she does scrimshaw

she d❤es scrimshaw

she does scrimshaw on roses,
her velvety touch,
she does marvelous work
maybe a little too much
she uses red ones and white ones
and pink ones too
you'd be amazed at the carving that she can do
she engraves love symbols, like hearts and flowers
she can do this so long, for hours and hours

she started her scroll-work in another place, too
lately she carves on my heart,
what can i do?
my heart trembles and shivers
when she sculpts away
she's taken to doing this everyday
she carefully, softly, carves with her scrimshander's art
i can feel the markings when we're apart
deftly, her fine tools carve and create
i sit still for her artwork, no matter how late

she's engraved her name in the center, so deep
she said it's forever, it's there for keeps
i never objected and i never will
her artistry enthralls me
her love ever fills

❤ ❤ ❤

More love poetry here.

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old friends

old friends searched online for former friends surprised to see untimely ends friends, their spouses, moms and dads sad to see the deaths they had the inexorable tick and tock of time, leads us all to fields, sublime through twisting, turning hands of fate, soon we'll all be known as "late" years roll on, time is passed no one knows how long it lasts each life is counted out by days as friends we oft go separate ways friend's faces show the lines of age as each one turns his separate page fools fleeting time waits for no man eighty years our lives may span so count your days with special care for who knows how, who knows where our beating hearts will one day stop find old friends before they drop © 2014 ajwrites57 A Long ❤ ❤ ❤ Image adapted: By SDRandCo via morguefile.com

can't wait

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again if i could walk those golden streets again and sing those glad olden songs so sweet again if i could feel those pounding jungle beats again and touch those rumbling thronging beasts again if i could dance those daring double steps again and twirl the girls 'round their swinging hips again if I could swim those clear summer lakes again and float lazily where the cool current takes again if i could sit in playful grade-school seats again and draw where pencil and yellow paper meets again if i could run the asphalt baseball fields again and slap the rubber balls off car windshields again if i could fold daily newspaper sheets again in pre-dawn drowsiness on city streets again if i could gaily play in hot summer rains again and watch the water run into sewer-drains again if i could tackle tough and rumble players again and run through football teams like a laser again if i could frolic in frigid cold and icy snow again and not fear near fro...

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