The constant sound of raindrops on a surface that echoes its repetitions
And the rhythmic measure in between
Interrupted intermittently by wind gusts competeing for the cadence
Brilliant and strobelike lightning, provides a disco backdrop
To the thunders solo drum
And I watched in awed rapture
As the storm sought out the rhythm.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2017
About this poem:
Storms have always fascinated me, and if one isn't too severe I'm drawn to go out and feel it's energy .
I sense a subtle rhythm to what is to many chaos.
Post Comment
I should have loved you back, or at the very least understood
But I was a man with too many options, and bound to overlook the good
By the time I'd separated imagination from reality, the reality was it was too late
I knew then how deeply that I'd hurt you, and that you were my real soul mate
We saw each other briefly, but too much time had passed away
And I wish that I could turn back time, and go back to yesterday.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2017
About this poem:
The man, or woman, of your dreams isn't always easily recognized.
Hidden behind our own visual, and often peripheral subconscious,
in fact our matings, unlike most all other species is predicated more
on visual perception more than any other sense.
This poem tells about a man in this case, who was made aware that
a woman was in love with him, but because he had other admirers
he opts to choose another option that proves very quickly to have been
a mistake. In retrospect he realizes that the woman whose love he rejected
is one he could have been happy with, and given time come to reciprocate
her love.
Post Comment
Because we live half a world apart I'd never even bothered to read yours, or any similiar profiles
My belief being that it was a waste of time, pretending love could survive so many miles
And I am still unable to commit, too being anything more than just friend's
Unwilling to have faith, trust, and fidelity, left to the whims of the oceans and winds
For me the very thought of someone else holding you, would permit me little rest
And too pretend that I wouldn't think it, would in itself be cheating if put too
the test
And although I'm viewed, liked, and messaged from as far as Thailand, we won't be anything more than pen pals
I'm a firm believer that anything more is only an invitation to hurt, apology,
heartbreak, and trials.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2017
About this poem:
This poem came to be written because of a recent profile I visited!!, amazingly I'd never thought to visit this profile although there'd been more than enough reasonable cause, I clicked on the profile and miraculously, magically, suddenly there she was!! What I'm trying to say is everything was good, photos, about, she had intelligence, beauty, humor, compassion, passion, sensitivity, what she was looking for I am, or was willing to try and become. Her music preferences even included several songs I've covered and recorded on karaoke!! And if all these similarities weren't enough she has the same birth sign as the woman I married., In short the total package for me. Did the fact that we live a half a world apart from each other have any effect on what I felt? how I reacted? what I think? definitely.
Many of us have had a similar experience, and the stress It has created for me needs an outlet and writing about
it provides that outlet.
Post Comment
I still remember grandmas advice, on bringing in the new year
She'd make us all eat black eyed peas, a memory I hold dear
We were told that it would bring us luck, and us children hid our smirks
It's amazing how although we've grown, we hold on to our quirks
Never mind the fact, I broke my foot, exactly on the first
And all the while I suffered, I was told it could have been worse
The source of this tradition is vague, unclear and much in doubt
Yet come New Years, I will indeed, have a mess of peas in my mouth.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2017
About this poem:
A nostalgic memory from my childhood, I was nine and it was New Year's day, we'd had our dinner,
complete with peas of course. Us kid's were galavantin' around in the front yard and I stubbed my big toe on the fence ( leastwise I thought I'd stubbed it) when grandma looked at the angle it was bent she sent for the doc who come down after about an hour or two, I hated black eyed peas for a long time afterwards.
Post Comment
It wasn't no secret what type of boy I was, I couldn't hide it if I tried
I loved women folk at an early age, and conscious was not my guide
Now Miss Lula Mae was a fine figure of a woman, and a widow at that
And all the men folk that seen her, would stop to tip their hat
But I was just a young boy, and knew no courtesy
Instead I'd stop on a dime, and gawk at her shamlessly
I had my little fantasies, and she was in them all
And I'd probably still be fantasizing, if my grandma hadn't called.
I
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2017
About this poem:
As I look back on my adolescence I realize I was quite precocious, the folk back
then called it "mannish" in regard to boy's, and "womalish" in the case of girl's.
I laughed out loud several times as I penned these memories.
I hope the reader gets as much enjoyment from the reading, as I have the writing.
( I don't know if this should go under the catagory of "child" or " humor" ? Child humor?.
Post Comment
In a simple structure that animals were fed and sheltered from any storm
It's remarkable, and so amazing that the saviour of the world was also born
As we exchange presents and travel, too family to carol and make mirth
Let's remember that the occassion, really is to celebrate his birth.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2017
About this poem:
Sometimes we become so intent on getting our children that special present, or stressing over financial burdens
directly caused by our expenditures during this season that we lose sight of what we're actually celebrating.
Post Comment
The year's that have passed hold fond memories, adventure, joy, and heartache
But my ship ain't come in yet, and of this gift of life I'm going too fully partake
Season's have come and gone, like mirages, leaving nary a solitary clue
But my ship ain't come in yet, and there's plenty of thing's left that I need to do
All night the wind blew, gusting, it shook my house on it's frame
But my ship ain't come in yet, and no two day's are ever the same
Shades of gray streak my hair, when the weather changes my joints often ache
But my ship ain't come in yet, and I'm confident my life is still mine too make
My dog Sam, his ship docked yesterday, and believe me it was almighty hard
But my ship ain't come in yet, and I buried him in his favorite spot in the backyard
Its been a voyage of life I've enjoyed too the fullest, I'd surely take it once more
But my ship ain't come in yet, and until it does I'll carry on, just as before.
I see the currents of time marching swiftly, like waves pushed by a mighty wind
But my ship ain't come in yet, and I'm anxious too see places I've never been
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2017
About this poem:
This is another poem inspired by my Uncle, even up until his death he often spoke of approaching death as a ship.
Although he never spoke of it others in the family hinted that memories of a voyage aboard a slave ship was at it's
root. I only know that he could not read nor write, was of undetermined age, and was one of the most amazing, unusual, and influential people I've ever known.
Post Comment
Insolence and total disregard, for the laws and the men who invent them
Rash too, as well as hard, with a soul intent only on mayhem
Unblinking and resolute, full to the very brim with aggressiveness
Rumored to be of ill repute, and in a way he will get the best of this
A man born to war and the stench of the dead, his weapons are his lover's
Living by a creed of his own design, and that is to do unto other's
Asleep his dreams contain images of death, his dreams by day are dark
The one fatal chink in his armour? it is these images that have left their mark
A sentry shouts out a question, recieving silence an only response
The soldier falls as the first rounds find him, the shock registering at once
Martyred in death and in life an enigma, as a memory of vast intellect
His ideals a lasting remembrance, too the many lives that still bear their effect.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2017
About this poem:
This poem is in memory of a very dear and close friend who I lost in Vietnam.
Post Comment
This is a list of Contreeashell's Poems. Click here for Contreeashell's Poem List
Contreeashell Poetry (8)