Happy New Year to Family and Friends ...

At Christmas -- Remembering Dudley

At Christmas

by Audrey Austin

Through multi-paned window\

Brown eyes wishing, praying,

Desire to be inside on carpet near fireside,

To hear what they say,

To watch children play.

The children are happy, Santa has been most kind

Gifts galore on the floor just inside the door

But I feel all alone on the other side,

My feelings are injured and so is my pride.

Then finally it happens

Susan asks where is Spot?

Bobby cries come here boy and share in our joy

It’s not Christmas without you, we love you a lot.

I lift freezing paw tap, tappity, tap

On the window. At last she looks up,

Oh, Bobby, you’ve left him outside in the cold, Susan scolds

Just before the big door swings wide.

Now through multi-paned window I watch snowflakes dancing

I lay, tail wag-wagging. I’m loving my life,

Christmas carols entrancing,

Outside reindeer are prancing,

Let me stay on the inside so there’s nothing I’ll miss,

Another dog’s Christmas and life is pure bliss.

Remembering Dudley

Three poems by poet, Joyce Jones

by Joyce Jones from Marshmellow Softness and Rock Hard Taffy © 2012

Three poems presented below.  Xlibris, pub; Susan Polk, Editor; Cover Art by Tori Egherman.   www.xlibris.com to order copies. 

THE HAUNT   p. 79

 

You haunt me like the breeze

Among the trees softly whispering.

Flashing in my thoughts

the love that was before you

the wide open love that

encompassed, surrounded and

then let me go. 

You haunt me like the flutter of my heart

and the scars on my kneeling knees

the hoarse, dry throat

begging love to stay.

My body shivers

in memory of

blooming love songs

recalling the melody

the sweet harp and lute

a lure to love. 
 

Going round & round & round

tickling and amusing

the harp twinges

taunting and teasing

your fingers play my skin

your tongue wanders deep in

syncopated rhythmns

like a mix of cool jazz

stir the gospels of life

more definitive than Aretha’s wail. 

Along the curve of the flowing satin negligee

tears drop like rain mist

clouding my day with promises not kept.

 

Threatening my tomorrows 

You haunt me with blessed

assuredness

throughout the day and night

In all seasons

You are there

Solemnly

persistently reminding

love will come, but not today.

High Stakes     p.56 

 

Loving you

regardless

of the consequences

has taken its toll.

Already, I prepare

that part of me

that clings

so longingly

to you,

for the sacrifice

of letting you go.

Besides

another woman

can best serve

your need for

total affection,

the kind

that drains and

leaves no room for me

to care for me.

Another woman

too new to know

can love you

regardless of

the consequences.  

Triumph     p. 13 

Corseted passions

 

unleased by Cupid’s charm

leads to

cascades of feelings

that

swirl in fanciful parade. 

We strut to the

melodious tones

that bare once bridled desires.

Both lean on the edge of

anticipation

as the romance unfolds.

 

 

Eleven, Eleven - a poem by Audrey Austin: previously published in Northern Ontario Poetry Collection, "Arising From The Mist" Volume 17, 2012

ELEVEN, ELEVEN

 

Eleven, Eleven dances a polka

Round and round in my head

It's not pizza I crave

Of that I am sure

There is never a nine, six or seven.

 

Eleven, Eleven, it's there again

At once I remember my sister

And others who passed

On their way through my heart

Before journeying on toward heaven.

 

Eleven, Eleven, I feel the connection

No reason but trust with blind faith

And savour the moment

In loving remembrance

Of loved ones so precious

'Til we will meet again.

Merry Christmas!

MERRY CHRISTMAS

 

TO

 

YOU

 

FROM AUDREY

 

AT

RHYMES and TIMES

REMEMBERED

 



Cocoons -- a poem by Marlon de Souza

Cocoons

Cocoons within cocoons

never stirring,

for fear of meeting reality.

Let's go on a ride where the music is fine

and the wind in our face puts a chill in our spine.

We'll stumble along till we learn to walk,

then we'll fly away from our safe little rock.

We reach new heights along the way,

this bold new ride is here to stay.

We see below cocoons on the shore,

washed up memories of a time before

that kept us hidden within the womb,

a safe cocoon that became a tomb.

So on we fly to we know not where,

the path ahead is a fun-filled scare.

Cocoons, cocoons

never stirring, never stirring

never, never, never stirring...

cocoons within cocoons

never stirring.

© 2012 Marlon de Souza. All rights reserved.

Marlon de Souza is a writer and artist based in New York City. More of his work can be found on http://www.JustAnotherAveragePerson.com and Facebook http://www.facebook.com/JustAnotherAveragePerson

The Response ... a poem by Susan Ruby K.

The question:  Is there anything you cannot or will not eat?

 

The Response

 

I will not eat fish heads.

I will not eat mould.

I will not eat dog food.

If it's frozen or cold.....

I will not eat cardboard.

I will not eat paste.

I will not eat drain scraps

Or brown bits of waste...

I will not eat plastic.

I will not eat poop.

