Contributor Posts

There is nothing like
writing poetry and prose,
to describe all the beauty,
as seen in a Rose.

Moisture wets the lid of my eye,
as I resist the urge to not cry.
Seeing her before me, a smiling face,
with all of her beauty and natural grace.
I must keep her close; close to me,
for my need is her safety I must see.
Long have I loved you; every day
is a new one and I will say
I love you in my own way.

Friendship is good,
as it sets the stage,
for good friends to
talk and who may engage,
becoming another phase in life.
Full of love, jealousy, turn the page,
for friends can become lovers
and love can become rage.

All thoughts of worry.
All thoughts of dread,
Now keep running through
my white haired head.
There they will stay
until it's judgement day

There are reasons,
are there not,
for our behavior,
we have sought?
How we treat
Sisters and Brothers,
not how we
treat each other.
There's no love,
only the sorrow
when praying for
a new tomorrow.
Stand thee tall.
Do not borrow,
life is short
and will end
in the darkness
and the wind.

The rain is back.
It is good to see
and to smell the freshness.
At least it is to me.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream, and not make dreams your master;
If you can think, and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings, nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And, which is more, you'll be a Man, my son!

Joseph Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) English journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist. He was born in India, which inspired much of his work. His works of fiction include  "The Man Who Would be King" and the "Jungle Book"/ His Poems include "Mandalay", "The Gods of the Copybook Headings", "Gunga Din"and "If...."

Black is the night.
No clouds in sight,
just the dim rays
from a half moon light

"The Devils is in the details"
he says as he sloshes paint,
with broad brush strokes,
upon the bare wall,
not being careful at all,
but having the sense to
mask the trim and to place
a drop cloth under the area
he is now painting.

Bring forth the noise.
Bring forth the sound,
of wind chimes at night
with the cry of an Owl.

It is no longer a day.
It is too early for night
as the first stars appear,
bringing us a Twilight.

Whence came you,
oh, forgotten one.
Is it true you were,
the eldest Son
of one who was
from the very best.
The largest Star,
living in the West?
Tell me now,
will you please,
for I am in prayer,
down on my knees.