poetry

It’s All Pluckin’ Good

Hello friend, can you please spare a buck?
Sorry for asking but I’m down on my luck.
The wife kicked me out and kept my old truck.
She smashed my guitar, now I’ve nothin’ to pluck.
~
She said I’m lazy and got no ambition.
I said her happiness is my only mission.
I do what I can, but ain’t no magician.
Tell ya the truth I’d rather be fishin’.
~
But she kept my rods too, locked in the shed.
And she found all the money hid under the bed.
She threw the good pan right at my head.
She mighta been pretty but she ain’t well bred.
~
She’s as strong as an ox, same size too.
She wears a men’s size twelve shoe.
And when she smiles my brain turns to goo.
But she’s gone now, I’ll have to make do.
~
Just a buck, friend, that’s all I need.
I’d ask for more but that be greed.
I don’t need much, I’m easy to feed.
I can’t be a beggar, but I will plead.
~
Thank you, friend, for sparing that buck.
I’m thinkin’ this is a change in my luck.
I can walk, damn it, I don’t need no truck.
Thank you, friend, for returning my pluck.

~*~
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In the Clear

Today I’m lost and can’t find my way.
I look toward the sky to guide the day.
The sky was blue; I shared a smile.
Still, I’m lost but gained a mile.
~
I look to the ground; I’ve a path to find.
The ground was hard; my steps were kind.
Yet still I wander, walking on air.
My head’s in the clouds, inward stare.
~
I look straight ahead, my path’s now known.
Each step forward is another step grown.
Journeys all end, destination’s the same.
Directions clear, be glad you came.

~*~
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Mind Over Maturity

Whilst all the young may have youth,
not all the youthful young.
Youth’s not measured by our age,
or the passions we engage.

~

It’s not about time at all,
or being big or being small.
It’s not a question of maturity,
rock star travel or annuity.

~

It’s the way we feel and perceive,
of life’s fascinations to conceive,
hopes, dreams and wishes to believe,
it’s how we love and how we grieve.

~

A youthful heart’s quick to mend,
quick to receive, give and lend.
Wonders abound in youthful eyes,
birds soar higher in bluer skies.

`

Yet youth is stolen by the fiendish lie,
That getting older is preparing to die.

`

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Warz

*

Some hearts warm, some cold,

yet all share a bloody thirst.

Circulating both love and hate,

who’s to shout or shoot first?

.

This darkness of man held in a hand,

yet the voice has never killed.

Though orders cried for more to die,

by others brave and skilled.

.

Organs strewn and heads hewn,

the victors’ lust begins.

Checks cashed then all gets smashed,

the big brass always wins

.

Mothers cry and babies die,

someone wins a pin.

The degree to which this hell’s risen,

is all an unforgiveable sin.

.

Some hearts warm and some are cold,

why can’t we try to neutralize?

Let’s build on our commonality,

returning joy to our children’s eyes.

~*~

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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.

.

~*~

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Small Friends in Big Places

*

Tiny fairies flitter, sniffing summer sweets

Never pausing very long to enjoy the tasty treats

Yet on rare occasion I’ve seen them stop and stand

Purveyors perched perusing their never-ending land

*

In capes of emerald flecks a-glisten

Sharing mysteries with those who listen

Magic’s in the moment, then to disappear

Flight near invisible, journeys without fear

*

Their lengthy travels always elusive

Their worldly wisdom justly conclusive

With a welcome whisper, faintest ever heard

My fairy’s come to visit, a little humming-bird

~*~

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In a Flash

The wait is long, the reward sublime.
In search I am for the perfect time.
My heart is beating and lungs are full.
My mind is racing, I feel the pull.
~
I’m tired but wired, I can’t sleep a wink.
I think I’m unsure of whatever I think.
Thoughts of the past reflect on the now.
Tomorrow’s soon and the why, what and how.
~
I sat and I pondered; what am I to do?
A question confounded by where, when and who.
Then in an instant the answer was clear.
A fool am I, the time now is here.

~*~
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Two to One

Too few natives, too many a chief

Too few police, too many a thief

Too much sun, too little rain

Too much tan, too little grain

 

Too few balls, too many sports

Too many yachts, too few ports

Too few hearths, too many homes

Too much warmth under too few domes

 

Too many shakes, too few hugs

Too little trust, too many bugs

Too little love, too much hate

Too little planning, too much fate

 

Too much running, too little soul

Too much waste, too small a hole

Too many pages, too few to conserve

Too many titles too few deserve

 

Too many thinkers, too little thought

Too many lies, too little truth sought

Too much war, too little gain

Too little peace, too much pain

 

Too many arms, too few fists

Too few battles won to list

Too little time, too much to lose

Two choices remain – which one do you choose?

