the pitter patter of rain
hath stifled all sporting plans
they've put a dampener
on the kicking
batting
and bouncing of *****

weekend fixtures appeared
much brighter
on Thursday
the weathermen
trotted out a fine forecast
they were talking up
the sun's forty eight hour
weekend blast

yet they didn't mention
a thing about a substantial rain band
which was very close
at hand

those of the golfing
and soccer fraternities
are taking shelter
in their club houses
out of the down pours
no driving with a nine iron
on the par eight hole
nor twill there be
a heading
of a crowd pleasing goal

the mid larks
at Flemington race track
are to the wither
well and truly bogged
as the entirety of furlongs
hath been water logged

enthusiasts of sport
are glum faced souls
their weekend of competition
swallowed up in
the wettest of bowls

the weathermen
never showed any consideration
on predicting
the weather's
wild fluctuations

Beside patches of green grass meadow
golden wheat fields wave in the breeze
Beckoning out to all my fellows
come walk through me with ease


Upon just such a lazy day
I once casually sauntered by
Hearing the call of nature's beauty
thought that God had spoke just to I


With the sound of a lonesome whistle
down the river the steamers rolled
To this the backdrop behind the field
the childhood longing is all told


Across the field dressed all in blue
a boy and his team worked the ground
I stood to watch an hour or so
not moving or making a sound


A smile as wide as the river
shown across the boys bright face
Perhaps this was the very first time
he had taken his father's place


In him I could see a purpose
a reward for his tiny soul
I could tell by the way he worked
nothing would lure him of his goal


Long it is since I felt like that
as a boy just going on ten
Doing twice what was asked of me
to be noticed by him again


Passing for gold in a boy's heart
are all the looks his father pays
collecting what he can in life
to spend long into older days


In him I saw both rhyme and reason
as we all live and pass away
A boy working so hard to grow up
while we men all wish we could play

Tate
The original of this poem I think is much better as I love the music
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/444697/

This is the second time in a month
I have cried so much today
Going through your things
deciding what to keep,
what to throw away?

It's like there's memories
attached to every single thing
Do I keep the china?
What about your wedding ring?

It's only been thirty days
I wasn't prepared for the extra pain
Throwing your Life away
Is like losing you all over again!

they were young and their feelings were true
had their dreams of a life in the mountains
and they spoke of a child or two
in a house with a garden and fountains.

and the day of their marriage was sweet
though it rained in the valley that morning
soon it cleared, sunlight drying the street
and the yard with the wedding adorning.

There they prayed that their love would remain
to each other a vow of devotion
hung a sign in their yard with their name
and their love grew like fish in the ocean

and the best of the years were the days
that their love would bring children with laughter
and the songs of the God whom they praise
to His Kingdom right here and thereafter.

From their lives came a mountain of good
and the children like beanstalks they grew
and in time love released what it could
from their own came the story of you.

they were old and they knew what to say
had a lifetime of stories and told them
to the folks, many came by each day
to the farm, for the stuff that they sold them.

puritans hath been saying
that Dan stepped over the line
by using an expletive
which was not attractive nor fine

by Dan employing
that particular form of phrase
he was attempting to give
the poem a brighter glaze

whatever device of poetry
Dan needs to put in place
is okay if it doesn't cause
him a scintilla of disgrace

those who are pulling Dan
to pieces for his specifics
may need to look at their
out dated type of linguistics

for goodness sake
stop giving Dan a grilling
as he's only doing his best
to make his verses more thrilling

you held me down
under the night sky
and pressed a secret
shaped like a letter
to the curve of my neck

won't you
bruise me
with a forever
that won't last
an eternity