Poetry Picnic Week 13: Childhood, Dreams, Books, Role Models

Welcome to Jingle Poetry at The Gooseberry Garden Poetry Picnic Week 13, we have loved your Puurfect and poetic participation last week.

This Week, we will handle cases on Childhood, Dreams, Books, and Role Models, which means that, you are going to dig deep,  study these terms, write about how they position, impact,  and add light to your life. 

Image Credit: projectgifted.com

Life in Verse and Morning welcome You to the 13th Poetry Picnic today! 

Next Week, we will have Kay Salady hosting poetry picnic week 14, GET E_X_I_C_I_T_E_D!

Please read some of the most talented, amazing poets from below and submit your own to share!  BIG SMILE!!! ;)

Through Rose Tinted 
By 
CC Champagne

A childhood memory through rose-tinted glasses,

is a dream I want to maintain.

The aroma of my grandmother's cinnamon buns,

I wish I was there again.

The softness of her loving embrace,

the ease of life at that age,

when the future is all unwritten,

and life is a blank, white page.

A childhood memory through rose-tinted glasses,

is a dream I want to maintain.

But in my mind, whatever my age,

I can revisit it all again.

Writers and Novelists

By

Umamaheswari Anandane

Birth :

Words flow through a hand

writings its own mind by a pen

A new page written every time

as a new day dawns.

I flow with every move

of that invisible fingers

Marriage:

Open the index that points to

the sweet twist in my chapter

Wherein I have asked you

to join me to unfold new pages

So that we can reproduce

a sequel in the coming days ahead.

Death:

Among the ups and downs ,

I had my best writings

to be reproduced into editions

for generations to come.

I still ...

I still live through them

So never repent

even if hear someone says that

My Chapters have been closed. 

Butterfly
by
Shashi

Look, there she is, there on the window pane

A new friend from the dreams last night

As she promised to teach me how to fly

In sunshine and in rain

She is bright and beautiful, pinker than my ma’s cheek

Her wings have so many colors

Like the rainbow I painted last summer, for Pa’s Birthday

Before he left for the war, to make money for us to eat

Tell me butterfly, how does one eat money?

How does one go to the war?

I don’t want Pa to go to the war; I don’t want any money to eat;

You know, whenever I hug him, I don’t feel hungry at all

Oh! Butterfly, why are you flying away - so far?

Out side, the day is still full of light; sure you can wait a little more?

Ma will be back soon, from her night shift, and will let you in

Don’t you see, I can not; I am in the bed, too sick to unlatch the window bar

Butterfly, my dear Butterfly, you have teach me how to fly

I promised Pa - a hug tonight, I know where he “wars” now;

Ma showed me the other night, when she cried

“There, Kalina, there he is, the Evening Star”

You know Butterfly; I love him so much,

Much more than I love Ma,

Really! You must teach me to fly, as I have to go now

You see, my Ma does not even smile much

________________

@Shashi Oct, 2010

 

To Each in Stardom is Born to be Forlorn
By 
A. B. Thomas

To be adorned in the robe of youth is to wear upon the sleeve,
One’s desires and wish of boundless achieve,
To strut upon the spot lit center of society’s stage,
Confident that though script-less the audience will engage,
A new star with an almost impish air of mischief,
Yet instead doesn't society pan and insist youth to humbly receive?
The unwritten tome of expectation placed in civilized cage,
To sit idly whilst it is whittled down to a pamphlet page by page,
Society provides the focus to be but a player of knowledgeable disbelieve,   
Whilst within deep for the improvise acted naught secretly grieve.

Clouds in The Attic

by

Shashi

As she walked ahead

In her enthusiastic little hop, skip and jump - steps

I fell behind, in my own thoughts; old and aging

Yet keeping pace with her fresh world

That turns in, with a burst of rainbow

On every turn, flying like a butterfly

Across her little universe of wonder

Now she stops; the deep forest

Climbing up the steep incline of the mountain

Has her attention; complete with one hand under her chin

And I know, she knows what to ask,

With a sweet little smile behind her knit wool gloved little hand

And stump me with her wide charmed eyes

“Why those clouds are leaving the mountain alone?

Do you think Grandpa, Peakoo* will be happy without them to play?

Do you think they are coming over to play with us?

Can you give your extra blanket to put them up, in the attic for the night?

Grandpa, it’s very cold now, you know, they will shiver

Before I could think an answer and say,

“Kalina, lets go now, it’s going to rain”

She has already moved on

Playing with the soft cold breeze, moving up from the valley

With her hands out stretched, running, almost flying

Like the autumn leaves, that joined in to play, in her wake

________________

@Shashi Oct, 2010

*Peakoo = She calls the mountain peak in her own world of friends.

November Birthday Celebrations:    

November 2, Tootsie: Tootsie 
November 3, Eric Alder: Eric 'Bubba' Alder 
  November 15th, Dakshima, Dakshi 
Square sunshine, November 23, Poetry24  

Methods of Submission to Our Poetry Picnic:

Share your work using InLinkz below, and leave a comment in case it is your first time! It would be great if you could link back to us on your blog.

Weekly poetry collection starts on Sunday, at 2pm (CDT), and will stay open till Wednesday, 8pm (CDT),  78 hours for you to share your poetry with us...

What About Next Week!!

For Week 14, we will have theme ”This is what I’m thankful in life!”, because it is the week to celebrate Thanksgiving Holiday, of course, Random poems are also welcome! What fun, that's next week!

Morning Appreciates Your Continued Support, Please Feel FREE to share, encourage, and get inspired! Random poems are welcome too!

 

H-A-P-P-Y P-O-E-T-R-Y P-I-C-N-I-C!

Image Credits: Google.com