At 6 years old I was running wild
Totin’ my six-guns cowboy style,
Bustin’ wild broncos, riding the range all day.
Goin’ after bad guys,
Huntin’ them down.
Me and my posse cleaning up this town.
When I grow up it’s gonna always be this way.
Nothing comes short of living out a dream,
Believing in the future and what it can bring,
Hoping for some wisdom and a little luck.
I can have it all when I grow up.
At 18 I was sure I knew it all,
Riding so high that I could never fall.
No one could tell me what I could or couldn’t do.
Looking back I see that I was just a kid.
I can’t believe half the stupid things I did,
But I still believed
And somehow made it through.
Now that I’m older and my life’s on track
I can see the kid who always had my back
Hiding in the shadows, trying hard to keep up,
Waiting and wondering just what happened to
The kind of trust and wanderlust that he once knew.
Did I lose it all when I grew up?
Nothing comes short of living out a dream,
Believing in the future and what it can bring,
Hoping for some wisdom and a little luck.
I can have it all when I grow up.
Dennis S Martin
Website: http://www.iwritesome.com/
Blog: http://www.iwritesome.blogspot.com/
Storefront: http://www.lulu.com/dsmartin
A New Day Dawns
Dreams of yesterday bathed in mists of time
Are regarded most dear in memory of mine.
Here heart's beat is soothed by worn path of stone,
And nostalgic thoughts calm soul's weary, weathered bones.
Rapture blankets thoughts of former days,
Paves way for heirloom dreams which will n'er fade away.
Love's inspiration, now forever mine
Feels strong heart's beating in perfect timing with thine.
Build a future new with mortar and stone.
Dome and arch blotting out memories I once owned.
Vintage moments dear held close in my heart.
Rapture lifts to Heavens as final sorrows part!
Sheila Bowyer Kline
Poetess of Multiplicity
Mary, Miss Mary
Her sweetheart cut down by a Yankee gun.
They called her an old maid at twenty-one.
She knew she could be alone all her life.
And who would want an old maid as a wife?
Dearie, my dearie, why did you leave me?
The tears and the pain, I’ll never be free.
Why did they take you? And what did they do?
Why didn’t somebody just kill me too?
Mary, Miss Mary
Please don’t be so sad.
It’s a brand new day.
And life’s not so bad.
In the country, at a little barn dance.
She gave a smile and then he passed a glance.
He was just eighteen, but he was a man.
Come with me now, babe. I won’t ask again.
He brought two horses, she rode at his side.
Old justice of the peace made her his bride.
They just kept on riding, on through the night.
Hunkered down and slept, in the morning light.
Mary, Miss Mary
You make my heart glad.
Finest, sweetest thing
That I’ve ever had.
Cattle up from Texas, prairie rail head.
They set up a stove, they lay down a bed.
So wild and crazy, happy life they led.
Mary, Sweet Mary
Just look in my eyes.
Lady, they saved you
Just to be my prize.
Jan Bossing © Joelton, Tennessee 2009
IN THE AFTER-LIFE
By Irene Brodsky, author of Poetry Unplugged
In the after-life,
you will find a new life
filled with loved ones
from a day gone by.
Just knock on the Lord's door
No need to fear.
He will welcome you
and make you right at home.
Rejoice!
So much to talk about
when you arrive in the after-life.
Lots of hugs & kisses too.
Look! There is Grandma Sarah
and Uncle Gene is waving to you!
Go to them
It's o.k.!
A wonderful world of no pain
All is well
Everyone is happy
In the after-life.
Unaware Vibrations
Mental Enzymes Drip
Through Layers Of Consciousness
Coating Life
With Inexhaustible Energy
Being A Painter
I Become A Painting
Expressing Reality
On An Easel
Of Linear Time
Drops Of Vibrant Colors
Seep Through Floors
Of Awareness
Capturing Mountains In A Mystic Mist
While Oceans Laugh At Apodictic
Sunsets
Earthly Shadows Cling To
Speckled Ceremonious Dreams
That Cover Eternal Blueprints
With Pulsating Multi-Colored
Contradictions
Drenched In A Bubbling Foam
My Brush Highlights
Ecliptic Moons
As I Cover Consciousness
With A Thin Film
That Reeks
With Unaware
Vibrations
Hal Manogue
Poet, Author and Essayist
Short Sleeves Insights
Short Sleeves Spirit Songs
Short Sleeves A Book for Friends
http://www.shortsleeves.net/
http://halmanogue.blogspot.com/
Growing Pains: Chapter One
She stained the table when bleaching her hair – MY new table!
My lovely, lovely, maple table bought with my first Chicago wage.
Pale and interesting was its look, the sheen that first attracted me.
Yankee boys said at twenty-two I was “pale and interesting” too.
“Limey” I was called back then, the year JFK was shot in my lunch
break. When I got back to the office, everyone, even Republicans, sobbed.
A table. My prize possession, apart from the more-than-usually-pricey shoes.
They were tall taliswomen of my new, Over-There, Over-The-Pond life.
When I had announced my “gap year” before gap years were more akin to
World Tours, Dad was fine: “Go, girl, enjoy,” and he meant it. Mum scowled.
For almost a month she zipped her lip, and glowered at me. The scowl &
silence spoke volumes – nice girls from Oldham didn’t toddle away to the U.S. of A.
From Ringway I was supposed to go, and we had a farewell “do” the night
before. But my flight was cancelled. So off back home to hide a while.
Silly when I think of it today – “good form” dictated invisibility, a rigid
code. What a relief when I got to Uncle Joe’s – not over-paid, but over there.
I got signed up to work for the Mafia as they were “going legit.”. Book-keeper
accountants were “all the rage”. Comptometers & pencils deadlier than guns.
Writer & Copyright-holder: C.J. Heyworth July 2009
A New Day Dawns
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