Magic Carpet

~

Full moon’s high in my window pane,

a sleepless night yet again.

I think of what that old moon’s seen,

and the billions of days in-between.

.

Billions of stories it could share.

But few like grandma’s can compare.

Her life began long, long ago.

Raised in places few ever know.

.

In forests, jungles and never-ending plains,

there were exotic cities and quiet country lanes.

Naturalist nurtured traversing the globe,

her parents explorers and professors in robes.

.

She too attended their university,

majoring, of course, in anthropology.

She graduated at the very top of her class.

Then returning to a high mountain pass.

.

A place where dear friends made, one nevermore,

new will be made though not as before.

For the sisterly love they both did share,

her dowry passed from generations with care.

.

Their rug was presented for the mutual esteem,

more cherished than a simple weaving would  seem.

With sheep twists dyed and hands knotting all day,

life’s artful history’s made to give, barter or pray.

.

That winter spent mourning by choice and terrain.

Gram then ventured east with the new spring rain.

Her path soon ended on a long Pacific beach,

her life of the past now far out of reach.

.

She then called upon as never before.

She volunteered proudly as a nurse in the war.

Through years of blood, pain and tears she served,

refusing all the medals and honors deserved.

.

Though her true love was found slumped on a cot,

they soon returned home, where time was forgot.

Gramps got better and a new family sown.

their many shared scars were never to be shown.

.

Her old rug was placed by hearth and chest,

each full of stories though not all are best.

It’s a place we’d sit to hear grandma recall,

sometimes a place to do nothing at all.

.

So I tip-toed downstairs since sleep no option,

I’ll rest on that rug where dreams are begun.

It’s where secrets are shared and magic seen,

then a place for relaxing time in-between.

.

Once sewn as a bag keeping safe, precious things.

It’s been many a blanket with a picnic to bring.

It’s been a shawl in the cold and hood in the rain –

and a comfy pillow on the overnight train.

.

Adventures had in time that’s flown,

together worn from long years grown.

This rug’s grandma’s confidant and oldest friend,

soaring together their wove lives transcend.

.

Though colors now faded, ends torn and frayed,

beauty more timeless cannot be remade.

And when the winds do bellow just right,

we’re drawn up the flue and into the night.

.

Holding fast and climbing high,

we touched the stars in our moonlit sky.

We’d see twinkling lights in our town below,

then off to the hills where roads don’t go.

.

Over the wood, back to the place we all live,

where the door’s always open and love’s to give.

There blissful slumbers had snug as a bug,

whilst wrapped with a hug in grandmas old rug.

.

~*~

sck032116

Renaissance

I’m going to write a poem so everyone feels good.
I’ll make it bright and cheery as I know I should.
Peculiar times upon us, isolation’s now the norm.
But spring is out in force; soon we’ll all feel warm.
~
Trees are soon to blossom, grass is soon to green.
Flowers will share their colors, bees will tend their queen.
Nature shares her secrets, life does rise again.
Birds are already singing, though we’ve a bigger brain.
~
The future has no guide; we live from day to day.
Optimism is our key to find a better way.
Life will throw some curves and everyone has a pitch.
Some may catch a virus, some will find their niche.
~
Love is in our heart, compassion’s in our soul.
Thoughts fill our heads, they make us feel whole.
The earth will stay in motion; the sun will rise and fall.
Time’s now to show our mettle and share with one and all.

~*~
SCK032020

Buttons

buttons_steve~kittell_01

Buttons, buttons everywhere,
they’re on this and over there.
They’re on clothes and touch-screens.
They’re on phones and flying machines

They can be found in boxes or jars,
or in neat rows on boats and cars.
Being on the button is good,
pushing people’s, you never should.

Some buttons are big, some are small.
Some buttons do nothing at all,
some are outies others innies,
silly buttons on our bellies.

You may have a cute button nose,
to enjoy the smell of sweet rose.
While buttoned up or buttoned down,
in the rain or strolling in town.

Buttons in all shapes, any size,
having a spare is always wise.
Buttons for eyes on our stuffed friends.
Uses for buttons never ends.

We glue them on paper plates,
making gifts for special dates.
Add string then sprinkle glitter on,
next curly yarn, name in crayon.

