In distant lands where wizards wandered,
a time of yore when magicians pondered;
a challenge was made by an illusionist of note,
shrouded in mystery and a long black coat,
The gifted were called to show their great skills.
But the contest prohibited charlatans and shills.
Prizes guaranteed and the winners get gold.
So come, one and all, both young and old.
Signs were posted all over the town.
Flyers distributed by a gal in a gown.
Entertainments galore and food aplenty,
there’s games for all, bet one win twenty.
The festival starts in two weeks’ time,
dancers await with jesters and a mime.
The town square was chosen for its large size.
The old mayor agreed but thought it unwise.
The time finally came and the lines grew long.
Musicians ushered with an enchanting song.
The adults drank heartily and the kids guzzled juice.
The sun was setting and the town felt loose.
Coins flowed freely and senses had a feast.
Scraps could be tossed to the fiercest of beasts.
Wrestlers tangled and the jugglers caught on.
Clowns peddled emotion and one had a swan.
The main event planned for nine on the dot.
Buy tickets early and reserve your spot.
Amazement ensured by the magical guests.
Great talents conjured for their enriching test.
The show started with a man in a hat.
His rabbit disappeared but that was that.
Next, a woman in a bright red cape,
she aimed darts at her husband holding a grape.
She only missed once but that was too much.
But now we know why he walks with a crutch.
The rest of the show was much the same.
Amateurs all whose tricks were all lame.
Last was the illusionist and the crowd all cheered.
But in a big puff of smoke they soon disappeared.
The crowd all clapped but thought there was more.
Was the show over? No one was sure.
The crowd grew feisty and refunds requested.
The contestants were angry and they too protested.
The search was on for this illusionist of note.
A rumor was spread they left with a tote.
Prizes not awarded and vendors unpaid,
workers left hanging and the square’s rent unmade.
The mayor too was missing, a plot was surmised.
Was the mayor the illusionist just well disguised?
Did he steal the money and then disappear?
Or was he a partner and a rank profiteer?
A week soon passed and all hopes grew dim.
Winter was coming and the feeling was grim.
Then on a Tuesday just after sunrise,
the town folk arose to a big surprise.
The mayor returned with the money filled tote,
with him a cat with a long black coat.
The town folk wondered what had he done.
Questions were asked but answers were none.
The mayor was unfazed by their nosy demands.
For those truly wizardly never show their hands.
In the cosmos, human’s small,
scurrying about atop their ball.
We’ll think we’re large until our fall,
when all are blue on this little ball.
In these changing times,
minds cannot stay still.
Violence spreads like wildfire,
testing our strength and will.
Thought’s our only guide,
misguided we are lost.
Shooting from the hip,
destruction is the cost.
Love is shared by all,
hearts beat their choice.
Hate is the divider,
drowning out our voice.
High upon a tightrope,
this world can feel small.
Balance is required,
the option is we fall.
I woke today in a fog.
But autumn’s now in view.
There’ll be more days of sky high temps,
though fortunately just a few.
My body’s burned with a patchwork tan,
the grass a patchwork of brown.
Smiles await bluer skies,
but for now I’ve still a frown.
Perhaps today I’ll write a poem,
better than those before.
I used to say that every day,
but now I’m not so sure.
Like the seasons, time does change,
creativity comes and goes.
Inspiration’s all around,
but negativity grows and grows.
I need a cool crisp morning,
with leaf of red and gold.
Though summers can be wonderful,
this one’s getting old.
Maybe it’s just a fantasy,
thinking words will find their way.
Maybe the fantasy’s over,
of being joyous every day.
Peering up from my lap,
I see the fog starting to clear.
Though my paper is still blank,
I know a story’s near.
My eyes now wide open,
my pencil’s sharp and new.
Optimistically I scribble a word,
the clouds now but few.
One word turns to another,
a third leads to a line.
Verses soon will follow,
and again the day is mine.
I’m glad this patchwork is over.
And I’m sure that you are too.
I’m thankful for your time today,
my inspiration being you.
Today I know not what to do.
So I think I’ll try something new.
I’ll color a poem with skies so bright,
with stars that twinkle every night.
There’ll be no wars or no hate.
Conflicts solved with just debate.
There’ll be no clocks to dictate time.
There’ll be no violence or any crime.
There’ll be no pollution or climate change.
All will be loved, there’ll be no strange.
Peace will be our common goal.
Joy we’ll share from our soul.
There’ll be no hunger or disease.
