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Birthdays are over and done,
october skies have moved on,
and brought us late november winds
we close our eyes to our unwanted truths
but....when we wake up, they're still there
they're too lazy to scamper away from us

so, we paint our minds with positive  occurrences
regardless of how people and circumstances
burst our balloons,
and bring down our festoons
some people make our spirits soar
...they make our days less dour
we wish to spend time with them
we would do, give anything on any term
just to experience moments with them,
even just for a thanksgiving night,
forget for a while our collapsed goals
.............which have turned to debacles
for, their fruition have become impossible
in our hearts, these dreams hide.
...they live on in our mind,
until God knows when...
it makes me think,
"time is always behind me
like......a shadow, warning me.."
so tonight,
after stuffed turkey, cranberry sauce and wine
and veggies, and coffee and apple pie,
i'd go out for a while, wear a thick sweater
and find the moon
full or crescent, it won't matter
if it doesn't show up...the stars would be there
i'll sing my song.....and start my dance
til i can no longer put up with the cold
and i will have to seek warmth inside.


Copyright November 23, 2017
Wrote this while listening to
Van Morrison's MOONDANCE.
The lamp glows brightly now
i sit by my  pine table
the old fan quivers as it blows...sending
sheets of paper........fluttering...
mind, pen, paper, and hand
work side by side without end,
to bring out unspoken feelings
especially on long starry nights,
like tonight.

towards the table, I now lean,
my shadow slowly rises
it shields me as i start.

while tapping pen on paper,
the strong scent of "Dama de noche,"
swims through the dark atmosphere, slowly
penetrating my nostrils.........i hear the song
of the leaves.............a calming rustle,
a soft  touching of each other,
paving the way, for
pleasant thoughts to start streaming,
gentle musings long held inside
and kept alive...all now come into being
this sleepless night
......a poem's birthing, is nigh......

chest rises and falls,
on a peaceful rhythm
the soft touching of the leaves
my own breathing,
the old fan blowing,
sheets of paper fluttering,
and on paper...........pen tapping,
all these sounds, create my poetry's

at length, i get weary
from writing my poems of thee,
outside, i watch dark shadows of trees swaying
a soulful music comes to mind
the sweetest hymn
ever hummed to me,
reminding me, it is time
to "take five...."


Copyright 2013
:::Please listen to Dave Brubeck's "Take Five.":::
(take five take a break)

The faucet is noisy
warm water touches the plates, the spoons
and forks..........soap suds splash back
at my face.............i squint
high above the sound of flowing water,
their voices......and mine, take power
my mind identifies every face behind me
they're just within my reach from the sink,
extending a hand...sharing a memory
we share stuff, jokes, and chores
things become easier....feelings are lighter
while washing the dishes
indeed...water is therapy
i seem to be at a vantage spot
i see, i hear everyone
i am the observer
pre and post dinner moments
of talks whle sipping wine, are always fun
leftover food is kept in the fridge
and leftover topics, play in our minds
they wait for the next morning...
our laughter.......our giggles crescendo
then fade.....and then die with the jokes the cold of every evening
my hearing is clearing
talks reminiscent of the past wane
tomorrow's plans are favored
the dishes are drying


Copyright December 3, 2017
i hope, i pray, to be
in this same scenario
in the following years
.........with my sisters...
When I am old I will say what I think
And not worry to be thought a clown or a fool.

When I am old I will borrow from youth
As guiltlessly as a child robs the cookie jar.

When I am old I will throw away fashion
And dress myself solely in comfort as I please.

When I am old I will share anger I feel
Instead of letting it take bites out of my soul.

When I am old I will walk away quickly
From those who’s motives I find to be suspect.

When I am old I will sleep in my chair
And have picnics on my bed if I so choose.

When  I am old I will go to the places
That in youth I deemed not appropriate.

When I am old I will will buy stuff that sparkles
Simply because I like shiny things.

When I am old I will sing when I feel it
And not fret that my voice isn’t pretty.

When I am old I will pet everyone’s puppies
And laugh as they lick all over my face.

When I am old I will  stop tearing up like a fool
When parade marching bands with their banners go by.

When I am old I will be sprung from this prison
Referred to as rational adult behavior.

When I am old.

Yes, when I am old.

