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over the past weeks
a gentle autumn sun
has painted colored leaves
upon the ground
and thinned
the bright abundance
of the wooded ranges

most of the harvest
is securely stored by now
or sold at morning markets
by weathered men and women
in country garbs

vintners are busy with their lots
fermenting grapes
and entertaining those
who see their visit
as pleasant pastime and escape
from daily urban chores

hunters and lumbermen
are waking up
to shoot and mark

schools by this time
have settled into the new year
teachers are happy still to share
the knowledge of our world
with students still inclined
to listen

businessmen
remembering their vacations
on the Bahamas or in Saint Tropez
step sprightly into offices
womanned by secretaries dreaming secretly
of beautiful Mallorca summers
and of those never-ending nights
on the Algarve

I guess it is a human thing
to find a new beginning
and do best
when nature’s breath goes easy
to collect the strength
for yet another fruitful year

or were it better
that we also took a rest?

           * *
Ann M Johnson Sep 2014
One day there was a bright glowing canvas, a pure sparkling white
It was beautiful, but not complete
Then someone came along and drew lines on it to form flowers and mountains and streams, it was more beautiful and it made the natural white look more distinct
Then one day someone else added color and the canvas radiated and became more and more complete, it seemed whole and functional
Suddenly, one day someone came along and slew the canvas, destroying its color till it showed black, and an ugly black
The canvas seems so drab so empty without its color, so lifeless
People refused to help the canvas, refused to anything about the canvas slayer refused to listen to the canvas’ plea
Instead the canvas slayer’s free to roam free to hurt and damage other canvas
Who will restore the canvas?
Who will bring justice?
Why is the canvas slayer free to roam while the canvas feels imprisoned, crushed, victimized?
Why is the canvas treated like a criminal?
When will the canvas feel free, joyful and peaceful?

THIS POEM IS DEDICATED TO VICTIM'S OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AND OTHER FORMS OF ABUSE.
I went through domestic abuse in the past and that is why I had wrote the above poem.
Matthew James Apr 2016
Block Me (I Don't Think That you Get How All That Made me Feel About Myself)

We met online
We joked about all the crazy people
The ones you block
Like the girl who wanted to wear my wedding ring
And got her son to give me a ring
Before I'd even met her
Like the girl who turned up in the night on my block
Like the guys who send you all the pictures of their ****

But they're crazy people.
Not like us
We aren't the type you block

We met
We kissed
We did more than kiss
I got to know you
I won't block you
If you won't block me

We both had big issues going on
You said it was hard
But you liked me
I said I understood
I was going through the same
"Yeah, but not like me,
My ex just blocked me out"
"I understand, I've been hurt too
She was a bit like you
But she blocked me out
But I'll support you
Just don't block me too"

I said I was fragile.
I said I'd been hurt - I'd been round the block
I said I needed people to show me understanding, even as a friend.
To show me they cared even when I fall apart.
I said it would happen, right from the start.

I was there for you
I know I was
Not like just a normal friend
I gave you my time
I gave you advice
I gave you my thoughts
I tried to give you my dreams - but I blocked them out instead

I want to let go.
I just can't.
But I don't want you to block me.
I don't want to be the crazy person.
Just don't block me.

I say "I'm hurting"
You hear "you hurt me"
I say "you don't get it"
You hear "you don't care"
I say "I want you to show me you care"
You hear "I need you to love me"
I say "it hurts being so close but not knowing how you feel"
You hear "I don't care what's going on in your life, you should want me anyway"
I say "I need to step away, you should block me"
I mean "I need you to tell me you care about me. I feel like I'm not good enough. I feel like I'm trapped in a revolving door, going round and round. I can't move forward because I care about you so much. I can't pull away because I'll miss you so much.
I can't suggest more because you'll pull away.
I can't suggest friends - I'm unhappy that way.
The only way out is to not see you
or to see you and hurt.
But I don't want you to love me.
I just want to know that you care.
That I matter.
That you're there.
When I need you.
And you aren't doing that.
And I'm hurting so much.
I want to handle it.
But I can't.
I don't want to make you hurt.
Only I need to hurt.
So block me."
those killers of innocents
will die in their own blood

not even mistranslated 72 houris
can save them

   the misguided fanatics of Paris
   who shot happy civilians
   with their Kalashnikovs
   and then blew themselves up
   will have discovered that
   by now

to throw terror and death
into people’s daily lives
is an abominable crime
not a heroic deed

those who instigated the massacre
shall be punished accordingly

fake heroes revealed
as ruthless criminals
shall face judgement

in whose light
their great deeds
are shown as what they are

****** ******

yet – far beyond the proper punishment
    required after cruel acts
there is the need to look ahead
and face the somewhat inconvenient necessity to
    remove the roots of violence veiled as religion
    speak up and stand up firm against fanaticized minorities
        no matter in whose name the claim to act  
    bring peace to regions devastated by the dire games of politics

we simply cannot allow
a bunch of ruthless desperados to dominate our lives

            * *
I Believe

.



