Christmas ~ Economically

It gets harder each year to keep Christmas
Ask the homeless or a family in need
Then there are those who would remove it forever
Political has-beens who don’t have a creed

There were times when Christmas was nicer
A time when people shared what they had
And they gave for the goodness of giving
For children whether good or they bad

You know the Spirit of Christmas is priceless
Doesn’t cost very much can’t you see
The joys it all brings when carolers sing
And you greet everyone ~ all for free!

So don’t be so sad or downhearted
Especially at this time of the year
With a smile remember its Christmas
And look forward to a better New Year!

Eric Valentine Dec 06/11 ©

Merry Christmas everyone! :)

C'ya

Remembrance day

This is the time of year when we most remember and honor the veterans who gave so much, that we may enjoy the freedoms we have today ~ Thank you.

Muffled Drums

Down through the ages
The drum’s played its part.
Roll the drums softly.

For ‘twas the call of the drum
That said war was to start.
Roll the drums softly.

Drums would sound them to battle,
Drums would march into fray,
‘T was the drums that were heard,
As dead were carried away.

So keep this in mind,
Heed history my friend.
And Roll the drums softly.

History’s shown, in any conflict,
There’s never a Winner, just losers.
So roll the drums softly.

Eric Valentine Sept 8/02 ©

C'ya

Ole Reliable

Sometimes I feel I am like the sun,
I rise up every day on this earth.
~ Somewhere ~

I may not always be seen in person,
But each day I am always there.
~ For you ~

Eric Valentine Sept 27/11 ©

C'ya

YOUR SOUL

When you died,
for several days the very depth of my eyes
was haunted by a dove,
white, restless, easily frightened.
No sooner did I catch a glimpse of it,
than it took wing, fluttered away,
and disappeared into the grayish twilight.
But my heart knew: It's you. Your soul.

And it was good, that sad yet radiant knowledge.
Autumn can be at times like that:
the quiet light, transformed to wisdom,
holds up to earth a sky wide open,
just like a mirror. And you can see the most minute
bud of emotion, quivering in your soul.
All is so clear it hurts:
the sky, the earth
and you yourself, lost in between,
yes, even death.

What you were I know and never shall forget:
A dove. White, easily frightened.

Jurgis Blekaitis

(1917 � 1997) ©

C'ya

My Better Half

I want to compliment my wife
Whose kindnesses, have charmed my life
And though her patience I have tried
Yet, much on her, I have relied.

Many is the time when I needed talk
We two would wander, for a walk
And as I opened my heart to her
She'd disagree, perhaps concur.

Argument’s, our bond did strengthen
And now, as shadows start to lengthen
I think I must, bespeak my love
And laud thee as, my treasure trove.

In silence I, my wife have cherished
And failing her, could well have perished
She's been my sustenance, my pride
A golden girl there by my side.

So darling, speak I now at last
In tribute to our precious past
I know we have a future too
For without you, what would I do.

Eric Valentine Feb ©

C'ya

Cancer & Chaos

Britain’s shopkeepers
Traditional bastions of time.
Disappearing in the smoke of night,
Pillaged by thugs and
Gorged by flames,
Violence, and senseless petrol bombs~
What has this world come to?

Eric Valentine August 8/11 ©



C'ya

Christmas

It’s that time of year once again, different people call it varying names but in our house we call it Christmas. When you get to a certain age there are very few surprises left, maybe that’s why the numbers get smaller as well. People come and people go, some move but most pass on and all you are left with are memories.

This morning the wife went to open the door ready to go out and almost stepped on a small package, tucked neatly up against the door so that you could hardly miss it. This is what Christmas is all about.



This is a very special gift,
That you can never see
The reason it's so special is
It's just for you and me.
Whenever you are lonely
Or even feeling blue
You only have to hold this gift
And know I think of you.
You never can unwrap it
Please leave the ribbon tied.
Just hold this package close to you
It's filled with love inside.

