Here's another challenge I thought might be fun. It combines ideas from both the Haiku Challenge and the Alliteration Challenge.
Since I seem to have developed a poetic itch that demands scratching I couldn't resist the chance to begin an ongoing rhyming poetry thread:

RULES

• Fashion together at least one four-line stanza (quatrain) using any of the following rhyme schemes:

  - single-rhyme:                    xbyb
  - cross-rhyme:                     abab
  - envelope rhyme:               abba
  - opposed couplets:            aabb
  - Omar Khayyam stanza:     aaxa
  - monorhyme:                      aaaa

  The groups of letters above (ie. xbyb) represent which lines should rhyme with which other lines.
  For example, the rhyming scheme 'abab' means that lines 1 and 3 (a and a) should rhyme with each other, as should lines 2 and 4 (b and b).

  The poem may consist of as many four-line stanzas as you like.

  (To be honest, it doesn't really matter what structure your poem takes, just as long as it rhymes.)

• The first word of the poem must rhyme with the last word of the previous poem (the exact word may be used).

• In addition to this, the current poet is to elect a title for the next poem.
    For example: "The Hare and the Tortoise", "A Sumptuous Feast", "Courting Conundrums", "Forest by Moonlight".
    This title will help determine the subject matter of the poem to follow.

• If the situation arises whereby you have composed a poem and discover someone else has already submitted one (under the same title) then you may still submit your own, as I'm sure you wouldn't want all your creative efforts to go to waste (plus I'm sure other poetry enthusiasts would enjoy reading it). In this case, however, there will be no need for you to choose a title for the next poem, as a new title and rhyme word would already have been set by the poet of the first poem submitted.

So without further ado, let's start the rhythmic wheels turning:

• The Day That Went Wrong -

I woke to the noise of the garbage truck,
As it screeched tight its compactor arm,
And realised with a panicked glance,
That I'd forgotten to set my alarm.

With fumbling haste I wrestled with clothes,
Tripped over and banged my head,
Fetched up a piece of cold blackened toast,
And out the door I fled.

I leapt in the car and roared off down the road,
In a blazing streak of fire,
When with a bang and a jolt, my ride slowed to a halt,
And I learnt that I'd blown out a tyre.

Ditching the wheels I ran through the park,
So enraged I felt I might burst,
Being careful to avoid large puddles of mud,
Yet I slipped and fell in face-first.

Seething now with intensified fury,
Bruised, begrimed and berserk,
I calmed myself, taking solace in the knowledge,
That I had at last arrived at work.

The boss eyed me oddly from across the floor,
And approached with an unsettling cough,
He looked me up and down, his face formed a frown,
And said, "Isn't this your day off?"

--

Silly, I seem to have made it part-limerick in places. The metering was wrongfully neglected too and needs attention as this attempt is lacking a smooth flow due to haphazard syllable counts.
Still, it's all about having fun with poetry.

Remember, the next poem must begin with a word that rhymes with 'off' (or begin with 'Off' itself).

Title: The Unexpected Guest

The Unexpected Guest

Loft held no comfort this cold rainy evening
the presents of others, thick in the air.
I knew I had problems when he came with his readings
I had not the patients to spare.

He made comfort statements
as I wrestled pen in hand.
He will have to leave soon
I cannot take this
Tomorrow will start with a plan.

Title: The Junk Drawer

• The Junk Drawer -

Can it be time to face the most avoided of domestic chores:
The slow and painfully arduous task of clearing out my drawers.

One drawer in particular proved quite handy for things to stash,
In which over the years has gathered such an array of worthless trash.

Be it keyrings, yo-yos, padlocks or pens, souvenirs, old photos or snacks,
Twist-ties, chess pieces, buttons or bills, or free toys from cereal packs.

Pocket knives, trail maps, sticky-tape or string, tazos or plastic figurines,
Rubber bands, sparklers, or mischievous junk, dating way back to my teens.

At length was I lost in fond recollection, discarding all I thought I'd not need,
When after hours and hours of toiling away, I had finally completed the deed.

Wiping tears of memory moist from my eyes, I peered at the drawer improved,
And slowly a smile crept over my face, when I saw there was nothing removed.

--

Dinhi: Welcome! It's great to have you on board. Nice first poem there, and superb choice of title as I just yesterday had to clear out my desk drawers of junk as I'm moving house very soon; the timing couldn't be more perfect, so you may be amused to know that my resultant poem is actually true! (Well, except for the tears; those were just for dramatic effect.. um, yeah.. )

Title: Troubled Times

Attached Link: Troubled Times

J. M. Strother

Moved beyond tears I stand
On grasses green and freshly mown
Affairs of State, so cleverly planned
Sadly reaps what we have sown

Across this broad and troubled land
Fly tiny flags, on breezes blown,
To mark those lost in desert sands,
heroes, fallen before full grown.

