Maybe it's time to renew your poetic license?

I used to dabble, I've lost the touch and or motivation, same goes for other writing endeavors.:( I don't know, I think I just started to bore myself of something. ha, ha, ha.

But after I go off to read/listen to, my awaiting book, I'm going to be sure to come back and read all the, I'm sure wonderful writings of what the lovely folks in this spot have shared. For now, I'm ready for a nap so off to let the lull of the voice from the book on tape help me nod off.
 

Recessional
BY RUDYARD KIPLING
1897


God of our fathers, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung battle-line,
Beneath whose awful Hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!


The tumult and the shouting dies;
The Captains and the Kings depart:
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!


Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!


If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!


For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard,
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding, calls not Thee to guard,
For frantic boast and foolish word—
Thy mercy on Thy People, Lord!
 
OLD FATHER TIME (by Phoenix14)

Old father time took up his scythe, his cloak was worn and grey
his weary limbs rejoice to see, the end of his final day.
His tired old eyes,once bright - now had grown quite dim
his beard in unkempt strands, fell down the front of him.
He trudged along, a well worn path, of those who'd gone before
not sad to leave this world behind, he wanted it no more.
The time he gave was not well spent, his moments quite abused
Every precious second that he gave, saw them badly used.
We'll never get them back again, they've gone and what a waste
His work on earth was done, and walked off quite disgraced.
The midnight door lay just ahead, and twelve, the clock was striking
his hand upon the handle turned, this world was not his liking
but there before him stood New Year, with a face that's all aglow
just as he had stood there anxiously, no more than a year ago.
His wrinkled hand reached out to greet, this young bright New Year
a forlorn smile upon his mouth and in his sad old eyes, a tear.
Good luck my friend,the Old Year, said as they momentary met
This world does not deserve the gifts you bring, this is the worst year yet.
The New Year looked up and said, I can offer hope, with all my heart
and one year to make good use of it, before I too must part.
This New Year has given hope to us, and time to make amends
it's up to us to use these gifts, on this our life depends.
Wishing one and all a guid New Year, for health and hope abound
Let's greet this New Year with a smile, that hope and peace be found.
 

I've 'dabbled' with rhyming for the last 5 years, ever since I retired and found it a source of some recreational value. It's not great poetry, just thoughts and observations set to rhyme. I wrote this one a couple of years ago just as winter was approaching ...

ALONE


It was born in the spring with hundreds of others
with always the closeness of sisters and brothers
As days passed by it grew bigger and stronger
and grew to maturity, a youngster no longer


Days turned to weeks as it basked in the sun
Its colour was beautiful, second to none
Weeks turned to months it now was full grown
and then it produced offspring of its own


Its offspring grew larger and then left the nest
to further the species with all of the rest
Its job was now over its colour was fading
Old age and disease its body invading


And then came the autumn of its short life
A life so productive and full of much strife
Now it was weary its life nearly over
Soon will be time to lie in the clover


As winter approached its kin were all dying
They couldn't hang on despite all their trying
Fewer and fewer of its companions were left
and now it was feeling completely bereft


So now its alone, its companions all gone
Where there were hundreds now there's just one
Now it hangs on alone waiting to die
Its life nearly over 'twill be gone by-and-by


I saw it this morning still hanging around
awaiting its end under the ground
A life full of happiness, sadness and grief
On a tree in the garden hangs the last lonely leaf
 
Thanks, Oakapple

LEGEND

I'm moored securely to the pier
just waiting to get out of here
The crew has just now come aboard
Soon we'll be sailing off abroad


The ropes are wound in tidy piles
We won't need those for many miles
Now we leave the harbour side
The sea before us, blue and wide


The trade winds catch and fill my sails
and water's hissing past my rails
One hundred miles we've gone today
Bermuda is now far away


Night descends, the crew does sleep
except for one, a watch, does keep
I hear a scream and then a splash
and from their bunks the crew does dash


On my deck writhe monstrous coils
The sea beside me foams and boils
From the sea a shape does rise
with wicked beak and cold dead eyes


Tentacles are everywhere
They're lifting men into the air
Into the sea it does, them, throw
to where the black beak waits below


One by one the crew are slain
until not one of them remain
The monster sinks back down below
What happened here, no man will know


Red stained waves wash over me
from the tainted, bloody sea
The stink of death hangs in the air
as I sail away from there


I sail on crewless through the night
until a schooner comes in sight
They board me and are filled with fear
of what disaster happened here


And now my name forever will be
synonymous with maritime tragedy
My name by now you must have guessed
The brigantine, 'Marie Celeste'
 
Here is my original poem written when I was a teenager.

