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(out in the open)

Eyes see a plane gaining speed...now airborne
Soaring...from a background of bright, lush horizon
Out in the open
I see the high and low....of slopes...undulating,
Curves and points abound...showing
A rising
A falling.
Surface is covered with grass, bushes and trees
A pallette of nature's colors...brown, yellow ochre, red, orange, green
All are nurtured by light from sun
All are watered by dew and rain.
Outdoors, or indoors...there truly is a rising
always followed...by a falling
To show and prove, a story of birthing
how it is.....when surviving
and what transpires...when in the process of dying

Alone...out here in the open
I am infinitesimal...just a dot, amidst this vastness
There's no one, just me...no rush...nothing is hastened
When i speak...aloud, in whispers...Somebody always listens
Even when i don't speak at all.
There is calm...yet the sounds are endless
The mockingbirds are singing...wind is whirring
Somewhere, water is flowing, running,
...all are ceaseless...

Now and then, heart beats, way too restless
Followed by a moment of helplessness
Have i strayed towards a path of selfishness?
Could there be a need for more...of selflessness?

In this diurnal existence, i am surrounded by mountains
On my own, i could never conquer those soaring cones on my horizon
But, i lift my eyes, up there...without a fiber of pretense
Surrendering  my shoulders, my all, to a known Omnipresence.

I dwell on a promise long time spoken
That, no matter how high my mountains
No matter how heavily laden
Just  a look up to the Heavens
Will make a big difference,
For, in my heart,
I know,
I believe:
Prayers
Can
Move
Mountains.


Sally


Copyright January 8, 2016
rrab
I’d never met Mr. Campbell
Or heard of Mr. Stone,
But now I’ve ceased to ramble,
They’ve provided me a home.
A place for old and older,
Not poor or broke nor rich.
For meek and mild and bolder,
It runs without a hitch.

A bus to take us shopping
Or cruising to the mall,
And even island hopping
There’s something for us all.
Pat Pepper keeps us busy,
Not anchored to a chair
Al Widener’s in a tizzy
If we’re not happy there.

The staff is neat and clever
At Bradshaw’s restaurant
I plan to stay forever,
‘Cause it’s my favorite haunt.
No need to roam or gamble
For we are not alone,
God bless you Mr. Campbell
God keep you Mr. Stone
My dad's poem, my 1st poet ever, honoring him on what would have been his 98th birthday.  This was his only poem that I could find, a good one I think.
I see no purpose in your poem
One commenter told me
That it somehow fell short
He just had to scold me

But that’s just the way I meant to
Leave the Reader wanting more
Not to mend a broken heart
Heal the sick or feed the poor

Or split apart an atom
Cause the sun to set or rise
Maybe yes, maybe no
Win a Pulitzer Prize?

My poems tell a story
In an epic or a wisp
Stands alone all on its own
Not conforming to your list

So I see no purpose in your comment
And just need to tell you
That poem of 17 syllables?
It’s a simple Haiku
This was not someone on HP, but he taught me to think before I critique anyone's work.
There is one spectacle grander than the sea,
That is the sky,
There is one spectacle grander than the sky,
That is the interior of the soul.
 Jan 2016 Karen Hamilton
martin
Move on, move on, spin the wheel
Don't dwell on times now gone
Survive, thrive that's the deal

Embrace the change, do not resist
Ride the tide
But know that memories persist

Like the ivy on the wall
That some may notice not at all
Nostalgia will creep up I bet

But it's not been long enough,
not yet
 Jan 2016 Karen Hamilton
martin
Not for who I am
Nor indeed despite
It's just she has a lot to give
And I am in her sight
 Jan 2016 Karen Hamilton
martin
He was a German soldier fighting in the war
Then as a P.O.W. he could fight no more
In an English garden
He worked and spent his days
Planting bulbs, trimming hedges
Learning English ways

Then to his homeland he went back
But in mischief didn't lack
For in the Spring the daffs he sowed
Spelled out Heil ******!
All in pretty rows
Cheeky beggar,
I wonder if he planted a ******* in snowdrops too.
At least he showed a bit of flair :)
True story from World War II

                         __
                   |__|__
                     __|   |
 Jan 2016 Karen Hamilton
martin
When you reach a crossroads
Don't know where to go
Weighing all the choices
Decisions coming slow

Working out the numbers
Asking friends what they would do
But numbers are just numbners
And your friends aren't you

There's a little voice inside
Hear what it has to say
Listen to it carefully
Instinct knows the way
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