*Note: A 60-year annual tradition that involved a mysterious visitor leaving three
roses at the grave of writer Edgar Allan Poe on the anniversary of his birthday
ended in January 2010. Curators of the Poe House and Museum are at a loss to
explain who left these gifts and why they stopped. On many occasions people kept
vigils near Poe’s grave during this period that began in 1949, but no one ever saw
someone leaving the roses. In the morning, however, they were always on his
grave. Poe is considered the father of the American short story and
his poem The Raven is one of his best known works.
Once upon a midnight dreary, Poe heard a tapping at his window
While grieving the loss of his young bride, a maiden “angels named Lenore,”
A radiant teen whose long, black hair in gentle breezes would billow,
Tapping at the window ceased, but suddenly it was heard at his door
Upon opening it, a Raven flew in repeating, “Nevermore”
At first he welcomed this odd visitor until Poe whispered, “Lenore”
When he heard his word echo, the strange Raven he began to abhor
He asked if he’d see his bride again and the bird replied, “Nevermore”
Though Poe died in eighteen forty-nine, a mystery evolved much later
A century after his death, his grave had an annual visitor
Roses were left on his birthday by someone whose love appeared greater
Who had left these floral gifts forever stumped the Poe House curator
Perhaps the answer can only be explained by reincarnation
Did the Raven embody the spirit of Poe’s beloved Lenore
If so, perhaps the Raven returned again in a life rotation
In human form she visited to lay roses on the earthen floor
And upon her death in two-thousand nine, she took to the skies once more
A Raven who now joins the flock circling above her late husband’s grave \/
Could it be her spirit remains with Poe, as it did in life before \/ \/ \/
Bringing him in the afterlife all the roses a poet could crave \/ \/ \/ \/
For those who consider this possibility totally absurd
Just consider the fantasies Poe created with the written word
By Carolyn Devonshire
Contest Title: “Among the Dead,” sponsored by Constance LaFrance ~ A Rambling
and she said
Yesterday,I lived for thoughts and dreams
but today I live in my daughter's happiness
All my goals I left behind to watch her reach her own
All my friends I do not see,to stay with her at home
Money might get tight,but what is money
compared to pure joy of a child
What is money compared to her almond eyes
Success lies dormant on shelves for years to come
But what is success compared to first giggles
to first steps, first mouthfuls and her little grabs
Compared to gurgles and babbles
to first time she calls me mama
and hold on to my hands
What is beauty in the world compared to a pearl
This innocent child,a coloured coral petite pretty girl
Yesterday,I lived for thoughts and dreams
But today I live in my daughter's happiness
I had my days of wine and chocolate eclaires
roses on doorstep,unsigned love letters
with spiced cologne and enticing words
Today I live in my daughter's shadow
To watch her live her own dream
I watch her bloom in autumn gardens
from princess of hearts become queen
Tomorrow I will not be here
She might not get to see the white of my hair
the wrinkle in my smile
But,today she knows I love her
long more after petals wither
long more after a mother's hug fades
long after I shine from the sky.
Dedicated to my beloved Christina with love
Happy first birthday wrapped with barney hugs
and Winnie the pooh kisses :-$:-|B-)
Things seems to be very clear,
When actually felt it is unclear,
What really seems to be clear,
May never ever be clear for ever.
Your help for others,
May be to be appreciated,
Or taken as what is called,
to be uncounted.
My question is clear,
Why the help for others,
Is sometime never appreciated,
However it is always delivered.
In response to ethics,
lingers in my mind the answer,
To help others is not to be recognised,
But it is to be called someone,
Who can be respected.
To all, continue to help,
Not to to be appreciated by others,
But to be respected by yourself.
written 20th Aug 2001
As I woke up this morning
instantly, I began mourning
For "I should be holding you, this special day
but, I know that there "is no possible way
Wondering, if you'd think that I would forget
is just "one more thing, I am left to regret
I pray, that we will be re-united together again, real soon
till then, I've blown you a birthday kiss, I sent via the moon
Overwhelmed, I feel as if I love you even more "today
"yes, today is special, after all it is your birthday
But, I couldn't forget you, no if's, but's or maybe
for you were blessed, forever to be my baby
You are now my "six year old lovable, Hannabelle
and no one on Earth, could "ever love you as well
Known now for eternity, making this a very special day
t'was only this day, you became my daughter in every way
written for my daughter Hannabelle
*For a mothers love is never bound by distance*
Glen Campbell – A Special Person
It was September 4th, 1968 and I threw an empty suitcase into the trunk of my car, telling Joan, my daughter, that I might not be home to celebrate her birthday. She would turn 13 the following day and Wanda, my wife, had planned something special. As I dropped her off at school she had no clue as to what was in store.
