Poetry Poems

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poeticbearlovestowrite

Another Autumn Day




The Lord has chosen this time of the year for His own glory.
It is another autumn day of great and positive things to share.
There are cooler temperatures and the leaves are truly falling off the trees.
It is time for the trees to slumber and sleep the rest of the year.
The love the Lord has for His creation makes everything perfect.
It should behoove us to act accordingly to the will of God.
Realizing the Lord never makes a mistake and is not wrong with having autumn to be here.
Give the Lord the preeminence He so deserves and cherish Him.
Give your all to Him and have it without reservation.
Acknowledge the power of the season and give praise to the Lord.
(© Poeticbearlovestowrite 2014)


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countrypoet

Halloween At The Haunted Mansion




Halloween At The Haunted Mansion

Mommy, is the mansion haunted?
Yes, it is, but please don’t scream
If you see a ghost or goblin.
For, after all, it’s Halloween!

I’ve heard ghost are seen as dancing
To an eerie organ tune.
And bats are flying everywhere.
O, I guess we’ll know real soon.

Audri, keep an eye on Ava.
And, Leah, Bella goes with you.
You’re Mommy’s big girls and I know
That no ghost can scare you two.

Bu*u*t, Mommy, you’ll be with us
You’ll be coming in there, right?
Mommy, you don’t have to be afraid
I promise you won't faint from fright.

Mommy, dearest, we're at Disney!
This is home to Mickey Mouse!
There is nothing here to scare us…
Not even Disney’s haunted house!

Doris Jacobs*Covington
Halloween 2014
.

´

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mypoems577

Melbourne Mick


Melbourne last March.
We met a man, this proud man, his son singing so grand!
Watching his son playing to the crowd.

This artful codger was a real drinking dodger.
He graced our table and others on the dance floor, crooning all before.
He collected the beer glasses to socialize the tables.

His current trade as dog*man on building sites
He told of his twelve kids.
This dinkum man was Ballarat born.

He worked from town to town as the dodgem man
This ex carnival worker,
Never the shirker!
Travelled the old droving track from Queensland and back.
Loving life and cheating on his wife.

His face has aged ahead of his years.
His bushman’s hat and a face like a map.
All the folk he had met and all the yarns

He said mate tell my story!
He seemed proud of the life he'd spun.
Stories flowed from his face etched by the sun.
His mustache silver glowed on his face.
His dog*mans key hanging from his neck.
His life seem to depend on this chattel
This is man, one should not rattle.
He talked of other times butchering cattle.

We did not mind his company at all.
This mans a friend to one and all.
I leave this story for you to read.
I don’t think he minded what you believe.
He’d have another trick up his sleeve.

Colin * NOV 2005

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dreamweaver

SPECTRUM OF LOVE




Love is not something
you can paint a picture
or photograph the love.
Love cannot be filmed
or carved in a sculpture.

Love is a delicate feeling
we feel in our hearts.
Tender and soft but still
powerful enough to
conquer and rule our hearts.

Love is a spectrum of
feelings in our hearts,
like spectrum of millions
of colours in a Rainbow
from cool ultra violet to
infrared in the Rainbow.

The heart has a spectrum of
love with feelings spread
so fine infinite shades.
Love is a spectrum of
deep emotions and soft
gentle feelings of heart.

Kris ~ Dreamweaver
www.poetrypoem.com/dreamweaver



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sirricky

Strengthen Christians



I kneel before the Father,
And family in Heaven;
Had bestowed us a Brother,
Sacrificial lamb given.

I ask to give you a gift,
From the glory of His wealth;
I pray that He will uplift,
For a good spiritual health.

Your inner strength and power,
As given through His Spirit;
Strengthen each passing hour,
Wherever you inhabit.

Then Christ will live within you,
In faith and within His love;
And able to help you through,
With each passing day thereof.

I pray that love may be sound,
As roots for your salvation;
Firmly planted in the ground,
Making a strong foundation.

With all the people of God,
You will be able to know;
Just how to honor and laud,
And which way His love will flow.

You will know the love of Christ,
And that it goes far beyond;
When no more feeling enticed,
And then have a common bond.

I pray that you will be filled,
The Holy Spirit within;
And that you will be instilled,
And purified from the sin.

Glory belongs to the Lord,
Whose power is working in;
Helps us be in one accord,
And a new life to begin.

