Willows Trees Are Fluttering
• 06/29/24 at 06:13PM •Willow trees are fluttering,
Spring winds fly
across green meadows,
under a dappled sky.
Clouds, massive pillows,
slowly passing by,
comforting, this old son.
Another life to try.
Willow trees are fluttering,
Spring winds fly
across green meadows,
under a dappled sky.
Clouds, massive pillows,
slowly passing by,
comforting, this old son.
Another life to try.
"Only a dad, but he gives his all
To smooth the way for his children small,
Doing, with courage stern and grim,
The deeds that his father did for him.
This is the line that for him I pen,
Only a dad, but the best of men"
Last Stanza from Edgard Guest's Poem "Only a Dad" See complete poem
Just a thought
about Twilight.
It is sunny; in creeps the night
To create the time, we call Twilight.
A time to reflect upon events today,
Some we will remember, most go away.
Awaiting a sunny
day after all the rain.
The Sun is out; light is bright.
Truly a most pleasant sight,
But soon the days, dimming light,
Precludes a glimpse of arriving night.
The night brings an endearing sound
Of crickets and frogs all around.
The music of this natural rhapsody,
Is meant for you as well as me.
A loss of memory,
A loss of love,
The pain, intense,
coming from above.
I must be dead, in your eyes.
No more whispers, no more sighs.
No more words, no good byes
And now I'm at my demise.
The love that once was there,
Has vanished now, into the air.
A sad lament, I must say.
I will learn to love another day.
There are sometimes,
in this life we lead,
where reality feeds,
into a fantasy.
Don't be afraid,
She said to me,
For life or death
Will always be
One that will
Soon, set us free.
The pain I feel
Deep within my soul,
Feels like I'm on the
Edge of the rabbit hole.
So here we go, Alice,
Without command.
Down the hole
To Wonderland.
The sands trickle quickly,
through the hourglass flask,
as our life slowly expires,
just like any other daily task.
Time passes as we change,
to a more mature version of
our younger selves,
and here we are, once more.
I will no longer allow, myself to succumb,
To that path, when I was young,
Fearing not, if I lived or died,
For it mattered not, if I tried
To have drinks, dance or race cars,
Beneath the dark sky, with sparkling stars.
My memories, of these events, grow dim;
My youth, is no longer a whim
Or fancy affair of daring, so odd,
As I have now, finally found God.
Praise the Lord, for these wonderful things,
As I truly do live amongst kings,
With friends, of long standing, near,
No longer, is it death I fear.
Ah, how poets sing and die!
Make one song and Heaven takes it;
Have one heart and Beauty breaks it;
Chatterton, Shelley, Keats, and I
—Ah, how poets sing and die!
Anne Bethel Spencer (born Bannister) (1882 – 1975). American poet, teacher, civil rights activist, librarian, and gardener. She was born in Henry County, Virginia. She was the first Virginian and one of three African American women included in the highly influential Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry (1973). Her writing was elegant and of the classical style. While a librarian at the all-black Dunbar High School, a position she held for 20 years, she supplemented the original three library books by bringing others from her own collection at home. She was an important member of the Harlem Renaissance and she was instrumental in reviving the chapter of the NAACP in Lynchburg, Virginia, along with her husband Edward, close friend Mary Rice Hayes Allen and others.
This poem is in the public domain.
Writing words,
I do implore,
for forgetting them,
they are no more.
There are piles of words, here,
Laying on the floor.
So many words, to choose from
Without opening up the door.
So why then, do I scramble
To find a single word, to adore,
Instead of my babbling, ramble
Of those things, that are no more?
Block the Sun,
from my eyes,
for my feeling now,
are tears and sighs.
Long will I wonder,
long will I care,
about my love,
I would share.
Deep inside,
this chest
of mine,
lies a shard,
of a
broken heart.
"Anguish becomes,
thee",
said no one.
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