poetry

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

~

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

.

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

.

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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Giant in a Shawl

A thigh-high recollection,

of the principal’s floral wall.

Coz that’s the view ya get,

when your only three feet tall

.

I can still hear the chunky heels,

charging down the hall.

She said I stole equipment.

It said it was just a ball.

 .

She dragged me to the office,

then gave my mom a call.

When my mom got there,

I had to tell it all.

 .

I’ve lost a ball or two or more,

hid them in a bathroom stall.

It wasn’t something new,

been doin it since fall.

 .

I’d pick them up after school,

and sell them at the mall.

They sent me out to the bench,

I was feeling very small.

.

But I couldn’t let the other kids,

see me beg and crawl.

The giant roared, hands flew,

I thought they had a brawl.

.

Mom came out, we both went home,

and there began the squall.

Thunderous and long-winded,

I couldn’t help but bawl.

 .

Then what happened next,

I really can’t recall.

I gave back all the money,

stayed after school counting balls.

.

I had to say I’m sorry,

to the giant in the shawl.

So I guess I did remember,

that balls haul after all.

 .

The End

~

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A Christmas Tale

Happy Holidays

Rhymesalot's avatarrhymesalot

Chapter 1 ~ the Beginning

.

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.

.

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.

.

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.

.

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.

.

I lay awake and tossed and turned.

Thinking of…

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Courting Dimensions

We see in two dimensions, why do we need three?

When depth’s always hidden within you and me

Like engraved images in a dusty old book

Just flat lines multiplying the closer we look

.

A ball’s three dimensional, though all the same

Dribbled on flattened courts, we all call a game

Shooting for stars – settling for net

Thinking two dimensionally that’s all you get

.

We’ve all the axes: X, Y and Z

Why would one not think in 3D?

This third dimension’s for all to score

Winners share in its depth evermore

~

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