A Blessing At Ground Zero
Fire and Ground Zero,
the lives of many of New York’s
finest were lost.
The Pope spoke with and
prayed for 24 today.
A brother of a man from Ladder
114 met with the Pope.
He stood for Jimmy,
who was found by him
and his father 6 years ago.
The brother spoke to the Pope,
selected out of many, hopefully
healing will come
4 Brothers, and a father
before, them wore the uniform.
“God bless you ,”
said the pope.
3 brothers remain
in the uniform,
fighting fires,
for Jimmy.
Ground Zero,
In memory of the ,
fallen heroes, sacred
resting place for many souls.
April 20, 2008
Broken Heart
Collateral damage,
brings the sober truth
after
lives torn apart
The heartbreaking trauma of
Divorce
Illness
Emotional pain
Death
of emotion,
of trust,
of love,
of life.
“Sorry I meant to say”,
Falls so flat.
The heart is just an organ
But so fragile in emotion,
In life.
I carry your heart
in my heart.
April 19, 2008
| Today is Poem in your pocket day, as mentioned by Michelle over at Poefusion To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time | | |
| by Robert Herrick | ||
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, | ||
Throw It Out With the Trash
Throw it out,
I can’t think.
Throw it out,
I just blink.
Throw it out,
not the baby.
Throw it out,
with the trash.
Throw it out,
empty egg cartons.
Throw it out,
empty promises.
Throw it out,
hollow words.
Throw it out,
writer’s block.
Throw it out,
can’t even talk.
Throw it out,
without your clout.
Throw it out,
In a pinch.
Throw it out,
life’s a cinch.
Throw it out,
old dirty sock.
Throw it out,
big red rock.
Throw it out,
what a rout.
Throw it out,
don’t you pout.
Throw it out,
old sour milk.
Throw it out,
moth-eaten silk.
Throw it out,
dirty diaper pail.
Throw it out,
piles of mail.
Throw it out,
lines not written.
Throw it out,
dreams not lived.
Throw it out,
trips not taken.
Throw it out,
chances passed by.
Throw it out,
days I’ve wasted.
Throw it out,
regrets of yesterday
Throw it out,
long carried grudges
Throw it out,
anger expressed hastily.
Throw it out,
my self- doubt.
Throw it out,
week old trout.
Throw it out,
without a doubt.
April 12, 2008
Secret Agent
The paper fell down from the window as a butterfly,
it was barely legible, going through a vapor of steam,
steam from a vaporizer that calmed the babies cry.
I woke up suddenly, wishing it was only a bad dream.
The dampness of my sweat completely soaked my hair,
while the train I rode on passed by a lake,
and like the young foal of a mare
the train was carrying me to my rendezvous, I am late.
This steam drenched paper must prove more than a test,
what will I gather from the papers to create?
Among the secret documents I’ve now found a mess,
enough to keep the KGB agent from thinking he can sedate
me and keep from thinking their scheme
was more than a pile of broken wicker.
Prompt from Poefusion using the format, Bout-Rimes, with the words:
The words are:
butterfly, steam, cry, dream
hair, lake, mare, late
test, create, mess, sedate
scheme, wicker
Bout-Rimes is French for "rhymed ends." A bouts- rimes poem is created by one person's making up a list of rhymed words and giving it to another person, who in turn writes the lines that end with those rhymes, in the same order in which they were given.
Exciting Routines
Trash,
who needs it anyway.
You have to always,
Go out and dump it,
it smells and is messy.
Then you have to remember
to put it out to the curb,
on the right night,
with the right combo of cans,
“Is it green waste or
is it recycling this week?”
Mail,
now that’s another exciting topic.
Our mail man loves us,
Always having to stuff our mail
into our box.
It’s his guilty pleasure.
One time he cut us off.
My wife had to go down and pick it up,
And he caught her there:
“I know you, “ he said, startling
and embarrassing her as
he handed the huge stack to her.
We love to let it pile up on the counter….
April 5, 2008
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