Copyright © 2014 Richard Newton Sherrer

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stopmypoemsaretalki

FILL IN THE BLANK


FILL IN THE BLANK WITH SOMETHING EXCITED
FILL IN THE BLANK ON MY BIRTHDAY
FILL IN THE BLANK WHEN I AM DOWN AND OUT
FILL IN THE BLANK WHEN I DON'T FEEL LIKE BEING ALONE.
FILL IN THE BLANK WHEN I NEED A TRUE FRIEND
FILL IN THE BLANK WHEN I AM NEAR THE END
FILL IN THE BLANK IN EVERY GIVEN TIME.
FILL IN THE BLANK WHEN I AM FEELING FINE
FILL IN THE BLANK DARLING, I WILL DO THE SAME FOR YOU.
SHARING MY LOVE ,FILLING IN THE BLANK AND GETTING
CLOSER TO YOU.
FILLING IN THE BLANK WITH THE MAGIC WORDS
I LOVE YOU.
#AUTHOR OF STOP MY POEMS ARE TALKING.



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meloomelissaahowells

A Fish Story....On Catching My 1st Fish at 9




Mrs. Gollehan
had the sort of kindness towards me
that the English showed the Irish
during the infamous
potato famine.

She couldn't fathom how
a child like me could
be tolerated.
Too many questions.
Not enough answers.
So many words.
Not all that handsome.

Her babe was a bonny one.
Bouncy Anne liked pearls.
Lots of home made curls.
Even when she went outside
to play. Oh boy.

I was convinced to go
on a weekend to the Gollehan
cabin in the wood.
Where I had to look across
the table at the Missus's
sour puss every time
I cleaned my plate
for she took accounting
of all I ate.
I swear there was a counter
ticking away somewhere under the
kitchen table.
How can you stand to be the way
you are, she asked.
I asked her if she asked herself
the same question? Oops.

Mr. Gollehan was cut from a
different cloth. He was older
too, but not so rough. He took
us fishing. Anne screamed a lot
about the worms and such. These
were squirmy things she was not
about to touch.she told dear Dad.
But I looked up and said.okay, sir,
I'll try one on for size instead,
even though I didn't want to
catch a fish. Even though, I didn't
want to hurt the worm.

Well, I caught the fish. I guess
the bass was big. But wouldn't you know
it he had a kink in his back like
he had battled something fierce before.
I looked at Mr. Gollehan and said I don't
think I want to take him anymore. Doesn't
he deserve to live another day. Look
he's already fought so hard. And then
I was told he was "gut hooked" and was
going to die any how. I felt so bad.
Mr. Gollehan put his arm around my
shoulder and said we should say a prayer
for him like the Indians do whenever
they catch a fish. Then we did.

I felt good again for being a kid.
Then I realized that Mrs. Gollehan
was going to be cooking the fish
for supper. I didn't know what to
think then. More clicks under the
table. And how was I not going to
eat this poor fish I wanted to
return to his home?

I don't know exactly why I dreamed about this last night
or why I was thinking about this.but, wrote about this
early childhood experience. this is just a rough draft.
I will come back and edit.
These are real people. The Gollehans were an older couple
who had Anne late in life. They had a son much earlier in
life.

Copyright October 30 2014 All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells straight from her Tilt*a*World
All poetry/prose/rants/ideas are the legal property of this writer


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poet5170

HALLOWEEN




HALLOWEEN

Will your nerves be able to stand the strain
When you hear tormented souls cry in pain,
Knocks on the door and the rattle of chains
Will all this play havoc with your brains.

The darkness serves as a cloak of fear
You jump at the slightest noise you hear,
What was that light that went by so fast
Could it be a ghost from the past.

You hear feet approaching your front door
Rigid with fear and frozen to the core
You wonder who it could be knocking so loud
Maybe it`s a ghost wrapped in its shroud.

The noises outside give your heart a jolt
With trepidation you slide back the bolt,
You open the door and peep round the crack
And peer into the night that is so black.

Witches on brooms and skeletons galore
Scary masks and there are ghosts for sure,
Of course it`s only Halloween this night
The local kids want to give us a fright.

They carry jack o lanterns to light the way
And this is what they are heard to say,
`Trick or Treat? Trick or Treat?`
Give us something nice to eat.

If I were you I would go for the treat
And then they will quietly retreat,
Back into the darkness of the night
Off to give someone else a fright.

copyright´2014 Elsie

Elsie`s Poetry ~*~ Poet5170
http://poetrypoem.com/poet5170



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