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No Matter How Much Time

Time goes by,
we never know why,
there are times we smile
and times we cry.
Life blown on the winds,
through all the seasons,
as we go drifting on and on.
No matter how much time,
might pass us by,
there will always be smiles
and laughter that will ring in our ears.
So many loves,
that have made the heart grow fonder,
now silent for so very long,
in the rungs of angels –
that watch over us day by day.
No matter how much time,
no matter how the years go on,
there will be things that will always shine brighter
and make our days sparkle with memories.
Listen to the night wind,
as it sings sweet melodies,
you will hear the voices that you miss,
though silenced they can still –
respond to you in your dreams.
Behind you will always wind footprints,
at one time two sets,
then one set will go on alone,
waiting for the day-
together they will dance through the skies.
No rhythm or rhyme,
to the days that shine,
every cloud brings along a silver lining –
offering another day for smiling.
On sunny days,
when life seems a joy,
treasure each moment that passes by,
because no matter how much time,
like grains of sand pass through your fingers,
keep those special loves –
close to your heart.

Remembering the rhythm of a rhyme from the memories left by the melody of a heart beating for another, her soul started searching again for the music of love and his soul so that they may be together forevermore.

Richard M Knittle Jr. (c)
(c) A #Poets Journey 

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When the World Closes In

When I’ll have had my fill,
of crowds and markets,
anything that is worldly,
into the thick of the forest -
I’ll go to seek peace.

There among the tall pines,
where only the wind -
will know where to find me.
My carpet,
will be woven of fallen leaves and pine needles -
colors ever changing with the seasons.

My bed will be beneath,
succulent ferns
and my mirror,
the small forest pond,
that hides all secrets -
in the early morn.
The first mushrooms,
will raise their caps
and in the afternoon
there’ll be wild strawberries,
succulent and juicy.

I’ll gather a treasure trove,
of songs from the wind,
the birds and the forest fairies.
I’ll be friends with all the forest creatures
and I’ll remind them,
that I am, I exist,
I’m part of the forest
and so much better than before -

when the world closes in.

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In The Claws
of a Cold Cruel Night

(for the victims of the slave trade that is still going on
all over the world on so many levels even here in my own country)

Clasped in the claws of a cold cruel night
I battled to breathe and I struggled to fight
With the terror that hooked me and took me away
Far from the fire and the safety of day.

In the arms of the awful and hopelessly lost
To pay just a fraction of what my life cost
And though I was broken, the merchandise, marred
There were some who were looking for the thing that was scarred.

And they circled around me, more vultures than men
Reaching and touching and reaching again
And I bit at their fingers and I hit at their eyes
And they laughed at my despair and crowed at my cries.

In the depths of the desert, in the forests, forlorn
Slave markets for creatures in feminine form
In cages of steel and ropes without pity
Taken from home and village and city.

For the want of a woman, for the need of a night
We were captured and hidden from rescuers' sight
By men who were soul-less and wanton with lust
They shattered our innocence, they destroyed our trust.

And we prayed to our fathers and we called to the sky
As we listened in silence to the scream and the sigh
Of our sisters before us in the tents of the knave
Who gave in and gave up when no one came to save.

I had long dreamed since childhood of a love of my own
A husband and children and a sweet little home
Living free in my country, loving free in the arms
Of a man who would love me and keep me from harm.

For my mother had promised he would come one fine day
Sweep me off my feet and would carry me away
To the dream and the passion and the joy of my heart
But the dream's dying in me before it could start.

I'm a child! I'm a child! I'm still young and not old
I am more than this flesh, I am spirit and soul
You can't buy me with money or own me as chattel
I am human and worth more than fields full of cattle.

My eyes filled with tears, I can hardly see now
They tell me to follow, they make me to bow
They pull on my hair, they bruise and they squeeze
Like traders at market with fruit ripened to please.

But the fire in my heart and the fight in my fist
Gives me courage to say No, I won't go like this!
You can kill me and burn me and throw me away
But none of you devils will own me this day!

And they laugh in their shock at the brave little girl
Who would dare to resist her sad fate in the world
Who would stand up to men who were greater than she
And worth more to God than she'd ever be.

Then the dark crawls to shadow and dawn suddenly breaks
And the traders and buyers and those holding the stakes
Are revealed in the sunlight and exposed in the light
Like insects, they go scrambling for the cover of night.

And a man in white clothing, reaches his hand to me
Pulls me to my feet and says, Daughter, you're free
And an army of good men, like heroes so tall
Opens cages and knots and gives freedom to all.

