A FRIEND INDEED – Prompt # 10

In the states, we will celebrate our independence day this week. Around Buffalo there is a celebration that spans from Buffalo to Fort Erie, Canada. Called the “Friendship Festival” it pays tribute to our Fourth of July celebration and Canada Day (July 1). Write about a friend and their influence on your life.

As a “wild-card” prompt, write an Independence Day poem. (For our friends outside of the Continental US, write about the big celebration from your locale)

Marie Elena’s Good work:

Changed for Good

“We’re just friends,” you said.
“We’re just friends,” said I.
And I believed you,
And you believed me.

“We’re just friends,” you said.
“We’re just friends,” said I.
But you doubted you,
And I doubted me.

Came tickles and pokes,
And glances and notes;
Then gazes and hugs,
And lingering goodbyes.

“I love you,” you said.
“I love you,” said I.
And I believed you,
And you believed me.

“I love you,” you said.
“I love you,” said I.
No doubt on your part,
No doubt upon mine.

“For richer, for poorer,
In sickness and health”
Eternally altered,
Our lives intertwined.

Walt’s Tale of Brotherhood:

BROTHERS BEFORE FRIENDS

Four abreast, a test
of our mother’s resolve.
That we would evolve
into the men we’ve become
is a testament to her temperament.

We came from the same womb,
shared the same room; bunk beds.
And instead of pulling together,
we fought to tear apart what
was expected of us.

Our fight was not without gain.
Dominance was the grail
in our never fail battle to rattle
our foundation. We were brothers
but our mother’s worst nightmare.

Grown to adulthood, it would stand
to reason that our seasoning would bring
a camaraderie that would meld us
into a band of unlikely souls
filling the holes that gaped our bond.

Now the friends that once tattered the fabric
have become strong and impenetrable,
iron-clad lads with a lot of bad blood
to transfuse. We can all use its soothing balm,
to calm and bring us healing.

Healing from the inside out,
there leaves little doubt that
being brothers brought us to be
the friends we always needed.
Brothers are friends indeed.

29 thoughts on “A FRIEND INDEED – Prompt # 10

  1. A Friend in MeIt's lonely when you're youngand there's no one there to play.Just a silent room, a toy or twoand one tiny untapped brain.So in the solitude of boredomand the crease of serene peaceI met a dear and loyal friendthat no one else could see.She followed me around and giggled at my jokes.She always agreed to play the games I enjoyed the most.Conversations were delightful,her sacarsm mirrored mine; It was sometimes as if we sharedexactly the same mind.So when the others taunted mefor the company I kept,I simply shrugged and carried onwith my transparent friend.

  2. I've written several poems about or for my best friend – I'll do a new one soon but I`m having a relaxing Sunday and this is an oldie:InsignificantThe glory of creationThe wonder of the universeThe miracle of motherhoodThe marvel of Mother NatureThe Seven Wonders of the WorldThe magnificent Grand CanyonThe towering majesty of EverestThe mystery of the seven seasThe moment when the mint choc chipMelts into the strawberry and you think you might faintThe punch the air Yeah! That´s me! MomentThat you remember all your lifeThe first cry of a babyThe beauty that is Spring´sAre ordinaryTameMundaneBordering on boringAnd fade into insignificanceWhen faced with youMy best friendIain

  3. Shannon, your poem made me smile. It reminded me of my daughter's imaginary friend. She came when my daughter was 3 (shortly after we had moved). She was a well-behaved friend who stayed with us for a while, but as time passed her visits became fewer and fewer. Eventually, we were told she moved away.

  4. MY DEAREST FRIENDHow dark a time, you ask? The weight that crushedMy heart, how heavy? None can say in proseWhat words describe the void he left. What slushOf wordy drivel dares to speak of woesThis son laments! Verses hardly come nearThe telling. My papa, hero of my youth,Has died. The door was shut. He disappearedWhen cancer’s pain became the stronger truth.Explain a life in words just leaves me cold.I cannot speak the language of my heartWhere sorrow deeply stirs, and words untoldRemain unspoken. Silence plays the partOf mourner. What can be clearly said nowAbout a father and son, both good friendsWho shared some happy years that fate allowed?Why waste the ink in all that I could penTo stay the dark hand of grief. Why bother.Enough to say, I miss him…my father. #

  5. Connie, I am glad you clarified that. For a minute, I thought Lori actually had twins and I was wondering how I missed the fact that she was pregnant. LOLLinda Hofke.

