"gentler" poems
The cloudless day is richer at its close;
A golden glory settles on the lea;
Soft, stealing shadows hint of cool repose
To mellowing landscape, and to calming sea.
And in that nobler, gentler, lovelier light,
The soul to sweeter, loftier bliss inclines;
Freed form the noonday glare, the favour'd sight
Increasing grace in earth and sky divines.
But ere the purest radiance crowns the green,
Or fairest lustre fills th' expectant grove,
The twilight thickens, and the fleeting scene
Leaves but a hallow'd memory of love!
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Sweeter than the song of a nightingale
Gentler than the whisper of a spring wind
Quieter than the murmur of summer grass
Softer than the symphony of hyacinths
Hypnotic like the splash of blue seas
Tinkling like a stream that flows
Mesmerizing like the cadence of rain
Enchanting like the hush of snow
Like the faint breath of a scarlet dawn
The rustle of clouds on a turquoise high
A duet of night and an ivory moon
A Capella of stars in the sky
A hymn, a chant, a choir of angels
Singing on a rainbow of time
Celestial is the serenade of love
A tune and a note divine.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
On days, when time is going too fast,
I can't catch up, and there're things i can't get past,
I'd pull a chair at the verandah....just sit there
To witness, the gentler goings on in life...
See, how...why all plants face towards the sun,
On a dimly lit corner, watch a spider patiently spin its web,
Underneath the gravel and green grass, somehow,
The earthworm, painstakingly, bravely emerges,
Finds its way out of the soil...to remind us,
"...soil is healthy....it's time to plant!"
:::::
I feel, the beetle knows me, as it inches on,
Carrying its own body, crawling down the pine tree,
I won't ever grasp it, nor tie a string on its body
To control its range of movement,
As we do to tethered beasts of burden...
:::::
While sitting there, i decide: by all means,
Towards the flower *** i lean
Take time to smell a rose, feel its rough leaf
Not just a quick touch and sniff
But hold its thorny body, without daring to blink
While deep within, i'd let its fragrance sink
:::::
Some early evenings
When the cicadas' music are echoing
And the moths have started flying
Circling round the light at the ceiling,
I am warned...soon, it will be raining
And.....when it starts to rain, i keep listening
Til i'm soothed by the sound of rain...falling,
From sky to treetops.....flowing...landing
Next to the leaves......cascading down
To the concrete ground
Spreading quickly, far and deep...and as fate,
As nature would have it....the soil, without fail, waits...
:::::
Long time ago, we were small,
Curious and brave, we tasted glory, and all,
Armed with a child's innocence
And an insatiable hunger for learning...
Our eyes, our minds dilated,
Our brains were like sponge...
Like the soil.....we absorbed
All, that we discovered...
:::::
Sally
Copyright December 1, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 3:28 PM UTC
We're working on a job together
Actually, we're building a set
And yes, there's been many other times we've met
You weren't so nice to me, but since this job there's a gentler turn
I see it when you approach me, you show a softer side
And when the others leave, you approach me closer, with a quicker stride
Today I had no doubt, it was easy to read between the lines
You came in quietly, and I'll be honest, you weren't looking fine
As we talked, you seem so fascinated, I felt so watched
This was definitely being taken up a notch
So we arrived at a part of the set and you asked me if I liked the plan
I didn't particularly care for it, but honestly it didn't remind me of a man
You said, it's boxy, sharp corners, a masculine design
"Maybe you'd like it curvy," you say, and I'm looking at your sight line
They say you can tell where someone is looking from a hundred feet away
Well, this was much less feet than that today
I knew exactly where you were looking
I knew what that look meant
And yes, I liked it better curvy
So maybe your advice was heaven sent
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 3:01 AM UTC
i never wanted to kiss her lips,
just hold her hand
maybe kiss her cheeks because she suited a gentler kind of treatment
something softer and more delicate, quiet;
quieter than the constant raging storms inside my stomach,
inside my mind
(never my heart)
those plump lips
she bit them raw when nervous, and they swelled
blossomed ruby as she looked at me
like she knew this wouldn't last
her eyes remained doughy and mellow
when i met her gaze.
my smile stung as it stretched the lines left by winter's bite
and split them open once more.