Joan had become an ardent fan of a young Glen Campbell and he was due to be in town that very night for a concert. We led Joan to believe we had given up all hopes of taking her to see him since my travel plans would probably keep me out of town that night. Joan reconciled herself to the distinct possibility she would not be in attendance at his concert. She was a very understanding young lady.
When I returned home that evening, Joan was advised we would celebrate her upcoming birthday with a simple dinner out and maybe a movie. As we drove, Joan was very animated and proceeded to tell us of all the activity of the day. She didn’t pay much attention to where we were headed. Her chatter told us she wasn’t on to our plan.
Well, when we approached the Music Hall in Houston, TX Joan realized where we were and became so excited I thought she was going to faint. She shrieked with joy and showed the textbook signs of one about to see their idol. I don’t believe we had ever seen her so excited.
Wanda had managed to reserve some wonderful seats, center stage 3 rows back. We took our seats and soon were enjoying watching our daughter watch this young performer transform the audience, mostly young people, into an almost hypnotic state. We had joined Joan as fans of this young man from Arkansas. He was really putting on a great show. But something special was about to happen.
He finished the first half of his show and we sat there and listened to Joan excitedly chatter about what was taking place.
About halfway through the 2nd half Glenn pulled up a stool, sat down and asked, “Is there a Miss Joan Posey in the audience?” Joan was literally dumbfounded. We acknowledged to Glen that indeed she was here. Glen looked at here and said, “Well, tomorrow you’ll become a teenybopper. This one is for you.” He proceeded to sing “Hey, Little One” and there were probably as many tears in Dad’s eyes as in Joan’s. Her insistent question was, “How did he know?” repeated time after time.
Wanda, in her fantastic way of pulling off the impossible, had written to Glen Campbell, in care of the Music Hall, and told him of Joan’s upcoming birthday. It would mean a lot to her if he could only wish her a happy birthday. It was a long shot and he only received the letter some 2 hours before show time. Someone on his staff picked up on it and took it from there. He finished and instantly became a very special person to two proud parents. Joan became an instant VIP since almost half her class had been in attendance. It was a most memorable time and Glen Campbell will always have a special spot in our hearts…. Jake
“Birth day” is the actual day one exits from the womb, (thereafter, “birthday”, is but a colloquialism for the anniversary of that birth). Well … today is mine. I’m finally old enough to drive … (times 4.56!). Now, I’m old enough to vote … (times 3.476!). One of my sons, too, this month, will become a half-century old … which makes me realize: I’m older’n dirt!
It is truly amazing: Once you reach this age, it really, truly is incomprehensible that so many years have passed since taking that first breath – because our minds don’t allow us to think we’re “aged”! Our thoughts tell us we can still lift that couch … or a 100 lb. sack of seed … or a box of twenty books. But … the actual attempt proves our minds still have their roots in the concrete of yesteryear, while our bodies are entrenched in the reality of … today, (that’s easily confirmed by a quick glance in a mirror!) Contrary to popular belief … we are NOT as “young as we feel” … and to defy reality by allowing our minds to trump our body’s limitations, when it comes to physical exertion, is courting a hospital stay – or worse.
For those of us whose physical attributes have waned, we have great difficulty in accepting the fact that we now are relegated to the task of “watching”, not “doing”. That’s the final hurdle we, of necessity, must overcome before we can truly accept … aging. Our children, whom we used to tell and guide in what they could/should do, and when … have now matured. We’ve taught them as best we could, and it is now their turn to drive the carriage – and, if we’re lucky, and don’t try to “boss” them, we may be asked to become passengers.
There comes a time when our day in the sun becomes a rocking chair in the twilight. We need to prepare ourselves to recognize that change of circumstance and situation.
It’ll be difficult for some of us … because WE’VE always been the one “in charge”. If we are to survive with our dignity intact and retain relationships with those we love … we have to find a way to hand over the reins – and MEAN it – to the next generation which we ourselves have spawned.
Our remaining decisions will be: Whether or not to re-bait that fishing hook … or what channel to watch … any decision more meaningful will need to be made by … our kids.
