The Sage of Main Street
Gold Member
Haiku CuckooMidnight
No moon, stillness
Smells of honeysuckle
Dark water ripples ,gator moving
Hunt starts
Japanese on dates
Fumble over syllables
Poets don't get laid
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Haiku CuckooMidnight
No moon, stillness
Smells of honeysuckle
Dark water ripples ,gator moving
Hunt starts
By Conte CullenLove, leave me like the light,
The gently passing day;
We would not know, but for the night,
When it has slipped away.
So many hopes have fled,
Have left me but the name
Of what they were. When love is dead,
Go thou, beloved, the same.
Go quietly; a dream
When done, should leave no trace
That it has lived, except a gleam
Across the dreamer’s face.
There are two types of friends.
One is the acquaintance, the
person you just say hello to on
the street.
The person you discuss war, politics,
and drugs with in passing.
The other is the close true friend.
The person with whom you share
experiences, such as joy, sorrow,
likes and dislikes.
The person who’s there when you
need him.
There is one sure way to tell
acquaintances from true friends.
That is when you have a real
problem your true friends come
around and help.
Everyone is your friend when
everything is rosy.
Outta the park, 1000%Angel on Earth
Robert A Collins 1969 (Arizona)
a tribute to the boys of summer
baseball's high and mighty
to those who played the game with grace
like joltin Joe and Whitey
hard work and dedication
swung Casey's heavy bat
and most of all they loved the game
you can be quite sure of that
the crack of the bat...the roar of the crowd
the smell of fresh cut grass
fathers and sons making memories
the kind that will forever last
I still get chills when I see the old reels
of the Babe pointing up to the sky
and after all these years I still can't hide the tears
when I hear Gehrig's recount of that final goodbye
So long to the boys of summer
To Mickey and Roger and Joe
I like to think they're still playing somewhere
and giving one h*** of a show.
The weatherboard house is comforting. The deck of a strangers house, creaking beneath my feet.
Laughing and fun floating on the air.
That smile I indulge myself in and let myself float away.
The sun beaming through the part on your hair. Eyes of innocent green. We sit on that swing
you hold my hand.
Swaying back and forth the warmth of the that summer afternoon permeates through my skin through my soul.
Your kiss so sweet, I will never forget. Your glistening eyes of emerald green.
Hold my hand. For love, for summer.
A moment in time forgotten.
Just a note The author of this poem is unknown. I found it in poetry.com
"The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings...
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?"