Children will play as they please.
Crayons will be free for everyone.
So let’s get a box and start the fun.
Plans have been made
and the weekend’s here.
An adventure will be had
but apart from my dear.
I’ll think of her while driving
and call at every chance.
I’ll dream of her when sleeping,
cuddled in romance.
I’ll spend my time distracted,
longing to return.
I’ll share my day with loved ones
but not the one I yearn.
Whilst my head will follow
wherever I may roam,
my heart will always be
at our happy home.
On a street that shouldn’t be there,
there’s a house that shouldn’t stand.
Its front is covered in thorny vines,
out back a yard of sand.
The windows are always open,
cats all come and go.
There’s a dog that barks all night,
it’s really a horror show.
There’s an old car in the driveway,
but no one has seen it move.
A radio’s always blasting upstairs,
so someone’s got the groove.
The locals all say it’s haunted,
they’ve heard stories all their life.
Newlyweds had once lived there,
but no one had ever seen the wife.
Packages and mail get delivered,
but the trash never goes out.
Imagination fills in the blanks,
cos that’s what fantasy’s about.
I have a plan to save mankind.
I’ve just a few things left to find.
First is a place we all can hide.
It’ll need big windows to feel outside.
Next is food, but we can’t be too picky,
just nothing too spicy, gooey or sticky.
There’s coffee, for sure with sugar and cream,
then a really big bed for all to dream.
We’ll need some music so bring guitars.
Smoking’s optional but no cigars.
There’s no heavy drinking or hard drugs.
No need for violence or unruly thugs.
There will be no jail or a court.
So bring no weapons of any sort.
We’ll all need to promise to get along.
It sounds pretty easy, what can go wrong.
You’ll never find a happier place.
It’ll fill up fast so reserve your space.
Now one last thing before I take leave;
it’s best not come if you can’t believe.
The earth still brewing,
new life was stewing.
Flora askew and fauna still new,
eat or be eaten was all they knew.
The ground untested, sulfur’s in the air.
Crazed creatures wandered unaware;
creepy crawly slithery things,
swimmers of seas and fliers with wings.
But tucked cozily in palaces of awe,
dragons feasted and pondered what they saw.
Intruders were meals, some thrown back.
And gardening was their tasty snack.
Millennia past but for the dragon too soon,
change was afoot with the handy baboon.
Their hordes grew and quickly spread.
The plundering’s swift but never to be fed.
The dragon’s numbers always small,
just a few thousand and that is all.
They’re all very patient and very, very smart.
Some of the elders saw this planet’s start.
A meeting was had, all without doubt.
The dragons decided to wait this breed out.
They hibernate now till mankind’s last blunder.
When happily woke to darkness and thunder.
It seems like only yesterday when time was on my side.
The future was ahead with opportunities far and wide.
The world, it seems, my oyster with all its slime and goo.
The pearls were for my plucking; now they are but few.
My words no longer flow and little seems to please.
Perhaps it’s just boredom or my mind is now at ease.
Age may be the culprit; it seems to fit the bill.
Birthdays cause reflection as they always will.
The image that is seen may not be what it seems.
Tomorrow I’ll be younger, but only in my dreams.
Today I watched the sunrise, it seems, a perfect day.
I think I’ll wake my love and kiss these blues away.
I feel a tale coming on,
from this place I sit upon.
Here or there or hither and yon,
perhaps a tail I shall don.
If it be long I’ll wear shorts.
If it be helpful I’ll play sports.
If it’s painful I’ll be in reports.
If made famous I’ll live in resorts.
Characters all, we stand in line.
It’s worth a shot, I got mine.
The wait begins for a sign.
And other than fear I feel fine.
The story starts when a bug consumes.
The world locked safely in their rooms.
Sharing we will whatever looms.
An end is near, enjoy the blooms.
I’m not sure of the time,
or the day of the week.
I’m not certain that I hear,
or that I even speak.
It seems that I can see,
as the words become more clear.
I’m sure that I can feel,
as I live in constant fear.
I’m probably indecisive,
then again maybe not.
I’d like to think I think,
but unfortunately not a lot.
Uncertainty is a problem;
it’s something we all share.
I’m not sure you agree,
I’m not sure that I care.
There is one thing I do know,
this poem is nearly done.
I’m not sure what comes next,
but the future has begun.
Where jester’s king and knights a daze,
sunsets fade to a mushroom haze.
In castles walled the future’s stalled,
the heat of the moment is to forever scald.
