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 Sep 2014 Brendan Thomas
Joe Cole
I saw the old man circling the tree trunk
Weather beaten skin, bent gnarled hands
and piercing blue eyes

He seemed to study every knot and crack
in that ancient timber

Then without a word turned and picked up hammer and chisel

The wood chips then began to fly and like confetti on the ground lie soon in heaps some ankle high

Occasionally he would stand back and look but never once a rest he took

Mallet strokes both hard and soft some from under some aloft fell there with unerring skill always busy never still

Long into the night he worked now by the light of an oil lamp and so the tree stump 'neath his hand then became a work of art

At long last he stood and turned to me and said three words " that'll do lad"

I approached to see just what he'd done and there I saw the perfect rose every petal and leaf in place the slender stems in the breeze did sway

With no plan or picture he had made the start
And created the perfect work of art.


So what is creativity? Well that's your next challenge.

No love poems because they've been done a million times. This time something unique
I decided to repost this after reading it, was going to change a few things but decided that its fine as it is
they are a couple
who've loved long
their kind of love
is ever so strong

they've shared and cared
with hearts of devotion
they'll be forever entwined
in the deepest of adoration

their marriage has withstood  
many a storm filled day
they've encountered sunny
dawns along the way

they are a couple
so well matched
their years together
so beautifully thatched

the birds in the trees
sing with an effulgent glee
they sing for dear Robert
and the sweet Dee

their song is a tune
of everlasting love
which God has gifted
to this pair of doves
no deliverance
twas aboard the train
the driver had lost
his senses and gone insane

the train sped along
at a velocity of speed
free wheeling
like a fast rolling bead

those on board
held tightly to their seats
for the train driver
twas in the grip of mad pleats

as the train neared
the descent of the mountainside
it quickly tumbled over
as a carnival ride

none did survive
the train driver's irrational trip
for they were in his
unbalanced guardianship

on that day salvation
did not abound
mercy's guiding hand
was nowhere to be found
russets ides adorned
the fall branches
mellow were their tones
bespeaking of a rich vintage
of a summer past
warmest did come
thence it did depart
in fields and avenues  
where Rembrandt's
brush colored
the canvas in ruddy hues
autumn tones
did on a November wind
bring its rouge
love is so transient
                              this I know to be true
all the men I've ever loved
                                           have deserted my camp
to seek out blooms anew
                                        a stone barrier protects
my heart these days
                                 for I am cognizant
of a man's whimsical ways
a fog loitered
over the tree lined streets
till the hour of ten
baby our love has gone cold
cold
cold
so
so
cold

our love isn't as warm
as it once used to be
our love has become
a wasteland of misery
our love vanished
into the sky's grey pall
our love no more floats
on a rhapsodic ball

baby our love has gone cold
cold
cold
so
so
cold

our love crumbled
and rendered apart
our love lies in the ruins
of my heart
our love wasn't meant to be
an enduring meld
our love is now a sad
unattached weld

baby our love has gone cold
cold
cold
so
so
cold
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