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

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Should we?.

I wish to be amidst green mountains
And rivers that sing a flute
Away from all the din and tension
With just nature absolute

I wish to sit gazing day long
Across the deep blue oceans
As the gulls and pelicans fly over head
With no worry of recessions

I long to dine with serene herbivores
The fresh and juicy greens
And play and flip all day long
With no call for medicines

I wish to rest on cushioned clouds
Watching the starry skies
Oblivious of the world below
And all its complex lies

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Spread your wings.

And soon after his next birthday, her old mansion would be sold,

Since she died, and he would miss them both, as nine years changed the date.

He completed school, did two years work, and started college late.

(2)At the end of his first Uni year, he used semester break,

To get on his pushbike, ride ten miles, and use the street to take

Some new photographs of that old house, that stood in Memory Lane.

Then a lady pulled up in the drive, and Tom had to explain.

(3)So he told her how he’d visited his great aunt, and she’d died.

She invited him to take more pictures of the house inside.

They exchanged their names, and hers was Angel. She had long blond hair,

And she wore a dark blue dress, which caught his eyes and made him stare.

(4)Angel showed him in, and chatted, as the camera’s shutters moved

More than those beside the windows, and he noticed she approved

Of his dedicated efforts to preserve the life he’d known.

He used up his roll of film, while she was talking on the phone.

(5)He soon asked her if he could come back, when he had bought some more.

She took out an unused roll of film she’d kept in her desk drawer.

“You can have this as a gift, if you could stay for lunch as well,”

Angel told him, and he found himself enchanted by her spell.

(6)With her wedding ring to think of, he stayed focused on the shots

That he took of her interiors, while Angel warmed some pots.

She prepared a tasty pasta, which they ate, while she detailed

How she’d married, bought the house, and then her husband’s health had failed.

(7)For two years she’d been a widow, and the house was now a shrine,

And the memories of their lost loved ones would start to intertwine,

As a thirty year old widow, and a boy were growing fond

Of each other, with that mansion as a setting for a bond.

(8)He told stories of old visits there, and picnics on the lawn.

Then the sunlight shone upon her face, as Angel had to yawn.

She proposed that they might have the next day’s lunch out on the grass,

And he thought of Angel married, when those years had had to pass.

(9)Now they shared the common ground, specifically that block of land,

And the ghosts they knew that no-one else could ever understand.

He accepted her proposal, and soon bought a “Thank you” card,

And some chocolates, which he handed her, as they walked through her yard.

(10)They enjoyed the picnic lunch, and she invited him to stay,

For a chat up on the balcony, and let him lead the way.

She was thrilled by how he knew his way around each nook and cranny,

And he told her how he’d used the cellar once, to hide from Nanny.

(11)They walked out onto the balcony, and Tom said, “When I came,

I was glad to see the garden and the house looked just the same.

It feels just like fifteen years ago, on days when my great aunt

And I both looked out at every creeper vine and growing plant.”

(12)”Tom, you’re sweet to buy me chocolates,” Angel candidly responded,

“And it’s nice the way we’ve shared the stories of this house and bonded.

For the first time, I’ve met someone who has helped me break the seal,

Of the lonely widow syndrome, but I don’t know how you feel.”

(13)”I feel nice,” said Tom, “It’s special to be spending two days here.”

Angel thanked him and then asked, “But have I got the wrong idea?
What I mean, is: Do you like me, or do you just like this place?”

He had never had a girlfriend. Now this doll was giving chase.

(14)”Yes, I really like you, Angel. I’m just scared to mix my past

With a future that could hurt me, if your feelings might not last.”

Her mouth opened in surprise, and she said, “You’re the younger man.

But you’ve thought this out so deeply, since your visits here began.

(15)I have turned away proposals from each Dick, and every Harry,

But not every Tom, because you’re one, whom I would love to carry

Me across the threshold in the future, once we two have dated

For the next two years, until such time as you have graduated.”

(16)Tom said, “When I first met you, I was unnerved about one thing,

As I came to take the pictures, and I saw your wedding ring.

I still thought it would be wrong to interrupt your right to grieve.

With my photographs all taken, I decided I should leave.”

(17)”You don’t have to leave,” said Angel, “With your help, my grief has gone.

If you’d like to see some more of me, I’m ready to move on.”

“I sure would,” said Tom, “if I don’t disappoint you. Being new

To this dating thing, I guess you’ll have to teach me what to do.”

(18)Summer sun lit up the garden, but the balcony was shady,

As she smiled and moved towards him. “Have you ever kissed a lady?”

Angel asked. He said, “I’ve never had a girlfriend, so to speak. ”

Then she smiled, and put one hand behind his neck, and kissed his cheek.

(19)Then she placed her other arm around his back, and took the lead,

As she taught him every kissing move, until they both agreed,

That the time had come to move inside and use the couch instead.

They were both too clean in mind, to jump the gun, and use the bed.

(20)They sat on the couch, and felt the cushions underneath them dip,

And he ran each finger slowly over her soft lower lip.

