Vacation is Poetry Lived

Daily Prompt: Tourist Trap

Photographers, artists, poets: show us VACATION.

The sun shining bright and hot
the water clear and aqua-blue
on a beach blanket, secluded spot
summer breezes, warm then cool

The east coast or the west coast
the gulf or the lake
Sometimes by the pool, just being human toast
swimming, relaxing, and catching rays

Oh, and those times in the mountains
hiking up the trails,
waterfalls, flowers and natural fountains
Camping out and telling old tales

Shopping in quaint shops
admiring local cunning motifs
Checking out the tourist stops
finding the best places to eat

Whether the mountains, the lake, or the shore,
caves, inland park or a country hideaway,
spending time with someone you adore
makes a vacation the best of days.

-Donald R. Sansbury, 2013

A Happy Poet?

Pensive (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As a poet how can I be as history’s best
I may have too much joy
I’ve moved on from life’s toughest tests
I’m living in the moment
No sad respite that keeps me down
No lingering melancholy
Except for pains from aging now
I remain carefree and jolly
Pensive tones are hard to invoke
When happiness rules my days
I remember the times my heart hurt so
‘Twas easy then to turn a sad phrase
But I’ll keep my joy; others may lament sad sorrows and woe
I’ve learned life is short; to enjoy requires some letting go

-Donald R. Sansbury, 2013

Being Poetic (a sonnet for peers)

Portrait of Belgian poet Michel Bartosik (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Sometimes with rhymes
Sometimes with none
Thoughts of the next line
on the tip of the tongue
Remembering a moment
an event or words said
Jotting down quick notes
lest one should forget
Longing for quiet time
to try to write verse
for searching for rhymes
or simply to savor the sounds of words.
To muse quite long on a phrase quite short
Being poetic in a sage poet’s world.

-Donald R. Sansbury, 2013

Creative Minds At Work

Screenshot from the public domain films Maniac (1934) showing Horace B. Carpenter as the character “Dr. Meirschultz” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Beautiful creative minds
Working glorious magic
With Infinitely diverse thoughts
Like painters at canvas
Word painting scenes
That thrill and titillate the senses

Creative minds transporting readers
easily as with sci-fi gadgets
magically to far off exotic locales
and into various interesting cultures
to witnesses life scenes
of love, war, pain, joy or sorrow

Oh, the power of creative minds at work
heavenly gifts to earth’s bored masses
creating escapes from tiring circumstances
enabling the disenfranchised to feel accepted
offering hope to those in despair, providing
hours of entertainment for lonely hearts

Lives are enriched as culture expands
through the exercise of creative minds at work
work on, gifted artisans, ply your trades
fulfill your purposes, make your differences
life is better because of your work
history will record your dynamic feats

-Donald R. Sansbury, 2013

He Stopped Loving Her Today

Written by R. V. Braddock and C. Putman, Jr.

He said I’ll love you ’til I die
She told him you’ll forget in time
As the years went slowly by
She still preyed upon his mind

He kept her picture on his wall
Went half crazy now and then
He still loved her through it all
Hoping she’d come back again

Kept some letters by his bed
Dated 1962
He had underlined in red
Every single I love you

I went to see him just today
Oh but I didn’t see no tears
All dressed up to go away
First time I’d seen him smile in years

(Chorus)
He stopped loving her today
They placed a wreath upon his door
And soon they’ll carry him away
He stopped loving her today

(Spoken)
You know she came to see him one last time
Oh and we all wondered if she would
And it kept running through my mind
This time he’s over her for good

(Repeat Chorus)

~Greatly revered by country music fans world-wide, I like it for the poetic tone,  form and rhymes. And I like the way the words and melody tear at the heart strings.~

 

Why Do I Write?

A Writing Kind of Day (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I like to write, to reveal my heart
And all that therein is,
I dare to bare my soul in words
Sometimes that is a risk,
I have in past oft buried deep
‘hard’ words within my heart,
Then found the tea depression steeped
from those grounds bitter, strong and dark

I write in sermon form each week,
That’s the calling of my life;
I save those for my preaching place
Life’s not preaching all the time.
A man of faith, yes, I am
but a man of feeling, too
And I like to write in poetry form,
When the feeling man comes through

Nothing crass, that’s not my forte
One must not deny one’s true core,
But a subtle tease or a play on words, hey,
That’s what a poet’s looking for
To leave a little mystery in the lines
With innuendo, or maybe pun
Something for the reading mind to find
That’s when poetry becomes fun

It may be after I’m long gone from here
That my work meets the critic’s eye
That would place me in a treasured sphere
Where dead poets are immortalized.
I find great joy in writing for now
Should only a few hear and read
My greatest joy is in letting out
All the me that’s really me.