she brushed the blood beads away with her fingertips
with a touch so reverent that, for a moment, i thought
maybe she felt as though she were touching rosary beads instead,
and i held my breath to stop myself from chasing her
touch, and pressing her down into the mattress
unholy, chasing pleasure.
both agnostic, but she was much more pure than i;
chivalries always in mind, i wanted to preserve that.
there's always been something inside me
that presses down the animalistic urges with
a conscience caught on consideration and something akin to courtly love-
i wanted to woo her before i pursued her
but i never got further than pressing my lips to her forehead,
wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
i laced my fingers with hers but avoided tying any knots.
i am not a man to be bound,
too free-spirit, too restless, too claustrophobic;
a few months in and i was choking on the ghost of a future;
she kissed me first and i suffocated on the phantom of her hopes for us:
a future that didn't yet exist,
and i didn't want it to.
i never kissed her; i never let her kiss me again.
we tangled fingers over the duvet
the television a background noise to our unsteady breaths,
shallower
than my love for her
i enjoyed her quiet affection like one might enjoy curling into a blanket when cold and ill.
i wanted her smiles, i wanted to fill her memories with goodness
so that she never need feel hopeless, like all men are the same
so that she had something to smile about when she looked back on us;
once the bitterness of our breakup had left her mouth-
whenever that eventual end would be-
she could savour the taste of our sweet, slow-burn, love affair
and be reminded that not all love is true love, but nor is all love heart breaking
i broke her heart anyway.
nobody ever taught me how cruel kindness could be.
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
fear me not, though I am armed.
I have opened my entry to that next country,
and my heels sit upon its border.
gentler, guiltier than last time, I reach for thee
and as I drown and I dry, I hope for her to see.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
Gentler then the sweet spring rain
And bolder than the thunder storms that follow
With the hue of a freshly awakened flower,
That has the courage to dance with the elements,
She takes center-stage of the room.
Bearing the most captivating outfit she could throw together
The beauty that surrounds her cannot be described with mere mortal words
For she has transformed herself into a goddess
A gift of nature
Such an uncommon sight, seeing this woman carry herself with such grace
One would be lead to believe she is searching for attention
But the opposite is true
For holding onto her arm, her most prized-possession,
A man of simple taste that treats her like a princess.
She is not dressing up for her own pleasure but for his
Showing her beauty off to the world
And letting them all know he is worthy of such a girl
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 7:02 PM UTC
the world is too bright.
i am blinded by false smiles and laughs strained to reach that falsetto note.
that preconceived notion that paradise of the land brings paradise of the mind.
sand is still sand, and water is still water,
less we quantify their quality by purity and color.
sand is still sand and water is still water,
and i am still me.
the world is too bright,
so i filter it into sepia tones gentler to the mind's eye and swim to where the water meets the clouds.
i am drowning,
but not from the ocean's relentless caresses,
but from the world's relentless stresses:
beauty that is measured and calculated,
saturated with standards that burn like the sun and are as intangible as its rays,
a paradise built on sand as quick as it is to judge.
so i swim to where the water meets the clouds.
where the water is still water,
and i am still me.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
It only takes one bullet to **** a king
But you can't **** a dream
The talk is talked
And the walk is walked today
It's a shame the bridge is named
for a hood who wore a hood
The good General turned grand
in the land and time of dragons
that feasted on Sundays
and still would
if we let them
Or maybe not
Maybe it's a fitting reminder
A bridge to a kinder
gentler place
Because we're better than that now
Aren't we
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
Take heed of loving me;
At least remember I forbade it thee;
Not that I shall repair my unthrifty waste
Of breath and blood, upon thy sighs and tears,
By being to thee then what to me thou wast;
But so great joy our life at once outwears;
Then, lest thy love by my death frustrate be,
If thou love me, take heed of loving me.
Take heed of hating me,
Or too much triumph in the victory;
Not that I shall be mine own officer,
And hate with hate again retaliate;
But thou wilt lose the style of conqueror
If I, thy conquest, perish by thy hate;
Then, lest my being nothing lessen thee,
If thou hate me, take heed of hating me.