  6. Oops! Noticed two typos in mine. Also realized that I sort of went off topic. I started writing about the influence my friend had on me and then her migratory ways migrated their way into it and this is what I ended up with. The Arctic TernYou are the queen of migration,taking to the sky in search of second summers,long journeys of time commonplacefor your out-stretched wings.I read of a ringed, unfledged chickbeing tracked over 14,000 miles from Farne Islands, UK,to Melbourne, Australia in only three months.I wonder how long it remained there.Most nest for an extended period before setting off on another long migration,taking a meandering course to take advantageof prevailing winds above vast seas.You are the queen of migration,my dear, old friend, disappearingfor day, months, even years before returningto me in one shape or form–A postcard, telephone call, or visit.My heart sings like a lark to hear your voice,to put my arms around you in embrace, to sharesome sunshine with you before you once again fly.

  7. In the third stanza, please change it to "chartering a meandering course…" instead of "taking a meandering…"Sorry for the kazillion posts. Lazy Sunday brains don't always function well. :-)SALVATORE–you posted as I was posting. I have always enjoyed your work and that one is a tear-jerker. I especially like these lines:Silence plays the part Of mournerWhy waste the ink in all that I could penTo stay the dark hand of griefLinda Hofke

  8. It's been a bad back week for me – so here's a sonnet on fireworks, inside and out. Back later with a friend, I hope. Happy Canada/Independence Day to all!FireworksBring out the fireworks. The night has wonAgain, dropping its veil above my head,Close gathering the hues of day in redArray at the horizon, where the sunHas folded down its tent. The children runOutside to feast upon the lightning spreadFor them across the sky. No time for bed,They will not sleep until the show is done.I, too, know fireworks this awful nightA veil of different cloth drawn round aboutMy core. These mad electric nails that playUpon the spasming of muscles pulled too tightThis helpless staggering, and hidden doubt.I hold them all, and pray to see the day.

  9. What are friends for?I told Paul, “Keep schtum,But I really fancy Liz.”“Mum’s the word,” he grinned.But then he went and told her.After all, what are friends for?

  10. Hello, all…I generally post my poem in its entirety here, but it's rather long and has some formatting I know I won't be able to figure out how to keep within the comments. And for those who frequent Poetic Asides, you'll see it's the same link as I shared there. I combined several prompts into one poem.Here's the link: Between the Lines.Have a safe holiday, for those celebrating Independence Day!~Paula

  11. A Friend IndeedIn my worldthere is no divisionbetween love and friendshipA friend's pain is mineA friend's enemies are mineA friend I will protect anddefend to my lastA friend's success is my joyWhat I have is theirs to shareI have never had onebut I have been one andthat is more importantAriadne

  12. because friendship strengthensbecause friendship knows all about enduranceI managed to do the impossible.you would walk me halfway home when I walked you home from my house. We were strongerbecause friendship strengthenswe sang that stupid wall of beer downand back up again a gazillion timesbecause friendship knows all about enduranceideals, like trust and friendshipare impossible to destroy.I managed the impossible.

  13. (this is draftier than most of my drafts.  still percolating the concepts, but sometimes seeing things in this context shows me things I miss.  so, here goes)had a conversation the other day.guy I'd just met gave me his life story.(it's what you do, isn't it?)told me how many times in fifteen married yearshe'd up- and down- sized homes (and towns) (eight)(you pack that same cracked saucer, over, andthat same Great Book you say you mean to read, over)in a storage locker (place used to be a Sears Roebuck)with the maple rocker she found an old man to intricately recane, the clippings from her daysas a reporter, her well-used books and dried Bics,my mother-in-law's wealth of dresses still hanglike ghosts, in three tall cardboard clothing coffins.important to her.  and because it makes sense to meI hold on to them, things that mean nothing to me.a person who, because the place was filthy-dirty (andwho's fault was that, hmmm?) up and left an apartment.took my dirty laundry, Mama's quilt, three quarters of a carton of Marlboros.  I was young.but I, if I were alone, would shed my life as thoughtlesslyat sixty plus and start over with a new skin.  And thatmakes sense to me, too.  but I am American, and weare born out of moving vans and the cardboard boxesfrom behind the liquor store.  we move, and dreamof moving, even with boxes never unpacked (It is the Last Time.  we say, every time)  The peoplewho began this country, and the people who cameand made it all the strange and good and badsilly, dangerous, wonderful things it iswere people who couldn't take it any longer back at home.They had to move on.And believed that, just out of sight now, aroundthe next turn in the road, the next corner, in the nextaisle, apartment, job, marriageis the placethe one where the weather can't be beat, with greatviews, (fishing or schools or theater or freedoms or bars or)and good water.  Good people for neighbors, too.  A placefor fresh starts, they wanted.  We want.  For all our love of things, I think we all have dreams of shedding our skin. 

