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Narrative Imagination Poems | Narrative Poems About Imagination

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

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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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A Dream In The Mist

The mountain peaks in colored sugar coat
Of pinks and blues and lilac violet hues
The sky, just before sunrise, all windless and clear
The day is misty, bitter cold, and crystal sheen
But I am warmed by one small ray of golden morning light

From high upon a perch of snow top crest
A lone stag with graceful legs that fly
Carving out a quiet trail, like fleeting wind
The sound so soft, the hush of whispered steps

He halts, and looks at me with logic's eyes
And seems to smile in recognition, 
His golden crown of antlers, gleam in morning sun
Just when I thought my crystal world would splinter
He tilts his head, and bids me to come
And like an eagle's wing, remote and sure
He darts away, just like a bird
Without a sound

Beauty of the of pure grace
I run after him, panting and breathless,
Through the glimmering, in search of answers
But, I cannot keep up, as he disappears without a trace
And still not wringing the answers from the slightest sound
Yet, I am left alone, and feel at peace

For Constance's Contest:  The Nature Dream/Spirtual Dream
Carrie Richards

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Leaving the Station

The smoke is a question mark...
My view of you is covered in gray
You pause, look back, then walk away
You’ve neglected to open your umbrella…

Tomorrow, under a different sky
I will listen to the songs of yesterday
The world leaves behind a sign language for broken hearts
It is cloudy, it is beginning to rain…
Goodbyes are bitter ales we drank today
I look again, through the smudges of the day
We are going to leave behind a trail of smoke
A sound like a tired mother calling in her child
The train whistle rings in the dusk

I take a last look through the window
I have said my goodbyes
The train begins to move
We are leaving the station platform
Tears weep down the window
Spilling over the imprints of my hand
I found myself dry eyed and my throat too tight to speak
Finding a place to put the carry-ons
People are chatting, settling in 
Happy, excited, anxious to be departing

A thin straight lift and a gray, silvery curve
Like a sickle for harvesting the first star…
The smoke is a question mark

 "Write A Backwards Poem"

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When I Cry

Majestic illusions, dwell in my mind,
my special place that is only mine.

Filled with miracles, given through love,
my little heaven , when life gets tough.

A voyage I take, no one else is here,
I feel no sadness, I feel no fear.

The quietness, and serenity of an ocean voice,
waves coming softly, the air so moist.

Peace all around, no hassle of life,
my safe Haven of refugee, whenever I cry.

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Silver Strands

Slate gray streets made even darker by cutting raindrops
Umbrellas popping up everywhere, people seeking shelter

But I stayed put, wanting to get drained with the rain,
then I hear this tinkling voice that says, “Don’t you just love it when it rains?!”

I look at her wearily and her eyes actually gleam with laughter
Oh geez, this lady was my total opposite.  I was brooding, she was brimming.
I power-up my go away vibes, but she was like a darned magnet…
Was I the ferromagnetic one, or was she?

She gushed on the metaphor of rain in her life, and I didn’t feel like drowning.
Listening to her amidst the onslaught was so refreshing, making me thirstier…

There we were, two drenched souls, sitting on the pavement, chatting up a storm.
Of all her descriptions of rain, one in particular stood out for me…

Pearl drops strung on silver strands …

She said, “Rain for me would be silver strands streaking an otherwise somber sky…
pearl drops strung on silver strands, broken by the heavens to share with us.
See how precious it is?” Then she continued on with the metaphor for pearls…

Her words felt like windshield wipers to me, and I could see clearly now
By then, the rains had softened, and a lone pearl drop landed on her eyelashes
-that made me look closer at her eyes… her beautiful, wise, yet cloudy eyes…

I have never looked at rain the same way since then.

For Andrea's and Susan's Silver Strands contest

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Four Hours of Eternity - 3

I woke to the sound of sizzling bacon, the aroma of fresh baked Muffins and my Beautiful Lenore in her bright green Teddy. "Nubbies", I said, "what time is it." Lenore said" for You it is 3:30P.M., June 27th, 2013. You are in the O.R. at Dartmouth Hospital. For me it is time to bring YOU to Eternity for a short time."What are You talking about; Baby." I died last night before we had time to go to the Bridal Suite. I do not want You to go through that pain again. Please come with me to the railing on the starboard side of the ship."Below the shuffle board deck?""Nubbies, just
trust me." As we walked outside, I noticed there was no air,no breeze, no sea lapping against the side of the boat, the sun seemed pasted in the sky. Where is Mom and Dad;where's my Ma, Where is everybody? Harry we are frozen in time, for last night and today; never happened for you. I asked the Lord to give us this time together. I was 3 months pregnant when I said "I DO" I want you to see JoAnne Naomi Grow up. Now
 Full Moonlight Stand on the railing with me and when I say 3; Jump. 1, 2, 3. You would think we would plummet into the Caribbean Sea, but we splashed into the Full Moon. The sun was warm,the birds sat on my shoulders, singing a song of Life Forever. The Peace, Serenity and Tranquility was unearthly. I then saw GOD and the Son of Salvation hugged me and in a Mezmerizing Voice said Welcome Home.
                                   To be Continued 
I want to apologize to those of YOU who are punctuationally  bound to Poetry I do not know how to punctuate people talking. I know I'm suppose  to use "" marks Sorry I LOVE YOU ALWAYS and FOREVER YOUR Liege...Harry

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The Mermaid and the Moon

She climbed the liquid staircase
Just to gaze at gleaming stars;
All she wanted was a wee one
To light up her fair boudoir.

A thousand times she spied them
Flash across the midnight sky;
She strained so high to catch one,
But the mermaid could not fly.

Exhausted with hard striving,
She lay back against the sea,
Rocking on the waves, gently, 
As she rested peacefully.

The moon, climbing his set arc,
Saw her glist'ning on the foam;
At first sight so madly loved 
Her, longing to take her home.

To lightly comb her flowing
Hair, he sent a small moonbeam,
Who tangled in her tresses
And woke her from her dream.

With a flash, her glitt'ring tail
Slapped the water and she fled,
Sliding down in the ocean,
Hiding in her pearl lined bed.

The moon, absent one moonbeam,
Wanders heaven, round and round,
Surveying seas and oceans,
Praying his mermaid is found.

Sometimes in the deep, dark pool
He sees a shining light start
Beneath the frothing billows,
And he clutches for his heart.

Forever in his orbit...
She, forever in the waves,
Her hair with his beam glowing,
All of love he ever gave.

May 31, 2014

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The Inspiration Store

I'm looking for some inspiration Can you direct me to the Inspiration Store? Heard they've got some real good bargains Great ideas never used before! I don't often need to avail myself Of this vital and humanitarian service Been quite prolific in the last few years But now I'm feeling a wee bit nervous! It's five minutes before the midnight bell I've come up dry all the day long Utter panic has grabbed hold of my brain Thinking suicide would be wrong! There's other things besides poetry I'm told On this great big happy balloon But none so addictive as rhyming and rhythm It turns people into silly buffoons! The Inspiration Store has saved many people From utter and overwhelming despair So I guess I'll do a search on Google Maps Before I totally lose all my hair! © Jack Ellison 2014

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The sparkling blue gem

Scaling the skies and beauty of her wonder world A fairy saw a sparkling thing down in a valley Intrigued she flew up to it Mesmerized she was, when she saw it A big ,sparkling ,blue gem with lustrous shine Thrilled by its luster ,she touched it And woof!!! Her magic wand disappeared She lost her wings and all her powers In desperation ,she touched it again and again But to no avail Disheartened she walked up to the nearby brook With her head in her lap ,she started crying Suddenly she heard a soothing music The music of rumbling, ruffling brook Freshly scented spring air wiped her tears Dusky splendid skies brought her smile back A new world was unfolding before her Elated she was, when she walked on the dewy grass Her eyes shone, when she saw a small pink flower, growing under a rock Her heart skipped a beat when she touched the bark of the tree Intoxicated by this beauty, she wandered around And unknowingly reached back to the vicinity of the blue gem On seeing it again ,she felt that it’s beauty had increased Again mesmerized by its luster, she touched the gem This time with an enlightened heart and a beautiful mind And woof!!! Her magic wand reappeared Her wings and powers restored Since night was befalling on her She with an elated heart ,flew hastily up to her abode Resting on her couch ,she felt something stuck to her feet It was the fresh dewy grass Holding the grass blade in her hand She smiled ,as she knew She had learned a lesson that day Had seen a new world, a world beyond her magic and had learned to keep her feet grounded….

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Chinese Scrolls

Poems from old and yellowed
Chinese scrolls make me sad,
make me sad: stored in shiny,
lacquered boxes of perfumed teak,
they crumble when unrolled.
And the hands that must have written
Chinese thoughts upon the rolls:
little, leathern, patient hands,
painting poems -- stroke and stroke
and careful, delicate stroke --
stopping, meanwhile, to twirl
a waxed mustache --
for someone else, a foreigner,
who cannot understand, to read,
mull over, and be sad.
And this when Chinese thoughts
are gone, and tiny, trembling
Chinese hands are dust.

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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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She walks here often, almost every day
She thinks of him
And each day he will appear
With a different name, a different face, 
But always,…. the story will be the same…..

His skin will be bronzed by the sun
Wet and glistening by the tide 
He will not tell her his name
Instead, he tells her she is beautiful

The sand scalds her shoulders and thighs
She will let him have his way
He will talk with his hands
He tells her she carries passion in the little hallow of her back

        Her walks along the beach
        And into the brambles 
        Are never without purpose
        She thinks of how he may be watching
        She is pleased to hold
        Her head tilted slightly downward
        If, while she continues
        Into the wildflowers and thistles
        With her clothing open
        With her skin borne
        To foxtails and thorns
        Letting them enter her flesh…..
        She will of course admit
        Astonishment, …….but no shame…
        And promises herself not to return again
        For at least a week

For Cyndi's Contest: Sensual

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Sleepless Nights

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

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

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

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

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

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

For Leonora Galinta's Contest

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Before the Rain Sets In

“You may say that I’m a dreamer”,
With bold presumption in my youth
Beyond school age, but hardly saged
Turned loose, we hoped to use our wits to change the world…
And thought we would…and thought we could…
We declared to fight, what seemed so right
Those days as we leaned so hard against the wind

The plight of man’s predicament on earth, we mused
The breeze just caught our spouted words
And tossed them where it would
We feared our crystal world would splinter
Would shatter without our spin... 
"Never knowing who to cling to, when the rain set in”

But that was then…
So naively in such innocence
Thinking we could see a world at peace
Hoping to make our dreams come alive
From thoughts we shaped on winsome days
Imagining, ….if you please
"It doesn't have to be that way!"

And now with logic’s eyes, I do remember
How changeless is a planet
Glimmering in search of answers
And still not wringing answers from the slightest sound
And words we spoke, with vigorous shape 
Our hopes expressed, still looks for guidance…
Are uttered yet, by other voices…
“My words like silent raindrops fell, 
                    and echoed in the wells of silence”

Lyrics From  John Lennon “Beatles”
                    Elton John
                    Jim Croce’
                    Simon and Garfunkle

For Chris Matt's ---'Contest Favorite Songs and Lyrics'

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I drift into the night

I dream about a day that may never come,
I watch my life unravel, simply come undone.
My feet begin to drag as I walk across the floor,
Still I cannot wait for what the future has in store.

I go out for a walk as the sun is getting low,
The sky explodes in colors as I watch it go.
It kisses the horizon and then it goes away,
It seems to mark the end of just another day.

I stand upon a hill as the light begins to fade,
I think about the day, decisions that I made.
Light begins to falter as it all goes dark,
I feel this spark growing inside my heart.

I look into the valley as the darkness grows,
I see the sparks of fireflies they seem to glow.
I hear the birds sing they soon will retire,
I look up at the moon it appears to be on fire.

The stars up above look like diamonds in the sky,
I watch the lights on planes as they streak by.
I think of the darkness filled with all these lights,
They seem to be like beacons to guide me through the night.

I lay upon the grass and gaze upon the stars,
They sparkle so bright in a sky dark as tar.
I close my eyes and imagine I can fly,
Travel to the moon as it rises high.

The day has give way to the wonders of the night,
Everywhere I look, I catch another sight.
As time flies by, I wonder where it went,
A breeze blows, carrying a floral scent.

I climb from the hill it’s time to go to bed,
Visions of the night still dancing in my head.
Soon tomorrow shall become today.
The sun will rise and the stars will go away.

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Life's Void

On the edge of the void, that's where we must be.
Somewhere between the thrill of taking your life into your own hands and the cold 
realisation that you are finally in control of your own destiny is where you learn to 
really live.
It is not the same for you and I, each of us must find our own void and peer 
carefully over the edge, for we are human and we must look, or wither away, but to 
carelessly leap into the void would surely mean destruction.
So we tread the fine line of life and hope that one day we shall learn to fly and bask 
in the glory of that we can only watch from a distance.

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Beneath A Cold Jeweled Sky

Standing together on the upper deck
she clings to my arm, as if I might hold her up…
I am too young for a woman, too old for a child
But I feel so calm, ….strangely so…, 
And although she’s older than me, by far
The terror I see in my mistress’s face
brings a sense of surreal, that could bring a smile
if not for the horror surrounding us now

The news of an iceberg had rapidly reached our ears
It spread like fire, from lip to lip
Those ghostly white faces, wild looks of despair
Desperation unfamiliar, to the privileged faces
My aristocratic companions of this ill-fated ship

All through my tender years, as her handmaid, fulfilling her whims
wiping her tears, mending her hems, fixing her tea
laying her clothes, drawing her bath…wondering,  wondering
did she know who I am?  Did she see beyond, my uniform
The worn out girl,…. the hireling....?

     We are near the small boats, only room for one more
     Her life jacket, seems so out of place in the crowd 
     Over her sparkling jewels, the fur-lined coat

     But suddenly, she looks so oddly serene
     She….removes her fur coat, and wants to exchange
     Her fur for my old tweed….I don’t understand….
     She slips me the life jacket…and squeezes my hand
     Helps me adjust,…..and then quickly pushes….
     And into the small boat….I’m crushed with the masses

     The last time I see her….she smiles and she waves
     For a moment as equals….so boldly brave
     She knows what I’d longed for….what I hoped and I dreamed
     She knows who I am, she knows and she cares
     She is staying aboard, it is too late for her...
     And I scream! Oh my God!.....

               I can’t hold back my tears..….

Inspired By Tracie's Contest: "My Heart Will Go On and On"

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Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills 
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms 
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat! 
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?    

Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...

After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "

Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!  

My theme is: Happiness In Childhood

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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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I unbutton your shirt slowly
gently brushing my
hand over your bare chest
your intake of breath
quicken with every touch
finally I remove your shirt,
your pants follow in quick succession
that all too familiar urges is back…

I so much want to forge ahead
do all the things we use to do
but I stop midway
as the picture of
the two of you
in “our” bed
flashes in front of me,
it's been haunting me for days…

"Stick to the plan"
I think to myself
I play with your hands,
rubbing them slowly between mine,
before taking your hands 
and using the handcuffs
to impale them to the bedposts…

From the stunned look 
on your face,
I can see you didn't expect this,
words dried up
as the whip comes out 
from under the bed,

your eyes pleading
without saying a word
as the first lash
connects with your chest
the scream you utter
is like music to my ears...

*I probably had some twisted thought going on in my head a year ago*

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Infinitely Redundant

Is science fiction an oxymoron?
How can science be fiction
When it is the process by which myth
Is eliminated and all that is tangible
In the world is interpreted? And isn’t fiction
Nothing more than the literary
Manifestation of the dreams
That crash through the barriers
Of reality? How then
Can the two terms coexist
In a single phrase?

But wait.

Is there anything made
By mortal hands
That was not proceeded
By a dream? Is it possible
That the creator of worlds
Dreamed before the first
Flowers bloomed in the garden?

If dreams lead to physical
Things, then they must be
The blueprints of the future
And the catalyst of science;
Conversely, science is proof
Of the dreams of gods and mortals.

Science fiction is not
An oxymoron, but it is
The infinitely redundant
Confirmation of life.

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Feels So Good

The little town known as Feels So Good.
    Was a jolly little village hidden deep in the woods.
The people there would never go to sleep.
    Hidden back in the woods so deep.
They never got big they never ever grew.
    They averaged in height about an inch or two.
Mostly all they did was run and play.
    That’s what made Feels So Good, so good they say.
The sun always shines it never gets dark.
    Another reason they’re happy, happy as a lark
Their sky is always blue, and that’s the only blue to be found.
     Happy thoughts and smiles they pass all around.
If you’re ever down their way just do as I say.
     Take a sip of their water and get ready to play.
You feel yourself shrinking but it feels so fine.
     So you can run and play in their warm sunshine.
Well I guess I better go and take me a sip.
     Then I can run and play hop, skippity, skip.
Goodbye for now but you’re welcome to come down.
     And join us in this merry little town.

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Tick Tock

Tick tock 
The clock is ticking
And the world is moving
Can you imagine
How fast can the time be

Tick tock
My head is ringing
And my problems is stopping
But my ending
Is just a beginning

Tick tock
I am waiting for tomorrow
Unsure of awaiting sorrow
This time I had borrow
Will never return to me

Tick tock
The clock is ticking
And the world is moving
My head is spinning
While I am loosing 
My mind

Tick tock, tick tock
You are gone
You are left alone
You won't see me anymore

Tick tock
There is an end of time
There is an end of the day
And that's is the end
Of everything

Tick tock
It's over now..

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The Willows

Tomorrow’s times are in these eyes of mine.
Away and far my world shall part.
The Seas shall rise from their depths of deep.
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will weep.
The Sun will rise as my days still come,
The glory, the power, it is the rains with Sun.
Tomorrow’s times are in these days of mine.
Far and gone my world shall bond.
The Mountains will fall from their heights they climb.
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will shine.
Tomorrow’s times are in these thoughts of mine.
Gone and here my world shall fear.
The Lands will separate the world by Sea,
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will be.
Tomorrow’s times I know are mine.
Here it is that I fear I’m near.
My Land, my Seas, my Mountains of plain sight,
And in the glow of the shadows the willows shall shed their light.

®Registered: Ann Rich 1998

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The Weapon To End All Weapons


To the fighting men and women and to all military personnel,
   I only want to wish for you safety and God keep you well.
We are proud of what you do and you are always in our thoughts and mind,
   I am working on a weapon too that when you shoot someone with it they turn 
from mean to kind.
My Mean To Kind (M.T.K.) weapon is nearly done.
   I’m in a hurry so I can produce enough for everyone.
Just point my M.T.K. and zap them once or twice.
    The more the zap the more the nice.
No more blood will either side ever let,
     Maybe just an honest days worth of sweat.
How cool will that be to finally bury the grudge,
    And sit down with your enemy over a hot chocolate sundae with fudge.
Instead of a hateful staring glare,
   Just zap him once and end warfare.
Heck I may just zap myself again,
    I’ll zap you too and you can be my friend.

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Indigo Haze

Alone on a crisp seashore

Bellowing storm clouds engage 

Rolling above me as I walk the beach

A pleasantry lifting my rage


Bending my head back looking up

My arms stretched out to their sides

Cool rain drops lightly kiss me

Sensuous tempestuous skies


Taking in a deep breath

I let my repression fade 

Peace penetrates my Heartmind 

Removing the storm's I've made 


Slowly with each rhythmic beat

From these tiny three foot waves...

My anger vanished with the storm

Into a gothic indigo haze~


Copyright 2008

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LOVE being felt caressively,so sexually, 
intimately,intentively makes me feel so 
radical,speaking hypothetical-ly of how it 
makes me feel,

So real,the thrill I always feel,the ideal of me wanting to kiss,

I can't resist what this is, which is you only you.

No one else has made me feel what I felt, 
get me so hot until the point I melt,

I sweat began to pelt upon each other,

There is no other that makes me feel what I 
feel when we together for now until forever.

The LOVE we feel physically, mentally and emotionally.
But just to think I'm only speaking hypthetically.

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The ReUnited States of America

Dark clouds on the horizon the hour is quite late.
    As I ponder my destiny and wonder my fate.
The foundation of my life was set in soft sand.
    With no guidance from above where does one take a stand.
The pressures of life can be so unjust.
    That is why he is called Savior, in our lives He is a must.
The roads that we travel sometime seem to never end.
     Filled with pain and heartache around every bend.
We didn’t come with guarantees or promises of good things.
     We dictate most of what our tomorrows will bring.
God sat down certain rules all men should follow and keep.
     If we choose not to follow then don’t get mad at what you reap.
The baby boomers now we’re starting to learn.
     To pay for the keep we must get out there and earn.
We’ve let to many things get out of control.
     We’re not standing up to the task nor fulfilling our roles.
Where once there were heroes .
     Have they left us forever only God knows?
We’ve gotten our self into an unusual state.
     For what once was a given has been removed as of late.
We idly stand by as our lives they destroy.
      Are we really that blind or are we being just coy?
It’s time we reunite and set our priorities straight.  
     The ReUnited States of America shall be our new fate.
Democracy and freedom they all come with a price.
      When is death pretty, when is it nice?
That is why bravery and courage should be rewarded and shown.
      To all our brave children and the battles they’ve known.
Give them the credit no matter the cost.
     And pray for the families of the fallen and lost.

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No one here. 
I am alone.
And entirely
By myself.
Can you hear my loneliness?
The silence is disturbing…
It creates sound blasts in my eardrum
No spoken word
Laughter is distant
Thoughts of questioning 
Why this is so?
Can I cry a little?
Is that ok?
But then I see a shadow
In the corner of my left eye.
I turn and recognise the face
Through the glints of light
Shone onto their abstract expression.
They lift their arm slowly,
Obscured in the dark shadow, a
Bony finger extends.
They beckon me over
To sit with them.
To cradle them and relate with them.
So they can stroke my hair and tell
Me I’m all theirs.
I know them to be quite the jealous type
As I have sat with them before.
Their name tingles on my lips
In my mind I know
I should avoid them but I
Have been spotted.
I was visible to them.
They saw my need.
Because I was alone.
They saw.
I was open.
Like a deer by a brook. 
I don’t want self-pity 
To come over me.
But I would like company.
I would prefer a friend.
So I get up and leave
And walk away from the face I recognised,
Despite my loneliness.
I walk away, look back and see Depressions face.
He is angry. He wants me to sit and wallow.
But I got away.
I walk.

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Poem Pending

Roses are red,
Violets are Blue,
Boy I wish I could 
meet each and everyone of you.

