He stood on the edge of a suburb, where house windows faced an expanse

Of bushes and forest and small hills; and readied himself, with a chance.

He stood on the edge of a sunset, with houses not far from his rocks,

And somehow the sunset was lengthened, slowed up through a trick of the clocks.

He harnessed the wings he had fashioned, aware they’d permit him to glide,

But never to fly any higher; and planned his penultimate ride.

The suburb he’d wandered for decades had come to its outermost edge.

He felt like a pioneer, waiting for strength to step out from the ledge.

Around him the movement of minutes had now (from his viewpoint) grown slow.

But night can’t be held back forever, since time need continue its flow.

The slowdown had only extended the best hour of one summer’s day,

With sunburn unlikely, and also an hourglass providing delay.

Recalling his visits to galleries, with sunsets of canvas and paint;

He’d never seen anything like this, as time showed its generous restraint.

The colours of twilight would summon orion to twinkle and shine.

For once that could wait until someone had soared over branches and vine.

He bent his legs quickly and kicked out, so eager to see so much more.

Beneath him were fresh summer breezes; and he took his first chance to soar.

He curved over treetops, and wondered if branches beneath them were sharp.

With everything else in slow motion, he somehow could still hear a harp.

He veered in another direction, to mansions built next to the fern;

And spied, on a balcony-courtyard, the one who had caused him to turn:

A feminine woman, whose music was flowing in relative synch

With time’s little gift for the glider, who knew he had no need to think.

He had enough height left, and reached her, as nightfall and real time were set

Concurrent with both of them, once more; its duty done once, they had met.

Like him she’d spent all those years waiting, unaltered by children or change;

So both could embrace their fulfilment, which destiny chose to arrange.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at HAVENFLIGHT.

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I’m in love with fall

I love the changes

That comes in the fall

With raucous cheering

While watching football.

The beauty of trees

Leaves so eye appealing

So eager to please,

 Decked out in Jacobs’s coat

Fluttering in the breeze.

Crisp apples snapping

With every bite,

 And cut out pumpkins glowing bright

The aromic odors

Of the baking pies

Tantalizing whiffs that brightens the eyes.

And of course

Turkey in the oven stuffing inside

The cook and family beaming with pride.

Thomas Fenning

Saturday, October 31, 2009

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at I’m in love with Fall.

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When I was young, there was a song-”when I leave The World Behind”-
I’ll leave the sunshine, for the summer-
I’ll leave the tree tops, for the breeze,
I’ll leave the moon above, for those in love-

When I leave the world, behind!

I’ll leave the moonlight, for the dreamers,
I’ll leave the great ships for the seas-
And for the “Old Folks” I’ll leave the memory
Of a baby upon their knees!

Ill leave the grainfields for the harvest-
ill leave the rows of russeling corn!
ill leave the skies of drifting rain-
ill leave the old daus for your memories,
When I leave the world behind!

Ill leave a path for you to follow,
In these little songs of mine-
Ill leave the golden leaves of autumn-
When I leave the world behind!

Ohmother laughs an mother chaffs, but mother dont know thin-
How aweful dirty Fritize was when he began to sing!

Ill leave the sunshine for the flowers-
Ill leave the roses for the dew-
Ill leave the moonlight on the water-
When I leave the world to you!

Ill leave thses songs, Ill leave my fiddles,
Ill leave the old magnolia tree-
Ill leave the sighing winds of summer
When I leave the world to thee!

When I leave the world behind!

When the summer days are fading
And the gold hangs in the tree
When the prairie sunsets gleaming-
And the wind sings, longingly-
When the work is finally over-
And happy days are gone-
And you look across the grainfields-
Then you’ll remember me!

When the shades of twilight linger-
And the evening shadows long-
When the heart sings of the summer
When the golden years are gone-
When there can be no more dreaming-
And the golden years are gone-
In the last long days of summer-
Then you’ll remember me!

When the evening twilight lingers-
And the far off cattle bawl-
When its night time in Dakota-
In a dreary moonlit sky-
hen you sing the old songs over
From days that used to be-
When its nighttime on the prairie-
Then youll remember me!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at When I Leave This World Behind.

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I feel the the dew
from the fresh cut
grass beneath my
bare feet. The
sweet, alluring scent
of the blossoming
trees catches my
attention as the warm,
peaceful breeze wraps
me in comfort. I
find myself wondering
in a bed of flowers and
just in the middle stands
a delicate, red rose.
The divine beauty stands
as if it is about to speak
for itself. I awaken to
a beautiful spring morning
and walk outside to the
flower garden. Just in the
midst of the garden
Stands a beautiful, red rose.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at My Dream.

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The pheasants are starving in
four foot af snow!
With Northerners blowing, at
twenty below!
Out there in the Soil Bank, wher
snowdrifts are deep.
The pheasants are lying, for-
ever to sleep!

The news came from Washington,
right from the wire-
“Feed-the-poor-pheasants!” like
a prairie on fire!
John found a pheasant, its last
strength was shorn,
And it died in his hand, too late
to eat corn!

The pheasants get such a sad
gleam in their eyes,
When they take the last look, at
the wide open skies!
They can’t dig through snow, a
few weed-seeds forlorn,
And all that they need, a few
handfuls of corn!

The big Soil Bank acres, that’s
where they lay,
The snow is so deep, and they
can’t get away!
You find the big holes they dug,
struggling along,
With nothing to eat, and the
strawpiles are gone.

