Sunday Funday 10/15/17

Each and every Sunday, we share a poem to lighten our soul. Comment your thoughts, short story or any poem you will love to see in a future post. Don’t forget to follow us like and share.

Wheels

My brother kept

in a frame on the wall

pictures of every motorcycle, car, truck:

in his rusted out Impala convertible

wearing his cap and gown

waving

in his yellow Barracuda

with a girl leaning into him

waving

on his Honda 350

waving

on his Honda 750 with the boys

holding a beer

waving

in his first rig

wearing a baseball hat backwards

waving

in his Mercury Montego

getting married

waving

in his black LTD

trying to sell real estate

waving

back to driving trucks

a shiny new rig

waving

on his Harley Sportster

with his wife on the back

waving

his son in a car seat

with his own steering wheel

my brother leaning over him

in an old Ford pickup

and they are

waving

holding a wrench a rag

a hose a shammy

waving.
My brother helmetless

rides off on his Harley

waving

my brother’s feet

rarely touch the ground-

waving waving

face pressed to the wind

no camera to save him. 

—Jim Daniels

Sunday Funday 9/8/17

Sunday Funday
Each and every Sunday, we share a poem to lighten our soul. Comment your thoughts, short story or any poems you will love to see in a future post. Don’t forget to follow us like and share.


The Quiet WorldBY JEFFREY MCDANIEL

In an effort to get people to look 

into each other’s eyes more, 

and also to appease the mutes, 

the government has decided 

to allot each person exactly one hundred   

and sixty-seven words, per day. 
When the phone rings, I put it to my ear   

without saying hello. In the restaurant   

I point at chicken noodle soup. 

I am adjusting well to the new way. 
Late at night, I call my long distance lover,   

proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.   

I saved the rest for you. 
When she doesn’t respond, 

I know she’s used up all her words,   

so I slowly whisper I love you 

thirty-two and a third times. 

After that, we just sit on the line   

and listen to each other breathe.

Family Day Out

Sunday Funday
Each and every Sunday, we share a poem to lighten our soul. Comment your thoughts, short story or any poem you will love to see in a future post. Don’t forget to follow us like and share.

Life’s Scars
By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
They say the world is round, and yet

I often think it square,

So many little hurts we get

From corners here and there.

But one great truth in life I’ve found,

While journeying to the West-

The only folks who really wound

Are those we love the best. 
The man you thoroughly despise

Can rouse your wrath, ’tis true;

Annoyance in your heart will rise

At things mere strangers do;

But those are only passing ills;

This rule all lives will prove;

The rankling wound which aches and thrills

Is dealt by hands we love. 
The choicest garb, the sweetest grace,

Are oft to strangers shown;

The careless mien, the frowning face,

Are given to our own.

We flatter those we scarcely know,

We please the fleeting guest,

And deal full many a thoughtless blow

To those who love us best. 
Love does not grow on every tree,

Nor true hearts yearly bloom.

Alas for those who only see

This cut across a tomb!

But, soon or late, the fact grows plain

To all through sorrow’s test:

The only folks who give us pain

Are those we love the best.