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Narrative Family Poems | Narrative Poems About Family

These Narrative Family poems are examples of Narrative poems about Family. These are the best examples of Narrative Family poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative | |

Christmas Miracle in the Ghetto (Co-written with John Moses Freeman)

Peering at the radiating faces of happy families
So much joy emanates from well-to-do children’s sparkling eyes
Wish I could replace the grief, put smiles on the faces of my sons
Without a glimmer of hope even promises of warm meals would be lies

In the brown eyes of my sons, the same eyes their mother, my wife
Sadness the sacrifice, a courageous mother giving life
So great a zest for life she sacrificed to give her sons life
But now greed hath put her seed in peril and my world in strife

No “Help Wanted” signs in the windows of Main Street’s bustling stores
The aroma of fresh bread wafts tauntingly from the bakery
With my hands in pockets, finding not even loose change
Overcome with hunger and jealousy, should I resort to thievery? 

Mind reeling, contemplating abating moral principals
Suddenly appear familiar brown eyes amid face so dear
The image of deceased wife, Spanish born eyes filled with tears
Speaking, "Abe, the Lord is gracious, walk until head is clear"

I follow the light in her warm eyes reflecting in glass windows
They lead me down the road to a park at the end of town
Dressed in ragged clothing, a man sits with a smile of peace
Breathing white puffs in frigid air, this gentle soul sees my frown

The message is plain, as my fears begin to clear
There is a greater depth in a soul of love well kept
The night is far spent; I kissed the hand of this gentle man
He smiled sweetly and said, "Lift up heavy head from dread"
I look up to see sun glistening on snow-laden pine boughs
It’s here, Christmas Day, and I’ve left my children alone all night
An ache in my heart compels me to race quickly back through town
Breathlessly, I reach my porch unprepared for a welcome sight
Hearing laughter within, I smell, yams, turkey and ham
I open my door, on the floor, presents piled high as well
Laughing with glee, sons kiss me, sparkle of brown eyes I see
Sparkling brown eyes, of Spanish descent, love is evident
“From where in the world did all this come,” I ask my sons
“Beautiful lady with Spanish brown eyes, stopped at our door
She said a strange thing, as on the floor our gifts were lain,
‘Tell Abe keep the faith; a mother's love is stronger than the grave.’
Her hugs and kisses, will be greatly missed!  Who was she, Daddy?"

Thank you, Moses, for joining me and guiding me in this write.  Merry Christmas, dear 

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My White Lace Tablecloth

I washed my white lace tablecloth and hung it out to dry
The bleach did the best it could-it was worth the try
'Though no one else can see, the stain still remains
As old as time itself 
Stubborn as mildew rot

One false step, one careless word forever etched in time
Travels the universe, endlessly
In search of a place to rest  
What would I not give to reverse that step
To retrieve that hateful word

Tread lightly in your daily walk, o'er hills and valleys in between
Plot well your steps and weigh your words
So you'll have nothing to regret, like the
Unkind words carved deeply upon your heart
I wash my white lace tablecloth again, again and again!

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My African Sister

I am a white, middle class, American male; raised in a white, middle class American home.  I would not say that my upbringing included a lot of diversity.

I remember talking to my brother, Jimmy, just before he told my father he was gay.  Jimmy told me about the inner struggle he wrestled with in first admitting to himself that he was homosexual.  He said he thought it was wrong; it was sinful and something he must avoid being.  Once he realized that being homosexual was not a fault but an innate sexual preference, he decided that he would not live a life of lies.  He, therefore, decided to tell his family about his sexual inclination.  It took a lot of courage to tell my ex-marine father.

Afi is a beautiful, strong, black African woman; raised in a black, African home.  Afi will admit that she is not overly charitable and not likely to do volunteer work.  When she first came to the U.S., however, she was appalled with how our society treated its AIDS victims.  In Africa, Afi would tell us, AIDS patients were embraced and cared for, not shunned and outcaste like here in the U.S.

Jimmy was not a promiscuous man.  He only knew a few sexual partners in his too short life.  Jimmy was a very intelligent and artistically gifted man.  He was doing post–doctorate research in Iraklion, Greece when he first started showing symptoms of having AIDS.

When Afi volunteered to be an AIDS Buddy she made it clear that she did not want to be paired with someone who had full-blown AIDS.  The organization was so hard pressed to find someone with a profile to match Jimmy’s intellect and interests that they begged Afi to just meet him, just once.

Afi says that within an hour she was no longer on a volunteer mission; she and Jimmy 
would be friends regardless of a commitment to the Buddy system.  Jimmy and Afi 
remained best of friends for the two remaining years we were blessed with his presence.

It has been 15 years since Jimmy passed away.  I am still a white, middle class, American male; from a white, middle class American family – only now, we have a beautiful, strong, black, African sister in our family.

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Birth, in a Quiet Room

“Well,” She asked; her eyes wide. Beads of hot sweat glistening on her brow like miniature 
crystal suns. Her angst was palpable. “What is it!”
     The air was still. There were no words. Just the sound of bodies breathing in – and 
     “Congratulations.” He held out his arms, handing the mother, her baby, “You have a son.”
     The moment shone like glass in the center of the heavens – pure and eternal.
     It was redemption from every wrong thing she’d ever done. 
     It was the shining eyes of God smiling onto her exhausted face; lighting it with hope.    
     It was the only place there was – the only time, the only space. 
     It was the only feeling that existed. 
     They were the only two incarnate souls in the room; on the planet, and in the universe.
     This was her child –
     her son.
     And she was his mother.

     (there are no words for such things. suddenly, I feel like an intruder. there are too many 
eyes, words and moments here. so it is here, I take my leave; leaving this mother and the 
only soul in her universe to their perfect moment. they will have many more moments in this 
lifetime; but none as sacred, as human, or as eternal as the first look from life to life; 
mother to child; heaven to earth, as the very first. None.)
“It’s a boy.” she whispered. Her throat a crumbling tunnel; stunned, but not really. Like 
she’d known it all along. “My baby boy…” She smiled into his ancient, brand-new face; 
tracing his delicate cheek with the back of her finger. “He’s perfect.” 
     She ran her palm along the bottom of his soft, miraculous foot, and laughed. “Look at 
your feet – they’re huge!”
     And as she wiped the tears with the heel of her shaking hand – smearing what was left of 
her mascara - she looked in to his, as close to heaven as one can get, eyes, and said, “Hi.
I’m your mama.” He smiled at her. He knew. He’d known it all along. “And I’ll love you 
     The world closed its shades then. Leaving the sacred to its history; the moment to 
eternity; and their universe to its quiet, little room.

*Inspired by Deborah's, You Must Have Been A Beautiful Baby, contest; and every mother 
who has graced this sacred room.

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The Rose

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Surprise Factor

    (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.

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Color Me A Father


A child with a crayon can color an imaginary world,
With dolls of mommies, daddies, boys and girls,
Full of horses, cowboys, cars and trains,
Can scratch them out and draw them all again,
Color me a rainbow with a pot of gold,
Color me a fairy with ribbons and bows,
Paint my face, a bright yellow sun,
In a green grassy field where a blue river runs,
With mountains and  trees set in a colorful scene,
Monkey bars, teeter-totters, an old tire swing,
Color my face with a bright happy smile,
In a wonderful world, if only for awhile,
I can pretend my life is happy and gay,
Not worry about the mean stuff, just for the day,
Not worry about what I will eat, or where I will sleep,
Or the cockroaches and rats that make me creep,
Color me a family with brothers and sisters,
Color me a man to call Daddy, not Mister,
Color my mom in a bright yellow dress,
Stretched in a hammock under a tree with a nest,
In the yard of the house, we can call our own,
With neighbors on each side of our lovely home,
Color my dreams carefree and wild,
Color my life always as a child,
Color me a father, color me a Dad,
Color me the life that I never had. 
Color me a garden with fruits of all kinds, 
Apples, pears with grapes on the vine, 
Color me a crayon that’s really a crayon,
Not this old sharpened pencil that I just found,
To draw my picture on this brown paper bag,
That was once filled with gin and Ole’ Granddad,
Now, Dream me a dream…Once upon a time,
 I had a real father that I can call mine!

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Lavender Soap

Mother would tuck into each dresser drawer,
                      a bar of soap, to scent the clothes..
                          The familiar fragrance of English Lavender would fill the air
The small bedroom, a bit cramped..a bit shabby, but comfortably familiar.

The faded chintz curtains and the cover on the four poster, was a primrose yellow...
     and the wallpaper striped in blue and white.

         There would be marguerite daisies in a jug on the dressing table..
Next to a framed photo of five, smiling young cousins..
            all scrubbed, with shining faces, dressed for church, one Easter morning.

            Over on the north wall hung a painting of Willowby Pond...
                                    so pleasant to look at, just before falling to sleep.

Here I stand once again, having things so familiar, so much the same
     I take a deep breath, recalling the sense of home, the fragrance of lavender
           Like slipping into an old pair of slippers,
                     after spending the day wearing high heeled shoes

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Evacuation and Loss

The night shone for the full moon,
Sky brewing a coarse monsoon,
Bolted were windows, locked were doors,
The frequency of death frighteningly soared.
But who was this infant high upon the hill?
He denied the storm and just stood stone still,
Eyes shut like blinds and fingers dug into ground,
Felt he could move no muscle, for was sadly street bound.
Shutting his eyes, arms wrapped tight round
His skinny body, battered and browned
Praying for the sake of friends, family and all
However imaginary, he imagined them call
 “Boy, come to us we love you most”
“Our love for you is bigger than the Canadian coast”
“Do not cry, remember our love”
Joining their gaze in the beyond above,
He softly mumbled a song to forget,
The once daily song that was always a duet,
Alone on that hill without any feel,
Of an afterlife he finally accepted, wasn’t real
Tears met the floor, now bathed in yellow light,
As lightning struck him too quick to fright,
Child lay on the floor, dismembered and black,
Though his mouth was smiling and his happiness had come back,
As re-joined with family, head held high, 
He waved his tortured existence goodbye.
Hugging his mum and his dad the same,
Somehow put an end to the incessant rain,
The natives emerged from their homes, safe and sound,
The boy crying for happiness at the new life he had found.
Soul peering at his body, dead at age eleven,
Holding family’s hands they could finally pass on and join heaven. 
The touch of their skin brought old emotion,
 Parents who were torn betwixt war and devotion,
A child whom they gave their best shot,
By train to board and bomb to not.
The grave of the boy with the electric crown,
Who carried a burden he couldn’t live down,
Stood proud in the yard of cobbles and stones,
For everyone knew those were a heroes bones,
When you look into the sky on a stormy night,
Remind yourself of the boy’s plight.
As he is the clouds that damper weather,
Out to protect his town, children altogether,
He wanted a life for them around,
That didn’t consist of being mentally wound,
A life that he could never possess,
But he did not bathe in spiralling depress.
Life is sacred, upon that hill,
Those cobbles and stones bring great goodwill,
For the sun only shines on that grassy land,
Still holding marks of the boy’s humble hand,
Some say that the yearly rain,
Is him up above, the tears of a chain.
The chain of the tears shed on that night,
Of the fear and happiness’ conventional recite,
Up above, being tucked under the covers,
Is a little boy with an injury he recovers,
Mother kisses his head and says her goodnight,
Father over bed, comforting a nightmare fright.
Drifting off, the boy could hear,
A little rhyme to calm his fear,
“Boy, come to us we love you most”
“Our love for you is bigger than the Canadian coast”
“Do not cry remember our love-“
The young man rose slowly in his bed,
Opened his eyes and smiled as he said
“I’m here”

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Night Angel

They needed help
Walking alone in the dark.
The man.
The child.
A broken down car.
The child frightened,
But not understanding
The terror
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 passer-by.
A doer of good deeds.
He stops.
He sees.
He looks into
the little girl's eyes.
The girl speaks,
"This is not my dad"
And the coward
who took her,
He runs.
He hides.
The passer-by,
Believing he saved
A child
From a long, cold walk,
In reality
Saved a child
From a long, cold death.

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One Simple Twilight

Do we ever really notice them? Those rare and perfect moments? Do we pay enough attention? Do we care enough to keep them safely tucked away? It was summertime I'm not sure of the year We were sitting on our front porch steps Our children were playing in the yard The air was warm, the grass was green and fragrant The sun had disappeared over the trees, and the nearest hill The sky shone with hues of purple, pink and orange You pointed as a first star appeared Then reached for my hand, carressing it with the roughness of your thumb We never thought to get a camera Or to write about this particular moment in a journal We never mentioned it the next day....or the day after that.... Perhaps something we should have done Just so that we would never forget such a perfect twilight....
~ For Frank's Contest: "Stand Out Day" By Carrie Richards

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The Bell My Mother Rang

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

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The Captain and I

With the palms of well-worn leathery hands that in younger days guided a Tall Ship round 
the globe many times with the help of stars that still twinkled in his eyes, the old man made 
a porthole in the frosty forest of swirling ferns that had been painted on the kitchen window 
pane by Jack-Frost during the night.

As I sat on his lap, he told me the creaking sound made by the rockers from the rocking 
chair we sat in on the hardwood floor - if he closed his eyes, could make him believe he was 
back with the wind in his sails, rising and dipping and swaying with the whims of the 
waves ‘ore the sea.

Back- and- forth, back-and-forth, we rocked as the porthole on the window pane grew larger, 
exposing the winter wonder land outside where trees and roads and roof-tops lie frozen 
beneath a layer of fluffy snow that looked like icing on a birthday cake, as the house 
softened and swelled in the warmth of the burning kindling wood that snapped and crackled 
in the stove. 

Rocking  back-and-forth, back-and-forth, I asked him, looking into those eyes of green, with 
that far away look. “Grandpa, won’t you tell me please, what lies beyond the sea?”  He 
paused for a moment, blowing silver halos that rose from his pipe in an aroma of sweet 
smelling ‘Old Sail’ tobacco, and with the magic of his words, he took me on a journey, 
rocking across the sea where he showed me all the places and wondrous things he’d ever 

That was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, where an old man, taught a 
little girl, that life is but a dream.


                          In memory of: Captain James George the Third - My Grandfather

 2nd place in  'Anything Goes #2 Contest - sponsered by Constance La France 

Author's note:  

This is one entry of many that will appear in my next book ' A Journey of Roses and Thorns'. 
They are true events that have happened in my life - some where roses, some were 
thorns.  I have learned valuable lessons from both.

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His family had lived here all their lives untold and he had too.

His father had died when he was young and he vaguely remembered him.

Mom tried to cross the busy street which she had been warned.

She had instantly been killed as her family watched with horror and fascination.


No funeral just sadness as the machines whizzed by but the last of his kind remembers.

As a youth, he had run and played in these fields but steered away from the machines 

as he had been warned.

The machines are fast and you must always watch for them and be clear.

The woods were loved as he chased the young females until they let him catch.


He had two of his own children but they had died at very young age.

And soon after, the big trucks came with the men that would be vilified.

They uprooted one hundred year old oak and built twenty homes.

Across the road where the field was, forty more were taken from his youth.


The last of his family had all been married out or were dead until he was alone.

And as he walked and looked, he was frightened and filled with grief.

He saw his mother standing gracefully at the top of the house filled field.

His brother and sister played until dusk when his mother would call and recall.


He ached  where he ran and still he searched.

As the tear rolled away with those distant memories and the pain.

Slowed by the ache he laid his final time with grief.

And he knew he was the last and his youth died with him.





The last deer

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It started growing in a field
Billy Stover watched it grow

Because the corn was tall
Because Billy Stover was small
No one knew
Now one saw

No one saw how the tiny boy watched by the hour    in summer's heat
Even from the top of high elm trees by the road
    who could have detected that small lad    stretched out
    on his stomach    leaning on his elbows    watching

On stormy days    Billy watched from the closest window
    elbows propped up on the sill
He knew it was growing    though he couldn't see it
He'd be down in the field now    in the mud    watching
    but    his mother forbade it
"What do you do out there    Billy    all by yourself?
What is it you do out there instead of playing?"

On certain days    when the wind swayed the green stalks
    and    nipped Billy's cheeks    his eyes would light up
He fought back a burning desire to run into the white kitchen
    to tug at his mother's apron    to bring her out
    and show her his one spot
He jumped up    once    when the flames leaped high
    started running for the house
"Mother!    Mother!"    he silently shouted
Every part of his small body shook with joy    but
The bleak    white walls of the kitchen
    his mother    her hands dipped in bread dough....................................

It started growing in the field    in the dirt    in the mind of Billy Stover
And    no one could have kept a secret better than Billy

