Labor Day Weekend Poem: Always Finish ~ Anonymous

 

nycworkerslewishine

Always Finish

If a task is once begun,
Never leave it till it’s done.
Be the labor great or small,
Do it well or not at all.

Anonymous

If anyone reading this knows who wrote it, please let me know so I can credit the Author.

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Wednesday Poem: December Magic ~ Pandita Sanchez

5224907756_06318c3071

December Magic

Waltzing with the wind,
in crocheted gowns of white lace…
flurries of snowflakes
sway to sweet divine music…
that only angels can hear.

Pandita Sanchez

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Wednesday Poem: T’was a Week Before Christmas ~ Sandra Lee Smith

week-before-christmas

T’was a Week Before Christmas

T’was a week before Christmas
And all through the house
Gift-wrap was littered, it
Even covered a Spouse,
Who sat forlorn in his old easy chair,
wondering if there was
An extra cookie to spare –
For cookies were baked
And filled every tin
But to eat even one
Would be considered a sin –
(Unless it was one that was broken or burned);
Decorations hung everywhere that you turned.

In the guest room presents were piled everywhere,
And trees were put up, not a moment to spare –
Twinkling lights and ornaments too,
But it will look pretty when we’re all through –
I’ve scorched all my fingers giving candy a test
And thought it was time that I had a good rest;
When out on the roof there arose such a clatter,
I dashed to the door to see what was the matter;
Up on a ladder, Grandpa swayed to and fro –
Trying to decide where the reindeer should go –
I was sure he would fall and smash all the lights
I shouted come down and we’ll fix it all right!

The dollhouse is back where it belongs
And hundreds of Cds play holiday songs,
Pork loin’s in the freezer and wood on the fire,
Eggnog in the fridge we hope will inspire –
But if not there is brandy, bourbon and port,
To serve every guest who is a good sport;
We’ll work at it all til we fall with a jerk
And let Santa get credit for all our hard work!

Sandra Lee Smith

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Wednesday Poem: You Can Be Whatever You Want To Be! ~ Unknown

dream

You Can Be whatever You Want To Be!

There is inside you
all of the potential
to be whatever you want to be,
all of the energy
to do whatever you want to do.

Imagine yourself as you would like to be,
doing what you want to do,
and each day, take one step
towards your dream.

And though at times it may seem too
difficult to continue,
hold on to your dream.

One morning you will awake to find
that you are the person you dreamed of,
doing what you wanted to do,
simply because you had the courage
to believe in your potential
and to hold on to your dream.

Unknown

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Wednesday Poem: Change Is All ~ Olivia Libby

autumn trio

Change Is All

No one will ever know how I feel.
For I cannot even explain it all.
Nobody to love.
Nobody to blame.
Everyone always the same.
Nothing to care about.
No reason to lie.
For I am me, myself, and I.
No ones sees what I see.
Nobody left to care for me.
It’s kind of sad knowing what’s true, cause then you know who’s there for you.
Most of them just put on that act.
A lot of them talk bad about me behind my back.
Thanks for making me feel this way, there’s nothing more I should have to say.
All the times I was alone, makes me feel weird when someone’s home.
No family for support, no friends to care.
People wonder why I don’t go anywhere.
Every night crying myself to sleep, sometimes I wish someone loved me.
No hope, no love, no life, no friends the pain never ends.
Sometimes I ask what did I do to deserve this.
But nobody answers.
A voice in my head tells me to forget the bad and remember good.
But then I answer to myself saying there is no good to remember.
I always yell at myself asking why me? why?
Sitting in a empty spare room.
No one to talk to about how I feel.
No one to ask me what I feel.
Is anyone out there in this harsh world we live in?
Sometimes I begin to wonder.
Sometimes I’m harsh on myself.
Morn comes and I wake up wishing I was never born.
Please help others, because today’s lives our being taken out of this world just as easy as they are coming in.
You can change someone’s life.
Make a change.
It’s a tough world.

Olivia Libby

Love ~ Pratyushdayal

Cupcake

Love

Short steps with long words,

deep sighs as we witness fondling birds.

Rustling of the park trees,

Is accompanied with chuckles in breeze.

The whole world transforms into a resting phase,

where nothing but love is the sole base.

Our hands in hands

remain warm in all distant lands.

My chubby cheeks glow red

as the every word is said.