Some are toggles, some are switches.
Some like snaps to hold up breeches.
No zippers for me, I prefer,
buttons to hold all together.

Glad to share my buttons with you,
we’re all buttoned up, story through.
Rhyme’s done, time to button my lip,
I’ll say goodbye, have a safe trip.

The End                        sck081414

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/467759

The Color of Life

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.

~*~
SCK020919

Forever Brine

Gaslights flicker, but one in three

These harsh fall winds batter thee

Soon the rains will pour and pelt

Yet with heavy heart nothing’s felt

~

Broken brick teeters beneath shoe-less feet

The stench of death fills the street

An island paradise – mine no more

Alas in this city to find a door

~

Thirty years lost at sea

‘Till found rescued, returned free

In search of a life I wish to find

Of futures not had and left behind

~

Now homeward bound to do what’s right

And share my tale of a dreadful night

With freezing sleet and gale, our sails torn

Splintered masts await the morn

~

Screams of mates haunting still

Silence came with the sunsets’ chill

I awoke to a native angel, urged to make a wife

Years of guilty pleasure pass of fertile island life

~

In a search never-ending of a foggy memory

Back to a decrepit city, forever lost to me

A vision of a woman I had no time to know

And a father-less child I never saw grow

~

Now I must roam this morbid place

In the shadows I hide this unknown face

With grizzled hide and toothless grin

Tis I this rotted hull of unforgivable sin

~

First I betrayed a young bride with family

I’ve betrayed my many brothers to a stormy sea

Betrayed my island flowers with my bastard seed

And their many blooms not knowing of their creed

~

In tangled webs of filthy alleys, doors locked tight

Shuttering out the dangers awakened in the night

Seeking boarded diamond pane, broken lintel I recall

My tiny door beckons just down the hall

~

Now steps ahead my future lies, one without a past

Decisions’ pondered long, yet always chosen fast

With a knock a ghost returns to those long at rest

Me thinks a splintered briny deck for all will be best

~*~

sck071615

Jingle Writer

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

Splash

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

Be the Wind

The will of the wind with the air that be,

summons the roar from a silent sea.

When this air too shall roar,

a mighty sea bombards a shore

~

When the wind and sea collude-

all’s consumed all the more.

Can a roaring wind be silenced-

 or will it roar for evermore?

~

A question answered best in rhyme;

The shores are life, the sea is time.

The air is those around us, crying to be free.

And the wind with its will – a roaring poet be.

*

Sck010315

A Chain of Very Fortunate Events

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

Learn to Earn

Wealth isn’t measured by dollars;
it’s measured by our sense.
Money can’t buy happiness,
unless we’re happy with pretense.
~
Joy comes from simple pleasures,
like a sunset or a baby’s smile.
Laughter’s always free,
whether old or a juvenile.
~
Heath too is very important,
as our feelings always show.
We can’t make a living,
when life’s value we don’t know.
~
Though love can require work,
it yields our greatest return.
So invest your time in others.
And self-worth you’ll then earn.

~*~
SCK030621

Snowflakes

 If no two snowflakes are the same,

When melted do they come back again?

How do all the storm clouds know,

What each other makes for snow?

 **

Though thought all different, ingredients same

Freely floating flakes, cousins of rain

Minuscule crystals suspended in lines

Destiny’s same – the kiss of sunshine

 *

Just another of natures’ follies, like we all

The higher the cloud, the faster the fall

The longer the blizzard, the deeper the strife

The hotter the day, the shorter the life

 .

Do we really care if snowflakes are the same?

Or are we just repeating an old silly game?

A game that can never ever be won –

When all the pieces melt in the sun

~*~

Sck121314

The Wizard of Windham

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.

~*~
SCK030421

Empty Lot

Our empty lot’s not empty at all.
There’s a tree that’s big and tall.
It’s a place that kids love to share.
It’s on my street so mom needn’t care.

We spend sunny days in the shade.
There’s lots of dreaming in forts we made.
There’s bunches of dirt to dig deep holes.
Rainy puddles for toy fishing poles.

Our empty lot really has it all,
We hide and seek and sometimes play ball.
It’s the place where adventures begin.
A fence to keep the city out and us in.

