HOLIDAY DEATH

DUELING HOLIDAYS

Today is the day

            when ghosts and goblins play

            porch lights shine

            rivers of candy flow

Sadness lingers throughout

            redness and water cloud the eyes

            family and friends sit stunned

            questions overpower the candy

Thirty four years ago on a

            cold Christmas morn

            we gazed at your smile

            dreamed of the future

Over the years we learned to

            listen to your words

            watched as you grew into a man,

            husband and father

You wore the uniform of

            a country you loved so much

            your flag flew high

            patriotism brought you to your knees

You married the love

            of your life, on that warm

            Fourth of July, promising

            to be forever present

Your son shines your smile and

            wonders why, you won’t be there

            to play your goblin tricks

            when they ask for treats

Today is the day when

            darkness came before the sun

            set in this small country town

            you loved so much

You came to earth on

            such a joyous day

            but you left on the

            day of ghosts and goblins

You were a child of the holidays

            Christmas is joyous no more

            life without you is so hard

            you are forever with your father

The memories you left behind

            are all I have –

            the smiles, laughs, jokes and pranks

            but mostly the love we shared

Holidays will duel again this year, and

            will bring back the memories

            of a son who shines brightly

            in the heavens looking down

QUESTIONING LOVE

WHY?

 

Why? Is it me?

 

 

Or is your heart…

…not part

of this…

 

Is it you?

 

Or is your heart…

…not part

of this…

Or is it just us?

 

Not the right time…

…not the right place

 

Just why…is it not me?

 

                                                                        Written by Marilyn Duncan-Buck

                                                                        Copyright 2009

SHORT POEMS WITH BIG MEANINGS

 

MY STORY

 

Should I begin…

“Once upon a time”

Or should it be…

“Many years ago”

Where do I start…

Or begin the story

The middle flows out…

Or in – however

Then there is the end…

Where does it stop?

Or does it?

 

                                                            Written by Marilyn Duncan – Buck

                                                            Copyright 2008

NON-TRADITIONAL POEM FORMATS

WHERE WILL IT GO>OR WILL IT GO

 

You say you can>But can you say>Today you will>Or will you today>Make the most of

your time>Or time the most>Can you decide to do it>Or do it and decide>Will you

achieve>Or achieve what you will>Can we believe what you say>Or do you say what

you believe>Can you see what is ahead>Or ahead do you see>Do you know what you

mean>Or mean what you know>Can you forget what today is>Or today will you

forget>Do you understand what I say>Or do I say to understand>Is it fun to be here>Or

here is it fun>Can you learn by this>Or will this you learn>Can we continue forever>Or

will forever continue>What is confusing>Or is confusing what is>I can go on>But on

will I go

 

Non-traditional format created and written by Marilyn Duncan – Buck

Copyright 2004

FAMILY

YOU ARE MISSED

 

Seven years ago today…

…you left us

…your short battle came to an end

…your courageous life cut short

 

You are so missed.

 

With each new day, I now see

…through your eyes

…the beauty you so enjoyed

You are so missed

You taught me to appreciate each day

…the colors of a new rainbow

…the fresh snow on a mountain top

…the beauty of a peaceful stream

…the love of a family

I wish we would have had more time,

so I could have learned better.

I miss your firm hand,

leading us down the path.

 

Without you life is hard

…no one to share thoughts and fears with

…there is so much sadness in my heart

…I miss our talks and your advice

Remember always daddy, you are so missed.

 

                                                                       Written by Marilyn Duncan – Buck

                                                                        Copyright 2003

 

WHAT IF POEMS

WHAT WOULD YOU “SEE”

 

If you closed your eyes,

and could not see…

 

…the beauty of a rose,

how would it be?

 

Would you savor its sweet smell?

Or touch the velvet petals.

 

…the radiant color of each bud

…or the beauty of its long sleek stem.

 

Or would a water drop on a leaf stand out

or would the love in the eyes of the receiver reveal the beauty.

 

If you closed your eyes,

and could not see.

 

                                                                                    Written by Marilyn Duncan – Buck

                                                                                    Copyright 2004

 

SHORT STORY #2

THE SHORT STORY WITHIN

 

It was a crisp clear autumn evening. The breeze lightly pushing through the open

            window, causing the freshly starched curtains to flutter lightly. It was clear that

            the seasons were changing. The hot humid summer had been nudged aside by the

            fall air. This is my favorite time of the year to write. After all, I must give myself

            plenty of reading material for those long winter nights.