Yet, love and hate me too;
So, these extremes shall neither’s office do;
Love me, that I may die the gentler way;
Hate me, because thy love is too great for me;
Or let these two themselves, not me, decay;
So shall I live thy stage, not triumph be;
Lest thou thy love and hate and me undo,
To let me live, O love and hate me too.
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Mild day in winter, week before Christmas
Turns out the tree in your front yard has been
A holly tree all along, finally showing true colors
As a taxi driver leaves the driveway and
A neighbor in a red shirt crosses the concrete
Sidewalk. The succulents to my side reach like alien
Synapses, your white car looks at me cross-
eyed, cinnabar brick damp with Peninsula fog.
The morning’s cup of coffee still lingers on my
Tongue, my body aches with last night’s indulgences
And repressions. Warmth is relative, hangovers
Are absolute. A pagan zodiac spins inside a
Haze of long-lost memories, a gauntlet of trees.
A gentler repercussion, a less insightful song,
For I am only human, stains on my sleeve,
Sleeping in when I should be producing anything.
I forget what I am, except a shivering flesh vessel.
I cannot remember what I was supposed
To be.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
My child Before you were born
I use to eat peaches almost every single day
and now every eve of your birth I eat a peach
on August the 5th Peaches offer a little more friendship
than the cutesy little straight pink flower.
Bring warmth to your belly and the fruit feed more of your soul.
What I mean is I am your mother, the grateful and tender feeling one.
Your friend.
Even when it's my end.
On its own, the meaning of the fruit
in this quiet tone is at once gentler
and stronger in thankfulness.
Gentle is the true meaning of peaches.
Peach is the meaning of desire, my desire to see you succeed
and I know that your true love will too.
My child, I love you.
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 6:45 PM UTC
All in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely we glide;
For both our oars, with little skill,
By little arms are plied,
While little hands make vain pretense
Our wanderings to guide.
Ah, cruel Three! In such an hour,
Beneath such dreamy weather,
To beg a tale of breath too weak
To stir the tiniest feather!
Yet what can one poor voice avail
Against three tongues together?
Imperious Prima flashes forth
Her edict to "begin it"--
In gentler tones Secunda hopes
"There will be nonsense in it"--
While Tertia interrupts the tale
Not more than once a minute.
Anon, to sudden silence won,
In fancy they pursue
The dream-child moving through a land
Of wonders wild and new,
In friendly chat with bird or beast--
And half believe it true.
And ever, as the story drained
The wells of fancy dry,
And faintly strove that weary one
To put the subject by,
"The rest next time"--"It is next time!"
The happy voices cry.
Thus grew the tale of Wonderland:
Thus slowly, one by one,
Its quaint events were hammered out--
And now the tale is done,
And home we steer, a merry crew,
Beneath the setting sun.
Alice! a childish story take,
And with a gentle hand
Lay it where Childhood's dreams are twined
In Memory's mystic band,
Like pilgrim's withered wreath of flowers
Plucked in a far-off land.
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Plundering corruption
A boy an apple from a tree
Son you know that is wicked
Come on, and follow me.
You saw that strange fruit growing
The poor a hanging from a tree
Let's sing another song boys
Call it US democracy
I free all kinds of good boys
In my old boy kinda way
From tyranical oppression
To the kinder Gentler me
And I say you must reform now
To our ever wanking little whim
Chairman Bush is on a roll now
Thinks he's facking Chairman Mao.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 2:12 PM UTC
Hey, so I felt like writing.
But I didn’t know what to write.
So I’m here.
Talking to myself.
I’m eating pizza pockets in bed.
I’m listening to the **
I’m cold.
I’ve had a glass of summer red and it’s too early to sleep.
I’m thinking about Ben.
I’m thinking about my dad.
I’m thinking about where I’ll be in a month or two from now.
It’s hard to wake up some days.
Because I think this is as good as I’m going to get.
Because I’m not so good at this.
Any of it.
I’ve only just mastered breathing.
But functioning?
Sustaining healthy relationships?
I can’t even win the approval of the person that’s sole job is to love me whether I deserve it or not.
My dad has given me the cold shoulder before.
But this feels heavier.
And I can’t help but to think that perhaps I deserve it.
I’m not always very nice.
In fact I think sometimes I like the idea of people thinking I’m a complete *****
If I was a therapist I’d probably say something like: “It’s a defense mechanism.”
