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Narrative Angst Poems | Narrative Poems About Angst

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The Rose

Once bloomed a rose so young and fair
With dark brown eyes and long black hair

Beside her be a tall dark tree
Whose branches stretch to smother thee

Too close beside the shadowy bark
That soon begins to leave its mark

She cries for help, but none shall hear
Her thorns too sharp, who’d dare go near?

To save this rose, who’d risk their life?
With naught to gain but pain and strife

Alone, afraid, she lays to rest
Her heart beats low inside her chest

And with the hour growing near
She sheds her final grieving tear

And so the rose soon falls asunder
Her final day, eternal slumber

She lies beside the old dark tree
The only one who mourns for thee


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Whatever Floats Your Boat


She floats like a message in a bottle on a massive ocean of crystal blue waves towards a horizon she never reaches.
Maurice Yvonne


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The Phone

The phone rings empty into the night.
Filling a void that brings strange comfort
to thoose around.

Rage eats away untill it bores a hole
straight through are hearts.
Whiskey cauterizes the wound.

Alone with fools we gather.
The bitter ones taking to there barstools.
the weak look to punish thoose happy
bastards.
Who dare to feel anything in the place of  
emptyness.

She left so many years befor.
At least her mortal soul did.
I rememeber when it was when I still
dared to dream.

Long befor reallity was a friend.
Lovers lie.
Motions keep us living.

She spoke but the words were empty as her heart.
So as strangers we parted just as we met.
With a bitter taste I never did reply.

The phone rang it's last time.
I herd it echo farewell down the hall.

I had to go so I never unlocked the door.
i just left my emotions hanging  like some
forgotten coat pushed back in
the closet.

Its been almost a year since that phone filled
the emptyness of my soul.
If only I had answered.


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I Am a Sex God

What is it like to be a sex god?
To know the exact spot that will rock their worlds in ways
never seen before and never seen again, their parting words,
You are a God!
.
To have them scream your name, knowing
as soon as they’re gone you sit alone,
eating cold spaghetti from a can,
as you continue to detach yourself from
another emotionless encounter.
Nonetheless, they know you’re a god.
.
What is it to be this god with
so many lovers yet never knowing some names,
or what should solidify what you’ve shared?
The object of their fantasies yet to never see
“I love you” in their eyes, or hear it from
the lips of one lying beside you the next morning,
for there’s no one there.
.
What is it to be a sex god ruling none
for once those words are uttered, their worship is gone.
The god who rules universes of lust
where stars flash but never ignite,
leaving blackened skies crying out for full moons.
The god who has never felt another’s heart beat against his own,
who cries himself to sleep for the mistakes he’s made,
longing for the anticipation of 1,000 kisses that stand still in time?
.
I am this god, and I stand alone.


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Raven's Plight

Raven was Death. She dwelt in death. She lived on death. Ages past, she had worn 
the blue-black, purple, feathers of the raven and dined on royalty at Tower hill. A 
tumble from grace had lodged her here in this fragile form. No more would her maw 
drip ruby red, no more would her caw fill the mourning, or her soaring flight slice 
the air like a Frenchman’s sword. A Raven, with clipped wings, was she.

Centuries had passed since she, in her feathered form, had feasted on the King.
**Bran the Blessed, giant, King of Wales, had been her down fall. Cursed was she,
as she dined on his eyes, in the field of battle. Ah, what did a raven know 
of the curses of man.  But, she knew now. Bran's head was placed,
as a talisman, on the grounds of Tower Keep in Londontown. She, 
transformed, cursed, walks the night in this beautiful, weak, human vessel for
as long as, Bran's name is remembered.

Her satin-sandaled feet hold her earthbound. Just as superstition 
holds her clip-winged brethren in the Tower courtyard, Bran's Curse holds her here. 
No longer can she fly, but, she is free to roam. The churchyard calls her. Ashen skies no longer welcome her, but the gravestones, spade-shaped like the tails of carrion feeder, beckon. The evening corpse has arrived. Draped in mourning weeds of black, her death-like pall, luminescent in the moonlight, her lips a tell-tale crimson, she arms her self with a firebrand. The bluish steel glistens. Death with a gun, certainly, one could see the 
over kill? She laughs. Looking skyward, she calls. “Husband*, children…” 
she mimicks the caw of her unfettered kin. “Come to Ma Ma..dinner is served.”  

*Raven's mate for life...or death? ;)
**Bran is the Welsh word for Raven/ King Bran the Blessed

***A NIGHTMARE


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I'M A SOMEBODY

They listened to your clever lines,
Felt guilty when you gave them blame
Bought in to your stick man stories
The anecdotal evidence you proclaimed

So now adoption is the enemy
Christian families are a villain 
Gotcha day is doom's day
A horror story of joy killing

They believed you, "He was trafficked!"
But if that was true then what went wrong
The dollars would have moved me out of there
If these books were credible I'd have been gone

Of course you knew the true reality
Your agenda was so thinly veiled 
There isn't this army of rescuers
For years adoption numbers have fell

I'm not copy for your editors
Don't care about best selling lists
I wasn't a child for any Catcher's
Those kinds of children rarely exist

You'd think there was an evil industry
By the awful things you wrote
You created your desired fiction
The fact is agencies are going broke

So don't imprison me with narrow labels
I'm just a hurting human being
I'm not a product or a talking point
I'm a somebody, not a something!

No one shopped for me like it was Walmart
I'm a fatherless child, now an aged out orphan
I have a name, hopes, and fears
You sold me out and made a fortune! 

3-10-14

Sponsor: Chris D. Aechtner
Contest Name: Anything Goes


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Bottled Up

Summer of '99

How ironic. There I was, waking to a magnificent kaleidoscopic sky 
and I had no one to share it with. I thought you'd be there but I knew 
that it was too good to have lasted. It was too perfect--
you were too perfect, all the way down to your cheesy pick up
line... "Steamy Summer Love" indeed...

But what is steam anyway? I guess the love that we shared
that summer literally evaporated. All at the heat of the moment.
How cliched. But it sure burned me, now I realize how true it is 
that steam is way much hotter than boiling water. 
Was it all a dream? I tend to think so, but then 
I finger the bracelet around my wrist, 
and realize it was true after all.
 Breath on breath. Skin to skin. Heartbeat to heartbeat.
Soul to soul? I thought so.

I've come back here, to this same spot where we were a year ago,
just for me to let go.
 Literally bottling up everything... 
this write goes in this bottle, as well as some sand here 
and your joke of a bracelet.
I'm tossing this out to sea, because that's where it belongs--
those memories to be swallowed up. 
Passion purged 
by angry waves...

Was it a fantasy? Maybe, but then I hold him close to me
and realize it wasn't. I named him Nicholas, you know.
See, I remembered your name.


---------****-------------------------****-------------------------------

Summer of 2008

I've come back to this place to mull over something rotten
 I did a decade ago. And remember-- that gorgeous face, 
those mesmerizing eyes and smile... that amazing spirit. 
And hit myself on why I was such a fool. 

Then I see this bottle, and in it is some sort of letter, 
and what is this? A bracelet? An all too familiar one--
holding it in my palm, I get a chill not brought on by the sea breeze.
Reading the note, I burn up, ashen.
I then weep till my eyes and soul feel like dying.

I have a son.
and her name has escaped my memory. 



** July 18 2010r06262012


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Portrait Of Red

Pain is just another form of medication, feeding the demons that nest inside.
A temporary fix, a band aid per say, covering the secrets I am trying to hide.

I am like the right hand to the devil, with the ability to manipulate others thoughts and emotions.  Exploiting there fears, insecurities and dreams, I can flip in a split second, merely to show my complete and utter devotion.

My eyes and ears are magnified by ten, a gift to some but a burden to me.  I close my eyes to try and escape for a brief moment just to feel free.

Intrigued by the sharp edges of a blade, and the power that it contains.  Just a simple brush across my skin, paints a beautiful portrait of red, dripping like falling drops of rain.

I hurt myself on the outside to kill the evil that lives within.  I'ts relief flowing through my veins, with a rush of instant gratification to make me grin.

The truth to any story always has an open window, it will sneak it's way through.  The eyes can be read like a paper back novel, every word, every image, a tragedy but true.

I'm always aware of my situation and my surroundings, even though it appears I am not paying attention.  I see all, I hear all, studying anyone and everyone requires my full concentration.

Fantasying about death and the peace it brings, oddly is what makes me smile.  To finally put an end to my journey in hell, only keeps me in denial.

Overwhelmed with exhaustion at the end of everyday, I lay my head to rest.  I think to myself that maybe someday, I will finally pass life's test.


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The Bell My Mother Rang

The 18th of December was her last day;
she neither knew the date nor cared to.
Gathered at the hospital, keeping vigil,
we couldn't overcome her fright, or ours.
The pain, too great to be driven away,
was only "managed" with IV drips,
needles stuck in bruised appendages --
bony things -- arms and legs, hands and feet.
Above the medicines and washes, we sniffed
her scent, which, more than her yet familiar
face, to us identified our mother --
a smell we never would mistake
for any other. It went quickly
as her body cooled. The rouged and pickled
carcass they displayed was more a statue
than a person. We planned to bury her
with homely tokens, like an ancient mummy:
a family photo, a brooch she liked,
a pink hairbrush, and the brass bell she rang
to call her keeper during her last years.
But, when the time came, I could not bear
to see her leave so finally;
I took the bell from her metal box.
And, now, I ring it -- not to bring a keeper,
but to recall my mother on her birthday,
and on many dark days when I need her.


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Am I Turning into a Lizard Serial Killer

Hmmm, where do I start? With deep sighs, I am sighing right now.
I just finished burying 2 lizards, and my heart is heavy...

Let me back up a bit...bear with me if I might turn out to be confusing here,
but I just need to write this, release something, in some way
Although I must admit, this is not exactly what I had in mind to write for this day,
hopefully I can write something more decent later...

I have been wanting to write something for my brother since yesterday,
since February 26 is his 10th year death anniversary.
The words remained stuck in my heart, 'til I fell asleep.

Visited him again today, heard mass for him, 
ate a Chinese dinner with my parents and sister, went home.

I now needed dessert. Got a piece of Ferrero Rocher, but just one wouldn't do.
So I got a piece of Almond Roca this time and ate it while walking.

All this time, I have managed to keep my tears away
but maybe somehow, someway, if tears want to fall, they will find a way?

I walk to that area again as I ate that piece of chocolate-
when what do you know, what do you know??

Oh sighs.

I stepped on a lizard.  Again 

Yes. Almost exactly the Same area, tail falls off, and the lizard skitters away.

But. I did not slip this time. But, yes, I still screamed, scaring everybody again.

I. Could. Not. Simply. Believe. IT.

One month and 25 days after, I step on a lizard. Again.

Today, of all days. As if I needed more reason to be sadder.

This time around, I had the sense to try to find that lizard. 
I had to know if it lived, if it was okay.
I pushed away the nearby cabinet.
And there it was.
Rather, and there they were.

The lizard that I stepped on now
and the petrified remains of the lizard that I stepped on on new year's day...
the other one didn't live after all :(

I know it was that lizard, same area, no tail, who else could it be?
Survival mechanism, no match for my killer foot.

By this time, I am crying, sobbing. 
Seriously, the tears just start falling, and my heart so heavy.
And I know it's from the combination of so many things.
The day itself, what I had just done, just things running through me.

What broke my heart, was to see that lizard. 
I was wearing rubber shoes this time, last time I was wearing slippers.
And its guts had spilled from its sides. 
I couldn't help but keep on saying, "Oh, oh, oh lizard, I am so sorry"

I touched it feebly, and it was literally gaping its mouth.
I don't think I can ever forget that?
Such a small creature, gasping, with its insides out, 
its skin on its legs and body scraped.
In pain.
Dying.

And it was all my fault.

My sister was there with me, trying to help in her own way.

But yes, there's nothing you can really do...I didn't want to stress it even more,
and let death finish what I did. 


There's so much I can glean from this, and I want to ramble on, so badly
but I will try to stop myself from rambling too much.

I put the two lizards, along with a note, the dates when I stepped on them 
(ok, killed them), and placed them carefully in a chocolate truffle box.

I buried them and still feel so sorry.

In some ways, this is can be so funny, and just  freaky & crazy (what's new, this is me?)
What were the odds??? Same place, same thing happening.
And I can't help but roll my eyes at myself as well, just finding it so hard to fathom
how I stepped on not just one but Two lizards in just two months.

I bet that the lizards are all afraid of me now, 
saying how I am a lizard killer. A serial lizard killer.
MO: stepping on them while screaming, maybe my screams also killed them off?

I actually took photos of both lizards, I am not sure why though.
Oh dear God, help me, I am acting like one, even documenting them.

I tell you, as I watched that lizard die, I couldn't help but just also
think of St. Jude (for the impossible) and St. Francis of Assisi (for animals).

I know he was dying, but somehow, yes, prayers still comfort me.

I just feel so guilty, with this happening. 

I still can't help but cry for those lizards, death by me, for no reason at all,
no purpose served.

Animals, people....death.

I know it's all a part of life... 
but it still doesn't change the fact how death can change us
and of how I am responsible for two lizard deaths.
I know they were just small animals, but Still. They were living creatures.

Death can change us in small ways, some in big ways, negatively or positively.

It all boils down to death transforming us one way or another...

I won't expound on it anymore, this is too long,
but one of the ways I can think of comparing it to, is that of a chemical change,
maybe of the spirit, the soul? Not merely a physical change.


And we can never be the same. 






022720141207123552


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Sleepless Nights

Insomnia, familiar friend,
crawled into bed this summer night
so once again, inflamed with dread
I wander now in pitch of dark 
and touch the places, now by heart, that sprawl unstirred by weary minds

This lonely place, where I used to come
where armless grief, and headless doubt
and worry filled the rooms
I know you cold, my land of oz
So ruthless do you change your face
into a place I once refrained

But,  don't pretend to make me fear, toxic robber of my sleep
I've known you much too long
You masquerade in shades of gray
And now I know that dark of night, is not the blackest thing
And room by room, I'll play the game
until the light of day

The shadows magnify your art
and though they magnify my loss of sleep
and while I've tossed and turned in vain
I've lost the lonely albatross
that pulled against the grain

From hooded thresholds I embark
to find a language of the dark
A liquid language of a mystic night, 
that switches on the light

I've walked the halls of ghosts I knew, and those I hope to meet
I've felt the stares, and shared myself, no secrets left to keep
But not tonight, familiar friend
you bask in myth I understand
I'll fill the tasks that need my hands, until the light of day...
---------------


For Leonora Galinta's Contest


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The Angel Of Death

As I walk this earth 
Bare and broken
Blood soaked and driven
My soul in supernova
My mind, frenzied.

My body bruised
My sword well used
Nostalgic, 
Breathing in fresh paint 
From beaten bodies and torn souls 

Sudden movement
A quivering soul
A careless action
My attention
To hold. 

A smile drapes
Bearing into my soul
The world disappears
My deathly hunger
Implores.

Slow and pleasuring 
Each clink of steel 
Warms my heart 
Sweetly,
Mending my soul

First blood, 
A lonely bead 
Inviting my wrath
It trickles 
No warning sold.

Teasingly, it lays in waiting 
Pulling me closer
Lonesome 
Begging almost 
To bring more 
  
An abyss, 
It draws my victims in 
Craving, wanting, yearning 
To feel bloodied flesh 
Broken 
Against my skin
Irrevocable
A fear, I sense 
Another victim to claim

Pleasure streams 
Anticipating
Envisioning,
Blood oh glorious blood
My eyes feeling, each soul I’ve claimed

A vulture stalking its prey 
Bloodthirsty
Yet again
Imperative, a mission
Deep wanting, to quench

Valiance, a virtue, I dare not detest  
Submissive, he glares eye to eye
His being laid not to rest

Unsteady, yet giving.
My hands he guides to my sword
Thrilling me more 
A kiss so chaste
My heart explodes

Like a child 
I revel, 
Rapture so pure 
Beautifully he whispers 
“Be a sinner no more 

Take my soul
Gruesomely, I beg 
Treasure the blood
That my body 
So willingly sheds 

Your craving 
To sate 
I was born to the earth
Release your demon 
Release it form its depths 

Stay hidden no more
Bare, naked, run free
Believe it not a disease
But a gift 
As I see.

Unsheathe your sword
Glorious, shall it gleam
Purified, ready 
Through my heart 
Shall it go.” 

Ecstatic,
Pleasure shudders through me.
A kiss I lay 
Goodbye, my dearest 
Your debt has been paid.

By
Amanda Miller 
{This is to a new friend , a faceless being 
that brings out the person hiding in me }


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True Praise

I used to look at your wrinkly hands
And see the veins follow routes like a map
Your fingers shook like a spayed chihuahua on the piano keys
Demonstrating the chord in which I was supposed to play after you

I was thinking instead about the stool we were sharing
How old and fragile  the wooden piece was
The green-blue floral padding faded and worn
The chipped, wobbly legs 
That creaky sound when you repositioned...
And I was praying it wouldn't collapse under our bodies

Your voice was gentle and calm 
Softly pushing me back to my practice
 and my fingers played that bright G Chord
“Very good,” You praised with a smile
Your voice so small and lightly faded
But still loving and pleasant

You explained to me arpeggios and broken chords
And I was glad it was you explaining it
I remember yelling at my dad
And throwing a big tantrum over playing “Allouette” 
His straight harsh voice cut my fingers off the keys
As he ordered me to pay attention
Watching his hairy fingers demonstrate the left hand
And then the right
Pressing loudly and ramming the song into my every being

And I remembered 
I was never concerned about making him angry
I would laugh if he made a mistake in teaching
Or if he stumbled on his words - which was frustratingly rare
I would scream if he corrected me
And yet I was determined for his praise
That he never gave 

Your son loved music like you
And he wanted me to love it just like him
In an annoyed kind of way, I obliged
But I would make him suffer for forcing it on me
Even if I couldn't deny it was something I would always love

We never have our piano lessons anymore, Grandma 
But I will never forget how you taught me
That stool remains in the room
It hasn't been sat on for days

And it took far more than mere days
To receive from your son…true praise

But that’s okay
I will pray it collapses under his body


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Pain in my Heart by Pamela Espinal 8th grade

Pain in my heart,
from the day you left.
Thinking that you would be next to me soon
but I guess it was too good to be true.
Why is it when I say it's going to be a good day,
I truly know it's not,
especially without you?

Pain in my heart,
feeling weak when I think of you.
Just wanting to break down and cry
but not wanting to make a show.
It's true what everyone says,
how a smile can hide pain
but this pain is too strong
for me to hide.

Pain in my heart,
waiting to hold you in my arms
but  never got the chance.
Hoping there was no harm
but there was,
for me.

I know you're in a better place,
that's all that counts
but I still wish I could see your face.

Pain in my heart,
but you're happy in heaven
while I'm not well.
Trying to snap out of this misery.
depression isn't me.
Life may have ended for you
but love will not!


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Remains

Here
In this centrifuge of sanctimony
Where I sip the atrophied air of my ancestors
The shipwrecked tide of my unborn children
Angels dangle from a precipice of silence
Strained by strings of a theoretical God
Sung by eyes of defiance
Which navigate the jagged epitaphs below
Searching
For that one sediment of salvation
That one moment of submission
Hoping he will see
His wonders, atrocities, his indifference
To cast a shadow of conviction
Over shivering light
There
Across the inlet where ivory columns crumbled
And modernity now deftly mumbles
Its fleets of fortune baptized
Nigh the bronze dust of golden millennia
Where history lies with its victims
A fugue of fossilized souls
A silent prayer remains
Here


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A Note To None

If I rewrote the story and somehow are paths
did not cross.
In temptations fire.
We would only know the cold of others.

Freezing in the silent agony unable 
to speak.
The statue remains its meaning erased.

As into others we will seek.
The emotions we no longer share.
Alone I am now inthe isolation of many blank
stares.

The jokes are but a wall built to conceal.
All that I am.
That I could never reveal.

Use the substances to keep you numb.
And let the voices take you to another place.

Beyond the madness there lies 
beauthy in pain.
And always truth.
Destruction breeds art.

I light up in a room of vacant stares
and empty lives.
To blind in addiction to know the other does exist.

In this den like some scene from a opium parlor from the west. 
Ashes hit the floor along with my pride.

This battle im losing with devilish glee.
All but nothing is left.
so in the shadows I confide. 

Sometimes wisdom can come from great acts of stupidty 
sometimes pain brings us closer to the truth 
nothing stays buried   it just lays in wait.


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This Poem Really S---S

As of 20-10-2014 this poem had 270 views and zero comments. I have poems with 30 views that have 3-5 comments. Everyone here is too kind to comment because this poem S***S!

alone, leaving the hospital in the early light he could feel his blood pulsing as he dove deep into his conscious thought. it was like him to wallow in self pity. she was his paid companion. she would smother him as if he owned her and he did. this sunup he would have her strip him of his last rag of dignity. soaking wet in his own shame she neatly placed him in her mouth. he would gaze into the abyss of his own ineptness his shaking hands hanging on unsuccessfully. still he forcefully tears the clothes off of her non existence alone and chaotic he ran her through a series of perverse acts and cleansed his flesh and bone of all evidence of human sanity. he could feel his intricate and complex network of exposed capillaries and veins melt. his naked carcass enrobed in the stench of his own pathetic existence. all along he fed on the salt that flowed down his cheeks and found their way to his tongue. his head lowered. his shoulders bent. his pelvis indented. his legs unsteadied. what was once meant to be a man now plodded to the cadence to the progression of a soundless beat. reaching his car he turns his keys. he hears the hum of his engine as he heads for the safety of his home. what? he wonders as he hears a voice. as he hears his name once. twice and again and again he tries to ignore it but his eyes slowly open a nurse. a bed. he is trapped. he is still in hospital. what a cruel joke. he was sure. he was sure he had heard the hum of his engine.


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It's not about You {He is the One} (2)

Young and Old: It is time to
                       wake up;  Young America, there comes a moment in life were it is coherent
that the close eye's of supply and demand will offer a challenge that shall seperate the boy's
from the Man's. And to add to this remark, Women, whether you are white, black, red or what
ever choice that place's you in the catagory of demand. Your emotional fortitude alway will be
an issue, the supplie's of your womanhood, is that the challenge's of tomorrow supercedes 
any challenge's of yester-year's because the cause's of determination are often misunder-
stood when both sexes's think they are above their nature and their attitude is to be conc-
ieve as "good". But, "It's not about You". Old, middleage or new, a generation of viper's it is
not about you, not about the clothe's you wear or the self proclaim existence of your supply 
and demand. He spoke everything into its proper order of importence, now the evil beast  
[satin] and the self centered thought's of people's, have the forces of impurity been given to 
a society that's compel to do what they want too do. "Is that You".
Satin: has taken over the Churche's:  God created life: Mankind in its procurement to out-do
the essence of God himself, have accepted an abonminable disrespect unto himself and who
are the one's that suffer: Our Churche's, as an uppity blandent society of worshipper's, that
knows no God, has allow itself that the place of worship has become a dend of permissive be-
haviour. "It's not about You". It's about God (Jehovah) the name of Emanuel speake's that he 
is the Lord of everything. And the attitude of the peoples can not change one thing. With eye's
wide open and the spirit of love is resussited in generation upon generation recieving the
blessing of the Son; Young and Old, Shout-Out the cidditiness from your lungs. Accept and
believe. "He is the One".

Let the Bible speak's: Forasmuch as ye know that ye were not redeem with corruptible
1 Peter 1 18-19         thing's, as silver and gold, from your vain conversation recieved
                                by tradition from your fathers: But with the precious blood of
                                Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and spot:


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That Sinking Feeling

Murky sea this day as she wades chest deep
Battling strong waves with every step
No other swimmers, no lifeguards, no sun
Nary a gull on the beach so windswept

Solitude is her preference, she floats
Closes her eyes, attempts to clear her head
She’s tossed about, but opts to remain
She’d rather be here than alone in bed

Suddenly she feels a slippery nudge
To her feet she slips, scans surrounding sea
No life in sight, but she’s drifted out far
Her heart pumps fast, she swims feverishly

Another bump!  Is this her worst nightmare?
Sea creature preying ‘neath turbulent surf?
White caps surround and her cries reach no ears
A painful sting, she’s  p
                                  u
                                     l
                                       l
                                         e
                                           d
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                                                .



For Gareth's "Leave Me Hanging" challenge


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A Slight Return

Darkness is my life that apears in
light.
Has it come to just another fix.
The smile does conceal my losing fight.

The music the screams within.
The lies eat away at the man I can no 
longer stand.

Hollow is thy heart.
Crimson stains all that is never held in
hand.

It started a game now it's a curse.
In darkness I speak to you
all I could never say.
The man once known to you.
Has all but faded away.

And as I slip into adictions abyss.
Candle lit memories were taken
with the breeze. 
That killed that romantic glow.

As the stranger who exists in the form
once you did love.
Twist's into a form you cannot understand.

I ask out of love for you to forget.
The monster that haunts this form.

In memories true love we will forever know.
The emptyness of of this life.
And the once splendid candle lights glow. 
In truth we die. 
As we live. 
So must we cry. 

Not every every question has a answer my friends. 
Gonzo.


Details | Narrative | |

DESPAIR

He despaired. He was despondent and desperate.
He was impelled to violent action but restrained from acting out.
He had finally given up. He had lost all hope.
Disheartened and dispirited his will had collapsed.
Lacking confidence or courage, depression defined him. 
He languished in gloom and grieved in lament.
He succumbed to a wretched tribulation,
a miserable melancholy, so forlorn was his ordeal.
He anguished over his prospects, so painful was his worry.
Desperate and wholly dejected the criminal faced his judgment.
As justice was served he fretted, ruminated, chafed, sulked and moped.
Now he faced the torment and ridicule he so easily delivered.
Finally he too understood the meaning of despair.


Details | Narrative | |

Drowning in Fire


The flames are rising,  my fears have come alive!
Far away, are sirens wailing
I must decide….I must decide…
My head spins, my hands are numb
What to reach for?   What to grab?  
What desperate measure must I take? 
What treasure lost…would cause my heart to break?

I quake in fear…I scan my brain
I see embers burning, swirling as falling rain

Our documents? With taxes due…what will we do without such proof?
The doll I’ve kept from childhood? The crystal vase I cherish? 
The pearls that came from mother, or the photos of our family?
Letters from Dad, when he was far away,
       or satin slippers worn by baby…from way back when, or... was it only yesterday?


I’m calming down,…..
My breath is found,  for now I know that won't drown

Not in fire, not in fear….not today, not in sorrow….
What to take?….. Nothing!
For treasures clutched in trembling hands, are never really gone….
                                                                
I have had them all, and will take them in my dreams for tomorrow….


.......................................................
Inspired by the Contest: Last Chance
Sponsor: Kristin Bruni


Details | Narrative | |

Blinded by "Beauty"

If only she had known.
Then maybe she would have saved you.
Maybe she wouldn't have turned her back.
So that you wouldn't have to face this all alone.
She swore to him that this would never end.
Another lie, if only he had seen this coming.
The water overflowing.
A beating heart lying exposed.
Left to die alone.
And she turned her back on you.
With zero regards for the consequences.
She only thought about herself.
And the shadows casted so thin at first.
Leading to an overwhelming darkness.
What  could he have done to prevent this?
Where'd she go when he needed her the most? 
Another question going unanswered.
Just look what you've done.
You place the blame on everyone but yourself.
Trying to cover up all of these lies.
Your jaded veil, a facial disguise.
You left him for the vultures to feast upon.
Oh my God.
He would give anything to escape this shattered place you made his world.
Will he ever make it out alive? 
He's craving something new.
Something to open his eyes.
Sick of being drowned by a traitor in a once beautiful disguise.
I'm coming for you tonight.
You'll never make this out alive.
I'm sick of your bull####.
Unimaginable lies.
This is the death of you.
You've forgotten what it's mean to breathe.
He let you get to his heart.
He let you wrap your hands around his soul.
But now his life is in my hands, and I will break the chains of your control.
You'll never make it out alive.
You'll never You'll never make this out alive.
Is this the end?
The end of you?
I hate to say I told you so.
Don't tell me this is not what you want.
I'm taking ahold of this.
I stand in front of you, you've become a mute.
Not saying a word.
Coward.
I will set my ground.
And without a sound.
I'll pull the trigger to save a life.
He will now make this out alive.


Details | Narrative | |

this was me

it began so innocently
we exchanged ideas on poetry
his art, the suffering he endured
he preyed upon my compassion
as he meticulously bided his time...

i felt safe as we expressed
our mutual love of words
i was excited, i was learning,
unbeknowst to me, i was his prey..

many months and thousands of hours, 
talking, reaffirmed my trust; faith in him
he shared his life, triumps & tragedies
i supported all he desired for himself..

i understood, i felt his pain, 
his drive i admired, he overcame tremedous odds,
became a doctor so others would not suffer as he had;
he baited me; the innocent and naieve one.

living life with no regret,
i chose to take a leap of faith,
he guided me, alleviated my fears,
of promises to cherish and adore me..

as a tiger waits patiently to pounce on his prey
i was oblivious to his hatred inside,
he was a master of manipulation
his mission - to destroy me..

i felt he was worth giving 
up all i knew to build a life
he so lovingly described to me,
little did i know, his words - poison..

america bound i left everything i knew; i loved.
the terror of his drunken rages, his icy silence,
the cruelty of his words stung like red hot coals.
what he admired most about me,intensified his hatred.

the vacancy in his eyes was terrifying, 
i was alone in a strange country, 
knowing no one, in a house, not a home, 
full of tension, rage, abuse; numb and in shock;
this was my reality..

with each painstaking day of living in terror
dreading his arrival, my fear reached new heights;
i had enough; i was leaving.
his rage increased, his words pure venom..

i was numb, shaking, fear drove me to action
he became desperate, i did not sleep 
for fear of never waking, his actions so terrifying
i felt a strength within, empowering me..

planning my escape, fear became my ally,
i reached the airport and did not stop shaking
until safely on the plane, doors shut, 
moving down the runway to take-off;
i wept, i crumbled, i collapsed.

jubilantly at home, i felt peace, safe, 
and soaked in the beauty of my freedom; my home.
it has been six weeks; i have flashbacks, 
terror still haunts me; i am determined 
to not let another change me.

i am healing and am grateful for every
moment i smile, smell a flower, witness
the marvel of each sunrise and sunset.
i am a blessed girl.

~this was me~ 


Details | Narrative | |

When It Happens

I cried               Why? Maybe it is because no one understands me.
                         Doesn't stop to listen to my thoughts. Cares less 
                         about my presence to the naked eye. Doesn't Care.

I cried               Why? Maybe it is because they are too intrusive being
                         happy with their lives. Because I smile a lot and I am
                         not provoked at all by anyone. Doesn't mind.

I cried               Why? Because of my concealed past that I cannot share.
                         I am unsatisfied with me and who I am. Sulking 
                         feels better to me than laughing. Hates the world.

I cried               Why? No one is there for me. I do not want to be figured
                         out. Trying means nothing to me, I am not going to become
                         flawless in any way. Love is gone.

I cried               Why? My questions are unanswered. Invisibility describes 
                         me. Caring deprives me. Interest excites me. Loneliness
                         surrounds me.  Is left alone.

I cried               Because it frees my mixed emotions. Tears are the only
                         thing that seem to understand, comfort and help me 
                         become stronger, wiser and much more of a secret. 

I smile              In the end when I fool others into believing that it is 
                        all okay. It is the only thing that will satisfy me.. well
                        at least for now.



Rebecca C*


Details | Narrative | |

Today

it hurts again today
i wake up in pain
tears flow
pain grows
no one loves me
all alone
please hold my hand
let me love
let me be loved 
make the pain go away
soon 
so i can stop crying on the inside
and live again
laugh again
be whole again
it hurts again today
go away


Details | Narrative | |

Black Death

The ooze keeps flowing; bleeding, the earth cries,
"Someone help!! Stop the leaching; stop the black death!!"
Cover the wounds of greed, cover the sickness.
Help the innocent lives, being destroyed by this flow.
Pulsing, life of the USA, our heartbeat is weakening with each gallon lost.
Who will revive the country? Who is our super hero? Who has the courage?
Black gold has turned to our death.





**Thank God for our mothers, family and friends. 
God in heaven, hear my plea, give the engineers the knowledge to stop the oil flow 
into the Gulf and help the sea life to escape. Keep the people safe who work and live 
on the coast and restore the economy of the USA. Forgive us our sins, keep us safe, 
praise you for your blessings!! I pray in Jesus's name, Amen Thank you Jesus!!


Details | Narrative | |

Stolen Soul

Your sad and your ugly
Worth not even a life
No good as a mother
Make a terrible wife

I love you my friend
You are my world
Can we make love?
As my skin crawled

So we got into bed
And I closed my eyes
A few minutes of torture
A few silent cries

He turned on his side 
When we were done
He shut the lights
Thanks, that was fun

A few moments later
He was asleep
I took a shower
Felt dirty and cheap

Every so often
There was no fight
I enjoyed the neglect
Just one easy night

On our tenth anniversary 
He said lets go away
We'll celebrate us
And we'll find our way

With naive dreams
I agreed with all smiles
To go on this trip
Just us for miles!

We laughed on the way
A few hours a lifetime
It was quite lovely
Until it reached nighttime

When we arrived
I put on my dress
Your to skinny he said
You look like a mess

So I opened my bag
And I had no doubt
A couple of these
Are just my way out

My hands felt the tingle
My head was now clear
I said I'll change
Will you be happy my dear?

Didn't remember that night
Then the sun would appear
And just as suspected
What would I hear

Get a hold of yourself
Your full of sorrow
You make me sick
I might love you tomorrow

With another day left 
I knew it would be rough
I'll just take one more
Then throw away the stuff

We drank that night
Then I think we got high
I loved him so much
For him I would die

We made love and the slept
Then when we awoke
From the first word I said 
Was enough to provoke

His veins were alive
His blood was on fire
So angry at nothing
Was it this I'd desire

Guess I don't have to tell you
It never has changed
He did this enough
Where my mind was derranged

Then one day it happened
I rose from the dead
I felt something different
When I got out of  bed

It suddenly hit me
I remembered my name
Now this was scary
Overwhelmed with shame

Ten years of today
Put my soul on display
To pick and to poke at
For this boy to play

A lot of wear on my body
But not quite yet broke
Put my pieces together
For I am no joke

My daughters a beauty
My son almost a man
I'll do it for them
I know that I can!