"A Lovely Little Bird"

I awoke one morning and left my nice warm bed and went to my window to view my lovely homestead. I looked and spied a pretty little bird with a bright yellow bill. I beckoned it to come and sit upon my window sill. I offered and it accepted my humble crust of bread, and then I slammed the window and crushed it's little head.
 
PILGRIMAGE


The hill is steep, the way is long
but I know I must be strong
Though I may stumble, even fall
I will recover and walk tall


As I journey I might well find
that distractions may confuse my mind
But with single minded concentration
I'm sure I'll reach my destination


If thorns should tangle up my feet
I'll struggle on and not be beat
Through bog and mire and deep morass
I'll keep the faith and safely pass


Through howling winds and driving rain
my determination will not wane
And though my will may sometimes falter
my destination will not alter


An ache consumes my very soul
To reach Nirvana is my goal
That place of happiness distilled
where all my needs will be fulfilled


There is an instinct I obey
so I will never lose my way
And even if I slightly stray
I know I'll get there by mid-day


Let Bacchus be my guiding light
until, at last, my goal's in sight
With his help, despite my qualms
I know I'll reach 'The Maltsers Arms'


(Rob ... April 2013)
 
The Phantom Ship
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882)

IN Mather’s Magnalia Christi,
Of the old colonial time,
May be found in prose the legend
That is here set down in rhyme.

A ship sailed from New Haven,
And the keen and frosty airs
That filled her sails at parting
Were heavy with good men’s prayers.

“O Lord! if it be thy pleasure,”—
Thus prayed the old divine,—
“To bury our friends in the ocean,
Take them, for they are thine!”

But Master Lamberton muttered,
And under his breath said he,
“This ship is so crank and walty,
I fear our grave she will be!”

And the ships that came from England,
When the winter months were gone,
Brought no tidings of this vessel
Nor of Master Lamberton.

This put the people to praying
That the Lord would let them hear
What in his greater wisdom
He had done with friends so dear.

And at last their prayers were answered:—
It was in the month of June,
An hour before the sunset
Of a windy afternoon,

When, steadily steering landward,
A ship was seen below,
And they knew it was Lamberton, Master,
Who sailed so long ago.

On she came, with a cloud of canvas,
Right against the wind that blew,
Until the eye could distinguish
The faces of the crew.

Then fell her straining topmasts,
Hanging tangled in the shrouds,
And her sails were loosened and lifted,
And blown away like clouds.

And the masts, with all their rigging,
Fell slowly, one by one,
And the hulk dilated and vanished,
As a sea-mist in the sun!

And the people who saw this marvel
Each said unto his friend,
That this was the mould of their vessel,
And thus her tragic end.

And the pastor of the village
Gave thanks to God in prayer,
That, to quiet their troubled spirits,
He had sent this Ship of Air.
 
A Psalm of Life

hwlon.gif

[FONT=founders_grotesk_textlight]Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807 - 1882

[/FONT]
What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
“Life is but an empty dream!”
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
“Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Finds us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,--act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing
Learn to labor and to wait.

 
I have enjoyed looking back and reading all these lovely poems, another of mine you might like

Light at the End of the Tunnel


Have you ever felt so broken hearted?
That you walked around crying inside
And when you woke up every morning
You wished in the night you had died

When your chest deep inside feels like lead
And you have no wish to survive
When you feel you’d be better off dead
In fact you’re more dead that alive

Well I felt like this it was dreadful
But I’d others depending on me
For their sakes I couldn’t give in to my grief
I’d to just hope and pray that I’d see

A light at the end of the tunnel
A way up from that bottomless hole
And yes time does heal eventually
And you will find respite for your soul

One day you will grasp you feel lighter
The heaviness starting to fade
You start to have feelings that you used to have
And remember the plans that you made

For life does go on and when in due course
You start to feel cheerful again
Then you’ll remember the good times you had
And forget all the grief and the pain.