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Jasmines are flowers of paradise...
an absolute work of God...
sense of the splendid inheritance...
omniscience of God to his servants...
nutrient for the pure of heart.

Nobody can be absolutely...
album, which sets no time...
The love for resemblance does warm the soul...
harmonic songs echo in the life of love audible noise...
actors are like living shadows...
nugget, voice and feelings of those who want to hear...
igneous flame that all travel...
exercise for the imagination of those who observe...
living is not for everyone - only the strong survive.

Birthdays are acts that comprise only a single contemplation...
equivalent to the jasmine garden of the Lord...
host for the coming...
real, for those who know how to love.

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An Autobiography of a Banyan Tree

I am a Banyan tree,
More than hundred years old,
Near a beautiful lake I stand,
In the heart of Mother Nature.

During my life span I have seen,
Days both good and bad,
I have experienced the strong forces of nature,
Surviving them courageously.

I have grown tall and strong,
By drawing nutrients from the guardian soil,
Soaking in the moist rainwater,
Bathing in the holy sunlight.

I have made some good friends who have,
Explored my heart,
Cheered up my soul,
And brightened my days.

One of my good pals is the lake,
Who has added meaning to my life,
A kinship has developed between us,
From him I have learnt the value of stillness.

I remember you well the nightingale.
You lived in a hole made in my trunk,
Many a time you have sung your melodious lyrics to me,
Providing relief to my aching heart.

I love breezy nights the most,
With the moon shining brightly in the sky,
The divided clouds passing by the moon,
And every instrument of nature showing an aura of magic!

My branches begin to dance,
My spirit awakens,
My soul becomes alive,
On hearing the hymning influences of the wind.

The Earth is a heavenly place,
The Nature is its heart,
With its mystic charms and wonders,
Has shown me a world next to impossible!

Oh god! Thanks for granting me a blessed life,
This life I have enjoyed to the fullest,
I hope I have satisfied you,
By playing my role in this universe sincerely. :)

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An Autobiography of a Parrot

Draped in blooming green,
Colored with a rosy beak,
Blessed with wings free as air,
With crazy dreams of naughty playfulness,
A carefree young parrot I am,
Taking refuge in prospering wilderness.
The forest is my abode,
Never failing to amaze me with its overflowing abundance,
Where rich tress grow in ample,
Gifted with content flowers and melodious fruits
And where birds and animals turn on the mysterious charm,
Letting creative forces smile gently.
The sky is my best friend,
Who embraces me with tenderness.
Our souls have merged into one,
She treats me as her child,
I have slowly grown familiar with her,
Experiencing ecstatic aliveness in her presence.
Woven with the shine of the caring sun,
Along with my fellow parrots
I soar high in the sky,
Taking the form of a military group
We encircle the horizon
With deep sincerity.
I frequently visit vineyards,
Where vines are laden with overgrown grapes and strawberries.
They kiss the earth in gratitude,
Rejoicing at her homely delight.
I feast on these juicy fruits
Like a new born prince.
At Night time  I stay still in my nest
And keep staring at the bright stars.
At that moment I am reminded of something,
Dreams of naughty playfulness come running to me
And start mingling with me making me jump out of sheer joy.
Yes I do feel like a carefree young parrot then.
With each passing day I am born again,
Providing me the strength to become more carefree.
Freedom is welcoming me with grace,
Encouraging me to be loving,
Helping me to be myself
And I have decided to dance through the tune of life.

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Under the microscope we are under watched by a near by species

For some reason they think we are a life form that takes it to easy

Over the years we were abducted; that was a mistake the aliens became uneasy

Unique in several ways we are human and that they see we are strange

Fooling them we act very hostile yet our mindset needs be rearrange

Opening our minds they started to look, but our minds seems to weird and derange

Upset, the aliens take our species to try to understand

Freaks of nature we seem to gather with costumes and sounds of band

Old as time they been coming to our planet and this is what they found, like us, land

Unrelenting we humans seem to focus on a different path

Feelings we have the aliens do not understand what we have

Odd we are, we are the only species in the galaxy that really know how to have a bath

Unrealizable that we do adore the stars and lights in the sky

From all our studies we look up and see the lights that make our world, we cry

Only now we reason with the aliens we are fools in our world and we sigh  

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Please don't judge me

Please don't judge me based on my religious preference, my hair, what I wear, or how I speak. I can promise you, I'm different than what you'd expect. I don't expect much, though that's still too much. I'm not sure if I like myself as of now, but I'm working on it. If I don't care, you shouldn't either. So you can keep knocking, but won’t knock me down, no love lost, no love found. When you so good, that you can’t say it cuz it isn’t even cool for you to sound cocky anymore,
I am myself nothing more, nothing less.
I wouldn't exactly classify myself as "normal". I can careless what you think of me. I don't like associating with drama queens, troublemakers and just stupid people.
I'm not perfect. To be factual, I'm very far from it. My point of view on things are different than most. I have values. I have a brain; some of you kids should certainly invest in one. I will treat everyone with respect, if they treat me the same in return.
                                         Here is the reply
sometimes people only gain self gratification by making other people seem bad when all they are doing is verbalizing their own shortcomings and pointing them in someone else's direction, they think by redirecting there self image will make others not see who they really are. But if you have brains you can see it and they will not to play into it, then eventually it will all crash down on them :) leaving you shining.

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Once night Gretta Foster sat in the backyard, 
building a rocket ship that ought to take her a-far, 
she had been working day and night - tirelessly, 
hammering, programming, all so dexterously. 
Then when the sun arose and sparkled in the sky, 
Gretta was still working, that too without a sigh, 
the ship was finally built, Gretta was on cloud nine, 
but going a bit farther up than that seemed rather fine. 
She sat inside the cockpit, tightened her seat belt, 
pushed a few buttons, with such admirable stealth, 
algorithms aplenty - all perfectly aligned, 
as the engine started roaring, boisterously alight. 
The rocket ascended at last, it set sail yonder, 
to the farthest frontier that this universe could conjure, 
and after it finally left the vivid atmosphere, 
Gretta was so happy, she let out a smiling tear. 
Days passed and she was put in catatonic sleep, 
immobile and still, immersed in lovely dreams, 
suddenly with a thud, the ship had landed still, 
She woke up instantly, with a newfound thrill. 
She wore the lunar suit, which she had stitched herself, 
opened up the bolted door and descended the metal steps, 
the moment she touched ground, she turned around, 
and got pleasantly surprised by what she found! 
A red-hatted impish elf, sat crossed leg, 
a large nosed fairy stood, munching on nutmeg, 
two rabbits bowed down to the rabbit goddess, 
and two more pressed her feet, in a soft caress. 
Gretta walked a step and heard the elf shout, 
"oh silly person, take that suit out!, 
we've got oxygen, plenty of em to breathe, 
that suits a waste o' time and energy!" 
Gretta obeyed, and unzipped the heavy suit, 
underneath she wore a dress - flowery and cute, 
"good going, young child, now lemme show you, 
this lovely wonderland which you dub the moon!" 
And the elf was right, they met unicorns, 
box-laden garden paths and joyous little fauns, 
walking and talking scarecrows, nursing little crows, 
small blue doll houses with chuckling gnomes. 
within a crater lived a colony of werewolves, 
but they were nice and fair - specially one named Ulf, 
he'd give her milk and tea with chocolate biscuits, 
and in order to keep her warm, red spotted mitts. 
The goddess too was nice, a wise and lovely soul, 
"be imaginative and create, but don't forget your goal", 
she'd also give her nutmeg of such abundant variety, 
her best friend was a Faun, so strong and mighty. 
and the Minotaurs build Gretta a lovely home, 
with a mushroom roof and walls build of foam, 
"stay here with us, Gretta, you'd have a great time", 
said the red-hatted elf while singing a rhyme. 
Gretta thought and thought, she came to a decision, 
she decided to stay for sure, she looked forward for her admission, 
and from thereon, life for her was perfected, 
all her dying wishes had suddenly been resurrected.

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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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New Paths

A new path is what we seek.
The surroundings are taking a peek,
Going through, very meek,
Seeing no bleaks,
Getting piqued,
While hearing creaks,
In the new paths that we seek...

The new path is what is found,
Going through forests bound,
Going through the path inbound,
With soothing and raging water sounds.
Walking confound,
Silence profounded,
Sight astounded,
Passed through burial grounds...

Seeking for another way around,
Noises resound,
Spirits surround,
The paths newfounded,
Our instincts compounded,
Followed by the hounds,
Echoes in ultrasounds,
Passed through mysterious breeding grounds...

Going to stamping grounds,
Trying to get off this ground,
With those burial mounds,
Death moving the wheels around,
Silhouettes running aground,
Trying to leave safe and sound,
Passing through some hunting grounds...

Seeking for common grounds,
The mistaken path redounded,
Regretful screams abound.
Plans propounded,
Though some are fouled,
Throughout the paths that were found...

However, most are lost and wounded,
Most tended to walk out,
Some minds and hearts full of doubts.
Hearing salvation shouts,
From all these new paths walked and found...

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My friends and I had midnight hide and seek
One had to stand by a tree and not peek
In my state of hiding great I was hard to find
My friends decided to just be unkind
They all got together and decided to hunt me down
I first hid in the river near my house and almost drown
When they walk close by me I silently move through the grass
It was very hard to see, but I crawled a long time and almost ran out of gas
Then I heard one say that they were going up and wait by the tree
I had an idea that made a way to make them see
A shadow that ran in the distance thinking that would be
I had my horse pull a little manikin to make them think it was me
My friends took their flashlight and shined it toward it
I thought I had them but one thing was clear they did not fall for it not a bit
They all laugh and started to call out my name
They all asked how the heck did you have time to pull that trick that was so lame
I did not answer so they kept on looking for me, but I was so quick 
Some of my friends started to get really mad and tick
I was a master of doing weird things they all knew what I can do
The night was still young and the grass was collecting dew
I decided to make a distraction once again
To think of it, it would probably make the night end
My friends finally surrounded my tree house
I was quiet, so quiet, more than a mouse
I had some rope in the tree house to make my escape
To distract them I made a loud noise like an ape
The tree that my tree house was in was at least forty feet up
I had some stash in my tree house a drink or two in a cup
My final hour is about to end I did not want my friends to catch me till I got to the tree
I took the rope and tide it on a branch and pushed off and that was the key
I landed on the garage roof and sneaked my way to the tree
My friends knew me to well that they plan things before I could see
They had a fish net ready for me to step into
I thought that was kinda wise and some what like pew
The few feet by the tree there was two of my friends that was ready
Up in the tree they both jumped down and pulled me up in the net fast and steady
They thought they had won, the person had to tag me before I touch tree
She ended up having to get something to stand on to reach me
I swung my weight back and forth till I ended up touching and the game ended
My friends and I were so full of surprises and that is what the game handed

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It takes a lifetime to reach the gates of haven
The path is rocky, and made of thorns
We see the light we cannot reach
But, still we want others to preach 

Haven is beauty, and full of love
Full of desire, passion, and hope
Haven is mystic and full of dreams
To reach the gates of haven
It’s not easy as it seams

We on this earth are full of sin
We search, we stumble, we rise to belong
Haven is mystery, greatness, and grace
Haven is paradise a beautiful place.

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A Naughty Little Girl

I sleep. The hours tick by mercilessly; unfilled, purposeless, full of potential "What to do? What to do???" I mutter, tumbling, like Alice, down the rabbit hole. My hands push down ballooning petticoats, careful not to show or touch anything. I twirl beneath the pile down comforters. The hours tick by crimson red and in the dream, the rose Queen shouts, "Off with HER HEAD!" An eyebrow is plucked whole from my face. It falls matted and to the ground leaving me, brow akimbo, surprised, and horrified. "What to do? What to do? What to do???" Half shorn. Half drawn. Half born? A painter's pallet appears before me. A brow is drawn… for me. Yet, the Rose Queen still screams on. "Off with HER HEAD! Off with HER HEAD!"

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love's messenger

          I looked at him and I was lost for words,
those eyes so deep and dark, so penetrating;
                    he seemed able to look into my soul,
all my thoughts and all my dreams he knew.

          I was unable to look away, then he spoke,
he had the most beautiful voice, like music;
                     so calming and soothing, to my soul,
other sounds faded away and the air was electrified.

          a storm began and the wind howled loudly,
thunder boomed and rain fell in dreadful torrents;
                     my world began to spin out of control,
I was lost in a whirlwind of emotions and desires.

          I wanted to be part of him, to be his forever,
his lips were soft, strong, gentle and demanding;
                      words so sweet that I closed my eyes,
he held me and the pleasure was beyond this world.

          suddenly, I felt a change, a shift in the air,
the storm ended and calmness settled around me;
                       I knew it was over, he was not forever,
after all, just a sweet messenger in a lovely dream.


August 3, 2013


Written for the contest, In the Moment, Poet Destroyer

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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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Utopian Dream

I hold three rocks in my hand
Rolling them over and over and over
Leaving this reality behind, far behind

I feel the rocks leaving my hand 
As my eyelids begin to close
And I drifted off into my own little world
In the air the scent of a rose

I awoke to find a different world
Finding there had been a radical change
In the air there was still the scent of a rose
In my heart I felt so strange

Hatred famine and bigotry were gone
There was peace and joy and love
There were neighbors helping neighbors
Only blue skies up above

No more fear or anger
On war there was a ban
A world of human compassion
A brotherhood of man

There was universal acceptance
No damage to self esteem
I raised my eyes to heaven
Oh Lord let this not be a dream

God Bless those who suffer
Some day may your suffering cease
God bless those who search in vain
May you find love and peace.

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Sweet Treats

Morning time...waking with sweets in my mouth
cinnamon carameltmarshmellowed out
breakfast cereal Sugar Dynamite
secret prize inside,bestows x-ray sight

Sugar shock,tooth rot,'60s psycotropic lollipops
an infinite selection @ Treat's Sweetshop
its addictive candy flavors
improves moods and bad behavior
beware of its dangers
sugar rush overdose and hypereality at most

Peanutbrittle,jawbreakers,misfortune cookie riddles
limesours with saccarine middles
crispycreams filled my mouth
multi-colored jelly beans,sweet and sour insideout

Chocolate candy bars filled the candy jars
cinnamon coal pepper scorchers
mouth and stomach torture
jellied fruit medley,candied vomit,flavor bliss
oatmeal crisps and spicey comets
cool peppermints sooth
my tongue stuck to sticky tarts stronger than glue

Sugared hyper,spoiled rotten
the last flavor blast,gone not forgotten

Narcotic treats penny gag sweets
firecracker gum
blistering flaming lip smackers
and moldy sugarplums

Blue cotton candy,caramel dandies,gingersnaps
assorted sugared snacks,
bubblegum taffy stale rotten candy
are tough chewing tasks
the good stuff in my secret stash:
vanilla cream mashed between two oatmeal cookies
even tried vegan fruikies
my heart's desire...
spent several days sugar wired...still ain't tired

When tastebuds crave an everlasting taste
even toothpaste's nothing to waste
suck,never chew hot swallows in haste
found tastebud relief
gulped this 32oz. blizzard 
topped with chopped strawberry twizzlers

Nighttimes mean euphoric wake dreams
cool whipped creamed baked desserts
milkshakes quenched my sugar thirst
Next an ice cream brainfreeze sprinkled with the works,
Ate three slices of  icecream cake unthawed,
and an entire carton of chocolate marshmellow smorgasborgs
smothered in toffee fudge crunch and caramel popcorn munch

Baked treats make each morning time sublime
Sugared creamed pastries cake sweet
Saccarine cereal tastes surreal
Chocolate sprinkled ,vanilla milkshakes
completes morning meal
Then the entire day of sugar shock toothrot 
indulgence at Treat 's Sweet Shop 

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The Night

Mr. Pickles went to ease his marital
tensions in a bar, visible with neon lights-
unfortunately he had left his wallet home.

After drinking his night away, he starts a fight,
to help himself out of the bar without any pay
to the bartender.

Drunk and dizzy, he finds himself lying on a smooth,
glittering surface, surrounded by light.

“Oh, God, thank you for taking me!” Mr. Pickles shouts 
with jubilation, thinking that he is in Heaven-only later 
to realize that they were police lights; only later to 
realize that he was being helped to his feet by cops, 
and not angels.

It is after the hangover that he noticed that
he was in a cell; the last place he imagined
he could be.

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If I Were A Stone

If I Were A Stone If I were a stone…without a doubt I would be a lovely marbled granite… the center of attention in a newly updated kitchen. All eyes would be upon me…the first choice of decorators and would- be buyers everywhere. I would be a “must have” and a “deal breaker” for purchasers the world over. I would lord it over the mundane and dull kitchen cabinets no matter what the style. While their doors would be slammed shut a thousand times a day and scrubbed till they were sore…(ouch!)… I would be lovingly and carefully wiped down until they could almost see their reflection in me. My island would be the gathering place and hub of the home…children would utilize me for their homework…my mistress would cheerfully hum a happy tune while rolling out delicious pies or cookies for dessert... my master would lay his briefcase down on me in order to hug the cook! Unlike the living room rug (who thinks he’s king by the way.) I would not be stepped on, stomped on with dirty or muddy sneakers or roller skated on, (boys will be boys) or taken for granted in any way. I would be the `piece de resistance` of the household and the most admired feature of the home. And last …but not least…I would be carefully selected and carved, to serve as a towering memorial for loved ones to come and say a silent prayer for our nation’s fallen …and… bravest men! I would be more than proud to be a granite stone!
For the "Stoned" contest.

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Literature was pursued
by the greatest individuals who ever lived,
and they left us works of unsurpassable wisdom;
human emotions have always been the same, 
and this can't attest to the fact that they will not change anytime soon,
but the freer we are, the further we go up in our balloon.

The richest heritage of Humankind
is found in the written word, which is heard often and not really understood;
where would we be today without the plays and sonnets of Shakespeare that were quite sad,  
or Dante's famous canto, not excluding superb works by modern writers?...
During the dark ages, monks translated books from Greek and Latin into common languages;
as the barbarians destroyed everything found in their path, civilization did not end.

Tragedies of famous people attracted the lucrative minds of poets who had heard of them,
thus embellishing them with their vivid imagination and present actual facts...I follow in
their poetic footsteps, writing down stories that have recently happened, or occurred
before I was born; and with ideas as interesting as theirs, I continue in that tradition
without envying their unaging expressions and distinguished style, but by aggrandizing them.

Literature has finally found its merited place in History, unlikely a hundred years ago,
more people are voraciously reading, and keeping the writers busy by admiring
their sensational works, making comments of encouragement to boost up their optimism;
and to theaters they go and spent an entire night to listen to drama and scoff,
laugh, or cry when emotions intensify by the sconces of the electric lights; and cheering,
they applaud the richest heritage of Humankind on stage, and are captivated by its scenario.

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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My Hidden Fear

People are my weakness and hidden fear
I just feel that some words they say set me in tear
For example I gave a person a smile one day and they gave me a glare
I did not know that smiling in the world today cause people to stare
These types of stare gave me chills down my spine a feeling that made me blind
Why? why is my weakness the people who are very unkind
Hiding is all I can do when people give me a unkind view
I get to a point that my fear seems to wonder and stew
People are who they are and what should I even do
I don't understand that they are evil and some times nice too
My hidden fear are people just because they are always around
That is no argument and my feeling are perfectly sound
The hate builds up in my mind, but does not bother, how my heart feel
I learned to undergo a change that my feelings become like steel
Hard as it should be in situations needed I forget how to use it
So it becomes my weapon and it is to some people heartless just a bit
My hidden fear is what I see in people today
They harm others and they think it is okay
That is why I fear my feelings for others at times because it is so confusing
My hidden fear is some what bad and some what a blessing

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The Singer (Narrative Dialogue)

The singer looks at the now empty stage
His voice guarded deep in his warm throat
Shielded by a high neck shirt he wore
Singing with passion from down within
Rehearsing day and night until it’s right
Blended rhythms and notes run the scales
Clinging in smoky night clubs like a shadow
Getting your pay with crumbled dollar bills
Go from gig to gig if it makes you whole
Your songs will make them dance and spin
Like a magic spell being cast far and wide
Allow your words to heal wounds and scars
And when you have earned your keep
Collect the spoils from your conquest sweet
Gobbled champagne and fancy caviars
And your heart beats crashed musical chart
Find the singer who was once loved
The brilliant heart that once lived in joy
Consider yourself a singer without a heart
Who has traded his soul from the start
As it ends the conquest will lose its spark
Come to your senses and stop this slide
You may be witted and sharp as a tack
Don’t get eluded and slip—stay on track

Comments:  This is a narrative dialogue poem.  It sets the stage one may 
probably find in a conflicting situation. It develops into a complication, reaches a 
crisis then falls into a resolution.  It displays connections, alienation, 
disconnections, and a turning point where a change takes place between a 
protagonist and antagonist. The ending brings about a resolution after a 
dramatic point has been reached.  Give it a try one day, and I will give it a review 
for you.  It must be very interesting and relates to real life.

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Why Can't I Be Young, Rich and Thin

That answer to that is painfully simple: I’m a disabled, thirty-something individual with compromised mobility…and I’m a lazy S.O.B...

But, oh, how I fantasize! And loath am I to torture myself by looking at all the exquisite, fabulous fashion creations by Versace, Comme Des Garcons, Missoni and Vivienne Westwood; elegant creations I will never be able to wear, let alone afford. Though I enjoy being a man and would have it no other way, I envy women and sometimes wish I was one, just so I could wear a Versace gown, even if it were just to take out the trash.

I worship fashion and models; they are my demigods. They embody all that is outwardly beautiful. I don’t mind the shallowness of it. I wish I was Coco Rocha, Naomi Campbell, Janice Dickinson, Linda Evangelista, Tyra Banks, Milla Jovovich, all rolled into one. I wish I could strut and stomp the catwalk; to pound the runway in some outrageous creation by Rei Kawakubo. To jet-set to Paris, Milan, Tokyo, London…! I would die and go to fashion heaven, and see Gianni, and I would be his Muse. Poor, Gianni; why did that bastard kill you? Genius was lost that day and fashion has since suffered in your absence.

I wish I was as skillful with sewing as I am with words; since I’ll never be a model, I’d at least like to design clothes that would echo my influences. A mesh of the sex of Versace, the elegance of Missoni, the insane artistic destruction and anti-fashion of Comme des Garcons and the hipness of Vivienne Westwood; yes, that would be my style, as my poetry echoes Poe, Shelley, Keats and Dickinson. 