I can't wait to be an eccentric old lady!
It's almost mid-December more november thrills,
....just colder winds that give me a chill
and, remind me of a kind of peace...a rural calm,
in the old country days...simple celebrations
and the natural beauty of hand-made stars
hanging outside windows of houses...
their low lights seem dots , yet....seen, from
farms, ricefields, and from the old chapel,
the old chapel.....where people's most
ardent wishes, dreams and  prayers, rest,
the old chapel, which sounds so heavenly,
when "silent night," and "o holy night" are sung the cold hours of dawn masses...

no one feared the dark...people were guided
by and lighted...
white-painted wooden Christmas trees
adorned the small living rooms...small, but
filled with that holiday warmth, shared with
family, neighbors and friends...

in lieu of those humble huts, rows of
pompous concrete structures now stand tall
over once vast pasture-lands and rice fields,
mostly gussied up with expensive decors...yet,
......bereft of the true Christmas spirit...
...silent nights, are not so silent anymore...

my chest goes high and low,
the late november winds have blown
farther away,  taken over by the boldly cold,
yet, welcomed  festive airs of december...
i'm always happy about Christ's arriving,
i am sad.......the old ways...they're vanishing...


Copytight November 27, 2017
 Dec 2017 cheryl love
Jude kyrie
A schoolmasters life ..story by Jude kyrie
1919  chipping Sodbury England

Grenville school for young Englishmen

The bell for evensong rang out
It was seven o'clock the boys would be
Going to the school chapel he wanted to see them.
He was so old where had all the time passed.
He remembered it was 1876 he was such a young
Man so full of dreams and possibilities.
His days at a schoolmaster at Grenville school for boys
had begun.

He knew he was a shy stodgy schoolmaster going unnoticed.
No promotions just the same grade.
Then a miracle happened
Grace found him
he did not mean a gift of faith
He always has that of course.

If was the most stunning lady he had ever seen.
He was at the train station at Chippingham Wold
The fog had set in and the trains were delayed...
He sat in the waiting room and she was there.
Her smile lit up the room.

I did not have the skills to enchant the fairer ***
Only the words of masters like Chaucer and Shakespeare.
She said would you like to join me for a tea and scones
She withdrew a flask of sweet tea and gave me one of her scones.

We talked for hours in the deep fog that kept us there overnight.
She said thank you for keeping me safe overnight
I was quite afraid, he thought she did not look afraid.
The train arrives to take us to Chipping Sodbury.

As we exited the train
she slipped me her address
on her scented card that
Was perfumed with gardenias.
I still have it even in my eighties
I had fallen for her you see.
But who would not have?

I picked up my courage from my boots
And knocked on her door.
We married six months later.
I have never been as happy before or since.
The next five years were heaven she charmed the
School committee and all the boys

They loved her
well almost as much as I did you see.
She  kissed me at the door after the cricket match
We beat you Turnberry Wells by seven runs
I was pink with excitement.
We are having a child she said.
I wept with joy.

Then when the labor came she had eclampsia
And the labor was very hard
After many hours the doctor came down
From the bedroom.
I looked up
He shook his head.
And the child I whispered.
His sad eyes cell to the ground.

I never married again
How could I,
I had drunk from the cup of perfection.

The great war came
At evensong, I read the names of my fallen boys
William's, Burns, Sands Rene And  Colley
Who received a posthumous Victoria Cross
For pulling his wounded Batman from the line of fire
In a failed charge upon the German trenches.

The tears fell from my eyes as their faces
Appeared as the boys I loved.
The war tumbled to an end
and the sons of the fallen came back
As young boys to Grenville

I was old and headmaster of that sainted school.
The roll call of the new boys announced their names.
William's sir, Burns sir, Coley sir
I taught your father's I said softly.

Then the years rolled by
I was lay on my deathbed nearly ninety now
I heard two of the young masters outside my door.
The old man is dying
He lost his wife years ago you know.
Never had any children its such a shame.

As the light faded into my eyes.
I whispered.
but that's not true
I had a thousand children
And they were all boys.
A full life in a few words
 Aug 2017 cheryl love
Mike Hauser
In the center of town
There's an old music box
Where people take turns
Turning the ****

Whatever song
You are feeling that day
That is the song
The music box plays

From songs of sorrow
That bring about tears
The music box has
Had it's share over years

Even the happy
With melodies of pure joy
There's not a song
The music box does not know

Children take turns
Playing their childish tunes
While the old and the frayed
Remember well that time too

The music box
Has been around for so long
Yet not a soul knows
How it picks the perfect song

Music has changed
So much over time
Yet still has a calming effect
Over the beasts in our lives

Perhaps that's the job
Of the music box
As the people in town
Take turns turning the ****
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