Though Presidents and Kings may plan
To take up swords so carefully honed,
Fate dances not to their command
And sits upon His own broad throne.

Our children struggle to understand,
While they are left to grieve and moan,
Why they should pay what fate demands
When these affairs were not their own.

Next title: Life Song

--Life Song--

Bone tingling sounds surrounded the day,
I lay here in wait for the chorus.
Wonderful notes dance harmonious play,
I have yet to sit up and take notice.

Surely I have heard it, this is not the first time!
A pounding so strong as to make
my bones quiver, and make head chime.
Surely I have, and I bear no mistake,
for this song is my soul, it's life's song that I make!

Thanks Drekinn, all in fun... 

Title:  The Blue Barn

The Blue Barn
J. M. StrotherTake in now the forgotten ways
Where blue barn stands in lonely field,
Silent sentry of bygone days.
All around unmown lawn conceals
Those lying 'neith the hardpack clay.
Parting the black-eyed susans revels
Ancients laying in forgotten graves.

The old ways gone, to time did yield.

Nice one, Dinhi. Here's another to keep it going.

Title: Skid Row

~jon

--Skid Row--

Shielded by what time has erased
This once was my home,
It now lay in waste.

Many a man now sit here alone,
wasting away in their sadness.
Many a woman shivers and moans,
wandering aimless in madness.

Time has laid rest to a once luscious space,
forgotten for now by my address.
The light up ahead brings some relative grace,
the sign clearly states Skid Row's bandits.

Wow, all I could see with that title were dark streets and poor lost souls....Hope the next one has some sunshine in it!  

Title: ~~The Carnival~~

Tag your it Jon 

The Carnival

Glitz and glamour await you,
As the carnival arrives in town,
Munch fairy floss and pluto-pups,
And meet old Bozo the clown.

With coasters to ride and castles to bound,
And magical shows to see,
Face paints, balloons and make-believe,
Or the shooting gallery.

Laugh and cry at pantomimes,
Share giggles with family and friends,
Gawp at the hall of mirrors,
As your image warps and bends.

Stroll across to the striped big top,
To grab the front-row seats,
And watch in awe as acrobats,
Perform death-defying feats.

Marvel at skilful jugglers,
Tossing coloured balls and knives,
Gasp in sheer amazement,
As lion tamers risk their lives.

Gather round the farmyards,
To view animals on parade,
Quench your thirst with cherry soda,
Or home-style lemonade.

Brave the spooky ghost train ride,
Or opt for the merry-go-round,
Speed down the giant slippery-dip,
Or be launched right off the ground.

When the day of fun is over,
And your face is filled with glee,
Look to the night sky and cheer with joy,
At the spectacular fireworks finale.

--

Whoa, I didn't expect such a quick influx of impromptu verse; I almost feel left out, but equally delighted that others have joined in with creative gusto.
Wonderful poems too, especially your politically poignant 'Troubled Times', jstro; very effective.

Title: The Secret Door

Sally told the tale, but I  remember the day, as clear as glass,
I passed though the hall on my way to class.
I knew my place, as everyone did, 
we had a task and were bound to it.

The hall, in memory was long and narrow.
One door to the left  was fashioned with strips,
the one to the right that was draped in sorrow.

A curious sorrow, as only a child knows,
I took that door a long, long time ago.
My secrete door, my sacred space
I knew once I entered there was no escape.

One morning I dared and collected my things,
one flash light, one candle, one small chimpanzee.
Yes, my chimpanzee made the journey,
his foresight, his strength, gave me reckon not to fret 
my next great escape.

We made our way into this wonderful space,
my chimp and I discovered with much great  haste that
to be in is great but to be lost is a waste!

We found our way in but not the way out,
deciding that each others company was without a doubt
the best of all secretes we will never give out.

Title:  Orange Marmalade 

D: that was awesome!  I cannot think about writing, I just do it!  I hope you have fun with this one, I know I did!  I need a chimpanzee now...LOL

I cannot get a bite on my title, so I will try again....

Out in the kitchen my mother would brew;
Smells of cinnamon, brown sugar and musty old fruit
I remember those times very, very well
as I hated the scents, and I hated those smells.

I never told mom how much I disliked
the scents of her canned presentations
I only let on that I always liked
to be with her while she created.