I believe a butterfly

Can stop a baseball game

I know, because I've seen it

And it really was a shame,

I believe a simple housefly

Can stop a moving train,

I believe single piece of dust

Can also make it rain

I believe in every mountain

There's a pebble on it's own

I believe that every grain of sand

Is a pearl that hasn't grown

I believe that Father Christmas

Is quite real and in your heart

I believe that you can finish

Every task, if you just start

I believe, like Charlie Bucket

There's a golden ticket to be found

I believe that a tree that's in the forest

When it falls, will make a sound

I believe in every mountain

There's a pebble on it's own

I believe that every grain of sand

Is a pearl that hasn't grown

I believe that love's forever

But the one thing about this

I believe forever's infinite

And it may just last a kiss

I believe to stay together

That one's trust, it must be earned

I believe you jump into the fire

Before you know if you'll get burned

I believe in every mountain

There's a pebble on it's own

I believe that every grain of sand

Is a pearl that hasn't grown

I believe that a strong handshake

Will seal a contract, so I've heard

I believe one's reputation

Should be based on a mans' word

I believe that there is wonder

In everything that we may find

I believe that life is better

When you can have an open mind

I believe we're just a heartbeat

In the timeline life has spanned

I believe that every person

Is an ungrown grain of sand

I believe in every mountain

There's a pebble on it's own

I believe that every grain of sand

Is a pearl that hasn't grown

I believe....
Ann M Johnson Oct 2014
A marshmallow slowly roasted over a campfire
Some chocolate oozing down my face
some gram crackers  crunching under my teeth
I can't always make smores but I can have some more
I want some more kindness to put a smile on my face
I want to express that kindness to others around me
I want some more quality time with family
I want some more good friends to surround me
I want to be a great friend in return
I want some more compassion to ground me
I want more passion when I write even if it keeps me at night
I want the sight to find the beauty around me and you
Do you want smores too?
Do you want some more in life?
I hope this is a Treat 4 U, My friends
Like and repost if you like or think you would like Smores
Have a Great Day!
cheryl love Oct 2014
I am in my beach house by the sea
Sat in the chair with a cup of weak tea.
The cup was cracked some years ago
Maybe I should replace it, I don’t know.
I might give the place a lick of paint I think
Perhaps a nice bright blue or shocking pink.
Oh, and I have to make a trip into the town
The dinghy needs looking at, I will get it down
The place smells fusty when I open up at start of year
And I expect everywhere to be slightly damp when I get here!
To be economical I save my old tea bags for next time
I have a cup of tea, look at that washing line.
The knife is a bit rusty and the milk tends to turn
Toaster’s a bit rusty and the bread’ll burn.
The other day a kid stood outside making fun with his mates
Pointing at me, laughing and swinging on my gates.
But I smiled because I’m proud of what I’ve got set up for me
This is all mine, my beach house by the sea.
I make sandwiches, cheese and pickle on white
Wrapped in newspaper, made previous night.
That’ll do me till it is time for my tea
Which I will enjoy in the beach house by the sea.
Joe Cole Apr 2014
I listen to the sound of the breaking waves
Smell the salt tang in the air
I watch the graceful seagulls
Ride the thermals way up there
No sound of human voice, no strident car alarms
I sit in natures solitude enraptured by her charms
The sea reflects the sinking sun in hues of red and gold
I'll never tire of such things though I grow grey and old
The first gleam of the evening star appears in the ever growing dark
And the golden crescent of the moon begins her journey through the night
No words of mine can best describe natures perfect charm
This is peace, a perfect peace, tranquillity and calm
This was my very first attempt at writing and was written while I was sat on the rocks by the sea
recently
after every massacre
by some fanaticized pathological idiots
politicians call upon their citizens
to come together
and pray for the murdered and their families

this is absolutely appropriate

but it seems
that ever since 9/11
the nation only comes together
AFTER more of its members have been killed

