The sun has risen, a poet’s alone.
He‘s perched on a porch,
atop his worn throne.
The birds whisper clues,
of nature’s good news.
And words start to flow.
At the top of the stair,
my love dreams there,
awaiting a kiss on her cheek.
Eyes soon to open,
we both will see,
this day has bloomed for she.
~*~
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Simple words writ in sand
Sculpted with a simple hand
Words of meaning I can’t hide
Yet disappear in the changing tide
~
Time takes all that we need
Gives anew to thus be freed
And toil we must to hold our ground
While standing straight on a world that’s round
~
By day, by night we return to see
Miles for shore await you and me
We’ll mold our lives in these sands
We’ll rewrite “I love you”, holding hands
~*~
Sck052415
This story begins where most would end.
It’s not fiction, I won’t pretend.
The moon was high, my energy low.
The night came fast, my thinking slow.
~
I heard a noise come from my shed.
A scream so loud it could wake the dead.
I stepped outside not knowing why.
Should I return or would I die?
~
Each step closer my life’s less long.
My goal uncertain but temptation’s strong.
To turn and run or hide and wait,
the choice is now, if not too late.
~
Between my door and destiny,
lay the light and dark of uncertainty.
Betwixt the abstracts of would, could and should,
in a purgatory I there stood.
~
Clinging to the past and a peace of mind,
scenarios flood to times I’d find.
Reaching out to unlock my fate,
sights envisioned now bears the weight.
~
In the dimming light of one’s existence,
the future seen in our past’s distance.
Fear now a memory, the dragons slain,
tomorrows welcomed with forever’s again.
~
The truth often stretched resilience we test.
For problems to solve persistence is best.
And the shed’s but a metaphor for time unknown.
While the night the place where stars are grown.
~*~
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My candle flickers in distant panes.
Main Street silent, the starlight wanes.
Icy fingers grip my bones.
Frozen breath chills my moans.
~
My story begins and none too soon.
Shadows long for the hidden moon.
The hour’s late, the journey’s long.
The sun’s rise unseen if again I’m wrong.
~
My goal’s a king born a pawn,
To live again, this moment’s gone.
Blindness hides the cold hard truth.
Hindsight magnifies the lies of youth.
~
My pride swallowed, visions lull.
Biting winds gnaw at my skull.
Clouds engulf a blizzard near,
too many steps, too late to swear.
~
My goal is clear, survive the night.
There is no choice to stand and fight.
The path uncharted, each step’s new,
to trip and fall death’s in view.
~
My head is pounding, my body aches.
The thrust is forward to reverse mistakes.
Apologies given but time doesn’t care.
Words mean nothing if not to share.
~
My mind is blank, my heartbeats race.
Howling wolves set the pace.
Clothes in tatters, my bare feet bloody.
If I shall live, my pain they’ll study.
~
My memories linger of a forgotten past.
Dreams awaken, a future’s cast.
Dawn surely near, nightmares recede.
My eyes then open to all that I need.
~*~
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Just a quick note to say all’s well.
The sun’s risen and spring I smell.
A bird sings from a leafless tree.
The song reminds of days to be.
~
Each moment’s precious, each one new.
I waved to my friend and off they flew.
Soon they’ll return to leaves of green.
Time flies, but faster unseen.
~*~
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Still I wake knowing not what to do.
Will I be happy or some shade of blue.
I’ve seen birth and I’ve seen death.
I shared my loves very last breath.
~
With time comes change, like it or not.
The good remembered, bad mostly forgot.
With each hue an infinite tone.
The play of light’s what we’re shown.
~
The sun’s journey across the sky,
alters our visions subtly and sly.
In the dark we see the colors of day.
Shadows forever lurk either way.
~
Given the choice all would be bright,
a life coddled in the warmth of light.
Tho the dawn missed and sunset yearned.
Questions unanswered, nothing’s learned.
~
Tomorrows lessons tested today,
all’s pass or fail either way.
And the change must be or not to see.