But, alas and alas again! For these are all but mere dreams and fantasies that shall never be fulfilled! But a gay boy can dream, can’t he?

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The Leather Jacket

I knew that he often stared at me…
in the cafeteria or on the crowded elevator
but his reflex was swift… or so he thought
each time he’d avert his eyes just as I'd raise mine
         He’d decided he was no longer willing to keep this secret 
         Listening to his heart wildly beat whenever he saw her
         He’d been hesitant to speak; unable to risk rejection
         But on a cold wintry morning, attraction inspires
         He vowed he’d find a moment when he could say something…
         But what would he say? He felt hopeless.

                Why doesn’t he say something? I wonder…
                Can’t he feel the connection? 
                 I know he stares at me and he thinks I’m unaware
                Like just this morning on the crowded elevator
                I could feel his eyes fixated upon my back 
                And that caused my heart to skip beats
                As a matter of fact, I feel his eyes this moment…
                Should I turn around and say, “Hi?”

                Oh well…here comes the rain
                My car’s parked up the street so I’ll have to run for it.
                “Hi”, the voice spoke, “the rain’s not letting up, huh?”
                A smile broke out before she looked up at him
               “So it seems.  And my umbrella’s locked in my car, up the street.”
                “I’m Jason Stone…from Advertising”
                “And I’m Emma Ward…Finance”
               “Nice to meet you”…they chimed together, laughing
               “Would you like to get some coffee next door?”
               “Yes, I’d like that.”
                Gently, he placed his warm leather jacket on my shoulders.
For the: "Leather Jacket on Shoulders" Contest

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My Last Day To Live

If it was my last day to live,
All my earning to the poor I would give.
There's a few things I would enjoy,
And share God's love with every girl & boy.

If it was my last day on earth,
I would of hug & kiss all who I hurt.
I'll apologize for every bad thing I said,
Because I have little time, next day I'm dead.

If it was my final day to love,
I would give my girlfriend all she deserve.
Not forgetting my family of seven,
Because they'll need it while await a place in heaven.

If it was my last time to cry,
I would do it until my tear well dry.
I'll weep for the moment I hardened my heart,
And for the emotional eras that I fought.

If it was my last day to run,
I would of sprint until my energy done.
I'll jump over every standing wall,
And get up & run again each time I fall.

How would I forget my last day to eat,
Every last delicacy I would defeat.
Chips & chocolate I would devourer by the case,
Better belly burst than junk food waste.

A few more minutes I live a day to the fullest,
Beep beep I'm going into cardiac arrest.
Everyone's shouting but don't bother I'm going,
Signs of life, no longer I'm showing.

Many a things I missed on my last day,
But in a far place I look & stay.
My final day was indeed great,
Hope for heaven's gates I am not late.

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Santa, Snowman, and the Gingerbread Man

He stood still in the chilling winter breeze, with a carrot
for a nose, two sticks for hands, two buttons for eyes, and six tiny
buttons for a mouth. During the day, children liked playing around him,
skating and dancing as they danced, sung, and screamed; the smell
of happiness was in the air. The snowman was the only one who wasn't 
enjoying these playful moments, for he was only a pile of snow
that was put together, to look like a human. 
One night, two days before Christmas,
the nasty-looking gingerbread man crept into the children's playing field; he was carrying a torch."I will melt you, and make you part of the icy floor!" he whispered.  He was once a jolly man, who was cursed by a witch, because of stealing her gingerbread. All his friends and family abandoned him, for he looked strange. Since then, he hated anyone or anything that resembled happiness or smile. “Tomorrow the children will have a different look on their faces….” he thought to himself.   An evil smile formed on his face. 
As he stared to melt the snowman, Santa appeared out of nowhere, riding his flying reindeer that carried many gifts.
“What are you doing my friend?” he asked gingerbread man. “I have brought you a gift. It is a wishing coin!” The gingerbread man was so touched, that he wished that that the snowman was alive, so that he could know how it felt to be alive. He then tossed the coin into the air. The snowman then gradually started to move, and utter words. Surprisingly, the gingerbread man turned into a human once more. The witch’s curse was broken by love.
The Christmas tree lighting was reflecting on a lake; children were sharing gifts, as they sang Carols; the elves were sprinkling magical stardust in the air – it was Christmas after all! It was beautiful to see a man, once a gingerbread man, dancing with the snowman! 

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me and the mirror

Me and the mirror

Mirror Mirror what do you see?

I see Esha.

I see Esha only 40 pounds lighter wanting to lose 20 or 30 more pounds for herself.

I see my rich espresso skin color.

I see my clear glowing skin after putting baby oil all over my body.

I see myself and I am happy so I smile.

I love my full figured-ness.

I want to wear clothing from an Ashley Stewart boutique and costume jewelry too.

I want to wear the faux pearls I already own sometimes too.

I want to organize my closet and winter waldrobe.

I see myself in a red Ashley Stewart sweater dress next January when my 32nd birthday comes around and having a ball with my best girlfriends Window shoppin’ at the mall and buying lipsticks and perfume.

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Squatches in My Mind

I know that you now reside,
In the tundra of my mind.

I know your eyes can see,
The decadent dangers inside of me.

It shoots ice straight through your spine.
Knowing what the foliage of my mind,
Can do to make you squatches whine.

You let out a hideous wail.
As your face begins to pale.
Your cerebral cave of jagged shale,
Slowly crumbles, starts to fail.

Your fear grows quickly by the hour.
As sinister daffodils take your power.
Of your recent kill, the meat turns sour.
As you realize this place, by far is fouler.

Your arms and legs turn to lead.
Your stomach flutters growing dread,
Your realizing the dangers in my head.
That my imagination has now fed.

Your lost in overwhelming splendor.
At the sight of my terrifying Render.
With her body supple and slender,
She burns you, through her eyes of ember.

You crumple to the floor, while crying.
As she floats forward, carried on undying.
She glances up, over shoulder sighing.
At the sight of sterling stars aligning.

Render:		“Hello hunter welcome to His wood.”

                         On wobbly squatch stilts you stood.

Squatch:	        “Who is His? If you would.”

Render:	        “His, is the creator of this wood,
		         And in here all evil and good.”

So you stand their patiently listening.
To the figment of my inner whispering.
To the startling revelation of your fears.
You are one of many monsters in here.

Entered in the Dreams Contest (Based upon a dream)
Comments/Criticism appreciated

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The Woman In White

It was a cold and rainy night.
The stars were shining bright.
It seemed as if the world was at a pause and not a person was in sight.
I sat quietly in my car, 
the sound of music I heard blasting from a far.
I opened my door,
stepped out slowly and looked around.
Now suddenly the music stopped,
not a word is heard, not even a sound.
I turned my head, looked over my shoulder,
I saw a woman running.
She was wearing a white gown.
I couldn't help but wonder why this woman running
flaunted such a frown.
I followed her footsteps,
I listened for the sound.
Running through the darkness,
one question came to mind,
Who would leave this woman?
Who would be so heartless?
How can someone leave her when she is so obviously distraught?
Abruptly a sound was heard.
I came to a stop.
I listened closely.
It was a gunshot.
Now fearful I stood.
I began to run as fast as I could.
I ran so fast, I could hear my heart beating.
I came upon my car and noticed a woman bleeding.
She was gasping for air.
Someone had shot her and left her to die there.
It was as if they didn't even care.
She reached for my hand,
whispered softly to me
"never trust a man"
At that moment her hand dropped.
I knew her heart had stopped.
I looked at her white gown now dripping red.
I I cried to myself and pondered what she had said.
This could be me.
I could be lying here dead.
I will remember her words always.
They will haunt me for the rest of my days.
This moment I will never forget.
No man should ever be such a threat.

This was the day my life would change.
From this day on I would never be the same.
The lesson I learned here,
never have such fear.
Fear that will keep me from being free.
I learned that I can be happy just being me.

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Scarlet Portmanteau

Duke Luke by his bateau
Arrived at his chateau,
Had he travelled through large eau!

His mysterious rendez-vous 
with Henry Thoreau
Yielded him a scarlet portmanteau.

Entering his bureau,
he took off his manteau
and opened the portmanteau:

The Snow Man was inside
And though not well could he sing,
Sang he a song of himself:

Stopping by woods on a snowy evening
He met Annabel Lee on a large shelf,
Frightened he was by the raven
And took the road not taken:

Crossed he the mending wall
And hearing the anecdote of the jar
To noble savage Billy Budd an honest fare he paid

Large and far
Travelled he
From spring to fall

Self-reliance: the idea he hath
The American Scholar guided his path;

He slept a long time
In a clean well-lighted place;

One winter he woke up
In a station of the metro:
He fastened his tender buttons
and found a red wheelbarrow;
'No ideas but in things' -
A lovely image this brings!

To his disappointment and sorrow,
He never saw the snows of Kilimanjaro.

Duke Luke in disbelief
Wiped his eyes
And pinched his ears;

The Snow Man disappeared.

Duke Luke
Took a look 
At his portmanteau
In hopes of seeing something

He found


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My Story Telling Can You Trust Me

Gun fire all around, bombs going off in the distance
It was some of the angry mobs and resistance
Father was the king of SafeHaven a small kingdom
Like all other kingdoms it fell in random
Fire started in the castle
And along with it came a battle

It was a distance memory now because the child has now grew
Many things in this child that made memories stew
My name is Mastrey, a young orphan who was there that night
Mastrey saw her in the distance and her father and mother in his sight
Everyone was loud that night and made all the children hide
But that evening Mastrey saw her mother and father die

She ran into the bushes in such a fright
And evil doers were running around with flashlights
Mastrey remember it as he distracted them 
Her eyes was so confused with problems
Mastrey new that it was because of what just occurred
His feelings of what those people did was not awkward

The distraction worked, he went back to were she was
Hiding and very scared she was, he asked her, can you trust me just because?
Her answer that night depended on her lively hood
As Mastrey was their with his hand reaching out to her as he stood
Pulling her up from the ground he looked into her eyes that were SeaBlue
Mastrey had made a life long friend and love, She knew it was true

Next: My Story Telling,  Who is this Princess

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October 1st – There’s a tall tree down the block has   
      gone all red at top
in this green, early autumn

It’s quite an unusual year,
With more rain than summer’s want to yield

There’s been no mid-July burning of lawns,
And the trees, bushes, ground cover gone wild

The whole has tried to produce an out-of-door pinch,
And I often stand looking out a window,
Absently inhaling the chlorophyll

Houses on either side are vacant – the economy to
      blame – nor cat, nor dog reside,
But I image some ghostly pair seated on the steps,
      pets at their side 
I put all this down as a, sort of, flowing jet 
      companion to solitude,
And I – prisoner of the mind – watch black words 
      take form, 
Knowing there’s a whole, beautiful world with 
      nature’s abundant warmth out there
Just waiting to be joined by needful company

Dave Austin

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Fig Meant at Ion's

I wander into this dark, misTearYous room
—and there he was...and wow! What a Fig!

He with the long, lustRuse hair 
sitting at a corner table, nursing a cup of hot cocoa. 
Dang. He has better hair than I do!

“I’m  a  gin at  Ion’s,” were his first words spoken.
“I’m  a  gin at  Ion’s.” And then sighlens.

I was trying to look through his lens, and figure out his sighs
when he utters, “I can see you are number—“

“Huh? I am number what? I don’t see any lines here..."

“Ah, yes you are, as I was... NumBer as in more than numb.”


He definitely got me, he with the misTearYous eyes
so I sit down and ask him what he means
(but I refused to ask how he saw through my numbity)

“What do you mean that you are a gin? And where is Ion’s?”

“Exactly just that. I’m a gin at Ion’s. A di*k t’Eve.”

He tells me that Ion’s is nowhere, everywhere and knowhere,
of how anyone who takes even a sip of that gin can hold on to it— 
too much, so much so, as to lose that grip on ReAhhlity...

I ask him what he does there. 
Seemingly one word, two meanings— "aMuse," says he... 

He reveals he is also part-tickles, part abs-tackles
then he also exhails at wind ‘o pains, 
to fog or clear up views and relayshunships
But oh! How at one point he felt tieurd, of how he had so many callUses—
numb, tired of how it reCurse, of always being called upon, of being used


Been used So many times, he didn’t know who he was anymore...
a Duke at Ion’s, a con’s front at Ion’s,
an ex pecked at Ion’s, a lucid at Ion’s, a rebel at Ion’s...
oddly enough, even if he has been ‘d sign at Ion’s, 
he still felt blahtantly invisible,
even if he wore only a V-bra at Ion’s! 
He chalks everything up to exPeerience, and has learned from it.
And that's why he's also known as a sensei at Ion’s (his personal favorite)

He says even if he can go beyond infinity, he—
he stops (ah gain!) and yes, there it sneaked in... Sighlens.

Telling me through the void, through his sighs, through his lens
To close my eyes, and figYour out myself. And then I do...

ReAhhlieZing how much I could relate,
how I have been in DenyAll of my possiBElities. 
It is all a matter of perSpeck'tEve, of looking at each tiny speck of life,
of creating something from each of it, entire universes even—boundless

How odd that I myself felt like I'm a gin at Ion's...
Addictive, yes so I best be careful with where I take it.
I oh!pen my eyes and the fig meant to show me ReAhhlity had gone...

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(This is the final section to my long narrative on
the final hours of a coyote lost in a blizzard after
a day of failures.)

 The snow had deepened, deeper than he 
had ever known it, scraping his underbelly 
as he moved with difficulty.  With each 
step his feet sank deeper into the snow, so that
with each painful step he had to lift each leg 
higher in order to move forward, each step 
requiring greater effort, greater willpower. 
The exertion was sapping his energy,
his vital forces severely reduced. He was 
stopping frequently, as much to conserve 
his dwindling strength as to ease the pain 
each step inflicted on him.
     How far he had moved away from the pond, 
he could not tell. There was only darkness,
falling snow, and whirling wind. He had
lost his sense of time, and now his direction
and orientation. The pain, the cold, the wind
had distracted him, had led him astray 
at his weakest. Lifting his head, he looked 
about for signs of the woods, sniffed for 
their familiar scent, but there was only snow, 
only whirling wind. He had, in fact, veered
away from the direction of the woods 
and was now somewhere in the open field, 
surrounded by an amorphous space of snow, 
wind and darkness. Uncertain of his every step,
he began to yelp and whimper, like a pup
for its mother; but his cries were quickly 
sucked into the maelstrom of whirling snow 
and wind. His instincts told him he could 
not stand still; that he must move on, push himself. 
     Moving in the snow was arduous, an act 
of defiance and survival against forces 
that seemed bent on his destruction. The snow
had risen almost to his throat, and he had 
to keep his head up for fear of suffocating, 
as if he were wading in deep water. 
Finally, and without resistance, he sensed 
he could go on no longer, and he came to 
a complete stop, unable to climb out 
of the deep snow that now threatened to 
bury him. Panting heavily he dropped 
his nose in the snow, exhausted as he 
had never known exhaustion, even after 
a spirited chase. And he began to feel 
himself drifting: a sensation of going 
downward, sinking, then floating, as if 
his vital forces were leaving him of 
their own accord, seeping through his 
underbelly, then further down to depths 
unknown to him, something not unlike 
that fear and terror that grip humans when 
they are about to die.
        With one last heroic effort, he tried 
to extricate himself from his prison of snow, 
but it was futile. He was trapped, as though
embedded in stone, and resigned himself 
to his fate – a concept his canine mind could 
never have conceived – incapable as he was 
of making any rational sense of his circumstances 
or predicament. And in that state he waited 
like one condemned to certain death, shaking 
only his head now and then to rid the snow 
from his face and ears.
     The extreme cold began to penetrate 
his pelt, displacing what little heat remained
in him. A numbness set in, first in his feet, 
then slowly overtaking the upward cavity 
of his body. It was the final coup de grace, 
merciful, but a tragic betrayal of Nature 
and all the forces at her disposal 
with which, until now, she had so carefully 
shaped and honed this coyote into a superb 
hunter and killer. Now, for reasons all 
her own, reasons hidden in the vast 
and dark inscrutible wisdom, she had 
turned away, like a cruel and careless mother 
abandoning her offspring.
     At some point during the storm, the snow
had turned into a rain of hail, and a shell 
of ice had formed over the exposed portion 
of the coyote’s body. He was becoming 
drowsy, sleep not far off. His body seemed 
detached from him, his legs and feet no 
longer there. Then, somewhere in the whirling
darkness, he heard the muffled ruckus 
of beating wings, perhaps a flock of quail
lost in flight, or perhaps only the wind. 
Whatever it was, it didn’t matter anymore.
His eyes now iced over and his ears
filled with snow, the clicking sound of tiny 
ice pellets striking his frozen pelt were 
barely audible. He offered a final yelp,
lame in its effort, then felt the only world 
he had ever known collapsing beneath him 
and calmly he drifted down into some vast, 
unending ambience of silence all living 
creatures eventually go to, relinquishing 
once and for all whatever his unknown 
Maker had once given him, that splendid sum 
of everything he once had been as coyote.

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The Prodigal Son

When a father of five 
came home faced 
with one in five children of convalescence 
which he will pay more attention?

So organizations should be 
when in a department or group, 
one member is left out 
of the production process. 
Discard the individual or rescue?

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Broken Treasured Flower

With his persuasive tone he continued 
Until she was convinced that the time was ripened.
After a long-winded foreplay she was stimulated,
Like the first taste of applesauce she wanted it.
Her mind poised as she lay back in amorous stance
But her muscles were tautened.

His fingers seemed roaming, but knows the targeted point
His fingers ambled, exuding great adeptness as she moaned
He asked her if she was indifferent and scared
Anxiously, like a baby’s mouth on mama’s nipple for natural milk
She mumbled pluckily with a not-at-all-response 
As she shook her head in affirmation.
In the twinkling of an eye his finger found the right spot.

Deeply his finger bumped into her
He assured her he would be as gentle as a lamb.
Reaching the ‘boiling point,’ shower of shivers rained over her
And goose bumps formed as her body became twitchy all over.
Profoundly both eyes met in enamored density; chemistry was mutual
She saw a telltale conviction in his eyes; her spirit was re-assured
His sedated smiles laid-back her muscles as her legs became wide-open.
Hush his tubular tissue struck softly-softly into her innermost sanctum.

In ecstasy she began to ask for more, oblivious of pains
She beckoned him for a hurry-scurry as her hunger for more continued.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      
As skilled in the game he understood the pain thereafter
So he took his time as he journeyed in grand pleasure at a snail's pace.
Deeply he invaded her sanctum sanctorum as her muscle cramped
And her network of tissues opened up to avoid 'traffic jams.'
Reality darkened fantasy as she felt pains oscillating insidiously all over her body
And dribble of bloods dripping from the broken treasured flower
Her eyes were filled with tears as she realized her tightly-held pride was gone.

She lay snuggled in his arms as he whispered into her ears lyrics like a lyrebird 
Like the Roman Janus her desired pleasure had fathered a two-faced offspring:
She was gloomy cheerless that her treasured flower had been broken;
She would never be the same again
She was worried that she might be gravid.
But she was pleased to have shared her innermost hush-hush with him
She was delighted that the days her peers’ poured scorns on her were yesterday
She would no longer be left out in their brash adventure natter
She was happy he left an indelible experience ingrained in her memory.

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Silence, Nested In The Sand

Coming apon, a large desert rock.
Along side, a smaller white rock, 
so I thought. A sun bleached skull, 
nested in the sand. Silence, with
a gentle desert breeze moving my 
many unanswerd thoughts; quickly
race threw my mind. This O'l skull,
once riddled before with dream's,
stolen memories, for ever gone!
A wide open jaw; Imagining, this
poor O'l soul screaming from the 
other side, but never heard. So
I walked away, and wisperd a few
words: Rest now, youv'e been found!

03/07/14   Written By, Larry Berdoo
                         WRITE ON!



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Out Of Place, Out Of Time

Not long ago in a faraway place,
Big Jack McCluskey dug up some gold.
Now that he had mucho moolah Jack decided to move
and leave the bleak environs of the harsh Alaskan cold.
Off he happily went to the pleasant warm Hawaiian isles
to spend the remainder of his days where the weather is mild.
Unfortunately, once there, Big Jack McCluskey didn’t fit in
with the laid-back native islanders because Jack is naturally wild.
Being a very accommodating group of people they put up with Jack
despite of his menacing demeanor and his wild changes in mood.
McCluskey has a tendency to be arrogant; he thinks his feces have no stink.
He has a very short temper and even on his best days he is nasty rude.
Unfortunately, money walks very tall and it talks really loud,
so the Hawaiians tolerated Jack’s outrageous boorish ways.
Big Jack is uglier than the devil and smells like raw sewage,
he loves to sing bawdy songs out loud and he cuts wind night and day.
Even the most mild mannered of people have their breaking point,
so when Jack decided to get naked and walk about and around,
thereby scaring all the children and causing sober preachers to take a drink,
the men gathered together, bum rushed him and got him tightly bound.
They threw Jack in a big wooden crate, loaded it in the hold of a cargo plane,
labeled it Cash on Delivery, care of the U. S. Senate Building, Washington, D.C.
The ever caring islanders discussed the entire situation and came to the conclusion
that as utterly disgusting as Big Jack McCluskey is, he had to have family in
old D. C.

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On Halloween Night

Deep in the forest, screams have been heard;
of men, women, and children, screaming their lungs out
in the misty, dense forest. A report was once given of a man
who ran to the chieftain's house, his face filled with blood;
eyes literally separated from the eye sockets!

It is believed that vengeful ghosts roam around the forest,
searching for a soul to be part of them; they can only do so by taking
a life. "They have a very disturbing, dark sense of humor", a warrior says.
"Sometimes they crucify a victim upside down on a tree, and send crows 
to feast on them. At Sunrise, you see what was once a human; bones with some remaining flesh, as blood oozes out!"

After every five years on the night of the full moon, the villagers slaughter a bull and a dozen sheep to appease the forest spirits, that come with the mist.

