A Boy Not To Be Discouraged

I have watched my grandson play soccer since he was one of a clump going after the ball. This poem honors a game that will stick with me always because of one score made by a teammate. By the way, my grandson is now in high school and still playing the game. 

A Boy Not To Be Discouraged

The parents of both teams united

in their smiles and applause

for the preschool boy with a grin

wide as the Mississippi, and arms 

raised like a superstar

as he ran back to midfield

after freeing the ball

from churning feet and whomping

it into the net . . .

         of the wrong goal.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor

Stonehenge at Dusk

A contest absconded with three new poems of mine. A caveat warned not to publish them anywhere, not even in a blog. Instead, today's poem repeats one set in England, a delightful country to visit this time of year. Also, in honor of my "English" grandson's 21st birthday today.

Stonehenge at Dusk

Raven scores

alight for vespers, chatting

as they settle on lintels

draped across shoulders

of blue stone monoliths

dragged from faraway Wales.

Placed with an eye to sanctify

the sun - that wanderer

in bitter northern climes - 

the ancient boulders resonate

with evensong even now

a cantos across flaxen fields.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor