#poetrylife
Out on the track that fateful day
I had just turned to train a mile
When old man Finn, asked where I'd been
could he tag along for awhile
"Of course" I said, he turned his mare
we set out for the quarter pole
The leisured mile, we made in style
a two forty clip was the goal
Reaching the quarter then the half
we were on track to make the grade
Three quarters down, I turned around
to see Finn looked a bit afraid
His mare was at a full gallop
bitten by a horse fly I thought
Over the rail, with Finn in trail
their fates tied to the lessons taught
He'd been thrown over the withers
came down hard on the limestone track
Finn was old , but cut from the mold
of men who go forward not back
I pulled my horse up, turned around
hoping to help him if I could
He'd had a stroke, his hip was broke
he lie gasping against the wood
We then took up a collection
to help the old man convalesce
Each man knew, Finn's chances were few
as this made of his life a mess
Kind and charmed I knew him to be
five handsome young sons to his name
Sadly then, those who knew him when
said life would never be the same
I had saved a thousand dollars
a sizable sum for a lad
As I was young, my life unsung
I had given them all I had
My father threw a fit that night
"I can't believe you sometimes son
Hard as it is, in the horse biz
how can I look past what you've done"
Each of us knew the hardships then
we shared part and parcel the same
But as a boy, I took no joy
in most truths of that deadly game
I ran my horse four days later
The Finn's drove in every race
my mare in back, of the pack
that night circled the field in place
Each of them smiled as I rode by
hell they might just as well have waved
While each was as drunk, as a skunk
yet they were all so well behaved
From that night on they cared for me
I laughed as I knew I'd been played
Life was no chore, it gave back more
I was proud of the friends I’d made
Tate
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
Dice-like words toss around mind,
until ready for the written poem to emerge.
To tickle eyes that gracefully move.
To open heart for time to stop.
To heal pains and know ones not alone.
To retrieve memories with a smile
as melodies linger.
Hooray for playing the game of life with dice fully loaded.
Hooray for life that unfolds divinely.
StarBG © 2017
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 12:09 PM UTC
She never said it was gone it just faded like a sunset and the light hasn't crept in yet.
Where did it go?
Was it the pill's the drinks or maybe a combination
of something we never cared to recall?
I walk towards the end as you simply walked away.
Nothing holds you better than the regrets through yet another empty hours night .
You drink to forget then you just somehow forget to stop .
Watch one to many a sunrise then repeat the cycle till one day your no longer here .
I'm not in denial of the truth I embrace it as once I did you .
And now I wait where others choose to live .
Catching a buzz and a one night stand in-between .
Painting the pictures that write the page in regrets and dead end streets it all goes to **** eventually why not have a smoke before the fires of your personal demons consume you .
I never cared for conversation's much to begin with .
And now I find little reason to disturb the silence to simply hear my own words spoken aloud .
It's definitely half empty in this case but at least it was a hundred proof to begin with .
Never ******** yourself it was always a gamble from the start.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 2:55 PM UTC
If only I were great, what tales I would spin
If only I could reach that space from within
The point from which great writers do extricate
those rivers of poetic beauty they create
the ones people seem to get lost inside of
the ones that seem magically to descend from above
A piece that would quench the most hard to please thirst
and it's ten millionth reading would entertain as it's first
If only my writing were "all the rage"
to see it in print, with my name on the page
A dream so illusive, so far yet so near
A reality so clouded, so distorted yet clear
Great paintings are seen and great poems are heard
Great painters use paint, great writers use words
It all sounds so simple and yet it's so hard
like trying to pull an ace out of fifty-two cards
I would write for you all, lines that others would imitate
I would write for you all ...
If only I were great
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
So, I have a friend called water,
you can see straight through her most times as
she is so clear in her manner,
but she always has no taste in conversation,
because I can sometimes see,
the traces of dirt she carries with her,
and I’ve come to realise she clearly has no filter.
She often soaks you with shock,
you have to run and sit somewhere tranquil to pacify your stressed heart.
She’s always very cold,
and has to be forced to warm up to you.
People say she’s a healthy fit for you,
but I would think twice before you invite her into your home.
Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved
Jul 22, 2020
Jul 22, 2020 at 4:53 AM UTC
The Lion Within
She roars like a lion
within me,
filling me with fire.
Her love
is my one true desire.
And with her,
I feel invincible—
conquering all,
with her love
as my principle.
In her strength,
I find my forever.
May 1
May 1, 2026 at 3:42 AM UTC
“Where Courage Finds Its Sound”
***
He walks out front.
Not behind.
Not tucked safe in the ranks.
No shield.
No sword.
Just lungs full of fire
and a tune older than kings.
The pipes scream.
Not for ceremony—
for courage.
For the lads behind him
with blades in hand
and hearts thumping like war drums.
He plays through the smoke,
through the fear,
through the mud that grabs at boots
and the sky that spits iron.
Every note says:
We are still here.
Every breath says:
We do not kneel.
And when the clash comes—
steel on steel,
roar on roar—
he plays louder.
Because freedom needs a soundtrack,
and he’s the first to bleed it into the wind.
May 6
May 6, 2026 at 8:47 AM UTC
She’s bends at the waist,
but don’t mistake that for weakness.
It’s the weight of life—
the dishes, the laundry, the paperwork,
the kids with their stories and questions
stacked high on her back
like a globe that never stops spinning.
They sit up there,
laughing, reading,
wrapped in comfort she built from scratch.
They don’t see the strain in her shoulders,
the ache in her silence,
the way she folds her tired body into love
and just keeps going.
No spotlight.
No applause.
Just quiet strength
walking and working through the day
like it’s normal
to carry the whole world
and still make tea.
By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)
Apr 29
Apr 29, 2026 at 5:21 AM UTC
When I look at you…
I don’t just see children.
I see time itself—
moving, changing,
growing right in front of me.
You are my sunrise—
the kind that pulls me out of sleep
even when I’m tired,
even when life feels heavy—
because somehow,
you make the world begin again.
And in the same breath—
you are my sunset.
All those colours you bring into my life—
loud, messy, beautiful—
the kind you can’t hold onto,
only stand back and feel.
You are my mornings—
full of questions I can’t always answer,
energy I can’t always match,
but wonder I never want to lose.
And my afternoons—
where everything turns into adventure.
A walk becomes a journey,
a game becomes a battle,
and somehow…
I’m invited into your worlds.
You are my evenings—
quiet moments,
laughter softening into tired smiles,
memories forming
before I even realise, they’re happening.
And then there’s the twilight—
those in-between times,
where you’re not quite little anymore…
but not grown either.
That part—
that part catches me off guard.
Because I see who you’re becoming,
and I’m proud—
but I’d be lying if I said
I don’t miss who you were.
You are my dawn—
hope in its purest form.
Everything I didn’t get right,
everything I wished for—
somehow…
you carry it forward.
And even in the midnight—
in the worries,
the fears,
the quiet thoughts that keep me awake—
you are still there.
A light.
A reason.
A reminder
of what matters.
And every now and then…
you are the eclipse.
That rare, breathtaking moment
that stops me completely—
when I look at you and think,
“How did I get so lucky
to be your dad?”
Now, listen to me—
if the world ever overlooks you,
if people fail to see
what I see…
don’t let that change you.
Because not everyone
knows how to recognise treasure.
But I do.
I always will.
And loving you—
that’s the greatest thing
I’ve ever been given to keep.
Mar 21
Mar 21, 2026 at 10:39 AM UTC