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William Kite, Sergeant Peppers Lonely Heartclub

~~~Being for the Benefit of Mr Kite~~~ An all round performer was Mr William Kite He trained and rode horses, but also walked the rope tight He worked for Pablo Fanqué the Wells Circus owner in 1842 But his work gave inspiration for John Lennon to do. Mr William Kite would never have dreamed. That his skills as a performer would inspire a song theme As he performed on his head, while balancing on a rope A trumpet in his mouth, and he played a damn fine note. When he was with John Sanger, who was equestrian minded William appeared for a spectacular night, the poster has reminded The celebrated horse called Zanthus was even there With Mr William Kite to perform - boy what a pair This poster impressed John Lennon so... It inspired him to write about William and the show Being for the Benefit of Mr Kite, the poster does show Inspired quite a few lyrics as all Beatles fans will know. What they may not know - but I am impressed There is a man called David with whom I am blessed He is the great great grandson of William by whom Lennon was inspired But better than that David is my half brother it has so transpired.
The Beatles Album Cover is "Sergeant Peppers Lonely Heartclub" which potrays the poster of Mr Kite

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The One That Got Away

Every year our vacation was always the same. Two
weeks of fishing, playing, eating and being together 
on the river. We had no electricity, no TV, and we 
all loved it. The four cousins had time to get to know 
each other and to just be kids. In the woods, on the river,
building forts and damns, catching frogs, campfires,
and , of course, fishing.
One day, when everyone else had given up and the kids
were playing on the bank, I hooked on to a BIG one.
I started to scream and shout...they all gathered round
to urge me on, give me advise and to share my
glorious moment. My tackle was not rigged for
salmon, but we could soon tell that's what I had.
For at least 15 minutes I was a star, playing that
fish, back and forth, until he was close to the
bank and we could see that he was a monster..
a big reddish salmon. 
My niece, who was about 10, jumped into the
water to help me land him, and then, disaster struck.
He spit the hook, flashed his tail, and off he swam.
We all stood there in stunned silence..not knowing
whether to laugh of cry. I did a bit of each.
The story has become the stuff of legends, the story of
Aunti/Mom and the "one that got away"..really, its 
more the story of the bond of family and times that 
were so precious. 

For the One That Got Away contest...

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Longer Shadows of the Moon

He is caught between one life and another
while my pain lengthens like a shadow of the moon
We are like leaves, played with by the wind

O lengthening dark vision
reaching across our lives
It came, at last, without a sound...
his leave taking came without a word,
but we both heard it in the silence....

His world is in the palm of his hand
and my world is this moment that does not move

O furtuna, sternit fortem
O furtuna, rota tu volubillis

Never was he mine, never was he not mine
The child, no longer, child that bends and sways
My eyes reflect the clouds upon the sky
for he reaches out a hand upon my crown 
and I feel the gentle warmth upon my head

A knowing hand of man, not boy, that once I vowed to keep
must leave and know that I will weep
as if I am the child, ....not he,...instead 

O fortuna, velut luna 
Statu variabillis, semper crescis, aut decrescis;

I force a smile, and watch him fly away
Quod per sortem .... Sternit fortem,
never was he mine, never was he not mine

For Deb's Contest: Bi-Lingual
Latin translated
O Fortuna (O Fortune)
Velut luna (like the moon)
Statu variabilis (you are changeable)
Semper crescis (ever waxing)
Aut decrescis; (and waning;)                                
Quod per sortem (since Fate)
Sternit fortem, (strikes down the string)                     
 Rota tu volubilis, (you whirling wheel)
Corde pulsum tangite; (pluck the vibrating strings;)
Quod per sortem (since Fate)
Sternit fortem, (strikes down the string)

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Touching the Stars

The blue mood of silence, is there on the screen
Not a whisper, not a word, just a humming is heard
The sound of the reel, spinning backwards in time
Little bird sounds, ticking away
Open the curtain, on one special day
A backdrop of childhood that bends time again

I am watching the ocean breeze catch your hair
It frolics, embracing you in the gauzy blue dress you wear
You are running barefoot in the sand, alongside the incoming tide
The beach is as smooth as the silk of your skin
Flying a kite in the swift summer sky
You are raising your hand
And you wave at me....
There is laughter in your face, in your eyes, in the way that you race....
I can almost hear the sweet sound of it ring in the gloom
It shatters the silence of this cold winter's room
The joy of it falls through the years....
It falls in voiceless wonder, to rest on my tears

I follow along...watching you play
Your lips are moving....what is it you say?
I find myself reaching...wanting to catch
Set a small trap...somehow reach into the past
Where are the chords,...the notes....the score to that song?
This music I long for.....forevermore gone?

But no....................the heart of it...the heart of your laugh
Never can vanish still still lasts...
Like the kite reaching pierces the sky
Weaving a magic...and a joy that can't die
I watch how you hold on....that kite in the sky...
Before me in wave and you laugh...

Then you throw me a kiss.....that I'm trying to catch
I can hear silent laughter......that my heart wants to grasp
     And for a moment together, .... we are touching the stars....


"Left With a Kiss"

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Coming Home

As I gaze out the upstairs window, it feels like yesterday
It is early, and a burst of sun gleams through the branches of the Cottonwood tree

It's not there anymore....
  that string of washing that used to wave on the clothesline, 
            looking like colorful flags flapping in the wind....
                      and I wonder...who does that anymore...hangs their wash?

Doves are still strutting on the cobbled path, cooing their song....
                   or perhaps complaining about the chill of the October morn...

I look about the room,... 
        Right there, that's where marguerite daisies sat in a jug on the dressing table
             next to a framed photo of five, smiling young cousins...
                 Scrubbed and shining faces, dressed for church one Easter morning, long ago

The faded chintz curtains, and the cover on the four poster is a pale primrose yellow
        And the wallpaper is striped in blue and white....
               It all looks a bit more worn, but still rather pretty

The bedroom is small,....a bit cramped, and a bit shabby, but comfortably familiar
Over on the north wall hangs a painting of Willowby Pond...
           so pleasant to look at, just before falling to sleep...

Mother would tuck into each dresser drawer, a bar of scent the clothes
     I recognize the fragrance of English Lavender, still lingering in the air...
            even though she has been gone these many years...

Here I stand again, having things so familiar, much the same...yet changed..

I take a deep breath, recalling the sense of home, the fragrance of lavender
                     and the sound of the doves...
                                Like slipping into an old pair of slippers
                                     after spending the day wearing high heeled shoes....

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A Blind Sunset

He glances out the window,
And watches the sunset,
But he doesn’t see the beauty,
Nor the warm rays which, 
Pierces through the glass,
Only the anticipation and, 
Anxiety of a long night,

Carefully, he watches, 
The colors change,
First the bright orange, 
"God I pray this never ends…"
Filling with a deep red,
"Just a little while longer…"
Slowly softening to the, 
Deceptive pinks and purples,
"Please, one more minute…"
Fading into the crimson black,
Which only night can bring,

Reluctantly, he gets ready for sleep,
Yet, knows it will never come,
He tossed and turns,
Half praying, half waiting,
Knowing what will happen,
In the way only a child can,

A light! It peeks through a crack,
In the door as a shadow floods the opening,
Quickly, the figure slips through the door,
And shuts it softly, but not without the,
Empty creak which has become so familiar,
The shadow climbs in beside him,
Touching his trembling leg, whispering,

“Hush little brother, it’ll be alright,
While I’m here, have no fear,
I’ll keep you safe tonight,”

He struggles and writhes,
Sadly knowing he will never,
Break the grip and prays to faint,
To loss all consciousness and,
Memory of that horrible night,
Just for one night without the pain,
Just for one night without, 
The cold empty feeling, 

Several years pass, too many to count, 
A single call, one he had never expected,
He rushes to the hospital to find, 
His tormentor for so many years,
Lying on a cold, hard bed,
Able to move, but only by pushing a button,
Able to speak, but only with a whisper,

He stays by him for weeks, caring for him,
Reading to him, watching over him,
Still suffering, still unable to move, 
He takes his brother home, 

The day goes on, moving slow as all,
The evening comes and he,
Watches once more as the sun sets,
Carefully watching, Orange to red,
Red to purple, and as the purple turns to black,
He walks into the room where his brother lies,
Slowly, he sits next to him, holding a pillow,
Stroking his head whispering,

“Hush big brother, it’ll be alright,
While I’m here, have no fear,
I’ll keep you safe tonight,”

The difference between right and wrong,
Can be hard to find,
But who’s there to see you,
When justice is blind?

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The enemy of Depression (Believing in Prayer's) pt.2

The family was all gather in the waiting room at the local hospital. The new's of
Anthony being shot had everyone there in a state of shock and feeling dispeckable.
Just about a month ago the elder Anthony (Sr.) died after a serious car accident that
left 3-people's dead and a little boy in a coma, after recieving a large cut on his head.
So now his mother is deeply in need, and all are praying as they wait for answers-about
what seem like a hundred year's a doctor dress in hospital garment steps in the waiting 
room, "sorry to be the bearier of bad new's, but Anthony injury was to seveered-we did
all we could, but sad to say....he's dead". The outcry of emotion was unbearable, Anthony
mother is given a shot to help her calm down and relax. "The enemy of depression is stat-
ed to begin when the enemy think's you're vulnerable at your most perplex stage".
But the power of prayer is a medicated antidode that wards off when the mind is slated.
Believing in Prayer's, Justifie's my stronghold on hope. "For faith is the substance of things
hope for, and the evidence of things not seen". Member's of Anthony family prayed inclusi-
vily for the carjacker to be caught, for he shot Anthony and stole his car, being depress
already she kept on praying thru-out this ordeal, and within hours, he's caught.
   Thank God for being so real, his younger sister is heard as she shouts-after they're told
of the capture and still very sadden about Anthony ordeal, God has a way that brings about
hope--hope brings this family some thrill.
A whole lot of people deal with depression, some in the most provocative way. I myself
Believe's in faith, when the enemy tries to ruin my day.

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He's more than just a friend, { He is the One} 1

The pressure and pain in each other's family of another friend that slips away and now
you find yourself in need of someone to talk too.  And in each family and every of the
thousand's that you thought was your friend is never the same.  "He's more than just a
friend".  When one need to be uplifted and the need of the same thousand seem some-
what drifted, the one that truly is in need gets lost in the shuffle.  And that shuffle is re-
onerated by one's pride and greed, that same someone shall never have the proper
necessitie's too satisfied that need.  The Lord Jesus Christ promises friendship mix with
courtship would always equal a divine relationship.  "He's more than just a friend", for I
once was lost but now I am found, the one's in need of an uplift will not find it, because
the idiosyncrasies we compound in our live's is due to the burden's that we allow to keep 
us down, we turn to someone who we thought was that friend, only to be disapointed time
and time again, the price of which is discarded by the poor.  "He's more than just a friend,
maybe that's him you hear knocking at your door".  If that be him....then let him in, a
friend indeed is he, clousure than any somebody that you will meet having church on any
street.  Muhummed nor Buhda can be your friend.  For they were not annoited on the
criteria of love nor do their belief's allow's being friendly to folk's that marches to the beat
of a different stroke.  Now if you are still in need of a friend and you're not ashame to
call upon his name.  (Call Him) He would come to you from all direction.  Just believe, on 
that day of ressurection, more than just a friend got up and got out, SHOUTING!!.."All power is mine". 
"So now all everyone".  "COME"
And meet a real true friend.  Believing on Joseph and Mary's - Son.  {He is the One}.

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The Bottomless Pit

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.

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-Deeply Rooted-


                 Heavy in my hand, it is the color of the earth
                 I feel within the weight of words
                 A family rooted, bound in leather
                 By generational latitudes
                 Now, linking me to names I never knew

Heavy on my mind, I search the laden book of names
And heavy was the lot, of those who tilled the loam
Color of the prairie earth, would change from rust to gold
As Kansas dust, would furrow brows and flourish, row, by row

I feel within my heart, sharp splinters from the plow
The weight of shoulders, tiring
From lifting me
Long before my hour came

Oh, for the power of these words 
To learn the names, that held the brush
That paints for me
This tree of life

Bound in leather, bound in love, a family's footsteps, tred
I feel the trace, in pages spread
Names inscribed, of birth and death
Of children lost, of hearts that bled

I feel the sense of who I am
Between the threads 
Frayed and thin, within these bindings
Yet holding firm
Confirming what’s been said
By generational latitudes
Linking me to names I never knew

Inspired By Deb's Contest: Et cetera

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Butter Toffee

"Love comes in many flavors....but the taste of it, is unforgettable"

It makes a very large batch.
And when I finish, there will be
Enough for my family, my friends, and quite possibly
Everyone who lives on our street.

On my tiled kitchen counter
I have gathered..according to the recipe,
The butter, the sugar, the corn syrup,
Nuts and chocolate...all the necessary delectable
Ingredients to make my mother's
Melt-in-the-mouth butter toffee.
    I make it every Christmas, a family favorite, 
    Like a legacy that must be passed on...
    A futile attempt to lighten a dark hour ...of long ago.
A new bride then, with inexperience my middle name.. 
In a tiny kitchen of blue and white 
I was frocked in frilly yellow, wearing the apron she had sewn
An apron with color as warm as the butter assembled before me
My task, was to follow the step by step instructions
A recipe, written in her hand 
Letters so blurred by tears that had taken up new residence in my life
The curls of her handwriting
Wrapping 'round me like the sound of her voice...
A little page from her vast collection..
Wrinkled and yellowed, with speckles, and splatters 
Yellow splatters, reminding me of days of my childhood
A childhood of naivete', believing still, in a sun that would forever shine for me...
When I had so much yet to learn

    But this was that ghastly year, ....that first Christmas,... without her...
    It was up to me, determined to carry on
    ...A simple recipe,     ....couldn't be that hard...could it?

My novice effort, in those first months without her
Was a disappointment.  Just not the same as hers, 
Faintly scorched, the delight, in the offering...
People were polite, accepted it, and ate it to be kind.
They smiled, patted my head, gave compliments...  
But I knew.
And, as time passed,..experience taught me.  Experience heals.
My toffee is good. Quite good...delicious, actually...
Still not the same as hers, but my family thinks it's fine.
I, however, know better. 
     I Have always known.
Today...I melt the butter, I add the sugar, and the syrup
Stirring while the mixture turns to amber.  It won't take long.
My family waits....waits eagerly to savor the sweet flavor
      The flavor of butter, the flavor of chocolate

                              the flavor of enduring love..........that was my mother.

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A Soldier's Wife

Today is the beginning of her new life
the sorrow and pain of a soldier's wife
Her life was changed in the blink of an eye
and God only knows the reason why
Her love for him will never change
Her promise made when she took his name
Beside him bravely she will stand
to comfort him and hold his hand
As she prepares for their changing life
God will take care of a soldier's wife

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The Gift

It's gone, the thundering voice of destruction, leaving behind the shattered lives and loves of yesterday.  The darkness is broken only by the sounds of silence.   We have survived the tornado.

There is a stir beneath me as I feel my boys begin to move.   “Mom, are we dead” a tremulous voice ventures?  “No” I say, “God did not look the other way”.  

I try to move and a flash of pain runs through my body.  I am trapped.  I cannot move my legs.    I must stay calm. No one knows we're here.  What's that?  A voice', faint but growing stronger.  Hello!  Can anybody hear me?  

“We're down here” I cry.  “Please help us, I can't move”.    A sense of relief crowds my senses before a wave of nausea rolls over me.  I remember hugging my boys.

Light streams through the window of an unfamiliar room.  “Where am I.  Where are my boys” I ask.  Lay still I am told.  Your boys are fine, and you will be too, but now you must rest.

I drift between a world of sunshine and shadow, waking fitfully.  I survey my surroundings.    I glance at the shape beneath my sheet that is my body and absently note that I cannot see my feet.  Clutching the sheet I slowly draw it up. An anguished scream escapes my throat.  My legs!  They are gone!  There is nothing below my knees.  I panic. I cannot live like this.  What am I going to do?    The tears fall uncontrollably.

A doctor enters the room and offers me a sedative.  I scream at him about the injustice.   I am a mother.  I am angry.  He speaks to me in quiet tones.  We did everything they could he says.  There was no other choice.

Days pass and I worry about what my boys will think when they see me for the first time.  I know it is now up to me to deal with it, but I am so afraid.  And I am still angry at God for what he took away from me just when I needed him most.

I lay there, contemplating my misfortune, feeling sorry for myself  when two little boys burst through the door, laughing and looking for their mom.  My heart races as they climb up on my bed.

“Mom” the older boy says.  “Can I ride in your wheelchair”?

At that moment, it all becomes clear. They do not care how I look.  They love me just the same.  Through my tears I realize that in fact I have been blessed.  I can no longer hate Him for what I lost, but instead, I must give thanks for what He let me keep.

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The Nuts fall close to the tree

In the dimmed theater, the stage is set
not for a play though, yet a performance 
one of baton, brass, notes, timpani 
the performance I have waited for has come

As the stage lights grow brighter like sunlight
the theater grows dimmer yet, almost dark
but for the brilliance of the stage lights
then out you come with French Horn in hand

Along with thirty of forty other musicians
you take the stage, you are first chair
therefore you must be at your best tonight
and I know that you will be, you've practiced

The Conductor arrives on stage and announces
Welcome to the Black Hawk County Honor Band
I am sure you will be pleased with our selections
The Conductor takes the podium, opens his arms

With baton in hand he signals instruments ready
You raise your horn along with the others
ahhh the sound is fervent with excitement 
the theater is alive with Parker in G flat

I can pick your horn from all the other instruments
you are playing the best you have ever played
you are caressing your horn like a fine jewel
and it sparkles in the light brilliance unimagined

Like your brother the writer of poetic beauty
you also have talent, musical talent like I
you now can hear a song and play it, by ear
like I you are learning the guitar, teaching yourself

The next song, Bach, such beauty to my ears
you and your fellow musicians have mastered the master
two years you have played, it sounds like many more
I film the whole concert, to preserve the moment

The concert ends with a Beethoven, in B how lovely
again you played masterfully, never missed a note
You even hit high G, and you thought you couldn't 
well done son and it's all on tape, and in my memory

Red faced you leave the atrium, you worked so hard
I hug you and tell you how proud I am of you
all you want is a drink of water, you drank and
the redness is leaving your face, well done I hug you again

I wish your Brother could have been here to see and hear
he would have been proud too, and would have hugged you
You see, talent runs in our family, Me, you and Jared
all have it, So I guess it's in the gene pool, must be for you see

The Nuts fall close to the tree !

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They fought the tide to own this land
A fight I did not understand
They fought the plow, they fought the drought, they fought the debt
But yet,…by God,……they owned the pride

In retrospect, I'm still ashamed
It was, my flippant pilgrimage
I had come a stranger to this place
About to step upon the moon,
A cratered space of rocks and sage
Of rolling hills, with no escape

She saw it differently, of course 
Although her body weary, worn
Her eyes were strong, ...she saw a home

   Her age was then, what mine is now,
   It had been her home, and it had been her vow
   To come again, just one more time.  

   I was thirteen, and dragged along
   I overlooked the great attraction
   I could not see the satisfaction
   I missed the light upon her face

   She saw the youth she left behind
   Her gray eyes drinking up the sun, 
   I saw the dust, I saw the bones, 
   Where she saw beauty,  I saw none .....
Nothing more than a sea of weeds, the crumbling brick, 
A place to shuffle my restless feet

But stories came, and they sunk in….
And now I view with wiser eyes…
She told me all these things back then…but now I smile,… remembering.

How it awakens in spring with sprouting grain, after brittle frost, the slush and rain
I can see how gold a wheat field grows
I shall know how a dark-framed wagon rests beside a shed, 
Quivering trees, and stiff shocks of corn
The amber of the sun-cured hay 
Milking cows, and a chicken shed
And a barn filled with horses, waiting to be fed
A lone, white farm house, with a big front porch
And how a bible rests..., next to the bed

     They had to fight to own this piece of land
     They fought the plow, they fought the drought, they fought the debt
     And yet,…oh yes,…….they owned the pride

A Memory of My Grandmother's Homestead  _________________________________________________

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Within these walls…
Fragrant aura of comfort
Freshly washed baby hair and sweet breath;
Passed around in soft pink pajamas
Laughter and wit from older minds;
Even though the stories are well used
Awkward ramblings of youngsters;
Still testing their wings
Warm delicious wafts of seasoned meat
And sugared pies
From a kitchen full of women;
Sharing recipes and secrets while sipping Chardonnay
Rambunctious giggles from upstairs;
Playing children’s games in pretty clothes
While piles of coats, hats, and purses
Sleep soundly on the guest room bed;
Along with one gray tabby cat
Crisp fallen leaves dance with shimmering snowflakes,
The first of the season
In a chilly November breeze
Just outside the door;
Painted a vibrant red
Illuminated by glowing amber post lamps;
Stalwart sentinels for our
Within these wonderful walls

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My Mom

Dear God, how did You sleep.
I had a dream and it made me weep.
Did You see it, it was so real.
I think it might even help me heal.

Anyway that dream last night 
sure was kind of cool.
Except for the times  
I acted the fool.

I was a whole lot younger
then I am now.
I was talking with my mom
and I was wondering how?

We sat at the kitchen table
and she had on that grin. 
The one that always told me.
I know where you've been.

I could talk to her 
about anything I ever did.
Not only when I grew up
But since I was a little kid.

She was the only one
on this whole entire earth.
Who made me feel like I belonged.
Who gave me a sense of worth.

We talked for hours.
We laughed and we cried.
I didn't leave the table 
till the day that she died.

It was a roller coaster ride 
of every high and low I could feel.
Then Lord You got out the projector
and then You put on the reel.

We watched home movies
and most of it was good.
You would fast forward
those parts that you should.

There was this one scene
where Jesus had a part.
Remember when I asked for Him 
to come into my heart?

On a scale of 1 to 10
I would give it a ten.
But there was this one time 
I don't remember when??

When I asked for Jesus to come into my heart
He walked right in like He belonged.
But what I didn't know then 
was that He walked in with my mom.

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Straying Juvenile

My younger sibling, I brought you painfully up,  you brought me "pain"  fully
I myself struggled through  constant hard times, your constant struggling with yourself, hard timed me
I cleared a pathway through life for you, you clearly thought the pathways were lined with gold 
Today I had to repair,  Mums front door, the door you caused to be kicked down yesterday
I love you and will defend you, even when you are wrong, which as you know, you never are
You lost your parents some way back and now it seems you somehow lost your way

I can't believe you did this thing, I can't believe you did
The shame on mum and dad's memory and then you run and hid

You cannot mess with men like this, they follow no set rules
Wealth becomes a god to them, they do not suffer fools

I pulled you from a hole today, I pulled you from a hole
The talk was death to stinking thieves, I saved your very soul

You lost your mum and dad so young, is that why you rebel but life is not a one way street, I lost them both as well

You brought me lots of grief tonight, you brought me lots of grief
I brought you up as many things but one was not a thief

I handed back, the things you took, I gave them all right back
The men who stood at mums front door had shot guns in a sack

The offer that they offered me,  was one,  to not refuse
Return the goods the "bastard took"  or read it in the news

If mum and dad were still alive, for this you would pay dear
If mum and dad were still alive, do I make myself clear

I can't believe you did this thing, I can't believe you did
The shame on mum and dad's memory and then you run and hid

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Family Camp

It was a special time of life
With my children and my wife
In a tent among the trees
At a place called Camp Louise

Sitting around a campfire Friday night
And the big old moon was shining bright
Putting marshmallows on stick ends
Just sitting, talking with some friends

Telling stoories about an old black bear
Trying to give the kids a scare
The stars were shining high above
A time filled with laughter and with love.

With our energy all spent
We crawled into our tent
The bags were musty and the tent was damp
But we loved it there at family camp

In the morning right after daybreak
You could find us boating on the lake
As we moored the boat along the pier
Right behind the shed, we saw a deer

Two more days of playing in the sun
Fishing, hiking, having fun
Plenty of food and a campfire at night
For a few days a year, the world was right.

Those days are gone and our children grown
We wonder where the time has flown
But no matter how far apart we'll be
We will always have that memory.

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Quit That Tapping

like the raven 
who taps taps upon 
your chamber door
do not fret my Virginia
for it's my shadow
moving across the floor
this is what I'm telling you my darlin
and nothing more

beneath lattice
I still call your name
come to me virginia
come hear the tap tap 
upon your chamber door
for only you my love 
I surrender and never more

wind howls in blanket snows
here I stand so all alone
broken hearted and misconstrued
my Virginia who lies under stars and moon
just a tap tap upon your chambers door
tis I and nothing more

tales of hidas truth
blackbird sings harps cords
just like the tap tap upon your chambers door
my sweet Virgina whom I adore
for there'll be love waiting and nothing more

as I lay right next to you in this tomb
I counted only seven who have even knew
the times of this raven who 
tapped tapped upon your chambers door
twas only I and will be never more

Tribute To Edgar Allen Poe
And His Young Bride Virginia
Also To His Poem The Raven

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Death Of The Saints

A cousin called the other day saying "Another cousin has passed away".

Well my husband said "How old was she.""


A stalwart woman who had served family and community well. Producing one child that 
became a missionary serving in a foreign land..

While talking the cousin asked "Did you know ______"?

My husband answered, "Well, I don't think that I knew them".

The cousin proceeded to tale this story.

"The man had been down with cancer for a while and passed recently..The funeral had been 
conducted and the hearse had gone on to the cemetary..The family car with the family was 
not to far behind..But when it pulled up, the wife of the deceased did not get out and the 
funeral home staff was gathering around..The funeral home director decided to go see what 
was going on ...."

The cousin said, " That this funeral home director told him". "That he had been in this 
business for thirty-five years and faced something that he had never had happen to him or 
any other funeral home director that he knew."

The funeral home director said, "When I got to the family car, I found the wife of the 
deceased had passed from a massive corornary."

She had said, "I don't know how I will live without him." She didn't have to learn. God called 
her home..

The roosters crow, the crows craw and are answered by the gobble of the turkey across the 

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If You See

If you see a heartless man,
feel sorry for him.

With that cold heart,
comes lonely.

If you see a man without love,
pray for him,

with that empty home,
comes sadness.

If you see a happy man,
be happy with him,

for a happy man,
can spread joy.

If you see a man with religion,
follow his lead.

for a man of God,
is the best teacher we have.

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Merry Christmas

She stood at her window,
looking out on the world,
alone this Christmas,
this frightened young girl.

The night had come,
without making a sound,
as the snow began falling,
lightly powdering the ground.

Only eighteen, 
when she said I Do,
her childhood sweetheart,
and their love so true.

Ready to see,
this world as one,
planning their first Christmas,
so much left undone.

Then one day,
that dreaded letter arrived,
orders to leave,
and she held it and cried.

When he came home,
he held her close,
trying to comfort her,
reminding her, why he had to go.

He told her softly,
I love you so,
but I am a soldier,
this is what I chose.

Decorate our tree,
in red, white, and blue,
and this time next year,
I'll be back home with you.

Merry Christmas to our Military,
their families, and friends.
We love you all,
and our prayers we send......

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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)

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He Loved You

He loved you too, you know
Loved you like his very own
In away you were
You came into his life as my friend
Through the years you grew to be my brother in arms 
Along the way you became the son he never had

He loved you as a friend
He loved you even more as a son
A son he never had
When things began to spiral out of control
You stayed when so many others ran away
You helped when I couldn’t

You meant a great deal to him
You never looked at him differently 
Nor did you treat him differently
You stood by his side
When he fell, you stood by his side and mine
You were willing to help me fight his battle for him 
You were there from the beginning 
You were there until the bitter end
Always remember my friend, my brother
He loved you more than you’ll ever know

Dedicated to close Family friend Rodney Howard. He loved my Daddy just as much as I did/do.

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Baseball in Heaven

My grandfather and I had a special relationship.

When I was young we lived near his home in Baltimore.  But, my family moved away from 
Baltimore when I was five and we lived most of my life in another state far away from my 
grandfather.  Whenever he called, however, I was the one grandchild he always wanted to 
talk to so we could discuss his beloved Baltimore Orioles.  I was the one grandchild who 
followed sports closely and always remained a true Baltimore sports fan.

Later in life, I learned that my grandfather was actually a gifted baseball player himself when 
he was young.  In those days, he would explain, professional baseball players did not make 
enough money to support a family so he had to make up his mind to either play baseball or 
get married and raise a family.  As it turned out, his love for baseball was only surpassed by 
his love for my grandmother and, although he hung on to the newspaper clippings that 
labeled him a “can’t miss professional baseball prospect”, he hung up his cleats and glove, 
married my grandmother and went out to find a “real” job.

But his love for the game survived and year in and year out, he and I discussed the 
intricacies of the game and enjoyed or lamented each baseball season based on the 
successes and/or failures of the Baltimore Orioles.  As crummy as the Baltimore bums are 
today, I was fortunate enough to experience and share many more successful seasons than 
poor ones during those limited years that I shared life with this amazing man.

I always felt sorry for my grandfather, considering him a victim of poor timing.  Had he 
been born about 50 years later in life, he would not have had to pick between being a 
baseball player or earning a living – in fact, with his talent, he could have earned a much 
better than average living while enjoying the one thing he loved most in life.

When my grandfather passed away, I was sure that he was joining a heavenly nine to once 
again strap on his spikes and don the leather.  Without a doubt, they must play baseball in 
heaven.  And I wait for the day that I sit in the heavenly bleachers and cheer on a young 
grandfather playing this wonderful game with other boys of summer.

(Inspired by, “is there baseball in heaven”, by Constance, A Rambling Poet)

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End of Summer

We were home 
On an innocent summer afternoon
And for a day we pushed our problems aside
The almanac promised a clear day, highs in the eighties
Instead it was muggy and hot in the low nineties
After lunch the three of us 
Took a slow walk under the summer sun
Coming home we went our separate ways
My son to the living room
Wife upstairs and 
I to the den
Where I fell into a deep sleep
My body sinking into the sofa.

A faint breeze circulated through the house
Suddenly a yellow light woke me up
The skies suddenly darkened
Then thunder
Followed by heavy rain
It was a summer storm
Sudden it its ferocity
And intensity.

I woke up
Joining my wife and son
Running out to bring in the lawn cushions
In the rain we
Made loud noises
Threw cushions around
To our hearts content 
Glad to be together again
Because of a summer storm. 

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A Spark of Hope

A little girl lost her home this year, for her, Christmas wouldn't be there.
Her family was angry from all the troubles, they simply couldn't repair.
Don’t bother us about presents her parents said, they were depressed by their fate.
With bitterness they said, you’d be lucky to have dinner tonight, or even a plate.
Life was harsh, nowhere to go, anger and fear had put their souls, in a terrible place.
The little girl had found no hope or joy, lurking near their old car, of late.
The car was their home, gas money was scarce, and with few places they could park.
Yes, their troubles had slowly extinguished, that precious hopeful spark.
Without that spark, they’d never find their way, from this terrible place of cold and dark.
And life’s darkness grew deeper nightly, as hope vanished under a reality so stark.
Even the very fiber of her family, seemed to be shattering slowly, slowly, apart.
The child felt alone here in this dark car, as sadness tried to engulf her little girls heart.
The future seemed filled with hopelessness, as shame and dread, were leaving their mark.
Embarrassment to be seen and turned away, made it hard for them to reach out, to restart.
But life goes on, and we can’t fear to rebuild, or the future will be hard to impart.
The girl suddenly declared there’s more to life, and she wouldn't let it conquer her heart.
She decided triumphs will come, and all will get better, if she held to that hopeful spark.
Seeing the desolation and anger here, she couldn't stay around, she had to get away…
So she climbed out of the car, and she walked into town, not so very far to stray.
She went and looked at the store windows, where Christmas was being displayed.
The music and people filled her heart, lifting her spirits, deep inside, that day.
She noticed a store, way down at the end of the row, on the next block, where it lay.
No one was there, it seemed lonely, and the darkness was again, spreading it’s decay.
She ran there in time to see an old man closing up, with sadness on his face betrayed.
What use were his goods, if no one would shop, or come down along his way?
The super store down the block, was daily making him lose more and more in the fray.
He could no longer afford to hire people, and the season had very little time, to stay.
As they talked the girl saw that she couldn't let the darkness take another, so she prayed.
Then she told the old man, if he’d open the shop, she’d bring customers down his way.
She added, she’d find reasonable workers, if her family could live upstairs, she portrayed.
First bring the customers, he said, and the rest will be yours little friend, he conveyed.
She had him put his best toys, as a contest prize, and to add lots of lights on the display.
He set a contest, “Winners-the best collectors for families in need” on Christmas Eve.
He put out a bright contest sign, but still nobody came to his end of the block, to survey.
So she had him call the Salvation Army, for a kettle, Bell ringer, and Carolers, who came 
Lickety split, their way.
Then she had him call a dear old friend, and farmer, to bring a tractor full of bails of hay.
Another volunteered his horse and sleigh, both, to see the city lights thru New Years Day.
This was a great idea, since the older drivers, could use the help, for their bills to pay.
The girl ran all over spreading the excitement, and to come see the prizes, his way.
The families suddenly started heading toward his door, and to those wondrous rides.
At that moment her parents came, and she explained what her hope, had improvised.
Her father talked a contractor into building a disabled family a home, to help advertise.
He could get a tax break; come to this store for supplies, and hire unemployed workers, he devised, so wise.
In the end, each night grew brighter, because of a girls hope, and heart-warming delight.
And the old man began smiling for the first time, in a long, long, time, starting that night.
All was saved, a home was found, and another built, as a sad little girl taught grownups to smile along the way… 
You might say, A Spark of Hope lit a candle, then a raging fire, which was burning bright by Christmas day.

The moral to my story is:
Never give up on Hope; it’s your best friend, as life brings its troubles your way…
Know that with time, a good heart, good will, and friendly ways… 
You can find God’s gifts again, if you don’t let the dark take you away…

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School Days

(and long brown stockings) 

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

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

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

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

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

I lost it.

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

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We Are There With You

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.

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Midnight Again

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Love Will Triumph

In an era long since passed, an Oriental carpet adorning the 
floor from far off lands seems to object to the
leopard skin beneath a fair maiden’s feet, yet this English lass 
seems oblivious as she stares blankly at the floor 
in deep contemplation of her sweetheart and suitor 
standing a respectable distance from her 
with his top hat humbly held in his hand.

His countenance is one of uncertainty, quite ready to
plead his veracity and intention should her father care
to honor his sincerity with an understanding ear.
He feels a bit consumed and cold standing near 
the grandeur of the unlit hearth.

He is attired in his finest to court his fair maiden though 
little notice is taken from her stern yet loving father who only 
wants to see his daughter marry into a dignified and wealthy
family that will elevate his own standing in the community.
The young maiden’s mother is trying to sway her husband’s 
judgment in favor of the young man to appease 
her daughter’s romantic affections.

The young maiden’s mother, dressed in an exquisite expensive
pale pink ensemble makes a stunning statement of breeding 
and manners as she softly coaxes the kinder side of her husband
to appear by placing both hands lovingly upon his breast.
Her father’s clenched fist reveals his determination not to give in.

The lovely maiden spent hours readying herself for this special
occasion, the day in which her young man would come to ask
her father for her hand in marriage. She had been trying to calm
herself by embroidering his initials on a dresser scarf until
her young man arrived, as evidenced by her sewing container opened
partly as she hurriedly placed the scarf back in when he arrived.
Now listening to her father’s words of rejection she holds little hope
of a future with her beloved and contemplates her life without him.
Yet as her mother pleads her case for them to be together she knows
there is very little her mother asks of him he can say no to.

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A Woman's Worth

A Woman’s Worth
By Nate Spears

Her purpose in this world is hurting
She’s never been a designed of perfect
But she is a mom, so she’s super
She works
She cleans
Then roll up her sleeves ; and
Take care of the kids; and
The house 
Making it a home
For a beautiful family to roam
Building wonderful memories
Becoming a woman of worth
Keeping her faith through Christ
Keeping her pace through health
Keeping her sanity through managing
This is a woman’s worth 
I’m giving you

Despite of all the stress 
She receives her family with open arms
Through all the mess
She’s a fantastic mom
A wonderful woman 
Deserving a round of applause
Plus a standing ovation
For always being an American sensation
That held this continent down since day one
Since the Plymouth Rock landed on us
Thank you for her giving
Thank you for her living
Thank you for her children
This is ,
A woman’s worth.

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The Wisdom of a Simple Man

I remember eating dinner in the glow of the burning lamps.
We all dipped our bread into a common bowl of oil.
A little bread, a little cheese, some salt, an apple, a little wine.
But for the salt all the fruits of our own labors. And Gods.
The enjoyment of fellowship and family at table and fireside.
Laughter and the soft sounds of evening chores and talk.
Discussing the work to be done tomorrow and next week.
Telling the old tales,  the good ones, and the family stories.
Children learn who they are from this and will remember.
Maybe a song or two, all voices raised, some sweet, some not.
Childrens prayers before bed, every night, from this comes faith.
A cuddle and a kiss with your wife, to let her know she's beautiful.
A snuggle with her beneath the warm blankets, face on a cool pillow,
And a whispered prayer of thanksgiving before sleep takes you.
God gave every man a brain, two hands and a heart.
With these tools we can build all of these things.
With all of these gifts, who needs more?

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Healing Words

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.

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Leap of Faith

As the man on the roof, took two steps towards the edge, he was unexpectedly stopped by the sound of a bright and familiar voice, down below.
     "I thought you were at work dad, watcha doing up there?", asked Daisy with a serious look on her face. He was hoping she wouldn't have to witness this, and was desperately thinking of ways around it, to explain his actions.
     "I came home early, honey and well-- things will be a little bit different from now on, sweet pea... please, just go back inside"
     She hugged herself tight as the autumn wind attacked her bare arms. It was freezing out here. And although she longed for her cocoa and wool blanket inside, daddy just wasn't making any sense.
     "I'm scared... you always said that the roof was dangerous and--"
     Her slightly panicked plea was cutoff by yet another familiar voice, though with an unusually angry tone to it, like the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard... but not quite.
     "Charles! What on earth are you doing up there?", roared from what only could be Daisy's mother. The man on the ledge, sighed. Two problems arising in the span of a few minutes. There's just no way around this, if I'm gonna do this at all I gotta do it now! He thought to himself.
     He took a couple steps back, inhaled a quick breath, and lifted his leg as if it sprint. While gritting his teeth and slamming his eyes closed he leaped off the edge into the blustery cold day. And in mid-air he hugged his legs tightly with his arms, creating an impressive cannonball shape.
     A great whoosh sound happened, as the girls immediately raised their arms in defense of the coming splash.
     "You just ruined your best suit!", said the woman, as the man lifted his head up from the icy chlorinated water, with a mad grin on his face.
     "Well it looks like I won't be needing it anymore."
     "You mean, you-- Oh Charles, what are we gonna-- Oh Charles," she incoherently blabbered on.
     "It's alright dear, something will come up. There's a whole world of possibilities now," he gestured with his arms at the general area of their front lawn. "I'll do something else, something better even. A detective, an archaeologist, an astronaut--"
     "Or maybe an Olympic diver!", shouted Daisy contentedly.
     "Anything's possible," he chuckled. And on that note, they left their front lawn, while half a dozen anthills fended against the unexpected flooding. And as they walked through the front door of the house, they were uncertain to keep, they all held hands, and spent the rest of the afternoon playing board games.
     Late at night when everyone else was asleep, he walked in his pyjamas and gazed through the window. The pool was mirror-flat, filled with silver moonlight, and autumn leaves were casually floating on its surface.
     A good day, Charles thought. Today was a good day.

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Good Bones

Winding around the curve of the road
the brilliant blue of the morning sky had faded
and seemed it had been left out too long in the sun......
Something,...... some new kind of threshold, waited in the November chill
We didn't know yet, just what it was, but the memory 
would be imprisoned by our young, and eager eyes
for decades, to come

We had arrived........
with an alive sense of enthusiasm and a vivid anticipation

We left our children in the car, for a few minutes
until we saw the perfect yard.....that seemed to go for miles
the hills surrounded.....and a battered, eye-sore house, somehow had found us

I remember the house half timbered
with white paint peeling on the southern side
We had been expecting nothing much,
nothing more than a weekend's new adventure
not realizing we were entering the future
while the grey haired woman, who met us there, 
produced a key, and unlocked  the door.
We looked out behind us, 
where our children were already running up and down the grassy slope
"Twin Pine Real Estate" ,  scrolled across the door of the woman's car parked next to ours

If hesitation and....common-sense had overruled
The story would end here...

I do recall.....we said it all......
"Ramshackle dump" ! ? "Good bone structure"
"Good inspiration"  "They'll think we're crazy"
"With sweat and guts......."IF ....AND....or  BUT!"
"Elbow grease"........"Dedication"     "Celebrations"

We fell head over heels........we'll... beg, borrow, steal!

We hollered out to call the children
and then brought them in.   They shared the wish, 
to own a place to call our own, a home, some land, a mountain view
our grand ideas of property....of priority, of possibility, of probability, ..of family.....
Everyone would work, everyone would reap,  
A house we loved.........a dream to keep
and years have come, and years have gone...... the place that we still call home

9/16/14  A Special Memory Contest: sponsored by Regina Riddle

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Losing Someone to Cancer

I did speak with them, seemed very confused.

Apparently from what I have been told,
the cancer has gotten worse, and has 
began invading the rest of the body…

The hospice nurse doesn’t,
think they will be with us much longer…

They don’t know where they are living, can't 
remember me seeing them recently, can't 
remember me talking with them yesterday...

I know that this is very depressing news,
and if it weren't for friends and family,
I would be going crazy…

For it is hard to lose a loved one,
whether it be family or friend…

Since we don't know, when that fateful day
will happen, we can only take it one day at a time,
I only hope and pray that they won't suffer, I would
 rather see them be in a coma, and not have 
the pain and suffering…

I know that sounds harsh, however,
I don't want them to suffer, I want them
 to go in there sleep….

By Sandra L. Hoban

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The Saddest Christmas I Remember

Love is a season
And holidays mark the seasons, like signs in the road
Reflecting the bumps in our journey, but showing us a way back home...

Sixteen, in pajamas, watching the rain pelt down
It was long past midnight, Christmas eve
Twinkling lights on one house across the road, stared back at me
It was if they were trying to fill our void with color
The block was filled with a hundred black windows
And the blackness somehow seemed more appropriate  
There was no Christmas tree in our house this year
I suppose Dad felt it was too soon, or perhaps just the effort to get through each day
                                                                            had taken all the strength he had...
We had stayed up and watched a Christmas program together...
It was Perry Como, I think....somehow I remember how he sang "Ava Maria"...

My brother had come home from the Air Force earlier that week
He had helped bring us a bit of least for awhile...
but he had been called back to duty, and I missed him terribly...

The house was silent after Dad had gone to bed
I wasn't sleepy....and it was lonely looking out at the cold night
It seemed the whole world was sleeping, 
                                 getting ready for the sun to shine on Christmas morning...

I started to head for bed, but noticed a light had been left on in the front coat closet
I opened the door, and looking up, to pull the chain, I noticed the box...
   The little box that kept the sugar cube house
It was one that Mom and I had made together when I was 8 years old... 
         Little sugar cubes stacked into walls and a roof, glued together with red frosting.
We had copied one out of her Ladies' Home Journal....surrounding it with little trees, and 
people skating on a mirror for a pond, things we had found at the 5 and 10 cent store
Carefully packed away last year, on Mom's last Christmas....

Throughout the night, I sat in the dimness of the house, laying out the sugary scene on the 
fireplace Mom would have done .

When the freckled morning moved into day...
I woke on the sofa...Dad sitting next to me.  He had covered me with a warm blanket.
He held me and we cried together.
After breakfast....he disappeared outside, and soon came in carrying a sorry looking branch 
from our old evergreen tree.
We decorated that bedraggled wasn't the most beautiful tree we had ever had
But it brought Christmas back to my family...

For Constance La France's contest "Your Saddest Christmas Ever"
Carrie Richards

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Buildin' Birds

Buildin’ Birds…

Your hands dart and weave
In, out, up.. then hover
Swoop right… then left

As simply as sight 
Of a birds dreamy flight
Floating to perch proud on rocky cleft

Subtle magic’s paint
Concept, thought to Action
Life wrought from death

As eloquently as the Master 
Reaches out from the hereafter 
And grants the unborn gift of breath

Chaos now cornered
Seeks out surge, hands direct
And collar by will

And just as Angels acting
So precise, measured, and exacting
Leave scarce a ripple on waters still

Trumpet Grande Crescendo 
Labors love ushered in 
A diamond from primal smolder

A new winged gift to grace us
Snatched still in pristine stasis
To soar in the eye of the beholder

I wrote this poem after peeping through the doorway of my wife Nancy’s workspace as she 
crafted her beautiful bird sculptures. I was utterly amazed at the delicate movements she so 
gracefully employed to wring creations that seemed to capture a split second of nature so 
completely as to cause the beholder the illusion that she had somehow stopped time. 
Literally, a hummingbird caught between the beats of its wing for one to marvel at.  Of all 
Nancy’s creative endeavors I still rank her “Buildin’ Birds” as her paramount artistic 

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LOVE Conquers All

 Scene 1 - In a cabin on the Mountain side: 
      " Kenny, you ol' Food Dog you. How was your trip" '" Long and boring. I came as soon as I got your letter. How's Chef doing?"
"Not well, they have him over at the old folks home, they want to commit him for Dementia; as Executor of his estate they need 
your signature." " I doubt they'll get that." " A Dr. Mendelsohnn has a status meeting tomorrow at 2" " Well what happened? "Chef
was on one of his nature walks when he ran into two hikers, they got scared and called 911, said there was a crazy man in the woods.
By time the cops got up here Harry was home." "Who was with him, Phil who was with him?" " Kenny, it was Black Friday everyone
was at work" " Jesus Christ, Sorry Lord. Phil, you guys promised never to leave him alone after he was diagnosed with stomach cancer"
" Sorry Ken I got called into work, Chef said he felt fine, you know how Chef is about working." Yea I know, but we also know he's 
not always truthful about his health. So they just took him away" Not really, when Mike got here there was 4 cop cars in the yard, they
had to literally drag him out. Chef wasn't acting sane. Dr. Mendelsohnn said he has Dementia, and wants to commit him to Easy Rest Adult Care."
" Not a problem, Phil, Does the year 2004 and 2007 mean anything to Chef" "Redsox World Series Wins." Right , Chef said when he doesn't 
remember them, then it's time to leave this realm 
Scene 2 - Easy Rest Adult Care Fascility 

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Summer Fun

I remember back when times were simple. You could have your milk
delivered to your door. One of my favorite memories was waiting for the
Helm’s bakery livery to drive slowly down our street, alerting us with his
musical whistle. Specially built Chevy suburban panel wagon’s, bright
and shiny yellow, contained the most heavenly scents of do-nuts and
cinnamon swirls, rolls and breads to delight the most discerning. Our driver,
we called by name, would stop, get out of his seat and come to the back to
open double doors to the smiling faces, of usually about three or four neighbor
kids besides my sister and myself. The most difficult part was trying to decide
what delicious pastry we would put on our monthly tab. Fine wooden drawers
with glass windows let colorful do-nuts peek through. We would get our usual loaf
of potato bread mom would tell us to buy, but then, quite often we were treated to
a glazed jelly do-nut or a chocolate covered cream filled éclair. Mmmmm my taste
buds tingle at the fond memories. Those succulent delights would be out of the bag
and into our mouths before we hit the front door. By the time we got inside all that
would be left would be little pieces of sticky wax paper and our gooey little hands.
As I recall those happy memories of the late ‘50’s, my only regret is that I am sorry my
children were not given the thrill of hearing “Here comes the Helmsman”, let’s beat feet!

© September 12, 2012

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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"


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One morning early a Dad and his son Tom went for a walk in the country, they journeyed
through the still mist looking for flowers for the boy's Mom, but they did not see many.
Just then the foggy air began to thin as the sun climbed higher in the sky “look” cried the lad
pointing! There through some old white wooden gates were lots of flowers in the
garden just behind them. “Let’s get some for Mothers Day, Dad” said the boy,’ “hold on” said
his Dad, “first we must ask whoever lives in the house up there”, as they thought about that,
they seemed to hear a sad sighing sound. The Dad looked down and saw a pushed over
mushroom where he thought it came from, so they knelt down to hear properly. He straightened
the mushroom up with a toothpick which he pulled from his pocket. That’s when they saw a
small person shivering in fear hiding in the grass near the mushroom; “don't be frightened little
girl” said the Dad “we do not mean you harm”.. a very high voice answered them saying
“I thought you were the old witch”, “the old witch”, repeated the Dad and boy in questioning
tones, “yes” said the small girl, “we are Dymwellian folk,  we live in the woods and gardens in
peace, when the weather is good we like to sleep under the mushrooms when they grow but
there is an old woman who has come down and torn up all our spring roofs, it has happened
twice just lately and we don't feel safe”. “Now, do you know where this old lady comes
from? ” said Tom’s Dad.

The tiny person pointed to the old house faintly seen at the top of a twisty path that led up
from behind the white gates. “Did you say we, meaning there are more of your type of

people?” said Tom “Yes” said the Dymwellian girl person “if you promise not to harm us. “Yes
I will call them forth,” “Oh, we would not hurt you” said Tom and his Dad together, just then
she spoke some words in her high pitched voice and motioned with her hand; there was a
soft rustling in the undergrowth and soon she was joined by six other like her; two girls and
four little men. ‘" We were going up the path to ask if we could pick some flowers, “Oh we
don't think it wise” said the little people who repeated that they thought the old woman
to be a very wicked witch; as why else would anyone want to destroy their mushroom roofs?
“Well” said Toms Dad “I think we shall go up there and see about this situation! I don't like
seeing such nice folk as you deprived of their shelters,”  so leaving the little people, Tom and
his Dad started up the winding path; after a long walk they stopped in front of the house
door. It was a very old house and the door shone plum red. Tom’s Dad reached out and
taking hold of the brass knocker banged it twice; after a bit they heard footsteps and the
door opened a crack there was what appeared to be an old lady peering out at them “What
do you want?” she asked in a wary voice, “Oh we have come to see if you are a wicked
witch” Tom blurted out all of a sudden!!  When she heard that the old lady looked most 
shocked.’ “My, Oh my” she said... Just like that.! “What ever gave you that idea?”  So they
told her of their journey to gather flowers, and the plight of the Dymwellian folk who were living at the bottom of her garden,
she listened her eyes began to fill with big tears, which she wiped away on her large white
pinafore. “Oh I do feel sad” she said, “you had better sit down on the those seats”.  And she
motioned to a  table and chairs to one side of the door. “I shall be back soon” she announced,
then with a bustling move she disappeared; well she didn't just disappear into the air! but
went back into her house I mean.  After a bit she returned with a maid and they both held
trays of the most delicious fare of honeyed tea, cherry cake and the like, then she
introduced herself; her name was Alice, which was a nice name Tom thought, and wondered
how they could have thought her a witch. “Now” said Alice “I have not lived here long and I
was merely picking those large mushrooms for a stew, I had no idea I had such neighbours
at all.” “You shall have to introduce me.! You go ahead and tell them it is safe and you may
pick a large bunch of flowers for Mothers Day. “We shall not be long.” Tom and his Dad said.
They went quickly back to the little people who stood in a rather bedraggled group near the
gatepost, once Tom and his dad had told them of the old lady’s response they were happier
but Tom and his dads knees got wet from kneeling in the grass, so the little folk decided it
would be safe enough to climb onto the gate so they could all understand each other better.
Just then Alice came along accompanied by a man dressed in country garb; the little people’s
spokesperson was the girl who introduced herself as Alfrisia. Alice told her if they did not
mind, her woodsman would be willing to make sturdy wooden mushrooms for them to use
when they made visits, that way Alice could enjoy mushrooms and know she was not causing
them hardship. The little people were overjoyed at this and apologised for telling Tom and his
Dad she was a wicked witch in the first place, then they all helped pick a large bunch of flowers for
Mothers Day and Tom and his Dad set off home to tell Mom all about their adventure!

©Joe Maverick 5-11-13

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Birth of a POET

Dear POETRYSOUP, Hope this finds YOU and YOURS Healthy and High in the Spirit. I Thank-YOU for YOUR Prayers,Hugs,and well Wishes. A Very Special Thanks to Eileen Ghali
Gail Angel Doyle, Colleen Bono, Light and LOVE Deborah (Guzzi), Xegrakio POETESS, S-N,
(Suzanne Delaney), My little Sister - "Mandy (The Golden Girl) Tams), and the Matriarch of
the SOUP - "Linda (PD) for YOUR Inspiration to Phillip. He did all Soup Mails, Blogs. and Comments, while I was away. Your probably saying "should this be a blog? Yes it should be but I promised Phillip I would leave his blog on until Tuesday. He will be a SOUP member by then. He was very Impressed with the above mentioned POETESS' POEMS. Phillip will be only the third student that took an interest in POETRY. Some of YOU may remember POETRYSOUP Member, "Kenny The Fledgling POET. He has 4 POEMS on Site. I will be writing a Blog next week about an experience I had under the knife. Again I Thank my Family of Super SOUPERS for the LOVE YOU have showed me. LOVE ALWAYS and FOREVER YOUR Liege...Harry

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I loved My Life of Bird

I fly in the sky
I swim in the sea 
I sleep in the night
And in the trees I live

The forest once was my home
That I always cherished
For me and every one
Who lived on this beautiful heaven?

Coming into the flame of fire
Together with my family
Helps me to remember and tell to all
That has caused the dead of all?

Came five days ago
Three to four men
With something in there mind known as the plan
To destroy what was known as our home

Came few men 
After few days
To destroy us all together with the forest
To clear the land

They lighted the fire
They parked some big bulldozers
To clear the trees and removes the stones
After everything is burnt by the flames of the fire

Together with my family
Praying to the god as one
To forgive our sin 
And tell the reason for this everything

Nothing I heard from up
But something from down 
As few men said
For the development, let happen this destruction

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My Aunt Willy Whos Silly


                                         She smiles all day she thinks it' s o.k.
                                       She makes weird sounds and it's all day
                         My Aunt I asked will you not make that silly sound today?
                            My Aunt looked at me and said why? she always say
                             In public she snorts when she laughs and I get that
                           But when things get out of hand she scares my the cat
                                    I have a cat but my Aunt well she kinda sat
                                      Poor little cat it was now a furry little mat
                          I get really mad at her, but she seems to make me smile
                      Because one day we walked, she sang me a song about a mile
                                   I was happy because she ran out of gas at last
                                She also could not speak at all, and that was a blast
                                                 Although she could not speak 
                                       She kept smiling she once never look bleak
                   My Aunt Willy who's Silly is the person who never does things in half's
                           I can not express any louder she makes me smile with laughs

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Regardless of THE LONELY HOURS it must have sat IN SHADOWS EMPTY and 
PAST. It has evolved into GRANDPA’S PRAYER CHAIR even though it was nearly 
FORGOTTEN amongst the BIRTH AND DEATH(s) of the family’s history. This is a CHAIR 
NOT FOR SIT-DOWN TYPE because it isn’t plush, comfy or frequently used. Its’ true 
DISCOVERY is seeing AN AGING PAGE of family dreams where you can 

was in place. THE CHAIR has become the fabric of the family mosaic, fulfilling its’ 
destiny as A MUSEUM PEACE for all who have vision and are willing to see. 

This narrative was inspired by poets’ winning titles in the “Chair in Shadowed Room” 
contest. JT

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Oh granny

Oh granny, how I wish I'd known you.
 All i have is a frame,
 your face lay within, clean and still, I stare;

Your thick, black hair and drowsy eyes, 
Frowned lips wrinkled, a smile to see I wish,
Your failing skin brown and dull and creased, beautiful to me

My heart yearns your presence near,
 in flesh and in voice, to utter things untold,
 and roads in life should I 

Grief fills me as I stare,
 fingers pressed upon your glassy face,
The build of a tear to fall
Oh granny, how I wish you were here

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There is no place as better as home
not even heaven is as better as home

He strolled aimlessly in the streets of Amsterdam,
deep in reverie and gnashing his teeth.
Here, he had come for greener pastures
and gold,he had hoarded.
He lives in affluence, in destitude of nothing.
But lurking somewhere in his heart is a longing,
a longing that cannot be satisfied there,
A longing for home.

To yaounde because of an obligation
that is important for my education,
I embarked.
Everything cruises well for me but for one thing;
A longing for home.

A home is a haven more that heaven
She is the mother to all orphans
a place to relieve you of your solitude
it is an antidote to loneliness and homesickness

On several occasions, from Amsterdam he had called,
calling to tell me of his one unhappiness.

So really, there is no place as better as home,

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Puzzled Pieces

It was a dazzling day.
In the park where we gathered.
I watched the sprinkler spray.
Whilst Oleander got lathered.

A pierce of minty laughter.
Came from my mother.
The day, now full swelter.
Brought mephitic curses, from father.

My mother,
A piece, of distinct edges, shapes, and color.
My Father’s piece,
Gossamer... A ghost in the Parlor.

My aunt buzzes ‘round,
Looking to peck.
Her greatest skill,
Tearing wealth from flesh.

She is an ugly thing,
Constantly tithing kin.
Her tabs busted,
Only darkness within.

My uncle walks water,
Crying divine inspired droll.
Then he sees foreign breasts,
And his eyes start to roll.

He is piously loathsome,
A delusional winner.
His piece, contrasting color,
A chronic Casanova of a sinner.

My grandmother sits,
By a row of briar’s.
From here smelling sweet,
Closer and the peril gets dire.

She is a dandy,
Addicting to be around.
But when her corner piece shows,
It can cut to the ground.

My grandfather rests,
In the middle, on a bench.
The tether that keeps,
We are bolts, He is wrench.

His piece.....
To us much renowned.
His piece is the core,
It holds me around.

There it is, my family puzzle.
And on the fringes I sit.
See, I’m an edge piece,
That doesn’t quite fit.
With my teeth on a muzzle.


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LOVE Conquers All - Scene 2

Scene 2 - Easy Rest Adult Care Fascility, Doctor Mendelsohnn's office.
                "Good Afternoon, Mr Potter, I am Doctor Eric Mendelsohnn. I have some 
forms for you to sign. This is the payment arrangement to be electronically transferred
the first of each month" "Whoa, wait a minute, I want to know why  Mr. Johnson was
sent here anyway" "He accosted 2 hikers in the woods" " In his woods, on his property, 
200 feet from his home." " The lady and gentleman were afraid, his hair was flying everywhere His beard was unkept, and he wasn't dressed in hiking gear or carrying a back-pack" "He wasn't hiking he was out on a nature walk, Chef could walk that mountain blindfolded and never stumble"" Look all I know the police brought him here in cuffs. He was ranting and raving about his Rights. I felt compelled to admit him for observation and testing; which he failed; in my opinion as a physchologist." " You 
know what you can do with your opinion" " Mr Potter calm down, we have Mr. Johnson sequestured in the adjoining room. His memory is failing, and He shouldn't be left alone on top of some mountain. I am going to give him some cognative thinking test now, your more than welcome to sit in on the interview""that's a good idea, I'm not signing anything until I see for myself that he's forgetful" " Please right through this door""What the F***, take that off of him right now" Mr Potter he is a danger to" "I said NOW!!
Chef  are you ok" "Kenny are you taking me home: Please" "Look Doc, I'm getting a bit pissy with you right now. Get that Straight- jacket off of him right now. He recognized me right off, I don't see any signs of forgetfulness." "Ok the restraints are off can we get started now." "No, not here. let's go outside" "I don't think that is a good idea, there is too many people out there to do any responsible testing" " Ok, You said he 
has a temporary room, Do it there" " Very well"
Scene 3 - Easy Rest Adult Care Fascility; Chef's  room.

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In Protest of Science

I'd like you to meet my Uncle Joe
He's the vegetable of our family.
That is, if we listen to statistics.
According to them, the experts,
Since Joe didn't die by the age of five
He is now a vegetable.

Well! We wish every family
Could have vegetable like ours;
On that walks, talks
And has given us many years
Of pure pleasure and
More love than we'll ever deserve.

How many vegetables do you know
That give the world's best hugs
And tell you every day you are beautiful?
How many vegetables do you know 
That pray for you every day?
How many vegetables can crack you up
By misquoting old sayings-
"You can lead a horse to water
But you can't make him stand on his head"?
Yes, we are extremely fond of our vegetable
He's been in our family
Over 50 years and although
He is pretty spoiled rotten by now
As vegetbles sometimes
Become after a time
We plan to keep him around for fifty more!

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Second Hand Leather

Second Hand Leather
Cocooned in love
The day was frightfully cold with snow softly falling. I was not prepared for this but 
only for the warmth of sunshine. I stepped off the plane covered only in a sundress 
and sandals.  I began to shiver as I rushed for cover. My sister in laws would bring 
comfort but little did I know just how much!
