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Poetree Creations would like to Thank everyone who has submitted Halloween poetry

Retirement Rendezvous

Retirement rendezvous
There is a member who is new
Who requires some type of rescue! 
Looking back at life’s preview

He has had his kids
Been wise and stupid
Smoked enough weed
Aging exhibits on both eyelids

Retirement rendezvous
No more young dreams to pursue

A time he was young with hope
Goals matured and developed
But time took away that potential scope

Retirement rendezvous
Old age has at last struck for true

Retirement rendezvous
Today he joins the old pensioners’ crew

Stuck in his fresh basement
He scorns retirement at its commencement 
With continuous utter resentment 
Thinking it is a washed up experiment

Retirement rendezvous
Today, old age seems to be of no value

Retirement rendezvous
A new life and a new official venue

Retirement rendezvous
Some meet at the post office queue
Others meet at the bookies avenue
Leaving only when the night is due

The alarm clock has ceased ringing
The ladies have stopped singing
The bread winner is no longer bringing
To him nothing anymore is inspiring! 

Retirement rendezvous
Why is life such a screw? 

Retirement rendezvous
Is this a new life for true? 

Retirement rendezvous
His thoughts he has to subdue
For him life still continues
Forthwith he looks at life with a new view! 

(2007) 

Sylvia Chidi

Where Do Babies Come From?

Where did you come from, baby dear?
Out of the everywhere into here.

Where did you get your eyes so blue?
Out of the sky as I came through.

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?
Some of the starry spikes left in.

Where did you get that little tear?
I found it waiting when I got here.

What makes your forehead so smooth and high?
A soft hand stroked it as I went by.

What makes your cheek like a warm white rose?
I saw something better than anyone knows.

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?
Three angels gave me at once a kiss.

Where did you get this pearly ear?
God spoke, and it came out to hear.

Where did you get those arms and hands?
Love made itself into hooks and bands.

Feet, whence did you come, you darling things?
From the same box as the cherubs’ wings.

How did they all just come to be you?
God thought about me, and so I grew.

But how did you come to us, you dear?
God thought about you, and so I am here

~George MacDonald

I’m a Wizard, I’m a Warlock

I’m a wizard, I’m a warlock,
I’m a wonder of the age.
I’m a sorcerer, magician,
prestidigitator, mage.

I can change into a chicken,
or perhaps a purple pig.
I can wave my wand and, presto,
I’m a waffle with a wig.

With the power in my pinky
I can burst like a balloon
or transform into a tiger
with the head of a baboon.

If I wiggle on my earlobe
or I knock upon my knee
I become a dancing doughnut
or a turtle in a tree.

Just a simple incantation
and I deftly disappear,
which I never should have done
because I’ve been this way all year.

And despite my mighty magic
I’m impossible to see,
for I never learned the spells I need
to turn back into me.

–Kenn Nesbitt

Race horse Called FRED

but I liked an old nag called Fred, 
he looked sort of eager and flighty,
as the bookmakers odds span around in my head,
and sweet Aphrodite went into the red,
and I wished that I was back home in my bed,
not here with these blokes rich and skitey.

“A hundred to one” said the fellow,
I decided to give it a go,
“Fifty dollars on Fred” was my bellow,
And all of the guys who were well in the know,
Sniggered and said I was doin’ my dough,
“Fred couldn’t outrun a three-legged crow,
On his back is a streak – and it’s yellow!”

And then all the horses flew past,
There was only two furlongs to go,
I stood there watching, aghast!
Fred was the leader, but starting to slow,
Five thousand dollars was there on the go,
And then it was over, and what do you know?
Fred came in motherless last.

My world turned from silver to black,
Aphrodite had killed them, of course,
My money would never come back,
And I slowly drove home from that devilish course,
full of repentance and full of remorse,
And the next time I put all my dough on a horse,
It won’t be a useless old hack!

Unknown Author

Picture Perfect

She stood there by the ocean,
The breeze gently lifted her hair.
Of that seagull just above her,
She was totally unaware.Seemingly floating in the sky,
The seagull’s wings were still.
I think it paused to take good aim,
And drop a mess at will.Too late she looked above her head,
Where the seagull hovered now.
Then as I watched in horror,
Bird droppings hit her brow.Her scream pierced the balmy air.
Splat! The stuff hit her face.
Then she saw my camera and me,
And stomped off in disgrace.

© Annabel Sheila

The Month of April

 

 The Month of April

“The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day.
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You’re one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
a cloud come over the sunlit arch,
And wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you’re two months back in the middle of March.”
–  Robert Frost, Two Tramps in Mud Time, 1926 

 

“And Spring arose on the garden fair,
Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;
And each flower and herb on Earth’s dark breast
rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.”
–  Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Sensitive Plant 

 

“Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly–and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.”
–  Omar Khayyám

 

“The first of April is the day we remember what we are the other 364 days of the year.”
–  Mark Twain

 

Note:  This webpage is now updated and maintained at a new location. 