I will not eat clothing

Or ink turned to soup...

Other than these

All sound great to my belly

Thank you for asking

Now pass me the jelly...

Susan Ruby K. is a writer/artist/illustrator.  Check out her website at http://yuneekpix.com

Minor Ailments -- a poem by Eva Ruby Austin

MINOR AILMENTS

 

As I was doing Christmas shopping

One bright and sunny day

I came upon an old time friend

Who used to live up my way.

 

We chatted a while on the corner

Then as she turned away

I inquired how her health had been

And then I heard her say ....

 

"I guess there's not much the matter with me,

But I'm not as well as I used to be.

I have the cricks in both of my knees

And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze;

 

My pulse is weak and my blood is thin,

But I'm pretty good for the shape I'm in.

Arch support I have for both my feet

Or I wouldn't be able to go on the street.

 

Sleep is denied me night after night,

And every morning I am a sight,

My memory is failing, my head's in a spin

I spend a lot of money on aspirin.

 

My heart beats fast when I climb the stairs

I take kinks in my knees when I say my prayers;

My teeth are loose, and my feet are sore,

It nearly kills me to walk to the store.

 

But all in all -- I'm not bad you know,

I can walk a mile, if I go right slow,

You asked how I was, so now you know!

Goodbye dear friend, I have to go."

Merry Christmas

Mountains and Countryside ..... a poem by Audrey Austin

previously published in Penpourri: Elliot Lake Writers' Workshop Anthology of Stories and Poems (2011)

                                                          

 

 

MOUNTAINS AND COUNTRYSIDE

 

Close your eyes

Open your heart

Come journey with me now.

Take my hand

Don't be afraid

No need to question how.

The first step is the hardest

I truly understand

So we'll take this walk together

Walking hand in hand.

 

We'll walk beside still waters

We'll rest beneath the tree

How loving was our Father

To provide for you and me

The beauty of this countryside

The river's gentle current

All fears are gone

The Power of One

Encounters no deterrent.

 

And now we face a mountain

No mountain is too high

We will meet the challenge

And we will touch the sky

Earth and Heaven meet

Faithful hearts rely

On the hand outstretched to guide

And with courage we abide.

The Desert by poet, Jose Battan ......

Jose Battan •fine it is! I am sending a piece. Find how :
THE DESERT


FIELDSHOP

After the long story I slept on the hot sands,
Tired, an empty mind and body,
All vigour flown out-
Sweeping winds and hot flesh massed over,
She told her tales,
A thousand nights more,
Long thousand nights:
“I ain’t like your tales”,
And still she told her tales-
A thousand nights more
And on the first, kill her.

After the long story I slept on the hot sands,
I dreamt of hot flesh,
Hiding black mice,
Plaguing black death
Tired, I sleep
My wine finished, the desert remains,
A memory to remain,
As a mirage of the oasis,
Far through time unborn.

After the long story I slept on the hot sands,
In the lap of love,
Strangled by fascination,
Amidst fuming smoke,
Gyrating in space,
Plaguing black death.
And the idiot told her tales-
Of sound and fury,
Of hollow caves and mating dogs.


After the long story I slept on the hot sands,
Tired in mind and body,
A thousand nights more
And on the first, kill her.

***********************************************


JOSE BATTAN
josebattan@yahoo.co.in

Special thanks to poet, Greg Laurenceson, for granting permission to post his untitled poem ......

If it is true
as they say
that passing a stone
is much like
giving birth

(and I have
no reason
to dispute this
statement)

please consider this
as the beginning
of an understanding
and a belated apology

to all women everywhere

for everything

INSPIRATION -- a poem by Audrey Austin

INSPIRATION is previously published in Northern Ontario Poetry Collection, Volume Sixteen, 2011 - Scripted Inspiration ...

INSPIRATION

By Audrey Austin

Inspired to fly above the tasks that make dreams plummet I follow my eyes which do ascend
 to a private place
High above a humdrum habit of living a life that forbids a star to rise above the horizon,
My eyes grow deaf. My ears are blind.
At last I peer with God’s odd look at dirt below and see that secret site
deep beneath the magical hope of being all I am meant to be.

From lofty heights with arms extended I hang suspended staring down at God’s good earth,
That place where mother did give birth to such a one as me.
It’s warm up here despite the cool of lonely being all alone.

No one can see my frightened face that meets the ground,
that sacred space beneath the heights to which I’ve risen with great strain
only to realize I must go back.

I must go home since there are those who do depend
Upon my role which wraps in boxes needful things to hold them close
so that I dare to feel important, bigger than I’m meant to be.

My desire to linger here while gazing down on all held dear is crushed
by knowing that it’s true, yes, I am me and you are you.

Return decreed I teach my reach to draw arms close and stop the flailing.
I must descend, inspired no more, reality opens up the floor,
the drum of hum beats down the door.  I’m going home
To dream once more.

aequam servare mentem ... a poem by Maggie Kirton

aequam servare mentem 

twisted strands

a taste of spit

a single blue egg

in the center of it 

mother sits tranquil

her beating heart sings

to her child in the egg

about wind and its wings 

the warmth of her feathers

genesis stirred

aequam servare mentem

the birth of a bird

Links to blogs ....