Yeah. Maybe.
Maybe I’m actually a really nice and I like being in the company of others.
Maybe.
Maybe I’ll find success in my future career.
Maybe I’ll live in a nice house
and I won’t **** up my children’s lives because I never had a proper parental figure.
Maybe I can give them the stability I’ve craved my whole life.
In a perfect world.
But the world is infamous for its lack of perfection.
What I hope to accomplish through my writing is complete honesty.
If nothing else, I want to be able to be honest with myself.
The one place I can do that is my writing.
Honesty comes easy on paper.
It’s softer. Gentler.
But words spoken always seem too harsh, and too loud.
I don’t know much about anything, but there are some things I do know.
I know that I want to give and receive love.
I know that there are parts of myself that I like to pretend don’t exist.
I know that I am scared of just about everything. But…
I think I will be okay despite the odds.
But I’m not sure okay is good enough.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
With all the fairest angels nearest God,
The ineffable true of heart around the throne,
There shall I find you waiting when the flown
Dream leaves my heart insentient as the clod;
And when the grief-retracing ways I trod
Become a shining path to thee alone,
My weary feet, that seemed to drag as stone,
Shall once again, with wings of fleetness shod,
Fare on, beloved, to find you! Just beyond
The seraph throng await me, standing near
The gentler angels, eager and apart;
Be there, near God's own fairest, with the fond
Sweet smile that was your own, and let me hear
Your voice again and clasp you to my heart.
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Love is sharper than stones or sticks;
Lone as the sea, and deeper blue;
Loud in the night as a clock that ticks;
Longer-lived than the Wandering Jew.
Show me a love was done and through,
Tell me a kiss escaped its debt!
Son, to your death you'll pay your due--
Women and elephants never forget.
Ever a man, alas, would mix,
Ever a man, heigh-ho, must woo;
So he's left in the world-old fix,
Thus is furthered the sale of rue.
Son, your chances are thin and few--
Won't you ponder, before you're set?
Shoot if you must, but hold in view
Women and elephants never forget.
Down from Caesar past Joynson-Hicks
Echoes the warning, ever new:
Though they're trained to amusing tricks,
Gentler, they, than the pigeon's coo,
Careful, son, of the curs'ed two--
Either one is a dangerous pet;
Natural history proves it true--
Women and elephants never forget.
L'ENVOI
Prince, a precept I'd leave for you,
Coined in Eden, existing yet:
Skirt the parlor, and shun the zoo--
Women and elephants never forget.
2.5k
All in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely we glide;
For both our oars, with little skill,
By little arms are plied,
While little hands make vain pretence
Our wanderings to guide.
Ah, cruel Three! In such an hour
Beneath such dreamy weather,
To beg a tale of breath too weak
To stir the tiniest feather&xclm.;
Yet what can one poor voice avail
Against three tongues together?
Imperious Prima flashes forth
Her edict ''to begin it'':
In gentler tones Secunda hopes
''There will be nonsense in it!''
While Tertia interrupts the tale
Not more than once a minute.
Anon, to sudden silence won,
In fancy they pursue
The dream-child moving through a land
Of wonders wild and new,
In friendly chat with bird or beast--
And half believe it true.
And ever, as the story drained
The wells of fancy dry,
And faintly strove that weary one
To put the subject by
''The rest next time--'' ''It is next time!''
The happy voices cry.
Thus grew the tale of Wonderland:
Thus slowly, one by one,
Its quaint events were hammered out--
And now the tale is done,
And home we steer, a merry crew,
Beneath the setting sun.
Alice! A childish story take,
And with a gentle hand,
Lay it where Childhoood's dreams are twined
In Memory's mystic band,
Like pilgrim's wither'd wreath of flowers
Pluck'd in a far-off land.
