You were beautiful,
my tiny child,
wrapped tightly in my arms,
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.
Will you hear me
when I cry out?
Will you hold me close
as I held you then?
I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway,
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run?
no longer work?
Will you realize
that I love
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.
I am proud too,
of my writing
and my drawing,
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you?
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth?
Will you be proud of me too?
I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however,
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.
whether I took
my pills today or not.
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
is my treasure
the only thing I have left,
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am?
You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love,
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for him. You gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.
I too have a
The love of my life
left me after
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.
You welcomed her home today-
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
It has been a while.
You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
"Will she tie my
when I get old? "
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
(Why I'm Still Breathing)
When the cow was dry, she was compliant.
When she calved, she turned vicious
and no fence could hold her,
but she gave milk in abundance,
and Dad refused to sell her.
She chased Mother 'round and 'round the barn
until Mom panicked, climbed the corner logs,
and perched under the roof,
clinging like a cicada shell on a weed-pod.
Beasty pawed and bellowed until Dad came home.
"I could gain on her on the corners,"
Mother said, "because I could turn faster,
but she gained on me on the straightaway."
Plug-ugly tore through the fence,
into the garden, where Mom and I worked.
"Run, Cona Faye, run," my mother shouted.
How did she know? The cow passed Mother
and thundered straight for me. I ran.
At the fence, snorts filled my ears. Hot breath
steamed my back. I saw myself stomped,
pulverized into the dirt. I turned, screaming
at full volume, and flailed my arms
like a windmill in a strong wind.
That old red cow locked her front legs
and skidded like a freight train on full brake.
I seized the moment, and scaled that rail fence.
They needed help
Walking alone in the dark.
A broken down car.
The child frightened,
But not understanding
That would soon
Come her way.
Her parents petrified
That their baby was gone,
Over forbidden images
That crowded their way
Past ice cream sundays
And birthday parties
And wedding days.
A doer of good deeds.
He looks into
the little girl's eyes.
The girl speaks,
"This is not my dad"
And the coward
who took her,
Believing he saved
From a long, cold walk,
Saved a child
From a long, cold death.
On the edge
of the evacuation zone
Miyuki holds her daughter
tip-toeing in pink sneakers
her small hands fragile
to the man with the beeping wand
They were outside in the karesansui
washing and raking
rocks, when the school
then pressed into silence
voices rising inside
So now they wait with strangers
in ordered lines of sorrow
for bread and drinking water
as an adolescent, eyes downcast
sees the small pink laces and
offers up his only ration
of precious onigiri
Hooded and white masked they walk
three days and bed-less nights toward
Ishinomaki by the ocean
to family, friends, and home forever
The landscape jumbles unfamiliar
with plastic wreckage
detritus flooded in a field
where Japonica once grew
while moon-suited men
and women gather
albums for the living
And after sunset Miyuki moves
her little girl away
from a white-taped blue-bagged
toward the humming black-robed Monk, his
prayers for light
and workers burned
exposed to radiation ten
thousand times too high
And in the shadows one old man kneels
beside a fetid pool and scoops
rice to carry back to neighbours
moved to higher ground, un-opens
one last bottled spirit
bows his head and offers
Miyuki and her first and only
everything he has
At last they reach the shelter’s glow
beneath the starless robe of night
not used to wearing
Miyuki helps her daughter fold
sheets of painful news into
an origami box to hold
her last and only pair
And in the morning as they face
the stretch of road for home
to unknown love and losses there
they turn and gaze toward the east
spring’s warming breeze
to rise with brilliant red once more
new light of wondrous dawn
'karesansui' is a Japanese rock garden or 'dry landscape'. Rocks are often washed.
'onigiri' is the emergency rice being distributed to survivors in Japan.
'Japonica' is a type of (short-grained) Japanese rice.
for Debbie Guzzie's contest, 'Tribute to Japan'
Little Bee, Deaamoo, grandmother of the Crane Clan, lies staring. The light of
winter’s first full moon falls into the room. Through a ghostly haze of tobacco and
sage smoke, she sees her loved ones. One withered hand clasps a cowrie shell,
mee-ghis, tightly to her heart and in the other she holds a small dreamcatcher for
her youngest granddaughter Little Aamoo. Strands of gray white hair escape from
her braids which trail down beside her bird-frail form touching the fringe of her
parting dress. Her clan has been in the sweat lodge praying for her safe journey
home, some appear red-cheeked; others are a pale as the shades of her
ancestors. It is the end of her days, a time for passing on.
Outside of the house near the fringe of balsam pine a circle of stones are laid, each
one blessed and bringing an anchoring comfort to man, lodged between earth, and
sky. The four directions are marked and her way west is clear for her. Soon, she will
ask loved ones to lay here amongst the gifts laid for Pacugu, The Great horned Owl,
near the spirit house.
The veil is thin now between this world and the next. The smoke branches upward,
showing the way to sky world where Gichi Manidoo waits. The songs are being sung
for her now. The Shaman’s rattle is crisp and clear. All about her is beauty. Drums
keep the beat of her heart. They wait. Remembering one last story, she calls her
family to her, she must leave them with all the knowledge she has. "Ah, what was
that story? Well, that is not for you."
MAMA CRY NO MORE
The most tender I have ever known
The world of never you created
Best example of love a lesson learnt
Mama cry no more
Stranger no more am I to this world
Mama I have learnt its tricks
The hills are lower now, the tunnels are brighter
Mama cry no more
Mama let me dry your tears
I will pop the toaster, crunch the flakes
Spread the marmalade, bubble your bath tub
Mama cry no more
The jet is ready, your ticket at hand
The line will dress you up with the queen’s taste
The fruits of your labour, its time you had the taste
Mama cry no more.
The old woman sews
Marking each stitch
The whirring of machines
Whirling and whirling
Round and round
Of another time
Of a night
When she was afraid
To speak to a boy
Sitting next to her.
As her busy fingers work
She remembers more
Of that summer night
A blue cotton dress
With tiny ribbons
Lace curtains gently
Pulled by a breeze
Drifted out through opaque windows
While musicians played a rhythm
Of their own
And shadows pranced
On empty walls.
Waiting that night
Why no one
Her to dance.
On silver sails
She knows that today is now.
And yesterday was yesterday
Finished with her work
She catches her breathe,
Straightens her hair,
And turns off the lights.
Pausing to look back
Into the darkened room
Shadows return her glance
With a gaping stare
Adjusting to the darkness
She begins to recognize
Familiar shapes taking form
Satisfied that all will be the same
When she returns
She closes the door.
She holds onto her purse
For a traffic light
That has already
A smile crosses her face
As she remembers
When the boy
Became her husband
Children were born.
And the years went by
In a brown bag
Neatly folded in two
Is a blue chiffon dress
Almost like the one
She wore years ago
Only this one
Is for her granddaughter
Impatient for no reason
To go nowhere
The crowd pushes forward
But the old woman lingers
On the corner
Savoring the moment
Glad of memories
As a busy world saunters by.
From the bottom of an abandoned gravel pit
behind my childhood home, seated,
leaning against its hardpacked sandy side,
he watched the July sun set,
the empty prescription bottle at his side.
Did he walk that day to his unnatural fate
slowly, shoulders rolling like a big cat,
alternating first one, then the other,
forward, head bent, one black errant
curl tumbling across his troubled forehead.
Did he hesitate or did he hurry
and did he think of me, just 12,
soon to be fatherless, before he
began his two weeks of decomposing
in the hot Texas sun until
the man on horseback found him
while looking for a lost calf.
I couldn't blame my mother
for the divorce she filed.
I had wanted him to leave, too,
and hadn't I prayed he would die
when he dragged her over the yard,
by a handful of her hair clasped
tightly in his fist,
because she had cut it without his permission.
Especially the next day when I found
the clump of auburn hair caught in the lush
purple blooms of the wisteria bush,
I wanted him to die.
He played his harmonica for me,
and I sang, "Daddy's Little Darling,
Don't you think I'm sweet?"
But I prayed my dad would die,
and though I asked God to ignore those
prayers of terror, I will never be able to
love enough wayward men to save my dad.
The story I have to tell- was told long ago to me,
About the creation of the Potawatomi Nation;
In the beginning the Creator made Anishabe,
And the Creator told Anishabe to name all of his creations,
Anishabe set out with a wolf, his companion,
And he went around naming everything;
From the mountains and the canyons,
To the Summer and the Spring;
He became lonely realizing, he alone had no mate,
And as he traveled everywhere searching,
He traveled towards the Great Lakes;
And there he heard a woman singing,
Her song was a thing of beauty,
About the home she was making for them;
Anishabe crossed the lake to meet her, finally,
The daughter of the Firekeeper-And quite a gem
Their’s was the first unity bond, It is where life came from;
Of each other they were inordinately fond;
Their union gave life to four sons,
Each of their sons went a different way,
The First son traveled North, it’s color is White, henceforth;
Given the first gift of the Creator-sweet grass-braided in a bouquet,
He married the daughter of the Spirit of the North;
The second sun traveled East, into the rising sun,
He learned that fire is the essence of life;
He was given the second gift-herbs to speak with the One,
East is the color Yellow, East’s daughter became his wife;
The third son traveled South, known as “The Way of The Woman”,
The way of seeds and all that give life, the color of South is Red;
He was given the gift of cedar-to purify and prepare food for his clan
And to the daughter of the Spirit of the South he was wed.
The last son traveled west, towards the mountain highlands,
He learned that the setting sun represents the circle of life;
Black is the color of West-Sage was the gift for his hands,
Married to the Spirit of the West’s daughter, Black stands for strife.
This is the story of the Creator, That my Grandmother told to me,
How my culture was started, And what our banner means.
~I've been holding on to this a while-Hope you enjoy the beginning of my culture~
~3rd Place in the "Broad Horizons" Contest by Deborah Guzzi~
deprived of a father to tell her that her skirts to small
she wore it to hug her hips and rise with every sway in her walk
her mother, another statistic of having babies to young,
was to whipped in her dip trying to be hip so she cheered her poor child on
she's dying to survive in a broken home
daddy not around to watch her spend a penny and mamas hardly home
she's dying to survive and she's put her school on hold
she's another undereducated black child with no priorities or goals
she careers soliciting her body, making it hobby to walk up and down blocks
waiting for the right brotha she can sweet talk and pick pocket
at the honk of his horn, she stops hot trotting
hopped in his car and found a quiet spot for lip locking
her hand rises up his leg, she feels for his man
he nods giving her consent
she prices her body for those new Jordan and dolce & gabbani
she'd rather rock the latest fashions then to feed her starving body
she's hopelessly devoted to being the hottest at the parties
she's dying to survive wanting attention to feel the space neglected by another
who makes alcohol a hobby
she's dying to survive rich living is her poverty
she's deaf to her inner voice that yells to her it's wrong
she confides in bad associates who cheer her on
she doesn't know this is how she's dying
she's dying to survive
It was a day like no other,
The day I became a Mother.
Nothing else even compares
To have God answer my prayers.
An Angel sent from up above,
Who was conceived out of so much love.
She's so precious and so very sweet,
All the way from her head to her feet.
Ten little fingers and ten little toes,
Pretty blue eyes and the cutest nose.
And as we shared our very first touch,
I knew I'd love her so very much.
For when I held her that very first time,
I had never felt so much alive.
No feeling like it anywhere on Earth,
Seeing this new life, giving birth.
Such a joyous day, yet scary too,
Becoming "Mommy" was all so new.
Having doubts and so many fears,
To raise this child for eighteen years.
To keep her safe, away from harm,
Making her secure within my arms.
She's the love of my life, made it complete,
Filled in the emptiness, makes my heart beat.
She's my breath, my soul and my song,
Without her I could not go on.
There's a special bond that we share,
Which these days seems so rare.
Mothers and Daughters aren't as close,
No communication, acting like ghosts.
But what we have will never fade,
Keeping the trust that we made,
Never forgetting to always say,
"I love you" every day.
To me, she's perfect in every way,
Making that the most perfect day.
Stephanie Elaine, my sweetheart,
We will never, ever be apart.
(My Daughter 3/1998)
She is the All-American girl.
She is beautiful beyond compare.
She is just ten years old but thinks she is grown.
She talks a mile a minute all the day long.
Her laughter is so very infectious.
She is slim and trim, she is full of vim and vigor.
She cannot stand still, she is always on the run.
Her name is Gabrielle Genevieve although she prefers GiGi.
Her skin is the color of the finest chocolate candy.
Her clothes of choice are of the brightest colors in the universe.
She is as smart as smart can be, she is as sharp as a tack.
Her mother calls GiGi her lovely earthbound angel.
She is the daddiest girl of all the daddy’s girls.
Her father calls her his sweet little chocolate cutie.
It wasn't long after Christmas
The one where the fates had granted me my fondest wish
A shiny, red, Schwinn bicycle..... a basket in the front, and a bell to ring
On that cold January night, the sky was stained by the color of trepidation
I remember my young mother leaving her warm bed at three in the morning
rousing us all with calm haste
Deep red reflections seeped through the mud-splashed window screens
as she shooed us downstairs, down the raw-grained stairs,
not tying her robe, pushing from behind with her two hands
out onto the back porch, into the frost of the wee, early light
We stood and watched the fire from a safe distance,
as it consumed our garage.
From the frame of the doorway, and the top step's narrow slat
she enveloped me in her folds of chenille to keep me from shivering.
The cool of her hand on my shoulders,
watching my dad in his attempt with a hose
warning him to keep safe,
while sounds of sirens wailed in the distance
When I looked up into her face, with anxious eyes
I remember her soft, reassuring voice
"Don't worry, we will make sure you get another one, just like it"
Then, I remember looking down, at her bare feet
turning blue in the cold
11/25/13 For Nette's Contest: "Brief, Unforgettable Moment"
Little Laila was on overnight visits to Grandma
Early in the morning Grandma made Sunday breakfast
Little Laila came into the kitchen where the smell of
freshly cooked coffee, freshly baked bread....and "boiled egg"
Little Laila does not like eggs....and says to her Grandma
"I do not want eggs - do not like eggs"
But Grandma had not boiled eggs
she had farted and it smelled like eggs
Grandma got a good laugh
And I hope you will laugh at this too.... :)
Anne-Lise Andresen :)
(5th in the contest)
Pity her as she cried
On the floor, ragged, she lied
She's covered with odd bruises
And hell things on mind cruises
She was there left alone
Mourning for help at home.
Hungry and parched she was,
Hoping someone would pass
“Click! Click!”, the door knob sounds
At last someone’s around.
Who’s there? Who could that be?
At last! She will be free!
But it widened her eyes
Scared and again she cried
‘Twas a man who appeared
Went to her and she feared.
He touched her hair and said
“Hush! Hush! Just go to bed
Stay quite, don’t be a heck!”
And kissed her on the neck.
Poor girl, she just abide
To the man whom she feared
“Why is he doing this?
I’m his daughter, why’s this?”
In the bedroom they were;
Father started kissing her.
Poor lil girl can’t defy
If she speak up, she’ll die.
“Oh my Lord, please help me,
I can’t take it, save me.”
Said her mind as tears flowed
Grieving in pain; she moaned.
Then suddenly she smiled
From what she heard outside.
A sudden hope in her eyes gleamed
From something she perceived.
