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Forgettable Optimism

When a feeling’s something new, it’s never forgot.

A poem is a feeling, mixed with our thought.

The thought noted, drafted, written and expressed.

 ~

But for every poem expressed others go unwritten.

For those that go unwritten drafts will drift away.

For every draft shuttered notes have gone astray.

For all the notes strewn some thoughts might simmer.

 ~

Some thoughts evaporate and forgotten forever.

Then thoughts forgotten become a feeling of something new

A new feeling never to forget for the optimistic few

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Whether to Weather  

A poet preserved by their craft

Today’s storm is tomorrow’s draft

Tonight’s darkness, tomorrow’s light

Time alone is time to write

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Time without leaves space within

Whether or not we choose to begin

Space’s filled with unchosen weather

That’s why a quill floats like a feather

 ~

Writing out the storms, blue sky always brighter

Showers of tears make the heart feel lighter

Rainbows get a page or two, hurricanes get quite a few

And storms better weathered in a blanket shared by two

 ~

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Dreams Dreamers Dream

I dreamt I was sleeping

Or perhaps I was dead

Eyes closed, body still

Silence in my head

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I woke to a feeling of Deja-vu

Then all’s forgotten seeing you

Our day of sunshine and frolicking bliss

The moonlight shares our hugs and kiss

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Warm in our bed, bodies intertwined

The stars, heavens and our hearts aligned

Then darkness consumes happiness supreme

When morning interrupts my dream of a dream

~

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A Christmas Tale

Happy Holidays

Rhymesalot's avatarrhymesalot

Chapter 1 ~ the Beginning

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All’s quiet this early winter’s night.

Embers fade in the candles dancing light.

I was thinking of Christmas, many years past.

Those fond old memories, now fading fast.

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I recalled when our home came alive.

I was just a small girl of about five.

It was a grand old house for mom, dad and me.

Sat perched on a hill overlooking the sea.

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It’s still a museum in our little town.

It was built by a General of historic renown.

Shared with his bride Martha, she had a sad life.

The General’s a hero, she a young widowed wife.

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We cared for the house and gave the tours.

All year-long we opened our doors.

We welcomed the guest to step back in time.

So come on in and share our rhyme.

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I lay awake and tossed and turned.

Thinking of…

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A Day on the Farm

Rhymesalot's avatarrhymesalot

The sun’s our clock, rooster alarm.

Up to start a day on the farm.

Fresh air and sunshine all long day.

Eat our breakfast then on our way.

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I put on my boots, coat and hat.

And find a glove under the cat.

Out the door to the bunnies hutch.

They eat  pellets they don’t like much.

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My dog follows, opens the door.

Sometimes gone for hours or more.

Jumping high, trips latch with paw.

The cutest thing I ever saw.

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Next we’re off to feed the plump hens.

Gather eggs, clean muddy pig pens.

We’ll hose it down then slop the sows.

Grab our pails and milk the cows.

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Feed the mare, sleeps in the sable.

I’ll ride her soon when I’m able.

First she’s brushed then gets oats and hay.

We do all these things twice a day

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In the garden, vegetables grow.

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Hannah Belles Silence –the beginning

Purple skies yell good night to their dozing sun.

Fire lights the shadows, the nights day’s just begun.

Shades pulled on lives within without the stars to guide.

A ball is had in the deep, dancing to rhythms of tide.

 

Partners forever splash to wash away the light

Din of life slowly fades to the deafening of night.

Eyes shutter, Door hinges squeak there last, and new hands draw air.

Breathing in the day’s last taste, dark of night’s only fair.

 

While others rest, days run on to beat the clock.

Gates alive awake the walks to open doors that need no lock.

Welcoming all workers be, busily buzzing to make life sweet.

Nights or days at Hannah Belles employ a tasty treat.

 

Chimes ring out in the square, alerting all to what’s behind.

Reminding all of what’s ahead and afoot and to jog the mind.

Bottomless pools dot the streets, journeys take forever.

There’s joyous voices all around and angry silence never.

 

Another day in Hannahville, they feed the smiles everywhere.

This factory called Hannah Belle glows without a care.

Whether color gloss or moustache size, styles change, lips stay the same.

Visitors wait in a thin line to leave robust and always glad they came.

 

 

First chapter from Hannah Belles Silence (Charlie passes the candy torch)

 Coming soon to virtual bookstore near you.

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Blur

I’ve swallowed every sonnet since I don’t know when.

I can’t recall a single thing that may have been forgotten.

Though when I see your passing blur each day,

I can never seem to find the words to say.

 ~

Your beauty is so daunting it really is unkind.

I’ll be content another day with snapshots in my mind.

A seldom glance, a memory of a time we almost had.

Then rising moon our hearts collude to dream away the bad.

 ~

Perhaps one day when time, words and hearts align,

Our hands will meet, our lips will touch and all will be fine.

But morning brings the darkness, open eyes reveal lies.

Though truth and lies blur in minds, a dream never dies.

 ~*~

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-Cherry on Top Sundries Shoppe

Every Sunday me and my Pop

Take a walk to the old sundries shop

Winter’s in boots and summer flip-flops

Anytime to the Cherry on Top

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It’s not just a store, it’s so much more

A magic box filled with sundries galore

It’s everyone’s first and their last stop

All the time at the Cherry on Top

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Welcoming doors always polished bright

Welcoming all to their sundries delight

Every week is a brand new crop

Any time at the Cherry on Top

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A place with things too many to list

Lipsticks for lips that want to be kissed

There are bouncing balls and bats that bop

All the time at the Cherry on Top

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Combs and brushes for hair and teeth

Halloween treats and Holiday wreaths

Baskets for bunnies with ears that flop

Any time at the Cherry on Top

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Row after row of this’s and that’s

There are racks for jackets, hooks for hats

Handles for brooms and buckets for mops

All the time at the Cherry on Top

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There’s cases packed with trinkets so bright

Batteries stacked for flashlights at night

They’ve got cards to send and cards to swap

Any time at the Cherry on Top

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Way at the back, there’s medicines there

Carefully mixed by people who care

They carefully measure, count and chop

All the time at the Cherry on Top

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Then the place – my favorite of all

It’s the lunch-counter, where I sit tall

Serving pie with whipped cream and gumdrops

Any time at the Cherry on Top

 *

They’ve cakes, cookies, turkey and roasts

My dad always gets; juice, eggs and toast

Sunday’s best at the old sundries Shoppe

I get my sundae, cherry on top

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The End

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Mourning’s Time  

Mornings lost to mourning

Day’s lost to night

Night’s lost in darkness

Darkness longs for light

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Sleepless nights, hopeless days

Hopeful nights, time slight

Day’s lost in hands-of-time

Time  wins times fight

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Fists hide mourning’s face

Gentle hands, mornings bright

Night stars light mourned

Suns rise, all’s right

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Nights fall, mourning ends

Faces shine ending fright

Mourning put to rest

Day returns to sight

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