Promenade for a Wunderlust


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Pedaso’s promenade for a walk, the bike path, the church, the homemade ice-cream, the beer festival, the beach-front seafood restaurants, the fishermen when they come back to the dock and sell fresh fish.

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VintageWanderlust


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Golden


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Stephen E Yocum Jul 2018
Golden Years?
An older neighbor of mine
did recently confide;

“Reckon I’m gettin’ ready to die,
my mind ain’t working so smooth
anymore, open my skull and what
might ‘ya see, would resemble some
surreal Salvador Dali painted scene.
All melted watches and disjointed ****.

My legs are unreliable at best,
my back continually aches,
blasted headaches refuse to abate.

I shuffle along like some broke
down thing, balance sketchy at best.
My recall comes and goes like a
random weak spray from a garden hose.
Spurts, leaks running here and there,
No continuous steady stream going
anywhere, not unlike when I try to ***.

They took my drivers license,
said I was incapable today and
would be more so tomorrow.

I used to dream of things I’d do,
beautiful girls I’d like to *****.
Now any dreams I can recall
revolve around food and that’s
pretty much all.

I wake at 6 AM each day
my body racked with pain,
eat some mush and sit in my chair,
fall asleep and wake ’bout noon.
Repeat some food, return to my chair,
turn on the tube, 20 minutes in feeling
like the world is a hopeless **** mess.
Even todays music ain’t fit to hear.
Taking me yet another nap in my chair.

I used to care ’bout lots of things,
now I can’t remember why or where.
If these here are my golden years,
I’d rather be young, broke and *****
lovin’ my Cheerleader girlfriend Amy
in the back seat of my ’48 Chevy.
Now those were the Golden Years.”
Continue reading…

After Sunrise


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The view after sunrise is such a delight
The water reflects the beautiful light
The clouds are all so bright;
Coming in colours from pink and pure white.
The birds even cherish this day and here I sit
With not much to say, but the one thing I will admit
Earth is beautiful

Sunshine


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A Gleam Of Sunshine – Poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This is the place. Stand still, my steed,
Let me review the scene,
And summon from the shadowy Past
The forms that once have been.

The Past and Present here unite
Beneath Time’s flowing tide,
Like footprints hidden by a brook,
But seen on either side.

Here runs the highway to the town;
There the green lane descends,
Through which I walked to church with thee,
O gentlest of my friends!

The shadow of the linden-trees
Lay moving on the grass;
Between them and the moving boughs,
A shadow, thou didst pass.

Thy dress was like the lilies,
And thy heart as pure as they:
One of God’s holy messengers
Did walk with me that day.

I saw the branches of the trees
Bend down thy touch to meet,
The clover-blossoms in the grass
Rise up to kiss thy feet,

“Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares,
Of earth and folly born!”
Solemnly sang the village choir
On that sweet Sabbath morn.

Through the closed blinds the golden sun
Poured in a dusty beam,
Like the celestial ladder seen
By Jacob in his dream.

And ever and anon, the wind,
Sweet-scented with the hay,
Turned o’er the hymn-book’s fluttering leaves
That on the window lay.

Long was the good man’s sermon,
Yet it seemed not so to me;
For he spake of Ruth the beautiful,
And still I thought of thee.

Long was the prayer he uttered,
Yet it seemed not so to me;
For in my heart I prayed with him,
And still I thought of thee.

But now, alas! the place seems changed;
Thou art no longer here:
Part of the sunshine of the scene
With thee did disappear.

Though thoughts, deep-rooted in my heart,
Like pine-trees dark and high,
Subdue the light of noon, and breathe
A low and ceaseless sigh;

This memory brightens o’er the past,
As when the sun, concealed
Behind some cloud that near us hangs
Shines on a distant field.

A Gleam Of Sunshine

Black an White


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Talis Ren Dec 2018
God, you’re off and on again:
black and white,
hard to read between the lines.I can’t have my glasses
if you keep breaking them.
A dash of salt and ice
doesn’t put out the house fire.

Why are we here
if not to bicker and fight
and expect the paint overcoat?

Indecision.
What a mess.

Untamed Waves


Untamed waves
Standing on a secluded cliff,Turning my eyes to the sea.I try to net with the smallest sniff What freedom and oblivion may be.The waves crashing onto the rocky shore….
Written By Carina

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