You cannot do it
You can't provide
If it wasn't for me
You would have died

Thats what he said
When we walked out the door
For the first time ever
I was honestly sure

Hope my story ends happy
Now that I'm in control
The rest is all mine
Forget the ten years he stole


Details | Narrative | |

My Design

You’re touching me, but I’m unaffected 
You worry of what I’ve become 
Disconnected, I welcome in the cold 
It feels so good to just go numb 

All I feel is static 
Know that my response 
It’s automatic 

I travel down this lonely road 
The one that I designed 
Another sacred place of mine 
The one that I call home 

It’s the place where peace finds me 
Away from the noise, the shuffle and all the droning 
The only place I don’t feel alone 
Here in the company of my own 

The darkness that I seek 
Not of evil, but that of tranquility 
Where I let my problems drift away 
Gets me through to the next day 

Even as you lie here with me 
Why can’t you understand 
It’s the silence I find comforting 

Not the chaste brush of a hand 
Or the passion you choose to unleash 
Something deeper is my soul’s demand 
That of the physical is just an illusion 

All I feel is static 
Know that my response 
It’s automatic 

Somewhere between happiness and sadness 
Sitting out in the pouring rain 
Say what you have to say 
Can’t accept who I am 
This is where we go our separate ways 



Details | Narrative | |

And Then

And Then…

My work finished
     I glanced back at the clock
Ah… The Witching Hour
     Hung heavy on the next tock
My thoughts raced back
     To childhood days
          To scary stories
               Round campfires haze
                    To daunting dares
                         In dark woods maze
               And then… It caught my eye

A phantom shape
     That just moments before
Had been shadows tossed
     Twixt the walls and floor
And I admit
     Twas’ dimly lit
          Random shapes
               In chances knit
                    Poorly viewed
                         From where I sit
               And then… I saw it move

Just then I thought
     Tis’ time to trust and pray
And steady my hearts resolve
     Should this be the reckoning day
And then I swear
     The room grew cold
          Events purpose
               Moved to unfold
                    My chest I clutched
                         My soul to hold
               And then… I heard it speak

“Time is at hand”
     And those words comforted it seemed
And my God in a timeless moment
     I became one with all I’d dreamed
Tis’ certain this
     Event of page
          Will visit all
               Upon life’s stage
                    Fully quenching
                         Life’s burning rage
               And then…


Details | Narrative | |

Me, Myself, and I - (Part 1)

Hello Friends... I suffer from Severe Bi-Polar Disorder and this submission was inspired by 
actual events that occured during one of my especially critical manic episodes. Be sure and 
read Part 2 to complete the poem and leave your comments on the Part 2 submission. Thank 
you for allowing me to share my pain for pain shared is pain diminished 


Me, Myself, and I...


“There are things that concern us,”
		Consensed my “Selves” in earnest
““We” fear that “I” have succumbed to delusion”

“And after careful deliberation
		It is with much hesitation
That we choose to delineate upon this confusion”


“Fact is your intuition
		Is riddled with superstition
And your judgment leaves much to be desired”

“So you leave us no recourse
		Don’t push us to use force”
It is then that the “I” was summarily fired


I exclaimed “By whose authority?” Response, “Rule of majority”
“The “Myself” and the “Me,” (forthwith the “We”), are experts in our field”

“And with much technique and time
		And some forays into the sublime
The nature of your malady will be revealed”


“So to keep yourself from having a fit
		Step back and just calm down a bit”
“We,” they said, “certainly have this under control”

“We swear this won’t hurt at all”
		Then I felt my inhibitions fall
Still I said a prayer to God that He keep my soul


You know, fact is I do feel off axis
		As evidenced by such parapraxis
As this prose that I, (or is it “Us”), seek to pen

And with my mind feeling numb
		I finally chose to succumb
And allow the “Me” and the “Myself” to begin


And then came questions in a flurry
		Answer, answer and please do hurry
Not one moment of respite did they give

They pushed and they prodded
		With every “T” crossed and “I” dotted
My mind felt like it had gone through a sieve


And all this psycho-analysis
		Is causing my mind paralysis
The questions, can you stop with the questions please

“Yes, oh yes indeed
		I do believe we have what we need
To make an attempt to identify your unknown neuroses”


Details | Narrative | |

Me, Myself, and I - (Part 2)

Hello Friends... I suffer from Severe Bi-Polar Disorder and this submission was inspired by 
actual events that occured during one of my especially critical manic episodes. Be sure and 
read Part 1 first so as to get the true gist of the poem and leave your comments here on the 
Part 2 submission. Thank you for allowing me to share my pain for pain shared is pain 
diminished.


Me, Myself, and I... (continued)


“Your, (Or “Our”), symptoms seem to intermit
		And the fact that “You’re,” (“We’re”), a hypocrite
Tis no wonder we’re having such problems with diagnosis”

Then “I” had an idea so grand
		To dispense with this at my own hand
A self-inflicted coup de grace would be my prognosis


So while the “Me” and the “Myself” squabbled
		With courage newly cobbled
“I” spotted the dresser drawer and made my run

With fingers fiercely fumbling
		Whilst they continued grumbling
“I” produced from the depths of the drawer a shiny gun


And now my life, though ill-fated
		Was soon to be vindicated
This would affect us all equally the same

Would be no myself or me
		No you, him, us, or we
But an inclusive all would be to blame


It took me a moment to figure
		Out the safety on the trigger
Then “I,” (or “Us”), prepared to do the dirty deed

Then the barrel found my temple
		And as it settled into the dimple
A still small voice did my “selves” choose to heed


Hence a moment of clarity 
		Harkened me to posterity
And I thought what a legacy to leave behind

“Can’t we all find a way
		To save this miserable day
And avoid a broken body for someone to find”


And then deep within my soul
		I felt and heard a simple drum roll
And the differing sides of me just subsided

And with my mind now as one
		I worked to get this all undone
The whole business of this stuff I derided


And tis now true of fact
		That I survived this ordeal intact
And lived to raise my face unto the sky
 
And here now as it ends
		I find I’ve made good friends
With the “Me”, the “Myself,” and the “I”


Thank you for taking the time to share in my poetry. Please feel free to leave your thoughts 
or comments here on this page. 

J. Scott Burns...


Details | Narrative | |

School Days

(and long brown stockings) 

I detest these stockings,
they're coarse, brown and ugly.

I hate the garters more;
elastic circles that cut off 
circulation and fail to halt 
the laddering down my skinny legs.

If only . . . I picture myself
in warm jeans and no teasing
from Tommy Rogers.

I put the garters to better use,
roll the repulsive stockings
down around my ankles. 

Tommy taunts,
"Who gave you
jointed toothpicks for legs?"

I lost it.

Now, Tommy has a black eye
and my nose is in the corner.


Details | Narrative | |

The Baseball Shame Game

Long gone are Hammerin’ Hank Aaron
and The Say Hey Kid Willie Mays.
Now there are only Steroid Sammy Sosa
and Bulked Up Mark McGwire.
What the heck happened to our beloved baseball game?
It’s a hell of a thing! It’s a doggone shame!


Details | Narrative | |

[IN]SANITY

I've counted the bars of my prison walls. 3 sides of 10 bars; 30. One solid wall,
cold, wet, molded concrete.
I've lost count of how long I have been here,
I hardly remember when I got here, but, it’s been winter
for a long time.
I've forgotten what it is to move in grass and amongst other bodies.
I am chained in here,
thick steel cuffs chain me to the wall.
I've counted the faces, whose names I can't remember,
and then lost count of them
as they flash and flicker, fast forwarded in my mind.
I've been motionless for a long time,
I’m not sure I even remember what movement is.
I’m not sure I can even remember to move.
I’ve forgotten who I am, my name, how old I am
how tall I am, my features, likes and dislikes;
there are no mirrors.
I’ve been nameless for a long time, and there is no one else
here in this vast blank expanse but me and these bars,
and one wall.
I’ve realized I don’t even know what I am
and that panics me, but I know not what this feeling is?
What Is feeling?
I’ve thrown myself at the bars, clawing at the nothing
that lies behind them.
What Is nothing?
I’ve discovered there is a name that echoes and echoes In the vastness,
how do I know that name?
Is it mine, yours, theirs, his, ours?
I’ve remembered, the memories crush into me,
a weight I had not known for unknown amounts of time.
No go away! Again, please...
I’ve tried to forget,
but the white walls are somewhere out there, waiting.
and I? Why, I do not even exist.
[IN]SANITY


Details | Narrative | |

Two Seconds To Say Goodbye

It buzzed.
She smiled.
He had replied.
Eagerly she dug
Her phone
From her pocket,
Her other hand
On the wheel.
Her gaze remained ahead
Into the darkness
Of the cold wintery night.
It buzzed again,
The screen illuminating
The shadows of the car.
Would he be there?
Would he come over
After his shift at work
Was done?
“What did he say?”
Another young voice replied.
“Give me the phone.”
She hesitated,
Not fully trusting
Her friend.
Besides,
She wanted to know.
She wanted to see the words.
She wanted feel
The exhilaration
Of reading his words
To HER.
She glanced down,
The screen now dark,
And fumbled
To press the keys.
“He’s coming,” she said
Trying to calm
The enthusiasm
In her voice.
Her heart beat harder.
How did she look?
What should she reply?
Gr8 C U L8T
In the same 2 seconds, she could have typed
Goodbye.


Details | Narrative | |

A Land Bearing Green White Green

Which way leads to the 
land of green white 
green?
Which way are we 
heading?
   A country the wicked 
bears the rulership, and 
the people sighing 
continuously.
   A terrible thing sprouts 
beneath the sun: a 
pregnant woman 
delivering not.
Imps come to lime-light 
by snuffing air from the 
goose that laid the 
golden eggs.
The blind guiding the un
blind.
The weak suppressing 
the strong-a terrible 
thing.
Like the overthrow of the 
gods at Mt. Olympus by 
the Titans.
A country where also 
thieves appear as men of 
integrity.
Land of green white 
green,which way?
A land where the 
enlightened ones are 
overshadowed and 
peanuts given to them.
The masses are dogs that 
eat the crumbs.
 Which way to go you 
Land?
Iliterates stand on 
podium of power 
bellowing orders as milk 
of sorrow known as 
dividends of democracy 
is passed around.
The machine of progress 
manned by the 
unproductive.
"There is better 
tomorrow" we hear.
Land of green white 
green,my country 
where rule of law walk 
beside anarchy.
The proles are sentenced 
to adversity,and there 
endured death-like trials.
Chai! Aru! People 
dancing on thorns 
whimpering as they 
throng 
along.
  I see a new sun rising 
from the horizon,hope is 
rekindled as its rays 
grace on hopeless bodies.
 Look!! there soon be 
change!



Note: 
This 
is 
poem 
full 
of 
Nigeria 
political
 angst.


Details | Narrative | |

Midnight Again

Its midnight again, TV on
The sofa becomes my bed
As the confusion of our lives
Fills my weary head

At times I drift off
And think of days gone by
How I yearn for yesterday
So bad it makes me cry

Other times I feel just like a kid
With something new to share
And you put your soul around me 
And tell me how much you care

At times I think its working
Like I’ve finally met the mark
And all too quickly it ends
And I’m alone, on the couch, in the dark

Why can’t it all be the way it was
That day on top of the hill
Am I really as bad a person 
As you can make me feel


Inside I try so hard
Outside it seems I don’t
I want to meet your needs
But I don’t know what you want

I try to be your husband
Your lover and your friend
Somehow I never am
And I find myself here again

I try to be a father
But those efforts just backfire
Somehow I manage to destroy
Everything that I desire

I ask myself, “Is it worth it?”
Why don’t I start anew
And after hours of contemplation
Just one answer, “I love you”

And resolved to that end
I lay my heart to sleep
And I pray the lord
Our souls together he will keep

A silent kiss to you and the kids
In hopes of a better day
As I close my eyes to dream
And let my troubles drift away 


Details | Narrative | |

A Christmas Tale

As evenings dark began to close in
a little girl wipes her nose on her sleeve.
Listless and hungry she walks in the snow
a poor and lost soul, one cold New Year’s Eve.

Her dead mothers slippers were much to large,
they were flip flopping while crossing the street,
two wild carriages coming full speed
made her lose them, now she walks in bare feet.

She glances in windows as she walks by,
families eating and making good cheer,
her pains from hunger she tries to ignore,
she’s starving and freezing, poor little dear.

The north winds cold breeze keeps blowing her face
catches her breath as it blows back her hair.
She spots a dark alley where she can lay,
Tired and windblown she can no longer care.

She curls in a ball tucking frozen feet
carefully under her old blanket cloak,
she leans on the building, closing her eyes
now given up and her spirits are broke.

A shaggy old dog, nudges her gently
she hugs him and draws him close to her heart,
smiling she whispers, we’ll go together 
when Jesus finds us, we’ll never more part

Then both of their eyes close, she bathes in dreams,
sitting at a fire, with food on the hearth.
When she awakes, a lady stands smiling,
pats the old dog saying, good boy old Barth.



The Little Match Girl by H.C. Anderson
Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly quite dark, and evening-- the last evening of the year. In this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. When she left home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother had hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street, because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.


Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
12.03.2014
Contest: A Christmas Tale
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi


Details | Narrative | |

REMEMBER ME

When you don't know how many tomorrows you'll have, 
You tend to focus in the immediacy of today;
A homeless child just trying to survive.
Rummaging through dump rubbish every day.

Another afternoon in this hellish forsaken place, 
Ankle deep in garbage scavenging a dinner plan;
Feeling particularly weak and sick on my stomach, 
When a large group pulled up in two white vans.

The slide doors of these vans opened fast, 
And well dressed people jumped out in a hurry;
Honestly, I was glad that I wasn't too close, 
They were strangely awkward, I was worried.

The group spoke a different language, 
I think they were from The United States;
Most of them were snapping pictures, 
Which is something I do not appreciate.

They were drinking cold bottles of water, 
What I'd give just to have a taste;
I'd be happy with a half empty hot bottle, 
In this sewage minefield of trash and waste.

One of the strangers seemed different, 
There was something about his eyes;
He seemed to look right into my soul, 
As I stood there swatting away flies.

It's hard to describe what I was feeling, 
Although little time had actually passed;
There on that filthy hill I felt a bonding, 
I remember wanting this moment to last.

On his face I saw sadness and passion, 
He could tell I was a boy totally broken;
Existing day to day on this stench heap,
We were talking but no words were spoken.

Then someone in the group said something, 
And the group quickly boarded up to go;
Except for the one locked in on me, 
From the vans they shouted "Come on, Joe!"

He ran to the van.. and grabbed something, 
Then with sensed urgency he rushed over to me;
The kind stranger delivered two ice cold waters, 
His contagious smile was large and friendly.

As he turned to go I tapped him on his shoulder, 
He swung around I was shocked to see tears;
I felt a simple pure love from this angel,
Who from out of nowhere suddenly appears.

Walking back to the van he turned and waved, 
I took a long drink to salute.. no longer thirsty;
The rest of my life this moment sealed in time, 
For him as well, I think Joe will always remember me!

For Brian's "Small Gifts" Contest
*He gave more than a Drink.. He gave Dignity! 

Narrative Poem 
From the city dump in Puarta Plata, Dominican Republic


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ARE YOU MY DADDY

I'm on a dusty backroad journey, in the Pearl of Africa;
They don't invest in road repair in the country of Uganda.
It's a pot-holed highway, that seems to go on forever;
We're in a worn out SUV, and our group is crammed together.

Finally, we pull off this road, to a sight I've never seen;
They call it a "Highway Orphanage", truly nothing there is clean.
There's just two broken down huts, and a large field of clay;
And the sun is beating down on us, it's the middle of the day.

The Chief tells us a tragic story, that's repeated almost every week;
How children are abandoned here, to a future that's somewhat bleak.
Mothers of these little children, so very desperate to simply survive;
Travel the long road to Kampala, in hopes of work to keep them alive.

Its here they leave their precious child, and sometimes more than one;
I'm sure they're confused and brokenhearted, when the sad deed is done.
The clothes on these children are old and torn, and many have none at all;
And they aren't left with any toys, there's no games, stuffed pet, or balls.

There seems to be scarce food here, and there's no close running water;
But I'm sure the greatest lack, is these kids don't have a mother or father.
Some of the children sit in the shade, but most are sitting in the field;
For them it's just another mundane day, till I walk over and kneel..

They are just starring at me, I wonder what they could be thinking;
"Who is this large, sweating, white man, with eyes that keep blinking?"
But soon my friendly smiles are returned, and the kids are drawing near;
Within minutes I'm a human jungle gym, and the children have no fears.

What happens next I'll never forget, if I live a hundred years;
Just the very thought of it, brings this grown man to tears.
One of the little climbers, gets real close to me and speaks;
"Are you my Daddy", he whispers, my knees instantly go weak.

A great well of emotion erupts, words still can not describe;
Feelings so overpowering, it was impossible for me to hide.
And one by one the children whispered, those same sad words to me;
Their little mouths would hug my ear, and say "Are you my Daddy?

*On the crossroads out of Kampala, Uganda

Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Contest Name: Heart And Soul 


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Thug City USA

Ferguson, Missouri
aka Thug City USA. 


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If Only Tears Could Feed Them

have you ever went days without food?
long seemingly ceaseless nights 
as you hear the rumble
(like thunder in small ears) of bellies not filled

these tears I shed are wasted 
for they don’t feed the hungry 

in all the mourning lies a bittersweet fruitlessness
with its empty anguish poured on solemn streets
though I cry tears anyhow….pouring hot from my lids 
like tequila burns the throat of  a boy

this sympathy is wasted….for they still go unfed
though at night I wail at the injustice of it all…
(a bit like shouting into a deafened wind)

all my sorrow for those poverty stricken
poor little children with swollen bellies
and big sad starving eyes rips and shreds at my heart
pounding like a raging river on my congested chest
as I strive for some peace from the rampaging agony
of each little life that is uselessly lost 
                                        (slipped to a bitter dust)

yet….they still go without food…..my wailing did not end this….

a big deep well of darkness uncoils and envelops me
yes I cry….I weep crocodile tears in my solitude
(fat lot of good that does)
shaking what are fragile fists toward a sky unfeeling
and less than listening to the plight of these unfortunate
who drown in their destitution ….

it takes souls and tatters them
shredding lives with a razor sharp machete

but….I am fed….aren’t I?
and all the lamenting is pointless….isn’t it?
if they still go another night hearing the rumble
of hollow stomachs and brick wall barriers….

these tears I shed are wasted……yet…I cry them anyway
if only tears could feed them…



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When

It was only supposed to last a little while. 
The pain I suffered was temporary. 
You promised you would fix it. 
Oh and fix me you did.

I hate you for what I have become.
Tired. Lazy unable to work. 
You created this monster of pain
Inside my head. 
It never goes away.

But you were the lucky soul. 
Your death was quick and painless.
Leaving behind those who mourn.
But I am not one of them. 
I wish you all that you deserve.

I have something now that I cannot change.
This damage to nerves, and numbness and pain.
My life has become a struggle. 
I compete with pain each day.
Sometimes I lose. Occasionally I win

It never leaves this pain you made. 
I wonder how many more.
You destroyed like me.
So powerful being a surgeon. 
To hold someone's life in your hands.

sickness, depression, anger


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The Final Confessions II

These were my confessions
(A message to God)
The light begins to fade
(It’s time to go)
Back into the shadows
(That hard black fog)
Where darkness has its way
(God rest your soul)

Nothing left to tell you
(It’s all been said)
No more songs to write
(This silent Fall)
Nothing left to offer 
(The well’s been bled)
From a shadow’s waning life
(Who lost it all)

Take my words and hold them
(Don’t be afraid)
Place them near your heart
(And heal your pain)
Shadow words will kiss you
(And heal your pain)
When your world turns dark
(Don’t’ be afraid)

And I kiss you
Kiss you
I kiss you in the dark……..


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What Gets On My Nerves

You want to know what annoyeth me? Let me count the ways!
I could weave a veritable tapestry of all my aggravations, mostly in 
light and deep crimson hues which signify the violence in my Heart.
Easily I could write a novel that reads like a laundry list of everything that
vex me to no fathomable End.

Pretentiousness, which is the ultimate Sin of Sins, maddens me more
than mere meager words can describe or accurately articulate. An example, perhaps?
Someone who claims to be a better poet than Shakespeare! Such heinous poetic heresy and blatant blasphemy! ONE WORD: HA!

Let's see...what else? Oh, how I loath- despise! an unannounced and 
unexpected visitor, a "knock, knock" that sends shivers, like shards of glass,
down my disturbed spine. Yes, I know all about Jesus. No, I don't want to come to your church but I'll smile, be polite and friendly as I decline the invitation, then send you off on your merry way to pester someone else with your nonsense and throw your "literature" in the trash.  I wish I lived in an impregnable fortress surrounded by a moat and guarded by ten-thousand Pinkerton Guards. They never sleep. 

Driving, what a bedeviling task! Anyone remember the old video game "Spy Hunter" where your vehicle was equipped with bombs and lasers and such? How I wish my car had a machine gun or rocket-launcher turret to get everyone out of my way! Going too slow? KABOOM! Didn't use your turn signal? Ratta-tat-tat-tat-tat-t-a-t-t...-a...-t. So long, buster!

Bad hair-do's are ALMOST as sinful and unforgivable as pretentiousness. I cannot abide a bad hair-do. It's a good thing I'm not a socio/psychopathic autocrat or I would have anyone with an offensive coif shot on sight. When I was in school and big, poofy Aqua-Net shellac soaked , giant crunchy big bangs were all the rage, I took great delight in smashing those immense, granite-like monstrous and monumental  mega-pompadours. Some of those do's were hard as bricks, like they were surrounded and protected by some kind of hair force-field. I demolished many a poof in my youth!

This diatribe is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. I could on and on and on and on and on and on...but I'll trail off here...

*What Annoys You Contest Entry*
JustThatArchaicPoet


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The Woes Of Trust

An angel formed from 
lake of purity,a gift to 
mankind-illuminating 
darkest parts of hearts.
A chaste damsel,
untouched rose from the 
garden of the elves.

Sent to earth,made an 
abode in a gentleman's 
heart,whom she 
cherished and loved.

As time travelled,another 
fella whom she trusted 
lured her to un-saintly act
Her pride laid on altar of 
dishonor and infidelity.
Her life she almost 
snuffed,she feared the 
love of her true love 
would be lost. Alas! bond 
of love is indivisible.

Shattered,with a broken 
spirit she tries to mend 
the pieces....on the 
shoulder of her lover she 
leans,hoping to soothe 
her bruised heart.



Note:
A true story,a close 
pretty lady friend of mine 
was raped by her family 
friend yesterday...who 
called her and told her 
his mum was very sick.
She called me and 
confided in me .
Don't know whether to 
encourage her to call the 
police.


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My Last Blog

 Dear POETESS' and POETS, This really is not a POEM. I have replyed to all comments on my last Blog and wonder why no one ever reads a blog or a POEM a 2nd time unless its Featured or a Winner in a contest. I comment on POEMS more than once especially those in my Favorites. Is there something wrong with me; POETICALLY, I know there something wrong with me mentally and physically Just Asking. To all my LOVE ALWAYS and FOREVER YOUR Eternal Liege...Harry


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A girl was raped in a bus that night

A girl was raped in a bus that night 
By six men, all drunk, who had lost their minds	
Ambrosia was the elixir of gods, it is said
But godlike men in this age aren’t born or made
Alcohol wrecks judgment, makes beasts out of men 
Deeds under its influence have put us men to shame
Shops abound in our nation where alcohol is sold
The government till overflows when the weather turns cold
A corrupt force is tasked to uphold the country’s law
Incidents occurring on a daily basis expose this basic flaw
Fear of law is no deterrent for miscreants and crooks
The police prefer to look away; with them, they are in cahoots  
But a girl still battles death today aided by a ventilator
Skewered with an iron rod that night, unending was her horror
Demonstrations against this shame were met with brutal force
Citizens showing solidarity were bludgeoned without remorse
The hand that wields the baton to protect civil society
Is now the hand that throttles free voice and liberty
Bad governance, we know is the bane of any nation
Bad policing and lawlessness is responsible for any country’s degeneration
Instead of upholding law and maintaining order
Law enforcers are subdued by their political masters
Whose lack of will to rein in the force given selfish political aspirations 
Stems from a sense of indebtedness for furthering their ambitions 
Burning state fuel at night they stalk and chase prey
Fleecing shady truckers and wheeler-dealers who operate in markets grey
This extortion by night on city road and state highway
Robs the state of much needed revenue and is an add-on to their pay
Similar incidents happen each day of the year and night
In night’s anonymous darkness or blatantly by daylight
With the force preoccupied in matters so vital
Who will protect our girls and control the crime spiral
The government of the day is callous to people’s concerns
Callous to  a daughter’s fate on whom men on a bus took turns


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The Final Confessions I

These are my confessions
Secrets of my mind
Everything that mattered
Truth I can not hide

Nothing but a shadow
Distant memory
What I was, What I am
What I’m supposed to be

Forgive me, God, forgive me
For being so unkind
Impatient…ungrateful
Cynical and blind

To those who thought they knew me
And those who never did
To those who hear my songs 
In the places where they live

I offer my confessions
Honest to the core
Offer my confessions
There won’t be anymore

No more…


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Tell Me Isn't So Bill Cosby

I have a very negative opinion
of most of the Hollywood crowd.
Many of them are rich snotty assholes,
clueless commie loving SOBs
who think they are international statesmen.
But I must admit I thought Bill Cosby
was a very decent human being.
WOW! Was I ever mistaken!
Tell me it isn’t so Bill Cosby!


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into the wedge

There are some things, we will never forget


....

the sound of a phone call, still rings in my ears
squeezing my chest.....squeezing my chest...

the sun was sinking low, into the west
along with my heart
cold, under a blood-red sky

as we drove into the wedge of dusk
on the edge of our seats
in a frozen state 
on that icy slope
I was holding my breath in the liquid silence
coping........not coping
engaging in warfare
of knowing, without really knowing
how to hope, ...or what to hope for

but deep down
already knowing, the war was over...

my torso was rocking
without my control......forward and backwards
a life of it's own
a balm for raw nerves, I couldn't calm down
something to do, something to do
knowing, but not knowing
be hopeful, or be resigned?
coping? not well
 ...knowing, but not knowing

yet, somehow fearing
the war was over....

-

on that night that would change all...

he clung to the wheel......I clung to the seat
we clung to our prayers, but what was done, will be done...
what is gone.....will be gone

as we drove into the wedge of night
watching the moon replace the sun without remorse
we stayed on course, without a word between us said
but a slither of light on the horizon
filling my head with visions of birds on the wing
flying into the clouds
like a sign
as a shroud
taking my eyes
taking my hope
taking the doubt
taking instead
my own resistance
to what I already knew
it all
meant

what was done....will be done
what is gone....will be gone
losing hope....is losing hope
the war was over...

what is left 
we must accept




_________________________________


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my 3rd favourite drive

My 3rd favourite drive was to see her
Only for it to be the longest drive home
To be once again in her arms and embrace her too
I knew what was coming 
I never wanted to let her go
Stability is so fragile 
Stability breaks with a word
Her mind state is a dark world
All alone she decided I'm not to follow
I could see she wanted to cry
Inside we both had many times

To be not good for a person
Is impossible when even in this outcome
Her presence makes me smile naturally
The talk of the future
The talk of ifs and maybes
Doesn't matter to me
I know what I have now
I know how to be happy again
Can you not see?
My life is with you
No matter what I choose
No matter what it is you do
My dream is to be make you happy too

Sitting in my car returning the way I came 
Over an hour to drive home
Easily felt like it was over two
The cd player in my car was purposely loud
Covering the sound from my phone
To my right an accident had occurred
Firemen and ambulances calming the situation
Shards of metal and glass strewn on the road
To my shock I felt nothing for the devastation
My only aim was to get back home

My 3rd favourite drive was to see her
Only for it to be the longest drive home


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Muslims Mad At Beyonce

Muslims are now mad at the singer Beyonce
because of her latest music video
proving my contention that the only quality
a person needs to become a Muslim
is to have less than ten active brain cells.


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Well Said My Poetically Challenged Friend

Well said, my poetically challenged friend... 

Your insight is deep and telling of your sage, 
Even if I can not understand your poetic wage, 

Tell us more of your triumphs and travels, 
And don't leave out the blotter and gavels, 

For it is your frailty which entices, 
The calling of the soul, 
And unlocking of the mind... 

For when we read of your glorious battle, 
And become the fodder of which you prattle, 

Remember that these are the days, 
We relished the great dreams you gave, 

Soon you will be left to your own devices, 
Karma so apropos, 
Balancing over time... 

Then with great pride I will be able to say, 
That I once met a poet untamed,

A free verse poet like you who has belched, 
With nonconforming musings, true and heartfelt, 

Oh what great cost the poets price is, 
Always watching yet always alone, 
All to capture truth sublime, 

Again well said, my poetically challenged friend!


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How my life was transformed

I’m going to tell a story now of a man who having served his time in a war torn country, but due to a very sensitive nature suffered from what they like to call ‘Post traumatic stress disorder’, he was like this for many, many years, with all the symptoms of anger, paranoid, fear and anxiety, and was impossible to live with. He had studied everything from self help gurus, to spiritual teachers to conventional counselling {that man was I} but nothing helped, I just got worse and worse, which ended up in me leaving home, and in the process throwing away every thing I had ever built up, that was half way decent. After a year I went back home, my tail between my legs, to try over. But no, I was still impossible to live with, and there was never any real peace with me around. I had tried every kind of meditation, self hypnosis, positive thinking, and nothing worked. The writing did help me quite a bit, but it was never enough.

Then one day I discovered on the net an American gentleman, named John Sherman. I went on his site, at no cost whatsoever And I heard what he said, when he told me one simple thing to do. He told me to go behind my thoughts and just look at me
The me that is there behind all the thoughts and emotions when everything is gone; The me one speaks about when he or she points to themselves and says ‘me‘. Now this seemed so simplistic to me, and I kind of scoffed at it, but I tried it anyway, because I was rather desperate to bring about some changes, and I had tried everything else. it was so easy for me, and I started to do it whenever it came to me to do so. This was four years ago now, and I have practiced what he said religiously.


Now, four years later I am a different being, the anger is gone, the misery is non existent, My fear of death is all but gone, and I feel like life is one big wonderful dance. If anyone has troubles of this kind and cannot lead a peaceful life… go to 
‘www.justonelook.org’ And let John and his wife Carla help you, there are no conditions no religion and definitely no payments to be made. Just felt I had to tell someone about the Sherman’s, because of what happened to me     Peter.


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Bloody Bloomin Rose's

Ah, the bloom was on the Rose
yet, the taint of alcohol and drugs
looms nightmare like behind her baby pink cheeks. 
Porcelain skin tones, raspberry rogue
nails to scratch and lift bits of dirty lucre.

She was clawing her way up,
and hopefully out, he hits her, “Slut,” he screams at her.
a sometime replacement sat beside him. 
His Chicano inner-city drawl hurt her ears 
and the fake diamonds studding them. 
The new girl beside him
giggles…

She’s due at work by nine,
grabbing a smooth wrap-top and a mock
grey skirt, she rushes from the room to the bank.
She can still see his long fingers playing in other girls cleavage.
Rose, well, Rose pays the rent. She strikes a teller’s pose 
behind the formica countertop...

Long days, counting other peoples money
kindness, and sweetness sucked from her
like a ripe plum on a summers day.
She needs work, more work.
I asked her to help in the garden.
Long blonde, buxom, bending over weeds,
only six months to go to graduation
an associate degree…

Rose chuckles, “Look who I’ve been associatin’ with?”
I eye the twenty-five thou lottery ticket in my jean pocket.
“You want to move here Rose?”
“What would they do without me?”
I sigh, thinking of her alcoholic mother
off bingeing and her “boy fiend”.

The lottery windfall went for Rose’s college tuition. 

The bloom is off the Rose now, 
two hundred plus pounds later
strung out beside her Mom on a ratty couch, 
she eyes the Diploma in it’s cheap black frame,
and rocks her baby girl
some things, never change….

*Names have been changed, and the amount given, but part
of the ending has truely come to pass already [sigh]. 
The rest is all true.  


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Southbound Mule

Jonathan Gruber, a professor of economics
at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology
and one of the liberal elitist architects of
ObamaCare, who has utter contempt for the
average American voter and has been caught
on video twice calling us stupid in front of his
fellow elitist bunghole buddies, is the north end
of a southbound mule. Enough Said!
End Of Story!


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Desperate Measures (Complete Version)

"No!!!"-- that was the first thought that popped to mind-
I was in complete denial. 
I honestly thought I would be safe!
I did everything that I possibly could,
I laughed bitterly. But here it was...
Funny how your life can turn around in just a day--
My own personal demon was now mocking me to my face
 and slowly killing me. 

Inexperience made me struggle. Should I go for the kill or not?
 Either option would ultimately result to death by mortification. 
The former to a lesser degree though. 
So I decided to go for it, stepping inside a place where
desolation would meet impending horror.

I was now in familiar territory but my fingers still trembled. 
Touching on porcelain smooth surface, 
goosebumps~ as I saw that red, angry, stranger, giving me the evil eye.
 I was still contemplating on what I was about to do. 
Pain was inevitable but I was willing to sacrifice my comfort.
 Desperate people did this all the time, 
all without a care--why was I so nervous? 
It was now or never...

It didn't belong in this world, and absolutely not in my personal space.
Slowly, I closed in on it and tried to put a hole through its heart--
I started to pump the life out of that repulsive alien.
It was surprising though how silent everything was,
I did meet with some resistance, and it just didn't want to give in to me easily.
It was still mocking me in its own, evil way. But I was determined--
I was mentally willing it to die and my heart raced in a fiery flutter.
I was clenching my teeth, my fingers were turning white,
 and I was silently screaming in pain.
I didn't know I would get hurt this bad. 
I kept the pressure on until finally, it exploded-

Its life juices just splattered everywhere. 

I felt something sticky and warm on my cheek-
so I touched it and looked at my fingers. 
There was blood on it. Oozing blood and pus.

When I was finally able to breathe freely, 
I cleaned myself up and checked the damage. 

There was hardly a nick on my face after all. 
That wasn't too bad...
nothing a little foundation and concealer couldn't fix.  
The important thing was, my pimple was Dead~
and the Drama Queen was going to survive Prom after all.


**1005/June 2009---posted an incomplete version of this for the 
"Leave me Hanging Contest" here's the entire write :)
though did some editing today ;) --submitting this for
Paula's Bedevil contest :)


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Behind the Drapes

I always know when it’s last call
That’s when he stumbles home
He’s armed and he’s dangerous
With nowhere to go
But even in his drunken sweat
He knows his next target -
He shuts the windows,
And pulls the drapes closed

Then he’s yelling through the house
I don’t know what it’s about
I’m behind the closet door
Crouched down on the floor
All I can hear is the sound 
Of my heart beating
I don’t even realize I’m screaming
As he drags me out by my feet…

We have barbeques outside
And then he’s Mr. Nice Guy
He has all the neighbors fooled
With his helpful attitude
They never see 
The monster inside -
He pulls the drapes closed,
And that monster comes alive

He screams and he shouts
Rampaging through the house
All because of a joke
Our kitchen wall has a hole
I run behind the bed
Scrambling to get under it instead
But he yanks me out by the head…

I wake up later on the floor
Wondering who I am anymore
I feel like a pathetic version of me
No longer brave, no longer free
I dream of leaving him every night
But when I’ve left, I’ve paid the price
I don’t know how much more 
I can take - 
Maybe if I provoke him, 
He’ll end this charade…
I stare at paisley drapes
Tan and red swirl in my face

I look up at the walls
If the walls could speak
What would they say?
Would they be my Witness’s,
Or would they turn and run away?
Succumbing to Intimidation?
Fearing Retaliation?
Would there ever be 
Any Validation?
Any Compassion?
Or just more of this 
Inaction?

