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.

And, I had a PAL, in days gone by;
He lays there now, beneath that sky;
He can LEAVE HIS GRAVE, now anytime,
And WALK to the Whorehouse, feeling fine!

At school he told the girls a tale,
How at night it CARRIED HIS DINNERPAIL,
When he walked Home; the girls would listen;
No wonder he WON them all…FOR HISEN!

These girls are gone, and so is he;
Only this ornery song, and me
Can be here now, and memory brings
Back all the songs that summer sings
Of birds and frogs and rolling streams
For the way to SCHOOL, was a path of dreams!

And you can get this song from me
For nothing now…. and… SUDDENLY
If you will turn your RADIO DOWN,
You can hear him “TAPPING” underground!
And I am sure it is that kid, and the tapping
Is on the coffin lid!

The wind blows on across the vale;
He walks no more, with his dinnerpail!
And still Old Friend, if we could meet
Again, some day, on a Redfield Street,
Just you and me…. HOW GLAD WE”D BE……
And we’d be there by the Old Shack
OF HOME! And…the YOUNG GIRLS COME BACK! alone

And it still stands there, by the edge of town,
That damn old house, and painted brown;
But now no BOYS ever come to sell
Their HAPPY DAYS, for THE GATES OF HELL!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at HAPPY DAYS (made this when i was sleeping) June 1st. 1966.

Ecstatic I started jumping and screaming,
Happiness in my life suddenly, I was dreaming,
A romantic melody, I started singing.
Down I came to earth, as the phone again started ringing.
The rain started pouring very hard,
“Doubt whether we can go out”, she said, which made me sad,
Savaging my dreams was the rain.
Tears started rolling out, as I couldn’t take the pain.

Suddenly thy rained mercy,
Desperate to go out, I prayed he could see.
Picked up my phone and gave her a call,
Now can we go out my Miss Tall?
Down I saw my cutest friend’s missed call,
Rushed up, I gave her a call.
Got the news, both were so elated,
Stepping on my door was happiness, even so it was belated.
Tensed and lying I got out of my house,
Desperate to go out with her, and wanted to make her my spouse.
Waiting for her at the bus stand,
So elated I was, didn’t see the fate coming in my hand.
There I saw her coming,
Cool and relaxed I was trying and pretending.
Down she came from her ride,
I kept looking at her eyes, standing on the road side.

She came towards me, crossing the road,
Croaking was my heart, lyk a frog on toad.
We were sitting opposite to each other,
Gazing at her eyes, which looked crystal as a mirror.
We started having a chat,
Reminded me of a day where she was wearing a pink cool hat.
Praising thee, so beautiful she was looking.
A blessed man I am was the only thing that I was thinking.
Time went on, around came our destination,
Just sit and watch her eyes, was my only inclination.
Came down from the cab and paid the fare,
The cabbie said I know you love her and take care.
Inside the shop we went,
Buying a watch was her intent.
She liked a cool and sexy clock,
Paid for it, out from the shop we were about to walk.

About to go for the dinner, I put hands inside my pocket,
Scared and embarrassed I didn’t find my wallet.
Didn’t know what should I tell,
Swinging my head and I was about to fell.
Told her about this unfortunate incident,
She advised me that I should have been prudent.
This was the only thing that had to happen,
All my planned dreams were shaken.
Nothing to help me and I was completely broken,
I couldn’t give her the gift which had been stolen.

Distorted and dejected, wanted to drop her back home.
I knew that my fortunes were walking on soapy foam.
Took a cab and dropped her at the bus stand,
Drenched and lonely in the rain I had to stand.
As she got on to her ride, the distance seemed wide
Got a last glance her eyes and I knew the upcoming demise.
On her ride she went away, putting me all to sway.
In that heavy rain I was crying,
Nothing I could achieve even if so hard I was trying.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at One Saturday Evenin….

By: Cynthia DiSciullo and William Zigmont

Sunshine leaned back into her comfy overstuffed chair,

Felt the amber glow and warmth of the fireplace there

The magic of a youthful mind is so very scrumptious and delicious

A charming place things are really-real even if they are fictitious

Rambleton Acres felt a jolt of winter’s mighty breath and gale

Which now becomes the back-drop of this cutesy child’s tale

Snow and cold had frosted the windows and whitened the yard

Icicles hung from the eves like shark’s teeth all pointy and hard

Beneath her seasonal blanket she tucked her leg under and said,

“Why, oh, why are hats worn by Santa Claus just white and red?”