Welcomed with open arms I began to thaw and settle in a bit. This was going to be 
a trip that would forever leave a print on my heart. We were going out for a special 
dinner. You see it’s Christmas! She opened her closet and took out her very own 
coat. This was the most beautiful coat I had ever seen.
This is when she handed it over to me and said, “Try it on darling –if it fits and you 
like it –it’s yours”! I could not believe it as I knew it cost a lot of money and it was 
just beyond beautiful. It was a Full Length Leather Coat with beautiful designs on it. 
I had never had anything so wonderful given to me.
When I put it on it was magical. The fit was perfect and for me there was a 
transformation. Somehow a feeling came over me like nothing ever before. I felt 
special and could hardly wait to look in a mirror as I knew something changed inside 
me forever at that moment. What was it, what had just happened?
I wore the coat and danced around in it when no one was watching like I was a 
princess. I had this second hand coat for many years and always felt beautiful and 
special when I put it on. It was the love that I was cocooned in. She cared enough 
to give me her very own coat that she had bought for herself. I wore it until it was 
tattered and someone said to me, “I would love that coat”. I took it off and passed 
it on with the same love to cocoon that person.    


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A Tale Of Vampirates

Busy reading a curious series 
Wrapped in the fantasy 
Written within it's covers
A story of Vampirates

A complex tale of lives entwined 
Destiny shaped before life 
Journeys embarked upon
While sailing the open seas

Set in a time ahead of now 
Throughout the past plays it's part
Challenges faced by siblings divided
Worlds apart their loyalties tried

Enchanting descriptions of a world apart
Removed from reality
Still within its embrace
An epic tale of adventure

Thousands of pages
To tell its full tale
A beautiful story
An original, truly one of a kind

Wanting the story to continue 
For the characters journeys 
To not be through
To pick up where we left off

Sailing through the seas
In search of answers
Of treasure 
And more

Twins who were once sheltered 
Exposed to untold dangers
Denied the truth
To who they are

Centuries of time 
Riddled with tales 
Of more than just the twins 
Conner and Grace

But alas the tale is done
With their unusual stories
Left swinging in limbo
So onto the next one

Written by:  Shannon Deane
Written:  June 9th, 2011
Contest:  Sea Of Words

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My Legacy

My ancestors came here long ago
Tough and strong not weak
But somewhere down along the line
Something went terribly wrong
And now I have to sit here and deal with my legacy
Of not what I thought it would be
Not where I choose to be right now
The legacy that’s me.

I can’t escape the past
The memories seem to last
Of the horrors of what has come before
The graveyard is the place
I can see it on my face 
My family’s legacy of suicide 
is haunting me.

My generational legacy
Is it going to kill me
Or will it just let sleeping dogs lie 
And allow me to exist
Will it allow me to just to see
The me that I am meant to be
To live beyond my years
To grow beyond the tears
To handle all my fears
To defy what could have been
My legacy.

(November 13, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)

(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved 

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Baby Mermaid

It was down on Bayou Rumpawpaw
where the self proclaimed semi-professional
fisherman Dub “Stinky” Crank first met
the lovely young mermaid by the name of Jewel.
She swam right up to Dub’s old rusty boat
and popped her head out of the water.
It was a fantastical sight to see
and I know this to be a natural fact
because I was there in the boat with him
when the whole dang shebang went down.
For good old bayou boy Dub it was
love at first sight despite him being drunk.
We didn’t have a very good day of fishing
that day which sort of teed me off at the time.
We only caught a few daggum goggle-eye
before the mermaid incident took place.
It worked out pretty darn good for Dub
and he is my very best friend so in
the long run I say heck the what.
After a short bayou soaked courtship
Dub and Jewel done went and got hitched.
I was best man that day and I have to admit
it was a very interesting but strange event.
The two had the love itch really big time
and nine months after the wedding gala
a baby mermaid came swimming into this world.
They named the little bayou beauty Coralee.
I told old Dub that those swimming lessons
we both took when we were young
would come in handy some day.
I still don’t know how the two did
the mating thing and it’s probably
best for my sanity if I never do.

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Squirrel, What is a Friend

It was a green semi-dry oak leaf,
 last and youngest of the family.
 She did not want to fall
 as she stared at the heinous wind
 on a cold night in late fall

Maybe it was best to jump down,
 since it’s been long
 after her family bade farewell.
 “Oh loneliness!” she mused, “you’re unbearable”
 “I can not breath, nor can I smell”

Pretty soon, a squirreled showed up
 hungry but,gleeful.
 “Oh God! why do you look so scared?”
 he asked in all his mischievous curiosity
 She replied,”I’m an orphan,lonely and snared.”
 “Wind is treacherous and life is no fun any more.”

“No! don’t say that li’l leaflet.”
 “You are so fresh,but rookie,” said the squirrel,
 “You’ll have many friends in rest of your life”
 “What is a friend?” asked the leaf
 while her desire to learn was rife

“A friend is a warm hand,
 clutching your hand in depth of the storm…
 A friend is the one who cried
 once your heart writhed in pain,” said the squirrel
 The tiny leaf smiled as her tears dried

“So, do you feel my agony in my heart now?”
 “I truly do!” replied the squirrel
 Just then a gust pulled and drifted the leaf away
 The squirrel shed tears as repined
 while she yelled “Do not cry, squirrel!”
 “Now, at least I have a friend behind”

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Mess of Fish

Two young boys and an old man in a metal fishing boat
Got a mess of crappie poles and strings
Headed for the camp house gonna’ fry up a mess of fish
Roll them in flour and cornbread and hit the pan a sizzling.
Momma going to holler to clean up that mess
Grease is a popping and the old man is drinking beer
Once they get them fish nice an hot they lay them out on newspaper
And let it soak up the grease while they wait for them to cool down
Buddy likes to eat the fins first they are nice and crispy but Beaux goes for the meat
And don’t care nothing about the bones
The old man keeps drinking beer and laughing at the boys
Remembering when he was a kid and fish was all they had to eat
But nothing feels better than blood on blood and they drift away into the night
For morning will come and the day will dawn and if God is willing they will still have each other.  And that is as good as it gets.

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Robbing the Nest

I had survived how many summers? Five?
Six? 'til, self-taught, I learned at last
of terror that lurks in situations
which those I trust (myself included)
would swear offer only perfect safety...
My ball rolled under my Grandma's house
and I, well-guarded, scuttled after to retrieve it,
mindless of the tarry soil fleeced with fluffy,
small red feathers, newly molted by matrons:
hens that clucked contentment,
set upon their hidden egg troves.
Spying their nests, I thought to rob them
and so earn a Grandma's love for a city boy
unversed in country ways. Thinking, I acted,
reaching for a nest unoccupied,
half hid behind a house block.
I closed my soft, expectant hand
upon a wriggling creature coiled among the eggs,
drew back like lightning to watch
a brightly spotted snake slide off
into the farther, deeper darkness
amid a squall of squawks.
Emerging empty handed, terrified,
it wasn't Grandma's love I earned that day.
I have always since encountered similar brilliant colored
dangers whenever I have thought to grab,
for myself or others, unclaimed treasures
in strange places, in warmer or in cooler weathers.

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"A child, more than all other gifts
That earth can offer to declining man,
Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts."

			W. Wordsworth

I am your grandmother.
I spent 24 years making
parenting mistakes, so I think
I'm pretty well trained now,
pretty worn down, open-minded
and accepting.
I think we'll be good friends.

At sixteen, your mother 
said she was having a baby 
and held up to me the blue pastic
device that tested her urine stream
like when she held up the blue ribbon
she won in kindergarten for the best
easter bunny nest made from marshmallows 
and dyed yellow coconut.

Then she threw the blue device out 
into the space between us on the bed, 
like it was the best card in her deck, 
her ace in the hole.
Your father waited in the other room
sitting in the thick silence,
afraid to breathe and miss
my response.

You and your mother did all the work,
but I was there at your birth, 
Standing alongside, coaching your
mother to good contractions until
I was exhausted from gritting my
teeth and pushing too.

And your dad was there, too,
but closer to the business end 
so he could be the first to know the sex.

An unsolicited psychic had told us
you would be a girl, 
and when your dad was told,
he sulked all day 
like it was a conspiracy 
between the women to produce 
only other woman.
He wanted another guy, 
someone to give the men the edge, 
a male child.

When your mother's body could 
keep you from the world no longer,
your head appeared, eyes tightly
shut and a pout on your lips.
Your dad was watching closely,  
the shoulder, the belly and then
his arms flew up in the air 
like he'd made the touchdown
and he cried, "It's a Boy, 
I told you, I told you,"
like he and I had placed a bet.

But then he saw how much
I could love the boy child.

I'm a pretty good grandmother, 
and I think we'll be good friends.

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A London Stage for Chuck

There is always a way, the optimist says, 
Yet the creak of life’s tensions groan low,
They shadow the quake that the floor he walks makes,
And the air as it travels says so.
See the mist pale & thick,
It caresses each tip, every leaf, every needle and frond,
He smiles a wide smile at a metallic knell
Like sweet chiming bells,
Speaking scenes to his minds inner eye.
The paleness surrounds like great steam clouds,
Then a strong rasping sound cuts in with a short rhythmic note,
He sees a blue breaking through, the white tendrils grow few,
 he gazes on grey shining ribbons of  track
With a curve running clean through fields of sage green.
Wheat silos by pale gold hay stacks.
Then with curses and clumps the foreman climbs up and
Hauls another rasping board to his stage,
“Hey grab hold of this mate! You’re making us late”,
As a bucket of clamps clatters down!
So with a spanner in hand he re-joins the gang,
And puts his hand to a galvanised pole,
It’s cold and damp to his grip, and he feels his heart dip,
As he thinks on the way life  now goes,
Lost in terraces grey while for hours he slaves,
So far from his Wichita home,
With his quiet English wife and two children besides,
And too soon, into a day nursery  they'll go.
But dear God in heaven the sign said 7 to 7,
Is that the start to a balanced home life?
© Joe Maverick 2010

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Small Towns Revisited

Small Towns Revisited

by Edmund Siejka

We Long Islanders
Live near a large City
Tall buildings 
High end stores
Apartments with gated windows
A place where people live like strangers.

Here, where we live 
The land slopes downward
Towards Merrick Road
Inviting us for a walk
Along the way
It’s just like a neighbor
To call our name
We say hello
And exchange pleasantries
There is no need to say anymore.

Our families have roots here
Passing our local school 
We recall that July
When fathers,
And office workers alike,
To help build a playground.

Wives worked nearby
To be home
When children
Stepped off school buses
Homes managed under their careful eye.

Near a park
Our sons and daughters played soccer 
Families came to watch
Their children run like the wind
Memory tells me
It was a good season.

On nearby streets
We helped neighbors 
With routine chores 
Lifting and pushing the unmovable
Shiny things for a kitchen
Or something for the upstairs room 
Odds and ends
We call possessions.

In return we are known here
And we take every opportunity
To walk through a quiet town
As early evening
Peacefully descends
On everyone and everything.

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The usual ashen sky
cursed the frozen road
because nothing ever changed
on that long ride home
The car skipped over the icy patches
as it so astutely had done before
there were no tepid words or half smiles
just a rattle in that old, neglected door
Yet, somehow, the car made no notice
of the rusty patches on our face
it just hugged that wintry road
leaving unforgettable tracks of rage
I remember once, when we all 
laughed and stood in one place
never cowered from shadows
and the sun dried our face
But Dad raised his hand again
and I mistakenly winced in pain
I had broken my promise 
we lost another game

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For whoever think story telling is that easy,
Would properly from this hilarious incident,
scene or whatever you might call it, would know is not.


Just some couple of months ago, I was invited
by a friend who knows me too well, back then in 
school as a funny guy and story teller and so he taught this
night, that his grand pa (who is a famous story teller 
of his village) had fall sick, I would be in a better position
to cover up for his father's so called responsibility
to his people. "For he (my friend's father, Williams) is a good story teller.
But what about me who has never faced 
the ample crowd with my 'cripple' tale unless sharing it with friends?" I mumbled.

In the middle of this enigma, my friend, John called me to the hot seat
to tell my tale to the unbearable crowd of adolescence. 

"God why am I here this day... But it shouldn't have been this day" I retorted.
The barbarian noise from the seats infront of me showed that truly I was 
in the middle of something and not lost...

"Uncle tell us a story!... Brother tell us a story!" the crowd shouted.

This day, I needed a free moment but they couldn't let me be.
"Once upon a time" they heard me said and they all resited.
" I am sorry, I am sorry let me restart it all over again".

Now in old man's voice, I told my tale before them:

"Once upon a time,
In our mothers' womb, when she
Ate, we ate. Goodnight!"

They all cannot but burst to laughter while I stood and walked to the room with my 

Anything after good night means nothing more till the next day.
Maybe I escaped the night by dissatisfying the emotions of those children,
in that scene, what about my friend? 
"Have I not brought shame to John's family? Did I do the 
right thing that full moon night?". My heart beats!


Not even do the audience remember or care to ask me: (In kid's voice)
"What if my mother do not eat while in my pregnancy, what will happen to her?" or 
probably care to tell me: (Back to old man's voice) "What lesson they have derived from 
the tale before their departure... Oh! No sorry, my bashful departure from their sight." 

Note: The tale: "Once upon....Goodnight!" is a Haiku form of poetry.  

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Physically and Mentally Abuse

I was born in a world of poverty and soiled life of a third world country
The way I lived till I was five years of age was walls of boundary
These walls had towers of guards that had no heart or care
If a child would try to climb the wall they lose their life I swear

Father had drank and threatened my mother with a knife
My father lost his job and wife and that was the hardship of life
He stopped my mother from taking off with me in her arm
Hoping that my father would ignore and left me be with no harm

When my father went off to drink one night and came home with rage
My brothers stood by my crib and took a beating that set up the next stage
My father had woken up to three scared children half starved and in pain
His final words as he walk away from the orphanage gate live life do not go insane

I was still a baby in the orphanage; the caretakers did not really care about the babies
They stole items and materials those wicked men and maternal evil ladies
They starved all the babies because it cost a lot to keep them alive
As a child of that age I could feel the sins and greed that gave out bad vibes

I was ignorant about what I drank and ate, as I see white maggots move in my bottle
As I see them move I thought about how they were playing and some were hostel
They ate each other to keep each other alive in a manner that took me by surprise
In the back round I hear others throwing things with sounds of painful cries

I got very strong at a young age I was able to start pulling myself up over the cage
My feelings were to see my brothers with strong lungs that I cried out of rage
My two brothers came to see me and sneak food into my crib
The caretaker would find the food in my hands as they grabbed it and hit me on my ribs

As painful as it was I kept eating the food with blood in my mouth as it was instinct
I sometimes laid in my crib dazed and confused with smell of death so distinct
With all my might I kept myself strong and climb the small wall
I finally was old enough to get out of the building and I could hear my brothers call

With tears of joy with short legs that ran as fast as my heart
I ran to my brothers arms and held their hands to have a new start
I grew stronger everyday but more things came into my life in a manner of dismay
If my brothers stay by my side I could smile and everyday their would be okay

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Magwinya Woman

She wakes up before dawn. Mounts 
her cardbox cubicle on the pavement
at a street corner. It is chilly and windy.

Without delay she pours cooking oil 
into the aluminum container perched 
on a three-legged stand under which
there are popping flames of fire.  

In the yellow bowl she stirs the flour
with vigour . The fire is warming her up.
With her hands she squeezes the flour 
into fist-sized lumps and drowns
them into the blistering oil .

Over a short space of time the blazing 
oil turns the floury swellings into brown 
round buns commonly known as magwinyas. 
With her fork she pierces each baked brown
roll and shrugs it off into another vessel. 

She yawns. The heat is soothing. It is coaxing.
She has to sell these chignons to eke out a living.
A single parent with four dependents. Like a thief 
something sweeps her away. Siesta says sister let us go…  

Her mouth is agape, there is a cascade of saliva   
going down her chin , down where lies her vessel. The 
sun’s rays are peeping. Her customers of school children
and factory workers halt and scream, “wow!”…and proceed.

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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.

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Brother and Sister

Susan sits by an open window
Remembering her brother
It was during the sixties when it happened
The exact date was May 8, 1966
They called the Sixties liberating
A time when America accepted change
But it wasn’t like that for everyone
Her brother Stevie
Was two years younger than she was
The guys in school used to call him names
Like sissy boy and queer
Saying if he got into trouble his sister would have to stick up for him.

But Stevie was better
Way better than the bullies at school.

At home Susan and her brother 
Would move the living room coffee table 
Push the old couch back 
And then sing the old favorites 
In close harmony
Songs about teenage love
Like the sad love ballads by the Everly Brothers
Or the Righteous Brothers
The sadder the love song
The more they liked it
They would stand together
Moving ever so slowly
And sing those songs so loud 
And so close 
To each other’s face 
Over and over 
And then Stevie would whistle the ending
While their parents 
Clapped and clapped
And clapped. 

Then one late afternoon
When Stevie didn’t come home from school
The phone rang and rang
With a strange incessant kind of ringing
That jarred their mother  
It was someone from the school saying 
That horseplay got out of hand
Then the police came 
A man in a suit spoke to father in the kitchen
Whispering over the clouds of cigarette smoke 
Susan could barely hear his hoarse whisper 
Only things like “We‘re going to investigate this”
And  “I promise I’ll do what I can”
Her family never did find out what happened to the investigation.

Along the way
Away from home
Something peculiar happened to Susan 
She lost something of herself
And would sit   
Staring out of the window 
Not seeing anything
Just thinking of her brother.

She still does it today
Just staring
Out to nowhere
Every time she hears one of those old songs
She feels that Stevie is still with her.

Forgiveness is a long word
For what happened a long time ago
All Susan has are memories
If she could just absorb them  
And put them in a little bottle 
And carry them around
So whenever she started feeling down
She’d open the bottle 
And all those good memories 
Would remind her just how special life is 
 And Stevie would still be there
Their bodies entwined
Singing harmony
She holding the last note
He snapping his fingers
Whistling the last sad tune.


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Look Memaw

Look Memaw!

I went outside when my grandson called me.
Down the wheelchair ramp I walked while looking.
I glanced all around, left and right, searching.
Then, I heard it, his wee small voice saying,
“Look, Memaw, I am up here in the tree!”
To my surprise, I had to look way up.
Not ten feet, not twenty feet, thirty feet –
Yes, tiny as he is, he climbed that high.
Afraid to show alarm, that he might fall.
I laughed and said, “What are you, my primate?”
“What’s a primate?” he asked curiously.
“A monkey, a primate is a monkey.”
After I responded, he replied, “No.”
With great pride, adding, “I am a tree frog.”

© February 29, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

© February 29, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Narratives Free Poetry 
Sponsor	Catie Lindsey

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Dead Winter

I still remembered that night
the snow was heavy and unusually white.
We gathered around the fireplace,
Momma was sharing her Christmas grace.

Daddy went home and brought us presents
Momma stopped her story and away she went
out into the snowy streets 
buying us winter treats.

It has passed dinner and she’s not home.
Our stomach started to ache and roam.
Daddy began to worry,
and away he went in a hurry.

Me and Anna were still inside
looking through the window with eyes opened wide.
Then Anna started to cry,
I was still wondering why
until I saw a shadow in the foggy snow.
Anna squeezed my hand and wouldn’t let go.

A squeak, a squeal - 
a spinning wheel
down the hill
that’d thrill and kill.

It came clashing and crashing
through the glaciers it went bashing
through our door it was breaking, 
left us all shaking and quaking.

We did not restrain
the shrieks and tears weren’t feigned.

Next morning the neighbors came
and told us that momma and daddy weren’t the same.
I followed them and what I saw
with only a glance made me drop my jaws.

There, two coffins neatly laid
“Uncertain causes” was clearly sprayed.
I laughed and thought I just got played
but grief suddenly fell when the priest prayed.
Nobody helped when I fell limp on the floor
as they carried my parent’s bodies through the shattered door.

From that day on there wasn’t winter anymore.
Snow were redder than red – the color of gore.
Their tombstones were always cold solid steel
and if you came close you’d feel:
A squeak, a squeal - 
a spinning wheel
down the hill
that’d thrill and kill.

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Year of the Stingray

Looking at an old photo of myself at age 13,
I see a girl, rail-thin, but on the verge of womanhood.
Her hair hangs in long pigtails and she wears a modest top with shorts
as she sits posing on her brand new bike, grinning happily at the camera.
The purple bike in that picture was a Schwinn Stingray.
Not just any bike, this one had high handlebars and  a banana seat.
It was just about the hottest property of any kid my age
at that time in the late 60’s when Stingray was at its pinnacle of popularity.

In our family of ten, Dad worked hard just to pay the bills.
Our bikes were second-hand, and I never had one all my own. 
My new bike, therefore, represented for me, a summer of very hard work!
I’d spent a good part of my summer vacation that year
peddling greeting cards, even Christmas cards, door to door.
Each day I’d walk many blocks in the humid heat of our hilly town,
knocking on the doors of folks with no interest in ordering boxes of cards.
Some days I'd hardly get any sales at all, and always my profits were small.
Toward the end of my summer, a few large, painful boils appeared on my arms, 
and I suppose they were evidence of the stress of my many hours walking.

However, I persevered, and at last I prevailed!
How proud I was to finally walk into the bicycle shop
and lay down on the counter my $45 I’d worked so hard to earn.
Never again did I have to borrow a family member’s bike.
With my purple Stingray, I could get across town to the Weed Park pool
in a quarter of the hour it normally took me to walk that distance.
Through all of junior high. that Stingray was my companion
when I would breeze down the long hill of Eighth Street to my school
and then have to trudge that hill on foot walking my bike to get back home!
Sometimes I would just take it out for fun, but mostly I used it 
to ride over to friends’ houses or take it downtown, parking it near stores
while I shopped for 45’s, clothes or cosmetics, 
the new items slowly replacing my thoughts of bicycling and play
as I began making money more easily babysitting or picking berries in summer.

My 13th summer soon became a vague memory 
with only this black and white picture to show for it.
I don’t recall when or if that bike finally gave out on me or whether it just got tossed.
But looking again at the photo, I see not just that beautiful Stingray bike,
but also a young girl who smiles not just with happiness, 
but with the pride of working hard for her very first time with an "eye on the prize!"

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A Day In July

It was an innocent summer afternoon
And for a day we pushed our problems aside
The almanac promised a clear day, highs in the eighties
Instead it was muggy and hot in the low nineties
After lunch the three of us 
Took a slow walk under the summer sun
Coming home we went our separate ways
Jon to the living room
Elaine upstairs and 
I to the den
Where I fell into a deep sleep
My body sinking into the sofa.

A faint breeze circulated through the air
Suddenly a yellow light woke me up
The skies suddenly darkened
Then thunder
Followed by heavy rain
It was a summer storm
Sudden it its ferocity
And intensity.

I woke up
Joining Jon and Elaine
Running out to bring in the lawn cushions
In the rain we
Made loud noises
Threw cushions around
To our hearts content 
We were together again
Because of a summer storm. 

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Weapons of Small Destruction

You used to come home from school 
grab two-handfuls of wooden building blocks 
and take one brooding look at the Lego cities 
I’d carefully constructed. 

Then, with a bit of spit starting on your mouth 
you’d begin to hurl 
making bombing noises and dancing 
your eyes shining hysterically.  

I’d scream for Mum to come stop you 
but she with her dusty apron and hair in a bun 
tired from polishing floors or scouring the oven
could only muster a shrill, “Stop that!” before
returning to her Watkins cleaning products.

You’d smirk and circle slowly while 
crushing my teddy, I’d slink to the corner 
and watch until, bored, 
you’d turn to me and say, “better clean up your mess” 
before walking away to find our mother
quietly rifling through recipes.


written in a "one-off" flow of recollection,  April 11, 2011

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And Sometimes Why

I hoped to be with you today 
That once again we two might play
True friends forever we will stay
One thing that will not go away

A funny thing you’re asking me
For there is nothing wrong to see 
This time I thought it best to be
With friend awhile and live care free

Again persistent question why
Pounds at my doors for its reply
No longer can my sighs deny
A friend who really needs to cry

For breakfast Mama didn’t show
And where she went he didn’t know
He didn’t even see her go
What made my mother behave so

I don’t know why I’m telling you
With all the pain that you’ve been through
We’ve always been like brothers true
There nothing that we two can do

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A DIVINE HOOK-UP: Loyalty, Love and Devotion When Women Worship God

Naomi and her family departed from Bethleham Judah the land of milk and honey
in the midst of a famine as they were unable to earn any money
so on to the region of Moab they ventured and prospered to some degree
until Naomi lost her husband and both sons and was left alone to grieve
to her daughters-in-law she told them both to their families they should go back
but one daughter-in-law Ruth refused to let their relationship come under attack
she told Naomi I will never leave you nor forsake you
I will stay by your side no matter what we have to go through
your people will be my people, your God will be my God
and wherever you choose to travel you and I will never part
with loyalty, love and devotion Ruth needed Naomi in her life
in order for her to develop a relationship with our Lord Christ
now worshipping God together placing their fate in His hands
for this was a divine hook-up that the Lord our God had planned

Now Naomi needed Ruth too but was to afraid to admit it
as she felt she had been forsaken by the presence of the Holy Spirit
but God was in the midst of that relationship from the very start
He had destined that Ruth and Naomi would never, ever part
for when women worship God great relationships are made in life
with loyalty, love and devotion in the name of Jesus the Christ
In the course of your life there will be people whom you need and require
to help you to be all that you can be in the way that God desires
the clarifiers in your life will help you to see what is your mission
the collaborators in your life will encourage you to come to a decision
the confronters in your life will nag you and stay in your face
while the comforters in your life if they're of God will help you find your place
then the celebrators in your life will help you to rejoice in your victory
with the spirit of love, devotion and a godly loyalty

Now Ruth went on to get remarried but kept Naomi as a member of her household
for their relationship was a divine hook-up that was under God's control
for when women worship God great relationships last an eternity
Naomi and Ruth a divine hook-up of love, devotion and loyalty

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Thanks for that Memorable Day

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 Love, Lisa Florence McMillian (Flo)

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How to Burn a Field

(Good Advice Spurned)

Grandmother packed a picnic lunch.
Brother, sister, and I, with two uncles
traipsed into the woods,
in search of adventure.

We found it.
We ate our picnic lunch, sitting 
on a fallen tree, spanning the creek.

We sampled “Rabbit Ice,” formed 
on weeds, hugging the stems
in smooth, thin white curls.
We drank creek water in cupped hands,
so cold, we shivered.

“Let’s build a fire,” my brother said.
Uncle Larry cautioned, “You’d better not. 
You’ll set the field on fire.”
We built the fire,
warmed our cold hands.

As the circle of fire began to spread,
we beat it with branches,
water carried from the creek in our hats. 
Undaunted, the fire ate up the dry grass,
spreading like a pond ripple
from a rock thrown in.

Uncle Larry refused to join
our efforts to ‘beat out’ the fire.
He stood, callously laughing
at our futile efforts.
The entire field burned.

We worried all afternoon.
What would Granddad say,
when he saw the black field
from the kitchen window?

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Una Visita con Mama -- A Visit With Mama

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

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.College Bound (repost)

Kirstie Fonte's Blog...stirred up a memory... A repost of a mother watching her son grow up
.    .    .    .     .   .

His small red car, a dent on the left rear side
     is parked in our driveway,.....loaded to the max....a full tank of gas
His duffel is crammed with rock-band t-shirts, faded torn jeans
    new underwear and socks, (that I insisted we buy),
        and that ratty old jacket with the hole in the elbow.
Guitar, books, sports equipment, and cardboard boxes
    fill the back seat of his little sedan.

On the passenger seat in front,
    is a battered old shoe box tied with string.
    Inside, (I've been told by his sister)...are private letters from girlfriend, Cindy
It is the same box (hence the battered state it is in)...that his sister found one day,...
    tucked it under her arm, and ran from him laughing...
    His long legs chased her through the kitchen and out the back door, screaming
    "You're going to die for that!!"....

On this sunny, autumn day, his sister is not laughing...she is standing quietly...pacing...
He reaches over, and tussles her hair a little, and she leans against his chest for a minute, 
then steps away, and looks at me with solemn eyes...
He and his father share a hug and an affectionate pat on the back

I stand there watching them, on that dreaded concrete driveway...
My eyes are glistening with unshed tears, but I'm determined not to cry
I knew this day was coming, we had planned to be cheerful....
My emotions are betraying me now....but I will send him off with a smile.  
I promised him and I will !

A neighbor is driving by, as if it's just another ordinary day, and waves.
We all wave back, and it breaks the somber spell for a moment.

I hand him the care box I made....laundry soap, toothpaste
    candy, energy bars, his favorite home made oatmeal cookies.

Hugs, extra tight.    One tears....Oh, God, Help me no tears!!
"Be sure to call when you get there."   Drive carefully....Love you"

Love you

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Soul of a Son, Life of an Addict '

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

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At my grandfathers wake in Mississippi the bereaved spoke in muffled tones.
Some dwelled on the fact he foiled a few family members’ extra curricular relationships.
Grandpa just didn’t cotton to that type of behavior.
The family patriarch was a good man and no one could deny that.
In the south it was customary for a family member to stay with the remains overnight.
I was chosen since my grandfather vested a great deal of his precious time to raise me.
I spent my younger days next to grandpa totally absorbed by his stories and wisdom.
Time flew by but my moving north and starting school changed everything.
I rarely saw grandpa thereafter, except in my heart.
This time would be good for us, alone and together once again.
Around 3am, I was sitting on the edge of my chair intently focused on grandpa.
Suddenly, I noticed movement in the silk draped over his open casket.
This gave me great pause and concern.
Was he really dead or was he breathing and trying to speak to me?
Slipping ever so quietly to the casket, I stared at his face covered by the veil.
Unexpectedly, a mouse bolted from under his pillow and out the backside of the casket.
I was mortified!
A mouse was invoking ashes to ashes, dust to dust on grandpa’s remains.
When the first shovel of dirt hit his casket, there wasn’t any mouse along for the ride.
I can personally guarantee that.

Draped, Slipping, Pause, Edge, Muffled, Foil, Wake, Deny, Dwell, Pillow.
This narrative is true and I’ve rarely told the story in 50 years.

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Oh Happy Day

Oh Happy Day, when you were born.
For many years, my heart did mourn.
Childless I lived amid the throng.
Watching mothers rush children along.
Alone in a restaurant, twirling the ice –
Little girls with bows looking so nice
Brothers and sisters laughing out loud
While childless I sat amid the crowd.
Primary children would sing sweet songs.
Mothers would lovingly hum along.
Boys on the playground would tackle their dog.
I, like the old cliché, a bump on a log.
Watching, with my heart breaking.
Dreaming with memories aching.
I lost my first child before he was born.
Year after year, my mind was forlorn.
But then, it happened; you were on your way.
I prayerfully waited day by day.
Five and a half months within me growing.
Proudly knowing, greatly showing.
Then came six and I felt some relief.
Then, when you were born, you erased my grief.
I became a mother and not just a wife.
Your live birth, my child, 
Became the happiest day of my life.

© December 23, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen

Form: Narrative with rhyme

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Surrounded by a cloud of Witnesses who urge us
Who can bring hope and encourage us to follow Fr. Christ
Without counting the cost
In the midst of the storm
We call in mind the examples of Saints

Let’s remember that we are not alone
We are the little brothers and sisters of these great souls
Just as in the natural order older siblings protect, encourage younger ones
So it is our life of faith
Saints left us a road map

How to follow in the footsteps of our Beloved Savior
Not only that
They accompany us
Through their writings
And, Through their powerful intercession

Written 092902

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A decade in to
a new millennium,
a woman, nearing
a century on Earth,
braces herself in
a doorway of
the house,
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 -
Assuring her: 
This home will not be her last.

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Familial Connections

Dad's youngest brother
is younger
than my brother:
Dad being the eldest
in his family,
my brother being
the eldest in mine.

Mother's sister
wed Dad's cousin.
Their offspring and I
are double cousins.

I crossed county lines
to choose a mate
totally unrelated.
Dream on.
Somewhere back there,
the name Pratt dangles
from both family trees.

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~The Healer, I lay…Meditating, The Shaman’s path is inward and up, up, from the bed up, up, my astral body rises. Silence, surrounds … Looking down I see myself in a pit of covers my astral self slips from the window viewing home and hearth from outside and high above… No earth born sounds, awaken me from my flight. NO earthly forest, lush or deep entraps the Shaman she. NO bird calls fills the Predawn light… NO dewdrops distract~ Astral I recedes in time… a Dreaming Back, back, back without knowledge of time, or space like a fallen leaf~ twirling and swirling, letting the current take me, where it will through lifetimes to the womb and beyond . . . ~The Healer, I.. ghosts in space… my home but a speck lit with Chi. Silence, surrounds… Fair astral form of gossamer light, I…thread space on umbilical silk, the healer...reaches, reaches for the light, the He and She……God and Goddess. The Healer, I... reaches the World Tree, Yggdrasil, white crystal roots tendril into the primordial sea of space time, branching upward cradling Heaven. There below the tree in the soft grass an ancient one, a familiar soul, waits. ~Oh I am held by She, ancient Grandmother, and garner the wisdom of ages.~ But, the bodies time is now, and calls and as the clay rests, it calls down, down, down… I go ~Past the jumble-tumble between lifetimes, within the cycling universe of all, The Healer, I, reforms, snaps to the umbilicus of prone body, within the tumbled nest of sheets, in the now plane of existence. ~Arms reach out brushing cheeks, eyes gleam, and sparkle with the joy of sharing, kindred spirits having touched the ancient wisdon of the Light! Silence surrounds.

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Maggie and Porter

Come meet two of my former patients;
A nursing home room they did share
Maggie was blind; Porter became her eyes
Finding, picking up, helping her

He was kind.  Her mind had slipped - or had it?
"Porter, I lost my comb," said to mate
Frail as he was, under the bed he went
Crawling for Maggie - deliberate

Day in and day out he would meet her needs;
She contrived to keep him near her hand,
Porter this and Porter that - it did seem 
Though they each understood the commands

The nurses would come to help as needed.
Then, on that moring when a stillness
Penetrated the room reverently
Quietly sitting slumped by her bed

No answer; no movement; just sitting there;
Porter dressed for his daily tasks,
He had fallen asleep when breathing ceased
He had given all that was asked

"Porter, Porter, help me," was softly heard
"Porter, Porter, please answer me,
 Porter, Porter, where are you?" asked again.
"Porter's gone.  He loved you, Maggie."

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On a Black Day - Death Survives - Series 1

I hadn’t seen a house for an hour ; talking to a social worker, is pretty short
I’m off to a new Foster home; the Courtermarshe’s, a new Big Sister; Brenda
How much longer, Mr. Hodges I have to pee, so do I ; Behind a Mighty Oak
Harry we have to talk, I have bologna sandwiches, the family your going to today:
The Courtermarshe’s, can not have Children of there own Brenda is a foster child also
She’s going to have a hard time being a big Sister, after Alice Loved me so much
Alice and me still write back and forth, She is the Very Best “BIG SISTER”
Little did I know, how close Brenda and me would become as Black Clouds Weep
Blocking the smile of the Sun, closing the door to reality for two and a half Years
Harry, wake up there it is your New Home; Wow It’s a farm, cows, pigs, and chickens
The happiest nine year old, bolted out of the car zipping towards the Big, Red barn
Harry! Harry!!  Yes Sir, Come over here and meet your Mom and Dad, Phoebe and Dan
Time for the (speech): Thank-you Mr. and Mrs. Courtermarshe, I'll try to be a good son

                                                         To be Cont.

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life choices

the father sees a neighbor
screaming with child as she runs
out the front door to shelter
he hustles his own to shelter
and turns to see other neighbors
with their two dogs come running behind

the shelter's too small to hold everyone,
the father says climb in but we can't fit the dogs 
the neighbors hesitate - then pull the dogs
back to their house as father shuts shelter door

in a few seconds jets and trains and 
bombs overhead shiver into steel and 
time stops or stretches to infinity
as flotsam shoots through cracks

father opens shelter door sure he will 
witness haunting fears he knows
and runs to the pile that was 
minutes ago, the neighbors house

throwing pieces of piles aside
he digs to the small space that 
two hundred and ten miles per hour
had enclosed to free friends and dogs

both men shudder at their fortunes
the father, immensely glad to not 
have to bear witness and grief,
the owner, who couldn't 
do that to his beloved dogs

© Goode Guy 2013-12-26

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You who are neither human nor animal. You are furrie, one who is both. And are rightly proud of that heritage Others condemn you saying that you are childish Just an image, ones and zeros, lines drawn on paper But it is not true For you live and breathe if only in my dreams It is you I care for. It is you who I can never let go I find myself thinking that a furrie Is by my side when no one is there I count the days and hours till I can once more feel paws on my skin Welcoming me Letting me know man is not the only sentient race Nor the most mischievous race out there As you take my clumsy hands and teach me to live the life your kind leads Teaching me how to run, how eat, how to sleep, breathe how fight and how to love How to be a pack and how to be alone when you’re surrounded by friend or foes You show me your world the world I world live in all my life Running thru field and forest I learn to live again Furries may you live forever And maybe one day I will see wolf-girl that I see in my dreams in the flesh & fur One day we will run thru the fields In the waking hours your pack and I To see the Kitsune and cats the furries of land ,fire ,water ,air , and void and to the other furries out there where ever you lie waiting I welcome you whatever pack or clan you call your own I hope we meet soon So that we can teach each other how to live may we meet beneath the same sky one day soon and roam the night the grass beneath our feet the dew on our skin the land around us i am surrounded by fur the fur of you kin and for once in a long time i am happy

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Baby's Father

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.

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On a Black Day - Death Survives - Series 3

Another boring, Protestant Traditional, Sunday Family Dinner 1:00 pm sharp
This week it’s at Uncle David’s  house in Alford, Mass. I haven’t meant Him
Actually the only Family I met so far “Momma“, Poppa, and Big Sister Brenda 
YOU probably thought I was going to say “Momma, Poppa, and Baby Bear
Went for a walk in the forest“. Sorry I’m reading Goldilocks while I’m trying to Write
Brenda ( B B ) , and I use to wonder why they had to be called Momma and Poppa ?!! 
Pizza for dinner, on a Saturday night ,Baths, pajamas, robes, and slippers out to the car
Alright kids, It’s a 3 hour drive to Uncle Dave’s Let’s play “Grandma’s Suitcase” 
The subject Grandma is infatuated with is her : LOVE of Animals
Harry you start, Grandma went on a vacation , in her suitcase she put an alligator
Brenda, “Grandma went on a vacation, in her suitcase she puts a female Baboon 
“Poppa, it’s your turn, “Grandma went a vacation, in her Suitcase she put a Catamount
I challenge You  Poppa, Mount is Mountain ,not Animal  I brought my dictionary, Read;
The definition of catamount; a mountain lion, Cougar  A feline animal born in nature
Harry your out of the game; “Momma” Your turn “ Grandma put in her suitcase The Devil”

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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

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The american economy is on life support has been for years. Sad it makes my heart fill with tears. The land we live the land we love. America is in trouble no doubt but i don't worry about it i let GOD take care of it that way i don't got to figure it out. I want to see my future but not as a blur.

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Spoiled by Carson Eelman- 7th grader

A tribute to Ray Bradbury's The Veldt

by Carson Eelman

The nursery is a curious place
a place where dreams came true
inside lied an African Veldt.
In there the leaves would sway,
as the grass danced in the wind,
the lions roar, the sun beats hot,
it seems so real but know it's not.

In a world where thoughts come true,
what evil acts young minds will do;
I don't think we are alone,
in this place where lions roam.

The power of imagination,
can be a wonderful thing,
full of magic, fun, and wonder;
but it can turn to darkness as well.
The nursery became corrupted,
with thoughts of death,
becoming real to Mom and Dad.

In a world where thoughts come true,
what evil acts young minds will do;
I don't think we are alone,
in this place where lions roam.

The called a man
to see what's wrong
but honestly he wasn't sure.
He said they should take a break,
and so the father said,
"Shut down the house,
     we are ready to go," 
         but the kids said "Please No!"

In a world where thoughts come true,
what evil acts young minds will do;
I don't think we are alone,
in this place where lions roam.

They couldn't let it happen,
so they locked both inside.
The parents screamed and banged,
but to no reply.
The lions came and they were gone.
Peter and Wendy flashed a wicked grin,
then settled down and ate a meal.

In a world where thoughts come true,
what evil acts young minds will do;
I don't think we are alone,
in this place where lions roam.

In a world where thoughts come true,
what evil acts young minds will do;
I don't think we are alone,
in this place where lions roam.

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Soccer Crazy

Soccer was the thing for all young men to play.
And my little love wanted to join desperately in the game.
So he got to be the goalie… to wear that special crown.
He was so excited as he was sent in front of that net.
And we were so very proud of what this honor surely meant.
I told every one he was my son and we couldn’t be prouder of him, than that.
But it didn’t take long for him to feel lost as his friends went running in the game.
So alone, he started kicking at dirt clods and looking for bugs with which to play.
Then he spun in circles and showed off for some girls in every way…
So the girls were sent to help keep his eye on the ball… as best they could.
For he had been paying attention to them, as the first goal went sailing through…
At this point I said oops and boys will be boys… as I smiled, though in doubt…
But it got better as he suddenly started exploring the net, and I heard a shout…
He’d decided to play spider man as he ran and threw himself at the net.
He tried to cling up higher with every jump he brilliantly took.
As I was waving my hands back and forth while trying to tell him to cut it out…
I was getting really frantic, trying to tell him that the ball was coming close…
But he was half way up the net as the next goal came sailing past to score.
Now my head was in my hands for the team kids were looking kinda sore....
For now they had to run their hearts out… to try to win the game and score.
I began to wonder if the team would ever forgive him if they lost?
The coach made two more visits to try to get his attention at any cost…
He really was quite kind as he said in no uncertain terms to leave the net alone…
And so, my son paid attention for another moment or more, you know…
But while everyone was running and scoring at the other end…
I turned to see him hanging upside down, his foot caught in the net, up in the air.
Everyone ran out to save him with me… or was it to save the net?
When we got back to sit down the coach was looking a little strained.
And I was contemplating hiding under the bleachers as the other team scored, again.
At half time, my little goalie seemed happy relegated to the bench with all his friends.
But I was worried he might be… kicked off the team… I was in terror, my friend…
At this point, several turned to assure me every thing would be all right...
After all, last year it had been their kid’s turn for… hanging upside down...

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Ode to why you should keep your Door Double Locked

One fine morning, in early July,
A key opened a door that was locked-bye and bye
No notice, no call, no fateful warning
Uncle Frank walked in, unannounced, at eight in the morning

Lo and behold, the occupant was awoken
Some deep and recognized voice had spoken
Heading toward the voice, with sleep in his eyes
Robby said, "Uncle Frank!  What a surprise!"

"Well, I'm feeling fat and a little shaken.
I'm afraid that yesterday I ate too much bacon.
May I please use Grandma's old bathroom scale?
Ever since her funeral, I feel like a whale.

With a shake of his head and a polite, "No."
Robby said, "You gonna wake up my ho.
A  princess of mine is sleeping fair
So go ****ing weigh yourself in your own god damn lair."

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Deserted Children

Parents do not desert your children,
If you desert your children then you do not understand the essence of child bearing.
Children should not be motherless or fatherless!
Help your children to acquire knowledge and skills to be beneficial to society and nation.

chipepo lwele

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Life in the bottle

As I stagger to my room…my vision in a haze and my guts steering like a stew, my eyes 
look like a ripe red pepper and my bladder is filled up like a sponge that fell into a pool. 

My whole life has been one great big inaugural ball, with only one exception… I was the 
candidate that no one would ever choose…never mind the formalities just pass me the 

A bottle of Chardonnay or be it a can of old Pabst Blue Ribbon beer? Never mind the time of 
day…its noon somewhere in the world today, just pour me a drink and let me party like it 
was 1999 all over again. 

Hell, my day starts with me looking into a half full glass of whatever is my drink of the day 
before and ends with one half filled the same way it began once I pass out. Dude my family 
just never seems to leave me alone…it’s always, “Bob you’ve had one too many” and blah…
blah or something like that, man I don’t remember it’s all a daze in my head. 

Before I use to be the center of attention at all the family functions, now I’m the last to know 
when the next one will come or when one has passed. Man…just past me the damn bottle 
and I’ll tell them where they can all hold their next get together without me? 

In a hot place called…Hell! My ex can bar me from my own home, but she can’t bar me from 
the local bar…she can keep my dog and the damn kids too, as long as she gives me beer 
glass collection with those Klondike horses racing thru the snow! 

I don’t care…anymore, just leave me alone and pass me by if you see me lying in some 
gutter on the street. I don’t care…anymore, just let me live my life in a bottle and I’ll keep 
my broken heart there too.

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Christmas Night

		Christmas Night

Out in the cold, chained to a tree,
The old dog watched as the sad little girl approached.
Meeting, loving, the poor things cuddled close,
Sharing their animal heat on that cold Christmas night.

A passing stranger and his wife halted in their journey home, 
Taken by the sight of the ugly old dog leaning trustfully,
As the small barefoot girl slowly, carefully freed it from its chain.
"You're my Christmas baby now," they heard her whisper. 

The man said, "Surely the dog must be abandoned," and 
The wife said, "That child has been thrown away, too." 
Both asked in unison, "What can we do?" In unison they replied,
"Let's take them home and adopt them both." 

Entry for contest #25 inspired by "The Little Match Girl" by H.C. Andersen

By Pat Holland
528 Prescott Rd
Paris, KY 40361

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Biography of A Dream

Biography of A Dream 
Arabic Poem by: Abdulsadah Al-Basri
Translated into English by:
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
The end of the first decade 
Of the twentieth century 
The sun bathed in my father’s eyes 
He kept flirting with her 
And flirting..
to draw a dream on her silken rays   
A dream accompanied him all his life.
 In the fourth decade  
 He got married 
To build a nest in the heart of the countryside, 
Then begot a little bird 
And three   
Taught them how to fly with love 
Over the waves of the river 
And how to long for the bread
Baked in the outdoors tandoor 

But .. 
In the eighth decade of the same century 
He departed overwhelmed by grief
Over a dream
That would never come true
 Translated into English by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
 * Abdulsadah Al-Basri is a poet from Iraq

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My mother is a kind of person on the planet
Who cannot watch movies on tv or the internet
Because she thinks they're real.

I tell her of the video shoots
And say it's just a movie.
She leans back and at me she hoots
'My boy don't be a rookie'.

And so I linger with the rest
Of borrowed video tapes.
Mama home like a house arrest
My mocking brother gapes.

I still can't watch Spartacus,
Vampire Diaries nor Nikita.
Daily we watch In Focus
From Voice of America.

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Southern Summers

A two-story house stands silent,
no longer prideful of its bay window,
running water in the kitchen,
and a shower in the basement,
or of having erased memories
of shotgun houses with no heat
and back-yard water pumps.

Its blank windows stare 
onto fields where cotton once grew 
tall and green; where stinging dirt clods 
flew from our brother's straight arm, 
whose aim my sister and I could never match.

Its closed face once laughed
at red noses, dust-crusted necks, muscles 
tightening under skin worn waxed-paper thin 
by twelve-hour days under burning skies
and the bitter taste of ashes 
blown in by a greedy little weevil.

Our minds hung heavy 
with hard-packed dirt and skimpy crops
as our hoes wielded strength and hope, 
our toil fueled by dreams 
of emerald fields and rain-kissed rows,

our memories ripe with younger days
when we swam in creeks, bucketed 
minnows, and climbed trees 
in search of possum grapes.

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Growing Up Rich

Growing Up Rich

My childhood home was just four rooms, heated by a black stove in the kitchen.
No phone, no car, a toilet in the basement. Money was tight. The rent had to be paid.

I spent my days in youthful endeavors. Playing baseball in the field where the high school now stands.  My dad, a laborer, walked to work each day, every day. My mom typed envelopes at home for extra money.

At dinnertime my mom would ring a cowbell, calling me home. Responding was not an option. I'd ride my bike home, wash my hands, and join the family at the table. Food was not plentiful, but prepared with love.  I never went hungry.

In my teens dad took ill and could no longer work. Mom got a job at the Woolworth s
I got two paper routes, my earnings split with my parents.

Neighborhoods were tightly knit then. Bad news arrived home before you did. Fruits of backyard gardens were shared, and helping hands lived right next door

School clothes were few in number, but were always clean and ironed. You took them off after school and donned the jeans with ironed on patches. Shoes were passed down from my brother, their lives extended by glued on half-soles or cardboard, cut to shape and stuffed inside. But mostly, I wore my high top P.F. Flyers.

Christmas meant a cut tree with strings of large colored lights. Our stockings were hung on hooks behind the old black stove, to be filled overnight with oranges, apples, candy, and maybe a toy. We thought we were the luckiest kids in town

Sitting here now, reflecting on my childhood, how hard it must have been to make ends meet, but meet they did. The things my folks must have gone without to make sure their kids didn'. We learned early the value of a dollar. They taught me to respect my elders, to know the difference between right and wrong, and to practice it. Their values became my values and stood me in good stead. Their greatest gifts were the love and guidance they provided

I realize now all my memories are good ones. My folks gave me everything it was important for me to have, and although I didn't realize it then, I understand now how lucky I was to have grown up rich.

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Great Grandma Kicked some Butt

When my mother was at the age of thirteen,
A dirty old man asked her to come clean,
He invited her over so she could make a few bucks
When she arrived he was in a black tucks
He was the neighbor across the street,
His wife was at work and he viewed my mom as weak
This man locked the door when my mother arrived,
Went to go kiss her, to feed his sick drive,
My mom ran out the back door and went across the street,
Little did this man know he was in for a “delightful treat!”
My great grandma lived six towns away
My mother called her in a state of panic and disarray
A forty minute drive, granny made it in fifteen
Granny drove her old ford like a race car machine
When she arrived, she kicked that man’s door down
She did not care if anyone was around
That man jumped up by that loud sound
She hit him so hard he fell right on the ground
She slapped him around with her left shoe
Cursed him out in Italian, while threatening him too
Later that night my mother’s dad came home
He is a little man with a loud groan
He heard the story and went across the way
Took his shot gun and made this man pay
Told him if he ever touched his daughter again,
He would shoot off his little “private friend,”
He made this man cry in his own living room,
But I promise you this man never again tried to consume,
Every little girl on that street,
He knew not to look at or he would get severally beat,
My family has many stories of my Great Granny saving the day,
Never mess with an Italians family, they handle things in their own special way.

By:Sabina Nicole

      Every family has stories that get past down from one generation to the next. I was blessed to have had my mother’s grandparents until about 6 years ago. They did not speak any English and my great granny was a crazy awesome woman. She grew up on a farm in Italy and had to do a lot on her own. She raised all the children and grandchildren but was old school about a lot of stuff.  I remember my great grandparents fighting with each other even in the nursing home. They were married for 58 years; they shared a room in the nursing home that had two separate beds. My great grandma use to hit my great grandpa with her cane from across the bedroom. It was funny to watch.  They may have fought but they loved each other so much, my great grandma died 6 years ago and less than a year later my great grandpa died too. Now they are in heaven together, I don’t think there’s fighting in heaven, God don't allow that;)

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from the bottom of my cup

5 July 08 12:55 pm 

From the bottom of my coffee cup to the bottom of my heart.

The coffee is hot when I take my first sip I smell its strong aroma as it flows over my lip.
  The steam warms my eyes as the fog burns from my mind.  
And there is dark bitter taste, acquired and wonderful.  
There are times when I wish I had not taken the first drink and then when there’s none in 
the house I long for the wonderful roasted perfume to fill the air and its caffeinated warmth.  
  I walk around as I’m half through the cup and my thoughts return from fantasy and 
forgetfulness of last nights slumber and reality again takes control. 
 My bowels awake and morning habits start and my mind divides into its daily groups take my 
meds where do I need to go what do I need to do and how am I going to get them all done.
  I see my eyes and then my face staring back from the bottom of my cup and then my ears 
start their job and I hear my two darling girls and my eyes start to see 
what is really important to me and I see them deep in the bottom of my heart.

Life on Purpose Live it before you lose it! ©2009

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Final Days- Decisions 2-25-02

Mom is becoming very tired.
She has trouble remembering
   The meds Pop takes—and when.
A lot of good it does to remember.
We have found pills all over
   Where he cheeks them and 
Blows them around the room.
He is bitter and asks,” Why
   Is God doing this to me?”
“I’ve tried to be good and kind.
   A Christian.”
He called Morris to the room
   And asked for the 357,
Knowing he might be the only
   One to hear his plea.
Morris denied his wish, and cried.
He called us all one at a time—
   And gave us guns from his safe.
Ammunition kept at a distance.
Ralph and I went to the driveway.
    “It’s sad,” he said. “Someday
 They’ll bulldoze this to the ground.”
“People will forget it was here—
   Like we never existed.”
We’ve got to call Hospice,” I said.
Or we’re going to lose them both.”
   A final bed.
The decision had been made.

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My Family Escape Plan

For months I’d been confined in cage,
listening to bullets rage through the Viet Cong jungle.
No sweat from my pores in unrelenting sun --
dehydration, famine, yet my I planned my “escape”

Nearby, a tepid river ran foul with blood’s scent,
and when it became intolerable, my daily escape began.
I tasted cool, refreshing ice as my spirit soared
and a sense of freedom overwhelmed my soul as I rose.

Hovering o’er killing fields, I could not look down;
cries of the wounded went unheard in this altered state.
Somehow I knew my weak body lay crumpled below,
but I was pain free, feeling only peace in another realm.

Through astral projection I was able to see my family,
and it was only this journey that kept me alive.
Imagine communing with your family in this special way,
even though you are thousands of miles apart.

When rescued at last, many months had gone by,
and the US militia’s interest had been raised. 
How could a POW feel no hate, seem so serene?
Such an enigma to ponder, but they’d never understand.

How did I survive?  What kept me sane?
The officers knew nothing of my routine escape.
Awareness I achieved spared my life;
now I could return to my family

They’d prayed everyday that I would come home,
but there was something no outsiders knew.
Our spirits had communed on another plane each day.
Having a family escape plan still brings comfort.

*Entry for Caties Out-of-Body Experience Contest.
(Fiction based on books about OBEs)

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~The youth,such soft supple skin.
Play yet a steady reminder of how maturity takes a toll.
All the while she sits,smiles only to transcend reflection in the mirror.
Her hair streaks silver.
Through decades,every milestone has been met.
Laugh lines set deep.
Eyes glossed over like film.
Still,elation brought fourth by a glimpse of a grandchild, can not be measured.~


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The Four Winds of Christmas


Old Rinzburger was dead, 
only his wife has doubts. 
Death certificate had been signed.
by the banker, his best friend, 
He will soon take bids on his property.

An ancient once busy windmill 
dominates the old Rinzburger place
as a memory that comes and goes
in the mind of great-grandma.
Her dementia is getting worse.

Her only child and his wife, 
the last of the Rinzburgers,
have five grown daughters. 
Sixteen grands smile, recalling
Gram's special Christmas feasts.
Like the old family mill	
grandma is one of a kind;
she was driven by the wind
to serve her family and friends
especially during the holidays.

This Christmas may be their last 
Grandma has come as a guest.
Someone brought fried chicken,		
deep-fried from  KFC, with lots of
biscuits and gravy and sides.

The younger male cousins
brought sacks of White Castles,      
and mom picked up a couple of
salads from Kroger-deli
and Haagen-Dazs for dessert.

The winds of Christmas blow,
winds of the past, winds of the almost gone,
winds of the present, and future winds.
Will the Rinzburger fortune be lost;
will the family will drift apart?

Grandpa died last Christmas season
and the old windmill may succumb
but both memories will survive
being torn down, demolished.
Thoughtfully, a grandson asked:

"Why just tear it down? 
It would make a fantastic museum?
Folks could visit and learn so much
about their ancestors' way of life.
And another spoke up:

"We could remodel or modernize it.
Maybe build an addition with electric
power.  We could provide 
jobs for people at a new plant.
Still another grandchild said:

"My vote is to sell it, and donate the funds
to support medical research on
Alzheimer's.  Grandaddy 
would have done that for Gram."
Then Gram herself waved a fragile hand.

In one of her more lucid moments
she commended all their ideas
"The Rinzburger name may die
but your Grandpa's spirit lives strong."
He would be proud of all of you.

Two years down the road, Rinzburgers gather;
Gran left them on last Christmas Day.
Building and hiring for a new mill  - well-underway. 
The windmill stands in front - a museum.
AFA is slated to receive a generous yearly check
from the Rinzburger Winds of Christmas Fund.

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Serenade to Growing Up in the Fifties

When I was just a  little girl, we lived by railroad tracks;
We loved the steamy, smoky stacks, the wheels clickety clack.
On many days we would find, knocking at our door,
A hobo who had jumped the train, hungry to the core.
Hobos somehow had a way of letting other hobos know
Who, in towns along the way, would feed a starving Joe.
Mom surely was the subject of a lot of telegraphs,
Time after time, they found a way up our cottage path.
My aunt and cousin, Pam, would sometimes visit us,
And though the tracks might be blocked, Aunt Becky was nonplussed;
We’d hear her cheerful hello holler as she climbed between the cars,
We’d pray they’d have safe crossing, watching from our yard.
Aunt Becky was a lot of fun wherever she might be;
More than once she laughed so hard she couldn’t wait to pee.
At her house, we’d taffy pull or pour sweet boiled candy;
She didn’t need a marble slab, her windowsills worked dandy.
And cousin Pam was just as funny as any funny goes,
She drank purple Kool Aid and brought it out her nose.
Sometimes, the trains would bring the circus into town,
They’d stop across the street and we would watch the clowns;
It was our own, private show, a zoo animal parade,
A lot of fun for little kids who could not afford to pay.
Our pet chameleon we named Hinkie--we’d make him change his color,
And ice cream for the  four of us was way less than a dollar.
One time I jumped my baby bed to the chest of drawers,
It happened in my bedroom…all alone, I just got bored.
The Gospel of John was there, red, with a paper back;
Tore it into pieces, my little nose I packed.
It was in there good and solid, couldn’t get it loose;
I caused a big commotion, such a troublesome papoose.
Daddy sent my older sis to friendly confectionery,
The neighborhood store of stores--they liked us little fairies--
She was all excited, told about our bad nose problem;
They were in the business of helping people solve them.
“Tell your daddy, blow in her mouth, it’s easier than tweezers.”
And that is just what Daddy did to this naughty little sneezer.
The red book cover all flew out; they thought it was my brains;
I never took the Gospel in quite that way again.
There are tons of other tales I don’t have time to tell you,
Like how to get your freckles off by washing in the dew,
Of catching fireflies after dark and playing kick the can,
And having someone time us just to see how fast we ran.
We picked the bag-worms off the shrubs, our Daddy paid a dime
For ev’ry quart we brought to him; this system worked just fine.
He got rid of pesky pests and pay day made us run
Barefoot to the groc’ry store to buy up some sweet fun.
This tale sounds all perfection and that’s how we’ll let it go,
No need to bring in sadness and tell about our woes.
I think we kids were lucky, growing up back in the fifties . . .
It was a different world back then, this world is not so nifty.

July 11. 2014

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On a Black Day - Death Survives - Series 2

Are you strong, young man? Can you help me keep this Farm going?
Do you fear hard work? Calluses on your fingers and hands “tough Love”
You will be a great man, you follow my directions , People watch You growing
You can have  “ A Real Life “ something to Love; Love from GOD Above 
Dad I appreciate Your taking me in; giving me, shelter through a Stormy Life 
Yes I accept , the rules of Your House; I will be diligent in my chores 
The day starts at 3:45 AM , milk the cows; out to pasture before 5 O’clock
Muck out the stable, feed the chickens, Slop the hogs, breakfast at six
Your tutor will be here  from nine ‘til noon; Have a shower, he’ll be here soon
I( walk to the house, and what do I see; Brenda’s Eyes, Red like fire, a serene Blue
I hear the Pain : “She Screams” I feel the Violations She had to Endure 
Brenda, What’s wrong, I have seen pains of fear, pains of life, pains of Death
Your face shows all, from the mountain top, to the deep Waterfalls Depths 
You are my Older Sister; “I’m concerned : Is that blood on Your Dress??

                                         To be Cont. 

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Remembering the Scar

“Only girls cry!…Oh, boo hoo!” laughed my brother, (as big brothers often do)
 He had been taunting me, teasing me, heckling me, as I whined, complained! 
 Neither of us would have won a prize, for being the angelic sibling pride, 
 of Kirby street that day outside, one hot July...
              “You Thug!”..I cried,…a laughing stock...his mocking me, 
               and worst of all, our bitter brawl played out for all the world to see.

No recourse, no remorse..(poor me!!)… As the butt of his demeaning jokes 
By then my temper had been stoked, he had poked me once too often!

So HUGE, was my disdain for his smug, big thug, that grinning face,
in retaliation, for my humilation, (as an enraged little sister might do..)
I grabbed one of his model airplanes….and threw……THREW HARD...
It broke into shards, big shrapnel pieces…I dashed for cover...
Hovering behind the hedge…waiting for his own revenge!…

Instead it left a gash, a bloody angry wound, I was aghast....!
Well, of course our Mother got involved.. .
It was resolved by iodine and bandages
And a tongue lashing...
“You could have put out his eye!! ….and then we cried, …the two of us 

Well we would repent, and spent the day becoming friends...

The afternoon out in the yard….  
One sudden, unguarded moment ….
 there was a car,.... came ‘round the bend 
  and as our game was 'bout to end....his dog, (his mongrel friend) was hit
       ....and then....
             all time suspended........

My brother’s sweet dog, who slept on his bed, was gone
The next hours painfully hung…and long is the memory that still weighs a ton….
Ending with me alone in my bed..
Mute with grief ….remembering his words….”Only girls cry”….
Hearing his sobs……all through the night..
And my parent's cooed comfort, the soundtrack to this tragic movie
That still plays in my darkest theater….all these years later

I shudder still, have a lump in my throat…how that faint little scar, can still emote…    