The cost high but the time’s free.
~*~
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I want to be a jingle writer, write jingles every day.
I want to be a jingle writer, jingles all the way.
I want to be a jingle writer ‘cos there’s bills to pay.
I want to be a jingle writer, not much more too say.
*
I want to be a jingle writer and work from my backyard.
I want to be a jingle writer, poets work too hard.
I want to be a jingle writer, don’t understand avant-garde.
I want to be a jingle writer, no need to be a bard.
*
I want to be a jingle writer and put my tools to use.
I want to be a jingle writer, write short and loose.
I want to be a jingle writer; I’ll be no Dr. Seuss.
I want to be a jingle writer until I’m cut from the noose.
*
The End
Day to dusk and dusk to night,
night to dawn and a new day’s light.
Time as life cycles in a spectrum of hues.
Frequencies frequently dulled by blues.
~
Every second a shade setting a tone,
rainbows intensify when not alone.
Clouds engulf or stars shine,
wheels tint our chosen line.
~
Years may fly while hardships creep,
troubles fade when dreams we keep.
Brush aside the grays in a timely fashion;
pull pastels into a daily ration.
~
Day to dusk and dusk to night,
night to dawn and a new day’s light.
Alarms will sound and snoozes ensue.
The palette new, what color are you?
~*~
SCK031021
When Steve was but a small boy the signs were becoming clear.
Movement was not forthcoming from that precious little dear.
He stayed there in his tiny crib until he grew too tall.
He laid there day and night just staring at the wall.
~
His parents were much concerned as the young boy slowly grew.
The only activity he seemed to like was when he had to chew.
His cousins would come to visit and they all went out to play.
But not little Stevie, in his bed he chose to stay.
~
Eventually the school days came and Steve was dragged to class.
Fortunately his memory was good and easily he did pass.
The next twelve years were much the same, for him fair’s good enough.
His parents wished him college bound, but Steve didn’t like that sort of stuff.
~
A few more years Steve stayed at home, until he got kicked out.
Poor Steve was confused and hurt his future so much in doubt.
While shuffling slowly to his grandma’s house he saw a big lit-up sign.
Steve read it very carefully and then he felt just fine.
~
Waiters wanted is what it said so Steve sauntered in to see what’s what.
It wasn’t what he was thinking though and got kicked out on his butt.
Steve was deflated as he felt his world come crashing down.
Sitting alone on a park bench he watched darkness fill his town.
~
The sun then newly risen, Steve slumbered peacefully.
Until poked by a cop named Phil, who wouldn’t let Steve be.
Steve then told Phil of his plight and how his life’s a mess.
Phil flung Steve in the backseat as he could care no less.
~
A furious Phil then told Steve he was just a lazy man.
And that he wouldn’t do anything if someone else can.
Arriving at the station Steve was ordered to quietly sit.
Phil came back the next day and said “I found a place you’ll fit.
~
Steve was brought to a room where screens filled every wall.
Phil told Steve what to look for and when to make the call.
Steve loved his new position, his super power he had found.
Soon a suspect spotted and promptly tackled to the ground.
~
If you’re looking for a moral, a lazy story you shouldn’t seek.
Perhaps the lesson’s there so I’m glad you took a peek.
Though the story may be fiction the condition does often show.
And when a cure for lazy is found I’ll be sure to let you know.
~*~
SCK031021
I woke today without a thought.
I tried to write as I ought.
The hours past, the writing naught,
perhaps a blockage I have caught.
~
But tomorrow is another day.
Will I write, I cannot say.
Will the blockage have its way?
Or will the rhymes come out to play.
~
Questions asked but answer’s few.
If not to write what will I do?
Will I feel sad and blue?
Or will tomorrow shed a clue?
~
I’ll let you know, wait right here.
I’ll try my hardest, this I swear.
Long or short, I don’t care.
Because it’s always best to share.