Sunshine closed her eyes and traveled in the beauty of her fertile mind

In hopes of an answer but instead possibilities is what she’d find

In the corner of her mind’s room stood dapperly dressed Saint Nick

His pants pleated, and his coat adorned by epaulettes the color of brick

Four brilliantly polished stag-head buttons held the sable coat snuggly tight

And his boots were more the slipper, ornate much the festive delight

But it was the hat, the most unique hat that caught the child’s mind’s eye

Its minutia of intricate detail was the reason and the only reason why

Alas, an unusual coiffure of white framed it as might holly beneath a bow

The traditional hat was not that any more, for she imagined a sideshow

A snowman with a full bristled broom, held in arms thin for they were stick

Eyes and crooked smile coal, scarf plaid, a carrot nose, sporting a cowlick

The mailbox wore a red hat, showing Santa ringing a bell bedecked in

A swan covered shirt, a gingerbread neck tie held with a wreath tie-pin

The details of the hat revealed that four frogs sat on block spelling noel

The chorus singing from parchment songbooks the song Jingle Bell

A tiny rocking horse covered in cloth, the print poinsettia and holly on white

Wore a red bow, matching ribbon it rein and a white mane trimmed tight

A Christmas raccoon was placing a glow star on the top of an orange tree

Four teddies looked on, their vest’s button of star shaped shimmered glee

A woman’s handbag sat beneath that tree shaped exactly like the tree it sat below

Fifteen and twenty pine cone cluttered in a pile circled by a train, chuggin’ slow

Carrying a drum, wrapped presents, a pup, a kitty, four birds, a sled, and mittens

If you looked in one car’s window you’d see a girl sitting with three kittens

To the left, just above the brim, a girl was pulling her sled on shiny gliders

On it was one red-headed dolly, a stuffed bear and penguin as lucky riders

Look hard and you will see an old typewriter with paper in its carriage that said,

“Dear Santa…” and two mice were depressing the keys in dresses red-on-red

There do you see it, yes, a mouse turning a wheel, grinding coffee a holiday blend

One can easily imagine it must be a special gift for a very special friend

Standing alone on a frozen pond of ice is one lone snowman completely colored blue

Blue jays abound a blue birdhouse, blue top hat, scarf, coat, mittens, blue, too

A Christmas seal wears, yellow ear muffs that match in color to hand muff of a miss

She shyly turning her head beneath the mistletoe avoiding a beau’s frisky kiss

Duck… duck… goose… duck… duck… swan… all about to fly if you holler

Look closely and notice wreaths, bows, bells and bears are hanging from their collar

Three skunks are marching two carrying signs, one reading “I heart snow!”

The other, “I brake for reindeer!” while the drummer skunk-boy tympanis slow

In the far corner up near the tips ball is a huge up-dumped gold Santa sack

And all the things she saw were flowing from the wonderful Christmas pack

Her whimsical thoughts were interrupted by the call of her older brother

“Sunny, it is time for us to go, ready to visit our wonderful great grandmother?”

Sunshine looked around the room, smiled, fluffed her curls, and rose from her chair,

Neatly folded the blanket, covered Wally, and then winked to the teddy bear

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at SANTA’S HAT.

I caught a turtle and a frog,
And then I tried to catch a hog,
But it would fight and make a squeal,
I didn’t know how it would feel.

I thought that it would play with me,
But it just wanted to be free,
To roll around in sloppy mud,
I loved this pig; I called it Bud.

Though it was just a simple hog,
I tried to treat it like a dog,
I wanted it to chase a bone,
But it would rather rub a stone.

So I went out to catch a hen,
And keep it in a little pen,
So I could hold it close to me,
And keep this chicken on my knee.

But all it did was flap around,
(It was a chicken, not a hound),
And it would rather peck in dirt,
I loved this hen; I called it Gert.

So I went out and bought a dog,
Which was much better than a hog,
And softer than a big, white hen,
I love this dog; I call it Ben.

It loves to sit upon my knee,
Where it can feel content and free,
It doesn’t peck or roll in mud,
It’s better than old Gert or Bud.

And we are now the best of friends,
And will be when this story ends,
The hog and chicken were okay,
But Ben and I are here to stay.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Ben And I.

Looking from

The garden bridge

Nestled in the

Shaded glade,

Capturing the beauty

Of a lily pond

A creation God

Has made.

Lily pads gently bobbing

On the shimmering

Water top

Marching in their own parade

The toad and turtle

Lazing on a pad or rock

Basking in the sun

Avoiding the shade.

A lazy koi

Rises to the top

To feast on an unwary beetle

His meal ready made.

The skittering dragonfly

Skimming water top

Seeking Gnat or mosquito

To devour unafraid.

. The sun ebbing slowly west

The pond and its creatures all at rest

Listening to the frogs and cicadas

Performing a nightly serenade.

Tom Fenning

3/20/06

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

by: paisley

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at as the dust swirled.