such feelings of tenderness I felt on that day.  
Over the years…we have shared many tears…
            we have leaned on each other, me and my brother
Big girls will cry, just as little girls do…and big boys can cry,
                    ..and hey,..that’s okay, too

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Congratulations -- DADDY --

It was late when I finally rollover into a Dream
She was Young, She was Pure: She was Beautiful
I danced up behind her; I feel Her long flowing, Auburn Hair
She turns around and says, “Are You He? ”Are You DADDY”
“I am Joanne Naomi Johnson”. “ I see Lenore in YOUR Face”
“Your Eyes, more Hazel; than Green” ”Come on, let’s go Home”
“ Mommy’s been expecting You for an Eternity. “You should Know!”
“Mommy, Mommy; He’s here, Daddy is Home; show him Your Poem“
My Heart skipped a beat as She Opens Heaven’s Door : My LENORE
                                 “  M  Y    L  E  N  O  R  E “

                                    ~ To Be Continued ~

                    Inspired by ~ Mr. Robert Joseph Adams
                      Dedicated to All who Believe in LIFE

                        Please Read "About This Poem"

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Where I come from
Women are morale formed
Symbol of sanity
In a world of insanity
Mother Nature in personified
Mother to old and young alike
Better half of a man 
A man ages above her
To be better, she is submissive
Submission, made possible by respect
Through the ages gaps the respect becomes natural

To love a man ages younger is unnatural
Therefore unwomanly, though women are blameless
Blinded by the illusion of sexual expressionism
And freedom which is not needed
With the presumed weakness, comes the strength
The strength that is fast eluding us

You don’t have to be men women
Because we men are jealous of women
For they always stoop to conquer
Who ever said age is just a number lied
Age substitutes wisdom and experience
Nature made it so and nature is woman

Offor Ujunwa
on the contest- Cougar Effect

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Tall Aunt Euvela Made biscuits for our dinner It was requested of the crowd How many biscuits are required? My daddy said, "I always eat two." Uncle Troy said, " You won't eat two of Euvela's." When dinner was eaten, All the dishes washed. Uncle Troy said," Morgan, two you stopped short of." Daddy said, "Troy, you was right those biscuits were as big as plate." He continued, "No one could eat two of Euvela's biscuits." That woman had those big hands with long fingers to match her six foot height..

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It Takes A Whole Village to Raise a Child: The Truckers

The Truckers:
It has been said that it takes a whole village
To raise a child; How does the village help
Families raise the children?

Truckers live in the village; and together, they,
Along with everyone else helps raise the children.
How do they help?

The truckers transport the goods that merchants
Need so the merchants can sell the things 
That folks need to be smart, strong, healthy,
Entertained, clothed, and happy.
They work around the world…endlessly. 
Delivering products. Through towns and cities
Driving here, driving there; delivering goods.
Back in the times of the horse and carriages,
The “truckers” used horses or pushed handcarts.
If someone had an extra hog to trade or
Crops to sell, they usually bought directly.
The farmers or someone else in the village
Helped deliver the things that needed to be delivered.
Together, people worked, struggled, and helped
One another.  Children were responsible. 
Their help was needed for survival…appreciated.
Everyone in the village helped to raise the children.
Even the children helped with the younger.
People interacted, closely.  Thus, they helped raise the children. 
Today, men and women still help raise the village children.
The children watch truckers on the road.
Driving, passing, changing lanes, shopping in shops
They set examples, good or bad.
And children watch wide eyed with ears perked!

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
March 19, 2010
Poetic form:  Free Verse

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
March 19, 2010
Poetic form:  Free Verse

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Her eyes, though once bright, are cloudy,
Shrunken and fragile the form
That long was brimful of vigor
And a will to outlast life's storms.
She stares past a blank horizon
Through a door that I do not know;
The colors she sees are mem'ries,
Scents and sounds of the long ago.

A kaleidoscope of faces
Turns merry-go-round in her mind;
While trees out her window whisper
Soft lullabies long left behind.
The sound of my cheery greeting 
Draws her back to this metal room,
Away from a creaking rocker
And her mama's sweet, gentle croon.

If is not my name she whispers
As I bend down to kiss her cheek,
But a name more dear than ever
Mine was is the name that she speaks.
"Papa," the feeble voice quavers.
I'm no more a part of her world;
The grandma that soothed my sorrows
Is once again Papa's wee girl.

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To My Brother

 To My Brother
We had our squabbles, and many quibbles,
Disputes and fibbing bouts...
We often wrangled, right into trouble
Poor mom would threaten, and then untangled us,
And was often tempted, then.....
                                to strangle us! 
You were the star,… so tall you stood…
And ‘tho I tried, to reach that far, 
I never could
I often wished, for just one time, that I could win…
To be the one, who won the battle
Instead I'd tattle, and you would laugh
I'd blow a gasket...and that would last
Until we passed into our teens
And then it seemed, that you were gone
And I would long, to have you back.  
Now, looking back, I see more clearly
And love you dearly, for being there...
For being fair, for being you...
And something else, I'll say that's true...
You were my idol
You were my hero, you made me proud
I'll say it now, I'll say it loud
That you still do.
Did you know…. My darling brother
All my life, as we were growing
I had you, to make me climb
A little higher, and all that time
I saw the world, a little better
I had you, a little older
To make me try a little harder
For, I was shy...and you were not,
You gave me goals, to reach the spot...
To try my best, and be a little bolder
As we got older, I saw it clearer
And we grew nearer, which says a lot.

You were my star, and you still are
You helped me know, you helped me grow
Did you know you still inspire
That little spark…
Did you know I still admire
And after all, these many years
….I still strive
            …… to toe the mark ?

(Dedicated to my big brother)

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Hoot's Toot

There once was a little Jack Russell
who was as sweet as she was cute
and went by the nicname of hoot.

Now in the evening the
family would gather 
to spend family time together.
Everyone including Hoot was there.

Me on the couch
the kids on the floor
and dad in his favorite chair.

As we sat there a smell most foul
quickly filled the air.

It seems our sweet little hoot
had let loose with a toot
and now we are all fighting for air.

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9-11: Never Forgotten

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


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

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

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I stumble upon a river
the way it flows and feels
I take my shoes off and run threw it
laughing looking up towards the sun
I wake up and it was all just a dream
my sister runs up the stairs
she slams her door
i asked her what was wrong
she looked at me 
She says "mom told me you were adopted"
at first i laughed as i thought it was a joke
I run downstairs to see my mom and dad sitting on the couch
"mom?" i say
she replies "its true we adopted you!" 
she got up and walked into the kitchen
"after all this time i thought i was yours" i say
My father gets up and walks out the door
My mom lays her hand on her forhead
Just dont worry about it  everything will be okay
"No it wont i say"
i felt fake like i wasnt who i was suppose to be
i just sat on my bed thinking about the whole thing
my whole life and who i should have been
I packed my bags that light and i ran away
leaving the less important things behind
i set out on a journey to find my real parents
I had my sister get there info. from my dads office
I took a bus to indiana and looked up there address
As soon as i found it i knocked on the door
A man opened the door
he said "who are you?"
i say "apparently i am your son?!"
"you put me up for adoption?" i repeat

He yells "ANNA!?, Some kid is here for you!"
i repeat the story to her as she denied it
She looked bruised and beaten up
I wanted to help her but the man hut the door on my face

I had no where to go now
So i started on a journey back home
But i never made it there 
I found that old river i use to go too
i stayed there for a few weeks until
i remembered the way back.
I found myself that day
I realized that i was fake but now im not because i know that i am just me not any of them

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Bird Man : A Christmas story Part two


His creatures failed to listen to His guidelines to grow
and got lost in their own wills. The rest we know.
So the Maker of his creatures animal and Human, the Generator Himself  Creator of billions of stars and galaxies
black holes, planets, moons, suns, 
time, space and all material, of everything visible and invisible …
decided in Pure Love to send down His Son, His Mirror 
to become one of His Creatures. He, the Alpha and Omega,
The Beginning and the End, the second Person of the Blessed Trinity,
God Himself…. Came down to be one of His creatures… His little ones.
He came down and became one of us to lead us, to save us, show us the Way. Christ.

There was a man who did not and would not believe,
who could blame him in a world set to deceive.
One wintry freezing blustery Sunday after his family went to church,
he was watching the birds outside his picture window.
They were freezing to death he could see,
no place to hide and warm themselves in the bare trees.
His bird feeders had toppled in the snow
and his little friends had no where to go.
He quickly went to his entrance door and opened it wide
spread seed and suet in a trail into his house.
“Come inside my little friends he cried!”
I won’t hurt you and you will be safe here with me.
but they didn’t believe him…. Who could blame them
he thought in a world set to deceive….

Then in his anguish for his little friends he thought,
if only I could just for a day become one of them
to fly out there, then they would believe me! 
then they would follow me into my house…where it’s warm.
and they would be saved! Poor little ones!

Then he understood…. 
The next Sunday He filled his birdfeeders
and went to the Christian church with his family.
to give thanks to the Almighty Love. 
It was CHRISTMAS day.


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So Much Love From God

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)

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How Cold Is A Heart

How cold is a heart,
that sees no light,
continuing the battle,
mistaking wrong for right.

How blind are the eyes,
that refuse to see,
kindness offered,
always within reach.

How sad are the days,
to be spent alone,
as if there is no conscience,
and no kindness is shown.

A rebel of sort,
clinging to a ghost within,
unable to recognize,
enemy from friend.

How cold is a heart,
that chooses to be alone,
forgetting the importance,
time is moving on.

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Rescue Operation

Mother used her third arm
for most everything,
her all-around solution
for problem solving.
Once, she used it to save
the life of a common toad.

The snake was guilty 
of nothing more than a move
to assuage his hunger. He soon 
fell victim to Mother's expertise
in wielding a hoe. As he slithered
along the cotton row, she chopped
him in two pieces just beyond
the bulge in his frame.

She then used her hoe
to push the frog out
toward light and freedom.

Mr. Toad sat for a time,
blinking in the sun,
then hopped back into his world.

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Now, I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Doctors say we should get plenty of sleep. Here is how an aging citizen reacted: After exclaiming, “O Lord, let me rest, For I’m weary and my body is bone tired,” The old man slipped deeper into the fluff. His chair slowly reclined. Eyelids became sandbags, breathing slowed, Feet, leaden weights. With mouth agape, nasal noises rose in the room. He dreamed of striped watermelons. His torso soared like red-mottled gossamers, Undulating over golden forsythia fields, Slowly upward toward cotton clouds. O sweet, invigorating rest! Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heaven laden, And I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28 KJV

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Where Memories Keep Me Warm

My grandparents lived in a drafty old farmhouse.
Yet it was filled with a warmth, and stability that still lingers in my mind...
The days seemed sunnier, the breeze was brisk, the nights were cold and clear....
It took a bit of courage when bedtime arrived
For it was quite a cold affair
The back rooms of Grandma's house were never heated
The old bathroom smelled of orange Lifebouy soap
Which was cradled in the wire racks by the sink and the claw foot tub.
At night time, we would have to reach for the string by the door
   that ran along the wall, over to the the fixture above the sink,
                                 in order to turn on the light....
Must have been another one of Grandpa's great solutions!...
It was freezing cold...and no matter how long you let the water run
       it would never seem to get warm.  
         Quite often, my brother and I would fib about washing well behind our ears.

My bed was next to the old treadle sewing machine, 
A small daybed, in the corner of the dining room...
This was my place to sleep each time we visited my Grandparents.
Grandma would come in for a minute, before I fell asleep
And although she was stiff, from joints that knew when the weather was changing...
She would kneel along beside me, and together we would recite the Lord's Prayer
And follow by blessings on each member of the family...
      of course that included the family dog, and the family cat too!
         The old grey tabby cat, was allowed to curl up at the foot of my bed, and spend the night....
 How I loved that cat!

                 A kiss on the forehead..."Sleep tight, Don't let the bedbugs bite" before leaving.

If I close my eyes, I can still hear the ticking of the old school clock
And the humming of the small refrigerator coming from the kitchen
I still hear the mummering of grown-up voices, laughing playing cards in the parlor... 
I can still smell the fragrance of coffee, and cinnamon,
                                          mixed with moth balls
                                                            and the Old Spice that Grandpa wore...
I would lie there, trying hard to fall asleep, ...yet much too excited...
Impatient for tomorrow's early sun to rise over Mt. San Jacinto

Another sun filled day, another memory to make, 
                                    another place in my heart to fill....
                                                    at my Grandparent's house....

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At grandma's we played with 
Ate sweets that gave us cavities
And my cousins were my best 
Granny would make pap, white 
and soft
Served with wors
(sausages) that made everyone's 
mouth water, even mum.

We'd gather around a fire
''making maize magic'' we'd say 
As we braai maize and vleis 
Before the fire dies Gogo 
Makes her legendary vetkoeks,
A delight to enjoy for days.

Sometimes we' climb the mango 
As the thrill intrigued us, for it 
was dangerous
The bees would buzz and we 
just ran
But Gogo awaited at the kitchen 
With a belt to give a hiding
But we would cry before she 
punishes us
In hopes of dodging the bullet.   

At grandma's we grew up.

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remember me

       When I die dont cry cause now my soul is like a bird and it can fly... finally im being set 

free... im flying to a place where there is never an admission fee. Im flying beyond the 

deep blue seas and higher than the black walnut trees.  I will be living in a golden mansion 

where I wont even need a key... this will be the time when you start to regret that you 

never had time to spend with me.... but I just have one last request.... when you all get 

together that I will be remembered on your family tree.

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Circle of Life

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 lovely it 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

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Learning to Spit

What can you do with all those seeds,
slick, black missiles that blaze
a path down your throat,
when what you want is to taste
the sweetness that surrounds them?

You collect them, as if they're treasure,
and curious grandchildren follow,
eager to play, sure of victory.
I spat those flat torpedoes beyond
the range of their imagination, and they,

in slack-jawed wonder at my dubious talent,
took turns spitting and measuring,
each determined to beat my record.
I dispensed seeds as lips pursed, tongues 
pushed, seeds flew and the air rang 

with spitting sounds. Grandpa shook
his head, laughing at our nonsense.
The game continued, dishes stacked 
unwashed, pride built, skills increased 
and seeds diminished.

But watermelon seeds' primary purpose
is not to be denied. Lush vines sprang up
in flowerbeds, dwarfed petunias and snapdragons 
and produced huge, sweet melons, 
replete with slick, black pips.

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Our Father Chapter One

"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

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There is Life Beyond Death's Door Part IV- (Most Awesome Paranormal Experience)

stammered, “Because, if Brian ran away, I saw him earlier today, downtown!  And  
he bought me an ice cream cone! And we talked and were even laughing at a joke 
I’d just told!  He was all dressed up and I asked him where he was going all 
dressed up on a Saturday. He just laughed and said that, he was on an errand and 
he was going back home. He said that he would see me later.  Then I said that I 
would come by to tell him about the trip. We said good bye and he walked away!

Papa’s face turned to stone as he starred in silence, and poor Thomas just stood in 
that spot like a statute.  My oldest sister or someone asked him what kind of 
clothing Brian was wearing.  He answered that Brian was wearing a grey suit, white 
shirt and a burgundy bow tie! He described the outfit down to the shoes Brian 
wore. With that said, Papa, wide-eyed called was rising out of his chair in slow 
motion as he called out to Mama to come and hear this.  Slowly, his tall frame stood 
in silence. Those were the exact clothes that Brian was buried in. There is no way 
Thomas could have known what kind of clothing Brian had been buried in because; 
his parents weren’t at home when he returned from camp.  He had returned much 
earlier than was expected. He didn’t unpack his bags, being in a hurry to get to the 
store downtown as they closed early on Saturdays. After, he would go and visit 
Brian to share about the trip.  Brian’s burial clothes were all new and made by the 
local tailor!  Thomas ran out of the house and my Father ran after him. The grieving 
had begun all over again. We never did see our dog, Blackie again.  The following 
year we moved away.  I am grateful for memories because even though my brother 
Brian died long ago, I still remember his handsome face, even his voice, the way he 
walked, his beautiful smile, and the many times he would carry me up on his 
shoulders to safety in escaping from an abusive uncle.

Next time I see my brother Brian, we will be together again, this time forever.

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Friday night in the Ghetto

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
Fried chicken
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
The ghetto
And its Friday

Poem by SGSteverson
From the book"Four Pieces of a Silver Coin"
Posted 09/14/2011

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Sarah lived in a simple town.
In a simple family,
in a simple gown.

She spent her life using simple speech.
And simple goals,
and simple dreams.

She married a simple man named Johnny.
Had two kids, 
one Sue, one Bonnie.

They all enjoyed their simple lives.
Till a missile flew,
Their home, it dived--

A simple funeral for this simple family.
A casket to share,
In its serenity.

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Sacrament of Baptism

The day of Pentecost, Church celebrated
Administered Holy Baptism
St. Peter declares
“Repent and be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of sins and receive the gift of the Holy Spirit”

The apostles offer baptism to anyone who believed in Fr. Christ Jesus
You will be saved
You and your household
St. Paul declared to his baptized and with all his family

Baptism is birth into the new life in Fr. Christ Jesus
In accordance with Lord God’s will
It is necessary for salvation
As the Church herself, we enter by Baptism

Baptismal grace includes forgiveness of original sin
Birth to a new life by man becomes an adopted son of the Father
A member of Fr. Christ
A temple of the Holy Spirit

Those who die for faith
 All those without knowing the Church under the inspiration of grace
Seek God sincerely, strive to fulfill his will
Can be saved even if they have not been baptize

With respect to children who have died without baptism
The Church invites us to trust in God’s mercy
The angel of Lord God said
The babies are safe in heaven

Written 09172012

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Golden Age

Golden days of youthful frolicking remembrance
As I lie upon my bed and wonder the time
Watching as my LOVE of life deteriorates into a villianous pain
Alzheimers destroys her mind; abuse and lethargy curse her actions
Hate and destruction spew from a dry well of memories
Time stands still in this room three sixteen until the end of days
Family doesn't want to see her emotional outburst
Visitations become less frequent, nurses are jaded to offer hope
Talks of transfering the "patient" into a special facility
Remove the problem from our mist....we can't be bothered with her outburst
In this room is the shell of a life...once lived according to her plans
Memories live on in the descendants when time can find peace again....

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Bird Man : a Christmas story Part one

They were and are always there and here and just are.
uncreated, unworldly Light, brighter than brightest star.
too complex for our proud little minds to fathom.
The Person of the Almighty Father, the Generator always was and will be,
The Person of the Son, Mirror, Word of the Father, and always will be.
The Person of the Spirit, the Sigh of Love between the Two .
These are the Persons of One God who are Three.

There was a man who did not and would not believe,
who could blame him; in a world set to deceive.
He believed in a God perhaps but not that Christ was His Son,
he saw God in Nature; of Christ’s church he would have none.
his family believed and that was alright with him.
he stayed home to watch nature: That was no sin.

Before all we know that was, there was Love,
So Pure a Love that we as mere humans cannot know,
Such palpable Joy and abundant Life They wished to share.
in Each Other They knew as God what They would do.
and it came to be. A Divine opportunity for you and me.
to share in that Wholesomeness of Life and Love.
to be created in His Image with intellect and will.

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A Letter From Eternity

My Dear Carol Brown; Laureate Poetess : my Mentor and Forever Friend : 
Before I entered “Eternity” Your contest “In My Perfect World” intrigued me
 I was not laid back, my happiness was a pen pal relationship with Barbara Jean 
I could not in fairness to my fellow POETS, enter the contest without telling a lie
Now however, entwined with the Spirits of my LOVES, Barbara and LENORE : 
I would enter YOUR Contest, You would hear from a laid back, Very Happy man
YOUR final request : “ Give me something to look forward to “ I can do that
Walking the paths of Heaven with God and His only Begotten Son : Jesus
Conversing with the Spirits of YOUR Earthly LOVES; Everyone Your Soul has touched 
Meeting and Greeting (John Moses Freeman’s AGAPE LOVE) a Spiritual Entity : Walking
With YOU and me and all the Family, joined with all Heaven’s Host,  FOREVER in Eternity
                                                    With all My LOVE, Respectfully YOURS ALWAYS…HG

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Second Chance Prayer

Lord God,
Please help me get a second chance to make up for my past wrongdoing
Send me the Holy Spirit to choose the right path
Provide me Your Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit to help me better myself
Wisdom to have a deep understanding on what and how to change

Knowledge to know the reasons inside my sudden change
Counsel me to give advice in choosing to take on which direction to go to
Understanding to comprehend every situation 
Fortitude to have strength to be courageous on making a stand

Piety, to be faithful and offer goodness to others
Fear of the Lord to maintain Holy Fear to God
Thank You for Your help in transforming me
I respectfully ask this in the name of Father Christ Jesus for sending me the 7 Gifts of the Holy Spirit.


Written 09162012

(Change “I”, “me” or “myself” when praying for someone or a group.) 

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All About Her

I dont know much about her
but I heard she wasnt that talkative
She didnt like being alive
She was numb to all the pain she had to go through

I heard she didnt like anything that was green
She ate roman noodles everynight for supper
She always wore flannels and bellbottoms
Sometimes i seen her wear dresses and fancy tops
But lately shes been wearing band shirts

She wears converse shoes and uses an army bag for school
I know that she dosent like to communicate through talking... only through her peoms
or sometimes even her songs.

I see her drawing and painting all the time
She draws famous people
She would like to be famous and not so unknown
When she tries to speak to anyone they always walk away and leave her alone

When she gets home she goes upstairs to play her bass guitar
She hates chocolate cake but loves chocolate
Her family left her behind because she cant forget her past

Sometimes when shes alone she contemplates the meaning behind her life
Her favorite color is gray because her life is black and white
Everything she says is false according to the world

She is not so innocent
I understand that she dreams about the perfect life
When she opens her eyes they are pitch black

She is someone that is fake
She acts nothing like she should
She is very grungy and unclean

She knows of no safety
and of no time
Her life is smashed into pieces by the giant sun

She will always be a ghost
She knows of no god
She crawls around in the world of death
She remains forgotten

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With Reckless Abandon - Part 1

Many years ago and many tears ago
When bills were just something our parents worried about
When first kisses were still yet to be experienced
And summer days actually meant having a vacation

Back in the days when our parents didn’t worry about where we were
When we could leave the house before breakfast and come home again after the street lights came on
Back in the days when pinky swears were as good as gold
And cross your heart secrets were never told …
We rode our bikes, lit our farts with Bic butanes,
Went to swim team practices in the early morning mist
And played tag in the woods behind the Richter’s barn

And, in the way we played tag, our personalities and persona shone through
Some ran through the woods timid and slow and were always first to be tagged
Some were smart and cautious always aware of the best hiding places
Always knowing who was “it” and who was to be avoided and to stay away from
Some always followed others, hoping they could show them the way to avoid being tagged
Some always were the leaders, showing the way and helping others not to get caught

And then there was Doug

Doug, the son of the family who held on to their land, house, barn and homestead
One of the last remnants of an era passed
An island of farming family values surrounded by the suburban landscape springing up around them in every direction
The reason why there was still a patch of woods that we could run through playing tag

Doug was fast, though perhaps not the fastest
Doug was quick, though perhaps not the quickest
Doug was cunning, though perhaps not the smartest

But, what Doug was most often was … the last to be tagged

Doug would run through those woods with reckless abandon
There was not a sticker bush he would not run through to avoid being tagged
There was not a tree he wouldn’t climb
And then jump out of from the top
To avoid being tagged
The was not a ravine he wouldn’t jump
A mud puddle he wouldn’t splash through
A risk he wouldn’t take
To avoid being tagged

Many a boy, of which I counted myself often, was left holding his side in exhaustion
Watching the back side of Doug making his get-away once again

Doug was not one to hide
He could easily be found
Constantly on the move
Just never to be caught

And, that is the way I pictured Doug running through the woods of life

Never hiding from trouble
Never afraid to take risks
Constantly on the move
And, never being tagged

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For Love of Liliana

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

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We picked him up at the airport 
He only had a carry on bag
So the visit was just for awhile

We got him home,I gave him a copy of my first poetry book for him to keep 
We were family friends 
Always will be
So he said he had a book for me too,
And produced The River Between by Ngugi wa Thiongo 
One of my favourite African Writers 
I was very happy
He said his cousin brought it for him from Kenya
A gift

Then he had a book for my sister too
It was like a Christian devotional book that his sister Shiru that had same name as my sister had given him
A gift 
The writings inside from his sister were touching 
Words only a loving sister will write to her brother 
My sister was happy

So we started catching up, been years since we were all together
We had a lot to talk about
I was mostly interested in his stories
He had gotten in trouble with the law several times, had several accidents that almost took his life and had put his family through a lot

In the midst of him showing me the scar on his arm from a knife fight, the bullet that was still in his left knee and bouts of amnesia that I noticed from the head injuries he had obtained from the accidents 
(He also mentioned the accidents had affected his memory),
I saw a young boy that I once knew
He had big dreams
His family winning a green card and coming to America, the land of opportunity was going to make his dreams even bigger

His carry on luggage told me a different story
He was ready to change
He was ready to dream again

Are we going to help him fulfil his dream?
I wondered 
I still wonder

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Stunning Armadillos

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

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She was born long ago in the sunflower state
And although my own feet have never been blessed
to set, not a step, upon the dry prairie grass...
she would spend many days, sharing stories and dreams

I would watch as she told  me, with glistening eyes 
I pictured each message, while I quietly listened....

Some might have seen it, in much different hues
but the Kansas I've seen, was from Grandmother's view

It awakens in spring with new sprouting grain
After brittle white frost, or slush under the rain
I have seen just how golden a wheat field might grow
I shall know how a wagon, dark-framed, work at rest
Waits by a shed, and how two horses will stand
Waiting  and grazing where the fence-line might bend

I can see quivering trees, and stiff shocks of corn
The amber of the noon, and the warm sun-cured hay
Milking cow barn, and the old chicken shed
And a barn filled with pigs wait to be fed
A lone, white farm house, with a big front porch
And how a bible rests...on the nightstand, next to a bed

How harsh the weather, how the Chinook wind shakes the roof
And how fast a family gathers, into a cellar when tornados are due
And the sound of a meadowlark, and a hot wood stove and coal black soot
The kindness of folks, and the loss and heartaches
And the smell of roasted chicken, and bread as it bakes

In this place of her birth..... is the scent of the earth...
I see the brown and green
I see what she has seen.......yet only through her eyes
As I stand by her side...under a Kansas prairie sky....

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The Best Days of My Life

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

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It's Time

It’s Time

By BJ Welsh

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

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

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


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Thanksgiving Day Blessings For My Children

Lovingly Dedicated to my Precious Angels: 

Tammie, Tiger, Lanissa, Dougie and Janene - and of course to all of my other adoptive angels too!

Thanksgiving Day Blessings For My Children So thankful for the blessings Of my five beautiful children My truly precious angels All were sent from heaven Yes, even my stepdaughter is An equal gift from God above She completely fills my heart And carries all this momma love Looking back at my childhood It was the best time growing up I never dreamed it could be better Until I received the gifts of mom luck At that point in time I devoted my entire life To raising my children No matter what the strife I worked so many jobs raising them Periodically three to four at a time Even the tiniest moments we shared Are forever memorable in my mind I treated each and every moment As if it was the best time found To show my children just how To bounce the joy all around Now even down to the youngest Of my grandchildren do know All the favorite things I cherish That makes my heart glow Happiness, dancing, singing Smiles, nature, balance, peace and rocks All filled with mountains of love And I really do mean lots The most glorious feeling in the world Is at this very moment - it’s so true As I think of how all of my children Pass the same to their loved ones too It certainly is a good thing I’m gifted with a big family To pass the joy all around To any others they may see It has been worth all the struggles And the bumpy roads I’ve been through To reach this glorious moment in time Where will the next 56 years take me to Love and joy are the seeds of inspiration Those gifts that God sends to me I kind of wonder if anyone Could ever be happier than me As I wait for them to all to arrive To celebrate this Thanksgiving Day I am counting all my blessings in thanks Because this really is the best day I really do wish happiness For everyone else too But for me, all I can say is Hallelujah and whooo-hooo! Florence McMillian (Flo)

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My Brothers Op

My Brothers Op
To everyone that added their prayers to mine
My brother came through the op - he’s fine
He gave us worries at the start
But now they have re tubed and flushed his heart
It kept him quiet for a while
If you knew him you’d know that’s not his style
I can only thank you for caring
And thank you for your prayers and sharing.

My new brother as we call him 
Is very dear to me
We never even met
Until he passed the age of fifty- three.
We had been searching the web, as people often now do
To find ancestors out there, bet you have done it too.
We came across a tree, while searching for some other
You can imagine our surprise, when we found we had a new brother

We are very close my big brother and I
I lost one and found one new
He will never replace my other one 
But he is my brother true.
I love him as if he’s always been there
We’ve missed so much time together.
But then we may have been complacent
If we had known each other for ever. 

Thank you for all the good wishes and prayers you sent. I would like to respond to all of them and congratulate all your wins but it will take me forever so please accept a huge thanks and congratulations and I hope to get back in the swing soon.
Mandy xxx

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Covenant House Prayer

Lord God,

All people have problems and troubles in the world.
Provide children someone to love and be loved,
Help them have someone to walk with as far as they wish.
Give them wisdom or understanding and knowledge to do what is right and what is wrong.

Help children have strength and courage to face their oppressors who tease and bully them
Those who gather socialize and trade their images
Children who are being rape and abuse
Enlighten people to realize their horrifying acts

Please help children choose the right decisions to the things that happens
Help the children's attitude towards people.
Give them fortitude or strength to hope for their brighter future
Help them reach their teenage years in peace

Give them courage to face their trials,
Perseverance to strive hard to reach their best and be successful
Help them have Patience and Tolerance when dealing with hardships
Comfort them mentally and physically to be calm.

We ask this through Your Son, Fr. Christ
Who lives and reigns with You forever and ever.  


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If I had lived yesterday
in that chaotic world echoing
of Gatling guns shots and canon blasts,
I would have made a difference:
hate and prejudice would have not prevailed,
and power wouldn't have been abused;
from History's records, we know that even 
when Jesus lived it wasn't that peaceful!
During the American Civil war,
Northerners fought Southerners...
did they hear Scarlet's desperation,
or the moaning of her loss as war went on?
And for sometime, it had become
a modus vivendi she couldn't change.
Let's return to the stark reality of the present:
have we noted some drastic changes
in Government and social behavior?
Yes, it has given us more liberty,
but another war has shattered many hopes
of ever seeing peace as blood continues to be shed...
while nations arm themselves to their teeth!
How can we welcome those winds of change and feel safe,
if we tell our children that danger still exists?
And has society been kinder and more caring?
Obscenity, teen sex, violence, greed, vulgarity
and exploited sexuality are being condoned by many;
we wouldn't be that cool if we didn't use obscene words,
and worst of all, we are called hermits or asexual
if we abstain from sex to prevent those sexual diseases!
Is this rebellion, or a trend of the new generation?
Having unprotected sex, making babies, 
laying the burden on their Government that's fighting
a terrorist war? Do we seen any future
for these lost kids who imitate the habits of their parents?
Blame them? Ah! Lots of things would be changed,
if they turned to God and ask for His guidance!
And to end my visceral narrative, I shamefully confess, 
" I hate to live in this loathsome age of greed!"

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My Very Own Week--Just for Me-- Are You Kidding Me

If I could do most anything
A week to have for my very own?!
I'd put away the mop and broom!
The paper work would have to wait!
No rush to work, what if late?
I'd put my chores upon the shelf
I'd sleep in late, perhaps till noon
I'd take the car out for a ride
I'd walk about the countryside
And lay along the riverbank
And toss some sticks, and take a swim
And ride my bike, and play some pranks
Eat peanut butter with loads of jam
And make mud pies....because I can!
And watch the ducks and geese that gather
Those ticking clocks?....Ignore....I'd rather!
I'd sit out in the sun that gleams
Among the trees I'd lie and dream
I'd head back home, and whistle songs
I'd make a call and right some wrongs
I'd take a nap and eat a snack
Then put music on and do a dance
I'd take a good book from the shelf
Curl up and indulge myself

A mom like me who hovers...races...
To keep the pace, going places
Helping, filling needs of many faces
Never has alone time...spaces
So one week's worth of self indulgence
Sounds like bliss...could it exist??
Perhaps I should find a great disguise...
Would that be wise?  Go undercover...
Just a week, sounds quite resplendent...
Just as long as it's not forever....

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''Runaway Wanted''

I see my breathe.
Night has fell upon a frost.
Gods' chill lye now on my shoulders.
Alone yet not.
Silence now before the icey rain.
Surrender as my nervous teeth chatter.
For the warmth of a home is all that is desired.
My empty haven.
But,I am filled with a heart that is full.
Want nor wait.
Arms now cover me like a blanket.
Gust of wind has carried your unwaivered heart.
Candles lit a way to find what is left.
Merely an image of what once was.
Break down into a sob.
Remains frozen solid as climate has taken its' vengence.
I suffer no more,weak body.
Now only in spirit.
Shall I rest.

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My Father Gone These Forty Years

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

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He Left These Here for You

Granddad saved change under the paper in his dresser drawer.
We never dared to look and see how much he had to share.
He saved it there with a purpose; to give when I was there.
For a nickel I would comb his hair; a quarter bought a shave.
He loved to give me money; I loved the way he cared.
A playful sort, he loved to laugh; he always teased and joked.
There was endless time to play with me; that’s how my granddad was.

My granddad grew a garden, the prettiest one in town.
I would help him plant the rows of corn.
Three seeds dropped in each hole that he made.
Row after row, together we worked our way down.
And when the work was completely done, it was time for fun!
A shave, hair comb, and a pedicure would make him fall asleep.
Grandma brought bright red polish to decorate his feet!

When he'd wake up, I’d sit on the floor, knowing what was next.
He would bring out coins from his dresser drawer
And laugh about his toes…  (A tradition as my grandmother knows.)
He was always amused while I counted all of my loot.  
He would tease and laugh and taunt.  To me, he was number one!
At age eighteen, while in the Army, the horrible message came.
Granddad had died from an allergy; life would never be the same.

I tried not to cry, like I promised him; I could not bear the pain.
He loved me so and I loved him.  I felt so alone.
How could I go through life and never hear his voice.
I must go on; we had talked of this; even now, he still is missed.
I didn't go home for many years; when I did…he wasn’t there.
Emptiness came over me, and an ocean full of tears.
Then, Grandma took me to his drawer… “He left these here for you.”

© July 9, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen 

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Voice Of the Unborn!!!!!

How will this world be I wonder....
Beautiful, colourful or great?? I ponder..
How do humans look ...I am curious?
Are they gentle, humble or always furious?

Oh!! I am waiting to come into this world..
Waiting to live, talk and to be heard...
My do I call them ?
Mama?.or..papa?..or should I ask them?..

I can hear them speak....I can feel their touch..
Oh! I enjoy all this very much...
Want to see you mummy and daddy....
To be loved and cuddled by you, very fondly...

Suddenly I hear mum-dad say...
"Let’s have an abortion right away!"
I fear, I panic...I wonder.. I cry...
Why on earth do they want me to die?

I want to live and bring home joy..
I am a little life and not a toy..
I would complete your family and bring you joy..
"Oh!! Please.. Please I don’t want to die"...

Let me live and you shall. see..
How beautiful your world will be…
Take me as a blessing and not a curse, Oh! Dear,
I shall bring you happiness and joy forever!

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Why Church called Catholic

Church is a she Bride of Father Christ Church is Catholic Church is people Catholic related to the whole Greek kat’holon Father Christ called Profess whole faith Preserve all Sacraments To administer To proclaim Good News Sent her to all nations (YOUCAT) 4092013

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For Those Who Love The Game

We have been waiting ohhh, sooo long and now my fellows the time 
draws near 
The sweet smell of cut grass IN the cool fall air triggers the feeling we 
all know so well 
Clashing giants on a 100 yard field, a sound so dearly adored 
By ones that love the risk and fear, an excitement with fans in accord 
And a manicured field, suitably crafted through hands of meticulous 
Lines and numbers laid down upon grass, so green, so soft and supple 
Upon those fields, teams do play with men giving their all for the cause 
Sprinting so fast, hitting, slamming, driving all for ground that is gained 
or lost 
Bulldogs running with power and speed, rebellious ones defending their 
goal line with greed 
And the Gators ferociously trying to knock down the one that carries 
the treasure around 
All to the delight of a energetically, maddening, exuberant crowd 
The Tide rolls in and the tide rolls out, delivering a brutal offensive 
All to the tune of grunts and groans, with crackling of joints and the 
breaking of bones 
There are Commodores that fight to give the foe hell, with spirit and 
pride all fanatics will hail 
Wildcats clawing to reach the top, coming oh so close, only to be 
Volunteers that strike fear in the enemy’s souls and gamecocks fighting 
toward a day it can crow 
Bengal tigers that run and pass with a great roar, Hawgs that root for 10 
yards or more 
A contest of strength and quickness and speed, crafty decisions made 
by mentors that lead 
The pounding of hearts that beat with pride, outpouring emotions none 
can hide 
For it runs within their blood with steam, those fitted in brilliant 
uniforms of their teams 
With full speed ahead these men follow their dreams, for a future in a 
game fit their means 
Those fans, Oh those fans, their banners they wave, with mascots and 
colors for them to display 
The fans gather before the contest begins, an intoxicating affair 
among family and friends 
The smell of grand cookouts drift though the air, titillating the senses 
of everyone there 
Ribs and Burger, prepared with such care which those that are cooking 
will graciously share 
And they will in the drink and delectable food, then sit and converse on 
their confident mood 
The fans live in the pride of their alma-mater In hopes that their team 
will not falter 
And that one day the ultimate prize will be found, and their team will 
wear the SEC CROWN. 


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WaSn'T Me

In our Family, we have seven kids, 
Well, that's how many I thought we did. 
But whenever I do a count. 
I never get to that amount. 
More often than not there's a few more, 
Sometimes I think we have a swinging door. 

I love it when they all appear, 
Filling the house with laughter and cheer. 
But whenever the friends all go home, 
And I think we're all alone, 
Somebody says that name, 
Then I know he's here again. 

Everytime something is not right, 
And the kids wind up in a fight, 
Wasn't Me always gets the blame, 
I know we didn't give any of our kids that name!. 
I hear his name frequently everyday, 
I didn't do it, "It Wasn't Me!", they'd say. 

Now I've come to the conclusion, he's just a naughty boy, 
But never having set eyes on him is beginning to annoy. 
I can't recall when he first came, 
But I do know he is always to blame. 
As soon something goes amiss, 
"It Wasn't Me!," the kids all hiss. 

Well, I wish this kid would just go home, 
And leave our Family all alone. 
Things were great before he came, 
 I had the kids almost tame!

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An allegory of my life

7 Aug 08 1:00 PM 

I once thought I had awaken from a dream.
I bolted upright and let out scream!  
I ran from my bed and out the front door jumped into my boat and grabbed for the 
I rowed down the street and took a left on main and lost one oar cause it stuck in a 
But I kept on rowing as hard as I could round in a circle like a good soldier should.  
I never gave up and I didn’t quit, until my last oar in two halves it split. 

Then I really woke up and realized the dream and pondered all day just what it 
might mean.  
In life we hurry and worry so much, we don’t even take time to finish our lunch.  
I’ve got to do this I’ve got to do that, take care of the dogs take care of the cats.  
I’ve got to go here I’ve got to go there.  
I know my keys are here hiding somewhere.  
Around and around where I’m going I don’t know.  
I’ve worked  and worked and have so little to show. 
But then my oar broke and I finally stopped and out of that boat I came with a hop! 

My head has quit spinning and now I can see, 
My purpose my treasures. . . . are God and my family

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Looking Back

Dedicated to my children who have kept my dreams alive.

LOOKING BACK 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)

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If you think physical toil is bizarre
and out of fashion,
Who will train your child?

Moses instructed the israelites to train
their children to be industrious,
and it was regarded as sin to allow youth
 to grow up,unconscious of physical labour.
If a child was to be educated for holy office,
also a knowledge of practical life was neccessary!

Every youth whether his parents were rich or poor,
 was allowed to learn a particular job.
If you are a parent who neglects to provide physical training,
 and only concentrates on mental and spiritual training,
You have departed from the instruction of the LORD!

Proverbs 22:6;Says`Train up child in the way he should go
and when he is old,he will not depart from it.`

chipepo lwele
*special dedication to my father and mother
  [mr & mrs pensulo lwele]

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My Homeland Coast Of Africa

It was no more than eighteen months ago,
I left my homeland coast of Africa.

We moved to a place called New York City,
A place I always wanted to visit.

In my homeland men were fighting there,
Day and night gun sounds were in the air.

Those men with guns were so very cruel,
They destroyed, then burned down our school.

We arrived here in late Summer,
Though it felt like it was Winter.

The weather was a shock to me,
I thought that I would nearly freeze.

On my homeland coast its warm and nice,
It never snow or freeze to ice.

There, I often dreamed that it would snow,
But, of course, then little did I know.

For, it's no longer a treat for me to see,
Now, I want to see green grass and trees.

I'm told, Spring here feels much better,
It's almost like my homeland's weather.

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' Knock - Knock Jokes ... ( Quirky, Yes )

Aahhhh, The Quirky/Idiosyncrasies of MoonBee

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
     Icky …
Icky Who ?
… Never Mind, I’ll Come Back Later …

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
    Juan …
Juan Who ?
I Don’t Know, What Do You Have In Mind ?

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
    Hula …
Hula Who ?
Yes, When I Was Young …

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
   Toodle …
Toodle Who ?
  … Ok

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
   Bye-Bye …
Bye-Bye Who ?
Look Lucy, We Found Ricky !

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
      Nu …
Nu Who ?
Well, If You Know Who, Why You Ask ?

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
     Woo …
Woo Who ?
… Ok, Who’s In Trouble ?

(The Obvious-Obvious, One)

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
     Who …
Who Who ?
Late Night, Huh ?

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
    Yu …
Not Me !
Yeah … Yu !

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
    Yu ! …
You Who ?!
… Hi …

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
     Yu !
Naaaaa, Naaaaa Interested !

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
    Boo …
Boo Who ?
Wait, I’m Not A Bill Collector !

                               Knock, Knock …
                      Who… who oo ‘s  There ?
                                  Sue …
                           Su suu sue, Who ?
            (but then Door Opens, With A Crash
               Double-Barrel, Points Out, Blasts
     The Knocker Runs Fast, as Voice Shouts Out Rash
“ … Sue That ! and Don’t Come Back Talking ‘bout Whiplash”
          And The Man Sits Back Down, To Finish His Glass

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

              Oh, Darn, I’m Out Of Egg-Nog and Jack D
               Now, How Can I Make My Moonlight-Tea
             Well, It’s Back To The Market, For MoonBee
                                       He He He ! …

                            Have A Great Day, Y’all …


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Kids and Pets

Leo was a feline, passed away at nine.
She lived six years in the house where
She was born. Her Mother was a stray
Michelle fed at the curb. Elsa was a
Stray, half-dead. Smelled the goldfish
We had in a pond in the backyard.
A can of tuna brought her back to life.
Diedra and Gary are my beautiful kids too.
I am a Mom to all of God's beautiful ones.

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The Joy Of Killing Pt 1

Those whom are neglected by society and has particular broken heart, no family on their
side or better not needing anything, looking up high for answers and don't get a good
explanation why, those who love to humiliate and like to bully, when their tears fall one
dies, you all ignorant ways don't like the fact you are been watched, by those whom like
your tasty blood, the have a passion like you do, different, but same, we got to move on
and leave behind the world so dead, by the hands of a killer you shall sleep long waited

You wake up early in early in the morning, you shower yourself of, a cup of coffee might
help you stand strong for the rest of the day, your soul companion gives you a good bye
kiss and your kids tells you how much they love you, love fuels your soul with strength,
now get on the car and go work for a lifetime, you get to work and get of the car last
saying a new day, a new story to tell, arriving to your office you with no offense step to
a tall man and spill his morning coffee on his shirt, you say im sorry but the man walks
away, now go to work, a beautiful day and lots to do, so the day comes to an end some how...

4:30pm, your going home, a long day of work did quite tired you, you drive home safely and
get there, open the door and your family with a smile says hello darling, how was your
day? Dinner is served, night is heavy, 10:00pm and you need to sleep, your partner hugs
you and soon kisses you, a romantic moment to go to the room and have a lovely scene for
what is to come, but at 11:00pm your tired, so you need to sleep, soon after your in
dreams, so a minute for your world to change...

(Help!) Your partner screams, soon a child screams same word, you stand up quick, heart
rushes, no gun, no knife, but you must help, get out the room and soon you see a splash of
blood on the wall in front of you, your child is dead, you run to the living room, your
partner is tied on the floor, bleeding deeply wounded, whats next and what happened? So
you get knockout, when you open your eyes your faithful partner is pale white, cant
scream, cant move, you are tied tight and mouth covered, hands and legs are quite sealed
together, you see this dark figure, a tall strong man stands in the corner, shadows cover
his identity, you desperately try to move and help but he soon closes by and beats you up,
with a saw on his hands treads you with your fellow companion, so he walks to your partner
and slice the neck, fade away to sleep...

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That Old Fiddle of His

A long and narrow road. Trees stretched in the summer breeze. 
The dirt and fallen leaves crescendoed under my footsteps. 
As I walked down this road, my mind turned to the towering trees.
They were cool, and smooth to the touch.
I closed my eyes and breathed. 
I could smell salt in the air, and I knew that ocean was near. 
I emerged from the end of the road 
There I found a great white house, perched at a sea-side cliff.
The salty winds had taken a toll on the old mansion, it’s paint chipped.
An old man came into view. He sat on an old log overlooking the sea. 
He had a fiddle and bow in hand. 
He contemplated, pondered, and thought, of the perfect note to end his song. 
Then he heard me, and called me over. 
He told me to sit, and be still, to open my mind to the notes he played. 
Together we sat, on that sea cliff, as he played on that old fiddle of his. 
Nothing seemed to matter, not the time, nor the weather. 
Everything was peaceful, as we sat, listening to that old fiddle, of his.

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Careless Words

For years your soul's been weeping
Wondering lands so cold and and dark
searching for the pieces
Of an angels broken heart
Two careless words were spoken
Which tore your life apart
So running to your mother
To beg that it's not true
Five crying words from trembled lips
Do I belong to you
The world turned black
The sky fell in
For a girl so soft and meek
As she saw the first tear
Fall on her mothers cheek

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The Duchess I Once Knew

She's pouring from a pot of tea
    as we relax on the quiet porch
Honeysuckle vines encircle the posts,
   and webs of daddy long-legs
      glisten in the afternoon light.
She nonchalantly chatters, telling me her stories...
                                as if they were ordinary tales
                                 which, of course, ..they are not.
Sailing across an ocean during dangerous wartime,
Living in exotic, but threatened tropics
A life of adventure, of hardship, of fear
Yet none of that revealed on her weathered face
 She smiles, cheeks rouged and eyes sparkling.

Inside the house, the counter is cluttered with dirty dishes
The floor is sticky, and dog hair floats in prisms of light
The old hound sleeps in the middle of the kitchen rug.
An older black lab is lapping up water from a brown dish
           dripping water from his sloppy face across the checkered floor.
Throughout the house, a lingering musky smell of well loved pets,
       and a stale, smokey odor of burnt toast from her attempt at breakfast.
Servants, cooks, gardeners, are now part of a long ago past.
The house is filled with dust covered, treasured belongings from yesterday.
  Piles of clutter everywhere.
       Junk mail, newspapers, dog treats,
                           documents and clippings
                                 prized antiques and artifacts

On shelves, and on the walls, are sepia-hued photographs
People of fame, others of family and friends...
I see my own family among them.

A handsome young man, and she, his bride.
He would become a General.
She would follow him to the ends of the earth.
Their life like a story that one would read in a novel.
I sit here now,...with this woman of many lives.
Sitting on her porch, she wears a tattered, splattered dress.
Today, she is a homespun, country widow.
An extraordinary woman, this grand Duchess,
          yet now who bears traits of Ma Kettle
She brought class, dignity, and a wealth of knowledge
           to our small country neighborhood,....... to my life.
Here we are, together, so far from the world she once knew.
We sit in the shade of her covered porch
A long haired, grey cat jumps into her lap.
Under the veil of a summer day
I pour her another cup of tea, and a little more for myself.
                                       Tea is served....I have much more to drink savor.

In memory of dear friends, most amazing people, who lived down our road ...      Aviation Pioneer

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KUNDUN, a movie about the Dalai Lama

What struck me is that it showed him
Always leaving
And sadly looking back
At his family home
Going to Llasa
To be (re)educated
Tenzin Gyatso was found as a young child
Went through many tests to prove
That he was the 13th Dalai Lama
He passed the tests
“That cup is mine”
“These prayer beads are mine”
“There is where I kept my (false) teeth”

His family was allowed to follow
And were set up in a new household
Where Tenzin was allowed to visit
Merely visit
He lived at the palace
Away from his mother
He had to learn 
Duties of state

As he matured,
He had to leave
His childhood
And take his title
At age 15
To deal with the Chinese
Who forced him 
To leave his country
His people, although some followed
The last scene shows him 
Standing in his new room
Near the Indian Tibetan border
Looking back through his telescope

then went to bed
And woke up sad; remembering:

Jesus was always leaving
Although I think He looked forward
He must have looked back
At His family
At His town
At His new found friends
At His enemies
Each time, although some followed
Until He was forced to leave

Why was I sad?
I grew up the youngest in my family
It seems everyone was always leaving
Some looking back; others not

As I grew older
I left, too
And rarely looked back

Life seems full of leavings
Friends and family
Go to live elsewhere
Or die
to play in heaven without me

You ask what
Day I would like to relive
I say 
I think of the play OUR TOWN
Where the newly deceased protagonist
Is given a day to relive
With advice to pick an ‘ordinary day’
And even then, 
She found it painful

Looking back on memories is enough
The mind tends to play tricks
And nothing is as it seemed
(Check family stories 
The ‘truth’ varies from person to person)

Reliving a day past
Might be disappointing
Or not
But different
Reliving anything would be impossible

The Dalai Lama looked back at his beloved country
Changing even as he looked
I don’t think he can ever go back; since there is 
No longer a ‘back’

I never met the Dalai Lama
In any lifetimes, I think
But I do remember Jesus
I watched Him leave many times
Sometimes I followed
But that last time
He went where I couldn’t follow
And I couldn’t keep Him here

So when you ask me what day
I would like to relive
I say none
How many goodbyes is one
Expected to survive?

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My Birthday Wish

I sit on the floor and wait from dusk to dawn, for a new day will soon be reborn. I count all 
the blooming flowers, and count down the long hours, while mum takes her shower. 
Today's the day, for it's my birthday. I hope I get A car, or A guitar or maybe even become 
A movie star, but that's asking A bit too much of me. I walk around singing out A loud, 
acting proud feeling as if my heads in A cloud. To my surprise I start stumbling over my 
words and begin mumbling. Maybe mum just forgot about me, or are they just hiding the 
presents from me? I walk through the hall, with my head dragging looking at the floor, 
and go to bed with my heart feeling torn. It's getting late and I can no longer wait. I turn 
off my light, and close my eyes and cry having so much things go through my mind. I 
drift to sleep but then I see, mum walking in my room in the middle of the night with A 
light. It's so bright. She raises my heart like A kite, taking of it flight and she says, good 
night, and turns of the lights. She raised my hopes high and then shot them out of the 
sky. I break down and cry, it feels as if I've just died. No one remembered why today was 
A special day for it was my birthday. I look at the sky and wonder why? I light my candle 
and close my eyes, tears dripping down onto my thighs, and I start to whisper in my 
mind. "I don't want A car, or even A guitar. I don't even want to become A movie star. I 
just want to be free of this disease called poverty, I just want people to stop running away 
from me. Free me of aids so I can stop feeling afraid. Stop me from being poor, so I can 
afford to stop sleeping on the floor. Make me smile for there is no reason to smile, but 
please make my life worth while. Take me away from Africa, for all I see is people being 
raped and all the kids hearts filled with hate, I'm loosing my faith for I am living each day 
even though there is nothing to live for". A Tear drops on my candle, And puts out the 
flame I whisper in pain,This is "My Birthday Wish"
We wish for luxuries that only money can afford. They wish for water for they are poor. 
People need to learn to smile, for kids living in poverty have A legitimate reason not too. 
Be happy for what we have, and never complain for what we don't have.
- Wiko Te Maru

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The Red Kite and Wagon

Brother had made me mad so I knocked him down the basement stairs.
Choicely words he hurled my way-His teary eyes reflected pain and back at me they glared.
Like a viper he laid around the house daring me to come his way.
Sorry am I now for I have no one with to play.
After several weeks had passed, he still snarled and hissed.
Only his foot- to-hip cast kept him constantly at bay.
But I grew lonely with no brother to rumble with; no one to share my day.
Then the thought struck me as a jolt of reality-tomorrow is his birthday.
Off to Mr. Green’s corner store I went for a birthday present- I had fifty cents.
I spied a red kite- asked him to rap it and back to brother as I whistled and skipped.
I presented the little red kite which brother threw down-saying you ain’t right!
Sadly I looked for a solution of how brother can fly his new birthday kite.
It was in the backyard, positioned under the lean-to – the answer to my prayer.
I dragged it out and cleaned her with new found hope and no despair.
I carried my brother and placed him in the little red wagon with difficulty as he held his kite in hand.
The school yard was empty- we tailed the kite and then pulling the wagon I ran.
The little red kite stilled high in the air as brother and I where once again a pair.
The kite soared the faster I ran and finally at the end of the day, a brother’s love had been won again.

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Our Home

Mother called up when I was busy at work
Be home early, raw dinner awaits to be cooked
As I open the door of our dear little home
I felt welcomed upon seeing my loving folks

Dinner was a festive and we were full
Then together we watch our favorite show
When my parents eyes betrayed sleepiness
They bid me goodnight then doze

Before I lay down on my inviting bed
I muse for a while, then recited a prayer
I thank the Lord for keeping my family
In this sweet home as together we stay
Our home, our little heaven is where my heart
Here I was raised full of affection and bliss
To my parents I give my care and undying love
A day's a treasure with them, not to be missed

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The Darkest - Blackest Tuesday (Epilogue)

Daddy, George's eyes are still opened so he's alive
"Lilyann, what the Hell is going on ; Joe call the Police
Tell them we need a couple of ambulances"
Come here little guy, Dad took a hanky out of his pocket
wiped my lips Looks like you lost some teeth
At least they were baby teeth soon 5 Police cars and 2 ambulances
They took Ma'am In her blood soaked dress into the first car 
"Wait : Ma'am George said HE LOVES YOU
The next day We all headed to new Foster Homes.

Inspired by YOUTH Dedicated In LOVING MEMORY Of  George Francis Murphy
March 3, 1950 --- July 10. 1956 My Brave and Happy Brother

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Chika Means Scattered Flowers

I was 13 and in love,in eighth grade and so very lost.
My family saw a prodigy a girl,whom they didn't want
In hopes they wanted a boy
The scars I made ran deep inside.
Through my thinning blood veins
So touching the skin of the surface didn't provide
a secure enough feeling to protect me from the night.
Night time nightmares that haunted my subconsciousness 
The pain ran deep,thought love could fix it.
i depended on him to be there forever,since no one else would
But he left one day,and i was so alone.
I realized then i could only trust myself,hug,hold,tell myself it'd be alright.
The chills that hugged me through the waking of the dawn.
The sunrise I'd wish would hurry and come over the horizon
Should it set me free from the darkness 
To warm me of my emotionless state of mind.
The blood that ran through my veins and name i wish i didn't have.
The disgrace,genious no one wanted,the fury and tears i kept hidden.
But the red color that leaked from the scars said it all.
The girl i wanted to be,who i needed to be but couldn't.
For all the rebellion and pain. I'm sorry but I knew you wouldn't ever care.
Your eyes always said it to me
Even when your lips lied
Your eyes told me the truth
You were to busy,to gone away to tell me of our family
The saddest smile always laid on my lips
You saw it and denied it
How could your eldest daughter do this to you?
The questions you asked...
The answers you received back
The perfection that ran deep in blood
I did not want.
To be like you..
Was unfair
To relive your life was horrid
I was not conceived to relive your life
I was born to live mine
But in your mist of unknowing 
I found my on family
No blood relation
Backgrounds totally different
But we all felt the same pain
Our eyes told our stories
While our lips told the lies
I didn't have to fake my happiness
I just had to find myself
Though all my unhappiness and loss
I found Family and I found Me

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Christmas season

With Burle Ives singing Frosty the snowman in the background,
and the smell of pies and 
cinamon in the open, warm kitchen, thoughts of Christmas'
 past come to mind. When 
precious God fearing, grand parents were 
around to keep my thoughts on the right path and 
help to increase my faith in a loving heavenly father.
 A father that had the good of the 
family in mind; was the protector of the family and leader. 
Times were more simple and 
precious, hard work was the norm around the small vegetable farm. 
Decorations for Christmas 
were a must, a tree and lights, with many gifts under the tree. 
Kids playing with all the toys 
and each other, usually a board game would
take place after the Christmas eve meal with all 
the cousins, that we all readily enjoyed. 
As the kids got older, and were able to drive, we 
would take a ride to Christmas Lane and look
at the decorations and lights. Then go home to 
wait fot Santa to leave our presents, 
with the fire place's glowing red embers, Santa could 
see the perfect place to leave the gifts arranged for 
best enjoyment and visual build-up. 
Love abounds sitll in our home, with my own son watching for Santa's spies around 
Thanksgiving and wishing for every
toy known to mankind. The awe and wonder are still 
there, but I miss those gone on before, though I 
can imagine the celebration they are having 
up in Heaven, praising Jesus, and loving each other.

For my grand parents-Robert and Leola Kendrick and Marion and Marie Morgan

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The Figures' Memory

The Figures' Memory 
Arabic Poem by: Abdulsadah Al-Basri
Translated into English by:
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)

The Day we devised oblivion 
We were canned in our memories 
And sent down by the clouds 
To body lust 
Our children slipped one after another 
From between our fingers 
And our women became wrapped in whispers
And contempt 
So we reconciled  
With our dreams 
As the night abused us   
And the birds lay 
At the stops of our lives!!!
 Translated into English by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
 * Abdulsadah Al-Basri is a poet from Iraq

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As it ends up in table fellowship

Whenever we get together as confreres in the religious order,
there’s so much to deal with burning issues and other concerns,
paucity of personnel links to inability of acquiring  new missions;
indeed, a great need that our priority speaks for more vocations.

  Like an investment in business where we cooperate with lay people,
  our ministry articulates relationships with diverse cultures,
  a key-word in evangelization walking with the poor people;
  again, it’s what the role of the church echoes in today’s generation.

Across the length of time I’ve spent in the growing mission,
one particular item that always reminds me more than anything else;
live the lifestyle of poor people - aware of their limitations,
closeness and aspirations that someday they’ll get an answer.

  God’s blessings are revealed in many dimensions and situations,
  with strong faith in Him, along with patience and optimism;
  one can move on and cope with hardly any complaint at all,
  for he believes that God knows what’s best  to every human situation.

It’s an endless stream of struggle, a continuing effort to better off the plan,
with individual’s cooperation geared towards the commonality of our vision;
that is to build God’s kingdom in our working relationship with people
where peace, love and justice would reign in every heart and soul.

  Oh, after that engaging discussion, let’s share now the food that’s served on the table,
  with all those good wines such as chateau haut gravet, montes alpha sauvignon,
  pinot grigio, les ombelles, les glaneuses, les fondettes, les genets, vallee de loire,
  made from good quality, with refreshing, toasty aroma, and weighty on the palate
  their spirit keep us warm, aligned to glorious meaning that missionary life entails.

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One December Night (The End)

One December Night
     (Continuation to the End)
All that year Santa had hoped and had tried to find a child's love that would strongly abide.  
But month after month he was given the boot.  It didn't matter whether he showed magic or 