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a hole in one

twas a cold and cloudy day
nippy in nature with trees in sway
that time in winter when days were short
the kind of day when a grave digger 
would take a snort
to warm the bones, so to speak
a few more snorts to make it neat
but dig the grave ready for the next day
and the grave digger would earn his pay
it never bothered him that he made a living 
digging graves
sometimes he wondered why people were afraid
it's just a place where dead bodies are laid
as long as people are dying 
there's money to be made
on his way home singing a song
living in a world where nothing was wrong
or so it seemed
but while he was walking'
one of the thorny briers latched
on to one of his shoe latches
and in one step the bow was gone
unknowingly the grave digger
kept moving along, singing his song
like nothing was wrong
unaware that he could slip
never minding that he could trip
the old grave digger singing his song
without a thought that something was wrong
he reached in his pocket
for a pipe that was'nt there
and was sure  that he had droped it
somewhere back there
his search was so intense 
it took him all the way back to the grave
but just before he got there
he steped on his shoe string
there was nothing he could do
falling head long into the grave
where a broken neck was waiting
and also his pipe laid
so we'll end this story like Esop ends his
there is a moral to the story
for all the growing kids
smoking is bad for you

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New Year's Baby 2015

The New Year’s Baby each year starts out fresh and new,
Always exciting, the life of the party, and never blue.
He’s a quite active little Cherub who’s cute and funny,
And he’ll be there at the stroke of Midnight to usher in
The New Year and to escort Old Man 2014 outside where
The unforgiving “Dust Bin of History” awaits his tired old
Body and his failed attempts to improve mankind’s lot.
The New Year’s Baby will be a busy little fellow indeed!

The New Year’s Baby is eager and chompin’ at the bit 
To get started on January 1st to make his mark in our world
During 2015, and brings with him both enthusiasm and hope!
The reality for our little Cherub will be much different than
He realizes since certain age-old specters still pervade “Home
Earth” today:  Tyranny, Poverty, Disease, Famine, and War.
And we shan’t leave out a couple of new ones at home with
Us today too:  Global Warming and Worldwide Pollution.

With these major problems, throw in Mankind’s “Seven Deadly
Sins,” along with murder, rape, guns and nuclear proliferation, 
And all other types of crime—you’ll see and understand why our
Bright, young, and full of hope New Year’s Baby will begin to
Age so fast over his allotted 12-month tenure here on Home Earth.
Really, all we can do is to wish our Cherub friend our very best and
Pledge to work with him, world societies, and world governments
To try to make things better on our planet and among our world citizens.

The transition from the Old Year to the New Year is no doubt a time
For both celebration and reflection—and in spite of the negatives I’ve
Listed, not all is so terrible nor lost, as long as our world community
Begins to realize that the brightness of the future we hope to have for
Generations to come is very much tied to the solutions we contemplate, 
And the decisions we pursue in attempting to improve our situation.
And the big FACTOR “X” in this whole equation, lest we forget, is not
To forget to turn to the Almighty Lord God in our maximum hour of need.

I’m personally not a zealous religious person, but that does not mean that
I don’t believe in the power of divine intervention in the affairs of mankind.
The key, I believe, is for everyone on this Earth to include nations and
People alike to pull hard and a really commit to make our world a better place.
We inherited this world by the beneficence of the Almighty himself with the
Hope that Man in the image of His Maker would become his Brother’s 
Keeper—but time may not be so much on our side, as Mother Nature has
Been complaining of late of mankind’s violations of the integrity of this Earth.
A little faith and prayer to Our Lord God never really hurts—for the stakes
Facing our world for the ultimate survival of Mankind are the real deal.
Make no mistake about many of the negative factors I’ve listed—they
Are indeed real and won’t be that easy to readily solve as some require 
The concerted effort of everyone as we march forward with our dreams.
We have such tools of wonder in our arsenal of modern technology,
Why not use them for the good of mankind and strive to make the job
Of our Little Cherub New Year’s Baby a tad bit easier. I rest my case.

Happy New Year!!  Amen!!  Amen!!  Amen!! 

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, (December 31, 2014)

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Voting In America

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

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Animal Transformation

I placed a tie on a rat and he looked like tricky Dick Nixon.
I placed a hat on a cat and he looked like jerky Jimmy Carter.
I placed a cap on a dog and he looked like wild Bill Clinton.
I placed some boots on a pair of bulls and they looked like both George Bushes.
I placed some panties on a mouse and he looked like wimpy Barack Obama.
I placed some boxing gloves on a kangaroo and she looked like Hillary Clinton.

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Peace and Quietude

I wake to my kitty sleeping in my arms, soft and warm A gentle breeze from my open window All is peace and quietude Except, the singing birds calling to each other I stretch and snuggle for a few more winks Then sighing, I get up and wash Dressing in my favorite tattered jeans I go for a walk to town . . . The sky pastel blue, the air icy cold I leave my heritage building Cross the street and pass the grey stoned church Walking briskly . . . At the convenience store, I buy a newspaper, A loaf of bread and milk The town cafe is deserted, as I sip my coffee And eat my apple fritter I make a mental note to buy winter boots A warm coat, hat and mitts Winter is knocking on Fall's door . . . The streets are so quiet, as I walk to the library I wander the isles alone with only books Next, I go to the dollar store Pencils, a sharpener, and lined note pad I plan to be writing today . . . . My backpack is full, as I trek home An icy wind blowing me Past the grey stoned church Across the street to my heritage building . . . I wake to my kitty sleeping in my arms, seems I went for a walk and shopping last night in my dreams Written September 26, 2012 For the In Dreams Contest Sponsored by Francine Roberts

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His Valentine

He looked into her big round eyes . Eyes full of wonder , trust , hope . The face of dreams and innocence. 

" Follow me " he says taking her by the hand , drawing her to him . Taking his hand , touching her cheek with his long fingers . Brushing back a wisp of hair that had fallen against her soft cheek . She only nodded . She couldn't speak , " could this be 
him ?" She prayed silently . Her feet followed the dark hair stranger . 

Into the forrest he guides her . The deep shadows of darkness it provided , swallowing there very existence .

She's led to a place she'd never seen before a place of mystery. The hidden beauty, beyond imagination . She could feel the shade's cooling breath on her face . The wet grass as it brushed against bare legs . 

He led . 

She followed . 

His damp shirt clung to his back . The muscles rippling under the thin linen cloth as he guides her down the worn path . A place he was familiar . 

Thru the darkness into a small opening in the trees the sun pours about , giving a opulent glow of light and comfort . He stops and turns to her tilting up her chin , whispering , looking into expectant deep pools of sea green eyes . 

" You and I are destined ." 
" For you my dear , are Love .
        I am Desire "

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The Day Uncle Joe Lost His Handicap

Uncle Joe had a habit of telling people,
I have a handicap you know.
His sister-in-law, Viva, grew weary
Of hearing that.
After all, had she not taught him
To walk, to talk and to feed himself?
She was seventeen when she came into Joe's life.
Too young to listen when the others said "he can't".
She did not know the meaning of the word  "retarded"
And did not understand why a child of two 
Was not walking and talking.
She believed he could learn and he did.
She coached, begged, bribed and loved him
Into doing the things any other child of two could do.
So, years later, when Joe persisted in telling others,
Strangers and family, that he had a handicap
Viva got tired of hearing it.
 One day she said You know Joe, I haven't seen
Your handicap in a long time. 
Maybe it's lost, let's look for it.
After all, you can't tell people you have a handicap
If it isn't there anymore, can you?
His brother, Hugh, agreed
So they searched all day for Joe's handicap.
Neighbors stopped by
And when told of Joe's dilemma,
Joined in the quest.
Behind doors, in closets and high in tees
Every nook and cranny explored,
No stone left unturned.
Finally, evening approached and 
Still no handicap.

Viva said, Well Joe, your handicap seems
To have vanished, flown the coup, escaped
You just don't have it anymore.
Since that day, Uncle Joe has never again
Mentioned his "handicap" to anyone.

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Drowning in The Sky

                 - Cutting The Rest of The Frayed Lines Slack With Pointed Rust -
              - They Fell and Tangled Into Themselves, Isolating Him From Entirety -
He Pushes a Little Wooden Craft into Water Rippled 
With The Night, and Climbs Into The Unsturdiness.

                        - The Ripples Take Him From The Shore -

Subtle Pieces of Jagged Rock mould themselves Into
Shadows, Underneath the Crescent of The Horizon.

                         - Voyage to the Dark -

He Can't Stop Thinking, He Can Never Stop Thinking.
Even in The Middle of Nothing He is Laced with Thought.

                         - Weight of Life -

It Burdens Him With The Tremendous Knowledge That
He is Forced To Live, Misunderstood By Love. 

                         - Camels Spine Snaps -

Purposely Damning His Own Vessel By Stabbing The
Floor Repeatedly in Large Thought out Punctures.

                         - Influx of Grief -

Drowning, Drowning, Drowning in His Little Wooden Boat
All Strewn Through With The Holes of His Ill Intent.

                         - Drinking Salt -

Struggling and Fighting The Liquid Soaks into His Lungs,
His Hands Start to Move Slower, His Legs Give Way.

                         - Ceaseless Struggle -

His Body Shuffles and Slumps Up Against The Stern,
His Vision Focuses on the Light Silking Through the Air.

                         - Radiating The Sink Holes -

When The Sea Had Finished Rippling, The Stars Were No
Longer Distorted and Cast Themselves upon it's Surface.

                         - Replicating Them Perfectly -

His Little Wooden Corpse Carrying Boat, all Strewn Through 
With Holes, But Surrounded By Light, It'll Carry Him Forever...

                         - ...Sailing Between Two Skies -

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Endless Growth

Investing in ones mind, priceless.
Choices, knowlage, endless greed.
Older, better, younger, everlasting.
Education, no prejudice, intentions,
by all means. Free oneself; discover
growth, walk on water, who knows?

03/12/14   written by, Larry Berdoo
                      WRITE ON!

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Dedication to Everyone

I feel that I have found a home in this cyberspace
with full of hearts and ideas in a special place
I wonder of all the people in the world to make me smile
with antics that help me grow in every mile
I do want to say to all of the people with respect
because of all of you my mind is not in a wreck
I would lie if I did not get ideas from all of you
without you my poems would not come true
I bless everyone with care 
with kindness and without dis-pare
I hold my hands high and put them together
with this I bless you with good weather
I do read some of the poems that people put out
sometimes I feel with out a doubt
I feel the pain in the poems that some has revealed
with hopes that they can read with their mind not sealed
I smile a bunch with every word
it is like a music in my head making a cord
I do want you all to know that you have made my day
to be a better day in every different array
I cherish my time with all the people in my heart
the words flow in my mind is just but a start
I'm happy with everyone in 
with hardship that came this cyberspace makes me calm
I cannot choose five cause if I do I don't think it's right
just to tell you that is just my own insight
I thank all for helping me grow with all the poems that are shown
with faith and humor, with views of kindness this site has grown

If I had to say or dedicate my poems to who 
would be the first five who reads my poems with a point of view

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Human Hyenas

From the time of creation
Adam was brainwashed into
 Believing that he was the brainiac
Behind the Garden of Eden fictions

 Women got tired of men carefree life styles
They laid back personality, they sanctions,
And Most of all they diminished sex drives
It’s too late now, it’s too late now 

Too many wrongs, not enough rights
This world belongs to everyone
Not only Your average Tom, Dick and Harry
Men and women have lost respect for each other.
It’s no longer a man’s world theatrical standards
It's more of a mad, mad world with so much mental attitudes
“I was on first; “I was here first kind of society 

Some of us are human hyenas that 
take advantage in human suffering
Not so hard to believe… but it is the truth.
however, it is so hard to swallow

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My Last Week

If I had only a week yet to live in this mortal world,
I would first gather my family together and say my last goodbyes.
Then I would travel to Washington D. C.
and visit the Vietnam Memorial Wall,
to shed the tears I have never cried.
While there I would go to Arlington Cemetery,
to give a final salute to the boys who died so young.
I’d hail a cab to take me to the airport to catch a plane
and fly to California and piss on Nixon’s grave,
for him stabbing those of us in the back who served in harm’s way
while we were under his command.
He has to have been one of the sorriest creatures
to have ever walked upright on two limbs.
After bailing myself out of jail, I would board a train to San Francisco
and hope and pray that the whole damn city and all of its inhabitants
would fall into the deep blue sea for the way they treated the boys and me
when we traveled through there on our way to Vietnam
and then again when we came back home.
I would take a rental car and drive to the Grand Canyon,
to view the awesome splendor of God’s magnificent handiwork
He has wrought upon this old spinning sphere we call earth.
Then I would be off to the nearest airport to hop a plane,
and jet off to Rome where I would light an industrial strength candle
in Mother Teresa’s honor to thank her for all of the souls she saved.
Then I would gladly return home to die the death
I should have died when I was young.
Afterwards, my soul would slip off into the pit of hell,
and I would kick the devil’s sorry ass;
because I’m still regular army even after all of these years,
meaner than hell, tougher than nails.
Life’s an uphill battle and then you die,
but it’s a wild, wild ride. It’s one hell of a ride!

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True Work of Art

One sunny morning in a class of thirty-one They were asked to draw an image one by one Each student stood up, with pastels at hand Being enthusiastic to draw something grand The first group was decided to start the task Talents in drawing they've started to unmask The paper came to life with colors, curves and lines Will it end up like a garden or fields of mines? Time passed by and the paper was almost full Of drawings and colors made by their tools There were animals with mustache on their faces Each and everyone belonging to their places Now the artwork was finished and the students sighed Looking at the masterpiece they've done with pride They didn't care what the paper looked like For in their hearts it was a true work of art

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Soaring Thoughts

Standing in awe of creation
Thinking of all that God made
Amazed at the beauty of it all
I looked in wonder at the heavens
Radiant in the rising of the sun
Wishing that all mankind saw it as I did
Astonished at the intricate art work
Yet humbled by its Creator

To gaze upon this grandeur
Openly put on display

Telling a magnificent story
Having so much to say
Expressing such infinite wisdom

Showing God's handiwork to man
Tracing a pathway to glory
As promised in His great plan
Reaching out, I could almost touch it
Some day, beyond the stars I'll stand

Curtis Moorman
17 February 2012

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Before my Eyes

I watched her walk away
And my mind wondered away
Do I or Not
Count the fading heels
Count the healing strides
Count the fast passing past
Finger after finger

I never stopped and I cursed
To voice atop the last floor
How do I or Not
Steal tomorrow from the day
Beam with joy where I don’t enjoy
Look back and see you seeing me
Like children hiding nothing

The fire is gone
The bush is growing on cinder
Will it or  Not
Shoot each foil and flower
Summon you who lights the fire
Pretend nothing ever killed
The whole generation of Love

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Momma's Fancy Laced Boots

    Momma went trappin' till noon,
fer Ring Neck Ducks ~ en gone fishin',
        also trappin’ fat coon…
so she was a dragin' er ole’ berlap
full - of game, as well, 'like money in…
'er til' ~ by thee light, of ay full moon...

     Seven siblings doin' chores causin'...
       Momma needed money so soon,
    Grandpa en a Pop'a were a knockin'
   down all those logs - for Coors, quickly

    Momma chasin' chickens, while rescelin'...
in there pen, en a sloppin' with all them hogs,
why she was buzy a slippin' en a slidein'...
into a sink hole, an a trippin' over pa’ pa's logs,
frogs were a jumpin', an a hopin'
   right through her hands...

    While Grandpa was a brewin',
good ale, a good tale fer Kentucky mash...
fer what she longed fer sure,
Momma ney're could save 'er cent of cash,
ner're enough mash-ale fer er dough, unerring
though ~ down to her country-store...

  She went one misty ~ foggy mornin'...
into one of her swamp boats, all traps
all bottle ale, so Momma went a paddlin'...
           certain, per'aps
fer her new pair, so needin’ of them
   ere fancy laced ~ Combat Boots

   “Now remember to call your Mom too”

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the mandala with the nipple at the centre

Grogged, split into holographic shards:
Hypnogog reveleations reflect
One dreary dreamer. Divinity
staggers to recall Itself
in matter.

Is God like peppermint? I think him

more like meade caressing 
a breeze – just beyond 
the fresh whore.

Bands of succulence
orbit a soaked mind.

The mandala, stony gravel out-stations
brilliantly placed in the Logic, 
oddly so.

In the centre the most divine Creation.

The nipple more proud than unassuming
more mirage-producing
than drought.

And all around the nipple children skip
chasing fairies in the smoky glow.

All around the nipple dance children, go.
More ancient than childbirth. The cheek

of Isis swirls itself into a Promise. Food
was later, grown men (and women) don’t know.

The milk erodes its own palace. The screen
remains; like the silence in a scream.

Art only, ever in the making. The sacredness
of a breast more than Nature produces.

Some on the outer, independent scriptute.
Some more honest, after some lost inner elixir.

I say: the world would not last long without a breast.

Copyright. 2009. JLM.

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pooh with the only tools of honey and smarts;
mickey with his best friend Donald,
oh! what a party to start.
the three wanted to celebrate the clubhouse opening;
so they started to cheer,
giggled merrily,
and started the music.
oh! what a good time they had!
everybody was glad;
but pooh became sad,
maybe, because it was the end.
but, later we found out,
he just ran out of honey.
so mickey said,"be happy don't pout."

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The Rope Never Fully Loosened Up

Conversation with older folks always Makes us think about How complex we are When asked 80 to 90 percent of older people How are they doing? Most replies are the same “Child I am just waiting. Waiting! For what To meet my maker” From the time we were born Plans were made for us About our life What are you going to be? When we grow up And soon has one become an adult Our thoughts about dying Frighten us You are born then you die Life might be simple for some However, it a race to get over unfairness of life I met my third grade teacher last year The first thing she said to me “Did you follow your dreams? A moment in an instant world I felt like she were in control ^ She is much older now However, nothing has change We born, then we die No matter how hard we try The ropes never seem to loosen >/center>

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Never, did she ever, imagine the pain
that comes from money, tangled with fame
how many times had she been down this road
each time getting older with the life she chose

every night, she welcomed them in
showing her kindness, time and again
rich ones, poor ones, and all in between
each time they left her, another they would send

years did pass while nothing changed
seemed like everyone knew her name
one lonely night, she could not sleep
her life so empty, she felt defeat

then that night, a knock at the door
a homeless man, fell to the floor
she gave him food, and a warm place to sleep
he told her softly, "thank you for helping me"

they grew very close, during his stay
and shared their stories along the way
love came calling that cold, dark night
now happy together, seems so right

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Summer Waterfall

Deep in the woods I hear an angel's lyrical call.
Tranquil and serene, a majestic summer waterfall.
Where the oaks and wildflowers shade the creek,
reflections fall to earth from rays of destiny,
refreshing my soul and setting my spirit free.
I smell the aroma of rain mixed with the paradise breeze.
Tranquil and serene, a natural wonder and rainbow of peace.
A cascading sparkling jewel,
above a wave rippling whirlpool.
Upon the wind rides the angel's lyrical call.
Tranquil and serene, a majestic summer waterfall.

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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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This is dedicated to all of my wonderful reflections in life.  Thanks for always catching me and lifting me up!!

It is most important To see your reflection The image we reflect As an individual person Sometimes we overlook Seeing what we may reflect Then other people in the world Can see the reflection neglect We should always check out What reflections we portray The reflections given out Will come back your way Reflecting goodness to others Attracts goodness back to you As when bad reflections given Can invite bad reflections too Inner vision is connected With the soul deep within As we look out reflecting Images our minds imagine There are the times on occasion When we may reflect negatively That’s when we don’t even realize We’re not seeing ourselves clearly Some reflections in others That you may tend to find With some similar situations Will sometimes ease your mind To see reflections of yourself in life Looking at other people is the way A true friend will catch you though When you are having a bad day Those friends will reflect to you What you are unable to see Giving only positive thoughts And lifting you up spiritually Be a good reflection to yourself And to others who need it too Do not reflect as someone else Let the real you shine through Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Numbers make the world, 
no smiles or batted eyes here
numbers make the world, 
no sticky-sweet fingers or waving palms
numbers rule without qualms

Gross domestic products and 
tonnage of staples on actuarial tables
PSI and APY ratioed percentages
leveraged capitals 
daily numbers of sales calls - 
numbers are to do 'n' all

Numbers make the world, 
no full moon in lapis sky
no fresh-picked basil on peckish plate
no dreaming lovers to salivate
only numbers of bushels per acre
no smokey-sweet of roasted ears

It's numbers that count
no blessings of sermon on the mount
for the numbers shall inherit
by long or short division,
able to sway, today's decision

about what's important, what life is for 
it's all about a number, nothing more,
so don't worry 'bout what's next in store
'cause you can't count on it anymore
- it's days are numbered 

like counting sheep, now close your
eyes, 'n' get some REM sleep
dreaming now of days, away ago,
when it wasn't so - 
that numbers made the world

© Goode Guy 2013-04-01

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Dream of Birds

Wakes up. Surrounded by no one. Cars are empty. Houses are empty. Bird(bat) poop plopped in the street. Don't know what's going on. Walk around. 2:10 
Find food. Store it. 3:15
Walk around some more. 3:46
Look at a house. Curtains close fast. Someone's there. Go to the house. Knock on the 
door. No answer. Hello? 4:52
Leave,a voice says. But I have nowhere to go. I don't care. Leave. 
Can you please let me in. 4:56
But ma'am I don't know what's going on. Can you tell me?
Get out of here!4:58
Looks down. Looks up. Ma'am please. 
Little girl I'm not gonna tell you one more time.Cocks rifle. 
Sighs.Turns around. 4:59 
transitions 5:00
Hears birds(bats) screech...

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I beg your pardon
do you have to stare
my clothes are shabby
and yes I care

I lost my job
through no fault of my own
then my car
then my home

Age is a factor
or it was in my case
I once wore satin
I once wore lace

Life jumped up
then knocked me down flat
after thirty years of devotion

Don't get to comfortable
and think not me
because out of no where
I now see

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BIG data

So, I'm told I have 100 billion neurons
(by someone ignorant of youth's indiscretions)
each with about a thousand synapses,
to connect its own specific grandeur or fear
to a grand of other neurons and their neuroses

and all of these cadre's and feeling tentacles
are always moving - reaching - searching,
for input and an interested listener
for minute sparks of insights they may have,
maybe a few a second, and over the course of time
they begin to add up - these datum of days

Significant amounts of minutia and marvels 
in my minute-to-day-to-decade-to-lifetime
collection of me, in my own Icloud of inputs
what more could a sentient mind want but
a spoonful of sugar, and some free radicals
to really open up the ol' data pipes

BIG data, is what life's all about 
these days, of statistical medians and means, 
trying always to crunch our cramponed boots
to the top of the standard deviation curve
and look out at all the rest of 
experience below us, our own vista of life

Racks of digitals softly hum to us in our society
and like us, this evolution (perhaps) of life
abhors to throw anything back to the world
without gleaning profit or meaning from it,
no digital potato peels or binary bones tossed
without a specific mission statement satisfied

So, it's not so different today, in "modern" times
as it was back then, when chain-mailed or toga'd 
or animal skinned, or just buck-naked, we took 
in everything that we could as individuals, 
and stored its meaning, its grief, its joy,
part of our memories stock-in-trade for 
the core analytical questions of "what?" and "why?"

