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 A log of the magnificent journey across the vast sea of my imagination. |
 A log of our magnificent journey. |
| We're battle buddies, through and through, fighting for the red, white, and blue, always ready to take up the slack and help the other get back on track, remaining faithful and true. I have slogged through the jungle with you and formed a lasting bond like glue, so we will always face the flack as battle buddies. Unity of spirit will ensue when we find ourselves in a stew. You know that I will have your back. Together we can crack the challenges we pursue as battle buddies. Notes on the Rondeau form of poetry ▼ |
| Roaches scramble here and there, and spiders spin their webs with flair. When buzzing flies make presence known, housekeeper lets out a thunderous groan. Ants parade around the kitchen and make her start twitchin'. The cricket choir serenades our evening promenades, as fireflies flicker in the night, about which we love to write. |
| Hand in hand, we walked along the beach, spring break some fifty years ago. We walked and talked and laughed, while chasing waves and scooping shells. That afternoon delight became a steady thing, as our bond kept growing stronger and stronger. The touch of your hand made me quiver when I placed the wedding band on your finger. Before long, three children joined us on our journey. Then came first steps, first words, graduations, weddings, new cars, new homes as our family grew. Through years of joy and struggle, the touch of your hand became my anchor. With your hand in my hand, we entered the realm of retirement. Today, that sensation still feels as grand as it did fifty years ago when we first met. 20 lines/126 words |
| Summer breeze whispered ancient tales, as geese gathered by the stream. Doe and fawn wandered down the trails, according to Nature's scheme. With summer spirits in control, we took heed as daylight waned. Sensory buffet fed our soul, and mystic melodies reigned. We enjoyed the antics of woodland sprites, while troubadours sang about summer nights. Notes on the Ravenfly form of poetry ▼ |
| Remembering those brave young men who stormed the beach at Normandy. Remembering those who gave their all and never returned to those waiting at home. Remembering those families and friends who lost their loved ones forever. Remembering all those who continue to sacrifice so we may be free. |
Poetry is dancing with the language of life-- the tone, the tempo, the shades, the sounds of words, the symphony crescendo of crimson and gold, rising with the sun at dawn. Poetry is the door to discovery opening new perspectives. |
| Mama mia! I've got diarrhea. My normal poop is now brown goop. Too many unholy black bean frijoles. It is so loose, like orange juice. The nasty odor nauseates, among the other traits. The swooshing sound has me bound. Being stuck on crapper is not very dapper. What a catastrophea! |
| A military mom displays great courage and dignity so often in so many ways. She keeps the home fires ablaze with the special ability a military mom displays. Her son is in deployment phase to protect us from tyranny so often in so many ways. With steadfast devotion, she prays to relieve the anxiety a military mom displays. To pass the time, she crochets and burns her pent-up energy so often in so many ways. Still, the burden of the unknown weighs, as she fights to maintain the quality a military mom displays so often in so many ways. Notes on the Villanelle form of poetry ▼ |
| After nine-eleven tragedy, my brother John felt the need to serve, so he enlisted in Marines and went off to fight in combat-- so brave! Over there, he met his destiny-- a fate he surely did not deserve, when bomb blew him to smithereens. So, now we gather with Mom at his grave. Notes on the Brady's Touch form of poetry ▼ |
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