My Friend Oliver
My name is Roberts,
a reporter I used to be;
until one day I was sent to interview
an interesting man
whose name was Oliver Cyriax.
It was many year ago
that I first met him
and much to my surprise
he asked me to be his official biographer.
He stood against a fireplace
with his briar pipe in his hand.
He then went to tell me
stories from distant lands.
He wasn’t adventurer, but a ghost hunter of sorts.
I sat there in amazement
at all the things he said.
Those stories weren’t for recording,
at least not yet.
They were told to explain to me
of the kind of life he lead.
His career if you want to call it that
started in the middle 1800’s
on a Tramp Steamer
and lasted for more than half a century.
The strange things he saw
at times made my blood run cold.
He seemed a very quiet man
who was content with his life.
He did not appear to be someone
you would expect for the job that he did.
He smiled when he spoke
of a couple of amusing tales
he had been involved in
and looked sad at others
which had taken something from his life.
He related tales of horror,
which made you, shiver when he spoke.
He related tales of mystery
of which some were never to be solved.
He told me how he had lost friends
with their encounter with the unknown.
When he finished speaking,
I told him I would be honoured
to become his official biographer.
Therefore, started a thirty odd year friendship
that I hoped would never end.
From time to time, we would meet
and fresh new stories he would tell,
right up until the time
he retired and moved away.
I got a letter yesterday
to say he was happy now.
He was far away
from any ghostly goings on.
I write this as an introduction
to a character I’m going to write about
as I delve into his casebook
and tell the world
about the strange things that he did see.
poem by David Harris
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Related quotes
It Is Me
He sat in his own world
writing down the stories
that came to his mind.
He never watched time,
for him there
was no time.
He wrote stories of love,
of mystery and suspense.
He wrote of everything
that popped into his head.
He was not a lonely person
as his characters kept him company.
He wrote things
for every writing sphere,
but there was one thing
he could not write
which may come as a surprise
to everyone.
He could not write a letter
no matter how hard he tried.
His mind went completely blank
whenever he tried.
Yet he could write
just about everything else.
He could write songs,
he could write stories at will.
He could write poems
on everything,
but writing a letter
was something he could not do.
Now all who read this
might take it as a joke,
but it is very true
every word I have spoke,
and how would I know that.
The answer is simple it is me.
19 April 2008
poem by David Harris
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Faded Pages
Recently I started retyping
a manuscript of short stories
I had written twenty years ago.
The pages were faded;
too much time being opened to the sun.
As I typed, I smiled
at the things I had written
and the dialogue I had created.
The stories are about a cat
and looking at the world
through his eyes and thoughts.
I had even created him a language
that I had to write a glossary
at the back of the book to explain
what some of the phrases meant.
There is a vast array of characters
and most have a funny turn.
I also remember what prompted me
to write the stories long ago.
My original intention was to write
one story and one story only,
but a friend of mine at the time
persuaded me to write another and another.
Before long, a volume was finished
with enough stories to start another.
From a one off story I have written over sixty now
about the cat and all his friends.
Now as I flick through these faded pages,
which I haven’t read in years,
I find myself being reunited
with many long lost friends.
26 January 2009
poem by David Harris
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Stories
when we were young stories were told
That I'd kiss you sweet like
People said there was a connection between us
Now that we're old stories are told
Of how I hold you tight
Whenever I see those people I tell them they were right
Stories will be told
From when our children are young
until they're old
About our endless love
We must have had a blessing from above
Stories will be told until we're old
Stories will be told until the end of time
Stories will be told until we're old
Stories will be told until the end of time
Until the sun won't rise
Oh
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stories
Every year has its own stories in this life,
Every month has its own stories in this life,
Every week has its own stories in this life,
Every day has its own stories in this life,
Every hour has its own stories in this life,
Every minute has its own stories in this life,
And like the muse of the mind as we grow up;
So, we are all with stories to tell in this world.
As white as snow,
As red as blood,
As balck as charcoal,
As green as the grass,
As blue as the sky;
But everybody has stories to tell in this world!
And like the muse o love in the land of beauty,
For each year has its own story.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Better This Time
Last Time It Was A Secret,
Last Time Ended In Tears.