And my sisters and I, we rejoice and we yell
As they round up the men who had made us this hell
Who had kidnapped and caught us and bought us for slaves
Who would wish that they hadn't as they lay in their graves.

We are yellow and black, we are white and we're tan
We are equal in God's sight and equal to man
We are precious and worthy and worth more than gold
But are torn as we leave there with such holes in our souls.

In the trucks going home through the forests so dark
We embrace, giving thanks with our little girl hearts
And we wonder aloud about the good man in white
Who had reached out and freed us and faded from sight.

And we pray for the children and the victims like we
All over the world who just want to be free
From the tyranny of evil and the lust of it's eyes
For we know now there's someone who does hear our cries.

You're so brave! they all tell me, You stood up to the beasts!
But I smile, saying nothing till their praises have ceased
For my bones had near melted as I'd stood and defied
And in the arms of my sisters, I fell and I cried.

©By Voo
July 19, 2017
2:42 a.m.


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There Stood A House

There stood a house
And the house stood there alone
No cat with teasing mouse
No dog with tortured bone.

No squeaking floor
No belfry bat
No one to disturb
The peace of that.

No rattling branch
No howling pack
No one to leave
And then come back.

Except the child
That swings alone
In midnight moon
She sings her song.

The little girl
With pig-tailed hair
She swings and sings
To empty air.

For many moons
She's swung like that
Through storm and sleet
And days so black.

For no sun will shine
Upon that place
No breeze comes by
To touch her face.

The passers-by
Walk out of their way
To avoid the house
Where sadness stays.

For they all know
The story wild
And the hateful fate
That befell the child.

So long ago
On that terrible day
When the monster took
The sun away.

And then the family
Moved from the home
And left the girl
To swing alone.

They left so broken
Almost insane
They didn't know
That she remained.

She couldn't leave
The place she died
She watched them leave
And stood and cried.

Then to the swing
She went to play
The swing her Daddy
Made that birthday.

And there she swings
And sings her song
As the old house watches
And stands alone.

©by Voo
July 23, 2017
1:46 a.m.

Animated Photo

#Poetry #Poet #Poets #Poem #Love #Knittle


The beautiful Cleopatra
had her Mark Antony while
even Romeo had his Juliette,
and Sir Lancelot had his
Guinevere who just like
you and I will always be
remembered in our history
as some of the greatest
couples that this world
shall and will never forget.
As history shows us while our
love grows that love will
conquer all, so forever together
as friends and as lovers we
will be enshrined in loves
great hall.

Richard M Knittle Jr.©
© A #Poets Journey

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Summer Skies

The road through winter,
so very long still,
snow and ice beneath my feet,
the north wind whistling in my ear,
I close my eyes
and think of summer skies.

Up above not a single cloud,
all fogged up and gray,
the branches of the trees,
like garneted old hands,
reaching up toward the heavens,
I look up with tired eyes -
wishing to see summer skies.

Down by the river,
slushy snow all around,
the water still partially frozen,
no ducks and no gulls,
no green grasses upon the bank
and wild flowers don’t grow,
my eyes see how dismal it all looks
and I long for summer skies.

Up above a storm is brewing,
across the sky dark clouds rolling,
haven’t seen the sun for many a day,
silvery snowflakes come dancing down
and as I sigh and roll my eyes,
I remember how very different it all is -
when up above I see summer skies.

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from the first moment
she captured my heart
feathered mother
strugglin I nature
surviving the day she does
rearing her young
feeding fledglings
with her day's effort
an my eagle with live on

©mustange charlie2017

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I stand and eye my target.
Mind focused, breath calmed.
Hand steady, body still.
A gentle squeeze.
A flash, a bang, and a slight recoil.
So long rabid dog.

(C) Elizabeth Wharry. copywrited

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#New #Poetry #Poem #Poet #Love #Knittle

What poetry truly is

When you learn how to
sit quietly in a peaceful
solitude while you listen
to the sound of the falling
snow or hear the tear
drops fall from complete
strangers of what you do
not know or feel the pain
of a heart that is breaking
from somebody whom
you love or even from your
own then you know what
poetry is, if you see the
songs singing from all the
birds up in the trees or
the innocence glowing from
a newborn baby as she
breathes even feel the
warmth radiating from on
cool summers breeze only
then will you know what
poetry is, when you see
the seedlings burst through
the soil and take its first
gasp of sun in the early
mornings of clear cold spring
day or fell the horses
running in an open field
of hay or know the love of
a child looking up at you
with not even a word to say
then my friend you will know
what poetry truly is.

Richard M Knittle Jr, (c)
(c) A #Poets Journey
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