What a day to be twenty-one,
A clear blue sky,
A brilliant sun,
A contradiction!

There is no birdsong,
The silence is eerie!
A feeling of unease,
Fills my being!
As I look at
The foundations laid out,
Like graves.
I have visions of grief!
Panic and fear, of
People I’ve never met but,
Will not forget!

The rows of reminders,
And yes the gas chambers,
It’s painful to the eye!
A pair of huts are full
Of the inmates memorial!
A tangled, metalled mass,
A sculpture of a brutal past!

It is an August day,
I will never forget!
No where, no way, no how,
I’ll never forget the day,
And my visit to Dachau!

The torment they went through,
I can’t begin to know!
But I can honestly say,
My heart is filled with sorrow!

We all know where we were,
The day that Elvis died,
Likewise J. F. K!
But the day that’s most imprinted,
On my soul,
Is that day in Dachau,
When I was twenty-one years old.

George. L. Ellison
ã 08/05/2009

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Lest We Forget.

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Mysterious Rose, so fragile
your thorns
Let me comfort you softly
Hold you safe from the storm

So soulful your petals
So gently you rise
Most beautiful woman
With brown Angel eyes

Mysterious Rose, so caring
your soul
Let me feel you beside me,
so I can be whole

So real is your beauty
So caring your heart
Wanting you so badly
Tears me apart

Mysterious Rose, so fragile
your thorns
Let me hold you forever
Away from the storms

Just open your petals
Show me your heart
We’ll sail into horizons
Until death us do part

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

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Sweet morning time comes
and awakens the ever shining star.
The sun peeks through my window.
“Arise…Arise…” he says.
I cover my face.
“Arise….Arise…” he repeats.
“I’ll arise when I feel like it!” I answer.
I continue to waste away
the glorious day.
Then, before I know it,
the sun looks away.
“Goodnight.” he says.
He disappears and I am
left alone, wide awake, with no light
but the deathly pale moon.
“Sleep…sleep…close your eyes
and sleep…” and he chants a
lonely poem…..

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Sun rise… sun set…..

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Tomorrow I will be brave,
speak the words,
I want to say.

Tomorrow I will be bold,
moving forth,
in ways untold.

Tomorrow I will stand up,
make a change,
in many ways.

Tomorrow I’ll speak the words,
once held inside,
I will not hide.

Tomorrow I’ll move away,
change my home,
no need to stay.

Tomorrow I’ll help you too,
finding ways,
to start anew.

Tomorrow I’ll change my life,
learn new things,
forget the strife.

Tomorrow I thought I’d find,
preparation to renew my mind.
Tomorrow I thought I’d find,
time to learn to change my life.

Tomorrow, I thought you’d be,
awaiting always,
patiently.

Tomorrow, you were not here,
I lost you somewhere through the years.

Tomorrow, you were not patient.
You were not waiting for me to see,
what dreams could have held for me.

Tomorrow has passed me by,
with a glance,
I let it fly.

January 20, 2010

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Tomorrow I Will….

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Lord Jesus Christ,
I pray unto thee
that you open my eyes
so that I may see
the righteous path
thou has set for me.
Heal my heart
and mend my soul.
Help me to play
my servant role.

Lord Jesus Christ,
let me feel
thy precious, holy spirit
from head to heel.
Lead me through the paths
of which I may go.
Please, Lord, you lead the way
so that I may follow.

Lord Jesus Christ,
send blessings from above,
and send peace through my household
by sending the holy dove.
Guide me through this world
and keep sin from me away,
so I may better serve you
through each and everyday.

Lord Jesus Christ,
I ask you once again
to forgive me for my sins
ans deliver me from pain.
I love you,God, my father,
and still can’t understand why
that you took the place of THIS sinner
and bore the cross to die.

Lord Jesus Christ,
help me to understand
that I am here for a reason
and that’s why you made me who I am.
Chastise me, Oh loving God,
when you feel the time is right,
and when I’ve lost my way back home
shine me a heavenly light.

Lord Jesus Christ,
I pray unto thee
to search my heart thoroughly
as I give you the key.
I end this prayer with love
and tears streaming down my face.
Lord, thank you for the cross,
and your sweet Amazing Grace.

Amen.

Written by: Miranda Patterson (A.K.A Heart 4 Poetry)
December 30,2009.

Author Notes: These are my true feelings about my Lord God and Saviour, and if you have not met him yet, now is the right time. Call upon his name and he shall surley answer thee. Although I am in my teenage years, I know that what I feel is real and you can feel it too if you just Call upon his name.
God Bless you!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at My Personal Prayer Poem.

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(1)Young Tom visited his great aunt, until he was ten years old,

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.

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(1)My first Blue Mountains journeys were on Sydney’s country trains,

With scenery improving, once I’d gone past Emu Plains.

I did not know the passengers around me, but perhaps one

Might care to play a card game, since we’d only come to Lapstone

(2)I closed my vintage fiction novel fast. So I could then look,

To see surrounding bushland, as the train pulled out of Glenbrook.

The concrete steps and walkway, over roads and rails and tracks stand

Beside the station fences, built more recently in Blaxland.

