“Lay me doon in ta caul caul groon. Whaur afore monie huv gaun. (Rep)
When they coom a wull staun mo groon. Staun mo groon al nae be a fraid.
Thoughts awe hame tak awa mo fear. Sweat an bluid hide mo veil awe tears.
Ains a year say a prayer faur me. Close yir een an remember me. Nair mair shall a see the sun.”
When they coom a wull staun mo groon. Staun mo groon al nae be a fraid.
Thoughts awe hame tak awa mo fear. Sweat an bluid hide mo veil awe tears.
Ains a year say a prayer faur me. Close yir een an remember me. Nair mair shall a see the sun.”
“Sgt. (Charles S.) MacKenzie” By Joe Lina MacKenzie Mod Scott. as done by Clainne An Drumma
My Prayer…
By Kelly Blake
By Kelly Blake
Make me no box, only lay me deep,
near a great Pag, ton Lough or great sea.
near a great Pag, ton Lough or great sea.
That I rest, where the worlds are thin,
that I may see my Aoine.
Put me down, in ton Longphuirt,
where I can be amongst my own.
My path is too long ahead of me,
I hear the voices from across the great sea.
Come rest with us, and be set free.
As I came, never meant to be.
They took my hand, and made me…me.
Now they are gone, laid in dirt.
Never more to breath; never more to hurt.
They call to me; ‘come take our hand…
come walk with us…and be free.”
But no, not yet. My path’s too long.
I will try to be strong, I must be strong.
There are demons, that must be sent,
away for those ahead of me.
No not yet, I must be strong, I must be strong.
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This story is 244 words long.
Comments
Go mbeannaà Dia duit
All my love, my dear sweet little sister!
She was born for all the wrong reasons but grew up for all the right ones.
Tutto il mio apprezzamento, cari, Andrea
Love, Andrea Lena
A tu dia mo chroi...
A thousand blessing...
Lil' Sister Kelly
Lovely.
Lovely.
- Moni
lyrical
Beautiful, atmospheric, ethereal, rhythmic, wonderfyl
XX WbG
Yes, Kellly.
NEVER give up, NEVER give in. NEVER let the hurt win.
May Your Light Forever Shine
May Your Light Forever Shine
Writing and poetry linkd
In my first creative writing class, we were visited by a famous author, (I've forgotten who). I actually first met him as my then wife and I, walked to class. He was this seedy looking and frightening to me guy in riding leathers riding this very noisy and big Harley Davidson. He looked like he might maul me in the parking lot. (This while I was yet trying to pretend to be a male) LOL. He stopped me and asked me where he could find the class that it turned out that I was on my way to.
As we walked toward it, it came out that I was taking the class, to be with my wife and to help her with it. He looked at me like he did not believe a word I was saying. At that time, I thought that all I had going for me was pure stuborness.
Once in class, his eyes periodically drilled me, and I distinctly remember one of his remarks. He said: "No writer is worth his salt unless he has written some demented poetry". I would say that your poem evidences a lot of struggle and steadfastness. I would not say at all that it is demented, however, but considering the talent that you show, I would say that your dance card is punched. :)
Ma Salaama
Khadijah