childhood, memory, sad,
by Aurore Severo |
Daddy picked his cotton
Six scorched days a week
Sundays were sunny gleeful
Cotton candy I held in hand
He took me to the county fair
Pink and pretty as could be
Balloons hid my child's tears
for the days he toiled away
My daddy loved to toss me
high up in the air
he'd yell, I love you
My pink beautiful butterfly
Ferris wheels and chocolate pies
Sundays truly I
the pink happy butterfly
One day the balloons all popped
Daddy grasping heart
Tumbled to the ground
there are no more
Candy cotton dreams
by kash poet |
A sunlight girl
with sunny smile
in my life,
In and out
day and night
of my heart's
all those days
in this wet
after a fresh
where are you?
I need now
give me back
bring back my
© kashinath karmakar
by Liberty Robbins |
When we are small
We believe love will cure all
That good deeds go unpunished
That our dreams will fully flourish.
When we grow up we are pessimists
Flaws in all things exists
People let you down
And all smiles turn into frowns.
But I want to hold on to sunshine
To rainbows, unicorns, all things magically divine.
I want to hold on to you,
Because love and dreams can come true.
I love our childish ways
Gummy bears and cartoons on Sundays
Pizza boxes, no plate
Still believing in what brought us together; fate
by Neil Nelson |
Our coiled limbs
To let go.
The Sun's rays
With our glow.
Long past lunch,
All we need
Is right here
I kiss your
Your cool sweat.
All over again...
by Panagiota Romios |
childhood, imagery, memory, peace,
Time and tides flowing through my tan, bare toes.
Twas a time of sweet peace, flowering boughs.
Spices of love, filled scarlet sunset nights.
Limitless dreams waltzed in our heads with might.
Sundays, love for God, from our fingers glowed.
Snow or heat, we were in Church, faith flowed.
Soft, Latin words, songs in Gregorian.
Time travel, in utter peace, to live in.
Under domed ceilings of bright white and gold.
The incense, the songs, which never grow old!
by Donald Meikle |
It's another Monday
One seventh of your life
It's the second month of the year
at least six to go before you can earn it all
(Or most of it)
On the seventh day God rested
Hopefully He hasn't since
I wish He'd rested on the sixth too
(We'd have weekends off)
You can downplay religion if you want to
But I'm so grateful for Sundays
I'm considering a small business endeavor
Manufacturing small easy to keep objects
That are interesting enough to treasure
I'll sell them for weights of silver or gold.
sorta like a nickel bag novel (5 grams)
Or a daily prayer writ in stone
To carry as atonement
For allowing congressional thievery
Doncha just love Mondays
by Bozhidar Pangelov |
Ah, this love.
Like a down
of a child on the check.
Like a waft
among roots nodulous
of a hidden forest.
Leaves woken up
in Saint Martin’s summer
of the tree
waiting for the winter.
A bell aureate
of Sundays of autumn.
by Anil Deo |
analogy, appreciation, art, image, inspiration, relationship, writing,
Inspired by a recent poem posted by Sunlite Wanter.Thanx, Deo, SENRYU20180708
dreams drum in living colors --
your heart has God's image, skin:
you speak for disabled, even richly so
(c)Deo; I usually do not have two poems on LORDS DAYS/Sundays. I felt energized after two worship services, and a hospital visit to comfort one of our congregants. Something about Sunlite Wanter's writing is larger than life. PTL
by Bozhidar Pangelov |
and those ingrown dreams
Sundays in rains
like a farewell
by Evelyn Judy Buehler |
bird, cry, goodbye, nature, sad love, sunset,
Blackbird is dead.
Yes. That is what I said.
The woods are still. The sun is red.
Cherries near his little head.
Dark is coming. Nanette weeps!
The wind shivers. Nightowl peeps.
Gone the robin's trills and cheeps.
The song is ended. Time sleeps.
Sober the jay in his blue cloak,
Unlike the morning he awoke.
Frog hasn't heart to give a croak.
Adam won't tell his usual joke.
Trees bow. The day must pass.
Silent footstep on the grass.
What deed is this? What manner? What class?
