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Writing Space
In a quiet room by candle light I scribe my poems in the night And hope that what they have to say Can hold their own at break of day Of the author not much is known Wise man or fool, I know not which Scratched on paper for one alone Written for pleasure not to be rich.
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Ice Cream Made Fun
A bit of ice cream sounds real nice On a hot, steamy, summer day. Some plain vanilla will suffice. Want more? Add goodies, don’t delay. Chocolate shaved from a candy bar, Handfuls of nuts, butterscotch chips, Honey poured from a plastic jar, Each one of these will add some zip. Simple mouth-watering flavors Mixed together are more tasty Than all the other thirty-one. And, making them is added fun.
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Sleeplessness
Sleep is such a slippery beast It’s hard to catch and hard to keep Some search for it all night long Only to find it at break of dawn Some avoid it only to find It sneaks up on them in the night
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Bike Soccer
The lot was empty, no cars at all The perfect time for a game of ball They hopped on their bikes two to a team For a game that many consider extreme They pedaled their bikes as fast as they could Trying to get the ball twixt two pieces of wood The screech of the tires as they make their turns The squeal of the brakes as they pull up short All of these actions made their hearts churn All the excitement in the name of the sport Bobby hit the ball with his back wheel Timmy kicked it as he whistled by The game was played with much zeal Neither team wanted to end in a tie Billie stretched up and took a header While Jimmie blocked with his body and bike It was hard to tell which team was better Both of them played so much alike All these shenanigans under the sun Was just the act of kids having fun The ball went up and down the lot The contest was tough and well fought All four were victors there in the end ’cause all had fun playing with friends
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What’s in a Dream
Ofttimes dreams are shadows of our lives We try to make sense of what happened through them Even though as hard as we strive We still have trouble seeing through them We look at them backwards and sometimes sideways We turn them around to see what can be found Only to see they’re made out of clay Perfectly molded and very profound Some dreams are a way to clean out a wound So deep inside us we know nothing of it We prod and we pry while safely cocooned In a warm bed with blankets upon it When we awaken, the dreams that we had Slip through our fingers as though they were water And as quiet as the softest foot-pad Tiptoe away to scheme and plot more
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Graduation Elation
A group of young adults Have journeyed far together They’ve been through many trials Shed tears of joy and pain But to look at their results One need not question whether They can last the miles And their friendship still maintain Their cum laudes they’ve collected Along with their degrees They go their separate ways New adventures for to find With hopes to stay connected Though divided by the seas They meet up for holidays To be wined and dined
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Words Not Spoken Enough
Some words aren’t said nearly enough This tends to make the world too gruff If we would say them more often Perhaps people’s hearts would soften Give credit where credit is due When someone creates something new Or if it’s been around for a while Acknowledge that with a smile Let someone know they did a good job Speak a kind word to someone who sobs When’s the last time you said one of these Give it a try, you’ll find it’s a breeze
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No Place Compares to Home
Sidney’s Opera House is exquisite, A truly great place to visit The Louvre has many masterpieces But none so beautiful as my nieces The food sellers of Turkish streets With all their scrumptious tasting sweets Have nothing on mom’s home cooking A point I cannot overlook London’s impressive Big Ben Cannot keep time near so well As the unheard dinner bell Of the pooch sleeping in my den India during its Pujas Cannot compare to my grand poo-bah Relaxing in his reclining chair These are the things about which I care Written in response to the Daily Prompt
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A Tech Free Day at the Airport
Stuck at the airport My flight was delayed I feel discomfort But hold it at bay I sit down in a chair To check my e-mail The signals not there I try again to no avail I’ll move to the door And try it once more Perhaps all the metal Is blocking the signal What shall I do With this time on my hands I’m cut off from the zoo And all its demands I look round at others To see what they do The sons and the mothers Stand waiting there too We try desperately To connect our devices Only to be Cut off from our vices A muttered phrase there Another elsewhere We soon comprehend We have time on our hands How shall we behave Without electronics The attention we gave Through all our clicks Now must go elsewhere To people around us To sounds in the air And all that surrounds us It starts with hello And what is your name This loss is a blow And I feel the same As we take a walk And we start to talk Of things that we’ve done And what we do for fun It goes beyond names And…
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Pygmalion’s Love
Pygmalion gave his love a form A living statue carved by knife Not of woman was she born But by Aphrodite granted life A love that’s true as true can be And beautiful for his eye to see Loyal companion constantly All of this and more was she