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kenz Sep 2021
Banti (ban-tee)
Such a odd name
But the name I called him
My beloved grandfather
The man who pushed me to do my best but without the pressure
The man who was always there
The man who put family above anything else
The man who was the easiest person to talk to
My grandfather
Leaving behind the people who needed him
Leaving behind his family
Leaving behind the pain that he had to push through
Selfish is what I am
He was in pain and sick
He had  a whistle because he couldn't get up
This whistle is all I have left
He made his mark
A great mark
A mark that will forever stay with everyone that knew him
A mark that left his dog depressed for days without eating
A mark that left many crying for days
Keywords that tell his story in my words.
His story.
My words.
My grandfather…..
“He loved his family above all else.”  (quote from his obituary)
Inspired by my creative writing teacher.
She sat there plucking bits out of the long grass in her hand
The wind ruffled her hair, lifting her eyelashes to the majestic view of the sunflower meadow
The sun setting had made a dark scarlet and purple hue in the sky
The birds retreating back to their nests
Over with their daily hunt for food, and singing their melodies
She sang her own song and whistled to the tune of the birds
Her eyes sparkling from the last rays of sun, she closed her eyes
Laying her head on the soft grass, she dozed into the night of stars
Hope this made your day better :)
Ale Jun 2020
From the old house in the planes
I can hear it from the hay,
The night quickly turned eerie
At the whistling miles away.

As I said into the dark
“Soon he’ll be around “,
Phantom tales coming back
The child cowered from the fire,

“If it sounds close, then he’s far,
If it sounds far, then he’s close”,
The man with the hat and matching coat
Dragging heavy bag of bones.

Cursed by his mother
Because he killed his father,
He roams till the end of time
He already got my brother.

He is roaming your neighborhood
When you hear the clanking sounds,
Now it’s my turn at last
To go join them in the bag.
I don’t know if I’m going crazy but I’ve heard the whistling once and the sound of bones outside various times. If you like horror stories, I invite you to read about “El Silbón”(The Whistling Man). It’s a folktale originating from Venezuela and it’s very enjoyable if you are into that sort of thing.
Mystic Ink Plus Apr 2020
I don't want this
To be understood

Just for a while
Can we think of that time?
Where the leaders don't need to
Trial the trust
Every time

I don't understand how they digest
Inedible ****
I don't understand how smartly we are misguided.
I don't understand their blind supporters.
I don't understand whom they stand for.
I don't understand the basis needs.
I don't understand their priorities.
I don't understand

And I don't want this
To be understood

Being outsider
Jay Nepal
Genre: Observational
Theme:  Humanity above Politics
Author's Note: What if we need the drugs, but are given placebo?
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
by Michael R. Burch

after William Blake


Many a sun
and many a moon
I walked the earth
and whistled a tune.

I did not whistle
as I worked:
the whistle was my work.
I shirked

nothing I saw
and made a rhyme
to children at play
and hard time.


Among the prisoners
I saw
the leaden manacles
of Law,

the heavy ball and chain,
the quirt.
And yet I whistled
at my work.


Among the children’s
daisy faces
and in the women’s
frowsy laces,

I saw redemption,
and I smiled.
Satanic millers,

were swayed by neither girl,
nor child,
nor any God of Love.
Yet mild

I whistled at my work,
and Song
broke out,
ere long.

Keywords/Tags: Orpheus, singer, poet, William Blake, whistle, Satanic, mills, manacles, law, leaden, ball, chain, prison, song, freedom
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
The Pain of Love
by Michael R. Burch

for T. M.

The pain of love is this:
the parting after the kiss;

the train steaming from the station
whistling abnegation;

each interstate’s bleak white bar
that vanishes under your car;

every hour and flower and friend
that cannot be saved in the end;

dear things of immeasurable cost ...
now all irretrievably lost.

Note: The title “The Pain of Love” was suggested by an interview with Little Richard, then eighty years old, in Rolling Stone. He said that someone should create a song called “The Pain of Love.” I have always found the departure platforms of railway stations and the vanishing broken white bars of highway dividing lines to be terribly depressing. Keywords/Tags: pain, love, parting, kiss, train, whistle, departure, platform, interstate, dividing, line, hour, flower, friend, lost, cost
Zack Ripley Nov 2019
The wind whistles as it whips down the winding street
Trying to knock down people
wary of the ice and snow beneath their feet.
The sky watching over them is still.
But it's a trap. A storm is coming in for the ****
Mrs Timetable Jan 2020
A mournful sound of a train
I’m not sure why
Makes me want to cry

Is it saying I’m going now
Like it’s saying goodbye
I might never see you again

Or is it saying i will be back soon
Wait for me
Don’t move

Pitiful mourning in the night
When everything is sleeping
Searing soulfully in the mist

Why does this sound
evoke emotion like this
I get up so it can speak to me

I grew up with it
It’s familiar to this child
A long comforting hug

Maybe it’s the strength
Maybe it’s the speed
Maybe it’s the a far off loud

A need to keep hearing
It's only a whistle
Holding in my memory
One of my favorite sounds
Look down.
There’s a whole world below,
dug out and timber-framed,
mapped and named.
Its tunnels stretch for miles
under the mountain.

Once it shook with blasting,
screech of train, and whistles.
The coal was iridescent blue.
Headlights on a curved track
burst like shooting stars
out of the deep.

That mirror world is dark now.
The men laid down their tools,
and took the mantrip
to the surface, home.
In the quiet,
hear the mountain sigh.
was in canmore, canada for vacation. saw these words engraved into the sidewalk... thought it was really poetic!

/taken from the canmore city website/
Canmore was named in 1884 by Donald A. Smith, an employee of the Canadian Pacific Railway. The name originates from a town on the northwest shores of Scotland named in honor of King Malcolm III of Canmore. The anglicized version of the Gaelic Ceann Mór , Canmore has been variously translated as "big head" or, more likely, "great head" or "chief".

In 1886 Queen Victoria granted a coal mining charter to the town and in 1887 the first mine was opened.

The North West Mounted Police built their first barracks in Canmore in 1890. It was vacated in 1929 and turned into a private residence. Later, in 1989 the barracks was purchased back by the town and restored.

Through the early 20th century many of the coal mines in the Bow Valley began to shut down. The nearby towns of Anthracite, Georgetown and Bankhead closed down and many of the buildings and residents were relocated to Banff and Canmore. In 1965, Canmore was incorporated as a town with 2,000 residents. I
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