Images in Thought
Poetry from myself and others....
Monday, October 31, 2011
The Ghost of Goshen...
THE GHOST OF GOSHEN
Through Goshen Hollow, where hemlocks grow,
Where rushing rills, with flash and flow,
Are over the rough rocks falling;
Where fox, where bear, and catamount hide,
In holes and dens In the mountain side,
A Circuit-preacher once used to ride,
And his name was Rufus Rawling.
He was set in his ways and what was strange,
If you argued with him he would not change,
One could get nothing through him.
Solemn and slow In style was he,
Slender and slim as a tamarack tree,
And always ready to disagree
With every one that knew him.
One night he saddled his sorrel mare,
And started over to Ripton, where
He had promised to do some preaching.
Away he cantered over the hill,
Past the schoolhouse at Capen's mill;
The moon was down and the place was still,
Save the sound of a night-hawk screeching.
At last he came to a deep ravine,
He felt a kind of queer, and mean
Sensation stealing o'er him.
Old Sorrel began to travel slow,
Then gave a snort and refused to go;
The parson chucked, and he holloa'd "whoa,"
And wondered what was before him.
Then suddenly he seemed to hear
A gurgling groan so very near,
It scattered his senses nearly.
"Go 'ome, go'ome," It loudly cried,
"Go 'ome," re-echoed the mountain side,
"Go 'ome," away In the distance died-
He wished he was home sincerely.
And then before his startled sight,
A light flashed out upon the night
That seemed to "beat all creation."
Then through the bushes a figure stole,
With eyes of fire and lips of coal,
That froze his blood and shook his soul
With horror and consternation.
He lost his sermon, he dropped his book,
His hair stood up, and his saddle shook
Like a sawmill under motion
.No cry he uttered, no word he said,
But, suddenly turning Sorrel's head,
Away and out of the woods he fled
As fast as he could for Goshen.
The ghost he saw and the rattling bones
Were a pumpkin, a gourd, and some gravel stones,
That gave him all that glory;
But ne'er again up that mountain side,
In the light would Rufus Rawling ride,
And many a time I've laughed till I cried
To hear him tell the story.
-Anonymous
Monday, August 22, 2011
~eyes, the portal...
eyes, the portal....
that portal,
allowing me to
tread upon a
chiseled
staircase, that
winds to the
basement
of your soul,
dusting off
volumes that
hold
akashic
remnants,
revealing bits
of you that fall
from broken
flasks, spilling
your innermost
thoughts upon
open palms,
while your
secrets
flutter away
upon
a draft....
Margaret LaVonne Hall
Copyright 2003/2012
All rights reserved...
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Catnip...
Catnip.....
Come, succumb, my feline friend...
An herbacous gift of mint...
Breathe in the soft, subtle scents,
Visions on your mind imprint...
Of milk-laden bowls you dream,
Endless seafood piled so high...
Napping in foliage green,
Troubles dissolve with a sigh...
Cool calmness surrounds your world,
You smile at the butterfly,
Heart pounding, jubilation,
Soaring bluebirds fill your sky...
Bountiful thoughts of field mice,
Toys on a bright sunny day...
Grasshopper stalks at twilight,
A game that you love to play...
When ambling inside tonight,
Glance at the catnip treasure,
Cause' tomorrow is another day
For hallucinating pleasure...
Margaret LaVonne Hall
Copyright 2003/2012
All rights reserved...
Monday, August 8, 2011
Dusk at the edge of the lawn....
Dusk at the edge of the lawn......
Dragonfly on dew-kissed grasses,
silent gossamer wings are still.....
Stalking, a carefree brown spider,
with determined, unending skill....
His feast on arachnid sweetness,
whets his appetite voracious....
Living from pond to pond traveling
Vigilant and predaceous....
Uninterested was the toad,
the waterfall his oasis....
He favored skipping water gnats,
a fast food meal was his basis....
Tongue caressing the prey quickly,
'down the hatch' is twilight play,
But, hidden beneath lily pads,
in the sun's scorching heat of day....
Birds wrapped snuggly in feathered wings,
atop branches of silent trees......
