Trips, Travel and Vacations by Kathe W.
When I was only seven I received a wonderful gift
A small blue trunk - it wasn't too hard to lift
I looked inside and what did I see?
A doll ? And all her clothing ? This is for me?
"The heck with the doll" I said as I pitched her out.
"I want to use this for traveling here and about."
And so I began my imaginary trips
Packing clothes and stuff for cruises on ships.
Or maybe I'd take it on my little red wagon
Hoping to find a most friendly green dragon.
My small blue trunk was my way of learning
What life I wanted and obviously was yearning.
And years later I am still packing for pleasure
Traveling with my best friend- our life is an adventure!
A Wandering Monk by
If I were to realign,
To rid all the absurdities
Of this world we live in
Filling it with my own oddities
I would root out the Fear
For fear is the root
Of all Evil, hate and smear
But for this no man is a brute
Without it the world would
Get more love from all quarters
No more bigot, monster, or a hood
No more bombs, missiles or mortars
Easily I’d walk up to Angels and talk
At loving attention who would not balk
Image Credit: Google.com
The Bugle by
The bugle sounds to start the day
and plays TAPS to begin the night.
We announce our intentions
on New Year-s Day to start anew.
Soon forgotten are these promises,
another year slips by,
wasted dreams, broken vows
of things we meant to do.
Intention is the key of creation.
Our thoughts become our realities.
Give careful design of your
intention, state it clearly with
firm resolve. Then throughout the day,
do what you can to more
that intention to your reality.
All creation begins with a thought,
followed by a clear intention;
a commitment that, when not broken,
becomes a reality.
We are creators with our Creator.
Sound the bugle of a new day
where all humanity knows
who they are and creates together
a world of unparalleled beauty and peace.
A Song of Eternal Wait by Rajlakshmi
Across the wild velvet moor, when delicate bluebells yawn
near crystal rill, a belle sings, on each bright summer morn.
humming songs of eternal wait,crouched on gravel brown
painting memories of yesters,long after sundown,
though several summers have passed ,since the day of his no-return,
still ‘neath flickering promises, lingers lullabies of nocturne.
Swept by time, one fateful day,a stony silence ensued
there fell the last solitary tear, of love, hurt, and an adieu.
but they say, across the moor,when delicate bluebells yawn,
still echoes a mellifluous song, on each bright summer morn.
The Journey by: JP Leddy
The road weaves into many and varied landscapes…
Into parched and dry areas of skepticism and disbelief…
Into areas with stony barriers of mistrust and suspicion…
Into the swampy , damp tears of hurt and sadness…
Into the green and flowery meadows of hopes and fantasy …
Into the sun drenched beaches of play and fun…
Into the lighted cities of abandonment and frolic…
Wherever the road takes , do not turn back defeated…
The journey to my heart will be won soon….
You are closer than you think , maybe over the next bend…
Explorers by Kat Fullerton
We charted a new course to adventure,
And set sail to the end of the world,
With our eyes forever on the horizon,
And our magnificent sails unfurled.
We’re a gregarious gang of explorers,
A fearless and free wheeling bunch,
Off to discover the unknown.
And we’re not coming back until lunch.