She heard her mother’s voice
"I'll be saved" she rejoiced
“A miracle for me
Lord replied to my plea.”
And the door opened
Mother saw what happened
Shocked and startled she was
Then screamed for help, at last!
Mother bellowed and slapped him
Outraged and said to him
“She is your daughter!
Why did you rape her?”
Then neighbors came
Naked -- poor girl was ashamed
Dazed and shaken they were
Staring at poor girl and her father.
Then two cops came along
Grabbed the father for his wrong
He panicked and dreaded
Denied all he acted
Livid and offended
Lil girl stood and stated
“Oh yes, that man raped me,
Not just once but many times.”
Then her father uttered
“My dish is my daughter.
I’m the one who made her,
So I should also taste her.”
Wretched from what she heard
She spoke not a single word
Woeful and quite, she sniveled
Suddenly collapsed and fell
At last poor girl’s now free
From nightmare and agony
Yes she has a father
But she’s his dish not his daughter.
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*
My mother, my grandmother before has always held a place in my heart.
My father, and my grandfather before has the same part.
I was young and very active with unwillingness to listen fully to what they had to say.
I had a problem, never could be solved without my parents and grandparents till today.
With patience they all come to my aid when I fall on my face.
With little dishonor I listen to them and what they had to say, I embrace.
Over the years I go to them with no doubt a feeling of no dismay.
Over the years I go to them and they help me solve problems that to me is O.K.
Now I am getting a bit more aware of what had happen to me when I was growing.
Now I remember how the ride was in my beginning: it was a trial of not knowing.
With the guided words of my parents and grandparents I survive through them all.
With it some being a problem that I remember I recall.
My mother and my grandmother always said to be patient and it will be easy to solve.
My father and my grandfather always knew that I would grow and evolve.
I could wonder everyday what if my parents and grandparents was not in my life.
I could just think that would be fatal like a stab with a knife.
With knowledge that they had past on to me of what they had experience.
With their proof of teachings they had past on to me is their self existence.
Over the years I grew with life so full of happiness that was because of my families love.
Over the years it showed me the path that led me to all the above.
Now cherish those words that help me through my troubles in my new family.
Now I listen to my parents healing words of wisdom and except them gladly.
You do not stand alone in your Battle
Your battle is our Battle
We may not be there in body
But we are there with you in Spirit
We are there in every beat of your Heart
In every whisper of the wind
In every thought and every touch
Every breath and every sound
We are there with you
You are wrapped in an Endless chain of Love
In every link we each send you a part of us
We send you some of our Strength
Some of our will to Fight
Some of our Courage
The most important of them all
We send you all of our Love
If you feel you need more
Just give that Endless chain a little tug
And we'll be there
Tug til you need us no more
Then we'll know you've gone Home
5/09/2014 Dedicated to my Aunt Nini, Wilma Thomas Gamble for Mother's Day. Sadly she lost her Battle w/ Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer on 5/30/2014.
I sleep. The hours tick by mercilessly;
unfilled, purposeless, full of potential
"What to do? What to do???" I mutter,
tumbling, like Alice, down the rabbit hole.
My hands push down ballooning petticoats,
careful not to show or touch anything.
I twirl beneath the pile down comforters.
The hours tick by crimson red
and in the dream,
the rose Queen shouts, "Off with HER HEAD!"
An eyebrow is plucked whole from my face.
It falls matted and to the ground leaving me,
brow akimbo, surprised, and horrified.
"What to do? What to do? What to do???"
Half shorn. Half drawn. Half born?
A painter's pallet appears before me.
A brow is drawn… for me.
Yet, the Rose Queen still screams on.
"Off with HER HEAD! Off with HER HEAD!"
Little Red was riding all alone
but she lost her way back home
Sweet Mommy, ready with her jam and pancakes
waited for her dear Little Red all day
but where did she go?
where did she go?
that night was starless
and the wind was blowing so cold
Sweet mommy got so worried
so she called up Little Red on the phone
and asked the little brat where did she go
"mommy dont worry, please be calm", she answered
"i'm here at the city to hang out.
got a new baby, and by the way, grandma's ok, the wolf is dead
I'll be fine. i promise... I'll be home at ten"
So Sweet mommy stayed awake
waiting for her dear Little Red
But no Little Red came at ten
"that stubborn brat...", sweet mommy said
Again she called up Little Red
but the daughter's phone was unattended
It was already past eleven
"tomorrow, she'll have a good beating..." the mother said
It was past twelve already
when Sweet Mommy's phone rang
It was Little Red with a trembling voice
crying to her out loud
"Mommy, mommy...i'm so scared...please pray!
My baby's drunk and our car lost its brake
Mommy, i'm so sorry for what i've done and said
Mommy, mommy...I Love you...Oh shit!!!"..then the phone was dead
That night was starless
The wind was so cold
Where's Little Red now?
She measured only five foot tall,
With her stooped shoulders, even shorter.
Towered over by her strapping son,
My mother and each other daughter.
Grandma came from sturdy stock.
On her own strength, she relied
To raise her five young children,
After my grandpa died.
Mother was only six years old,
She could barely remember when
Her daddy died of consumption.
That’s what they called it then.
There was no such thing as welfare,
So Grandma was left alone,
To find a way that she could raise
Her family on her own.
Opportunities for women
Before the First World War
Were almost non-existent.
The wolf was at their door.
So my grandma took in washing,
Ironing and clothes to mend.
The enormity of her labors,
I can’t even comprehend.
I have pictures of her and her family,
All so neatly dressed
In crisp white dresses and starched shirt,
Attired in their Sunday best.
Did her children know her sacrifice,
How this woman had to strive
To see they were fed and sheltered,
And to keep them all alive?
My memories of my grandma,
Are when she was old and alone.
She was frail and ill but managed
To face life on her own.
She had her little garden,
And planted by the moon.
She bragged that no one in the town
Was eating fresh peas so soon.
I never heard her grumble
About her difficult life
Or that she had been a widow
Much longer than a wife.
My grandma had the steely will,
That has made this nation grow.
Without her kind, we wouldn’t have
The ease that we now know.
So when ever the days are rainy
And I’m feeling sorry for myself,
I start to remember Grandma,
Take her album from the shelf.
Surrounded by life’s luxuries
Of the kind she never knew,
I wonder at my grandma,
And the way she battled through.
She barely knew of radio,
And would have been enchanted
With television and its wonders,
Which we take so much for granted.
Grandma was a true pioneer.
Her road was long and rough.
Her granddaughter should be ashamed.
To claim she has it tough.
I salute you Grandma and love you.
I was proud to call you Gram.
And no one needs to tell me that
You were of sterner stuff than I am.
Debbie: Perhaps we could have another category such as "Provider"
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
Hostile Times II
By Nate Spears
Busted love is my Crystal Ball's fortune
My heart hurts in a torturing way
Nothing ever works in my favor
I lower my head and pray
Confessing to God
All I have to give
A 16 year old rebellious daughter
A 13 year old son that’s dead
My father is in prison; so is the one of my two kids
Is this really a way of living?
I didn’t have a choice from the days beginning
Would have a given me a chance
Walls of barriers bearing on us
On this earth we stand
Refusing to let go of this curse
If no bill is signed by Congress
My unemployment runs out next Thursday
Now I contemplate what’s next?
Sex dollars or Creflo's Dollars?
Be an honest woman; or
Be a fool that’s starving?
When pushed to the limit
All governors are discarded.
Hostile Times rains upon us
Other nations joins the honors
The Elite makes me vomit
There’s plenty of resources among us
God have mercy and let it trickle down on us
Rather than become degrading
In this pew
I choose prayer
Becoming Sunday Mornings best
Washing away my pains that become abreast; with my chest
Bringing in a new day,
For a better way
In these hostile times we live in.
I dreamt of my Father whom passed 3 years ago,
as I awoke , he was standing with his beige silk business slacks on
In truth, it may have been not a dream but his ghost telling me something ..
he was a fine looking man and this time with no illness,
~ yet I remember his sweater ~
over 15 years the last time I saw my Father , he called to tell me Grandma passed"
His beautiful Mother, and he wanted me present at her Funeral processions.
I was important to him and my Grandmother , as my children were too.
His heart was broken as we all are not exempt from pain in our lives..
So his presence was much different then the last visit alive.
~ yet I remember his sweater ~
he was here to tell me something
his face beautiful and luminance with a certain serenity
he appeared just before I awoke in full form
The beige pants, nice shoes, Italian, a white shirt underneath that sweater
I remember the sweater being of a fine make, cashmere and purple..
I never wanted my Fathers money when he passed , just a sweater , his scent
being refused to grieve with my siblings and blood , refused any little thing of his
~ yet I remember his sweater ~
I love you too Dad , Your youngest girl.
Billie, there is not one person alive who has not sinned or made mistakes.
And everyone in life sooner or later experiences heartaches.
No one is without fault, and it’s next to impossible to be perfect.
We all have our little quirks, we each have our own little defect.
Being perfect is not what God is looking for, but to turn from sin and turn to Him.
Learn to walk in His light, that is what will make you proper and prim.
You must follow Gods commandments and do not stray.
And when you feel yourself slipping turn to Jesus and pray.
Let Him know what’s going on, and that you need His help again.
Tell Him you are trying to turn your life around, one that’s free from sin.
Learn to put your trust in our Savior for that is what He is, Our Savior.
When we know it’s wrong and we go right on ahead, there is a good chance
this could be unforgivable behavior.
I personally cannot understand why someone would intentionally do wrong.
Listen to your conscience, pray, and God will make you strong.
Bill, mom and dad have never stopped loving or caring about you, never will!
This poem I wrote just for you to let you know just how we feel.
GOD LOVES YOU AND SO DO WE MOM & DAD
You spot me in the Distance
Start jumping on the spot
For me the view is torture
As I'm waiting for the clock
The seconds take forever
The hands they seem to stop
One thousand thoughts of your smile
Between the tick and the tock
But then I see you running
And I know that it is time
My heart lifts with your laughter
As we hear the hours chime
Can I stay with you forever
With hope across your face
I don't want to live with Mummy
I don't like this place
You tell me all of the things
That make you feel sad
Please don't take me back on Sunday
I don't want a weekend Dad
My magic Flute
My first and only instrument I received as a little girl was
My mom’s old boyfriend had gotten me a Flute and after they broke up I don’t recall what happened to my magic Flute.
A few years later I had music class my Freshman year in high school and we all got black plastic Flutes and we were supposed to learn how to play the Flute.
As an adult and a lover of good music I wish I had learned to play the Flute. I’d play on the sidewalks of city streets collecting money to pay for my children’s education and to pay the bills.
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
He oozed charm, this aging lothario.
Gallantry was his middle name.
Yet, he lived in the past
in the glory days of football wins
denying his saggy abdomen
blind eye, and fungus crusted feet…
Gallantry was his middle name
and he wheedled his way into the affections
of many lost and lonely woman.
When the only women
of true importance in his life
were his daughters…
He lived in the past
slept with his dog, and swam in Speedos
bald pate shining in the sun.
Once, long ago he was married to a cheerleader.
She’s stopped cheering, as his life filled
with their daughter and she was no longer his girl.
Caught between life, death,
and the deep blue sea, he swam.
Arriving at the home of each new prospective conquest
with the requisite flowers and small talk.
The glory days of football still danced
before his single good eye upon the giant bar screen,
where he served mimosa’s and other drinks with a wink.
He smiled with a well-worn charm, and didn’t touch the stuff.
Still, he tried. But, most times,
he felt more at home
with his daughters…
(Learning prudence at a young age.)
Granddaughter is back
for another weekend visit.
She's a voracious talker.
"Mom and Kenny,"
she says. "argue about
who gets to do the dishes.
Mom says, I will do them.
Then Kenny says, No,
It's my turn."
"That will soon be resolved,”
I say. “Your mom will decide
Kenny gets the job."
"I said that in my mind,”
“But not out loud.”
I am alive today
Because of you.
Death has knocked at my door multitudes of times and you've been there to scare it away.
There is no one else that means as much to me as you do.
You may never read this nor ever know the Honest truth.
The peices of me that've been broken you've found a way to peice back together every time.
You taught me how to smile, to love and to cry.
You have fixed every broken heart every cut and bruise.
I love you more than you'll ever know.
When the pain is too much for me to explian you were my shoulder to cry on.
Whenthe darkness creeps in on me, you are my light that shines it all away.
Dear lady of peace you took me from a broken home and abuse, gave me reason to be happy and watched over me through everything.
When I had given up and was letting go of my life you were there to keep my heart beating.
Deasperatly alone I've felt but you came through with a hand to hold.
No one understands me like you.
Please know that all the times you've helped me see, that this world isnt as cruel as i think, still sticks with me.
As I walk this road with the sun setting I can see you laughter in your eyes. The smile that touches you face. And i am content with life. All I want is for you to feel joy.
You may not be blood, but you are more than that. I love you more than you could ever know mom.
You will always be my Mom my best friend and the person i trust most.
Alyssa danced in the center of the
empty historical ballroom.
Imagining suitors standing in line
for one more waltz around the artistic
ceramic tiled flooring.
Her dress, ivory full, swept the floor
as she turned and sauntered on
Elegantly breathtaking… enchantress form;
mesmerized an onlooker athwart
His eyes fixed as she pirouetted to
a silent melody.
Observers gathering in amazement
as she tip-toed gingerly in a dance
with butterflies of her fancy.
Swaying her gracefully thin, delicate
arms above her head; back and forth,
hypnotized in herself.
Oblivious to tenacious eyes concealed
only in cracks of walls, Alyssa dances
ever so genial.
The onlooker from across the chamber
floor, hesitates to accompany her.
He walks towards her and slips his
wieldy arm about her torso.
Her eyes open and smile as her hand
falls leisurely into his cupped palm.
Simultaneously sliding, gliding,
Alyssa closes her eyes feeling his
heart pulse; radiating as one.
Tenderly, he pulls her close, wedging
Their eyes touch in an upheaving
embrace as if known forever.
Reticently they speak
-through Alyssa’s dance-
shared only in brevity of the moment
while an aristocratic minuet
stills the hush…
Copyright © 2008 By Caryl S. Muzzey
This was written for my granddaughter at my son and daughter-in-law's wedding. Alyssa
was five and pretended it was her wedding
My dearest Cordellia, I miss you, so I thought I would send you a note
Telling you all that I have been going through and asking you to give me hope
I walk this dark and lonely road carrying all this pain
Wondering, were all these tears I have cried simply cried in vain
Using my heart and not my eyes to navigate the darkness in this place
The only thing that remains clear to me is the memory of your face
I have missed you since you have gone, I have to confront this on my own
Can not put into words this pain I feel it is something I have never known?
If it were not for all the love you poured into my heart
I would have no strength to keep myself from falling apart
You have left this life and have gone to where only the angels are permitted to soar
But the love I have for you has allowed me to open up another door
The love this father has for his daughter has consumed his very heart
And all these memories of you have allowed me to make a brand new start
Daddy’s little hiny, that was my name for you, because of your tiny baby butt
How you use to make me laugh, you were such a little nut
Cordellia Miriam, your name was as unique as you were
A piece of heaven on earth is what you were to me and that is for sure
I never knew that I was capable of feeling a love as strong as the love I felt for you
And now since you are gone I become confused at times for just what I should do
I could gain pleasure for hours just by sitting and watching you play
I would try to understand everything you had to say
So my sweet child I hope you can hear me when I speak to you each night
I hope that you are listening and I hope you understand my fight
This pain and love seem to be tearing each other apart, leaving me as a shell
I pray each night to God in hopes that you are doing well
I miss all the times you would run down the hall just to greet me
You would jump into my arms to give me a hug and tell me how much you missed me
Well my little one Daddy has to go for now but I shall certainly visit with you again
I will talk to you everyday until we shall meet again
By Greg P
Salam, how are you there?