© Goode Guy 2012-11-16

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The Ship In The Bottle

           The Ship In The Bottle

Who can't admire the ship in the bottle
that sits on the mantlepiece of a stately home
with it's windblown sails, its row of cannons
and it's loyal crew.

A ship that will never encounter storms 
or risk danger of running aground on jagged reefs
never seeing action or battling the high seas
and never discover new lands.

A ship of dignity, imprisoned in a glass dome
it will always remain the ship in the bottle.


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I awoke an hour past mid-nite
oh what peace everyone is dreaming
made some warm milk cocoa
turned radio on.. tv on
am now multi-taskin..

stolen away by sweet sleep
right there on the couch...
couch potato now dreaming..
dreaming of strange lands
dream tourism is in vogue...

woken my house help preparing tea
she gives me a puzzled stare..
may be the boxer shorts am wearing..
have her vexed.. cud be.shes just sleepy
its already daylight.... already...

partake a luke-warm shower.
no time to get the water properly heated
rushing to the shuttle stage..
boarding a shuttle..engaging the driver.
alighting.... usual stage guru nanak hospital..

the guru ramgaria looks at me... or..
looks at the sky..we call him kalasinga
i ponder what the good guru was thinking..
staring to the sky..
idle thought.. short walk i arrive...

gad gados headquaters....
every one today is late..but...
but the hr ...shes already in..
i say hello she appears not to hear..
i sleek slowly toward my work station

TD B our receptionist arrives late..
we ponder over the why.. everyone's late
come up with the time thief theory
according to RU and TE..
May be the good guru knows...

the guru on the poster
daily trains... trains his creamy red eyes 
to the heaven in artistic communion....
the believers in him.. call him-enlightened one
us.... we find all of them weird.. intolerance?..

the artistic guru was there when
the superhighway was built...
when the terrorist bombed a shuttle
when our countries CEO was acquitted
by the imperialist court..

the artistic guru must know
must know.. who stole our time
he keeps looking to the sky
they say hes enlightened..
i say ted.. the guru knows.knows time.

of time thief's and time snatchers
here at gadgados we watch-out
watch out against.. or for
a different kind of thief
who has a very long hand...

Lewis k Nyaga
eastern african maritime.. 0915hrs

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Where The Wind Blows

            Fields of flowers sway to the onslaught of the purest of pure winds
                The fresh scent it gathers by brushing through the grass itself
                    The motions it creates a delicate change with every brush
                          It combs through the endless views of long slopes
                 The wind in fields are the purest of all it gathers life with in it
                 Pushing the way to the edge of the forest were it dies down
                        But I rather not say die because it still flows through
                         On top of the forest, above the rivers, and hills of old
                                                 Where the wind blows

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My Devil

      My Devil
My Devil’s stronger,
He feeds on my tears and
Lives in my fears.
My Devil’s hideous,
 He pulls me into darkness and
Keeps himself harmless.
My Devil’s fierce,
The result of procrastination
Who surrounds with frustrations.
My Devil’s dirty,
He kills and bathes with blood
For all he brings is dark evil flood.
But my devil doesn’t know
What it is like after he’s gone
For I have a shoulder to lean on.
But my devil doesn’t feel
That who it is, 
The one to steal his day-dreamed ease.
But my devil doesn’t fear,
Because he doesn’t believe
That there’s something that’ll get me heaved.
But my devil will never regret,
For what he has done
Until the day he’ll be gone.
And the day will someday come,
When my lord will punish the ungrateful
And the day will someday come,
When my devil will be badly broken.
And the day will someday come
When my lord will get him spoken.
And the day will someday come,
When my devil will be banished and vanished from my world.
And the day when that will happen,
My life will be no less than gold.
And it’ll no longer will be devil who’ll keep me behold… 

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How Do I Stay Soulful

How do I stay soulful, without seeming like a raging goddess?
I would always be the raging sea,
Don’t sail your boats or ships upon my waters!
 Expected to be slaughters, by my sharks
 The rough waves: and the haunted ghost slaves.
 You toss abroad, unlike the garage you scattered on my shore,
I kept your secrets; at the bottom of ocean floor

I sting your eyes, and bitter your taste:
 Rock your ships from side to side
Yet, you smuggle my fish out to land: 
    what a disgrace!
A man would always be a man

 Why did you leave the dry land and sail the ocean blue
You pirate! You luxury ocean liners: you liars
Can you hold on to my waters? 
The laughter takes hold of you.
I filled myself with rage, because of the things you do

No safety nets……


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         Taking reins in hand she guides her mount up the narrow moonlit path.
         Bellow her , vast ocean swells . She can hear the waves cresting . 
         Their rippling caress encouraging the shoreline , '' Come to the sea ''.
         At the peak she sees her dark warrior . Hardened , the endless struggle 
         of time warping his soul . His very existence lost . A man , love had left 
         long ago .
         Her tender heart had heard the bellowing pleas , 
         his brutal cries at the darkness . The very darkness swallowing him . 
         Devouring his soul , never looking back .
         He felt her warmth . The light from the moons breath upon the earth
         penetrating the hardened heart he no longer thought to exist .
         His war battled body strengthening at her approach. He felt alive .
         His emptiness , waning . He'd waited an eternity for her . She had come .
         She was Hope .


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A coyote howls amidst the blackscreen
of the woods, as unknown silhouettes 
crawl  on the earth’s  crust; and the rain
whams on muddy soil. The cry of doom
threatens each being when the hour
screeches to gather a crew of newborns,
and within every thickened breath
the weak ones tumble over an abyss
of carnage without resistance.

Mothers wail, yet  sharp hands
blackened by thorny nails grip the fresh
belly of shocked darkness. 
Nearer and nearer the hooded spirits 
large with green eyes break the chain,  
moving closer for a more live feast
while babes wiggle like worms.
I turn the screen off in a dark, dark room,
hurrying to view if my one-month son
is in his crib, dreamily asleep.

Contest: In A Dark, Dark Room...Halloween
For Pendleton Arkwright

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The Wolfman love story

Nightfall was here,
The reward for his habitual labor was well on its way,
Storming through borders,
Invading backwards cities,
Collecting pieces and parts,
Digesting human heart.

Suddenly his hot lit eyes,
Spotted an unusual sight,
Her reflection off the quiet lake,
Stifled his appetite,

His nostrils flared exposing smoke,
For autumn’s chill consumed his cloak,
He swept across the trees,
Causing her to feel an abrupt breeze,

She looked around, but noone was there
She knew a presence had snuck a stare,
She continued on her way,
Then felt compelled to pray,

Asking God to bring to her,
A man that would love her so,
Vocalizing that she didn’t care,
If his looks were hard for others to bear,
As long as he could truly love,
And appreciate her like his dove.
She would be grateful,
For her heart wasn’t capable of being hateful,

She prayed the rest of her way,
While this man of the night
Listened intently to every word she did say,
And when she got to her humble little home
She went to bed all alone,

Now the time was half past two,
This beast did not know what to do,
For his night had now become defeated,
For her words had made his will depleted,

He began to weep,
His wounds were deep, 
Nevertheless, all that came out were howls,
He became an animal in love that could only let out growls,

The anguish of this tragic story,
He yearned to be held by all her glory,
He proceeded to watch her while she slept in peace,
She was an angel, he was a beast

Then around 6 am
This beauty woke to start again,
When she walked outside,
Her face went white and her eyes grew wide,

Her little house had foot prints all around,
Shaped like hearts but marks from a hound,
A message from a tormented slave,
Someone not even her love could save.

By:Sabina Nicole
Contest: wolfman in love

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L O M L Always

The thought of her smiling gave me faith
From when we were little we bathe
My mother and her mother is best friends
They both took care of us and gifts they send
We pulled each others hair
And she was always quick to dare
When I smiled at her she knew it was no good
She learned to pull me up and she understood
I just wanted her attention and that she gave
She knew it in her heart love was my slave
From when we were a child with full of energy I had my way
She was the one who was my guide and she did not push me away
When I saw her cry one day and her eyes was so sad
I gave her a flower and I smiled at her and made her glad
When some one special leaves her heart
I sat by her and never wanted to depart
She is the love of my life always
She is the one who gave me my hope through out my days
So I gave her my heart and love from within
And I did not make it thin
I stood by her side since I was a child
I gave her my support when we were wild
She knew who I was and I let her go the distance
I did not hate her or give her resistance
My mother and her mother are great friends and their virtue will never end
Because of their love they both trusted us to live our ways to transcend
So my childhood friend was my best friend, and now my wife
She new it from the start that we part of each others life

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The Apple City New York

While listening to Schumann’s “Arabesque” 
and “Fantasiestüche” for the Mozart B flat Sonata,
I feel the warmth and love that’s powerful within;
a moment of instrospection, a source of intervention.

I live in a wonderful country, beautiful and well-known;
its historical significance and cultural diversity,
define those experiences with charm and closeness
that make something special how New York stands now.

The Statue of Liberty with its wide attraction to many,
a perfect landmark that speaks volumes about migrants;
as a gift from France that took a long voyage to arrive
between two countries there’s friendship and assurance.

The Ellis Island Immigration Museum is just close by,
where photos and experiences of the early immigrants
are showcased and memorialized as treasures of the land
so interesting that makes everyone know how they were.

In all five boroughs from Manhattan to the Bronx, Queens,
Brooklyn, and Staten Island, there’s a look of sheer delight;
great attractions and endless events scheduled for all seasons,
breathtaking sights with Broadway theatres and the brightest -
Times Square that has always been a rendezvous for tourism.

Oh, city of New York! filled with everything that one can claim
a known place in the world with so much to offer to all
like London in England, Madrid in Spain, or Milan in Italy;
all these cities have world-class shopping one can be interested in.

There are great places for dining, culture, tours, and transportation,
subways are convenient for everyone to explore Manhattan
with a number of museums, galleries, and centers for all promotions
like entertainment, history, arts, culture, music and literature.

Delighting audiences of all ages has got the Big Apple has,
it brings you up to date favorite and famous big-screen moments;
artistic and entertaining performances such as musical extravaganzas,
sci-fi fantasies, romances, sweeping epics, concerts and many others.

Trendy boutiques, funky cafes, velvet-roped nightspots and delis
are some places full of culture that one can probably explore;
their stories and history provide us with vistas and attention
Truly, places of glamour, excitement, entertainment, and much more.

Oh, city of New York it’s a great adventure to explore this, so far,
its fascinating neighborhoods with a variety of cultures involved,
a great experience, an enriching reality with multi-ethnic groups;
with legendary history that celebrates and shapes humanity.

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The Crops and the Cloud

A vast cloud came soaring over a field of crops in the early winter, the crops waited in despair for the cloud to rain but it never did. It just flew by without leaving a single droplet.
The crops however weren’t burnt and ruined because the winter was young and other clouds will come. Thus, someday it will rain before the summer comes and the crops die. The crops were still hopeful and nothing broke their spirit.
But as the world works on a cycle there’s always a chance that the same first cloud might come back and the crops will always be waiting for that rain.
The first cloud was forgotten by the crops, but if it passed by again it would be like a new opened page.

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The hinges of the swing doors creak as Zack Waverley enters the Rotgut bar
He stands in the doorway his huge frame blocking out the daylight
‘Hey Zack’ I cry ‘Is that a pistol in your pocket are you just pleased to see me’
His face lights up with a grin, ‘Hey sugar, have you got room for me’
I wink at him and smile at his subtle innuendo 
Zack was once one of my best customers
Not seen him for years though he left as soon as I fell pregnant
Sparks fly off his silver spurs as he swaggers over to the bar
Double whiskey on the rocks, he downs it in one swig then has another double
Are you read for some action I ask him, are you firing on both barrels?
Zack nods his head and we head for the door to go to the old motel 
Suddenly there is a loud BANG and a pistol is fired
Zack falls to the floor as dead as a dodo
A single bullet wound to his chest
My son stands there with a smirk on his face
The smoking pistol in his hands
‘Sorry it had to end this way dad’ he says stepping over the lifeless body
I fall to my knees and cry
Oh why oh why did I lie
'Zack wasn’t yer Pa' I cried
I just gave his name I should never have lied
He was just a man I could never resist
Guess I better tick his name off my list

Jan Allison
30th July 2014
Written for A Town Called Rotgut Contest Sponsored by Jerry T Curtis

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A Dragon's Tale

I dreamed of princes and damsels in distress,
While a sleeping giant in a cave does rest.
The dragon slumber with fire at it side,
People are frightened so they run and hide.

With fear in their eyes the kingdom rules
Fire versus the sword are the battle tools.
With a single breath all the kingdom shall burn,
What if slumber is all the dragon yearns.

Along comes a prince with intentions to slay.
The battle is set with the dragon today.
The dragon has wings to just fly away,
Can we understand why he even stays?

Still a battle seems to be in sight, 
Visions of fire burn through the night.
Perhaps the dragon is misunderstood
Maybe he would tell us if he could.

The dragon’s fire waits in the wake,
Waking this giant might be a mistake.
The kingdom’s in peril so the battle is set.
When you play with fire, burnt you will get.

Still they all wish for the dragon to be gone,
As the kingdom burns it does matter how long.
What if the dragon was happy to sleep?
There no turning back when you get in too deep.

I wonder what’s the greater evil or good.
Maybe the dragon is just misunderstood.
As the kingdom burns consumed in fire,
I wonder was this the dragon’s desire.

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I had a dream where nothing 
was what it seemed.
It was dark and then too bright 
and all my words left my mind.
I saw a bright beam where 
everything was what I’d 
The darkness fell over the 
shadows and swallowed 
everything that was kind.
The light fled and tomorrow 
was a treasure I just knew I 
had to find.

Yesterday was lost and 
everyone stood with a great 
amount in cost.
It was sad and it was glad, but 
everyone threw it up for a toss.
Passing through time with 
glimmering bright lights,
Where were the dark lonely 

Flash-backs timing the tracks 
as most folks fell through tiny 
little cracks,
Each one flashed back on top 
of crumpling down broken old 
Then it was cold and then it got 
Today was here and being 
blotted out like a tiny black 
Flash-backs and flash-backs 
sending millions tracks of light 
to never forget me not.

®Registered: 2003 Ann Rich

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Cook Out

Shopping day today and my supplies are low.
I plan on inviting everyone to a cook out
so I better make a list of what I will need.
I will need tolerance – sure I have some, but
there will be many showing up and I doubt
they will bring their own – for my crowd
will be many and varied.
Humor, humor, humor. I had better stock
up on that. If these people don’t
just get over themselves
and learn to take a joke, then I’m afraid
they are in for lots of very preventable aggravation.
Common sense. Now, I know it’s not
the most sought out hors d oeuvre , but
it is the most important. If more people would
help themselves to generous helpings of
common sense,
I do believe things would be much easier.
Some charm, civility, manners – good God, yes –
intelligence wouldn’t hurt, and we could
have us a real good time.
most people like to pig out on the
jealousy, envy, pride, prejudice on the 
other tables. Scoop me some helpings of 
rudeness, guile, back stabbing and pity while
you’re at it. 
But, not at my cook out. 
You only get served tolerance, humor, common sense,
charm, civility, manners, intelligence …
Come join me, but be prepared to join in. 

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shhh bang

it starts underneath a small table
near the entrance to a motel lobby
and grows with great speed and sprite
quieting the house-guest at the counter
as it flows - muted down the hallway

glass doors opened with dampened yawn
and it streams across the parking lot
as sedans and pickups suppress 
carbon-laden coughs to sit sedately as

breezily it blows stilly past the 
man mowing his lawn, now silent
to a Parish church down a block
with its burked* spire bells

silently it presses over covered acres
of rural pasture and time-laden wood
a great enlargement of un-din
no bovine low, or snap of twig
creeking waters without gurgle

flowing past, and around, and over
people, individually and whole crowds
without even a whisper of apprisal
covering vast space at un-supersonic speed
oceans without roll or roil of waves

still, it moves on over island and isthmus
continents languishing on quiet molten
their ridges and troughs without groan
as the entirety of sphere becomes hush

no noise, no sound around, surrounded
without the slightest sound instilled
in ear, in mind, in thought - in me
in my own near-deafness, I wonder
is it to be peaceful, tranquil, or 
silence too vast without coo or cry?

© Goode Guy 2013-03-17

* #2

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The Human Being : Object of lust

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

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

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

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

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

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White Moon

There was one midnight hour when I stood alone beyond my bed, in the shadowed room I was the child in the white flannel gown watching a white moth fly and a white moon rise The family slept..except for me They never heard creaks in the wooden floor or the squeak of the hinge on the old screen door I climbed down the steps into the fresh night air and was swallowed deep in the sequined sky Something was whispering, from beyond the hedge murmuring words, as a prayer, unsaid Yet, I knew it was cunning, I knew it was wise Temptation enticed me to follow the sound It spoke with the drum of the cricket's thunder I stood under the canopy of a million stars Without hesitation, or a fear, unknown Lit by the bleach of the crescent moon I knew in the moment, I was not alone The fragrance of jasmine, was caught in the breeze flying swift as a dove, to comfort me It picked me up, far off the grass Where I could see beyond the past Back in my room, tucked into the sheets Watching a white moth fly, and the white moon leave

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Four Stages of Knowledge

Children begin to read and write
learn to communicate with others
wonders and worlds revealed. 

Adolescents hone those skills 
insatiable hunger grows within
inhibited imagination relaxed. 

Young adults open to thought
create new-found concepts to marvel
limitless knowledge spread before.

Aged and wise now understood
in a life magnificent and full 
our learning never ends.

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late night poem

The day seems long and very bright and the sun light is strong, 
I do not dare to stare at the window, because I feel wrong.
My feelings of the morning is quite intriguing but unbelieving,
That the morning dew is just a calling for how much the day is stealing.
The sun above comes out to make it warm and revealing,
I of coarse have studied this and I myself like darkness for achieving.
Life in the dark is so pleasant at times that I do not dare think of day,
So my night becomes a twinkle of little lights that I feel is okay.

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Station IMAG Reporting Live

The following statements 
are figments of your imagination,
if it were not so, we would of course
steer you in the correct direction
to correct your lack of invisible
imaginary eye sight.

This message is brought to you
by the imaginary invisible station  
I.M.A.G which is broadcast from
the mind of Silly Me…to ….you.
Our motto is:  Invisible Imagination
cannot be seen with unimaginative
invisible eyes.”
We pride ourselves on living up 
to our motto !!

I.M.A.G is dedicated to the theory
that all imagened things not possible are 
always possible when invisible 
but can only be seen
in the imagination should there
possibly be one to find and should
you actually be able to see it if
it was actually there.

What you think you are reading 
is simply a trick your eyes are playing
on your mind.  We pride ourselves
on being able to accomplish this feat 
so easily.  There is actually no page 
with words on it before you at this time.
Your screen is simply a blank blue
field of blue or green or whatever
our broadcast audience has deems
soothing to the invisible eye. 

Our station is devoted to remaining
“Green”.  Because we use neither
paper, nor ink, we feel we have met
the burden of always remaining 
environmentally conscience.
We will of course get a major 
tax credit for our imaginary 

Should I.M.A.G need to test its 
broadcasting station or send out
an early response warning, we will
of course use our environmentally 
friendly invisible ink for all to imagine
they are able to see and read.

Thank you for tuning in to this
invisibility statement.   If you 
have failed to see its unimaginable
invisible possibility message, 
we sincerely apologize.
We cannot be held liable for your
lack of invisible imagination.

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The familiar cadence in autumn

Cold spells get to a slow start this year,
with this month's full moon -
known as the Beaver moon.
It makes me think though;
of my homeland where people walk
and enjoy the precipice of the night.

While in New York autumn holds
symbolic meanings and stories to tell;
with a giant wind that looms over a coastline;
it's another landscape that beckons across the farmland.

Withered leaves drop and fall on the ground,
trees in their creeping sadness
continue to lose the sojourn of their youth.
At their height and moving branches,
make me stay up and watch them through the present time.

As I gleefully walk right up to the shrine of Our Lady,
there's a missing whisper, a song to my ears;
those birds spilling down the garden's main avenue.
Like an army, an orchestra that provides
melody in the midst of sympathy.

As a magical moment of Mother Nature,
I see enormous changes in forms and shapes;
an attempt to thrive for another threshold,
keeps me believe the power beyond
filled with images of life.

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If I Could Fly

If I could fly, where in the world would I possibly go?
Up and away my wings would carry me,
My destination not known!
If I could fly, I’d capture all of the Sun’s rays.
Up and away!
What a sight to see with such a grand milestone!
If I could fly, 
I would always look below.
Down and deep!
My eyes focused only on you.
My journey’s still unknown.
If I could fly, I’d stay on top with memories buried to keep.
Down and deep!
What an experience just to fly through!
Such a waste without you!

If I could fly, I would soar with my best perfection.
Soaring with pride!
My life achieved.
My destination excluding restrictions!
If I could fly, I’d forever remember this glide.
Soaring with pride!
What a thought to preconceive.
Such bright reflections!
If I could fly where in the world would I possibly go?
Up and away I would go only with you.
My destination remaining incognito!
If I could fly, I’d want to stay up and away!
What an incredible zone just to pass through!
Such a magnificent plateau!
If I could fly, I’d fly only for you!

®Registered: 1997 ANN RICH

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To Meditate

To meditate

 I hold three rocks, in my hand
rolling them over, over,and over
leaving this reality behind, far behind.

I pace, I pad a path deep inside,
where reality has no weight.

I close my mind 
listen to the warmth
each of my little rocks give.

A place of quiet Silence,
  Dawn and Dusk,
  Still and Solitude,
To just be and hold,
		within myself,
My sanctuary, safety, belonging.

To be where I belong within,
Strong enough to hold within
 		all I’ve denied myself.

Inner conscious to trust, 
My own discernment.

Again in the quietness of half-slumber-
            	A dream of half-awakening-
I find the vision that blurs,
 without the required stillness.

In the harsh sunlights glare,
I breath in behind closed lids
to pad the path into
	the circle of my inner solitude,

Alas, reality still clings heavily!