gave them some loot.  Many children were selfish.  Not one gave a hoot.  
     Until one cold blizzard night, in a stormy plight, the frog rang the doorbell and walked 
right on in.  In the warmth of the house, after ousting the mouse, four children accepted the 
frog for his good.  It was a happy sight for the frog there that night.  Yes, they showed him 
great kindness and genuine love, the 
spirit of Christmas shown down from above.  The purest of love without expectations turned 
the frog into Santa who promptly gave each one hugs.  “I'll be back with my sleigh to leave 
gifts on Christmas night.  Thank you dear children for your gifts of love tonight.  Leave me 
some cookies.  I shall eat no more bugs!  He laughed as he juggled three gifts in the air.  
Then, soon disappeared out of sight by the moonlight.  
     The children, still laughing and squealing with joy, had broken a spell put on Santa 
last spring.  And the mean old witch that had made him a frog, sat sadly outside all alone on 
the log.  She had made him a frog with a croak, out of tune.  She wanted his voice instead of 
her own.  Christmas carols she had heard bring so much joy.  She could not carry a tune for 
one single song.  She had hoped she could sing if she stole Santa's voice. But the love from 
the children left her no choice.  The spell had been broken by love's sweetest choice. 
But while they were happily playing about, they noticed the wand from the brown bag lay 
out.  So they went to the witch and gave her a voice.  And taught her that goodness over bad 
is a choice.  So together they played with the now happy witch.  Who gave up her evil and to 
goodness did switch.  The gift of pure love and light in the world is a gift to all who give 
heaven a whirl.  For even the wickedest of wicked have some goodness in them.  So, 
encourage the right and to evil say, “Take a flight!”   (And let God be the judge…)

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
December 5, 2009

Inspired by:
Poetrysoup member's Contest Anything Goes! 	
Sponsored by: Constance La France  (I took you at your word... It's a LONG story.)

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Evil Lives and Lies Among Us

He walks with confidence he has protected his family. The successful banker has 
done well for his family and his mind is set in stone that he is right eternally.
He does not care if others make the right journey.
He smiles and is satisfied that he rebuked the poor family away from his church. The 
poor family with the smart mouth child, who eats too much candy and stole some 
quarters. The child whose father rejected him and has no use for his illigetimate son.
The father sends his twenty-five dollars a week to quiet the child support monkey on 
his back. The child cries himself to sleep to know his father has no use for him.
Somewhere a hand reaches to the wayward child, to comfort and love. Somewhere 
there is love, but not at this disharmonious church!
Don't come to this church unless you have your tithes and clean clothes and know the 

I have come to call the sinners!

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Under Siege

The present grandchildren of our ancestors
Staggering in circles
So lost in the struggle
A struggle to live
A life on the brink of the brim
Their rationality is under siege

Emotional tears of sorrow
Clouding the eyes of yesterday’s youth
For they can do nothing but stare
As the doom of today’s youth they’re certain
For theirs is an esteem long lost and gone
Their virtues ardently immoral

The dreadful question lingers in the hearts of many
Can we trust them to live till tomorrow
Let alone reaching and seeing it
For their purpose to be is enslaved by alcohol
Their passionate dreams overshadowed by the smoke of drugs
Their worth so less, of ultimate ruins they are absolute

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Sitting there she sees a flower.
It’s yellow and wilted.
Alone and discolored; overlooked;
She looks around and she’s no one else.
Like the flower, there’s still time to change.
Alone and discolored; not going to be her.

She’s still young and pretty.
Afraid of being a dying flower.
She stands up leaves, 
Calls everyone she knows.
Apologizes for the way she’s been.
Love and friendship surrounds her.

Sitting there she sees a flower.
Among the other it stands out.
It’s red and full bloom
Surrounded by a garden,
It grows strong and interlaced.
She picks it and puts it in her hair.

One flower is pretty.
A garden holds more beauty…
Than one wilted flower.
She turns and goes home.
She is happy and loved,
And always feels at home in a garden.

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Mexican Mother

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.


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Small Town In California

In that far northern part was where I was born,

Over forty years ago my journey started in my home.

My Mom and Dad worked so hard to feed us eight kids,

If one can learn to love anyone in this world it was them.

My mom told me one day her mom was born on a wagon train,

Of how Great Grandma traveled over Donner Pass in winter,

Just two weeks after the Donner Party passed away.

Great Grandpa never got over it she would say.

Still, 16 children her mom would birth way back then,

It gave me enough aunts and uncles and cousins for life.

In fact it was almost enough to start our own small town,

Of course that's also another story left for the pondering.

My Dad's real father died when Dad was only 4 months old.

His name was Charles Epps and was kin to the Wilkinsons,

Dad has told me stories of the famous English iron masters,

And of how George Washington by marriage was my relative.

Isn't it funny how that fact now makes no difference to me?

Because I feel akin to all my brothers and sisters of earth.

We all started somewhere on this world and no matter where,

And I didn't have a damned thing to do with what George did.

So isn't that much more relative to the point we all make?

All I know is I watched my Mother and Father sacrifice for us,

That is all that truly matters and is all that truly counts.

To love all the billions is what flies my current mortality.

Famous or unknown we all end up just exactly the same,

Spirits with no mortal baggage holding us down for take-off.

Free at last to roam a universe forever untied from greed, 

And beyond a place that once was called a human's paradise.

Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved

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

© 2014 Robert William Gruhn

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God or Father Christ

Apostle is a priest
Eternal Son is the Apostle of Eternal Father
Eternal Father gave the name Christ when He was baptized by St. John the Baptist
He ordered the 12 apostle to preach His Gospel

He was the Highest Priest of the Universal Church
Universal means Catholic or Roman Catholic
There is a purgatory
Yes, purgatory is in the bible

The 2nd book of Maccabees, Old Testament
Purgatory or Purification
Intellectually understood 
All as in everybody should be under Eternal Son’s Universal Church

Eternal Son is the Highest Priest of the Catholic or Roman Catholic Church
It is for the righteous to call Eternal Son Father Christ
Eternal Father is in Him
Father Christ sends the Holy Spirit

Christians will be in the Purgatory
Until they learn from their Initiation before going to heaven
On earth is called Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults R.C.I.A. to be the true Christian
Three types are slain

Father Christ is the pathway to heaven
To face Eternal Father and the Divines
It is my job to inform everybody
Visit to know more

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Road to Redemption

Introduction: Tribute to brothers in the fray and families for them pray...

Life in these rough times, We barely even feel the daytime Every second counts greatly, As there’s no going back in time Sometimes we lose to win, try not to fail again, But mostly we end up back to where we all began Every single day, we wake up in one piece, Where brothers in the fray, they hardly get to cease Our tears drop all over the floor, They keep on till their blood stains from their core Every second till the end, We pray for them to knock on our doors Sadly at times, things go the other way for the best cause, All we can do really, is not breakdown and pause Prayer’s the only strand through the last breath, When they depart with a peaceful end Emptiness and happiness, constantly flowing along, The memories, they always live right within our souls When days seem cloudy and life gets lonely Debts grow high and smiles fade into sigh At that instant, that very moment, Just pray, pray to get healed, Heal from this insanity, pray to be free, Free from this misery It all comes down to the crying in the end, The stillness stares up towards the sky As we do bid farewell to dear friends But at some point through all the pain and sour grin, recovery does begin The ones we love and care, Though some are not so near Scattered through this bittersweet world, Waiting for us to share; This life is like the weather, It changes altogether It may get bad and may get sad, But know it’s not forever, Better days will come eventually, The morning sun will shine brightly Through our endeavors and our prayers, we shall recover From things we’ve lost so dearly So just hold on to the light and believe in salvation, And the rays of truth shall lead the road to redemption…

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The Curse On The First love

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

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Two Heads Are Better Than One

A modern day scenario of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.  It’s after dinner and Eve 
has washed the dishes while Adam's disappeared to the den…communication is minimal...the 
boys are off somewhere..everybody's doing "their thing".  The old serpent..he's got all his bases covered - the internet,  so many disconnect, no communication...he's 
thinking: 'O, this is easy! Divide the family and conquer!'...He's got it going..or so he thinks..but he forgets that he doesn't hold the "Ace" card.   All this is temporary!

“Adam, are you listening to me?” How’s the budget coming on?”
“We have to have a budget in place so life can be manageable.”
“No, not later, not tomorrow, honey!” 
“Tomorrow’s too far in the future for this to wait.”
“Oh! What’s that you said?”
“Did I hear you right?”
“I should make a budget, that whatever I do is fine by you?”
“Babe, let’s work on it together. Here, I’ve got all we need to start.”
“Oh, you’re too busy, right now?”
“Ok, I’ll do it, then.”

“Adam, where are the boys?”
“Have you seen them today?”
“What are you doing?”
“Shouldn’t you be out there with them?”
“I can’t be running things around here and watching the boys, too.”
“Someone has to keep an eye on them; see what they’re up to.”
“Are you listening to me?”
“No, I’m not nagging..”
“I’m just gently reminding you that what’s left undone today,
Will come back tomorrow and bite you in the butt!”

Soon, Cain murdered Abel......

"Adam, now that Cain has killed Abel, we have..nothing"
"No need for me to stay around here"
"Good bye" 

Another lesson for mankind, but will we ever learn
That two heads are better than one?
Without balance nothing works as it should!

*To Any Present day Adam totally disconnected from family

*For Deborah Guzzi's "Eve in the Garden of Eden" Contest

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A Different Perspective

Spencer just turned 7 the other day.

My wife and I adopted Spencer after many years of trying to add to our family the 
old fashioned way; then, after a few years of trying to add to our family the 
newfangled, medically assisted way.

My three biological children from a previous marriage lived with us from the time 
they were 12, 10 and 6.  By the time we got around to going the adoption route the 
two oldest were already in and out of college and the youngest was a senior in high 
school.  No empty nest for us, just a fast train to insanity.

I started my family, a story for another time, when I was just twenty-one.  After 
being the youngest father of most of their peers, I was now going to get to 
experience being the oldest father this time around.

People say that as an older parent you are more patient and understanding – I am 
not so sure that I agree; I just think fewer things bother you and you learn to 
realize that rules are not so important.  Many times, I think, as parents, we simply 
enforce rules because we can.

Spencer loves to dip his foods. He dips his mandarin orange slices in ketchup.  He 
dips his French fries in caramel meant for apple slices.  He dips his cheese in his 
yogurt.  Basically, whatever we serve him, if it’s a solid, of any kind, it gets dipped in 
the soft, liquidy food that happens to be closest to him.

Years ago, I probably would have not only tried to convince him that this was 
wrong, but I am pretty sure I would have forbidden him to do that.  Now?  What do 
I care?  If he likes it and he eats his broccoli, what do I care that he dips it in his 

A few years ago, Spencer and I went on a father son excursion to buy him his first 
gold fish.  I asked Spencer what he was going to name his fish and, after thinking 
about it for a while, he said, “I think I want to name him, Mmmgggghh.”  

I immediately responded, almost as a reflex action, “Mmmggghh?  That’s not a 
name, that’s a sound.”

Spencer, in his wonderfully innocent way, asked, “Why can’t a name be a sound?”

Why, indeed?  

He loved Mmmggghh and loves telling people the story about his first pet.

Now some of you may read this and think I am being too relaxed in my duties as a 
father.  You may think that I should be teaching my son the “correct” way to do 
things – even as simple as how to eat and what not to mix or dip in what.

Me?  Nah.  Instead, I wish to thank Spencer for teaching me to question the norms.  
Why can’t a name be a sound?

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I lost me I lost you (Part 2)

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

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

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

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

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


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Once Upon a Christmas 1954 Part 3

.           Oh – the glorious things we saw – shelves full of toys and household goods, glass 
counters with hundreds of bottles of perfume and cologne, shaving gear, tropical birds and 
fish and mountains and mountains of candy.  What to do – what to buy?

	We scurried from one counter to the next, overwhelmed with the endless things to 
choose from as we stammered and stuttered like a couple of idiots.  Finally, we decided on a 
bottle of ‘Lily of the Valley’ perfume and a pair of gloves for mom and ‘Old spice’ cologne and 
gloves for dad.

	We then separated to buy presents for each other agreeing to meet at the soda 
fountain afterwards where we decided it was only fitting we should have a banana split and a 
Coke to celebrate the occasion.  

	As we sat three with our lips covered in butterscotch and ice cream, the gravity of 
the situation began to sink in.  We had spent our entire savings and with that realization, we 
licked our lips and decided the bicycles would have to wait another year.

	Finally – it was Christmas Eve and we put the presents under the tree and hung 
our stockings at the foot of the bed.  In a few hours, those stockings would be filled with 
barley toys, ribbon candy and chocolates.  I could hardly wait!   As mom tucked us into bed, 
I looked out the window and saw it was snowing again.  It snowed all through the night as I 
lay in my cozy bed dreaming of that glorious bicycle again. 


	Christmas morning we awoke to the sound of the radio; home for Christmas after 
a long stay at the pawn shop as ‘Joy to the World’ rang over her airwaves.

	We dashed to the living room where mom and dad stood beside two bicycles with 
gleaming chrome and multi-colored streamers; not the ones from the store window, but the 
most beautiful bicycles I have ever seen; a red one for me and a blue one for my brother.

	There I stood, my heart overflowing with joy and love as I remembered my 
mother’s blood stained hands and my father’s blue and red stained hands - these hands of 
love that changed two second-hand bicycles into the greatest gift I have ever known and 
taught me the true meaning of Christmas.

•	May the love from that Christmas of 1954 find you and fill your heart with joy.

                                                        Merry Christmas
                                                         To you and yours


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The flow of the day

Life doesn't stop, we all carry on, 
Riding along the flow of the day.
Before the dawn, You wake, your day has already begun.
There are children to hustle about the house, lets not forget some breakfast. 
The television tells you, it's the most important meal of the day, but you really haven't the time this morning, 'sorry'.

Ahhh, the kids are at school, time for your self for just five minutes.
But wait there's work to go to first. So off You go. And as it's only up the road you walk. But you walk fast because 
your favorite band are playing in your ears.
Great. Your all hot and bothered. Just enough time to powder your nose and such. Work is busy and mostly you like 
busy, it makes the day go faster and soon you can go home. What was that noise? You ask yourself .Then you 
realize it was your stomach telling you off for not eating breakfast....

Not to worry it'll soon be time for lunch. But this is the time when, the first thing you do when you get home is raid 
the fridge, because it takes too long to make a sandwich when your this hungry. Mmmmm, much better, and most 
refreshing, especially the coffee. Just as you take in the peace of the house and have taken off your shoes, you 
notice the clock chimes three!  Time to collect the lovely brood from school, so off You go.

Who can get a word in first about their day, everyone's so eager to tell one another. Even you, You need to say too. 
It's so nice to walk through the front door for the last time today, there's dinner to make before settling down, have 
a hug and watch television. All three fall asleep on you, and you're asleep with them too. Few! What a busy day, and 
just think you'll do it all again tomorrow.

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Living Today

Living Today

By BJ Welsh

Waiting for the answer to come
Makes one’s life even more hum drum
Sitting and staring without any news
Is an impossible feat if that’s what you choose

How much longer can one be idle?
Losing one’s outlook as well their title
It’s easy to say just keep busy
The thought of moving makes one dizzy

It’s time to get over it, the pain of error
A life one used to treasure
But did you really believe that theory
Or did you grow tired and a bit weary?

Yourself or others, for whom did you live?
Did you really have all to give?
Suddenly, you put an end to it all
Now you have to accept the fall

Moving on is not so easy
The thought would make anyone queasy
Looking for acceptance in a loving place?
First try your young child’s face

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The Worst Christmas I Ever Had

I was twelve years old and it was the Christmas Season.
We were on our best behavior; you know the reason.
Christmas decorations were taken down from storage.
Some of them were from last year; some of them were vintage.

Dad brought in the Christmas tree, a fragrant Douglas fir.
Mom put on twinkle lights while listening to our banter.
The three of us, laughing, imaginations unbound.
Jumping up and down with festivities all around.

One by one, we put on bulbs and talked of seasons past.
We sang a few Christmas songs; we were having a blast.
Logs burning in the fireplace warmed us very well.
Happiness was all around until I told this tale.

When I was just a youngster, seven or eight years back.
Christmas Eve, many years before, I shared the flashback.
The babysitter kept me up, my brother in bed.
She made me promise not to tell or I would be dead!

One by one, we opened each gift there beneath the tree.
I knew that it was wrong, because I was older than three.
I felt afraid, but she was so nice, a friend to me.
She re-wrapped every gift and my parents did not see!

I kept my mouth shut all of those years; then came the guilt.
I confessed to Mom; all of a sudden, life went tilt!
Santa won't bring presents; I felt like a doormat.
All you will get is a bag of coal; think about that.

Every time presents arrived, mine would disappear.
I did not believe in Santa Clause, but I felt fear!
Mounds of gifts were piled around; none of them were for me.
Wrath befell me for years past under the Christmas tree.

Solemnly, the weeks went past and I felt very sad.
I guess I deserved it after all; I had been bad.
On Christmas day, postal gifts returned along with one more.
The bag of switches from Santa Clause, I still abhor.

© November 14, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Written for: your "Saddest" Christmas Ever Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~

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Today Is September 1 2007

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.

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I put aside All the hurt and pain, And keep in mind All the things I’ve gained. I still remember The good things too, From all of the ex’s I’ve been through. Ex Number One Was my first love, He gave me such inner strength That there’s nothing I’m afraid of. From him also came My special first born son, And my first wonderful daughter The second child born. Ex Number Two Emotional control came to me, He also gave my children The best grandparents ever to be. He fathered my second son A child so very wise, And my last little baby girl Who gets the eye from all the guys. Ex Number Three Gave me the dancing I still long for, Will there ever be another With such style and grace on the dance floor? I even gained a stepdaughter Who is as special as the rest, She is also my friend And I wish her all the best! Ex Number Four Was always thoughtful of me, And he taught me that a handyman Is something that I could even be. He tried very much To make me happy somehow, He was a wonderful friend And he’s still my pal. Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Widow's First Christmas

Turkey's done
dressin'  turned out  fine
gotta stop thinkin'
gonna loose my mind.

     Presents neath the tree
     that boy is one big smile.
     Ain't gonna start cryin
     hold on for awhile.

          God I miss you honey
          each and every day.
          Christimas time don't make no sense
          since you gone to stay.

               Sure miss you carvin'    
               that laughter filled with glee.
               Can't get no Christmas spirit
               when you ain't with me.

May the Lord bless you
keep you safe and sound
We just havin' Christmas
done here on the ground.
     Happy Birthday Jesus
     take care o' my ol' man
     and we'll be doin'  your party
     just the best we can.

          Merry Christmas darlin'
          where ever you may be ....
           "Whatcha got there boy?
            A present for me ......  "

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Winter Hay

Winter Hay....

He had some time to spare and pray.
He worked his farm for years, all his boys have now grown up,
then moved away. 

He raised them good he raised them right. 
He run cattle so they can earn college degrees and,
then  start living their own lives. being free.

Now it’s hard after his wife has died. 
It broke his heart but he promised that he would, 
keep their farm alive.. 

Now here he sits taking a break.
Asking god for a weather break.
all because, his cows needs winter hay. 

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Washed Away My experience with Katrina

Innocent victims cry in the dark
Forced to take refuge in that park
Such wrath began to fall
For I shall never forget the day I got that call
Silence and sorrow heavy in the air
It was like nothing I could ever compare
Days turned to weeks
Thousands take dwelling beseeching for any relief
Thousands left waiting in utter disbelief 

I was supposed to be deployed
Yet an injury kept me here
My fellow workers attacked at the dome
Traumatized and in complete fear some had to return home
I feel so guilty
So guilty I should have been there
Innocent victims crying
Innocent victims now dying

An event so devastating
The stench of death filled the air 
We could not fathom something so unfair 
I counseled innocent victims
Still sticking strong to their convictions 
I still recall every haunting voice
Confused, frustrated and displaced
Innocent victims left without a choice

Families torn apart on that day
The day the levees broke
Families losing all hope
My job was to help them cope
Innocent victims left to cry in a park
Fear increases when light turns to dark
Like declaring Martial Law
Lives washed away, all humanity started to fall

On the dawn of a new day
So joyous… even an atheist bowed her head to pray
The media coverage was what really brought aid
Oh no!
Politicians began to look bad so of course something had to be done
Late in action but at least more help had come
There is still work to be had
Many left permanently sad
Entering in hundreds of names to locate the missing or those declared dead
Debriefed each night just to clear my head
I still remember so clearly the desperation and panic
When Katrina came in August 
Life turned frantic
Overwhelming emotions; I felt completely manic 
I will never forget the victims I helped in such grief
I hope when the bodies were identified; I wish just some…
Some could give a sigh of relief

It is important we do not forget those still suffering
The child who didn’t get the last kiss
The parents who will be dearly missed
We all have the ability to help
1,836 people dead!
Work together and ease the sorrow… 
Another disaster could just happen tomorrow
Make time to reach out 
So many innocent victims still in need
We all are capable of doing a good deed

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Each Day and Each Night

Once upon a time, 
lived a princess 
who wore a robe 
which covered her feet 
each day and each night 
she dreamed of the day 
her prince charming found her

Once upon a time,
lived a young girl 
who wore barely nothing 
and shivered and shaked
each day and each night 
she dreamed of the day
she had food to eat  

Once upon a time, 
lived a baby girl
who wore no nappy 
and lay there stone cold
each day and each night 
she dreamed of the day 
her parents cared
After a while, 
the pretty princess 
who wore a crown on her head 
which shined so bright 
searched for prince charming 
each day and each night 
but still no luck 

After a while,
the yawning young girl 
who wore bags under her eyes
grew tired of looking
but kept on searching 
each day and each night 
for scraps to eat

The end, 
for the pretty princess 
who wore a white dress 
on her big day
found her prince charming 
together they stayed
After a while, 
the beautiful baby 
who wore teary eyes
gave up all hope 
but tried so so hard 
each day and each night 
for a loving stare

The end, 
for the pretty princess 
who wore a white dress 
on her big day
found her prince charming 
together they stayed
each day and each night 

The end, 
for the yawning young girl
who wore a pale face
on her final day
never found them few scraps 
starving she stayed
each day and each night

The end, 
for the beautiful baby 
who wore a clean nappy 
on the new day 
finally found that loving stare 
with a new family she stayed
each day and each night

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A chance to say goodbye

There once was a woman
that was a wife and a mother
who one day got sick
then called and cried to her brother

She was alone at the docters
when she found out about the cancer
she called her family right away 
but nobody would answer

The woman was so scared
she was only 25 
when she found out that she had
not much time to be alive

The woman wasnt happy 
about living her last days
she did not know how to react
she just sat there in a gaze

as day by day went by
she was more then fun and flirty
till she died on Christmas Eve 
at excatly 11:30

As the family cried and cried
the oldest son scremed "why
why did she have to leave us 
without even saying bye"

as he cried himself to sleep that night 
she talked to him through dreams
she said
"son im very sorry that I had to go and leave"

she said she really loved him
and that she really cared
about how he went through life
without seeing his mother there

He said he loved her so
with his great big giant heart
and that nothing will ever keep 
him and his mother apart

When he awoke the next morning
he told his dad about his dream
about seeing his mother happy
as happy as can be

The father said "thats good son
that you got rid of all this pain
in just one night of sleep 
now look how much you've gained"

The son just flashed a smile
he new his dad did not understand 
that he got his chance to say goodbye
and let go of his mothers hand

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The Darkest - Blackest Tuesday (Part ll)

The whispering begins  Maybe our Fairy God Mother came Sunday night and changed  Ma’am
Oh Dot we can only wish so , I’m a little apprehensive, Al  what does  aperentcive mean I 
It means unsure , unreal piped Joe and Jim  Bobby why aren’t you eating? Is there any rat 
Ma’am probably put it in the eggs Bobby don’t talk like that Billy’s woofing his breakfast down
Of course he’s Ma’am’s  Pet, alright, alright  let’s take advantage of the Fairy God Mother 
Becky tell Millie you and her will dry  George and Harry will put away Dot put everything away
The rest of you guys wipe the table and mop the floor I call wiping the table said Joe (always 
Hey Pet go upstairs and ask  Ma’am if she needs a fresh towel or anything tell her we’re 
almost done
When Billy came down we were all sitting at the clean table with our hands folded She’s 
coming now
Ma’am walked into the kitchen, wearing  a muti-colored flower dress that matched  to a tee 
her  parasol
Tucked in the bow of her dress  was the black rider’s crop which she always carried with her, 
just in case
Ma’am, you look beautiful, She playfully grabbed George’s ear I’m not going to tell all of you 
again Call
Me “MOM” I don’t want to use this today (touching the Ebony Crop) in fearful uncertain unison 
yes MOM
William go to the living room closet and bring the bag out here “hey guys look brand new 
beach pails”
“Jesus Christ” Did you say something  Robert  we all swallow our breath “ I-i said ”Mom your 
so nice”
Her hand never even moved toward the Crop Maybe Dotty was right, maybe we had a Fairy 
God Mother

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Moon Kissed

Shadows chasing shooting stars, the poets cry as they write the future.
Words begin to fall like rain, emotions flow between the wind.

The atmosphere evolves.

A beating heart peaking up beneath the pavement. Vines of green hug the pulsating instrument.
Flowers blossom to the sound, a bitter sweet symphony. Petals dance with pixies  upon trees.

The night is singing.

The air is thick and the moon is watching, the glow of silver pours on down.
A kiss of crimson and the heart starts racing. Midnight lovers of the enchanted woods.

A candle burns.

The wax begins to drip upon the rose, the lovers kiss begins to part.
The dancers stop as the crescendo descends, silence for the beating heart.

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Memories Of Christmas

Memories of Christmas through the years,
Have brought lots of laughter and many tears.
Memories of those who have gone on home,
Sometimes leave us sad and alone.
The good times that were had by all,
Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, their happy faces I recall!
The gifts that were given, the fellowship we shared,
The love we all had, showed each other we cared.
The trees were so pretty, the food, oh so good,
Sometimes we would go caroling in the neighborhood.
We would exchange gifts by drawing names,
Some would get clothes, others might get games.
The homes would be decorated with ornaments and lights,
And we would all feast on the many delights!
There would be cakes, cookies, sandwiches, pies, and punch,
Some might eat a lot, others would just munch.
Before you knew it the night would be gone,
And the wait for next year would seem so very long!
But Christmas means more than just these things,
As we remember the birth of the Christ child and the salvation He brings!
He came into this world in a meek and lowly way,
Born of a virgin and in a manger lay.
The Shephards were frightened as the angels came to say,
The great news of His birth on this special day!
Born in Bethlehem, God's only son,
Savior from our sins, He is the only one!
So as I remember the Christmas's of old,
The greatest of all, was the one the prophets foretold!

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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

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I have this wonderful experience: 6:00 PM The opportunity to be with my granddaughters Aged seven and nine. Dancing with them with the WII thing Following the girating bodies in the screen The fun was priceless with these two “princesses”. Past 11:00 PM Time to go to sleep, crimp our bodies in a single bed For we really want to sleep together The prayer was heartful started with Dear LORD So many thanks and so many “May you please LORD” It is a heart-warming experience. 6:00 AM Their tiny hands pounding One of them has a pink color about 4”x3” The other has a white color same size What are those? DS they chorusly replied. It dawned on me From last night what are all these abbreviations means? WII, DS, lol, btw, among others The evolution or creation of these words Mind-boggling for some baby boomers like me! 11:00AM Spent my time googling these words!

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An Old Photo

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

A small boy sat the animal with you --
two solemn and handsome children
upon a well-fed pony, photographed
by an itinerant in the thirties --
the time frozen as long as the picture
or our fading memories of it may last.

The boy, our brother,
did little in his forty years;
but now, we see his boy's eyes,
soft, liquid, serious, sad,
no hint of smile about them;
we weep his loss.

And you, sister:
alert, protective, girl's face
set to fend off the world --
cast so early in your role
as the family glue
holding us all together.

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Flesh and Bone

He is a man built from flesh and bone
His body warmed by the one he rescued.
This man who claims me as his own
Towering over me like a shelter from the world
My hand tucked in his as he leads me through this life
If he had been like the rest he would have left me behind
This man who breaths life into me
Whose blood he’d sacrifice to spare mine,
Who seeks revenge for wrongs I’ve been dealt
 This man built from flesh and bone
Loves me and claims me as his own.

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What Do You See

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

                                   What Do You See

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

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

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Tijuana Mexico

Casualties of an enforced lifestyle shiver in the breeze
Along the rugged roads of old dust and ditches that divide
Rest a group of modest enclosures they call home
Built out of left over wood and delivery slates in 90 degrees

They seem content with their simplistic lifestyles and unsightly miles
Water is delivered in worn out trucks and stored in their homes in discarded tanks 
There is no sewer system, very few working water systems are scattered
Yet, if you were to pass through for a visit, the women would be cooking with smiles

During the day, men are bused to work in factories and earn fifty dollars a week 
Few people have the resources to receive a doctor’s visit and medications
“Anencephaly” a brain birth defect that their infants have, now significantly rise
When it rains there the roads become virtually impassable and unusably bleak 

They are a hard working people with values and a drive to nurture their youth
Bathing their children in the same lavadora they wash their dishes in 
Tijuana is among one of the poorest places in the world  
With these living conditions, it’s hard to turn your back from the truth

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Gemini June

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
Gemini June.

Then the rains that came 
Pouring down
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
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 

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Why is everybody always picking on me?
Why does it seem like they enjoy making me cry?
These days they seem to always be shouting "Just shut up, Pee-Wee!"
If Daddy were here...
But he left without even saying goodbye.
My heart and soul seems to always be filled with so much sorrow
and my tears rush down from my eyes like an angry river,
But I just can't bare to live to see another tomorrow
If Daddy were here...
Just the thought of him leaving me behind makes me shiver.
Oh, God! Why were you so quick in taking my precious daddy away?
He didn't even have time to speak any final words to me,
So much I long to up and just run away
because this doesn't seem to much like home without Daddy.
If only Daddy were here to see how they're treating me now
I know it would make him madder than Hell!
This wouldn't be happening if Daddy were still around
since he's been gone it seems that they're determined in making my life a living
It has been just two days and my daddy has been long buried and forgotten
and no one seems to give a care about how I really feel,
Deep down inside I feel so mixed-up and just plain rotten!
this pain hurts much too real.
If only Daddy were here for me to talk to
sadly, he's no longer here because he's gone and left me behind forever,
Maybe God's the one that I need to be talking to
because my daddy's at home with Him up in Heaven.

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One December Night

One December Night

     Susan, Joy, Marsha, and Pam crawled out of their beds to eat bacon and ham.
Their parents were sleeping.  They snored while the slept.  The children tiptoed to the very 
top step.  The staircase was chilly.  And it creaked while they crept.  Downward they were 
slinking, step by step.  
     Their puppy was resting on the fireplace hearth.  They sat down beside him for what it 
was worth.  They sat on the floor.  They did not use a chair.  And while they were sitting, 
Marsha hugged her pink bear.  They made funny faces and started to laugh.  They giggled 
and squiggled and chuckled so fast that all of the elves in earshot were aghast.   
     Then all of a sudden, they heard something loud.  It wasn't a trumpet, a flute or 
bassoon.  “I know what it is!  …A kazoo!!” shouted Sue.  
     They looked all around to locate the sound.  But, look as they might, it could not be 
found.  They looked in the kitchen and under the couch.  Pam bumped her red head and 
loudly said, “Ouch!”  Who played that kazoo?  They all wanted to know.  So, they scampered 
around by the fireplace glow.
     The dog started barking.  And bark loudly he did.  That's when it happened.  Beneath the 
windowsill Sue slid.  A great big toad outside, on that hill, in the cold wet snow, stood up 
suddenly.  Then, quickly down he did go.  Frightened, freezing, and carrying a load.  He slid 
off of the log and went a-rolling downhill in the snow.
    The children began jumping and squealing with delight.  Oh, what a sight to see at mid-
night.  The old toad was sliding with stocking feet in the air.  Behind him, downhill, slid his 
sack with a flare.  About all that sliding he did not seem to care.  Out there on the lawn in 
rare southern snow, up and down Roller Coaster hill he did go!  Faster and faster, he was 
sliding with time.  His suit became wet and covered with grime.  Where was he going?  Who 
would they tell?  At about that time, they heard the doorbell.   
                   (To be continued...)

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
December 5, 2009

Inspired by:
Poetrysoup member's Contest Anything Goes! 	
Sponsored by: Constance La France  (I took you at your word... It's a LONG story.)

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All I Wanted

For years
I have always cried myself to sleep,
But that started after those bullies' words
Began to creep
Into my mind,
My optimism and happiness had become blind.
Making me think that I was always alone.
I seen how I was bratty and seemed to be happy,
But inside,
My inner sadness resides.
The tears that I cried
Were all about me wanting or needing
Someone to be by my side.
Every night
I wished for a less lonelier life.
Nobody could come over or sleep over sometimes
And I would be doing nothing
Except for thinking
About my life's meaning.
A close friend was all I've been asking for:
Someone who would talk to me everyday,
Even when the sky's grey.
Someone who would listen to me carefully
And comfort me later on in the day.
All I wanted
Was a true friend.

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Escape From A Hoarder

After the marriage It started real slow Collecting so much I didn’t even know I have always lived A very organized life So I thought I could Live as a hoarder’s wife Since my top quality Is good organization It shouldn’t be difficult To organize the situation Well I was sure fooled Until I became trapped With clutter all around Covering every little gap The man I was with I didn’t actually know Had been a hoarder From childhood years ago I’m from another background A loving family - lots of kin With many years on my own Raising all of my children It felt like quicksand As I began to slowly seep I tried to climb out Before I sunk too deep I discovered a hoarder Holds other issues too More than I could handle Or even really cared to I think one icebreaker Might probably be When the hoarding extended To him hoarding me There was no room for visitors Nor family or friends But the icing on the cake Was not seeing my grandchildren I had to make an escape And I tried to be nice and kind I’d prefer to be distant friends To free my heart and mind I prayed every moment For strength to pull through Leaving it in God’s hands Is what I always do My family and friends Were always there for me Standing by my decision And ensuring my certainty As I started to climb out Of this bad situation Holding my head above A possible suffocation God sent a ray of sunshine With a warm gentle touch One felt a few times before And always did so much Releasing my inner joy With a drop of golden sun Is such a wonderful gift For the new journey I’ve begun Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Walking to Redemption

Stuck in a place with negativity bound within it's Walls. I need to get out of here, before the phone rings with insanity's calls. I burst out of the door into the streets owned by the night. Shadows staring back dodging the lamps light. I begin to walk down the urban corridor of uncertainty. The workers of soul catchers carry out their shady activity. I find myself in the empire of danger invoking pure photo-phobia It's a small price to pay for escaping the mecca of claustrophobia. As I reach the climax of the spiraling vortex tunnel. I walk on tenterhooks as my problems funnel. Facing me at the end of this path, is a door laced with remorse around it's edges. The entrance to unknown stands out with a line of devoted pledges. Those waiting and queuing are the damned and the lost. As I drift towards them, I wonder how much my sin will cost. For I felt the weight of the pressure and stress, forcing me into the light of shame? For I was the puppet master, who poured onto me the petrol and drew the flame. My moment of selfishness was a cardinal sin to myself and others. lacking consideration, deprived of thought for my sisters and brothers. That self indulgent cowardliness, has lead me to this final act. A door beaten with the hands of the damned, regardless it's still intact. As the number descends down to it's final member. I stand there understanding my sin, bound to surrender. Reaching out I grasp the golden handle, and turn it to the right. As I push forward on the door and out bursts a green neon light. My chance of escape has come to a halt, it's time for me to face the jury's end. I stand by my plea of weakness and insanity, as into the court I descend. A skeleton of the peril court rises with a verdict and answer. The jury has decided I was overtaken by a vicious cancer. The disease wasn't voluntary but they agree my cure wasn't correct. My punishment is to fade into the man that never was, with immediate effect.

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The mid-sixties weren't fun for a teen working...
I put foot on this prosperous and beautiful land
and looked forward to a great future,
but my plan didn't go as smoothly
as I thought it would have instead.
My question was, " Go to College, 
earn a degree or help mother and sisters? "
I choose to help them procrastinating.
From job to job I went hardly missing a day realizing what it would have cost me, 
but wages stayed the same or rarely increased much,
I loved to work and earn my weekly paycheck;
sadly, many boys of my age were drafted and went to war...
some returned, many didn't and being the only son,
they didn't draft me but witnessing the horror, the sadness, the crying of soldiers, 
and seeing all that: was like being there where the sky exploded with fire and smoke.
Isn't fate the course that nobody can predict regardless how scientists envision it...
if it were so easy to foresee, all would have control over it and all catastrophes
could be avoided to save millions of lives? Doesn't the Bible warn us to shun divination?
It's the sinful mind, the greedy heart, the unfaithful spouse, the disobedient child
making us stand at the crossroads deciding which steps to take to prevent a tragedy.

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Survive You

My only hope was that I would survive you,

But now I don't know why.

Your body was my temple.

I felt useful on my knees and while I worshiped at your feet.

Now, I've lost my religion.

Could you ever know what that means?

To lose your life's blood, but your heart still beats.

Oh, If I could hurt you too

I wouldn't throw a sucker punch

I want you to see it coming

I want you to feel my fist before it connects

To spill your blood with my pale white hands

Could I absorb enough of you to bring the color back to me?

To have my body warmed by your spilled life

I have this empty shell of me and hollow is so hard to fill

What will I do to pass the years?

When life is gone and existence never ends

My only hope was that I would survive you

But now I don't know why.

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One of America’s most treasured holiday and tradition is known as the celebration of Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving a plentiful feast of food and a gathering of friends and family a holiday began as a feast in the beginning days of Americans is one of the most celebrated traditions .To some thanksgiving is just another holiday that is  unimportant just another reminder that Christmas is just around the calendar .Just a day off of work or school ,a tradition passed on over the years, commonly excuse to over eat , an occasion that is between two months ,November the 4th  Thursday and October the 2nd Monday  for Canadians . 
But in November 1621 ,after the pilgrims first  harvest the Governor William Bradford established a feast and invited a group of the Native American allies .Now remembered as the “first Thanksgiving “ by Americans even though the pilgrims used this terms to describe the feast it was held for three consecutive days .Even though there isn’t a known historic banquet menu of there was record of that several of the Wampanoag guests arrived Bearing five dear by Edward Winslow who wrote in his journal .Also Many Historians suggest that many of the meals were served in traditional Native American spices and cooking methods . Because none of the pilgrims had oven and the Mayflower sugar supply had dwindled there was not the modern day traditional that featured pies, cakes and other desserts .The celebration of Thanksgiving has never changed through the year weather your nationality or faith background it is always been a time to express the thankfulness of family Thanksgiving is the day to reunite with family and feast upon food.
There are many traditions that come with thanksgiving but one that is know over all of America is the food. This tradition is know by many  households is that many families struggle to finish out the thanksgiving without having a Ham or turkey on thanksgiving . Also many us have all heard you cant have a turkey day with football, Not every family in America makes football a part of their tradition but the most do .This could range form watching the game to having a little fun playing a game outside .
But you cant forget the essence of thankfulness this can be saying a prayer of thanks to the family gathering to tell what there most thankful for and There are many ways that this can be expressed.

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Betwixt food and human relationship

It’s good to get together as friends and confreres
like in table fellowship or religious convocation
and then, enjoy the company of each other’s culture
as Italians, Colombians, Filipinos or Brazilians.

The day after Easter Sunday adds another occasion
for us Scalabrinians to be reunited at this point in time
sharing the gifts of food, life, humor and relationship 
with a space for fraternity, some updates and good wishes.

Truly, it shows the spirit of oneness and fraternal fellowship
sharing the commonality of our commitmment to faith
as brothers in Christ and members of our Founder’s order,
the religious congregation that cares for migrant people. 

There’s much to do and plan for what we aim to materialize
in today’s world where migration poses a huge issue
like a salad bowl with mozzarella, tomato and olive oil
a metaphor for migration that deals with human cultures.

Described in the Bible as a growing missionary virtue
hospitality as a key to open one’s heart in this journey
With fearlessness and confidence, it’s a major issue
depicting the picture of global movements raised in action.

Our days of darkness, our bickering confreres in places –
where community life matters and features one’s emptiness
in dealing with one another in our quest for human and divine.
it’s indeed a challenge and will always be a test of faith, thus far.

This helps us understand through our setbacks, pains and joys,
with friends around and those who share with us many times
those sacred stories of being called to worship God and be present
especially in the Eucharist that nourishes our souls to be whole.

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Where has Daddy Gone

Friday afternoons
looking out the kitchen window
onto the busy street,
I looked,
  I waited,
and looked some more.
This was our weekend!
As the weeks drifted away,
the years did the same.
Our weekend was not to come.
Where have you gone?
You said you would be right back.
You left with her!
The bumblebee lady.
Big hair,
  black top,
yellow pants.
The bumblebee lady.
You left with her!
You said you would be right back.
This our weekend
  but our weekend was not to come.

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Just for today, I'll pretend

I’ll Pretend

Just for today, today, I’m going to pretend.
I’m holding my child, as I did way back then.
When magic band aids and Momma kisses could cure all the ails
And that my child knew nothing of needles or pills.  
Today, I’ll rock you to sleep in my arms 
Kiss you goodnight and protect you from harms.  
Just for today, I’ll play a game of pretend
As we did together, way back when.
Tomorrow, I will cry, I’ll sob, I’ll rave.
As I always do when I visit your grave.  
But, just for today, today, I’m going to pretend
You are safe in my arms, as you were back then.

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One December Night (Continuation 2)

One December Night 

     Mama, at the oven, was taking cookies out.  When she turned around quickly to see what 
the shouts were about, the cookies started sliding.  And almost hit the floor.  But the frog 
took his wand from his sack by the door and started to say magic words galore.  
“Alacafrogsky majikazam, make those cookies go back into the pan.”  To everyone's 
surprise, those gingerbread men stopped in thin air, reversed, took a spin.  Then headed 
right back to the pan again.  Wide eyed, that is when the family realized that the frog at their 
table was not like other frogs.  
    And while doing magic, the frog said to the mouse, “You better start running, and I mean 
fast right out of this house.”  And as Dad, with his broom, was about to lower the boom, the 
mouse left the house wearing a great big brown mouse frown.  Then, Dad with a smile and 
real puzzled look put the broom down and the frog's hand he shook.
    At half past mid-night on that cold winter night the frog and his magic brought one family 
delight.  So, he stayed and ate cookies along with the girls.  And he took from his bag, lots of 
toys and some pearls.  He gave each one gifts.  Then, closed up his brown sack.  But as
he headed for the door, together they said, “Wait!  Come back! We have a gift for your 
     He turned around fast with a twinkle in his eye.  Then, the children ran to him with hugs 
and with sighs.  They gave him big kisses.  He smiled deep inside as they put one big gift 
marked for Santa in his bag.  
     All of a sudden with no warning at all, a bright cloud of sparkles surrounded the frog.  
Magically, right in front of them all, they discovered that the frog was not a frog at all! In just 
few moments, when all of the sparkles were gone, there stood Santa Claus.  Had something 
gone wrong?  His face was delighted.  He had a big smile.  All of the elves hiding began to 
come out.  Those tiny little people sang loudly, and danced. “Santa is back.  They have 
broken the spell.  Be sure to go everywhere and tell, tell, tell!"

        (To be continued...)

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
December 5, 2009

Inspired by:
Poetrysoup member's Contest Anything Goes! 	
Sponsored by: Constance La France  (I took you at your word... It's a LONG story.)

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Old Saint Nick

 In her dreams she is visited by old Saint Nick
 He is here to tell her the miraculous story of Christ
 The Star of David was the angel upon the tree of life

 Her papa was a little out of sort as he strung the Christmas lights
 Her mama was slightly tore up as she hung the cardboard reindeer just right
 Grandma was real sick and it was starting to show
 Their old "hand-me-down" house was drafty and cold

 In her dreams she is visited by old Saint Nick
 He is here to tell her the miraculous story of Christ
 The Star of David was the angel upon the tree of life

 For years they had all avoided this place
 Yet a tear stung her eye as forgiving smiles spread across their eager faces
 Christ was born upon this day for a reason
 Come as you are being the ultimate season

 In her dreams she is visited by old Saint Nick
 He is here to tell her the miraculous story of Christ
 The Star of David was the angel upon the tree of life

 She cares not for eggnog and mistle toe
 All she asks is that the love may show
 For Christ lives on in our open hearts 
 Let this day mend where we have drifted apart

 In her dreams she is visited by old Saint Nick
 He is here to tell her the miraculous story of Christ
 The Star of David was the angel upon the tree of life

 She awakes from her dream and runs to sit beside the tree
 Her eyes gleam and this is all she can see
 Old Saint Nick has spread the story of Christ
 She smiles as as Christmas light shines on the tree of life

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Sweet Memories of Norma From Susan

Sweet memories of Norma Come shining through There are just so many And I’d like to share a few We’ve been very best friends For about fifty three years Through the ups and downs With lots of laughter and some tears She has really been like A dear sister to me I’m even called Aunt Susan By most of her family In her life she has had Her share of difficulties Going through tough times, Illnesses and some disabilities But with her positive spirit And being a cheerful person She has always had a joyful heart That she shared with everyone As a single mom she worked so hard To raise her children and make a family And even when they were all grown They were always her top priority We worked and lived together Back some time ago Even when things got hectic She always seemed so mellow With any blockage in her path She found an opened door She always loved the bible And Christian music she’d adore Norma liked to take road trips And to her, the special one Was seeing the beautiful mountains On a trip to Washington She always had a hobby To sew, crochet or knit And with her special crafts She was indeed most artistic She was always able to make So many wonderful things By using her inventive mind She created beauty out of nothing She enjoyed good food And always liked to cook And some of her mom’s recipes She put in a handmade cookbook Yellow roses and chocolate pretzels Were things she liked the best But her grandchildren and loving pets Were better than the rest Though she was a little stubborn Some folks just might say For speaking her mind of what she believed But we loved her that way She was always there for Gracie By her side so close And being Dustin’s champion Her heart desired the most She kept a constant vigilance Sitting out in the hot sun Watching over their damaged home Of what the tornado had done Being outdoors was second nature With her skin tone you could tell Her natural beauty was clear to see And she had great legs as well A unique kind of soul With no one to even compare Always making us laugh And giving more than she could spare Dedicated to Norma Lee Ekstrom Written by Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Too Late

She sits in a corner,
feeling unwanted, alone.
Her friends and family deserted her,
they've been silent for weeks.
Where are they?
No one to talk to,
she clutches her pills,
and stares at the water that's been there for hours.

She thinks.

It's her birthday today,
but nobody called.
Today, yesterday, or before.
She pines for the phone to ring,
but knows it won't.
None of her friends are home, or family.
They must be out together
 - without her.

She swallows and listens
to her shallow breathing cease.
The phone rings.

She'll never hear them say,

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Branches of Family

Young and sprouting like a twig, Branches to come to observe when big. From roots of parent trees long ago, The families begin to grow. Siblings blossom from the branch I'm on, With cousin branches a-blooming along. Memorable times with them together Seem to end as life changes like the weather. Branches separate to a new direction, With a mate for a branch of creation. Some family removed as the Lord hath planned, From our tree to place in His hands. Over my shoulder, my children branching out, I was getting older, for sure, no doubt. A desire to keep the tree from falling apart, As branches get higher, a reunion must start. So happy inside as family branches attend, A tree's gentle glide swaying in the wind. I'll be happy knowing when I leave the tree, It'll keep growing--the Branches of Family! Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Still the Same

It is still lightly drizzling, as I pull into the parking lot
The sun is hidden by the clouds
A bit of light spits tiny rainbows from the tips of Monterey pines
The old school hasn't changed much, since my children graced it's classrooms...
As if all time has been erased..... 
Skinned knees on the playground, and stuck wads of gum under the desks
All those years ago that seem like yesterday.
I stop at the office, then wander down the familiar halls
I'm reminded of the teachers, who once taught my children
Those who have since retired,... Mr. Spencer, Mrs. Schueller, Miss Wilson
I wonder where they are now, and who could fill their shoes
I peek into the second grade classroom
And my I see my grandson working diligently
He looks up and sees me with a grin so wide
And soon a whisper scurries about the room.
Ten more faces are soon grinning at me.
But just then, the bell rings, and one happy little boy
Gathers his coat, and papers, and comes to me
He grabs my hand, and we walk to the car.
The clouds have disappeared.

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Grandma's Table

How long has it been,
since you dressed me up,
using your mother's silver,
and all those fancy cups.

You stuck me in the shed,
seems like forever now,
and closed the door,
and then you never came around.

Then today,
you drug me out,
polished me until I shined,
and took me back in the house.

I guess you know now,
I was made very good,
I am solid oak,
a very pretty wood.

Now I am wearing,
grandma's lace,
I love those flowers,
in your favorite vase.

I'll be here ready,
when your company gets here,
How I love dressing up,
thank you dear.

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Once Upon a Christmas 1954 Part 2

.          We worked it out on paper and realized if we saved our ten cents a week allowance, 
it would take years to pay for them, so we decided we needed to get a job.  So began our 
first enterprise ‘Hal and Elaine’s snow Removal.’

	Each day after school we would go door to door offering to shovel the snow from 
sidewalks and driveways for a fee of twenty- five cents.  Each day we would return home 
with our frozen hands clutching a quarter and our minds clutching the visions of those 
bicycles as we prayed for snow once again.

	Mom had taken a job working from home.  Each night she would soak piles of 
leather pieces to soften and stretch over balls of twine to stitch together the next day 
making a baseball.  She was paid five cents for each one that met their standards.  Mom 
stitched hour after hour, day after day until her fingers bled.

	Dad would come home from Camp Borden after many hours of hard labor and 
army maneuvers to have supper and make us giggle and laugh with his outrageous stories of 
the day’s events.  After supper he would leave again returning much later with red and blue 
paint stains on his hands and a tired smile on his face.

	The days flew by in a blur as we shoveled up and down the streets dreaming of 
those bicycles that grew more solid with every quarter we put in our piggy banks.  I would go 
to sleep each night and ride through towns and cities and over hills and through valleys until 
I heard the sound of buoy bells ringing in the harbor.

	I would pedal faster and faster, knowing I was almost there.  I could see my old 
home just down the road.  As the bells got louder, I would slowly awake to the truth as the 
alarm clock wound down on the night stand.  Once again I would head off for school and 
stand daydreaming, peering at that gleaming bicycle in the window of the bicycle shop.

	Suddenly – Christmas was almost upon us and we needed to buy mom and dad a 
present, so we pulled the plug on the piggy bank and tool our loot, a total of four dollars each 
to Woolworth’s

                                               continued in part 3.....

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I Remember AUNT B

I remember AUNT B for the way she took care of me when
mother was not home but working
She would take me to Boston on the Orange Line to go
shopping for comic books and clothes for the upcoming School Year
Then,we would go to a Burger King and have the Scramble Egg platter and
Orange juice for Breakfast
Walking over to the Boston Common by early afternoon,we would take a little ride 
on the Swan Boats and after that,take the elevator all the way up to the top of the 
John Hancock Building and Look down upon the Hustle and Bustle Bostonians 
from the view of the Observation Deck
After having lunch near a busy Mass Ave Cafe,we would go on the Green Line 
and switch back over to the Orange that would take us out of the city and back 
upon our Medford suburb.
Thanks AUNT B
for showing me how the world runs for free

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On Thanksgiving Day

It’s another red-letter day
a holiday in the U.S.
a national, religious holiday
known also as a ‘Turkey Day’
a very important day.

A chance to be reconnected,
a moment of being together,
a salutary occasion for gratitude,
full with family folderol.

There are historic reasons 
this American celebration
has its origin centuries ago;
as the Pilgrims did it and -
invited neighboring Indian tribes.

To hold it with a feast –
A celebration for God’s blessing.
giving thanks for a common purpose,
freedom, justice, and worship in God.
Through Sarah Josepha Hale 
this event has become a tradition
a realization that came to fulfillment
marked with significance, thus far.

With church services elsewhere
wth family reunions all over 
with customary turkey dinner
oh, a reminder of the historic past:
at the Pilgrims’  big celebration.

In many homes and families
Table fellowships spice up the day
with turkey, mashed potatoes, 
cranberry sauce, maize, pumpkin pie
and other vegetables and desserts.
a complete picture of this great tradition.

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The Darkest - Blackest Tuesday (Part l)

Alice! Alice wake up, She half opens the door, What? Wake the girls Ma’am’s  making 
Harry did you hit your head on something? Al , Ma’am told me to wake everyone for 
I went first to “Billy’s  mattress hey PET wake up, Bobby throws a pillow over his head “Jesus”
Harry shut up ,Ma’am will hear you”  Ma’am told me to wake you guys up Al’s waking the girls
The girls get the tub first again : I don’t think we have to bathe today We have to go down 
Everybody was ready at the top of the stairs Alice grabbed my hand “you go first  Ma’am 
expects it
We all joined hands and Alice prayed  “Dear Heavenly Father Watch over our souls, guide 
our Hearts
At the top of the stairs I yelled “Ma’am we’re ready “Call me Mom ,your eggs are getting cold 
Everyone’s eyes darted back and forth to each other, Ginny signed Millie Ma’am said call her 
Millie’s response was to fast to understand, down stairs through the living room into the 
kitchen “WOW”
Eleven plates filled with Eggs, sausage, English muffins , peanut butter and jam eleven large 
orange juice
We all stared with our mouths opened ; the lady in the kitchen looked like Ma’am acted like a 
“You going to stand there all day catching flies or you going to eat breakfast” we scurried to 
our seats
“Alice will say grace I’m going upstairs to soak, I want the dishes done and the kitchen clean 
when I return”
“God we thank-you for this food, for wind and rain and  Sun above :but most of all for those 
we Love Amen” “” AMEN”” 

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Battle of Manila

My great, great, Uncle who fought in the
 Spanish-American War, although this was 
long before my time I was proud, my hero…

As told to me, he was in the Battle
 of Manila, he lost his life on March 30, 1899
 in this Battle…

Sending all the bodies of the heroes who 
fell on the Manila battlefield were brought
 to their respective homes…

The boy who gave his life for his 
country in the Spanish and Philippine
 Wars, arrived in Osceola Monday 
at 10:45 a.m. for burial near his
 family home…

War is a terrible thing, but freedom
 Is not free and it is a must!

By Sandra Lea Hoban

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Fond Memories of Jimmy

Like me, Jimmy had a passion For writing poetry too So I thought I’d write a special one To share with all of you For my cousin Jimmy Peoples I have a lot of fond memories From when we grew up together With such loving families After our Grand-daddy Gray I was supposed to be named Lawrence But since I was born a girl I was given the name of Florence Jimmy was born two months after me And Lawrence was his middle name Our childhood days were filled with joy And happy memories will always remain As we grew older through these 51 years And the adult life kept us mostly apart All of the fun, laughter and adventures Feels just like yesterday in my heart I developed a cousin family reunion To keep all of our cousins in touch To get together with all the families To me, it really means so much I trust in the Good Lord As only He knows just when It is the time for one of us To come and join with Him Though Jimmy is going home With the Lord before we do I’ll cherish all the precious memories Until I reach Heaven too Love, Flo Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Godfearing grandpa died over two decades ago,
he had an adventureous spirit bolder than any explorer of long ago;
and in his many voyages: from tumultuous Argentina
to Canada and America...he immensely missed
his faithful and beautiful blue-eyed wife Maria...
and when he dreamed of that face he once caressed,
tears flowed thinking of her with a man's desire,
which too often he bore throughout his dire...
and he could have found a companion, but he resisted that urge
by opening the Bible to remind him of his refuge.

That large barn, which echoed with the peasants' voices and songs,
was the labor of their callous hands storing hazelnuts, chestnuts, grapes 
and grains to be sold in the town's market square...all that was his pride and joy; 
and what made those long furrows with vines so bountful?
Their source was a river flowing through those well-kept farms,
nourishing them with its fresh waters that at times proved to be
very disastrous and fatal when its banks  filled to capacity
when floods occurred making him sad, but seldom he lost hope...
as he glanced far, dreaming of sailing beyond the crimson horizon.
Godfearing grandpa was never stouthearted, he firmly believed in Divine Mercy.

Godfearing grandpa sailed from the Bay of Naples
on a ship cramped with thousands of desperate immigrants, 
to seek fortune outside Italy after Mussolini seized power;
and he didn't curse his native soil for making him leave,
but kept on loving it with same ardor of his youth.
" I will return to my land and my barn as empty as a shell,
dreaming of stacking it with those crops ready to be gathered...
I will smell the ripe apples, the juicy grapes, the yellow pears,
the plump oranges with their strong scent in the crates made of oak!"
He solemny shouted to the reddest sky overlooking his rosy barn.  

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Have you had or seen teenagers,
who abused drugs like marijuana
and became truant and unruly?
That same teens could be 
exposed to temptation again,
if they worked in a hospital,
where the supply of medical
marijuana is kept in glass cabinets.
And we think that modern vampires
are fiction as Drucula's legend seems;
there are indeed doctors and nurses
who will steal blood to satisfy their urge,
and if I have revealed this...
do you think that I am crazy?
If the FDA approved it,
what would the consquences be?
It will certainly diminish the acute pain in patients,
or make everyone around them get high?
Our streets are swarmed with pot heads,
who are hit daily by cars, because of unclear thinking;
and those who drive cause many fatal accidents...
others die of an overdose in filthy corners,
their lifeless bodies are spotted in small towns and big cities.
Is it a good idea to make it legal,
or will it endanger everyone in public places?

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Dont Love Now

That was a great moment
When my house was filled fully
With relatives, friends and new guests around.

Dad keeping busy, mom arranging,
Friends amusing, cousins entertaining,
I was immersed  within relishable tension.

Relaxing myself and taking a deep breath,
I entered in and bid all a traditional HI..
Focusing him at cross eyes.

We kicked off with a sparking smile,
It lasted for a couple of seconds,
Bowed my face with a sharp shy

It was like left in a green field
Filled with elite flowers and touchable stars..

Got a call the next day,
Informing I was selected in the race.
Everyone was tied with anxiety.

Following bundles of discussions,
In addition to my sanctions,
My phone digits were added to his ring up lists.

He first marched with the word ‘Hello’,
I continued with ‘Who is this!!!’
He prolonged with ‘The one who is supposed to rule u’.

Recognizing whom it was?? It was like-
Millions of butterflies flew under my belly,
Dribbles clogging upon the throat..

Fearing what to talk,
I blabbered, he laughed.
He nattered, I pinned my ears in.

One side was this path of unseen Love and commotion 
Other side was a bargains and organization.
The deal ended up with beginning of new covenant in the place of worship.

That was not only a reception but also a farewell,
Final byes to the friends,  adieus to cousins, cries to parents,
I was put into a family unit.

	He held my both hands, kissed at its palms,
	Looked directly into my eyes,
	Made me know what I mean to him..

When my nervousness overruled,
	he replaced with calmness.
When I met agitation,
	he created coolness.
When I feared on something,
	he hugged for many things.
When I worked restless,
	he comforted.
When I worried,
	he cheered up.
Whenever I was disquieted,
	he educated reality in precise.
He did them because he was the one who
	understood me next to GOD..

Accomplished castle in the sky
Daydreamt while missing each
Visualized our masked future
Engaged with enthusiastic honest instants
Managed enjoyments and working schedules
He provided a completely satisfied Life
Failed to remember my past failures in relationships
Brought me entire Heaven inside this tiny earth
Cant imagine what I’m without him
None ever could restore his standard
I can sum up everything he offered me
	Using a solo word “LOVE”.
That’s a splendid understanding at twenty five’s. . 
		Need a Life like this??????
			DON’T Love now. . .