One time I hid behind the drapes
But he found me anyway


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The Twerker And The Jerk

Dominique was hotter than a pistol and she loved to twerk.
Harold was a super ugly high tech dot-com first class jerk.
When he saw her twerking on the dance floor he got a teepee boner.
When she found out that he had beaucoup money, he was a goner.
After a very short courtship and a whole lot of horizontal polka;
they got married, lived lavishly and his friends thought he was a sucka.
Harold had more money than a crooked politician so their marriage went on.
Even when he turned eighty, Dominique’s dirty dancing gave him a rock hard bone.
Be it love, lust or perversity, Dominique and Harold are still together living very happily.
Lust and greed are both deadly sins, but at least here on earth they have compatibility.


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The Ferris Wheel and Being Bipolar

Riding so long, I feel nauseous
They won’t stop the Ferris wheel
My throat is dry and cracked from screaming
Stop!, Please Stop!
Up, up - ground shifting at dizzying heights
Down, down - crashing, stomach flopping
White knuckles from holding the grimy bar
Smell of metal and cooking meat all around
Creaking and moaning of hot gears and
Weight under tension
Unnerving canting and swaying of
A rickety car with black grease oozing from
Over-worked pivot points and hinges
Just another day at the carnival….
And being Bipolar.


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Mama's Enduring Love

Go to war and you will find out
that everyone bleeds red blood.
Be you red, yellow, brown, black or white;
if you are wounded, bright red blood comes gushing out.
Skin color doesn’t make any difference whatsoever.
While I’m on a railing rant let me tell you another war truism:
if you are mortally wounded and die a slow lingering death,
you will cry out for your mama.
No man cries out for his wife, no woman cries out for her husband.
No one even cries out for their papa.
When you are lying on the doorstep of death’s eternal rest,
you will leave this mortal world with mama on your mind.
Do you want to know why?
Because your mama will always dearly love you
whether you grow up to be a good person or even if you turn out bad.


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I Accepted the Potato Salad Because You Were Serving It

Yes, the time had allowed another opportunity to be near you,
Though well heaven knows whenever you are near my fear crunches my breath,
Leaving me starving for you, and wanting nothing more than to flee…

I stood in line, mainly because my family was there…
God knows I was not hungry at all…
Which is odd—I’m usually always hungry when I come to food gatherings
But there I was, my stomach swirling, and I looked out of the window,
And I saw you with the others, serving the food

My first thought was, great, here’s an opportunity,
And then the fear came—oh boy, what are you serving?
Are you serving something I like? 
Something I hate? 
So I closed my eyes and opened them again…
And I looked at what you were serving…
It was either macaroni salad, or potato salad; wasn’t quite sure at the time
I was more intrigued by how you presented yourself,
So friendly…so easy-going….so very natural and engaging

Damnit! The line is moving fast! 

I cringed at the thought of approaching you,
Even when I was following all the others;
And I knew you couldn’t be left insinuating-
Oh, that girl’s kinda weird and creepy…
I guess you’d only think that if I went to the table for the third time or something- 
But still, I was shaking with stupid thoughts

There was a problem though…
I do like macaroni salad… well, a little bit--I've never loved it
And I’m rather sick of potato salad frankly…
So if I refused the food, would you think it’s just another way to avoid contact?
Or will I give eye contact and smile at you, and say “no thank you”?
As I got closer, it was apparent it was potato salad…
And I begin to think
Well! Potato salad…it’s not that bad…let’s play it safe, shall we? Let’s get a little bit.

And before I knew it, I was where all the food was
You were talking speedily, happily with the others
About just everything it seemed… my ears heard blurs at this point
A lady offered me salad – I accepted the bowl and slowly put dressing on and looked up
And you smiled at me and said,
“Best potato salad in the world, right here.”
And I can’t remember if I smiled, 
But I most certainly lifted that stupid plate…
The lady next to you said, 
“and there’s another kind right beside it!”
I said quickly, “I think I’ll pass…” 
What she didn’t know was that I was trying to get the hell away before I vomited on everything and everyone...

I wasn’t hungry at all…
But one thing was certain…

I accepted the potato salad because you were serving it! 
And I ate it too… 
It wasn’t bad…in fact I could say pretty easily,
It was the best potato salad in the world

Right here….

You were… were….. right there.


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Dead American Criminals

Aaron Burr is dead.
Billy the Kid is dead.
Jesse James is dead.
Bonnie and Clyde are dead.
Al Capone is dead.
Ted Bundy is dead.
Jeffrey Dahmer is dead.
Tricky Dick Nixon is dead.
All is right with the world.
Hell still ain’t half full.


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Butticians

There are a growing number
of political pundits on television and
radio voicing their concern over the fact
that both the Senate and Congress
in Washington D.C. are filled mostly
with butticians: subhuman bipedal
ape-like creatures uniquely qualified
to inhabit the slime filled environment
of professional politics which is centered
in the nation’s capital, but radiates outwards
to cover all fifty state capitals as well as the
capitals of five U. S. territories: Puerto Rico,
the U. S. Virgin Islands, American Samoa,
the Northern Mariana Islands and Guam.
Butticians are ersatz people who were born
with their brains located in their buttocks
instead of their heads like normal human beings.
They are loathsome cretins devoid of empathy
and their hearts are composed of solid stone.
Because of their physical and mental abnormalities,
they dominate the current amoral political landscape.



portmanteaus’ word used in poem – butticians: buttocks/politicians


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An Inmates Dark Christmas

An Inmates Dark Christmas....
It was the first Christmas right after my momma passed away.
Any other Christmas I'd be making the best of the situation, but it was a very dark day!
It was a day I wanted to escape from, and nothing could distract my mind.
My body felt so numb, and the pain fed off of me being confined.

An Inmates Dark Christmas...
I laid on my bunk in a funk in that cold dark cell.
I was emotionally drunk, and that Christmas day was pure hell!
I pictured my momma in my minds eye, we were hanging decorations on the Christmas tree.
It was at that moment I wanted to die, for I just knew I would succomb to insanity!

An Inmates Dark Christmas...
That day I even contemplated suicide, for the pain and loneliness was just too much.
A bonified emotional homicide, for my momma I would never see or touch!
That Christmas I was a man with an empty shell, and a troubled soul.
A day of pure hell, and alone in that cell became my dark little hole.

An Inmates Dark Christmas...
I thought that day would never end, but then Christmas was gone.
No family or friend, for I was still terribly alone!
Christmas is still the hardest day of the year, but I manage to get by.
And although I still shed a tear, at least I no longer wanna die!


By Jimmy Matthew Anderson for Constance La Frances contest "Your Saddest Christmas 
Ever"


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San Luca

He walks, rosary in hand, up the steps. 
His tread is broken, fragile, and the joggers 
Might hear his breath, each sharp inhalation, 
Each hissing exhalation, were it not for their 
Own breathless haste, their pounding feet, 
Strutting out their health in upward bounds. 

He takes a rest; age has bowed him. 
He wipes his brow. Sweat runs. Through 
The portico wall he watches the landscape 
Sizzle in the heat. Yet his feet are cold, so cold. 
No warmth can touch his extremities. The 
Deafening din of the cicadas sends him on. 

“Maria, beloved, only one, let me reach you, 
Give my feet strength, give my heart strength.” 
(666 arches up to San Luca, and how many steps? 
The devil is in the detail.) “Thank you, Maria, you 
Came to me in my dream, angel-light into this 
Dismal exile they call a Home.” 

Back there they will be wondering where he is. 
Nurses frantic, ringing round, searching. 
For months he sat slumped in his chair, they saw 
Him as already dead to the world, bled white of memory, 
Hands twitching to death’s tune, his soul dribbling down 
His neck, wan eyes watering into dissolution. 

But his pallour was contempt of all around – 
Dead to that, yes; turning inwards, away from 
The reek of disinfection toward memory fragrant 
With images of youth, his fingers dancing, his body 
Welling up with tears as he remembered her smile, 
An incandescence, illumination, true beauty. 

Onwards, upwards, she will be waiting like the last time, 
Her bridal tresses spilling from the sun, her gaze towards 
Him, a bouquet growing from her hands, from her waist the 
Cathedral train carrying all their dreams, and behind her 
San Luca, the organ music swelling the oleander-sweetened 
Air; she will be there, waiting for the last time. 

He climbs the final barrage of steps, and turns the corner. 
That is where the police await him, and Sister Grace, 
Who claps her hands in what could be indignation or relief, 
And he falls to his knees, his lips murmuring her name. 
“But your Maria is dead, Giorgio, long dead!” (Sister Grace shakes 
Her head), and she takes his hand and leads him away. 

She had found the faded photograph of the wedding by his 
chair, the rest had been intuition. Back in the home 
He appears confused, restless, in his bed he complains of 
Knocking – “don’t you hear it?” – and when the morning 
Comes he really is dead to the world, across his wizened 
Face an expression of grief too hard to bear.


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First Love

You say, you say
But what do you do?
It’s always wanting more with you

How many hours wasted waiting?
Desperately needing...anticipating
Drawn out desperate un-returned calls
Echoes of reason, only faint footfalls

Still I wait and long for you
Because I love…..I’m hopelessly true
I picture you elsewhere, not alone
Blatantly ignoring the ringing phone

You’ll be here tomorrow, dripping sincerity
While I cry silently, developing clarity
I know this game…all too well
You’ll have another story to tell

And I will listen…take it all in
For I can’t bear to lose you, or let her win
So I pretend, accept, and forgive
If only to gain one more day to live

Because I love, I give you my heart
Even though you have been careless from the start
Intentional victim, I pity myself
While you court her with practiced stealth

My first love…you will always be
Impossibly perfect, if only to me
So I forgive you and delay the inevitable
My devotion to you is truly incredible

Now, looking back…I see you at last
For all that you lacked and all that you asked
How carelessly you held my heart in your hands
But I’ve taken it back, less a few strands

Thank you for the lessons; for teaching me
That love does not come easily
For all of your injuries and slights have been measured
And in the end, despite the pain…within my own heart, 
I’ve found abundant treasure


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Ghastly Politicians

Harry Reid and Nancy Pelosi
are ghastly political hacks.
They make me want to puke.


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Voting In America

Okay, my rat bastard
beat your rat bastard
in the most recent election,
so don’t you dare tell me
that your rat bastard
is better than my rat bastard
when I know for a fact
that my rat bastard
is by far the superior
rat bastard of the two.


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Vast Conspiracy

There is something happening here.
What it is, to me, is crystal damn clear.
The political elite are out to get me and you.
No more rednecks! No more brothers!
The hoity-toity rat bastards think of us as rabble.
They want to abort our sons and our daughters.
They want to confiscate all of our weapons.
Then they will send their well armed goons after us.
They will tell the world that we are domestic terrorists.
Then they can live in their little fantasy world,
inhabited only by snotty insufferable assholes like themselves.
In their hearts and minds there is no room for the common man.
It is a vast left wing conspiracy!


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Soul of a Son, Life of an Addict '

There in a small town in Mississippi, a very poor family of (7) seven are yes struggeling but are yes abound. Jimmy the youngest of them at now 17 tell his father that he wants to be a Preacher The desire to teach is a privilledge that he inherited from his Uncle, and nowat that prunitive age he goes to his uncle (home) town. The soul of a son is one thing, but the life of a addict is another. My Brother, my brother he sit's down one day and listen in on one of his uncle's lectures as this friend of Jimmy is being lestured too.  You don't need to be weak at the knee's in this stage of dealing with certain issue's and as he comes to the end of his lectures he himself (jimmy) is in need of some "tissue". Jimmy is a member of the debate team(at school) one of the student is this friend, who is dealing with crack-cocaine habit that he just began doing for about a month now.  So this-this-ss partic-ular day jimmy takes him to see the preacher (his uncle) after this young friend said to him, "help-me". {I believe you can be of some help}. "Don't be afraid to seek God as your first step".
So after the two of them have elaborated over the matter for and hour, Jimmy feel's a
need of concern, so they leave together.  My Brother-my brother. "Life of an Addict",
will carry you places you never thought you'll be and keep you in situation's and you
will never be free.  Free to enjoy (life) and freedom from the depentacy of drugs
and living on the streets!!....
 These phrases becomes a part of the mindset in one's attempt to go forward with the
"Power of Prayer", and the belife of knowing you're not a "Coward".  "Soul of a Son",
is to surrender your all onto the source of everything(Faith).  And "Life of an Addict",
is knowing that God places people in your life to possitivily restore your faith in your-
self.  So when life throws you a "Nippy", (storms) that is when you're not to give up,
because the enemy wants you to think that you are always running on empty!!.
"For he is everywhere (Jesus) even there in this small town of Mississippi".


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June Gloom

Just to provoke a little smile



The sun went into hiding
In the last month of spring
Had given much of its sun rays
Through the month of May.
Had heard so much complaint
And wondered why go through so much pain?

“Can't they see how pretty the flowers bloom
Just because I can shine through?
Can’t they hear the birds sing out loud
Because I beat the cold to a smoke out?
Can’t anyone smell the fragrance of blooming trees?
There’s so much good I give, can’t they see?”

The sun felt depressed and sad
It didn’t like feeling so bad
“One day, I am begged to come out
And when I do, I am wanted out.”
So the sun went into hiding
And none of its rays could be seen.

The clouds moved in silently
Spread throughout the sky evenly
Turning its days to fearsome gloom
It was the Month of June.
As if to make a point, the clouds went to war
Rain fell, lightning stuck, thunder roared.

After many days of clashing wails
The people bowed and prayed
Wondered why they had so complained
And pledged to never do it again.
And the sun was moved to come out
Smiling, it extended its power throughout.



By CarolineCécile
Copyright © 06.30.10.


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Lewd Octopi

While scuba diving I spotted a couple of octopi.
They were right in the midst of doing the nasty.
I immediately got the hell out of the water.
A guy was sitting there on the beach.
I told him about the two octopuses.
The old fart was a very learned professor.
He smugly informed me rather sternly
that the correct terminology was octopods.
I threw the well educated smartass into the water,
to my surprise he couldn’t swim and almost drown.
A quick thinking lifeguard jumped in and saved his sorry butt.
Some nosy busybody called the local constabulary
and I ended up spending a week in the local hoosegow.
That, good people, is my roundabout way of telling you
that my long time in coming vacation really sucked.


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A missive from the damned to whoever have a little time to spend with this nonsense - Page 1

And so, I have made up my mind, once more.
I have decided to depart, to bid this husk farewell.
In order to do that, I must save coins if I desire to save myself.
For with it, I will be able to buy my ticket out here to a more blessed realm or the eternal void. Either way, I will be winning.
I mustn't, any longer, feel the starvation of affection and no more I shall be fed by the crumbs of fleeting joy they toss at me.

Thoughts of finishing are always in my mind, flooding it, making hard to go day by day, making hard to sleep, to have hope.
I fail to see where the hope is, I like to think that it can be find inside of one's heart.
But even so, I think I am mistaken, and when I glance at myself in the mirror, I quickly lose any spark of what could-be hope.

With the aid of the metallic sling, I shall leave this husf behind, heavy with its sins and sorrows, to no more nourish hatred.
For it does only to hinder my advance towards elevation.
With my metallic sling, I shall pierce, first, my heart, where lies the sorrow, then, my mind, where resides the sins.
Whilst the life in me start to wane, regrets I will not have, when my consciousness fade, my spirit will be no longer be trapped inside this imperfect cage of flesh.
Being free, my spirit shall roam far and beyond to, before, unseen places by men, to  untouched places by men.

Another day,someone inquired me "Are you happy now?" and for that I just said "Yes". How else could I have responded if not with a lie?
How could I tell them that I yearn for a premature closure in order to stop thinking and feeling but I also yearn for love.
"I am not absolutely happy, as per say, but I do suffer less when I am asleep" I could never say that to anyone...


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In Darnknes As Of Raven

Written By  John Patrick Robbins

Watercolors of nightmares cast a vision she once did understand.
In a tragedy known as time her clock had ceased to exist.
Old stories spoke to new fools telling tales in jest.
But doors closed seldom stay shut.

Passed to many and held by none bitter was the fruit
from the wicked tree.
As in shadow she sleeps a fiend of memory.
And a lover of hate.

They say  the raven is but a sign a glimmer of 
a puddle once filled with life.
Her thought's linger as a smoke left from the embers 
of a once blazing fire.

A portrait painted in suicide's false release 
rest uncertain she looms like a fog apon
dark waters so very still.

As legend replaces flesh.
The face a story cast in a deranged key.
the raven fly's blind to light.
As only in darkness others may see.
  

Written for the Amoung the dead contest


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Sailing relentless sea

T'was the month of July 
should've been sailing upon calm sea, 
brightest sunshine 
blue sky so clear.
 
For days and days, it rained and rained 
As if the sky's afallin' away, 
Bounced wildly about on wall like waves
T'was death we came to face.
 
Tied ourselves with ropes around our waist
To not to sea be blown and swallowed away 
The only thing for us all to do, was pray
Then mates and the capt'n their voices did raise.

Began singing aloud sailor's songs of old
Drowning out their dread in the sea's assault 
Sudden shower of sunbeams began to pour right out 
Of the opening heavens by gushes of wind, parting clouds. 

Hope returned about the crew
They knew the sea would be subdued
Looking through his spyglass out to sea
The capt'n saw our destination appear.

By CarolineCécile
Copyright © 05.16.11

 


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Mime


Slowly I knock on your invisible door.

Listening for your cold heart and I wait

The silence comforts me and your heart is asleep

I pick up the invisible glass of your blood

It is drunk slowly as I taste and the savors

I don't have to be quiet but I am a Mime

I should have screwed my silencer on my gun

 I wait at your door and hope you will see me

Amidst the shadows like wallpaper I hang

A single tear rolls on my whitened cheek and the glisten

I  watch with an incredible ache as he comes in and the sadness

I gladly tap him on his shoulder so we can dance and I long

But I am not noticed and I shudder and yet I keep watch

And the pain

I see you again in the subway as I do tricks and my cup

My faithful cup filled with memories and coins

Coins that i can never use

I have no pockets to keep my feelings in and the coins

I slowly move and  bravely part my lips

I gently and silently kiss your sleeping lips but am left bitter

Tomorrow i will do more of the same


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Doctor Please! Part I

Doctor please, you must listen to me
Do you have the medicine to set me free
A day in my life you would not understand
The pain I must endure with all that's at hand
I didn't ask for the genetics that made me this way
Maybe there will be a cure for my disease one day
Until then I suffer from my head down to my toes
The kind of suffering no one else knows
The kind of suffering I keep to myself
Just playing the cards that I was dealt
A prisoner to my body with no relief
Causing those loving me much pain and grief
You don't understand and you never will
Doctor please I beg of you to give it a shot still

For the problems at hand I did not ask
It was all dumped in my lap with a blast
I'm no longer capable of work for hire
Because so very quickly do I get tired
To find a job letting me work when I can
Just doesn't fit into the employers plan
My stomach hurts I throw-up and can't eat
After so many days of it I get so very weak
Some days have mercy I feel better than most
But on a good day the pain is still no laugh or joke
My husband went and left me for a younger girl
When I got sick he thought he'd give her a whirl
The divorce then came soon after to follow
The pain from that it was hard to swalloiw
 Cont'd in Part II


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Denial

Johnathan, Innsley, Marie, and Paul ---
Tom, Trish, Bea, and Jack:  all of them.
Black, white, asian; Jew, gentile, zen...
Sex, art, love, mores revolved,
entering ever-shallower circles of discovery.
Clear ice cubes clanked on glass;
religion, sex, quality imported Scotch
and Cuba made the rounds.
Conversation calmed, each with his own idea:
the ultimate word.
Fake furs, donned, drifted into oblivion.
Feeling alone, J. C. cleaned up.
From the dulled Johnson's Wax luster
on a genuine Duncan Phyfe table,
his distorted rumpled reflection
stared up at itself.
J. C. looked away, noticed four new white rings,
picked up a soiled Canon towel,
and wiped away three beads of water,
a few ashes, and himself.


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Poet In Exile

We live are words and if not were just typing.
Ive come to a crossroads understanding little or nothing of the game 
but knowing my place has been taken.

No longer in demand I sit with the other burnt out writers looking
back with grand dellusion and litlle hope for my return.
The dark waters of a uncertain tommorow overshadow the past glory
and future failures of my existance.

The last round poured the new gaurd will be here tommorow.
And as you pass the ones toblind to see as you've become to
jaded to feel you realize.

To live the words failure is a must for no agnst is true without 
a glimmer of hope. 
I stay ahead of the verse like a pool waiting for the tide.

Now in a place once called home I find strangers in old faces
shadows cast dark figures in alleys all lost for the better day.

But im no judge just a exile forced to carve a nitch 
outta his  same old space.
To tired to care yet still to ego ridden to leave.

Im a exile to friends who live next door.
They hammer the walls  laughter takes there nights.
Im locked in  only with memories to recall.

The smoke trails across the empty room of my mind.
Like some old stories ghost I merely haunt this worn down shell.


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A Moments Reflection

I am empty as the page that sits befor the flustrated poet.
Pain trapped in heart without words to put to pen.
Shaking cold knowing full well my time has passed as swiftly
as train through a midnight so very clear.

The road behind me I can longer recall.
Faces and places shallow as a drying river bed.
Life has taught me to put up wall.

Stolen moments from a welcome barstool.
One of many jesters in this fools 
kingdom I do rule.

The clock of my life grows closer 
to closing time.

When I walk out that door it's left to others to recall.
reflect in the thoose smokey dark corners.
How many of you ever did know me at all.

Thinking of times never had.
Missing friendships that never were.
To fail means at least you did try.
The road never ends so why must I?


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Veras first poem

Hi everybody, my name is Vera as some of you already know, and I am the wife of Peter Duggan. I came on this site to cheer Peter on, and also to read some poetry which I do enjoy at times. I have made a few friends on this site and correspond with some, and a few of them have asked me to write something. Now I have never done anything like this before, but I decided to humor these friends any way.

     I could not really think of anything to write about, but then I thought of a subject dear to both myself and Peter; the transformation that he has gone through in the last five years. This might be of interest, and indeed some help to others who are having problems within their relationships with others.

   We married in London in sixty five, Then emigrated to Australia in 1967 and our marriage was going very well, filled with love and laughter. But then Peter decided to join the army, and volunteered to fight in Vietnam, because he wanted to do something to repay this wonderful country back for letting him live here.

   When he came back to Australia, this was when it all went pear shaped. Peter started to change; he become very aggressive and Psychologically cruel to myself and our three children and was like a keg of dynamite just waiting to explode. He would argue about everything and anything, and got involved in many very nasty fights. No one could tolerate him for very long, and myself and the children often felt like we were walking on eggshells whenever he was around. He turned to alcohol, and cannabis, and he was always off his head on any one of those drugs. Having said all this, Peter was never physically aggressive to me or the children.        

     Anyhow, this all came to a climax, when he suddenly walked out on us all and decided he wanted to live like a bum. Said he wanted his freedom. This was the last time I saw him for a year. When because I loved him so very much, I asked him to come back to us again. He came back, but nothing really changed, in fact I told him he would never change, and I honestly thought our marriage was beyond repair. He had done so much counselling, read every book on self-help, and tried religion [all the major ones], but nothing really helped.

    Then one day about five years ago, Peter was perusing through the net, desperate to find someone to help him get rid of this evil that lurked within him He came cross a man named John Sherman, who claimed that he could help people with this simple little action, that he gave Peter to do. In his desperation Peter put his whole life into this simple act.

   He never strayed from this path, and after a month or two things started dropping away. Each day he seemed to get more, and more happy, so happy in fact that he seemed to bubble with happiness. His anger started to drop away gradually until it diminished completely. He still loves to argue, but he never has to be right all the time and treats it all as a game. How anyone can change so dramatically, is completely beyond me, but the miracle happened; the evidence is before me. If I ever won the lottery, I would donate half of it to the Sherman foundation, and would be totally happy to do this. But the only thing that we can do Is spread the Sherman’s work any chance we can get. We both owe them so much.

    Anyhow, this is my first write, and I hope that many people might gain something from it. Peter and I are now the the happiest couple that ever walked the face of the Earth. I thank all of you that chose to read, this. Whether I’ll ever make a second attempt one never knows. But I surely enjoyed writing this. Peter helped me to arrange the words, as I had no confidence in my own abilities…..Vera


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my companions

 
My only companions are my dreams my only friends Who call out for me their voices a melody for me to fallow save me my friends from this Dark World Wolfs teach me to be loyal and to fight the dark and when make love to the dark embracing it becoming dark myself yet not to succumb to its control Fae teach me to kill with words And when to use them to save Of the meanings of speech and its clever twists To speak a truth one does not want to hear And still make them hear tote truth Twin sprits teach me to know the sprits Those elusive things some call souls Not knowing how to talk with them, we converse Not knowing how to feel their presence, I touch them I feel the hands brush against my skin As dragons, teach of fire, rage, and bloodlust ,when to use it and how to use it well like a well made WAR HAMMER ,and from the masters I learn lore and flight for though I have no wings still I fly with them Trees teach of patience And the earth’s presence and how to care her Of the minds herbs and streams to feed my roots As my branches wither Their Skills With The Wood Are Rival To None Succubus and Incubus you teach of the heart, it’s betrayals, loves, comforts how to guard the heart, and still feel for they know best, its mysterious ways Whilst my heart, mind and body scream Scream for release from this reality To dreams and the worlds found through their doorways Call out to me my friends save me from those who ridicule me who constrain me in chains of iron as they sear my flesh Holding me fast to things, I must not do or have cages of words, deeds, people, and their judgments I Hate Them, And Their Ways are both evil and cruel I know not how long I have left For my blood screams for vengeance To bathe in its fires ,to soar free in the skies where none but you can reach me SAVE ME, MY FRIENDS I BEG YOU!!! I long for your embrace your fiery breath the sweet scent of wet moss you warm sprit upon mine the pack running singing the songs that change me to your likeness the sleep where my heart lies in your hands as you feed your lustful hungers upon my troubles leaving me to sleep untroubled free of my cares and worries giving me my heart backed still with its worries and cares but unburdened you cleaver teachers I lust for your wisdom and the peace you bring me please come open the doorway to the forests and the fire moors save me my friends
this is also a personification


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Why Had I Asked Him to the Ball

My best friend, Suzanne, and I went to the same church.
I lived in Coral Gables; She lived in Cutler Ridge.
Her boyfriend went to my school; I had no boyfriend.
Being friends at church some of us talked at lunch.
Clayton was a spiritual, handsome, popular kid.
I was a shy and some said cute girl about 12 years old.
Girls my age living in Coral Gables could enter a pageant.
My parents saw me as Junior Miss Orange Bowl Queen.
But beauty goes more than skin deep and I was terrified!
I was so nervous that my ankles buckled while on stage.
Relieved, I was eliminated in the second round.
Being a looser was the least of my problems.
I needed a date for the Junior Orange Bowl Queen’s Ball.
Clayton lived in Coral Gables, too; so, I asked him.
I think we were all surprised when he said, Yes.”
I asked him because he was a friend and I felt safe.
Of course, Suzanne looked at it very differently.
She was hurt and they broke up not long after that.
I had a tonsillectomy on the day of the Ball.
My relationship with Suzanne was strained since that time.
I felt horrible about loosing our close friendship.
After high School, sadly, she ended communications.
Many years later, both of us married with children,
We visited at her home; she was dying.  I cried.
It was then, when we were in our late thirties, that she asked.
Why, had I asked her, then, boyfriend, Clayton to the ball.
Being so young, and not understanding attraction, then,
I thought it would be okay; he was just a friend…

ã June7, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest:  ORNERY BEST FRIENDS
Sponsored by: Carol Brown


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The Death Of A Friend

There was no casket to be set into the earth.
Only memories were to be  burried washed clean 
by the bottles embrace.

Strangers  do we part a vist to a familar cold place 
by the oceans shore.
Words spoken never hurt when you  understand 
human nature.

The dark inwhich  I only know.
A dark river flowing unto the sea.
Its broken current flow's with no true direction.

As children we start fresh only to loose the spark.
Dancing under a shroud of tenderness  apon lifes 
harsh stage.

Bitter souls reflect  anger lost only tears of  regret.
Me i just cast demons down   in some  twisted hope
I just might forget.

Sometimes you gotta realize when you crash through that glass
celling  you only got to look forward to the floor.
The bottle now empty I cast into  the dark waters
eternal bed.
Along  with a memory  I'll pretend to erase.

Distanse is only a thought away.
The road echos  my lifes song.
Underground burried  so deadly the truth
just as sweet as the lie.

Barbwire and daydreams  plague my soul.
Like the bottle that sit's within the depths 
of a water cast tomb.

I know strangers  as friends.
Night as backdrop.
Farewell  seems  fitting as hello.
When the river has run dry    
To whom will go?

Read more: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/the-death-of-a-friend/#ixzz0suxHEd00


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Karma

Sometimes you gotta get lost to find the emptyness of the true soul.
Bury thoose memories  to unearth old truths.
Cut the ties only to return to thoose past relations.

Ive seen the streets erase the picture only to relive the past.
Living ghosts a backdrop eternal.
I cant question thoose night's regrets like a blanket keep me warm 
on a  humid night.
When all is wrong why cant anything be right.

I'd never  curse you utter truths into your lies.
Tainted encounters in many ever changing rooms.
Neon lit dream's  sunset of my mind salt water taste the 
bitterness we love.

The mountain's veiw is empty and cold.
Have we lost the the spark.
Iced over thoughts leave only shallow promises 
to hold.

So I'll push you away only to hold the memory dear.
A coward  to live in the pressent.
A living ghost of the man  who once stood here.

I've lost track gone so far from all that ive known.
Sparks in the darkness.
Only illusion  paint's the reallity sanity grace me life 
once more.
I question has it vanished with my time?


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The Human Being : Object of lust

Tear away her skin, her bones,
Watch her curves move through...her tones
explore her body curiouser... and curiouser....
Sandwich her, squeeze her till her blood flows...
Let your sperms kill her, drown her in her woes.

Afterwards tell her how unattractive she is, how you hate her, loathe her, the mother of
your kids.
challenge her, walk away, leave her to lick her wounds.
Tell yourself its okay, this is what she chose!

Lie to her, abandon her and consume her soul,
Tell yourself its okay one day she will feel whole!

Trample her crush her... tell her how she is all wrong.
Tell yourself its okay she wont last for long.

Push her away till she falls over the edge...
But she will always come back.... for its your daughter she bred!


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Redneck Peckerwood Honky Cracker

To all of the haters on the web who troll the
internet in order to call others derogatory names.
I was once called a Redneck Peckerwood
Honky Cracker by a guy in my army unit.
So I have been called far worse names
by far better people than you will ever be,
so get over your supposedly bad selves.
You are neither being clever nor intelligent.
Find something useful to do with your lives.


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Little Irish And Big Ski

Little Irish and Big Ski
were both better soldiers than me.
Everyone had a nickname
and nobody’s was the same.
Mine was JayJay, I don’t know why,
probably because it didn’t belong to another guy.
Little Irish was a short stocky joke telling Irishman
and Big Ski was a tall skinny Polack from Chicagoland.
We served in a war zone we called “The Nam” so very long ago
where everyone looked the same, be they friend or be they foe.
I made it back home alive and well,
          except for nightmares forever in my head.
Not so Little Irish and Big Ski,
          both my good buddies have been a long time dead.


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9-11: Never Forgotten

My friend Justin and I want to dedicate this poem to everyone in America and those from other countries who have died, and also to those that lost their loved ones on this most atrocious day 11 years ago.

-------------------------------------------

In the busy streets of New York City,
Many a passerby made their way to work
It was a typical work day—or so they thought
It was an unexpected day when a great tragedy would strike
Two of the city’s greatest towers would fall in humility
And along with them many wonderful families
Even others from different countries would lose a loved one
In just a matter of minutes, all of what was that typical work day
Became a nightmare—a terrorist’s delight

Everything in chaos and confusion
Cries all through the day and night
Many called their loved ones if they survived that long
Many panicked, but some were dead calm
Knowing there was no way out
They poured their hearts out on that last telephone call, their legacy born
The attackers thought they broke us!
But they failed—we didn’t break at all
Instead they brought us closer as a nation
And the people who lost their lives are with us always
Never forgotten in our minds and in our hearts


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Una Visita con Mama -- A Visit With Mama

We walk the rocky shore
and you lean heavily on me,
Mother, bruising my balky arm --
muttering "Ay, Hijo!";
a few steps and, breathless,
we are both exhausted.
Your once-brown eyes, gone gray,
are like concentric rings
rippling from a random stone
thrown into a polluted pond
in winter: eyes as flat
as the latex paint that
coats a cheerless rented room.
Cataracts circle your lenses;
they have a ruptured look --
purple, jellied -- like the eyes
of a dead fish, which I poke,
perversely fascinated.
It is puffed and rotten.
Your eyes are puffed, too, red-rimmed,
moist with tears that brim over
though you try to blink them back.
That you love me and I you,
and that we wish to extend
our time together, is clear --
as clear as the black water
in the pond, as clear as your
cataract-clouded eyes,
as clear as my conscience
when I drop you at the Home,
cleverly inventing an important
meeting, to which I hastily fly.


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Jose

Jose, the kid on the corner --
El Macho -- who knows no English
and who sells himself to eat
(being still not quite dry)
slept last night in an alley
shielded from wind and eyes
by the bulk of two dumpsters
positioned at angles to each other.
This morning, his smile's
as brilliant as sunshine.
And if he's not exactly squeaky clean,
he's only a little the worse for wear --
probably more immaculate than we,
potential buyers at whom he flaunts his wares.


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The Trilogy Ends

The brutalized girl breathed her last in faraway Singapore
She met her fate returning home, a couple of weeks ago
To shift the focus of the masses on an issue so emotive
And moved to a hospital in a distant land with a purely political motive
Reputed for organ transplants in which their hospital specialized 
What good did it do to a grievously hurt girl whose condition had not stabilized
The six hour flight to the distant shore was surely a misadventure
The government was uneasy with restive crowds near their hallowed seat of power

The government paid lip service to the girl who is no more
Making promises to a nation, both aggrieved and sore
But in the interim, another girl in a neighbouring state
Ended her life, harassed and denied for weeks from recording her rape
The administration’s handling of such incidents
Are not far and few and have many precedents
A woman parliamentarian and doctor to boot
Said something very strange in a television interview
Referred to a victim from the past
And on her character, aspersions she cast
Pronouncing to media that it was not rape at all
But a call-girl’s transaction gone wrong; what gall!
Another MP, this time the President’s son
Sought to have fun with his knowledge of the English lexicon
And portrayed the women demonstrators of civil society as ‘painted & dented’
The backlash was so vicious, on national television he recanted  
With red lights marking them as their sirens wail through the streets
Breaking traffic rules and followed by a bureaucratic fleet 
Politicians think that from their ivory towers they have seen it all
As elected office bearers they never cease to appall
In times of crisis you can sense the disconnect 
But democracy is about people’s choices, who do we elect?

And to men, I must ask why bestiality has become our way
Together we can surely change the world for a better day
Please resist if opportunity demands when you see a girl harassed
Or at the least seek help fast, you have to save the lass! 