Last Time Wasn’t Official,
Last Time Didn’t Go So Great.
The Time Before That Was Even Worse,
The Time Before That I Was Depressed.
The Time Before That You Cheated Me,
The Time Before That You Didn’t Love Me.
This Time We Started Off Amazingly,
This Time There Is No Tension.
This Time It’s Official,
This Time You Asked.
This Time There Are No Secrets,
This Time We Want The World To Know.
This Time We Are Unbelievable Together,
This Time We Have Full Trust.
This Time You Spoke First,
This Time You Said “I Love You”
This Time I Have Your Heart,
This Time You Have Mine.
We Are Better This Time...
poem by Alexandra Bowden
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This Time
Last Time Is Was A Secret,
Last Time Ended In Tears.
Last Time Wasn’t Official,
Last Time Didn’t Go So Great.
The Time Before That Was Even Worse,
The Time Before That I Was Depressed.
The Time Before That You Cheated Me,
The Time Before That You Didn’t Love Me.
This Time We Started Off Amazingly,
This Time There Is No Tension.
This Time It’s Official,
This Time You Asked.
This Time There Are No Secrets,
This Time We Want The World To Know.
This Time We Are Unbelievable Together,
This Time We Have Full Trust.
This Time You Spoke First,
This Time You Said “I Love You”
poem by Alexandra Bowden
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It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year
IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME
OF THE YEAR
It's the most wonderful time of the year
With the kids jingle belling
And everyone telling you ?Be of good cheer!?
It's the most wonderful time of the year
It's the happiest season of all
With those holiday meetings
And gay, happy greetings
When friends come to call
It's the happiest season of all
There'll be parties for hosting
Marshmallows for toasting
And caroling out in the snow
There'll be scary ghost stories
And tales of the glories
Of Christmases long, long ago
It's the most wonderful time of the year
There'll be much mistletoeing
And hearts will be glowing
When loved ones are near
It's the most wonderful time of the year
song performed by by Vince Gill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Reunited
When I received a letter from my Dad,
Saying he didn't want to meet,
I decided to go and confront him.
I wasn't going to admit defeat.
'I told you in my letter not to come.
I thought I made that perfectly clear!
It would never work. I don't even know you, '
Were not the words I'd hoped to hear.
'It's too late, ' he told me.
'You've got your life. I've got mine.'
He was shocked when I told him
I'd lost my Mum in an accident when I was nine.
My brother, Luke, asked me to stay in touch.
He was begging me to stay,
But there seemed nothing between me and Dad,
And I thought it best for me to go away.
When I was small, we went for walks.
It was always Dad's hand I wanted to hold.
It kept me from falling.
It kept me from the cold.
I was sitting in the car ready to leave,
But took one last look out the window.
Dad was stood there. I went to him.
'Don't go, ' he pleaded. 'Please, don't go! '
As he held my hand in his
For the first time in thirty years,
I found it totally impossible
To hold back the flood of tears.
I put my head on his shoulder,
And we held each other tight.
This was the moment I'd dreamed of,
And now I was convinced the moment was right.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Its The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year
Its the most wonderful time of the year
With the kids jingle-belling
And everyone telling you
Be of good cheer
Its the most wonderful time of the year
Its the hap-happiest season of all
With those holiday greetings
And great happy meetings
When friends come to call
Its the hap-happiest season of all
Therell be parties for hosting
Marshmallows for roasting
And caroling out in the snow
Therell be scary ghost stories
And tales of the glories
Of christmases long, long ago
Its the most wonderful time of the year
Therell be much mistletoe-ing
And hearts will be glowing
When loved ones are near
Its the most wonderful time of the year
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Turnaboout
As large as life she stood there
Kissed my cheek and called my old nickname
And though several years had passed
Both of us still looked quite the same
I said hi relaxed a bit
Then asked her how she'd been all these years
She told me she was feeling fine
Came to see a friend who lived up here
Told me she had finished school
And then went on to college for a year
I asked if she had married
Slowly down her cheek there came a tear
She said just an itchy eye
It must be the weather way up here
Told her I can't stand the cold
It freezes me and I can't feel my ears
We talked a bit about Mobile
And thought about how it has never changed
I told her I was a comin' home
To spend some time and hoped it wouldn't rain
She asked if she could see me then
And we could spend some time now and then
Because I lived so far away
Was still no chance why we could not be friends
I drove her to the waiting plane
Watched that big jet streaking through the sky
Thought about the sad young girl
And the time that I just saw her cry
That flame must still be burning bright
I think I'll catch a later flight today
It's time for me to go on home
And spend a day or two down by the bay
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Stars And The Moon
Sitting down on a bench outside my residence,
I could see the stars far away in heaven;
It seems to me like,
The stars are spelling out my name.
