pondering
FREE STYLE
The Dress
Funny how no matter how old I get I still will think about the wedding gown as if I were still a girl.
Forget Me Not
Forget me not my love You'll always have my heart. Where time and love and people meet We'll never be apart.
Cowboys Are Cowboys Just the Same
Cowboys are the same everywhere and the commute to and back from work each day.
Longing
Written for a love that is far,far away across the world.
No Time
Hurrying about. Without a thought. No time to worry about silly things. Ink pen stuck in hair, no barrette. Who really does care. No time to rest must finish work. If it is possible I think my brain hurts. If I slow down hunger would catch u
an era long gone.
after watching a programme showing the victorian-edwardian era..so fascinating..had to put it to a poem..it was just like a journey back in time..vivid..and meaningful..
salis in underland
Salis in underland it is not a poetry nor fiction, there is here lack of action for this is underland ,my grave a bautified dressed man in cave some winds passes the vacant graveyard i passed those days of difficulty and being hard a shad
Once a child
Once a child lay on her knee who could know what happens to thee So you ll crawl and they applaud watch you walk with smiling face Come to me voices call
Feelings
Strong, powerful, unable to capture. Free, flowing, caressing. To the depth of rapture. Passing sight unseen. In front, behind, all around. Loud boisterous echoing. Sometimes silent without a sound. Give take here there. Fast moving air. G
In This Day
I went to my first class reunion this summer and met someone awesome who made me wonder whether I would do things differently knowing what I know now.
terminal youth
Oh to be young again bouncing up and down with giggled drama running in all ways free to smile the hours passing childhood easily not thinking or caring when will we grow up to play tighter games with rules we don't understand the days...t
playing with trains
imagination trumps realities
Glove
The author is a remarkable Russian symbolist poet of the beginning of the 20th century Nikolai Gumiliov. In 1921 he was shot by the revolutionary government on the charge of taking part in a counterrevolutionary plot. But in reality he died due to refusal to divulge information about the plot. His wife – an outstanding Russian poet Anna Akhmatova - wrote in despair: My husband's in grave, My son is in cell, I plead you to pray for me, pray.
Promise Of Christmas
The comfort of Christmas.
Din Guardi
Din Guardi © D Heckels The only memorial of all that is told are of sieges and valorous chieftains of old from that bleak rocky throne in magnificent pride Din guardi stands with its secrets it hides Bard divint tell ya tales aboot y
Alauna-Alaunos
Footnote THE FARMER'S FOLLY One of the most imposing reminders of the Percy family in Alnwick is an eighty three feet high Percy Tenantry Column which is known locally as the Farmers Folly. The column designed by the Newcastle architect David Stephenson was constructed in 1816 and lies close to the southern end of the street called Bondgate-Without. It is one of the first sights to greet the visitor to Alnwick from the south. Legend is that the second Duke of Northumberland (a Percy) lowered the rents of his agricultural tenants by twenty-five per cent to help them through the period of agricultural depression which followed the Napoleonic Wars. It is said that the tenants were so grateful to the Duke that they erected the great column in his honour - topped of course by a stone statue of the famous Percy Lion which had been the emblem of the Percy family for centuries. But the story is that the Duke, far from showing gratitude for the monument to his honour was more interested in the fact that his tenants had been able to raise the money for the monument. His reaction was to raise their rents once again - the story is however only a legend.
Jamie Allan
Footnote Jamie Allan - famed piper, gypsy, serial army enlister and deserter, horse thief, and jailbird. (Jamie Allan was a Northumbrian piper, a border gypsy, born 1734 in Rothbury and who died in the Durham Lock Up in 1810 where he was serving a life sentence for stealing a horse from Gateshead seven years earlier. During his lifetime he became a legendary rogue, but one of immense talent as a musician, often patronised by the aristocracy who, however, became wary of him when his wayward behavior began to match their own. As he grew older his attraction to them diminished and his struggle to survive intensified along with the other gypsies who were regarded as rogues and scum and treated as such. He retained a few loyal supporters, mostly on the North side of the Tyne, who tried to get him released, but they failed and he died confined miserable in Durham. For some he represents the spirit of the borders and he retains the affection and admiration of most musicians carrying on the tradition. This song is written as a celebration and salute to Jamie Allan, warts an’ all.)