(3)Excited tourists took in views, and were not sorry too,

That urban redevelopment had not occurred in Warrimoo.

The summer sun that made them hot, and burnt their skin shall be

Forgotten now in Springwood, not too far from Winmalee.

(4)The clear far western air was like that from an open fridge:

And all the fruit was tasty at the shops in Falconbridge.

I underlined one station on timetables, with a thin pen.

You need to tell the guard if you intend to stop at Linden.

(5)My carriage weaving past the hills would often strike a good chord,

As I looked up at overpasses linking roads to Woodford.

My adult self did not forget the early childhood days he took

Excursions with school second class beyond the streets of Hazelbrook.

(6)The bushwalks were worth doing, and these verses should endorse one.

My ears repressurized, to suit the greater heights of Lawson.

The fields were green, and gumtree trunks a somewhat duller colour,

And horses drank fresh water from a pond in Bullaburra.

(7)A roundhouse in a paddock, with tall arches in its walls,

Preceded several pine trees that I passed in Wentworth Falls.

The suburbs further on provided still more atmosphere:

The highest peaks and widest views that came with that lost year.

(8)The weekend trips grew cooler, as the months became a memory:

February, March and April. Each of them was only temporary.

The further up I went each time, before I’d be alighting,

The more the sights I saw up there were ever more exciting.

(9)The red leaves looked as they did, in a 1900s autumn.

I needed winter gloves, and found a clothing shop, and bought some.

The flowers in the gardens of a holiday retreat

In bloom would make the image in my photograph complete

(10)In Medlow Bath, a friend and I went searching for an airstrip

Out somewhere in the bush. I asked a lady with a hairclip,

If she might know the route we’d need to find our destination.

The travel map I’d used had aged too much since publication.

(11)That 1997 afternoon in mid-July

We waited for our fellow mountain walker’s best reply:

“I haven’t come across that place in any of my walks,”

She said, as night began to fall on dandelion stalks.

(12)My friend and I discussed new ways to make the night go well,

And watched the lights go on outside that suburb’s grand hotel,

Enjoyed its lounge room fire, and then went home by heavy rail,

Imagining those three explorers charting out a trail.

(13)Thankfully, since they produced their maps on ancient parchments,

No-one found a way to bulldoze through those high escarpments.

Now, years later, still convinced that mountain life was best,

I relocated to this land beyond the city’s west.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at NIGHTFALL IN MEDLOW BATH.

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Professor Brint was 30, when he built his best invention:

The Chrono-Car, and used it to explore the fourth dimension.

He revved it up, and traveled back through 23 years’ history,

And then the engine used up all supplies of his magistery.

Now trapped back when his childhood self had only just turned seven,

And frequently thrown out those brown bread sandwiches with devon

His mother made; Brint chose to spare himself the wierdest meeting.
He steered clear of the school, where he’d endured a frequent beating.

He met a blond haired lady his own age, and slowly courted;

And then they got engaged, but his indulgences were thwarted.

She dyed her hair to brown, and now looked strangely too familiar.

Their three year romance took his thoughts to days of juvenilia.

For Tina now resembled all his deepest recollections:
The teacher in his sixth class year, for whom he held affections,

But couldn’t share, because of different ages and those fissures

Dividing them, because her only known first name was “Mrs.”

So “Tina Long,” her married name, before the timeline altered,

Confronted him with guilt; since he had well and truly faltered,

By stopping her from meeting Mr Long, when he had entered,

And tried to buy a life from her, which he had really rented.

Tormented by morality, he pondered all the choices,

Recalling all those recent dates in cheaply hired Rolls Royces.

Should he arrange for Mr Long and her to meet and marry,

And then seek someone single in the past, where he’d still Tarry?

Or should he marry Tina, and let Mr Long be cheated

Of destined love, if what had gone “before” was not repeated?

He thought that she should know the truth, and do her own deciding,

Confessed (except Long’s name), and hoped his teacher would start guiding.

She said, “I’ll marry you, and have no wish to still discover

Identities of might-have-beens,” which made Brent really love her,

“Why don’t you choose an alias, to safeguard your persona

From sharing names with your young self, who must remain a loner?”

Invent a name like Mr Long, and be my true intended.

Don’t worry how the broken threads of time will all be mended.”

“Did you say Long?” asked Brint, “That means the Mrs Long who taught me

Was married to my older self, while 6th class Brint was naughty.

My childhood self was jealous, while I was my greatest rival:

Your adult husband, while my younger self would seek survival

In mucking up at school. No wonder you gave much attention

To teaching him the right ways, and gave him an hour’s detention.”

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

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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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Is it new years all over again? my oh my where has my mind been, one year has passed and a new one now starts damm my luck ! i didn’t even have time to fart.
with moving and shaking and worry’s i must get off my rear and get busy i trust, 12 new month’s to make money and fame or sit on my ass in total shame ! fear not that i will perservere cause i got a hunch and a ice cold beer, to carry me through another 12 month’s and make lot’s of money so i can afford lunch,give me 6 month’s to make a good show and this time i will make it or away i shall go.

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

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