June 1987. All is well as we sit celebrating
my 30th birthday in the best little bar and
Dance club in our quiet little town. Empty
B52 shot glasses line the table and the
mood was PARTY. We all sat laughing and
enjoying the evening but then I hear
a birthday shout out with a dedication
for my favourite song.
Dee de, da da Dee de de daa da
Dada Dee de dada de de de daa da
Now I’ll never be able to tell you in which
order these take place because in my opinion
it all happens at once. Your blood pressure
rises to 200 over 140, my eyes were popping
out of their sockets and I was stumbling
to the dance floor with all my friends. We
weren’t about to miss one second more then
we had too of dancing to our favourite song.
With our legs already to go it starts
“Here comes Johnny singing oldies, goodies
Be-bop-a-Lula Baby what I say.”
Out on the dance floor that night
we danced our hearts out and still to
this day, when I hear that electric organ
Playing Dee de, da da Dee de de daa da
my blood pressure rises my eyes open
widely and I start rocking from deep inside
As I sing.
The Walk of Life by
I Love Rock N Roll
Ok let's go up to the fire tower, talk with Ranger Ricky, Heh, heh,. What's so funny Harry. When I was a kid we use to watch the Ranger Ricky Show. He would run Popeye the Sailor cartoons and every week He would say "An a very Hap-py Birthday to the viewers."An a very Hap-py Birthday to Harry, he is 8 years old today.He helps his Mom around the house by doing the dishes and sweeping the floors. Morning Rick, morning Harry, I've been expecting you. I have some bad news, the avalanch started at the top of Demons Bluff. Your chances of finding those kids are slim and even slimmer finding them alive. There is some good news, 7 members of Killington Rescue have joined the search.That's great, the four of us have 2 advantages, we only have to climb 50 feet to the top of the mountain. Demons Bluff is on the otherside, down hill with very little snow
for 3 quarters of a mile. What's the secound reason asked Billy. Harry cooks as well
as he knows this mountain, he is an Ace Rick, stop! Alright, I have 5 thermo-laser poles, should we bring the 5th one. Yep, I'll carry it.
To be Cont.
Author's note: This all took place in less than a 5 minute span if you think we were Dilly-dallying
Little Preshy Preshy trying to impress hidden fresh buttons
So down to earth i could pick you up even if i fumble
You sister hood my hood-ness in me till my ears turn into functions
You child a sister with a train of smiles that bottle passion
In birth you must have had piles and styles of
life's appreciated stanzas in all poetic judgments
I bow before your spirit, for you Queen your surroundings with pounds of outstanding heart flames
Love should give you unexpected roses not stains
This poem is a gift i long to plant in your gifted chest believe me
Though words can never paint your born day in fine art sickness,
its my remedy
The world is field with smiley diseases of felonies
Take a flight to nowhere and return with more clans that know your temple
Press the birth button while killing fears
Impress Isabel with a doorbell for she cleans her heart with smiles far from cooler bags
Your circle is shielded by hugs and lipsticks
Impress Isabel with a doorbell for she cleans her heart with smiles not illegal favors
Let Preshy Preshy row before her words start drilling bad manners in your day
(c) Raymond Ngomane
A dedication to Isabel's Birthday
Preshy Preshy : A nickname given to girls named Precious.
Friends , I present to you a slice of History about the ancient Greek scientist and
mathematician Archimedes , who ran naked across the street
of Syracuse , in his birthday suit, after he discovered the Theory of Buoyancy , with which he
could find out the quantity of pure gold in the Kings crown ! Kindly read my 'Prose poetry' !
Archimedes: The First Pioneering Streaker
Of History !
( Prose Poetry)
There lived in the third century BC, in the Sicilian
town of Syracuse,
A Greek mathematician called Archimedes.
He was tasked by King Hiero of his town,
To find the purity of gold in his crown;
Suspicious of the goldsmith having mixed
in it ,
Some impure material of inferior kind,
Which he wanted Archimedes to find !
Archimedes lost in thought one day,
Entered the public bath on his way!
And as his body began to get submerged,
He happened to notice perchance ,
Water spilling over from the tub !
The answer suddenly flashed across his
And he jumped up leaving everything
Wearing only his birthday suit!
Running through the street of Syracuse ,
Exclaiming, ' Eureka! Eureka! ',
(I have found it! I have found it!)