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He'd Just Discovered Suspenders

No job 
No prospects
No optimism 
It took all his energy
Just to fake a smile 
Health eroding 
At the speed of light 
His world grew smaller by the 
second 
Former small pleasures 
Transformed into ambivalence 
Blank and numb 
He walked blindly 
There were no solutions 
To any of his problems 
And then one day 
Out of the clear blue sky 
He smiled without effort 
I even caught a glimmer 
Of a spark in his eye 
Life became a little more 
pleasant 
We all cheered him on silently 
Me his number one fan.

As his confidence had 
diminished 
His gut had grown larger 
He wore his belt below it 
But his pants always slid down 
Far enough to annoy him 
Another problem 
With no solution 
One day, after months 
With the spark in his eye 
He chose to die 
It was a shock because 
He'd just discovered 
suspenders.


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A missive from the damned to whoever have a little time to spend with this nonsense - Page 2

But now, I wonder "Will I have the bravery to follow?"
Demise shall follow if I am to attain redemption and cleanness of my sins that tarnish my soul.
Sometimes, I cling to yes, sometimes I cling to no.
When the dark clouds blur my sight, I ask myself "What is worth living for?", some believe in god, some in money or in even a more mundane wish.
I lack this one thing, I lack the purpose that would impulse me forward. But then, I speculate "For me, must be love", but what is love? I do not know, I am an strange to it, perhaps this wasn't reserved for everyone.

Well, one thing is right, my passing will not be mourned nor missed. It will go like the wind, now here then gone and noone noticed a thing.
Many leaves were shaken, many tears soiled the ground, yet, none of this was spotted by anyone.

To the people I did wrong "I am sorry, please, do forgive me".
To the people that hates me, hate me more, be genuine with it and be the fuel of this endeavor. Hurt me more, make me bleed, cut open my flesh, as he once did when I was an infant, paint the wall with my crimson tint...
Make me regret to have been born, actually, this will require little effort, since I already regret that.
My mind is set, termination is the way to go if I desire to do something good, at least once, in this life.
No hope can be spied nor a glimmering light to lead this one to safety.

In a colorless world, only with shades of black and gray, thoughts of demise haunts me day after day.
I see the people around me, at work, on the the streets, everywhere and I cannot help but to feel disgusted and out of place and helpless.
I am tired of pretending, behind my mask, I weep, behind their masks, they laugh at me.
I am tired of being fed by deceiving tales and to feed other with my lies.
The lies... It is everywhere, one must tread lightly between them, or else will fall their prey.


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Doctor Please! Part II

Cont'd from Part I

But even worse than that this horrible thing
Has been handed down to my offspring
My oldest hates me for all she's been through
And reminds me of the sorry cards we drew
My one and only son turned to drugs to deal
One day it was his precious life it did steal
My youngest child now she's gone too.
When she was diagnosed it made her so blue
Could I find a partner who can withstand
This road of suffering for me now planned
If so it would only serve to make me cry
Seeing them in pain helpless as they stand by
I've been cut on and pieced back together again
Being born with bad genetics one of my sins

With so many wounds and scars inside and out
A life sentence of hell for me without a doubt
Upon my face you'll see I try to wear a smile
Hide the suffering and misery when all the while
Beneath my clothes is the Bride of Frankenstein
And if you got the notion that I don't mind
Let me tell it to you so plain and very straight
Would've been better to stay at heavens gate
Patients in the lobby know much more about me
Spending hours together waiting to be seen
Doctor please I could tell you so much more
But you have another patient waiting next door
And one of the reasons you don't get it you see
Is I can't tell all in the few minutes allotted to me

Inspired and written for all the people who live with a chronic illness.
Copyright by Scarlett Sepulvado Anderson


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Adversity

Drenched in the rain, she walks up the hill
Pot in her hand, feet marching towards the well
Day or night, candles flicker where she dwells
Her other half drinks in absurdity 
Throats parched, kids study in obscurity
On topic “Unity in Diversity”
She feeds the stomachs, lay them to sleep
Bells chime in Temple, she goes to sweep
Devotees swarm in, their pockets are deep


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Liberal Rat Bastard Q and A

Liberal rat bastard trolls have entered our domain
and are trying to stifle our freedom of speech rights.
I have had two of them accuse me of being a racist.
I will tell you how to spot one of these scumbags.

Why do liberals feel the need to constantly criticize
those of us who disagree with their commie loving beliefs?
Because they were born as rat bastards, they live their
entire lives as rat bastards and they will die as rat bastards.

What is a liberal’s dream vacation?
To go to Russia and kiss Vladimir Lenin’s dead commie ass.

What sexually excites a liberal?
Any photo or video of Lenin’s namesake Vladimir Putin.

Why are liberals so damn intolerant of others?
They are constantly high on drugs, not life.

Why did the liberal cross the road?
To kill another baby in it’s mother’s womb of course.

Why do liberals mock and defame organized religion?
They are children of Satan.

What do liberals worship?
The insanity within their own minds.


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Chance

Chance

By BJ Welsh

With life and living we take our chance
Nodding in agreement to a furtive glance
Waking up each day is a chance we take
That life will deliver us for Heaven’s sake
We awake each sunrise with a hope reborn
Chance seeing an other suffer and torn

It’s one other’s life you see at a glance
Hoping for approval, it’s but a chance
The life you witness as others pass
The pain inside may subside, alas
Hoping to see one as you
The chance you take to find two

Running out of time the clock is ticking
Chance there are others whose lives aren’t clicking
Great as that may be, the chance you’re all alone rises
Furtive glances from beneath disguises
Chance that hiding the pain and hurt won’t last
The agony you feel will not be fast

Chance you soon become discovered
In your waking hours its’ uncovered
You’ve lived a life of hurt and pain
 The chance you’ve taken may have been in vain 




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Words of Meaningless Torture

I only ever tried to be there for you. I thought I was your friend...I thought I helped but obviously not. I wished to make you happy...to feel good about yourself. To make you believe you were special and you meant something...because...well you meant everything to me and I did what I could to show you that but it's apparent I just failed. As I fail at everything...I guess I can't even be a friend. Because when you said...the new friend...this person whom you only just met--while we've been friends for years-- but this person... oh yes must be so “different” because as you said....is the only one to make you feel happy. The only one to make you feel worth something...makes you feel special. Makes you feel like you matter...the only one to have helped you realize you make a difference....
I guess I was just never good enough. I tried and tried but it just wasn't enough and now slowly it's unraveled just how meaningless...how torturous...this all is. Because I hear from you less...and less. I get short responses. It takes nearly and army of message to get a reply...and then...it's hardly a reply. 
I'm just sorry...I couldn't have been any better than I am. I'm sorry that I never made you feel good about yourself...or happy or anything. I'm just sorry I was never the best of a friend. Because...believe me...I did try. But I guess I just wasn't good enough. Never good enough. So...I'll just move back and idly sit in the shadows lost with time...because I obviously have no meaning in your life....after all...you were never happy....until the new friend came along.... But nevertheless...you still mean everything to me....you have always made a difference in my life and even now as I watch, through tear filled eyes, the words you send me make a huge difference still....a difference I never thought would happen but...still a difference...and the difference is....I was never anything to you and you were always everything to me. And that, my friend, is a difference. And always will be. But I hope...that you'll always stay happy...as that's all I ever wanted for you....


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Political Swampland

Politics is like a Louisiana Swamp:
all of the scum rises to the top.
How else can you explain my state’s two Senators.
One is a pervert and the other is a butt kisser.
A former governor spent eight years in prison
and says now that he is out, he plans on running
for Congress and will probably win if he does.
Welcome to Political Swampland U. S. A.


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Sequel to A Girl was raped in a bus that night

It is time to grieve a cop has died
Son to a mother, darling father to a child
Leaving kin behind and many more
Claimed by the force to have been beaten to pulp by a mob seeking gore
An honest cop fell of which there are a few
But it wasn't the cop that the movement slew
The lie is contested by those present, who saw
The ugly face stands exposed of the upholders of law
They tried to twist facts to make a point
In our country even post mortem reports can be purloined
Claims made by the force are inconsistent so far
The cop wasn't battered but it was the chief’s attempt to tar
Civil society and a spontaneous movement by far

He succumbed to cardiac arrest and possibly the atrocities he witnessed that day
Taken care of by civil society who sought assistance for his medical care
Humanity grieves whenever a life is lost 
Foolish decisions by foolish men and look who’s paid the cost
There will be an inquiry, a routine government demand
But in this age of vendetta politics, the state will likely seek an innocent's remand
So vitiated is the administration’s vision today 	
For a cop’s death a political adversary will have to pay 
But in that ill fated time there was only one villain in the fray
The rest were civil society gathered near Raisina Hill that day  
Policemen on duty who had donned their uniform
Forgot the law and the oath they had sworn
Striking citizens in chilly December with water cannons and batons
They have to learn policing anew from more civilized nations
The collateral damage the chief spoke of like some Bollywood goon
Has exposed him for what he is – our national buffoon
Listen governments past and present
It is time the Augean stables were cleansed
If the freedom guaranteed by our founding fathers is not assured today
If the birthright of security that a woman needs is trivialized and frittered away
Lest ye forget the girl’s condition hasn't improved and remains critical
Time to introspect and delve into a mindset, still medieval 
A handy tool to cover misdemeanours and serving well your political ends
Who turn on their masters and subvert truths for your petty gains 
You in Government remember we are a billion or more 
Our votes count – come 2014 and election day, you’ll be shown the door


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When I Was A Child

It started when I was a child
I was a kid with a gift
That no one understood or recognized
Instead of loved I was picked on and ostracized

However I blocked it all out
But little by Little its all coming back
Like layers of an onion
That held me tightly wrapped

Bits and pieces of my memory
That were hidden away in code
Deep within my mind a door was closed
I?ve reached in to remember because my life is now in jeopardy

All the emotional and sexual abuse that I closed off to survive
Has been staring at me sabotaging my life
This life is not what I have dreamed and I am dying inside
And if I don?t face the truth of what was done to me 

Then I will surely become the monster that I despise
And as the tears bellow up
I again take another breath
Like soot in a fireplace and a hair ball in a cat

I cough up the toxic memories
As images flash through my mind
With my face in the toilet I begin to cry
My body begins to stiffen as nausea rises to the top

I then begin to wail from deep in my chest
It?s a hideous cry that sends chills down my spine
As I grit my teeth and hang on for dear life
A thought runs through my mind why.. why.. why.. why.

I?m tired of the black outs
I?m tired of the fear
I?m tired of the loneliness that have held me prisoner here
I?m tired of the pain and suffering that has come in my parents name

I?m tired of all the trauma and I?m tired of all the drama
I?m tired of the neglect that?s been perpetrated on my soul
Keep your hands off of me, keep your beliefs away from me
From all the mental abuse and all the negative remarks
And you still don?t see how you?ve damaged my sensitive heart
 
I?m tired of hearing all the denial
I?m tired of hearing how there is nothing wrong with you
I?m tired of you blaming everyone else but you
I?m tired of hearing how you hate this and you hate that

I?ve tried for years to heal this wound
But it seems to have spread to my nephew too
I don?t know what else to do
I even ruined my only serious relationship to get revenge

In my mind I justified their crime 
From all the bad advice and all the dysfunctional decisions
And I thought I was reversing everything 
When I vowed never to get married and have kids
But that sabotaging act has done me more damage 



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Im Still Here

Friends one with whom I shared a drink.
Are now ghosts  who haunt my heart dear.
Most left to find that which in life they did thirst.

But with seasons  I did remain like some old pillar unable to 
move.
Feet planted  tears caressing a bitter face hiding 
the fact that  goodbye had come all to soon.

Cards underneath my door.
Unfamilar faces make me question do I exist anymore.

Old passions destroy new flames.
Nights alone cast shadows.
You find more comfort in dreams   

The whiskey that burns is all that reminds.
You haunt this body  like a vacant building  
most seem to ignore  as  they pass its once warm  
structure.

My soul knows midnight my heart emersed in the 
agony of truth.
We yern for warmth in the comfort of pain.

Memories are like scars  a prison of the mind.
Greetings from outskirts.
For I am the at home with the left behind.

Like a character in a novle ment to entertain  im 
lost in the back pages of life.
But if you ever question  just turn back in reflection.
For they may have fled but im sill here. 


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Blame The Devil

Blame the devil for the 298 murders:
those poor lost souls who were aboard
flight MH17 in the clear blue skies
far above the nation of the Ukraine.
The evil old serpent we call Satan
has taken human form and calls himself
Vladimir “Vlad The Mad Cad” Putin.
He is the same soulless stone-hearted beast
he always has been but is far uglier than
anyone could have ever imagined even in
the most nightmarish dreams of our youth.
The devil indeed lives among us and he is
out for more blood, including yours and mine.


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What's Fair

Who decides what's fair?
I dunno - but I can sure
Tell you what's 
NOT FAIR:

Putting out costumed morsels
On Halloween night
And having their parents or other large beasts accompany them
Some of the large ones carry mace
The worst ones
Carry wooden stakes
or CROSSES

Tasty-looking tots go from door to door
Trusting in the kindness of strangers
Who will give them candy
And toys

But not ONE will come
Into my parlor
Willingly or not

I've had a few tugs of war
Over several treats
Who tend to scream
And somebody big always
Comes to their rescue

Then they go away
WIth all their TREATS

Whilst I remain here
Alone
And HUNGRY

Now THAT'S not fair!









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Up Late

-Inspired by my temporary English instructor, Mr. Phinizy <3
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Evening had diminished to night; how very quickly did She fly It is funny how quickly time passes, as if our brains tweak the clocks of life The night was of moderate warmth, and my house suffered terribly still And with the stifling heat inside, many hot questions filtered through my mind I asked myself, Where did the summer go? Why must our suns die? Why is it sweltering in September? Why has sudden anger blown her aside? I really need some sleep, thought I, looking at my face through the murky glass Tracing dark circles under my eyes, I was reminded of sagging Death longing to ensnare me Yes, Death followed me that night, dwelling upon me, boiling away the autumn breeze As I looked into my sleep-deprived eyes, I knew Death waited for my ultimate slumber, When all commemoration of time, that flew so rapidly before, suddenly just…stops. With many a sigh, I turned on the faucet, soaking my hands in the cool, flowing water I needed some relief from the heat…I needed a refreshing new idea, I needed cleansing Anything to clear my mind of the negativity daring to break me every day of my life For such depressing thoughts spewed forth like a wild river, the rapids racking my brain But these waters were not living; they were dead and hot like blue blazes of hell I turned off the faucet, for there was no Balm on this earth to sooth this soul There was no clock on this earth tweaked enough to return me to earth The warm breezes, the sickly pale cast of many thoughts had driven Her away And though the everlasting sleep of Death sounded soothing, the Balm does not assuage me… It only burns forever, in obstinate constancy; angered to the core, That night stuck in this fractured rhyme of time, I was up late…too late


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The Trouble with Dying, is that we forget to live

    I'm deeply trouble and that maybe saying it mildly.  Of all the war's of the world, 
"World of War's", to what's been proven?  I can not comprehend.  Cann't wait to
Kill someone, "the rise and fall of mankind causes such a seperation, that the peo-
ple lost its best friend. ~Creator~ And still-after all the bombshell and the unbib-
licle need for power.  Monday morning our four (****) General call your's (Russia,
Germany, Japan) and ask him!!! "cann't We all just be friend's".  I'm trouble deeply,
from minute to the hour. ~Power~ "The Trouble with Dying, is that we forget to
live". Now it's (Tuesday) yeah-God still has the (Power).  Wednesday come, the
weather is extremily cold ~outside~ the deep trouble of my thought's bring on de-
pression-no rest for the weary soul. Why be ~defeated~ O'Weary soul, "is that we 
live and he gives ~Life~ to the many that are dying. But by ~Thursday~ they see
their zone of comfort ~inside them spiritually~ and on the outside in the "Cold". 
    The Trouble with Dying is the wage's of Sin is death", ~Creator~ the sustainer of
life rewards the Mom's and the Pop's, sister and brothers we're all destine to met him
again ~Holy Spirit~ to me he like sunshine that shall last forever and (ever)...
    The Trouble with Dying, is that we forget to live, Russia, Germany, Japan you have
made ~imprints~ in the sand. But in the nd who shall carry you! U.S.A. that include
you too. For I'm deeply trouble on this hour, and trouble is on every corner. All coun-
try that were mention "will your weapons of mass-destruction", protect you or will
you search for some hero. ~WARNING~: He or she shall-not be there for (You)..
  Saturday and Sunday, "I'm deeply trouble again but still I know that Each of us will
be dead soon, and I quest- I ques..I'm really not looking forward to it, for he promise
all will (Die).  Now that it's Monday all over again. The one who is the ~Creator~ will
not let us forget to live. Because not only are we going to be with him in Heaven. But
not only are the roads wider that leads to distruction but understand O'Weary soul
of all that are mention, but the narrow road is he pathway of peace and everlasting re-
dention:


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A Messanger From Hell

I am sitting in my light brown leather reclining chair
after a strenuous day at my office glad to be home
no more stress no wife just my dog Bandit at my side
I'm holding in my right hand  my favorite relaxing drink
a single malt scotch on cracked ice with a twist of lemon

as I was about  to close my eyes just a little past seven
counting the blessings in my life from heaven
then out of the unexpected blue everything changed
never I mean never to be the same again
or maybe I was just going insane

out of the corner of my right eye
what I saw oh God what I saw was something that really 
scared the hell out of me 
as the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up
and my flesh turned cold

a man dressed all in black and red
with a haunting evil look in his coal black eyes 
I believed he was from the dead
stepped right through a solid wall made of brick an stone
and stood there looking around the room

then looked right through me as though I wasn't there
my dog bandit backed up in fright and hid behind the chair
making noises like I never heard him make before
as my goose bumbled flesh turned cold as ice
I sat paralyzed could not move from my light brown leather reclining chair

then he smiled a shark like pointed toothy grin 
as he placed his gaze my way
and pointed a long gray boney finger right at me
the only sound that I could hear was the beating of my own heart
as though it was going to tare my chest apart

then he spoke in a low evil raspy voice and said
I'll be awaiting you on the other side

then he turned to leave the room
the way he entered by stepping right through a solid wall
made of brick an stone
now I sit here all alone wondering and shaking 
what the hell just happend to me

is there something in my life that I must change 
my life do I have to rearrange 
I do not want to meet that messenger from hell on the other side

this is not a tale I tell
for you may think I'm crazy as hell
but I believe in what I saw
I was visited by a messenger from hell

if there is a lesson to be learned from my story
look into your life and change what will make it right
to travel into the light 
to heaven not hell
when your time ends upon this earth


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Stunning Armadillos

Trees still shade the road
where Gramps and I once rode
in his old green car -- I drove --
on dusky early evenings
in my fifteenth year.
We stopped, as he insisted, at every spot
where an armadillo scratched
among the tender greenery
in ditches.
I was dispatched,
with Gramps' strong wood cane,
to kill a pesky armored creature
by striking hard, once, upon its snout.
Gramps waited in the car,
called encouragement or condemnation:
"That's it! Hit him hard!" or
"Can't you do a damn thing right?"
He knew I didn't like to kill
but was determined to toughen up
my softness.
That hard old man was not accustomed
to being crossed or contradicted.
But part of him was tender,
and he had a sense of what was right
in the bayou country of his day.
How could I tell him that I hated
killing just to please him?
Often, I killed, then killed again,
although, at times, I'd miss the snout
or be slow to follow up,
and permit an armadillo to escape.
Sometimes, I'd temper force with moderation --
I'd stun the creature, grab the tail,
fling it far into dense bushes
to revive and live another day.
My grandfather eyed me darkly then,
but often kept his peace.
He gave me the treatment
I gave those stunned armadillos.
Could he have felt the same
toward me as I toward them?


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Bipolar Tightrope High

Tightrope high…so precarious
So liquid gold smooth rushing through my veins
I am everyone; anyone; and no one
Don’t look down.

Seven levels of thought, like spinning plates on wobbling sticks
I am outside myself and can hear every noise, every conversation
Don't let them see.

Inside is constant analysis, repetition, spelling, counting, shaking
Darting eyes over words on paper; unsteady hands for writing
Don't move my lips.

Waiting for the voices, but building a barrier in case they come
I need to go…anywhere but here
Don't lose my nerve.

Don't lose my self.


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In All the Crummy Little Barrooms of the Soul

I wait in all the crummy
little barrooms of the soul.
I look about and sniff the air,
drink, and wait.
In the demi-world of honky-tonks,
which vie against night's
inner gloom, beneath mantles
of thick smoke, pinches,
slurred speech and propositions,
I leer drunkenly about,
swimming in the haze
of my heebie-jeebies.
I wait.
After the smoke clears away
and the honky-tonk tones die,
when the scraggy light of the
morning after spreads, mustily,
across the floor,
I wait.
After the hangover, 
after the aching head, glazed eyes,
belches, and specks
which move around my head in circles,
I see a different sort of light:
A flatter sort.
In the sordidness,
ergo filthy waxy sawdust on the floor,
I have seen a conjuration
which I sought.
But soon it disappears
and will not come again.
Illusion slips from mind
with lifting drunkenness
and break of sensibility
(five syllables of collective myth) –   
and pain creeps in which
is not merely physical.
Oh well.
I must try again tomorrow night.
There will always be another night.


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Vera's first write

This is a write that I helped Vera with, as many people have asked her to write something. I helped to make it a better read for her, though I did not think she needed my help….Peter



Hi everybody, my name is Vera as some of you already know, and I am the wife of Peter Duggan. I came on this site to cheer Peter on, and also to read some poetry which I do enjoy at times. I have made a few friends on this site and correspond with some, and a few of them have asked me to write something. Now I have never done anything like this before, but I decided to humor these friends any way.

     I could not really think of anything to write about, but then I thought of a subject dear to both myself and Peter; the transformation that he has gone through in the last five years. This might be of interest, and indeed some help to others who are having problems within their relationships with others.

   We married in London in sixty five, Then emigrated to Australia in 1967 and our marriage was going very well, filled with love and laughter. But then Peter decided to join the army, and volunteered to fight in Vietnam, because he wanted to do something to repay this wonderful country back for letting him live here.

   When he came back to Australia, this was when it all went pear shaped. Peter started to change; he become very aggressive and Psychologically cruel to myself and our three children and was like a keg of dynamite just waiting to explode. He would argue about everything and anything, and got involved in many very nasty fights. No one could tolerate him for very long, and myself and the children often felt like we were walking on eggshells whenever he was around. He turned to alcohol, and cannabis, and he was always off his head on any one of those drugs. Having said all this, Peter was never physically aggressive to me or the children.        

     Anyhow, this all came to a climax, when he suddenly walked out on us all and decided he wanted to live like a bum. Said he wanted his freedom. This was the last time I saw him for a year. When because I loved him so very much, I asked him to come back to us again. He came back, but nothing really changed, in fact I told him he would never change, and I honestly thought our marriage was beyond repair. He had done so much counselling, read every book on self-help, and tried religion [all the major ones], but nothing really helped.

    Then one day about five years ago, Peter was perusing through the net, desperate to find someone to help him get rid of this evil that lurked within him He came cross a man named John Sherman, who claimed that he could help people with this simple little action, that he gave Peter to do. In his desperation Peter put his whole life into this simple act.

   He never strayed from this path, and after a month or two things started dropping away. Each day he seemed to get more, and more happy, so happy in fact that he seemed to bubble with happiness. His anger started to drop away gradually until it diminished completely. He still loves to argue, but he never has to be right all the time and treats it all as a game. How anyone can change so dramatically, is completely beyond me, but the miracle happened; the evidence is before me. If I ever won the lottery, I would donate half of it to the Sherman foundation, and would be totally happy to do this. But the only thing that we can do Is spread the Sherman’s work any chance we can get. We both owe them so much.

    Anyhow, this is my first write, and I hope that many people might gain something from it. Peter and I are now the the happiest couple that ever walked the face of the Earth. I thank all of you that chose to read, this. Whether I’ll ever make a second attempt one never knows. But I surely enjoyed writing this. Peter helped me to arrange the words, as I had no confidence in my own abilities…..Vera


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The Emptyness Of My Night

 
Nights move  like a forgotten  ghost unwanted by all.     
A vision  unseen to all but one.

Down damp streets he haunts the same path every night just befor the dawn.
The empty hearts gather to drown togther in the sea. 

Togther feeling so very alone. 
Can we cast shadows in the darkness project happiness in such gloom to return the   same 
old haunts again and again.
A wheel  rolling  without question.
On into the emptyness of my night. 

Waitting for a return that  never will be.
Cursing the problem never understanding it was her and me.
As the dream turn to the drunk.

The painter paints no longer sunsets but
Nights and his thoughts of blue to gray.

Warmth in the darker corners gives a view to 
the young and  the still hopefull.
Tiping my half empty glass I wish them to never know pain.

Finding a home with other empty hearts caught.
In dirty sheets im haunted by the ghost of my
former self.

A puddle stepped in cast waves of reflected neon light.
As we play a roll unknown to all  
At typewritter  I sit.
Listening to To the bar and bottles clatter men and women's
laughter and soon forgotten fight.
Yerning to be free so is the emptyness of my night.


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The Indian Ocean Tsunami

My heart cries for thousands and thousands of people
those who perished in the earthquake-spawned waves;
known as tsunami, the worst natural disaster
that caused tons and tons of deaths across Asian countries.

It’s a great tragedy, a giant blow to humanity,
with its repercussions to all spheres of life –
a wake-up call, an immediate response
that needs to be attended to and done forthwith.

Global mourning takes its course in every nation,
particularly in these countries of Asia where –
Indonesia, Thailand, Sri Lanka are faced with difficulties;
in coping with destructions, tragedies, and other commotions
indeed, an urgent call that needs an international attention.

In four decades this catastrophe has ceased its wrath,
but after that starts another episode, so terrifying
that people who are caught up in that mere situation
can solemnly declare and profess their fears.

Oh, Mother Nature! at times we don’t know
your reactions that cause pandemonium,
tragedy, destruction, sorrow, and pain to all
like this one, a very strong and powerful disaster.

However, across the world, people show their compassion
with their unwavering generosity that floods in all levels
it’s an illustration that we’re humans with caring behaviors
to all those who’re afflicted and severely hit by this phenomenon.

I can’t imagine how the world mobilizes and responds
showing their love and concern to these people in pain
loss of lives, heart brokenness, and other misfortunes;
these generate an answer to be mindful of them in many ways.

I see the unprecedented generosity that rolls in every land,
institutions and other organizations make a collaboration
in what is conceived and put into action: fund raising,
charity, and pledges of thousands of donors.

Horrific media images shown in television channels,
are remarkable pointers for reflection and yet an invitation;
for someone who needs conversion and a return to church call,
that life can be as quick as those giant waves that killed many people.

It’s a theological reflection which embraces human sufferings,
Like a pathway to profound invocation, faith and trust in Him;
Oh God, our source of strength and goal to fulfill this portion
Where we unite ourselves to all those who’re in afflictions.


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It's Time

It’s Time

By BJ Welsh


The sun shines brightly each morn’
Life goes on although the heart is torn
Only you wished for rain instead
Exposure to light is what you’ve dread
Breathing in life that you’ve been given
Spitting it back out to those who are livin’
It’s time, you think, to worry no more
There’s only always silence at the door

The shades don’t work as you think they should
Sun rays seeping through as only mother nature could
What more could you do to keep things dark?
Close your eyes, go ahead, you’ve left your mark
It’s time, you think, to worry no more
There’s surely silence at the door

The mind works in mysterious ways
Your paralyzed and in a daze
The things you lost have never been yours
Borrowed for a while, so take a pause
It’s time to repay that long ago debt
Promises made and you thought kept
You followed a map uncharted at best
A life re-invented and put through the test
It’s time, you thought, to worry no more
But there’s no more silence at the door







 


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What is Light, What is Darkness

 
What is Light, What is Darkness
What is Light, What is Darkness where do they meet where do they part and what lies between them


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Like a bad dream

That keeps repeating over and over again
For twenty two years your face is all I have seen
did medication and therapy for all the emotional swings but nothing helped me

Because all the anger and rage is still trapped up inside of me
After seven trips to the emergency room followed by acid reflux and IBS
A year of living in an abandoned building
A herniated disk and a torn ligament 

A couple of suicide attempts but god wouldn?t take me
I tried dating other women but it was never the same
it was her smile her kiss and the way she held me tame
I have flashbacks of the way things used to be in 83

We were fresh out of high school
Teenage lovers with the world in front of us
Riding in my camaro going to the malls
I?d hold the door for her and she?d always hug me

Seemed like the perfect medicine for a sensitive guy
She was petite and sweet with a busty disposition
Always ready to satisfy my needs with oral satisfaction
We were devoted to one another there was no denying that

We talked about having children and what their names would be 
After four years of being together I took out little money to dedicate my love
Bought a diamond ring with begets then got on one knee 
We looked for halls and listened to wedding plans

But reality quickly set in as to the cost of our union
A year went by and the pressure started to build
Everyone wanted a party to celebrate our rite
so engagment was held at Columbus nights

but our relatives didn?t get a long and ruined our song
I broke up with you cause? I was so confused
you said my personality changed and I became enraged
You said I scared you and I was no longer the same

it was the phone call and background yelling that got me infused 
I could hear everyone trying to persuaded you said I wasn?t for you 
They all wanted their say and one by one they took the phone
From your mother to your sister to the new guy your were dating

Then I could hear it in your voice as you buckled under pressure
You decided to satisfied their needs instead of following your heart
I keep hearing you say to me if you love me let me go
Like an emotional game of Russian roulette

I will never forget the decision you made as we hung up the phone 
Like a wolf?s wailing cry that could be heard far and wide
Howling into the wind after losing its mate its mind filled with despair 
Its eyes filled with blood of seething pain
All I really wanted to do was lay down and die from the void deep inside


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Cardboard City

(Where the streets are full of pity)

Last night! I met an old boxer
in an alley of cardboard;
he seemed glad to see me,
shouted me over for a fight!
I told him!
“Hey I’m not in your league”
“Young man.” He said. “That’s alright.”
“So! I suppose you’re going to leave me,
cos the forecast is for rain, you in
your fine mansion, mine, just a
bloody pain”
“It’s not corrugated you see
it just keeps letting in the damp.”
“But then again I guess,
that’s O.K, for a foolish old tramp.”
He told me!
“What’s the price of glory if one is
shackled to the past. Even my old
woman left me, took my purse in
pursuit of another man. To think
I really loved her, gave her all that I
could, the witch hankered for the
final count, then left me where I
stood!”
He rambled on discursively!
“Take me away from this
‘Cardboard City’ Wrap me up in
sentimental pity.
Help me roam within my native
‘Devon’ Chase illusive rainbows back 
into heaven.”
“Its years of abusing whisky,
Its years of abusing gin,
Its years of perpetual hoar frosts
that hones this savage grin. For
here I lay beneath this lamp, I hope
you understand, with only a
watery moon for comfort and
above me, this single amp!”
“How do you think I feel, here?
In chains of formal sorrow,
replaying each vintage year
each round like no tomorrow!”
“Each morning still, I count the
homeless, watch the van collect
the corpse, I caress each nightly
affliction to ease each delusion
that warps.”
“So! Give an old man a second chance
to come out gamely fighting,
repay life’s referee, society
the uninviting.”
His bottle ran dry,
his words began to wound.
Here! In God’s own country
left high wide and marooned.
Yet like the mortal flame
he submits to the desolate night,
the municipal van empowered
to administer the ultimate rite.
No dawn able to invigorate
leaves this empty feeling in me
the morning dew edulcorates
while a soul in hell is set free!


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discovery of companions read this b4 my companions

As the night is consumed by crimson mist, I stand surrounded by all manner of nefarious foes, both human and demon, living and dead as I stand my eyes burn with draconic flame I feel the lust ,the lust for blood and vengeance revenge for their words and actions, chains and abuse their acid venom The blades they used that flayed my flesh from my body leaving me with bones and sinew leaving me raw not an inch of skin left to protect me As I start toward my foes, consumed by blood lust and the flames of vengeance when wolves of silver rush in front of me and from the shadow of the wood a man and woman appear both handsome and lovely clad in white; from the black skies a wall of gold and black shimmering with light appear holding back my foes In the air clad in gold and black scales emanating power a dragon comes and from the earth rises a sylph ,a cold wind blows as summer leafs and the scent of honey mix with the frigid air around us and two Fae one of the winter and one of the summer court come walking out of the wind then dragon fire flames the barrier between me and my foes , the Fae speak in an unknown tongue immediately wind gathers gathering my foes in a tornado of such power that non could avoid the earth arose around the fury of the storm as the pair in white strode into the storm soon I heard not pain but moans of joy emanate inside wolves rushed in soon there came limbs flying from the maelstrom of power the dragon rose into the air above the magic’s of those around me soon the smell of burning flesh flooded my nose soon the carnage was over
this is also a personification


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My Father Gone These Forty Years

My father gone these forty years,
my mother gone twenty, I remember...
the acrid smell of tobacco
on my mother’s rough fingers,
as she sat, silently,
in a predawn Texas coastal town,
my head in her lap, the short-wave
radio crackling with static.
She strained to hear the chatter of
shrimpers in the Gulf of Mexico,
yelling out to each other
in Cajun patois French,
Mexican Spanish, accented English;
she stroked my nine-year-old hair,
her middle-aged body aching,
hungry, worried, sleepless,
far from her roots, stranded
in this strange, dry,
totally foreign place.
Her imaginings of my father’s
struggles with the sea
and its weathers filled her mind,
and she knew, all the while, that
even if he were safe, earning money,
he (and she) would fail
and we would still suffer
the poverty of the hopeless
and desperate doomed
whose minor, occasional comforts
were only, onshore, the cold beers
and noisy camaraderie of the others
like him, like her,
like us.


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Foes and Lifelines

Foes and Lifelines
a day, a year, a century how long will the darkness last? blood drips from hands and blades, claws and fangs blood burns my eyes aflame foes that never cease hunting i live day by day hour by hour Rukan, Kiyamae, Setsuna, Asumae, Darren and Elvina these are my friends, lifelines, companions ,guardians and family the are the only ones who keep me living pushing me to stay alive and it is they who keep my soul and mind alive


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I lost me I lost you (Part 1)

It was so long ago
But my mind doesn’t see it that way
And like a channel that only plays reruns
Images of you keep repeating in my mind over and over again

Over the years I tried to reach out to you
But I learned that you didn’t want to know me
We last spoke on the phone with forgiveness in my voice
But the love I once knew was replaced by bitterness

You said I thought you were going stop trying to contact me
I promised that this would be the last time.
I said I just wanted to wish you the best and give myself peace of mind.
But in your voice it was the seething anger and resentment that I could not deny

I said I was sorry for all the hurt, pain and sorrow and if I could correct it I would.
Why cant you forgive me what did I do that was so wrong.
And that is when I learned about what was truly told to you  
To my surprise a giant lie, your sister said I raped her, now I understand why

She covered up her actions and turned me into a beast
This explains the hatred, the anger, and resentment you have felt for me.
However it doesn’t excuse the lust of my actions and what really happened 
For days, weeks and months your sister groped, kissed and hounded me until I gave in.