We’ve bugs and spiders, squirrels and cats.
There’s soft grass to sit for quiet chats.
We see dogs on leashes and birds in the sky,
Some tweet, sing sweet, bark, run and fly.

There’s rope jumping girls and running boys.
Everyone brings their favorite toys.
Weeds make jungles for our tiny men.
Tiny cars get lost, then are found again.

A place on Sundays for dads to mow.
A place anytime where friendships grow.
When the days fun is done, we all say goodnight.
To our good old friend, under the street light.

SCK102814

Sick Day

~

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

Rainbows and Unicorns

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.

~*~
SCK022721

Nature’s Gift

It’s been a while since I spoke of love,
that precious gift sent from above.
It fills our days with joy and bliss.
Thoughts consumed with our next kiss.
~
Eyes will open to a brand new day,
life is perfect, come what may.
Souls awakened with a simple glance.
Dreams are lived with our romance.
~
Passion exudes on your smiling face.
Troubles evaporate without a trace.
Tomorrow’s welcomed, as are more.
If a lion I’d surely roar.
~
If a kitten I’d loudly purr,
wishing to play and they’d concur.
I’ve said enough, at least, for now.
But there’ll be more, this I vow.

~*~
SCK022621

Forced in Space

The earth is but a pebble,
yet it’s so much more.
We wake there every morning,
this we know for sure.
~
It hurtles through our galaxy,
yet we’re standing still.
We can try to fly away,
but we never will.
~
If we were to leave,
where could we go?
The sky gives many choices,
but an answer we’ll never know.
~
Our minds were made to question,
but time’s our only clue.
If we could not think,
what then would we do?
~
Would we then survive,
living like bugs or beasts?
Could we ever imagine,
lives without its feasts?
~
Or would we just devolve,
returning to mere dust?
The cosmos our destination,
where the unknown we’re then thrust.
~
Our pebble we’d then follow,
attracted by its force,
Our lives would then not matter,
unless we changed our course.

~*~
SCK022521

Rest in Fleece

One more month and spring is here.
When freezing to death’s no longer a fear.
We’ll pack our sweaters, hats and coats.
Soon the bay will fill with boats.
~
Flowers will bloom and temps will rise.
Trees will green before longing eyes.
Days get longer, nights a bit cool.
But now we wait, because time’s cruel.
~
I don’t hate winter or the cold.
But those months are growing old.
I do like autumn but spring is still best.
So for one more month I’ll just rest.

~*~
SCK022020

Figmented

In a little town not far from here,
there lived a star, a puppeteer.
She entertained children near and far.
While her husband played his old guitar.
~
The puppets danced and the kids all giggled.
The guitarist sang and everyone wiggled.
But behind the show’s curtain of green,
the puppeteer performs, always unseen.
~
But she’s not sad, she’s quite content,
the shows always fun and it pays the rent.
Their home life is great with two cats and a dog.
And in a pond nearby they had a pet frog.
~
Their children, now grown and moved far away,
but they all get together for Christmas day.
The tree lit up bright and gifts piled high.
They await the sunrise in the cold winter sky.
~
First up’s the grandkids, it’s time to explore.
Next was the dog that sleeps by the door.
The children were silent peaking at the gifts.
Each on lookout in five minute shifts.
~
Tape’s gently pulled and corners peeled back,
they had to work fast to get through the stack.
The children were careful to not make a mess,
because if caught, next year there’d be less.
~
It didn’t take long for them to realize,
the presents were fake and the pets were spies.
The children panicked and ran back to their beds,
to dream once more of dolls, blocks and sleds.
~
But the parents sat waiting at the top of the stairs.
The kids now caught broke down in tears.
They ruined Christmas and the parents were mad.
The grandparents were disappointed and that was sad.
~
A lecture was given while breakfast they ate.
Grandma’s lesson was that good things are worth the wait.
And that things are not always as they appear,
you can take it from her, she’s a puppeteer.
~
Breakfast was finished at a leisurely pace.
Anticipation beamed from everyone’s face.
Then a puppet appeared dressed as Santa Claus,
who passed out presents to much applause.

~*~
SCK022321