Post with 2 notes
Magic Squares: A Recipe for My Youngest Girl
Two scoops of dreams sifted well with wishes,
Lots of sugar blended in with the kisses.
A heart and soul of mine thrown in,
Baked to perfection is how to begin.
These things are kept in the cupboard for now,
And with my help you’ll discover how.
Some day you’ll know that your father cares,
Teaching your little girl to make her own magic squares.
My Thoughts on Fishing ov wjj 11303
Saturday usually spells a day of rest
But today a hook and line is mine to test
Used to catch a wily foe
He knows I’m there, and even though
The angle incident, disguises him
The small fast creature, which is fast to swim
Behind a rock or under a log
Was he there at all, I’m in such a fog.
The pole I chose is long and lean
The line was tied with loops unseen.
On the end the hook it finds a home
The idea being to lure alone,
The worm, a wiggler, on the hook I place
Good thing for me it has no face
A worm’s frown said is bitter sweet
After all, it gives its life so that I can eat
A scaly thing that travels so swift
It’s hard to see as it darts and twists
A seizing tug, in a blink of the eye
I starred at my hook and yet it slipped by
Surprised I am at each new call
I pledge my attention but always fall
A little short, of the best I thought I could be
As that fish stole HIS LUNCH and cleaned my hook you see.
by William Joiner on Monday, February 28, 2011 at 6:57pm
Cool Breeze ovwj11223
While, sitting starring, into the night sky
I enjoyed a cooler breeze ,
It whisk away the smell of smoke
Brought over from burning leaves.
In the darkness geese would speak their talk
From where I could not say,
The cool breeze in their face ,their guide
How fast they flew away.
Ragged looks the oak tree now
The hickory has dropped its spawn,
The apple turns its prize bright red
And the pear tree’s limbs are drawn.
Wood choppers still in labor
Up the creek for suppers heat,
When morning comes they’ll be gone
Long before the sun is there to greet,
Corn shocks are dancing wildly
In the field across the way,
I know they are just simple things
They’re waltzing while they sway,
Old hay barn, loaded, as fields were cut
The stores were proudly placed,
In the potato house we cut in the bank
Over it a little house we raised.
Green Wagon, long resting, from the harvest
Is loaded with the downfall timber,
Which we will split for winter nightsTo live or die, come December!
I still hear my sister calling me from the hill to play with her
Our vows of never leaving ,when made, it did not occur
So soon she would be going to a place I could not see
I still here hear her calling from the hill “come here and play with me”
The cool breeze was my first love a call to being alive
And autumn was a special time for us, sitting ,starring, at the sky
I’m leaving now or soon I think the page is folded so
The cool breeze in my face you see …happened Oh ! .. So long ago….
Post with 1 note
Taunted by the Dream Angel
Dreaming is more of a Dance with an Angels’ View,
Taunting with memories of one’s moments its true.
Carefully claiming that the opposite is such,
Recalling each moment as if easy to touch.
None are so more special, that we must hold our embrace,
It was her long black hair I remember, without quite seeing her face.
In speed I was losing a race every night,
I’m sure it was all to the great delight,
Of the Dream Angel proudly dancing up there,
Weaving in and out of my minds deepest, darkest lair.
Rolling and tossing while being tied to a wheel,
I feared the dawn as it rings of hard cold steel,
No torment is greater than to awaken so,
Remembering like it was real, only a moment ago.
To soon how my memory peals the dream away,
Then as soon I am asked„„ what did I dream that day?
To the best of my memory the Angel has past,
And tonight my dream will be, the same dream, as last.