Yes I confess to having an affair I tried to be faithful, I tried to be true. I loved you
But your sisters’ sexual lust took control over me she pressed my buttons for her own sexual 
need
And even though I tried I was so guilt stricken I lied and said I didn’t love you anymore. 
Our break up was created by your sisters’ lustful attraction she lied to cover up her jealous 
actions 

But with a burning in your voice you didn’t want to believe and so you poured salt onto me
but the next day your phone call confirmed the truth, your older sister confessed to our 
agony
but she also said that she was in love with me of which I never knew
suddenly you want to stay in touch, I said that would be too much, again you persisted 

Haven’t we endured enough pain to develop a friendship now would be insane, but you again 
insisted
All those years ago the lie you were told now I understand why you hated me so. 
and with a giant sigh I just started to cry and my heart just melted away
Unfortunately you said time has replaced me with someone new for you 

(continued)


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Honor of Friendship-Part One

08/20/2012
---------------------
In glowing light you saturate them in words of precious gold, honors adorned by you electing them to be your true friends. Telling me that you adore them, love them, so; that they listen quite often to what you say, that you can tell them anything without fear of them judging you and all the while I listen to such high praise. As you bestow upon them the highest honor one can receive from you-the gift of true friends- I listen, but I can’t help it as my mind wonders ‘where do I fit among those you praise’? Between the lines I remain, unsure as to where I truly belong.
Can I find myself; the monster, the witch, amongst these silver knights of yours, or shall I stay hidden, beside myself watching, loving, caring for you from afar?
I never really know just where I stand; I don’t know what or who I am to you.
But on you go about them, your true, amazing friends as I listen, secretly listening wish I too, could make you so happy. I hope that maybe someday, you will see just what you mean to me, that you’ll understand you are my one true friend-My best friend. The only one who has stayed by my side? And I’ll continue to listen to you. Continue to read all you write for the others, and I’ll continue to give you all I have until you hold the entirety of my heart in your hand until there’s nothing more of me but emptiness and all I have you shall receive, as it’s reserved for just you until the very last breath I have leaves me.
Never will you really know how your lack of words is so much louder than any words that could ever be spoken. But still I keep everything for you because you are everything to me-my best friend, the only one to have ever stuck around…I so wish I could do the same, but I am not like the others. I am the nothing that fills the empty space around you, the nothing that hovers and clings to you like a leech. I am a nobody, a nothing but a ‘someone’…
A someone unknown to most, a someone who cannot express a damned thing in a way that makes sense.
But still I sit by you, I stand by your side and hope you know I am here for you; always here forever. If ever you need someone to lean on, someone to carry you up the mountain of turmoil…I will.


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Stentorian in our hearts

The song still reverberates
with a clarion call to everyone
love as its predominant cry
embodies the message of being human.

It’s also what the gospel says
in Christ the Lord, our Model,
who always tells his disciples
love God and one another.

An act of charity or act of love,
shows already what God is all about;
through him we  become part of his kingdom.

However, a radical response implies,
especially at the major crossroads
when we don’t get along well
with our companions or friends in our lives.

To love our enemies can be hard
when our vulnerability is hurt
and even tested in a number of times
It’s really a test of faith, a challenge indeed.

St Luke in his gospel says, ‘love your enemies,’
‘pray for those who mistreat you,’ 
involves a huge amount of renunciation,
emptying and saying , ‘all for the Lord.’

Pride causes everything to get crippled
from within where the heart dictates us
never mind and ‘bury the hatchet now’
because God himself did it himself for us all.

Like those crooked lines deep within us
are lines that depict envy, hatred and anger;
through our efforts and God’s assistance
we can straighten them in a gradual way.

The historical figure of Christ,
our measure in today’s world;
he’s the compendium and source of all
that love we share to everyone.


Note:

Stentorian means extremely loud


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M dot O

Every task has a game Every game, a strategy Every strategy has a reason Poised so gracefully with devilish intent Death by love Death by hate Death by a stranger Death by a familiar face An intention is all he needs To reveal his dangerous stead A simple act of sweet revenge Or a show of uncanny chivalry A game in the end it was A plan to dissolve the unpure A reason to prove treason A death that was needed to complete this unjust season Self-defense she screams My petite lady But the devil’s scorn She breathes so cloaked, yet so freely Victory, alas! Innocence she pleads. Her immaculate halo radiates an eerie glow For her task completed she rests, content Until her next victim she claims Her bloody thirst to quench BY Amanda.M.Miller


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CURRUPTION

Debauched, extortionate and inconstant 
was the knavish and foul mercenary?
The perfidious praetorian reprobate
was a venal unscrupulous slug.
Debased in character and depraved in spirit
this purveyor of evil tended to his wicked ways.
Morally spoiled, he was a putrid putrescent 
and an aberration to integrity.
Nefarious and tainted in character,
he infected the soul.
Treacherous and two-faced,
underhanded and unethical, 
debased and unprincipled,
this snide poor excuse to humanity
defined the meaning of "corruption."


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DWI

      A/N:Ths is a true story of a little girl in town, killed by a drunk driver on her 
             way home from her sister's wedding!  PLEASE don't drink and drive!

She was a vision in pink
Yellow curls spilling down her neck
Her tiny hands clutching flowers
When they found her in the wreck!
She had walked down the aisle
An adorable flower girl,
Tossing rose petals 
Smiling her last smile
But how were we to know?
A tiny life cut short
In the middle of the night
Her grieving parents knowing
Their world would never be right!

“Have a drink with me my friend
Why not two or three?
I’m all alone tonight
I want some company
What’s that you say
I’m too drunk to drive?”
Yes you were my friend
Now that child’s
No longer alive!
Was that drink so important
That you could take a life?
The fact that you survived
Haunts that man and wife

They will always remember
When they found her in that wreck
Her yellow curls covered in blood
Her head severed at the neck!
So have another drink my friend
As you step up to the bar
How many people will you kill
When you get into your car?

Copyright2008Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)



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Soda Machine 1 – Humans 0

A soda machine took them down.
American, Japanese, European, Indian
and Chinese I saw attempt to buy from
that machine. And the machine won.
Try and try they might, they put in dollar
after dollar with no success at all.
They swapped ones and asked each other
to try another one and they kept stuffing
ones in that machine, but to no avail.
I watched this with quite a bit of amusement.
Sociology 101 … a group of people immediately
becomes stupid.
Not quite what I learned, but pretty close.
As I stood there – having already figuring out
that the bill collection slot was full – I counted
out enough quarters and I sauntered over to the
machine to make a purchase.
The people there asked me to try one of my dollars
or if I had different dollars from what they had.
I had to do it – I just had that streak in me right
then. I pumped in my quarters and
bought a soda, turned to the assemblage and said,
The bill slot is full, idiots, use change.
And I walked away with my soda, but not before
I saw the looks of bewilderment in the eyes of
the people. It never even occurred to them.
So I made a silent toast to the stupidity
of the masses and the amusement they provide.
Ah, this would be such a great planet
if it wasn’t for the people.


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I lost me I lost you (Part 3)

I just wanted you to know you married the wrong guy
You can laugh as I curse you or shake your head as the years go by
But like a warlock a male witch I damn you till the end of time
May your family tree be poisoned with emotional trauma through the heart 

May this infliction of this pain be a remembrance to our time  
May the pattern of lust created by your sister be branded on to the generations in your line
I never knew I could have such hatred for you even after such a long time
I never knew I had this kind of burning rage against you

So as I put this to an end let me just remind you once again 
it was your sisters dirty deeds that broke our bonds in the end
You could have given me a second chance 
From the flowers to the poetry and all the phone calls I had tried

For the five years that I knew you we are now just a blink in time
For all the walks and all the talks so many years ago
All those cherished memories are now just part of a freak show
Everything we desired to have are now at the end of another mans prick

I sit back now and look at this story
And with the flick of my wrist I toss it to the fire
I look up to god asking him to take me higher
One last wish is for all those memories I have of you to be taken as if they never transpired 

I lost me I lost you
Through the lust and the thrust of a sexual deed
I lost me I lost you
Embraced in a taboo of wants, desires and needs
I lost me I lost you
The fire consumed us and soon no one could breath
I lost me I lost you


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From Green To White To Green



From green to white to green What a crazy mixed up scene The weatherman's all confused Methinks he's into the booze If he starts a-guzzling gin Most likely I'll be joining him Of all my years here on earth This kinda stuff is really the worst So bring on the ice and snow I'm Canadian as you know As long as things go as planned Hiccups I can now and then stand But this year the weather gods Are surely not doing their jobs! © Jack Ellison 2014


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Honor of Friendship-Part Three

Once again silence envelopes me, like a thick blanket choking me, thrashing and panicking I wish to escape and wonder why you have left me like this? Why you have left me with such emptiness, such silence, digging into me, ripping me apart… “Please, do not abandon me…” I wish to say, to plead…to beg, but no words escape me for I can no longer breathe.
All I did was listen, that’s all I’ve ever done, and then…you’re gone and I feel so alone…so alone. Lost in a never ending darkness, floating aimlessly and I cannot find my way. All I did was listen, all I’ve ever done was listen, I was only ever by your side. Was that not enough? Did you want more? What more can I give? Please, tell me why must you hide, why must the silence over take us-me? Why must I be left on the sidelines…why must I be forgotten…?
When you speak with others, can you not speak with me as you speak with them? Do you feel shamed when spending time with me? Must our friendship be hidden? I do not understand… I wish to, I wish so much to understand you but I cannot. I cannot see when my only light is gone.
They are the only ones for you, they are your friends…I am the forgotten one. Abandoned; left behind, in silence, darkness, and sorrow. They are the ones for you, they are the ones you love, they are the ones you praise and honour…What am I? what am I?
Why do I surround myself around you, why do I care so much, when you obviously care so little? Do you even care at all? Am I just someone to fill the space, am I just someone to pass the time with until you can be with your real friends, once again leaving me on my own…

In glowing light you saturate them in words of precious gold, honors adorned by you electing them to be your true friends. Telling me that you adore them, love them, so; that they listen quite often to what you say, that you can tell them anything without fear of them judging you and all the while I listen to such high praise. As you bestow upon them the highest honor one can receive from you-the gift of true friends- I listen as you continuously adorn them with riches of words…

What am I to you? WHO am I to you? Will you ever say, will I ever know? Is there anything to say, anything to know? Or shall I always be left in the dark silence?


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Public Speaking



The fear of Public Speaking  has been with me always
but never like it was on that June evening so many years ago.
I still get gut wrenching panic when I think about that time,
it really seems like only yesterday....

A late bloomer, extremely shy, it was a horror to be
selected as  Valedictorian of my high school class. For weeks 
I had trouble sleeping and could barely eat. I knew
disaster was close at hand..
.
The day of graduation I prayed for a quick death, thought
seriously of faking a terminal illness, and  cried all afternoon.
And you know what? It was just a bad as I thought it 
would be.....

My throat closed, I whispered and croaked and didn't say 
one coherent thing. Dead silence. Then clapping, 
led by my frantic parents. No one ever mentioned the debacle..
but at our ten year reunion I was nominated as the girl
who had changed the most. Oh, that little victory was sweet.
but, dear God, I still remember......


For John Heck's contest..


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You

It’s early morning
I feel your spiraling chill
Time twisting my seething will
My lurid love for you

Fingernails stained insatiable black
Exploring depths of my obedient back
Shivering shutters of melting hues
Springtime lapping midnight shoes  

She whispers through bitten bottom lips 
Winter squirming beneath bulbous leather hips
Satin sheets swallowing Hades’ suckled sunrise
Gasping flames of salvation’s quivering cries 

Her beauty burns volition’s might
Friction frayed flesh of angelic light
Eternity ends where ecstasy begins
Divinity savored in salted sable sin

It’s late night
I feel your spiraling chill
Time soothing my broken will
My lurid lust for you


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Blasphemy

In the dawn of destruction, eyes look for salvation, hearts look for the lost prayer that could ease the pain, souls look for redemption from the screams and yells of men and women.

What have we become? Who are we?
Have we lost our humanity? Have we no sensuality?
Have we become a useless number that can be deposited with a bullet?
Have we turned into animals that can be hunted?
Have we no right?

Children who've lost their parents crying for righteousness, looking for pity from the eyes that caused blasphemy because of greed!
Why do we shoot bullets instead of handing flowers?
Why do we spit instead of swallow?!
Why are we trying our best to become heartless?
Why is your life more precious than mine?
Why do you live in the light of safety and warmth while we live in opacity and darkness?

We do not want your tears; we do not want your sympathy... Leave them to yourself; we do not need this help.
We are strong, our voice is loud and one day our hearts will be unbound.
This is my letter for the people who still have the heart and strength to raise their voice against dictatorship and colonialism. 
Raise your hands and pray that the judgment day does not come soon, for we are not yet ready to go to hell.


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Title Taken

The page laughing at me the canvas cold and blank.
Winter filled room in the middle of june.
Why had my heart run a ground on such jagged shores.

Now I scavage for remains of my soul.
ragged I wonder would anyone remember me apon my return.
Would she stand smile apon face and regret in heart.

The page stayed empty for a reason.
They were all gone the great titles along with there writers.

Me the fool brave or foolish enough to  attempt the
impossible  with little to show for it.
A broken relationship and some bad tattos  in 
some  weird places.

To be stuck down in a  hollow .
Is fine  with suplies lowand the truth a sober mind brings 
time was ticking the false deadline was apon me.
And like a kid trying to cram in every answer on a school test.
I was stuggling  waitting for the teacher to say times up.

Hands shaking from the need throat dry  and a headache
that would last for a week.
Why had it always come to this  isolation.

Maybe it was the roads way of calling me back.
Like a lover calling me back to bed.
To entangle untill the mornings light.

Yet just like a passionet affair the struggle for the title 
kept me trapped to this place for nights on end.
You cant grasp what is never yours its 
like trying to see that sweet southern breeze.

Everytime you find  one with which your heart agree's 
 You find the titles taken.
life and love will always  bring you to your knees.


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honor of Friendship-Part Two

I listen, and I’ll always listen because I will do anything for you, I would die to keep you safe and alive. I would do whatever to make you feel better. And so, I listen as you talk about them, these amazing friends of yours…Only some I have met. How lucky they are to have such devotion, how lucky they are to not feel the sting of betrayal and abandonment; thrust upon their spine crippling them to a state of fear, anger, and distrust.
How lucky they are to have you, how lucky I am to have you.
Do you understand, do you see just how much I love you?
 Soul such as yours deserves only the best; perhaps that is where I fault, I bring upon you sadness and pain, until all you do is go silent hiding behind solid doors. Composing words of sorrow, and they stab me like a sword in the gut…Closed off, shut away from you-I cannot function like this. I lose my way, I lose everything, I cannot be kept away, please open up to me… ‘DO NOT SHUT ME OUT’ I cry…I don’t want to lose you, yet I feel as though I already have; I feel as if I never really had you all along-not truly. That everything I believed, everything I have come to know is fake. An act, a show you put on until you can no longer pretend to care anymore so when the opportunity comes along you go silent and drop me. I am left forgotten, wondering what happened…Seconds, minutes, hours go by and nothing. I lose control, I panic and my bleeding heart reacts. Maybe you did not mean it though, but maybe you did…I don’t know and I’m not sure I ever really will know and my mind spins like a top…I don’t know what to do, or say…or think. Do you even care? Did you ever care, or did you just pretend so you did not have to face me? If you were given the opportunity would you forget who I am, would you abandon me in the unforgiving tide, left alone to fight against the waves, until all I have given you-all the memories flood me until I drown, going down to the pit of nothing…? The pit of lies that you made, would it be easy to turn you back on me, leave me to fight alone this losing battle until you are no longer burdened by me…? And when I am gone, will you finally feel free?


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Two Drink Minimum

The bar is empty except for me and some old memories.
The smoke flows to the celling as I sit underneath the neon sign.
recalling old friends and new regrets.

Miles behind me yet only a thought away.
I recall the feel of the embrace.
The tortured soul that guided this broken soul to this 
empty place.

Theres a two drink minimum  and i nurse the forth.
As the whiskey burns taking me back to my southern roots.
far from these cold nothern nights and snow covred streets.

Far from her warm welcome arms  and  and soft gentle ways.
Emptyness and drinks dont always mix well.
Motels and dirty mirrors often dont reflect where you are.

As time slowley does pass.
Confessions to a tired bartender.
Who long since has outgrown the two drink minimum of this 
frozen empty bar.


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Precipice (Vignette)

The devil tap dances on the edge of your desperation
Your fate upon on a spinning coin of revelation
Faith nourishes as some lead without hesitation
Fear and greed lead to many a soul’s dehydration
God intervenes, protects His children – Salvation





Author’s note:  Stephen King’s The Stand


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The Dentist's Chair

The Dentist's Chair

Staring up into the light
Your mouth and body
Frozen in unison
While your mind dreams of escape

The inane radio DJ
Is drowned out
As the drill's
Terror-inducing shrill
Sends shivers down your spine

Second seem like years
As you struggle for breath
With fingers and metal contraptions
Intruding like death

Is this what purgatory is like?
Pushing yourself
Towards the light
Away from what seems
Like eternal hell

When the reaper
Sinks his teeth into me
What awaits
When the waiting-room doors
Finally swing open?




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Tim in the Skies

I woke up screaming
from one of my dreams.
Stuck my face in a pillow
to muffle the screams.	

It's hard to watch
someone else die.
Are you up there watching
as I search the sky?

I'm looking for answers.
God gives me a few.
The answers are empty
down here without you.

I should have died.
Not you my dear friend.
You just tried to help me
and I dreamed it again.

The knife in your heart.
Your eyes that just stared.
I hate to admit this
but I was so scared.

I was the first one
to fall to the floor.
Kicked,beaten,and stabbed.
But there would be more.

I curled into a ball
and I should have stayed there.
Frank and your brother appeared
and both asked me,"where?"

I pointed as they ran.
there were to many to fight.
But they both rushed right in.
It was satan's delight.

I got up and followed.
Didn't know what else to do.
I walked right through the carnage
and that's when I saw you.

You asked me what happened.
But I was out of my mind.
I said I was jumped 
and then we both looked behind.

There was your brother falling
with ten guys on him 
and like Frank and Dan
you just rushed right in.

We both watched in horror
as Dan curled into a ball.
Then you grabbed this guy
and threw him into the wall.

Then everything was slow motion.
Guys were flying through the air.
I could barely see anything 
but all I did was stare.

You were making them run
but one still wanted to fight.
That's when I rushed in.
He had this big knife.

I got there too late.
I grabbed you where you fell.
The look in your eyes
is my own private hell.

You died in my arms.
Some of me died there too.
It's been thirty years now.
Thirty years without you.

Why did it happen Lord?
Will I ever know?
Will Tim ever forgive me?
Do I want to know?

A nightmare that lives
after I close my eyes.
A dream that makes me
search for Tim in the skies.

For my Best friend Tim Gitchel who was murdered on 2/12/1979 in Oxnard CA at the 
movie theatre when we tried to see The Warriors. I miss you buddy. RIP


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A BATTLE OUTSIDE RAGING

I stand within these walls of comfort,
Called freedom.
While in every corner of this world,
My siblings die.

Brothers and sisters of earth,
Struggling for hope.
My vagabond mind wanders in circles,
Searching for answers.

Still, questions hang like dead fog,
Which never lifts.
Explosions of pain that ears can hear,
Waking my eyes in morning papers.

Wars giving less than nothing,
Smother my senses in useless regret.
So many feeling so sorry,
Yet simply changing channels.

Compassion being a dirty word,
Those elite few have come to despise.
While walls they've built soon crush them,
Beneath weight of their own insincerity.

Intellectual nitwits,
Unaware of their bottomless ignorance.
Marching beneath a banner of confusion,
They proudly do wave.

All the while chanting,
Let the common ones eat dirt.
As their warm apple pies quietly cool,
On selfish shelves.

As unfortunate mothers loudly weep in despair,
Watching their children expire.
These ones of power do not hear those sounds of death,
Only their greed raging out of control in a battle outside.

Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved

"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."

© 2014 Robert William Gruhn


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Alternate View

It’s always the same.  
The darkness. 
 
I don’t care what you think or what you say. 
It has sound and it has color.  It has life.  It has energy.   
There is no black void in the darkness.  There is no quiet in the darkness.  

That’s a lie. 
I know because I’ve been there, I still end up there.
Night or day, awake or asleep. 
I’ve traveled every avenue of this rank and rancid place.  
I’ve been to this violent place.

It’s like an animal ripping and scratching and tearing at me from the inside-out. 
And it does.  It claws and rips and shreds and devours.  
Every single time.  
See, it has color.  It definitely has sound.
Horrifying, terrifying, pleading sounds. 

It screams at me and then echoes back from every crevice.  
It has no escape or hiding place.  
It always finds me.  
It always consumes me and leaves me so tired that I can barely breathe.  
I don’t even try to move.  I can’t.  

I have no life left in me, no fight left in me.  
No hope left inside me.  
See, it has its own energy.  It's own life.

It’s always the same.  
The darkness.


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Scars

.The survivors. Yes, that's what we call ourselves. We've lived through the terrors of life. 
Gentle hands, soft spoken, safe in his arms. Obey, and listen, and the swirling melody of 
love plays throughout the scene. And yet, this masquerade is always broken to reveal the 
truth. Words sharper than daggers explode around our ears. Bruises appear on our skin. 
We've "fallen", the clumsy females we are. We fell. A sports injury, a car crash, a freak 
accident. Freak accident of hatred. Much like the lion, quiet and stalking, and then exploding 
into a flurry of the hunt. Of the hurt. Swift blows, and blood drips from noses, tears stream 
from eyes in a silver river of desperate please, bruises decorate us in tawnys and majestic 
purples. Reminders of our "wrong doings". We need to pay for our sins. The only witness are 
the walls, and the moonbeams that dance about our dizzy heads. On the ground. Steel toes 
to the back. A crack. Fire. Pain. And then, a cool silence. The rage subsides, and apologies 
appear. "I'll never do it again" and "I lost control" replay in the back of our heads. Our deja-
vu from the previous night. Always the same. Always the pain. The survivors. Thats what we 
call ourselves. And by the dark dance of the moon against the velvet sky, as stars twinkle 
like sequins, and fade into the dawn, we pick ourselves up. New excuses. New plates to buy. 
A new alarm clock. New knives, doors, but no new hearts, stabbed until the hemmoragging 
hurts like a firestorm. Alone. We are alone. We, the Survivors, have lived not an apocalypse, 
not a plane crash, but the darkest part of our lives. Therapy can lock it away, but never 
remove the dark stain of dried blood upon our souls. Lost. We come together, and escape. 
We start anew, but are never the same. Dark dreams, paranoia haunting our shadows, and 
the jumps that come with shattered glass of the clink of dishes. Never the same, but 
stronger. What doesn't kill you is sure to leave a horrible scar, but wounds heal And while 
scars remain as a reminder of the pain endured, we are, for the better, stronger. We 
survived.

.


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Mr Testosterone

Easy there mr. testosterone control your speed put down the phone did you light the fuse when you turned the key rage bomb, speeding and weaving for all to see squeeze the wheel, music will blare clinch your jaw, your vulgar words, we hear you swear we’re all stupid drivers, bad traffic you say move over, speed up, get out of my way well, none of us care if you text or you’re a mobile talker either way your destiny will be a road side marker
Every year over 50,000 men, women and children are killed on our roads Share the road PLEASE


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Escaping Me

I stand at my window...

and I view the world

and wish for the impossible...

a transformation...

to step outside...

   outside my skin...

to be one of them.....

to be another,

to wear another face

just until this day is over



I'm not asking for more..

I'm not asking for a lifetime...

just this one day, just these long hours..

                                                                        Yet... who do I think I am?

                                                                        to think that 

                                                                        whoever I'm seeking to be

                                                                         in mind and body and soul

                                                                         to hold their life in my hand

                                                                         for just this one day,

                                                                         it would be any better 

                                                                         than my own? ....




It is just my wish.......

until I am past

the darkness of today






      ++++++++++


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Afternoon Spell

                         
Fleeting memories encounter vague enchanted pleasures at the bottom of the minds well. 

Their delicate everchanging existence intoxicates the huanted  headspace in which they dwell.

Images infiltrate an insatiable conscience where fools invent necessity and cry superficial tears.

Momentary merciless passion commands the heart to kiss fantastical desire with lips that never tell.


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I lost me I lost you (Part 2)

The love we once shared was no longer there. You said, I no longer love you
I am considering getting married are words that chilled me to the bone
With a shutter to my voice I said but I am still in love with you. 
Don’t the memories that we created mean anything anymore

Is there anything left anything you feel any type of love anything that’s real
From the engagement party to the dancing
To the ring I thought would make you mine 
However as time passed by I could not deny the love I once knew was gone and we drifted 
apart for good

but then there was one day in 1997
You knew it was me but you didn’t care
You didn’t even give me a stare but you knew I was there
And I could see you were carrying another mans seed
Maybe I shouldn’t be angry maybe I deserve it anyways
But I can’t deny what I feel inside
Abandonment and betrayal anger and a seething rage
If I could break up your marriage I’d do it today.

I don’t know maybe you chose to marry him out of despair
Or maybe it was a rebound due to your sisters’ affair
I don’t know the reason I don’t known which emotional crime
All I know is that my mind has been stuck on you for twenty two years in time

I don’t care what any family member thinks anymore yours or mine
I have choked you in my dreams 
And I have killed your husband a thousand times
I have seen you on facebook with your family and I will never give a nudge or send a 
message

(Continued)


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A Letter To Anarchy

Dearest anarchy 
there's nothing sweeter than
your sharp tongue in my ear.
The hatred that I once revelled in, 
Taking the form of fear

A lie that nothing dreadful
Could suppose could be a trap,
A terror,
Poetry to hurtful minds.
A lonesome slap.

She never saw it coming did she?
Her soul was yours to play with long before
She hit that floor
That day, that night, that summer
Not a moment more.

She ran did she not?
Before you did something else,
She fled the scene
Breadcrumbs leading the way
Back home. At last.


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Guilty by Julitza Torres-7th grade

I feel so guilty.
I'm going to get caught.
The fear lives inside me.
It's something I'll never do again.

I feel so guilty.
It was bad.
I'm so worried,
I'm gonna get caught.

I feel so guilty.
I say I'm good
but deep down, I'm not.
I'm gonna get caught.


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Noxious Butterfly

I'm fine! Really, I am.
My eyes may give way
To emotions, but I've found
That hiding them is okay.
No one wants to live with
Their heart on their sleeve.
That'd be just fine if
People didn't care or need.
As it is, no one can
Survive. Not alone that is.
Clinging to one another and
Crying together like kids.

I want to surpass that,
I want to be able on my own.
In many ways like a cat,
I would do more alone.
Sometimes, when I think this
Loneliness pushes it's way in
And it gets so hard to resist
That noxious butterfly's sin.
Sure, I care for others
And want those feelings in return.
People are like wet covers
Weighing you down to get burned.

My feelings, I want to cut them.
To tear them down and rip them out.
But once it's dance has begun
The butterfly will win, no doubt.
No more! Leave me be I say.
You imploring noxious butterfly!
Feelings, I will not hear of them today
There are no rules that life goes by.
But within me the dance continues,
Those horrid things I want to forget.
Some sort of personal revenue
My noxious butterfly, my feelings, kept.

~Reecie


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Soul Searching

To shout outwards in ease is who we are
we think.
Then we whisper looking inside to find
something left behind
rancid
We realize we haven't found ourselves
yet, we pretend
we've been looking
but we haven't really.
It's all too scarey like Kafka's Gregory
afraid we'll wake up like roaches
too pitiful to live.
We place our masks on in the morning 
for it's too bright out in the sun
a different face we lean on at night
whether full moon or not.
I've noticed people are reticent to soul search
they're too afraid of what they might find.
I've looked
I've found
I'm not quite sure what I'll do now.
This new found information leaves
me lost.


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Her Personal Curse (Part Two) *warning, graphic in nature*

I felt his fingers bruising my flesh, tearing me till I bled onto him.
He made me taste it for him, I thought this would be the night I died.
Panic seized me anew when he settled between my thighs and pressed in.
A pain like none of his blows seized me, as he pinned me where I lye



I began to fight him again, digging my own nails into his shoulders.
It didn’t seem to anger him anymore as he pushed sending fire through me.
He let me scream now, and the bed banged the wall, but nobody heard.  
All I could think about was my mother in the next room, oblivious to my screams.

 He pound his member deep inside me as I gasped and begged him to stop
I called him by his name, and still, his hands grabbed hard as he continued to thrust.
Some of the pain subsided as he took me, I must have slowly slipped into shock.
I felt his hot release inside of me, as I lye under this man I once thought I could trust.

Spent and dripping sweat, he fell down against me, crushing the breath from my lungs.
I felt his lips suckle my neck, as he leaned off to knead my breast.
I lay limp as he kissed me, I could still taste vodka on his tongue.
I lay there being fondled by my mother’s 28 year old house guest.

He hardened again against my thigh, while he continued exploring my body
He murmured empty words to me before flipping me over onto my stomach.
I tried to get up and crawl away but he pushed my head down from behind me.
I screamed against the mattress while he took me, preying for it to go by quick.

It was dawn before he left me, aching and soiled down to my bones.
I curled up onto the mattress after he told me no one would ever believe me.
I was stunned that this could happen to me in my own home.
I thought of my mother sleeping in such close vicinity.

She must have left and I didn’t hear her, I thought. I didn’t want to face the fact
That she had been there, steps away while I begged and pleaded for rescue.
But as I painfully left my bed to prove to myself that she wasn’t there to stop the attack,
I stepped out into the hallway and heard her snoring, the door left open to her room.

Passed out on her own bed, left as vulnerable as I had been left, she was untouched.
While I was riddled with bruises and blood, scars inside that would never heal.
I ran to her shaking her awake to tell her, wanting to be consoled so much.
She looked at me, still drunk, as if wondering how she should feel.


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After Dinner

After dinner
Taco night
Nearly midnight
Running up the stairs

Oh God
I had done so well
The family ate
And I ate
Seven o’clock on a Tuesday 
Only two
I only ate two
No cheese
No sour cream
I had done wonderfully

Eleven thirty on Tuesday
Everyone in bed
Everyone but me 
I approached the kitchen
I ate it all

No one saw how much was left
They won’t notice it’s gone
I put it all away
They didn’t see it
But I ate it all

Running up the stairs
They have their fans on
They’re asleep
They won’t hear me

I find my familiar place
Kneeling at my altar
Forgiveness is always found here
It’s time to confess my sins

My fingers slip into a spot they know too well
I struggle for a moment
Nothing will come up
Oh God
No
Don’t let it stay inside me
Another moment
Gagging
Retching
I feel it coming now

Oh thank God
It’s all gone
Now I can sleep soundly

I wash my hands and face
Rinse my mouth
I look in the mirror
Why?
Why is this happening?
Oh my God
Look at me
This can’t be me
This can’t be what I’ve become

But what choice do I have?


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Darkness by Jacqueline Arias 7th grade

It's dark in this room.
    No light to shine.
No one to say hi
    but I'm filled with fright.

No one can see
    The fright inside of me
but the darkness is spreading
    all around me.

There is no future.
    Neither a past.
The present is here
    but it won't last.


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SomePeople

Some people 
Shred and devour
Marking time
By the hour
Crunching, munching
On my soul
Til bit by bit
There is a hole
Where once I lay
Pure and whole


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Alone in my Pain by Anthony Figueroa 7th grade

I'm in pain
I feel alone
and when I cry
tears fall like rain.

When I leave my love
it hurts inside
and when you're not around me
I feel alone.

When I call you 
it feels like you're next to me
and when I hang up
I cry because you're not there.


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No title

Thoughts of demise often flood my mind. Mine. Other's. The end is the same, blood, darkness, graves.
I often think with myself "is this worth of it all?"
I feel weary, exhausted and I wish to see this day's end one last time and to not be here to see the new dawn.
I often think of you. Your lies. Which brought me to see butterflies where lies only the moths.
Fooled, I was lead by hand by you to believe what were not.
More than ever, I no longer have the desire to tread these lands amidst these people and their evil endeavors.
The shadows lurks on every heart, on every word, on every thought and glance.
There's no deny. No one is pure. Must stop looking.
Even though I know this, that what you made me believe to be a lie, I want to hold on onto them and bring them to my grave.
Amidst your lies, I found a fake happiness, but nevertheless, made me feel warm. I want to keep it, I do not want to forget, but I want to stop feeling.
I often think of you, till today. And for you, I offer this gift, a crimson one.
I shall open my husk and allow its fluid drawn on the floor my disdain for this life and my desire for the what is better, the better that is yet to come.
Whenever I look at myself, I will spy these reminders, these warnings laying around this shell, that behind every mask lies evil intention.
I often think of you, the greatest lier. I often think of our demise.
Maybe there I can find the peace that here I find not.


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I Understand

The things we bury within our mind
like a ravenous forager returning a find
all the cracks between our multiple side
along with the secrets we try to hide
drowning in illusory shames false tide

respectability can be a curse
not being yourself is even worse
to live a life that's not your choosing
neglected in love and left for boozing
rather ignored than regular bruising
we all get just one short life at a time
before our return to the eternal sublime
just being yourself, enough mountain to climb
can't lose yourself forever, in wondrous rhyme
thoughts can have a solitary hold
so take my hand, let's run, be bold
I want to show you Love before death or old
forget instructions, or father might scold
we dream a story that deserves to be told
the warmth I feel, just knowing you're there
all that's against us, I'm tearing my hair
your hand I desire, much more than air
see, a storm always subsides, weather turns out fair
so please kindly relinquish, any pent up despair
you can't let go of hope or optimism
living by someone else's mannerism
Otherwise, you have lived your life inside a prison,
 forced to live inside a prism!
©John-Ovan.P.Hull


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Escape From a Sinkhole

Escape From a Sinkhole There is a friend of mine He is so very dear to me His smile is like sunshine Friends we will always be He has a heart that is very kind Where others take advantage of Since love tends to really be blind Usually the use is mistaken for love One day when he was helping someone By pulling that person out of a sinkhole He didn’t see his ground caving in some As he pulled, his strength was taking its toll The one who he was helping, didn’t even see That the ground around him was caving in Well I was there, it just so happened to be So I began to pull him from that situation He is just about out of that hole right now As we keep working on setting him free We will figure it out someway somehow For him to get above ground eventually The escape from a sinkhole is hard to do Unless you have a special hand to lend Coming from one, you can hold on to That is only found within a true friend Florence McMillian (Flo)


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A Lifetime Lived, A Lifetime Begun

“You don't understand...”
“You will when you're older,”
A lifetime of pain,
That's what she told her.
“I can't worry you with this...”
“You have problems of your own,”
“But I want to help...”
“You shouldn't face them alone.”
“One foot's in a hole...”
“The other's almost there,”
“But why does this happen?”
“No one said life was fair.”
“Will this ever change...?”
“Can you ever get out?”
“I just have hope for the better...”
“That's what life's all about.”
“What can I do to help...?”
“How can I ease your pain?”
“Just do what you have to do…”
“Your success will relieve some strain.”
“Be there when I need you...”
“Do what needs to be done...”
“Through all rough times and hardships…”
“In the end, I'll know we've won.”
“I'll know that I've done my job...”
“Just as long as you've done your best...”
“And when I know you’ve made it...”
“I’ll finally be able to rest.”
“Get the best out of life...”
“Don't make the mistakes I've made...”
“For if you follow in my footsteps...”
“Your life will surely fade.”
“I know you'll make me proud...”
“You have and always will...”
“I know I don't show much affection…”
“But I love you still.”
“I know you do; your actions show it...”
“You know I love you too...”
“I'll live my life to the fullest...”
“I'll do it for me and for you.”
And then they cried and hugged each other,
And laughed a relieved laughter,
Although they knew there was more to come,
Could it ever be happily ever after?