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The full moon, golden hued, bathed in wisps of clouds
Stares intently at the barren trees along the river
A white Biboon blanket being gently pulled back
Inside her den a mother bear and her cubs stir
Sounds of ice, creaking and cracking
Resonate through the naked woodland
Ice, slowly breaking away and fleeing from winter's frozen grip
Float lazily down stream
Upon free running waters carrying away the anguish endured
Gentler, warmer breezes carry dreams that become reality
The coming rains will soon nourish Mother Earth
Kissing her gently
Breathing life back into her dormant flesh
Barren trees clothed once again
Life springs forth at a rapid rate
Bathing in the yellow light of day
Birds sing with joy
In the meadow, a brown eyed Daisy
Invites butterfly kisses upon her ethereal beauty
An iridescent flash, a glitter, from the south
Flitting from flower to flower Hummingbird dances
As a tender southerly breath reminds us to forever be...
...Hopeful
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,
Nor swiftewd greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsman's hallo',
Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who, nurs'd with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confin'd,
Was still a wild Jack-hare.
Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance ev'ry night,
He did it with a jealous look,
And, when he could, would bite.
His diet was of wheaten bread,
And milk, and oats, and straw,
Thistles, or lettuces instead,
With sand to scour his maw.
On twigs of hawthorn he regal'd,
On pippins' russet peel;
And, when his juicy salads fail'd,
Slic'd carrot pleas'd him well.
A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
Whereon he lov'd to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,
And swing his **** around.
His frisking wa at evening hours,
For then he lost his fear;
But most before approaching show'rs,
Or when a storm drew near.
Eight years and five round rolling moons
He thus saw steal away,
Dozing out all his idle noons,
And ev'ry night at play.
I kept him for his humour's sake,
For he would oft beguile
My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
And force me to a smile.
But now, beneath this walnut-shade
He finds his long, last home,
And waits inn snug concealment laid,
'Till gentler **** shall come.
He, still more aged, feels the shocks
From which no care can save,
And, partner once of Tiney's box,
Must soon partake his grave.
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LOUD trumpets blow among the naked pines,
Fine spun as sere-cloth rent from royal dead.
Seen ghostly thro' high-lifted vagrant drifts,
Shrill blaring, but no longer loud to moons
Like a brown maid of Egypt stands the Earth,
Her empty valley palms stretched to the Sun
For largesse of his gold. Her mountain tops
Still beacon winter with white flame of snow,
Fading along his track; her rivers shake
Wild manes, and paw their banks as though to flee
Their riven fetters.
Lawless is the time,
Full of loud kingless voices that way gone:
The Polar Caesar striding to the north,
Nor yet the sapphire-gated south unfolds
For Spring's sweet progress; the winds, unkinged,
Reach gusty hands of riot round the brows
Of lordly mountains waiting for a lord,
And pluck the ragged beards of lonely pines-
Watchers on heights for that sweet, hidden king,
Bud-crowned and dreaming yet on other shores-
And mock their patient waiting. But by night
The round Moon falters up a softer sky,
Drawn by silver cords of gentler stars
Than darted chill flames on the wintry earth.
Within his azure battlements the Sun
Regilds his face with joyance, for he sees,
From those high towers, Spring, earth's fairest lord,
Soft-cradled on the wings of rising swans,
With violet eyes slow budding into smiles,
And small, bright hands with blossom largesse full,
Crowned with an orchard coronal of white,
And with a sceptre of a ruddy reed
Burnt at its top to amethystine bloom.
Come, Lord, thy kingdom stretches barren hands!
Come, King, and chain thy rebels to thy throne
With tendrils of vine and jewelled links
Of ruddy buds pulsating into flower!
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Who am I?
Who am I?
A rebel? A hero?
A monster with blood and bones?
Not one of these things.
A little lion girl, maimed and alone.
A coward, needy and ashamed,
A girl trapped in darkness, begging for a light,
But all she could manage were stumbles through the night.
In the midst of it all, the struggle and fall, I felt my legs give out,
Weak and worn out, I lay in the pit.
For what shall I fight for? This hell? This ****
Many gathered around and yelled 'you can't quit',
They rattled but could not touch, could not help, for they too are sick.
I heard a gentler voice in the crowd, and I wanted to answer,
But dropped my head in the mud,
With every effort, the pain just grows tenser.
In my heart, I asked "Who are You?", "Where have You been?" I spat.
Still, You called my name, and cleared the brush and pitfalls so I could get up and walk back,
But I was trapped in a pit, I was ashamed, without a thought, I sent You away,
Still, You came closer and knelt down to my level so that we were face to face,
"What are You doing?" I bitterly noted, when I saw that You reached for me,
I then swatted your hand and said, "No one tends to these scars, it's too much of a demand".