 

The cool smell of the autumn lingered in the room. In the near distance I could hear the

            sounds of the leaves rustling in the trees. They seem to be working hard to free

            themselves, eventually making their way to the ground. It seems like a perfect

            evening to ponder thoughts and transcribe them to paper. I glanced around

            looking for inspiration. Thinking, surely something would jar these brain cells.

 

As I stood in the breeze, which gently engulfed the room, my attention turned to the

            drifting aroma of freshly brewed coffee. I turned to the computer and flipped the

            switch. Then as if in a trance, followed the aroma to the kitchen, there on the

            cabinet was the source of the aroma, the trophy – fresh coffee. It seemed to be

            gently calling my name. I retrieved my favorite cup from the cupboard and  

            carefully poured the coffee – my diamond in the rough. The fragrant stimulant

            started to open the clogged cells of my brain. Savoring my first sip, I puttered

            back into the other room. Standing over my desk, I looked at the stacks of

            scribbled notes. Somewhere in this pile there was surely an inspiration.

 

Taking another sip of the coffee, I nestled into my chair. My attention was diverted out

            the open window. As if in a daze, I found myself gazing out into the open world

            beyond. Breathing in the crisp evening air – I became engulfed in thought. Where

            do I start? When do I stop? What do I really say? Time seemed to stand still, or

            moving at the pace of a snail. I seemed to be digging deeper into my thoughts to

            grab onto some sort of short story.

 

Suddenly – CRACK – the sound of a branch falling from the tree outside, broke my spell.

            I shifted in the chair, and looked in amazement at the computer screen. It seems

            that while I was stranded somewhere in the realm of deep thoughts, the little short

            story fairy took over. The screen was full of very descriptive words. Each

            sentence was complete and correctly punctuated. Wow! This is great! Reading it

            over, I suddenly declared – this short story is complete.

 

                                                Written by Marilyn Duncan – Buck

                                                Copyright 2009

FAMILY PASSING

TWELVE YEAR PASS                             

Twelve years have passed.

At times moving fast –

then slowing down to the

movements of a snail.

 

Each day begins, and then it ends.

Moments with you I spend,

remembering the lessons

you taught and explained

along the way.

 

Swirling winds bring your words

of wisdom and knowledge – hard lessons

learned – you taught me

to listen so carefully to every howl.

 

The cool crisp air of fall brings a chill.

I reach for a wrap –

but you are there with arms opened wide

the warmth of your hugs has not faded.

 

Rain is falling now a new rainbow waits.

Your artistic eyes caught the vivid colors

on your palette, and with each stroke, your

brush reflected your vision.

The beauty of the view you shared for

others to see.

 

Your strong will to live life to

it’s fullest – has been passed on.

All that remember, watched the

courageous battle within, as you

marched to glory in full uniform –

head held high!

 

As the rain fell that fall night 12 years past,

you gave your salute and marched off

to find a new land.

The tears of that night were real, but concealed

by the rain.

 

When daylight came and the rain stopped

eyes opened to a new day, alone and in dismay.

The rainbow appeared – first ever

bright, then graciously fading.

It was as if you were saying as you

traveled your new path.

“Today’s a new day, you will be fine.”

 

I smile as I look to the heavens now,

knowing with each rainbow to come

your mark will be seen, your presence

will be known and you will continue to say

to all.

“Today’s a new day, and you will be fine.”

                                                            Written by Marilyn Duncan - Buck

                                                             Copyright 2006

                                                             Published 2006

 

 

SEASONS

THE DANCE

Standing tall…

…dressed up in green

 

Leaves all a flutter…

…branches swaying in the breeze

 

Dancing to the music…

…of the birds chirping

 

Green turns to gold…

…breezes turn to chills

 

The beat picks up…

…leaves begin to fall

 

The dance becomes faster…

…falling to the ground

 

Brown becomes the color…

…of the bare branches

The music has stopped.

Winter is here!

 

Written by Marilyn Duncan – Buck

Copyright 2008



60's POEM

ARE TIMES REALLY  DIFFERENT?

Where were you?

                Do you remember?

                                Or do you care?

