'Tis the Season...

[fwes]

There are many gifted poets the right on the site. Most of the poetry and most of the discussion is correctly devoted to issues relating to PD. In this site I will strike a different cord. I am going to offer a poem that is seasonal and which has nothing to do with PD. I am certain that the gifted poets who write here have their own poess which may or may not be seasonal, which have nothing to do with PD, and which would bring pleasure to us all. Think of this as a community Christmas gift

Poets: Start your poems!

Solstice Lament

by Wes Wilson

I’ve hung the festive babbles,

The magic chants did sing,

And yet for all my troubles,

I still must wait for Spring

In the spirit of the season

I partied and laughed Ha HA!

Help me, what’s the reason

For all this falderah?

I went about my shopping,

Gifts bestowed galore,

All the while hoping

That I will get back more.

Alas I’m disappointed,

At thin loot I am upset,

I’ve become disjointed,

Living not to Give, but Get.

Time for my resolution,

Cast off my selfish way

And yet I have a notion

The lottery might pay!

[esrob]

Hi fwes, here's my offering for Christmas.

THE GIFT - A Christmas poem for children of all ages

A long time ago, says the Bible of old,

Isaiah, the prophet, the future foretold.

How God in his love would send his only Son

To show us the Way, and to save everyone.

‘Twas many years later, near forgotten by all,

That gentle maid Mary heard Gabriel call.

“Don’t be frightened, dear Mary, you’re God’s chosen one

To be greatly honoured, and to carry his Son.”

His name will be Jesus, the King of all Kings.”

Then Gabriel vanished with a swish of his wings,

And Mary, though frightened, with heart full of love,

In obedience accepted this gift from above.

Near the time of the birth, Caesar told everyone

They must go to the villages where they were born.

Tax collecting was difficult when people were

Spread all over the country. Much easier by far

To collect all the people in city and town;

Take a census, and write everybody’s names down.

The roads, they were crowded as people set out

For the towns of their birth, and the inns were packed out.

Joseph worried for Mary. She’d be tired and cold

It wasn’t easy travelling in those days of old.

No tar on the roads then, just sand, dust and stones.

You got weary and thirsty, and had aches in your bones

After many days travelling, Bethlehem came in sight.

“Do you think we’ll find somewhere safe and warm for the night?

I’m tired and weary, the babe’s time is near

I must lie down and rest.” Mary said with a tear.

Joseph knocked on the doors of the inns far and wide.

“Can’t help,” said the keepers, “There’s no room inside.”

“All are here,” said another, “and they all want a bed.

Wait a bit! If it helps, there’s a stable instead.”

The stable, a cave with dung on the floor

From the animals there, and a manger with straw,

Was better than nothing, and with door ajar

They could see shining o’er them a beautiful star.

Some shepherds out watching their sheep that same night

Were startled and shaken by a strange, wondrous sight.

Whole hosts of bright angels all started to sing

About peace and goodwill, and the birth of a King.

“In Bethlehem yonder, under that shining star,

You’ll find a fair lady and babe lying there.

He’s the King of all Kings, and with his tender love,

Though you’re poor, you can live in his palace above.

They all ran to Bethlehem, but what made them stare

Was that there was no palace, just a stable so bare.

“This must be the place. Look! What’s that over there?”

Then they saw Joseph beckoning, drawing them near.

Mary’s clothes were all dirty, full of grey desert sands;

Her face was all grubby, and so were her hands;

But the glow in her eyes made her face shine with love

As she looked at that little child, Gift from above.

A little while later, guided by the great star

Came three wise men who had travelled from countries afar.

Their rich clothing and servants caused quite a stir,

And they brought gifts of gold, frankincense, and of myrrh.

But shouldn’t kings be born in palaces grand?

Not in dirty old caves with dung floors, flies and sand.

Oh yes! In a palace, it would have been fine;

But could we have seen Him? Could we say, “He is mine.”?

Now, here in this stable, He belongs to us all.

So rich and poor listen, and you’ll hear Him call.

Let Him enter your hears; let your hearts fill with love.

New life comes with this Gift from the Father above.

Peace, Love and Joy to all,

[fwes in reply to esrob]

Interesting counterpoint: the comforted and the disillusioned!

Thank you.

[margie in reply to esrob]

Beautiful. So comforting and moving.

Thank You.

[Jocee]

Thanks, fwes, I enjoyed that!!!

[gmunsot]

Congratulations.

Poetry manteins the brain, any thing that make your brain work is good not only for Parkinson patients, it's serve for all, but in your case I hope you have more poems that we can read.

Thans for that.

Ponty

[jabbieamadou]

hello

[fwes]

It's Springtime! (in Las Cruces). Time to trot out some Flower Rhymes. For my wife and I, flowers means Iris; we have over 600 varieties.

Hybridizers

Nature regresses to the mean

Hybridizers seek the extreme

With their craft wit, and lore,

That they create,

The gods adore.

Stolen from Roger Miller

Roses are red,

Iris are purple,

Sugar is sweet,

So's maple syrple.

Man's Best Friend is His Iris

Wes Wilson (Roger Miller started this!)

I've been told, but I ain't sure

that man's best friend is a mangy cur,

I sort of favor flowers myself,

How about a hand for the Iris?

Have a dog, gotta fence your yard

Cause Fido’s gonna try real hard

TO ESCAPE!

An Iris has a pretty face,

Puts down roots, stays in place,

Years and years your yard to grace,

Let's have a hand for the Iris!

Iris used to come in "Blue's"

Hybridizers have added hues

Try your hand, make something new,

Let's lend a hand to the Iris.

Why I'd be willing to bet,

You could make the colors of the sunset,

Now that might take some time,

But then, What's time to an Iris?