Without title
This is a translation from Russian of Eteri Agaronova's poem, dedicated to her late friend.
A Gift In The Hay
Thoughts of Christ's humble birth in a stable.
bad decisions make good stories
ever notice how bad ideas make good stories remember how you told your Mom that you'd be right home after school but went trestling instead with Johnny and Lawrence and you ran like a fearful wind when the train caught up and any one of you coul
A Cowboy's Christmas Play
A poem about a Christmas play.
i love a good story
"Oh Dudley"...."Oh Nell" ;-)
Simple Little Ranch Truths
Observations from growin' up on a ranch and it's life as an adult.
WINTER--EARLY MORNING
By Louise Owen The black sky tingles with a million white stars; Blue burns Serius red burns Mars. Venus in the east hangs bigger than a moon, and the green-laced horizon says dawn will be soon. And the farmer wakes up, and the farmer bo
Unbroken.. Re-Written
A cowboy poet's will to survive despite rough going.
Christmas Tree
A quiet Christmas tree ritual and Christmas spent up in the timbers.
The Christmas Ride/Jinglin' Bells
Riding a green-broke colt to town one Christmas Day and the excitement that ensued.
You Know, I Never Liked A Rainy Day
I wrote this poem, in rememberance of all the little girls, that married the little boys-that they once thought they hated so much, lol Having 6 brothers gave me lots to draw on, one in particular- that teased all my friends, and made them cry, and then married the one that hated him the most !
Torn between
This is life and sometimes we have to make tough choices at the expense of breaking each other's hearts, which can’t be helped. Couldn’t go to sleep last night and watched a nice movie - hence the inspiration.
nursing lives
"old friends...sat on the park bench like bookends" for Richard Holbrooke
The Cowgirl Poet's Persuasion
Writing of what makes my heart sing.
Knights of old
I stand before you as a knight of old My suit of iron glistening in the sun A hero from the days of yore A quixotic echo of days long past Yet underneath lies a man of broken dreams A man out of step with modern times No need for chivalrous i
attention span
another day without a care...i hope i can get there.
A lady late
she will meet me yesterday I saw her as like as usual as fresh as wallpaper 's flower she wanted to come to me yesternight we had had a bad struggle and childish fight i always told her no to do such deeds we were freind ,there is no
Memories of a "Cheese Danish"
this poem is about feelings breaking rules,and cheese danishes
A Simple Toast
A toast to the timeless cowboy.
wishes
i wish, i wish that i coud be what ever i set out to be, when i was young and oh so free, have someone that would love only me, some one with my life to share,be there for me and always care, thought i had that but was so wrong, im left alone
A Journey
Gentle spiral to the ground. In circle motion round and round. Dancing rhythm of its own. Destination unknown. Gust remove others. Legions follow. Leaving cover. Soon replaced. Seasons defaced. Hint of color. All so true. Reaching to skies
My Daughter kimberley when she was 3 (almost)
Kimberley was a beautiful little girl who could never stay clean. She didn't care how grubby she got, she just had fun.(this is most of her life). We called her our joyful bubbly one.I had a lot of fun with her and still do. She would do anything anywhere for a laugh. She's now 22.
Mitcheltown School
It was an old closed school up a long steep driveway with a huge concrete playground. It was also surrounded by a pine tree forest. We used to play there as children.
No Regrets.
I was trying to make sense of my life and how I now look towards the next 'journey'. I hope this poem doesn't come across as too morbid, it's an acceptance of 'what is and what will be'.