Perhaps to become the first streaker of
While establishing the Principles of
Archimedes, son of Pheidias the astronomer,
Studied at the great Alexandrian city,
Remembered even this day for his pioneering
In Hydrostatics, Mechanics and Geometry!
With his ingenious mechanical discoveries,
Held the great Roman galleys of Marcellus
For more than three years, as Plutarch says!
Later one day, while lost in deep thought,
Trying to resolve a problem of geometry,
Refused to hear Marcellus' bidding ;
To be slain by the Roman soldier who had
come to fetch him!
O those Romans, with lesser brains and more
And some hundred and thirty years after his
death, in 75 BC ,
Cicero, the Governor of Sicily,
Found the tomb of great Archimedes, near
the Agrigentine gate,
Over grown with bushes and thorns ,
Lying buried in the scented dust of History!
@ Principle of Buoyancy = any floating object displaces its
own weight of fluid ! Wt. displaced by a crown of pure gold and
the one already made could be compared to find the truth !
Imagine self, becoming 27.
Admired the elders.
Glad that prediction of not making it, does not exist.
Confused about if I can make it in the future.
Learn, thus, selves shelves.
I cannot imagine.
Hence we can.
Age is a number.
Eggroll to Paracetamol
Breath like a baby
Next step, TV dinners at 60.
Birthdays come and go, and we can’t avoid them
Some excite us with expectations
Others we dread, because they remind us
Of the swiftness of years far behind us
But each anniversary of the day we were born…
must be borne…
or perhaps be acknowledged in some customary form
If nothing else, but to please those who try so hard to conform ….
to the norms of a proper celebration.
Perhaps if we are lucky,..a dinner, a few gifts, and the singing “the” song….
Nothing wrong with that!
A celebration it may be, with streamers and games…a piñata to claim…
but often the same…
When one gets older, we don’t need such pictures to frame.
So to recall my “event”…this particular birthday I spent…
Nice enough, …but the sparkle had dents.
We rushed to this place, on a workday eve.
Not much time to dine, not much hoopla, home by nine.
A restaurant table….just a few of us able
No balloons, no cake, no candle, no flames
But acknowledgement, just the same
Over plates of ravioli…and eggplant parmesan
So nice….. but did I notice a few yawns???
Then one special moment, that won’t be forgotten
My little blonde grandson….who gave me a gift
He reached into his pocket…with a shy little grin
Said, “Here is Darth Vader….He is all that there is"….
And opened his hand, and his eyes so sincere
And gave me a gift to remember for years...
"It’s all that I have, I like him a lot....I almost forgot"
"But he's yours if you like him….…he's the only one I’ve got."
Happy Birthday Grandma….
Happy Birthday To Me !!
For Joyce's Contest : Emotional Response
Under the moon light we gathered;
Giving listening ears to grandpa’s trembling lips,
As serene dusk and silence embraced
Once upon a time onsets his tip.
There was the first garden of untold beauty;
A gift to the first man with overwhelming privilege,
In which the first sin stunk humanity;
Engendering the first punishment as a badge.
Did the creator miss the creature?
Where else could they go in this plight?
These posers came like rapture,
While grandpa laughed to our naïve insight.
Still, he continued with an annunciation,
One Gabriel, one Mary in Nazareth;
Actors of act 1 scene 1 of salvation,
Here, faith steps on Everest zenith.
Nine months passed to zamani’s womb,
And the expected saviour came,
Gold frankincense and myrrh exchanged tomb
To seal Christmas fame.
Midnight at Blackfriars
The city spires are hidden,
It’s getting colder fast,
It feels as though we might have
Some snow this month at last.
The wind sweeps keenly through St. Giles(1)
The hour is getting late.
Fleeting forms across the scene,
Are making for the gate.
December is upon us,
The year is wearing thin,
Parishioners from town and gown
Now are gathering in.
Rosy cheeks are shining,
There’s a spirit of good will,
We’re coming in for Midnight Mass
The Christmas Eve Vigil.
Forgotten is the riot
Of Saint Scholastic’s Day,(2)
To celebrate the Savior’s birth,
We worship now and pray.
Conjoining with the acolytes
Dressed in cassock’s white,
We’re caroling together,
Upon the holy night.
A gallant in best evening wear,
Bow tie and cummerbund,
And a high-heeled damsel on his arm,
Is down from Summertown.
A staff nurse from the Radcliffe,(3)
Whose shift was at an end,
Was seated close beside them
Clutching at her friend.