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dreams under dust 2of2

{continued 2of2}...

the third girl took her
bullet reluctantly but
Mr. Mohammed Merah believes
in an eye for an eye

i wonder if Mr. Muhammad Wazir
would have preferred to take
his farming plowshare,
beat it into a sword
and bring writhing attrition
to still more children.

i think...i prefer to think,
that Mr. Muhammad Wazir, 35,
of Panjwai, Afganistan,
would tell Mr. Mohammed Merah, 24,
of Toulouse, France
that children are innocent

not just in God's eyes, 
but in truth, in his too,
that killing only begets more killing
Alas, it is too late for Merah's merit,
and the sky still shines blue

© Goode Guy 2012-03-21

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Our Father Chapter two

Ever morning Mary and Elizabeth 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.  "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
who were the parents of John the Baptist?"  "Zechariah and 
Elisabeth".  "Very good Mary".  The Voice of God Ministries is
the biggest Evangelcial 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 members.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The Brown Philosopher 
aka The Green Poet aka Red Seven

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Unlucky In Love

There was this very unlucky man 
with a very unlucky past,
in a small town with his unlucky dog,
upon which stares were cast.
They knew to keep their distance
and how unlucky was he.
His family cursed through generations,
their luck was not to be.

His mother had passed giving birth,
then a plane crashed on their porch.
It burst into flames as high as the house
and the whole place it did scorch.
The family survived but, badly burned,
they would be scarred for life.
And his dog has walked on three, old legs
since that incident with that knife.

One day, the unlucky father decided
his only son would be forced
into an unlucky marriage,
after which, they should’ve divorced.
For their families, they suffered through,
but never got along.
That horrible family curse of his
made everything go wrong.

The only company that he enjoyed
was from his three-legged pooch.
His wife would start arguments every day
‘cause he spent all their money on hooch.
She’d break his family portraits and scream
for hours and hours on end.
Once, she screamed ‘til she fell to the floor,
so a doctor they did send.

Her heart was weak and soon thereafter,
the very next week, in fact,
the unlucky husband came home from work
to find all the suitcases packed.
His mean, old wife ran out the door
when that doctor’s car pulled up.
He just sat down with his favorite bottle
and slowly filled his cup.
His family came when they heard the news.
“Why’d this happen?”  They noticed the mess.
So he turned to them with a drunken smile
and answered, “Just lucky, I guess.”

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To My Father

Father I look up to you. I'm so sorry you were taken from me and we never knew each other. I wish you could of seen me grow into the man I have become. I wish you could be here to see me fall in love and make a family of my own. You and my mother were only 16 you were taken from her right after I came into this world. Sometimes I think I can feel someone watching me and I hope it is you. Words can't explain how much I love you and wish we could of known each other

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Our Father Chapter Three

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 yourself 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 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 did the church raise.  "$400" answered Mary.
"That's a little light" Zechariah voice was filled with disappointment.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum

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A Shot In The Dark { Narrative}

helplessly he stumbled 
through the door
holding his bloody chest 
Mother gazed into 
her fourteen year old eyes 
and just knew that he was up 
to his old antics of gang banging 
Yelling and cursing did nothing 
to wake this kid up 
Mother's tears flooded 
like an open gate 
she wondered 
where she went wrong 
raising him 
for he had the best 
of everything 
a home a job an education 
anything he wanted 
or needed 
was right at his fingertips 
maybe having only one parent 
in the household 
or just not enough discipline 
now she stands helplessly 
over her young sons 
lifeless body 
lying on the kitchen floor
in a pool of blood 
all that she could do now
was to pick up the phone 
and call the police 
and the morgue 

Tribute To Children

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A Sad Day

A sad day today for one whom 
has lost their mother…

She is now in God’s house with 
no pains…

She is with those who have 
gone before…

Just think of the reunion 
that she is having…

With those who’ve gone before…

Know that one day we 
will all join them again?

To be young, happy and frolic 
through the meadows picking 
wild flowers and wading 
in the streams…

Thoughts and prayers go out 
to you during this time 
of sorrow…

By Sandra L. Hoban

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One December Night (Continuation 1)

One December Night (Continuation 1)

     Before they could get to the front door to see, their dad shouted down, “Don't go there.  
Let me!”  “Wait children.” he said from the top of the stairs.  You girls go and sit at the table 
in your chairs.”  “Why are you up and playing about?”  Those are the words Father asked in a 
shout., Quickly, he walked down those stairs on that night to see what was there outside in 
the moonlight.
     The girls in their chairs looked away from Dad's glares. And in the next moment, Mother 
bounced downstairs, too.  She had heard all of the ruckus and scampering around.  But 
she had not yet heard the loud kazoo sound.  She saw the girls sitting at the table with the 
     “Come to the kitchen.” Their mother said.  Let's have some cookies and gingerbread. 
After making hot chocolate, she continued to say, “We can look at the stars.  Honey, come 
us mars!”  They sat at the table underneath a skylight.  Hot chocolate and cookies were 
already in sight.
     But before they could take their very first bite, the door flew open.  Oh, what a fright!  
There silhouetted in the light of the bright glowing moon, the bumpy old toad stood, humming 
a tune.  And right beside him close to his feet was a bright brown sack with a blinking red 
bow.  “Merry Christmas.” he said, as he walked right on in.  He sounded like Santa and he 
had a big grin.  
     But they did not know him.  He wasn't their friend.  What should they do?  For whom 
should they send?  He wanted to stay.  They thought he should go.  What would they do?  
They did not know.
     In the very next moment, he took out his kazoo!   “A Kazoo!  A Kazoo!  I knew.” shouted 
Sue.  He pulled up a chair.  They started to stare.  He sat down at the table, the best he was 
able.  A frog at the table!  Whoever heard of such?  And Dad did not like it.  Oh, no, not 
very much!  The frog there beside them at the table where they munch.  Picked up a cookie 
and ate it with a crunch.  It should not be so.  Let everyone know.  That bumpy old frog 
simply must go!
     Dad started to tell him to get out of their house.  But about that time across the floor ran 
a mouse.  So, Dad grabbed the broom and chased the mouse about.  While the frog at the 
table calmed the children's frantic shouts.  
                          (To be continued...)

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
December 5, 2009

Inspired by:
Poetrysoup member's Contest Anything Goes! 	
Sponsored by: Constance La France  (I took you at your word... It's a LONG story.)

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Sight Pt1

Sight Pt1

I weep
for I see the world unlike others do
I am different, I am special
I am not crippled with vaunted views.

they see the world with contact eyes 
they see with colour and with light
yet they miss the majesty around them
and judge in black and white.

I see just like the others
vision is still my friend
yet I cannot bring myself
to see just as my kin.

My existence is a solemn one
as I see as shades of grey
I glimpse the world unlike they do
every single day.

My glances are not imposed
by the reasoning of man
I see my world around me
as time and glass and sand.
I do not judge my brother
who did kiss another man
nor do I bequeath my mother
with tattoos all up her hands.

I cannot understand a father
who judges those below
or those who follow his teachings
everywhere they go.  

I rail against injustice
each and every day
and strive to mend the fences 
of those I may dismay.

But my existence is a troubled one
of you I do implore
do hear my word for I talk
until I speak no more.

I do not live a life
of pomp or pedigree
my life is that of troubled minds 
of this you may well see.

I met someone of sun bleached skin
hair dark as ebony
here our tail doth now turn
they view life as grey like me.

one cannot simply juxtapose
such beauty and such strife
I cannot simply understand why 
they would take their life.

Yet one day across the sea
we saw a man of might
white and black and stoic was he
come to crush out light.

he broached our shores, with boats and oars
most running for their life
yet some remain to fight the rain
we held off day and night.

In a street we fight alone
forlorn of families and friends
against his wraith we do both dread
a solution to the end. 
A frightful flash of ebony 
and a knife as sharp as words
raise high into the night dear friend
and then there was no more.

I see a gash, a fearful sigh
in pitch darkness 
or in bright of light
O' the horror and the fright.

Ebony has left this plane
although heaven isn't quite germane 
the gift that was left behind
shall forever be within my mind.

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Sight Pt2

Sight Pt2

Of this gift I do now tell 
but not of duress or strife
Ebony did show the world
and brought it to the light.   

As Ebony lay there dying 
uttering words of writ
I see the knife that caused such strife
red smeared on all of it.
Words cannot entail
all that did go on
"I bleed so that you may see"
uttered softly as a song

Colour took purchase on the world
however all I could endure
was to take one last look into those eyes
until they shut once more.
The sight of Ebonys' blood
had brought our oppressor to his knees
"O' why could I not see past my vaunted views
please save Ebony!"
His request I could not appease 
for Ebony had meet a final hour
I turn and shake my head
The man did cry and shout and cower

I then turn to the man
colour bursting in my stare  
I saw the man for what he was
A father stripped most bare.

I cannot judge this man for he has lost his progeny
nor could I condemn for a hand this tragedy
I looked upon this man sullen with his ilk
and resolved to tell that there is still help.

I shared with him my gift
of which I hold most dear
To a hollow and a broken man
filled with hate and fear.

He resisted at first
like men are taught to do
but soon his gaze widened 
with reds and greens and blues.

"O' I have been so wrong' he bellows
fixing me with his stare
his gaze pieced my eyes 
filled with both hope and despair.

He had been so wrong
but it's what he was taught to do
a sullen man repents his crimes
he has nothing left to lose.

I sit here now on the grave of hope
spilling soul to pen
recounting the damage caused
by the vaunted views of men
I see now in colour, not grey or blacks or white.
It only took real love to truly show me sight
but now life is quite sad, but that I can endure.
for I will carry my gift, from now to evermore. 

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Christmas Desire

Each and Every December 
the material things surface
I want, I want 
But what if the thing you want most 
You cannot buy or have ?

Each and Every
gift given or recieved
One after another
Is not the thing you long for most
Tears surface as it hits you 

Each and Every
tear that is shed
Drop after drop 
Cannot bring you your desire 
as the thing you desire is gone

Each and Every 
wintery night that comes
Snowflake upon snowflake 
melts just as your heart does 
as you look at that picture

Each and Every 
smiling child
smile after smile
reminds me of what i long for 
my beautiful girl 

Each and Every 
Christmas season 
Santa comes Santa goes
reminds me of what my girl has missed
and deepens the hole in my heart

Each and Every December  
people of this world
nationality after nationality 
all desire something they cannot have
but yet this happy season 
does not bring them comfort 
but pain and memories
What is it you want ?

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If all the things I have right now were taken away and I had nothing left I would fantasize about nature and how beautiful it is. I would imagine that I was swinging on an old tire swing in front of a river. In the river were little ducks and I would go feed them. In my life right now I don’t think of nature that way. I think if my freedom was taken away I wouldn’t take it for granted the way I do and I would know how much it actually means to me. I would also imagine my family getting together for my family reunion. We would usually have them in September. My aunt would make her fancy white cake topped with chocolate drizzle. My grandma always made her jello cake; I still don’t know exactly how she makes it. The others would bring KFC, at least three boxes full of chicken and fries. All the kids would sit together and play games and laugh as we threw food at one another. We would have a game where the kids lined up from age 1 to age 13 and you would get to pick a prize appropriate for your age. I would always get stuck with bath soap and tooth brushes.I take a lot of ordinary things for granted and I think a lot of people do but they won’t admit it. Sometimes I even take life and my freedom for granted. I think that if maybe we wouldn’t take things for granted like the trees or our freedom that maybe our lives would be a lot better and things wouldn’t happen the way they do. I have lived long enough to know that it won’t happen, nothing happens the way you want it to. Just a few months ago I lost my grandma and I couldn’t do anything to help her. I took all of the things she did for granted and now that she’s gone I miss her. She used to make this tuna casserole, it was just amazing but I never told her just how much she meant to me. I think if I would have told her that more then I wouldn’t feel so guilty or depressed that she is gone. I never told her what I needed to. If people could use the words of John Lennon “Imagine Peace” and actually think about it then maybe the world wouldn’t have to end because there wouldn’t be any enemies, murders, drugs, none of the bad things would have happened. If we could have just accepted everyone around us for who they are and known that one day we all have to die, we could have stepped back from it all and said I had a good life and I don’t regret any of it. I think it’s no good to step back from something and tell yourself that you could have done something to prevent it.

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The Letter to The Lost

You were the gift that gave me eyes, and grateful I’ll forever be. The poetic beauty inside our loss is within the dark we see. So here I write my letter to you, the following week since you passed. You burst into my life like a firework, burning twice as bright but twice as fast. Unlike a rocket you’ll fail to fade, and your love will never be surpassed. As I pen the ink my words begin to smudge, with tears that start to fall. I feel your presence is close to me, and memories flood back to recall. So here begins my letter dear love, you were a gift and a loss to us all. Like a New York snow fall, on a starry December’s eve. Like an enchanted walk in central park, beneath the flowing trees. I took your hand and felt your pulse, as together we were free. Like a shore walk in paradise, along the edge of a summer’s breeze. Like a boat ride across the crystal blue, a magic sail upon the seas. You make me smile with one quick glance, and you rule my memories. The love for you cannot be described, and the loss can never be healed. I placed the flowers upon your stone, and ached with every petal that pealed. Now I know I’ll see you again someday, as we walk into the golden field. I leave you with a kiss and a hug, and pray you are safe and strong. I’ll count the days till I see you again; I hope that it's not too long.

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Yesterday was Saturday
My two princesses 
Giggling, jumping, prancing, hopped in my car
We were planning to go one direction, but
Along the way, in front of a church
We were distracted.  We decided to stop!

Little hands clasped with mine
Carefully crossed the streets
Curiously combed what the garage sale has to offer!
Wow!  15cents for a treasured moments photo album
Five dollars each  for Precious Moments collectible
Porcelain dolls!

I lovingly watched my two princesses
Picked up, embraced , kissed the precious moments dolls
That precious smile imprinted in my heart
As I say:  Take everything you want!

After our errands
We headed home
In the corner of my eyes, silently observed them
They took out an old precious moments doll from the cabinet.

They then took their green color sarong
A souvenir from our Hawaii trip last year
They then wrapped themselves with these flowery clothing, 
Played house on the sofa.

Precious Moments!
They were pretending the dolls are sisters.
Suddenly, a crashed.  One doll fell from the sofa to the floor!
A silence.

One of my princesses said,
Oh the arm is broken.  Only the arm!
She is still OK.
Pretends she is on cast
Her hand will heal.  Another precious moments!

Those were  precious moments treasured in my heart till I’m due to heaven!

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sleek onyx fur glistens in the midday sun while her blood saturated saliva pools in the dirt below her she howls in grief closing her eyes, she opens her ears to listen they are coming the smell of decaying flesh makes her stomach turn yet she knows what she must do she waits her heart beats fast as she accepts this fate she is close to vomiting just a few more steps tensing her muscles, readying for the fight she takes one long breath and lunges they are on her now and bile rises in her throat as the rotten flesh sticks in her teeth yet she continues she has to do this, rip their flesh so she rips and rips and rips until there is nothing left nothing but shreds of skin and innards resembling confetti if confetti were always so sticky with blood finally allowing herself to purge all this evil she sits on her haunches and breathes it is done the dead are, well, dead again but her family has not returned to her so her anguish remains but what is done cannot be undone so as she looks up at the sky, now brightened by the moon and stars she closes her eyes and listens once more haggard breathing unsteady footsteps and then...Daddy?

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Face The Mirror

Here I stand facing liquid glass,
the flowing of the faces are haunting out my past.
Stepping through the mirror to face my pulsing fears,
I pass the corridor of the damned, and collect the angels tears.

The price of pain I caused is peeling away my face,
the features that catalyst the sorrow, are crumbling with pace.
My bright blue eyes become grey stone, and wrinkles invade the smooth.
The sands of time begin to rush, as the angels cries are soothed.

The scales of justice begin to balance, as retribution hangs.
I see the writing on the wall, and written red across my hands.
I find myself truly redemptive and understand my wrong.
The angels recognise my growth, and begin their final song.

Suddenly the corridor falls, baring an empty room.
It's the attic of the house I live in, my face is back in bloom.
The mirror holds a sheet of the future, a warning in advance.
I take my errors and correct them, and start my second chance.

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When Goodbyes Were Silently Sleeping

His small red car, a dent on the left rear side,
   is parked in our driveway, all loaded,  a full tank of gas.
His duffel is crammed with rock-band t-shirts, faded torn jeans,
   new underwear and socks, (that I insisted we buy), 
      and that ratty old jacket with the hole in the elbow.
Guitar, books, sports equipment, and cardboard boxes
   filling the back seat of his little sedan.

On the passenger seat in front, 
    is a battered old shoe box tied with string.
Those are private letters from girlfriend, Cindy. 

(Oh yes!...The  same box, that his sister found one day,
   when she tucked it under her arm and ran from him laughing. 
His long legs chased her through the house, screaming, ...
   "You're going to die for that!!!!")   

But...that was on another fall day....   A day that now seems forever ago....
While today was silently sleeping...

On this sunny, autumn day, his sister is quiet, she is not laughing.
He and his father share a hug and an affectionate pat on the back.
I stand back, watching them, on that dreaded, concrete driveway.
The trees rustle, and someone's lawnmower is humming
A neighbor is driving by, as if it's just another ordinary day.

I give him the care box I made...laundry soap, toothpaste,
   candy, energy bars,  his favorite home made oatmeal cookies.

Hugs, extra tight.  One more, and then another.....

                                                   (Hold it in!....Hold it in!....I can do this!....)

"Be sure to call when you get there.  Drive carefully.  Love you."

Love you

Submitted for Debbie's "Emote" contest....(sadness/love)

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After forty years, Grandma's morality echoes louder than a summer's thunder,
wasn't her strict up-bringing or sense of defined dignity too improper?
" Daughter, bring up your kids with morality and honor...
fearing God and obeying the household rules;
never mind the nasty looks on those kids who booze...
who do what they please and wind up in the slammer!"
Her white hair had thought her much wisdom in errors
and she wanted to leave a great legacy behind...
" You may dislike what I say and feel upset or offended,
but bad behavior is stopped before it occurs. "  
" Sweet, mother " she rebelled with a loving tone,
" This is a new generation and it needs change! "
But grandma lashed back with aggressiveness,"
"My days weren't like theirs...I had to obey my parents,
read the Bible and go to church on Sunday! "
" Under this roof, nothing changes...I demand obedience! "
" Sweet, mother " she repeated with understanding,
" You have to give them freedom to choose, and if they make mistakes...
let them learn and seek parental advice if they are wise. "
And tenderly turning to grandma she pleaded, " Let's work out our differences
and come up with a solution! " Grandma's eyes were filled with resentment,
but she understood and agreed to accept the advice.
And before more words were said, she apologized for her matriarchal demands,
 "Much more I would like to say, but if you feel you are right...I'll stop talking." 


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Glowing Delight

Asked by a husband, each year before November ends.
His wife sits waiting, to see the tree upon the hill.
Messages of waiting, upon the first night, she sends.
To the building, that displays a tree, so still.

Each year, a tree lit on an, November night
She patiently waits at first, with anticipation growing.
Looking out her window, she gazes upon one delight.
This is a sign; Christmas is near as this tree is glowing.

He tells me she is watching, upon the mark of twilight.
He says it brings joy to her heart and tears to eyes.
To see the giant tree adorned, in brilliant color of white.
Truly a scene of beauty, which floats below the skies,

This tradition, handed down, before nineteen forties.
Vividly seen for miles, marking the seasons cheer,
Tree of lights that adorn a building rooftop with ease,
We all see this view, admiring, until the New Year. 

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Just Like Me

Sometimes I like for my poems to tell a small story that occasionally has a twist at 
the ending.  You never know where my poems might lead until you've read further:

Just Like Me

Monday morning was gloomy and cold
A little like I 'd felt when I had been told
That you’d be leaving.
You had warned me that life would be like this
You had said the military wouldn’t end our bliss

The café was quiet and a static radio played
Nondescript music was just a noise that was made
Background for tears.
But I knew I had to be brave and strong for you
Yes, it was true, I knew what I was getting into.

You’d left the recruiting office when I'd first met you
It had started to rain and you pulled off a wet shoe
Hobbling into the cafe
I invited you over and we talked, I remember clearly
Smiling at how excited you were about the military.

Fluorescent lights were blinking a yellow-blue hue
We were sitting quietly now at that same table for two
Silence full of words.
I looked at you and wanted to say what I was thinking.
But distraction was made by the coffee cups clinking.

We drank our coffee and I wondered what to say
I couldn’t pretend that this was just another day.
The words spilled:
The house is way too quiet when you are gone
Promise me this time you won’t be gone so long.

You sighed deeply, pushed back your chair and stood
I thought how that uniform always makes you look good.
You grabbed the bill.
I know that I'm lucky to have such a wonderful life
Just as I know I’m lucky to have such a beautiful wife.

I knew that we’d have to leave and say goodbye
You paid the bill and I managed to hold my sigh
The ride was too short.
You said for me to take good care of our son
But it was getting late and you’d have to run

Kisses and hugs were over too way too quickly 
You waved goodbye and disappeared in a hurry.
One more time.
I sighed and drove off, remembering our embrace.
I picked up our son early so I could see your face.

We stopped at the store and picked up groceries
And on our way home he counted all the trees.
Every single one.
We ate dinner and he said as we watched the TV
Some day he hoped to be a great dad just like me.

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Domestics - blue berry pancake

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!

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Prayer Request

Please say a prayer,
for my family today,
we are facing,
a storm of grey.

Many of you,
who know my sorrow,
keep giving me hope,
for each new tomorrow.

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We Were All There That Day

All of us were there that day/
Yet not in the physical aspect,
It was a very spiritual notion/
Not some encounter from a heavenly omen,
Beneath the soil amidst a great gulf fix,
Some have become a bit transparent/

Perhaps a little cumbersome ?

While other's having claimed to experience all the fullness,
Little did they know that king's and queen's would all bow to thee,
Amidst the given turmoil of the unfortunate vast excursion !
Still in the garden that day they all fell asleep/
Yet still all of us were there,
When the roman solder's ripped off your beard !

Still some of us it's too hard to fathom it,
Some finding it to intense and a bit weird !
Having common passerby's spit in his face/
While still there were many angels in waiting to take vengeance on those,
Yet Jesus didn't choose that route of passage,

With no sense of remorse nor a common disgrace,

We were all their that day !
Even when beloved Mary your loving mother wept !
Fashioned with real tears for her son,
While they tore into his flesh !
Until there was nothing left but exposed bone,
When all the nails had mounted you to the rugged cross/
We all knew that this wasn't some tragic loss !

With words', "Father please forgive them for they know not what they do ?"
He said the prayer now the rest is up to you ?
We all had learned Lord what your beloved father really knew/
We were all there that day/
When after three days you suddenly rose from the grave !
Although still many had rejected you ?

The god of this world had blinded many eyes/
Does all of this come at some big surprise for it is written in the scriptures for our benefit ?
Lest they all should see and be healed,
For even Pilate had found no fault in thee,
Yet he gave into the crowds cry's and demands !
Having vicious fangs nor swollen teeth/
Which all gnash abruptly !

Having a fish dinner with Peter for breakfast/
The was fully after your grand exit,
We were all there that day/
Henceforth, even to this present moment in time,
Today, everything we pray for we can all visualize you being there,

For we were all their that day !

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Beauty and the Unpublished Author

Far away in a little town tucked in the corner of a map
Lives the girl who ruined his heart
And broke his life

While with him she would smile and laugh so sweet
Tender as only she could be
In his heart she lit even the corners so deep

With time she became his definition of life
In all he did he had her in mind
Life wasn’t life without him seeing her smile

As moments grew into weeks
The flower of his heart started to reveal its wilt
In her eyes no longer was the sparkle he was used to seeing

Winds carried awful odour of their disorder
Tales went round of her illicit exploits behind the counter
The man with the shop at the corner savoured all the honey she offered

At first he dismissed the whispers with laughter
But soon he discovered he was the only one on the other side of reality’s border
Yes indeed, another prince had taken over

Trouble was how sincerely he loved her
Problem was that even she had only love to offer
Issue was he hadn’t yet sold a dime of the books he authored

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lurking to Lure

A successful man with a beautiful wife,
Three great kids, loves God and his life,
Goes into work every single day,
Loyal to his beliefs and makes an extraordinary pay,
He married real young, did the right thing,
A good looking man, always wearing his wedding ring,
But a woman in the office next door
Has been working late too and is looking to score,
She admires his rarity and is attracted to his charm,
Lately she has been asking for help on her assignments,
what’s the harm?
They have become friends and her luring begins,
This man doesn’t realize she has begun to infringe,
He has opened a door to the wrong kind,
While he's speaking his heart, she’s picking his mind,
Now instead of sharing his tension with his lovely mate,
He can’t wait to get to work and talk to her until late,
His wife can tell there’s been a shift in their communication,
She asks him if everything is alright with a slight hesitation,
But he quickly snaps back that he’s fine and just tired,
This happens all week and fights begin to transpire,
He begins to tell his venomous new pal,
She comforts him sweetly, she’s quite the gal,
Weeks later he comes to work stressed and depressed,
It happens to be the night she is wearing a silky black dress,
After going over a case accompanied with a few glasses of red wine,
Their relationship spirals into whats no longer benign,
In one evening everything this man has worked so hard for,
Vanishes, as his wife shows up with dinner 
and opens his office door.

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The Art of Living Part Three

Everyone was crying except for me, I couldn’t cry. I didn’t understand the full extent of the situation. The doctor comes out of the room and tells us that Helen is gone. Immediately I hear Renee saying “Grannies dead”. She cried, and after that everyone did. Mom asked if I wanted to see Helen one last time. I didn’t want see Helen blue and cold, I didn’t want to see her not breathing or moving. I wanted to see her alive, talking, and laughing like she usually does. Helen was a very bright person. When you were sad she would be there to cheer you up. I remember when Helen let me go up to the third floor of the blue house; we found records and cassette tapes. Helen let us have them; I remember they were Beatles records and Neil Young cassette tapes. She also let us have blankets and books on history. I would never give those records away.It was time to leave the hospital. I regretted not seeing Helen, I didn’t know if I would see her again because I wouldn’t be able to make it through the funeral service. I mourned the loss of her and I still do, so I will do anything I can to get this guilt out. I thought about the weekend again and how I could have waited one more hour till she got home so I could see her, but I left. Grandma Sandy said Helen was happy because she got to see her grandchildren wrestle. That Monday Helen was supposed to have a meeting about her will, but she changed it to a different day because she didn’t feel good. She scheduled it for the following Thursday, the day of her funeral. A lot of times I hear her voice and I see her face. I don’t know if it’s because I’m seeing things or if I’m hearing things. I think about her all the time, trying to keep her alive in my memory. I think of that day when I was sitting on the bus after that Metallica song I listened to the Foo Fighters- Let it Die. The lyrics read “Heart of gold but it lost its pride, Beautiful veins and blood shoot eyes, I’ve seen your face in another light, Why did you have to go and let it die, in too deep and out of time, Hearts gone cold and your hands were tied, why did you have to go and let it die?” It was around the time when Helen was laying on the floor, a few minutes before I heard the news. Sometimes I wonder if she was frustrated because of the way people perceived her, or if she was happy enough about the things she realized about herself that she could tolerate the way people perceived her and for that I think she was able to die in a happy state of mind.

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Holy Family

We cannot separate Mother Mary and Saint Joseph
They’re having so much connection
With the mystery of Incarnation of Eternal God
Joseph, being guardian of the Virgin’s spotless honor
Foster-father of the Divine Babe

Mother Mary’s family thought be made known
She might not be stoned by the Jews as an adulteress
Thirdly, that in her flight; have the comfort of a husband
St. Ignatius add yet a fourth reason namely that is birth might hid from the devil
Looking for Him to be born of a wife and not of a Virgin


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Christmas Traditions

Christmas Traditions
     By Dane Smith-Johnsen

It was the Day after Thanksgiving and every store in town.
Had planned to opened wide its doors before daylight could be found.
It was an outlandish sight to see people sleep overnight. 
Shoppers camping on sidewalks people waiting in the moonlight.

The Christmas shopping season was formally set in motion!
Hustling, bustling, getting, and grabbing: bikes, pipes, and lotion.
TVs, wreaths, computers, briefs, trees, ties, anything money buys. 
Some starry-eyed children sway singing with Santa beneath skies.

Meanwhile, Jesus Christ, the nativity, and live manger scenes
Attempt to teach people what the Christmas season really means.
A few carolers come singing along their neighborhood streets. 
And the folks that they sing too, with big smiles, surprise them with treats.

A God loving soul amid the clamorous celebrations,
Gathers his family, to make costumes and preparations.
Mary, Joseph, Jesus, shepherds, and the three Kings with gifts, myrrh.
Reverently, they reenact our blessed Savior's Holy birth.

This poem was written for Carolyn Devonshire's Christmas in Your Town contest.
Poetic form:  A narrative written in couplets.

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There is Life Beyond Death's Door Part III

away like she did, made him ask what was going on. That yielded no response. The 
silence hung heavily in the kitchen. Finally, he asked, “Is Brian in his room?”  He 
looked at my oldest sister, Winnie who sat next to Papa. She didn’t respond. 
Instead, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes.  Thomas was as tall as Brian.  
At 14years old, they were 6’ tall. Winnie bowed her head to hide her tears.  She 
looked down at her plate before her. Thomas turned halfway around and was about 
to head towards the door leading towards Brian’s room, when Papa let out a deep, 
long sigh and motioned to Thomas to come sit next to him. Winnie got up to give 
Thomas her chair and Papa, with his voice low and cracked, told Thomas that his 
best friend had passed away. The humming of the fridge seemed much louder 
then.   Looking back now, seeing Thomas’s face, I knew he wanted to laugh but he 
stopped just short of that, and his countenance changed in an instant! A painful 
grimace appeared on his face.  His voice became shaky as he tried to mumble 
something.  He looked at each of us as if checking each face to see if someone 
would soon break into laughter, at this absurd joke. After a while, he took a deep 
breath, convinced now, that he was reading everyone’s face correctly. Brian’s Dad 
wouldn’t joke about something like this. He thought to himself. Then all the reactions 
he had seen as he entered the kitchen, finally registered, confirming that this was 
not a joke.  He nearly fell out of the chair, as it toppled over to the floor.  He began 
retreating slowly towards the kitchen door; his whole body still visibly shaking, he 
said loudly, shaking his head in disagreement, that it wasn’t possible.  “It is just not 
possible!” He shouted. Yet, there was no response.  Winnie was sobbing, tears 
rolling down her face.  He then asked if Brian had run away or something. Still the 
room was as quiet as a tomb. Not a sound from anyone, only the constant humming 
and the hymns being played on the local Christian radio station softly wafted across 
the room. He then blurted out, “Because,” he

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Top of the roof

Daddy told us not too, while Mom sourly warned. Though they scolded, loud and clear, we devilishly disobeyed. Up on that roof top, at least 30 feet from ground, carelessly balancing on the shingles, one step, two we were so young, so adventurous, the nights lasted decades, while the stars evaporated fear, they smiled at our virgin eyes, and when a gust of wind would catch our balance, we'd lay under the ratty quilt grandma made. The night sky was so full of life, a serenity in a chaos of lights, forever rotating yet a fulfilling stillness, the kind that cannot be broken Until the day we got caught. Daddy yelled while we ran threw the window, preparing for the worst, hearing Mom's fear in curses, we both sat quietly, reminiscing on that freedom, that longing for serenity. After taking in the fear- we went up to our rooms, and after one tapping on the wall between us, we both met at the window once more.

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Against Those Who Discourage mOTHER Marian Devotion

O Sweet Father Christ, do these people have Your spirit?
Do they please You in acting like this?
Does it please You, when for fear of displeasing You,
We neglect doing the greatest to please Your Mother? Who’s our mother as well

Does devotion to Your mother, delay devotion to Yourself?
Does she attribute to herself honor we pay her?
Is she a stranger has no connection to You?
Does it displease You when we try to please her?

Do we alienate ourselves from Your love by giving ourselves to honoring her?
Yet my Sweet Master, 
Greater learned not discourage to Your holy mother 
Even all that I have said were true

Therefore, they’ve been punished for their pride!
Keep me Lord, form their sentiments and practices
Please give me share sentiments of gratitude
Esteem, Respect and Love
You has in regard to Your Holy Mother
The more I imitate her, follow her
The more I may Love and Glorify You

As if up to this point
Still I said nothing in honor of Your holy Mother
 'Give me grace to praise You worthily,' 
In spite of all her enemies, who are Yours as well
Grant me say loudly with the saints 
'Let not that man believe to look for the mercy of Eternal God 
Who offends His holy Mother 

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Little know it all

Now know we. What we know,
What we thought we knew we knew.

Way back then we knew it all,
nothing to big or to small.

But as we grew from small to tall,
we came to know that we didn’t know 
what we thought we knew,  we  knew.

Experience and maturity pulled us through 
and taught us what we knew we knew.

So if they’re growing small to tall 
and they know they know it all.

Please be patient until they’re through.
Then they’ll know what they knew they knew.

Life on Purpose Live it berfor you lose it!  copyright 2009

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Mother to Son

You live in another world
spiritual realm your heaven
a powerful entity in itself.

The watching of your loved ones
from the angels sky
sprinkling your wishes
of joy to them all.

Never missing anything
from the highest plane
where you can move on
to another journey.

The past, present and future
are all multi-dimensional
in the hall of records
where past judgments lie.

Spread your angel wings
fly down to me upon the earth
so I can feel you once more.

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The Waffle House Way!

Customers are like bouquets of flowers passing through our twenty-four hours.
Breakfast, lunch, or dinner all 365 calendar days guaranteed for a full twenty-four seven.
“Hello Sir”! Welcome to Waffle House America’s favorite place to eat!
Some say we are the closest thing next to God's Great Heaven!
We have a confusing language of our own, the blabbering towers of the real “April Showers”
Service with a smile that has walked the many hard-earned extra tenths of miles,
Nothing computerized with files, just organized by our own genuine unique styles.
Waitresses are serving with hard enduring time and each crosses over a mighty fine line,
Master grill operators optimize a divine talent marking your plates perfectly aligned.
Friday and Saturday nights the party train arrives blessed coffee to the many lips we’ll revive.
Regulars and irregulars you’re served just the same, pardon me did I really get your name?
Loud ones, quiet ones, and even the picky ones strive to come back to us,
Here we bring back the basics of being alive.
Scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, diced, peppered, capped, or topped? 
So do you want them “All the way or just partly aflame”!
Young, old, or different at being indifferent just being sane, 
Especially when the “Waffle House Way” is to say the first “HELLO”!
“Morning Mam”! Can I get you your usual or will you be having something different  “TO GO”?
Brief moments of insanity with the moods that walk through our doors, 
Thank God for every single one of those Jukeboxes!
The quality of service opening an eye to the sly foxes, 
We’d really be in trouble if we sold liquors!
Foreign, military, and even civilian are in and out, 
Our servers are like the gold stored at Fort Knox.
So what can we get you today that you haven’t already had before?
 “The Waffle House Way” America shouts!
 It’s like being home because that’s what we are all about.

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He is my flesh and blood
For we are forever connected
Troubled from birth, he knows no peace
He dreams of a normal life
Yet instead he is forced to live in constant pain

When I look in to his eyes
I see his beautiful soul
For he is slowly drowning
With every passing day he loses strength
I want to save him, but I can’t imagine how

I sit on the sidelines, watching the world pass him by
I live in constant fear and sorrow 
For he is my flesh and blood 
Wondering will this boy ever be free

Such a gifted and caring person
His brain his very own prison
He has never harmed anyone so why is he condemned to live the live he lives?
He wants to be normal
He DREAMS of being happy

He is my flesh
He is my blood
I wonder everyday if today is the day that we must part

I have never loved someone
Who I hate just as much

The bruises always fade
The hysteria always clams
Injuries heal
But my heart will forever always be scarred… 

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There is Life Beyond Death's Door Part II

missing dog, Blackie. Besides the sound of our voices, the hymns playing softly in the 
background, the noise made by the porcelain plates as Mama wiped and put them 
away, the humming of the refrigerator’s motor, the house was quiet.  No body knew 
what had happened to Blackie.  We were really concerned about the whereabouts 
of the dog, even though Papa had assured us that he would return at some point.  
Since the funeral, he had vanished.  Even the old man who lived across the street 
from us and who loved Blackie, had not seen him, nor had any of the other 
neighbors. We had searched in all the usual places.  He had never run away from 
home before.  As far as I remember, Blackie never did come back home.

As Papa sat in his usual chair, quietly playing with the food on his plate, the kitchen 
door opened, and in walked Thomas, Brian’s best friend. They were the same age, 
and were very close even though they did not attend the same school, or the same 
church. The two had become friends since they met at a Junior Boys Scouts meeting 
at the age of seven. Thomas lived some distance away but they maintained a 
special friendship.  Out of school, wherever Brian was, so Thomas would be. They’d 
both turned fourteen last September. Throughout those years they still were active 
members of the Boys Scout, and had risen together in rank. Thomas had been away 
on the recent Scouting trip. They had traveled to a neighboring country for a Scouts’ 
Jamboree. Brian should have gone too but something to do with school exams came 
up so he couldn’t go.  Thomas had just returned from the Jamboree that Saturday 
afternoon, the second week after Brian’s burial. Lena, Reggie and I got out of 
our chairs and ran to greet him. It was like welcoming him and Brian home as the 
two were always together. He picked Lena up as he greeted our parents.  Mama 
standing at the sink, turned around, took one look at him and walked briskly, almost 
running out of the kitchen, with my other sister in tow.

Papa greeted Thomas, his voice almost inaudible.  Thomas looked puzzled. I guess 
he thought he had walked in during a family argument. He was about to turn back 
and walk out because he felt a little intrusive, I guess.  It was extremely quiet in the 
room; very unusual when everyone was in Mama’s kitchen at the same time.  And 
Mama, walking

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I have always been alone it seems. This life has taken everything from me all my friends have gone walked away into the light where I can't follow. All my family has left and wont tell me where they have gone. So over the years my defenses have been built up and are strong. First the towering outer wall, surrounded by the dead bodies of people that could never get through. Next we have the inner wall, with two guard towers at either side. This wall is not as strong or high but the towers always filled with guards and weapons to strike down any and all who approach. People have reached this far many a time but almost all have fallen here. Second to last is a huge iron gate surrounded by a moat of battery acid to keep all from swimming it. The gate is thick and has never been lowered willingly, the gate keeps all out of the city that is my soul and heart. Only a select few have reached this far and a couple have forced there way in. Then last within the city, there is a golden vault door keeping all out of my inner sanctum. These defenses have been tested and tried but never have they all fallen. So imagine how shocked I was the day I was walking within my sanctum and out of a puff of smoke you appeared without any warning.........

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I Believe

I believe in Heaven,
and I believe in Hell,
I believe that a believer,
should forgive as well.

I have seen the downfall,
that follows sin,
robbing friendships,
and putting distance between kin.

I have seen brothers,
turn on the other,
and family values fade,
further, and further.

I have seen I love you,
go without being said,
and go on pretending,
their life is being fed.

I believe the passage,
to a higher walk,
comes from living each day in love,
and forgiving ones faults.

Eyes are watching,
they see what we do,
if we claim it,
then we better be ready to follow it through.

The world has plenty,
to worry about,
these things will be answered,
one day, no doubt.

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On Watch

He stands behind a wheel thick as a mans wrist, ornately spoked and polished, its diameter 
half his height; which he fondly strokes as he gazes upon a horizon, red, as in anger, yet, 
knows this is not the case and smiles.

His beard, speckled with slivers of gray, hide a face strengthened by wind and sea weathered 
beyond his years, accenting eyes, dark, deep as an abyss, that bear witness to the years of 
hardship. His teeth clamp upon the stem of a pipe broken to perfection, one of his few 
pleasures in this life.

His clothes, unmistakable, upon his shoulder, two chevrons under an eagle, identify him, as a 
man of some esteem.

This late night he commands this ship upon the sea, as the deck below his feet creak softly 
responding to the pitch of gently lapping waves; reassuring men below all is well.

Gulls, screeching their displeasure, circle above the crows nest protesting the occupation of 
their intended perch, their appearance a welcome reminder, just out of sight lies a land 
young and rich in resource and history, a land he calls home.

Porpoise, leaping, play in the wake of the ships bow, as to guide this ship home, provide 
momentary amusement, while sharks aft of the ship maintain their silent watch, awaiting 
their next meal.

As he stands behind his wheel he takes in all of this, knows all is well and good, in the morn, 
they dock, once again on dry land, until then he maintains his vigilance, never faltering in his 
duty to protect and defend.

As he gently turns the wheel making minor course change, he removes his beret, reaches to 
scratch a head void of hair, adjusts his beret until it sets just right, for all who can see, to 
read, U.S. Navy.

With a draw on his pipe, America's guardian, remains on watch tonight.

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A Little Crazy

I went a little crazy tonight,
a little over the edge.
Reading the natal
chart prepared for me 
by an astrologist in Poetry
class and it all rang too true,
the good
and the bad
was hard to take
sitting there so alone
without you
without anyone
I began to cry
but not for your return
or theirs,
another path draws me now
and good
or bad
I'll have to see
it through until the bitter end
or until it no longer matters,
until my mother's
creeping, bulging, bursting 
tumors take over the body
the breast I nursed
the cancer I imbibed
my own breast barely saved.
What is our goal? the surgeon
said, and I said 
Save the breast
and we did.

Now I'm in college,
at my age can you imagine
and I surely have some reading 
to do and this higher
education is almost too much
sometimes but I love
it and hate that 
I failed to pay attention
for several months and now
no one moves around in my
space except me and 
I must have driven away
everyone and thing 
has left me now but
I do enjoy my solitude
though not quite enough sometimes.

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The Darkest - Blackest Tuesday (Part lV)

The thunder so loud scared Ginny , she tripped on the last step ,fell on the porch spilling her 
Another flash of lighting and in that split second “Mom” became a very dark and Evil  “MA’AM”
The Ebony Crop came out of the bow and with a force I’d never seen Ma’am use, across 
Ginny’s thighs
“YOU little Bitch, I slave all morning making breakfast , I take you out to meet mother 
nature; pick berries
And this is the thanks I get I want all of YOU to empty your buckets Right here on the porch 
Right  NOW”
Billy was first and then went to help Ginny; Billy YOU need help I said The Crop hit me right 
in the mouth
I spit teeth and blood all over Alice’s blouse; his name is William and then a sight none of us 
had ever seen
Ma’am hit Billy in the back of the head he fell on the floor and didn’t move Bobby tried to 
grab the Crop 
She split his face from forehead to chin. “Now dance, Dance on those berries; stomp them 
into the porch
Screaming, crying, blood , tears flying: a lunatic waving a blood coated riding crop in victory. 
Billy got up
“get over here William and start jumping on the berries, your not crying , there’s no babies in 
this house”
“HA HA HA HEH HEH I am the Queen, the ruler“---it didn’t seem possible but Ma’am’s eyes 
went black
“George Francis get your ass over here; ”Ma’am” open your hand OPEN IT Berries! YOU little 
Lightning lit up the yard for the fatal blow right in the throat blood spew from his mouth and 
from his neck
“Awice Awice wook down the dwive way Dawwy’s  coming home Bobby, Jim .and Joe tackled 
I couldn’t talk vewy well George, George “ Harry my real Mommy is right over there Calling 
me Home
Good-bye see you at my new house, tell everyone I Love them even MA’am.

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The Perfect Gift

Nine months is not very long...although
it seems forever, since you've been gone.

I still remember that knock at the door, two
strangers, I recognized, by the uniforms they wore.

Disbelief in the words, I heard them say...killed in
action, on Christmas Day.

When you left me, for a land far away...I ask Jesus
to keep you safe.

I have been so alone, with just my memories of you,
but today your Christmas Present arrived, and he is
so cute.

He came into this world, giving me back my life,
someone I can hold , all through the night.

Merry Christmas, my sweet soldier...the words 
I never got to say, you gave me a gift so perfect,
in every way.

Even though you are not here, to hold your son,
I promise, he will always know his father, and the 
good you have done.

We will decorate our tree in Red- White- and Blue...
"This year, and always, in remembrance of you."

Merry Christmas from us both, your wife, and baby son,
we will all be together one day....when our work is done.

"Please, pray for our soldiers."

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Honor To Mother Mary is Honor To Father Christ

“The honor of the Mother reflects on Father Christ”
“Whatever honor and praise are given to the Mother bounces to the Son”
“The honor given to the Queen bestowed on the King”
The Honor we give to the Mother of the Lord was referred to Him Who was made incarnate (personified) of her”

The Mother is honored for her Son’s sake”
“Indeed in loving Mother Mary, we honor Eternal God”
“We will never love her as He loved her”
Father Christ was the first to honor her as His mother
“We will never be able to equal with which Father Christ loved her”


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take me from this misery

* this poem has been inspired by Breaking Benjamin's Dear Agony....*
* and was written in memory of my grandmother Jeanne Gula *

My name is Jeanne Gula, today i found out that i have cancer.
Its in a tumor, that's very painful, its very rare, its 3 cancers into 1
they already took it out once... and it came back.
The doctor said it was to late to take it out again.
Its not the perfect end to my life, but its all i can have..
I don't really know how much more time i have.
I used to be able to walk by myself, with out help.
I can't believe this happened to me... of all people.
It's be coming torture, they called in hospices.
This cant be good...
I'm in my own home, slowly dieing...
I really don't want to leave, I will leave so many loved ones behind..
So I think i will stay a little longer...
Its January, i now can't do anything by myself, i have to rely on family to help with
everything, my organs are starting to slowly shut down, its very painful to go through.
but my daughters birthday is coming soon... I'm not going to leave now... i don't want her
to be sad, on such a happy day.
I can't hold on much longer.
I'm now out of this misery, its feb. 2nd, and I'm finally free.
Free, of all this pain, and I'm healthy again, I can walk, with out hanging on to anything
or anyone, I can finally be independent again...
now no one cry for me, because i lived a full long life, and no longer in pain..
I love you all.
Love Grammy

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Bittersweet Wisdom

Death, in its unhurried wisdom
ends all doubt and sorrow.
It is a lasting remedy for all
illness, insecurity and loneliness.
The finality of it ends all pain, with
a sweetness not otherwise known.
It's sweetness is known only by those,
who, in their passing,
have smelled its fragrance.
The pain of those left behind
has a fragrance all its own, a bittersweet
emanation that assails the
senses with its pungency. The strength of
the void, left by the passing
of one loved seems endless.
Time and faith, working in unison,
will lessen the strength and fill the void.

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His Dad had been fighting for years.
Never knowing when to take up arms,
But always needing to be prepared for war.

The pain would begin slowly,
Only then to accelerate into mass fury.
Small heart attacks had become frequent battles.

It may have been arrogant on his part,
But he believed if the big one hit,
His presence could be his Dads safe net.

He found himself spending more evenings at home.
And on the night it happened he was there,
Watching Dateline on the couch a mere ten feet away.

He yelled for Mom while grabbing the aspirin.
There was no use, it happened too fast.
His Dads body lay limp, and the war was done.

Watching his Dad pass will not haunt him.
For he knows his presence brought serenity,
He has far too many good memories to allow distress.

His Dad is now with Jesus.
The battles are no more,
Praise God.

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Bottomless Love

“I will give thanks to you, O Lord, with all my heart
Will declare all your wondrous deeds

Was   present at many of [the mysteries of the Holy Rosary]
Not only in the events surrounding Father Christ’ birth
Also at the wedding feast of Cana while Father Christ carried His cross

Was crucified
She was with the apostles in the upper room at Pentecost
We can safely assume
She saw the risen Lord, Father Christ and His ascension

Of course
She experienced her own assumption and crowning in heaven.
By repeating the Hail Mother Mary
We address her with those greetings of St. Gabriel and St. Elizabeth then we ask prayers as we consider the mysteries

This process
As if we were trying to look at each mystery of salvation
Her maternal perspective
Seeking to love Father Christ

The center of each mystery
As much as we may love Father Christ
The Virgin Mother Mary can always lead us to a bottomless love
More uplifting perspective of faith in Him


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The Darkest - Blackest Tuesday (Part lll)

Now Children the pink and purple pails are for the girls, blue and green for the boys
We are going berry picking down by the stone wall Mr. Bethel said we could pick his berries 
The stone wall off limits to the Webb household, Bobby, Joe and Jim had the scars to prove it
Oh, “MOM“, (coil in fear, no crop) Thank-you What did Millie say; Are we going to make pies?
Ma’am didn’t know sign language, of course we will tell her she can wear the number 2 apron
Dotty, George, and I started running to the end of our property Slow down They’re 
excited “Mom”
I know Alice listen you older kids will be paired up with the younger ones: Alice, George and 
Virginia, William and Dorothy; Joe Jim and Robert; Rebecca you’re the best signer, You and 
Alice, yes Harry why did Ma’am say we could call her “MOM” my voice shakes when I say 
 I think all of us feel that way; but make hay while the sun shines, What?  Just let her be 
MOM today
Pick them ,don’t eat them Wow, Al ,that’s what Becky just said to Millie look Millie said they’re 
so sweet
You can read that from over here Yep Millie and Becky have been teaching me. You know 
what this means
Easy: I Love you too Where is George? Over there George your not suppose to be on that 
side of the wall
It’s sprinkling , my pails almost full come on George let’s go back to “Mom” Alice go get the 
other children
This is the first time since I’ve been here that we were all together, laughing and talking 
while Mom smiled
As we got to the steps of the porch the sky opened sheets of rain a bolt of lighting , a sonic 
boom of thunder

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The Poets Dance

Paint pots and magic at the stroke of a brush, it’s the power of a picture for the lovers in lust. The splashing of water and addition of choice, it’s a musician’s beat, and the poets to rejoice. Hungary caterpillars and the ladybugs dance, it’s nature’s festival and the Devil’s mischance. The warmth of summer’s night amongst a starry sky, it’s the sparkle of lanterns drifting up to Shanghai. The poets and the dreamers smear ink to the page, it’s lyrical fluidity entwining a white witch’s sage. The smells and the colours are a carnival of love, it’s the power of family, drawing joyous tears up above. Live in these moments and build memories to keep, it’s time for our picture before we lose it to sleep. So take my hand as we enter the tent to the light, it’s an entrance to happiness and it’s just to your right.

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Sam, I am

If I had a secret that I wanted to share with you Dare you open your mind and let my creativity ensue? I don’t build bridges with bricks, I hang them with rope I can generate your fantasies and incubate your hope Open the pages of my mind, reading the fiery words of my heart Enter Pandora’s Box, and the epic journey will start! Follow me down south, through the mirror of liquid glass You’ll feel the calmness take over and watch the fear pass What a wonderful feeling, letting your inhibitions go into the night Now step forward onto the phoenix, as you drift into the light This journey isn’t everlasting, you know that it comes with a price? What? Did you think it was free? wouldn't that have been nice Open your eyes from delusion, and friend you will piece things together My name is Sam, Satan or The devil, that’s how I'll been known as forever! OK, so I tricked you, with my words and devilish charm What were you expecting? I’m frigging Satan dude, my job is sadistic harm! You look at me with those puppy dog eyes, you realise you've lost all of your family ties My head tells me to give you a second chance, double or quits is where my desire lies Do you accept the new twist, on my board game that is your life? I’ll take that hesitant nod as a yes, and commence this game of strife Give me the name of a family member and they can take your place However I will warn you, if you can’t then I win this twisted race No! You scream, and that’s your final answer which I’ll have to take Now I own not only your soul, but your families when they next shall wake He took my hand and promised peace for my sisters and brothers Now I’ve gambled with the devil and he owns my beloved others The deal is now done and a fiery rain begins to fall Burning me down to ash, disintegrating my world and all

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His young heart departed from 
that adored town adorned by the September's frost,
wisked away by an uncaring father
whose extramarital affair
marred the family's harmony;
and his pretty mother drying away
his tears so innocent and warm,
to console him with a touch that had no haste!

That unspoken wish lingered avidly
through the saddened and turbulent years,
resisting to give in to languidness... 
imagining, at night, each star gleaming
over his friend:  the moon which went wandering
to find that little boy, who loved to listen to the tales
of warriors and heroes that defiantly
wouldn't fall out of the History books!

He went on living, but couldn't forget at all
what he left behind:  a precious friend
even worthier than a treasure of gold;
and why had he to fulfill fate's prophecy in due time...
by sacrificing everything he wasn't willing to,
and opposing his will could have helped him turn the tide?
And as he grew older in foreign soil, 
it all became clearer to him that truth had lost its virtue!  

How could life deny him its fairness,
and make him choose at an age of fancifulness? 
To have outgrown time had its disadvantage,
depriving him of a wonderful youth 
not lived in spontaneousness 
and to have the chance to dream by night,
and, by morning, wake up in a brighter light...
to pursue another dream into the sunset! 

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Grandma's Alzehiemer's

She sits quietly now,
Gone is the chittering,
Squirrel sound,
She no longer rocks,
Incessantly to and fro,
She sits silent.

The voice that rang,
To the rafters,
And thrilled thousands,
When she sang,
“How Great Thou Art”,
She sits silent.

Like pearls set aside,
In a dark corner,
Unused and unworn,
Their life, their glow,
Slowly fading away,
She sits silent.

The sparkling eyes,
Her joie d’ viere,
Has withered up shrunken,
Hidden deep inside,
Not here yet not gone,
She Sits silent

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A Stronger You

Walk tall my friend,
make every step count,
look to the future,
hear the distant sounds.

Flee from yesterdays,
and from satan's hold,
remember one choice,
can destroy it all.

No one is perfect,
how could we be,
but that is no excuse,
to plant bad seeds.

Take responsibility,
then prove your worth,
it is not just one,
actions hurt.

Grow in your self,
take pride as you do,
the reflection looking back,
a stronger you.

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Steeped in memories

I can still visualize my hometown in Gumaca, Quezon 
both in my mind and in my heart, with vivid mem’ries
rich with natural resources, the place where I was born
source of my childhood, a passage to my changing self.

It’s like a landscape of my continuing inspiration
a connecting link to my goal, the beginning of my calling.
our neighborhood and other activities at the main población
reminds me of those people who really care for their neighbors.

Their echoes of pain, hopelessness and other complaints
motivates me to keep going, follow that path that leads to God;
being called to serve Him with his influential voice within me
I can see and feel what they need with compelling movements.
people’s endless dream to grow and make a difference anyway,
becomes my own struggle, my own wish to blend in situations;
providing me with a new language that shapes me with freedom.

It resonates with profundity and claims its meaning to everyone,
those customs and traditions, popular religiosity and occupations,
they’re Filipino treasures with labyrinthine ways to articulate them
indeed, they draw people in as they take part in varioius gatherings.

Mem’ries of the past, a treasure trove of what life is all about;
being in my own homeland I can feel that I’ve my own freedom.
where I was, I grew up with friends, siblings, and other loved ones;
sometimes a challenge but characterized with so much wisdom.

Realities at hard times, economy with shortage in many banks
they’re key figures in preparation for what church says and suggests
Potuit, decuit ergo feut,  and I remember that with real gratitude
deep within my heart I see myself then with thanks and blessing.

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Tuesday Night Poker

On the occasional Tuesday night,
with my mother at work
and my sisters and I 
in our pajamas,

my father would invite over
his brothers
and his friends from the lumberyard
to drink beer and play
five card stud.

I was allowed 
to greet each player and 
watch the opening hand.

Each man would arrive with something:
a sixer of canned Budweiser,
a bag of potato chips,
a metal band-aid box filled with nickels and dimes.

Benny, the stout and jolly lumberyard foreman
with his thick skinned paws and naked lady tattoo 
on his forearm,
would bring chocolate bars-
the king-sized ones 
from the candy aisle at the supermarket-
for my sisters and me.
He was like a blue collar Santa.

Uncle Guy brought his good luck charm-
a Canadian nickel.
Not knowing that it was not uncommon,
I’d be allowed to hold it and study it,
intrigued by the beaver.
My uncle would place the nickel on the table
next to his vodka on the rocks
and fresh deck of Pyramid lights
just before the first hand was dealt.

Uncle Buddy, with his Magnum mustache 
and light blue eyes,
would bring his laugh-
a hearty hoot of a laugh that would be heard,
although somewhat muffled,
through my bedroom walls
long after I brushed my teeth and was sent to bed.

I’d hear the snap and fizz of beer cans being opened
and the jingling and jangling of growing pots
as I lay in my bed,
wide awake with the caffeine from Benny’s chocolate bars.

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Beyond Repair

An eye for an eye? She used to think so. She had a reason to think that way for many years. No. He deserved punishment. She had not realized at the time, but his misfortunes were about to come rolling in like the tide and never going away, ever.
As a teenager, it never left my mind. Nothing made sense to me; constantly thinking about why? However, there is nothing to do about it: neither now nor ever. Just my thoughts. At the time, she didn’t know she had made the correct decision. 
“One must let go of negativity in order to survive,” she said.
“Are we really fit to take an eye for an eye?” I asked.
Opinions changed. Ironically, the man was in pain: physically and emotionally. He chose his plight one day out of free will. Years gave way to forgiveness. Not for herself or him but for humanity and the way things have to be. “If you hold it in forever, pieces of it will chip away at you.” Does anybody really want that?”  I hope not. But, then again, some people would’ve tried to turn him in or take matters into their own hands. The evidence had been destroyed over time. Circumstantial at best. An answer was all she was looking for at the time. The bitter thoughts of a younger mind needed to go away. At the time, my young mind would have thought an eye for an eye to be ideal. The day did come where forgiveness gave way. Lead by example. The hatred diminished. Harm to another makes me no better. None of us are above it all. No judgment allowed. Choose to take the brighter path. It was no longer 1954; times had changed. I knew he was different from the time I was a kid. Misery endured for him. He knew what he did. Letting go is hard. Talking about it is even harder. This was something I figured I would never be able to speak of without a preoccupation of anger. However, it is no longer like that. Awareness brings results to all those who listen. In a way, for him, it is sad. What propels a person to act in that manner? All of these questions ran through my head. Sixty years worth of information. He surely wasn’t raised to act like that? No remorse? Nothing. I have seen, first hand, what hatred and insecurity can do to a person. After all, it was my mother. There is always free will. I wouldn’t change anything. We cannot choose what would’ve been. Only what we did do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here talking to you. Life has different meanings. The importance of those meanings is critical. They are critical aspects of your life and who you are as a person.

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She Has A Big Heart

Her heart is so big, her love is so strong
Most of her life, she has been treated wrong
She has so much love, so much to give
Sometimes it took all she had just to live
What in the world did she do to deserve
All the pain that's been forced upon her
She's worked so hard to do everything right
But, when she'd least expect it, there would be another fight
For days she would hurt and walk around crying
If she told anyone, they'd think she was lying
How could this life of hers be so unfair?
Is it too much to ask just for someone to care?
It caused me such heartache to see all of her pain
All the times she was hurt, it was done in vain
Such a wonderful person with all of this love
Deserves more than anyone that I can think of
I'll always be thankful for all that she’s done
I love her unconditionally, unlike anyone
Who is this woman with such a big heart?
She's the beautiful woman who gave me my start
She's very special; she's one of a kind
She's like a rare diamond that most never find
She's my best friend, she's my Mother
I hope she knows how much I love her

Copyright © 2000   Shari E Davis

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Mom's Tree House Apartment

Mom’s Tree House Apartment

Step inside, warm feelings greet you…

On the entryway wall, President Kennedy signed a condolence letter
from 1962, addressed to my Grandma, thanking her for Grandpa’s service in WW1.
Below, perched on an old credenza, the Milk Glass Chicken still delights her
grandchildren with a treat hidden in the Baby Chick alongside!
Glancing to the right, Dad’s Rosary collection (much used) hangs majestically,
a reminder of long-gone family members from cloistered communities, Mom
and Dad revered.
In the living room, above the expansive soft couch that always finds a family member
dozing peacefully after a long-journey home, a massive burl wood  frame cradles
A fox -hunting lodge scene, with participants positioned around a blazing hearth,
regaling the hunt, while enjoying a pint.
Consuming Dad’s last days, I joined him for countless hours deciphering every person
In the painting, assigning rank and position to each, with intense minor details,
Joyously discovered, as if for the first time! A memory Dad possessed from his youth,
fox-hunting with his Dad.
In her bedroom, along the wall, Dad’s English Saddle, gallantly laden with his favorite
things, settles the atmosphere.
I pick up his favorite red hoody, and still inhale his courage. 

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Just a maid,just sixteen
a serving girl ,a go-between
upstairs and downstairs,her scene
'til love was to intervene;
She,so young,he,the master' son
a web of attraction, begun
one rainy afternon,in June;
A familiar tale,oft told
of one so shy,the other bold,
an affair that hot summer long
despair did conclude that song;
A baby came the next Spring
but sadly sans a wedding ring
he,departed for the Great War
the wench,the baby shown the door;
In action,the teenage swain died
