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And then it occurred to me: THIS AUTHOR WAS ABLE TO TRANSFORM ME INTO ANOTHER WORLD AND HAD SUCCEEDED IN CAUSING ME TO FEEL EMOTIONS …
I found a love for poetry back in middle school, but didn't really dig my roots in until 4 years ago when I realized all …
Wales UK
I have been writing poetry for several years now. I have three daughters and seven grandchildren, I love life and never take anything for granted.
Poems
Lynda Kerby Oct 2017
Note to self from years ago
Lynda Kerby
Oct 2017
Dear Lynda, Nov.8, 2001
Hello.
I am sitting here, Thursday evening and have decided to write you a love letter.
Maybe you will receive this letter at a time when you need to hear the reminder that I do love you and I have for over 35 years.
Even during those years when I was pretty mean and called you names but I know you forgave me a long time ago.
Thank you Lynda for never giving up on life. God/fate/genes/self-pity/chemical imbalance or who knows what dealt you with many years of depression and you never let it win!
I love that you are aware of the joys, quirks, injustices, wonders, tackiness, miraculousness, agony, humanity and inhumanity of this soap opera we call life.
You may not know why you are here but you always keep your mind open in order to catch a glimpse of a clue.
Keep seeking.
Keep learning.
Keep experiencing.
Keep loving.
Keep on keeping on.
Dare to love yourself.
You are still here and you are just fine.
You really are doing good.
One life time to live is a gift too precious to take for granted.
Lynda, I love that you have always been introspective.
You have begun a project without knowing the outcome but always believing it to be regarded as a sacred duty.
Never doubt that you are special.
Never suspect that you aren't less than awesome!
I love you, Lynda and I will learn to love you more as the years go by.
You will do many good things and I am patting you on the back in advance.
You possess an irreplaceable essence of uniqueness juxtapositioned with a most common simple humble low maintenance bologna on white bread life.
I love you, Lynda and I love that you love yourself enough to read these words.
I love you when you are too ******* yourself.
I love you when you dwell on your problems.
I love you when you ***** up and take the blame and eat the **** sandwich and face the music and learn the hard way and I love you when you get back up, when you swallow your pride, when you face your fear, when you accept the truth and when you are left with nothing to believe in or nothing left to feel.
I love you despite everything and especially because of it.
I love you, Lynda.
Thank you for being me,
Love,
Lynda
Hello.
I am sitting here, Thursday evening and have decided to write you a love letter.
Maybe you will receive this letter at a time when you need to hear the reminder that I do love you and I have for over 35 years.
Even during those years when I was pretty mean and called you names but I know you forgave me a long time ago.
Thank you Lynda for never giving up on life. God/fate/genes/self-pity/chemical imbalance or who knows what dealt you with many years of depression and you never let it win!
I love that you are aware of the joys, quirks, injustices, wonders, tackiness, miraculousness, agony, humanity and inhumanity of this soap opera we call life.
You may not know why you are here but you always keep your mind open in order to catch a glimpse of a clue.
Keep seeking.
Keep learning.
Keep experiencing.
Keep loving.
Keep on keeping on.
Dare to love yourself.
You are still here and you are just fine.
You really are doing good.
One life time to live is a gift too precious to take for granted.
Lynda, I love that you have always been introspective.
You have begun a project without knowing the outcome but always believing it to be regarded as a sacred duty.
Never doubt that you are special.
Never suspect that you aren't less than awesome!
I love you, Lynda and I will learn to love you more as the years go by.
You will do many good things and I am patting you on the back in advance.
You possess an irreplaceable essence of uniqueness juxtapositioned with a most common simple humble low maintenance bologna on white bread life.
I love you, Lynda and I love that you love yourself enough to read these words.
I love you when you are too ******* yourself.
I love you when you dwell on your problems.
I love you when you ***** up and take the blame and eat the **** sandwich and face the music and learn the hard way and I love you when you get back up, when you swallow your pride, when you face your fear, when you accept the truth and when you are left with nothing to believe in or nothing left to feel.
I love you despite everything and especially because of it.
I love you, Lynda.
Thank you for being me,
Love,
Lynda
Bobby Ray Bagley
Jul 2015
Mona Lisa clowned
Mona Lisa frowned
Lynda said she got browned
Lynda rolling, toiling, gliding
Hitting a meeting in town.
Riding, jammin, bamming
Moonlight in the lightning
Lynda cramming, driving
Blasting to the beat...
Badass ***** hitting, smashing
Thundering in recovery
You don't do Lynda,
Maybe or
Maybe not....Dummy
Mona Lisa frowned
Lynda said she got browned
Lynda rolling, toiling, gliding
Hitting a meeting in town.
Riding, jammin, bamming
Moonlight in the lightning
Lynda cramming, driving
Blasting to the beat...
Badass ***** hitting, smashing
Thundering in recovery
You don't do Lynda,
Maybe or
Maybe not....Dummy
Loser
Mar 2019
I don’t like the beach. And I don’t like sand in my sheets or salt in my water.
I don’t like crowded places full of half naked strangers or burnt skin peeling off of my neck. I’ve felt this way for quite some time, but my grandma begged to differ.
She had sea shells decorating hallways, and she had paintings in every room. Next to pictures of me and my cousins and in frames on guest bed night stands. She had closets jam packed with beach towels and drawers of polka dot swim suits. And she had a smile on her face when me and my cousins would reach the shore and finally get the guts to jump in.
I don’t like the beach, and If you knew, that would make you sad, but I swear to god that this time I enjoyed the beach in a different way.
The sun was just rising, and the wind was cool and calm, and the only people beside me were the ones I truly loved. We got to the shore in silence and mom wrote "Lynda" in the sand. Then She took out the box that was painted lightly with seagulls and blue waves. And from the box she put her ashes across her sand-written name, and we watched in silence and acceptance as the waves took her away.
I don’t like crowded places full of half naked strangers or burnt skin peeling off of my neck. I’ve felt this way for quite some time, but my grandma begged to differ.
She had sea shells decorating hallways, and she had paintings in every room. Next to pictures of me and my cousins and in frames on guest bed night stands. She had closets jam packed with beach towels and drawers of polka dot swim suits. And she had a smile on her face when me and my cousins would reach the shore and finally get the guts to jump in.
I don’t like the beach, and If you knew, that would make you sad, but I swear to god that this time I enjoyed the beach in a different way.
The sun was just rising, and the wind was cool and calm, and the only people beside me were the ones I truly loved. We got to the shore in silence and mom wrote "Lynda" in the sand. Then She took out the box that was painted lightly with seagulls and blue waves. And from the box she put her ashes across her sand-written name, and we watched in silence and acceptance as the waves took her away.
I’ve neglected this burden for quite some time now, but a dear friend of mine is going through something that has reminded me to write of this.