 

 

The End                                          sck081314

Welcome!

Yellow’s out, green’s underway

Pinks will wait another day

Then purples, orange and brilliant reds

Bursts of blooms thrust from beds

 ~

My world awakens, spring’s finally here

Lilac hues fill the air

Sunrise sparkles on morning dew

Budding trees frame the view

 ~

Clear blue skies, picnics at noon

Summer’s next, just not too soon

 *

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Taxation of Tagnation

I was a baby by conception
A child with confusion
A sailor by frustration
And an engineer by education

I’m an appraiser by profession
A husband with devotion
A father of commotion
And a poet by obsession

I’m a man in regression
Not ready for stagnation
So I’m penning a description
On this day of our taxation

.
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Easter’s Egging

~*~

The church bell rang and doors flung wide.

We raised our heads and ran outside.

Sitting’s done, now’s time for fun.

Our Easter egg hunt has now begun.

.

It’s a perfect day with bright sunshine.

Our baskets ready we waited in line.

Till all were scattered on the count of three,

in every direction kids ran free.

.

I ran first to my favorite tree.

I found it’s the favorite of not just me.

So off to the hedge where eggs always found,

none’s left there so to the playground.

.

While the others searched I rode the swing.

When they had gone I heard birds sing.

I glanced to the trees and sounds nearby.

Then off jumped I and into the sky.

.

I landed in sand on two feet and one hand,

then a tumble or two and up I stand.

I turned to the fence where tall trees grew-

to search for a prize of an egg or two.

.

The chirps grew louder with each step I took.

Did they tell me to leave or tell me to look?

I kneeled near bushes and peeked below.

I stuck in my hand as far as would go.

.

Feeling around for a tasty surprise,

I pulled out an egg but smaller in size.

Holding tight it felt warm to the touch.

Then I knew why that bird chirped so much.

.

Gently I put the egg down on the ground,

took a few steps back not making a sound.

A whistle blew, the hunt was now done.

But silently I waited in the midday sun.

.

My basket is broken and clothes dirty and torn.

I knew I’d face my mother’s scorn.

But there’s more to life than clothes un-ripped.

There are some events that can’t be skipped.

.

There’s saving the things that you love.

Then a bird swooped down from above

She tapped the shell lightly with her beak.

A tiny head popped out to take a peek.

.

The mom  nudged her chick back into the bush.

Her frightful chirping turned to a shush

Then another whistle blew, louder than ever.

To stay any longer just wouldn’t be clever.

.

I hurried back, joining up with the rest.

Our search was now over finding the best.

My cousin won second, they had four.

I found just one but I think I won more.

~*~

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http://www.childrens-stories.net/featured-childrens-story/featured-childrens-story.htm

Preservation

The culmination of a once great nation,
founded on principles of liberalization.
Enlightenment trumping degradation,
thoughts unbound, no stagnation.
~
Liberty unleashing new illumination.
Opinions unfounded fuel frustration.
Left and right debate causation.
Answers found no destination.
~
Conformity’s no coadunation.
Thoughtlessness fuels desperation.
Interdependence declares restoration.
Higher ground’s no damnation.
~

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Springling

Baby’s first spring blooms with joy.
There’s grass for sitting and nature’s their toy.
There are leaves to touch and bugs to see,
flowers to smell and the buzz of a bee.
~
The sun is warm and the sky is blue.
A breeze tickles toes where once a shoe.
Daring they get and start to crawl.
They chase the cat chasing the ball.
~
Mom gets it first and giggles they share.
She tosses the ball high in the air.
Little eyes get rubbed, its naptime soon.
Then there’s lunch on a spring afternoon.

~*~
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Happy Valendumbness Day

Valentine’s Day comes once a year.
It’s the only day of poet fear.
Words flow freely, most every day.
But once a year, I’ve nothing to say.
~
I share my love with dreams and wishes.
And little things, sometimes dishes.
I hold you close and we stick like glue.
Because every day I love you.

~*~
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Foible

Observing a foible in real time,
much longer than a typical rhyme.
The clock’s ticking and time will tell,
will I finish, or, again say Oh well.
~
Time goes through cycles; we all have our own.
We cycle through life; each turn we’ve grown.
Turns’ incomplete, bumps we will feel.
Will I roll to the end or find a new wheel?

~*~
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