  14. FriendsMy friends are allItalianVivaldiCimarosaMarcelloScarlattiTartiniMonteverdiGabrielliCorelliThey have been deada whileButWe still keep in touch

  15. Some amazing pieces from old friends and brand new. Some heart-tugging pieces for this prompt … wow. Keep the quality coming, all. Lovin' it! To those of you who are new voices, WELCOME! Please feel free to contact Walt and I at poeticbloomings@yahoo.com if you have any questions, or have a website you'd like us to add to our "Daisy Chain," or a publication you'd like to display on our "Bookshelf." We're glad you are here!

  16. BFFI don't need a BFFjust a good friend will do.We may have known each other for yearsor our connection may be rather new.I don't need a BFF just a good friend will do.Where platitudes are not acceptedand only the truth will come through.I don't need a BFFjust a good friend will do.Pretense and pride are dismissedwe are here for each other, it's true.I don't need a BFF just a good friend will do.One who laughs with me and at me as long as we can laugh at you too.I don't need a BFFjust a good friend will do.I'm careful when choosing good friendscould my non-BFF be you?~Kellyhttp://livingfourreal.blogspot.com/

  17. 'Aha, So we meet again Moriarty 'Hi Barbruh of Barbra Seville fame. Yep, this is my new playing field until I get the toss or sent to coventry for wicked effusive commentary.

  18. Michael Grove Writes:Her Magical PowersHe would drive a thousand miles.He would wait a hundred years.He would spend a million dollars.He would shed a billion tears.He would keep her vision always.He would dwell on all his pain.He would stay in his own prison.He would wait alone in vain.He would pray she would turn toward him.He would not walk toward another.He would dream of being with her.He would love her like no other.By Michael Grove

  19. Michael Grove Writes:What’s Not To Love?As I search deep inside,I seek and I find.What’s not to love? You share what’s on your mind.When I look at this world,wander over this landWhat’s not to love when you reach out your hand?We do care and we sharesit and talk awhile,What’s not to love when we share a smile?When I’m down on my kneesand I reach for the skiesWhat’s not to love when I look in your eyes?We’re so happy togetherin a moment of blissWhat’s not to love when we share a kiss?Honesty’s everythingIn all we discussWhat’s not to love when we give our trust?We laugh and we joke,and we share in some fun.What’s not to love when the day is all done?by Michael Grove

  20. Friends ExposedIf you know me and I know you, No need to do the tango;dancing gingerly trying to avoid eggshells between the toes.Reciprocal warmth exudes naturally.Shrouded feelings or those dangling fromthe clothed appendage are not necessary;we know each other too well.~Kellyhttp://livingfourreal.blogspot.com/

  21. As always Michael, your poems are so open transparent,warm and such a pleasure to read.Thank you for a weekly treat of loveliness yet again.

  22. You can find my friend readily at http://thelaughinghousewife.wordpress.com/ and on her poetry blog at http://imnotaverse.wordpress.com/ A Friend Indeed My dearest friend, and I have many,is someone I met on line.Companion through the years of study,Blessed critiquer mine.Progress of friendship through poetry,her humour brightens my life.Our moods are often meshed in symmetry,with never a reason for strife.Sympathy exchanged by empathyand emailed word,cruel knocks healed so thoughtfullythrough delight in the absurd.Who knows where this life will take uson our separate waysbut friendship such as this will make ushappy in our different days.

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