Love Madge


A Merry Christmas Everyone!!!

C'ya

OLD AGE

These shriveled sinews and this bending frame,
The workmanship of Time's strong hand proclaim;
Skilled to reverse what e'er the gods create,
And make that crooked which they fashion straight.
Hard choice for man, to die -- or else to be
That tottering, wretched, wrinkled thing you see:
Age then we all prefer; for age we pray,
And travel on to life's last, lingering day;
Then sinking slowly down from worse to worse,
Find heaven's extorted boon our greatest curse.

by: Crates 470 BC

C'ya

Enigma/Sojourner

A few days ago I received the sad news that my friend in the states had passed on. Like myself, he too suffered with this COPD, but his case has been much worse than mine.

I first met James whose internet handle was Enigma/Sojourner, in a COPD thread. We became friends quite quickly because like me, he also was a writer. Believe me Enigma could make the English language stand on its head in his orations; he was that prolific with his words. No matter his topic, people would just hang on every word, such was his eloquence. He was also a very accomplished artist with his portrait painting; his work just took your breath away. He was such a talented man in so many ways.

In addition to his writing and painting, he built boats, was quite a fitness guy with his running, being an ex marine and had a way with the ladies that would charm the hair off a coconut. His heart though was lost to his wife a long time ago. Never have I ever read so much feeling in a poem, as when he opened the door to his soul, writing to Mary. Of course like myself, he had an insatiable thirst and knowledge of poetry. His passing has really come too soon for such a talented man, what a waste to the world. His contributions through his words already are sorely missed. Sleep easy my friend.

In closing I have written a poem for my friend, for he would expect it of me and I could not have it any other way.

Don’t bury me

Don’t bury me where the sun can’t shine.
But on a hillside treed and green
Where I could see the oaks and smell the pine
Where the birds once sang and preened.

I’d like to think, that my spirit can roam,
Hills and valleys that reach to the sea,
Where the smell of the brine, and the crisp ozone
Ships in sail ride the waves, sleek and free.

I have written my words and have sang all my songs,
I’ve worked on the beaches, and I’ve gazed upon sights
My journey’s all done, the lifes highway so long.
I rest, my eyes closed - under cool starry nights.

Eric Valentine June 7th 2010 ©

C'ya

Friends

If we are to be friends,
Let it be for a lifetime.
If we are enemies,
Then
Let us
Practice Peace and Tolerance.
Then -
We can be Friends.

E. Valentine May 5/04 ©
C'ya

Wishful

If I could tap into your energy
I would run and I’d frolic all day,
No more I’d be bound, like a stake in the ground
I would be happy and carefree and play.

Believe me it’s no fun, when you can’t breathe or run
And the oxygen is the lifeline each day,
You sure do learn fast, that each day is a test,
While you struggle as you work and no pay.

So believe me, if I had your energy
I could soar like a bird on the wing.
There’d be nothing more thrilling, nor be so fulfilling,
Than to perch on a branch, and just sing!

Eric Valentine
Oct 15/09. ©

C'ya

Scarecrow

I received an email recently from my nephew Harry in England. This is a poem/song that he wrote a long time ago for his "then little girl". It has sat around since those days, until now. I liked it and got his permission to post it here. Hope you will enjoy as I did. Thanks Harry and well done.

Scarecrow

The sad lonely scarecrow stands alone in the rain,
cold wet and windswept again and again,
no mirth in his straw heart, no smile on his face,
the sad lonely scarecrow, is a sad lonely case,

Till up comes the sun, with a big golden grin,
and says hi there scarecrow, well how have you been,
I see you are windswept and chilled to the heart,
but I’ll put a smile on your face now, before I depart,

So the sunrays beat down and dried him out to the core,
and the sad lonely scarecrow felt lonely no more,
and now he is happy to be guarding the crops,
it’s nice for the scarecrow when the wind and rain stops.

chorus.