Dreaming of tomorrow's new flights,
amid a warm, summertime breeze....
Their songs will open the morning,
the lemon sun brushing the leaves....
Serenades of warbling finches,
As a mourning dove softly grieves...
Fireflies dance in sparkling patterns,
lending magic to evening's end.....
Young princesses watch with wonder,
in their faery-world of pretend...
As the sun slips into his cloudbed,
sleeping soundly, awaiting dawn,
I hold watercolor memories,
of dusk at the edge of the lawn....
Margaret LaVonne Hall
Copyright 2003/2012
All rights reserved...
Monday, July 25, 2011
Summertime Haikus...
Succulent slices...
Juicy bounty from the vine,
Coolness in swallows...
Mysterious soul,
Tiffany winged messenger
Gliding on the breeze...
Pungent refresher,
golden gift from lemon tree,
sweetening taste buds....
Sentinel of dusk,
Alerting that darkness comes,
fading at sunrise...
ooey, gooey, yum,
grahams, marshmallows, and chocolate,
at the old campfire...
I hope that you enjoyed the Haikus...
Thanks for visiting.~!!
Margaret LaVonne Hall
Copyright 2003/2012
All rights reserved
Friday, July 22, 2011
The dog days of Summer....
The dog days of Summer....
Please excuse me now, if I don't get up...
Been tired and fatigued since I've been a pup...
And, the dog days of Summer have rolled 'round...
Which makes me even grouchier,... I've found...
Don't wanna' chase squirrels or even the cats...
Don't even mention my master's mean brats~!
Just leave me here 'neath the shade of this tree..
No fetchin', no trekkin', just let me be!....
Weather creepin' to a hundred degrees....
Just a morsel of food and water, please...
If I growl and am distasteful to you...
I'm sorry, I'm just so bushed through and through...
Maybe, the return of a coolin' breeze,
And, the migration of these danged ol' fleas...
Will spark me to follow some scented trails...
But, my body says laziness prevails...
Margaret LaVonne Hall
Copyright 2003/2012
All rights reserved
Friday, July 8, 2011
Just silence.....
~Just silence.....
I grabbed a piece of blue
from the Sky,
Inhaled its nothingness,
pausing only to allow clouds
to fall as quiet cotton upon silk...
Sounds were not
announcing themselves..
I passed hushed trees with emerald
Sleeping Leaves....
Rocks below my feet only moved in
aggravation...
they strained to be quiet.
A Butterfly applauded silently
as he lifted his tiffany soul
from spent daisies...
A Breeze rushed,
as to catch up with me,
enveloping me within
a cloak of awareness....
It did not speak....
My soul, alone, listened to
whispers from myself...
Displays came and went visually,
but with no sound card...
Then as a lethargic Sun plunged
into a candy stream to swim to
the other side of the Earth...
The Breeze left me with a soft kiss
to my cheek, and ran ahead to play
with mute Whipoorwills....
And, they all remained silent...
Margaret LaVonne Hall
Copyright 2003/2012
All rights reserved..
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
He's the dumpster man...
He's the Dumpster Man......
Dawn brings stretches from damp cardboard...
His newspaper damp as well...
Rain has set in furiously,
Makin' life a livin' hell...
His muscles ache, head a throbbin',
The thunder claps shakin' his soul....
With a face full of cold raindrops,
He feels 'bout a 100 years old...
Harley his chum, groaned, "G'mornin"
Shiftin' his jacket 'round...
Ol' couch cushion propped behind him,
Thunderbird on the ground..
"Whatz breakfast?", the Dumpster Man says...
Gatherin' up a wad of socks....
Fingers stiff in woolen gloves
Rummagin' the KFC box...
The word on the street is he's trusted,
Splits his findin's when he can...
His reputation is helpin',
Most call him the Dumpster Man...
"Let's wash-up at Tony's Station,
Then try and get warm with a cup...
We'll go by that constuction site,
Who knows what might turn up"
Morning passes.... the rain pours down,
Cans fall with a clank in the cart...
Winds bring sneezes and shivers,
He knows he won't hit his mark...
Further on down Hickory street,
A baglady counts out her cans...
