten years. Just stopped by to see how you were and to tell you I left something for you in that brightly colored box. I know you think I forgot about you, but I didn't. The box is for you."
I started to ask him a hundred questions and to tell him so many things I wanted to tell him before he passed, but before I could he was gone.
"Dad, dad?"
With great excitement I slowly opened the box to see what he had left me,
In the box were many old black and white photos I hadn't seen in years and at the bottom wrapped in a bow was the deed to his house, paid for free and clear.
A great surprise for me on the tenth anniversary of his death.
No one believed I had talked to him, but I knew I did and that was all that mattered.
Over the Top
Desperate hours laid before them, matching the desperate and bleak hours that had passed.
"Gas," someone down the line yelled as they all scrambled to grab their masks and secure them snugly.
It was a false alarm that time, but gas would come, they just didn't know when or where.
Hell was where they were, a hell with no escape, prayers were prayed, some were answered, some were not.
The trench they were in must have been ten feet deep, filled with the living, dead and the dying.
The smoke and stench hung heavy in the air, the German machine gun nests deafened them and kept them sequestered in their holes.
Many a man was cut to ribbons and many more would face the same fate when the order was given to "go over the top." But they would go, and they would die, for God, King, and country.
Life Flows
A tiny blade of grass, an enormous elephant, live and thrive as do we.
The air, the rain, the sunshine, the atmosphere, is shared by all.
The earth revolves, the sun rises and sets, as life goes on day by day.
We must respect all living things for we are interwoven into one.
In the wind, the sky, the oceans and mountains, we are them and they are us.
The spirit and life force breathes as a single entity co-existing together.
The balance is fragile and easily fractured by any disruption.
The ebb and flow of the universe is like a river that flows to the sea of life.
The life given to us by the Creator and should be treasured.
Sleep
Sleep, peaceful sleep, please
come and take me far away.
From this world of hardship
that haunts me night and day.
Carry me away to a far off
land in your loving arms.
Shelter me from the storm and keep me safe from harm.
Envelop me in a blanket of sweet,
warm and peaceful dreams.
Rock me gently like a newborn
baby in a rolling stream.
When I wake my troubles will
be no more.
And I will be the man I always
was before .
Man is a Spectator
Cascading waterfalls over
cliffs jagged, foaming white.
A moon, huge and yellow
lights up a starlit night.
Clouds dark and ominous
threaten the tranquility .
Oceans, rolling, churning
lap the shoreline freely.
A picture, landscape, a beautiful water colored self- portrait.
Sky and mountain, the sea and
the sand clearly demonstrate.
Life flourishes, in man's absence
for he is not a necessary part.
He is just a spectator in the
beauty nature has to impart.
The Book
A book sits silent on a table,
Mute for its content is hidden.
The solitude fills the room as
It remains an unleashed mystery.
Dust covers its cover as time
Disappears and fades into memory.
No words can escape the prison
The bars bind what lives within.
The knowledge is forever locked
Away but for one simple act to
Unleash its power and glory on
A world in need of inspiration.
All that is required is the opening
And a revelation will manifest
Itself with marvelous wings that
Will spirit away with new found
Freedom...
; And our lives will be forever enriched
If only we will take the key, unlock
The bars and bask in its radiant
Knowledge, just open and receive
Its power.
Money
Money can't buy love, it
can't buy happiness, but
it sure makes it a lot easier
to live without those things.
Utopia
When I think of a utopia, I think
of quiet and happiness.
Heavenly flowers of dewdrops
drenched in rosy bliss.
A fluffy cloud floating in a
clear blue sky,
sunbeams bouncing off a
twinkle in your eye.
Licorice lollipops licked by a
white dove,
chocolate covered raisins rained
down from above.
A sweetness as sweet as a
sugar coated dream,
dipped in an ocean full of
chocolate ice cream.
That's utopia to me.
Heaven Can Wait
Heaven can wait for the
innocent souls of the children.
Protect them like the precious
creations that they are.
Allow them to grow and flourish
like budding flowers and discover
all the beauty and wonder this
world has to offer.
Keep them from harm at any cost
for they are indeed the future.
Teach them and guide them so
they in turn can teach and guide.
Lead them down the right pathway
and they will follow and become
leaders themselves someday.
Pride
Take pride in yourself
If you don't no one else
Will have respect for you.
On the inside and out
Love yourself for as
They say it is the greatest.
Your body is God's property
Be a good tenant at all times
Keep it always in good repair.
Be the best you, you can be
For you only have one self.
Take care of it with all your
Heart and soul and you will
Reap great rewards in your
Life and in the hereafter.
