Poetry means a lot of different things to a lot of different people.
To me Poetry should come from the heart. I like rhyming poetry, myself.
But there are many forms and shapes of this genre. Poetry should fit no
rules, have no boundaries as it comes from the heart.
Ratonalizing War
The things done in times of war
are not part of reality.
the killings, the treachery and more,
are not part of human sanity.
The grief that comes from such plight,
will live longer than ones soulful life.
and while rights and wrongs are clearly in sight,
the killings won't stop from the guns and the knife!
But once it is over and done,
regret reminds us each day.
It matters not that the war was won,
only that we must find another way!
The Love Goes On
My soul mate died, and I was so sad:
It seemed so wrong that I was left behind.
I was lonely and hurt, and often quite mad,
Not at God, but myself, for being so blind.
Love doesn't die, it doesn't go away;
It's the one thing God gives us, without regret.
It's embedded so deep, in our hearts it will stay
To remind us that some day, we'll remember we've met!
So good-bye my love, till we meet once more,
I'm living my life now, the way it must be,
With happiness and smiles, cause that's what life's for
And someday in Heaven, your face I shall see!
This Christmas Thing
Sugar plum fairies, silver tinsel, sleigh bells in the air,
And old St. Nick a ho-ho-hoing, means Christmas must be near.
Children laughing, parents grappling, and reindeers all in pairs
What does it mean, this Christmas thing, on a night so cold and clear!
Christmas carols sung by friends, and presents under the tree
Mom is baking, dad is making, and kids are in the way.
"You mustn't peek; you must go to sleep, for Santa will surely see."
Mom tucks you in, with a great big grin, "And tomorrow is Christmas day!"
Santa jingles in your dreams, as does another day,
Of long ago, and far away, in a manger so forlorn.
Where wise men came, bearing gifts for a babe born in the hay.
A birthday celebration, rejoice, Jesus Christ is born!
Yellow, Orange and Brown
Spring sprouts new wings
Summer storms in hot and dry
Fall comes like a breath of air
What the Seasons Mean to Me
colors in my head
leaves falling to the ground,
as Winter comes in dead
grey twigs turn to green
nesting robins sing
As the earth once more is clean.
As children run and play
rains don't come, as clouds roll by
while the farmers wait and pray
cooling the tempered ground
Rainbows hung in a sky so fair
tempting winter without frown.
And now I'd like to share my favorite poem with you!