A scarecrow a scarecrow a scarecrow am I
all made of straw with two round biscuit eyes
with my old turnip head and my fat carrot nose
I stand in the cornfield and I scare off the crows.

H.Valentine ©

C'ya

Angel in disguise

If you read the “Case of Circumstance” story then you know about Mom. This then is a very nice heartfelt writing to Mom, from a young lady who cared enough to express herself. Thank you Jayde, well done. ~

***

Angel in disguise

I never truly knew you, but you’ll always have a place in my heart.
“Well isn’t that just something” Auntie Vi
Cause you left a beautiful mark.
You tainted us all in such a beautiful way,
And I know you will be the one watching over us on those rainy days.
I will forever remember you as an angel in disguise.
I think it was all the innocence in those blue eyes,
I’m pretty sure that’s what gave it away.
You were the guardian angel that would be watching over our family someday..
I’ll miss your laugh and your awfully cute smile..
And that day I came and reminisced with you for awhile.
I would give up my sweetest memory
Just to let you see,
How much you really do mean to me.
So even though, you have passed on,
In my dreams is where you’ll stay…
There we can still dance the nights away.
You filled our lives with joy and laughter,
And that’s something I can hold onto forever.
So no matter how far away your soul may go,
You will always be known as Auntie Vi to me though.
I love you.

Jayde ~ Apr/09 ©

C'ya

Daily Burdens

While trying to cope
With life’s daily toils
You raise up your hands
To hold back the tide.


Slowly,
but inevitably -
The water seeps through
The fingers.

