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April monthly madness... "Midnight"
By David Elder
The clock winds down to witching hour
when evil swells with subtle power
no hope for those who cringe and wait
resigned to fear and doomed by fate
The denizen of Hell’s domain
crawls out as light begins to wane
he comes with wicked smile affixed
across the turgid river Styx
Who will it be at midnight’s toll
conceding all to lose their soul
surrendering to sinful plan
malevolence the plague of Man
The faithful strong behind their door
prostrate in prayer upon the floor
protected by a painted jamb
the final gift from guiltless lamb
He passes those devoted few
while dealing death with toxic brew
to oldest child heathen born
a Pharaoh’s curse the cost of scorn
By J Meckes
Midnight
There is a minute in the night
that casts a well known fear.
For when the clock strikes midnight
the Grim Reaper will appear.
A sense of doom calms the night
and all hope fades away.
A sixty second portal when
death comes out to play.
I have often heard it said
at midnight every night
all the mortals in their bed
are subject to this fright.
For those awake at midnight
will hear the clock chimes toll
then quietly hold their breath
and pray to save their soul.
For at the stroke of midnight
their heart will beat so loud
frightened to be visited by
the ghost in blackened shroud.
For some, midnight will pass
and this fear they will disown.
They know the night has ended
and the new day is their own.
For others not so lucky
who’ll be taken without a fight
and carried to eternity through
that portal in the night.
Better you should soundly sleep
and sleep the whole night through
then to be awake at midnight
when death comes stalking you.
By Scott Scherr
Framed By Midnight
Yesterday's body was buried by time
murdered by midnight, no traces of crime.
Moonlight and star light, no where to be found,
the wind speaks in half truths while hiding all sounds.
Clouds conceal dark deed, take captive the sky,
trees cover faces with leaves that don't pry.
Nocturnal creatures won't say what they know,
shadows remain to consume what ground shows.
I walk, a stranger, midnight moves aside,
by morning the sun will expect my reply.
"Why were you there, where did Yesterday go?"
I'm caught unprepared as the night leaves me cold.
Soon I'm to blame for midnight affairs,
while covered in Yesterday stains everywhere.
By William Burkholder
Half past Midnight
(30 minutes listening to the rain)
It’s midnight, and the rain taps at my window wanting to be let in and warm its tears at my fire. I place no blame upon them, for the streets are cold and uncaring. We all search for warmth, that firelight; its embers red glow beckoning, rendering rose cheeks and outstretched hands. Its warmth unique, the type that only comes from seasoned wood and crackling coals. There are those who have never felt this, never experienced these radiations of licking tendrils, this dance of blue and orange. Destitute; searching for a place to rest and revive.
Such are the conditions of the heart, the conditions of the unloved and uncared for.
They actively seek warmth, and for life’s struggles and its reasons, this flame eludes them. It is easy to be subjective and make the judgments based on ones own lessons. But who am I to judge another’s fire, another’s passion? Is it what we place into the fire that dictates its burn? Our proverbial “sowing”, if you will?
I speak only of this poet and his fore’s into the depths of sowing rancid rows. Of reaping that of which the piper tallies and sets forth. For the piper is always near, hands outstretched, his payment never absent from his mind. We all shall pay this piper at one time or another.
Karma, come-uppance, enlightenment, epiphany? Call it what you will, understand it and reflect upon it in the glowing embers of your own fires. This hearth, life whereupon the kindling waits to be set ablaze with idea and discovery. Its half past midnight, and the rains speaks to me, and tells me this tale.
By Charles Slavis
Yesterday slips into the past.
It is a new day but darkness surrounds me.
Too late to change things now.
"Yesterdays gone. Yesterdays gone."
Damn! I sound like Stevie Nicks!
Where do I go from here?
Lost in total darkness.
Do I continue with my failures?
Is there any hope in this blackness?
I stumble blindly forward in the dark.
I fall, get up and fall again.
Then I realize that it is getting lighter on the horizon.
A new day is coming.
A new beginning.
I climb to my feet and move towards the light.
"Hope springs eternal." |
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A fine selection of wafflers past and present...
