Contributor Posts

Merry Christmas, merry Christmas to all
We have managed this year
Thank goodness to you all.
A hard year, it was indeed,
When so many of our citizens
Have been left with a great need.
Here is my wish for all of you,
Peace be upon thee
For all which you do.
The merriest of Christmas to you.

I have no time. No time to be free.
I'm sorry my darling, for you
Take the life out of me.

I'm just an old fool,
yes it's what I am,
lucky in friendship
with many a friend.
Friends, who I no longer see.
Growing older, just like me.

Where are the words?
What can I say?
For they have vanished
And gone far away.

The light grew dim
within his eyes.
Is this what happens
when a person dies?

Life can be a beautiful thing.
When you're gone, sadness will spring
out from your soul. On its way
to bring heart ache. A mournful sing;
a dirge, a sadness, no matter the cost,
a terrible thing, when another is lost.
Lost to their family. Now full of pain,
while only their memory will remain.

Don't worry my love,
it is just me.
Remembering our life
as it use to be.
To meet with our friends
and our whole family,
to go out to dinner
and celebrate with thee.

Is this writing craft
the skill made for me
or am I just pretending
I know I am a wanna be?

A poetic license is what is said,
when words wanted, aren't in your head.
So, let's get past all this now,
if I explain it to you; somehow,
using words of no rhyming;
using words of no pattern or sound,
clarify to the reader with confusion profound.
So pick up the pen and write away
a poetic writer you are on this day.

The love I feel,
when you're close to me,
I cannot describe
for I only see,
the person I married.
It's you. It is thee,
as life moves on
during this time of misery.

Many of the words, unused before,
lay as castoffs on my writing room floor.
Wrinkled, dried as leaves from a tree,
waiting, still waiting to be used by me.
Words forgotten, well past their age,
can be returned to life; to a page
in a notebook, a paper, using a pen,
to be written for the reader again.

The long goodbye, into the night,
should have been happy and bright.
A life's journey, ending this way
with sadness and loss every day.

Quit dragging your blanket,
the words came to me,
for you are her rock;
it's what it must be.

I'll try again, yes I will,
for hearing her bright laughter
always gives me a thrill.

When I was quite young.
Much too young for romance.
I wanted to then learn,
learn how to slow dance.
Being able to waltz, expertly
The standard, a four step,
appealed to my new sensibility.
You'd be in my arms
and everyone would see;
Gliding on the floor, smooth.
The box step for me.
A two step, my plan,
fast and lively it was,
much better than the Varsovienne.