Tag: The Fourth 100

#346 National Poetry Month – 30 Days 30 Poems

He walked into town with a satchel slung over his shoulder,
Looking for the girl he named Eileen.
She wore yellow ribbons upon her red hair.
He was much older now but remembers her well.

In her youth she’d run to try and catch butterflies,
Never understood creatures need to be free.
She grabbed his finger in her little hand,
He walks with her still even when no one else will.

She met him there in the center of town,
Where he said he’d be one day.
Her yellow ribbons faded and butterflies are caged.
She wasn’t his girl anymore.

#345 National Poetry Month – 30 Days 30 Poems

She pressed her hand upon the tree
And listened to it carefully.
It spoke of sadness and of war,
It whispered dangers at her door.

The willow weeped for what had been,
And begged her never to come again.
There was no saving this great tree
The time had come to set it free.

The memories of what it had seen
The people who sat upon the green
And made their plans for life—for love
Never noticing the tree above.

It shouted warnings to them all,
Don’t pretend—or try to be strong.
That which stands will always fall.

#344 National Poetry Month – 30 Days 30 Poems

The midnight riders use the light of the moon
To deliver them on wings of doom,
Across the bridge, through shallow streams,
They will enter your every dreams.

While you slumber in your beds,
The midnight riders sneak into your heads.
Making subtle suggestions about your life,
Leaving sharp cuts like a knife.

Should you wake before they’re through,
Take care, for they’ll come after you.
And make you pay for crimes of sleep,
All the pain—regrets you’ll keep.

But if you can survive by dawn,
The midnight riders are all gone,
Expecting you to live and carry on.

#343 National Poetry Month – 30 Days 30 Poems

We all wore masks to hide our face
From such a vile and ghastly place.
We chanted and we drank all night
Till morning came with first light.

Some were tired and so they slept
While others knew the outcome and wept.
For the youth gone by so soon,
And the laughter left behind with the moon.

No one wanted to remove their mask,
A common revolt from the simple task.
When morning comes we must reveal,
Our one true selves, that was the deal.

I removed my mask and tossed it away,
Ready at last to seize the day!

#342 National Poetry Month – 30 Days 30 Poems

He rode upon his trusty steed,
To duel a man about his greed,
For food and wine and women too
It was the noble thing to do.

The helmet upon his head grew hot
But they rode on—he would not stop
When suddenly he felt a pain
His leg warned him of rain.

Lightning struck a tree close by
A limb came crashing from the sky
And landed right in front of the horse
With little time to change their course.

They galloped over the fallen limb
To fight a battle they’ll surely win
For the heart of Gwendolyn.

#341 National Poetry Month – 30 Days 30 Poems

Sunlight shone upon her red hair splayed on the grass
The entire night spent sleeping under the stars
Birds chirping their mourning songs on branches.

Soon her parents will awaken when the cock crows
And tend to their chores as farmers do
Never wondering where their daughter might be this mourn

By afternoon the father wipes his sweaty brow
As he trudges towards the water well for a drink
Footprints in the dirt mask where she had been

Then mother calls out for her daughter
And wonders where that silly dreamer could be
Laying still upon the grass till mourn.

#340 National Poetry Month – 30 Days 30 Poems

The funeral march began at dawn
Pallbearers numbered six in all
Stood shoulder to shoulder
A casket between them

No one knew who was inside
A death less important than the journey
Down the streets where all could see
They marched and marched endlessly

Everyone joined in time
The children mimicking their adults
The adults mimicking their ancestors
Of a ritual not long forgotten or fully remembered

Until the sun began to set
And whispered glances watched—waited
For the moment when the casket’s opened
Whoever’s inside left with a decision

Rise and face the world alone
Or return home

#339 National Poetry Month – 30 Days 30 Poems

The rock was nestled in the sand.
Placed there in a time before man.
It was its home for centuries on
Watching life and nearly gone.

With the storm clouds rolling in
Another layer of life comes to an end.
The rock comes loose from the sand,
And moves as if by God’s hand.

Lightning sparks the pitch black sky,
Then the heavens start to cry.
The rock continues ‘cross the shore,
A last chance for something more.

A rock that once was stuck on land,
Leaves behind its endless plans,
For an uncertain world,
In the waters of old.

#338 National Poetry Month – 30 Days 30 Poems

When the men went walking through the night
They gathered all their weapons
All of them prepared to fight

Pitchforks, bats, chains, and knives
Were they all prepared to die?
None of them had told their wives

And when the rain began to fall
The clouds grew black
The spiders gathered on the wall

To watch the battle about to unfold
Between the men and beasts in kind
The former most naive and bold

They raised their weapons in the air
A crack of lightning—broken silence
There was little here to fear

Blood was shed
But who was dead?

#337 National Poetry Month – 30 Days 30 Poems

The gentleman wore a blue suit,
When he walked into the lake.
With a gun prepared to shoot,
He knew what it would take.

The lake was only waist high,
But there was no place left to run.
Here is where he’s meant to die,
In that moment he dropped the gun.

And cried into the lake of tears,
For all the time he wasted.
And the many grueling years,
When he felt hated.

Now he’ll get his own back,
And teach them all a valuable lesson.
Of the kindness that they lack,
Before he sends them straight to heaven.