So take heart from this I can promise
That no matter how bad or how raw
Mother nature and God will heal all your wounds
And you will be happy once more.
 
Hi Mary B. I'm glad to see your still around and still writing poems. I re-read your "Organ Grinder's Monkey" poem and found it quite funny! Thanks for renewing your Poetic License for 2017!:eek:nthego:
 
Dragon
By: Haunted Texan
　
I need to see a dragon,
Too much magic's disappeared.

We, as people, all too grounded,
In daily grinds and constant fears.

We, as spirits, all too fragile,
as life forgets we're even here.

Just need to see a dragon,
a rugged scale or ragged tooth

To know the soul now lost to me
Can soar across the skies

Her timeless beauty and flowing gown
Atop that graceful wurm

I just need to see a dragon
A fleeting glimpse to know it's there.
 
Deep into the canopy
Light streams guide the way
Sounds of unseen creatures intrigue
Scampering through fallen leaves
Songbird speaks to me from high
Searching, I see not him or sky
Embraced by earth and pulse of life
Nature is my companion
Never alone and always at peace
I walk deeper and deeper within


SeaBreeze
 
Follower - Poem by Seamus Heaney

My father worked with a horse-plough,
His shoulders globed like a full sail strung
Between the shafts and the furrow.
The horse strained at his clicking tongue.


An expert. He would set the wing
And fit the bright steel-pointed sock.
The sod rolled over without breaking.
At the headrig, with a single pluck


Of reins, the sweating team turned round
And back into the land. His eye
Narrowed and angled at the ground,
Mapping the furrow exactly.


I stumbled in his hob-nailed wake,
Fell sometimes on the polished sod;
Sometimes he rode me on his back
Dipping and rising to his plod.


I wanted to grow up and plough,
To close one eye, stiffen my arm.
All I ever did was follow
In his broad shadow round the farm.


I was a nuisance, tripping, falling,
Yapping always. But today
It is my father who keeps stumbling
Behind me, and will not go away.
 
The wings of the giant tucked in close to it's side.
He inched his way towards her, she was pale as a ghost.
Not sure what would happen, she trembled.
　
Nowhere to run, would it help if she did?
Only in here by accident, a pathway was missed.
She hoped that the dragon saw into her soul,
The legends all said that they could.
　
Closer, so close now... She hoped it was quick.
He went to one knee, and quietly asked for a kiss.
Your soul, he whispered, makes my world seem so bright.
　
She smiled, then, at him, the great noble beast,
Leaned closer, a kiss gently placed on both cheeks.
Calmly venturing forward, laying cradled by him
His soul he had opened, their lives now intwined
　
I know you can't stay, forlornly he said,
Our lives are so different, our worlds far apart.
His eyes shed a tear, knowing now she must go,
But deep in their hearts, they knew she'd return.....

Fantasy406.jpg
 
Salty Tears by Tea Lady Mel

(Inspired while drinking a Longjing)


"If Mr. Dragon cries, his tears would be salty
After all, he has spent thousands of years flying over
Oceans and heartbroken people – it’s only natural that
Mr. Dragon would feel like earth after a while
Legend has it that if you collect all Mr Dragon’s tears
And drink one cup of this elixir, you will never cry again
Your soul will become immune to sorrow
And your body will merge with the sea"

serveimage
 
I died today... you gonna miss me?
We laughed and fought and laughed some more
Our days were full of lifes sad endings
But triumphs reached would make us soar
　
My laugh was weird, you used to say
But you still worked hard to make me
You cried and said to go away
But my heart would never let me
　
Now our time for sad goodbye has come
Every one of us must go away
I know that most of me must go
But a bigger part, we know, will stay
 
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