Many years have expired

                since the nerve

                                was tapped

                                                and they gathered –

                liars, lovers, prophets, profiteers,

                                and protesters

Max Yasgur’s farm became

                the stage

                                and peace was the act

Feeling invincible

                and angry at once

                                lives touched

                                                forever locked in time

                peace was the word

                                non-conformists heed the cry –

                cross the border or you are sure to die

from dusk to dawn – four days moved on

                blood, sweat and tears

                                echoed throughout

conditions were horrific –

                no food, rain poured down, sanitation was the pit

                                2 inches of mud became a game

but the chants continued – all is well

                in the depths of the field

                                the herds continued to roam

                                                grateful dead showed them the way

psychic spider infestations loomed

                throughout

                                and love flowed freely

The who made it happen – in the field

                where 500,000 gathered

Those days are now the past.  Did it

                help? Is there regret? Where were you?

                                Do you remember?

Or is remembering hard?                     

 

                                                                      Written by Marilyn Duncan - Buck

                                                                       Copyright 2006

                                                                       Published 2006

 

 

 

SHORT STORY

I DIDN’T KNOW HIS NAME

                The fall air coming through the open window was drawing my attention to what was beyond. The soft flittering of the crisp white curtains seemed to be motioning me to look out. Walking to the window, the smell of the crisp fresh autumn air filled the room, and the sounds of the chirping birds became sharper. They would soon be gone, heading for their homes further south. The approaching hard winters of mid-Missouri were too much for many of them.

                As I turned from the window, the teapot on the stove began to whistle. The water had come to the temperature necessary to prepare that proper cup of the English tea I so loved. I scooped the tea into the metal ball, placing it in the teapot, and poured hot water over it, just like I had been taught. It would steep while I prepared my cup – one teaspoon of honey and a smidge of cream. When the tea was ready, I carefully poured it into the cup and watched as the black tea became a dark brown. I had my perfect cup of properly prepared tea. As I took my first sip, I glanced down at the scribbled notes that lay on the counter. Why do I make such notes and lists, they never seem to get completed. But today had to be different  - a short story had to be written.

                I had been promising myself for a couple of weeks that I would write for at least thirty minutes every day – another broken promise. As I continued sipping on the relaxing tea, I gazed out the window – as if to reach out there for an idea. Unsure where I even wanted to go with this story, I pondered ideas over and over. Nothing seemed to click. The notes were ideas, which I was hoping would turn into a story. I went over them with a sharp eye for just the right idea.

                My thoughts began drifting to something that had happened at school last week. I was amused as I thought, so I decided to write down some of my thoughts from this event – just for the future. This event happened while I sat in the sterile hallway of the Resource Building, waiting for a class to begin. I was always early so sitting there was somewhat relaxing for me between classes. This day provided a little more entertainment than usual. Seems one of the residents of the school might be lost in this lower level of the building. He seemed somewhat confused as to which room he should be going into, or out of.  It was becoming rather comical as he darted in and out. I almost wanted to shout out – “the other way.” I noticed he went into a vacant room, and stayed in there for some time. I was concerned that he might be hiding. So I turned my attention to a magazine on the table.

                Several minutes later, there he was again, this time walking very close to the walls. I shifted out of his way so that he could make it by my chair. He continued on, sometimes fast, other times at a slower pace. I lost him again; he had gone around the corner. Then without realizing it, he reappeared. This time he was standing in the middle of the room, looking like he wanted some help with directions. I wasn’t very good at it, I didn’t speak his language. Suddenly he whirled around by the janitor cleaning the bathrooms. He barely missed his demise. I became worried that there might be a very gruesome accident about to happen and I certainly didn’t want to be witness to the event. It just wasn’t my day for blood and guts to be splattered about the hallway. The janitor just looked at him, then me and smiled.

 

                 I took my eyes off of him for some time to talk to fellow students. They had also noticed the confusion of this resident. We laughed at how he seemed to be totally lost and confused, and there was little we could do to help him – we didn’t speak his language. As we watched him try one more time to cross the room and try to regain his composure, another student said he was going to help him. We watched as the student picked up this rather large water bug and carry him gently outside to a tree, where he placed him on the ground. Maybe now he would find his proper home, and become less confused. He seemed to be thanking us for saving him. We all watched as he turned and walked confidently through the blades of the green grass, and after a short time we lost sight of him. He must be headed in the right direction, or so we hoped.

               

Written by Marilyn Duncan – Buck

Copyright 2007