Tag Archives: The Boi Poet

Gazing Up At The Stars

Gazing up at the stars too numerous to count,

I wonder…am I alone in this universe,

But how could I be alone in this great vastness?

How many planets are out there,

Invisible to the naked eye,

Invisible to the most powerful of human invention?

What wondrous life must surely exist

Somewhere under these uncharted atmospheres,

Somewhere beyond our mortal senses.

Only our own arrogance could blind us to the possibility,

That we are not solitary creatures.

For now, dreams of faraway places will have to suffice,

Living in my vivid imagination

Until proof can be delivered by the skeptics.

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco~~

~

Prompt Courtesy Of: Jeremy’s Daily Challenge – Tuesday Conundrum 15 April

Prompt Word: Atmospheres

Looking Through Boxes

Looking through boxes,

Rummaging through bags,

Scouring cupboards,

Searching for my treasure of youth.

No, it holds no great monetary worth,

Really its nothing but a novelty.

Red and White soup can labels exchanged for it,

Cherub-faced little boy stamped at the bottom.

That was me back then,

Before time changed things.

Like me, its glaze has weathered,

Whiteness has turned yellow with age.

Its smooth skin is showing cracks,

The pristine edge flawed and jagged

Still it serves its purpose as designed.

My Campbell’s Soup bowl–chipped,

Would be trash to many,

But to me it is a priceless treasure.

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

~

 PROMPT: A chipped bowl

Tuesdays Conundrum 11 March by Jez Farmer at The Boi Poet blog

 

Peace, Goodwill Towards Men

Peace, goodwill towards men–

I believed this once,

A long, long time ago it seems.

I can still remember her smile,

The love of my life,

Us…hand-in-hand,

Not a care in our perfect little world.

And the kids–

Oh how they loved Christmas.

Not just the presents,

The paper, the bows,

But the time we spent together.

We were a family,

A perfect design by Hallmark.

Now she’s gone,

The years were not kind to her;

And the kids–,

Grown, families of their own–

Don’t come around much anymore.

Hell, I don’t remember the last time.

The gesture of a card would be nice

Just to let me know they cared,

That they remembered me,

But no…

It was not meant to be,

Alone I sit, stranded for the holidays.

This wasn’t how I saw my later years,

Aged, lonely,

Awaiting the ghost of Christmas past.

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

~

Prompt Word: Stranded

 Writing Prompt: Tuesday’s Thinking 17 December – By Jeremy Farmer – The Boi Poet