 

“Spring would not be spring without bird songs.”
–  Francis M. Chapman

 

“That God once loved a garden we learn in Holy writ.
And seeing gardens in the Spring I well can credit it.”
–  Winifred Mary Letts

 

“O Day after day we can’t help growing older.
Year after year spring can’t help seeming younger.
Come let’s enjoy our winecup today,
Nor pity the flowers fallen.”
–  Wang Wei, On Parting with Spring  

 

“The April rain, the April rain,
Comes slanting down in fitful showers,
Then from the furrow shoots the grain,
And banks are fledged with nestling flowers;
And in grey shawl and woodland bowers
The cuckoo through the April rain
Calls once again.”
–  Mathilde Blind, April Rain    

 

“Keep your faith in all beautiful things; in the sun when it is hidden, in the Spring when it is gone.”
–  Roy R. Gilson

 

“Tossing his mane of snows in wildest eddies and tangles, 
Lion-like March cometh in, hoarse, with tempestuous breath, 
Through all the moaning chimneys, and ‘thwart all the hollows and angles 
Round the shuddering house, threating of winter and death. 

But in my heart I feel the life of the wood and the meadow 
Thrilling the pulses that own kindred with fibers that lift 
Bud and blade to the sunward, within the inscrutable shadow, 
Deep in the oak’s chill core, under the gathering drift. 

Nay, to earth’s life in mine some prescience, or dream, or desire 
(How shall I name it aright?) comes for a moment and goes– 
Rapture of life ineffable, perfect–as if in the brier, 
Leafless there by my door, trembled a sense of the rose.”
–  William Dean Howell, Earliest Spring 

 

“When the time is ripe for certain things,
these things appear in different places in the manner
of violets coming to light in the early spring.”
–  Farkas Bolyai 

 

“April’s rare capricious loveliness.”
–  Julia Dorr

 

“You start in April and cross to the time of May
One has you as it leaves, one as it comes
Since the edges of these months are yours and defer
To you, either of them suits your praises.
The Circus continues and the theatre’s lauded palm,
Let this song, too, join the Circus spectacle.”
–  Ovid, Fasti (V.185-190, CE)

 

“Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.
The rain makes running pools in the gutter.
The rain plays a little sellp-song on our roof at night–
And I love the rain.”
–  Langston Hughes, 1902-1967, April Rain Song

 

“Sweet April showers
Do spring May flowers.”
–  Thomas Tusser, A Hundred Good Points of Husbandry, 1557  

 

“Every spring is the only spring – a perpetual astonishment.”  
–  Ellis Peters

 

“I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers:
Of April, May, or June, and July flowers.
I sing of Maypoles, Hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of the bridal cakes.”
–  Robert Herrick, Hesperides, 1648 

 

“Now that the winter’s gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream
Upon the silver lake or crystal stream;
But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth,
And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo and the humble-bee.
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful spring.”
–  Thomas Carew, The Spring, 1630    

 

 

“This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.
I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.”
–  D. H. Lawrence, The Enkindled Spring 

 

“When the April wind wakes the call for the soil, I hold the plough as my only hold upon the earth, and, as I follow through the fresh and fragrant furrow, I am planted with every foot-step, growing, budding, blooming into a spirit of spring.”
–  Dallas Lore Sharp, 1870-1929 

 

“If Spring came but once in a century, instead of once a year, or burst forth with the sound of an earthquake, and not in silence, what wonder and expectation there would be in all hearts to behold the miraculous change!  But now the silent succession suggests nothing but necessity.  To most men only the cessation of the miracle would be miraculous and the perpetual exercise of God’s power seems less wonderful than its withdrawal would be.”
–  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow   

 

“Poor, dear, silly Spring, preparing her annual surprise!”
–  Wallace Stevens

 

“Hark, I hear a robin calling!
List, the wind is from the south! 
And the orchard-bloom is falling
Sweet as kisses on the mouth. 

In the dreamy vale of beeches
Fair and faint is woven mist, 
And the river’s orient reaches
Are the palest amethyst. 

Every limpid brook is singing
Of the lure of April days; 
Every piney glen is ringing
With the maddest roundelays. 

Come and let us seek together
Springtime lore of daffodils, 
Giving to the golden weather
Greeting on the sun-warm hills.”
–  Lucy Maud Montgomery, Spring Song

Scorching Hot

By midday the sun’s scorching might
Penetrates the hapless
Tiniest worth of life in sight
Sustaining nonetheless

A desire for the shaded
Those hydrated places
Where of a thirst you can be rid
Noon time treasured spaces

Under the shaded umbrella
Of the side walk seller
The ices are from that fella
Just right for the weather

Mini skirts and strapless dresses
And bared and sandaled legs
Test of sunny paradoxes
Present day traits which begs

Of whimsy and discerning ease
A daring compromise
Hot colorist browning the leaves
Till they fall in demise

To a comforting ready earth
Willing to nourish life
Under a discerning sun’s worth
Of torrid heated strife

Hot hot hot penetrating rays
Slice season and cycle
The shadow and fraction of days
Measured in mere degrees
Gillena Cox

A New Broom

 

Two brooms where wed
And when “I do’s” were said
The lady broom disclosed
The reason for her clothes
Of generous flatter
And the fact of the matter.
A little broom was on its way
Oh what a happy day
But he was not so happy
With expecting a little chappie
This just wasn’t fair
As he hadn’t swept with her

Paul Curtis