A log of the magnificent journey across the vast sea of my imagination.
A log of our magnificent journey.
|Something in the wind takes me to
another time, another place,
where tides seduced and skies were blue.
Something in the wind takes me to
the sandy shore where seagulls flew
and ocean breeze caressed my face.
Something in the wind takes me to
another time, another place.
He served his country with honor
on military mission
to defend our values.
Today, he fights arthritis
instead of Viet Cong.
Bouncing grandson Toby on his knee,
he tells alluring tales
of where he has been,
from Sicily to Singapore.
On Sunday, he goes to church
for successors' safe return.
Then, he watches football on TV
and sips a beer or two.
Although he spends a lot of time
sitting on the couch
with his constant companion
his thoughts are always with
those on the front line.
|As the shadows of nightfall crept across the meadow, Rebecca rose from the rocking chair on her porch and prepared to retire for the night. Suddenly, an eerie sound coming from the nearby forest caught her attention. She knew hearing music in the woods at night was a bad sign, but it was such a pretty tune. Stepping down from the porch, she tried to identify the source.
Just like the Pied Piper did in Hamelin with his magic flute, this mystic melody entranced her and led her deeper into the wilderness.
As she traversed through the evening mist settling over the trail, she was accosted by a cordon of ghouls, each with the visage of a wolf and talons for hands. They enshrouded her with a tarp and carried her farther along the forest trail.
Eventually, they removed the tarp when they arrived at the perimeter of an enclosure, where a group of spectral waifs danced in a circle around a huge vat. The stench of burning sulfur emanating from the bubbling substance in the vat permeated the entire enclosure. Presently, the circle was broken by two of the ghouls carrying a young man writhing and screaming in the grip of their talons. The screaming intensified as they dropped their victim into that vat of boiling fluid.
Suddenly, a tall figure cloaked in black appeared beside Rebecca and asked, "Are you ready, my dear? Your turn is next." Quickly, the ghouls' talons tightened against her arms until they pierced the skin.
Prompt: She knew hearing music in the woods at night was a bad sign, but it was such a pretty tune.
|He missed Christmas while serving overseas,
but now the family is coming together
to welcome him home on leave.
They will celebrate the holiday
a little late this year.
Still, it will be a jolly July
with peppermint candy canes
hung around the patio
and cold chocolate milkshakes
to replace traditional hot cocoa.
The hot summer sun casts an eerie glow
on cotton snow spread across the ground,
as the joy of giving intensifies
when friends and relatives deliver
gifts for military still serving overseas.
|Our children sacrifice their dreams
when duty screams
of country's need
for those who lead.
The brutal consequence of war
is lots of gore.
When soldiers die,
their mothers cry,
because their kinfolk are bereft
with nothing left
Notes on the Minute form of poetry ▼
|Summer sings a bewitching tune
about the joyful month of June
for couple on their honeymoon
in Montego Bay.
The rhythm of the rain will affect
the way the newlyweds connect,
as they will frequently reflect
in years to come.
While Summer croons her serenade
with sunrise orange marmalade,
the children sell their lemonade
to folks with angry thirst.
She sets spectacular buffet
with red strawberries on display
and oysters from Chesapeake Bay,
whatever you prefer.
Mosquitoes, hornets, ants, and flies
in humid air bring some surprise,
while solar radiation fries
those who venture out.
My picture window reverie
will capture all there is to see
when deer and geese come visit me,
while I stay cool inside.
Somebody made Summer upset,
so she vowed to make them regret.
For spite, the worst you can get
would be a hurricane.
Notes on the Ovi form of poetry ▼
here to consecrate
the lives lost across the sea.
Their families mourn
with the poppies worn
to symbolize bravery.
Because heroes' blood
mingled with the mud,
poppies bloom in Normandy.
They blanket the land
where men died in sand
to preserve their memory.
Notes on the Alouette form of poetry ▼