Wassalam, good, Alhamdulillah
How about the issue in Sabah
Nothing to worry
I am worried because you are my friend
I am okay; just want to know your opinion
No probs, what do you think of that opinion?
Does it hurt you personally?
Nope, it makes sense
I am not personally taking part, I have my own problem
Indeed but I am so sad, many don’t understand the situation
They are taking one side condemning Suluk in general
So as the other Suluk in Sulu archipelago
Many also condemning Melayu in general
I always think about others
My cousin, a policeman is in the frontline
I am so sad, pray hard
Please cry with me
I am here for you to lend your cry
Can I pretend nothing happen?
We can’t pretend to be nothing to happen
Then rest and cry with me
To make people understand is not easy
Sometime we also take time to understand our situation
I am hurt to what happen, we are being fooled by colonisers
They ask us to inherit this misery
Hmmm I am so sorry to hear that
Hopefully you won’t hate the Suluk generally
So, as long as it does not contradict to my stand
What is your stand supposedly?
At least I have one good friend from Jolo ancestry
I am a good friend because you are good
I know nothing about the war; I just wanted to know the peace
It’s really easy to smile and pretend that you are okay
Rather than telling people why you are sad
It’s not easy to imagine that war
I just want to keep it by my self
I wanted to keep this in my sleep
When I wake up tomorrow
Peace is expected to blow
Let have this peace to reign right away
The poem is made through the conversation with Malay friends from Kuala Lumpur about the conflict happened in Lahad Datu. We shall never put the bangsa in general as what we are thinking is right: Suluk is bad and Melayu is arrogant. We need a better understanding to conclude that each bangsa like Suluk and Melayu have nothing to do with the situation. It is a matter of siding the truth and rights. I therefore personally accepted if everyone hates me because I am Suluk and that would make the world stay in peace and to save peace, I am willing to be called such: “Suluk is bad and Melayu is arrogant” but the “country and world is peaceful” is achieved. The war declared ended today by Malaysian authority. Let Us All Save Peace. Layag Sug. 11th March 2013, Sandakan, Sabah, Malaysia!
A decade in to
a new millennium,
a woman, nearing
a century on Earth,
braces herself in
a doorway of
she has lived in since birth.
Her oldest son unfastens his belt, and takes a seat at the end of her table,
where her middle son just fixed the legs of the chair; to make sure it was stable.
Her youngest son brushes the webs off the wall, and scrubs the stains from the floor.
Her only daughter packs up her pictures, and helps her through the door.
A decade in to
a new millennium,
a life, almost
a century long,
comes flooding back
to the thoughts of a woman
who feels removed
from where she belongs.
Her daughter tries to lift her spirits, (from the room in which, she slept as a child)
but no one could easily witness their memories, all being sorted, and filed.
Her house is dissected, and put in a truck that waits - like a thief - in the drive.
-The cumbersome stance; the delicate dance; together, they help one another survive.
A decade in to
a new millennium,
a woman approaches
a century - passed.
A man in the attic
waves from the window -
This home will not be her last.
My daughter was 9 yrs old when my wife and I first separated. I tried to get custody; was
granted joint custody, but the children would physically remain living with their mother.
My career took me to New Jersey. My ex took the children back home with her to Ohio.
Over the next few years my daughter started getting into more and more trouble. Her
school grades were very poor; she was not allowed to participate in extracurricular activities
until they improved; her attendance record was poor; she was spending school nights over at
friends’ houses and skipping school the next day; and, who knows exactly what else?
The reports I received from the teachers, the school councilor, from her mother and from
her siblings had me very concerned. I shared my concerns with my daughter through a
series of long, verbose letters pleading with her to get control of her life before it was too
late. She was smart, talented and a beautiful person but was not applying herself and falling
into bad habits that could ruin a young girls’ life.
After three years I once again sued for custody. This time, it was much more obvious that
the children belonged with their father; I was awarded full custody of all three children.
In high school, my daughter started to excel. Her artistic talents were shining through and
she graduated in the top ten of her Senior class. This father was very proud to send her off
to college knowing she was a bright, mature, well-adjusted young woman.
Four years later, at her college graduation party, after she had opened all her presents, my
daughter announced she had a present for me. She pulled out a stack of well worn papers
and told me that they were the letters I had sent her so many years ago.
She told me she had been saving these letters and constantly rereading them throughout the
years determined to return them to me showing me she could right herself and not go down
the paths I feared. She admitted that she was headed there and probably would have ended
up in the trouble I foresaw had I not fought once more to gain custody.
She thanked me for caring enough to write those letters. She thanked me for caring enough
to not give up on her. She thanked me for continuing my efforts to get custody of her and
her two brothers.
I cannot thank her enough for such a wonderful graduation present.
She stood there
she could not see,
she could not feel:
A silent killer,
a raper of
She endured it,
and she would
Written by: Florence McMillian (Flo)
Dedicated and written for my friend, Lisa Giessinger, as a special message from her to her mother, Hazel – about a most memorable day they spent together.
To My Mother Hazel
Thanks for that Memorable Day
This poem is specifically
Being written just for you
I requested it from a friend
For she knows just what to do
That special day we spent together
Is so very memorable for me, I’d say
I want it to be memorable for you too
With a poem written in a rhyming way
We’ve had our ups and downs in life
With probably most of them being down
You raised me to know how life can be
Not easy to cope, with down things all around
Well I’ve stepped up to a new level
To be happy no matter what the hell
Of any negative surroundings to be
I live thankful that my life is all well
That special day started out so bad for me
As I was headed for back injections again
I was really happy you were taking me there
With a comfort feeling knowing we are kin
It seemed like the first time in a very long time
Where we just enjoyed each other that day
You were kind of like that sweet rose
One stops to smell along the way
In this path I have traveled
Through many overgrown weeds
It was refreshing and pleasant this time
With no discussion of what someone needs
We got along together talking and laughing
It gave me such a lasting good impression
We even ate at Don Julio’s afterwards
I sure hope you had just as much fun
I want you to know how much
I appreciate this time we spent together
Making this a most memorable day for me
To truly cherish for always and forever
Now let me tell you, that day did get worse
With everyone putting me down everywhere
You were the rose amongst the trash talkers
It felt good to know my Mom really does care
Even if everything dips to the downside
Within the journeys of my life I may go through
No one could ever take our shared moments away
They’re in my heart forever and I’ll always love you
I had the best time with me and my Mom
If I told the world, that’s what I’d say
So I really want to thank you Mom
For that most memorable day
Florence McMillian (Flo)
There is a name falls on my ear,
Like an aria, so soft and clear.
It rings with a melodious sound
With vision of maiden quaintly gowned.
I never saw my Grandma Hannah.
She lived far away in Indiana.
I knew her by picture on the wall,
Demurely dressed in gown and shawl.
My daddy spoke so fondly of her,
I wanted so to know and love her.
I was just ten the year she died.
I remember how my daddy cried.
At advanced age of eighty-seven,
The angels took her up to heaven.
In modern age it was deemed absurd.
The name of Hannah was seldom heard.
Like all things old, it was reborn
And early on a frosty morn,
A bundle fell like Heaven's manna
And lo and behold, they named her Hannah.
On my grandma's picture there's a smile.
It's been there now since first the while
I whispered that we had a Hannah
Who would some day go to Indiana
To find the stone that marks the place
Where Hannah of the lovely face
Was left so many years ago,
Before this namesake she could know.
This great, great, great granddaughter who bears her name,
Has dark eyes very much the same
As she in the picure on my wall.
I've met my Hannah after all.
A Rambling Poet's contest "Even a Name Can Be Poetic. took 6th
I never thought you'd be just a baby's father.
How can you call yourself a man then turn your back on your own daughter.
I wish you had to tell her to her face that you don't love her.
So you could wipe the tears from her cheeks while you make up an answer.
I can only hold her while she cries tears that I cannot relate to.
And make excuses for you of why you're missing so she don't hate you.
It’s not fair for her to be forced to deal with emotions she can't handle.
And the worst part is you never even gave her a chance at all to love you.
Many Christmas stories are told every year,
and many songs are sung with pure cheer;
do I have a good story, at least one, I can tell,
or a simple song I can hum and spread good will?
When Lisa's grandmother passed away unexpectedly...
by her dying bed she kept an ivory music box,
and to her lovely granddaughter she gave it
to saying," Take care of it, and smile when you think of me!"
The day after granny died, she went down the dark cellar
to hide the ivory music box in an old dresser's drawer,
and once in a while she would open it and play it and listen to it sadly;
the pretty angel swirled...and Silent Night played as Lisa touched it tenderly.
It was almost Christmas Day and the pine tree wasn't decorated yet,
she rushed outside carrying a red basket with ornaments in it;
how could she had forgotten to adorn it with bulbs and garlands?
" Oh gosh, I feel like the Grinch!" she displeasingly uttered to herself.
There was no snow predicted for that evening and the illuminated town
was lacking Nature's magical snowflakes to make it festive and vibrant;
five minutes to midnight the choir from the nearest church gathered outside,
and waited for a miracle...silence...tranquility...every heart felt so alone.
But Lisa with an indomitable spirit ordered them to sing,
and they began singing looking up the clearest, starriest sky;
everyone seemed sad and some of them wanted to cry,
but before sadness set in...snowflakes began falling.
Lisa knew that it was the miracle she had been waiting for,
but something was missing from the snowy scenery...
she remembered her ivory music box she had put away,
and running, with awe in her bright eyes, she opened the cellar's door...
Clutched in her caring, careful hands, she carried the ivory music box,
laid it gently underneath the twinkling, scented Christmas Tree;
Lisa kissed it tenderly...until the golden angel started to swirl at midnight,
as that divine music filled the nippy air...making all cheeks so peachy.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Mother more than just a word; my mother is where my life began. My mother
protected me from the world bonding together from the beginning. Safely tucked
away I would spend the next nine months listening to her heart beat, gently
floating in water. Our blood would mix and nourishment she supplied to me.
My world and hers suddenly changed when my birth came about. No matter the pain
we both endured, comfort quickly came as I found my way into her arms! Together
we would make our way in this world as nothing compares to the love of my mother.
We listened to the birds singing, watched the lightning bugs, and talked of things
on earth and heaven. My mother taught me love and gentleness’. Early in life I
developed a sixth sense. I knew, “I had a guardian angel” and “God was always
Growing up was not so easy and I made many mistakes. Many times I did not
understand my mother and swore she could not love me. I was looking through the
eyes of a child and did not look through hers till aged and wiser!
My mother continued to love me forgiving my blunders in life for we bonded early
when my heart first began to beat. With the passing of time my mother proud and
supportive always tells me of her love for me. At times when I look in the mirror,
looking back at me is my mother!
I know life as I know one day may end however; my mother and I having shared
life from the start will always be bonded in the heart. My mother gave from her
heart and soul. Now to you my mother, in your honor; I dedicate and give this poem
with all my love from all my heart!
Your, Daughter Debbie
July 20, 2011
One day my daughter brought home a scraggly looking young cat who had always
lived outside. In her first year, we learned she had given birth to two litters of kittens, most of which died. She’d always had to scrounge for food and had even escaped from the pound, only to find her way back to that place where she’d not been well-treated! When my daughter saw her, it was her kittens that were being given away. But my daughter saw a gentle quality in this mother cat that surpassed the sweetness of the kittens and asked to take the mother, who became known to our family as Callie (for Calico).
Callie grew plump and flourished in our home. She was no nuisance to anybody or anything. She became so pampered that she hated the outdoors and if a door were opened, she would approach the “outside” cautiously, only to come racing back inside the minute we returned from our porch. Callie loved to sit on laps and be petted. The older she got, the louder she even purred. If a visitor came to the house, she would climb to their laps. She was small and so likable that nobody wanted to shoo her away.
When our children left home, she became my one and only baby, curled up by my pillow each night and awakening me with a little pat to my face every morning for her breakfast. Callie lived a long life, nearly 18 years, but has since passed on. Dying of cancer, she clung to life until we saw fit to have her put to sleep. I have since adopted other cats, and my current cat is indeed charming, but I still believe there is not another cat in the world that can compare to our one and only Callie Cat!
I have a new cell phone
It allows me to text...
I have finally caught up with the civilized world
Me...who swore on my soapbox....
"Not for me! Thanks, but no thanks, ..I'd rather talk"
Why doesn't anyone want to talk anymore? !!
Resisting the change
Embracing the old, scoffing the new
I've learned to text.....last of the Mohicans.......I've learned to text
Tolerated their smirks, their ridicule, tolerated their bahahas behind my back
Saying it over, and over, ...and over again.......
"Why do people resort to the cold, the impersonal,
glued to one's ear, purse, hip-pocket, mentality?"
Last night my daughter sent me a text
Then a photo...
The photo...well, ... at first I couldn't quite see what it was
But then I realized, it was an old recipe card...scribbled in my handwriting,
written by me, for her, long ago, when she was first learning to cook
Same old recipe...that's also tucked away in my own recipe box,
only mine is scribbled with love, given to me by my own mother
I was startled, looking at that bloomin', handheld, tiny red, impersonal device...
reading... "Hi Mom...made this 4 dinner 2nite! Yum !!"....
So, here I am........spilling a tear over this stupid red phone
while falling off my soapbox
She’s excited, an entire weekend
with Grandma and Grandpa.
She chatters about friends,
answers questions about school,
then blurts, “I don’t like Katy,
I’m primed to lecture
on name-calling, when she adds,
“She pushed me down,
and hurt my head.”
“That wasn’t very nice,” I say.
“Oh, she’s nice,” she says.
“I don’t know why she’s stupid."
My deplorable emotional collapse.
Lucky for me, she happened to be in her many hour siestas!
My dear sister amelie came over (previously arranged to pick up some rocks that z mama rolled in a pile) and upon opening the front door all internal hell broke loose!
Utter torturous sadness tore thru every fiber of my being - hence a logical explanation conclusion per the abdominal distress that thankfully diminished.
Aside from helplessness as of crumpling like a heap of cards, an extreme fright gripped me at the thought of yourself and shana returning to ramshackle mishmash.
Early today, she many hours sweeping (what her hands formerly hurled from the upstairs bedroom or glass and/or plastic containers blithely tossed on the kitchen floor) with some improvement.
Though, i might need to spend later today (Wednesday) gutting the refrigerator and discarding any potential alien life forms.
A prediction that a. you and shana will be quite sad leaving the tranquil home of the dunning family and b. stepping back into a place where disorder and entropy feast.
Please try to express sentiments per how you feel toward me! Such emotion might well be, but not necessarily limited to (just guessing) -- > anger, grief, hatred, loathing, rage.
Despite your impression or reaction toward and/or against me, i do value you more than any precious gem!
Matthew can honestly claim that "mother" acts considerably more pleasant to me. She politely greets me with what her "GOOD MORNING MISTER HARRIS"!