My breath staggers, stutters, gasp.
Cool air breeze circulates
Within the inner grove I can not reach.

Be still-breathe- the panic will ease.
Let it all go… one, two, three…
Your core is strong, with roots that 
Grow deep and wide
Your trunk broad and veined
-flow of energy that 
Feeds into branches spread wide.

Lay here tonight, in this one moment,
to remember the strength and peace
Reality drains dry.


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              Morning came as whispers in my ear slowly says echoing I love you
  The embrace and let go of the warmth of the sun and sheet move it was a cue
         The voice echoing that whispers in my ears again says do you hear that?
                 The gurgle of the coffee, and the smell of caffeine in the air sat
             A determine voice still echoing says it is time for you to get up my love
                         As I open my eyes I look outside as I see one dove 
              Cooing me, and it's bright white feathers has gotten my attention
     As I looked around my dream of my love disappears as it put me into depression
                  A sadness crackled into my heart, and a discerning look came to
            I wake up every morning hearing her voice in the summer morning dew

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What I owe

It is my belief that the amount of debt that I have incurred during my long journey thru this life can never be fully repaid by a mortal man such as me. How much can it be?

One debt that I owe that I can never adequately repay is the love and understanding of my cherished wife who has shared her life with me. 

What amount can be assessed, matter not what the endeavor, matter not the task, this wife of mine is always there to assist, never complaining while shouldering more than her share of the load?

How do I know an amount to be levied or know what I owe for the four beautiful children that she bore and shepherd through their early life and seen them on their way? 

I have nothing to pay to cover the debt of seeing these same children that I am proud to call my own, become strong productive members of our society now with children of their own.

What amount is now owing for the pleasure that I see as I watch how well these grandchildren have made a start on their own families, lives and careers as they move toward future years?

What amount do I owe for the gift of this life that has been given to me by the generations that have gone before, that allowed me to be born into this land of the free?

What is my share of the debt owing to the young men and women that serve in our military and fight and die for us each day as others have done before, yet thankfully I personally have never had to experience the horrors of a war?

What is the value of my place upon a land of plenty where in this life I have never known real hunger or lacked for medical care in my time of need or longed for just a spark of hope?

What do I owe for the sights that I see as I gaze at the mountains, rivers and the sea that spread out before us all as we travel across this land?

I know that these debts cannot be paid in mere monetary terms but only by showing my deep appreciation and a heartfelt “thank you” while explaining to all how much they all have meant to me?

Conveyance of this message hopefully may help to render full payment and hopefully settle the score. I can only hope that will be the case.

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From Fireworks To Fizzle

From fireworks to fizzle,
so went our love,
now it's good morning, goodnight,
without a hug.

Existing in harmony,
one day at a time,
you have your space,
and I have mine.

The house is full,
of nothing at all,
but no one notices,
all the bare walls.

Another day ends,
and to dreamland we go,
to awaken the fireworks,
that each misses so.

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The Twenty Third Precinct

The place, the Twenty Third Precinct, Brooklyn, Vice. Detective Rodney Townsend,
The time, four thirty a.m. Report of incident, death of one John Doe. Ally on the
fourteen hundred block, Forth street. The deceased IE; perp is a white male,
approximately thirty five years old with lots of tattoos, some of them are kind of
indistinguishable. Hair, black, Mustache, black...Lots of rings.

The victim, person attacked, Maria Wiegold, tagged for prostitution seventeen
times in the past five years, was apparently in the process of being beaten and
strangled in said ally. She said the perp had a knife, the Homicide boys said
it was a flensing knife, I had to look that up. Flensing knife, I'll have to remember 
that. The perp was struck down before he could kill her. Is this the Ripper?

I think we got us a live one here, in a manner of speaking. Maybe the killings
will stop now, by the Grace of God! " Yo, Brick"! " What do ya want Mikey, I'm kinda
busy here. " I done some checking with the ME, and your ice berg aint the Rip" He's
the broads Pimp, name's Gino Rondo" " arm long rap sheet, attempted murder 
more assaults than I can count" " Your lucky you can count to ten Mikey, and 
that's with your shoes off" "Awe Brick, cut it out, will ya"!

" Cheese Whiz, Mikey, I thought we had this one in the bag" " You always was a
hard luck story Brick" Yeah, yeah, I'm goin down to the Morgue, check on our 
stiff. " William thirty Baker, central, show me 10-9 at central morgue, I'll be on
portable if you need me" " Central, William thirty Baker, will do Brick". Yeah....

" Hullo Doc"! " Hello Brick"! " I'm here for the skinny on my stiff" " You mean MY 
stiff, don't you"? " Well....the Skinny as you call it, is, One cut, powerful, downward
thrust, begins at the breastbone and ends at the groin" " Very precise, almost surgical,
except"! " Except what Doc?"  " I don't know any surgeons that 
use a sword to cut into people" " You sure Doc?" " Quite sure Brick, I've seen 
something like this before, in Japan...If I miss my guess, this was done with
a Japanese Katana". 

                                 Samurai !!!

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High School Days

We are not perfect by no means at all,
some are too skinny, some are too tall,
I  was always the tallest in my class,
until High school, then I found my match.
5' 7'' kinda tall for a girl,
then I decided, I wanted to twirl,
The football players always kidded with me,
but I knew they were flirting, they really liked me.
My hair was long, and blonde as can be,
they told me not past the shoulders, little Crissy.
I had to pile it up, but it never stayed,
stringy haired twirler, out on the stage.
Now , I think back to those football games,
remembering those memories, of my High School

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a flood of swollen words

I've seen a picture of a book
caught in a flood from the past
and marveled at what the view
revealed to me, the reader

The book, arced and curved to
its center, like a ship's bow
darkened with abandonment, and 
white crystals grown from pages' edge

Words crystalized from every
line written, touchable thoughts 
crystallization of the author's soul
the original, unreadable, unknown

The wish to witness at pad and pen
as soul pours ink to paper page
tonguing salty thoughts may be what 
imprinted from the writer to me

© Goode Guy 2012-03-03

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The Door in the Closet Pt.3

As I waited on the Constable I wondered why the 
gate was open and the front door locked, by whom?
The Constable arrived blowing his horn at the front gate
in an old Dodge pick up, real old Dodge Pick up

It looked as though the whole bed was full of wood,
God I don't need that much, I thought to myself
Howdy Thar Richard, he said in that Maine drawl 
I brought your wood for ya, take what ya need

Tell me Richard, you shur ya want to do this?
never too late ta change tour mind ya know
To go home I mean, no one bendin your arm here
No Constable, I'm sure I want to check this place out

Names Arlin, Arlin Danforth, though most folks call
me Zeeke, Thats what you can call me too, if ya like
Neva been a man set on formalities and all
Sounds good...Zeeke, I'm Rick as we shook hands

We finished loading the firewood in my SUV, I took
about half, and told him thanks a lot for the wood
If ya need anything else, give me a call on that portable
phone ya got thar, with that he left, in that old Dodge

When I arrived back at the front door, I went up 
the porch fumbling with the key Zeeke just gave me
for the door, and found it not only unlocked, but open
about two inches, The same door I knew was locked.

So it begins, at that point I figured I had best retrieve 
my EMF meter and take a look around a bit, before bringing
my things in the house. My EMF ( Electro-magnetic field)
meter was turned on and ready, just in case, well ya know

If there was any paranormal activity going on around
me it would light up in a flash, it had seven lights depending
on the level of activity, with no lectricity as Zeeke would say
any reading it showed would be subject to investigation

To my right was a staircase winding it's way up stairs
with a window (uncovered) about the only one, lighting
up most of the area, and most of the entry way
as I grew near the staircase the meter sounded, four out of seven.

 Well now!   

To be continued

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Lost Paradise

I took a trip in my mind today,
Astonished by what I found,
You only weighed a pound,
All of you were at play.
I wanted to stay,
But I was bound,
Standing on my ground!
I tumbled where you lay.
The grass was jade green,
And the sky was baby blue,
A vision I’d never seen,
I stood there looking at you.
Smiles and laughter filled the air,
It was a lost paradise where all was fair.
© Copyright: Ann Rich   2006

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The Inn

I can see it
Creeping behind the wounded paper
Fabricated in the surface of the wall
The wall. Yes the wall.
Countless stains embedded
Thousand images magnified during midnights
Raindrop stains transformed into wars
Inkblots turned into murder scenes
A dot of blood resurrected into a horrible monster
And the monster lives in the wall.
Now it’s peeking
Its mocking eyes met mine
Staring at me as if I have murdered millions
I suddenly felt numb
Yet I desired to crush it till it turns to a single dust.
I stepped closer
My body trembled
It didn’t move neither did it show an act of resistance
But instead, its red eyes glowed
And opened wider and bigger.
I closed my eyes hoping it would vanish.
I reached for a hanging portion of the torn wallpaper,
I tore it forcefully—

(an entrant in to the Luzon-Wide Press Conference back when I was in college, adjudged 6th Place)

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Holding Back

Nothing here is wrong because nothing ever could.
It has been so long,
A time that just never would!

Nothing here was ever lost because nothing was ever found.
It has been a toss,
A time that simply counted down!
Holding back the tears,
Puddles of many lost years!
Holding back my time,
I’m a prisoner with no crime.

There’s nothing here to hold because there never was.
It has been so cold,
A time for just because!
Holding back the pain,
My chronic death inside!
I have nothing to lose because there’s nothing to gain.
Holding back the strength of all my earned pride,
I’m just a moment gained with a will that eventually dies inside!

®Registered: 1997  Ann Rich 

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A Messanger From Hell

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Walking next to nature

different shades
of grasses
and trees
along paths
to and from
in valleys
the rain forests
all creatures
to natural
all that is 
to nature

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Iris of Poetry

Introduction: We don't really think deep enough about "What A Poetry Actually Is", the
obvious question which we all know but don't think how to really elaborate on. We mostly
see the story, depth and the purpose it delivers. Well, here's one a little bit different
this time...

Poetry is the reflection of our lives like in the mirror,
It is something we can relate to and share.
It's our memories written in jumbled words,
It's like a song, with a meaning it holds.

A mere idea of our mystical lives,
Expressed in a way from deep inside
A way which only the heart can see,
A place where the eyes get cold-feet

The earnest truth and the sweetest lies,
It's all the irony that makes poetry so alive.

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The Doppelganger She

I was once seen on one’s graveyard
Strumming an old guitar with a beer in one hand
I asked, “What was I wearing?”
“A clown’s”, the woman said, “and a cross lay flat on your chest.”

On a clowny day a white-clothed cried
“I think I saw you next to the baby’s’s crib.”
“What was I wearing?" went in my head. 
“A priest’s,” she said, then a puppet clung in your neck.”

On a priesty day, “You were that man!”
Said she gasping while a run.
“You hung your head, Oh belfry man!”
Then bellowed she, “Oh belfry man!”

On a gaspy day, in a purring crowd I passed
A woman lay naked on a road’s side
Pieces that woman accused me of possessing
Cross, puppet, white long garments the dead's hand clasping!

© Glenn L. Sentes
Written for Matt Caliri's Contest DOPPELGANGER
July 5, 2011

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Light On the Devil's Chord - The Challenge

My hair bristled in the crisp breeze
Excitement spreading throughout my body
Even the sudden cold amused my fingertips,
Tingles spreading through my hands and up my arms
Soon I would be there too. . .
In the murky shadows of mysterious malice
To see the claws and talons of humanity’s greatest foe
The Prince of Darkness—the Saint of Woe

The great seal remained closed as I stood before it
Not a peep was heard from inside

“Knock, and it will be opened to you . . . “

Lightly, my fist clunked three times upon the great seal,
And a horrendous echo resounded like muffled shrieks of suffering
Black ooze leaked out of the seal as I lifted my fist
A great closed pot of tender meat and chow boiling over,
The spicy hot substance steaming the long grass surrounding the well-like prison

Then a voice, like Queen Bee birth resounded,
Stinging me fiercely, body and soul, having me sway…
To a familiar song
I had listened to long ago:

“Iiiii… ain’t got no-booooooody…. 
And no-body cares…foooor meeee…”

The song continued as the seal opened fully,
As I began descending into the restless night of his voice
Both lulled and perturbed
The sumptuous layers of shrieks, his background band
Gurgles of thundering bass,
And strums of laughter from throats long wailing… 

“Aaaaaaaand.. I’m sad and loooooooonely… 
Won’t some-body…come takah chance with meeee..

In what seemed like an eternal moment,
I had landed in the very bottom of the boiling ooze
The music ceased, and the great seal slipped over,
Blocking the view of the stars. . .
Yes, above. . .now only darkness
As if heaven, to Satan, was hell. . .

He turned to me slowly, knowingly
A smile creeping on his filthy face, from ear to ear
A charming set of teeth, freshly sung mouth
Arrogant brow rising in mock surprise. . .
A gruff laugh escaped his lips as my heart beat faster
And I thought to myself,

“What have I gotten myself into?”
. . .
The words popped out of my mouth before my mind could object,
And he exploded in a fit of charming guffaws
I heard a sea of laughter follow his own
Even Death, in the far corner of prison, winked. . .amused

“That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in years, 
Dearest Daughter of Eve. . .  I’m impressed . . . really, I am. . .”

“You are?”

His smile faded and his expression grew grim and cold
“Well . . . are you?”

I remained silent, and took a deep breath
What shall I say to the Devil himself?
Am I clever enough? Brave enough?

“Impressed, I mean. . .well?
Are you? 
I know you will not lie to me,
You wouldn’t dream of it. . .
You wouldn’t dream nasty dreams like times in your past days. . .
Or. . .would you. . .Daughter of Eve.
Would you dare. . .dream of me. . .”

I felt a claw hit me on the back of my neck
I remained still, my breathing cradled by the silence. . .
I moved closer to him, never blinking,
As his coal eyes burned deeply into mine

Suddenly, he was furious
“You dare give me silence, woman!?
After my years of devastating . . . tormenting my own, 
Just to see and hear them screech and tremble. . .
Of no aim but to crush this criminal quiet,
You…a woman of no power…or little to show, 
Come down to me, ME. . .whom you know hates you all. . .
You come down to me, The Almighty Devil of Hatred,
With your dull . . . infuriating . . . pathetic, disgusting. . .

I sighed. . .
“I. . .I don’t know why I am here. . .with you. . .perhaps it is a test. . .a lesson. . .
But I do know what I want. . .”

His claw dug deeper into my skin. . .
“Oh, that’s a new one. . .
But you. . .hm, hard to play with. . .? I doubt it. 
Easy to trick. . .surely. . .
If there was a point. . .”

Deeper the claw dug into my skin, but my flesh refused to break

I smiled at him softly, and this seemed to disturb him completely
He looked at me numbly, an impassive stare
 Devoid of feeling and emotion

And I said to him,
“I want you to sing and play us a song you have never sung before,
Prince of Darkness. . .”

His grimy skin rippled at the opportune challenge. . .
His eyes drew out all confidence and pride swirling in the shadows
His smile, big again, fresh, and repugnant
He smelled of all things dead, and all things putrid

“Plug in the bass, Death.
I am going to dissolve this fluttery woman right where she stands.”

I stopped him, possessed with an idea
I bit my lip and removed his claw from my neck
Taking his hand for a moment, and pushing it to him

“One more thing, Devil.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course. . .what is it?”

“. . .I’m singing with you.”

The demons roared in hilarity, as Death, 
Silent as always kept his composure

Satan tilted his head at me as the laughter died
He no longer contained his surprise
“You. . .want to. . .make music. . .with me?”

“I’ve got 40 days and 40 nights. . .don’t you be a killjoy.”

He smiled at me, fury and lust in his eyes
“Angel charms will not work down here, babe. . .
I rarely play fair. . . .but I never turn down a challenge.”

My strange purpose had surfaced at last
“Quit your stalling then, and turn up the music.”


Song reference: “I Have Nobody” specifically sung by Leon Redbone
**Please tell me what you thing guys! If you haven’t read the other parts, it might explain things a bit. This is going to be a major work, and I’d loved all the advice I can get. I am aware that collaborating with The Devil is a tricky feat, and I’d really love some input. Thanks for reading. Lots of love! –Oh, and also, I am thinking of changing the title of the work as well. Not sure what yet!

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The Eagle Escapes from the Chicken Pen

A little bit before the usual time
My mind dawned in spite of the short time dozed
I didn’t even plan to have it as I have
But least known to my thoughts
Today was the day long destined by fate to be mine

A few minutes passed as current affairs sipped into my mind 
Then somehow a pen found its way to my hand and with it I jotted the recipes
That was a few minutes to four a.m.
Least known to me the journey had begun

By the time my mind had emptied the facts on paper
I saw clearly that I couldn’t be a moment late
Yesterday my horoscope warned me against Sagittarius’ cautious ways
Since today seemed to be the day
I decided to let my carelessness spirit me away

Events driven frantically by rampaging heartbeats
Moments devoured hastily by anticipating anxieties
Scenery changed as did the imagery
And as magic would have it, here I now am
In a reality hundreds of miles away from yesterday’s realities
Seated on a bed in a cheap yet comfy boarding room
Planning, plotting, anticipating the beauty and liberties of a new reality

Today I feel free
Today I thank my spirit for driving me to this bliss
Today I seize the opportunity to crystallize my dreams
I am in the wake of my destiny
And for that I indeed do believe divinity endows me 
Tomorrow I hope to be led to the nest where my dreams shall be hatched

Today the eagle brood over by a chicken
Has escaped the meagre chicken pen to the beauty of freedom
Today the eagle is soaring free in the sky where it belongs
The sky where the spirits of achievements are high

Today I feel the wind soothe the muscles beneath my wings 
Today I feel the strength of my feathers
I have hope! I believe even more in my dreams
Today has washed away all my past sorrows
Today I forever bar away yesterday’s pains
And only usher in the joys of tomorrow
Today and the many today’s that shall follow
I shall live as only I can

Finally, my time to live has come
And to live I shall, only in the greatest way I can
Finally, I am glad to be a part of the heavens I used to see above
Finally, I’m rid of the worries those contented to be on the dust have
Finally, I’ve risen to earn my rights 
Finally, I can honestly thank and say I’m glad

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La Gala Grandeur

~La Gala Grandeur~

Revived from mine mortality,I adopt my rebirth
Through neonate eyes,the world now glows ethereal
As my resplendence arouses,death is relinquished dormant
Though newly formed,I step unteeteringly unafraid

Motlique auras,encompass my fellow scions
The firmament above,an wombous spectrum pletharic
Engrossed of adolescence,I become exhilarantly aware
My lineant precursors,swarm samely for my embracing

Free from fragility,I am no longer appraisal's prey
No less nor more than another,we abide incorruptable
Orchestras of saints and psalmists,exact an spectacled sonata
Devout and divinely,we dance dutifully for mercy's grace

This revel illimitable,is always available
Admittance thou art assured,whether or not of invitation
With none boundary of era,we know ye will attend
It is but a matter my friend,of just when... then

~Azaza~ June 19th,2010

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snow rain

White gown flows like wind blown snow
Even with delicate features, she rides magnificent creatures
Her attributes, heavenly shaped curves, delicious smile
Divine jewel green eyes like set emeralds
With powerful and fine hands she steers her steed
Dynamic cloven hooves pound the passing earth
Snow capped mountains swell with each gait
Toward the towering castle of her dwelling

for the contest "Rain the story"
Nick Faber

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Samauri, Back in the Saddle

Brick had seen his share of hospitals 
and had been to Saint Cecelia's more than once,
on occasion, a perp would get banged up
you know, during an arrest... on occasion!

He was just waiting for the X-Ray results
before he made his way home, but he had
to make a couple of calls after he got kicked loose.
First he had to make a call to Bill Lipton,
one of the suits from the 31st had seen him at the hospital

Now it seems that Bill's Lieutenant was leanin on Bill,
guess his Captain was runnin for some office and was
afraid to have one of his boy's involved in the
Shadow vigilante case, in case it didn't get solved
and tarnish his record, Like I would ever let a case go cold! 

The second call, was gunna be to a pretty Blond 
by the name of Erika La Plant, an EMT who gave him 
her number in the bus on the way to Saint Cecelia's 
But first.....Brick! the Doctor said as he entered the ER room
look's like you have a couple of bruised ribs there.

Just keep them wrapped up for a couple of weeks
or so, and you'll be fine, if you take it easy that is,
But I spoke with a Sgt. Lipton when they brought you in 
and he said you were kind of stubborn and rough on yourself
so it might take a little longer, try not to get into any more fights!

Ok Doc! You got it! Can I go now? Yes Brick you can go!
here are your discharge orders, and a prescription for something
for the pain, I suggest you get it filled, you'll need it!
within a wink of an eye Brick found a phone and called 
the Cowboy, the phone only rang once, Hello Bill Lipton here!

Hey Cowboy, I hoped I'd catch you, think you could come
get me, and give me a lift home, so I can get my car?
I may have a date later! Who would that be with Brick?
oh let me guess! the blondie from the bus , right?
Her name is Erika Billy Boy, and yep, that's the one!

Oh hey! what's this I hear your Boss is up your
keester about our Black clad ole buddy? 
You ain't thinkin about pullin a runner on me are ya?
Now just hold on to your suspenders pardner! I ain't 
a goin no where's we got us a score to settle with our
ole pal. I'm on my way...Click..the phone went dead.........

  We're back in the Samauri Saddle, Watch for Robert Dufresne's reply..

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The Titanic Saved My Life

Muscles bulging, sinews stretched, I know this ship inside out. Every rivet I have pounded is to help me to get out. This ship is new and will take me, to a life I am desperate for I hope we sail before the police come knocking at my door. I am free we have sailed, some of us to work on board the ship To keep an eye and maintain every shiny new little bit. I can breath they had missed me, I had made my escape No one could get me now the noose would not be my fate. This ship is huge, a floating city Titanic is her name. The guests aboard are rich and famous, but I’m not part of that game. I keep my head down, a few more days then I can start to live A life in New York I couldn’t wait, there is now no need to forgive. I felt a tremor, just a vibration, weird but not to worry Look at the faces of the black gang here, they are in no hurry. There is an order the ship is to turn, I can feel it but it is slow. On deck when I reach there, it looks as though there’s been snow. It’s now gone mid-night Aril Fifteen, things have gone from bad to worse I know that we are sinking, I really want to curse. I escaped the murder of my wife, who I found with other men I’ve taken another life and false name, to be on this ship again. I want to start a new life where no one looks for me. Now it looks like it will end, at the bottom of this freezing black sea. I crawl and scramble, with the rest gates are locked this cannot be Even the passengers are stuck; never mind the likes of me. I spy a life boat lowering, no one on board that I can see I take a leap into it, I pray I don’t miss and hit the sea. There’s a shout and shot as someone yells for me to leave Try and get me out, you’ll stand no chance; it will be for you that they grieve. The roar of this monster ship the cries and screams of all, The prow long gone under the aft raised high and then the aft does fall. The power of the sea is awesome as she devours this mighty ship The suction then the backwash, takes hold with a deathly grip She’s gone; the screams are dying down as the people sleep in death I pull aboard the living, my muscles weakening with every breath. The cold penetrates my brain but I work on endlessly Pulling the living and the dead; from this icebound deadly sea. We are rescued by the Carpathia, as she plucked us from our boat Blankets and food are handed out; someone wraps me in a coat. I am one of the survivors of that fateful night so long ago Running from killing my wife and her lover, but what face’s me I do not know.