To this day I get gifts of her Marmalade delights,
I enjoy them with tremendous pleasure
for one day will come a time of great strife
when my mom will no longer make Orange treasures.

Title: Traffic Jam

Please someone play.....

Traffic Jam

Measures planned prove useless,
To avoid the cruel metal snake,
Which weaves its mass throughout the land,
And strikes those in its wake.

A slow and painful journey,
Frustrate it all the more,
Honking horns and cursing tones,
Combine to form its roar.

Its countless eyes glow evil red,
And pierce you with their glare,
Inflicting wrath upon its prey,
Enticing to its lair.

In time its firm grasp loosens up,
Freeing you from its spell,
At which point you check your wrist-watch,
And exclaim, "Oh, bloody hell!"

--

Dinhi: Sorry for the delay; spare time is not always in my favour. Though, be reassured that I will always, however belated, rise to the challenge and respond with a poem.

Title: Whispers in the Woods

Whispers in the Woods

I sit in the forest of my mind,
and urgently seek an answer.
My body is wracked with cancer,
the end of my life fully outlned

How do I cope with this pain?
I ask of the whispers in the air.
I curse this disease, my bane,
It has taken from me my hair.

I rise and slowly make my way,
heading for home and my bed.
I struggle to keep the agony at bay,
my questions still in my head.

But I do not need an answer though;
I know that it is my time to die.
Oh how I wish it wasn't my time to go,
But on to the next adventure, there go I.

Figured I'd give it a shot...

Title: The Greatest Muse

~The Greatest Muse~

Riding the train home, I thought long and hard
As I watched with one eye, this man from a far.

He seemed to know just what he wanted to find,
As he petted his coat, and brushed his behind.

I could hear him mumbling something coherent,
a bit from past history, a poetic servant.

A man with a prose that I pined hard to hear,
but to look at too closely, brought me to fear.

One eye was all I could muster to chose
as I watched him this day, the trains greatest muse.

Title: The Glass was Half Full

What a great adventure Kaleign! 

Ooh, you beat me by three minutes! Well off to ponder half full glasses. ;-)
~jon

I know my last one oops'ed a little by not starting with the correct word...let me see if i can do it right thing time...lol

The Glass was Half Full

Accuse me of being too chipper?
Well I guess I can live with that.
Call me too positive and upbeat?
Well, I suppose I got that down pat.

There's no mistaking the smile,
I am definitely not full of bull.
You think I am too cheerful for you?
Well, I do think the glass is half full.

Title:  Can You See What I See?

Don't run too far Jon!

Can You See What I See?

Can you see what I see, when I close my eyes?
The thundering surf, the October skies?
The gulls wheeling freely, the white capped surf?
Is there a more perfect place on this Earth?

Perhaps the deep yellow, of midsummer haze?
The basking in meadows, of halcyon days?
The sky overhead an incredible hue,
Is there a name for that perfect blue?

Then again there's the sensation of incredible bliss,
Of colour and forever during my lovers kiss!
The feeling of soaring, of life flying by
the gentle soft landing, that ends with a sigh?

 I don't think you can see them, these thing that I see.
I think that they are visions, meant only for me.
The sights of my world, that stay hidden and mine
Can only be seen in the words of my rhyme!

Well that was fun. I have always enjoyed stuff like this. Now someone else, I really liked the idea of Junk Drawer. I'm glad to see so many folks here.
Ok really someone else!
How about,
"Why Are Green Sneakers?"

~Why are Green Sneakers?~

Buying sneakers that day was really a hoot,
so many colors, I looked at each foot,
and wondered if red was the one I would scoop.

I glanced long and hard at the shape of my feet,
each one was different, and neither petite.

Box after box I tried to no avail,
Why are green sneakers the only on sale?

I probably break every rule of grammer, but I am having a great deal of fun!

Title:  Moving Day

Moving Day

Hail!  Hail!, Celebrate!
It that special day of days!
Hail!  Hail!  Celebrate!
we all have our ways.

It's the holiday 'fore the next day,
after today, in our mind.
Sunny or cloudy, rain or shine,
A great day, you will find.

So Happy Moving Day to you,
celebrate with high spirits!
Let our a laugh, a chuckle,
there's no reason to fear it.

Next Title:  There's a Pale Whale in the Mail

~There's a Pale Whale it the Mail~

It was a slow morning for me,
the day I found my mail.
Don't get me wrong, I believed
the day had much to bring for me.

I watched as the postman came and went;
He was no stranger to me.
What I found was very different though,
a song from deep within the sea.

I opened the letter to find
a song that was written in long ago time,
a song that was rich in symbolic nature
one that attracted my curious nature.