There the widow all in black,
Who cleans the votive stands,
Holds her missal open
With stubby fingered hands.
She blends with the congregants,
Ignoring the celebs,
And is back up for the service
From somewhere in St. Ebbs.(4)
A student in thick sweaters
And ragged scarf of grey
Is seated on the furthest aisle
Hair all in disarray.
Across the nave the prayer chairs,
Range back in their rows,
Filling up with congregants
In coats and gloves and throws.
In from the rear the friars process
With candles all aglow,
Up the side aisle to the chancel,
Caroling as they go.
Above their heads upon the walls
Are stations of the cross,
Reminders set in stark relief
Of this night’s final cost.
We see the prior in chasuble
For the apse proceeding,
To celebrate communion
And give the sacred reading.
The greatest story ever told
Unfolds with familiar ring
Filling our hearts with the promise
Of Christ the new born king.
Then with the service over,
We make for the hall below,
Where cocoa and mince pies and sherry
Are served before we go.
Outside the snow is dusting
The chained bikes in the Fair,
Contented now we homeward fade
Through the Christmas air.
(1)Saint Giles Fair - Convergence of the Banbury and Woodstock Roads in Oxford extending south the Magdalen Street by Martyrs Memorial.
(2) The St Scholastica Day riot of 10 February 1355
(3) Radcliffe Infirmary - The first Oxford Hospital
(4) St Ebbes is a district of central Oxford, England,
I sit on the floor and wait from dusk to dawn, for a new day will soon be reborn. I count all
the blooming flowers, and count down the long hours, while mum takes her shower.
Today's the day, for it's my birthday. I hope I get A car, or A guitar or maybe even become
A movie star, but that's asking A bit too much of me. I walk around singing out A loud,
acting proud feeling as if my heads in A cloud. To my surprise I start stumbling over my
words and begin mumbling. Maybe mum just forgot about me, or are they just hiding the
presents from me? I walk through the hall, with my head dragging looking at the floor,
and go to bed with my heart feeling torn. It's getting late and I can no longer wait. I turn
off my light, and close my eyes and cry having so much things go through my mind. I
drift to sleep but then I see, mum walking in my room in the middle of the night with A
light. It's so bright. She raises my heart like A kite, taking of it flight and she says, good
night, and turns of the lights. She raised my hopes high and then shot them out of the
sky. I break down and cry, it feels as if I've just died. No one remembered why today was
A special day for it was my birthday. I look at the sky and wonder why? I light my candle
and close my eyes, tears dripping down onto my thighs, and I start to whisper in my
mind. "I don't want A car, or even A guitar. I don't even want to become A movie star. I
just want to be free of this disease called poverty, I just want people to stop running away
from me. Free me of aids so I can stop feeling afraid. Stop me from being poor, so I can
afford to stop sleeping on the floor. Make me smile for there is no reason to smile, but
please make my life worth while. Take me away from Africa, for all I see is people being
raped and all the kids hearts filled with hate, I'm loosing my faith for I am living each day
even though there is nothing to live for". A Tear drops on my candle, And puts out the
flame I whisper in pain,This is "My Birthday Wish"
We wish for luxuries that only money can afford. They wish for water for they are poor.
People need to learn to smile, for kids living in poverty have A legitimate reason not too.
Be happy for what we have, and never complain for what we don't have.
- Wiko Te Maru
Brother had made me mad so I knocked him down the basement stairs.
Choicely words he hurled my way-His teary eyes reflected pain and back at me they glared.
Like a viper he laid around the house daring me to come his way.
Sorry am I now for I have no one with to play.
After several weeks had passed, he still snarled and hissed.
Only his foot- to-hip cast kept him constantly at bay.
But I grew lonely with no brother to rumble with; no one to share my day.
Then the thought struck me as a jolt of reality-tomorrow is his birthday.
Off to Mr. Green’s corner store I went for a birthday present- I had fifty cents.
I spied a red kite- asked him to rap it and back to brother as I whistled and skipped.
I presented the little red kite which brother threw down-saying you ain’t right!
Sadly I looked for a solution of how brother can fly his new birthday kite.
It was in the backyard, positioned under the lean-to – the answer to my prayer.
I dragged it out and cleaned her with new found hope and no despair.
I carried my brother and placed him in the little red wagon with difficulty as he held his kite in hand.
The school yard was empty- we tailed the kite and then pulling the wagon I ran.
The little red kite stilled high in the air as brother and I where once again a pair.
