Though he tried to convict
His voice was not great
Still he liked to play
And all the time to race
As if it were the season
to finally lift his voice.
But though he tried he had no voice
And so could not convict
Even though it was the season
For what he thought was great
As if it were a race
And he had time to play.
Now if you see the play
And do hear the voice
You’ll know it’s not a race
Least not one to convict
Of anything so great
As is the blessed season.
We sat on the hillside looking out over the city At all the myriad lights On that night so long ago. The girl beside me shivered I wrapped my jacket around her And told her how much I cared Then we drove into the city And through the slums a bit Remembering that from the hillside It all looked so clean and pure. We could see the traffic Crossing the bridge Red on the right, white on the left. It all seemed so orderly So quiet, such a delight From up there on the hill But now in the bowels…
The back-up warnings:
© Bob Jasper 2021. All rights reserved.
Another poem for the poem-a-day challenge by Writer’s Digest. We are half-way home. Though I missed a few days, it is a fun way to get the writing juices flowing each morning. I hope you’ll join in the fun. There’s no prize other than maybe a few comments and the opportunity to see how others met the challenge. If you’re a poet, it’s worth visiting the WD page just to read the poems and see how others responded to the challenge.
Today, the challenge was to…
“You’ve changed,” she said.
“Why do you say that?” He asked.
“I don’t know. You just seem different.”
“In what way?”
“You’re more patient and kind. You seem to be at peace.”
“That’s because I am,” he responded.
“What is your secret?” She asked.
“Small steps: start and end each day with a prayer.”
“A prayer?” She asked.
“Yes… In the morning I bend my knees and ask for help.
And at night I say ‘Thank You” before I turn out the light.”
“Oh, that seems simple enough,” she said.
“It is simple, but it’s not easy. Staying the course…
Again let me say how sorry I am for your loss. You don't have to be a "positivity washer" yet. Take time to grieve and remember the good times, and cry. There'll be time for that positivity later. Another friend lost her Golden companion of 14 years recently. Makes one wish pets lived longer.
I wish I could believe
That there would be
A happy ending
For that little boy.
They found him wandering
Tears streaming down his cheeks
As the Border Patrol approached.
What happens now?
Clearly he is here illegally,
But where are his parents?
Did they abandon him?
What will happen now
To that scared little boy?
He’s only ten!
Is there no mercy?
Can’t we let him stay?
Find a home that will care for him?
Feed him and comfort him
Shower him with love?
But what about his parents? Where are they? Did they send him here…
I suspect every religion has a Spring festival of some sort. For Christians it is Easter.
This year we celebrate Easter on Sunday, April 4th.
The date for Easter is determined as the first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal Equinox (which this year was March 20th).
That seems like a pagan approach to selecting the highest Holy Day of the Christian calendar. One wonders how these things get started.
My guess is that the date was selected to coincide with some ancient pagan festival in the way Christmas was selected to be near the Winter Solstice…
A jab in the arm and we’re off
Where to you ask?
Why, to see the wizard, of course.
It’s a wonderful world, you see.
If not, we’ll make it that way.
If we all work together,
If we see each other, all of us, as one,
We’ll make huge strides.
The world will be One.
I know. Some say never.
But it can be done.
If we all work together,
We can make it so
If we all work together.
© 2021 Bob Jasper. All rights reserved.
This poem is in response to the daily…