Over here in Africa,
I keep on wondering about the nature of things;
The very patterns of the Creator's mind which,
Is yet to be understood by many!
At times it is very easy to see the stars up there,
But at times too there are no stars at all! !
How far are they, if i may ask?
How big are they, viewing from my compound?
This makes me wonder about the stars at night.
Oh creation, why has it taken us such a longer time?
We still don't understand many of your wonders;
Are we clever to see or, too blind to see?
I don't even understand some of your myths.
Like the mystic cloud of the air is,
My delight of the realms to write this muse;
There are days that i could see the Stars but,
The Moon takes over at times.
The very moon-light that helps us in the villages,
The very time to gather around by the fire side;
To listen to stories and folklore tales like,
The tales by the moon-light as the saying goes.
The 'Kwaku Ananse' stories and,
That of 'Mr. Tortoise' stories from our Elders.
Sitting on a bench outside in Africa,
I could see the stars spell out my name;
Lovely Stars of my heart,
My candle is yet to burn out;
At times, i do see the Moon as well.
My state of heart is for you oh Moon!
One day, i will visit you up there;
Directional moon to my soul,
How sound is your hospitality out there?
In my viewing views, i could see you up there;
In my wondering of things, there you are!
Oh, the Stars and the Moon out there;
Greetings from me to you all.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Strange Attraction
it started with a dedication
'lost in admiration - happy birthday -
i'm forever yours - BLOSSOM'
fared red inside a tiny book of butterflies
i smiled surprised at how when flickered through
the wings flew by spelled out my name
six months went by the summer lost
obsessively the letters dropped into my life
the same soft blood smooth flowing hand
'please try to understand - I have to see you - have to feel you -
tell you all the ways I need you - yours forever in love...'
strange attraction spreads its wings
it varies but the smallest things
you never know how anything will change
strange attraction spreads its wings
and alters but the smallest things
you never know how anything will fade
the year grew old incessantly she wrote to me
she'd started smoking poetry!
i laughed in recognition of a favorite phrase
she'd pulled me in...
i answered her
a christmas card in sepia
arranging when and where
and how the two of us should meet...
her opening so well prepared
a nervous smile
i couldn't take my eyes from her
she whispered
'can I use some of your lipstick?'
it was perfect so believable
i couldn't help but feel that it was real
and kissing crimson fell into her waiting arms
strange attraction spreads its wings
it varies but the smallest things
you never know how anything will change
strange attraction spreads its wings
and alters but the smallest things
you never know how anything will fade
so alone into the cold new year without another wo
i wrote to ask if we could maybe meet again before
but weeks went by with no reply untill once more m
and with it my surprise but this time nothing was
'i'm sorry - blame infatuation - blame imagination
i was sure you'd be the one but I was wrong -
it seems reality destroys our dreams - I won't for
fared red inside a tiny book of all goodbyes...
strange attraction spreads its wings
it varies but the smallest things
you never know how anything will change
strange attraction spreads its wings
and alters but the smallest things
you never know how anything will fade
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Turnabout
By: jimmy buffett
1970
As large as life she stood there
Kissed my cheek and called my old nickname
And though several years had passed
Both of us still looked quite the same
I said hi relaxed a bit
Then asked her how shed been all these years
She told me she was feeling fine
Came to see a friend who lived up here
Told me she had finished school
And then went on to college for a year
I asked if she had married
Slowly down her cheek there came a tear
She said just an itchy eye
It must be the weather way up here
Told her I cant stand the cold
It freezes me and I cant feel my ears
We talked a bit about mobile
And thought about how it has never changed
I told her I was a comin home
To spend some time and hoped it wouldnt rain
She asked if she could see me then
And we could spend some time now and then
Because I lived so far away
Was still no chance why we could not be friends
I drove her to the waiting plane
Watched that big jet streaking through the sky
Thought about the sad young girl
And the time that I just saw her cry
That flame must still be burning bright
I think Ill catch a later flight today
Its time for me to go on home
And spend a day or two down by the bay
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poems in the Tackroom
Poems in the tackroom
Getting dusty
And old.