-Donald R. Sansbury, 2013

Related articles

• Why do we write story and poetry? (johncoyote.wordpress.com)
• Poetry- A Form of Creative Writing (tracykauffman.wordpress.com)

So You Say You’re A Writer

The Pen and Sword (Photo credit: DavidR_)

Journalists are after a story,
Novelists work to a plot;
Technologists teach and inform us,
Playwrights and poets, a mixed up lot.

Writers comes in all genres,
Many things move us forth;
subjects cover quite a spectrum,
common love is the use of words.

Some whip us up, some calm us down,
Some write so fancifully;
Some write in simple, cold hard tone,
warning of war, eco disasters, or eternity.

Some take readers through dangerous alleys,
Others walk them by gentle streams;
Some scare with horrible nightmares,
Others give their readers sweet dreams.

We write for the simple pleasure,
We write from the drive within;
some thrive under deadline pressure,
Some wait on the muse and then;

Something wonderful happens,
Like rainbows and fireworks in the mind;
Creativity begins unfolding,
Even the best writers blush with pride.

Our baby, our offspring, our bundle of joy,
We then set forth to be admired;
If you dare call it an ugly baby,
That’s when a writer gets totally riled!

-Donald R. Sansbury, 2013

Shrieking Bird (my heart for Boston)

Shriek! (Photo credit: jonasflanken)

Shrieking bird,
piercing morning reflections;
Why, little bird, have you changed your song?
Your melody was so sweet.
Now all we hear
is the shrill sound of alarm,
The world as a whole is the same,
But for you and your world, little bird,
Everything changed!

-Donald R. Sansbury, 2013

Sheer Exhaustion (cinquain)

309 of 365/2- So tired. (Photo credit: Pahz)

So tired
Sheer exhaustion
Coursing through your body
Your mind pushing itself onward
Don’t stop

Go on
You know you can
Though you want to give in,
push through; so much depends on you
No rest

Unfair
That’s how you feel
And yet you would not trade
Or give away that which you love
No way

Reason
soon wins the day
when you apply yourself
The reason you go on prevails
Now rest.

-Donald R. Sansbury, 2013

Related articles

• I’m a teacher and I’m tired!: by Elaine Rybski (atthechalkface.com)
• Seven Possible Reasons Why Women Are More Tired Than Men (thegloss.com)
• Are You Tired, Exhausted, or Just Plain Sleep Deprived? Find out Here! (everydayfamily.com)
• That fatigued sign on the side of the road (digressthenorm.com)

PRECIOUS AND BROKEN (2013-april-pad-challenge-day-12, Writer’s Digest)

Previous were those feet on which she poured
Spikenard from the broken box she bore;
And the hair with which she gave such care
to those holy feet as fragrance filled the air,

The Thief said, “Why has she done thus?
She could have sold this oil for very much
and given to the brokenhearted poor.”
But, that was not his motive, that’s for sure.

But, precious was her broken heart so seen,
Through eyes of Him whose feet she bowed and cleaned;
He said, “Let this forever be proclaimed,
In memory of this broken soul’s dear name.”

True worship is so often misconstrued,
With motives of the heart hid far from view;
Devotion from an humble, broken heart
is only meant to touch the heart of God.

Sweet Mary cared not that we know her name,
her motives pure, for sins that He forgave;
But, let us call her name remembering thus,
True worship is for Him, not us!

-Donald R. Sansbury, 2013

Related articles

• St. John, Chapter 12, (www.kingjamesbibleonline.org)
• Those who are of a broken heart; (savedbygraceblogdotcom.wordpress.com)
• ناردين The Oil in the Alabaster Box – Spikenard Giveaway (thefragrantman.com)
• 2013-April-PAD-Challenge-day-12, (www.writersdigest.com)

• ALABASTER BOX – CECE WINANS, studio version(www.youtube.com)