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LaToya Martin Nov 2020
He went on and on about his childhood
About how he walked miles to school barefoot in snow
Oh how we chuckled to his many stories
Grandpa spoke about where he and grandma first met
He rambled about life
And how the news was so important to watch
How saving money was mandatory
And material things wasn’t
I remember the smell of his homemade biscuits
baking in the morning
Long before the rooster crowed
He attended his garden faithfully as if resting was a sin
Grandpa’s words were heard miles away
Even if he spoke in silence
As a child he didn’t have presents for Christmas
So he explained that we should be thankful
Even if nothing was wrapped with a bow and given as a gift
I remember as he sat in his recliner
And his gray hair shimmered under the lights
And how all of us kids would laugh when he and grandma argued
This year will be different
Now it’s our time to reminiscence about him
He has decided to finally rest
Because Grandpa won’t be here this Christmas
                                                              
                                           -LaToya Martin
Celestial Nov 2020
Your heart is not old,
That I can guarantee.
The actions may not be as bold,
However, I can still see.

The love you give is pure.
Nothing in this world can compare.
In my eyes you will never be lost.
As long as I can still hold you.

Our conversations may repeat.
You always keep it upbeat.
The repetition will place a seat.
In my memories forever a treat.

Great and grand,
Are before your motherhood.
You've earned it in blessings,
And in honest hard work.

The wit and charm you give,
Will be well learned for us to live.
Lives happy and filled with laughter.
When we do, it shakes the rafters.

He will hear it soon,
For your heart he will swoon.
Then you will be gone,
We can only hope for a new dawn.

You are loved so completely.
I know I can only do my best,
Which you taught me.
So I return it to you for your care.

No more worries,
Don't have to hurry.
This is now a resting.
It is us he is testing.

Love you to the moon and back.
I will be fine with your watchful eye,
And gifts given to me.
So don't cry..

It's been such a pleasure,
Far more than one can measure.
One last hug and my heart tugs.
Just do not want a goodbye.

My heart says see you later instead.
I kiss your forehead.
Sweetly like you've shown.
Thank you, for making me grown.
Life is usually spent well, and love is supposed to be given when deserved.
moonrabbit Nov 2020
Smoking out by a fire
in the middle of the day, the two young men wear straw hats–
gardening hats. T shirts. Shorts. Bare feet. Laughing and smoking ***.

The old woman approaches them.
They stop laughing and one of them
reverently hands her a joint.

She takes it and takes a long drag.

She wants to sit down.
But she hasn’t got time.
One of the boys stands up
from his camp chair and
guides her by the arm,
offering his seat.

Well all right she thinks. I have
time for one more.

The standing boy crouches on the
ground beside them.

The twilight is descending into darkness now. A midnight bunny bounds across the moon.

The woman laughs in recognition.
My mother told me that story when I was young, she says.

The two young men look at her respectfully, waiting for her offerings of human life stories–  of all the stories she has lived and those she has heard and those she has yet to find.

They wait and listen.

But she is silent at first.
She waits herself.
For something more
to strike her fancy.

The flames pop up, flicking bits of
light and ash into the treetops.
She sinks back in her chair and
watches the smoke rise.

She takes a drag on the joint and
hands it back to the boy. She sighs,
contented to look up at the smoke
and the treetops and the darkening blue sky.

The faintest flicker of a birdsong in the trees. Fireflies in the night.
Undead Nomad Dec 2019
I sit down near an old tree,
or what could be mistaken as such
a man was planted there like one at least
I gaze in his direction curiously
Looking for answers to questions not yet asked

the lines on his face draw attention
depicted tales
crooked trenches of battle
stubbled stories of history
lessons learned from repetitive struggle

yet

his soul peers out from behind his rugged vessel
revealing images of a hopeful spirit
a softer surface than the rock before me
a kinder presence hidden from all but the studious

though no words need be exchanged
enough had been spoken
I leave him alone in his stead
to continue burning his candle

I wondered afterwards, as I do so often
maybe that light has been shared with me
maybe the man is a reflection somehow
or a messanger of conscious direction

oh, if only one could learn so much from a glance
Imbibe in a moment what took another a lifetime
then all would be fine, all questions with answers found
and I would find peace in my peculiar state
Peter Balkus Aug 2019
Maybe I would have stayed,
if they told me the truth
why they are there for.

And maybe, if they tried a bit harder,
came clean and smelled nice,
maybe I wouldn’t have minded.

If they knew how to speak to me,
if they behaved like gentlemen, not ******,
maybe they would have had me.

If they showed a bit of decency
and a bit of courtesy,
an ounce of a dignity,
not spying on me,
only with lust in loans,
maybe they'd have me all.

If they bought me flowers
or sang me a song,
or played a sweet tune,
made me feel like a Princess,
maybe
I wouldn't have said No.
Inspired by the painting "Susanna and the Elders" by Rembrandt.
Lady Ravenhill May 2019
Old oak heritage
Ancient tree lingers on
a living relic
@LadyRavenhill 2019
Haiku 80
my ears have been blown,
like shrapnel
by the elders always
reiterating
their complex tics of
indistinguishable versification

“energy is wasted
on the youth.”

well...

the youth need that energy
to patiently wait on the elders
as they buy an over abundance
of lotto tickets and hold up the line
at the local convenience store
because they don’t know what
else to do with their money
while they’re waiting to die
Saint Jimmy Nov 2017
Respect your elders I spit
Respect those who've lived and work decades before you I snarl

I show no respect to you
I show respect if you earn it

The entitled generation that is anything but vs the old generation who believe themselves better.

"Respect your elders!" The shout that answers my "*******"
I'll show respect when given.

Respect your elders, but only if they respect you
Treat people right bros, but don't let them walk all over you

St J
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