This message blurted soon after she espies me shuffling to the bathroom tending to that human toy let trees.
This and other of her cheery inquiries for attention (talk, contra dance, back rub...) find me practically catatonic at such ordinary desires.
Years on end never er or rarely found me to experience this personable facet, yet...SHE WANTS NOTHING TO DO WITH OCTAVIA LAMB NOR GAYLE BAIR!
As (possibly) mentioned in the previous email, i too shared similar antipathy, hostility, offer dollops of voluble vulgarity!
At some juncture in the recent past, a strong objection against reacting in that manner (no matter the three musketeers - as referred to by thee senora and chief television watcher), spoke to this papa in crudely fierce, immeasurably lambasting tone.
Matter of fact, i emailed Octavia to inform her of the legal documents en-route to her home in gap, pennsylvania and reiterated appreciation for our (albeit unwelcome and long overdo) stay at blank greentree lane.
No intent to augment change in the counterpart. We seem to be diverging in any former opinions.
Now, (meaning within the recent present)
numbness freezes and seems to cease up desire to be alive
sometimes i do not care if the grim reaper takes me for an eternal drive
aware that you and shana would be well tended in that busy bee hive
comprising cheerfulness, delight, happiness, liveliness, joy, kindness mirth,
et cetera where amity, comity, energy...does strive
among lovely offspring of shari and Andy, both troopers against challenges
as if...he married a heavenly wive.
Shari and amelie encouraged me to express churning agitation within me
which best be conveyed now rather than per your return,
where communication will be done as ease a lee.
Omg! The hour fast approaches four-ante meridian. Gawd cooks the time away. The task to organize the refrigerator hardly seems like a choice! You may not even notice since, (though the kitchen floor swept) aversion to enter the eatery might deter courage.
Your risk to board a plane considerably less than the hazards that lurk in said innocent locale.
Take care my dear.
Anna. . . . Dedicated to my daughter Anna-Douw by Theresa Rossouw.
A lily fair, with hazel eyes and dark hair. You came to me on a night of crackers, fireworks bright.
From early time your will, strong, you knew always ríght from wrong! Your smile a tease,cheeky eyes always showing a soul at ease.
Water fairy you became at every chance and turn. A child of nature,wind, sun. Always eager to
A fighter strong,fierce since your birth, you gave my life meaning. Purposing in my soul to be your champion,you valiant protector of worth.
You always shine the brightest by far, a precious gem, my princess,my bornfree star.
Years have passed and you grew from a tomboy climbing trees and jumping from roofs and running from bees. . . To an elegant rose, blossomed and bloomed, your stature and heart rare and pure.
Every day I'm amazed at how you've matured and become so full of grace. Your beauty a blossom fresh and new,every morning fresh with the love of God your refreshing dew.
As the years progress, one day Ill see you in your wedding dress. My heart will ache and break, because you'l be to big to curl up on my lap for comfort's sake.
The memories I'll hold dear is of your precious love and the knowledge, you are a precious angel daughter, a princess from heaven above.
Tried to trace this man,
studied the case and had my plan,
a soul is whispering from somewhere
asking for help, I said, back off !!!
But a call is a call
it searches my soul and being,
then found myself doing it
i must say, back off to this man!
Met him and succeeded
invited me to his place, we proceeded,
as I enter his great place
full of goons, must I back off from it?
He offered a drink as he mixed,
he went for a while to change his shirt,
so when he came back and drink his piece,
Alas! 10minutes, he went off asleep!
Traced the walls for possible passage,
and I have found where she was a savage
I hurriedly searched for the lock and there I found
hanging at the back of her life size portrait in grief profound!
I ease to unlock by the key I got
and quickly lift her up, help her to get up
we walked pass by the sleeping monster
tried cautiously to escape away from there.
Damn, he is awake!
He advanced to kick
threw it hard so quick
too glad I managed
to kick back in a glimpse!
I reached my gun, hidden on my waistline,
Aimened vigorously, with authority
Stay where you are!
Back off !!!
He tied her up,
used her for his cover-up,
urging needs of flesh he had...
Damn man, back off !!!
Two years she wept for pain
asked mercy from this man but in vain,
she almost lost her mind and gave up her soul...
Spare her, back off !!!
Caught between the crossfire
of ravaging flame of bonfire heat,
Burnt her skin like hell...
Back off !!!
He tried to get up, moved forward,
I have to trigger the gun,
I said, "Come on, and you'll be gone!"
Back off !!!
And bullet is heard, ripping his left leg,
fell down to the floor, he cried and beg
"Daughter, I love you so much, don't let her do this!
help me, tell her back off please!"
I almost killed the man!
Yes, why not? I can do it!
But I controlled, called backups
I will never back off to this fight!
I saw her weep loudly, her life was a mess
Damn to this vulture who eats his own flesh!
He deserve a bullet on his head, don't you think?
Ruining his daughter's life, he must be thrown in hell!
Flesh to flesh, blood to blood
Is it easy to back off and just let this pass?
No way! How dare anyone would say:
Back off, Carole, stop and never look back!
No, no, no, no, no!
He must pay his crime, I swear he must die!
But I am not a killer,
nor a hunter but I would lie,
If I don't admit I wanted him to burn in hell and die!
Then I turned my back, let them get him
Turned him over, trembling with anger
He must be thrown into steel bars
let him pay what he has done, for years...
Steel bars, keep this man!
(dedicated to the victims of sex slavery and incest)
I am his daughter
I am all he has
With a vow to buy the yellow bag
In a car park, he work and work so hard..
Outside a store,
Our eyes goofy wide
As the yellow bag
Gone and bought by someone
My daddy beg but the man who bought
Seem deaf to my daddy's plea
Rather stop for a talk
He pushed hard my daddy's chest
While his wife beat my daddy on his head
Me and the little girl having the yellow bag weep.
But I wept more for I'm seeing daddy
Hurt. Speechless. Helpless.
We went home crying
I hugged my daddy telling him
It's okey if no yellow bag
As long as we are together it's enough
He loves me that much
That when the same little girl
Came and told him
She knows where to find another store selling yellow bag
My daddy go!
Excited that finally
he will buy me that yellow bag.
She volunteered to help my daddy that day
But somehow the cold white dressed ground
Will be the culprit of my daddy's pointed crime
I am at home then
waiting for daddy
to come home
Alone, staring to the clock's running hands
The next day,
The rain pouring hard
Lots of camera clicking
My dad handcuffed by policemen
They are taking him away
That day, our built dreams
are swept away...
I heard all the people shouting.
MY DADDY A BAD MAN..
My daddy whose only love is Me.
In the prison,
they stomped, beat and accused him
Again and again..
But he didn't fight back
He kept silent.
A riot broke in the prison
Almost a man was a struck with a knife
If my daddy didn't come in between
He used himself as a shield
Again an inmate start a fire
My dad regardless of the warden's cruel acts
He run through saving his life
He save twice somebody's life
Yet, still some shout: MY DADDY A BAD MAN.
His death an axe to my heart
His co inmates and the warden filed petitions for my dad
Yet, on his trial the blind justice
Those REAL BAD MAN
Came to knock down my dad
Scaring and threatening him
Telling him lies that they too will kill me
As like his daughter found lifeless
with my daddy before
If he denies the crime
Cause of his incapability
He was accused and abused
My poor angelic daddy
Forced to admit a crime
That never in years he could have done......
I am his daughter
alone and hurt,
yearning for my daddy
but ready to forgive-
only I want
to clean my daddy's name.
She calls me stranger By: Steven Hudson
I’ve watched you grow from a distance,
But only through second hand pictures and story lines,
Watched you grow from a baby girl, to little girl, and promising young lady
Silently, keeping quiet because that’s the promise I made
I know you, but you don’t know me, precious one,
For my life was a whirlwind of trouble then,
And I wished to spare you from the same,
If I passed you by, you wouldn’t even know my name
To you I’m just a stranger, a passerby, a no one,
But for me you are my little girl.
My blood courses through your veins,
And now I must confess, I do it now sadly,
That you have had to call another not me, your daddy.
I’ve often wondered if there would be a connection if you saw me today,
Even though you don’t know who I am,
Would I give it away, the way I gave you away, would my eyes betray the truth?
I really don’t know.
It has been heartbreaking at times my dear,
And I would spare you from the same,
So it was I who would forgo the introduction, and allow you to take another man’s name
And a stranger I must remain
Was it right? Was it wrong?
In my mind it has been so long now
But still I wonder sometimes,
If you were scared, did you have a hand to hold?
If you were uncertain, did you have someone to reassure you?
If you’re hurt, who was there to comfort you?
Questions heaped upon mountains of regret.
But find you, find you someday I will, my dear
And begin to build a foundation that will last,
In hopes of, She calls me stranger, a thing of the past
The seventh day of week and month
in seventh month of the year,
number seven dominated
when I decided to appear.
I was seventh in my family,
five brothers, Mother and Dad,
also the seventh granddaughter
each of my grandmas had.
When later, two more children came,
I then was one of seven;
unless you count the baby
who went right straight to Heaven.
My seventh nephew came along,
you guessed it, on my birthday.
Seventh day of seventh month
and seventh in his family.
He was one of seven children raised
in his family and then
he became a Professor of Economics
and a US Congressman.
In nineteen forty one I wed
in the seventh month of the same year
that a seventh of December strike
filled our young hearts with fear.
We'd been married twenty-one years,
a multiple of seven,
when God decided to take home
loved husband He had given.
He died the 4th of seventh month;
was buried on seventh day,
the anniversary of my birth.
It was a sad birthday.
He didn't live to see the seven
grandchildren who are mine.
He'd be amused to know how sevens
are still keeping me in line.
My niece's seventh grandchild came
in two thousand and one;
born on my birthday, seven-seven.
Number seven is not done.
I've had my share of ups and downs,
perhaps my seven's power
alternates from good to bad
and changes every hour.
I'm tryin to keep track of all
the sevens that I own.
Perhaps I'll die on one, if so
please mark it on my stone.
Magical Mystical Numbers contest sponsored by Deborah Guzzi 5th place
POINT OF NO RETURN
She didn’t say no exactly
But I couldn’t catch her eye
She surveyed the ground
Looked ALL around
Looked FAR off – clear through the red brick of
Old Main Science Hall
Wrinkles of invention shown
a certain element of surprise
Her “High!” had been distantly friendly BUT!
With a definite hint of a hasty
Now I was sorry I asked
Just a moment of daring
She was SO popular
The school nerd
Oh, NOW to be invisible instead of mentally prostrate
before the Queen of Sheba
This isn’t a true story. I never had that much courage.
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
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!
Somewhere in Africa, the cries of a woman
Bearing immense cutting pain
Wishing life not as cruel as it is
And forgetting the excitement
That came with knowing her man.
Alas, it falls.
Almost like a creature,
So bloody yet so fragile
Tiny fingers, tiny legs, tiny arms;
Whatever shall I call her
“Naa awula” indeed,
She will be my lady; my only lady
Spread the word my dear sisters,
For today a new member has joined us
Seven days, seven days it will be.
And the world will say her name
Pray we must;
My little lady ought to dwell amongst us
Let no evil eye beseech her
Let no evil mouth revile her
Let no evil hands stroke her
For seven days it will be
Just seven days.
Hail to the sun, for we present Naa Awula
Truth she must know and truth she will speak
Her feet shall flee from the wicked
Lest she be bewitched.
Make merry, for she comes to stay.
Come round and present your gifts and blessings.
She will grow into a very beautiful maiden
She will know no pain
May she continue in the league of child birth.
Lest her face be drenched
In the mud of mockery.
Lighten your hearts and grease your faces
Herein rises An African Woman.
When did this metamorphosis come about?
As I stand and watch.....wanting to intercede..
To be the one this little boy needs
The one who kisses the forehead, ...and wipes away tears...
It's who I've been....for all these years...
It's who I still long to be...
That private place inside of me...
As I hear the crying child subside...
I feel a phantom pain inside
A confusing rush, of sad confliction
A mother's pride, yet mixed emotions
I'm watching my daughter soothe his wounded soul
And bandage his wounded knees..
How did it change?...When did she learn her gentle ways?
What moment in time?
When did she become the one?
The one who doesn't look away with fear?
What day.....? What year? Who knew?
What loving instinct told her what to do?
No,....not on the day of his miraclous birth
A new mother, she was, .. glowing with pride
A bit nervous with inexperience, who trembled inside
Those first timorous days...she had questioning eyes...seeking advice...
She gave me the gift, ...of needing my help, needing my words...
Oh ...how lovely it was...to offer my worth..
But so quickly it turned, and quickly she learned....
Perhaps she's even become even wiser than I
There is such confidence...such love in her eyes...
Now it's me letting go.....this turning of tide
Letting her shine....gaining her pride
He is her child.....not mine...
While I must stand aside
Her journey begins...
And I watch and pray that she won't ever need me again...
To brush away her own tears....her own fears
From her calm, nurturing face...
But I will be here....standing aside
or by her side....
just in case
God loves me so much
From the heavens above
He has truly given me
So very much love
Different types of love
Each starts like a seed
That grows deep inside
Creating a special need
First the undying love
Is where it all starts
With Jesus Christ placed
Perfectly in my heart
Then the individual love
Of being one’s self
As God made me to be
Like no other one else
The peaceful calmness
That nature shares
Offers the serene love
To wash away cares
The caring love of parents
Is such a wonderful gift
So many others have not
And their spirits I try to lift
The loyal love of siblings
I am very thankful for
Even with lives apart
Our love is evermore
Enduring love comes from
My wonderful large family
No matter the ups and downs
They never give up on me
The precious love of children
My most cherished gifts of all
Though my angels have all grown
They are to me little dots so small
The kind love of in-laws
Is such a bonus I am given
Making my loved one’s lives
All worth a reason for living
The joyous love of grandchildren
Each a true blessing from above
Bubbling joy flows from them all
Filling me with a delightful love
The devotional love of pets
No one could closely compare
To the never ending devotion
That will always be there
The faithful love of friends
With truth of consistent fact
I can always count on them
To be there to catch my back
True passionate love of a man
I thought would never bloom
I only dreamed of how it’d be
So wonderful I would assume
Now that I’ve been touched
By the true passion of a man
I feel the dreams come true
Feeling so wonderful ‘tis am
All these gifts of love
God gives to me within
Are opened very carefully
As each is specially given
For a seed of love to grow
Takes patience and then some
I enjoy each moment of growth
As there is so much more to come
Florence McMillian (Flo)
This is a sad tale of Amanda Knox,
still but a child in bobby socks
who enrolled in an Italian school,
far away from her parents' rule.
Her folks say she was a gentle child.
Perhaps she went a little wild
when by lover she was beguiled.
By a heinous crime she was defiled.
Sloppy police work, ambitious attorney,
poor Amanda had started on a journey
that would find her convicted of a murder.
She declared her innocence. No one heard her.
Her folks have gone to immense expense
to hire lawyers for her defense.
Despite their efforts for two long years
she's been locked away beyond their tears.
Amanda has grown so thin and gaunt,
locked up with criminals who taunt
and seem to think it their sacred duty
to make life grim for this young beauty.
