Night slips slowly through the gray shutters
It glides down the roof and seeps down gutters
Soon it swallows the house and me within
The grandfather sounds softly as dark hours begin

I light the candle and mount the stair
Of the house that's grown baren and bare
It once was a house full of laughter and fun
But those things now the house and I shun

Feelings
sweet,
nice,
illogical
unknown
My heart beats
faster than a locomotive
with no stop

She doesn't need a token
to get on this ride
It doesn't matter though
I can go slower
I can go faster
I can shine myself up
to look all nice and pretty
but she won't get on this ride
No matter how loud my engine howls,
No matter how loud my horn screams,
she won't get on this ride in time.

Heaven's thrown a tantum
Earth follows with small fits
Winds throwing punches, then
The trees with stronger hits
I hear of all the black outs
Annoyed by a leaky ceiling
Been under eternal battle with this broad
When will this end is my only feeling
Under God's eye like a microscope
Waiting for his work to pass
Will it be like Noah's Arc once more
Watching one world perish and kissing another's grass
Desire for the sun's smile
Away with rain sadistic ways

I look at you and I want to
die but only so I could be
living in a permanent forever.
When I look at you its like all wrong
things have right outcomes. You are
like electricity flowing through a cable
just to hit the outlet on a wall. You
make me want to touch the purple in
a flame. You make getting struck by
lightning seem like a wonderful idea.

I am not interested in contests and I don't write free verse, I'm a rhymer but with the June contest as an inspiration I write about my mum.

Mum,
mummy,
dearest love of my heart
you gave unstintingly of yourself
for me
for my siblings.
In the end you died violently
for that love.
You will never be forgotten

Einstein and Pufendorf
Grotius and Baudelaire
those names and others
that make us laugh
but why
'tis they who changed
the clocks of human minds
rewound their inner thoughts
turned their routines into
something else
saw anew the mundane lot
gave us in many ways
a different plot

Margaret Ann Waddicor 9th June 2017

In Sacramento was I born too soon.
Those days a premature was bound to die,
yet somehow I was grant a doubtful boon
and left alone to live not knowing why.
But two pounds in the manger early June,
sans nails and ears stuck out as if to fly.
For thirteen years my parents had been wed,
at last to birth a creature best off dead.

I look at the storm raging over the sea.
The clouds are being drained of their strength.
Whales dive in and out of the tempest.
Their cries are heard around the world.
Even pirates are screaming in fear.
Ships are getting tossed to and fro.
Captains struggle with their wheels.
Sailors cling to the riggings.
Death calls from the depths of the sea.
I pray there will be survivors.

Those savages, those Taliban
who ruined all those ancient artifacts
in that land of drought and sand.
We cringed at all the shells' impacts.

The builders of those monuments
shared not the Taliban's beliefs
so with sledges and bombardments
history was rent like last year's leafs.

And day by day each desecration
we judged these people savages.
We wallowed in our condemnation
of history lost for coming ages.

Indeed, an orchard on the road
I traveled far to know its scent
The orchard is the fruits abode
And trees; the fallen apples' tent

In walking 'long an orchard row
Befriending apples on the way
And talking things the apples know
And hearing things they have to say

A simple orchard on the road
I traveled far to glean its ways
And sang a song; an apple ode
Then bade farewell and parted ways...