No regrets, No translation #poetry #children

Open the door to the past

look just there

toward the horizon of unfulfilled dreams

can you see her

yes she was the county’s beauty queen


the broad young man

in  red and gold

our school’s rising star

making an unbelievable catch

what stories could be told


I wanted nothing more

than to save children

average unassuming doctor

where there was no translation

just a need to be helped

with pediatric medicine


but beauty queens get old and dye their hair

football stars break a leg

drink beer in a lazy chair

and smart kids with no money

go on any one’s coat tails

to third world countries


in the end did it really matter

that she dyed her hair

that he beer cans scattered

that all over the world she flew

offering hugs in languages

she barely knew

Leslie and child

Do you have regrets, something you aspired to and couldn’t do? Here’s your opportunity to write about it at the WordPress Daily Post.


From Boy To Man (guest poet Pete Marshall)

In time was once
A youthful man
Who raised his love
With tender hands
But love can die
In drudging style
As children spurn
Their shattered dreams.
Whilst lust withholds
A strangled whim
That tore through souls
And tortured him
He yearned & ached
For wanton things
Yet lost his life
In search of thee.
History speaks
Of journeys past
And those who walk
A lonely path
And as the moon
Is led away
Enslaved by dawn
This waking day
He looks out far
Across the blue
In thought of times
He doubted you.
The sun bore down
On ragged cliffs
As grass turned brown
In shaded crags
And winds tore through
His withered bones
As dryness scorched
His ravaged lips.
Gulls that cried
& rode the breeze
And tears that spat
On fallen leaves
On sodden ground
Which once was green
Friends spoke words
That drove him on.
As light seeps in
& journeys far
Through open mouth
Beyond the depths
It travels down
To hold the root
Of ravaged doubts
And masked regrets.
Whilst friends would lead
Their merry lives
You looked beyond
Your loving wife
And spat a taste
Of foul disease
That sneered at life
And all you see.
Now as you stand
Upon this cliff
And count the flags
That gently bob
That mark the traps
Ensnared by Man
For those who trace
Their lobster pots
A chilling breeze
Will wake a tree
That stirs & drops
Its weary leaves
A voice is hushed
But fraught in tones
From boy to man
You walk alone.
Thank you to Pete Marshall for sharing his beautiful poem on my site. Go to
Thanks to quinn.anya for the photograph “Man Alone”