Contributor Posts

When days were young
and nights were old,
I remember many of
the tales that were told
about the fears that lived within
and the stories of debauchery and sin.
Tales of the follies of man
faced with death, as it began.
A fear that runs up one's spine,
full of worry about a love of thine,
who lost her way.
A long trip it certainly was
and happened then, just because
she was in the wrong place.
So she was and trouble found her.
It was a bleak day; no Sun, just rain
as she related, I felt the pain,
for her shadow would never again
find her calling, in this place.
The disappointment showing on her face.
Alas my friend, away go thee,
I hope once more that I will see
your life's fulfilled destiny.

My heart breaks, as tears
moisten the corner of my eyes.
I hold it together when I am
in her presence but sometimes
I just can't do it, so I
leave the room.
I must stay strong, for her sake;
besides she doesn't shed tears,
having little tolerance for those who do.
She told me, "I love you" the other day.
Not typical. If I tell her, "I love you"
she will respond with, "love you too."

Those words that come to me at night
have meaning to me.
Perhaps, if you like what I say,
the words will return.
Trying hard to write something new,
that will have meaning to all,
not just a few,
has become harder for me to do.
Some words are lame; simply text.
Nothing to say or do something next,
but stop writing. Write a long story,
hear some music, sing a song,
be inspired or upset about
something, old or new.
It really depends upon you.

Lost I am in this present life.
Too many question in my mind.
Depressing perhaps, but to no avail,
I must pursue the answers where
A turn in the direction that
Is best for all, not just for me.
That will happen, soon enough,
For life is but a short span,
In the Earth's life of eternity.
A mere glimpse of time
For all to be and make their mark
From now to infinity.

A lonely Nymph, sits by the stream,
Preening its wings, in this my dream.
Scantily clad, not as big as an Elf.
A small group of them wander about.
I hear their voices as they run and shout.
It's a beautiful vision, that I now see.
My mind wonders if they can see me.
The innocent joy in this gaggle or group
Should be on my front stoop.
The questions I have for you, young and old,
Where do you go when the weather is cold?
Do you have houses, back in the trees?
With warmth, food and water that will appease
Your continued existence on this Earth so grand,
That has much grass and some warming sand.
I hope that the imagination, that does appear,
Will return again on the following year.
If not that will sadden this old man
Who still clings to the life as it began.

When thinking about those days of old,
Searching the land for that vein of gold.
Cutting through brush; digging up dirt,
Working so hard that your back did hurt.
Down by the water with pan in hand,
Putting in the oar bearing sand.
Swishing in water, a short half circle,
Removing the sand so handily,
Looking for a nugget the size of a Pea.
Your now on your way to the promised land.

Stay alert for their are thief's out there
That will rob or kill you for your share.
A sidearm is carried, to protect your life,
For your children are safe; home with your wife.
What a tale you will tell when you come home
From your adventure's where the Buffalo roam.

The towering trees; an enchanting scene
with a vibrant colorful forest floor.
A light caress of a sunlit kiss,
brightens the day, where Fairies play
in their private paradise.

This life we live
of love and hate,
is one that we control,
not one someone makes.
Be it fine or not,
only you can decide,
what role you take
when your life is a ride.

I hope in the next life
you treat her with care,
for at this moment,
I'm filled with despair,
from the loving God
I hear about,
that hears not my prayers.
So I'm left to go and shout,
"Why are you doing this to she?"
Tell me please tell this aged lout
for I don't understand
why she must suffer so
while hurting her and family.

It's not her fault
It's the disease
I say to myself
every day.
It's not her fault
for what she will say
or if anger presents
itself today.
No filters is what I see.
Please God, please
help me. Help her be
the person she was
just once more.

The river, clear yesterday
is muddy with roiling waves
from a torrential downpour
in the foothills of the rivers source.

The squirrel scurries
along the fence going
to his nest.