Sing sweet the tune of fish and of whales,
I will sit still and listen, and give not a bit
of angst for your song, as I fly on your sales....
I was grateful that morning for a pale whale in my mail.

Title: We made Eye contact

We Made Eye Contact

It is a curious thing to meet with each other,
on our world it is even considered rare.
Most of us stay where we live, never leaving,
too much adventure, no one would dare.

And so it was quite bizarre for me that day,
to have made eye contact with his one.
Quite possibly, even more incredible this,
that I have no eye by which to see, none. 

Next Title:  "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

~Yes! Yes! Yes!~

One by one they filtered though,
emotionless faces, all painted blue.
On a journey to the room with a view,
they traveled in pairs, two by two.

Two by two they never spoke
they never smiled, they never joked.
They traveled silent, holding hands
as they tiptoed though the burning sand.

Their destination many miles away,
in unison they glanced at their maps and exclaimed:
"Yes! Yes! Yes! This is the right way!"

Back to the silence they traveled on,
a room with a view was their map and their song.
Yes it would come, and yes this was the way
they traveled in pairs on that very hot day.

Title: The Old Chevy

The Old Chevy

It was a Chevelle SS 396
Boys and Hot cars what a mix
The girls thought I was nuts for sure
They just didn't see the allure!

What more could one ask at sweet sixteen
Than A hot teenaged guy, and a hot machine!
When we were there at the starting line
The attention of the guys was mine all mine

I had wrenches in my pocket and oil for blood
I knew my way around under the hood
We took them all on one at a time
Left them crying at the starting line

I raced that car all summer long
"Stand On It" was my favorite song
That was my best summer of all
Now even in my fifties I hear the call

The roar of the engines, the flash of the flag
Another car leaps, but loses the drag
I'l always remember his kiss on my lips
But treasure even more all those lovely pink slips!

In case anyone's in the dark we raced for registration pink slips, I'm not talking about ladies undies! Sadly on the first day of school, called by the siren song of young love I let bonehead drive my car to school, Yep he totaled it! I never forgave him.

Ok, let's see how about his excuse

"But Honey, it wasn't my fault!"

~But Honey, it wasn't my fault!~

Dipping once more into the forbidden jar,
not wanting to get caught, just wanting to get far,
far away from from the dull moments that 
made up my simpleton day.

After dinner he was quiet, the man of my dreams,
the one that thought time was lost in machines of
daily routines that would never get old,
shaped by monotony, this evening, his expression was cold.

"Did you dip in the jar, my sweet loving wife?"
he exclaimed as I felt my life drift out of sight.

"Yes my heart",  I said quickly, my words they did halt
when I bounced to my feet and exclaimed in revolt:
"But Honey, it wasn't my fault!"

Title: The Box in the Closet

Wow, that was tough BJ! 

The Box in the Closet

Halt! Do not attempt to open
The box that lies within,
These closet doors are tightly shut
To shield your eyes from sin.

Alas, you shun this warning
And the doors apart you prise,
With thrill you stand there motionless,
Transfixed with eager eyes.

Upon the topmost dusty shelf
Lies hid the jewel so sought,
A humble, string-tied cardboard box,
Indeed, who would have thought?

With delicate poise you reach up high
Whilst teetering from a chair,
And lower the box from its hiding place
With respect and utmost care.

A panicked scan of your parents' room
Ensures the coast is clear,
Allowing you to free the knot
That harbours all your fear.

With trembling hands and a nervous grin
Your heart skips a beat or two,
As you expose the contents of the box,
Of which rumours you'd hoped were true.

Peeling back the concealing layer
Of moth-chewed shirts and jeans,
You beam and proudly hold aloft
A host of girly magazines.

--

Fabulous poems everyone, especially BJ for 'The Old Chevy'; nicely worded.

Just a friendly reminder to everyone to adhere to the challenge rules of beginning your poem with a word which rhymes with the last word of the previous poem (or the exact word); it's all part of the 'challenge' (no cheating!).

Title: Bump in the Night

~Bump in the Night~

Magazines filled the room,
they were stacked much like idles
I have seen homes like this,
In my past travels.

My challenge that evening was not so simple,
My goal was to solve a  magazine riddle.
One not so easily imagined at first, but
one I knew would be well worth the risk.

I felt though the dark with the greatest of ease,
each mound that I crossed was laden it seemed,
with years of memories fragmented, though....
I felt the need to read each between,
there was something for me in these magazines...

Like a bump in the night I found why I came
a simple delight in one magazine, the time when 
I was a wee little girl on the cover of my home towns
Sentinel.