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Long Live The Soup



Long live Poetry Soup My life without it is inconceivable What did I do before I discovered it Seems I've been here forever The joy it's brings me cannot be put into words Recently, there has been a bit of an upheaval Feelings have been hurt We've lost some very, very dear friends But the spirit of the Soup is strong And lives on These recent events will fade Restoring the haven the Soup is known for It resembles life itself The up, the downs, but through it all It is surely worth the struggle Long live the Soup!!! © Jack Ellison 2014


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Tears For You (2006)

My tears fall and my heart is torn apart 
Picking up broken pieces to make a fresh start
As my day slowly unfolds my mind starts to fray
I cry so much
But an angel told me that tears only wash the dirt away 


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The Forsaken

His smile be but a crooked lie,
All truth and beauty evade his reach,
The childlike purity hath left his eyes,
He hides from them, a cowardice leech.

He hath feasted upon the mortal soul,
His bloodied hands forever drenched,
Guilt leads him now, to feed upon filth,
His hunger and thirst nevermore to be quenched.

Within his ageless porcelain shell,
An old accursed fiend doth weep,
For he stole the breath of innocence,
Their restless ghosts now steal his sleep.

The pleasant warmth of the sunlit morn,
Hath shunned him all too soon,
Thus, the only light that dares to greet him,
‘Tis the scornful smile of the Moon.

Not even God’s angels waste their tears,
For hell is grasping at his feet,
He would readily welcome the Reaper’s scythe,
But Death cannot chill what does not beat.

And should he accept the gift of love,
By his undying kiss, they shall suffer his fate,
To sacrifice all sanity and mortality,
For an eternal life of sadness and hate.

This be his infinite penance, 
A penalty he is forced to pay,
To live alone amongst God’s creatures,
As the Forsaken, day by day.


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Hurt and You Could Have it All

upstairs in my room
i put my ear to the floor
only to hear my parents screaming
the argument is about me
my mom yells "look at what your son has become!"
Heartless, unintelligent, fake...
my father replies back
"hes your son, hes your own pile of dirt!"
whenever my family is out together
we act happy like these fights never happen
but every night they do and i cant tell anyone
i have to act like someone else in order not to get introuble
What have i become?...hurt..dishonest..will this feeling dissapear?
I will drag you down and i will make you hurt..
I lift my head from the floor
still hearing the angry voices of my parents
i found an old needle, and i dug it into my skin
the next morning i go downstairs
with a cut off shirt on, and baseball shorts
My father grabs my arm
"what is this boy?"
i yank my hand away from him and i sit down on a chair
"its nothing sir"
my father repeats "are you cutting yourself?, why?"
i grab my bookbag and i disapear out the door
My father runs outside pulling me to the ground
"are you cutting yourself boy?!" he screams
i say "no sir i just scrapped my arm on my dresser"
My father grabs my face
"you better not cut yourself again" he replies
He hits my face, as i lay on the ground.
I didnt wake up until i felt something wet drip on my face
it was raining and dark outside
i run into the house and into the bathroom
looking into the mirror i see the bruise that was left on my face
My father wasnt home and my mother went to bed
"everything goes away in the end right, if i let him have it all, my moms pile of dirt?"
I sit upon my liars chair full of broken memories i cannot repair 
I become someone else, but the old me is still right there
if i could start again a million miles away i would keep myself
i will find my way



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What Do You See

I found this old poem while helping to clean out a house that was vacant. I hope you 
don't mind that I didn't write it but it was too awesome not to post. Enjoy--------
          

                                   What Do You See

What do you see, nurses? What do you see?	
What are you thinking when your looking at me? 
A crabby old women, not very wise.
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes.
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply.
When you say with your loud voice, "I do wish you'd try."
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
and forever is losing a sock or a shoe.
Who unresisting or not lets you do as you will.
When bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what your thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes nurse, your not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still.
As I drink at your bidding, as I sit at your will.
I'm a small child of 10 with a father and mother.
Brothers and sisters who love one another.
A young girl of 16 with wings on her feet.
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at 20. my heart gives a leap.
Remembering the vows I primised to keep.
At 25 now I have young of my own.
Who need me to build a secure happy home.
A women of 30, my young now grow fast.
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At 40 my young sons near grown will be gone.
But my man stays beside me to see I don't mourn.
At 50 once more babies play round my knee. 
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead.
I look to the future and shudder with dread.
For my young ones are busy rearing young of their own.
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm an old women now and nature is cruel.
It's her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body it crumbles, grace and vigor depart.
There now is a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells.
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and loving life over again.
I think of the years, all the few--gone to fast.
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes nurses, open and see.
Not a crabby old women, look closer,  see ME.

This poem was found among the effects of a patient who died at the Oxford
University Geriatric Service in England. Author is unknown.


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Self Esteem







My shrink says I haven't any..
self esteem that is.
Not good enough or smart enough
I thought the ugly duckling would
turn in to a swan.. didn't happen.
Just  living life in the slow lane.
Gray and unattractive, old too
But my mother loved me..
that's something, right?


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An Old Photo

That still fresh old photograph of you
astride a spotted pony, bare feet
dangling as limply as your torn dress:
the background was a high veranda,
cool green trimmed with gingerbread.

A small boy sat the animal with you --
two solemn and handsome children
upon a well-fed pony, photographed
by an itinerant in the thirties --
the time frozen as long as the picture
or our fading memories of it may last.

The boy, our brother,
did little in his forty years;
but now, we see his boy's eyes,
soft, liquid, serious, sad,
no hint of smile about them;
we weep his loss.

And you, sister:
alert, protective, girl's face
set to fend off the world --
cast so early in your role
as the family glue
holding us all together.


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I Never Found Sense in Burning My Own Poems

You know, I planned on turning in early;
Put myself down to rest, but something 
About the rhythmic tapping always gets the best
Of me. That nervous twitch that supersedes 
Me physically. Drawing out the the words in the only way I know how.
"Standchen" with ears wide open! No need for eyes.
All I need to see is written delicately in front of me.
Poetio Concerto: orchestrated as I feel fit.
I planned on turning in early; putting my pen down.
Days had passed until I asked myself "could I leave something so profound"?
A once burning passion turned draining obsession. 
Every emotion, every waking moment, all of lifes components;
Taken, twisted; cramped into metaphors and analogies.
But who will be the next to read? Not I said the author.
I cannot cut myself with the swords that I have made
Written down on paper are thoughts that I have slayed.
Take them and do with them what you will.
I've hid them, saved them; watched them stale in a pile.
I've kept them safe inside a folder, and I've burned them
Watching every stanza smolder.
I never found sense in burning my own poems,
It helps me forget, at least that's what I told her.
I planned on turning in early but it always seems to find me.
An ugly little thing, this poetry.
"Teasing Comb" an emotional plea turned cruel prophecy.
I will not write my future, I refuse to.
I am no puppet master and puppets I refute you. 
My doubts, my fears, I speak of them freely.
I've learned: speak of your weaknesses and you will seem weak.
Speak of your strengths and you will seem strong.
But speak of your insecurities and you will be underestimated;
Put in a position to prove everyone wrong.
I speak of myself freely to make all of me strengths
And through this I do to prove myself wrong and will continue and any length.


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Stymied by moral transgressions

While the church of today continues to wrestle with prominent issues,
like those of leadership, moral credibility, or fidelity of her members;
society remains critical to address certain weakpoints already at hand,
those seeming endless lawsuits against the clergy and religious members.

Moments in time unfold the wreckage of moral credibility, trust, and confidence;
it’s like a downfall of the human castle formed with the sanctity of wisdom –
continuity in liturgical sacraments, prayer, and reliance on biblical life;
with faith that God is involved in many events both ecclesial and personal.

It’s on a soaring journey where the Jewish concept of bitachon   is needed,
to move on amid the struggles and other evolving deal of human problems;
so inextricable that make one stronger to cope with what life really means,
in this generation where a culture of arguments abounds in moral situations.

It’s sad to think of what’s going on; it’s painful to experience those afflictions,
the church grieves and suffers with all her leaders’ and members’ transgressions;
with the abuse of power, freedom, and prestige of being one of Christ’ ministers,
heaven weeps as evil triumphs to lead those priests into the world of failures.

The turbulent waves of scandals that have wounded the sacred priestly life,
people’s trust and faithfulness to the sacraments of life – a great turmoil!
the whole Catholicism has been shaken and struggled to redeeem her reputation;
her running sore of afflictions – so widespread that only time can heal the wounds.

With the words of Jesus at his farewell discourse in Johannine literature,
“I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you.”   It’s reassuring so far;
the Spirit of truth  is Christ himself who’ll walk with his own people of all races,
his covenant with them, promise to his disciples, and assurance to all who believe in him.

The church echoes hope and perseverance in the throes of sufferings and tribulations,
She calls everyone to look for the true light – Christ, in hiddenness and humility;
His epiphany  in a continuing journey of faith, in the gospel cries, in various events,
Christ shines in one’s heart, along with the Father and the Holy Spirit – the Paraclete.


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Survive You

My only hope was that I would survive you,

But now I don't know why.

Your body was my temple.

I felt useful on my knees and while I worshiped at your feet.

Now, I've lost my religion.

Could you ever know what that means?

To lose your life's blood, but your heart still beats.

Oh, If I could hurt you too

I wouldn't throw a sucker punch

I want you to see it coming

I want you to feel my fist before it connects

To spill your blood with my pale white hands

Could I absorb enough of you to bring the color back to me?

To have my body warmed by your spilled life

I have this empty shell of me and hollow is so hard to fill

What will I do to pass the years?

When life is gone and existence never ends

My only hope was that I would survive you

But now I don't know why.


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There's HOPE by Juliet Rosa 7th grade

You might be in a 
bad situation,
but let me tell you something.
There's HOPE!

You might be willing
to make the wrong choice,
but let me tell you something.
There's HOPE!

You might feel guilty about the traumatic
experience you lived that day,
but let me tell you something.
There's HOPE!

You might be depressed about
what you accidently did,
but let me tell you something.
There's HOPE!

You might be dying on
the inside,
but let me tell you something.
There's HOPE!

You might think there's
no way out,
but let me tell you something.
There's HOPE!


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Pictures

Pictures of my life
Look normal
My face is smiling but my eyes are lying
They sit in yellow envelopes, waiting…
To fill a scrapbook
To document the unseen
For me to remember.


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Permission to stand idly by, sir?!

Please don’t give me your pity
Because I don’t need it
Don’t show me how you’re saddened by me
My own is enough for two lifetimes
As for guidance, only when called upon
Although I must admit
That a handful of acceptance would be nice
You don’t require my permission
To be able to say how you feel
So remember this one thing
I never asked to be who I am
Or even to feel what I feel
For that matter, neither did you
You can’t possibly imagine what it’s like
To fight for something that was handed to you
But I have to earn
You might think you’re in the minority
But you’re oh so wrong
The ones ridiculed for being different
Fearing to air bottled sentiments
Living, but not owning thoughts of it
Not looking to convert or be converted
They’re on the road less traveled
I urge you to let them be
Just as they do you
By doing so, you’ll set them free


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Wolves in full moon

"To best friends and brothers..."


Speed demons, derailed
Monsters of touch
More prudent, more potent, more…much
to the dismay of a boogeyman betrayed
My heart sank when I found out about you
And I even died a little more 
than I usually do
You leveled the playing field
you level headed freak
When you caused me to suppress the rage
It made me die a little
I’m flattered by your insolence
You’re cowardice and weak
Each time you open your mouth to speak
You make me die a little
I trusted the lies you spat
Swallowed the venom spawned
From the fooler of fools
Oh fool hearty one, you poisoned me
And made me die a little
Crown chopper, flatten my head
I’ll help pull the trigger, leave me for dead
End this lost crusade
though it makes me cry a little

I will never be on the wrong side again 


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Walking to Redemption

Stuck in a place with negativity bound within it's Walls. I need to get out of here, before the phone rings with insanity's calls. I burst out of the door into the streets owned by the night. Shadows staring back dodging the lamps light. I begin to walk down the urban corridor of uncertainty. The workers of soul catchers carry out their shady activity. I find myself in the empire of danger invoking pure photo-phobia It's a small price to pay for escaping the mecca of claustrophobia. As I reach the climax of the spiraling vortex tunnel. I walk on tenterhooks as my problems funnel. Facing me at the end of this path, is a door laced with remorse around it's edges. The entrance to unknown stands out with a line of devoted pledges. Those waiting and queuing are the damned and the lost. As I drift towards them, I wonder how much my sin will cost. For I felt the weight of the pressure and stress, forcing me into the light of shame? For I was the puppet master, who poured onto me the petrol and drew the flame. My moment of selfishness was a cardinal sin to myself and others. lacking consideration, deprived of thought for my sisters and brothers. That self indulgent cowardliness, has lead me to this final act. A door beaten with the hands of the damned, regardless it's still intact. As the number descends down to it's final member. I stand there understanding my sin, bound to surrender. Reaching out I grasp the golden handle, and turn it to the right. As I push forward on the door and out bursts a green neon light. My chance of escape has come to a halt, it's time for me to face the jury's end. I stand by my plea of weakness and insanity, as into the court I descend. A skeleton of the peril court rises with a verdict and answer. The jury has decided I was overtaken by a vicious cancer. The disease wasn't voluntary but they agree my cure wasn't correct. My punishment is to fade into the man that never was, with immediate effect.


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Unraveling

I feel them unraveling me

With each question, each look, and each new fight

She screams "it's mine", he yells "I want it"

God, will they ever shut up?!

I can feel my grip slipping

My mind is closing in on me

The light is getting dimmer

How long before I'm gone?

The need to run overwhelms me

I wake up in a sweat and the fear pins me down

Those hazel eyes bore a hole in me.

Disdain? Contempt? Blame, that's for sure.

How do you smooth that over?

She can't be bought, she's not like me.

Words of praise fall deaf on her ears.

She isn't proud like her daddy.

Jaysa is all that was good about us.

Little warm hands get my attention, sort of.

Alex asks to go outside.

"No, not today", and his blue eyes cry.

He expects too much from me.

I can't give anything to anyone.

I have lost my passion, my desire to love.

How empty is our lives!

We get home too late.

The quiet has set in, don't make a noise.

"Eat your dinner, then go to sleep."

My grip is loose at best.

I don't know if I want it back.

How far is the fall?

Will it be cold?

So, I'm not ready to let go yet,

But I hate the hanging


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Another Saturday night with her friends

Where the floor meets the wall,
She stands in her usual spot,
Craving a cigarette,
Observing, processing, psycho-analyzing,
Another Saturday night with her friends.

Their forced civilized exchange of small talk, 
Boasting, intellectual competitions and back handed compliments
Vainly covers the tension of secret love triangles,
Unspoken resentments, jealousies, and
Bruised egos until the alcohol takes effect and
 people start going to the bathroom in groups.

That is when someone puts on jazz album,
And suggests a game which
brings out the "realness" in everyone:
They tell stories, make confessions,
Share moments of tenderness before
Declaring war
Shattering several expensive wine glasses and 
Dissolving into fits of hysterical laughter or sobbing
Until
a fight is taken outside 
a couple is having sex in the basement, 
 and someone is vomiting  in the kitchen waste basket.

Except her,
Lightly buzzed by some cheap white box wine,
She will  comfort and offer sage advice to
the  histrionic  and  the clueless
which they will soon forget or dismiss.
Refill the pretzel and chip bowels,
Break up a fight between two romantic rivals,
Pour countless whiskey shots and shake 20 mean Vodka martinis, 
Nurse the drunk and clean up the mess in the kitchen.

Years from now, these alleged group of friends will
Rewrite this night filled with fun and merriment 
Where the drinks, drugs and conversation flowed,
and the fire never died,

While she will accurately recall every detail and wonder
Why she allowed this group of sparkling, beautiful, broken  people 
To cast her as their resident 
Gopher
Maid
Bartender
Unpaid therapist
 Keeper of secrets
Enabler…
 
What was her incentive or her reward?
Beyond their peripheral acceptance.


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The Road To Peace- part two

When I preyed to you to save me, you laughed
When I prayed to god, I was ignored as well.
So I learned that I would always be alone in this world.
Every day filled with secrets I could never tell.

At ten I could drink your friends under the table.
I was barely afraid of what would happen in the dark.
I knew you were too drunk to hear me scream
And afterwards you refused to acknowledge my marks.

So I stopped trying to fight, I didn’t make a noise.
Because they would hit me less if I was quiet.
Soon I was filled with your same need to escape.
Every day I was on a search to find it.

If it promised oblivion, that was all I asked.
I immediately consumed it and waited for release.
But every time it wore off, I’d find myself there again
Always exhausted by my daily search for peace.

At first I misconstrued it for trying to get away from myself
Until one day I realized I was really running from you.
The spread of your fourth stage cancer of hatred and malice
And your unrelenting cycle of cruelty and abuse.

Your perpetual blame laid on me for your own mistakes
Finally had succeeded in taking its toll.
Years of fending for myself, succumbing to weakness
Had blackened my once pure soul.

For you I could harbor nothing but contempt, disgust.
The same lack of empathy you showed your own child.
I saw that you were at fault for my years of torment.
I made your rage, hatred, disregard appear mild.

I could never give you a strong enough taste.
All I wanted was for you to feel my Rapture.
You tried to silence me once again, tried to lock me up
But I wasn’t weak anymore and I refused to be captured.

I left you to your misery, I relished the fact
That leaving you with no one to catch you next time you fell
Was the most pain I could ever wish to conflict you with
Because then you would finally have to face your self.



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Trapped in Pain by Allison Hoyle 7th grade

I'm trapped inside my pain.
Who can I blame?
Walking into the darkness of shame.

Pain can be emotional
and also physical.
Pain can put me in tears
and can increase my fears.

It feels like a scorching flame
that no medicine can tame.
Pain is often excruciating and agonizing.
Getting relief  is quite amazing.


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Her Personal Curse (Part One) *warning, graphic in nature*

In a drunken stupor, I fall down on my comforter
Baby blue sky covered in fluffy clouds of cotton.
I kick off my shoes, faded pink chuck Taylors
And make clumsy work of my shirt buttons.

I slip an oversized shirt over my head, Bart Simpson,
And pull it straight passed over my bra and panties, past my knees.
Now in the dark, on my bed, I hear the door creak open.
I turn to see your silhouette, and I hear the door behind you locking.

I sat up, before you lunged on top of me, and smacked me in the face.
I tried to push you off, but a little girl is nothing against a man.
Fear pinned me down with your arms, the look in your eye was crazed.
I yelled out as you punched me again, before stifling my breath with your hand.

I felt your fingers probe underneath my shirt, rough and groping.
The straps tore at my flesh as you ripped my bra apart.
I tried to push your hand off my face, I was having trouble breathing
But when you took your hand off and I gasped for air, it fell back against my cheek hard

I stopped trying to push you away, tears streaming, afraid you’d hit me again.
I bucked when your course fingers pinched, it only seemed to excite you more.
I cringed as you raked your nails deep down my stomach digging in.
You stopped at the top of my panties before yanking them till they tore.

Panic sliced through me as I felt you unclasping your jeans, understanding swept me.
I knew then what you intended to do and my blood ran cold at the thought.
You took your hand off of my mouth and threatened to kill me if I screamed
But I yelled anyway begging for help, preying that you would be caught.

I was silenced by a stinging blow that sent me hard against the head board.
Too disoriented by it to yell again before you were done taking off my t shirt.
Through blurry eyes and mind I felt your eager hands pillage and explore.
I was smacked again for screaming at how badly your fingers inside me hurt.

You showed no mercy as I screamed in pain against the palm of your hand.
You only continued to probe and play, talking dirty to me, making me talk back.
Through bloodied lips and wrenching pain I was abused by this man
He made me say unmentionable things about him, while he cruelly laughed.


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Naked

When my body decided to get sick again,
six sinus infections since last birthday,
I marched into the best ENT specialist,
waiting room lined with Hollywood’s
finest stars begging for reasons why they
couldn’t reach the octave of the day before,
impatiently flipping through old magazines,
interrupted by cell phones ringing in unison.

I got the lead role, thanks for your inquiry,
want to go to Hawaii for the weekend? Susie 
died. Funeral tomorrow. Allan’s away on business.
This doctor sucks. I have lunch with Ellen at noon. 
Dad’s in the hospital. Freckles just had pups, want one?

My name is called. I shuffle behind the nurse,
my chart clasped to her chest like the baby 
she might never have had, into the shoebox size room 
packed with instruments I didn’t know, 
despite three years of nursing school.

The suave, forty-something doctor,
released my X-rays from their sleeve,
and mounted them onto a screen. 
He looked up through his sleek wire frames, 
“You’re absolutely beautiful on the outside,
but a mess on the inside.” I wondered if 
he was making a pass or soliciting
a surgical procedure and how many times 
he repeated that line, loud enough for 
the pedestrians five floors down to hear 
this and the other truths about my battlefields—
three C-sections, knee surgery, twice a victim 
of what strikes one in eight women, and reconstructed 
organs of sensuality with tattoos to hide their truths.

Now I dodge doctors as one avoids the cones 
at the scene of an accident, but I can’t dodge this one.
My voice is hoarse, my breathing is shot
and I envy those vacuous starlets in the
waiting room, listening to their chitter 
chatter on cell phones. I sit in the exam room 
before the surgeon tells me one more time, 
something I need to do to hang onto my life, 
but I’d rather be the person before the scalpel found me. 


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Loneliness by Ulyssa Vinarta 8th grade

Loneliness......
depressed, alone
nobody to
talk, walk,
spend, mend with

Feeling sad,
mad, glad,
facing memories
mentally lost.


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My deeper thoughts

     
   

     have you ever tasted the dark, been without the light
     
     does your lips moisten when you wish for me

     the tightness grows in the pit of arousal
   
     killing of this pain is what i pray for in the sunlight

     my broken wings want to flutter
   
    wisping pin pricks across my aching body

    memories flow through my third eye

    and a shake storms my body awake

    I' am  no longer blind

    my visions steal my heart away

    I am not suffocating
 
    I am breathing into you

    this is imaginary

   all i feel is in my memory

   killing me inside

   struggeling to touch reality

   out of the ashes I see a face

   I can barely taste his tongue

    licking the inside of my mouth

   the sky breaks up through the storm

   and my hate spreads between his legs

   thunder strikes and lightning sears my heart

   rain pounds through our crushing bodies

   rendering me careless as it drips

   forming the puddle of my passion

  the ashes float away and the body stands before me

  reaching for my soul

  attaching his emptiness to my inner being

  breathing me awake he so carelessly serves my timid heart to his

  combining us as one

  tearing me away from myself

  til the brittle bones break

  breath the last one into my sullen body

  build my soul around your hope and spread the warmth

  cry the tear drop deep into the black

  and light me with swords of which you pull hate

  angry me with your words

  unleash your pleasure upon the seed of happiness

  bite and taste my flesh

  treasure my scent forever locked inside your memory

  i can taste your breath across my tongue

  and the dreams become real

  the bones are mended

  sewed together tight

  blood stops its trickle

  my heart bleeds no more

  



    






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Fear by Victoria Cloin 8th grade

The lights are out
I cannot see
I have a strange feeling...
Who is there?

The lights are out
I'm all alone
I hear sounds...
What's out there?

The lights are out
I cannot sleep
It's dark and I cannot see...
What was that noise?

The lights are on
I feel much better
I see and hear nothing...
I can finally sleep


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Incognito

You feel special
 Do you?
Life and soul
Are you?
Truth be told
You’re an actor
Darling
Playing a part

Who is the real you?
Moody
Non communicative
Demanding
Jealous

Yet,
 I love you
This madness must be stopped.


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"Echo's of Find you "

Embrace my love , My heart be still,
I shall meet you upon our will,
My eyes are a sparkle from the warmth of your shine,
A tender touch , You look my way, How can I not come to play ,
In the wander lust of love,
Open your eyes, Your heart calls unto me ,
Hoping that you will never flee,
My mind calls unto you , I hear your whispers upon the mid-night air, Wondering should you 
soon appear,
The sounds of your sighs race through my mind,
Yours is the "one" , I'm hoping to find,
Dreaded are the moments we are apart, Least are the ones we shall start,
Open your eyes and look into me,
A heart shall be waiting with glee,
The Scent of your love , Flows hard through my veins,
" I send to you, "send to you" Heart of wane,
"Look for me" Look for me and "I for you",
Look for me eyes of blue,
And "I shall find you " Find you in my loving hue,
Should the days ever pass and we never greet,
" I will look for you"
In the "echo's of Find you " Find you ,
Until we meet.


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A Diatribe

 "You did what? My God
not  the car!, Please, not the car...
You're not hurt? No one else was
 hurt?
 Well mister..you're going to hurt..
and Big Time...You're going to be sorry you 
ever got that phone..
What the f### were you doing, driving and 
texting.. you're not smart enough
to be a Dr..Im  spending you college fund
tomorrow!
Now..READ MY LIPS!

You are grounded for the rest
of your life...
You Will pay for the repairs to my car..
You Will give up your phone
until I decide you are responsible enough
to use it.
Now . READ MY LIPS......

I love you..thank God you were not hurt...."



For the Catch Phrase contest...
READ MY LIPS...


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Final Fantasy

Follow me and I will follow you only to sacrifice and pledge my soul.
Now known only as one!
Soaring in the winds with rapid inspirations exploding one by one,
It is your final fantasy to live again!
Victim of suicide revealed by fate and conquered by the depths of love,
Life of life has just begun!
The warmest touch begs respect for the quality found deep within.
It is your final fantasy to finally begin!
Encouraged by beliefs to uphold the strength of one’s destiny,
Yet, embraced with one final and endless thought!
A kiss of pleasure obscures the kiss goodbye,
Accompanied with its warmth to pleasure your need!
It is your final fantasy to bow down for these borrows and trade.
Subtle with perfection you are as pure as a white dove.
Your desire is to never ever get lost with what you’ve caught.
Insensitive delights begin to dwell from deep within,
You burn and ache for a place to finalize where it is that you belong.
It is your final fantasy to conquer these steps in which you alone have made.
Sacrifice those objectives captured and held in your time!
Acknowledge your very own self with the quality known only by the depths inside of you!
Fly away with me, but only for a moment.
Embrace only that which enlightens the moment seized!
It is your final fantasy to touch and feel everything that you never knew.
Life is our mystery, yet we uphold its true value with our righteous dignity.
Harvest your life moment by moment,
Make it your very own prey for the little ones who never knew.
Gather the sensations and absorb life as you breathe in your every breath of air.
It is your final fantasy to indulge with the intrigued and explore all of these parts inside of 
you!
Release yourself from the depths of love and find what it is that you truly seek.
Life of life has finally just begun!
Looking up and looking down but never looking all of the way around,
The loss of control is the loss that you will gain!
It is your final fantasy to whisper in the dark and to cry in plain sight.
Open minds with open hearts capture the true essence, for they completely belong!
Spirits fly and soar through life with so much energy powered with intensity’s strength.
They find the treasures you’ve always sought but have never found.
Your final fantasy is to escape your darkness and to find yourself inside of this beaming ray of 
light!
 
 


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Who Am I by Toi Ruiz 7th grade

Dark and alone
wondering who's listening.
Terrified of who I've become.
The fear inside of me is out of control.

I'm the only one
who can see it.
Scared! Terrified! Alone!

Dark and alone
wondering who's listening.
Terrified of who I've become.
The fear inside of me is out of control.


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Life Throws a Curve

I can almost guarantee that this little poem will put a smile on your face by the time 
you get to the end of it:

He said he loved her and then she gained some weight Sixty pounds worth He said he’d love her more and she would look great Sixty pounds less Isn’t that the way that love always works? You’re loving each other with all of the perks Loving each other and you’re getting along Life throws a curve and you’re writing a song She told him she loved him and he grew a scraggly beard. Six inches worth. She said she’d love him more if he didn’t look so weird Six inches less. Isn’t that the way that love always works? You’re loving each other with all of the perks Loving each other and you’re getting along Life throws a curve and you’re writing a song He told her he loved her then her mom came for a stay Three months ago He told her he’d loved her more if her mom went away Thirty years or so. Isn’t that the way that love always works? You’re loving each other with all of the perks Loving each other and you’re getting along Life throws a curve and you’re writing a song She told him she loved him but then he grew pot for sale Three acres worth She said she’d love him more if they didn’t end up in jail. Three years worth Isn’t that the way that love always works? You’re loving each other with all of the perks Loving each the other and you’re getting along Life throws a curve and you’re writing a song He said he loved her then she ran over his cycle, $3,000 worth. He introduced her to his rich friend, Michael $3,000,000.00 worth Isn’t that the way that breaking up always works? Yelling names at each other, who needs the perks? No longer loving each other, not getting along, Michael’s stuck with her and I’m enjoying my song


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My Little Boy Betrayed

Your child,your little boy,
came into this world with you by his side. 
Why now should this be different ? 
Your priorities have changed and he misses his daddy. 

Your new life and family seem much more in important,
but our son understands you are not their.
It is unfair to him,
to not have his daddy. 

Did you know?
He sits by the window waiting for you.
Do you see?
The tears he crys when you do not show. 

You promised to me, you would stand by him,
where are you now?
When he gets older he will understand,
that his daddy has gone now. 
And left him behind.


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Riots

Fighting, looting everywhere,
Burning the shops now and then,
Causing harm to people for no rhyme and reason.
And  thus,        
'riots is caused at any season.
Bloodshed, bloodshed everywhere, 
No peace only war.
Cries and Pains now and then ,
Where is the Love gone?
Put an end to this feeling .
Lets be friends and no more enemies.
Lets our generation grow with love,
And 
Therefore riots wont cause at any season.


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So Pretty by Brandon Serrano 7th grade

It is just so scary
and I just don't know.
I even have fear.

She's just so pretty
and I'm not good looking either.
I wish there was some way
I could just talk to her.

I truly wish to impress her
but I just don't know how.
I really need some help.

I really hope for a chance.
Does she like me?
Or does she like someone else?


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Mourning by Kenneth Morales 8th grade

At a graveyard, looking down at
the grave. In deep emotional pain.
Hoping that, that one person is in
a better place. Last few weeks
for her have been hell. But everybody
gave her a blessing and 
then she passed away. Now she's 
with God, looking down on me.

Love you grandma.


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wish not



  spoken words speak no more

  lies fall beneath me

  complexes of the mind break into cubes

  working the body endlessly
  
  close my restless being

  fully awake i am or once was

  fingertips grasp at a fading figure miles away

  over the hill the water rises

  eyes peer through me over the waterfalls ahead

  running faster and faster 

 and still I stay

  running in place

  his voice calls my name

  and it falls as a whisper

  as I turned my head to learn direction

  lost i scream

  the sky falls dark

  he is at a distance i cannot reach

  help

  he pulls me from his soul

  


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There I Stood

There I stood,
Safe,
Taking deep breaths-
Overwhelmed with fear.
Then I took a step,
Stepped to the edge.
In a flash
The curtains raised
And you shoved me 
To my fate,
Because you knew
I would be disheartened
And back away.
I knew you were still there,
Urging me to face the music.
There I stood (again),
Wide-eyed and trembling-
All eyes on me.
My heart began to race;
My hands became sweaty;
I thought I would surely faint.
I retreated.
I ran and I reached, 
But I couldn't get to you-
I panicked.
You looked puzzled,
So I just settled down,
Stood still,
And tears came.
You came to me
With open arms,
Embraced me;
And in an instant, 
You pulled away
And my knees felt weak.
You ushered me to go on.
I turned and I faced them,
All awaiting.
I began to cry,
Until I recalled the feel
Of the hug you gave me.
I looked up, 
And the audience's eyes 
All welled up with tears-
Every one wanting to hold me.
I dried my face and,
Unashamed, 
I told my story.
Every painful detail.
They were attentive,
Non-judgemental.
All knowing the pain I had.
When I had finished,
They all came to comfort me,
Shake my hand, 
Embrace me, 
Dry the remaining tears.
After some time had passed,
The majority had left-
No goodbyes.
Few had stayed.
They made me smile, 
Reveal my laugh once again.
They assured me
All would be fine,
And, eventually, it was.
I recall, for a second,
I was not being addressed,
So I turned,
Looked back to 
The drawn curtain.
You were not there.
I felt almost like panicking again.
I couldn't believe it. 
The one who had pushed me,
Encouraged me all the way,
The one who helped me through it
Was gone forever.
There I stood.
Lonely again.
Scared again.
Crying again.


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The Method

The method 
to my madness
Isn't a method
at all.
It's equal parts
of sadness,
drugs,
and alcohol.


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Death and beyond

Hours transpired like every other day. Perched on the trees, sparrows chirped, keeping the dreadful silence at bay, and sunlight across the land, whipped. Laid there on the grassy lawn, was a lovely lass dressed in a corset. Smelling the blossoms like a fawn, enchanted was she by nature's best. Up the hill ran a hysterical lad, his face as white as a sheet, shattered her heart to more than just a shard, and made her swoon to her feet. Minutes rolled to hours, and hours to days, and there she sat like a stone. With her eyes so lifeless and cold, her once rosy lips now as dry as a bone. Draining her blood was her soul, turning her visage as of a ghoul. Neither did she eat, nor drink, as she stooped over life's brink. Deep down was an endless bottom, which her rotting psyche couldn't fathom. The day came when her eyes lit up, like a hopeless spark in a dark cavern. She let go and set her eyes on the stars afar, and said "I'll be there wherever you are".


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That Girl, Eve

A small place in England
a city rife with crime 
full of the homeless
the jobless 
lives a small 
defenseless girl 
who was once a happy child 
transforming 
into an angry woman 

Eve was a small girl
missunderstood
Life was hard on the estate
Father and Mother deceased 
when she was three
She came home 
But for what? 
Empitiness  

Twelve years on 
Eve sobs 
as noone is there 
to answer the questions
anger has built itself up 
Why me? 
she often asks herself 
questions fuel the rage 
till one day it becomes too much  

The tragic day 
came after her fifteenth birthday  
life was the death of her
the poor girl 
with glazed eyes
who watched 
other children at the park 
with their parents 
couldnt handle it anymore

The local papers
portrayed the whole event 
as if they cared 
if they had cared sooner 
this girl, Eve 
would be happy 
enjoying her life 
like the other girls her age  
but they didn't
and still nothing has changed


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Dreamers

Dreams in slow motion,
Dancing in the lead;
Have you lost control...
Of the long planted seed?
Growing out of refuge...
The flowers in your mind;
Will you draw me a picture...
Of all that is undefined?

