animals, faith, inspirational, naturelove, i love you,
by Timothy Brumley |
This morning I hiked a wooded trail
And while quietly strolling along,
I was pleased to hear a lonely quail
A singing his mournful song.
And then again this afternoon
While drawing water from the well
A loon began it's soothing croon
That echoed 'cross the dell.
And in the evening as I dined
While resting in the swing
A mockingbird was very kind
To perch close by and sing.
Then later, as I knelt to pray
In telling God, "I love You"
That, I wished to hear Him say
Just once, He loved me too.
Then Father spoke! "Don't you know?
My son of course I love you too!
I sent couriers today to tell you so
Did my three messengers not find you?"
Timothy I. Brumley
by Caren Krutsinger |
Angela the archer was a romantic, who shot cupid arrows.
Her family thought she was out hunting quail or duck.
She was matching up love matches in the land of Farrows.
The couples would stay together if she had the most luck.
Angela was given opportunity by Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love.
She would say, don’t match this young lady up with any old dope.
This sage entity watched the activity from her throne room above.
Angela always let the arrows fly, along with buckets of hope.
by Paula Goldsmith |
dog, food, love, moon,
My big old dog had no tail
He laid around because he was frail
He ran away with June
Frisky living on the moon
Dinner is fried green and blue quail
by Stephen Kilmer |
3rd of November
Ragweed and bitters
Time drips away
Spigot of rum
In the sink
Missed you again
Obits and sports
Lay in the dirt
Dog barks next door
What the hell for?
Cigarettes and coke
Scattered like quail
Across the coffee table
TV is on
The news is not good
I missed you again
10 days have gone
Since you left
I can’t get right
This buzz in my head
Adrift and alone
I call on the phone
To a voice I don’t know
Says you’re not all alone
Day turns to night
The “friends” reappear
Another night of whiskey and beer
I hope when I wake
I won’t have missed you again
You are so damn allusive
This life you call dear
by Carma Sanderson |
with seduction, i quail to touch
n' play, sensually displaying
your body, vividly distinctively,
cross examines the moisture of
my lips, stealing oxygen,
deeply under hypnotized vision,
I dare not awake, the passage
of my drug, for it is the love
that ponders our souls, so tru
n' rare, through my veins, to
never lose it...pumping through
your veins I charge...in and out
you heart by large...at times
from lungs...collateral artery
slit this time, love splattered
spectacle...making me feel
by David Smalling |
caregiving, write, write,
I do not know why I write again
But I know
I do not write for schoolboys
You think nights are diamond studded
I do not write for fawning girls who
Adore sunsets, but grimace
At the thought of umbilicals and blood.
I do not write for old ladies
Gardening, and pulling up weeds
While let the protected serpents live.
I write only for the undefiled,
Those who see sin and start a forest fire
Burning evil in its desire
I write for love of children
And the rivers in their eyes I long to sail
Hunting abusers like men hunt the quail.
O but tell me,
Why do I write again? Why?
by Paula Larson |
hope, love, love,
Some height's affirm, some gracious earn
is in my knowing no return
from loving you ~ as need's confirm
their semblance from consent's own yearn.
I love you, as to weigh in scale
were heaviness to its entail
and then some lightness, leading's hail
while spirit's ebbing filled avail.
With promises, strength's prowess failed
found wholeness in His will, not trail.
As quietness utters no exhale
defensively presided bail.
To hold thee fast ensuring quail
could not condemn us, ail to ail.
This word of life called love is scale
that settles measures erstwhile stale.
By its own premise pulls impale
to justice willing, Godly tale!
by Caren Krutsinger |
Sassy and sultry from the twenties
Not these twenties, those twenties.
She shows an arrogance unseen for a century.
I am in love with her pearled quail feathered headdress.
Vibrant and alive, she wows me in the best of ways.
Her art deco owl oversees her unique awesomeness.
I feel pride as her artist. She is the ultimate in sass!
by Roof Missing |
Why's the "Left" at times viewed as a meddlesome brigand,
And, "Golden Rule" seem such a stretch for our race?
Is it "Right" to hate most the folks (you haven't met yet),
Why's "Fear" such big deal in a world "Blessed by" Grace?
Why do some hate the thought ALL deserve a flat playfield?
Or quail when a friend fares much better than you?
Can't we celebrate smart folks who float all boats higher,
And let go of jealousies clouding our view?
Can a human who vacillates say they've found answer?
Ripe fruit in maturity sways in the wind.
And can you save yourself (with soul dying of cancer)?
Unless you endorse my dreams, you're no one's friend.
April 3, 2018
by Allan Terry |
6th grade, business, change,
Come down to our national
Happy day celebration
Roasted game hens
Roasted pork loin
Smoked ribs and fresh ham
Deep fried sqaush ,zucchini green tomato
Cassorole, with lemons, onoins,, pareseam
And goat cheese.
Cherry and cream cheese turnovers
Garlicy mash potatoes
Canadian meat pies w/ some creole sou
She said am I ;
It's been a ploy
To lore us here
American Wrestling Alliance
by Caren Krutsinger |
1st grade, 2nd grade, 3rd grade, 4th grade, 5th grade, 6th grade, 7th grade,
Why would a monkey be riding a blue whale?
I stare at my imaginative friend, Dale.
I don’t know, I say. Perhaps it was a quail?
He laughs, and flips into my lap his junk mail.
I’m not kidding he says. It is no tale.
As a best friend, he entertains me without fail.
That monkey hopped in a turquoise pail.
One thing about his stories, they are never stale.
There was pink polish on his biggest toenail.
I said “Next time, with you, I shall go sail.”
Then there was the talking parrot, with the robotic tail.
I always love being with my creative friend, Crazy Dale.