Thank you D!!! what fun! 

Title:  As I watied for the Train

As I Waited For The Train

Sentinel, he stands there, his expression seems pained
He's marked the seasons faithfully, got wet each time it rained
Stood steadfast through each blizzard, sighed in the summer heat
He's staunchly maintained his vigil, as he stands on leaden feet

The little girl capers gracefully, across the platform there
She skips and hops, and waves her arms in the sultry air
She stops and gazes up at him the sentinel of the place
She tells her why she's come here, he's touched by her grace

Her waiting is a joyous thing, "Daddy's coming home this way"
She's blissful in her celebration, "I turn four years old today"
"You can come to my party" she shyly smiles and and pats his knee
"If you come I'll save a spot, right there next to me"

The whistle sounds on down the track, she whirls to see the train
her foot gets caught between the boards, she'll have a nasty sprain
She teeters on the platforms edge, then tumbles toward the track
No one moved, the Earth stood still, then came a mighty CRACK

The sentinel's one mighty arm reached out and snatched her back
He set her down so gently, with an arm now strangely slack
The metal that encased him, in puddles around his feet
Perhaps this was the miracle, he'd been waiting here to meet

A tiny graceful stranger, with a kind word just for him
To start a warming in his heart, that lay trapped deep within
It melted him from the inside out, til he could move again
How touching that the first thing he did was save his tiny friend

I forgot about the last word thing, sorry is this better?

Hmm, let's see, how about
You Won't Believe What We Saw!

BJ: Much better. You see how the first word can determine the direction in which the poem takes? (This heightens the challenge). A most excellent poem by the way; a touching storyline with thoughtful characters; I especially admire the rhyming.

One last thing, if you could precede the name of the next poem with 'Title: ' it would help to distinguish it better. Thanks, and keep up the great work everyone.

~You Won't Believe What We Saw!~

Friend for a day was her greatest motto,
I took her challenge and proceeded to follow.

First Avenue was full of attractions,
I followed my friend for a day with distractions.

I could hear in the distance a noise so unreal,
as if the world over had come to congeal
on this warm summer day, on First Avenue.

You won't believe what we saw!
I cannot begin to explain!
People ran, people cried!
Many exclaimed "Oy Vey"!

And still to this day,
I shudder and wonder about my
friend for a day who got lost that hot summer.

Title: Scrap Book

Scrap Book
Summers in here from days long ago
The flat paper cup, and the little pink bow
A black and white picture of our lemonade stand
The hot summer sun, our feet in the sand

The fight with my Mom over wearing those bows
I laugh at it now, but that's how it goes
My hair was so short people thought me a boy
But those bows were so wretched they brought me no joy

Here's one from my teen years, a quick snap at the track
Lord does that ever bring memories back
The roar of the engines, the reek in the air
No sweeter sound, or perfume anywhere

Ahh here's my twins full of smiles and ice cream
During summers before not even a dream
I couldn't trade them, but they weren't in my plan
Summers long past, before that man

Here's a ribbon of pink that was loved from the start
The colour so dear to my middle child's heart
She's always been frilly so fragile and and demure
She's a Mom now too that's changed her for sure

Robin my sweet, my youngest offspring
Quite unexpected, but much joy did she bring
My dashing young cowgirl, in bluejeans and boots
They've grown to adulthood my tender young shoots

They have each found a life that makes them fulfilled
Through the laughter we've shared and tears that we spilled
So many pictures, and trinkets in here
to dream through them all would take many a year

I really should do it then add some more stuff
But that sound out my window is making it tough
My grand daughter's here, yelling come and play Nan
So I'll add to this later if only I can

There's so much to do, such things to go see
A world to explore my family and me
Fairies for watching and Magic to do
I'll leave this here on the table for you

OK I think you meant the title of the next Drekinn,so here it is
title.....The Kitchen Table
have fun

The Kitchen Table

True it seems, my love, that we have ventured every space;
Every nook of every room has known our passionate embrace:
From brisk boudoir gymnastics to a firm bonk in the shower,
To shagging madly upon the stairs, stopping only every hour.

A rogering in the sitting room, whilst watching the nightly news,
Or a quickie behind the laundry door before our midday snooze.
Not even are the kids' rooms spared when out they head to play,
As soon as they're gone we're up in their beds, happily grinding away.

From friendly hallway humpings to wrestling on the basement floor,
Those pleasurable porks in the pantry, so often it seems like a chore.
Randy romps on the patio, or in closets it's been said,
When rough and tumble is what we seek, we'll use the garden shed.