For Miranda's "Behind Bars Blues" contest won 6th
It's Friday night
In the Ghetto
From the dark ring out
A little girl crying
Daddy don’t hit mama
Sit down and shut up
On the walls
As neighbors threaten
To call the cops
Drugs in the hallways
Drugs on the streets
Who will that pretty girl meet
To make the money
To feed the habit or pay
The bills or just to eat.
And still around the corner
Near the shops
The people stand
And talk about the promise land
Its Friday night in the ghetto and the
Promise land is
The pawn shop
Peanut butter and jelly.
The music from the barber shop
Makes a fellow stop
And touch fists
With a friend
From around the way
Hey remember the day
Then out of the night air
Shots ring out
That little girl
Sitting on the floor
Playing with her dolls
Ken and Barbie
Dreaming of a time
When she will meet her
Ken and maybe
Falls on her face
This is the place
And its Friday
Poem by SGSteverson
From the book"Four Pieces of a Silver Coin"
"It has to be a girl," she had firmly announced,
My sweet little daughter, always craved for a sister!
So the news of a would-be sibling, did make her glad.
She had jumped and bounced.
"A girl would be perfect, boys are messy,
"I'd play my dolls with her and read princess stories",
Said my daughter, who was all girlie-girlie
She kept things in order, was neat and tidy, even a bit fussy!
She'd shopped for pink blankets, rompers, spoons and forks!
Smart girl that she is, she very well knew
"Babies don't come from hospitals nor gifted from temples
Neither are they dropped by visiting storks!"
She would be there for pregnant momma, a helping hand to lend.
She'd pat the sick mother and soothe her with a touch
Fetch her a glass of water
would not allow her to bend!
"My sis would look like me", so said Sara
Ecstatic she was about the brand new arrival
she promised even her stuff to share!
Found a rhyming name, "I'll call her Aura."
One fine day, mommy gave birth to a son
Hale and hearty, Sweet and chubby.
The family rejoiced but the sister said,
"Its not going to be fun."
"Give him back to the doctor, We won't keep this boy",
She said over the phone and with a frown on her face
She came visiting. Took the baby in her lap,
Saw his Angelic face and was filled with joy.
"He is cuter than any baby in the world can be", said she
Stroking her brother
"His skin is so soft and his fingers so tiny,
Well, we'll take him home, he looks just like me!"
A Two Woman Duo
By Missy Yourist
I am from the inside of a woman whom I have never met.
A birth mother who I do not know one ounce of who or what she is about.
A person who bearably carried me for nine months.
Gave birth to me, a 3 pound toe-head baby.
She had to have held me right after, but my baby eyes don't seem to remember.
Blurred by the brightness of the world,
I never saw who my birth mother was.
But after two months, I was passed onto the most beautiful creature
that my premature eyes had ever seen.
A woman who would ultimately become my real mother.
A wonderful being who would raise me with pride.
Teach me the ways in which she thought we right.
A mom who would love me with all of her heart and care for me
for the 14 years that she would be able to share with me.
On the 30th of June you entered this world,
so cute and content my beautiful girl.
I have never seen such a proud father,
kissing your hands and feeling your feet.
Little blue eyes so hard to forget
wrapped in a pink shawl, you were my princess.
Your brothers smile when he first met you.
He stroked your cheek and called your name.
But, it was too late my tiny princess.
The angels couldn't wait any longer.
On the 30th of June you left this world,
so peaceful and pale my beautiful girl:Liliana
I want to tell you a story,
about one Christmas morning.
The snow was falling,
and the wind was roaring.
Holly and Christmas ferns decorated the door.
Gifts piled high around the tree on the floor.
Home baked goods from the kitchen filled the air.
The children opened their gifts with great care.
Time stood still for a moment when,
I reached for the box to open.
The box was white like snow.
Delicately tied in a big red bow.
Inside the box was a gift for me.
A tiny silver bell laid silently.
I picked it up and it begin to ring.
The music of Christmas, so charming.
My little girl said, "I hope you like your present too."
"Every time you ring the bell, a note of love from me to you."
A silent tear fell from my eye.
What a beautiful gift, and such a surprise.
I placed the bell on the mantle with care.
Even today it still sits there.
This happened many years ago.
The Christmas box with the big red bow.
A tiny silver bell plays a precious tune.
A note of Christmas joy from me to you.
To marvel how fast the world spins around,
or how the years have been sifting, (too quickly, I've found)...
This is not something new....from a mom's point of view
Some will say that my eyes have been clouded
Perhaps they will say, my opinion is shrouded
by my rose filtered glasses
But here, now before me, is my wonderful child
this barefooted lass...
She stands here before me, ...barefooted and beautiful
Wearing her jeans......smiling with ease, calm and serene
Queen of her home
My daughter,… my child, is all grown up
There are times I must hold back the tears...
and hold back my longings for all those yesteryears....
I reflect upon the moments, then, when she was very small
Her shoes were tiny slippers, pink,
In a blink of an eye, she outgrew them all
It gives me pause to think
I puzzle over silly things, the things that mark the passing years
Like other mothers do…
While wiping childish tears, calming school day fears,
Teaching her to tie her shoes
I wonder how I could have missed
The secret of those shoes,…
You see, from tiny slippers, she quickly skipped...
Into dirty sneakers, ....(for tomboy moods)
I speculate, like many girls
So many phases, that she outgrew…
Sandals, flip flops, bouncy curls
Those wobbly legs in high heeled shoes…
I stand in awe, how can this girl with honey hair,
Who holds a babe in loving arms, be my very own?
When yesterday she was a child with cheeks so fair
Now kisses the toes of her own sweet child…
her own two feet on solid ground
When your with people you think you can trust
and you get a bit to drunk
and you thought you could trust him
after all your mom loved him
and you go to bed just afer 2
and mom went to bed just after 1
and he came in room just after 4
so you ask him for a pill...
He gets you the pill and you take it for your head
and then you lay back down
and then his hand snakes out
and then his lips meet yours
smell the beer
and his hand slides under your gown
and you just cant say no
and his touches, soft but rough
and he plays with your untuoched parts
and you try to turn but you cant
and you finnaly win and turn
and he silently walks away
and whispers to the dark room
are you drunk
are you drunk
are you drunk
and you wish you could say that you were
so you can turn, fall asleep, and forget
and you know in deep and dark thoughts...
your not drunk
your not drunk
your not drunk
"Our Father which art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done
in earth, as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts,
as we forgive our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil:
For thine is the kingdom, and the
power, and the glory, for ever.
The two sisters Mary and Elisabeth said the Lord's prayer
every night. On their knees, in unison, in the room of their
father and pastor Zechariah Love Israel as he watched.
"Very good Mary and Elisabeth. Now get the Bible and read
a verse". The oldest sister Mary got the Bible off the nightstand
and turned to Genesis chapter six. "And it came to pass when
men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters
were born unto them, that the sons of God saw the daughters
of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all
which they chose". Raising his hand for Mary to stop reading.
Zechariah walked over and took the Bible out of her hand. He
then had the two sisters turn towards each other and undress
each other. "Daddy please not to night. Elisabeth and I don't
feel well". "Now Mary you both know the Lord God will heal
you through me". The crimes and acts that Zechariah commited
that night was unspeakable. Every morning Mary and Elisabeth
would try to scrub the betrayal of their father off their flesh.
"Our dead mother must be crying her eyes out in heaven" Elisabeth
said to Mary as they got ready for church.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The Brown Philosopher
aka The Green Poet aka Red Seven
Dedicated to my children who have kept my dreams alive.
We can’t go back
To the days of yesteryear
To capture those lost feelings
With those whom we loved so dear
I am just looking back to see
Where all of my dreams first start
You know those deep seeded dreams
Buried way down deep in your heart
I’m not trying to revive a lost love
That I once had forty years ago
Or even trying to replace the twenty years
Of not seeing my grandchildren grow
There were times of much struggle
Filled with pain, fear and torture
It was the love I had for my children
That developed my strength to endure
My children only remember the 2nd set
Of twenty years that have come and gone
When they were all moving out on their own
And when all of the grandchildren came along
It’s like I was locked in a rock
Throughout those 20 to 40 years
Not able to see my grandchildren
Filled my heart with so many tears
The bitterness you feel towards me
Is understandable and really okay
My children, you all have the right
To your feelings and to feel that way
I have finally made the escape
Since that rock has split wide open
I want you all to know who I really am
I haven’t changed at all, only my situation
The gift of feelings we have in our heart
Whether right or wrong, just happen
It matters not what others may think
We should let out our own self expression
No feelings are really ever wrong
In another’s view or even our own
Our thoughts trigger our feelings inside
The feelings we have are ours alone
Looking back strengthens my heart
Reminding me I want to pass along
To all of you, just who I really am
Before my time on earth is gone
One day I hope you will realize
With you I have always been
Filling you up with that extra love
You may have noticed you’ve been given
You have all filled up
Such a big part
Of all the dreams
Living in my heart
My best friend Grace, reminded me
That our feelings are meant to be and to last
God wouldn’t put the dreams in our heart
If He didn’t plan to bring the dreams to pass
My dreams haven’t changed
I am not letting them go
They are for new adventures
With new beginnings of tomorrow
Now that I’m looking back
I’m so glad to have survived
I know now, my love for all of you
Has always kept my dreams alive
Florence McMillian (Flo)
I watched you many times.
My heart cried out for you.
A world of your own,
And love your only crime!
I thought I was loved to!
Mother, how could I have ever known?
I heard your words call to me.
My soul truly loved you!
A world of handed down shame,
And your need to sincerely believe!
I thought I was needed to!
Mother, how could I have seen the very same?
I felt your warmest touch.
My mind wanted the mother in you!
A world of your fame,
And your want for so much more!
I thought I was wanted to!
Mother, what is it that I can I truly claim?
I prayed for you day and night,
My faith needed me to!
A world of mine I have inside to give,
And my need feels like my only right!
I thought I gave all of this to you!
Mother, I must have died so you could live!
®Registered: 1997 ANN RICH
The Best Days of My Life: The Family Day!
Just like a person can have more than one “Best Friends” in a lifetime,
One can also have more than one “Best Day of Their Life”.
I have had several “Best Days” in my life, but a few really do stand out.
One of my best days was when my first daughter was born…and healthy.
From that day forward, I have loved and enjoyed her; she blesses my life.
Another best day in my life was the birth of my second healthy daughter.
From that day forward, I have enjoyed, loved, and learned from her.
She blesses my life. She and my first daughter love and help others, too.
We played, learned, laughed, loved, and enjoyed many best days together.
Then, my next best day arrived; it was the birth of my youngest child…a boy.
From that day forward, I have loved and enjoyed him; he blesses my life.
While my children were growing up: we loved, they danced…we camped.
Together we learned about God by studying His teachings and attending church.
Together we learned kindness by visiting the elderly, blind, sick, and disabled.
Together we learned helpfulness by taking time to help strangers in need.
We, with friends, helped keep our neighborhood clean, picking up park litter.
We sang nature’s symphonies…bathed in streams, washed hair in waterfalls.
Talents were developed and we watched one another’s performances.
Educations were earned and we praised one another’s accomplishments.
Families and careers were begun and my life continues to be blessed.
I have had many best days in my life with my children. And we have loved.
Everyday with my children, even struggles, were “Best Days of My Life”.
Now, they are grown, but we stay in touch, we love, we enjoy…and
There are grandchildren. So there will still be many “Best Days in My Life”.
And even though my children no longer live at home, I have been blessed.
I have one more of the already many “Best Days” to share. A late in life…
Best day is the meeting of and the marriage to my spiritual companion.
Our soul(s) having been completed was the most recent “Best Day of My Life”.
Together, we still live, seeking God’s word and living life caring and loving.
All…together— These blessings that I have shared are the best life can offer.
And these "Best Days" are the days I will remember for the rest of my life.
And beyond— The family day!
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
March 22, 2010
Poetic form: Narrative
The light I see
In your eyes
only when I speak of her.
Our little one.
She would have had your eyes,
she would have had my hair
and my my mouth.
Our little girl would have been perfect.
But that horrible day in July,
I cried and I hated myself.
That horrific day in July when I lost her.
My world broke down.
Now when I speak of her.
Your eyes water up,
as do mine.
But one day we'll see her.
Our little girl,
is waiting for us.
And one day,
she'll finally say daddy.
Our little girl.
Of all the horses I have known,
And I have known a few,
It's of Rebel, my daughter's first loved horse
That I'll be telling you.
Her girl friends on the nearby farms
Had horses theirs to ride.
That she could not have a horse too,
She just could not abide.
We lived in a little pioneer town.
Our home had a tiny yard.
To fulfill my small girl's wishes
Would truly be too hard.
One day I found her crying and
It broke my mother heart.
I told her we'd look for a horse.
At least we'd make a start.
Well, that was all I need to say.
There was no reneging now.
We'd have to ask her daddy
And I didn't quite know how.
Her fresh tears won him over
And he told her he would try
To find the perfect horse for her
if she would no more cry.
We had an old unused garage.
If was mostly filled with trash.
She and her dad hauled to the dump,
What they couldn't sell for cash.
In June she went into the fields
Picking strawberries to help pay
For the horse for which she'd been looking
And would be finding any day.
At last there was one advertised
At we thought, a decent price.
She called her horse savvy uncle
To ask for his advice.
My brother checked the horse for her
And said that it was sound.
Exactly waht she wanted to hear,
She plunked her money down.
She cared for her horse the best she knew
And before long had proven she
Knew more about a horses's care
Than either her dad or me.
Rebel was quite a tall horse.
She had to climb to get astraddle
And sit up on his bare back.
We could not afford a saddle.
Rebel was the perfect horse
For a loving ten year old.
He was docile, slow and gentle.
Only when loose did he get bold.
There were times when he would get away,
From where ever he'd been tied.
He'd whip around and run again,
Just when we reached his side.
She and her friends had lots of fun
In those happy carefree days.
Swimming across the Swinomish Slough
Is a memory that stays
Our daughter got her money's worth
From that big sturdy horse,
Until his age began to show
And Nature took it's course.
Our town has become more lucrative
It's residents a richer crowd.
A horse stabled in garage these days
Would never be allowed.
My daughter raises horses now,
With the purest of blood line
But our Rebel of unknown heritage
At her age of ten was fine.
For Horse contest took 7th place
THE GREAT ESCAPE
Responded to a scream from the kitchen in our house,
Got there to find daughter imprisoned by a mouse:
On a chair she was hand-to-mouth scared of the rodent.
Creature was just as scared but rather impudent.
Brush-chased him round the kitchen twice;
Figured, “ Gotcha, you representative of mice.”
Then in a corner where he went,
Finally brush-trapped my tiny opponent.
Heard him squeak beneath the brush’s bristles :
In his small voice mixed with whistles.
A note of defiance as he climbed through the brush
Then suddenly out and made a rush
For the curtains hanging on the door.
He disappeared quickly off the floor
Into the folds and was seen no more:
Nothing left for us to search for.
Have to admire these miniature guys -
Facing an enemy a thousand times their size
Brush-armed and protecting a daughter -
Midget escaped, laughing at danger and slaughter.
A chest now sits where her grand pappy sat.
The old worn out marks on the floor where he would rock.
Sitting on his lap eating crackers and cheese.
He would talk of the past like it was a beautiful dream.
He had it harder than most boys.
He lost his father before he was born.
Raised by three women, he was great in the kitchen.