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Sitting there still
As still as a statue
Beautiful and perfect

But dangerous and deadly are they
Harmful games that they play

And haunting tunes they sing
Lost fisherman to them they bring

Singing a softly seductive song
After that only her you'll long

"Come to me, my handsome man"
She speaks so sweet, and has many a fan

You have no choice but to obey
For you now are her prey

Lost are you now on Siren's land
You obey her every wish and command

Flowers laced throughout her hair
Forever do they stay there

Lovely, beautiful, and full of grace
Clothes made from the finest lace

Earth,air, sky, and sea
No one as beautiful and deadly as thee

The come in swarms of many
But one is just as bad as any

"Keep me company and share my splendor"
You have never found someone so gentle or so tender

But it's a trick and convincing lie
But man knows only what he sees with an eye

So now your lost on Siren's land
You obey her every wish and command

Written By Brittany Larson
For Constance's contest "Tell Her Story"

Details | Narrative | |


Vision is shadowy; I choke the steering wheel with knuckles turned white
the shifty roads are blanketed with fresh powder, day has fallen into night
a small oval portion amongst a foggy windshield was my view
traction became lost, tires slid, there was nothing I could do
I prayed to God that He would keep me safe from any harm
He must have heard because I spun out and landed in a tree farm
the skeletal infant trees did not stand up against my brawny Range Rover
if I had struck a mature oak or maple, surely it would have been game-over

once my trembling core ceased to a manageable state 
I was taken aback by a heavy rod iron gate 
not two seconds before, an open field of trees lied ahead
against my better judgment, slowly I decided to tread
uneasy, I glance over my shoulder to ensure my car is still there
if a gate could unexplainably appear, I feared a car could dissolve in thin air
I am impressed and terrified at the magnitude of what stood before me
I pressed my face up against the icy frame and gasped at what I did see

children; small children not aged more than eight
simultaneously detected They had a visitor at the gate
robotically, as if on cue, They began to drift toward me
cloaked in robes of slate, I fixated on a child wearing a key
the piece that hung from his neck flickered as if it were on fire
with a green stomach, I knew my situation was off-colour and dire

I attempted to address Them but all that escaped was my breath in the icy air
in chorus They froze – countless eyes offered nothing but a vacant stare
I wondered how long They had been locked up for and why
my thoughts were interrupted by a small girl’s haunting cry
my eyes searched frantically to see where the ominous iron curtain went to
my mouth tapped dry when I learned it was I, who was caged, like an animal at the zoo
anxiously I  turned around when They became engrossed with something behind me
large yellow eyes cut through the darkness and my demise was all I could see

I was trapped.  In order to survive I had to acquire possession of that key …

april 25, 2012
Diana-Marie Bombardieri
for Gail's CONTEST - Stranded 0r a Ghost story

Details | Narrative | |


That was not a windmill, it was

a beautiful wings-cutting mechanism

with a vitreous red peacock inside

who puts a solar edged Venice afternoon in motion

in a gentle blue square

into which we stuck our wings

so that our heavier-than-air bodies could happily flutter

with one thousand and one flexibilities

on the ethereal geometry above the roofs

where pharaonic flags pompously glorify us

as large cosmic objects pushing comets towards the others

in a fireworks game of our honeymoon…

and, suddenly we found ourselves down:

no, it was definitely not a windmill!

Details | Narrative | |


Whoever said you can’t love
two people at the same time
must by lying
or kidding themselves…

there’s this sassy
lady that claims
to love three…

There is her Mr. Desire, they get on 
like a house on fire…
I’m sure all they need
Is a match, to start an inferno, 
pity about the non staying-power…

Then there’s Mr. Lust…
he could be 
a temporary solution
to her permanent problem…

lastly, the one she claims
Is the love of her life, 
Apparently he is her anchor, 
Her spiritual equal…
only snare, they can never be…

I wonder if Miss sassy
will ever find
her one true love…

My guess?
She  probably will,  
and she is enjoying the ride
 on her way there…

Details | Narrative | |

Mr Lynch


The house was mostly dark, save a dim light on the porch.  I moved up the crumbling walk and stopped before a paint peeled door.  Grasping the iron knocker, I tapped three times, hearing the sound echo in the bowels of the house.

“Who is it” a faint voice said.  “Go away”.   “Trick or Treat” I cheerfully called.  After a moment or two, the door slowly swung open.  Standing there was an old man, bent at the hip, holding a cane with a serpent head studded with ruby eyes. He was dressed in a rumpled black suit of some vintage.  His hair was white and stringy, in much need of being cut. On his neck he had a red mark as if his collar were too tight.  “What do you want” he growled.  “I’m here collecting candy” I said, holding up my bag for him to see.  “It’s Halloween”.   He mumbled something, then said “step in, I’ll see what I can find, and turning, shuffled off into another room.

I looked around.  Everything was covered with dust.  The clock in the hall uttered not a sound.  If it weren’t for the old man, it would look like no one lived here at all.

Soon he returned, bearing a candy bar of questionable vintage.  Dropping it in my bag he said “now leave” and pointed with his cane towards the door.  “I haven’t seen you around here before” I ventured.   “I sleep a lot” he said.  “Now go, leave me alone”

The next day, while I was sorting through my confection treats, my dad picked up the candy bar with the faded wrapper and said “where did you get this”  “I haven’t seen one of these in years”.  “I got it at that big old house just down the street” I said.
My dad said “son, you must be mistaken.  No one lives in that old house.  It’s been vacant since old Mr. Lynch hung himself there right before Halloween, about twenty years ago.

Written for "A Creepy, Scary, Haunted House Poem Please' contest
Bob Quigley
Sept 19, 2011

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The Countryside

Born beneath the misty hills
In a world that silently heals
Where lush greenery blooms in abundance
Adorning the apple trees with magical essence.
As the rising sun lights up the eastern sky,
Children run towards the apple trees with dreamy eyes.
Their rosy cheeks resemble ripe apples
And they run around the countryside sprinkling seeds of love.
The golden rays of the sun settle upon the tranquil hills
And illuminate the hearts of a flock of sheep.
As they bathe in the holy sunlight
Purity rises up from their hearts and mingles with mist like a playful dove.
As the evening sets in and the western sky turns orange,
Peacocks start dancing to the tune of dew
And innocent squirrels hug the moist bluebells and daffodils gracefully
Glorifying the colourful  countryside with sheer genuineness.
When the night grows in a sincere way,
The moons and stars gather above the countryside.
Endowed by their enchanting light,
Angels come down to the countryside sailing on blissful winds.
Angels visit a celebrating waterfall
Which murmurs its own heartfelt rhythm.
They open the doors of their soul
And transform the heartfelt rhythm into lullaby.
Angels fly around and sing the lullaby in their divine voices,
Blessing the countryside to a peaceful sleep.
The angels knit the countryside with an aura of tenderness
And pay homage to her worth.

Details | Narrative | |

The Anomalous of Love Phenomenon

For once, I would like to peek Heaven
What kind of excitement is implied therein?
This abject body is trying to break through the limits between Hell and Heaven
But nor too far, a big, sturdy gate fenced my sight

With half of courage I open the gate, 
I see an empty space with a golden door on the other way
A door with a shimmering grip
A door which led me to a decent trip

still in this abject body I walked
I stand on the floor without a base
The scope of this room somehow slightly forced me to take a breath even deeper
The further I go, the weaker I got to pass through the dimension of delusion

I'm already in the halfway to that door

Where this heart pounding hard, 
Where These thoughts fall apart
The black wings of mine are torn
I do not even remember when I got into this form

As far as I remember, It's because of the dream

I groan
I faint
I shut my eyes in pain

I wake
I puke
I realized, I'm nude

This body is no longer be steady
The next seconds It's torn completely
This pain is incredibly beyond your thoughts
This transformation beyond your call

I do not remember,
What encourage me to visit the Heaven
As I know, someone is waiting
Someone who carries a half part of me

I almost lost in my confusion

Yet somehow, it's too early to be ended

That door is not any longer too far
And i don't give a damn about what will I be
I just want to be there, I just want to reach the end

To the golden door, to the place where I found the scene
The scene which overcome my dream

Just in time I finally reach the end
I saw the beloved smile, beautiful like a paint
"I know you will come for me"
And that is the true heaven I see

Details | Narrative | |

count on it

count on it...

that numbers made the world
we came to believe
after all ten digits 
long ago ran out
and we stuck our toes into the fray
to count and be counted anyway

and they too ran out
a foot at a time
and numbers became stuck to 
our rulers feet or by meter, 
our sole, soul repeater

then we counted awhile,
and soon wired some beads 
to a wooden frame
'cause, unconsciously we knew
it'd never be the same

and abacuses counted because
Sumerians knew the power of
columns of orders of magnitude to 
give counting a certain, amplitude

and soon balances were forged and 
everything compared to something else - 
grain to sheep,
sheep to amphora,
amphora to slaves,
slaves to children
children to wives
neighbors lives to our own lives

covetousness counted as 
a capital idea
long before Adam Smith
or any form of mercantilism
came to bear witness on a weakness of man

yet who can count on power
is there a conversion factor
that shows more or less
that less is more than some detractor

what's the ratio of 
desire to need to
redemption to volition to
love to life - 
there's a number of ways to count it

© Goode Guy 2013-04-11

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A quandary of memory 
stands here before me, 
with yesterday's long gone.
Fifty years ago, 
just like the minute before; 
I started this life long poem.
There's times it seems, 
the probable things, 
are lost on the tip of my tongue.
Every ladder I've climbed, 
is left behind,
pushed to years ago when I was young.
My friends let me know,
every detailed episode,
that pulls at my confused brain.
Is it present or past, 
and this time will it last,
never my mind to return to this day.
Solitude is my enemy,
but then again a friend to me,
for it's where I find in my mind,
the things I find so dear to me,
as I travel once more;  back in time.

Details | Narrative | |

The Land continued

When I was a youth the earth was our friend, as it was our means of escape.  We would run and chase each other across great distances, far away from the confines of home and its stifling traditions; we would imagine that we were flying a few feet above the ground following the contours of hills and valleys, crossing streams in a single bound or leaping to treetops.  Elsewhere we would dig elaborate tunnels in the earth.  We dug in the red clay until our hands were blistered.  Sweat and soil mixed in our hands and on our arms and chests; filling the pores of our skin.  We could taste and spit the iron colored dust.  When our day was done we would recline in the shade until our bodies dried with caked red earth.  We would then cover our labors with scrap wood, dirt and scrub bushes to blend with the surroundings.  The tunnels were constructed in obscure forested locations to further their concealment.  It was necessary to dig around tree roots and large boulders which became integrated into the tunnel structure and provided openings for multiple entries and exits.  As such the tunnel passages were never straight, but root-like, turning and twisting following a path of least resistance.  The passages were no wider or taller than what we could crawl through, and branching off the passages were multiple chambers where four or five of us could tightly gather in privacy, illuminated by candle light.  The tunnel interiors were cool in the summer and also protected us from harsh winter winds.  Here we would plot against nearby enemy tunnels.  This is where we initiated and observed our own secret rituals and myths; meeting times, passwords, schemes, fears and desires.  While excavating, we had discover buried bones and imagined they were our ancient heroes that the old ones talked about.  We placed the bones at the entrance of our underground fortress to warn trespassers and identify allegiance to our fallen hero, whomsoever it was.  Our heroes could have been anyone that we accidentally dug up.

We learned at some later age that we had dug our trenches into an unmarked cemetery that was taken over by the forest many eons ago.  Later, the tunnels were where we first became acquainted with sex, alcohol and drugs; fortunately for most of us, such acquaintances didn’t last too long.  This is how we came to intimately know the land and ourselves.  We were digging to find; shaping and making with our hands a place to call our own.  Here is where our innocence began and ended as so many generations before.  We are so connected to the land; always underfoot our lives roll over it, we dig into it and it’s where we finally return to rest to feed the soil; we are inseparable, as a fish to water.

Details | Narrative | |

To the Siren of the faraway seas

I once thought to have the world within my grasp, that all I needed I already had.
I once thought to be unable to feel more happier than I was while you were around.
Only way to make it better, was to change our worlds of ones and zeroes to contact of the flesh itself.

Even though I realized it, I choose to deny it. I was sorely mistaken about you and I, and this and that.
You smiled when you lied about your feelings.
"I cannot give to you more than this" you said with an evil smirk while observing me from afar.
The smirk, was it real or imaginated?
I do not know, and I fear I will never know, my mind play tricks on me once and again.
Misleading me to believe, like it allowed me to believe in your words.

Words... Amazing how powerful it can be, use it well and one can find pleasure, use it well, and one can find the demise of the soul.
leaving an empty husk behind, like you left me. An empty husk longing to be filled, once again, with the colors of joy.

Coming from the other side of the world, I felt your words and disdain like piercing cold knives straight to my heart, once warm, now cold, since you left.
And following your words you went away to never come back.
Along with you, went away also the joy and happiness I dared to thought to be eternal, a sweet lie I was telling myself...

Even today, after so long, I still think about you and I, your mesmerizing gaze that made me forget and float, your enchanting laughter and the warm and soft touch I told myself that you had.
Touch that I will never feel, laughter I will never hear, again, and eyes that I will never meet, again.
When you left, I was torn, between love and hatred. Now the hatred is gone and the love morphed to friendship, which I would like to share with you.

The Mauritius girl, will my words reach you?
I guess they will not, but I like to hope, to dream.
Hopes and dreams, the accessories of the weak...
A weak being, that I am, a being to be filled with fake bliss, five by day.
Three by the sunrise and  two when the diamonds imbue the skies.
As like that, the curtains shall rise and fall before my eyes, at each passing empty day.

And so I live on, even if that means to not have you anyway I can... The only way I can...
For now, I just wonder, if will I ever find it again while I live? The joy and wonder, I mean.
I ask this chair, I ask the other me on the looking glass and I ask my shadow.
I guess these are the only companionships I will ever have until I meet my final doom.
My shadow, my other broken me and this chair and my memories, of you and I...

Details | Narrative | |

My pen drips of sorrow

"My pen drips of sorrow and on this paper I write each tear
The opening of this wound tonight locks me in this fear,
Perhaps it’s time to tell this tale,
About a love that truly failed,
A broken promise, a kingdom's feast,
The night I met this ugly beast,
Angel eyes, and angel lies,
Love that slowly hypnotized,
A dim lit room,
Their stood my groom,
When suddenly he met his doom,
His Glass of wine, 
Should have been my sign,
For surely he was not the drinking kind,
There he stood right by my bed,
Whispering words he’s never said,
The evening bright,
The moon our light,
When he began to have a fight,
With himself, indeed he did,
He sounded like an angry kid,
Oh the horror inside of me,
His words became insanity,
I tried to grab his hand and say,
"Love, please don’t speak in such a way"
But he continued on in absurd rage,
As if he were a monster trying to get out of it's cage,
Politics and economic change,
His words began to sound so strange,
Religious views and lack of order,
He even brought up his long lost daughter,
Some would say he went simply mad,
Others would argue deep down he was sad,
Whatever the reasons,
This night was our departing season,
For never in my life, 
Did I see him cause so much strife,
I would never know what it would be like to be his wife,
My once sweet love, he broke the table
On his way down for the legs were not stable
His eyes grew black,
His soul, it died,
I ran to be right by his side,
And as he fell down on his knees,
He looked to me for his final plea,
There would be no marriage at dawn,
For the one I loved, I would now have to mourn,
His drink of poison finally succeeded,
I smelt the glass, he had been defeated
I didn’t even get to say goodbye,
Now I sit here and wonder, why?

By; Sabina Nicole
My pen drips of sorrow contest
Written: 8/13/11

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The Return..... Samuari II... The Saga begins

The place, New York City, downtown Brooklyn. The time is two thirty in the 
morning, the job, stake out, Red Light district, yeah, you know the place, full
of full of vice, graft, corruption and every other kind of crime. Oh Yeah ! name's 
Rodney, Rodney Townsend, my friends call me Brick, don't ask!

I'm here looking for what we call at the twenty third, the Rip. Just our name 
for a modern day "Jack the Ripper" Real nasty, I've seen his work, see I work 
for the Vice squad, detective sgt., so I got the lucky draw for this assignment,
Six women in all dead, sliced and diced, with one exception. Last week, in 
Central Park, same MO, she got lucky....she lived!

In the report she kept saying something about a shadow, a shadow that moved
like the wind.She said this "shadow" attacked her attacker. She said the shadow had a "
Big sword" and took one swing and killed the perp. But when the cops got
there they couldn't find a body, gone, lots of blood, no blood trail, no body. I went
to the park to check it out, nothing much to go on there, strange!

Damn, I gotta go, just heard a scream not to far away. "William thirty Baker, requesting
back up at Lindsey and forth, by Momma Spinelli's bakery" Rounding
the corner, " oh my God" "William thirty Baker, I got a dame covered in blood, and
it aint hers. I also got a stiff, better send the wagon.

One look at the stiff tells me he's been cut, cut deep! From neck to knees, and
he's colder than ice in a scotch on the rocks. "Lady, ya wanna tell me what went
down here?" That's the first thing us cops ask, ya know. A.......A.... Shadow,
was just a Shadow" " Come on lady! " And it had a....a.... Sword!!!!

                                   The Samurai Returns
                                   To be Continued!!!!!

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Color in the Music

At last she finally has the violin,
that will color her world with music! Her magical world lost touch with the
beauty of music, becoming black and white. The tunes flowing
from the brown violin's strings will spread like perfume, and treat every black and
white with color. To complete her colorful mission, she she needs a brown fiddle, which
is currently owned by a boy. It is only by finding the boy, that the violin's
magic can work.....

Details | Narrative | |

The Painting

I happened upon a gallery, 
Tucked discreetly down a long, narrow alley
Blinding rays of sun’s reflection, catching my attention
The window displayed some seascapes, and antique sailing artifacts
And one small painting....sitting, poised upon an easel...
I cup my hands around my eyes...and that was that....
I'm taken captive by the prize...

It is a lovely rendition of this village 
Of this very street, where I stand
Depicted as it would have been long ago
Long before tourists
Long before lattes and souvenirs...
This tiny fishing village...dated 1918

The houses are wearing chalky patina,
Narrow lanes leading away from the main road,
       dipping down into golden sand dunes,
A small general store and a blacksmith shop,
Seagulls gliding like angel wings against the summer blue 
White steeples on churches slumber in the warm afternoon sunshine
The quietness, the peaceful nature of it....simple and serene...
How wonderful it is!

And I think to myself, extraordinary it would be
If I could freeze time for a day,
If I could pull it out and visit it...just once in awhile
If I could bring it back now and again....that peaceful afternoon...
Walk in warm sunshine, 
Where the leaves would never fall from those ancient trees, 
And the gentle slopes would never know the cruel blast of winter storms
Where tears had never fallen, where age was timeless
If time could stand still.....if only for awhile…

I hear the tinkle of the bell, as I enter the shop...

For Sidney~Lee Ann's Contest: "Picture frame moment"

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Momentary Reflection

I was paralyzed in thought,
and standing all alone;
Surrounded by darkness,
everything was gone...

With barely a glimpse, from the corner of my eye;
I was travelling so fast as I passed myself by.
I was moving at high speed, as if,
somehow out of time.

Thinking to myself, looking back into the distance;
Could I have been resting, 
or was there something on my mind;
Maybe, I was just Reflecting,
on some Moments from past times...

A Momentary Reflection,
I thought as I laughed;
Reflections of mistakes, so many in my past;
Or maybe the future, and thoughts of my death.

There's no point in thinking that anything can change;
I passed myself there and found myself here;
Crossroads unmarked, destination unphased,
like a lost dog, covered in mange...

A strength unfound, a desire to disappear;
A Momentary Reflection,
of how I found my way here.

As I watch myself in quiet,
with no desire to stop;
In slow motion I fall,
from a single gunshot...

A Momentary Reflection,
of where I stood at the start;
Maybe if I had slowed, or come to a stop,
this Moment I have witnessed,
the confusion and doubt;
Just maybe, somehow;
I could have found a way out...

Details | Narrative | |

Song of the late night sorrow contest

Come fluttering words, come drifting words to me  . . .
Open my eyes to what I can’t see,

Their on the floor I found what was missing,
As I recall all the nights we spent kissing,

You ran out so fast and did not give me a chance,
I told you my heart and you just gave me a glance,

Now on the ground I spot are new fate,	
A ring filled with pearls, I must be too late,

I just needed a moment to truly explain,
Instead you ran quickly into the pouring rain,

You spoke with passion, hunger and thirst,
I felt as though my heart would suddenly burst,

But then you enquired about me being your bride,
It caught me off guard like the evening tide,

Marriage is sacred to me my dear,
I cannot just say yes and have you disappear,

I know you are leaving early tomorrow,
And now I taste tears filled with such sorrow,

But I would have waited here for you,
For there is no one else I would want to pursue,

The nights hold our love like a candle with its fire,
Your touch is so precious my ultimate desire,

Please come back to me and make this right,
I will wait for you on this disastrous night,

Even the stars scream out my plea,
Floating through space and eternity,

I meant no such harm by the words I spoke,
They echo in mind as I simply choke,

Oh dreadful darkness have mercy on me,
Bring back the one who makes me happy,

I am left paralyzed in the silence of this night,
With just a symbol of our love to fill my hearts appetite,

If morning comes and you’re not back,
Nothing will fill this internal lack,

So I scream out to the crescent moon,
While Praying that you will come back here soon.