~*~
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Silken robes
Nibbles on lobes
Whispers and giggles
Tickles and wiggles
Eyes closed
Curves caressed
Hairs messed
Senses tingle
Souls mingle
Lips locked
Hands full
Bodies rocked
Hearts shocked
Minds meld
Tensions melt
Eyes open
Love’s felt
~
Sck013115
Homeward bound, a cloudy sky an unfamiliar cobbled street
Silence surrounds the many blank faces guarded by rushing feet
Fading sunlight shaded a forgotten old brick doorway
When a sudden squall and bolt of light brightened that gloomy day
~
A twist of fate, strangers meet to escape the pending drench
Glances are avoided, awkward silence used as defense
Then nervous words about weather answered with a smile
Glowing cheeks made me wish for the rain to stay awhile
~
We shared stories of our lives, some laughs and some tears
Our hands shared pockets to ward off chill and our many fears
Time flew, the storm had passed yet we noticed none
Matted hair and soggy feet we splashed into the long set sun
~
Awkward silence once again, I truly felt ashamed
Blissful hours past and we never shared our names
Blushing, I asked hers and she responded with mischief in her eyes
“I’d rather not tell you anymore for now, but ask again at sunrise”
~
The sun rose on chilly toes long ago, never to forget –
It was a dark cobbled street where once strangers met
~
Sck010515
I really wish you could stay awhile.
I really do love the way you smile.
I love the way you walk and talk;
I really do love your style.
~
I love the way you touch my hand.
I love the way you take command.
I really do love our time together,
whether on sea, air or land.
~
I’d love to tell you what I think.
And the way I feel when you wink.
I’d love to hear all your thoughts,
really hoping we’re both in sync.
~*~
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The wizard of Windham lived on the hill.
His walls of stone are standing there still.
The roof’s now long gone as is the tower,
once a symbol of the wizard’s great power.
~
His age was unknown, a millennium guessed.
The first settlers awed, but some less impressed.
The natives too could never agree.
Were his acts wizardly or wise fakery?
~
The questions delayed with new problems brewing.
The settlers flourished and the natives were stewing.
Agreements were made and boarders were mapped.
The hill was the place where both overlapped.
~
The wizard then asked to choice just one side.
The wizard then answered with a grin, big and wide.
“I’ll choose no side as the hill is my own,
each stone hand-placed, a thousand years grown.”
~
“My family, you see, arose from these grounds.
We speak and we hear all natures’ sounds.
The grasses here grow tall to tickle my feet.
And the berries are delicious because I like sweet.”
~
The chiefs convinced as he spoke of their legends.
Each then agreed it’s best to be friends.
The settlers too thought that was best.
A treaty was signed and they all now could rest.
~
Years then passed with the wizard unseen.
But his tower stood proud on its hill of green.
The settlers now settled and their families grew.
The natives moved on leaving now but a few.
~
A new generation, now triple in size,
gazed at the hill with big greedy eyes.
The treaty forgotten as was the wizard.
They planned to start building after the blizzard.
~
The long winter passed, the spring brought more rain.
That summer was scorching, then autumn again.
Builders were hired that following spring.
A fortress they’d build with a big banquet wing.
~
Wagons were loaded and the horses well fed.
The mayor woke early from his big comfy bed.
A speech he’d planned for that very day.
But storm clouds moved in and the sky turned gray.
~
His speech was canceled but the builders went ahead.
The mayor scurried home then back to bed.
Rain soon started then followed by hail.
The wagons got stuck on the wet slippery trail.
~
The work then delayed until the skies cleared.
Months soon passed, much longer than feared.
Rumors spread of the wizards return;
if magic he has come summer they’ll burn.
~
By early June the sky hinted of blue,
the trail now firm and the grass green and new.
The builders then called to make a new start.
The horses led forward pulling wagon and cart.
~
The trail narrowed at the base of the hill.
Then the horses all stopped and just stood still.
The builders got scared and ran back to town.
The mayor got fired for being a clown.
~
Some say the wizard had gotten his way.
