Winter Songs And Holiday Expressions:A Facebook Poetry Anthology by Frances Ayers-Editor (new books to read .TXT) 📕

Audacious me to catch at stars
Who always crawled upon the ground;
I never was so bold before
To dare where glory’s found.
But there was such a light I had
As burned to show my way:
From her I learned to sparkle;
Now I leap at galaxies

©Abigail Wyatt,All Rights Reserved




Life Lessons

I

Heart is a place where wound is;
Love is but its probe:
Inquisitive, it seeks to find
If thorn or shard intrudes.

Time is balm or bandage;
And to comprehend is care;
All busyness a healing is;
A memory is its scar.

II

Despair lays out her sorrows
Like a miser in the dark
Who calculates the currency
That weighs upon her heart.

A bankrupt in her blessings,she takes stock of grief and pain:
All such are assets, mined at cost,
but kept for little gain.

III

Today is good intention;
Tomorrow is best hope;
Yesterday was error made
For want of faith and scope.

Future is horizon,
Where earth encounters sky;
Perceived from here as ‘mystery’,
Unraveled – by and by.

IV

Scissors cut paper,
Knives the flesh;
Lies cut out the heart.
Hurrah for paste
And needlework:
Truth is a dying art.

V

I am myself and no-one else –
Defined and drawn by me –
And, though the style is primitive,
My authenticity

Is proven past all question;
Beyond price my value soars.
Here’s fiddlesticks to emperors;
They cannot me afford.

©Abigail Wyatt,All Rights Reserved


Heart’s Grail

I begged a Robin yesterday
If he had seen a Rose.
He cocked his head
And wryly said
That I should not suppose
A feathered creature
Such as he would know
Where Beauty grows.

Today, I stopped a Bumble Bee
For, surely, he would see,
From buzzing
Back and forth all day,
If rose-buds graced a tree.
But Bumble Bee
Just looked aslant
And would not tell me why.
He only said
He’d search the Earth
If I would search the Sky,

©Abigail Wyatt,All Rights Reserved



The Songstress

Among the trees a silence stirs
That seems to mark my passing steps;
A hush descends to grip the air though,
On some bough, a wren sings yet.
A trinity of notes she swells to make a modest song;
A storm brews up and thunder rolls
But Jenny Wren sings on.
A drab and humble bird she is,
No larger than my palm;
And yet she sings her tiny heart
And so rides out the storm.

©Abigail Wyatt,All Rights Reserved



Spelling

This is my treasure and my hoard
Which, if it could would not be spent;
For here’s that place where purpose
And trajectory of life are bent:

This room, this pen, these silent hours
That stretch to centuries past
Condensed to memory and song;
To feast is not enough,

An age of time, tongue bridled long
And schooled to shame and fear,
I rise up now from battle won,
Dark warrior and bright seer.

©Abigail Wyatt,All Rights Reserved


Dianne Tchir

Dianne is a retired High School English/Drama teacher who has written poetry for over 40 years. She is strongly motivated by themes of nature, human injustice, resilience of the human spirit, and the many masks of reality. She has been published in many Anthologies, and Literary Magazines. Her published poetry books: THE RHYTHMIC CYCLE, HAIKU Tapestry of Life, and forthcoming NORTHERN PHOENIX. MY STORY- Baby’s First Year and Bears Bath Time, and forthcoming ANTS INVADE THE CLASSROOM (about bullying) are her children’s books.
When not writing, she facilitates workshops in Writing Memoir, Creative Writing and Poetry.
She edits and proofreads manuscripts for any genre.
Her websites are http://diannetchir.wordpress.com and http://dianne.limitededitionspress.com



CHRISTMAS NOT DESTROYED BY FIRE

I walk the isles of Christmas
Flashbacks of special ornaments, wreaths, candles and
THE VILLAGE

THE VILLAGE that burnt in the firestorm
THE VILLAGE where children played
With miniatures~rearranging
THE VILLAGE you helped me light up

The lady covers her mouth
Choking back the pain
Thirty years of loss


My tears connect
Not THE VILLAGE but
What we associate with
The many years of Christmas

Our memories are our bodies
Our soul and our spirit that
We share with family, friends

We clutch delicate hope that
Flutters within our bodies
Lifts its wings with the breath
Of Christmas Song and
Follows along because
We remember

copyright: Dianne Tchir


Pauli Sankey Sadroschinski

Pauli was born near Toronto Ontario Canada, and was raised in Toronto, Acton Ont., and Guelph Ont. He went to Fanshawe College in London Ont. Pauli is a father of four. In the early 90's he was a member of various hardcore punk and rap bands. He began writing around grade 3. His first poem was called EGGS,and won first place at the fall fair.Pauli received 10 dollars ,the most he has made as a Poet.
For 13 years ,he worked in a factory making tank axles for the American military.Pauli took a 10 year hiatus from writing and just started again last year.
He has suffered from schizophrenia and bi polar disorder for most of his life.
Recently on disability,he and his family moved to a farm far away from the city.Pauli has numerous dogs and cats. His influences are more musical than poetic,and he writes in many different styles and hope to continue to write on his terms.Pauli has quite a few poems published but does not own any of the books.He writes for his own amusement, but that's cool when someone else digs what he is doing. As Pauli writes on!