The following are the links to my three blogs:

http://writecreatively.blogspot.com

http://smalltownauthors.blogspot.com

http://rhymesandtimesremembered.blogspot.com

A Trip To Wertheim -- a poem by Maggie Kirton

A poem by Maggie Kirton:

A Trip To Wertheim

 

The penny dropped from her hand

the first of three

into the wishing well below

And she wished she could stay

forever

she wished the sun

would never stop shining

would never stop warming

the smooth cobblestones

beneath her feet

but mostly

she wished she could stay

forever

An ocean away

stood the house

and its rooms

and its secrets

An ocean away

bred the discharge

the pus of dysfunction

An ocean away

very far away

And so mostly

she wished she could stay

forever

 

She gazed towards the hill

way up near the top

and spotted the walls

broken

half there

half not
The stones of its existance

shone pale and pinkish

in the sun

of a new day

Smooth to the touch

warm and smooth

 

From the wide of the well below

she gazed towards the hill

Her feet followed the gaze

uncontrolled

unbeckoned

they simply knew where to go

They led her

unhurried

embracing the warmth

of the cobblestones

with every step

of little bare feet

up

towards the hill

 

She passed the quaint shops

of cheeses

and fish

and breads

and things

She inhaled the fragrances of them

of the river

its shore

its people

and their boats

She exhaled the venom

bred by the dysfunction

and the anger

and confusion

in the house

an ocean away

She felt herself become clean

cleaner with every step

that led her

up

towards the hill

 

Alone she climbed the pathway

steep and steeper

lined with the sisters

of the cobblestones below

warmed by the same sun

worn smooth by the same wind 

The change jingled in her pocket

two pennies

one for the well above

and the other

for the well below

for on the way back down

back home

where she wished to stay

forever

Her hand ran along the railings

little fingers

leading her up

up and higher

to the very top

and there she would enter

the broken walls

of the broken castle

Ah! but the dreams that remained

honest

believable

living dreams

within those broken stones

She straddled the wall

at the far side

sat precariously on it

One foot just inches from safety

the other

playing with the air

between her toes

of the cliff

a thousand miles

straight down

She searched the horizon

for nothing important

just looking

just searching

for something

for nothing

Time passed slowly

upon the sunwarmed rocks

lazy and sweet

dripping with insignificance

and curiosity

and little bare feet

swinging back and forth

 

The penny dropped from her hand

into the wishing well above

in the center of the courtyard

where she counted

until she heard it fall

to the bottom

a long fall

a long count

And she wished again

the same wish

 

Then once again

back in the center of town

she would drop the last penny

into the well below

and wish yet again

as every day

three times

for the same thing

 

She would meet her grandfather there

as every day

with open arms

a gleeful cheer

a small public display

unembarrased

unashamed

unstoppable

And from there they would shop

for the meals

and the snacks

of the day

With her hand in his

they walked home

laden with bags

in the morning sun

her bare feet

caressing the warm cobblestones

her eyes searching out his face

He had only one

one look in his eye

no need for another

never

it was a matter of trust

An ocean away was mistrust

broken and writhing

But here

with the wishing wells

and her grandfather

she was safe to dream

and hope

and smile

and to engrave in her mind

deeply

the sights

and sounds

and smells

of the castle

the sun

the river

its shores

its people

and their boats.

Here

she could be clean

and happy

unbruised

woundless

strong

with her hand in his

her grandfather

with one face

the same every time

she looked into his eyes 

Her bare feet

caressed the cobblestones

their simplicity

as they walked home

together

where she wished

a little wish

again today

that she could stay

forever

Christmas 2012 - a poem by Eleanor Lambert in Bermuda ....

  A Christmas Poem by Eleanor Lambert:

CHRISTMAS 2012

It’s Christmas time again,
                             the most wonderful time of the year,

As we celebrate the Birth of our Saviour
                             we all hold so dear.

It’s a time when families and friends
                             can all come together,

To reminisce, laugh, and sing Carols
                             no matter what the weather.

It’s a time to give especially to those in need
                              and those we love,

As we give special thanks for the many blessings
                             from God above.

It’s a time to forgive so that we in turn
                             may be forgiven,

It’s time to help the sick, and those
                             who are bed-ridden.

There truly is so much suffering
                               in our world today.

At this special time let’s do our best
                               to help along the way.

It’s true to say from our hearts
                                without a shadow of doubt

He is always here to bless us as we reach
                                 to help others out.

Many years have passed since that first Christmas Morn.

When our Saviour Jesus Christ came to earth to be born.

We’ve been through happy times;
                                   we’ve been through sad,

Even with our loved ones gone, He filled the void
                                   to make us glad.

Just to be alive, happy, and free is more than enough reason,
 

                                  To shout to all

        “JESUS IS THE REASON FOR THE SEASON”

                          “MERRY CHRISTMAS”