Books, tales, stories,
And legends.
Some have never been told.
Legends of warriors long ago,
Tales of pirates bold.
Stories of love and mystery.
Maps and books of history,
And poems of the arctic cold.
Pamphlets, scrolls, papers,
And things
Nestled on the saddle.
Pictures of galley slaves,
Whipped and forced to paddle.
Writings of knights
And
Courtiers,
Inscriptions of secret heirs
Burned into a bridal.
Paintings scarred, ripped,
And tore.
Carvings of peace
And war,
Ancient manuscripts
Containing information,
Of many a long-dead
Civilization.
Countless scrolls
Of
Hocus-Pocus,
Let it not
be
Your focus.
Many things yet
To
Be discovered.
Many Riddles,
Not yet
Uncovered.
Treasure upon treasures,
Sunlight hovered.
Wax seals, ties,
And locks
To be undone,
Who will be,
The
Chosen One?
poem by Macy Dvirnak
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You see, I was told stories, we were all told stories as kids in Nigeria. We had to tell stories that would keep one another interested, and you weren't allowed to tell stories that everybody else knew. You had to dream up new ones.
Summer Of ‘63
Everyone will have a year
that they will never forget,
for some reason or other.
Mine is 1963
and the summer of that year.
The year started normal,
but before it was over
my life would change.
Something would possess me
and never entirely go away.
I was eighteen at the time,
no steady girlfriend to call mine.
Then one day with my wages, she came.
I smiled and for some reason,
I wanted to go out with her.
A few weeks later, I got the chance.
I bucked up enough courage to ask her out.
So then, it started my first big romance.
Her name was Joyce Knapp,
but she liked to be called Joy, I remember that.
From June to September,
our romance grew strong.
Then one day it was over as sudden as it began,
with her immortal words one night.
I love you, but I don’t want to hurt you
so I’m packing you up.
We parted; a lot of tears filled my eyes.
She said we could see each other,
but I said I’d rather not.
Just one clean break
and tell everyone we were through.
So off I wandered broken hearted,
looking for someone to ease the pain.
It wasn’t a someone that did it for me,
rather a something you see.
A turning point in my life.
In 1963, the Beatles were all the rave;
everyone wanted a link,
to associate themselves with them.
I had my link in my birthday June 18th.
It is the same birthday as Paul McCartney.
The year maybe different, but never mine,
we share the same month and day.
So I said to a friend of mine at the time Ian Freeman,
why don’t we write a song together.
I know a little about music.
A date and a time was made
and we’d meet at my house.
We were going to write, a number one best seller,
but what came out would make glass break.
A much dreaded Shake Little Baby, Shake.
It never got further than the lyric stage,
a right little stinker to ever grace a page.
We went on to write another would you believe,
called Little Wandering Girl.
I think she is wandering still.
Ian had had enough and I didn’t blame him,
but I soldiered on through songs,
short stories, novels and poems,
to where I am now.
So now, you see how it started for me.
A long time ago in the summer of ‘63.
I have only one regret you see.
I never got a chance to thank,
Joy and Ian as I lost contact with them.
I hope they may read this one day, and contact me
so I can thank them properly.
20 July 2007
poem by David Harris
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To live on the real life rails
We often look for the one to be ideal,
but when we meet the one who is real
we give foolish criteria
and it looks as a mystery.
Expecting the one from the fairy tales
we very often get only fails.
We want to get everything at once,
to get our chance.
As a result we burn the time,
loose the last dime.
May be it’s more important just to live,
think how to give,
not only to take
or live for someone’s sake.