Draw them curtained;
Masked in the finest drape,
For reality needs not...
To find an escape;
But to see truth...
Behind these wall flowers;
Reveal to us...
The power of all powers...

For dreams bare nothing,
But hopes unknown;
While man seeks greatness,
To be written in stone.
In a day of souls for sale,
May you dream me perfection?
I have not a single hope,
Scaled in every direction...

Please rest young dreamer,
For we are all the same...
Tied to a faction,
Behind dreams that never came.
For your drawings mean nothing;
When we're all blind...
A sad proclamation...
But it's how we're designed.

This is but a moment,
In the poor dreamer's brain.
So don't forget the ending,
As we're inching down the drain.
Draw me a picture... 
Telling our future's tale;
And he threw me a dollar,
Screaming our future's for sale...

Before I knew it he’d left;
Running away screaming in his depart.
Who would’ve thought...
That a dreamer’s dreams could tear ‘em apart?
Beep... Beep... Beep...
And my eyes, I’ve just opened...
Shutting off the stupid alarm clock,
Realizing the dream that just happened...

The reality of it all...
Trying to put two and two together;
An idea by which to relate,
And changed my mind forever...
That we could all be dreamers,
Caught up in our own dream;
Subject to our curtains,
But never as we seem.


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Did You Arrive Before the Fall

Your bones are charred black and your skin pulled tight,
Red and sunken eyes, boasting filth and pain, hurt and loss.
Betrayed on a bed of the cotton kingdom,
Springs stick out like trees from soil.

Did you arrive before the fall?

Troy on his empire and you on your drugs,
Each grave from the same effect.
Blinds blinding dust from the peeking of eyes,
No sun in a room no one’s known or left behind.

Did you arrive before the fall?

Needles and alcohol litter every inch of carpet,
And you’re just another stain to its story.
Tourniquet, oh tourniquet, can you bring the empty now?
Don’t hold back, let it free, and flush the toxin to every vein.

Did you arrive before the fall?

Poison stock piled to the brim, I’m surprised you didn’t drown.
Baring sin, bearing secrets and I wish you could’ve saved yourself.
Falling to my knees and so much closer to your end.

Did you arrive before the fall?

A death you didn't attend.


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For Mark

His home is always
where he is –

Beneath the trestles
of clattering trains, he huddles
in the damp & sandy wind,
eyes across the ocean,
sandwich crumbled,
filthy in his coat pocket

His home is just
where he is –

Now inside a box behind a dumpster in the middle of downtown nowhere, 
surrounded by the 
bizarre aroma-therapy of steaming, festering garbage 
His home is exactly
where he can
no longer go –

Inside the placid, welcoming walls
of the house
where his sanity lives

~~~

He stumbles, aching,
crying from his
wretchedness,
crying from his soul –

His pants encrusted 
with what he could not leave behind, 

His hands 
clutching a desperately empty bottle, 
His hair in stringy,
unkempt ribbons,
slapping his face in the wind

~~~

He, trapped & terrified
in a life beyond his living,
seeks suicide
by public transportation,
wishing it could all
just be over

Wishing he could somehow
force his feet to take his body
into the path
of the oncoming bus –

But the driver
will not mow him down,
will not have him on her conscience –

She refuses his anguished gift
of responsibility
& slams the bus to a squealing,
furious, bone-shaking stop
& screams at him

"NO!

I will not do it!"

Sad, relieved, horrified, pleased,
he views the scene as
one more evidence
of his beleaguered, hated,
ridiculed immortality


And laughs his drug-indentured way
back to the motel 
which has a dumpster 
behind which he can once more 
box himself in 
until he thinks he can afford to
take the public transportation system on 
again, 

And maybe this time, he’ll 
find his win, 

he’ll 

be successful 

And never have to live 
inside these walls of pain 

(again) 

which he only knows as home 


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Sad Boy

I sit here and beg you not to do this,
But you're doing it again,
Replaying all the old records,
Is there anything new?

The same monotonous tone,
The never ending drone,
Can't you get over me?
Can't you let me be?

You hold onto memories
Like you're holding onto life, 
You have a heart full of strife,
And revenge, I can taste the poisonous revenge.

You want to drain me of everything I know, without you,
All my feelings for him, you want to destroy,
I loved you once,
You sad, sad boy.


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Why Cant You See

My sweet dark angle  why can you not see my face.
I stand befor you my words unmask  me yet you  question who am I?
Madness  can eat away at that which appears same.

In the arms of another you choose to confide.
Was he that which you thought I could not be?
Blind you are blind for I stand in plain sight yet still you cannot see.

I knew of him befor you ever said.
A taken man cant ever truley share his heart only
his bed.


Cruel are the ways of lovers bitter turn  the ways of passion.
For the fires flame can so quickly consume.
Playing with a fools heart tossing like a childs toy
across the room.

You are the dagger within my side.
I the willing victim  for it was within 
your darkness i did confide.

With every kiss I taste blood apon my lip.
Your eyes refflect innocence .
 But  the illusion of love is broken with the 
pain brought like the lash of a whip.

There is much agony in love.
Hates resides in passion.
My mask no longer exists.
Is it outta of ignorance or fear that causes 
you not to see?


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Mistaken Identity

As the line’s listless structure leapt into attentive control;
It’s purpose for existence instantly acknowledged.

The double-tapered weight-forward shooting line’s condensation,
Informed of its instant transformation,
Leaps to the water’s corresponding constitution,
Each droplet acting as spherical asteroids of deception on the current’s rippling surface.

Instantly, a silent connection has arisen.
One derived out of technology,
Entombed in the cosmology of the seasons,
Originating before explorations in genetics.

Taking solice in a meal of two moons,
How could one resist this temptuos delight?
Emerging with swarms of life; Analgous in size, shape, and color,
Cleaverly disguised in the guile of organic structure.


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Bullying

Bullying destroys the heart, 
It makes you weak inside, 
Don't want to face the world outside, 
You want to hide from all the fear,
The tears you shed, you hold in here,
In your mind, the pain gets stronger, 
Overcomes all the love you've ever known,
To make you hate yourself.
Unknown to you,
Its not your fault,
You are not alone,
You must find the will to live,
Throw away all fears
Forget them,
And learn to love again.


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A Solution to Telemarketers That Actually Works

A Solution to Telemarketers That Actually Works

By Elton Camp

Those of you who are regular readers will find this different from anything I’ve published before.  It’s not a poem and not a prose article that I have attempted to make interesting and to polish.  It’s about those irritating telemarketers who make our lives miserable.  I have finally hit up on a way that apparently is going to largely solve the problem as far as it relates to landlines.  It won’t work for cellular phones.  

The first thing to do is to register all your numbers (including cellular) with the donotcall.gov site.  Within a month this will greatly reduce the number of nuisance calls.  BUT there are some who deliberately defy the registry and call repeatedly and refuse to remove you from the calling list even if you ask nicely.  They just hang up.  Example:  “This is Rachel with ……”  Millions hate her.  Yet, donotcall.gov seems powerless or unwilling to do anything about these major violations.  

After a month passes, buy a landline phone that has the Call Block feature.  Look for that specific thing on the box.  I bought at Best Buy and selected a Panasonic.  There may be others, but I am sticking to what I know about.  Call Block from AT&T will not block calls out of your immediate area, yet other states is where almost all telemarketer calls originate.  I got three phones for about $100 which is money well spent in my opinion.  I could have gotten two for about ten dollars less, but actually can use three.  

The instructions for setup are terribly complex, but I am 72 years old and made it through.  So can you.  Just follow them step at a time and ignore what doesn’t apply to your case.  I can now block up to 30 numbers from any place.  I wish it could be more, but I think that will be adequate since it is the same few who keep calling us.  

It would be easy to ask why I should have to spend money to block telemarketers, but I decided to deal with reality and do what is needed to stop them.  

I hope this helps others with the same problem.  Please realize that I am not an “expert” in this area by any means, but think this will work.  Best wishes.  


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Emo Teenage Soul

So cold
So sad
So broken and alone
Just wondering
Thinking
If I'd ever be in your arms
Still wondering
Thinking
If you are too
Do you miss me as much as i miss you
I think the permanent damage done to my skin
Will convey the thoughtful sin
Depression stuck to me
With super glue
Does anyone know
What I am about to do
No, no one does
I don't think they ever will
What does it matter
I'm just another emo teenage soul


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I Am Not Asleep

If summer is no longer summer
And the leaves begin to fall-
Prey, I no longer love you,
And I’ll call your name no more.

If I’m found amongst the leaves,
And the rain falls from the sky,
Prey-let me sleep.
And please, don’t ask me why.

When the night curls round me to sleep,
And when it silently dreams
I lay awake in solitude.
So lonely, and torn at the seams. 

I cannot see the beauty,
So I lie amongst the leaves.
When you find me, my love, I prey
Kneel and sing a song for me.

But now, summer is summer,
And I am not asleep.
So take my hand and walk with me.
For your love I am sure to keep.


Details | Narrative | |

Square pegs for round holes

One thing, I've come to realise
to some this may come as a surprise
Realities a big bunch of lies
see for yourselves, open your eyes!
We've all slept for far too long
allowed way too many wrong
lost amid the maddening throng
not quite square, more oblong
a mirrored distortion of how we coud look
hiding how we really should look
I'm not sure how it was lost, or why it was took
but, our compassions been sold for gold
an' truths been traded for lies bought and sold
Sheople walk around like one big stupid herd
Money, Religion and Terror seem to be the keyword
That stops humanities caring message from being heard.
©John-Ovan.P.Hull


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Saturate

Searching in your eyes 
Looking for something 
Already knowing nothing’s there 
Watched the flames lick everything way 
Leaving you empty 
You’re barely alive 

Symptoms may have gone 
But the disease, it still remains 
I welcomed in the nightmare 
Gave up myself in darkness 
This path, It’s the one I chose to take 
For that I am to blame 

Saturate 
Saturate 

I lost my halo long ago 
Bathing in shadows 
Just another lie 
I made you believe 
I’d never leave you 
You made me believe 
You had something left for me 

Broke all the plans we made 
Just threw it all away 
Made more than my share of mistakes 
But your truths were even more fake 

I hear your voice inside my head 
I wanna wake up, wanna be free 
Can’t tame the flames eating through me 
Just another lesson burned 
One more love letter doused in hate 

Saturate 
Saturate 

It’s like you always say, nothing is forever 
Well I’m over you and your hold on me 
Nothing left for me to give 
Everything’s been said 

Let the streets run red with my regrets 
I welcomed in the nightmare 
Gave up myself in darkness 
This path, It’s the one I chose to take 
For that I am to blame 

Saturate 



Details | Narrative | |

Depression

When the sun shines bright and the sky is blue
That feeling of happiness so friendly cheers you
But away from the light blinds closed like the night
Someone is lying curled up crying with fright

The thoughts that are swirling in this persons mind
Are dark and unfriendly a terrible kind
Life has a down side that they comprehend
That feeling of unhappy loneliness will it never end

The door bell it rings let them go away
Don’t want the bother in bed I will stay
This life has no meaning they will not understand
I don’t want sympathy my life’s in my hands

Please God give me respite from these feelings so strong
Unhappiness it seems has stayed with me for so long
I dread the wakening from sleep each time
That feeling of desolation it will not leave my mind

The darkness gives me some comfort although it may be small
This cocoon of self pity it seems I revel in it all
That’s what those around me think when they recall
The tantrums and the crying they say it is for sympathy that’s all

But if they only knew the depths to which I sink
The thoughts that torture my mind when I start to think
This journey that I travel this hell I’m going through
Maybe I should end it all perhaps that’s what I’ll do

These feelings I will have to conquer because no-one knows but me
They do not understand within the family
They have had a lot of stress to live with because I’m ill
The treatment seems to be working and I take the tablets still

Talking through my feelings it seems so foolish but then
If I am to recover and make this nightmare end
I am the only one to help myself with my councilor so kind
We intend to bring my inner most thoughts to the surface of the mind

The stigma that is mental health most people don’t understand
What has happened is she mad her life before her so grand
But that darkness that is inside the mind it has a life that is so real
Those feelings lets hope those doubters will never have or feel




Details | Narrative | |

Politics for Better or Words (The Narrative Version)

Politics for Better or Words 
(The Narrative Version)

Politics, by nature, nurtures pathological indecisiveness.
Self-appointed officials, being of a transitory nature,
Lavish themselves with costly entertainments, privileges, and travel expenses.
Convenient loss of memory of the events of specific periods comes in handy.
He who invents fables may succeed in dividing electoral districts.
For his own gain, of course, would be typical of a scheming, corrupt politician.
One who is impelled to carry out an idea and conduct public business for private gain.
Government by the worst, one might say, by those eager for selfish gain.
Corruption in a government based on rules of law. 
Yet, some leaders seek to alter the law by passing a new law.
All too often, though, it seems to be government based on the newspaper.
For a period of four years, we listen to politicians tell anecdote after anecdote to justify lost 
freedoms under the name of NATIONAL SECURITY.
And that, of course, costs money.  Thus, more taxes.
And on that matter, there is no agreement among the politicians.  
Opinions fluctuate and the people are promised miracle after miracle
Promises needed to hold the nation together during hard times.
After 9-11, leaders with quick agility made preparations for war. 
Now, people question whether the war is against terror OR for monetary gain via oil.


Dictionary Reference: http://phrontistery.info/a.html

WAS IT FUN...


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The Bow-Wow Song !

I was ‘ Walking ’ back from grocery shopping
When I saw something, that had me hopping…
… mad, I mean… at what I seen
… a Man treating a Dog, just like a Queen !

They rode past in a top-down car
She had shades on, like a Movie-Star
My bags dropped down, due to shock…
… Now… What She got, that I ain’t got?

… Her big ears blowing in the wind
Now, I know, that’s Man’s Best Friend
But the only reason, I figured, I was Walking
is ‘cause I need a new kind-of-Talking :

Bow-Wow!     Get my  tail to Wagging
Bow-Wow!     Ain’t too Proud for Begging
Bow-Wow!     Learn another kind of Language
Bow-Wow…    … see I can Manage …
Bow-Wow !
I’m slowly Learning How
-	    to Bow-Wow
                    and it’s Alright Now

Now, I knew, something was wrong with that Sight
Can my Bark, be worse than Her Bite?
I started to Listen to the Canine next Door
Yapping and a Howling – made ‘em give Her More…

Then I hung around the Local Pet-Shop
I Finally figured out “What They Got !”
The next Man came, I Said, “They’s Expensive,
You may as well, get yourself a ‘Mrs’…”

                    … Bow-Wow!
  
Bow-Wow!      Get my  tail to Wagging
Bow-Wow!      Ain’t too Proud for Begging
Bow-Wow!      Learn another kind of Language
Bow-Wow…   … see I can Manage
Bow-Wow !
I’m slowly Learning How
	     to Bow-Wow
                     and it’s Alright Now

Well… We were already happily Married, when He said, “Let’s get a Dog”
I sat up straight… went to sniffing, as silent-whistle-warnings, went off
I jumped in front of Him … and started to Tease…
“We don’t need nothing ‘round with Fleas !”

… and if You scratch behind My Ears,
I’ll make the kind of noise, you love  to Hear ! …

Bow-Wow!      Move Over Rover
Bow-Wow!      Fe-Fe, Its Over !
Bow-Wow!      This is My Growler
                     Git’ A Little Louder … Bow – Wow !

                 Bow-Wow… Wuff  Wuff  Wuff

         Carol Brown… This One’s For You Kiddo’
         And Your Great Sense of Humor (Smile)
              This Poem is From Bygone Days
(Wouldn’t You Know… The Silly One’s Always Survive)
                         Hope You Enjoy It….

                                  MoonBee


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Stalkers

Stalkers select an object to desire,
Then they plot and conspire to
take control of their victims' lives, by
following them, sometimes dressed
in disguise, cleverly trying to infiltrate
their private matters by turning into
insane, mad hatters,
Lurking, watching, waiting and if zany,
attacking, because their pre-conceived notions
have taken on their own life,
Their fantasies begin to play on their minds,
and in an unguarded moment their stalking
becomes a reality...........


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The Falling: Part II

Thats all she needs.
She desperatly wants his strong, protective arms to wrap around her and sheild her from this cruel world, this world that has broken her.
She desperatly needs him to whisper to her the words that would set her free.
That everything will be ok, and that he won't ever leave,
Like the many times before, where she would lie in his arms for hours
just listening to him breath in and out. His steady heartbeat playing its beautiful composition in her ear. The most signifigant sound in her world. 
She drops to her knees, pulling her drentched hair from its roots,
Screaming at the heavens.
"WHY?!"
The heavens respond with a loud bellow,
shaking the earth beneath her.
She knows the truth.

Yet she refuses to accept it.

The pouring rain continues to fall.
She continues to break.

He does not exist.
Not anymore.
He never did.

She wanted it too much.
She wanted to feel love.
She wanted to feel human.
She wanted to feel the unconditional need to be with another person,
and have that feeling returned with equal amounts of passion.

Was it too much to ask for?
Is it too much to ask for?

She can not move.
The rain starts to freeze mid air,
violently pelting her exposed body, leaving red marks as proof.
She does not care.
She can not feel.

The heavens cry out to her, begging her to get up, 
To get help.
She refuses.
All she needs is him.
Who ever He is...
Where ever He is...
She will wait.
Wait for all of eternity if need be.
She will wait for the unconditional love.
For that unruly passion that burns in both of their souls.
She waits for the man who was designed to love her,
to need her the same way she needs him.
Forever.
She waits for the man who cannot live without her warmth,
her touch. 

And with that,
She slowly, unwillingly pushes herself off the muddy pavement,
permitting herself one final glance at the angry sky,
catching a glimpse at her diamond among coal
Her only friend in the wake of night.
The moon.
"Save me, my angel...Save me."
she whispers towards the sky, allowing a tiny smile to dance across her pale, desolate face
Before returning back to her throne in her cold, abandon dungon, her in lonly, abandon castle.

Feeling a new emotion she's never felt before.

Hope.

Hope shoots across her sky like a metor.
Shinning so bright, filling her with warmth that blinds her.
The heavens cry out,
Relief.
He will find her one day.
And she will be waiting. 

[.Because Falling in love, Is giving someone the power to break you.]


Details | Narrative | |

Beg, Steal, or Borrow

Beg, Steal, or Borrow


What if rain nears?
Would Heaven’s tears sting less
The tender fears of parting,
Or burn, unending, until death re-unites?
I would borrow, beg, and steal
For the spark your eyes reveal.
In my darkness, there is light.

What if snow blinds?
Would biting north-winds surcease
My sorrow, or, ghost-like, enshrine my spirit
Caught up in fever’s chill?
Still, on I haunt Earth’s frozen lands
For the warmth held in your hands.
In your absence, I find will.

What if stars stray?
Would a single ray, o’er galaxies of stone,
Thy gentleness and grace illuminate,
Or cast dark shadows where your essence grew?
I would steal, beg, and borrow
For a taste of your tomorrow.
In our dreams, we love anew.


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Situational Awareness Is The Undying Key

Disregard for effect
In the eye of the beholder
We sit in dire need
As the looks grow colder
Abandoned out here
At the horizon’s end 
We sleep all alone
With nothing to defend

The dreams come
But at what cost
When the lack there of
Has found us lost
The heart grows fond
In times of resistance
For reality lost touch
And with it our existence

But is that enough
To stand all alone
For solitude draws deep
Turning expressions to stone
The deals are dealt 
And dreams fell short
Where do I go from here
When every step I distort?


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Toy boat in the Fountains

Out of the good
the bad emerges.
The cold wind bites.
The ocean surges.
Waves appearing
as big as mountains.
Like a toy boat
in the fountains.
Your miles from land
and it doesn't look good.
So you say a prayer to God
that's understood.
You've been here before
when all your hope died.
The promises were made.
I'm gonna change, you lied.
This time I really mean it
you convince yourself.
On your knees knowing it's over.
Again you plead for his help.
Please Lord, if I make it this time
no more lies will I be caught in.
But then the sun comes out
and the promises are forgotten.


Details | Narrative | |

The Road To Peace- part three

Still only a baby in others eyes, it made it so much harder.
The thought of your torment chased away the chill
And soon I was able to fine fulfillment in a choice few things,
For once none of them were liquid, needles or pills.

It didn’t take me long after being away to see
That my world filled with light now that you weren’t in it.
I could finally think of myself without feeling disgust
And take joy in my life, knowing my time was finite.

How could you ask me to forgive you without admittance?
How could you expect me to ever be your friend?
How can you accuse me of leaving you when you needed me?
When you left me behind years before I ever left?

I came back to you when I was safe, mostly healed,
Against my better judgments, to see if you had changed
But over those years, all you did was simmer in hatred
Showing me that maturity and responsibility have nothing to do with age.

I can never feel sorry for anything you go through
Because you made me carry both of our pasts.
I learned to face my problems and let them go.
You always look for someone to blame, that’s why your happiness never lasts.

Now I am at the end of this journey.
You’re the last piece of trash I have left to put out.
And I am happy to say I don’t feel one ounce of remorse
Because pain and heartache isn’t what life is about.

My mind still occasionally thinks of you 
On those hot, endless summer days.
When everyone’s lips are painted with smiles
And I’m spending hours watching my children play.

I feel one small pang inside me of pity
That you, like so many others, will never know love
Because I know just how empty my soul would be
If I didn’t know how to love them so much.

Then I feel more than thankful to the gods
For dusting off my soul and showing me the sun.
For giving me the strength to face my life
Despite the fact that you always taught me to run.



Details | Narrative | |

THE WORKING DAY

Restless and consumed with dread I await the impending chimes.
Soulless and unrelenting they torture my weary senses.
Reluctant limbs melt away from the softness.
Contact with the harsh floor shocks me into motion.

Natures’ call is answered with rebellious eyes that defy the inevitable.
A whoosh of icy reality sends my breath hurtling towards the heavens.
Carefully pressed shirt and trousers donned, the imposing tie is tightened. 
The noose of formality and correctness takes its merciless hold.

Outside, the mischievous sun delights in my captivity.
In these claustrophobic office walls it finds a powerful ally to combat my sanity.
The knowing keys beat a mournful tune on my computer, as the solemn clock 
makes a funeral procession of the hours

The days end rides in like a triumphant warrior,
Releasing the shackles and oppression that have bound my spirit.
The welcoming bosom of my once estranged settee provides solace, though 
already swelling within, the realisation that tomorrow brings but more misery.


Details | Narrative | |

The Falling: part I

Noise. 

Loud noise.

but it was not just noise, no, not to her.
It was the wild cries from the heavens, calling out to her, reassuring her that everything will be ok, that there is somebody out there who understands, who is just like her.
She emerges from her throne, in her cold, abandon dungon, in her lonly, abandon castle where she is kept prisoner. Kept prisoner from her dreams, her temptations, herself.

Serenity.
Bliss.

The scent stunns her.
Memories from her former life proceed to play like a movie in her memory...
a movie that she can not pause, can not forget.
She stumbles, -afraid to move for the thought that this magical moment may dissapear if she becomes too hasty- to her only escape.
Destroying the barriers that stand in her path.

Ice cold.
Refreshing.
The tiny rain drops fall from the sky,
releasing her temporarily from her own personal hell.
From judgment.
From criticism.
From the abandonment that overpowers her.

Lifting her pale, desolate face to the sky
she lets the rain wash away...
Wash away the hate
Wash away the pain
Wash away the lonliness
Wash away her...in the end.

She cries.
No one would notice, the rain unselfishly disguises her pain so any on lookers would assume that the moisture is just from the malicious storm.
The wind.
So rude, so loud, whips past her.
Attempting to knock the fragile being to the ground.
But she is strong, stronger than she thinks.
She is not phased by it's attempt.
Mother nature is kind.
The heavens cry out again,
begging the young girl to remember, to be happy.
But she cannot.
She can't breath.
She can't think.
Her heart stopped beating a long time ago.
Stopped dead in her lonly, broken chest,
and the heavens cannot understand why

No one can.
But no ones ever tried.
Suddenly, the vicious winds attack her once more,
this time getting a reaction.
A violent tremmor shakes her body
raising goosebumbps on her skin.
She barely notices.
Her imagination runs free, 
unleashing all her memories, all her former happiness.
They all consist of Him.....


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Live in the Darkness

Is there a repair shop
that I can go?
My heart isn't beating
does anyone know
where I can fix it? 
I can't live too long.
Because it's not beating.
Our love was all wrong.
It's hard to believe	
she's not coming back.
Now I'm having a different
kind of hearet attack.

I can't even feel
myself even breath.
Dig me a hole
and bury me beneath.
All of the dirt 
and rocks you can find.
When your all done
if you wouldn't mind.
Say a small prayer
and turn out the light.
I'll live in the darkness
all the rest of my nights.


Details | Narrative | |

The Road To Peace- part four

I like to think that I learned how to be a good mother
By never doing it the way that you did.
I know that no matter how hard it gets
I never will take one second with them for granted.

I will love them every moment I have with them
And succeed in making sure they know it.
So that they can grow up surrounded in trust and love
And never be too afraid to show it.

I would never allow their fears to go un-noticed.
I would die trying to protect them from that world.
I will never rush them, or fail to protect them.
They will be free to enjoy being little boys and girls.

Pride will fill me where jealousy filled you,
As I nurture them and watch them grow
Though I cherish their childhoods more than anything,
I look forward to watching their lives unfold.

Of them taking on the world, enjoying its beauty.
Becoming strapping young men and lovely young ladies.
I dream of them finding a love like I found with their Daddy
And of holding my perfect Grandbabies.

I used to want you to pay for my pain.
I used to dream of ways to make you feel like I did.
I still wish you had had more compassion than to lean on me.
You were my mother, I was just a kid.

But I no longer wish you any more pain or revenge
Because I have risen so high above that, I can’t even see you.
Because you’re still in that world I ran so far away from,
Surrounded in that pain I once was so used to

And knowing that I will have everything you denied yourself
Because of your hideous and unforgettable actions,
I am finally free to find more worth while adventures,
Other uses for my emotions, and my passions.

This finality is like cutting through the last bar of the cage
And finally freeing that dark and abused beast.
into the sunlight where she is free and beautiful
Because unlike you, in my children’s eyes, I found my peace.



Details | Narrative | |

Peri-Gonvre'(The Last of the Nerd who passed on)PART 1

Somewhere in the distant hill
lies a dilapidated old house that might give one chill
An old gentleman and his lady fare
were loners of life because they were the only ones there
Protecting a little child-teen of 13
A lonely  nerd or nebbish boy who only dreamed
to make friends with the outside but his inner self hide
the longings of a boy who was too bashful to confide
his parents took him from school because his
school-mates called him an Ugly and a Fool
Together,as three,they lived in this mansion ennui
The tales that can be told of this existence that
has kept them a Dead and one Cold
The Father took him Fishing(out back Yard there is a Hole)
to catch a big one-in their imagination mind-it is only a small peace
that both of them could ever find
Peri-Gonvre,the lad's name..that his school mates mocked LAME
All through the house,a child's laughter that scares away the most
disgusting cat or mouse
Both hands,left and right,has only two fingers each,that God made right
The attic above the 2nd story hall can only fit him because it is
5 inches too small(The Father-KinMen,designed it to be as confining as
the fireplace against the Stone Brick Wall)
Peri-Gonvre uses the room for his 'scape,from the island New England
that wanted to rape:the very spirit and the life of this like
sitting against the darkness,his eyes drifted far from the mortal Pike
SILVIA the feline little kitten coddled up next to him in this lonely Prison
She is the only cat to be allowed,
brighten up his disposition(disperse that iluminnescent Black Cloud)
Angel of the nightly SKY is first to shine upon the loneliness Guy
END OF PART 1


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Darkest Night

In emptyness of this bed I feel the cold bite into my skin.
Curtains flow with the chilly breeze.
Turning in endless unrest  her spirt haunts me even in these moments.

As memories replay keeping me awake shadows
fill this moonlit room I see her form move across 
the to which just outta reach she does stay.
watching over me till the first light of day.


Darkest night you conceal that which I cannot say.
fragments of a soul erased  by day.
Apon the wind her scent still does exist.

In darkest night she does come to my side.
Taking life from me a drop at a time .
The wicked curse  she's a razor to any mans touch.

So willing to be loved yet unable to be close.
Eyes of red  she enchants.
Unable to fight her  nature.


Such a perfect wepon built to decive.
In darkness  she haunts my soul.
As I the willing victem do awake  her  embrace of agony.
Takig  more leaving me with ice water in my veins.

It's a nightmare of dreams  a vison 
without sight .
She is the the disease within the cure.
My brightest moment  on the darkst night.


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Madness

Numb without feeling, I drink down the pain 
Silence spills out, like the quiet that follows a rain 
Slowly I’m tearing, tear-tearing away 
little bit by little bit, coming apart 
unable beat it, to keep it at bay 

Held captive by the enemy, the enemy inside 
You may think I’ve lost it, my mind gone completely 
Spinning, spin-spinning slightly faster than most 
But more than my mind, it’s my life I hold close 

Leaving me here, trapped in my own head 
A fate worse than that of ending up dead 
All alone I seethe, still painted in your sin 
Runaway, run-runaway make your escape 
Such is a dangerous game you choose play 

But time will give way, as time always does 
Now on the outside, that what once was locked in 
Set free from these jackets that bind 
and soft walls of white they’re in 
Chasing, chase-chasing my prey I will find 
You’re more savage, more evil than I ever could be 
So much uglier than any beast living in me 

How I long to Introduce you, to the thing I’ve become 
The monster you created to use, just your toy 
No longer of need, abandoned tossed aside 
Fester, fest-fester emotions grow hot 
Still locked in a box, forgotten left to rot 

So patiently I’ll wait, just sit bide my time 
Worth it, every second each slip of the mind 
Ticking, tick-ticking the hours melt away 
With the voices building angrier with each passing day 

But soon enough I will show you the horrors that await 
Then your laughter, laugh-laughter is sure to abate 
As your cruel joke comes to a bitter end 
moments just moments and then, well… 
that’s when the true madness begins 


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A Flickering Flame

Ah, a flickering flame with shadows on the wall,
With glimmering lights rolling all around!
I will remember them all!
A flame so high,
But a flame so low,
A burn out in time!
A linger much too slow,
A flickering flame,
A moment that I claim!

Ah, a flickering flame where light covers dark and dark covers light.
With glimmering lights bouncing all over the walls!
A vision of true sight!
A flame so unpredictable,
But a flame so respectable!
A flame hard to know,
And one that can’t be controlled!
A flickering flame,
A moment that I gain!

Ah, a flickering flame showing dim light within its own domain.
With shimmering lights reflecting a glare of golden visions burning too bright!
How very well maintained!
A flame so harmless,
But a flame much too careless!
A flame too passive,
And one that’s way too captive!
Ah, a flickering flame,
A moment that I’m holding with no shame!


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Shadow Train of Death

As often as the wind still blows,
It stays constantly in my mind.
How many days are left? Who knows?
Today and tomorrow not promised nor signed.

Signed for a contract called for life,
Not even with the promise of some words.
Amongst the many nights of strife,
I've worn bandages for my cuts and burns.

War wounds that thus let's me know,
That I can't just let go now.
At the end of the day it clearly shows,
The defeat as my head nervously bows.

So weak from all the tourment,
Lacking with so much dispair.
Misery, I don't want to keep moving.
I see there's no point for me here.

So heavy with all the depression,
With gloom I'm permantly anchored.
No where to run when it leaves the station,
The train of ruin, migh as well climb aboard.

So sweetly I'm tempted with the kiss of death,
I pushed long enough, I promise I did try.
I was poor in life, but with the riches and wealth,
I must now say my final "Good-Bye".

The train leaves at midnight


Details | Narrative | |

Breakthrough

narrative poem

It was in the eighth month of the eighth year,
when Ronald Reagan was the president.
I heard the loud noise of many actors -
singing praises, clapping hands in tribute.

Play-acting, cultured lines, memorized songs,
performed by men and women with spirit,
indistinguishable from sincere praise.
Drama entangled with reality.

It was the evening of the fourteenth day,
I had invited a friend out to eat.
A dinner and a show to celebrate
his retirement from a life of teaching.

The play was a homecooming church service;
it honored a pastor who was moving.
Though the scripted testimonies given
were heartfelt, I had a strange sensation. 

I kept seeing these same entertainers
in former plays as thieves and infidels.
Make-up, costumes, and props were authentic;
the audience applauded loud and long.

The next day, the fifteenth, was a Sunday.
Hurrying through breakfast, I bathed and donned
my good clothes and best vocabulary.
With Bible in hand, I  headed to church.

As always, the praise songs and the scripture
were rehearsed, the bulletin was the script.
The program even listed times for prayer;
I offered my largest bill to the plate.

My worship was a measly performance.
Should they had watched from a balcony pew,
my  non-church work friends would have seen me as -
simply another moonlighting actor.

At work last week, I had cussed out the boss.
Three of us sneaked out to last Thursday.
On occasion, I lie and scheme, even
have a good laugh at tasteless, raunchy jokes.

I left church and wandered in deepest thought,
pondering, “What is worship all about?”
An hour alone with God was revealing,
brooding o'er events of the past two days.

My pretense at worship,  hypocrisy,
disappointing to God, awkward for me.
A major breakthrough,  I just let God talk;
then I apologized for my play-acting.


Details | Narrative | |

Never Ending Tunnel

Slowly walking down
the never ending tunnel.
A bright light blinds my eyes,
but I hear soft sweet music.
It soothes away the pain.
The light keeps getting brighter
and the music stronger.
But still as sweet as it was.
I keep walking down
the never ending tunnel.
I start to turn.
I can not go on.
Fighting for my breath.
Fighting for my heart to beat.
I'm back home
where I truly belong.


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An ideal state

An ideal state?

The brazen blare of trumpets sounds.
As we approach the temple grounds
the rattling kettle drums compete
 with ominously marching feet.

The people gather here today
 in the old time honoured way. 
To hear our leaders justify
 why they have failed to satisfy.

The peoples wants, the peoples needs.
Explain their actions and their deeds
The leaders have no other choice
 but hearken to the peoples voice.

If they have failed without just cause.
The peoples justice will enforce
 summary execution.
A permanent solution.

  For politicians who have lied
by all their fellows they are tried.
Allowed to mount their own defence
 they must depend on eloquence.

We listen to their argument
 and we consider their intent.
Their motives are what we must judge
This is no time for them to fudge.

They ruled as triumvirate
 and so they must anticipate.
If one is guilty then all three
Will suffer the same penalty.

  If we adjudge them innocent
 by a unanimous consent.
They can retire honourably
having served us honestly.


We the people make the rules
 elect the leaders as our tools.
To do as we instruct them to
They do not rule the peopled do.

If we decide they are corrupt.
The peoples anger will erupt.
For them there can be no appeal
 it was their choice to cheat and steal.

An object lesson plain to see
for those who aspire to be.
Part of the next triumvirate
Chosen to serve our city state.

Ours is a true democracy 
where every citizen is free.
 To stand for office or refrain.
 Those who have served may serve again.