She barters for a woolen scarf,
From the stash of the Dumpster Man...
Noontime scores some Twinkies,
from a dumpster back of a store....
The torrents slammed 'em harshly,
Or they woulda' searched for more...
Recycle bins belched up bottles,
Carefully swapped for cash.....
A coupla' loaves of french bread,
Scarfed from the restaurant's trash....
"Harley, we gotta' get some chow,
The Mission's servin' stew"...
The storm just wasn't lettin' up,
And, dusk warned nightfall was due...
The streets ran rivers of water...
Lightnin' struck the radio tower....
Findin' a place to lay their heads,
Was dwindlin' by the hour....
Luck would have it.... under the bridge,
A dry spot with a patch of grass....
Spreadin' out some garbage bags,
'Til mornin',..this would have to last...
His feet soakin' wet, blisters sore,
Blankets wrapped best he can...
He closes his eyes and dreams of when,
He was not the Dumpster Man....
Margaret LaVonne Hall
Copyright 2003/2012
All rights reserved
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
An old friend's goodbye....
~an old friend's goodbye...*~
~i have an old friend that lies ill now,
..not important about her name...
i see her tear-stained face clearly
through the yellow candle flame...
~she fights valiantly for her weary soul,
as she rests upon pillow of white...
bitter tears flow softly, silently,
in the dimmed hospital lights...
~the clock moves so slowly, as she
sees images of loved ones dear...
her own image is fading,
as she gazes into the mirror....
~lines etched from medications,
from alcohol for many years...
trembling hands reach to touch her lips
to stifle mounting fears...
~family knows the pain that she bears now,
a mixture of grief and remorse...
for the hand that was dealt brutally,
lifetime karma running its course...
~memories flood her heart now fully,
as she feels the 'light' coming near..
inviting with love and warm brightness,
indeed, her solace is here...
~a messenger with halo golden, whispers
to her guides one by one....
as they smile upon her sweetly,
knowing her suffering is done...
~she will fly with the eagle that beckons,
that circles the twilight sky...
just another new journey tomorrow...
...as the soul will never die....
Margaret LaVonne Hall
Copyright 2003/2012
All rights reserved...
Friday, April 22, 2011
Backyard etheree....
The basic etheree form has ten lines, the first consisting of exactly one syllable, the second line of two syllables, and so on until the last line's ten syllables. An etheree can also be reversed, starting with ten syllables and ending with one♥~
Backyard etheree....
Soft
Raindrops
are falling,
dancing upon
the spa-like birdbath,
refreshing the water
for weary, feathered beauties
that share secrets of far journeys
across Mother Nature's vast blue skies,
and soothe wind-spent wings with cool nourishment.
A
garden
gleams with hope
of the Sun's smile
to warm fragile leaves
that wriggle to stay strong.
Seed packets marking their crop,
Jousting for position by rows,
Expanding, boasting with pride for show.
Veggies, summertime vittles for picnics..
A
flower
blossoming
Kaliedascope..
Rich rainbow colors..
Cosmos, orange marigolds,
dark purple veronica,
Yellow sunflower faces smile
at soft butterfly kisses, galore...
Peacefully, gently dancing in the breeze...
Margaret LaVonne Hall
Copyright 2003/2012
All rights reserved
Backyard etheree....
Soft
Raindrops
are falling,
dancing upon
the spa-like birdbath,
refreshing the water
for weary, feathered beauties
that share secrets of far journeys
across Mother Nature's vast blue skies,
and soothe wind-spent wings with cool nourishment.
A
garden
gleams with hope
of the Sun's smile
to warm fragile leaves
that wriggle to stay strong.
Seed packets marking their crop,
Jousting for position by rows,
Expanding, boasting with pride for show.
Veggies, summertime vittles for picnics..
A
flower
blossoming
Kaliedascope..
Rich rainbow colors..
Cosmos, orange marigolds,
dark purple veronica,
Yellow sunflower faces smile
at soft butterfly kisses, galore...
Peacefully, gently dancing in the breeze...
Margaret LaVonne Hall
Copyright 2003/2012
All rights reserved
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