The best of Sundays is gone, alas.
Blackbird is dead; they come and they go.
Summer changes to autumn glow.
All is ever so quiet now, though--
Awaiting the cockcrow.
by Kennedy Muitherero |
Once the calendar was designed to calibrate
We took the liberty to mark days to celebrate
And revere all that we treasure
With appreciation, reminiscence and pleasure
We revere the struggles and the freedoms
The pride and the establishment of kingdoms
The love, the births and all anniversaries
Sparing that day to tell the stories
Same way for the birth, death and Resurrection of our Savior
And Church on Sundays is more frequent than behavior
Taking time off labour
But are you a good neighbour?
If today is the day that the Lord has made
Why not chose good words and deeds to trade
Mark no annual day to be special
And make special to be life as usual
by linda smith |
devotion, friendship, girlfriend-boyfriend, love, day,
Lazy Sundays, I enjoy the most,
laying in your arms
in our warm and cozy bed.
Steam curls upward
from our matching cups of coffee,
taken on the back porch
overlooking the bright fall leaves.
The perfect day for brunch
in our pajamas.
A day spent together
with no schedule,
Just you and me
enjoying one's company.
by Mike Hauser |
celebration, fear, god, inspiration, life, lost,
MIt's been a month of Sundays
Since I have set face
Anywhere near this band of angels
In this most Holy Sacred Place
Guilt may overwhelm me
Shame may do me in
This day set forth may break me
Great sinner that I am
No one is less deserving
For I am the least of these
As I am covered in God's glory
Awashed with an inner peace
The days that I've been vacant
Are all a part in the grand scheme of things
Bringing me to my knees in my need of saving
And back to the Eternal King
As my brothers and sisters in Christ surround me
Pouring out love, not ones to judge
Tears of joy like flowing fountains
As another Prodigal son returns
by Paul Curtis |
Her dark eyes, sultry and steamy
Flashed a sideward’s glance
From beneath the black lace of her Mantilla
He gave her a browse
A more appraising look altogether
Her eyes flashed up again
A lingering languid glance
Which spoke of her muliebrity
Not the putative girl
They were now the cynosure
Of each others eyes
No words were spoken
Everything was intuit
With amative study
And libidinous perusal
She his object of pulchritude
He her beloved inamorato
Then they had to separate
And the spell was broken
Until next Sundays reunion
by Dominique Webb |
football, sports, strength,
Liam is a qualified green keeper at a golf club,
Attended Mill Vale Middle and Queensbury Upper,
He’s from Dunstable and gained a degree, hub,
From Dunstable College in Business clever.
Born on the 17th day of December in year 1990,
He plays for 61FC in the South Midlands league,
And also plays for Saints FC on Sundays, frisky,
But was spotted playing on a Saturday, intrigue.
His Paralympic debut was in Rio, they placed fifth,
He just loves the game: “…I definitely think [that]
I would love to get into coaching when I can’t, [sith]
play anymore…[because] it's life changing.” Rap.
by Audrey Haick |
introspection, love, passion
Mango Salsa on Sole
Easy on the eye
No matter the occasion or weather
What you see before you is what you get!
No need for fancy dressing or extreme makeovers
Very inviting, full of tease
Hot and spicy! Colorful and tangy
Sweet, bold, zesty!
Exploding volcanic flavors
Igniting dormant taste buds
Satisfying my hunger
So refreshing in the desert sun
Warms my heart at Sundays brunch
Full of surprises, bringing joy and delight
A little burn every now and then
Followed by passionate amends, inviting
I can’t help but love Mango salsa on sole
This food for my soul
by John Rey Canon |
I saw you again
And volts of electricity
Crept into my veins,
Still and frozen,
If only you saw me
For when two stone touches
Friction starts fire,
Like palm on skin,
Breath on lobes,
When you speak.
I hear the ringing
Of Sunday bells,
When the chosen worship
And I worship you.
I was damned, love,
For you were my church.
My frailty I confessed to God,
For I was guilty of pleasure
Turning cheek from his light.
