now it’s twelve
they’re dealing with a problem
and my blankets
so i freeze
she held the baby tightly
the boys were tucked in bed
the baby didn’t seem to hear
a single word she said
your daddy’s coming home my sweet
he won’t be gone for long
he didn’t mean those ugly things
he knows that he was wrong
he needs a breath of fresh air now
and time to think it through
and yes, your daddy loves me,
i’m sure your daddy loves me,
believe your daddy loves me
as much as he loves you.
she held her mother tightly
the boys were in the yard
she tried to keep from crying
but by now it wasn’t hard
eleven years of no return
her mother had hung on
a hope had kept her barely there
but now that hope was gone
my daddy won’t be home again
he has another life
he has another family
he has a wealthy wife
he never meant to come back here
but you just never knew
and yes, my daddy loves me,
i’m sure my daddy loves me,
believe my daddy loves me
as much as he loves you
the house next door
is coming down
with very loud
today’s a day
for us to vanish
and heading out
wise and sound advice
we are nearing
loss of hearing
progress has a price
© 2016 kStan(ly) Lanning
picture by mabel amber, courtesy pixabay.com
created for the Daily prompt – panoply
floating with the Daily prompt – mystical- while i work up a new verse
© 2016 kStan(ly) Lanning
picture by dorigo, courtesy pixabay.com
created for the daily prompt – sincere
swimming with the Daily prompt – gone – while i work on something new
on view with the Daily prompt – privacy – until something else pops up
no pin the tail on the moose
the bunny was unflappable
and also fairly practical,
he was an enterprising bunny
his solution was the simplest:
he entered the olympics
and now he’s making tons of money
graphic verse for grown-ups
bi-product poems of living.
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It started when I gave up smoking and went from there!
“Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.” ―Edgar Allan Poe
Northern Irish Poet based in Belfast - Focused mainly on Romantic Poetry.
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I write because I can. I can because I want to. I want to because you said I couldn't.
Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why. -Kurt Vonnegut
Freedom to Break the Silence
The path to me: past, present, future and imaginary.
Fiction from Photos