They embraced, and felt their touching cheeks was unity assured,

As Tom realized this vacation would leave no time to be bored.

(21)She’d inherited a chain of fashion stores, that dealt in flowers

As a sideline to enhance the atmosphere in business hours.

As the owner, she could take time off, to coincide with his,

Angel told him, as she poured some lemonade that kept its fizz.

(22)With the daylight saving sunlight still to last for quite a while,

Angel’s bicycle and his went wheeling round, until a mile

Of her suburb had been covered, and he hazarded a guess

That her own department store supplied her flowery white long dress.

(23)”I designed this one myself,” she said, “with flowers in pale red.

They’re the same as those that grow around the mansion’s old back shed.

Then the “tailor made” department had it made in several days.

Will you let me read your college work: those stories, and the plays?”

(24)She was lost in everything he wrote; and used her drawing skill

To make illustrations for the novels he worked on, until

One book publisher, who’d previously turned his books away,

Had a change of heart, and knew that now the customers would pay.

(25)When his college course was finished, and he didn’t have to cram,

Putting dates with her on hold, the night before his last exam,

He rode out of university, a bachelor of study

Up to Angel’s suburb, skidding on some road that rain made muddy.

(26)He fell off the bike, and hit his head, and passed out on the road,

Where his girlfriend lived, while clouds above went into downpour mode.

Then eventually her car pulled up, when she came driving by,

And she thought that he was dead, and stroked his head, and had to cry.

(27)”Tom, I loved you more than even my old husband. It’s not fair,”

Angel wept, as he woke up, and felt her fingers on his hair.

“It’s alright. I skidded off the road, fell down, and then I must

Have collapsed, once I had hit my head, and ended up concussed.

(28)Roadside grass has saved me from a bruise. I’m glad you came and found

Me down here, and kept me safe, since there was no-one else around.”

She secured the car, and left it, and they walked the pushbike in,

And she bandaged his right hand with rolls of something soft and thin.

(29)Angel gently held his hands and said, “I thought I’d lost another,

And before we could get married.” Then she used her lips to smother

Him with countless lovely kisses. Tom said, “Does this really mean,

That you’re seriously willing to get married? I’m still keen.

(30)And in fact, that’s why I cycled up. I hope this isn’t rash.

Could you help me open this? My hands are clumsy from the crash.”

He took out a small container, and she lifted up the lid,

And she saw a wedding ring, and said, “Of course I’m still keen, kid.

(31)Now I guess it’s time to take this old ring off, and start anew.”

“You don’t need to take it off,” said Tom, “I’m sure there’s room for two,

Your first ring is on your right hand, as a memory and a token,

And this new one tells the world the sleeping widow has awoken.”

(32)”I can’t believe how sweet you are,” said Angel, “I’ll do what you’ve said,

Now I think you should lie down, since you just hurt your handsome head.

I’ll still stay and keep you company, and make some wedding plans.”

They discussed things, and her sports car soon drove westward, dragging cans.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at THE MANSION IN MEMORY LANE.

That still lives today on Christmas cards all packed up now? Is that so?

Would the lamps that light the pathways put a glow upon her face?

Are these images of fantasies all gone without a trace?

Is she staring from the window of a house, with fascination,

And now totally enthralled by crystal clear precipitation,

Lightly falling down, to make the grass a darker shade of green,

And still willing for the happiness she sought at sweet sixteen?

Is she smiling in the sunshine of the inner city skylines;-

Looking pretty as a photograph unsuited to the bylines

All contained inside newspapers circulating with great speed?

Is she reaching for the clouds, and hoping that she’ll soon be freed?

Could she be a long lost princess, well-concealed within the fog?

Is she now beyond her thirties, and yet free to kiss the frog,

Thus transforming him into the prince he’d never ceased to be;

And especially if that prince of hers is someone just like me?

Is she free of all commitments made before the time was right,

And now open to her destiny in silent streets one night,

To become that part of me, which I have yet to find for sure,

That soft part that fills the void, so there can be no need for more?

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at LADY FROM SOMEWHERE ELSE.

Past yesterday’s townhouses.

In each nostalgic molecule

Is something, which arouses.

Old lessons learned so long ago

(Viola, drums or trigon)

Resurface, just enough to know:

Those tunes aren’t fully bygone.

A new sound crashes near the bay,

And shakes the stone rotunda.
The sky shows nature’s cabaret,

With sudden roaring thunder.

Brief moments pass, and summer heat

(Which caused the town to swelter))

Gives way to frantic dampening feet,

Which find a tunnel’s shelter.

Some recent wounds are laundered clean;

But past lives’ recollection

Remains, where tables and caffeine

Accompany retrospection.

The railway tracks are drowned in rain,

Up on the bridge, forestalling

The movement of the peak hour train;

As time froze memories falling.

An hour of this would irk some folk;

But nature gives a quarter,

So ferns and flowers can quickly soak
Themselves in purest water.