But you replied; "Not for me, I heal every wound with My love and My own right hand."
So I just sighed and gave into His embrace, what did I have to lose?
With Your hands on my back You picked me up,
You took my feet and set them on a rock,
You breathed into my heart and for the first time, I felt life,
You touched my eyes with your finger, and I saw heaven on earth,
You whispered to my mind, "You can trust Me, Holly. I am the way the truth and the light"
And in that very moment I knew, I was reborn with the Son,
I walked to the mirror and saw a new reflection, a brave face with purpose,
A lioness who may inherent all of His kingdom under the sun,
And so, this is the end of a testimony, I run down a new road now,
With my hand in God's hand and a smile on my face remembering His first embrace,
Wherever I travel, even in the valley of the shadow of death, I keep a hand stretched out and a heart of trust,
Because My Lord never fails, and already He has conquered all things for us.
And now You're here,
My heart is at rest,
You crushed my fears.
My life is blessed.
I found the savior,
Praise Jesus Christ.
I will serve you, great God,
For the rest of my days.
For what life can become,
Living for Amazing Grace!
Till kingdom come,
Till kingdom come,
Glory in the highest,
I lift up all praise,
I will love You forever,
My Lord and His Son.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
#*It takes a storm
To know the strength of the winds
No more gentle as the breeze
It takes a storm
To make the calm and silent waves swell
A lesson it must teach
It takes a storm to know
Past is done, do not dwell
Gentler waves now touch the shore
For the storm too knows
Finite it is, in its entirety
Lose it must, to the tree of will
It takes a storm to know your strength
It takes a will of the tender tendrils
To sway with the winds
And stay still in the storm*#
Aug 7, 2023
Aug 7, 2023 at 10:33 AM UTC
Letting the ivy roam...
Moonlight serenade, to a begun favor:
Sense in a gentler breeze, the thought to own
A grace, a fastidious space, for a little face...
Pink, the through and due, irony we seldom
Stink and prosper, the alienation we souled?
Together in legend, we tell a tale to a God's question:
Letting the ivy see, is a redress of futures, fools?
Paces and setting a catch, of futures in the light?
A wavering kiss, and the doles of redemption
Have their solemn kin, taken to remembering a night?
My name is a person, order and truth, to another selection...
Of hearts or the ivy...
Spare to fore, we conceive a notion
Made to tailor, a secret, an irony sighed...
Like the bird it was, a concern that lead to devotion...
Ivy sleeps, shadows play...
In the breeds we assume are, the peace of decency...
That has awoken, and seen the sun come, for why...?
Persuade a kind from dread, our fruit is a gift of agony...?
Building halts; continuing salt...
When has a legend presumed finish, of soon's reasons?
The tow of exception, is a wind to defer to a copious fall?
Looking ivy in the eye, asking nix for not, a needs seasons?
The fight is brutal, letting ivy is like a breath between friends
Aching at the completed hour, the duty of they and strange smiles
Set in similar pasts to a redefining must, that only with help, lends
A role no greater than now, a whisper that ended a world's defiled?
Ivy wants your life for a silence...
Ivy has the stomach to turn direction into beauty...
Ivy seemingly aloof, to worth to realize a gift is fast, to the chin...
Ivy knows you, like a taken privilege on the other side of saying we...
Jan 18, 2023
Jan 18, 2023 at 9:06 PM UTC
An honest man who worked real hard,
And did his best throughout his life,
To clothe and feed his proud family,
His four children and his wife.
Born in the early twentieth century,
He knew that times were often tough,
But he always did whatever it took,
To ensure his family had enough.
A gentle man who spoke with kindness,
And ungraciousness was never heard,
Who still believed in God and family,
And knew the value of a man’s word.
Some would say he was old fashioned,
He rarely drank and did not smoke,
But he was always there to lend an ear,
And always the first to offer a joke.
A kinder, gentler, more honest man,
Could never be found anywhere,
And I know as sure as there’s a Heaven,
That you will find my Grandpa there.
03-17-11.
Jan 12, 2012
Jan 12, 2012 at 2:02 AM UTC