Contributor Posts

Just a small Bear,
He was quite little.
Happy, without a care,
No thumbs to twiddle.
He was alone,
A solitary Cub,
Without any friends.
To play and cavort,
Alone, without any support.
He had fun and more.
There were many things,
On the forest floor.
Run through the Ferns
And around the trees,
Walking upright,
Or down on his knees.
Hiding in grass
Taller than he,
Looking at flowers
And at some Bees.
No one there
To yell and shout,
So he continued
To walk about.
Finally, day turned
Into a black night.
Now alone, in the dark,
A slight little fright,
He fell asleep;
And was out of sight
Of the creatures of the night,
Who travelled afar,
Seeking their respite.
Suddenly it was morning
And this day's delight,
Was to play once again
In the warm sunlight.

I have discovered this special trick
When I have broken a branch
from a flowering plant. I cut
it by a node ,at an angle,
plunge into powdered root hormone,
then into soil,then water.
There is a chance for that
to grow. I did that about a
month ago, two pieces of "hot lips",
hormone and into the dirt
and now have leaves and flowers.
I must now wait, keeping my patience
and repot in another month or so.
Watching my clumsy mistake start to grow
in to a beautiful flowering bush,
that was done very inexpensively.

Here I am, pen in hand, writing
my thoughts to paper. Bringing memories
forth, from so deep inside, that no
matter how long those memories linger.
Grab that small thread, ever so gentle
while tugging and pulling until the
whole thought is there, in your head.
Write it all down, clear out your
mind, put your writing pen and pad away.
Return back to your warm comfy bed.
After all this, I see the clock
it's now three-thirty and I must sleep.

Not much of a swimmer
But I did like to swim.
It was hard to determine
The predicament I was in.
Swimming in California's Mission Bay
I found myself drifting away
From the shore, I could see
A Rip Tide had ahold of me.
I remembered a lesson, I had before
When caught in a Rip, don't swim towards shore,
But swim parallel to the shore line
And everything would soon be quite fine.
So I swam quite awhile, with a side stroke
And it wasn't long before the tides grip broke.
I turned towards shore, going to land
It was quite soon; I felt my feet in the sand.
A scary time, when I look back
I saved myself, no panic attack.

Trying to practice what I preach.
Keep your feelings, just out of reach.
Stay strong in your thought and deed,
While striving hard to succeed.
Your life will be better then
When you start where you began.

Oh what a day.
Oh what a night,
As the darkness rushes
Towards the daylight.

There is still one thought, I cannot see.
It pertains to the rhyming of poetry.
No matter the journey; No matter how far,
My task is putting my thoughts into a jar.
A jar that when I remove the lid,
Will emit words of the adventures, I did.
Writing down this most random thought
I am always interested to see what I wrought.
Sometimes these words are just sitting there,
Magically they would appear, out of thin air.

This raging fire, lies within my chest
And despises what we have become
As a Nation, under God,
That treats others, not our kind,
With hatred, ignorance and crazed mind.

I am afraid. My mouth is dry.
Not going to weep nor will I cry.
I'm six years old, wondering why
My parent's left me with no goodbye.
Great grandmother Fischer was sitting with me.
I didn't know her language was from Germany.
Was I afraid? More than likely, I think I was,
No reason, I'm sure. Probably just because

I was seventeen or in between
My eighteen years. My father
had bought a truck, a 39 Ford,
One and a half ton, with V8 and
A two speed Eaton. Dad had
A contractor install a bed,
That could be elevated to drop
A load of Peas, Corn or Wheat.
I would pick up workers and take
Them home from the Pea Viner's.

When working, hauling Wheat, out
Kittitas way, heading to the
Grain elevator, to dump my load of
Wheat. The State Patrol had a road block.
I was pumping my brakes to make a stop,
But the weight of the Wheat was not
Helping. Needless to say, "No Ticket."
Went to the elevator, dumped the Wheat,
Back to the field for another load.
I would drive alongside the Combine
And the wheat would come down a
Funnel and fill up the bed.
Repeat this task until all the Wheat
Is gone and only straw remains.

What is this life that has been lost?
Was it worth the hateful cost?
Will the life come back on the morrow?
Or will your life go on, in sorrow?

When I write that my mind is unsound
I try not to imply, there is something wrong.
It's just the worry that comes to me,
What I'll do when I no longer can be,
The support, that she needs.
A puzzle? Sure but not one to lose
As there are options that we can choose.