The kite soared the faster I ran and finally at the end of the day, a brother’s love had been won again.
"Imagine a lovely garden, tea for two and this story"....A Rambling Poet
Just nine years old but she had a dream
of serving others, of doing good.
Adults were failing, but this young girl
decided to do everything she could.
Her birthday was coming, she had a plan.
She asked her mama, who soon agreed.
No gifts wanted by birthday girl,
but rather money for world in need.
She’d heard of the children in Africa
with no fresh water to cool their thirst.
She wanted to cure all of their ills
and need for water would be the first.
Three hundred dollars she set as a goal,
which she almost reached by her birthday.
She didn’t give up, she would find the rest.
She must have three hundred to send away.
There are other children who’ve done the same,
given up their gifts for the water cause,
but Rachel’s story is quite unique
which I’ll tell you now, but I must pause
To steady my hands to pour the tea
and to wipe away this unwanted tear.
More of her story I’ll tell you now.
New twists and turns will soon appear.
Rachel was traveling with her mom,
on some good deed, I have no doubt.
A car pile up and a child was hurt.
That ‘s what this tale is all about.
Rachel died, but ere she did
she begged her mommy to finish her dream,
to get the money to Africa,
so they needn’t drink from polluted stream.
Over a million dollars raised
by tender souls who have heard her plea.
The money just keeps pouring in
from simple folks like you and me.
“A little child shall lead them”.
Dear, sweet Rachel was one of those.
She put the needs of others above
desire for birthday toys and clothes.
By: Joyce Johnson
August 16, 2011
For Constance's contest "I fancy another sad poem" Won no. 3
(May Birthstone: Emeralds)
On May 2nd, I attempted
to enter the world,
To save both Mother and baby,
the midwife's cruel hands
and flipped me over.
My lack of cries,
a clue not understood.
memory lapses, confusion.
Pills for Epilepsy prescribed
and normal life restored.
Prayer for healing, in faith,
stronger than a mustard seed . . .
Ask, and you shall receive.
Pills dumped in the waste-bin.
Suddenly, freedom came,
as soft wind which caresses
emerald fields of grain.
Matthew 17:20, Luke 17:6,
John 16:24 RSV
Have you ever had something happened to you that scared you out of your wits? I have. It
all began on my birthday last year. (This is not a true story, by the way.)
April 1st, 2009. 8:00PM
My mom threw a huge birthday party for me, everyone in the family was there. A few hours
after the party, my mom was invited to dinner with her new boyfriend. She was going to say
no because she didnt want to leave me alone for my birthday, but I love her too much to
have her give it up. An hour later, my mom and Ray were heading out for dinner. When they
left, I went up to my room, laid flat on my bed, and fell asleep.
Two hours later, I heard a crash coming from downstairs. It woke me up with a jolt going
down my spine. I grabbed my flashlight which was on my dresser, and headed down the
stairs. I checked out the living room, nothing was wrong. I checked out the hallway, nothing
was wrong. Then I walked into the kitchen. Everything seemed to be in place. Just as I
started turning out the door, I noticed somethig odd in the corner of my eye. In the knife
rack, a knife was missing. I searched around the kitchen but could not find the knife. I
ignored it and went back upstairs, back to sleep.
My mom came back from dinner. She screamed up to me saying, "I'm back from dinner. I'm
gonna get some sleep. Good night, and happy birthday."
Later that night, I heard the crash again. It sounded like it was coming from the basement.
So I grabbed my flashlight, raced downstairs. I first ran into my mom's room to make sure
she was alright. She was perfectly fine. Then I ran to the basement and looked around. A
lightbulb had fallen from the ceiling and broke on the ground. I swept it up with a broom, and
put it in the garbage can. I started to climb the stairwell once again, and there I saw it. There
was the kife sitting on the middle of the floor in a pool of blood with red footprints walking to
the closet. I picked up the knife, slowly walked to the closet. The closet was inches away
from me. I could hear a gasp of breath coming from inside. I closed my eyes, swung open
the door and stabbed away. I could feel the blade penetrating something, but what? I opened
my eyes, and realized what I had just done. Apparently, my mother was back from dinner,
and here lies her dates.