Pa Cockle
all we need is snow to top today
to top off this dismal day
(this dismal day is cold and grey)
I hear the salmon are running hot
"will I get wet?" I think not
(I think not my usual spot)
so I'm off to the warf thats not too far
wind the window down and fish from the car
(fish from the car so the rain won't mar)
a slice of cooked sausage on for bait
so of course I'll have a long wait
(I'll have a long wait with a snag for bait)
matters not that there is no bites
for I feel that is one of my rights
(one of my rights to fish wet nights)
with Rodregas's Cold fact on the disc
a lovely feed of warm seafood bisque
(warm seafood bisque removes hypthermic risk)
and a bottle of red helps cut the cold
to get away from my kids when I'm feeling old
(when I'm feeling old not good as gold)
When I've had enough of the cold and the grog
I jump in the back and sleep like a log
(sleep like a log curled up like a dog)
When I wake I use a prawn to catch a fish
to take home for the misses breakfast dish
(the breakfast dish my alabi wish)
Jane Eliza
I love the ebb and flow
throughout this thread
and often wish I could,
instead of writing verse
that's free of rhyming
ends of lines,
write with drumbeats
and thesauric pages.
The morning sun shines
through my eastern window,
streams down onto my keyboard
as if to show me the way
to find the right keys
the right letters
the right words,
but the coffee has yet
to trip that brain cell
that has learned to make the connection
between word and feeling,
phrase and thought
and so I sit here, dripping inanities
from fingertips that want
to tell the tales of my days:
the hours spent with friends learning
to create pictures with felted wool;
the chaos of pigs in the kitchen;
the growing pile of manuscripts
that have honoured my desk for reading;
these things that fill
the in-between spaces of my days.
I feel a sigh escape my lungs.
A cloud begins to build, filtering
the funlight and making sun
of my typos.
The coffee pot calls: a Kenyan brew
this morning, methinks - a Christmas gift,
this bag of beans, and I drink
with awareness that the coffee growers
live in times far more troubled than
ever I have had to know.
I am wistful this morning:
a need to write: but what?
Scott Scherr
What a wonderful song
this has become.
Souls touching souls
through contagious rhymes on the run.
Though at times it may be simple
the emotion will always run deep.
This continual calaboration of unified poets
is enough to make me weep.
What a joy to be the fraction of a part
of this great journey shared through words.
I do not get back here often enough
but like a homesick soul I return here with a simple verse.
Good day to you all
I hope this fire stays permanently lit.
I can think of no better beacon ablaze to return my gaze upon
than this great waffle poem full of compassion and wit.
It warms me so
sitting beside this gracious fire.
I hope to come back soon but never knowing just when,
to once again be inspired.
God bless you all.
Terri Lynn Court
I've stumbled in
and read away
at waffle upon waffle
and I've left it until today
to respond quite briefly
with a waffle of my own
for I've only a few minutes
and then I must leave home.
I've an exam to write
and work to attend
then off for an evening
on the town with a friend.
I must leave now
and as I do I'll say
"A waffle a day
keeps the doctor away."
Greg Monroe
I like a place where people wave
and leave you with 'have a good day'
a place where people still shake hands
where asphalt ends and meets the sand
Where trees grow tall and hills flow free
this is the place....I want to be
where Grandma's bake while fireflies fly
peach trees bloom before your eyes
Magnolias stretch to hug the sky
whip-o-wills sing their lullaby
and quilts are stitched with loving hands
women take last seats as all men stand
The church bells all chime right on time
and a stranger's help won't cost a dime
Call me corny...if you will
words cannot my passions kill
Shari Mead
Well here I sit all alone
Where has everybody gone
There seems to be nobody here
To join in our little song
So to pass the time and hours of boredom
I sit here and write
A hum a tune stuck deep in my mind
From a time long ago
I can see the moment I heard the song
I can feel his arms around me
Holding me tight to his chest
Slowly swaying to the music
A cool breeze floats past my face
Holding a scent so sweet
Flowers from a secret garden
Where only I can go
As I close my eyes memories flash one by one
Some old and some only young
I smile at the joy they hold
And shed a tear for the ones that are sad
I promised I would write more these days
So I thought this I would share
This feels like my second home
I enjoy my hours spent here
But since I am all alone
I shall sit here and write
Maybe for you to read someday
Or maybe for my own sight.
Nancy Browne
I come to see my waffle friends
To lay a burden that never ends
I'm going to write a silly rhyme
Given I haven't much daylight time
This is always good for me
Cause I can escape to the wanna-be
Wanna be smiling and laughing free
Wanna be happy, happy as can be
This place does it always for me :)
Jasmine Renee
Tonight my waffle is very simple,
a plea to be inspired...
I will look at the word bank and see what I get,
once I'm not so tired...
I hope I find what I'm looking for
in this hectic life....
but just writing this simple little verse
has taken away my strife!
Jayne Scott
Now once upon a time.
Man discovered how to rhyme.
He thought it was a clever trick,
his pen on paper, fast and slick,
he wrote with verve,
his verses serve,
to while away the time.
Great thoughts he put on paper,
and even those quite small.
His wits a bright, sharp rapier,
in ink he placed them all!
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Zone Rating: 66
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