But love, this time is fine,
Like our Sundays,
Start from the start.
by Cori Wunderlin |
you and i
so different, yet alike.
you, with your crazy jazz,
and football Sundays.
nothing but elevator music
and dizzy ideas i've yet to make sense of.
attempting to understand
and abstract art.
i doubt i'll ever understand football
but i love to win!
such funny lovers
you and i
in your arms i find a peace i'd thought had long since left me.
your lips are sweet wine and your voice gentle to my ears.
both of us
for something or someone
i love you coyote.
as much as i can
by Emile Pinet |
10th grade, angst, anxiety, bible, faith, feelings, hate,
Faith's morphed into a Sunday catharsis
for people feigning the worship of God.
Mimicking genuine faith, they fake it,
lock children in cages, and then applaud.
You either accept Jesus or not, but
don't build walls that condemn the poor to die.
And claiming to believe in Christian love,
snatch babies from mother’s arms; facts don't lie.
Such hypocrisy hurts my heart and soul,
for I can't abide by their two-faced ways.
Part-time Christians are a pet peeve of mine,
flaunting their faith for an hour on Sundays.
God judges us by the love in our heart,
and He's not someone you try to outsmart.
by Jesse Jones |
faith, imagination, introspection, life, loss, lost love, mystery, social,
Oh God! Cruel Creator! You mock me!
You give me a heart for boundless love
but shut all its gates and hung a scarecrow outside
to ensure that any pity trickling in from without
would be but tears in an ocean!
Why must men and women sing your name on Sundays?
by Renee goswellin |
Did I chose this? No not me. Hes not the man he use to be. Change happens but not like this
just when I thought I had something good a different side of him comes out. I didnt sign
up for this so I'm gonna take a rain check and sign out . I'm a good women to this man but
he dont see it. why hang on when theres nothing to hold on to? from this point on
I AM THROUGH
I'm though with the lies
I'm through with the Additude
I'm through with being mistreated and misused
I known what I deserve each and every day not just tuesdays and fridays but monday
through sundays I'm just tired of being sick and tired LORD please HELP me I love this man
he just don't love me.
by Marilyn S Jennings |
appreciation, beauty, true love,
With Pen In Hand
With pen in hand and with a willing heart
I want to tell you about my God,
and now knowing He is so Wonderful
I’m really not sure where I should start!
For my life before Him was so lonely
and darkness had totally covered my face
then to me He sent His Holy Spirit
and I began to lift up my voice and sing of His grace.
Now my days are much brighter
and His face I continually seek
to walk with Him not only on Sundays
but in Him all during my week!
Without my Lord, why I’d be so lost
and my heart so sad it would be
so gratefully now I am spending my time
before Him on bended knee.
Written by: Marilyn S. Jennings
June 23, 1994
by Ravindra Nayak |
adventure, beach, beautiful, fantasy, feelings, ocean,
Feel the sun in open cheeks dimple
Without your specs just simple
Lofty mountain surrounding long
Breezes all around moving with light song
Table of pure thought curled
Twinkling in heart like a king of world
With a cashless surrounding
Autumn season days like all sundays rounding
Holidays with your beloved
In the trees like a glass of world full of oxygenic loved
Feel the moon in open dove
Touch of darkness with a natural love
Falling in the arms of the oceanic breeze
Covering the all sphere with a glass of mind freeze
Purely amour the nature with natural paradise love
Guitar,sandunes and natural beauty dove.
by lauren gift |
adventure, life, love
I have been called a georgia peach a time or two
Pretty as the sky is blue
But i say damn on mondays
and pray on sundays
Oh and if you have not heard
Im bull headed and short tempered too
If you kick a bull you better run
Before this georgia peach comes undone
by ilene bauer |
I love the ending of the week
As weekend time draws near
And though I am retired,
Still, it's absolutely clear
The feeling's different in the air
On Saturdays and Sundays,
Despite the fact they're often
Much more chore- than having fun-days.
So Friday nights, to celebrate,
Whenever I am able,
You'll find me at a restaurant,
A draft beer on my table.
I'll raise my glass in honor of
The week that's at its ending
And drink to welcome in the one
Through which I'll soon be wending.