The Open door (My life’s Maze day)
Yesterday I painted my dream with the colors of the earth
like many I was afraid of the unknown’ land of dreamers’
The walls of doubt surrounded my thoughts
But to kill the shadow-(dark) is to shine light on it
And faith is ‘but’ the path we fallow in the absences of defined reality
I will not hide behind the shadows of ones long gone
Indeed you never know what you got until its gone’
As I climb above the walls of my life’s Maze, my purpose is set clear
I do not go up the ladder for the world to see me
But for me to see the world
Many moons have passed, Days have become nights
Weeks have become months, Years have become decades
But the true secrete behind the Vail of Mona Lisa
Is known best by the artist with a brush, Da Vinci had a code
Yet the portrait revealed is left for the world’s eyes to interpret
So fear not dear reader and walk with me through this open door
But beyond this door is a story you never Knew
This is a story of a child, as son, a boy and the man, you have come to know
Take no offense in the face of reality, indeed courage is not the absence of fear
But it is the strength of a hero within, without false promises
As the journey continues and we turn another page to my life’s maze
my foot print remain a mark not drawn on the ground or printed in rocks
As we have passed the ages of the soft stone
Let it remain visible in the hearts I have touched
And to the hands I held, the grip remain brotherly
The words spoken be a shied to guide and protect the broken heart(-ed)
For the earth’s beauty can only be defined
When we acknowledge that the moon, the stars and the sun
Are but one thing that give light to earth
As is the earth one with them
And we all stand to be judged but one creator above all
So walk with me through this open door dear reader
Let’s retraces the journey and discover through twist and turns
For the life of me without false promises……….
When I was 19 in the year 1978 my husband bought me
my first birthday cake ever.My babies were there and my
mother-n-law and all her kids.The cake was white frosting
and 19 pink roses they added 19 candles.
When they sang Happy birthday and the candles were lite
my husband said"oh my thats a big fire"and begin to laugh so hard
he lost his breath but soon was ok.At that moment I began
to cry and then my husband said"hey why the tears".
I said"this is my first birthday cake ever" the love I felt that
day I'll never forget.He's bought me a birthday cake every
year since then.Thats why this is my happiest day of my life.
Entered in Carol Brown's"THE HAPPIEST DAY OF MY LIFE"contest
So, it is your Happy Birthday
Do you know exactly what
Almost like a Humna Secular
Devotion fore on this day
You have been chosen
A son of man by distention
A child of God
And made in his own image
Today you are born
With one Soul to bear
Flesh in one body
A Spirit to make you whole
Are we expected to call this
To be only human
Soon the magic will begin,
that special time, for all children.
Early to bed, early to rise,
with that Christmas look, in their eyes.
Toys galore, covering the floor,
and when grandma comes, there will be more.
Turkey baking, it smells divine,
it blends in perfect, with the aroma of pine.
Christmas stories will be on TV,
and dad relaxing, waiting on these.
Mom has been busy, baking cookies, and all,
and saying Merry Christmas, when anyone calls.
Yes, magic and miracle, describes this time of year,
and one special birthday is getting near.
Happy Birthday Jesus, you are welcome here.
Piano hoisters hoist the piano
Up and up and up.
Sparrows light on the black and white,
Up and up and up.
Keys are pecked, and hoisted tweetings,
High and high and high.
Lessons over, now the greetings
Fly and fly and fly.
Into the window goes the piano,
Slow, and steady,----lands!
Feathery joys now lift the boy's
You were born on Christmas Day,
in a land so far away.
Your mother laid you in a manger,
that was made of hay.
The wise men came with gifts of love,
they knew you were special, sent from
You died on a cross, to pay for our sins,
but one day soon, You will come back
Songs are still sung, about Your birth,
but the sad thing is, some still don't
know Your worth.
An Angel spread the news, to the shepards
in the fields, telling them rejoice, and go tell
the people in the hills.
Christmas Day is Your birthday, a day to celebrate,
for those that believe, and those without Faith.
When they laid you away, I knew your words were stilled.
But your one wish in life you saw fulfilled.
But the battle is still on and I’m fighting hard.
I just wish you were here momma you know my life is scarred.
Each step I take I have to test the ground.
I guess maybe I question certain things I’ve found.
I wished you were here to tell me what to do.
Your words of wisdom you always spoke were so true.
Death is so cruel, so unkind.
Especially for the loved ones that are left suffering behind.
We all one day will simply just slip away.
Our voices will be silenced that’s the price we all will pay.
But I sure miss the comforts of my mothers shoulder.
And I really miss being able to gently hug and hold her.
Today’s the day you would have turned eighty-two.
Happy birthday momma, still thinking of you.