That legend lives on to this very day.
Does the wizard still live, well nobody knows.
But his hill’s still green as the little town grows.
~*~
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~
Bright sunny day, nothing to do.
Stuck at home in bed with the flu.
Watched TV as long as I could.
And did some homework, like I should.
.
I tossed and I turned, sipped some tea.
The warm fall day was mocking me.
Temperature stable, chills no more.
Then a knock on my bedroom door.
.
It was mom come to check my head.
Not hot or cold, then out of bed.
I passed her test, done with my rest.
Going outside will be the best.
.
But that is not to be the way.
Had to stay in another day.
Picked at supper, slept through TV.
Dad tucked me in then read to me.
.
Just to make sure that I’m all right.
Mom checked on me all the long night.
Slept Okay, woke ready to go.
But to do what I didn’t know.
.
Was really bored by midday.
Ran out of things alone to play.
Then found a key looking for more.
I tried every single door.
.
I checked and checked every lock.
I even tried the grandfather clock.
Every drawer, box and chest,
I checked them all, I did my best.
.
Found no treasure, just this old key.
At least it was something to amuse me.
With just minutes before my show,
Thought of another place to go.
.
The dusty, dark, spooky attic,
No place to be, when you are sick.
Turning the knob ever so slow,
Not sure if I wanted to go.
.
I’ve never been up there alone.
Then opened the door to the unknown.
Creaky stairs beneath my cold feet.
Dangers unknown that I might meet.
.
Darkness at the top of the stair.
Felt for the switch, I hoped was near.
With a flick my fear gone away.
More to explore on my sick day!
.
Much the same as when last here,
Boxes and cobwebs everywhere.
But not a lock to be found.
I searched and searched all around.
.
But in a dark corner never seen,
A little door painted green.
It had no slot for any key.
Opening it was up to me.
.
I admit I was very scared.
I stood for minutes and just stared.
Then lifting the latch, my hands shake.
Could this be another mistake?
.
Opened the door, hinges squeak.
Stuck in my head to take a peek.
The room’s empty, nothing at all,
Except a shelf high on a wall.
.
Found an old wobbly chair nearby.
Standing worried, reaching too high.
Pulled down the box hidden on shelf.
More than ever proud of myself.
.
I put in my key and it fit.
But wasn’t ready to open it.
I brought the box back to my room.
Into the light and out of the gloom.
.
Box on desk, took key from pocket.
Put it in slot, turned to unlock it.
Opened the lid ever so slow.
Not sure if I wanted to know.
.
What treasures lie hidden from view?
Something good or a pile of goo.
Lid half-open, footsteps I hear.
Then closed the lid when mom came near.
.
Mom opened it up, said to me;
“That’s no place for a dragon to be.
I’ve looked high and low, all over,
For the dragon Gramp’s called Rover.
.
He wasn’t a creative guy.
But could pluck dragons from the sky.
But only when they’re very small,
Safe in hand and curled in a ball.
.
Then hid for a terrible day,
When there are demons to chase away.
You can visit, never at night,
That’s when dragons grow, in moonlight.
.
So keep it tiny in its box –
Or they get huge and tough as rocks.
Some are sweet, most others mean.
That’s why it best to keep unseen.”
.
Closed the lid before I could see.
She turned the lock and kept my key.
“You don’t need to go by yourself.
Attic’s safe with dragon on shelf.
.
Put the box back and close the door.
And try not to think of it anymore.”
Back downstairs, ready for bed.
But now there’s a dragon in my head.
.
They can be all colors or shapes,
Some are purple and round like grapes.
Some are short, some tall as a tree,
Some are small and cute just like me.
.
I’m glad there’s a dragon upstairs.
Now I can sleep without nightmares.
Not such a bad sick day at all.
I got better and had a ball.
.
Now when nothing to do or see.
I don’t have to search for a key.
You don’t need keys to unlock a door.
That’s what imagination’s for.
~*~
The End
sck092414
rhymesalot 