Sonnet
Bright, Sunshiny Day: Redux
They say, “Third time's the charm.” I hope that's true. I've written this before, and there's no clue About where my poem's gone After so much time spent on Creating it not just one time, but two. So, I won't try to recreate the words. I've done seconds, and don't want to have thirds. That moment's in the past And the feelings faded fast And I'll leave them lying right there for the birds. Instead, here's yet another brand new rhyme, Seasoned with a healthy dose of thyme? No, that's just asinine, But fits perfectly fine, So that's what I'm gonna put there this time. Perhaps my big mistake first time around That dropped the poem in the “lost, not found” Was 'cause it said thanks to Vocal for all they do, But on that theme this is meant to expound. Just one more little note I'll leave for you, This time, I've done as I most always do. I've saved these words for me On my laptop, you see, Just in case they should disappear from view.
By Dana Crandell2 months ago in Poets
A Plethora of Propitious Pleasantries
Shipmates on a sea of creativity, Plying waters of the great unknown, Transcribe all their treasures oh, so carefully, Leaving bits of blood and sweat and bone. Other souls aboard savor oblations Of their fellow travelers therein Leaving, in return, congratulations, Encouraging the writer's light within. This sustenance provides our daily portion Of fuel for the fires that burn inside And we, in turn, continue to apportion A share to those who've joined us on the ride. We feed on what we read upon the pages Created by our fellow bards and sages.
By Dana Crandell2 months ago in Poets
Our Boulders
Do we push the boulder, or carry it, As my wife used to state before an ache, Which could describe life that declines to quit Either for itself or suffering’s sake? Sisyphus could never have carried it Given its size and his enduring ache. Could he have broken it into pieces To push it away and thus reach the top? Or was it a cause that never ceases, As one learns to plug up hoping and hop? Life is one of those effects that fleeces Until the only thing left is to stop. Yet we tend to continue like badgers, Although we are surely mostly cadgers.
By Patrick M. Ohana2 months ago in Poets