When dollars found is sense lost,
we’re all to share the eventual cost.
For horizons lured never reached,
minds obstructed always breached.
Yet an open mind like and open gate,
frees the fears, ignorance and hate.
And whilst moats are filled from the waste within,
their funny stench is where their ends begin.
We all walked to school without a care.
We stopped at the store with pennies to share.
Cats and dogs always ran free.
Trees were claimed by them and me.
We rode our bikes like we were all nuts.
Our hands and knees came home with cuts.
Bikes had brakes most of the time,
or slowed by sneakers covered in grime.
Any spot with grass was called a yard.
We swam in places with no lifeguard.
Snowballs were made no matter the cost.
We wore socks on our hands when gloves were lost.
We all had to fight every once in a while.
Our moms would yell but dads would smile.
Rooms were shared and sometimes beds,
smelly feet tickling their brother’s heads.
Then junior high came and we had to change.
Our hair grew long and our clothes got strange.
Many smoked cigarettes and other stuff.
There were lots of choices but enough was enough.
Childhood then ended and the troubles began.
When the problems started most of us ran.
Some now have passed; some did well,
but all fondly remembered though it was hell.
When a loved one’s in need and miles divide,
time compounds the hurt inside.
The pain felt distance can’t hide.
The mind wanders far and wide,
Visions conjured amplify dread.
The voices within, anticipation bred.
Polished words redundantly said.
Perception altered in a scattered head.
Fantasy and reality bear casualty.
Tears shed overflow with charity.
Hopes guide tomorrow’s clarity.
End’s certain with endless certainty.
It fogs my thoughts and ruins my sleep.
I now count likes because I’m the sheep.
Powerless for a day and I went insane,
I think the web’s controlling my brain.
I spend many hours checking the news.
Then I research the reasons for my blues.
The puzzled web of opinions never ends.
And I’ve games galore so I don’t need friends
I can take lots of photos no one will see,
recording things that were important to me.
I can compose emails and send a text,
then constantly wait for what comes next.
I can phone in my car with maps on the screen.
The music’s unlimited and videos seen,
I can cast to TV and see it large.
But I need a break; it’s time for a charge.
Dusk shrouds foggy walks
Whispers heard when no one talks
The old town hall shines felicity
Its library shares the pageantry
Main Street bristles with conspicuous zeal
Spirits roam unseen when unreal
Tales abound of young maidens kissed
Faces unknown for souls unmissed
Yarns be spun of their tiny cove
Time surrounds, the mind does rove
Behind every door lie stories untold
Life in a village three hundred years old
High on the hill sits a Queen Anne alone
She’s peaks of copper and footing of stone
Her windows boarded to hide the view
Abandoned by the town, seen by few
The home once a school for wayward boys
Most had no families, none knew of toys
A cagey couple was completely in charge
Both small in stature yet looming large
The mistress taught letters with pointer or switch
The master kept numbers making them rich
Gruel’s fed to the students, the master’s meat
The boys froze; the pair warmed by their heat
Ablaze was the furnace ahead of each storm
The lads safely locked in their cold attic dorm.
Their sniffles and sneezes all kept at bay
The masters swept all the sickness away
Each year had runaways, never to be found
Searches end at the edge of school ground
Then came a young man sheltered in error
He promptly escaped and reported the terror
Inquires made, investigations were had
The masters left freely, the mayor glad
The school was closed with little fanfare
The boys sent away with little a care
Rumors lost from days long past
Horrors are hidden all too fast
No more’s said of the young boys plight
And another sun sets on a sleepy town’s night
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.
I once dated a lady from Providence.
She had lots of degrees and I, little sense.
We went on a date and took a stroll.
She walked right into a telephone pole.
She fell down and scraped her knee.
Writhing in pain she screamed at me.
“My glasses unworn so I’d look good!”
I helped her get home as I should.
We cleaned her wound, it wasn’t that bad.
Our date was ruined and we both were sad.
I asked to see her again real soon.
We both agreed on the next afternoon.
I went to her house, she opened the door.
What she had planned I wasn’t sure.
She said come in; you can have your way.
What she said next, I couldn’t say.
She left the room and I got undressed,
thinking this better than I had guessed.
When she returned she gasped in shock,
while I was caressing a huge pet rock.
She soon started swinging and I ran out.
I stood naked outside, my lunch in doubt.
A misunderstanding ruined that day.
And I never did try her curds and whey.
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.
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.
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.