Love in its deepest shade

Lingers between us too strongly to fade,

The hesitation hovers all in the atmosphere,

as we talk in love, caressing somewhere.

The glistening waters of the pond

seem to sparkle our bond.

The whispers and stares

Are the only attire our Love wears.

Time gallops in the best pace

as I gaze in the beloved’s beautiful face.

The tight embraces appear endless,

as our Love runs wild and tame less.

Seeing the sunset,

my eyes get wet.

The presence of passion

changes tones in the latest fashion.

The delight of the love pangs

darts my heart as it carelessly hangs.

The world cannot fathom the depth of the love oceans,

But can only see the glimpses or precise portions.

The ambiance Love creates

defeats the green of Nature God creates.

Pardon the rhyme,

as it is maybe as sour as lime.

But feel the emotions behind

the enamored words which I have somehow able to bind,

Love has numerous petals,

and is stronger than various metals.

The fragrance of Love

flies faster than a dove.

May it be any age or preference,

Love fights all without any difference.

A phenomenal and sensational feeling, it is

which is thus a bliss.

Abandon differences and enmities,

and love beyond all known infinities,

as there is nothing more powerful than Love.

pratyushdayal

Review: A Knock on a Door ~ Christos Kallis

A knock on the doorISBN ~ 978-1849635806
Publisher ~Austin Macauley
No. Of Pages ~ 37 pages
Links ~ Amazon

A Knock on a Door is the debut collection of poetry from Christos Kallis. It demonstrates great flexibility of style, experimental touches and eccentric twists. The poems range from the abstract to the lyrical, from explorations of religion to love and the human condition.

4 Thumbs-UpReading poetry is one of those things that not many will take the time to do, and in not doing so those readers are missing out, in this case, on a collection of poems that will touch everyone in some way.

Unlike many collections which tend to wax lyrical about the beauty of love, life and nature this collection does none of those things.  It is extremely well written and aimed at disarming the reader and making them confront the emotions the poems evoke when read.  The poems themselves were easy to read, and if I happened to get lost in a poem a quick read back through the Authors notes would help set me back on track, and get into my groove again.

Although this is poetry, the poems themselves read like fiction.  They flowed, contained characters, had twists and turns and made me think; I mean really think.  The reason for my 4 thumbs review is that there just were not enough of these poems and, as I closed the book on the last one I felt at a loss as to what I should do; so I picked up the book and started reading it again.

This is short review, as I feel that to do the collection any justice at all the best thing I can say is that if you only read one book of poetry this year, make sure this is the one.  I highly recommend this book to everyone and will be eagerly awaiting the next collection this poet releases.

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The Day After Christmas ~ Sandy Vargas

day after christmas

The Day After Christmas

T’was the day after Christmas, and all through the house, every creature was hurtin; even the mouse. The toys were all broken, tbeir batteries dead; Santa passed out with ice on his head.

Wrappings and ribbons just covered the floor. While upstairs the family continued to snore. And I in my t’shirt, new Reeboks and jeans, went into the kitchen and started to clean.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang fom the sink to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the curtains and threw up the sash.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a truck, with an oversized mirror. The driver was smiling, so grand. The patch on his jacket said “U. S. POSTMAN.”

With a handful of bills, he grinned like a fox. Then stuffed them quickly into our mailbox. Bill after bill, they still come whistlng and shouting he called them by name.

“Now Dillards, now Broadway, now Penny’s and Sears. Here’s Robinson’s, Levitz, Target, and Marvyn’s. To the tip of your limit every store, every mall. Now charge away- charge away- charge away all!”

He whoopped and he whistled as he he finished his work. He filled up the box, and then turned with a jerk. He sprang to his truck and he drove down the road, driving much faster with just half a load.

Then I heard him exclaim with great holiday cheer, “Enjoy what you got… you’ll be paying all year!”

Sandy Vargas

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The Littlest Christmas Tree ~ Amy Peterson

Christmas tree on a plate

The Littlest Christmas Tree

The littlest Christmas tree,
lived in a meadow of green,
Among a family,
of tall evergreens,
He learned how to whisper,
the evergreen song,
with the slightest of wind,
that came gently along.

He watched as the birds,
made a home out of twigs,
and couldn’t wait till,
he too was big.
For all of the trees,
offered a home,
the maple, the pine, and the oak,
who’s so strong.