Not having an abundance of money he would make due with what he had.
She would ask him, "what was it like as a kid?"
He would tell her, "there were no electronics."
We had tops to spin, crayons and ink.
All the neighborhood kids would gather to play,
A game called imagination.
Your imagination is a wonderful thing,
never forget you posses it.
You can sail far over the sea,
or travel horseback to another country.
Be president one day,
or the big wig in a corporate company.
Here is a chest for you to keep.
The little girl opens the chest and reply's, "It is empty inside?"
Her grand pappy says, "look again!"
Tell me, "what do you see?"
I see I can be anyone or anything I want to be!
Her grand pappy passed away.
About three years ago now.
to this day the chest covers up the worn out marks on the floor.
Her daughter asked, "mommy what is this chest for?"
Telling her daughter what her grand pappy told her.
Her daughter open the chest and replied,"there's nothing inside!"
She told her to look past the emptiness.
She told her daughter to use her imagination.
Explaining that your imagination can take you anywhere you want to go.
It can make you whoever you want to be
All you have to do is dream!>
I do not usually write story's but this story of a grandpa and little girl just flowed from my pen.
And it is so touching how the story unfolds..
The Curse on The First Love
I cannot marry you I must take another
The love I felt for you was really as a brother
The girl is astounded as his child grows within her
She know it’s a lie now how could she endure
The young girl curses as the village she leaves
The man left behind now for him she will grieve
He chose another under great family pressure
She cursed all and his like for taking this measure.
The century’s passed but the curse still endured
The first love of each man or woman incurred
The wrath of the Witch that cursed years ago
When her first love abandoned for wealth, or she thought so.
A young girl a descendant of that first Witch fell in love with a boy
But the father was not happy and said there would be no joy
The girl was not good enough for his beloved son
He would marry for money or he would marry no one
The girl was angry and hurt beyond her belief
She heard of the curse and to assuage her grief
She called down the wrath of the Witch on the mans first love
She got on her knees and prayed to above
The father of the boy fell under the curse
His first love disappeared and what was made worse
The Witch’s descendent he knew the story of
But the girl was his daughter and was born out of love.
The grief of the father, of the boy he would not let wed
Had struck home at the family right at the head
The girl from next door was gone, his first love no more
The daughter given birth too by his sweet paramour.
13/02/2012 Entry For The Twisted Minds Contest
At the end of every worship service Zechariah stood at the entrance of the church and shook hands
with his members. "Pastor Zechariah you really out did your self this time" said sister Naomi as she
shook hands with Zechariah. "Why think you Naomi it really warms my heart to hear you say that".
I'm going to warm more than your heart. Naomi said to herself as she exited The Voice of God
Ministries. When all of Zechariah's members were gone he and his daughters piled back into their
family car and drove to Neptune a seafood restaurant. Zechariah asked Mary the church's treasury
how much money did the church raise. "$400" answered Mary. "That's a little light" Zechariah
voice was filled with disappointment.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka Red Seven aka The Green Poet aka The Brown Philosopher
It is through the eyes of my infant child that seen humility as a can of whoop-ass to
make us see our selfish nature:
Regardless of my argued reasons that justified leaving for weeks, and then making
a triumphant return home, my intent was to make atonements for being a missing
father to my infant daughter. However, it was after holding her high above me and
our eyes had met, when this reunion, in an instant had left me feeling badly.
My sadness drew born because her face held without an expression of joy in the
welcoming of me home.
This is when a simple act by this child instantly humbled my very being and left me
feeling ingratiated by her presence.
Epiphany from such striking means of enlightenment could evermore not of
happened in same silent manner!
It had occurred while I was still holding her aloft just slightly overhead. This is when
slowly; my daughter began outlining of the contours of my face with her
downwardly extended hand. Upon finishing and raising it up and back under her
chest, it wasn’t but an instant after what came next that I knew something special
had transpired – with a life-changing profoundness…
…It is still my belief that the intent of this baby daughter was that I see and feel
this same hand’s tiny pointing fingertip, now accusingly come down slowly until out
of view to gently place upon my forehead - seemingly to stay forever.
A sense of fear had now swept over me in the form of analogy…
I hadn’t seen my daughter in weeks, and in this vision her extended forefinger and
thumb had transformed into a sword with hilted guard and unseen pommel
attached to a wide shaft with two razor sharp edges plummeting to a pointed tip.
This was my inferred life arraigned and put to the question of life’s promises made!
I had to come back to this daughter…; if not - what would be her fate? – Or my
I momentarily closed my eyes, being shortly thereafter recognized by me as nuance
of subjugation. Incredulously, upon unmasking for restored sight, occurred a vision
instead, was her innocence that had let my mind see!
It happened upon lifting this fingertip that became her sword’s point; she then laid
the finger flat on my nose and smiled a smile.
This was not a Coup de Grat arraigned; my daughter had just knighted my soul
The day her life went astray
Just two days before her big day
Barely a teen, unaware of the battle soon to be seen
So adored by all, the first to be there for anyone about to fall
She now wakes up everyday just to find herself wondering why
Was it because of her past that she was destine to crash
She wakes up everyday
Simply to find herself wondering why
Each day the event becoming clearer
Like watching it unwillingly through a two-way mirror
Unable to stop the events about to unfold
He invades her mind, body and soul
Two days before her big day
She moves along emotionless
Her sixteenth birthday spent in bed wishing she were dead
Was it because of her path that she was destine to crash
Her life at the mercy of his will
Every sick desire she was forced to fulfill
Once so normal in every way, the last girl anyone thought would go astray
She wakes up everyday
Remembering how the were tears streaming down her face
Believing that now she was a complete disgrace
To weak to fight
She survived that torturous night by knowing it wasn’t right
She was tricked…
A repeat like him knew exactly what victim to pick
There was no going back
She then refused to let him derail her off the tracks
I wake up everyday
To find myself realizing there is no answer why
No longer harboring any part of the blame
No scarlet letter, no hidden shame
I get pleasure as he rots in an eight by ten cell
And I get to smile again knowing he is stuck in his own personal hell
He who stole something so dear from me
I can chuckle as he will never be free
Remember the day you helped to display a picture of a Mexican Mother
She was swaddled in blankets of orange brown wraps and holding
her new born babe.She looked out of a shuttered window across a
laboured vineyard with unconditional love. Her eyes saw an evening
sky that glowed and ebbed beautiful shades of autumn reds.
The picture sat on the wall above our new crib beside our bed.Our
new baby's crib. Baby Katy. Black hair just as in the picture I'm sure.
A new patchy red skin of unbelivably vunerablility and loved so
much by both of us. She would russell away all night. No sleep to be
had but thoughts of love all day at work.
I see you wife now so many years later as that Mexican Mother. And
loved you that way. And as for my daughter I see you as then too.
I can by pass your demands now.Demands unreasonable and biased.
You will return one day with that loving effect on me. You will understand
when an adult. My second daughter arrives later just the same way.
On this day 16 years ago a beautiful baby girl was born.
As I cried they took her away.
My grandmother watching as if nothing were wrong.
Photos came for a brief moment then stopped
She was gone never to be herd from or seen.
It seemed as if she just vanished.
The agencies said her new family had moved.
No forwarding address to be found.
They apologize for the inconvenience.
Trying to convince me not to give up hope.
Hope what is this, something I find hard to have.
Years have come and gone and not a word.
The last photo I reserved she must have been 3 or 4 years old.
My search it still continues today,
but not a trace of her or her family do I see.
On this the anniversary of her birth
I still cry for the loss of my baby girl I bore so long ago.
“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?
All brides are lovely on their wedding day.
But she glows with her upswept auburn hair,
and her blue eyes sparkling under her veil.
He steps back and takes a mental snapshot.
He never wants to forget this moment.
She looks one last time at her reflection,
and with a deep breath, calmly takes his hand.
He has happily awaited this day,
and he has dreaded this day since her birth.
This father is filled with mixed emotions.
He smiles at his daughter with teary eyes.
She kisses his cheek as the music starts.
"Procession of Joy" echoes in his ears.
All eyes are fixed on the beautiful bride,
but his eyes watch his future son-in-law.
He looks closely for the groom's reaction.
The nervous groom radiates with true love ~
a smile of joy as sweat beads from his brow,
and Dad smiles knowing his daughter chose well.
A father could want nothing more than this.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
Tenth place in Narratives contest
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, February 22, 2012
for Narrative Poetry Contest (Catie Lindsey)
My daughter keeps the time
From a place where I was fine
To a night I won’t forget
To a night I could regret
But I won’t.
Great Meteor showers
And unspoken words
Nine months, nine days and hours
And I became the Middle-aged Matron
Of a Beautiful Red Haired Daughter.
She came flying into this world
Just as the sky unfurled
During one of the most intense
storms of that wonderful
Then the rains that came
Chose just as quickly then to go
The darkness miraculously abated
And the dark clouds parted ways
So the sun could put on its show.
A double rainbow was soon filling the skies
God’s sign that he was nigh
A vision that could foretell
His promise that all there was
And all that had been
And that all would be
More than well.
His personal promise to me.
That this child was meant to be
And the world would someday see
In years and years to come
That she would someday mirror
Both my image and show the better part of me.
In her being she will show
That I did the right thing
And that I didn’t take the easy road.
And I am quite sure
That she will prove
Through her actions, thoughts and deeds
That she will more than deserve
The chance to walk the earth
To live and love and laugh and breathe.
I gave her her life
The gift of having a life.
The chance to create a life.
The chance to be.
I love her so very dearly
She is the well cherished embodiment of me.
(November 13, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
Walking across a well-lit stage
I command my sequined graduation cap
stay perched up there!
I instruct my feet,
Gripping my Bachelor’s Degree
I recall the gruff,
Bronx-accented voice of my dad
Forty years ago I received
his high school graduation directive
“daughters ‘ain’t fer college,
‘git a husband, ‘git children.”
Today my father stands on the edge
of a Heavenly cloud,
hands on hips,
grinning at me
I done it anyway dad.
What you ‘tink ‘bout ‘dat?
She rode forth with revolution on her back. The wizard sat back, “Well,my child, what did you think?” “I want to do what the daughter did. The King was right; his sons were nasty people. But that can not be the end, can it” I asked, “what about the battle, did she win, how does the story end?” With a laugh, the wizard winked, “The three sons are still hear and they fight their sister every day. Their battle is all around, Ii only you were to look close.” “But how do you start a story when you don’t know the ending at all?” “But you do know the ending, child. One day, when you are big and strong, you will meet the King's daughter and you will end the suffering that the three sons have brought on. The suffering that goes on to this day.” I left the Wizard that day sitting upon his log. I pondered what that Wizard told me. The King's three sons were evil and filled the land with Genocide. No, they were Genocide. For without them, Revolution could not be. I whet home and told my mother, “Mother, Wherever there is hatred and war with in the land, Wherever people are struggling to be free, Werever hungry babies cry Look for me, ma, I'll be there.
Winter have come and winters have gone some were very cold and some were a
But this winter is different so far it hasn't been winter cold it has been so warm that
the flowers have been blooming!
I know this isn't very spectacular to most because a lot of places have them
blooming year round.
Around here the climate is usually to cold and the flowers are tucked away in there
But this year there up late and showing there heads.
On 09-11-2001 so many of our flowers died and were taken from us.
And we thought what a cold senseless act it was that caused them to die.
I thought they would never come out again,
but Christmas is here and people are traveling and hurrying and shopping almost
like they used to.
I took my daughter to school and the air was a little nippy.
When we got out of the truck we saw two daisies standing tall and blooming!
I said to my daughter look how nice God sent us daisies in December.
Life on Purpose Live it before you lose it! ©2009
On the unforgettable morning of May second
When the dawn was peeping
Through the shadows of dark
Came a shrill cry
From the quiet tense corridors
Bringing them to life
Tears and laughs and shouts
Piercing the still atmosphere
Feet came running as if flying
To tell me of the
Ray of joy entering my world
My daughter was born
They gave me the tiny bundle
To hold her in my arms
She was so soft, so delicate ,so white
Slowly opening her eyes
As if clouds were parting
To let the sun rays come through
She gave me a smile
My world turned bright
Then closed her eyes
Went off to sleep
Peaceful in my arms
My daughter was born.
I had no way to ask for this, for you.
I was unable to take any precautions.
I was innocent in this decision
That you found yourself lost in.
Yet I was blamed anyway,
The prosecuted victim.
Those white jackets called you wrong
But you didn’t want to listen.
Remorse filled you, in you was me.
When you gave in to it at last.
Certain I’d be the end to your life,
Forcing me to play the role I was cast.
Growing strong against all odds
As you pumped into me your many escapes.
I learned exactly how good a mother
A selfish drug addict makes.
Through clouds of sweet smelling smoke
High as I learned to crawl and walk.
Through unfed affection and neglect,
I learned how to talk.
Only to learn that screaming real words
Didn’t make one bit of a difference.
Between us, a thousand miles or beside you
Was emotionally the same distance.
I loved you with every breath I took
For so many years, you were all I had.
But you shattered me with you so many times.
As a baby I was already tired of being sad.
Not even finished with being a child,
You paraded me as your little adult.
You never believed me when I told you they hurt me
So I never knew that it wasn’t my fault.
You let me pay your debts for you
Never a thought to what I lost.
You fed me to things you should have protected me from.
Carelessly out the door, my innocence was tossed.
He was a silent man.
He stayed upstairs, typing unceasingly
and during dinner, mumbled accusingly
nothing ever finished
That evening he noticed,
saw his child sitting in the distance
alone, he crossed the field
He teased; they played,
among the blades of several hills,
a thousand times they rolled,
He laughed; they roared
Disney visions, collaborating
goose-bumps; torching recollections.
He taught; they practiced
hundreds, of air pockets among them
they flew like ravens
They went home, and thereafter
He was a silent man;
his child unspoken.
(To My Proud Daughters of a Man-made World)
We shift shapes and shades all day long
Happy or sad we cleanse our souls with a song.
Together we sat giving company, counting crows,
The rhythm of our lives echoed in the shore.
We are the rainbow people known to all;
We answered the world to its beck and call.
Then came the fateful day, mighty and dark
We set out on a mission - a journey to embark.
We dreamt of a butterfly dream, soulful and bright
But the passage to heaven was out of sight.
Our glorious land was ravaged by the gods,
We lost our sight and calculated the odds.
Hunger and stupor became our hosts
We were defeated, but all is not lost.
The wind fails to favor our sail, our spirits encumber
In the land of lost we were outnumbered.
The soul shifts in the endless tyranny of life
Wicked wisdom cuts us through like a knife.
The golden gate was rusty, the eyes wander for shade
We marked the silver lining with our rotten blade.
So long my sweet angels I bid thee well
We spread to prosper but I cannot tell.
We are the sisters of a mother’s womb
Until the day we rest on a solitary tomb.
We burned the sacred books to get rid of the cold,
To the world that is yet to come – We are the mold.
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.
her whole world was
hunting for rocks at the
banks of the shallow
narrow river that runs
through the canyon behind
On her knees,
wrist deep in the
icy current, she
sifts through piles of
searching for the
perfect little pebble.
She slips the pebble
safely in that pointed place
in the pocket of her jeans.