The spring-days are only a short
ways away–
The brook will be singing, where
soft breezes play:
The grainfields will wave, as the
warm wind goes by:
But not for the bird who looked
last at the sky.

They once were so happy, the
summer-days made
“A Garden of Eden!” in sunshine
and shade,
They died in a snowdrift, for-
saken, forlorn,
When no one came down the
road, bringing them, corn.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at “Save the Pheasants”.

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LAY DOWN THE BOOK;
To late a warning should begiven that the damn book is no good!
Don’t waste your time in LOOKING,
READER, SAY, AGREE WITH ME
And…. throw the book away!

KEATS wrote only one song-
How in the Meade
HE LIFTED THE YOUNG GIRL
UPON A STEED!
And LED THE HORSE, and watched
Her all the day-
While She would sideways lean
The hours away!

He took her to a CAVE-
The young and poor-
AND…..CLOSED HER WILD EYES
With….kisses four! ?????
They say the wild birds called-
And KEPT THE SCORE!
And SHE FELL IN LOVE-
UNTILL SHE CRIED FOR MORE!

IF YOU LOVE KEATS
Then seek and find this song-
Then LEAVE the book, to lay
For long..and…long;
Then when the SANDS OF TIME
ARE NEARLY GONE-
SEE MY ADDRESS-
SEND ME YOUR BRIGHTESTE SONG!

DO YOU LOVE KEATS?
I Loved him too, and we
Still wander
Through his Land of POETRY-
Each breeze across the trees-
Each singing bird-
Each gleaming sunset
Takes me to the times
WHEN ALL HIS GOLDEN DREAMS
WERE MIXED WITH MINE!

I found his BOOK-
When I was gray and old-
And this one fleeting song-
HELD ALL HIS GOLD!
And if you care to read KEATS
Yet like me-
READ THIS ONE SONG
Let all the others be!

HE MET HER WHERE THE HEARTS OF YOUTH BELONG;
SHE RODE THE STEED-
AND SANG A FAIRIE SONG!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at KEATS.

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I met her down beside a moonlit river;
We built a Home of Dreams, and happy days;
We did not say GOODBYE, and leave forever,
Our LOVE SONG still is there, in the Autumn Leaves!

When summers gold hangs on the tree-
She comes back through the moonlight, to me;
And far on the tide, long that old riverside,
GLEAMS THE BRIDGE THAT WE LOVED, made of gold!

They ALWAYS will be ours, those GOLDEN DAYS,
Nor all the YEARS can fade them into gray-
The moonlight still can light our path a ways-
The path that leads us back….to GOLDEN DAYS.

She come back through the moonlight, to me;
When Autumns Gold hangs on the tree-
WHEN AUTUMNS GOLD HANGS ON THE TREE-
And the night breezes sing of a far away Spring-
By the river with waves made of gold.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Golden Days.

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L ingering in the corner,
of this desolate night.

Mindful of the darkness,
as my eyes lose their sight.

Clouds cover and storm is near.
Passion is high as my heart fears.

Anticipating.
In my mind debating.

Wondering if it may be,
if in me he will see,
what words cannot declare.

Pacing and tracing the lines
to his heart.

In his eyes I will fall,
let go of it all.

Night is covering me,
smothering me,
as I await.

Slowly and coldly,
I fall to a slumber.
Alone I lie,
as my heart sighs.

As my love retreats,
he takes a seat.
I awake to his warmth,
as it covers me.

Quietly,
he sits next to me.
Silent words spoken,
to my heart that was once broken.

Silence mended,
understood what he intended.
Hearts blended,
as our warmth amended.

Lifted me,
in his arms to see.
Face to face in an unending embrace.

With such strength,
as he held,
in his arms I would melt.

He swept away the cold breeze,
underneath the swaying trees.

Gave away the lingering thoughts,
no longer distraught.
As I feel what is real,
his body near mine.

My heart and my mind,
no longer rewind.
The heart asunder is replaced,
with this embracing grace.

Meshed within,
flesh and skin.
Hearts and Minds,
together bind.

No longer to linger.
No desolate night.
Replaced by the coldness is our new plight.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Lingering.

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My Dream Place
There is a place I’d like to go
Where it’s
Always sunny
And there is no snow.
There is a field
Where the crops all grow.
In this place where there is no snow.
The ocean’s turquoise waters
A perfect match to the skies hue.
In this place I want to go
Where there is no snow.
The gentle breeze in this sunny clime
Is where I’d like to spend my time.
In this place where I want to go
Where there is no snow.
The air so clean
Fresh and sweet
Is where I’d like to plant my feet
In the place I’d like to go
Where there is no snow.
Tom Fenning
Friday, May 08, 2009

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at My Dream Place.

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Do you envision many paths? Do you wonder which one to take or where each one leads?What will it take; what will each path cost?

Can you see where it is that you want, and need, and should go? Are there others in tow? A miss step, a delay…another set back, another delay. Is the precarious really that precarious.

Only certainty for the certain and well-allotted.

Every measure is a measure of direction. A balance of chance, luck and good fortune. No not so benign a reality, but sometimes so close.

Happiness and fortune rest on a turn. sadness and despair beg chance to come near. The winds blow, chance changes and Life thinks about flipping a coin.

Win one, lose one…win , lose its a chance….its possible luck.

Blowing  sunbeams, clouds in the sky. Its a lovely day, a cool breeze.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Random.

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