Beautiful Birds Of Peace
How Beautiful of birds
of the air,
seeing their awesome
wonderful flair.
So quiet it would be
without their sound
watching them as they
fly all around.
Sweet harmony do they make.
A lonesome world this would be,
for no birds making flight
these wonderful creatures I see.
Beautiful birds of nature
wonderful sounds to my ear
touching me with wonder,
so gentle with serenity
and so dear.
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poem by Jim Foulk
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The Old Checkered Coat
Seems like yesterday,
that I went out to paly,
in my old checkered coat,
my, how memories float.
My mom would say,
before you play,
put on your checkered coat
my, how memories float.
I remember the day,
I heard my mother sy,
here's your new checkered coat
my, how memories float.
Now today, I say goodbye,
in the box it goes, as I cry,
goodbye, goodbye old checkered coat,
my, how momories float
poem by Jim Foulk
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Changing Weather
Do you barely see,
the sun in the sky,
when you know it's very high.
You stand in the sunshine,
and you wonder why,
on a day like today,
you go inside and stay.
When the snow flakes,
come your way
you wished you could
go outside today.
You wait for warm days,
cold is all you get,
making you have a fit.
Finally spring is here,
flowers are blooming,
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poem by Jim Foulk
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The Moon so high
The moon so bright,
the moon so high,
up, up, in the sky,
to the moon, i will fly,
if i don't make it,
i will just die.
They landed there, in sixty-nine,
for the glory,
it should have been mine,
i just didn't know
how to get there,
so i guess, i'll have to stay here
But the moon is so
pretty to look at,
and i'm glad we were,
the first to land there,
it probley was,
a good thing, i stayed here
poem by Jim Foulk
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Tip of My Memory
On the tip of my memory
of a time so distant
sitting at kitchen table
watching my mother.
She was cooking one of her
fine means, as she always did,
remembering how young
she was.
Miss those days of old
when we would just talk
of her telling me of her youth,
now I'm older than she was then.
All of this just on tip of
my memory, so long ago
as days go by, memory fading
away to days so distant.
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poem by Jim Foulk
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A Poet in His Own Time
Who am I to criticize others,
I'm a poet in my own time,
my own place and my own world.
I just write what I see feel,
and hear.
My poetry may be different,
I don't follow the path
of other poets, but that's
ok, let them write what
they must write in their
own way.
All poetry is beautiful,
some takes longer to
understand.
We're all in this together
we write the poetry that
fulfills our needs.
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poem by Jim Foulk
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Streams of Broken Hearts
For all hearts ever
broken, memories
fade, no never.
Dreams of life time together,
hurt, casted aside
Streams of Broken Hearts
flowing down our life forever.
So in love were we
tears, anger, broken,
now apart are you and me.
Where is the lost love
we once had
faded into our heart
long ago, flew away like, a dove.
Flowing past life's pathway,
Streams of Broken Hearts
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poem by Jim Foulk
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Blue Roses Just For You
Blue Roses Just For You,
to show my love,
desire, to hold you tight,
know this we our right.
Blue Roses Just For You,
my heart so full
over flowing now, and
remembering our vow.
Blue Roses Just For You,
with your tenderness,
here for a while, I'll stay,
while you make my heart sway.
Blue Roses Just For You,
to show my love,
give I these roses to you my dear,
hope to spend with you, many a year.
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poem by Jim Foulk
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Loving You Always
I will climb this mountain
cross islands of despair,
crawl over barren deserts
until I reach your heart my dear.
Oh, how I want to draw
you to me and tell you
the way I feel. So many
troubles we have had.
No ocean is big enough to
keep me from you my dear,
or star so far away
for me to reach you.
Heaven only knows how much
love have I buried in my heart
for you my love. Your smile
will always bring sunshine
to my soul.
poem by Jim Foulk
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Apple Seed
Spring is here
love it so dear.
Being an apple seed,
and doing my good deed.
Keeping the doctor away,
for many years this tree will stay.
Just waiting for picking time
and watching workers as they climb.
Seed to apple so sweet
working so hard what a feat.
Apple cider to apple pie,
selling apples for people to buy.
Being an apple seed
and doing my good deed.
Being picked off this tree
from this place I will flee.
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poem by Jim Foulk
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