Indeed it seems that every spot has endured our fiery lust,
Though fret not, my love, as it happens, there is one last place to thrust:
Upon the kitchen table there, is our final sacred site,
To share our love and pasta-bake throughout this raunchy night.

--

Sorry, the idea just popped into my head and I couldn't resist. (Sorry also for any language considered inappropriate and/or offensive; it's all in fun.)

Dinhi: Nice work and imagery.
BJ: Simply wonderful imagery, and beautifully delivered; I have much to learn.

Title: The Curious Elephant

~The Curious Elephant~

Yearning to be anywhere than here, 
I found myself bound by an unmistakable fear.

Against my wishes and against my demands,
there I stood before the mighty grandstand.

"Come one come all! Excitement awaits!"
Take your turn, take your place,
and enter the gates!"

My mind it was reeling, my thoughts were a buzz,
my daughter she stood there, my husband was smug.

"Let's go Mommy, it's your turn to ride!"
"Don't be afraid, I'll be at your side!"

Ah, the thoughts of a child so young and so sweet, 
I thought as I lost all the feeling in my feet.
Surely this wasn't the worst that could be,
but my breath it was heavy, my heart in my knees.

As the kind man  looked upon the fear in my face,
my daughter nudged me forward, securing my place.
The ground it fell dizzyingly below, as I climbed
up and took my seat on his thrown.

As if to bring all of my fears into one,
the curious elephant lifted his trunk.
With a wisp of his snout, lay clean across my shoulder,
all fears swept aside and he strutted forward.

I wish I could remember the rest of this ride,
they say I passed out with a small muted sigh.
They tell me I fell but was quickly swept up
by the love of the curious elephants trunk.

Title:  As it Rained

As It Rained

Trunk full of memories, spread out on the floor,
Pieces of days that I'd loved through before.
The programs from plays, I'd helped stage in high school,
The shifter knob off the car, that made all the boys drool.

I sit weeping  among them, with nothing to do
Wrapped up in these thoughts, what'll I do without you?
The joy they once brought to me, the laughter, the bliss,
Pales in comparison, to a lost lovers kiss.

The rain on the roof, seems to echo my mood,
It strums out my pain as I sit here and brood.
The day is so gray as I sit here and weep,
What shall I toss, what do I want to keep?

The rose from our wedding, that once made me sneeze,
The flash of your smile, when you'd tickle and tease.
The hospital bands from the births of our kids,
Memories for auction, but I'll get no bids.

The pictures of places,  gone in  the earlier years, 
When I knew that you loved me, there weren't any fears,
The piles of our kids, in our family sized bed,
A love for the ages we were, so you said.

The days that you loved me and brought me such joy,
Run dripping with raindrops, or teardrops my boy.
I've let your desertion take a whole precious day,
The rain is still drumming as I pack them away.

The rain is still beating a tattoo on the roof,
But here bounding upstairs, screaming Mom is the proof.
That you can't take it all from me in that divorce court,
The things that you couldn't take, I call child support.

They fling themselves down in a frenzy of kisses,
I wonder sometimes, " Does he know what he misses?"
They wipe off my tears, full of the dust of past days,
"Come fix us a snack", my little one says.

They lead me back down to a house full of life,
The attic of memories, of a girl and a wife.
No longer important, as the recount their days,
They grow and fulfill me in so many ways.

I tried once to hate you, to revile your name,
But my life was much fuller after you came.
You left me broken, in a heap on the floor,
But the fix for the hurt, couldn't be bought in a store.

You left me these angels, this balm for my soul,
They have more than replaced the life that you stole.
They fill all of my hours with such unending cheer,
I only suffer that sadness, one time each year.

After crying all morning, in the attic alone,
I marvel at the sounds of joy in my home.
They fill it with laughter, these wonders of mine,
They ease the sadness, they create great new times.

I watch as they tease, and shoot juice out their noses,
I laugh as they, act out their days in fun poses.
The tension of this morning, runs away, as it drains,
We make laughing new memories, in our lives as it rains.

WOW!  Where did that come from?
How about 

HMM, " Where Did I leave It?"

Where Did I Leave It

Where did I leave it, the rest of my mind
I honestly don't miss it, most times I find
Although when I'm searching for stuff that I've lost
I stop and then wonder is this the cost?

Will I be endlessly searching for stuff I set down
Then simply can't find again, when I turn back around
Will I ever find anything right where it was set
Is this as good as half a mind gets

It started some time ago when I was a child
I was always a little crazy and wild
One day I was playing, with my marbles outside
The wind came and scattered them about far and wide

I searched and I searched and then finally I quit
They were gone, I had lost them, I was in a snit
Over the years I've looked off and on
But I never did find them My marbles are gone!