the lass,and bairn,cried and cried
the family,their kin,despised,
conscience money salved their pride;
She another was to marry,
her boy cared for by his Granny
N'ere once more to see this first son
none alive know why this was done.

Consequences lived on from my tale
as,an.. emotionally-crippled male 

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There is Life Beyond Death's Door

Mama stood at the kitchen sink, quietly drying the dishes and putting them away.  I 
she was crying because every now and then she would wipe her eyes with the hem 
of her 
apron.  She hadn’t been eating much, lately. She looked so tired and drained.  She 
was a 
tall, beautiful woman.  At 40 years old she looked as if she had just turned 30.  She 
was on a 
leave of absence and had been keeping busy around the house, constantly 
scrubbing and washing.  In hindsight, now I know she was only trying to keep busy 
so she 
wouldn’t think about her first born son. Mama had slept so much the week before. I 
remember wondering, back then, asking myself, was she also sick?  I was too afraid 
to ask 
out loud.  I would lie next to her in her bed and watch her sleep.  Her stirring 
reinsured me 
that she was fine-only sleeping.  You see, my oldest sister, Winnie, after Brian died, 
explained to me what dying was.  So then I knew that dying was like sleeping, only 
never wake up. I was not going to let my Mama die also. I would bring into her bed, 
coloring books and pencils and would sit on that bed until she woke up. Sometimes, 
I would 
fall asleep, then awake to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, saying her rosary 
and I 
would join her. In some ways I was like Mama.  We were both of quiet spirits but 
she was 
strong and also an extrovert.  She made friends easily.  I on the other hand, was 
stubborn and introverted. Later on as I got older, our personality would clash on 

It was a Saturday afternoon in May.  We were all sitting at the kitchen table.  We, 
kids were 
eating all the sweets because Mama and Papa were distracted. There was still 
plenty of food 
left over from the week before. Mama’s many friends had really showered her with 
They had cooked and cleaned and comforted her as much as they could. Mama and 
very seldom ate any food, which seemed to last forever. My older siblings were lost 
in their 
own thoughts and grief, my younger sister, Lena, my cousin Reggie and I ate 
heartily of 
anything we liked. Being the youngest of the group, we did not fully understand 
what was 
going on.  We were talking amongst ourselves about our

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   Silver blonde hair hiding an eye
Blue eyes bright and intent
A nose cute enough to tweak

These are what I see when I think of you

Laughter that rivals the bluebells
A smile so warm to melt the darkest heart
Your spirit a beacon to guide and help us all

These are what I see when I think of you

And even though I only had you for three months
These and you will be in my heart forever


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Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Wondering the aisles 
In search of the perfect bassinet
Choosing between the wood and the metal
Selecting the perfect theme of it all

Then out of nowhere a loud bang 
Silence then another pop
What in the world is going on?
Looking for protection, she hides from the sound

Behind the secound corner, who is that man?
What is that he is carrying? Is she in any danger?
Oh Lord please don't let him do anything
For inside the woman, a infant she was bearing

He holds her done, puts the gun to her head
Is anyone to witness this?, can anyone stop him
She tries to tell him that she is no threat
She won't tell anyone, just please let the baby live

But he doesn't seem to listen to her words
A loud shot and she's falls down to the floor
Her pulse slowly weakens, then she is gone
The baby's heart no longer can beat without her

The guy escapes with no harm
The cops have no trace
The lady's family has no comfort
All because wrong time, wrong place

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Within Your Reach

A loving heart you have always had,
it shows in many ways,
and I will hold you dearly,
until my final days.

A brother by blood you, and I,
to walk side by side,
you helped me through some trying times,
with words you tried to guide.

Sometimes I listened to what you said,
and followed your advice,
then sometimes I didn't,
you just wanted me to do right.

You are so independent,
never needing to much help,
I guess in your silence,
tears you must have wept.

I was always  the loud one,
and I needed people around,
you are so private,
your thoughts so safe, and sound.

I just wanted to tell you,
how special you are to me,
and if you ever need me,
I'll be right here always within your reach.

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The Fist

Last winter it was
i clearly remember
ending of August 
beginning September

The kids were in bed 
when I heard you come in 
the stench of alcohol 
the clanging of tins

You came up the stairs 
trying to find me 
the dirt from your boots
covering the carpet 

I tried to hide in the closet 
holding my breath 
the thud of your step 
shaking the doors 

The doors rattled
becoming unhinged
the creak of the wood
making me nervous

We both know
whats about to happen 
the raise of your fist 
hitting my face

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five sec in my life

just like any other day, going to the market, mom, me, and my brother my life.
talking with my mother as i notice the armored car, i saw a guard go in no cross in 
my mind anything could go wrong.
got off the truck. my brother behind me like always no big deal, first to go in the 
store were me and my mom as the gaurd past by us with 3 bags of money in a dolly 
i cared less but two seconds later.
"move away now" those words hit me hard it triggerd a nerve, blood boiled ready 
for a fight, rage, anger it all got collect so fast when i turned back and saw the 
rookie guard reaching for his gun and my little brother standing in front of him.
first sec, where were the cameras, how far was the armored truck who else was 
around, wht was around me.
second sec, i was faster and stronger than tht guard i could easyly take him down if 
i got next to him, i could run rush him n smash him against the candy stands.
thrid sec, i rush him he pulls the gun i smash him in the candy stand take the gun 
and shoot him down for even trying to reach for a gun at my brother.
fourth sec, run at him and just beat the crap out of him intill i got pulled off.
fifth sec, how would i explain my action, self defense? i just was trying to protect my 
brother i just got blinded with fear of my brother? i thought of so many things to say 
for my action for wht, i was going.
"move away" he said it in a lower voice and my brother just stepped aside,
i dont know becuase he lowered his voice, tht safed him from me taking action, what 
if would of yelled it again? would of i taken action?
thats something i think about because when it has come to my brother i care, i 
protect him with all my might n yes my life. but i always have tht question in my 
head  "wht if".

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The blind man waited, 
at the intersection, for someone
to help him cross the busy boulevard...
and he was accustomed to live in twilight,
fumbling for a hand on his right;
and he finally found mine!

Judge humanly...not pettily,
you could be in that situation 
and feel abandoned and helpless,
unless somebody extends compassion
and lends that hand in time of need;
only human love can render a good deed!

The orphan girl recognizes a greed so mundane,
her body has grown, so has her world's view;
that person who abandoned her at the orphanage
when icy rain pelted against the foggy windows,
was her own mother that refused to knock on the front door!
She still feels unwanted, unloved and rejected by who,
for some shameful reason, dropped her off and was gone
into the dreary autumn's night to forget her despair!

Judge the pain...not the circumstance
that impels a misguided heart to err;
beneath an appearance of denial,
there's a certain humanity we can't conceive,
and what prompts us to act in unreasonable and strange ways,
is still not quite understood by all;
all we can perceive is the guilt we can't bear,
and the resentful restlessness which shortens this very existence!

The elderly woman, sitting in an old wheel-chair,
waits at the traffic light as the whisking wind
brushes her frizzy and gray hair;
the sunken-cheeked lady is the regular beggar,
whose life has never been mellow,
but full of tragedy and sorrow!
Her frail voice is not insincere, but thankful and kind... 
when I hand her a dollar out of my car's window!

Judge fairly... that could be you standing there,
or someone you love;  fate can be changed if we dare...
we assert truths without clarity and condemn unjustly!
Let's take the mendicant's place, at the same corner, and beg all day;
wouldn't we be humiliated, be scorned or even be ignored
by the glances of passerby that regard us not as their friend?

The run-away teenager with lots of make-up,
looks like a madam out of a brothel,
who tries to hide her identical age by smiling at strangers...
and her trade is that of an inexperienced gal,
unprotected and exposed to many dangers;
and it might cost her life...that's already a living hell!     

Judge not too harshly...when facts aren't known,
and the only assumption rests with our pity;
along the side of the street there are many eyes that weep,
eager to return home, to a home that was so warm and cozy!
And the lucky ones will make until dawn,
others will not open their eyes, but eternally sleep!


The blind man with a steel cane  stooped and waited
for someone to help him across the busy boulevard;
he felt warm sunlight, and wished his sight back without living in darkness,    
then he saw a glimpse of that light when he was touched by my kindness.   
The orphan girl wants to escape, but she is afraid to venture in the outside world
still feeling unwanted, unloved and shivering unable to shield herself from the cold.   
On many rainy nights, she sits by her barred window recalling her frail mom fleeing 
into the Autumn dreary night, and inside she longs for caresses to begin the  healing.
Another teenager, hustles in the dangerous streets of night...she barely 
can walk on high heels, but she endures pain for gain;
her home was blessed with good parents, but she rebelled and ran away... 
she has no choice but sell her body...what will she attain?  
Lend a hand to anyone in time of need,
only human love renders a good deed;
How can we help abandoned babies and run-away
and get rid of all the plagues of our day that infest society?

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To the Faithful Player

To be the last, to finish, to only see ends without beginnings.
Xenocide could not claim you.
Ender did not name you.
Love’s the Card which framed you.
Orson Scott Card.
* For Brian's Literary Affairs Contest. Orson Scott Card author of books  Ender's Game 
(1985) and its sequel Speaker for the Dead (1986) both won Hugo and Nebula award winners.

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suicidal poem

I was looking through a magazine when something caught my eye.
A picture of a girl, the words "attempted suicide."
The photograph was taken on the day she turned sixteen.
The story told of how the very next day she O.D'd.
Her face no longer innocent, determined to conceal
a pain so deep she made herself believe could not be healed.
She dressed in only black, and when her father asked her why
she said "I make myself ugly because that's how I feel inside.
Tangled in a web of sin, religion played its part
so she found her love in heroin and worshipping the dark.
The day she turned sixteen she sat up in her room alone
and vented all her anger through a suicidal poem.
The next night as she closed her eyes, the needle in her vein,
she closed the door behind her on a world of only pain.
Her mother in a storm of tears, her father broken down
when they find her in her bedroom, laying naked on the ground.
They blame themselves unbendingly, determined that they've failed.
The train they've tried so hard to steer has finally derailed.
They stand beside the bed as she's unconsciess in her sleep.
The doctor says she's fighting for a life she wants to keep.
Hope can be a crutch, but sometimes hopes not what it takes
when its not the leg that's broken, but inside when something breaks.

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Never Poem

Never will I forget the hot summer June evening , I waved a last "Goodbye" to my sister Angel. The fact in knowing she'd be shipped out to boot camp the next day.
Never will I forget the next few weeks of complete silenced tears, the yearn to hear her voice hear her joyous laugh or see her bright smile. 
Everything seemed different without her around at home. 
Never will I forget the emotions I felt reading her first letter.
Never will I forget that Sunday morning at church I seen her for the first time, in a month and three days.
Never will I forget my tears of joy streaming down my face; Angel’s arms wrapped securly around me. Never will I forget how she changed and looked in her sharp uniform.  My sister had become one of the "Few the Proud". A dignified Marine.

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OLD CROAKER spun me his LONG AGO tale

A friend of mine
Different time
Showed this youngster
The Spirit of being kind
Gentle Breath
His turn-of-the-century walking cane
Told me of his adventures
as a sprite lad through many pain:

"When the folks could afford
we would travel in my father's Ford
Dusting the roads between here and Maine
Perhaps an overnight stay over the borders of Canada's Plain
Life in the car
Home on the porch
Picnics and A&W root beer
Sun would descend over a quiet family near
But,daily routine was not always swell
Battling Turmoil of our own inner Hell
Brothers would fight and swear
Grandma,shaking and shivering over there
Ma and Pa would mediate yonder far
At early dusk,these would be put back in the Jar"

I listened to his story that he told
Surviving the years,
The Hardship,
and the World's Cold
His voice began to change
A tone of sadness that chokes
Still to entertain children who will sit
Listening to an old man's tale that evokes

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The long walk home

I remember as a child walking through the countryside,
People were so polite to greet each other – how are you?
With simple lifestyle in an agricultural ambience,
Theirs is my goal, my future longing to welcome.

While I’d always prefer to walk - rain or shine,
I couldn’t help but see first my friend close by;
my hero who saved me while getting drowned
the time of our town fiesta of Our Lady of Peñafrancia.

Old folks who used to hang out and visit us,
because of my grandma who’d say ‘come’,
some of them would really come and say:
‘we’re here to join you for a nice meal.’

On big celebrations like Christmas and town fiesta,
family relations would come in droves to see us;
their children would come along to ask something,
especially gifts and some money for this event.

For a child like these things serve as imprints,
a treasure trove of memories I still cherish;
a connecting link to my past with sentiments
indeed, it’s a heartland of true importance.

Described as a centerpiece of family interaction,
our home was like a rendezvous of some people,
whose attachments to our features of being hospitable,
welcome them to enjoy our kindness and compassion.

Though, to some of them our place was quite a distance,
but it didn’t matter to walk on foot, to come to our home;
It’s because they saw and felt truly a welcoming culture
from each member that fashioned to say no problem at all.

The long walk home may set the tone of exhaustion, 
But this reminds me of a pilgrim like in the bible;
The Holy Family who, in their flight to reach their destination,
Finds a place where they can be safe and call it a home.

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                          As we embark on the 10 year anniversery of 9/11,
                  I look up in the sky and realize how lucky I am to be alive.
                   So many people lost their loved ones on that tragic day.
        All the brave, couragous, selfeless people that ran in to help total strangers!
         They never for once thought about their life but, only wanted to others survive.
            The day the two towers fell, those suicide bomber's died and went to hell!
               The United States suffered a great loss, so much death was in the air.
        I pray every night for those who lost their life, for their families to keep astride.
          I know what it is like to lose loved ones but, in the mist of all the tragedy, 
                           a phoenix shall rise and the eagel shall fly high!
                        The terrorists thought we would just run and hide.
                             But, what we did was fly OLD GLORY HIGH! 
              We as a nation banded together and helped pray for one another.
                    September 11,2001, we will never foreget all the losses.
               All the people that did not survive, they are watching over us,
                                              dancing high in the skies!

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She may be gone into this world
but her memories linger
her inner soul transcends
like a wind blowing elsewhere
with its sound and touch to leafy land.

She weathered many trials,
challenges, difficulties throughout her life.
her faith and her good heart,
made her cope with life.

A constant niggle in the back of my mind,
stillness and peace at this time.
even in the silence of my heart
reigns that confidence 
about God’s indwelling in my life.

It gives light to what I feel
now that you’re gone, o dear mother!
your message of hope and endurance
remains a compelling force
to keep me going and be thine
O Lord of life, my refuge throughout my life.

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The scars of losing my parents

Since childhood I’ve dreamed of having a happy family,
I’ve dreamed of seeing my other siblings in harmony;
Like seasons of the year where changes can be seen,
Similar to our human experience dubbed with ups and downs.

As a child I experienced the pain of losing my loved ones,
especially my own father who I never saw when he passed away;
He’s far away, confined in the hospital with my older brother.
I cried so hard, went to my parents’ room and blamed God.

It was one of the great storms that knocked us down,
my own mother had all the responsibilities to shoulder;
She brought us up with all the sufferings and pains
She bore with them like a humble servant of all.

My mother’s mother continued to support us in many ways,
She became part of our disciplined Christian formation;
Her love for us was like a gauge of a mother’s love,
with interiority of faith and mission to think about the poor.

Her role model in our family became a challenge for me.
She impressed in my mind how to live as a responsible man;
given the chance to explore my life in the world of today,
undaunted by fear; encouraged by those who really dream.

The painful spike in our journey as fatherless in the family,
was the tragedy of envy and hatred that truly ruined us;
Yet with an attitude of love and forgiveness deep inside,
I would say that God never sleeps - to be of help to us.

Along with my family relations who came into the picture,
their soaring irritation and impatience to assist us heretofore,
Just a lesson, a part of history that makes me recall in prayer,
a gateway to reconciliation, a ministry to those in trouble.

As themes on faith, knowledge, love and oneness with God
continue to be the revelations of Christ in our journey as persons;
I feel that he’s never written in straight lines but rather in crooked ones,
some of them are our own lines and living witnesses in this world.

I really miss my own mother, my own father: my parents,
in spite of their weaknesses and shortcomings as human beings,
Their love and sacrifices for their children never failed,
because they’re sibling souls who knew about God’s love for all.

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Why, Oh Why

What can you say,
to soften a hard heart,
when actions, and words,
can tear you apart.

Do you ignore,
or stand there, and cry,
asking yourself,
why, oh why.

Trying to help,
I do all I can,
wanting to bring comfort,
and offering my hand.

One day I will answer,
but for only myself,
not for the ones,
I have tried to help.

I pray for you,
I pray for me,
and the understanding,
we both need.

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Being Women

Guys may think being a woman is easy,
But put yourself in our shoes, see if its pleasing.
You'll notice guys talk only to your breast,
Don't bother yelling about it, you'll just waste your breathe.
They'll also try anything to touch your butt just once,
And when they're caught, they only respond “What?”
They think that they are slick,
But us women know all their tricks!
After work you'll come straight home,
To find your man resting on his throne.
But you can't sit! You don't get to rest!
You have to clean up what other people messed!
Then you cook a healthy dinner,
Everything's delicious, you feel like a winner.
But receive no compliment from him on how it taste,
Waiting for that moment to come would be a waste.
After dinner, you have to wash all the dishes,
While scrubbing your hoping a genie would appear to grant you 3 wishes:
First, to have conversations face to FACE.
Second, would be for your life to be happy and seem not a waste.
And third, to be respected and not pushed around.
But, unfortunately your genie is never found.
Dishes are finally done and put away,
Everything is wiped clean except the hallway.
You sweep and mop away all the marks,
Then get startled from the dog's bark.
The baby wakens with a scream!
There goes your rest and peacefully dreams.
Maybe tomorrow you'll finally get to sleep,
Hoping that your sanity is what you'll keep.

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Once Upon a Christmas 1954 Part 1

.              Each year as Christmas rolls around, as I buckle under the pressure and stress of 
shopping for gifts for people that already  have everything, I find myself remembering that 
Christmas of 1954.

	Dad had joined the army that year and we  moved from the East Coast of Canada 
to Ontario, leaving behind our extended family and the only home I had ever know in a small 
fishing village along the Bay of Fundy.

	Now we stood gazing in horror at the rows of ugly buildings sitting on barren land 
in the middle of nowhere.  This was the housing provided by the army and was a major part 
of the wage agreement.

	My mother was inconsolable until dad rented us a small apartment over a Chinese 
restaurant in downtown Barrie.  There was no remuneration by the army for forfeiting the 
housing, so it left dad with a very small pay-check

	Pay day was once a month and we usually ran out of money in the last week, so, 
off we would go to the pawn shop with dad’s prized possession; his short-wave radio, won for 
superior marksmanship.

	Being kids, we finally adjusted to our new world as we watched the Santa Claus 
Parade march below our living room window amid the honking horns, blaring bands and 
throngs of people lined along the streets as far as the eye could see as we laughed with glee.

	We had seen them on our way to school in the window of the bicycle shop; 
gleaming with chrome spokes and handlebars and hand grips adorned with multi-colored 
streamers.  There I would stand until my feet grew numb from the cold, daydreaming of 
riding back to the East Coast.  I could actually see the sun glistening on the waves as I raced 
along the ocean on the way to grandma’s house.  More than once I had to stay after school 
for being late. 

	My brother thought maybe if we were really good, Santa would bring those 
bicycles to us.  I being the older and therefore the wiser, knew the state of the real Santa’s 
affairs and promptly convinced my brother I had heard from a reliable source Santa had a 
shortage of bicycles this year and we would just have to earn the money and buy them 

                                                    Continued in part 2....

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Fortune Cookie

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.  

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Voluntary Blind

Voluntary blind
I can tell you why, if you want to know
I can show you how, if you are willing to try
I can teach you easily, If you decide to become responsible
It is not easy, but anyone can try
I see them, but feel nothing
Touching them, but have no call
Watching them moving, but I am like sleeping
If you ask me why, my kids’ future is in my mind
They are prettier than mine, but don't have my attention
Better educated and have to offer, they force me to act
But my heart is far away and my feeling is jailing
I am a voluntary blind to save my marriage
I want to save it for my kids’ future
I am engaging with God to be there for them
As he was killed to save my soul
I am voluntary handcuffed
To not using my hands because they can put me in trouble
I keep my eyes, voice, hand, knowledge, and body freezing
To save my promise to the one that I love
I am a voluntary blind to manly live not use

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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.)

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My Saddest Christmas..12/27/'97 Pt. II

Pt. II

Instead she posed a million questions to me about how we really were 
It was only two days later, he said, she awoke as usual, at dawn 
She made enough breakfast for everyone; Mama, never tiring, no complaints 
By late afternoon as they sat on the porch reminiscing, sharing laughter and games
Said she wasn’t feeling very well and she was going to take a nap 
Later, someone went in to check on her because they’d thought they’d heard her call
Sure enough she was calling out, but not the names of any alive
Her words they heard were: “Wilfred! Gloria, is that you?”  
Puzzled, the others were quickly called to Mama’s side
As they gathered around her bed that day and tried to nudge her awake  
She seemed to be engaged in silent conversation with smiles and nods of her head
With her eyes which seemed to be focused elsewhere beyond this realm,
As always her soft eyes, welled up with tears, still beautiful after all this time
They somehow knew that she was going fast, and there was nothing they could do
“Wilfred” was Papa’s middle name; the only name she’d called him, since they met!
“Gloria” was my older sister who had gone home about seven years before
Three days after Papa’s Birthday, on December 27, 1997, we believe he came to stand by 
her bed
That was the saddest Christmas I have ever had!

Note:  By Audrey Carey
 Submitted To: “The Saddest Christmas, Ever” Contest
Sponsored by:  Constance La France, ~A Rambling Poet ~

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You had your dreams, your lives aching to change the world.
You spent your youth knowing the weight of hard times,
Yet playing with abandon amidst "The Great Depression."

As you grew to adulthood, the world was being transformed by the Tyrants iron hand.
There was no hesitation when your country called,
And your spirit built "An Arsenal for Democracy."

Those years were filled with fear, anxious hope, and a determined will.
The hard won victory was welcomed with prayerful thanksgiving.
Still, on the horizon loomed the spectre of a "Cold War."

As your loved ones returned, the hopespring of peace settled over the land.
You took your turn in raising a family,
Values passed from parents to children, as had been passed to you.

Pressed hard to protect that which had been passed to you, 
You struggled with the birth of "Civil Rights" for all, 
and the lingering pains of sending your own children to war.
But as always, the binding salve of love was administered to help heal the wounds.

Your memories were sparked by the cry of your grandchildren,
Knowledge now, of what your own parents knew.
Age and time would not wait, as you patiently guided your family's craft 
on the Sea of Transformation.

So now, as you join all the generations gone before,
Know that your legacy will not be soon forgotten.
Hold HIGH your heads!  You were truly "THE GREATEST GENERATION."

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Love Is Blooming

She looked in the mirror,
and couldn't believe her eyes,
her mother's gown,
was just her size.

Today a bride,
tomorrow a wife,
yesterday's news,
she carries new life.

Only nineteen,
they say their vows,
determined to make it,
a happy marriage somehow.

Happily ever after,
no one can say,
but love is blooming,
on her wedding day.

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Just like my Daddy

Just like My Daddy
It started a long time ago as a kid, I was still young
Rebelling against the law, back talking adults, but I thought it was still fun
I always thought about changing but I figured why bother
When I did good, it wasn’t noticed, but when I did bad, “ I was just like my father”
That’s what my mother would say, when she got angry
Because she knew that the lack of love at home wouldn’t be enough to sustain 
My mother’s excuse was” my father was working” but I knew she was lying to me
I was emotionally dying inside, waking up in cold sweats, and crying in my sleep.
With no role model to correct me, all my problems just carried over
Because the same issues I had when I was young just got worse as I got older
I should have known that this must have stemmed from my beginnings
As a result I lack understanding and knowledge on how to treat women
Trying to find out my purpose when I roll life’s dice, and there is no luck again
Rationalizing with the punishing thought that I might have to grow up again
I found out my ex was pregnant, now she is already sending child support bills to 
I wasn’t taught how to respond to that, so I run, after all the responsibility was 
killing me
Now I spend my days on the road having fun and drug using
To escape the thoughts of what my life really is or what my son or daughter is 
My mother’s words echo through my mind at night, until the truth grabs me
I find myself crying, because I quit life and responsibility, Just like My Daddy
Stevie D/ Lover Boy
Dedicated to breaking the cycle

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The Good News is for people
who have a sickness and need to be healed,
and healing starts with a reborn spirit,
but spiritual blindness won't make one look upward,
to ask for forgiveness and becoming whole;
the Good News can give you a new heart
with their revelatory message full of promise...
coming upon you form the Divine Source!

Who has the audacity to blame God
for not intervening in the world's affairs,
whose troubles are too numerous to mention?
Starvation causes incurable diseases,
bizarre and unrestrained sexual behavior kills;
state after state approves of the same sex marriage:
Sodom and Gomorrah lives on
with their merry-making mocking!  

And the same individuals who frequent
holy places, in which they worship their god with vain praises,
condone the filth and ugliness already tolerated by society,
making easier for them to express their sexuality
in offensive ways and disobey God's commandment;
two men taking the role of a lovable daddy,
and two women that of a devoted mommy?
Aren't they sending the wrong message to those tiny beings?

If men lay with men and women with women;
conception is denied the joy of blissful birth,
and the screams of babes, coming out of the belly, 
won't be heard anymore...what an awful pity
for children not to have mom's and dad's affection: 
to live a normal childhood on this beautiful earth!
O lost and uncaring people, receive and hear with elation,
the Good News with their revelatory message of salvation!

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Leaving Home

There is a wee tall tale, 
 that me father told us three.
He'd heard it from his father before him.
It was part of his family tree.
He told of how he'd left Ireland,
and sailed the ocean blue,
to land in another country,
that to him was all new.
He told of why he'd gone there,
of the nasty deed he'd done,
and how he'd had to sail away,
and keep right on the run.
He told of how his mother,
cried when he sailed.
She wiped her tears on her apron,
and gave way to a sad, sad wail.
She knew she'd nary again see him.
This child she loved so well,
for he was now a fugitive.
His soul he'd had to sell.
So as the tears were falling,
she bid him fond farewell.
She kissed his cheek so softly,
and told him, her love with him would dwell.
And as the ship left harbor,
with this young Irish lad,
a mother's heart was broken,
with the pain of one who's sad.
I miss me mother dearly now,
for all these may a year,
but I'm glad to have you sons,
to be with me right here.
And the moral of this story:
If you must ever roam,
Take your mother's address,
so you can keep in touch with home.

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A bitter row with his Dad
Made son Forest very mad
and set him all afire!
Off to England to compete from afar,
Quickly producing a rival 'Mars' bar!

Tribute to Forest Mars son of Frank of 'Milky Way' fame

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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.

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I'm Just What Your Looking For

since the year of 1952 the city of st paul Minnesota holds
their annual treasure hunt the king and queen of snows
goes out to a city park and hides a medallion worth
10,000 dollars if you are the winner and your carnaville
button is register with the st paul pioneer press
which gives out 12 cryptic clues and this little medallion
could be wrapped in just about anything from diapers to cookies 
and the frigid weather here just may make you want to just
stay by the fireplace and sip on hot coco with family and friends
even lucky finder gets to ride along with the king and queen of snow
in the closing ceremony of it's torchlight parade
also watch out for the vulcans krewe for they like to dethrone the king
and leave you with a black smudges across your sweet cheeks

Tribute To The Winter Carnaville

Carnaville runs
Jan 21-31 

Also Entry For
Carolyn Devonshire's
Christmas In Your Town Contest

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“23 By the time Lot reached Zoar, the sun had risen over the land. 24 Then the LORD rained down burning sulfur on Sodom and Gomorrah—from the LORD out of the heavens. 25 Thus he overthrew those cities and the entire plain, destroying all those living in the cities—and also the vegetation in the land. 26 But Lot’s wife looked back, and she became a pillar of salt.” Gen 19:23-26 NIV A landscape of beauty Bathed in the setting sun The place called Sodom Ill-fated passions considered fun God sent two messengers To warn Lot’s family to leave But to this wicked city Most of his family chose to cleave The storm of divine judgment About to destroy the plain And all of its residents From death could not refrain Angelic messengers escorted Lot His, two daughters and his wife But because his wife looked back A pillar of salt engulfed her life On the following morning Lot entered the place called Zoar The Lord rained brimstone and fire Sodom covered with smoke that did soar The fair Valley of Siddim With all its wealth and pride From God’s judgments No longer left to hide There’s a lesson in this story That we too should heed Sinful cities today abound Full of wicked lust and greed God wants us to leave These cities too today Abort sophisticated places of sin Live much simpler in His way Because Lot’s wife disobeyed Her life was not saved Will we be just like her— God’s warning completely waved? Copyright © Maureen LeFanue 2008-2012

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dreams under dust 1of2

i read and hear online the words 
from the other side of the world, 
the bearded angst and deeply rutted face 
of a soul with far, far too much 
sorrow to carry.

my eyes well, as i 
cannot help but too, 
share in the sorrow 
of the loss born by 
farmer Muhammad Wazir

Muhammad, from Panjwai district lost:
his mother, Shakarina,
his wife, Zahra,
his four daughters, 
Massoma, Farida, Palwasha and Bibya
two of his sons, 
Ismatullah and Faizullah,
a brother, Akhtar,
a nephew and 
a sister-in-law

Only the youngest son
Habib Shah is still alive
How can a father, a husband,
a son, a brother, bare it?

"I loved them all like 
they were parts of my body,... 
All my dreams are buried 
under a pile of dust now"
Wazir states. "My little boy, 
Habib Shah, is the only one 
left alive, and I love him 
very much" says Wazir.

I have a hard time
with the concept that it
must be God's will
to condemn anyone to this

Did Staff Sgt. Robert Bales
snap like a twig in the 
wanton disregard to sanctity
of children and mothers...
civilians. Who can forgive?
...Who can stand it?

Bales' wife Karilyn sends 
"condolences to all the people 
of the Panjawai District ... 
especially to the parents, 
brothers, sisters and grandparents 
of the children who perished"

Though heartfelt to be sure
she must realize that Bob
is beyond "normal" forgiveness
A strength like the Amish 
is needed to look into 
enraged hate filled eyes
with tearful forgiveness

What good...what good can
we possibly squeeze from
such tragic carnage?
Maybe God knows that answer.
I can only feel the sorrow.

meanwhile in Toulouse, France
Mr. Mohammed Merah,
a Frenchman of Algerian decent
knows in his heart that
retribution is necessary

and three French paratroopers, 
of North African descent, 
as well as a Rabbi and 
three Jewish schoolchildren,
pay with their lives

the Rabbi, and his two daughters
might have been aware of their
responsibility for the Panjwai
tragedy, perhaps not,

....{continued in 2of2}

© Goode Guy 2012-03-21

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Peri-Gonvre'(The Last of the Nerd who passed on)PART 1

Somewhere in the distant hill
lies a dilapidated old house that might give one chill
An old gentleman and his lady fare
were loners of life because they were the only ones there
Protecting a little child-teen of 13
A lonely  nerd or nebbish boy who only dreamed
to make friends with the outside but his inner self hide
the longings of a boy who was too bashful to confide
his parents took him from school because his
school-mates called him an Ugly and a Fool
Together,as three,they lived in this mansion ennui
The tales that can be told of this existence that
has kept them a Dead and one Cold
The Father took him Fishing(out back Yard there is a Hole)
to catch a big one-in their imagination mind-it is only a small peace
that both of them could ever find
Peri-Gonvre,the lad's name..that his school mates mocked LAME
All through the house,a child's laughter that scares away the most
disgusting cat or mouse
Both hands,left and right,has only two fingers each,that God made right
The attic above the 2nd story hall can only fit him because it is
5 inches too small(The Father-KinMen,designed it to be as confining as
the fireplace against the Stone Brick Wall)
Peri-Gonvre uses the room for his 'scape,from the island New England
that wanted to rape:the very spirit and the life of this like
sitting against the darkness,his eyes drifted far from the mortal Pike
SILVIA the feline little kitten coddled up next to him in this lonely Prison
She is the only cat to be allowed,
brighten up his disposition(disperse that iluminnescent Black Cloud)
Angel of the nightly SKY is first to shine upon the loneliness Guy

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My Memories of Fried Chicken

Memories of my mother and grandmother
 and there fried chicken…

First was my grandmother killing 
the chicken, with a broom stick and bare 
hands (won’t go into details, to gross)…?

As the chicken flopped around the ground
 for awhile bleeding out my grandmother 
would get out the gas burner and prepare 
the boiling water, then the chicken would
 take a nice hot bath, so the feathers
would come out easier…

I watched my grandmother plucking 
its feathers then searing of the pen feathers…

One thing I didn’t like was the smell
 of the wet feathers and the seared pen 
feathers, awful…

After all the prep came out the cast
 iron skillet, Cisco, the floured, salt
 and peppered chicken…

Time seemed so slow when you
 could smell the chicken cooking, but you 
knew dinner wasn’t far off, for by the
 time dad came home from work, washed
 up dinner was on the table…

The deliciously fried chicken, side
 of vegetables and the mashed potatoes 
with pan drippings gravy, 
Oh, soooooooo goooooood.

I am sure making myself hungry…


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Be Safe My Friends

It's almost here,
Thanksgiving Day,
when families celebrate,
in their own special way.
Miles will be traveled,
as the food is prepared,
that special home,
full of love, and prayers.
Be safe my friends,
in the air, and on road,
as you travel to loved ones,
to eat that turkey baked brown, and gold.
We will meet here again,
after this day,
take care my friends,
on this busy day.

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Rape My Future

I want to hide in the closet
My heart jumps with fear
I wish I wasn't here
The arguing begins to come to an end 
Tears began to escape my eyes
The shadow that locks my view
Is so cruel and devious 
I lock the door in fear 
Of what lurks in the shadows
What lurks beyond that door
The door knob turns with creaks of misery
The thought of what the cruel shadow might do 
Escapes my mind to hide in the dark corners 
Of the world that I was once afraid
Even though I fear the loneliness of the dark
The loneliness of the dark comforts my fears
The door opens in inches like a snake 
Awaiting its next meal like prey in the jungle
The pain makes the breathe escape my lips
The flesh to flesh touch makes my body numb
The rivers flow between thy legs
Where is thy protector?
I should speak for the cruel shadow
That shows me his pain and misery throughout life.
And now
Here I stand underneath the belt of poverty 
Rape my future
An I shall be one with poverties own.

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' Jennie - Pennie (My Big Sister)

Everywhere I Look … I See Jennie
Short, Red-Hair and a Smile, So Bright and Pretty
Jeanette … my Older, Big Sister… I Wish I was More Like Her…
        … My Dear Jennie … My Sweet Jennie …

Treated me like I was Her Baby … That was Jennie
Helped me to be a Real-Lady … Just like Jennie
Taught me how to Share and just how to say my Prayers …
        … Jennie … Great Lady Jennie

She was in Her Early Adult Years and I was Young Too
… when Mama Left… There was nothing, We Could Do …
            … Cancer … is not a Loving Word …
        I Wish It Had Been The Last I’d Heard …
                … Oh Jennie … Loving Jennie …

In that Cold-Clinical-Room … Lay Jennie
She Would Be Leaving Soon – God ! … Not Jennie !
She asked me, ‘Did She Fulfill … God and Our Mama’s Will …?’
        Yes, You Did Jennie… I Said You Did Jennie !

… She was in Her Late, 40-Years, but Still, Much Too Young To…
… Like when Mama Left… There was nothing, We Could Do …
                     … Cancer … is not a Loving Word …
                    I Wish It Had Been The Last I’d Heard …
                           … Oh Jennie … I Love Jennie …

When I Wrote This Song … I was Missing Jennie
God … We Can’t Believe She’s Gone … I Loved Jennie
        Jennie-Pennie … You Kept Your Promise…
                  Mama Will Be Proud of Us…

… May Jesus, Call Jennie … When The Time Comes, Please Call Jennie
          Lord Call Jennie … Lord Call Mama … and Then Lord Call Me …

            Jennie, Left Loved Ones... February 29th, 1992 …
          I hate Leap-Years Now …. ‘til I Leap of Faith to You …
                     … Cancer … is Not A Loving Word ! ! !
                             Will It Be The Last I Heard ? …

                      In Memory of my Beloved Sister

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Thanx for the Welcome

Hey, thanks a heavy bunch for the welcome
Hey, thanks a larger lot for the welcome

My heart is duly enthralled
My mind has been positively stirred

Two days ago I had a lot on my mind
Now ‘coz of y’all, here I exist in delight

Heaven must be missing quite a number of angels
For what I read on my screen can’t be wordings of ordinary mortals

For now I don’t need heaven
For I have found myself a haven full of the soup I need to get well

A brick at a time, each with purity and love in mind
I’m certain this shrine full of wonder will rise to shine

Such are the blessings of men and women of initiative
Offering poets like me and you the mortar to build our dreams into reality

My heart fills with gratitude, tonnes of it in advance
For the doors of opportunity I’m certain to unearth, in this shelter of dreams

The beginning might be a tad bit rocky
But please bear with me as I drift off my ecstasy to clarity, as consequential of this 
new discovery

I promise to soon find my bearings
And flow at ease like a new Lamborghini on these sleek streets of many dreams

In the meantime don’t mind if sometimes I blurt
For a new soup like this always tastes so sweet, makes one reveal what he was 
meant to keep

Thanks indeed for allowing me to be a part of you
Allow me to advertise to others that you and I on Poetry Soup too

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Planting Time

The growing season,
is nearly here,
gardens will be planted,
for food throughout the year.

Tomatoes, and onions,
okra, and squash,
peas, and eggplant,
oh my gosh.

Fresh plowed ground,
waiting on the seeds,
don't have to worry, 
about falling leaves.

Good Friday is the day,
my family can't wait,
to get the seeds in the ground,
we are never late.

Warmer temperatures,
means the faster they grow,
light rain falling,
then a plant starts to show.

More than ever,
fresh food is best,
I am ready for the exercise,
been getting plenty of rest.

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Fallen Heroes

Fallen heroes of the past, 
present and future…

Let us not ever forget, those that
have given there lives for our
freedom and been there,
whenever they were needed…

Freedom does not come cheap,
and those who have given, there 
lives for us while protecting our 
freedom shall always be remembered…

We shall not forget, our fallen heroes!

By Sandra L. Hoban

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Do you know Lydia?

Lydia could be any lady, mother we know
She had a business of selling purple
Made money for her family yet
Was generous to other believers and friends
if they needed somewhere to stay she opened her home to them.

She cooked meals, cleaned and listened to the disciples
learned all she could of God's plans and words
Lydia was rewarded by being able to share in 
Paul and Silas' miracle of being released from prison by the hand of God.

The guards were converted to believers due to the earthquake that loosed the chains of 
Paul and Silas, yet they did not escape the jail. Which would cause the guards to be 
executed. Yet the guard and his whole family was converted to believers through this 
incidence.  Paul and Silas were released of any charges at this time.

Do you believe God is in control?  I do!!
From Acts chapter 16 of the KJV

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Satan's Hell

A prisoner of addiction,
is lost, and alone,
screaming for rescue,
of a life gone wrong.

Many a parent,
sit, and cry,
pleading for answers,
why, tell me why.

As sad as it is,
drugs find their way,
into our lives,
where our children play.

Given by a friend,
who got it from a friend,
without our knowing,
then the cycle begins.

Years pass by,
and the addiction grows,
then everything changes,
about the child we know.

Sometimes help,
will be given in time,
but some will deny it,
they choose to be blind.

I have been there,
I have seen satan's hell,
I am a parent,
with a story to tell.

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I lived my youth without many friends,
yearning for a departed father so selfless,
renouncing his children for another woman over-sea,
while my mom resigned to her fate;
lamenting and denouncing his terrible mistake:
and she worked hard and prepared delicious meals,
even her outlook on life was fantastic,
but something was missing from that lovely face...

Mother, oh wonderful mother, I sympathized
with your pain and wish it would have disappeared,
so you would have enjoyed, once again, life in its splendor;
mother, oh wonderful mother, even love dies
when one is deceived by a false affection,
and father broke his promise and faced retribution...   

Mom loved dad from the day she married him,
and remained faithful 'till she died whispering his name;
I stood by her bed-side and couldn't console her sadness,
or fill that space with my insignificant presence:
by that remote glance, I could see her retracing, with joyous eyes,
her happy past with daddy delighting her with his funny words
while strolling down the quietest road scented by daisies,
as blue-jays flew over their delirious heads... 

Mother,oh wonderful mother, you gave me the enduring will
to withstand any storm:  to survive and cope in this hell, 
while living honestly and godly among thieves and sinners;
to despise prejudice with its ugly ways and be cautious
not to give in their demands when luck could have ran out on me!
I live with little, and though I desire finer things,
nothing stains my clean hand and be judged by man,
because life complements me with the trust of any friend...

Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci

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Sincere, But Unclear

Knock, knock
There's someone at the door
A man disguised in age
Claiming he has the cure
A cure for life
And all it's virtue
A magic way out
Where nothing else can hurt you

The pain you feel
The droning hassles undone
"Just follow me" he says
With eyes hiding a smoking gun
Take a trip
Or sit secure
The choice was yours
But was it pure?

Now you blindly step
With brainwashed trust
Enslaved to a dwindled vision
Believing that its now or bust
Watching the end grow near
Scared to step forward and object
You just sit and wait
Knowing just what you can expect

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For Mom

S he saved us all from a life of mediocrity. 
silly smart beautiful barefoot dancer in the flower bed
Nurturing to everyone 
leaving the least for herself
She was my best friend, but we were hell at parties
I remember her in a paper dress
that was a picture of a cat
some hippie outfit, with a smile 
half way out of our house on wheels
Yoga dancing every day doing something for the sun
meeting each and every face of God
more often with the passing years she would
drink a disillusioned toast to lost chances and opportunities
as the medicine cabinet grew in color and content
Taking the brunt of our losses for herself
with inner mingled heaven sent victories and joys

One day she arose yellow as the sun and swelling
she took it lightly as a drop of rain
with one liners we'll never forget
"So much for retiring in Mexico." 
she would quip with a nervous laugh
It was the pancreas some say the very worst place
but there's a point where pain is pain
inseparable from itself

I tried to make it home in time to say "goodbye"
I missed her by four hundred miles,
I'll put that in my box of guilt and hide it somewhere
out of sight for now.
She didn't go easy, I didn't bother asking God 
why he would let her go that way,
thrashing holding on to life, maybe hoping against
that four hundred mile gap that I put on a mantle 
behind a broken vase
She was my best friend but we were hell at parties.

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Getting into the Christmas spirit,
by examining my introspection
and making new plans for the future;
and sparking up your imagination...
could anyone imagine me dressed
as Santa Claus, who never has the minimal time
to watch a log consumed by a crackling fire?
Think again, I could be that Saint Nicholas so bold! 

Prejudice is not a part of this Christmas Season,
all kinds of people, of different ages and races, 
celebrate it; and it may vary from country to country
with traditions as far as Saturnalia or Yuletide...
that was a time when pagans started this festivity,
and with the birth of Jesus, the Christians
adopted these traditions as their own...
so should we object and put them aside?    

Getting into the Christmas spirit,
unpacking decorations for my new Christmas Tree, 
from boxes that waited too long for this day of joy;
and even my toddler, Jack, comes downstairs tripping,
handing me Grandma's favorite star, which
she had hidden away into a treasure chest so jealously,
to place on the top of this forest-scented pine tree...
when we all gather and sing," Silent Night."  

Getting into the Christmas spirit, 
adding, not taking away names from my long list;
and even though these are tough economic times,
I plan to be generous to all without feeling the pinch!
Give the very best of your intentions,
either in gift or in warmest embrace;
give and be content to catch that infant's smile in the distance; 
the tender smile of the Holiest Child, who will give of Himself!  

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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For Jackson

We run out on the field all together
the crowd erupts at our energy!
a rush of adrenaline pumps inside you
the blood rushes uncontrollably!
We stand together silently
honoring jackson, tears fill my eyes!
the calm of the national anthem
then the sight of 3500 fans screaming endlessly
Down 12 at the half
we never lost faith in one another!
A great comeback, an emotional win
tears fall without chance of stopping!
No sense of embarressment
nothing but pride shines throught in us all!

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On the first day, I was born
Bringing joy to the household
Of my parents.

The second day, a toddler
Learning to go from one place
To another

On the third day, a schoolgirl
With the wide world of knowledge
Spread before me

The fourth day, a young woman
Newly aware I’m unique
Female person

On the fifth day, a mother
Sharing myself willingly
With four children

On the sixth day, I was old
Reviewing my achievements
Seeing, they’re good.

The seventh day, the threshold
Of death, looking ahead to
Temporal life

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My Brother


               Used to think that God's name was "Harold,"

                         you know, after the prayer:

       "Our Father, whom art in heaven, HALLOWED be Thy name."

           (When he learned of his error, he was never the same.)

One time when I was three years old my parents wanted to go look at a house they were 
thinking of buying and they couldn't find


              so they just left and took me. I was three. When we got back


                  was sobbing so hard he was sick.


                thought we had moved without him, abandoned him.

                                          HE WAS SIX

                     Got my mother's beauty and my father's genius.
           (I got my father's looks *%#@%^ and my mother's brains #%@&*^)


                     Also got my mother's insanity and my father's alcoholism.
                            (I guess I won, having inherited their stoicism.)


                Was a comic genius. He was so funny, he could make a dog laugh.


                         Was such a tragic figure, he made the angels weep.


                       Is gone now, and I have only these odd memories to keep.

©Danielle White

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In my youth, I dreamed of my son-
Blonde hair, blue eyes, and lots of fun-
Then to my surprise there came a time,
When he became real, and he is mine.

Brian is the son of my dream-
The son that I cherish as part of our team,
You would think God had sent him on a moonbeam,
So he could join our family as part of my scheme.

I have written of Brian times before-
And I may write of him many more,
But you have to understand about his birth-
He was my miracle come to earth.

Before Brian cam, I had lost babies-no fault of mine-
When I conceived Brian it seemed like just one more time,,
But I screamed at God,"NO! Give him to me!!"
For a baby boy I felt him to be-.

God answers prayer when it is time,
So my Brian came because it WAS his time!
He is 36 now and he is so fine-
I still can't believe that he is mine.

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Spent thirty minutes past curfew 
mother's punishment an easy task,nothing new
finish chores when I'm bored
laundry cleaning's evovled from washboards
to cleaners and washer-dryers
the clothing's piled high,higher 
than my height and summer nostalgia's hard to fight
everything stunk with cigarettes,cologne and funk
something reeks...its my usual spot for hide and seek

Growing older my laundry's awful odor fades with age
I read more exercise less
My guess?
I'm gaining the weight of knowledge
yet its eight years until college

Yesterday's clean laundry is today's outfit 
faded nylon shorts,second hand thrift
my brother's birthday gift
snow white t-shirt...brandnew
matching Adidas tennis shoes
matches my favorite team an autographed blue
L.A. dodgers cap severed at the seams
beneath the sock pile and lingerie clutter
is my secret stash kept from my curious brother
at age nine everything is his even if it's mine
but I'm still fair and share
cause childhood's a gentle cycle...handle with care

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We set sail from England to the New World in Sixteen Ninety-Two
Me, my wife and our three daughters
Were going to make our dreams come true
Settled in the town of Salem

In the land of Massachusetts Bay
Everything was going so great
Until my three girls came home one day
Laughing at us and talking to us so evilly

They were just acting so evil and strange
Our faith in the church so strong we had no idea
Of how things were going to change
Here in the town of Salem

Chaos ensued all over Massachusetts Bay
No one could trust anyone not even our own neighbors
Then somebody in some way
Gossiped that my wife practiced witchcraft

I tried to free her by force
But I became a criminal like her
They took us to the jail in a carriage led by a black horse
And as my wife and I stood on the gallows

We said our prayers to the Lord before the rope pulled down on our throats:
And as our three daughters laughed and pointed at us in delight
“Our Father who art in Heaven, hallow be thy name…”

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Final oomph

It seems as if it were like yesterday
when the Latino community made their dwelling
where they used to meet and celebrate on Sundays
at St Paul’s parish, the second home for them.
Their gift of relationships and act of thanksgiving
portrayed in many chapters of their involvements;
their songs, laughters, and humble supplications
reminded me of their belonging to a family of the faithfuls.

Indeed, as I think of what we’ve built and formed
especially in many occasions or sacred celebrations;
I can’t help but recall those mem’ries with inspiration
that our journey must go on with God’s mercy for all.

The genesis of human formation, along with participation,
provides us with a clear understanding of their culture;
it’s a languge of their customs and traditions as God’s people,
lived in an environment where there’s caring and loving.

I cherish the moments when we held the kids’ confirmation,
also, their first communion preceded by their catechetical instructions;
such a milestone that everyone made it to turn up on these events,
like a promise, a homecoming that God awaits us all.

The eucharist that highlights our community gathering,
makes us aware that Christ is always at the center
of every individual’s life and effort for thanksgiving
this sacred meal is fundamental to family sharing.

Well, as our parish merges with the parish of the Assumption
changes, however, enable us to welcome them with openness;
activities, along with the calendar of events  that’s in store for us,
a journey of discovery, a process that will make us grow.

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The Might Of A Man...

The Strength of A Man
… is in His Eyes and Arms
And in His Harvest hands
… to Hope, Heal, or Harm

… Look into His Eyes and See The Storm
Will You Be Safe… in Sinew-Arms?
He Can Use His Hands to Help His Girl
But He’s Used This Strength to Harm The World…

The Power of A Man
Is in His Legs and Loins
In His Tongue to Command
And The Seed in His Groin

Every Woman On Earth, Has Felt Man’s Pulse
Or Pleasure – Pain…One Way or Another - Push!... Push!
Do What He Says, to Pull The Pressure
… He’s Pouring Passion, into His Pasture

The Force of A Man
Shows in His Face
The Way, He Walks or Stands
In The Human Race

He’s A Walking, Breathing, Forest-Fire
He’ll Burn You Up… with His Desire
See, The Way His Veins-Pop… Stands Out…
If A Tree  is Torn Down… Better ‘T I M B E R’ Shout !...

But The Might of A Man
Is in His Heart to Love;
And Mind, to Understand
The Higher Chamber Above…

With Spirit, Flesh, Blood, Bone
Might, Power, Force, Strength
… and A Woman, to Help Man Put On…
Some Breadth, Height, Depth and Width…

The Marvelous Might Of A Man

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My Little Girl

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

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Mother Mary's Motherhood

The Church cannot forget her mission
Was made possible by the Motherhood of Mother Mary
Who conceived and bore a Son
Who is God from Eternal God
True Eternal God from True Eternal God

Mother Mary is truly the Mother of God
Whose motherhood as the vocation to motherhood
Bestowed by Eternal God on every man raised to its highest level
Thus, Mother Mary becomes the mother of the Church and to be New Mama Eve
The mother of believers, the mother of the living


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He is in a spot I have never seen him before
A position I cannot fathom 
His hand folded on his chest
Wishing for one last breath
His care left us with everything
But what we didn’t know was that he was 
It never called for rain but it did that day
He never was all there anymore
And the song started playing
The guns went off
And my respect left for this man
Through battles he helped us all
Through it all we kept us alive
And he passed us by with a fair well
And a departure
For everything
And we was something to everything
We was everything to us

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Knowing The Truth

I watched the sunshine,
fade from your days,
as something so secret,
was stealing you away.

Uneducated, and clueless,
I brushed it aside,
not realizing,
you could have died.

Friends are amazing,
they see what we hide,
then gently confront,
with tears in their eyes.

Knowing the truth,
was the first big step,
I had to admit it,
before you could be helped.

The struggle was hard,
weeks turned into months,
and for days you disappeared,
without calling once.

Then one day,
God answered my prayers,
performing a miracle,
with you in His care.

The love of our Father,
is always here,
but sometimes we are blinded,
by unknown fears.

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Who's In Control as you Fuss and Fight

As their anger built and they lost control,
    It was like something evil had possessed their soul.
The words they said burned like fire,
    Seeking to hurt the other was their main desire.
It didn’t matter who or what started the fight,
    The ole devil had you this very night.
He set the stage, he set you up,
     As you both spew his venom as you sip from his cup.
Once it gets started it’s so very hard to stop,
     Hate breeds hate such an unrewarding and pain filled crop.
As you reach the point of no return,
     The devil will laugh as you feel his burn.
He wants your soul that’s his only goal,
     One marriage gone to hell another success story for him another mark on his 
If you want your marriage to stay good and strong,
      Give the devil a kick in the pants and send him back to where he belongs.
And over all the best advice I can give,
     Seek the Lord and follow Him in your daily life and the way you live.

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Manuelito & Poseidon

Even as thunder boomed mighty overhead
and power lines on San Domingo Avenue outside
faltered and succumbed to the tempest
the Ortegas stood breathless in the family room, gaze transfixed 
upon the television screen like so many deer in the headlights of a truck.
Finally a flash from without, and a snap 
extinguished all light within the household. Ten seconds passed 
without a sound. Then the father uttered something and
the family members scattered, each returning a moment later
bearing possessions of infinite value. Within a minute, 
all had crammed into the station wagon, evacuation route ingrained
within their minds like a seed of hope.
All but one. Manuelito had been lost.
The mother howled and flied back into the house,
tears streaming down her face hard as the rain.
She reached the back porch, and to her eternal shock
found Manuelito standing alone on the beach like a mannequin
eyes locked upon the Cyclops-eye of the storm.
The mother cried out through anguished sobs
in vain, for the howling drone of the wind overpowered all
and when Manuelito turned around to face all that he loved
he did so with all the finality of a grown man
resolved upon his course of action.
The mother abruptly ceased her crying, and
her countenance briefly matched that of her son
as she, too, turned her gaze upon the jewel center of the storm
and was hypnotized by the awesome power of the divine.
At length she regained self-consciousness, and her eyes
darted back to that segment of the beach where her son had been standing
but his figure, like a stream of sand on the dunes of time,
had been replaced by nothingness,
the allure of the unknown and
Poseidon’s call of wild fury
too strong to resist.

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The Hospital

Five months in the hospital.
They don't know what is wrong.
I.C.U. and feeding tubes.
What the hell is going on?

They've run every test known to man.
Still can't say why she's sick again.
Amputate the leg. Shave the head.
Dialysis on stand-by.
Shots here. Procedures there.
And specialists of all kind.

You get to know the hospital staff.
Patients come and go.
Visitors cry and patients die.
People you get to know.

He stays in the hotel right next door.
What's it all for?
He's been here for every meal.
Late night calls and four bare walls.
Talk on the phone, at least twice a week.
Keep her on the prayer list at church.
And try not to cry.

"Hold on strong. It won't be long.
And home you soon will go."
Then, "Where do I begin?
There's an infection again."
Two more weeks to stay.

She looks at her husband
and she cries again.
"If I'm gonna die
I'd rather die at home.
Not here all alone."

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Bad Days

 I'm in a messed up kind of mood and it was one of 
 those days
 Where I realize that I have no luck but in all the
 worst ways
 The husband that's never home, and the inlaws that
 always are
 What is family anyway, just people who will scar
 It goes back to childhood really, I always just 
 came last
 What am I really saying, that it goes back to my 
 But the truth of the matter is, I wasn't well liked
 Always the second best and not first asked to play
 Such a young age when I put the wall on my heart
 Because of childhood lost and the family torn apart
 Never wanting to learn, and not trying to succeed
 But I played a good role at pretending to be happy
 Just going day to day, living a crazy life
 With every passing second just thinking I would die
 All these bad things seemed to happen and I seemed to 
 only cry
 Like I was born with too many feelings, and I had to
 wonder why
 Always seeming to suffer, and it gets so hard to live
 Because the feelings that are lost, it makes me scared
 to give
 Maybe someone will notice, maybe they will see
 That there really are some good pieces of me

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for lexi

quick witted 
like the child her mother was
i miss that child 
but adore the butterfly she has become
she will be more 
than we all imagine
if we let her be
just as her mother 
and her grandmother and great grandmother were and are
but we come from a line of struggle
of will and wellness
of dreams and wants
of can be and will be
she smiles
and my heart is as full as it can be
she treats me like a playmate
and i wouldn't have it any other way
i love her and her mother
as much as my heart will allow
as much as there is room for
as if they were my own

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Remembering Tonya

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 

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The fear came first.  I saw it in her eyes.
She pulled away from my attempted hug.
“I called you, Mom, this should be no surprise.
You are so cold, let’s get you warm and snug.”

For years, I’d been coming on my lunch hour,
to fix her one big hot meal of the day--
then stir up something she could heat for dinner;
so in her comfy home she could still stay.

This day though, I could sense there’d been a change,
her usual reception wasn’t there.
She didn’t smile. That was so very strange.
I felt a chilly presence in the air.

She said, “I’m tired, I think I should lie down.”
I went to call the doctor, on the phone,
then turned to her. She looked up with a frown.
She wasn’t the sweet mama I had known.

I tried to tell her what the doctor said.
She screamed at me and covered up her face.
Trying  to soothe her, fixing up her bed,
while thinking I must find a caring place.

Her doctor had been impatient with me.
“I warned you that she shouldn’t be alone.
She’s having mini strokes, why can’t you see?
Some day you’ll come at noon and find her gone.”

So Mama went into a full care home,
seeming not to care one way or other.
She housed seven, until we left to roam.
Seven kids can’t care for one sweet mother.


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Illyanna's Dark Poetry

I wish people would quit picking on my sister. She is a wonderful writer and I know her
work is dark and creepy but that is who she is. She writes to entertain and to take you
places that make you uncomfortable. If you read her poems and you get the chills she has
done what she set out to do! If it creeps you out to much then when you see the name
Illyanna De La Keur then don't read it. This is a place where we all can demonstrate our
creativity and I would hate for her to remove her work and quit writing. Illyanna is a
writer that is an acquired taste and if not for her and my other sister I would never have
explored my own talent so please lay off on telling her to change her subject matter.

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Tis The Season

As the children calmly sleep, snow begins to fall on this quiet Christmas eve. 
Mom and dad slowly find there way down the hall to pear in on the children all 
nestled tightly in there beds. Soon after mom and dad would retire to the front 
by the fire. Mom with her book and dad with his paper. They too soon would drift 
of into dream land. They all would dream of Christmases from yesteryear, here 
and now, and the future. Soon the anticipation would soon pass for another 
Christmas has come and gone. But don't you worry it soon will return with all it's 
shimmering lights, love, and laughter. And always remember tis the season.

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times tickin

So many times I pass by and do not stop.
A few blocks down I wonder why not?
I have to go here, there, always somewhere
but what if time runs out?

Im sorry, I love you
so many years, that i grew up threw
you did so much with me.
I guess I just forgot
how much I love you, ya see

Forgive me for not spending
the time i should had.
after losing my grandpa
well, seeing you made me sad

Im sorry, I love you 
Always letting me pick your carrots
and the times you'd braid my hair
oh ya and letting me sneak in your bed
when i was scared

Ill love you forever
always in my heart
your a wonderful grandma
you have been from the start.....
I love you......I love you.

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Save The Children



What makes sense in this world today? 
   Most of our children don't even know how to play. 
It has to have a remote control or hand held joystick. 
   Most of the games are either evil, violent, or just downright sick. 
Most parents don't spend enough time with our kids till the damage is done. 
   Then we wonder what has happened to our daughters and sons. 
A lot of these cartoons and games truly have such evil themes. 
   They influence our children, their mind and their dreams. 
If a child is shown and taught nothing but killing and hate. 
   What do you suppose might be their outcome, can you envision their fate? 
Instead of rewarding a child with an electronic game, try buying them a book. 
   Perhaps maybe one you might have read when you were their age, and 
challenge them to look. 
Try being a parent and remember who's the boss! 
   There is just no excuse and you can't afford the loss. 
It's not always easy being a parent but remember what you have at stake. 
   Last but not least, tell them how Jesus died for all our sakes. 

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for mandy

Thirteen is a long way from 46
When i was 13 it was easier and slower
Things were a little less dangerous and a lot less techno
but there was a time
When we connected 
when you asked questions i could answer
when you hugged me just because it was a good morning
thirteen is a short ride to 21
to a time 
i'm not quite ready for
learning how to deal with you as a peer
and your choices as an adult
you'll always be younger
and probably smarter
and there are so many things i want to tell you 
about life and love and what they can do for you
but 13 is a long way from 46 and right now
your thoughts are of school and horses and what not to wear
but know this 
you'll never have to ask how much i love you
that answer you already know

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I lost my aunt Doreene
I still think about her
when I was little I would go over to her house
and she would give me
one day she packed her things and left
for Texas
the next day I got a phone call
my aunt Doreene had died
i sat on my bed and cried
asking myself why
my aunt Nancy didn't invite me to the funeral
