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We walk through a desert:
Bone dry and sterile,
For mile after mile.
Trudging endlessly
Through emptiness.

But then we see it!
A tiny stalk
Forcing through the claggy sand.
Life!
Nature so determined
To break through
Anything.
Giving us Hope
Of better things.
And sure enough: we find there’s more and more
Until we are surrounded
By lush green trees.

Spring is just like this.
Hardy plants pushing through the soil.
Tight buds that slowly open
As Mother Nature wakens
From her icy slumbers.
Hope gives way to warmth
As Winter is banished
At last
For another year.

Spring is such a time of promise.
Looking forward to summer days,
Lounging in the sun.
We enjoy our Easter eggs
In the knowledge
That Whitsuntide is coming,
And then the “Summer Hols”.
It’s time to smile.

Paul Butters

© PB 7\4\2018.
Spring is here.
Childhood notions transmigrate,
as seconds increases time's height.
The manly instincts begin to prevail,
as I spread my wings toward Adulthood.

The man I want to be is a man who conquers defeat.
Beaten but not broken,
defeated but not limited.
Rising above the dreary shadows will serve as light for all who come behind.

The man I want to be is a relentless dreamer,
whose mental eyes envision spring from summer.
The man I want to be is an accurate planner,
Whose calculations provide food in famine.

The man I want to be is an epitome of discipline
Who rises up every morning to derive a schedule for the day.
The man I want to be is a workaholic
Who works tirelessly till evening and drive home to the hands of firm embrace.

The man I want to be is a man of wealth
Whose worth is not measured by the money he possesses but his contribution to humanity.
The man I want to be is a man of value whose judgement cannot be impaired by money.

The man I want to be is a strong man
whose strength is not in the size of his arms but the elasticity of his ideas.
The man I want to be is a strong man who hides a million feeling under a smile.

The man I want to be is a just man
who respects every man's opinion with equity regardless of religion and ethnicity.
The man I want to be is a tough man whose conviction will not be eroded by people's opinion.

The man I want to be is a father to the fatherless and a defense to the voiceless,
whose ears will always be opened to the pleas of the deprived.

The man I want to be is a man of varlour
Who shapens his life and the lives of those around him on his knees.



The man I want to be is you Dad
Dedicated to the loving memories of my beloved father Late Pastor Ejiro Sajini.
Beautiful melodies
sounding like lullabies
sung by garnished beaks
hurrying across the sky

Wonder sprouts
as melodies fall.
roses smile
at incredible sights.

Quavering lips of mine
Spill words in time
'I love you please be mine'

Kneeling on one knee
blooming rose stretched by my hands.
Looking at my reflection
in the mirror of your eyes.

Mouth speaks,
making ripples
On eternities stream.

Would you sing for me
when my piano skills you no more feel?
Would you hold my hands
when I've lost my fans?
Would you be mine
till I can no more write?
Dedicated to.................................................
whom it concerns.
There was a certain genral
As shady as can be
His army and his
Assets
He turned upon me
The fight
Drew long
The arrows unkind
Battlefields
Of morals
The crossing of lines
I’m still alive
Trying to break free
Chipping at the wall
They built around me
......
Traveler Tim
Mi. Attn Gen
She's wrapped herself on the wall
With her fragrant pink flowers
In bunches of disheveled disarray

And when the summer wind blows
It sends a gentle floral shower
Of blossoms and scents my way

At night, under the moon and stars
I inhale her. With her I love to be
And though I dally and play with words
There can never be a poem as she.
And when my mind
Is finally gone
No recall
Of what went wrong
Memories blurred
No longer cursed
Judged and blessed
Of all my worth

I will set quietly
In happy thoughts
Awaiting the stages
Where death is lost
Where you and I
Shall meet again
Hearts in minds
Behind our pens

No need to believe
In promises made
Entropy is
An eternal phase
.............
Traveler Tim
 Apr 2018 Debbie Brindley
Cné

Through the withered branches
where the verdant leaves once grew,
I stared up at the old oak tree
against a sky of blue.

The branches stretched to heaven
as a supplicant might do.
It seemed to pray, as if to say,
"My time at last is through."

I wondered at the gnarly trunk
and limbs of twisted wood
And for a moment thought of life
and almost understood.

Life and death go hand in hand.  
Our time is our's to spend.
But like the tree against the gale,
‘tis better if we bend.

I'll pay it forward when I can.  
Thy brothers' keeper be.
I'll keep the roots well watered
and learn the lessons of the tree.

It shares the world with nestlings
and it's acorns oft abound,
To feed the hungry denizens
that glean them from the ground.

It's leaves give shade to those below.  
It's branches form a gym.
Children climb to see the world
and love this gift to them.

And as I watched, the farmer
came and laid the old husk low.
Firewood now, would be it's fate
and make the chimney glow.

Ashes unto ashes and to dust
we must return.
All of life in cycle goes
and from this I hope to learn:

This gift of life to all below,
all creatures great and small,
Is just a stop upon the trip
we travel, one and all.

Inspired by a photo shared by Melissa. Happy Earth Day!
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