So I soldier on through my life, Half a fool
Don't worry about me I don't even drool
I just spend my time searching for things
Engaged in the pleasure of the treasures it brings

Perhaps one fine day when I'm peering about
The light will dawn and the sun will come out
And glistening there in the deep grass I'll find
My long lost marbles or the rest of my mind

Whops! Sorry, I forgot to leave a new title.

How about,

What The Faeries Left

Ah great, I'm very pleased to see continued enthusiasm for this thread. I myself have neglected to post a poem for some time, although I did whip up a quick one for my sister's birthday recently, which can be viewed here.

Lovely poem BJ.

Now, time for a bit of make-believe.

I'm currently working on a poem which I'll be posting here very soon. This notice is just to prevent this thread from dropping off the bottom of the forum page and seemingly into the spaceless void of long-forgotten prose and poetry.
How sad! :sad: (Or is there an archive I'm unaware of?).

What The Fairies Left

Kind as fairies are thought to be,
It came as much surprise to me,
Whilst strolling through the forest bright,
To witness such an awful sight:

Ahead upon the footpath bare,
Did lay a bloodied lifeless hare.
Aghast, I hastened to his side,
Deeply fearing he may have died.

At length he roused and moaned in pain,
And turned in hoping to explain,
But from his mouth all swollen red,
Flowed blood alone and much it bled.

At once I saw the reason why:
His pearly whites in short supply,
Yanked from his gums without consent,
By thieves unknown, with much torment.

He blubbed and held his aching jaw,
And pointed on with outstretched paw,
No doubt towards the wretched foe,
Who stole his teeth and off did go.

Along the path in hot pursuit,
I quickly ran to find the loot.
Not far a journey I had made,
A second victim in a glade:

This time a little squirrel friend,
Had met the same horrific end.
With warm blood streaming down her face,
She wheezed and pointed where to chase.

Determined now to catch the crook,
To make them pay for all they took,
I hurried on beyond the trees,
Prepared to pounce, prepared to seize.

Alas! No! How can this be true!
Another prey, with more in view:
A trail of critters strewn about,
Bleeding with all their teeth pulled out.

But ha! In range I hear a cry,
Past yonder bush: the thief is nigh.
Without delay I charge ahead,
To view a scene of utmost dread.

There, limp upon the blood-soaked ground:
The figure of a crippled hound.
His mouth agape with canine gripped,
By pliers strong, and out was ripped.

Revealed now was the culprit small,
Indeed, the greatest shock of all:
A woodland nymph of virtue true,
Though with her mate, they numbered two.

Both cackled loud with evil eyes,
Despite the hound's continued cries,
And of the tooth they claimed their own,
Into a bag, now full, was thrown.

"Halt there!" I yelled, confused and cross,
My whirling thoughts were at a loss.
How could fairies, so kind and twee,
Perform such vile atrocity?

To maim poor creatures without care,
And take their teeth is just unfair.
The bandits spun and stared at me,
Then quickly grinned with plan to flee.

Decided now to take the plunge,
With mind resolved I made to lunge.
But swift enough not quite was I,
The fairies dodged and up did fly.

Hands high I leapt but failed to snatch,
Such magic skills I could not match.
Now out of reach their wings did take,
And to the skies their freedom make.

I cursed and cried, still answers sought,
Why such behaviour cruel was brought.
In kneeling down by hound bereft,
I spied a clue that had been left.

Beside his head there lay a note,
On which the thieving fairies wrote.
I clasped the message in my hand,
And read aloud a harsh demand:

'To creatures of the woodland shire,
With taxes high, such times are dire.
In order to achieve our dream,
New measures took will prove extreme.

'So not to wait till out teeth fall,
To expedite our coffer's call,
With aid of helpers slight but strong,
We'll boost our savings right along.

'Don't spoil things now with aim to fight,
Just be calm and all will be right.
Much blood, of course, there's sure to be,
Though worry not; be glad it's free.

'One final word, it must be said,
Oppose this law, I'll have you dead.
Now laugh and play, all be merry,
Lots of love, your kind Tooth Fairy.'

--

Wow, it certainly feels great to get back to writing poetry after such a time apart, and what an unexpected delight this poem was to craft; I always suspected fairies to have a dark side.
I went to the liberty of spelling 'faery' with an 'i', as that's how it's most commonly spelt. You'll hopefully also notice the stringent eight syllable count for each line, which helps the flow and pace of the story.
Looking forward to the next challenge.