I wish very much
that the nation
   AND politicians
would come together
BEFORE  the next massacre
and take appropriate action
to prevents such disasters
in the first place
Old Jim

"I'm grateful for the company

....sit down and I'll make tea"

"It's not often people visit

but, with the cat, us two make three"

He's hiding somewhere here

He's always there abouts

I just have to watch the doorway

I don't want him to get out

We listen to the radio

Can't afford to have TV

It's really not a loss though

Since I now can barely see

Time it takes it toll on you

A little more each day

I wish there was a little pill out there

That helped keep time at bay"

"There's the kettle, whistling"

I'll be back with our fresh brew

The cat won't drink it with me

So I'm only making two

I looked around the little room

All the drapes were closed up tight

It was sunny out and midday

But inside, it looked like night

There was one light in the corner

More for guests than Uncle Jim

HIs life was based on order

This room just wasn't him

"Here's the brew my boy" he said

"As he came back and sat with me

I watched him...two steps forward

One left,  then forward three"

He put the cups down gently

Didn't spill a single drop

He'd memorized his pathway

He knew exactly where to stop

"I've got biscuits, if you'd like"

"Some Hob Nobs from back home"

"I break them out for company

"They're too good for me alone"

I said that I would get them

and I exited my chair

He said they're up on top

But I'd never reach them there"

He came and got a grab stick

He poked and grabbed them from the shelf

He said "This things a lifesend"

"I'd never get them by myself"

We sat and talked for hours

Talked of sports and music too

He said that with his failing eyesight

There's really not much he could do

"It's saved me money someways"

"And cost  more in others though"

"But now that I'm not driving"

"I no longer shovel snow"

Jim, worked hard for forty years

He was a foreman in the mine

He'd been working round the coal for years

In fact since he was nine

He used to run small errands

From the office to the men

He lied about his age though

Jim told them he was ten

He'd retired back five years ago

When it got hard to breathe

"It was all I ever knew boy"

"I didn't want to leave"

Tons and Tons of coal dust

Must have filtered through his lungs

He was  dying slowly daily,

It started showing on his tongue

Small spots appeared which spread real quick

He started treatment right away

He knew the doctor would relieve him

Of his job, reduce his pay

"you know boy, there's a tale they tell"

"of birds down in the mine"

"when the birds fall off the perch stone dead

"Then we men have little time"

"We have to get out quickly

"For the bird has shown our fate

"But think a bit, the gas got him...

"So for us ...it was too late"

"We didn't really watch the bird

"We listened for his song

"For when his voice was laboured"

We knew it wasn't long"

"Dead birds...they meant dead miners"

At this my body jolted

"It;s like shutting up the old barn door"

"Even though the horse has bolted"

I finished up and said to Jim

I had to catch my bus

Jim said, "ok young man, be on your way"

" Now, it's just the two of us"

"You'll be back soon, I hope" he said

I said , "I sure will try"

"I like our little visits"

As he sat there and he sighed

"Just me and Tilly now" he said

As he saw me to the door

Stay safe my boy and oh....

He said "There's one thing more

"when you get on home...please phone me"

"It will make this old heart sing"

"Just phone me up and when you do...

"Let it go for just three rings"

I said I would, "but why three rings"

I asked, not four or five

"Three rings" he said's our signal

"In the mine....that you're alive"

I left and headed homeward

But first I'd stop of at the mall

Then I went home right directly

And I then gave Old  Jim his  call.
for those whose mothers are no more
the annual business hype of what to give
    and where to take your mother
is but  a sad remembrance of loss
stirring up memories of happier times
when she was still a pillar in your universe
loved and revered, and sometimes feared,
who taught you, patiently or not,  
the basics of survival in your expanding world.

She knew, while you were as yet unaware  
that all her loving preparations
would over time mean separation.

When you struck out to shape your life
all by yourself and left her with her fears for you,
her wishes,  and the hopes that what she tried
to give you was enough and right,
your heart and mind were elsewhere,  far away,
focused upon the future of your independent life.

Your years run fast and busy, and suddenly one day
you stand before her coffin
and discover that it is too late
for all the questions never asked.

What you have left are memories
and a vague sense of having missed the chance
to see - and maybe even understand a little -
the woman she has also been
throughout her life, behind her loving face
of a dear mother’s care and grace.
The upcoming Mother’s Day triggered these lines and made me remember the time when my mother was alive.
Ann M Johnson Aug 2014
Today's barren tree is tomorrows fruitful harvest
live life expectantly

— The End —