Then skies, which were extremely dark

(To back-project on lightning)

Conclude their cloud-to-cloud skylark,

With sunshine slowly brightening.

Those footsteps cling to water drops,

When they resume their movement:

Brief souvenirs of how life stops,

And starts with cleansed improvement.

Should company find its calling here,

The call would be for cuddles,

And sharing views of boats and pier,

With boots in smaller puddles.

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This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at CABARET OF THE CLOUDS.

Far in the twilight your brown hair is gleaming-
I see your bright eyes in a faraway star!
I still hear your voice on the soft winds,Mokeeta;
Oh why then so SILENT? where summer dreams are.
Oh why then so silent? Oh why then so far?

I miss you Mokeeta, when twilight is falling’
The West is aflame, like a far golden sea!
Come on the CLOUDS where the wild wind is calling!
Come back on the RED SAILS of SUNSET to me.
Come back again, on the twilight, to me!

This life is a dream, tho an unending battle-
They say we are made up of CARBIDES and TEA-
But JOHN got a truck and he hauled home the cattle-
While I and MOKEETA sailed on the dim sea.
SHE CAME THROUGH THE TWILIGHT , AND MOONLIGHT TO ME!

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom, by the sea-
Forgotten now, but I loved her so-
And her name was…ANABEL LEE!
And she sleeps by the sounding sea.
Down by the sounding sea.

And there is never a song so dear-
Till lifes last tale is told-
And over her tomb, the silver moon,
Turns all her beams to gold-
Turn al her silver beams to gold-
And far across the sea-
The winds forever sing the song-
The song of Annabel Lee!

nd the stars never rise
But I feel thebright eyes
Of beautiful Annabel Lee!
And the moon never beams
Without bringing the dreams-
The old dreams of Annabel Lee
Down by the side of the shifting sand-
Down by the sounding sea!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Mokeeta, Mokeeta and more Annabel lee.

The crimson tinted clouds of Early Morning-
The summerdays so softly laid to rest!
The rustling corn, the night,
With twiight falling-
Of all these days, which do we call the best?

But no one wants to trade away TOMORROW;
It is in our last days…a precious dream;
The twilight comes too soon across the prairie-
And WINTER comes again, when summers gone.

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

Its all so different now, maybe my song can bring it back, for some of the farmers, of years ago.

Old Springtime

Oh the happy, happy Farmer-
He is getting ready now-
To harness up the horses -
and attach them, to the plow!

The wild geese, flying over-
Flying far- and flying free-
And the Prairie Farmer’s Dreaming -
There his greatest pleasures be!
He can hear the wild heese calling,
Flying free, and flying far-
And the tired farmers dreaming-
There his only pleasures are.

Theres a hill, away out yonder-
theres a field, that once was mine!
In the years, beyond tomorrow-
Take me back, to supper-time!

With the horses, standing chewing,
In the od grey barn, out there-
And the wind, just softly blowing,
O’er a land, of little care!

Take be back, to those old spring days-
When he Farmer, followed a plow,
And the world was way out yonder-
Past the hills- Forgotten now,

And the days, were long and quiet=
Even birds, had time to sing-
There were buffalo-trails to follow,
To get water, from the spring.

WE could hear, the wild geese calling-
From the clouds, that drift, and blow-
Drift and blow, across the summer,
And the spring-time, LONG AGO.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at The Dakota Farmer.

The endless plains reach on-
Nor know the dawning-
WORDS ON THE SKY-
WHO TAKES CARE OF MY SHEEP?

Who looks after the Fold?
Why did God MAKE THEM?
to seek for HOME, within
A heartless world?
The lonely wind blowns on–
Nor waits to answer
While winter comes-
With withered leaves underled-

Come to me throgh the dusk-
cross the cornfield-
Oh Dreamer, whome I knew
In years gone by-
Before the little DEER
Came to the prairie-
To leap in glad disdain
Through prairie sky!

The mother deer leaped
From her bed of brambles-
Or Russian thistle weeds-
And warmthless clay-
To meet a steelclad bullet-
Science molded-
To cut through her soft skin
Her heart away!

Her last call, like a
Falling star unheeded-
By men; but sent to bring
The young Faun home-
Was answered by the Father Deer,
Who hurried, to lend
His pitiful aid-
TO DAVE HIS HOME!
OUT THERE ON THE HEARTLESS
PRAIRIE…….all alone.

Those quick steps were his last-

He fell beside her-

His antlers in the dust-

Nor do they care-

BUT LAUGH, to see

the little FAUN come running-

the sunshine lingers-

on here silver hair.

The SHOOT IT TOO-

So they can get their LIMIT-

A Prairie Chicken calls

From far away-

They slip a noose around

Their head and pull it-

AND HANG THEM IN A TREE

FOR THEIR LAST DAY!

It was a old fall day

In earlt morning-

Even the drifting clouds

Seemed half asleep;

The endless plains reached on,

NOR KNEW THE DAWNING-

WORDS ON THE SKY-

WHO TAKES CARE OF MY SHEEP?

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Who takes care of my sheep?.