But every two years they must face
 the peoples judgement of their case.
Honest men need have no fear
 dishonest men just disappear.

Stripped of  all their ill gotten wealth 
 which they aquired by craft and stealth.
They pay the final penalty
 they’re put to death immediately.

The peoples will is sovereign
Offenders will not sin again
This is a dream I’m sad to say
 and not true of our world today.

Today our world is ruled by greed.
Use any method to succeed.
 rewarded for dishonesty.
The people pay the penalty.

19-Oct-07

.



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Idiotamic Expression

Alas, looks like some folks are plain lucky
going to the top just on sheer ability to talk
without doing time building up character
through real experience and hard work.

Reliant on gobbledygooks and catchalls,
he runs for office using his special lingo,
though hardly offering a sensible platform,
yet, still confident it all will turn out bingo!

Bereft of workable ideas to offer the nation,
hope is what we need, is all he could say;
there is nothing there but naked ambition, 
a sorry substitute for lack of actual policy.

Aren’t we taken for a ride and so gullible?
falling for the tricks of that messianic fool;
so full of himself the man eyeing election,
living off his idiotamic expression!   


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Despair Everywhere

Standing on the platform of despair
awaiting a train to anywhere
whether it's over here, or over there
no idea where i'm going, and I dont care
must be better places everywhere.
What a shock, train is late
even longer I have to wait
quick pint to commiserate.
The road is long, the path is thin
surely being this miserable is a sin
need to find, this happiness within
turn the frown upside down and flash a grin.
The emptiness that dwells so heavily
only recedes when rhyming cleverly
the joy I get, from the sentence I create
this empty page, was fun to decorate,
distraction in thinking of the words I know
gelling together to make sentence flow
open my mind, for creative winds to blow,
but when the poems done, that's it for fun
back to the emptiness of a life humdrum
and a downwards slant from my thumb.
My hair I could tear out, screaming I wanna shout
do I always have to go without
even though there's so much about
from venison to rainbow trout
I feel like a vegetarian in a steakhouse
the only empty plate, in a very full house
I know i'm a lion, but I feel like a mouse
either that, or an abused spouse.
The pits of agony, i do fall
not anymore, stand and walk tall!
©John-Ovan.P.Hull


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Quake-stricken town in China

I was truly saddened by the massive quake
that shook China’s Sichuan province;
It was a huge disaster, a furious nature
that at times like this is indeed doleful.

I saw images of devastation all over,
I saw human sufferings in this situation;
I couldn’t believe their profound sadness
seeing deaths in legendary proportions.

Described as one of the worst disasters
in terms of lives claimed and destructions,
there’s superstition or tradition they say
that this might foreshadow in any way
a reigning emperor to have met his death.

Like a historical phenomenon years ago,
when the famous Tangshan quake shook.
the entire land where thousands were killed
and this happened just before the death of
the famous Chinese leader Mao Zedong.

That’s history! An unforgettable event;
a tragic episode that never occurred
to some minds with deep attachments
to this country where Communism 
played the role in varied situations.

Quake victims received great attention
especially in the world of communication;
most of them I heard were migrant workers
from the countryside in search of fortune.

With the growing population elsewhere
I saw how Chinese people struggled
in their own way to overcome misfortunes
that life could go on with their convictions.

Right now, our major print, news and TV media
are sources and avenues of global information;
like epidemics and natural devastations
remind me of our shared, nationwide disasters.

Back in the Philippines where I was born
a litany of calamities and all kinds of anger –
they’re natural catastrophes like volcanic eruption,
all these shaped my vision and love for the people.

Oh, China, our neighboring country in Asia,
I could feel the shadows of your pain and mourning,
Your own people are also in my heart and attention
 with God I pray to him that you’ll be all right.


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MY HOUSE IN THE WEST

In the part tonight 
all the eminent guests arrived
with their best apparels on,
full of illimitable mirth.

The assembly hall danced
with the fragrances of the deodorant;
cheer lightening their faces,
smiles lessening their age
and every new entrant
being treated warmly with a glass of beer.
The ladies,
burdened by the sparkling ornaments, 
smiled with serene indifference.
Creams moistened their dry face,
powder cloaked their bleakness,
lipsticks glossed over their lips
and I watched them all with flaunting dependence.

Before the party could enliven, 
there arrived a weird guest
with rugged palid face,
his clothes torn
through which his emaciated body peeped,
depicting his uncommon penury.
Barefooted he was
with his soul on fire
but how admirable his green eyes were!
Every black eye scanned his features
and followed me,
    scoffing at me,
    demanding the exegesis
             ......those untrained eyes!!

I discovered discoloring faces,
             suffusing sullness,
             questioning wrinkles....
Impertinent remarks echoed
and crannies appeared on the walls.
He said placidly,
     "Sirs, even I've got the invitation card!"
And I saw
all the candles decorated on the banquet-table
pinching out one-by-one
except one
which burnt-
   in profoundity of the darkness.
And then I realised
I had no explanation.

And I was proud of my house,
         my house in the west
       with its facade facing east.


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Chaser

Running down an empty street
Her feet sore
Crying, she can't stop 
Believe me, she won't
She's hurting
Because of you
Why me, she asks so silently
Why do you do this to me, she whispers in his ear
Then she disappears


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TO BE TURNED BY FAITH

people have been thinking of their financial situations 
wondering if they have them in hand
and in this day of global economic fluctuations
wondering about the futures they had planned
people have been thinking about their spiritual walk
wondering if they are only talking the talk
do they tithe enough? do they pray all the time?
do they study the Word? do they keep God on their minds?
to be turned by faith we need to readjust 
our lives in relation to the God we say we trust
to be turned by faith we need to make a move
and get into a whole new spiritual groove

we're so stuck in our ruts in most aspects of our lives
the same tired jobs, the same old friends, the same personal strife
we need to look at our lives through the eyes of God
and rearrange it by making a brand new start
to just step out of the boat without the anchor of fear
to trust in the power of Jesus and remembering He is always near
to be turned by faith never to lose sight 
of the Lord Our God's guiding light
to be turned by faith by being happier and physically fit
totally trusting in that which is the Holy Spirit

God has placed us here for a reason
and will use each of us in due season
we all play a part in God's master plans
just let your belief be the vehicle that delivers you into His hands
the road might be rocky and the journey will be long
just let God position you where you'll prosper and be strong
in the boat with Jesus on the troubled seas of life
holding on and trusting in the power that is Christ
in the boat with Jesus now under His authority
in the boat with Jesus now sailing on calmer seas
to be turned by faith towards higher ground 
now that your situation has been turned around
to be turned by faith to no longer worry about what's up ahead
to be turned by faith with a life that's now spirit-led
to be healthier and happier trusting in God to provide all your needs
to be turned by faith and knowing with God you will succeed


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Goddamn Cat

Goddamn Cat
Fuzzy and fat
You stalk the night
And my feet
Now fleshy shredded wheat
Was it love you were after

Goddamn Cat
Orange and black
You crap in a box
Litter on my socks
Do I hear kitty laughter

Goddamn Cat
My wife’s cuddly gem
You piss the bed
Sleep on my head
Why am I on the sofa

Goddamn Cat
Evil’s feline friend
You bite my hand
Howl to no end
I know you have no father

Goddamn Cat
You chinchilla rat
You plot my death
Steal my breath
May I adjust your collar

Goddamn Cat
In my favorite hat
Shedding on my clothes
Only heaven really knows
Who said happily ever after

Goddamn Cat!


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Tea Time

 Tea time.

My watch says four its time for tea
 but I’m not where I ought to be.
Instead I’m stuck in this foul trench
 amidst the mud and slime and stench
Rotting remains which used to be 
young English soldiers just like me.

My country called I volunteered.
 My parents saw me off and cheered
They were quite proud to se me go
 “To teach some manners to the foe”
But now the smoke and gas has cleared
I’m on my own just as I feared.

Our forward trenches over run
 I’m trapped behind the wily Hun
I would surrender if I could
 but I cannot I’m losing blood.
I think my time is nearly done.
The only thing that I have won.

A nameless grave like many more.
 No one can calculate the score
  of those who died on either side.
Involuntary suicide.
There are no winners in this war 
a fact the generals ignore.

  I watch my life blood drain away.
Surprised to find I do not mind. 
I will be pleased: I have to say .
to leave this rotten war behind.
A game I volunteered to play
  I cannot stand another day


The mud the blood and misery
 which all around me I can see.
I leave behind without regret.
But I can see them clearly yet 
My mothers friends all taking tea
I wonder if she’s proud of me.

24-Oct-07


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The War in my Head

The war continues in my head – 
The enemy bombarding my thoughts
Day after day, night after night – 
Never allowing me time to rest and regroup.

My defensive line is losing ground as the enemy advances.
There is chaos among the ranks – 
Exhaustion has set in, the arsenal is almost empty,
And I have no more reinforcements.

The troops are tired and overwhelmed –
There has been talk of retreat –
They fear defeat will soon be coming.

Over the horizon, it is easy to see the enemy approaching –
Heavily armed with an array of weapons.

The enemy’s attack of my thoughts and feelings intensifies – 
With the goal of wearing us down –
Pummeling us until we can no longer fight back – 
Until all we can do is lay down our weapons and surrender.

I am starting to fear that this is a losing battle - 
A battle we cannot win.


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On-line Romance

Have you ever been in love

   with a name

   with what you want

    someone to be

    with an on-line persona?

Have you ever

    had your heart broken

    when you met face-to-face

    and discovered the relationship

    was just an illusion?

Have you ever 

    been brave enough to try again?

This time when you meet...

You see your soul

    in his eyes.


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I Got Scared (2005)

He came in with a mask and pretended to pull out a gun
I paused in fright
It was just a big kid having fun
But the fear was at my expense
I smiled it off in defense
I don’t like to show my fear
Otherwise I’ll know what would happen next time they are here
The fear we live in, they haven’t a no clue
Next time you mess the joke will be on you
People around here don’t like clever dicks 
They will beat you at your own tricks 


Another idiot messing around in my shop! Hillfields, Coventry the root of all evil!


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Shipped Away

Lost in a world
I do not belong in.
No one cares to understand
what I am going through.
So they ship me away.

Away to a place
where I am asked to talk.
My feelings,
my fears,
my life.

My feelings are please let me go.
My fears are of you.
My life has ended...
since they shipped me away.


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Bad Days

 I'm in a messed up kind of mood and it was one of 
 those days
 Where I realize that I have no luck but in all the
 worst ways
 The husband that's never home, and the inlaws that
 always are
 What is family anyway, just people who will scar
 It goes back to childhood really, I always just 
 came last
 What am I really saying, that it goes back to my 
 past 
 But the truth of the matter is, I wasn't well liked
 anyway
 Always the second best and not first asked to play
 Such a young age when I put the wall on my heart
 Because of childhood lost and the family torn apart
 Never wanting to learn, and not trying to succeed
 But I played a good role at pretending to be happy
 Just going day to day, living a crazy life
 With every passing second just thinking I would die
 All these bad things seemed to happen and I seemed to 
 only cry
 Like I was born with too many feelings, and I had to
 wonder why
 Always seeming to suffer, and it gets so hard to live
 Because the feelings that are lost, it makes me scared
 to give
 Maybe someone will notice, maybe they will see
 That there really are some good pieces of me


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On The Perimeter Of The Place Of Promise

to be in the right place at the right time
destined for greatness with God on your mind
when you're on the perimeter of the place of promise there's no time to hesitate
just trust that by the Lord God you've been set up for this date
at the appointed time there will be an obstacle to overcome
but through Jesus you have the victory so consider the challenge done
don't procrastinate, you need to keep pushing on
as your God-given destiny is just on the horizon
and if you perish, if you perish, if you should happen to die
remember nothing in life is worthwhile if you don't venture to try
destined for greatness with truth and righteousness in your heart
for nothing against you will prosper in the presence of the Lord God

Queen Esther was in the right place at the right time
positioned by the hand of God to for her people do something kind
uncertained and unsure at first she prayed and fasted with a heavy heart
urged by her beloved Uncle Mordecai to for her people do her part

sometimes we have to be pushed and prodded to do what is right
and then search inside ourselves to see the truth in God's light
and if a sacrifice is needed and a life must be given
it may be your destiny for by the Holy Spirit you've been driven
on the perimeter of the place of promise at your godly appointed date
and if you perish, you perish just be like Jesus and don't hesitate


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Road trip

A number of times have I got lost,
trying to follow the direction of my destination;
with my map guide that serves me right,
to trace the streets and exits to make.

It’s a kind of familiarity with the place,
through navigation in the pipeline and outdoor;
goes evidently as the result of what it means,
to be on the road and be glued to one’s destination.

A passel of drivers speeds in the express highway
others drive like snakes along the way
with hardly considerations to those who drive behind them;
It’s lack of courtesy and insensitivity to those who care for safety.

Changing lanes in a safe way to do it,
accelerating in a normal speed required;
these are ways that a driver can make,
as he drives freely with caution and courtesy.

There are times when roads exhibit traffic congestion,
especially when it rains and everybody has to be careful;
flooded roads cause delays and commotion,
anger and irritation, impatience and exhaustion.

My own experience while on my way,
to pick up somebody in the airport –
like in JF Kennedy, Newark or La Guardia;
there’s always a need to allow a space 
to wait as flights may be delayed.

With a sense of humor this is gonna be of help
to someone who may be caught up with regret;
While on the way it’s a question of being careful,
focused and attentive to the signs of the road.


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Drowning

The abyss is gazing back at you
someone wiser would remember not to LOOK.

Night grabs the breath from her lungs
filming them with frost
  the skin takes a blue like tint
   the last of the breath 
    entangles across her lips.
Spider web frost.
It grabs onto the night, and creates a mist.

Our eyes meet, red wild eyes laughing, sneering, knowing.
Watch me, watch it, freezing time in this moment of never.

She wanders the wasteland of heartbreak
where she has been left.
  left her here
   to breath in
    the grays and the blues
upon the teeter totter.
Straight into madness.

You can hear the laughter can't you? Yes, you can.
No, you are not crazy, no not yet my sweet.
But soon you will be ours,
you will belong to us.

The abyss watched me, I watched it, in the never ending depth
echoed the sounds of our madness.


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left behind

This whole place is set ablaze. 
Smoke is filling these lungs. 
I'm looking for the fire escape. 
The sirens ring aloud. 
I can't make out a single face in the crowd. 
Where are you? 
You said you'd never leave me behind. 
Where do you hide? 
I can't breathe. 
These fumes are looking to take the life out of me, but still i push to make 
my way out. 
Forced to crawl as the flames reach for the skies. 
How desperate i am just to find you. 
I scream your name as i make my way through this burning building. 
Struggling as this structure tries to make its way to the ground. 
It's going down! It's going down! 
Searching for you, my eyes blinding by this haze. 
I'm trying to find my way out of this maze. 
Where'd you go? 
You said you'd never leave me behind. 
I'll make it out of this alive or die trying. 
I hear the siren's cries. 
Pushing forward trying to make my way through the door. 
I don't know how much more i can take. 
It's getting harder to breathe with each breath that i take. 
Save me. 
This is exactly what it seems. 
Trying to survive as this fire tries to baptize me. 
Get me out! Get me out! 
You said you'd never leave me behind. 
I scream your name in one last attempt as this fire consumes me. 
I'll never forget your smile as much as it haunts me.


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Quote

I passed the test
But failed
I ran the mile
But walked
I screamed
But remained unheard
I was quoted


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Ugly

Burning wide black shaded eyes
squint,steal a blurred glimpse
and shut as stinging tears
mixed with facial muck smear

Gazing in the bathroom mirror
my eyes teared honey lime until my vision became clearer
and the world became visable 
sacred nightly ritual's
side effects of cheap sweet generic mess

Late night I gently applied honey lime
into fines lines , obvious signs of progressive aging
my taste in cheap facial care's always changing

The past proved new
generic solution unremoved
stick like crazy glue

There're awful goup imitations
causing severe skin irritations
they stricken faces with moles,
rashes and skin blotch discolorations
that clash with social circles
some are inexpensively hurtful

I tried to remove the sooth skin peel
sticky as glue as it congealed
my bleeding skin healed slow
and now blond peach fuzz grows
over healing scrapes,scratches,bruises,rashes
sores and blemishes it seems its side effects are endless

Heavy mascara and fake sunshine smiles 
are the safest fashion style 


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Voices

Some days I just want to scream
And scream
And scream
And get all of these voices
Out of my head.

I just want them all to go
To go out and far away
I just want some peace and quiet
I just really, really want 
some peace and quiet.

No voices from the outside
No voices from the inside

Some days I just want to scream
And scream
And scream
A basic primordial scream
Until I can’t anymore.

Until I’m lying down on the floor
And I can wrap myself in me.
A comfortable place to be
And then I can go to sleep
And not hear anymore voices.


(November 13, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)

(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved 


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Painting the agony

The headline in today’s paper
caught my attention, and with interest –
I read through the article.

The case of someone who’s ill
with a dangerous form of tuberculosis
a target of all media people
with its overwhelming implication.

As an international issue to deal with,
a stark landscape of affliction;
being blamed for possible contaminations,
Mr Andrew Speaker,  the scapegoat here.

This reminded me of my own experience
as a seminarian in my own land;
I once fell very ill and needed –
a space for complete isolation: a quarantine! 
It’s an unforgettable experience for me.

life lived like in abandonment;
its effect on me spilled out over history
being vulnerable and reflective, an agony.

I hate to recall that particular mem’ry
were I felt driven away from my community;
it swelled to two weeks as I was isolated,
with a running sore of pain against them.

But that’s part of what we ought to do
with caution and concern to others who might be in danger;
that sickness, the so-called ‘chicken pox’ knocked me down
a lengthy episode marked with sadness, drenched in anger.

Like profiling passengers in transportation system,
for fear of terrorism who might cause explosion;
it’s same thing when one carries a disease – contagious
there’s a need for isolation or quarantine in procedure.

With today’s world overdosed by all forms of ailments,
there’s urgency or a wake-up call to everybody;
precaution and prevention that give birth to fruition;
a jarring departure for plagues of all seasons.


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LA MANCHA.

Bereft of the poetry of his soul
The knight took refuge in the house of death
Into darkness he went with his mind crushed
Wandering lust gone and with his own trust.

The enchanter gone
And disenchantment entered
And the land of La Mancha
Slowly turned to dust & cinders.

Talisman of allurements or of feasts
Chimeras of windmills or of fabulous beasts
Golden liquors and the shining decanters
Tales of poets sorcerers and of wizards
Adieu to stillness and the romance
Tryst and other typographical stance.

His merry madness had to go
And sanguine sanity had to be constructed
Don Quixote had to be demolished
And Alfonso had to be resurrected.

Alas! there is no poetry left now
In the lands of the Al Toboso
And no veils of Dulcinea now accrues
Across the knight of the mournful rue.


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Boredom

Im writing this poem, it's not coming from heart. 
Im writing from boredom, uhh.. where do I start?
My day has been boring, the night not looking too great.
My body's too tired, though my minds quite awake. 
I slept all day long, it was an honest mistake. 
I’m checking my email, no messages will come. 
For it's late in the night, and no one is on.
And yet I keep checking, cause there always could be,
Another lame person, who’s bored just like me. 
Boredom is constant, it must live in the air. 
Cause its impossible to have fun, when boredom is there. 
I think I am tired, cause this poem won't flow. 
And I really am bored, which by now you all should know. 
So I guess it's that time, I'll just go to bed. 
No point of staying online, not much more to be said. 


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Blood Red Hands

With blood red hands she gave to him
her heart.
With blackmailed lips,
one day he sent it back.
With blood red hands she took up a gun
and sent it through
her skull.
With blackmailed lips
he laughed,
and laughed
into the night.


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Dress Up

Claustrophobic Closets 
...full of personalities and promise

what to squeeze into…
what to hide under?
fitting and proper it should be
for this moment, yes?

Metamorphosis into 
that which is necessary to 

...accessorize the lie

It’s all just dress-up anyway.

Now you should try.


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Go Ahead Drink And Drive

 
   The picture that you painted still hangs from our wall.
    There beside it is the photo of you and little Robbie that was taken at the mall.
Special memories that still make me cry.
    Each time I look, I have to ask God why?
Such a short time together you, me, and little Robbie who had just turned three.
   I wished we were still together but now it’s only me.
You know they said he never got so much as a scratch that day.
   That day he took you and little Robbie away.
They said alcohol was to blame and he just lost control.
   More than alcohol is to blame for it was my life that he stole.
My wife and little child can never come home ever again.
   All because you had to drink and drive, Lord when will it end?
I know you didn’t mean it, but it won’t bring them back.
   It’s no more your fault than the people that make and sell it, maybe it’s will 
power you lack.
Your punishment you’ll live with every single day of your wretched life.
   The fact that you murdered my young son and my innocent wife.
Lord your will, will be done, whether it be mercy or vengeance whichever one.
   I just know I miss my wife and baby son.
                      
This is just a poem, but it really happens nearly everyday to some poor guiltless
soul,it's never too late to put the bottle down! I did and so can you!


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Fifty-Per Cent



He put ten years on her eyes in a single morning.
He didn’t do much to her except walk away.
He never raised a hand and he never raised too damned much money.
But he left her fifty-per cent of his final pay.

She’s holding two jobs and she’s holding her little heart together
The children make their own beds and breakfast, too.
The women’s magazines provide advice—and coupons.
And her Mama and her sister drop by, to see her through.

There’s no hard feelings, they’re the best of friends, still.
He takes  the children on Sunday afternoon.
She’s liberated from love, she’s her own person.
And no one sees her cry except the moon.

She’s taking two classes down at the local college,
A book-keeping course and volleyball 101.
She’s twenty-eight, she’s changed her hair, she’s jogging!
And her friends down at work say her life has just begun!

But you know, fifty-per cent of the American dreams get broken.
One-half of the brides and grooms pay lawyer’s fees.
And fifty-per cent of the couples are coming uncoupled.
But the precise percentage of tears nobody sees.
1981


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The hobo

He sits in Claremore's railroad station
Slapping mosquitoes as big as air craft carriers
Blood runs down a neck parched as leather
Mixes with sweat of that elusive honest day's work
Hear those incessant  crickets in dry prairie grass
Noon sun, so unrelenting
Winds rush by mocking a thirsty tongue
Darn that black Ford that sends
Burning dust down a poor man's throat
Hey, kid get off those tracks
Your mamma is calling you
Let me put my tired ear to that
Steel and listen
For my train taking me to nowhere town...


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Untitled #270 / On the day I daw love

Would you believe that on the day I saw love
I knew I would come here?


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POET aberration



a Young mind of the Adult kind
           misconstrued to be a schizophrenic find
             Cannot help but be bewildered underfined
                The Lines between his meaning are not clear
                   Listening to voices only he can hear
                      Is he crazy?I think not
                          Part of the Brain reacts to negative stimulus
                               The other half is oversensitive to the Hate
                                     Dwelling in a world,constantly yelling
                                           Jesus or Jehovah made him by design
                                               Accept this gentle man as he interprets his mind
                                                   To find a place in this Earth Divine
                                                     Love is automatic of the heart
                                                   It is so simple but they try to tear it apart
                                                 The world can have the Strong and the Meek
                                               I am of the latter as this poem tries to speak
                                             My own sins dwell from 36 years gong
                                          A ringing of the angst's sad bell
                                     The curvature of this piece is intentional 
                          It seems that my steps have had a twisted  path
                  Strolling between my happiness and people's wrath
              There is an irregular pattern to my rhyme
          However,many people consider this Blasphemy a crime
       Read my poems the next time around
    Before passing judgement with a critique sound
  I am just who I try to be
 Living in this world of brutal reality
If this is not plain to the eye
All I can say is:
It was an honest effort to explain 
this Poet that is I!!


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They Took His Pulse

They Took His Pulse _ _ _ _
Now, they’re Looking for Us
Up and down the Street
Drive-By-Boys …. Packin’ Heat !

We Dissed’ A Gang-Sign
They Took… What was Mine
Left a Blood-Soaked Message
On A Pain Wracked-Package

… Is He Breathin’ ?
… or is He Leavin’ _ _ _ _
If He is… Then He Must _____
‘Cause They Took His Pulse

They Took His Pulse
Which left Us  Furious
Gotta’ Let em’ Know, We’ Serious
Do Somethin’ – Delirious

… We gon’ Take They Pulse !
Gon’ do something Perilous !
So – Infamous  !
… we took each other’s pulse _ _ _ _


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See no evil, Hear no evil ...

I am stone cold
And fittingly I require
Garments draped in gold
A coating, shielding attire
Of royal worth and empire
For minions to behold
When the right time comes
Necessity apts to do as deemed
I cover fragile eardrums
Take one last look, Medusa scheme
Salt pillar demising plights and screams
And suicide by Midas touch
This wheeling world keeps turning
As alien flora settles in
My life’s crop circle, burning
Engulfing flames of wealth and sin
Where burdens merely end to begin
Its tragic, milestone yearning


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It's Not About The Tree

   
I bow down to but one God my friend,
   He’s the one who will judge my actions in the end.
And it hurts to see this nation turning away from Him
   We are allowing the wrong few to lead and the prognosis is grim.
The day that I have to start calling a Christmas tree a holiday tree,
    Will be the last year I put it up it will end it for me.
Jesus died over two thousand years ago just for you and me.
    And I will still celebrate His birth with or without the tree.
The Nativity scene is outlawed on most courthouse squares,
    And what about our children the ones that want to say prayers.
The Ten Commandments written in stone by Gods on hand,
    Has been taken out of public offices I don’t understand.
These same politicians that go to church on Sunday,
     Seem to forget about God and His laws come Monday.
Maybe I’m dumb or blind as a bat,
     But I sure enough know when I’m smelling a rat.
The Lord says to forgive and that is the hardest thing that I do,
     And I’m also suppose to pray for people like you.
I can forgive you and pray for you but that still doesn’t make it right.
    I don’t understand why this is happening it makes me want to fight.
But that’s the old devil trying to tempt me he’s done that now for years,
   Jesus never owed us nothing but He died to save us and take away our fears.
And this is how we repay Him trying to renail Him back upon that cross?
   I sure pity you when that day comes and you find out what you’ve lost.
Thank you Lord Jesus just for being there for me.
   Thank you Lord Jesus, I pray You open up their eyes and hearts and let them hear and see.


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Fear

 A horrible crime

It was a loss of innocence

I didn't have a choice

Nobody heard my voice

Faded memories of the night

Some thing's wrong I cant even fight.

I thought I was going to die,

so heavily drugged I couldn't even cry,

I heard myself scream for help,

but nothing came out of my mouth.

In and out of consciousness

fighting my body to stay awake.

The cold floor upon my bare back,

I wake to two men violating me.

I can't move

can't fight back.

I fall back into a deep blackout..

my mind is screaming

what is happening..

Two of them pushing and prodding

having their way.

I want to go home

please take me home

I try to cry out but

nothing will come.

Next on the bed I come to

a man inside of me,

he's saying something

I can't make out.

Take me home.

I want to wake up

wake up out of this nightmare.

Why did I get in the car?

Why did I trust her

when she said they were friends?

Next I feel nudging and pushing...

"Get the hell up, its time to go",

he says.

Throwing my clothing at me

hurrying me down the stairs

in the car he shows no shame

I black out once more..

River bend is all I can say..

Take me home please.

I awake the next morning

knowing

knowing I was violated.

I used to be so clean

now I'm violated, unclean and dirty.

And the guilt is killing me,

even though its not my fault

I feel as though it is.

They made me feel a shame of myself,

all I do is blame things on myself.

Everything is my fault,

Its all my fault.

The pain I feel,

The tears of sorrow,

The things they have done to me,

They violated me

Make me feel ashamed.

Bits and pieces cross my mind

Please...erase out of my memory!!

I don't want to remember the night.

It took one night,

one night of unforgettable violence

To shatter my soul into a billion million pieces

Before I'd ever realize

Before I'd ever understand just how cruel,

damn cruel this world could be

Lost a piece of my innocence

Helped my heart to see that

I wanted to die,

I wanted to cry,

I wanted to scream for help but no one heard me,

I feel dirty.

After that night of misery

Things could never be the same.

I will never be the same

the outgoing happy,

loving person I was..

I will never be the same

physically or mentally...

especially not emotionally.

All because of them..


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Killing Bobby

In their home they make me ashame
they're not aware of my pain
I will run,there's much to gain
I don't look back & my spirit sings
    
In my mind my legs are wings
freeing me to fly to my dreams
my heart is strong and pushes me on
my fear is stronger & clips my wings 
    
Again I walk,my steps are slow
my heart is heavey,my head hangs low
return to their home I know I must
    
As soon as I'm in the sermons begin
she cannot see she's hurting me 
can't they see I'm gonna crack
they won't let up,I can't fight back
I pray for strength but I am told 
it well be hell I will go
    
I have a friend, she sends for me
on a bus I travel there
I run to her and spread my wings 
far to the north I live with her
    
We love to dance,the music loud
I will try to be proud 
away from them I will stand
begin to love who I am
    
By the phone she does the same
hurting me with words of gloom
she penns her poison from the book
preaching of my future doom
  
I shed my tears not my pain
she only sees the ugly me 
She cannot see,till it's late
the man I dream I need to be
    
They kept their hold and wouldn't let go
I was wrong to have told
now I know I'll never be free
my soul is dark and turing cold
I know I'm weak but I'm not a freak

The darkess is coming
bringing me peace
at last I find what I seek


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A Lady And A Girl


A fair lady wandered from 
the scent-less garden, leaving it with a weary 
heart; she took her breathe and left. The garden 
was cool of her and stayed fresh all day, but 
when she grew tired, she found not the rhythm
of which she might have been able to give.

A fair lady wandered from 
the scent-less garden, leaving it with a weary
heart; she took her breathe and left. Wherever, 
she looked for fun, ‘cos it moves her, yet 
the garden has no idea, how and when 
and where she should dwell.

In a place, somewhere in her mind, 
where her love got lost,
a girl chanced upon her, with a story
to tell: “In the olden days, Queen sneaked 
away, at night 
to swim the sea of fire. She fell in
 
And got tangled. Now, 
the prize 
which her King asked 
to set her free, 
from guilt, was a simple vow that she should always 
sharpen-- the King’s sword, whenever she went out”.


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Another Sleepless Night

I’m too tired to sleep
So I’ll sit here and write,
trying to make the night go away,
and turn into day
As the words are flowing,
Time is slowly ticking by
My tired eyes can barely see the screen,
but Sandman won’t come and send me into a dream
There’s no relief in sight
I’m stuck here writing,
trying to pass another sleepless night


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My Prayer

    

Lord please forgive me for the anger that is in my heart.
   Lord I need to talk with you, but I really don’t know where to start.
I know that you won’t forgive an unforgiving heart.
   I repent all my ill feelings and walk away that is my part.
Things have been said the words were from the flesh.
   That is why I chose to repent, cleanse me and make me fresh.
Lord I ask forgiveness for me and all involved.
    Lord this is a mystery not for me to try and solve.
Bitterness only darkens the corners of my heart.
    It’s like a festering sore, one that gets bigger and will not depart.
The more that you feed it the bigger it becomes.
    Leaving you cold and bitter with a soul forever numb.
Lord if you would guide our mouth and guide our words.
    Lord let this dissension be settled with soft spoken words, and let every voice 
that is among us let it be heard.
Father should we be in discourse then let it be settled and made right.
    Let us all grow in faith and always keep your word in sight.
For it is your love and forgiveness we pray for and we seek.
   It is your word that gives us strength it is food for the meek.
Please forgive us and love us, this I ask of you.
   Help us be better Christians in all the things we do.
In Jesus’ name I pray let your will be done.  Amen


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Blocked

I have had a block?
Out on my ear, quite a shock.
No talking any more.
Will not open the door.
Cannot say sorry or try again.
To be blocked is a pain.
In Coventry am I.
I don't know why.
To be friends again.
I want to try.


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Help.

The moon rises like a vacant memory
In the pitch black skies
That sabotage my mind.

Demons are inside my head
They fill my mind with lies
They tease,
They flaunt,
They float,
They haunt,
They make me want to break the ties.

Darkness closes in on me
Drowning me in blame.
It strips me of my sanity
And fills me full of shame.
I want to hide,
I want to cry,
I want to scream,
I want to die.

This bitterness I feel inside
Is nothing short of hate.
But there’s nothing left
That I can do
But sit around and wait.

Waiting for something better
Or waiting for something worse.
Anything will really do as long as it releases me
From this dreaded curse.

Please help me
Help me forget my pain
Take away my hurt
And let me lead my life.
Fix my broken heart
That stills,
The needs,
That bleeds,
That kills.

Only you.
You can make my pain go away.
Your soft touch melts the barrier around my heart,
Your warm eyes calm the fear in my head.
Your gentle nature quietens my raging soul.
I need you;
To have me,
To hold me,
To help me,
Please help me.


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Untitled #6 / The boy

The boy heard the familiar tune
wafting through the radio at midnight
as he lay alone in his bed, enshrouded
in darkness – “to be a rock and not erode”
cautioned the singer, but the boy
could not help but wonder
who his girl was making love to that night
and he could not help but cry.


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Deaths Kiss

Last night I dreamed a wonderful fantasy,
We were together for all the world to see,
We were in a field of white roses and snapdragons,
You were dressed in black from head to toe with a white dragon,
On your back I too was in a black dress and black lace,
Then a slow smile spread across your face.
You kissed me with black lips,
Someone said it was deaths kiss,
The kiss broke and you began to laugh,
Then you took my hand and lead me down a darkened path,
I saw Alaucard and he smiled at me,
As though he knew and could see,
Right through me to my pounding heart,
You said from me you would never part.
We kissed again and this time was different,
It was if this kiss had sent,
A coldness right into my soul,
Then you whispered you would never let go.
Your hand was cold as was your touch,
No one had ever affected me this much,
Then I woke up with a fright,
It had been a horrible night,
I went to the bathroom and what did I see,
The black deaths kiss you had given me.


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Never Again

I took a risk
telling u something I usually don't
The next time you can beg
kick and cry but I still won't
The few times I've opened up to u
You stuck it in my face
I never should have told u
In the damn f in  first place
I have no one to open up to
Regardless of what u think
With everybody I know
I'm usually the shrink
It's not really cool
I'll just keep it in my head
I'll keep to myself
All my thoughts instead
of letting u hurt me again
U of all people are supposed
to be my friend.


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Gone, As With the Wind

It was dark and cold as he wandered the streets of Chicago
Strangers were the only people he saw, he had no friends
Searching nightly, he had never found her, the one he sought
He needed to find her, for without her, his destiny ends

Strangers were the only people he saw, he had no friends
He was new to the city, but felt welcomed, when their eyes met
Two in a crowd, for a moment, they shared a glance
A face of an angel, truly a face he would never forget

Searching nightly, he had never found her, the one he sought
For she wandered in to the crowd and was lost then from view
He ran, he stopped, he started again, searching everywhere
Until, as the sun had gone down, his spirit did, too

He needed to find her, for without her, his destiny ends
He feels in his heart, that the two of them were destined to be
Alas, he could not find her, in this big cold dark windy place
But he would never stop trying, else his heart shan’t be free