“I hate being little”,
the little tree said,
“I can’t even turn colors,
like the maple turns red”,
“I can’t help the animals,
like the mighty old oak”,
“He shelters them all,
in his wide mighty cloak”.

The older tree said,
“Why little tree you don’t know?
The story of a mighty king,
from the land with no snow?”
Little tree questioned,
“A land with no snow?”
“Yes!” said old tree,
“A very old story,
from so long ago”.

“A star appeared,
giving great light,
over a manger,
on long winters night.
A baby was born,
a king of all kings,
and with him comes love,
over all things.”

“He lived in a country,
all covered in sand,
and laid down his life,
to save all of man.’

Little tree thought of the gift
given by him,
then the big tree said with the
happiest grin,
“We’re not just trees,
but a reminder of that day,
there’s a much bigger part,
of a role that we play!”

“For on Christmas eve,
my life I’ll lay down,
in exchange for a happier,
loving ground.
And as I stand dying,
they’ll adorn me in trim,
this all will be done,
in memory of him”.

“Among a warm fire,
with family and friends,
in the sweet songs of Christmas,
I’ll find my great end,
then ever so gently,
he’ll come down to see,
and take me to heaven,
Jesus and me”.

“So you see little tree,
we are not like the oak,
who shelters all things,
beneath his great cloak.
Nor are we like the maple
in fall,
whose colors leave many,
standing in awe”.

“The gift that we give,
is ourselves, limb for limb,
the greatest of honor,
in memory of him”.

The little tree bowed,
his head down and cried,
and thought of the king,
who willingly died.
For what kind of gift,
can anyone give?
Then to lay down your life,
when you wanted to live.

A swelling of pride
came over the tree,
Can all of this happen?
Because of just me?
Can I really bring honor?
By adorning a home?
By reminding mankind,
that he’s never alone?

With this thought, little tree,
began singing with glee,
Happy and proud,
to be a true Christmas tree.

You can still hear them singing,
even the smallest in height,
singing of Christmas,
and that one holy night.

Amy Peterson

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Monday Mornings ~ Claire Howes

happy-monday

Monday Mornings

Every day is the same; they wake up in the same bed, at the same ungodly hour, to the same monotonous ringing from the alarm clock.

They grumble their ‘good morning’s; whether they believe it is or not, rolling out of opposite sides of the duvet.

They dance around each other in the bathroom, the heat of the shower creating a fog through which neither of them can see; causing him to stub his toe on the toilet or the counter, and steaming up the mirror so she can’t apply her make-up.

They continue their ritual into the kitchen; flicking on the kettle, popping in the bread, pouring the orange juice; stirring the tea, catching the toast and spreading the butter and jam. Crunching and slurping together at the table, mumbling about what their days have in store; tapping texts on their phones, crinkling newspaper in their hands.

They peck each other a kiss goodbye and mutter a ‘see you later’ before going their separate ways.

But then Monday comes…

Mondays are different.

He knows she doesn’t like Monday mornings. It’s the very beginning of a new, long, tiring week. She never looks forward to Mondays.

So he changes that.

He sets the alarm on his watch a little earlier than other days; shutting it off before it can wake her.

He slips silently out of bed and tiptoes quietly into the bathroom to shower; leaving her smiley faces and love messages on the steamy mirrors.

He creates her favourite tea and makes her toast with raspberry jam; just the way she likes it. Picking a flower from the garden; whichever one looks the happiest and brightest, he places it all on a tray and pads back up to the bedroom to wake her.

She no longer sets her alarm on Mondays. She knows he’ll not let her oversleep.

He places the flower in her hair and drops delicate kisses; full of his love and affection for her, to the corner of her mouth, until she stirs gently.

She smiles on Monday mornings.

They eat breakfast in bed, covering the sheets in crumbs and giggling contentedly as the cat licks them up.

She hums in the bathroom while he clears away crockery, and always re-emerges with the flower tucked behind her ear.

It remains there ‘til night fall.

They never once look at their phones or the paper, far too focused on each other to pay anything else mind.

Their kiss as they part reminds them of their love for each other and of the good things in life; like strolls along the shore, strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, smiling sunflowers that open to a beautiful summer’s day, and of course, Monday mornings.

Claire Howes

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