LISELLE POWDER

 

His Grey Beard

 

Never live to see a ripe old age, a bullet to the head.

The wrong identity, wrong place at the wrong time.

The clock is ticking, how many more must die

from a bullet that killed young souls.

Souls that begged for their lives and never made it home.

Home to warm beds, and home cooked meals

and family time. No time to grow that beard that

looked like salt and pepper. No time to be a grandpa.

Grandpa that read stories to grandkids and take them

for walks and let them know they are loved.

The grey beard that a friend grew, represents the thousands of

men that wanted that grey beard and never got a chance.

They were robbed of life, robbed of family and society.

Robbed in a big way. Just remember the grey beard.

Remember the road they walked on, just remember.

 

The Love Day

 

Flowers and candies,

post cards with beautiful trimmings.

The love nest, the love boat, the love bed.

Isn’t it funny,

that one day creates such special romance?

That one day brings love,

that one day is showered all over the world.

But the homeless cries for food, while the beggars

fight for scraps that fell to the ground and lost its way.

Just one day of love and it turns to hate after.

The single mother still single, trying to put food on the table.

No time for love, but to study the next meal.

The world doesn’t stop for this love day,

it continues to spin, just like lives continue to live.

The fancy dinners that a child long for,

but is beaten and sent to bed hungry.

The pregnant woman going into labor on the love day

to bring another mouth to feed.

The rich will survive, whilst the poor struggles to have

a love day. Keep sharing the love day while

society begs with open arms.

 

The Little White Mountains

 

The Nor’easter of January 28th left a terrible outlook.

They worked hard to dig through the snow.

A white cloud showed up everywhere as if heaven has fallen,

Shovels and snow. blowers at work making room to walk.

A little rain fell as if wanted to take part and be the hero.

But the pile up left huge pillars of white snow,

that turned hard as ice and can’t be walked on.

It will take a while, to get rid of those mountains.

Little Antarctica right here just need some Igloos

and Eskimos and a hole to fish in,

Imagination can paint a pretty picture,

just like putting on sleds and skiing down slopes.

But the rain should come and wash away those mountains,

making way to row a boat and sail away into the ocean

under the moonlit sky.

 

LISELLE POWDER