because she didn't like me
I will never forgive my aunt Nancy
I just lost the person I have loved all my life
and I couldn't even say good-bye it hurt
so bad.

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Miss you

Bro I miss you
going through the pain you put us through
you always get out on bail
come on bro you know you'll never fail
all you need to do is do your best
and you can get on with the rest of your life
I don't understand why you do the crimes
because you never want to do the time
I didn't get a chance to say good-bye
but now is my chance to say I love you bro

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Brian Emil Carey

Brian Emil, my Brother, 
Tall, lean and handsome with
Beautiful almond-shaped eyes,
Always wearing a perfect smile
You never hurt a fly
My protector, my friend
Mama’s handy man
At such a young age
What special gifts you possessed
From fixing radios and ovens
Pianos and furniture
Every thing that broke you mended
And handled with such care
I only knew you eight years of
The fourteen you spent here on earth
Sweet memories of you live abundant 
In my heart after all this time
I remember you just as you were
I love you Brian, I always will

To my Brother Brian (RIP)-went home in many years ago.

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That familar brown-eyed boy
climbed the cliff the balmy hill
with his reversed red cap
and if it slipped off,
he'd pull it down his fair
strends of curly hair
while he listened carefully
to the cardinals's notes...
to memorize them in a melody
that he heard through the air!

That familiar brown-eyed boy,
passed by my open window
each afternoon after school
with his heavy pack-back,kind of small,
making him sweat and stoop;
he smiled and waved his hand at me...
his name was Andre,the gentle kid,
and he came from a modest family!

That familiar browned-eyed boy
whistled when spring came,
shouted with thrill
when the first snow fell
and ran outside of the warm house
to build another smiling snow-man!
Did you ever wonder at all,
what made him so happy?
Whether it was:  a bird's song at sun-rise
or an unusual,humorous game...
whatever it was, he had never told
his secret to anyone!

That familiar brown-eyed boy,
came down from the shady hill
when the tower's clock stroke six;
on his way home,he looked at red sky...
amazed by what his eyes had seen,
and tell his mom what a great noon it had been!   

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Children of Divorce

Today’s young generation has its recurring profile,
its tapestry that gets into the mainstream of humanity;
quite a big deal to understand what’s life for them
may mean to generate values and roles to understand.

Traditional gender roles and older generations,
increasingly, reasons to hang on to family values;
with a wider range of scope and tendency to see
that parents in toto contribute to solve other issues.

But without the presence of parents in every home,
children are quite in danger to trace family values;
without guidance and role models to embody them
especially in formation or upbringing in their homeland.

Perhaps the Christian outreach to these children, 
whose identity has to be formed and acknowledged;
in diverse situations where they take part as persons,
a good opportunity to develop their sense of growing.

Children of divorce are still children of our Lord
their own share of hardships and life’s relationships,
are gifts to combine faith in their quest for God’s word,
dimensions of truth and human forces of growth.

Wrapped with human dignity and sense of identity,
these children cope with a giant step through faith
undaunted by the storms and challenges of this world
remain precious creatures of our Lord and Savior.

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I Wish

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…

The Stars
The Moon
Her "Horsies"
And Apricorns (Unicorns)
And Butterflies
And Barbies
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 

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Our Time Is Running Out

What is going to happen when every ones credit gets shut off? 
   We will be like a bunch of pigs scrambling, only to find no food is in the trough.

If  the National Debt were paid off today, do you know how much it would cost 
every man, woman, and child?
    Each person would have to pay $29,000.00, now ain’t that wild?

It’s like we’ve gotten ourselves into a bog with no way out.
   Well I know of but one way but skeptics will argue and try to show their clout.

How did we get to be this great power, the Home of the Free?
   It was when God was given the honor and glory, this some will agree.

God is our Father and He only wants to give us His best.
   And all He asks in return is for us to honor and praise Him, such a simple 

But no something happened we let the minority rule,
   By taking away the simplest of things like prayer in our schools.

If you felt unwanted somewhere I wonder if you’d stay?
   Did you ever stop and think just maybe God too feels this way?

Has the Doom Day clock already been set?
    I think it can be turned around there maybe hope for us yet.

But first we must unlock and open the door and invite Him back again.
   Then we will see a change in things when our Savior is home my friend.

We’ve tried both ways and the latter did not work.
    So bend your knees and ask Him back, stop listening to those jerks.

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Weekend Getaway

Wading in a branch
trickling slowly along to the ocean.
Smell of decaying leaves and honeysuckle in the air.
Tadpoles, crawfish swimming by toes in Swift creek.

River otter curiously watching
the boys playing, splashing in the water
on a hot August day.

Bream jumping, splashing 
Trying to remove the land creatures 
From their watery domain.

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My Only Desire

I never wanted to be with this guy.
After meeting and talking to him,
I got a message from the big guy in the sky.
“Help him, Nikki,” and I wondered why,
I still do.
Being around him made me,
 Happy sometimes and sometimes blue.

Every time I wanted things between me and him
To be through, the big guy would say no,
“I told you that I wanted you to see,
What I made him to be.”
I saw many great things and felt great,
After being with him, loving him,
And praying for him constantly.

I saw what God wanted him to be,
And how he was being held back by himself,
His family and those people in the streets.
I fell in love with this man,
Not because I really wanted to.
It was because He wanted me to.

My plan was for him to be with me,
For three days only.
It wasn’t God’s,
This situation is odd.
We started getting closer,
And doing things together,
Like we were supposed to.

This journey began as friends not lovers,
We had many good times,
As long as battles, trials, and struggles.
During this process , I realized that this man,
Was just like me.
Hurt by someone that was supposed to teach,
Him to love and how to be loved.

I did not do everything right,
But I tried.
Many nights I prayed and cried,
Because of the similarities of our lives.
My only desire was for him to be successful,
Not to be with me.
He’s still unsuccessful, so I’ll stay on my knees,
Until that only desire is achieved.

He fulfills the desires of those who fear him; he hears their cry and saves them. Psalm 145: 

(started 1-15-10 finished 1-23-10)

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Of homecoming

As the old saying goes, “be it ever so humble,
there’s no place like home.”
no matter what the place has promises to make,
to a certain period of time the inner core echoes,
‘I’ve to go soon; I miss my routine along with people.

Priorities at hand and much more the essentials,
given the freedom where I ought to keep that in mind;
it’s a kind of experience, an opportunity that goes hand in hand,
because being at home there’s a vision, a lovely action.

It’s amazing how things can make a great deal of difference,
with depth and length of life, God’s presence forms a meaning
in relationship which is replete with bounds and proportions
that capture the essence of being someone who returns home.

Its metaphorical connection finds an answer to my faith in Him
It’s like an encounter with familiar rhythm of my Asian background,
amid all the apparent successes and failures, or blessings and woes;
with the passage of time along with the flurry of interests done,
certain elements of change become a reason to come by.

There’s excitement and willingness to reconnect with loved ones,
friends, relatives, and all those who’ve been part of the process –
this kind of experience that shapes the wellspring of my perspective
opens the windows to showcase the wealth of mem’ries in depth.

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Back Porch

Paint was peeling off the banister
Grass needed cutting in the old back yard
Some weeds curling up around the fence
Neighbors sitting, times were hard
Burgers, dogs, pretzels and chips
Kids playing ball out front in the street
Quarter barrel on tap in the old metal tub
Back porch get together, plenty to eat
Mom had some shirts hanging on the line
Little income but no one cared
Laugher, smiles were spread around
Food and soda and beer were shared
Memorial Day would be the first 
Then the Fourth of July and Labor Day
Neighbors were family way back then
We wouldn’t have it any other way
Good time would last until late at night
Just neighbors getting together sitting around 
Laughing, joking, good old day stories
On the back porch is where they’d be found.

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I'm thinking after talking 
to a dear friend about the death,
call it a passing, of his father,
about channels of communication,
of sorrow and too, channels of joy.

All the messages lining the county,
the state, a nation, even globe
like a satin-sheen of supple cloth
inside of the casket and the cradle

All the "comings-and-goings" 
as it might be said, of the family
"Did you hear that so-and-so passed"
or "I heard that they finally were
able to conceive and bear a child"

And times past, there were ponies and
postcards, and copper keys clicking,
and Alexander's operators plugging
us into our loved family and friends

And now, wirelessly, we blog
and update our homepage with
photos and tears of joy and sorrow
click here for an update,
click here to touch me now.

Still, your voice comes through
all the Dolbied hardware
attached to my head and I can
feel the emotion in your heart but,
virtual hugs are not yet, like real

© Goode Guy 2012-02-27

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Family Survival

Living in the moment
is so hard to do
When your life is being blown around,
like the wind outside the door.

Not knowing how you will survive
And rebuild your entire life
While trying to protect
your unborn child.

Your house has survived
But all your food is gone,
Electricity did not survive
The monster called The Storm.

Hiding the tears
from those you love,
Trying to be brave
And pushing to be strong.

Taking care of a toddler
With one on the way,
Would not have been possible
But family saved the day.

Living in a house
With ten adults and five kids
Worrying was not allowed
But to live in the day.

God saw us through
And we all survived
It drew the sisters closer
And created a stronger bond.

For all the destruction
That Katrina created,
She could not destroy
The spirit of family.

This is dedicated to my four sisters and my parents. Through many trials and 
tribulations, we have stuck together as a true family. Helping each other is not a 
burden but a privilege. Even as we have little tiffs and fights, we still stick 
together; For we have a special bond that can never be broken.

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The Miracle Of Birth

The miracle of birth is a beauty to behold,
a mother , and child,  such innocence will unfold..

Sweet is her touch for her bundle of joy,
whether it be a delicate tiny girl, or a bouncing baby boy.

No other closeness will ever compare,
as she holds her baby with such loving care.

First time moms, and all in between,
the miracle of birth is where pain is redeemed.

Happy Birthday Adan, four hours old.
Your proud grand mama.

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vignette-OLDE MONEY

The first son inherited by right
The second,off with his king to fight;
Ab third in a rectory might dwell
The youngest was to marr well..
Family coffers...more to swell.

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This dusty rocking chair hidden for, at least, two decades
in a corner of the dark attic, where a white-haired man
used to sit in and rock himself to sleep, cuddled in a wool blanket:
can tell many how and when it was made
by that cigar-smoking grandfather of yours...

It just lay there picking up much space,
silently abandoned and not needed by anyone to lay back and gaze; 
so ignored were the mastery and love that took in making it;
when I heard him stump on the long stairs,
sunshine filtered through, the unwashed window, to engage his wit....

Curious boy, staring at me with awe, you should know
that I originated from a timber forest too dense;
and the hard and thick wood was cut down by a sharp saw: 
bought in the quite borough of Queens, 
to be worked on by very rough hands:
with the intention of creating charm and  elegance...

Take a soft rag and some furniture polish from the tiny closet,
and bring me back to the previous life of my self-importance:
my luster lasted only for fifty prosperous years,
then suddenly I was put away to face darkness;
and I longed for someone who could listen with interest,
and keep me company to forget my wretchedness... 

Sympathetic boy, as I speak, write down this worth-telling story, 
in your brand-new composition book with an interesting essay:  
to let others know that I was a jewel that dazzled from all four corners;
when Americans fall again on hard and unacceptable times,
they can look it up to be comforted and be told how to cope with their woes,
or even how to see their hardship and deprivation a momentary demise...  

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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So many times by my husband I have been told
that I do too much all at once,
But little does he know
that if not by me the job just would not get done.
No matter how sick and exhausted I may be
I find that I must still push myself to the limit,
It is my  job to take the best care of my family
in spite of the fact I have placed myself last on the list.
The dishes linger in the sink for days
taking a whole new life form all their own,
In spite of me being exhausted I wash them any way
just so the roaches will not invade our home.
My baby boy has to be changed,fed, bathed, and clothed
tasks that I do with discomforting pain,
Well, this is the life that I have chose
I just long every day for some kind of change.
Daily, I hurriedly rip and run cleaning and cooking
like  a robot thta is in high demand,
This here job of mine is just so damned overwhelming!
I am in desperate need of a vacation.
It is not a day that goes by
morning, noon, and night my phone is always ringing,
I find it hard for me in taking out some time
to just sit down and enjoy conversating.
Sadly, I have found that I am more stressed out  and depressed than ever
and I am seeing my few dreams slowly fade away,
But i just continue to pray to God to give me the strength in keeping it together
and hopefully everything will be okay.
I am overworked as well as underpaid
and at times I feel unappreciated too,
Taking care of my family is how I spend my nights and my days
and I cannot help that at times I tend to be in a not so great mood.
Each and every night when I retire to my bed
my body aches and my soul is at an unrest,
I plan the schedule for tomorrow's work in my head
at night I hardly ever completely settle down to a much needed rest.

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II. Father Jones

The passage was dark and damp
over a month locked inside a cell under the sea somewhere
but when Father Jones planted his feet back on solid ground
and saw the Statue of Liberty rising like a green mountain into the gray sky
he knew he had found his country. The free life was not always so easy,
and he had to work for his milk & honey. After he took 
a bayonet through the lung in Germany, he settled down to turn cogs
in a Pittsburg factory, but knew it was all worth it when he laid eyes on
Mother Jones. Their sons became salesmen, and the youngest 
married a Dutch girl, who adopted my father, who met my mother
studying at Vanderbilt, the Harvard of the south.

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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.

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Soon the magic will begin,
that special time, for all children.
Early to bed, early to rise,
with that Christmas look, in their eyes.
Toys galore, covering the floor,
and when grandma comes, there will be more.
Turkey baking, it smells divine,
it blends in perfect, with the aroma of pine.
Christmas stories will be on TV,
and dad relaxing, waiting on these.
Mom has been busy, baking cookies, and all,
and saying Merry Christmas, when anyone calls.
Yes, magic and miracle, describes this time of year,
and one special birthday is getting near.
Happy Birthday Jesus, you are welcome here.

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Sad Night in September

How can I forget that sad night in September 
It’s so hard to forget
how can I not remember
For it was the night of my mother’s death
No one expected it to happen
For it was sudden when she left
Yes it was sudden when she left
And yet not peaceful
From what I remember seeing
It was very scaring

I cried with such tears 
as I watch her pass away
Scared because of how she looked
Sad because of I knew it was her last t day
And not only was it I
Who sat down and cried that night
 But friend and family too
Be4cause we all know there 
was nothing else we could do  

Happiness is not what we felt
at he end of that night
but sadness is what
broke the shine in our light
So how can I forget that
 sad night in September 
it’s so hard to forget  
How can I not remember

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As the fragrance fades,
of love once so deep,
into the unknown,
where she now weeps.
Silent she stares,
at what once was there,
pictures, a reminder,
when her children were there.
Silver is her hair,
her body frail, and weak,
she calls their names,
as the tears roll down her cheeks.
Where have they gone,
why don't they call,
forgotten in time,
trying to recall.
Miles are between them,
their busy days, and nights,
just trying to survive,
and a mother cries.
Lonely she is,
and lonely she will be,
as she hangs their pictures,
on her Christmas Tree.

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Time Is The Keeper

My baby girl called,
to see how I was,
her usual routine,
just because.
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.

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Lucky Man

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!

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Untitled #21 / Buscuits, gravy, sausage, eggs

Biscuits, gravy
sausage, eggs
salt & pepper
In mama’s kitchen I find
comfort food for my weary soul
a pleasant dinner surprise.

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Her Memories

Looking through pictures,
of her memories stored,
put up in boxes,
ragged, and worn.
Some people in the pictures,
I don't even know,
but all had a place,
in her life long ago.
Her long brown hair,
always had curls,
such a tiny frame,
on my mother as a girl.
Most black, and white,
and fading with age,
picture, after picture,
my mother saved.
Sky blue eyes,
and skin so pale,
laughter rings out,
in the story they tell.
Now I wish,
I had taken the time,
to write names on these treasures,
that are now mine.

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Time Travel

                                       Timetravel reading diaries 
                          of distant relatives' lives once mysteries
                  become souvinir memories of vanished places
                          lost loves and estranged freidships

                                      Travel the changing world
                   kindred neighbors move,visit old home towns
                       aging treasures where dreams are born

                      Relatives trading stories of new family ties
                                           perfect marriages
                             Passing lovers seiance romantic
                                 Grandchildren raise children 
                     play in flowered fields once playgrounds

           Familiar questions echo our own childhood curiosity
                Wiser with age,kinder hearts with experience
         Parents are keepers of children's forgotten memories

                          Past photographs keep memories alive
                                          Sacred kinships end
             Fond memories and promises could never mend
                 Find new passions,new love,new life begins

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R.I.P Mrs. Beyeres....

I woke up today
never knowing this would come
for I'd just seen you not a day ago
and there had only been smiles
we had been making plans
and your mother she just smiled and watched
how can we get back to that moment?
I never thought this then
but those would be the last
the last of the happy words between us.
I wish i could take this from you
i wish i could take it from myself
what where do we go now?
there is this gaping chasm between us
filled with this darkness
that drowns us in pain
your mother, they will say
no one can replace her
no one saw the street racers
as you two were getting off the freeway
no one could stop fates hands 
as the street racers hit you both
and the car rolled away
as if mere dust in the wind...
you were fine and i was glad
but my second mother?
she, she lay in her own blood
where do we go now?
i wish i could take this pain from you
i wish i could take this pain from myself
what do i say now
what words can be said..
nothing more than
may she rest in peace
may she go with god
know that we are here
to hold you up.
Remember those who love you
and know that your mother doesn't suffer here.
one day may we return to sanity.

RIP mrs. beyers who was killed in a car accident and passed away this morning after they
pulled her off life support, she was like my second mother and we mourn her loss, may she
be in pain no more though, and may we remember all the love she taught us.

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The New Year Is Coming

The new year is coming,
the old winding down,
how many will see it,
how many will not be around.

Parties have been planned,
new outfits have been bought,
how many will stay sober,
how many will get caught.

Fireworks will glisten,
and rumble into the sky,
how many will be careful,
how many will die.

Families, some will gather,
to welcome in the new,
how many will be here next year,
how many, if we only knew.

My family, and friends,
please be careful, have fun, enjoy,
but just remember,
we are not guranteed another day,
love, laugh, and be grateful for the
many blessings that have been given to us.
I love you all.....

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Home Sweet Home

A three room house,
on the outskirts of town,
home sweet home,
where many are found.

Not much money,
but so much love,
daddy is hard working,
and his children know love.

Nothing high tech,
they barely get by,
he gives from his heart,
they never see him cry.

To church on Sunday,
where they give their thanks,
with only a few dollars,
tucked in his pants.

Learning the hard way,
how to manage, and survive,
he is the best,
in his kids eyes.

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O God, The Rat Has A Phobia!

The rat tiptoed to the house, picks up a thread
While the soft spoken black cat is, still, in bed
Sleepy, but, she is to battle it, to win, for today
To gain her breath, in solitude, for another day 
At first, she will fetch water, from a sacred well
Passing through the silent field of fears, of hell
While the sympathetic morning moon watches 
And giving her consoles, with uplifting touches

Of hopes, to warm her shaken, but noble heart
From the cold of early morn, that torn her apart  
Before the fading moon could bid her goodbye
Her tiny feet has swollen red, like a chicken fry

The rat sadly waves her bye to the fading moon
She kisses gladly the first crow, with her broom
To sweep the scattered butts, of Marlboro Light
Before favored kitten come, and give her a fight

She uses her magic matches to light the sticks
Delicately set at the center of a three big bricks
Eggs and bacon, with riz Cantonese to prepare
The boiling silvery pot, patiently, waits her care 

While the family feasts, the rat runs to the room
To fix the beds’ pleats, and then, she will zoom
To clean the ruin of wars, on the two slab tables
Before, she finds herself drown, in little bubbles

Her paled skin got burned, from the blazing sun 
While the soft spoken black cat enjoying the fun
Of watching, the afternoon entertainments show
That the rat never sees, for she has list to follow 

But, before the day ends, the poor rat was bitten
By the soft spoken black cat, left.....right up to ten 
That made her soul cries, under the mango tree
Hides her tears, in the dark, no one will ever see

Only when the soft spoken black cat’s gone away
Thus, the rat feels happy, for she has time to play
In a world, where no creatures exist, but, just her
She now lives in illusion, in her own, fake laughter 

The rat has beaten many times the first cockcrow
For the soft spoken black cat, not to live in sorrow
Till she left her, nothing, but full of fear and wraths
Forever haunt her, even if, she takes dozen baths

O God, the rat has a phobia, ‘cos of this black cat
Won’t you ever pity seeing her sleeping in a mat?
Or when somebody, with shot, scratches her tail?
For I cannot stand, seeing how human beings fail 


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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.

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Tangled Vines and Gnarly Branches

As vines and entwine so do 
families, families born to climb…

Through the years and centuries they 
continue to grow, larger and larger 
as they climb…

The older they get the more tangled
 and gnarly the vines and families get…

At last a family tree has been 
born for the future to take notice
 and grow…

By Sandra Lea Hoban

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Cookin on the Grill


Just cranked up the old Bar B Que  pit.
    Didn,t want to start burning but I finally got it lit.
Fixing to throw on that brisket, just let it smoke.
    While I put on some potatoes and drink me a coke.
Got the water to boiling the potatoes are done.
    I smell that old brisket a cooking it sure is a big one.
Tater salads made and put in the fridge to get cold.
   Chopped up my salad and tossed it the way I was told.
Got roasting ears of corn in the pot in hopes they might steam.
   Carrot cakes for dessert topped with vanilla ice cream.
Them beans in the slow cooker, cooked all the night long.
    Big pan of corn bread, butter, and onion you just can’t go wrong
The brisket is done we’re ready to eat.
    Got a big glass of cold milk that’s tasty and sweet.
Y’all come on over pick you a plate.
    But you’ll have to get behind me I’m so hungry I can’t hardly wait.

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The time we spend just wondering
if our feelings are right or wrong

Not knowing if by reason or doubt 
we are there where we belong

The time is oh so precious
the needs so very dear

Are there reasons of any substance
or just results of latent fears

Now I know how strong my love is
and in my heart I feel secure

Yet my mind it quizzes me daily
and of the answers I am not sure

Though ones mind can create illusions 
of seems which tear apart

The feeling I treasure deeply
is from deep within my heart

So the dreams I have of you are strong an carved in stone
but the fears within my mind are born of times I've spent alone

So please be patient with me
for you have touched my deepest heart

And know the greatest fear I have ever known is the thought of us apart

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Several days of chilly spring weather had been messin' with the dogwood, but Sunday 
mornin' dawned Georgia warm and the dogwood smiled. Steamin' mugs in hand, Big Mama's 
babies took their places 'neath the saggin' roof of the carport, breathin' in the 
caramelized aroma of monkey bread that was teasin' them from her oven. Once she had them 
all full and sassy-like, Big Mama wrapped them up with her story voice and took them to 
her special places, her memory places. And as she spoke, they were right there with her, 
ridin' that camel 'round the pyramids, walkin' the French Quarter with her in her theater 
days, and slidin' down the mossy rocks of Hurricane Shoals while her daddy looked on. A 
heap a love was goin' 'round that circle of Big Mama's babies, but after a long bit, a 
little sadness started bitin' their ankles. It was gettin' close to leavin' time, when 
they'd be draggin' a piece of their hearts down old Maysville highway, headin' home to 
babies of their own; lookin' forward to the next time they'd be sittin' 'round with Big 
Mama, lettin' her hug 'em up good, with more of her fine cookin' and her "mamaanems".

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Another Season

She placed a rose,
on his grave today,
then sat in silence,
bowing her head to pray.
Thanking her Lord,
for the time they had,
remembering how the good,
out weighed the bad.
Only sixteen,
when she said I DO,
their fifty years together,
thinking, how they flew
Now alone,
another season has come,
a whole new world,
has now begun.

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Don't Play With Marriage

Play with marriage, and you'll get hurt,
it's dedication, that will make it work.
Just like the wheels pulling a cart,
if one is flat, you'll come to a stop.
Fussing, and fighting has never worked,
it takes a long time, to heal those hurts.
Scares of the battles, where once you tread,
drug to the surface, you're sure to dread.
Does it really matter, whose right or wrong,
some things can't be fixed when you are all alone.
Now this does not  apply to all marriages out there,
only the ones where two hearts really care.
If you really love the one you are with,
hold them close, and give them a big kiss.
Start you a journal,
write everything down,
leave it lying, where it can be found.
Discuss your dislikes, 
and praise the good,
before to long , things will be the way
they should.

It may work, then again, it may not.
Follow your heart.

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Merry Christmas


The tree is made of mostly plastic and metal,
   With blinking lights above its plastic pedestal.
With ornaments of wood, plastic and glass,
   Decorate its branches amass.
A star that twinkles like the one in the sky above,
   Placed gently atop my tree with love.
With presents lying neath its outward branches,
   And children’s imagination as to what are the chances.
They weigh the boxes and gently shake them too,
   Hoping upon hope to just get a clue.
As wrapping paper gets slightly torn, accidental for sure,
   The children look so innocent and pure.
A gift is a gift no matter the price,
   If given from the heart it has to be nice.
With family and friends we gather around,
   This decorated tree where our love will be found.
Before presents are passed out we say a little prayer,
   And thank our Lord and Savior for the love that He shares.
Happy Birthday baby Jesus I heard someone say,
   You are the reason we celebrate Christmas Day.
May peace and joy and love fill your lives on this Holy day,
   And continue to guide you and show you the way!
Merry CHRISTmas to all, it came from a manger filled with hay,
   And gave His life’s blood so we all could receive the Kingdom one day.
Merry Christmas….

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How Deep They Hurt

Why are some,
so cruel with words,
do they not understand,
how deep they hurt.
Never giving thought,
how sharp their tongue,
and it's not easy,
repairing the damage done.
One day to answer,
maybe not to me,
but that day will come,
then you will see.

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Sorgum Syrup Making Time

My great grandpa Ash, such a tall lean man,
would make sorgum syrup, his very own brand.
He grew his own cane, and chopped it too,
he would bring out his equiptment, he knew just what to do.
That tired old mule, that had plowed all day,
was his best helper, he didn't have to pay.
The fire was built with the wood he cut,
and the canes piled high, was his very own crop.
That old mule would go round, and round,
until it squeezed out the juice, and it ran in the pan.
Early October was syrup making time, 
the whole family was busy, this meant a dime.
Early in the morning, until late at night,
he would feed the fire, it had to be just right.
Sometimes the yellow jackets would sting the mule,
and holding him back was all they could do.
Finally the syrup was cooked just right, 
it had to be stored, if it took all night.
Another syrup season had come to an end,
and grandpa Ash always had that big grin.
All the neighbors in the town of Branchville,
talk of him often, for they knew him as friend.

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Don't Live Like You Can

I am from a family,
that has never had much,
go to work everyday,
and pack their own lunch.
Weekends in the garden,
tending their crops,
changing their own oil,
in their car raised up on blocks.
Doing for themselves,
living within their means,
sometimes for supper,
cornbread, and Pinto Beans.
None have a mansion,
that requires hired help,
they clean their own house,
and cut their grass themselves.
Payday to payday,
no stocks or bonds,
once a year,
a vacation,
is their fun.
Bargains at Yard Sales,
for things we all need,
looking after each other,
our family creed.
Power bills,
and groceries,
we conserve on them all,
in a big world, we are so small.
No, our family is not rich,
and most won't ever be,
but our way of life,
includes serving to be free.
Many have marched,
and served overseas,
loving their country,
helping it stay free.
This is our life,
and we may not have much,
but we all help each other,
we don't depend on a crutch.
Some may look down,
some don't understand,
but if you can't afford it,
don't live like you can.
Prayer we believe in,
for our family is blessed,
sharing, and caring,
in lifes final quest.

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Once Inseperable

We were inseperable for many memorable years,
We shared the laughter, endured the pain and even cried some tears.
Whenever you were in toruble, I was your angel without the wings,
I taught you to be brave as well as to always strive to achieve
I was your mother, your sister and your best friend,
I promised that we would be this way until the very end.
But Indifference, something interveened and we were suddenly parted,
Your cries to be saved left me so broken hearted.
I realized that there was nothing that I could do to keep us all together,
I didnt even know how to answer when you asked If our absence would last 
We held on tight with all of our might until they pried us away,
I bid back the tears to fall from my eyes as you screamed that you had wanted to 
With a trembling hand, I waved goodbye and for you, I tried to appear strong,
then slowly fell to me knees in pain and plea having not grasp that you were 
actually gone.

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Some have never felt the need
to sail on...far beyond their boundaries;
they had comfort and a good life
and enjoyed delectable banquets,
but others had to struggle for a loaf of bread,
and survive in the mist of poverty!!!

Those were the travels of the deprived men,
leaving, with the deepest regret, their own country
to face hardships,unacceptance and bigotry;
and from the offspring of these misunderstood men,
were born individuals who would shake and change society!!!

They worked long hours in mines
trying to catch a breath beneath those dusty caverns,
and when they came out they only saw a thousands of stars;
many built skycrapers, tunnels and bridges:
getting burned by an inclement sun, and through persistance,
they  had the honor and joy to see them shine!!!

Some have taken for granted everything
they were provided for...
not striving to get ahead in life;
living comfortly in their cosy homes and mansions,
standing by and ignoring the pains of the laborers       
along with the evils of their world;
they did not speak on their behalf...
feeling they were more powerful!!! 

And will God, open His arms of eternity,
look down on them and have a bit of mercy...
when they are approaching His gate?
We all came from two perfect parents 
who were as sinsless as angels,
but did not obey and fell from grace...
are we making that same,incorrigible mistake?

The travels of the deprived men,
left their intact trails where they went;
if some deny this fact to themselves,
is because they refuse to knowledge
they walked tall or existed at all...
and brought  a greatness so unimaginable!!! 


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She Taught Me How

A long time ago, I think I was ten,
my grandmother Jessie, was my best friend.

Cooking, and cleaning, she showed me how,
the chores were many, I remember them now.

We would walk three miles to the blackberry patch,
and pick so many, we both had two sacks.

When the wild plums got ripe, we were off again,
so we could make jelly, and her good ole jam.

Homemade bisquits were her speciality,
but she had patience, these were not easy for me.

The clothes were hung on an old wire line,
this was our only way of drying.

She would sprinkle the jeans, and roll them up tight,
then I would iron way into the night.

Drying apples for her homemade pies,
I was the one that swatted the flies.

People would talk, and say she is so smart,
but I wanted to help, I loved her with my whole heart.

Now, I thank her, for taking the time,
I will always remember, that grandmother of mine.

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Why Do I Pray?

As she got in the car and drove away.
    I said a prayer to keep her safe and let her feel my love throughout the day.
You never know what lies ahead.
    That’s why I say the things I said.
Lord please keep her safe till she comes back.
    For you never know how the devil may attack.
The world itself has become a threat.
    That is why I thank God for America it still is the best country yet.
Although we have slipped and nearly fell.
    As long as we keep trusting in the Lord we will prevail.
But all of this I am saying is but one mans opinion.
    Right now the world has the capability of blowing itself to oblivion.
Right now each country is poised and ready to strike.
   All it would take is just one computer glitch or voltage spike.
I feel for certain it will happen but I don’t know when.
    Every weapon created has been used over and over again.
And the weapons we have today are the most savage in every way.
    Capable of killing everything on this planet all in just one day.
To say I’m concerned I guess you’re right.
    My only defense is my prayers to God, morning, noon, and night.
I pray for my family and my fellow man as well.
    And I pray that the devil goes straight back to hell.

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Bring Them Home

I can still see his face in the early light,
as he boarded his plane for that fatal flight.

Kisses being thrown from a window so far,
taking him from me, back to that war.

On the drive home, I thought to myself,
of his boyhood days, and then I wept.

I had him back for  just a few short weeks,
never expecting a heart full of grief.

Somebody do something, get them out of there,
I'm beginning to think, no one cares.

Imagine for a moment,  just take a little time,
your loved one fighting in a country so blind.

Barbaric actions from the enemy within,
friend fighting friend , and next of kin.

I think it is time to bring them home,
"we can't change others, that's their home."

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Holy Tithe

I saw a man today with zippers on his shoes
and platforms in the news
never stopped him from stepping in the street

I ask him why he looks at the sky
while bombs are blasting at his feet
and he turned to me and softspoke lyricly

of rainbows and starshine, moonshine
and castles in the sky
flying carpets and aladdin’s – mysterious like gempurple – lamp

I saw a boy today with gold flecks in his eyes
and in tremblehands he held a prize,
the world. at his feet; he prayed.

why god are we made this way?
and why does this pain in my chest (such heavy feeling)
set like a stone. in hurting others we hurt ourselves.

why are so many blind to this paradox?
and lock their rationaltics away for ideals and
speals surreal. like a drug is the passion worth all the pain?

I saw a mother daypregnant with worry
for her daughters and sons and in such a hurry
to love with all her heart because that was all she could give.

I told her why don’t you leave this place. this
wreaking ball place. but she smiled with a
twinkle in her eye and told me such tales of scheherazade and her arabian k(nights

and me nightpregnant with fear flee dustfloating notions
that are my present circumstances and
like shahryar immediatly suspicious

the wheel turns and burns halfmooncircles
into the skin and banishes all the compassion of the heart.

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Fitted In

You didn't roll a  wagon up to bring an apple pie.
The neighbors haven't come from miles to raise a barn up to the sky.
We didn't have to ring a bell to call your buckets to a fire,
'Cause when we had three surgeries, our hearts you did inspire.

Big homegrown chickens delivered in vans
And well tended veggies from your very own hands.
You spread your wealth with lots of love,
Always showing to our hearts the spirit of the dove.

The girls' Christmas dresses you made meant so much.
Our year was filled with your own special touch.
You handled, and cradled and poslished our kids.
Reflecting to them that their precious and His.

When that very last cent just couldn't be found,
You quietly gave and got us around.
Your cars, your time, your patience and laughter,
Have hellped us stay focused on what God is after.

He loves us and wants us to always draw near
And just like real families keep "bending" His ear.
Keep telling our heartaches and singing our joys.
Keep giggling and playing like small girls and boys.

We need to snuggle up close and hear His heartbeat,
So we can help those who live in hurt and defeat.
It is to God's family they need to belong.
For only in Him can the weak be made strong.

For those who are sensible and those who are "not so"
God keeps on reminding us - we've not far to go.
So "press toward the mark" are the words i our ear.
Don't turn to the left, or the right, and don't fear.

Jesus is all that we ever will need.
But here is the message He wants us to heed.
It's "us" and it's "we" - blood bought and in Him;
It's sticking together through thick and through thin

We are His children, His friends and His Bride.
We stand and we wait, and by faith abide.
Always, forever, His glory's inside.
We are His Body; We can't be denied.

Although we are grownup, He wants us to be 
Trusting and confident, knowing we're free.
He'll carry it all; both our burdens and us,
And longs, most of all, that we never be anxious.

He is our King; yet He's Daddy, friend too.
He made us; died for us; and will see us through.
Because of this promise and His love in you,
We are established, remain steadfast, and true.

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So many times by my husband I have been told
that I do too much all at once,
But little does he know
that if not by me the job just would not get done.
No matter how sick and exhausted I may be
I find that I must still push myself to the limit,
It is my  job to take the best care of my family
in spite of the fact I have placed myself last on the list.
The dishes linger in the sink for days
taking a whole new life form all their own,
In spite of me being exhausted I wash them any way
just so the roaches will not invade our home.
My baby boy has to be changed,fed, bathed, and clothed
tasks that I do with discomforting pain,
Well, this is the life that I have chose
I just long every day for some kind of change.
Daily, I hurriedly rip and run cleaning and cooking
like  a robot thta is in high demand,
This here job of mine is just so damned overwhelming!
I am in desperate need of a vacation.
It is not a day that goes by
morning, noon, and night my phone is always ringing,
I find it hard for me in taking out some time
to just sit down and enjoy conversating.
Sadly, I have found that I am more stressed out  and depressed than ever
and I am seeing my few dreams slowly fade away,
But i just continue to pray to God to give me the strength in keeping it together
and hopefully everything will be okay.
I am overworked as well as underpaid
and at times I feel unappreciated too,
Taking care of my family is how I spend my nights and my days
and I cannot help that at times I tend to be in a not so great mood.
Each and every night when I retire to my bed
my body aches and my soul is at an unrest,
I plan the schedule for tomorrow's work in my head
at night I hardly ever completely settle down to a much needed rest.

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My Old Grandpa


As  I sit here in the silence, thinking of my old long departed paw.
   I could almost see his face, with his old slouchy hat made entirely out of straw.
To me he was my hero the greatest of all.
   He was always there to catch me and soften my fall.
He was as simple as could be, it didn’t take much to get a smile.
   I wished I could see him again if only for awhile.
Maybe one day in heaven we can reminiscence once again.
   But until that day comes, all I can do is just sit here and remember how good it 
was back then.
At times, I feel his presence, I can almost hear him talking to me.
   It’s just that I miss him, he was so precious don’t you see.
I just thank God for letting me remember my grandpa so well.
   And allowing me to express myself about the man that’s in this tale.
Well paw I know you still watch over me but it’s from heaven above.
   I thank you for your kindness and your sharing of your love.
                      I Love You Paw, Ronald

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A bee sting caused her world to crash. 
It made her leap about in pain into the 
sideboard, tipping hot dogs, mustard, 
ketchup, smearing stains on mom's new 
carpet as dad slipped and fell down, 
suffering damage (to his pride!).

The cook-out turned into a train wreck. 
Words of anger from her brother 
and a spanking from her father bringing 
enforced isolation for at least two days, 
(it's just not fair!)

But when clearer heads prevailed, mom 
dressed the sting with ointment and dad 
produced the ice cream. They gave her back 
her TV privileges (after all she's only six!) 
and kissed her boo boo better!

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Dress Casual

Dear Mr. President

Christmas is upon us, and I am busy 
planning for the celebration of the birth
of Christ.
This year our family will not have a tree,
for I have been laid off from my job.
They told me, they found someone else
that would do it for half the money, that they
have been paying me.
Also, my health insurance is worthless now,
my family can't get any assistance we need, but
we are still grateful to be able to say,
we live in the USA.
I know for sure we will be getting a turkey
from one of the many churches in our area,
they never forget the less fortunate.
This is the reason for my letter,
my family, and I, would love for you, (and
anyone else, that would like to attend), to
join us, as we celebrate the birth of our
Lord, and Savior.  Dress casual, and
remember, In God We Trust.

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I Cannot Erase

You said good-by then turned to leave,
my throat was choking, trying hard to breath.

The tears were coming, I couldn't hold them in,
watching my baby go to a war of no- end.

Your buddies all standing holding loved ones so near,
orders for deployment, at least one year.

Mothers, wives, fathers, and sons,
wiping their tears, everyone.

No smiles did I see, in that crowd that day,
how many will die, how many will pay.

Emotions so heavy, seen on every face,
I cannot erase the images in my mind that day.

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Do You Remember

Do you remember your mother baking a cake,
while you stared at the bowl of mix, hoping to 
stick your finger in for a scoop of batter?
Do you remember how great the kitchen felt
early in the morning, as you walked in from
your bedroom, and all the nice smells
surrounding you?
Do you remember walking to the theater on
Saturday morning for the early picture show,
a dime to get in, and a dime for a coke.
Do you remember the town carnival, and
how great the smells of popcorn, and 
cotton candy were?
Do remember getting to go Trick or Treating,
and you could go by yourself, down your
street, to collect all the different treats?
Do you remember?

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Spring Cleaning

  I'm so sorry about what happened
can you hand me one of thse garbage bags
full of that winter?
I'm a lot stronger than you dear and I don't mind 
the smell.
why didn't you tell?
now he's dead and I can't do anything
would I have?
well I don't know
It would have really
caused a lot of trouble wouldn't it.
Let's just take these out to the curb
and it will all be taken away.
watch out  don't drip any of that 
on your brother
you know he has a weak stomach
look it's dark,so dark outside
too dark for this
let's take these back up to your room
just for now
you know we can put them in your 
Hope chest until the garbage runs next week
take out those old dolls and teddy bears
you're too old for that stuff now anyway
aren't you dear.
you should not have kept so muchof this
for such a long time
that's why it smells so bad
it's your own fault after all,isn't it dear.

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Tapestry of Life

Driving along, the road staring back at me 
mid afternoon sun warming the windshield 
I discover yellow winking in a sea of green 
buttercups bobbing in the wind, catching my eye 
momentarily taking my mind away to busier days
filled with peanut butter sandwiches and Kool-aide and laughter 
the children running through the yard towards me
stairstep offspring, my little imps with
ruler straight bangs reflecting honey gold and bronze
smiling, voices bubbling over, melodies dancing
like water in a brook, constantly flowing
their saucer eyes wide with wonder, twinkling merriment
proffering sweaty hugs and sticky kisses 
I reminisce as the miles pass
the years fly through my wandering mind
amazed that they were so quickly gone I realize now
making a turn towards another kindred home coming into view
the scenery moving ever slower 
my mind catches up as the car stops and
a blur dashes down the steps, crossing the lawn
mother fast in tow to keep harm away, greeting me
I stoop down and open wide my arms as 
boundless energy leaps towards me with exuberance
"Gramma," is hailed, as chubby arms surround my neck
kissy sounds and huggy noises echo as I pray
"Thank you, God"
knowing that He guided me to this very moment
weaving another thread into the rich tapestry of life.

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I admit that it was last summer I really envied everything about her
from her well-groomed head right down to her perfectly manicured feet,
Deep down inside I found myself wanting to be her
and I wanted her to be me.
She never had to worry about not having a car
because she always had a new ride waiting in her driveway,
She never had to continously stay at home and be bored
and just daydream of getting away.
She never had to take care of a small child 24/7
tending to his every whim and need,
All she had to do was leave her child with Grandmother's
and let her handle all of her child's wants and needs.
She always seemed to have money in her pocket
shopping at the mall was her favorite past time,
She always seemed to have had new clothes hanging up in her closet
and she always semmed to have had her hair and nails looking so fine.
I looked at her as having the life that I so muc had desired
a life that I also felt that I so much deserved,
I would look at myself and at my life thinking they were both too simple and tired
I wanted and desired more than just love.
Many nights I had found myself laying awake
with so many doubts and so many fears,
The love of my life never knew how much my heart ached
and how much I longed for things to been different here.
I thought she had it much better than me
her life just seemed more exciting and adventourous compared to mine,
Unfortunatly, it was the pubic image of her that I had only seen
and not the real brat behind the closed, four walls.
Even though she had much more material riches than I
she was poorly lacking in self-respect and dignity,
After realizing that known fact my eyes were then opened wide
my life was way better and was richly satisfying abunduntly.
I have a family that honestly and sincerely loves me
and there is food in my cupboards and a roof over my head,
The material things really matters not all that much to me
it is the love from my family that has made me feel so blessed.

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Shall We Sit

Shall we sit, and talk for awhile,
or maybe use this time to accomplish
something worthwhile?
Shall we busy ourselves with task at hand,
realizing a difference can be made with two 
strong hands?
Shall we listen to the cry of the needy,
shaming the wasteful, showing signs
of becoming greedy?
Shall we take notice , we can't blindly stand,
while things are getting too far out of hand?
Shall we become a voice as one,
seems these days,
nothing will be left for our daughters, and sons.

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I Remember

I remember when I was born.
The memories have not gone.
He is like a girl, not a man.
Made to feel, I cost a lot.
Better off without this Tot.

I remember.not enough to eat.
From the table, hungry go.
Stealing wind  falls, from the snow.
Hiding under the table, to escape.
Cups and plates, they throw.
Shouting and screaming,  
Here they go
I hear it still.

I remember my school days.
Standing face to wall.
Getting the cane, for nothing at all.
When time to go home, the bullies I see.
The gang is waiting for me.

I remember the black eye.
Walked into a lamp post, I did lie.
Torn cloths, They are not new, ploy.
Go to your room, you naughty boy.

I  remember late at night,
Hearing a noise that made me fright.
Under the blanket I froze.
Who's there nobody knows.
Running in my mind.
Not moving and blind.

I remember running with all my might,
To escape a fight.
Survival lay in flight
Crying and screaming.
God help me.

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In Harms Way

Their mission at hand , can't be defined,
sent far away leaving loved ones behind.

Streets patrolled every minute of the day,
a land of bloodshed, a society in disarray.

Killed or wounded the reports come in,
as more are recruited, and trained to defend.

Tears keep falling every minute of the day,
as families bow their heads to pray.

A wise woman I'm not, but who is these days,
when they send more, and more in the middle of harms way.

God bless our soldiers, and bring them home,
this war we are in, has been going on too long.

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Who are these people who we call family ?
Family is people from which you grow and  learn from
The people are to be there for you through thick and thin
Family does not always mean blood relatives
Family sometimes is your friends that are always there for you and always
have been
Family is the ones you can count to be there when you need them
Family never turns their back on you
Family always encourages and loves you
Family picks you up when you are down not kick you down
Family is loyal and does not betray you
When you find your true family they will be there for you always
Family is forever

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Shame , Shame

Shame ,Shame, you raised a hand,
no, your victim does not understand.
Whatever in this world, gives you the right,
causing such pain, looking for a fight.
You are the one, with a problem, you hear,
not the one, you've filled with fear.
Prisons, and asylums,  hold many like you,
help or punishment, for the things you do.

There is no excuse for this.

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Coming To Claim

Risk are taken each day of our life,
deception usually favored over what's right.

Many a soul lost, when temptation walks in,
rather be happy now, than then.

Rivals of blood, where treasures may lie,
brought to the surface, when a loved one dies.

Out of the woodwork, they begin to crawl,
coming to claim, they want it all.

Absent they've been, through the sickness, and pain,
one doing it all, but some feel no shame.

Walking away with the treasures of the old,
and never once offered a hand to hold.

I have been a witness, so many times,
witnessed first hand, these vulcherous kind.

I said it then, and I'll say it now,
If you didn't help, then don't utter a sound.

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A Long Time Ago

A long time ago our leaders led,
and thanked the One, who provided 
our bread.
A long time ago, we the people could speak,
and be proud to stand on our own two feet.
A long time ago, children could play,
and sleep at night, without worry a stranger
might take.
A long time ago, a man protected his home,
without the worry of being robbed if he was
A long time ago, our teens had chores,
not fancy cars, cell phones, and still
expecting more.
A long time ago, fathers were the boss,
and no one disputed at any cost.
A long time ago, women could cook,
their only stove was fueled with wood.
A long time ago, was a long time ago.

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I call you my friend, my family says you are not,
they said, just look around you, see what you have got.

You took my family, and turned them against me,
they don't understand at all, I'm gone alot, I don't even call.

I had a job, one of the best, but now that is gone to,
my family says, it's all your fault, and I can blame you.

My kids are ashamed of me, I can see it in their eyes,
they say their friends make fun of me, they wish, that they could hide.

I don't have the desire to do anything but sleep, my mom is a 
wreck, all she can do is weep.

Now I'm looking back, at the life from me you took,
I will go tomorrow, and try, and escape your hook.

If I had been smart, you would never have gotten hold of me,
but I wasn't, and this you can plainly see.

Well, this is good by,  I'm kicking you out, you really have to leave,
and if you come back here, ever again,  you will deal with the police.

If you have a problem, please seek help.

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When our grand-children get grown,
and have families of their own,
what will be our answer,
when these questions are asked?
Did you really say a prayer in school,
and was our flag really, Red, White, and
Why did you sit idly by, and let foreign
countries drain America dry?
Why did that war last so many years,
and why are we not safer, we still have fears.
Why is our country changing the language we speak,
and why do the children still not have the things they need?
These might be a few, add your suggestions,
please do.

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Silent Screams

Silent screams throughout the land,
 are heard from many, who don't understand.
Fighting a war, of endless rage,
still this battle brews more hate.
Innocence, once, so long ago,
now instead horror, rapidly grows.
Graves multiply, tears linger on,
voices never heard, lives are gone.
The Eagle is flying, his wings can't fail,
even though  once there were many, still his strength prevails.
Victory for others, as their blood runs deep,
in the middle of an explosion, will we ever see?
Silent screams will be heard, forever, and a day,
as they bury their loved ones, who were willing to pay.

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Letting Go

A child so innocent, has to be taught,
everything is up to you, in how far you will go.

You can't have the world handed on a platter,
education, and work is what will matter.

Sheltered for awhile, that is alright,
becoming of age, is when you begin your flight.

As you soar obtaining your goals,
you will always be grateful, your parents let go.

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The Big Day

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.

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Her Last Request

She is waiting for her children to all come home,
once again they will be together, it has been so long.
Sometimes she thinks back to when they were young
and smiles to herself, remembering some of the things
they had done.
Her Christmas request to each of them, lets all get 
together, once again.
Too busy with their lives to visit their mom, sometimes
she wonders, what have I done.
Not many phone calls or letters from them, and never
a visit, how long has it been.
Once she was able to prepare their meals, but time
has a way to conquer and steal.
She sits and waits for her children to arrive, but her hope 
is fading, day has turned to night outside.
Her neighbor found her the very next day, and
all around her, family pictures lay.
Now all her children have all come home, crying tears of
regret, for their lack of love that was shown.
They all stand over her grave today, the last request their
mother made.

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Back Then

I remember my mother talking about
working in the fields, digging, planting, 
and harvesting, this was the only way
they could make sure, they all had 
good meals.
I remember, she also talked about
her walk to school, about 2 miles
one way, this was common back then,
it was all anyone knew.
Their finest possesion was a real
strong mule, her daddy loaned him
out, to just a few.
If they wanted candy, or a similar treat,
they had to catch a chicken, and trade
him for these.
I compare her times with now, and
those people had it rough, I can just see
some people today doing this, we're not
that tough.
These great people that came before,
opened so many doors, and we owe
them so much, we could never fill the
shoes they wore.

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Watchful Eyes

A little bit of rouge, gotta have rose red cheeks,
every now, and then, back to the dresser she sneaks.
Plenty of eye shadow, make those eye lids blue,
giggling, and in secret, she is up to something new.
Almost three, and copying her mom,
this should tell us something about, from whom they learn.

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My dad


I never knew my dad,  he died when I was two.
   My granddaddy was the one that would walk with me to school.
He would tell me things and make me laugh.
   He stepped right in on my daddy's behalf.
He wasn't big, he wasn't small.
   Not real short not very tall.
He was the kind of man I wanted to be.
   Gentle and kind and honest you see.
Never would he burden, or condemn a soul.
   That wasn't what he was about, that wasn't his goal.
A religious man he was not, but I feel he knew our savior.
   You could see it in his walk, and mostly in his behavior.
I just thank God for the man He sent that took my Daddy's place.
   Lord you have him now, but he left a memory that time will not erase.
Lord I think You threw away the mold when You made that sweet old guy.
   He surely was a keeper, but he had to go and I often wonder 
The older I get the more I miss my sweet and darling paw.
   The most gentle, kindest man I think I ever saw.  
Thanks for sharing!

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I become who I am through my experiences
What happened yesterday develops into I am today
How I perceive events will be how I think
Who we are today was shaped by yesterday mishaps

This is what life is all about good an bad
It is how mankind has grown through the eons
It is also we grow in our lifetime
Who we are today was shaped by yesterday mishaps

Our surroundings and event shape who we become
Without them we don't develop,we become stagnated
Our emotions and personalities are self centered
Who are we are today was shaped by yesterday mishaps

The tragedies, screw ups, and even the happy moments
All shape our thoughts and response to other
We learn patience,compassion,love and even understanding
Who are  we today was shaped  yesterday mishaps

It is something through our hurting others that we need to grow
By seeing the pain we cause we expand our world to let them in
When we experience our pain we can relate to others
Who are we today was shaped yesterday mishaps

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In The Sand

Pain so deep, it makes one cry,
nothing said, or given, can erase it,
so don't even try.

Emptiness has taken a permanent place,
my life will never be the same, 
before that day.

Words spoken in haste, a war is born,
families will suffer the burden,
loved ones leaving, homes are torn.

Nothing can make it right,
the time is too late,
but some are still there, fighting, tonight.

Take that war, bury it in the sand,
no one can settle the troubles,
we have witnessed in that land.

Markers line up, across our land,
duty, and honor,
etched forever, with blood, in that sand.

Many speeches to lay the blame,
but we don't hear them,
they are all, the same.

We can, we can't, they don't even know,
someone better do something,
before we lose one more.

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vignette- INFAMOUS

Violence was his game
Tancred,prince of Salerno ,by name
Killed his daughter's true love
Delivered the heart to her abode
Infamy remembered in song,play and ode

Note: Tancred(1078-1152) killed Guiscardo,his daughter's lover and cut his heart out and 
sent it to her,she then took poison.Tancred buried them together

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A Letter From Meth

(A letter from Meth, 
You don't know me, only what I can do,
I am the devil, I am living with you.
I guide your children to play with fire,
you can tell when I'm needed, that helpless
I am not pretty, and I'll destroy their health, and
don't think for a minute, I care about those
tears you wept.
I can't get enough of sharing myself,
even for free, then they'll need me.
I know you stay up, and wait for them at night,
I'll never leave, without giving you a fight.
Families don't mean a thing to me,
hooked is all I care about, you'll see..
Running in flocks they all do the same,
calling me daily, Meth is my name.
Weight falling off, that hollow stare,
don't really care about what they wear.
News is on the street, I heard today,
a grave is being dug for someones baby to lay.
I mean business, don't mess with me,
I am out for money, and I am greedy.
Remember I warned you, I told you all about me,
now it's your turn, open your eyes, and see.

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Follow the crowd,
they know the way,
under the radar,
from the light of day.
Brewing up misery,
wrapped in pain,
now everyone,
knows your name.
Hooked, and homeless,
is where you'll be,
as you follow their path,
of devastation, you'll see.
Bitter division,
from family, and friends,
begging you constant,
don't do that again.
Trapped you are,
can't seem to move,
strong hands that grip you,
they know how to use.
Destruction is coming,
don't know when,
but if you don't change,
evil will win.
All the misery,
others have felt,
now upon you,
someone will tell.
Friends of dealers,
fake friend to all,
he won't be there,
when you take that fall.
All by yourself,
standing all alone,
look around,
the friend is gone.
Another weak soul,
he has pledged to destroy,
unsuspecting parents,
of girls, and boys.
Open your eyes,
before it's too late,
the friend of meth,
your soul he will take.

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Call Them Friend

Once upon a time,
in a country so near,
children could go to
school without any fear.

And in this country, God
was the center, many prayers
were heard, especially at
a families dinner.

This country was clean, 
from smog, and dirty rain,
and friends did not hurt friends,
for their own selfish gain.

Farming was a way,
to ensure your family was fed,
harvest time was busy,
and everyone was ready for bed.

Junk food was not heard of,
home cooking was the fad,
and company was welcome,
to share anything the family had.

Doctors made house calls,
anytime, day or night,
and all they wanted,
was for you to be alright.

Neighbors would gather,
and bring goodies to share,
a community built on each other,
where,everyone proved they cared.

Times have changed, but every now
and then, a neighbor will surprise you,
and then you call them friend.

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Election Day Blues,
what do we do.
Is there a candidate,
worthy, and true?
How do we know,
just by what they say,
nothing accomplished anyway.
Same old, same old, 
put me in,
then stand back,
and watch me grin.
The Pledge Of Allegiance,
what do I do,
I represent only a few.
Did you serve your country,
this needs to be addressed,
one of the many questions,
we must ask.
Maybe I'm wrong to think this way,
but I want America to grow,
not fade.

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Domestic Abuse


What gives so called parents certain rights,
   A child is a gift from God not something you fight.
I’ve heard the excuse when I get drunk I just loose control,
   I say to you if you take your anger out on a child you have no soul.
A child has to have discipline I’ll be the first to agree.
   I’ll admit I’ve placed my child across my knee.
But I had enough sense to know when enough was enough.
   I wasn’t trying to prove something or trying to be tough.
My kids I love with all my heart,
    And they heard that nearly everyday from the start.
A man to me is not a man if he has to beat on his family if that’s his plan.
    And to the ladies out there I say to you walk away from this type of man.
They won’t change they don’t possess the desire,
    They’ve shorted out their overload wire.
Call the cops are do what you must, 
    There is help out there, there’s people you can trust.
The odds are less than one in a thousand he will ever change.
    Something is wrong with their mind they are deranged.
How many women and children have died from this form of abuse,
    Trying to break away just trying to get loose.
There is no clear cut answer just leave when you can.
     And no matter what never return to this type of man.

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My Two Angels

My two Angels are in Heaven tonight,
past the moon, and all the stars so bright.
My mother, my aunt, my two sweet girls,
for so long, the center of my world.
Both were sick, and in so much pain,
if they needed anything, all they had to do 
was call my name.
My tears still fall, for I miss them so,
but I know one day, we all must go.
Both lost husbands, and they were alone,
and decided to join their homes.
Years came calling ,and claimed their health,
so I moved in, there was no one left.
Now I'm so lost, for they have gone on home,
these two sisters, left me alone.
I hope they knew, how much I cared,
and the treasures they left me, that we all shared.
Rest my Angels, for your journey was long,
you are in safe arms now, in your Heavenly Home..

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An Execution

I had an uncle that died in the electric chair,
   He deemed his punishment was just and quite fair. 
One mistake is all it takes to ruin your life,
   He might still be alive now but he used his knife.
A young man who was down on his luck, 
   Dove deep into the bottle his life had gone amuck.
He had lost his job then his wife followed suit,
   She wasn’t real understanding when it came to not having very much loot.
He tried his best to win her back,
    But she flat out told him it was money he lacked.
He pleaded and he begged but she laughed in his face,
    He’d lost all self respect he felt like he had become a total disgrace.
He turned to the drink and he even did drugs,
    Started hanging out with nothing but thugs.
Started out stealing small just to stay high,
    His family begged him to quit but he was too far gone to even try.
He tied in with the devil, he thought to be his only friend,
    Till that one night it happened as the devil lead him to his end.
He was just going to rob her till she started screaming and crying they both were 
overcome with fear
    Scared he pulled his knife to silence her this friend he’d known through the 
As he left her dying on the floor in a most awful gruesome sight,
    He ran but he couldn’t escape what he’d become or the out come of that night.
They caught him without incident and he confessed to his crime,
    He said I’m sorry for what I’ve done but that’s not good enough this time.
The jury all found him guilty of murder in the first degree,
    As the judge said Lord have mercy on your soul for I issue you the death 
As he waited his time he made peace with the Lord,
    As the day grew closer that had to have been hard.
Well it’s over and done and he paid his dues,
    But I loved that old guy and sometimes it gives me the blues.
What he did was wrong I’ll be the first to agree’
    But the side I knew the jury never got to see.

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With All My Heart

I got the news I had to go
to a land so far from home.
My love I said, please wait for me 
and pray everyday while I am gone.
I never dreamed my fate that day, for
in the sand my battered body lay.
They rushed me home for medical care
and told my wife that I was there.
She came so fast those far, far miles
and stayed with me all the while.
So now I know and she does to,our
love is strong and our hearts are true.

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Hard Times They Had

They met in Ashville on a bright sunny day, and
said "I Do" the 27th of May.
Five little babies, to them were born, and
hand me down clothes, so many times worn.

Not many jobs during that period in time, and
he was very thankful, to work in the mines.
Such a cold damp place to spend your day, but
he always workd hard, for an honest day