Category: Poetry and other deep thoughts

who was that guy

He walked around in sandals and a robe

and performed miracles around the globe

He healed the sick and the blind, and even came back from the dead

at least that’s what he said.

I think his friends called him ‘Earl’

He bragged about being known throughout the world

and how he had so much to give…

at least in the mental hospital where he lived.

……………………………………………………………..

I wonder what would happen if Jesus did come back? Would we take him serious, or would someone lock him up for sounding crazy? Would he even make it that far? Suppose some woman did become pregnant, not for her husband, but as she would put it, ‘for God’, would her husband stick around, or accuse her of cheating? Would she even get to the point of giving birth or abort the baby?

These days, most kids (and adults) even doubt the presence of God in their world. Schools have removed religious education from their courses, crosses are removed, and prayer is banned. Hell, these days you can’t even wish someone Merry Christmas…for fear of offending.

Jesus, if you are planning on coming back, I think this is a good time….

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

water droplets

PHOTO PROMPT – © Santoshwriter
PHOTO PROMPT – © Santoshwriter

water droplets on a leaf

The bugs get to the water first.

Our rivers and streams are polluted

and now the world is dying of thirst.

We send so much shit up into the skies

that we cannot drink from our water supplies.

But the bug, he knows he can survive

because he knows nature will always provide.

Dripping faucets and barking dogs

PHOTO PROMPT – © Madison Woods
PHOTO PROMPT – © Madison Woods

Drip Drip Drip goes the faucet

as I try my best to sleep.

The neighbour’s dog is barking

and so is the mutt up the street.

I tried warm milk, counted every sheep on old MacDonald’s Farm

and still I lay awake, waiting for the morning alarm.

On the clock in front of me

a one changes to a two, and then into a three

Two cups of strong coffee in the morning

and groggy until the next night

falling asleep wherever I go, can’t wait to make it right

until I hit the bed and already I know

I won’t sleep tonight.

This annoying little poem is how I spent my night and is also my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers. Click on the link to read more stories in this week’s collection.

Under the Sycamore Tree

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook
PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

He would pick daisies for her

as they walked along the road.

The water under the bridge rushed

but he didn’t.

He would hold her hand

and they would lie

under the Sycamore tree,

staring at the sky

and dreaming

of their future.

Then one fateful day

he got a letter

from Uncle Sam.

He was called to fight

in a war that made no sense.

she cried

and he tried

to make the best

of the situation.

in ’73

he returned

battered and bruised

inside and out.

Ellen was gone

and so was the sycamore tree

nothing  but a memory.

This tragic little story is brought to you by Rochelle Wiseoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers. Please follow the link below for more stories.

The Old Rusty Car

Walking through a field one day

amongst the old wrecks that lay

rotting into the ground,

I happened upon a pile of rust

in the shape of a car.

What history lay here, in front of me

grass growing through the floor

bird droppings on the smashed windshield

seats ripped and torn and blood stained.

The front bumper was bent in the middle,

as if it collided with a tree.

Inside I seen candy bar wrappers and pop bottles and a broken toy

a baseball hat, a broken bat, and a skipping rope on the floor.

And beneath the driver’s seat I spot the culprit

an empty whiskey bottle.

 

 

 

 

The Long Walk

I watched as they took him

cuffs holding both his hands

they led him into the court room

and somebody took the stand.

She took one look at Ol’ Charlie

and hollered “Yes, that is the man”

and the judge gave his decision

and they led him down the line.

Legal Aid lawyer

couldn’t look him in the eye

he just bowed his head in pity

and let out a long sigh.

Ol’ Charlie, he didn’t do it

but nobody gave a damn

when they sent that guy to prison

they sent up an innocent man.

 

summertime memories

Frilly dresses and rose petals

and soft hair

with plastic butterfly buckles;

she was always so positive

and happy.

Nobody could hurt her

she never shed a tear;

even when her parents abused her.

Her spirit was strong

she was picked on

because she was different

and because

she smelled like summertime;

and that’s why I loved her.

Years passed,

we grew older

and went separate ways.

A lover left her with

two daughters to raise.

She did it on her own,

independent and strong,

they moved on,

and then she broke down

and cried

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Running through the buttercups

Back before all the houses

and all the new people

there was a large open field

where we used to run

and play

She would arrive barefoot

my shoes would soon go

and we would run through the buttercups

once I got stung

by a bumblebee

it’s nothing, you see

she said

for what I thought was pain

was nothing compared to what she had seen

and felt

in her short life

she was five

and I was six

and we ran though the buttercups

until our feet were yellow

my mom would laugh

and help me clean my feet

she would be punished

as if it were a crime

I wouldn’t see her for days

but when she came back

we would run through the buttercups

 

To Mom

They were poor folks back then, raising cattle and hens, their father finding work wherever he could, struggling to make ends meet.

The family was large, but not for the time. Eleven kids, six girls and five boys. Mom and dad made it thirteen.

A one room school served the entire community, and church law was law.  Nobody challenged the school master. She was a nun from a nearby village, and her scorn was cruel and pointless.

Kids grew up and stayed on as farmhands, they didn’t venture away from home to find themselves.

Her dad drank a lot back then, it was the way. Women stayed home to tend to the farm and take care of the kids, the men partied when times were hard and worked when they could.

She wanted something different for her kids, something better. Unlike most, she never dropped out of school and married young. Rather, she finished high school and left home to teach others.

This journey brought her to a bigger town than she ever imagined. From there she met a man who she loved from the start. She married him.

They built a small house in a small community and started a family. They both struggled financially as she gave up teaching and he worked odd jobs and drove cab.

The town began to prosper, and he got a job as a logger for a local sawmill. Times were getting a bit easier, but as times got better, the family grew. Money was short, but she managed what little they had and they were happy.

As the kids grew, there was hope for a brighter future. Some went off to college, some married and raised families.

Now they are in their senior years, and they are happy. Grand kids adorn their home on weekends, and they spend each day together, celebrating their love for one another.  Today we are gathering at their home, bringing cards and gifts and mostly love.

Happy Mothers Day Mom, we love you so much.

an overdue tribute

A bright young man

raised in a small  town

in Newfoundland

His future was bright

no end in sight

he left home for the big city

This was 1950

Hey there Matey

He joined the Navy

and quickly became a man

On the Canadian Warship Athabaskan 

Being green and too shy

he hung with the wrong group of guys

They used his naivety as a distraction

They barred him in the hold

for three days I was told

causing the young man pain and grief

he questioned his sanity and beliefs.

sitting alone in the dark

without even a spark

lots can happen to a man’s mind that way

Years of counselling at hospitals and the VA

on drug and shock therapy that was experimental

one day he left the hospital

He returned to the island, to start a new life

in a few years he met his wife

He got a job with the railway

and passed the days away

and for once, he enjoyed his life

but bouts of depression

and drugs set to stimulate

or even manipulate

the very thoughts that haunted his sleep.

Regular visits to the doctor

took away his honor

When nothing worked, he hit a wall

Tried twice to end  it all

or to get someone to listen to his Plea

and then finally, a doc from the other side of the world figured it out

PTSD

and all of a sudden he got help

and with this new found peace

his life took a new lease

a chance to live happily

and he settled down and had a family

to his three daughters he gave the world

but would not utter a word

about his past in the Canadian Navy

or his being considered ‘crazy’.