Family
A family is warm like a comforting
fire place welcoming you to sit and
relax in the bosom of love and bask
in the sunshine of safety and freedom of emotion.
A family wraps you in its arms and
tells you no harm can come to you
while you are nestled in their strong
and caring embrace.
A family is the backbone of who
you are , where you come from
and where you are going in life.
A family is you, a family is me,
together against this big ole crazy
world in which we live.
Enough
Have I paid my dues, run the race,
Did all I could do to make things right.
Loved and lost, suffered the cost,
Gave my heart and soul to the cause.
Sacrificed everything, stayed the course, lived life's game,
Did I do enough?
Did I leave no stone unturned, bridges burned, could I have done more?
Did I work hard or let down my guard, was I too lazy, did I do my best?
Did I fight the good fight, take wings
To flight, played the hand I was
Dealt to the best of my ability?
And when my life is through, and I've
Did all I can do, will I still wonder,
Was it enough?
The Artist
The morning sunrise is like an artist's
canvass awaiting his strokes.
The beautiful colors, forms and
shapes take shape in the brilliance.
A magnificent hue of blue, dotted
with an interspersing of white and
gray as the artist begins our day.
Grass as green as turquoise gems
create a backdrop for the scene,
Beautiful creatures and plants of
every kind, all creations of the Divine
Fill the artist's canvass as another
day breaks, and He sees it is good.
The Poem
Searching through the rubble
of my life, ravaged and torn
apart by an horrific storm.
I stumbled accidentally on
a worn out page from a book
with faded words of a poem.
The old tattered page had been
blown asunder by the howling
winds and drenched by rain,
but somehow had been placed
miraculously in plain view for
me to read in my time of pain.
It read, "Worldly possessions are
of no importance they can be easily
replaced, do not mourn for them.
For in all things life is worth more
than any jewel, diamond or gem.
So celebrate and be merry for
what God has given to you,
look to your future with renewed
hope and do what you must do."
As the sun slipped behind the
horizon, I thanked God for my life,
and the lives of my children and wife.
I somehow found the courage to smile, even after all I had been through and realized I was indeed
a blessed man
. I found an old letter
in the attic, it was
tattered and worn,
the ink was pale and faded.
It peaked my interest
and curiosity for some
reason so I took a closer
look.
The writing was scrawled,
almost illegible but it
immediately took me back.
Tears began to well up
in my eyes but I didn't'
know why.
Then I realized what it
was and what that letter
had meant to me.
It was a letter from my
father, the last
he wrote me before he died.
And how I cried tears of joy when I
read how proud he was of
me and apologized for not
being able to attend my
graduation from college.
I never saw him again alive,
for he died that very same
week. How could I misplace
such as prize in the attic
among the boxes.
Sometimes life just passes
us by and we forget the
important things like a simple letter.
Ordinary
I'd rather be peculiar than ordinary,
Obsessed and depressed, under
Duress, hyper-active and crazy,
Anything but ordinary.
Following the crowd, talking loud,
No mind of my own, mindset of the
Masses, just plain ordinary.
I'd rather be neurotic, somewhat
Psychotic, on the verge of a breakdown, anything but ordinary.
Singing the same ole songs, just
Going along, blinders on the eyes,
No big surprise, just ordinary.
I prefer to be an individual, not dull
And invisible, a lion not cattle, ready
To fight any battle, a leader.
I can be anything I want to be and
I choose not to be...
Ordinary..
. I am Thankful
I am thankful for each new day
That breaks, every breath I take,
For the sunshine and the rain,
The pleasure and pain, the bountiful
Blessings I enjoy.
I am thankful for the flowers in
Spring, the birds that joyously
Sing, for the sun and the moon,
The long hot summer days of June,
And the joy I feel inside.
But most of all I am thankful for
The morning sunrise that let's me
Know I'm alive, the morning breeze
On my face and for God's saving
Grace,
I am thankful...
Tears
For every tear that is cried,
A price has been paid.
A heart has been broken, a
Love one has been taken, a pain
Has been suffered, a sadness felt.
For every tear that is cried,
Joy and happiness has overwhelmed.
Guilt, shame, a traumatic event,
Absence, or a fond memory
Have brought us to the brink.
For every tear that is cried,
Lies, dirt in the eyes, a toxic odor,
Wherein is the cause,
Of the moisture on our cheeks,
The running of the nose.
For every tear that is cried
We shed salty manifestations
Of our heart and soul,
Expression of emotions,
Sometimes out of control.
But when's it's all over,
We feel,
Miraculously,
Better...
My Kinda Poetry 2 Page 3