Down the path,
she's conscious of the
digging her hand down
now and then.
she reaches in
with her fingers, to
pluck the pebble
from her pocket
and she places it
on a shelf
with the others.
stretched under the covers,
tucked and tight, and drifting,
she dreams of
Simmering,hot, pancakes, flushed.
Battered, beating, bruised,
Syrup, sweet, melted, dripping,
Brown now, peeling, ripping
Dark berries, smashed oozing bluish - black red,
Hands and words tossed instead,
Pancake Burnt! Pancake dead!
Guilt is the word
regret and deceit flood my heart
as I look at my daughter
and what could of been
Guilt is the feeling
At the window bottom she sits
waiting for me to come
it's not going to happen
as my mistress is home
What could have been?
Blonde hair, Blue eyes
So patiently she waits for her dad
the one who she adores
but does not know
How could I leave her?
Walking the dark cold streets
I see her face in my head
Them big glazed eyes
Brings a lump to my throat
What have I missed out on?
Into this woman she blossoms
making decisions of her own
leaving me behind
Why wasn't I there for her?
Guilt is the feeling
regret and deceit flood my heart
as she moves on without me
everytime I look at my daughter
Guilt is the feeling
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.
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.
She is 16 years old
Going through adolescence
With all the turmoil it blows
One moment she is so charming
The next it's as if
The world has come to an ending
One day all is well, life's a peach
The next is war, everybody is stupid.
And I wait for the cease fire, a bit of peace.
Then a wonderful surprise
Sunday morning she cooks breakfast
For everybody and tells me not to rise
Just relax and don't help
The food was delicious to everyone's delight
After the meal, I began to write a poem
After a while, she calls me
And asks me to come, “come where?”, I asked,
“Just come here”, she says to me.
She led me to the bathroom
She had drawn me a bath
With oils and sweet perfumes
Had set a few candles that were lightened up
And had put nearby everything I needed
She even put a CD player
With my favorite musical playing
I was moved to tears by this unexpected gesture
It was her gift to me for Mother's Day.
Copyright © 05.13.10
The village head Pymy Gruzz was hundred years old
He had no daring self neither a piece of gold
Only a daughter had he she was a foster child
She was fifteen years old Kiki– sweet, gentle and mild
She gave him comfort with a docile, obedient smile
“No worry, father”, we are all together in our Lyle.
Night was perilous, hazy, and yellow as a ghost
A chill crossed the craven moon and a platter of duck roast
Kiki awoke and stepped out, in the dark the dragon queen snored
She crossed the lake Obenjinn and mounted the hill of sword
She felt the pricks of crusty prickles but she was climbing on
She must save the village Lyle where she was born
The dawn showed her chubby face happy on the child
Kiki made her journey’s end the day was sweet and mild
She found a man with sunny face god showed her in a dream
She went to him with folded hands and made a pleading to him.
Sire, I am Kiki from village Lyle bleeding in my heart
My village folks have turned to rocks in fear of Kunnegert
She is a dragon fire breather, keeper of skull on pyre
She must be killed by a happy man I want your sword on hire.
My blood my sweat and all I have will go to you my sire
I cannot delay; my folks are locked and human skull on pyre.
The sunny man stood up straight with a radiant face
“Little kid my Kiki sweet you will not fall from grace.
I will go with you my little moon and kill the dragon sure
I say you clean in voice plain what a happy man can endure
A happy man is happy because he lives with his lord
A happy man is happy because he keeps all love on hoard
He gives it free to every creature lord had made on earth
Lord made him his best seraphim to take a human birth
He is born for others and dies for all and in compassion he is tall
A dragon’s vice in valley of Lyle he must have to forestall
So Said he and took her hand and sword shone in golden orb
They climbed down the narrow gorge in finest pace the earth can absorb
Kiki, the daring daughter of the village stepped along the happy man
The golden sword the golden orb reached the final lane
The misty valley still in spell
the misty opiate dulled the souls and spurred the hell
The poet stopped his pen, slept a little, the stories told he had to retell*.
*This is the second part
(c) RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
14 September, 2014
Birthdays come but once a year
A day we celebrate, a day to cheer
We all know the day we're born and our age
For birthdays bring us joy or change of stage
The day I celebrated my fourty-ninth year
On the other side of the world fear
Horror for a young girl named Heather
Who was swimming in ocean waters from boat tethered
Swimming around the ocean deep
Working up an appetitate for something to eat
Was a great white shark fourteen feet, whopper
Jaws powerful enough to bite through copper
At home I thought I had turned fifty
I figured this year would be very nifty
My father who was in his nineties
Reminded me that I was only fourty-ninty
In a land way down yonder
A girl named Heather was pulled under
Great white figured she was good meat
Nice and tender a very tasty treat
A girl named Heather was saved
That very day lived to be one to praise
People who worked to keep her alive
She praised God who lives in hearts and on high
Sara lived many years
Saw her grandsons through tears
She was the strength and glue
Who saw her family's problems through
Just in recent years in a land down under
A fourteen foot great white shark did blunder
Caught in a fisherman's net
He'll probably live this mistake regret
No, the fisherman cuts the lines
Frees his catch and shark from bind
Now the shark he named Cindy
Follows him around even when windy
Follows him everywhere he goes
Let's him pet her on her nose
Rub her belly and dorsal fin
She even grunts and tries to grin
Which of these do you think is the most grateful
Heather who is now disable
The shark who was spared his life
Or Sara the mother, grandmother, and wife
(The story about Heather is true. The shark circled and bit her right leg. Then circled and
grabbed her left leg. The people on the boat were hitting the shark and try to pull her into
the boat and the shark took her whole left leg off. She was only attended by a nurse who
was on the boat and radioed a doctor on shore as to what to do. She was 20 hours away
from the nearest doctor. She was lifeflighted to a hospital in California where she had to
have multiple surgeries and now has an artificial leg. The story about the shark caught in
a fisherman's net was really not true. The grandmother here was a true story.)
Hold onto this moment, for it will never come again
As I dream of what would be, a beautiful peace within
Tell myself all is not lost, the fear wells in side vacant and without cause
Let it be, the tears fall like rain, but even the wish is unreal
All I want and nothing is at reach.
Can I change my world, is that a possible feat
Has destiny ruined my future, can a weak soul find relief?
Change to what I’d wish to be or live miserable alike
Finding one’s own way, harder than it seems
Answers too many question, I need to know them all
Posing apprehensions’ that refrain me from making the call
What, Where and When the affirmable relative questions
Answers come now and then, from different allied directions
To figure it out alone a quest and venture at hand
Truly a master of life could assist, and set my mind at ease
But the master I do remember lives no longer
As fate would have it played
Father of mine I need you, for now and the rest of my days.
I’ve written theses words as faint heart fails to reconcile my being
My strength my character my living all resides in your teachings
And now there is no master, to council my ways of thinking
Left I am a disaster, without you I am fleeting !
Sunday evening, suburban New York,
we ate at the corner Chinese restaurant,
its fish tank hypnotic, the smiling
welcome from the Chinese woman
caressing menus to her chest,
who led us to the booth which stuck
to my legs as I slid across to my
designated spot. Dad promised
me a fortune cookie on the way out,
which I took from the bowl by the door.
We ate spareribs, licked our fingers
and laughed, trying to pick kennels of rice
and long noodles with splintered
chopsticks. We praised the food,
but wondered why we often left hungry
for both food and fortune, after extracting
mine from the smashed cookie, reading then
putting the crumbled paper in my pocket,
to be found weeks later, hoping somehow
the words would have changed
and the little paper whispered
truths about my own future,
rather than just giving dad the
numbers for his weekly lottery.
Between the two doors,
one that leads you in and the other moves you out,
stands this man, shouting at this little girl,
the voice like an autocrat,
and the words come out as easily without a second thought.
The anger of some previous tension, all out on this poor soul whose
smile has turned into a frown, and the colors of the day get dark.
Inside that heart that was away from stress, now someone's anger
rests into hers. Hatred that was on the back burner until now,
is coming to a boiling point, she wants to revert back,
want to say that anger does not solve
problems, things can be taught without that.
No more can she stand this authoritative dominance.
She stands there looking into his red eyes and opens her
mouth finally, word after keep coming out and she goes on without listening,
without anybody understanding, bangs the door and goes out. She had said it all,
the frustration of being the youngest and the forbearance of domination.
Never had the courage come up before, but after waking up
it was unbelievable that it never happened.
At least once a month
the stench from my kitchen
sponge gets so bad I refuse
one more soap saturation
of this primitive sessile.
Why is it that I can’t toss
these replicas of marine life,
amongst the simplest animal form,
free of tissues, muscles, nerves
and internal organs? After all,
during the course of one day I toss out
all sorts of rubbish—paper towels,
chicken bones, cheese rind, empty cartons,
newspapers and rotten fruit, but have developed
a deep attachment with this soggy, smelly
two-dollar purchase. I take it into my hands
and scan it, as if looking for the spot
of defending stench or to hear the ocean
from where it came. Finally, I decide
to toss the thing into the dishwasher
with my daily load, to keep it vital
a little longer, perhaps a day or a week
or at least until I’m able to establish a degree
of separation from this rectangular block.
My only explanation for this drama
is my daughter is a vegetarian and animal rights’
activist, and like her, I want to save all creatures.
“Don’t forget to take your dose.”
My stomach in knots, as I shakily spoke.
“Baby, you know my death is coming close.”
“But mommy, I don’t want you to go.”
Doctors walked past,
Blurs of white stepping in and out fast,
As my mother and I tried to make the night last,
Pulling out memories and revisiting the past.
All of our ‘remember when’s’,
Made me wish I was there again,
Back when I thought there was time to spend,
With my mom, on who I could always depend.
“Why’d this have to happen now?”
My lips trembled as thoughts were spoken aloud.
“How can we change it, baby? Please, tell me how.”
“Cancer can’t take you! It’s not allowed!”
I crawled up beside her,
Beside my hero, my mother,
I heard the slow heart of my source of will-power,
And cursed the sickness that absorbed and devoured.
My mind rushed with things I needed to say,
Secrets that I kept so they’d stay out of the way.
But I was cut short as time ticked away,
And only one memory in my mind began to play.
“Remember when I started to cry,
That one day you never told me goodbye?
I always knew it was a silly reason why,
But you came back anyways and this was your reply.”
“My pretty little princess, I love you!
And I will always know you love me too.
So if I forget to say bye, please don’t be blue,
Because our bond is strong and will always stay true.”
The memory made up for things I couldn’t tell her,
And in this moment it made me feel the slightest bit better.
But yet all these emotions were flooding like water,
As I knew I was going to lose my mommy forever.
“I promise I love you baby, that’s all you need to know,”
And this time it was her voice that shakily spoke.
“I’m not scared of death, I’m just scared of letting you go.”
She winced in pain, death was too close.
“Mommy!” I screamed, scared out of my mind.
She smiled, then it faded as she laid there and died.
It’s indescribable what loss and longing I felt inside,
My mind went numb as I couldn’t bring myself to cry.
I need you,
I want you,
I miss you…
I love you mommy.
Dedicated to all who have lost their moms.
In sickness or old age,
Whatever it may have been,
This is for you.
"Our dead mother must be crying her eyes out in heaven"
Elisabeth said to Mary as they got ready for church. "I wonder
what his congregation would think of him if they knew" replied Mary.
"Girls are the two of you ready yet? You don't have time to gossip".
"We're ready" said Mary. The Israel family piled into their family car.
As Zechariah drove to his church The Voice of God Ministries he quizzed
his daughters with Bible questions. "Elisabeth how many books are in the
Bible?" "There are 66 books in the Bible". "Very good Elisabeth. Mary how
who were the parents of John the Baptist?" "Zechariah and Elisabeth". "Very
good Mary". The voice of God Ministries is the biggest Evangelical church in
all of North Carolina. Every time Zechariah Love Israel approached his
church his heart fills up with pride. "We are the light of the world. We must
guide the people to God" said Zechariah as the Israel family got out of their
family car. "Let's get ready to welcome our members" grabbing Mary and
Elisabeth by the hand Zechariah and his daughters entered The Voice of God
Ministries. Zechariah was a preacher who was known for his over the top
sermons. With his knowledge of the Bible and his great speaking ability he
held his congregation in a trance. At the end of every worship service
Zechariah stood at the entrance of the church and shook hands with his
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The Brown Philosopher aka The Green
Poet aka Red Seven
Soft little hands and velvet finger tips
Touching my face and stroking my hair
She pats my arm as I hold her to me
And smell her warm child essence
Profound and unexplainable love
I cannot leave.
She was smart and clever
The biggest judge of human psyche
Without a degree in psychology!
Nor in business management
Yet an expert at making pacts.
Her wizardly brain can well manoeuvre
The train of others’ thoughts....
She can sweet talk you into fulfilling her wish
She well knows even when to throw a tantrum
Dry wails as well as flooding tears
She knows which one is required where...
“okay I did well at my first big school interview,
Did not throw a fit, I well deserve that big big bag
Having a hundred colourful balls”.....
“now first day of new school, something for me each
day of the first week.”
“My birthday next month, I must have the scarlet gown
That the actress wore on the magazine cover.”
She has signed and sealed countless such one-sided pacts.
“I will be all good after these,
And promise, no more demands momma, now on..”
So she says after each pact.
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.
Her eye's are pretty with innocent inside
Her face is precious with curious trying to hide
Her body state's that i am a grown woman
The tight clothes and plenty of makeup keep
the grown men coming
Her every move and every step is just to dog on sexy
That man's eye's missed her face because her body
is screaming caress me
Before he realize this is , he's inside
Her body feels everything that her curious face was
trying to hide
Those pretty eye's are no longer innocent
Guilt has came and made all her presents pastense
Now that body that stated to be a grown woman with
those eye's that was pretty innocent ; no longer can
hide her precious face with curious
That man never saw her face until after he planted that
seed and then realized that this is serious
Because her body was screaming caress me
His eye's missed her face but , saw her every move and
every step that he couldn't resist because she was just
to dog on sexy
Who cried , when her body lied
But , realized now she have to be a woman and this big
If it wasn't for the tight clothes and plenty of make-up
he would have saw that those pretty eye's with innocent
meant that she was daddy's little girl
He took almost everything he brought to
Or ever bought in nine years
It's hard to remember what is whose.
He may have forgotten the cactus in the den
with its big pulpy stalk,
Was the first gift he sent me,
The one that fell on the receptionist at the office,
Leaking a white ooze from its injury,
And she a red one from hers,
because he took it.
And my birthday lamp, too.
He took it.
I'm liquidating what's left,
and even though I love that maple table,
I'll have to let it go.
There won't be room in my smaller place.
I want to press my cheek against its cool shiny
Smoothness and smell the wood one last time,
But my daughter already feels guilty enough
For the fight they had
The final one, the reason she thinks he left.
So Goodbye, I say, to each piece of the puzzle,
Unraveling the years like so much yarn.
Stepping out now into uncertainty,
I'm hoping the universe opens up to
Fill this void with something other
Than what I have filled it with too quickly in the past.
That's how they get you, you know
With that great wonderful hook.
How great it is to see a smile of grace,
upon your face,
our daughters you do embrace.
Your smile goes so many miles,
I treasure it in all my memory files.
No words you need to say, that smile so sweet,
that smile so long ago, that swept me off my feet,
how neat it is now, a smile for our daughters so sweet....
