I remember my old Grampa
And the way he used to look
He had so many stories
He was much better than a book

I remember on our visits
While the folks would head outside
Gramps would get us grandkids
And take us for a story ride

He'd hitch up the hay wagon
We'd get up and off we'd go
Then gramps would start to talking
And so began the show

He'd tell us all the stories
Of our folks when they were young
Some he had to censor,
And sometimes bite his tongue

Now, Grandpa told the stories
Whether we were in or out
And we'd all sit and listen
To what they were all about

When we'd gather by the fire
He'd pull up his rocking chair
He'd have his pipe and all us grandkids
And his dog, Whiskey, always there

We'd all sit in front of Grandpa
We'd want to take in every word
And he would speak up louder
To make sure that we heard

He'd tell us tales of Cowboys
Of bank robbers and the trail
Of how the west became the west
And how his horse once lost his tail

The folks would gather round too
When it was almost time to go
But, Grandpa, being Grandpa
Wasn't set to end the show

See, he'd told the tales forever
To our folks and all their friends
You could tell that some were truthful
And in some the truth....well....bends

The older ones among us
Knew deep down that most were fake
But, to see old Grandpa work the room
Man, that man just took the cake

We'd get together monthly
All us kids stayed close to home
We weren't like lots of others
Who had that built in urge to roam

The stories, we'd learn later
Were mostly from TV
He'd be talking of those cowboys
And of how things used to be

A few years back we lost him
His dog had up and died
Gramps old heart was broken
He couldn't take it, though he tried

My brother tells the stories,
Not as good as Gramps at rhyme
But, the kids all hunker round him
I'm sure that he'll be good in time

We still go on the hayrides
Tell ghost stories now instead
To all us grown up grandkids
We still hear grandpa in our head

Each month we get together
There's near a hundred now in all
The kids go with my brother
And he tells tales ten feet tall

The stories are consistent
Of old cowboys and the west
I can close my eyes and listen
And still like Grandpa's versions best

I beg you
don't leave the sky

when dark clouds billow in the south
the weary winged hurry home

overhead on the dead blue
jupiter and venus are born anew

the wind slows to silence
trees loom night's shadowy ghost

nocturnal birds sing on their new day
you feel your breath as they fall

the clouds spread across the sky
cracked by the lightning

a drop lands on your stretched palm
soothes all the burns in you

you melt in love
by the torrents falling from above.

don't leave for shelter
I beg you
when heaven arrives here.

A cup of life
An ounce of faith
A teaspoon of pain
A pound of love
A dash of heartbreak
A pinch of sass
A tablespoon of sarcasm

Stir together in that
Pretty little head of yours
And take a nap
Let bake for several hours
(time varies depending on
how badly you need this
pick-me-up)
Add in three cloves
Of happiness
And enjoy

Refresh as needed
And don't forget
To smile

I am compelled to lay it all out
***** laundry bleached, sun dried
Phased moon
Waxing, waning, new, full
A constant reminder of our will to change
Inherent ability to shine as much light
Or cast as much shadow
On our faults as we choose
Enter police interrogation lamp
I...am selfish
I lie
I steal
I supplement dealing with emotions with chemical relief
Often responsibilities lie unfulfilled
Compliments make me uncomfortable
I need to learn to let go
I look at myself too long in the mirror
I enjoy *** to the point that it has made my partners less confident
I procrastinate
My heart will always ache for someone I cannot have
I allow others to take advantage of me
A short list in comparison for all that I have to atone for
Yet I remind myself every day
I am only human
As are you

I do not fight my fatal malady;
awake each morn, and live the day anew.
I have it; my cancer won't have me.

No battleground, no carnage to be seen,
my gentle Spirit bears my burden through.
I do not fight my fatal malady.

No cringing, no beseeching God, "Why me?"
In truth, I'd rather it be me than you.
I have it; my cancer won't have me.

Of course, I wish no one at all would be
in suffering.  Someday, I pray that's true.
I do not fight my fatal malady.

Should I live long enough that I might see
the cure the doctors say is coming due,
I'll have it.  The cancer won't have me.

When death will win its meager victory
the door will open.  Gladly, I'll pass through.
I do not fight my fatal malady.
I have it; the cancer won't have me.

♡° ⊙ • ⊙ °♡
This place in my heart
There...
intimately aware
     Deep tenderness
Imbued with
illuminessence
Moonflowers
opening in the fullness
of the Moon's light
     Tonight
wrapped tight
threads of fear
Mama Pain
too great to fight
     A ragged slice
overflowing
with hurt by
unkind words
thoughtlessly
thrown my way
Self inflicted pain
when I doubt my inherent
Knowledge and Strength
     I know this part
of my heart
that holds
the wounded
collections of me
Keeping at bay
the ache that
lives within
     The Blessing is
that Love
surrounds
Wraps around
with Healing light
Shining within
to Hold The Power
     Allowing me respite
from the Sacred Locket
held in this place of
My Heart
♡° ⊙ • ⊙ °♡

Copyright © 2016. Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved

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http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1483839/19/
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1465555/knick-knacks/
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1181941/it-hurts/