Tag: Poems

Loving friendship formed
In another space or time
Could have been for us

This time is limiting us
Space, a gaping barrier

Loving friendship formed
This time is limiting us
Yet still we are friends

Still, we are a thought away
Relax, breathe, smile. You are loved

May peace break into your house and may thieves come to steal your debts.
May the pockets of your jeans become a magnet of $100 bills.
May love stick to your face like Vaseline and may laughter assault your lips!
May your clothes smell of success like smoking tires.
May happiness slap you across the face.
May your tears be that of joy.
May the problems you had, forget your home address!
In simple words …………….

May 2008 be the best year of your life!!!

It was the night before Christmas

He lived all alone
In a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone
I had come down the chimney with presents to give
And to see just who in this home did live

I looked all about a strange sight i did see
No tinsel no presents not even a tree
No stocking by the mantle just boots filled with sand
On the wall hung pictures of far distant lands
With medals and badges awards of all kinds
A sober thought came through my mind

For this house was different it was dark and dreary
I found the home of a soldier once i could see clearly
The soldier lay sleeping silent alone
Curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home

The face was so gentle the room in such disorder
Not how i pictured a lone British soldier
Was this the hero of whom I’d just read
Curled up on a poncho the floor for a bed

I realised the families that i saw this night
Owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight
Soon round the world the children would play
And grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas day

They all enjoy freedom each month of the year
Because of the soldiers like the one lying here
I couldn’t help wonder how many alone
On a cold Christmas eve in a land far from home

The very though brought a tear to my eye
I dropped to my knees and started to cry
The soldier awakened and i heard a rough voice
‘Santa don’t cry this life is my choice
I fight for freedom i don’t ask for more
My life is my god, my country. My corps’

The soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep
I couldn’t control it i continued to weep

I kept watch for hours so silent and still
And we both sat and shivered from the cold nights chill
I didn’t want to leave on that cold dark night
This guardian of honour so willing to fight

Then the soldier rolled over with a voice soft and pure
Whispered ‘carry on Santa its Christmas day all is secure’
One look at my watch and i knew he was right
‘Merry Christmas my friend and to all a good night’

—————————————————
This is from another chain letter I recieved today.

‘This poem was written by a peace keeping soldier stationed overseas. Christmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to all our British service men and women [past and present] for our being able to celebrate these festivities. Let’s try in this small way to pay a tiny bit back of what we owe!’

Whatever we believe in the debate about the war we should remember that there will be servicemen working over the holiday season.

by E. E. Cummings

i carry your heart with me
(i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it
(anywhere i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear no fate
(for you are my fate,my sweet)
i want no world
(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

——————-Girls———————–

————–are like apples—————-

———on trees. The best ones———–

——–are at the top of the tree.———-

——The boys dont want to reach——–

—-for the good ones because they——-

–are afraid of falling and getting hurt.—-

-Instead, they just get the rotten apples–

—from the ground that aren’t as good, —

-but easy. So the apples at the top think-

-something is wrong with them, when in–

—-reality, they’re amazing. They just—-

—–have to wait for the right boy to——

——-come along, the one who’s———

————-brave enough to—————

——————climb all——————-

—————— the way——————-

——————to the top——————

—————–of the tree.—————–

I don’t do chain letters. But I have a way of passing this on.

Around the corner I have a friend,
In this great city that has no end,
Yet the days go by and weeks rush on,
And before I know it, a year is gone.
And I never see my old friends face,
For life is a swift and terrible race,
He knows I like him just as well,
As in the days when I rang his bell.
And he rang mine but we were younger then,
And now we are busy, tired men.
Tired of playing a foolish game,
Tired of trying to make a name.
“Tomorrow” I say! “I will call on Jim
Just to show that I’m thinking of him.”
But tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes,
And distance between us grows and grows.
Around the corner, yet miles away,
“Here’s a telegram sir,” “Jim died today.”
And that’s what we get and deserve in the end.
Around the corner, a vanished friend.

Thanks Charlie