I definitely don't consider myself a poet, but have at times in the past rambled on in an effort to come up with a few lines that sometimes rhyme, but more often than not, don't. Here are just a few:
I hope I’ll go back, I heard her say
I hope to return to my homeland one day
We all hope for things, both large and small
I hope that my kids grow up fine and tall
Gran hopes that she’ll die in her bed of old age
And I hope for peace in the world at some stage
I hope my son doesn’t get mixed up with drugs
or ever gets friendly with muggers or thugs
My daughter hopes Greg will ask for a date
and I hope he doesn’t bring her home late
I hope that my washing gets dry on the line
It will if the weather stays hot and fine
My husband hopes that the horses he backs
will race home like wildfire and eat up the tracks
We all hope to own our own house one day
and hope we won’t have a large mortgage to pay
Our aims and our dreams help keep faith alive
But hope, firm and strong, is what helps us survive.
The day I did a funny thing was on a Wednesday in spring
The sky above was dull and grey. It really was a dreary day
Men walked by and stared at me. I guess I was a sight to see
All decked out in purple clothes,
spouting verses of unrhyming prose
A woman in a matching dress said,
“What’s your name? No let me guess
It must be Maud or Jane or Jean.
That’s about the oddest outfit I’ve ever seen.
Where did you get that pointed hat?
And is that the skin of a tabby cat?”
“Oh no, it’s pure bred fox I think, or a rabbit’s pelt.
It sure does stink!”
I’m not the type to be so seen to be bizarre, or so extreme
So perhaps it was the time of year
that made me act so very queer.
You Came Along
My life was dull, my future stark and bare.
Days, weeks, stretched before me with nothing there.
But then you came along.
Not dashing in like some bold knight,
More like a gentle hint of summer, so good so right.
I’m glad you came along.
Dreams long buried were fulfilled by you.
You did not ask; I gave my heart, my soul too.
When you came along.
Your gentle touch, your sweet lover’s kiss,
Stole this autumn heart, taught me of bliss.
Please stay awhile.
The permanence sought by most
is something we may never know,
But my heart is yours, whichever way our paths may go.
Please take a moment to pop over to these blogs for more Sunday Snips & Stuff from these fellow Books We Love Authors:
http://mizging.blogspot.com (Ginger Simpson)
http://connievines.blogspot.com.au/ Connie Vines
http://yesterrdayrevisitedhere.blogspot.com/ Juliet Waldron
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