This Poem is dedicated to Rick Salmen and
his beautiful daughters Kalyn, Ashley, and Harley
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.
The King answered back, "I love you as much as a king can love a son, but I love my people more, and you shall not be king." With anger, the third son raised his fist and spat, ‘When you die, I shall have this land and raise my army of children, forced into acting like men." And with that said, he stormed out, yanking his child servant behind him. Once out beyond the hearing range of their King, the three sons had a meeting. They were never kind to one another, but now, they had a new thing to hate together. So they banded as one to take the throne. The wizard posed and puffed his pipe. “But with them as kings the land would sure fall; would it not?” I couldn’t keep the question in my mouth. “Very wise,” the wizard said, before continuing on. “The three sons pillaged the land, taking the crops, raping the women, murdering the men and stealing the children. The land was at war, except their was no army to save the people from the three sons. The King; he wept from his death bead and called forth his only daughter. ‘My father,’ the daughter wept as she fled to kneel beside the King, ‘I have been waiting for you to call upon me.’ ‘Your brothers have brought ugliness to this land. They are starving the people, raping the women, murdering the men and making solders out of children. I am too weak to stop them from the cruelty they bestow on humanity. What would you do my child to stop them?’ The daughter sat back to think. "The people are scared, they're watching their mothers, sisters and daughters be taken against their will. Their husbands, fathers, brothers and sons are getting slaughtered before their eyes, and their children are being ripped from their arms, and their stomachs are full and blotted with hunger."Tears slid down the daughters cheeks, ‘I shall go into the villages. I shall ease back the pain with courage, and together we shall rise in a revolt against the evils my brothers have laid forth. With love and hope and truth we shall overcome the hatred that has swept through this land." The King smiled and spoke, "My daughter, I love you as much as a father loves his daughter and I see that you love the people just as much. Go forth, and save your people from those that wish them harm." The King kissed his daughter on the forehead with his dying breath.
Cracks of corral emerged between the Earth’s proud crown of evergreen
Gleaming down on grateful Father whose arms in bloom embraced his Daughter
Moon upon Moon in prayer he spent that God would grant his heart’s content
Now all his dreams no longer dreams but infant in his arms serene
They traveled on til trails converged and River’s roar ahead was heard
Then there upon the shore was laid, a bless’ed barge of birchbark made.
From the River’s roots they rowed, embarking on a fate unknown
Wide-eyed Child soothed by Father’s song amidst echoes of the Wild’s call
Sweetly metered by sweeping oar he told her tales of life before
The great divide of Earth and Sky, of Land and Sea, of Day and Night
How God by grace named each creature each fish and fowl each fir and fur
Then in His hands mixed clay and sand, the gift of life breathed into Man.
Between each bend dear Daughter grew and saw the world from worn canoe
Floating onward until the day she traded hums and howls to say
Father, Father, I understand! With lamb and wolf we share this land!
How scattered seed grew into tree and tree we carved for pole to feed
Father you’ve grown and given me your faith and love so I might be
Someday just like you a Giver on the road of life, the River!
To our Dear Tonya, its been six years since you left us today,
and yet as time passes these are just a few things we wanted to say.
You always inspired all who you touched, even if you were just hanging
with friends you were loved by all so very much.
Your passion for modeling made all who viewed you wonder with awe,
and with all your gracious moves revealed all the inner beauty that we all saw.
It was Gods wish that he took you from us at such an early age,
but we know in our hearts he had plans for you to be on a much higher stage.
So to our our darling Tonya we love and miss you and are always in our hearts,
for you will always and forever be a part of our lives like you were from the very
At first amazed consumed with pride,I have a little girl
Could It be just my joy that speaks
or can I be the luckiest man in the world
Each day I watched you come to life
ears piqued by every sound
I would sit for hours with bursting smile
just to watch you crawl around
As the years ensued and you grew before me
my great joy was tinged with worry
Such happiness of which dreams are made
should not pass in such a hurry
Through the years our times were so precious
each little event etched in my mind
Each mornings smile you shown upon me
a sweet and treasured find
And now my little girl stands before me
a woman tall and proud
Yet still if you stood away a million miles
i could touch you in a crowd
The reason I can say this
is because even when where apart
Those sweet memories that we share
we carry deep within our hearts
when the call came
I was tieing my shoes
it was raining and i was heading out for coffee
i felt the phone ring through
the line, the phone
he was 88 years old
the man of my dreams
he taught me about farm animals
and righty tighty, lefty loosey
he let me sit on his lap while he backed the car out of the garage
and showed me the fine points of a good, homegrown tomato
once when i was seven years old
he came home from a road trip with a red cowboy hat and bandana
with my name on it
and he brought me a beaded belt with "San Francisco" on it
he taught me how to make a mean Manhattan
and how to clean a sink trap
he was a good man and a great father
that dad of mine
My two year old
Woke up this morning saying
I wish….I wish…I wish…
And then this is what she "talked" about in baby talk…
And Apricorns (Unicorns)
And about Being Happy
And about Going Potty
I wish that’s all I had to worry about.
I wish that these were all the things I had to think about.
That’s what I really wish.
(November 10, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
Hush, baby girl, dont you cry
Mama's gonna make everything alright
Wiping all your tears away
Holding you when you have a bad day
You're my sweet lil' Angel-baby
You're the only thing that kept me from going crazy
I Love you, girly, with all my heart
Losing you would tear me apart
So, while I have you, let me hold you
And when you leave, never forget your home
Come on vacation, come on weekends
Come when you're lonely, come when you're heart broken
My door's always open to you and so is my heart
And as long as you think of me and I of you, we're never apart
Hush, baby girl, dont you cry
Mama's gonna make everything alright
Wiping all your tears away
Holding you when you have a bad day
Because you're my lil' Angel-baby
When you look at her you wonder,
How can she think like that?
But when she looks at herself in the mirror,
All she sees is the fat.
She claims that she's too busy,
With friends, work, and school.
To sit down for a family meal,
But in reality she simply longs to be cool.
As days go by her body begins to wear and thin,
Her parents begin to wonder if it's too late.
To save their only daughter,
Who's still obsessed with her weight.
Knowing it was time, she left a note that said:
"To all those who were so mean,
And pressured me to be thin. You'll be happy to know,
I died as I lived: A second rate beauty queen.
An oopsie in the shower
between him and her,
left the little stick
with a new little wonder.
A baby on the way
is a scary, scary thing,
a new dad he will become,
to a bouncing Amick baby.
A new life for them
with mine, yours, and now ours,
two kids and a dog
and their new little daughter.
Tatum Michelle Amick
is a lucky little girl,
for she has my best friend
as the best daddy in the world.
Coming home to chaos,
her siblings and a dog,
growing up will be fun
with daddy by her side.
With lots of support around him
and freely flowing love,
Jeremy is a lucky man
to have three kids and a dog.
But the strength to make it through,
every single day,
will come from another,
For, I’m sure, Tara knows the way.
Although my heart is saddened
because my best friend he is no more,
His heart has finally found
his wonderful significant other.
For Tara has stolen his heart
and her kids have declared him theirs,
Tatum now joins the circle,
Of a very lucky man.
Jeremy Wayne Amick,
Who I’ve known since 6th grade,
Congratulations are in order,
To my very best friend.
This is for Tara,
Whom I’ve never even met,
Take good care of Jeremy,
‘Cause he’s a man that need lots of help!
Cold window pane
Or prison bars
For Susan they are the same
Her imagination runs free
As she is trapped inside
But outside the dream
She can hear echoes of autumn
Rustling amidst dancing feet
So many children laughing
Her heart racing
Why is that not me
Yet Susan feels nothing
Except her breath on the glass
As reality comes between
She struggles to understand
Her only playmate her hands
Rocking her dreams to sleep
Cold window pane
Or steel chair
For Susan they are the same
Her imagination runs free
As her legs are strapped inside
But outside the dream
My baby girl called,
to see how I was,
her usual routine,
I immediately knew,
something was wrong,
her voice was different,
absent that merry little song.
She wanted to know,
why do some dads change,
why can't they stay daddies,
and always be the same?
He never calls me,
anymore just to talk,
although he lives,
only a short distance to walk.
He is too wrapped up,
in making a dime,
he's really self centerd,
but to his children, he's blind.
Nothing I could say,
would make the hurt go away,
I told my daughter,
God opens eyes,
as He touches the heart,
and sometimes He allows us time,
to make a new start.
The dearness of our children,
can't be replaced,
but you must forgive him,
never say hate.
Time is the keeper,
of every mans soul,
one day he will remember,
one day when he is old.
Mom, I've written of you before,
I see you coming in the door,
I see the smile upon your face,
I feel the warmth of your embrace.
Even though you've been gone so many years,
I still feel those bitter-sweet tears,
I feel your hand upon my arm,
And I knew that you would keep me from harm.
Mom, when you left, God took you for a reason,
Your brain had been gone for many a season,
For Alzheimer's claimed that wonderful brain,
And now your mind was in its chains.
I miss you Mom-I always will,
For life with you held many thrills,
You loved to travel-to go on walks,
You liked to get up at midnight-and snack and talk.
Yes, I miss you Mom, but I'll bet one thing,
I bet you've taught the angels to dance and sing,
You and Al are probably doing the jitterbug,
While the angels cheer-then give you big hugs.
I'll see you Mom, when it's my turn.
Dad, did you think I had forgotten you,
Well Dad, I wouldn't want you to be blue,
Do you think just because you've been gone so long,
That I don't still feel those arms so strong?
I loved you Dad-you were my idol,
I remember you putting on the horses' bridles,
I remember the love you had for your farm,
I remember how, for you, it held such charm.
You loved your horses, the cows and pigs,
You loved that old sow that got so big,
You loved driving that big truck for all those years,
But you were gone so much-Mom shed many tears.
You worked many trades, my dear, dear Dad,
The depression years made many people sad,
But you always worked to feed those you loved,
God blessed you Dad, from His throne up above.
You smoked before we knew smoking was bad,
And because you started smoking as just a lad,
Lung cancer got you before you were old,
Death took you early,my Daddy of GOLD!
Yes, I loved you Dad,and I still do,
But with thoughts of your love and humor I'm never blue,
Another poem I'll write for you--later Dad.
On a modern playground out by the Bayou
no see-saws, no merry-go-rounds to be seen-
Too dangerous, I'm guessing as we head to the swings
and I push her to the tops of the trees
I sing. And sing:
High Up In Banana Treeeeee"
( I never pretend to sing in key but belt it all the same)
She loves it, swings higher, asks me to sing again and again.
Then it's on to the jungle gym and slides, slides, slides.
Today, the structure is a hot air balloon
and we run like mad bandits, pushing silver buttons
and letting air out.
"What's our altitude?" I yell
"400" she answers back in a panic
I push the silver screw on my right and let some air out
"We need 180!", I say, "Tell me when we reach 180!"
When we finally avert that disaster, she looks out of the spy glass
and low and behold, we are about to hit a tree.
A palm tree no less, and those things hurt!
We both quick steer to the right - in unison.
Then, unexpectedly, our battery runs out.
I didn't know hot air balloons ran on batteries,
but she assures me they do - and she happens to have another
in her back pocket.
We finally find smooth sailing
and have a chance to look out.
Pristine blue sky. Sun taking every edge off the Bayou's breeze.
Apple green grass and trees with limbs bending every which way-
not trimmed, not sculpted, just allowed to grow wild and perfect for climbing.
It's with heavy hearts that we land our balloon to come back to reality.
For a while, she tells me that the whole contraption is out of our hands
and can't land back down on earth - We're heading North North North!
But, after the five extra minutes we spend in the air, she agrees to go.
"I love you", she says.
"I love you too", I answer, "Thanks for playing with me".
She smiles and we leave with plans to conquer the big climbing tree on our next adventure.
Shuttered the stifling air
Confining her innocence
Clinging to a teddy bear
Ruffled the blanket of lies
Concealing her trembling
The lids to her cries
Echoed the corners of the room
Beneath the glowing ceiling
Of a neon moon
Creaked the rays of flight
Jesus, she whispered
Lowering her weary head
Do you know why my father
Comes to my bed
can you hear me
up there today
away in eternity
i hope you are proud of me
so many years between us now
i can't remember
the sound of your voice
or whatever you said
without your photoraph
your image is misty
suddenly our time together
it came to an end
sometimes i think about
why it had to
turn out this way
you up there
me down here
your departed soul
left my childhood shattered
i kept looking for you everywhere
some people i met
reminded me of you
their unspoken manner
made me feel safe
oh how i missed you
other times i wondered
what life would be like
id you were here by my side
without the nearness of you
i stumbled and fell
searching for the missing pieces
to recitify my mistakes
i yearned for a chance
to do what mothers and daughters do
as my children grew
i counted the moments lost
precious time of love
that only grandmothers could fill
now on in years
wrapped in the arms of wisdom
i remiknese upon my life
discerning all the numerous tears
with a peaceful contenance
i can finally comprehend
that within all my darkest hours
the echo of your love from above
came in loud and clear
your voice was my intuition
"do not stray my dear i am here"
can you hear me up there today
i hope you are proud of me
She walks the way I walk,
With purpose and reverence.
She laughs the way I laugh,
With purpose and openness.
I can't believe she is a part of me, half of me, most of me.
She loves the way I love,
With caution and skepticism.
She fears the way I fear,
With the realization of a hurtful world.
I don't want her to know,
She doesn't need to know,
That living hurts, living tortures, living cures.
She acts the way I act,
Lying to get attention from me.
She thinks the way I think,
If i do this, I will get my way.
I am afraid because she is
My daughter, who is so young, yet so old.
Her soul ages with me, ages with her, ages with him.
Who is she? She is me, and I am her.
She pulled up in front of her daughters Jr. High, it was
time for practice to be over, and go home for the night.
She saw in a distance her daughter walking with friends,
smoke was trailing, and blowing in the wind.
"I know I am not seeing this, she has been told," said mom,
"this is the last time, so now her twirling will have to go."
The fit she pitched could be heard for miles,
but her mom was determined to punish her child.
"OK mom, we must have a truce,"
"for I'm doing exactly the same thing,you do."
How do you punish, and expect results,
if you are the reason, she picked it up.
She married at seventeen, still a baby to me,
I begged her not too, but she said, "I'll run
away, you will see.
Now ten years later, the ties are still tied tight,
I guess she knew for certain, he was her Mr.
No baby in the cradle, only a cat she calls her
child, and everytime I go to visit, she says, "here
is your grandma," and smiles.
Finally that big day is here,
you know, the one most fathers fear.
Walking down the isle, is all he has to do,
I have been busy for six months, if he only knew
Flowers, cake, the dress, and tuxs,
not to mention, invitations, and such.
Bridesmaids , how many, and what do they wear,
daughter in a tizzy, she hates her hair.
Plates of pink, and white, crystal glasses with bows,
now she is complaining, the shoes cramp her toes.
Candles that float, staggered in the pool,
finally I found that stash of brew.
One little nip, ahh, what could it hurt,
I sure hope that release on the balloons will work.
Little bows, big bows, and all in between,
so many were made, and put on everything.
Chairs on the lawn, placed just right,
now she tells me, they don't look right.
Tuff, this is it, let's get this on the road,
your mother has had it, I'm just about to fold.
This is your day, the most special of all,
hold on to your mother, I think I drank it all.