GOLD AND SILVER

Faraway from where we use to play
We live on, far from each other
Who knew it wouldn't last forever
And our paths would never cross again
On this long journey my oldest friend
And as the sun creates shadows
In amongst the maple trees
Memories come alive
During a cool autumns breeze
Playing baseball in the park
Long after it's grown dark
With grass stains on our knees
Slipping on the falling leaves
And now that life has begun to run me down
I still think of that rusty old playground
And the way the swings use to creak
And the teeter totters would squeak
But that was a life time ago
Back when time seemed so slow
And now as time goes by so fast
More than often I think of the past
Playing road hockey until we froze
Going home with frost bitten toes
Such an awful horrible bitting pain
But the next day we would do it again
And now as winter means misery
Instead of wonder and mystery
And as I sit under the fading sun
I can remember when the winters were fun
Full of chills and thrills
As we slid down the hills
And now as I grow weary and so cold
I will always have my memories of old
When winters were like silver
And summers were like gold

(C)2012 Paul Alan Sankey



WINTERLANDER

Watching the water freeze
While standing in the cold breeze
I feel the adrenalin run right through me
Because this is where I am suppose to be
And as the snow continues to fall
I feel like a man who has it all
I was born for this kind of land
Snow and ice not grass or sand
I wonder how my ancestor's felt
When they settled in this snow belt
Nothing like a little frost bite
On a cold winter's night
My father taught me how to be strong
In the depths of the winter's cold
I have realized that as I grow old
As others shiver and stay inside
I dress up and go outside
Feeling the wind on my face
As my heart starts to race
And the winter gives me a kiss
I feel as if I was born for this
The Prussian blood gives off the heat
This is a scene that cannot be beat
And when it's time to go inside
And you are red in the face
The warmth hits you
Like a lovers embrace
So warm and so very cozy
While you drink a coffee

(C) 2011 Paul Alan Sankey

RIVER

A river runs through my life
Full of rapids and strife
Glittering like gold
With many stories to be told
So beautiful in the sun
As the river continues to run
And long after I'm gone
The waters will move on
Beautiful and strong
Sometimes it rages
Sometimes it's calm
A caressing treat
During the heat
It's waters become icy cold
As winter grabs a hold
Smashing through the ice
Sparkling so nice
A river runs through my life
Flowing right through me
Feeding me rejuvenating me
With it's power and beauty.

(C)2012 Paul Alan Sankey


Ruth Mozeika

Ruth Mozeika lives in N.H. in the woods. She lives with her two dogs, a cat, her son and her husband. She has always loved to write poetry since she was a child. She is just finishing up a Master's Degree in Counseling and then wants to entertain her writing even more...She loves Collaborating with all of the other poets and is honored to be included with them in their anthologies..



Evangeline

Evangeline, Evangeline-
Your beauty so pristine
That it commands snow in August
And as you walk down
The grassy garden isle to your
True love
You transform from a scullery maid
Into a princess
And the children watch what they
also knew. That your
Heart was made of gold
And from now on their beloved would be
with you Evangeline.
And their mother’s heavenly eyes would
Be at peace
For your heart is made of gold
And together you will grow old
Evangeline, Evangeline,
Your beauty so pristine
It commands snow in August…

©Ruth Mozeika,All Rights Reserved



Even If A Magic Memory

I see Gold on the horizon
Crystalline snow in the moonlight
And I hear chimes in
The distance..
Even though it might
Not be a Kodak version
Of what we imagine
Christmas should be..
It still remains;
Even if a magic memory
That….
I see Gold on the horizon,
Crystalline snow in the moonlight
And I hear chimes in
The distance..

©Ruth Mozeika,All Rights Reserved



Soul Inside Of Me

Look into my eyes
You’re a stranger who
Sees the soul inside
me
Wants to unlock
The mystery within.
Mystery to others.
To me the mystery is
Only a trap
That could be unlocked
By someone that cares
When you looked
Into my eyes; you knew
You would find the key
You’re a stranger who sees the soul
Inside of me..

©Ruth Mozeika,All Rights Reserved


Arkayoti Samanta

Mr. Arkayoti Samanta is Director (HR) in Karnataka Health Promotion Trust, Bangalore, India. He has extensive experience in Human Resource Management with a back ground in working in Public sector Undertaking and NGOs. He is a passionate art lover and active member in Writers-network, a free creative writing community ( www.writers-network.com) and in Facebook. Writing poems has been a passion for him. He has accepted this as a journey; one of conviction and contentment. His poems have been featured in The Taj Mahal Review ( Cyberwit.net) and in number of anthologies published by Brian Wrixon , Canada ( www.blurb.com) , Barry Mowles, UK ( Destiny to write publication), Dwina Taylor, USA ( www.lulu.com).

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