Our life is the only one
and all in it has to be done
so that not to regret,
may be something to forget,
think what is more important,
get out of the routine,
to build our own mooring,
and…during the life time
listen to the chime,
and…hear the bells
which tell how to live,
how to love,
how to create the things
I’ve told you above,
without any tales
but on the real life rails.
Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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The obligatory annual festive write
The obligatory annual festive write
~
Another year has passed
That time has come again
To raise a glass in cheer and to pen
The obligatory Christmas poem
~
New friends have come and been welcomed
Old friends kept and loved
Now to find the time to gather
Share in stories of the year passed
The laughter and the songs
The memories in photographs
They still mean so much
~
And so the stories to come
Those nights which await
When we will laugh and sing
Cry be there for each other
To every month which lays ahead
Together we will face them
And capture in pictures and stories
A new year to remember
~
To every friend a hearty cheer
To all a happy new year
In this season of good will
Let us smile and find peace
Let us rejoice and love
And once more a poem to say
Happy Christmas everyone
Have a happy new year
xxx
poem by Matthew Holloway
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The Poem Pals
When I woke up, I looked outside and what a sight I saw
There was no place for them to hide near to my neighbour's door.
The Poem Pals were back again! With poems in their hands
That God has sent out to all men and women in His lands...
When they saw me, they waved hello! I waved back and made tea.
I asked them in to get to know what was the mystery...
They told me straight, 'He's busy now, his T.V.'s on the blink!
And so us guys he won't allow, he's hardly time to think...'
So off I went and they went, too, 'Good luck! ' they said and smiled.
The problem sorted, he said, 'Phew! ' and calmed down, now quite mild.
I told him of the Poem Pals, 'They visit me as well,
They're full of wonders, full of tales, what stories they could tell! '
'You see them, too? ' He was amazed! 'Oh, yes, they're all my friends! '
'Thank God for that! ' he quickly praised, with no need for pretence!
They stood in line, the first one in, his poem now to share,
So that my neighbour could begin to make the world aware...
The poem penned, we watched him leave with smiles upon his face!
Another poem to receive from God above by grace.
The second guy came with his verse, as proud as proud could be,
With extra time he could rehearse, reciting perfectly...
The third guy ran inside at last, determined to be heard,
I'd never seen him run so fast, now he could read each word!
The fourth guy walked in, bid good day explaining what to write
And then when done, he walked away, his face a pure delight!
The fifth guy was hilarious, his poem made us laugh!
Not one of us stayed serious as he walked down the path.
The sixth guy walked in bold as brass, saluted us in turn,
As if he thought we were first class, with nothing left to learn...
The last guy heaved a long, long sigh... for sad his poem was.
It told why Jesus had to die upon the cruel cross...
His poem was the best of all, of that there was no doubt.
It shared the Gospel by Saint Paul, who loved the Lord throughout.
So finally, we said goodbye, the Poem Pals all gone...
My neighbour's spirit soaring high, because God's light had shone.
The Poem Pals would call again, so poets could be blessed,
In time, to be Fishers of Men, who seek to do their best...
Denis Martindale, copyright, February 2012.
This is a follow-up poem to The Impatient Poem:
tinyurl-dot-com/the-impatient-poem
poem by Denis Martindale
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Journeys Traveled
I have traveled many places
from here to there almost every where
seen places and people, never thought i would
from army bases to castles to to the sands of a desert
peace time to war time and lonely times
traveled by planes, trains, buses, taxis, cars and foot
the splendid mountain to the sand dunes
extreme cold to the scorching heat
one thing I take from all these journeys
is remember to take in everything you can
the mind will absorb anything you want.
mental pictures of beautiful scenery, gorgeous people
crowds in the streets to the loneliest path
breathe taking ever so lasting
make every journey unique and interesting
fun and learning come hand in hand
the stories you can tell of past visits
they can be past down thru the family line
to show how much each journey meant to you
pictures tell a 1000 words, but stories bring it to life
imaginations can bring the journeys to everyone's mind
enjoy each one as we all take the many beautiful journeys thru life
my journeys all come back home with me
for i love to tell the story to everyone around
good or bad the stories are told
For to see you express a smile or a tear
brings joy to me, my journeys tales will always live
poem by Michael Peterson
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