Eric Valentine Jan/02 ©

C'ya

My 009

If I may borrow a phrase from my fellow blogger Swen, ~ Happy Valentines Day to all my fellow bloglings! ~

~~~*** ~~~



To my honey Elizabeth, Happy Valentines Day to you my love. May these few words do justice to the way I feel for you, on this special day and always.

St Valentines Day.

If I had only lived, just one day
If we had kissed and ran away,
If we had not stopped to hold so tight,
I could not sleep ~ alone at night.

I love you now with all my heart,
In my soul, we will never part.
I love you till my dying day,
But first these words I have to say.
HAPPY VALENTINES DAY MY LOVE!

Eric

Eric Valentine Feb 13/09 ©
C'ya

My Haiku 2

O’er Sand and Water, Sea of Green.
The Golf Ball-
Soars, as an Eagle.

Playful can be,
At a ripe old age-
A state of mind.

A sleepless night.
The written word-
Demands attention.

Endless days
Sleepless nights-
Insomnia.

c'ya ©

A New Dawn

I don’t know if your interests include the space program with NASA, and the various discoveries in the universe that are announced from time to time.

I think space exploration is an exciting adventure, an opportunity to turn fiction into fact.

With the advent of todays technology, it is now possible to look at all the wonders of the universe thus far. Using the computer, it’s like looking through a window at the photos of different planets and space. The recent Mars explorations have shown us some wonderful views.

One site in particular really got my attention, so much so, I just had to write a poem on it, I hope you enjoy.


~photo of Mars by NASA~

Another World

Rocks of silver and hues of gold
Perhaps a billion or more years old,
These stones I’m certain could surely tell
Of a planets death and a ride through hell.

Civilization there just had to be,
Perhaps beings, kin to you and me.
Sadly the stories we may never know.
Such firestorms. Finality. So long ago.

Seems planet Earth is so hell-bent,
To travel the path that Mars was sent.
Mankind, lifes lessons have never learned.
Are we too late ~ the warnings spurned?

Even now we can change, though it may be too late,
Screaming as we plummet, toward hells gate
Earth’s downward spiral, to its final hour.
Perhaps there is a savior ~ a greater power? ~

Don’t bank on it.

Eric Valentine Dec 18/08 ©

C'ya

In A Box of Black Wood

It’s funny how things happen sometimes. I think everyone at one time or another just sits there in a quiet moment and reminisces. That’s the time when it seems the flood gates open and a whole box of memories run rampant all over the living room floor like the memory alphabet gone mad!

I had a day like that not too long ago; the truth is, I get many nights like that, it must be an age thing, or maybe just reviewing inventory of my life.

Sometimes I sit here looking over my files and thinking where did all these thousands of words came from, not only that, but also under what circumstances did these words make their escape. It’s a writers thing I guess.

Recently I was having one of those such moments and “The City of Poets” came to mind. The city was a forum where many people like myself would go and post their poetic creations. The forum was put together and run by Roy York, a southern gentleman, better known online as “Knight-owl or Sgt. Pop”, we quickly became online friends. It was a great place to be and you met lots of good people. Roy is an excellent writer in his own right with some beautiful creations to his credit. I saved a piece that he wrote that I want to share with you, I think it is a brilliant poem. So without further ado and Sgt. Pops permission, I give you his poem.

In A Box of Black Wood

Opening the book, he searched for the final paragraph he read the last time he had this problem. It was only two nights ago, not time enough to catch up with the sleep necessary to make each day bearable. Somehow he managed to keep going though.

The tasks of the day were minimal, amounting to not much more than picking up around the house, which was always picked up anyhow.
No one there to make a mess; the dishes were not used,
save for his plate, a coffee cup and an occasional glass, like now.

Not remembering the last passage in his book, he slipped it into it's slot, placing it just so to match the neat soldierly line of its neighbors.
Walking to the porch, he surveyed his part of the world, spying William across the road, and Perry next door, hard at their labours.

Suddenly, with the fury of a terrier pup in hot pursuit of the neighbor cat, a small bundle of energy burst through the thick, green hedgerow bearing down on him with a look of joy and determination in it's eyes.
He was shocked when he thought; "How fast that boy seems to grow!"

In the boy's arms was a tiny ball of fur; his little friend, a small kitten. Their advance was swift, but the attack on the steps was a slow one.
His joints were stiff and painful and his heart was weak. But he came to love and to cuddle; then sleep came to an old man and his grandson.

The boy was seven; he was seventy-seven.
Though he still had his sleepless nights, so had the child his painful days.
Each, when he could, made the others' life full in so many ways.
He survived twelve more years.

On a cloudy, windy day in May, Cat and I laid the old gentleman to rest in a box of black wood.

We were alone. I wondered,
"When my turn comes, will I have someone, or will I be alone?
What do I do now?
Will there be a grandson to build my box of black wood?"

Roy York, Sr
© October 20, 2002

C'ya

A Soldiers Homecoming

In these uncertain days in a world of wars, most assuredly the thoughts must cross the minds of those leaving for the countries of war. Will they be the one who may not return?

This poem is dedicated to all the combat forces of today.


A Soldiers Homecoming

Time is fast approaching when, I shall soon be home
Has it really been so long that I’ve been gone?
Your memory is like sweet music, to my mind when I lay prone,
But your smell and tender touch, is what I long for while I’m gone.

How long is long, in life my friend, with years still yet to come
For this parting in my memories, I will keep,
As I treasure all the moments, when once more I am home
For in that magic moment, for you I know, I’ll weep.

All the hours that I have lost, won’t really mean a thing
For this country is the thing that I’ve missed most,
All the pain, my longing, will be but a moments sting,
For has it really been that long, since I was there on your coast.

The time is fast approaching when, I shall soon be home
And my wanderings, will be a thing soon, of the past,
All else will be forgotten, as I no longer roam
All else, except the hunger for the country, I might have lost.

Eric Valentine Sept. 18/94 ©

Poetry

Inspiration comes from the depths of the mind
Which is triggered by the feelings and
Emotions of the body.
That in turn, transcends into an outpouring of words,
Which struggle to actively express,
The torments of the soul.
This is known as Poetry.

E. Valentine 1994 ©