Title: The Things I Like Most

WOW! Lovecraft is listening! Very dark indeed! Nothing now still exhausted by the pneumonia. I did put one out front in a collaboration with rainbows though.
BJ

Excellent job! I've always found those tooth fairies a rather sinister lot. I mean, how can you really trust anyone who's constantly sneaking into the rooms of little children? Great job of telling a tale through rhyme. It scans nicely and holds up well from beginning to end.

Well off to contemplate raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens...

~jon

My Favorite Things
J. M. Strother

Very quickly time flies, as fleeting as air,
And I reflect back  upon my children so fair.
Now fully appreciate the joys that they bring;
Despite so cleverly being wound like a string.

One day the diapers are replaced by a chair
And she proudly points at what's sitting down there.
“Look what you've done!” I say with a gleam.
“It's absolutely my favorite thing.”

“You've made me a picture! Is it a bear?”
“It's a picture of you”, she cries in despair.
But I hug her close and say with a gleam,
“It's absolutely my favorite thing.”

They hand me a package wrapped up with great flair
Containing a tie that no one should wear.
Yet I look up, and to them both beam,
“It's absolutely my favorite thing.”

As they grow older, they shop with more care
Looking for tools, to help make repairs.
Despite being metric, I practically sing,
“It's absolutely my favorite thing.”

They study at school, under teacher's stern glare,
Awaiting report cards, with a hope and a prayer.
“All A's and B's!” I boast with a gleam,
“These are absolutely my favorite things.”
 
Then the time comes for cap upon hair,
And long black gowns; the band's solemn blare.
Sitting in stands, my wife and I beam.
These are absolutely our favorite things.

Sorry, I took liberties with the rhymes. 'Thing' and 'gleam' don't quite rhyme, but they seemed right somehow.

Next title: Moonlight On Water
Don't forget the first word should rhyme with the last word of the previous poem.
Have fun!

~jon
www.omnivores.org

Moonlight on the water
By
BobbiJo McBroom

Things here aren't what they seem, they trick the weary mind
I ran to catch a glimpse of stars, and Lo what did I find
A field of flowers stretched out, as far as the eye could see
What cruel Goddess have I wronged, who'd play this trick on me

I rode here on a shooting star, to see what I was here below
The ride was long and I was tired, I came so far you know
I fell asleep beneath a tree, and then when I awoke
I'd drifted off beside a lake, my lovely boots were soaked

The sky is such a pale blue shade, not dark as when I came
There are beings of such magic here, but I know not their names
Just when I think all is lost, I notice something strange
That one bright star has moved down the sky, the light begins to change

The darkness that I love so, has settled down once more
The moon I noticed coming down, is shining as before
Ah there they are the stars I know, winking into sight
From down here on your Earth, they give such a paltry light

There upon the water rests my dear friend moon
I'll beg of him a ride back home, I must get there soon
Just as he settles in, to kiss himself goodnight
I touch the moon there on the water, I grasp it's shining light

I stride the trail it sketches, across the lake so still
I step onto the silvery bridge, and drawing on my skill
I walk the bridge across the lake, and keep the moon still in my sight
As he lifts his shining head I ride, his moonbeams into the night

I surf into the starry void, back to whence I came
Those mortals whom I met down there, cannot recall my name
I never will again come down, I love living here on high
I am free to wander where I will, I have regained the sky!

Let's see: How about Bliss for the next title?

Bliss

Why gosh, I must be dreaming, for how else could this be true?
To stand here in a tidy flat of slobbish housemates two:

The kitchen sink is clean and bare, not heaped with pots and pans,
The garbage bins are fit for use, not brimming full with cans.

Where once the stovetop dripped with filth, now gleams and sparkles bright,
Those scraps of food which lined the floor, swept up and out of sight.

The bathroom towels hang neat and dry, not left in soggy piles,
The shower walls shine pearly white, the grime scrubbed from the tiles.

Cheap DVDs once strewn about, now smartly stacked away,
Worn undergarments draped on chairs, no longer on display.

My eyes beam wide in wonderment to see such hygiene met,
At last a home of cleanliness; not one unsightly threat.

A feat indeed for slobs as these, who'd never helped before,
The 'duo of disorder' vowed to not attempt a chore.

Though soon enough my frown returns with thoughts to make me weep:
In bed I find myself supine, just woken from a sleep.

The daydream gone, such fantasy, I rise with much disdain,
And sigh aloud to see the flat a pigsty once again.

--

Unfortunately for me this poem rings true; no exaggerations were made. Perhaps I should consider moving out. No, wait, I've only just moved in!
The next title suggests my current frame of mind.

Title: Murder at Midnight