By Sabina Nicole
Date written: 7/25/11
"What is she thinking"

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Rotting Metal Pines

The moon is low, so
I smile(d) at the
dark sky and the
stars that shine. I
speak to ones below.
I let my feet grab
the ground around
the rotten metal
pines. I move slow.
My drowning thoughts
catch wind of a fine
breeze, and are
brought to the
surface just in
time. Met by a dull
glow. And yet led
away to a spot
between two tall
trees. What was dark
is getting darker. 
The cloud overhead
is a monstrosity, I
hope it don't
swallow me whole. My
hands, in fear, grab
whatever's near. And
the time begins to
tick quicker than I
thought was
possible. It was a
fallen stick of
pine, it was
something I could
yield if foes broke
(my) fence.
Something i could
use in a panicked
defense. But
feelings I felt soon
pass(ed) fast. So I
broke that pine
stick, and choose it
for shovel, not
sword.  And I dig
myself a hole,
somewhere to sit my
(tired) spine. I
take a glance.  The
moon pulls my inside
tides. Makes me
question what's
real, and even
what's not. So I
crawl(ed) inside my
head, 'cuz it's all
I got.

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Liquid Candle

Liquid nitrogen is gassing through the wick.
Regulated just right slowly burning the wax,
Of the special candle stick.

But the Illusions looks like water burning.
Its harmless gas that is churning.
You can even light a match.
Don't worry about an explosion of a mess.

Water coming up from a candle stick, while the way slowly drips.

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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 …


Details | Narrative | |

The Musings of a Moron

People usually walk around without realizing how far deep they have sunk in life, amidst the lies that they tell themselves to keep going, to not stop and wonder about what are they doing, blindly and oblivious to how awful things can be. And, as like that, they talk
without pondering for the consequences of their words, that are more like slings and arrows.
No... Actually, they are aware, but most chose not to see it by how it really is and to not change the behavior.

I, for one, want to fool myself, also, in order to achieve their level of ignorance, or to sink even more deeper, so I can find bliss, then.

I want to experience it all, I want to know how it is to go deep inside of the other, to exchange caress and fluids. I and to feel the warmth and the slippery of the insides of the other, then, to go with the flow, all inside.
To say farewell to the crimson flow that stains my soul and my floor and my hands.
The moment of clarity is thin, really brief, so I can spy inside my self and realize I want it all or I don't accept anything.

Even though I yearn for such malice, I want, as well, to nourish feelings for the other, to love someone and let my hatred wither and die.
I want to love again, to feel loved, to live for someone and not for an empty and worthless purpose.
I do not want to pass my genes on, I want just to live a romance, even if it is just a fleeting moment, I do not care. Before my demise, I'd like to experience that...
My mind roams far when I do place those thoughts, those desires above anything else I do imagine 

I think I will stop swallowing the compressed wonders she gave me, they don't work as they should, else I would not wish for those things and I would not wonder about anything  as like that, I would be a puppet on her hands, a soulless puppet, that is what I would be, or am I already? Am I missing the strings or were my strings severed? How does my soul looks like now? Is it so tarnished that its filthy goes to my outer husk to everyone else to see how pitiful that I am? Is that the reason that I don't have my other half and it seems I will never have?

I do not know, I must not care, I must not, for I fathom how spiteful and worthy of punishment I am or I might end on the depths of madness while treading heavily on this dark side of the conscience, where the bliss and joy have no place.
And so, as I am becoming aware of that, I fathom the whys and hows that I am musing about these thoughts and not living them...

A glance at the looking glass show me why I am as I am... A constant reminder tht S.O.B. is...

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The Devil's Diary pt 1


Today at 5:00
In the morning,
Tina and Nelson
Had intercourse 
Behind closed doors, 
I saw 'em both
Through the key hole
As Tina stalled above Nelson
Like an elephant 
they've been free-lancing out
Along the razor's edge
They do not know
This road has a dead end  
Their reward?
I'm yet to decide
I bet it's huge
They'll be back here again
It's a revelry

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The Hobo

Time's moments takes it's toll
 adding gravitational pull
To a body, so weighed down
 His chin can touch the ground
With pain visible on his face
 He lives sans his wit, and grace
A life of selfishness, his crime
 now sentenced, to a duel with time
And time's blatent tenacity
 plus it's control over eternity
Reminds the man how much it's cost
 for him to realize what he's lost
So he wears time's final wrath
 As he walks life's thorny path
All alone without a friend
 He walks the path to journey's end

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Dream Catcher

When the light of the sun begins to fall Echoes of thoughts begin to ball Drifting into a sleepless state Possibilities grow, at a relentless rate I open my mind, in a wonderland of no validity Emphasized by a walk, through a mirror of fluidity Children's laughter in a sadistic tone This dream is a nightmare, far from home The path I am walking........leads to a house Beyond the door, I wish for my friend, my lover and spouse As the door creaks open a figure is revealed I brace myself, my numbness is my shield A wrinkled hand reaches out from the black It grabs my wrist, leaving no time to fight back As I'm dragged into the darkness, the figure becomes clear The face of my victim, my deepest fear

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Limitless Lust

Introduction: Limit itself has a limit of its own…

A walk, mile after mile
In quest for my lost soul,
I had forgotten how to smile
Everything felt out of control,
I fought too hard to be worthwhile
By that I got lost in my life’s hole

The regrets for mistakes I’ve made
It took me off the edge, way too far away;
Yet I tried again so hard to get off from that shade
But got caught up in my brutal fray,
The same song keeps playing with such a vicious rage,
I find myself down to my knees, nowhere to go - So I pray

A prayer to leave the worst and move onto more,
Come off this fantasy and onto reality, to be -
Closer to something I’ve been fighting for
The touch of the light cutting through the night, it rains down upon me
As I overcome the grief and believe, recovery lies ashore,
Only three steps remain, to be fixed and free.

A lesson of value I earned from my faults -
Never push yourself off the edge,
You’ll lose the only key to the vault
A life you never had to live – It too could forever be lost,
So stay confined within the limits of the limit
As it seems - Your control over lust, only can make you complete.

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nothing personal

nothing personal...

Summoned into the office
after years of daily labor
to hear something about something
of the new management personnel
"it's nothing personal" he heard,
"it's just, you know - business."

So the man, picked up his 
second amendment right, and 
gave his commercial opinion and,
a small caliber thought in his head.
"nothing personal boss man,
it's just recapitalized business" he said,
"and this is my arbitrated concession",
and turned and went to meet his new fate.

© Goode Guy 2013-07-09

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The Secret Romance

Inspired by and dedicated to - a friend who taught me that love fantasies can come true…….so I took a few notes to share with all of you.

This is a story of a secret romance That came to be only by chance Of a couple passing through The same steps of life a time or two A good looking gallant man was he And she was filled with lots of beauty I saw them a few times as they met They didn’t see me and I didn’t tell them yet It started with a visit reminiscing about the past Of times they spent together sharing joyful laughs They never planned for it to ever be More than being just a bit over friendly They both had someone else in their life A significant other, a husband or wife The romance they had was never planned It was simply something that just happened They had a secret place in a faraway land And seemed to be happy just holding hands Nature surrounded them almost magically I think I even saw them talking to a tree I couldn’t tell if it really talked back But they nodded as if it did interact As they moseyed in the grass so green I could actually hear every bird sing They sat upon a bench on a little hilltop Hugging and kissing and just wouldn’t stop They seemed to carry a special spark For one another in each other’s heart In the distance stood a tower with a bell It rang so loud it was almost like a big yell They both jumped up to go their separate ways But knowing they would meet on another day I don’t know how long this secret romance will be So I’ll try to take notes for a future documentary Florence McMillian (Flo)

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The King of Charm

The King of Charm I have searched for and wondered Just who my prince charming would be You know the one who was made Specifically for me He will want to treat me Like I am the very best He will make me feel like I’m better than all of the rest He will really want to hold me Not only when I ask him to It will just be something He truly wants to do The kisses he gives to me Will be so very sweet That I’ll tingle all over From my head to my feet His love for me Will be so real That I’ll know how A woman should feel He will be my soul mate Though I have had one before We never shared our life together So this time will certainly be more It’s as if the journey Goes on and on again As if it’s in a spin cycle Without reaching an end I’m really in a higher category As a friend pointed out to me I actually need a level above Who a prince charming would be Now the next level up From a prince charming love Would have to be a king’s status So that’s why I’ve only had love duds I may only be the queen of drama As is what my friend actually said It still carries the category of a queen So those are the steps I’m going to tread Now I am turning in a new direction Away from those prince charming men They seem to be galloping all around me Just not meeting the criteria of my searching So it really must be the king of charm The one who will find true love with me Together we will share our dreams of life And live together forever very happily Florence McMillian (Flo)

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just wishful thinking

I debated with me today
riddling with the possibility
of what I might
feel for you
it dried up all my ink 
and ate my paper
and I thought  If I could 
write it down
then I would not 
feel no more of it
that was 
just wishful thinking 
each smile
ripples through my heart
and that asking look
you give
ices the air
and makes it reach 
the bottom of my lungs
cold like knife blades
and it cuts me down, deep
until I cant breath anymore
and it gets worse 
because I know 
there is no remedy for you
but just you
your touch,
the brush of your breath
against the deep roots of
my neck
nothing holding me onto you
but my nails
except they aren't hard enough
so help them Lord
they will mesh and bend backwards
at the feel of your warm skin
every bit of me refuses
to see what my heat does
and from here
I can hear yours beating
in sync with mine
so loud
their rhythm closes the distance
between us
and makes the glass walls
we are trapped in glow
so bad it hurts the eyes
and it draws me to my knees
You hovering with such possession
that makes me wish
you could just see to it
that I quiver the night away
bite heaven a little
roll over on a bed of soft
rose petals and
smile with the sun
but then again, its still
just wishful thinking

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I fancy another sad poem contest

Imagine a lovely garden, tea for two, and this story,
Five Years spent with a love and all its blissful glory,
Imagine summer nights making love beneath the stars,
Then imagine one day all your joy becoming painful scars,
Imagine one day while enjoying a beautiful breezy day,
He comes along and tells you he has something he needs to say,
Imagine while the fall leaves descend,
He tells you that he met a friend,
Imagine tears swelling up in your eyes while you try to stay intact,
Then he kisses you on the cheek and says he is never coming back,
Imagine knowing your holding his child in your precious womb,
Now you sit there silent,  feeling like you’ve met your doom,
Imagine feeling rage and sorrow,
Never wanting to see tomorrow,
Imagine that what makes it worse,
Is that this man was also your first,
Imagine contemplating in your mind,
If not telling him would not be kind,
Imagine as he leaves the table,
You realize you’re not even financially stable,
Imagine as he walks toward the door,
His phone rings and you drop your jaw,
Imagine your best friends on the other line 
 you hear her asking him if "I am fine"
Imagine how a fire begins to start  burning,
My stomachs is in knots and is painfully turning,
Imagine rain clouds suddenly appearing,
The sun it starts disappearing,
Imagine me letting him walk out that door,
 Never telling him about his son in six months I will bore,
Imagine as he pulls out of my long driveway,
A truck does not see him and he swerves right off the highway,
Imagine, just imagine…

By Sabina Nicole
Written 8/13/11
Contest: I fancy another sad poem

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Heavens to Murgatroid

Heaven’s to Mergetroid, what dire straights had the moon men gotten themselves into this time? Lunar craters were filling with nuclear waste and there was not a friend to be found at the convention. The UFO (Unified Foreign Oscillators) team was too busy singing itself silly in the far corner around the Hammond organ. It was a regular wine and dine of vacuum salesmen with dozens of oxygen masks, slamming traditional medicine and promoting laughter, pushing the sucking of gas vapors through a straw! Each new sale brought forth new tid-bits of bad breath and gafaws. The Listerine soaked tissues drifting in on silver trays from the kitchen were bound to quell the stench! Rosie the robotic maid yanked the club Presidents spandex boxer shorts up so high he squealed with pleasure! The robot bouncers had to launch wormholes into the raucous crowd to thin them out. Those still standing after that gig would have the dislocated jaws from laughing after having taken their medicine. 

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We walk about bristly in the heat of the day,not knowing when it will happen.
Some watch mere predictions on picture screens before setting out to complete routine tasks;
but who is to say what will happen for the unknown dwells with us.

I see a beautiful  lady frisking her hair, wiping prespire from her mascaraed face whilst 
pushing a stroller along the busy sidewalk.
A dog sits in the shadow of a street sign; its mouth gaped in a state of exasperation.

Without warning it happens...........the first wave of attack.
An obscure lone drop comes down and taps you on your shoulders.
You look around feverously ...but see no one in view.
An audious rumbling is heard above your head sending everyone in motion.

The downpour occurs and  the smell of dampened earth cuts the once humid air;
The ground is filled with  myriads  of liquid  puddles collected in different  places.
Those who are armed hold up their array of colorful shields to fend off the heavy invasion , 
whilst those who are not,scamper about in astonished utter despair.

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Big Bang in Red

She felt her own energy;
like a new universe forming. The fingers
that were rubbing between her thighs
made her adrenaline to shoot like stars, planets, 
and moons parting away from each other forming a 
Universe. The orgasm she experienced triggered a chain
reaction within her, that made her body to feel new and replenished.
Her face glowed in different shades of red, as she gave out a soft
aaahhhh...... from her cherry-tasting lips.
Her bed felt cotton clouds in the night sky. It was the most divine sensual
feeling she had ever experienced!

Contest: Hotsy Totsy 

Date: 16/02/2015

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Gates Of Hell April 19 2010

Insanity is the essance, 
that helps define my identity.
Open the flood gates to h*ll,
for a little peak into my reality.

Tortured by the vivid dreams,
racing through my mind.
Stuck in a trance, frozen in fear,
I feel so left behind.

Locked down with metal shoes,
chained against the wall.
Nowhere to turn, no options to take,
my turn to take the fall.

I look down there's nothing there,
but the fiery pits of hell.
The flames so bright they are blinding me,
as I hide behind my exterior shell.

Protected only for a moments peace,
to put my mind at rest.
Accepting that this is it for me,
I have definatly been put to the test.

A small glimps into my file,
tell me, "What do you see?"
Insanity, anger, sorrow and pain,
the true depths of me.

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Cirque de Halloween

"In this town, everyone's waiting for the next sunrise."

Gather round children of every age, wouldn't you like to see something strange?
Come with me and you will see.
Let us set the stage, for this is Halloween.

Whispers hum in the wind. (I am the clown with the tear-away face)
HALLOWEEN! HALLOWEEN! the crowd chants.
Master scares and creeps.

This, our circus on Halloween.
Don't be late now, for after the show, everyone's waiting for the next sunrise.
This is Halloween.

"Life's no fun without a good scare" we sing.
 "I am the wind blowing through your hair; I am the hoo? when you call "who's 

I am the one hiding under the bed, teeth grown sharp and eyes gone red." my friend 
sings as the rest of the group sings the pumpkin song. 

"La, la, la la la, la. Life's no fun without a good scare! La, la, la la la, la. THIS IS 

As the song ends, it is replaced by the eerie tinkling of a music box; slow and scary.

But, hey. That's what we're here for; the scares.

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grand pappy's chest

A chest now sits where her grand pappy sat. The old worn out marks on the floor where he would rock. Sitting on his lap eating crackers and cheese. He would talk of the past like it was a beautiful dream. He had it harder than most boys. He lost his father before he was born. Raised by three women, he was great in the kitchen. Not having an abundance of money he would make due with what he had. She would ask him, "what was it like as a kid?" He would tell her, "there were no electronics." We had tops to spin, crayons and ink. All the neighborhood kids would gather to play, A game called imagination. Your imagination is a wonderful thing, never forget you posses it. You can sail far over the sea, or travel horseback to another country. Be president one day, or the big wig in a corporate company. Here is a chest for you to keep. The little girl opens the chest and reply's, "It is empty inside?" Her grand pappy says, "look again!" Tell me, "what do you see?" I see I can be anyone or anything I want to be! Her grand pappy passed away. About three years ago now. to this day the chest covers up the worn out marks on the floor. Her daughter asked, "mommy what is this chest for?" Telling her daughter what her grand pappy told her. Her daughter open the chest and replied,"there's nothing inside!" She told her to look past the emptiness. She told her daughter to use her imagination. Explaining that your imagination can take you anywhere you want to go. It can make you whoever you want to be All you have to do is dream! I do not usually write story's but this story of a grandpa and little girl just flowed from my pen. And it is so touching how the story unfolds..

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My dreams are my fotress of solitude,my dreams are my wings that lift me up from the 
demons of my reality and the hell that is this earth... My dreams are the wispers of angels 
that get me up when i am down, reality is my hell,reality is the cespool of cosmic waste on 
which i am forced feed,reality birthed me with steel veins and an iced heart,and yet it is in 
that very form that i exist,the smaller my dreams the bigger my reality but still i survive coz 
my dreams birthed my reality.. A reality in which i'm supreme

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Watcher in the Dark, Samauri

Brick stepped up on the curb, shaking his head,
" What a piece of junk" he should'a rode the horse"
Brick turned to see the trail of smoke being left
behind by Bill's car as he drove away from the curb
he wondered if Bill would even make it home.

Headin up the stoop, to the front door, Brick stopped.
The hairs on the back of his neck, began to stir,
he felt as though eyes were on him from somewhere.
His own eyes turned and scanned the street and saw
nothing, then they moved to the roof tops across the way,

As he searched the roof tops across the street,
Brick thought he saw movement on the roof
of the five story building kitty corner from his place
it was brief, quick and dark. Brick thought for a moment
but decided, he was in no shape to check it out.

As he entered his front door, movement again,
Brick turned suddenly, and felt pain in his chest
and cringed. Taz, you goofy Cat, don't do that!
His Cat Taz, rubbed up against his legs and purred
" I guess your hungry", He punched the button on his 
telephone voice recorder.

The first voice he heard, was one he didn't want to hear
Rodney, Capt. Rowles, I hear you got yourself some 
bruised ribs, take a few days off, and get some rest.
I don't want you chasin after that Shadow perp and endin 
up like those other Vic's. This is not a request! Got It !

Yea I got it! The second voice he heard
was Erika LaPlant, the blond EMT from the Bus,
"Brick, when you feel up to it, give me a call,
you have my number" Brick didn't need coaxing
he picked up the phone, and dialed her number.

Erika answered the phone on the 3rd ring
"Hello" " Hi Erika this is Brick, what's up"?
" Not much, I was hoping you'd call, How ya feeling"?
" Like I been hit by a truck,what are you doin tonight?"
"Going out with you, if your up to it that is"?

"Give me your address, I'll be there in an hour"
She did, he cleaned up and was out the door.
He fired up his 1965 Old's F85, and was gone.
15 minutes later he was at Erika's, she was waiting!

She looked like a million bucks, Skirt, Blouse and flats.
He whistled quietly through his teeth, as she jumped in
" You like Irish food" " Sounds good to me"
They pulled up in front of O'Mally"s, Brick the consummate
gentleman, opened her door, they headed for the Bar.

Brick again, felt the hairs prickling the back of his neck,
he thought to himself, " We're being watched"

                  And indeed, They Were!

   Tag, Your it Bob! 

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Today is the birthday of that
long gone soul. The one spinning
in the centrifuge, even now,
on the counter, as the technician
in the lab coat pulls seven G's
worth of DNA from calcified skull,
in an effort to know what might
have been on the mind of the
Neanderthal still hanging around,
after all these years.

Before Julius Caesar and way before
Pope Gregory, notioned that any day 
might be different from any other,
he woke up around sunrise, quietly
rolled to upright and looked about 
the dimly lit space.

Perhaps he saw the female lying there 
who had brought forth a baby, 
now lying there with her, a young male,
a child of perhaps seven seasons, 
extending the lineage a bit further, 
the trek, apparently a bit longer now. 

It's a cold morning, really cold,
and he goes to see what's left of 
the fire from last night. Barely a 
wisp of smoke to mix with the early 
morning icy mist all around.

Thinking about what might be gotten 
for the few in his group from this hidden 
day he returns to her and his spear.
Her eyes open and he motions to be quiet.
The meal may be just beyond their camp.
Quietly his slips into the dewy mist.

He didn't have any notion of
wider questions, of glaciations or,
distant global warmings, DNA inheritance,
species encapsulation, or lyrical
language structure and etymology,
he only wanted to find a meal, to
provide, and stay alive another day.

Yet perhaps he had deeper, more
cerebral notions, about the beauty of 
the drops hanging from the pine needles,
and the bent image within them. Perhaps
he heard the early morning calls of 
robins or sparrows, and smelled the 
trailing smoke of yesterday's fire mixing 
with the scents of the season's flowers.

It's all about history, his story,
that we yearn to hear, after
forty-nine thousand years or more.
To hear his heart, to bare his soul 
through those mists of time, to now.
To be reassured, that our story, it's 
character, it's plot, comes from 
ancient roots, ancient tradition, 
ancient emotion, ancient love - of life.

© Goode Guy 2013-05-20

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Frozen in time,
captivated by this enormous being,
the size of a small car.

his every move.
The way he used his hands;
so child-like.
With all the consciousness of the world, 
and graceless coordination.

of the visitors,
as they briefly called out for his attention.
Only for a moment,
then they were gone.

in an orderly sham. 
He sat there,
in his dark cave.
As if he was waiting for the light to find him.

on a boulder, 
squatting, and primitive.
Drawing in the dirt with one hand. 
Swatting a fly with the other.

His nature,
as he rushed to consume his food.
The females hovered behind him,
watching intently, 
like me.
His movement mechanic.
His presence powerful.
He was the king of his domain.

his magnificence, I watched.
How smart was he?
Could he feel my presence? 
Engulfed in the very essence of all that was him, 
I watched. 

how he felt, I watched.
Did he think he was still in the womb of Mother Nature?
Or, did he know the iron bars which embrace him now?

it happened;
our eyes met.
He noticed my presence.
His gaze intimidated me, 
But I did not look away.
He approached me.
I felt his eyes inspecting my soul.
A chill ran down my back,
I turned behind me,
only to find no other presence there.
When I turned back, 
we were face to face.
Separated by the sham,
And a two inch piece of glass.
Just me and him,
the two of us,
and the females hovering behind him.

His old eyes spoke to me,
They said 
“I am like you. 
I love, I feel, I hurt.
I am, like you.”

I put my hand on the glass
and with all the 
consciousness of the world,
he did the same.
With tears in my eyes,
I smiled.

Then, he pooped in his other hand
and wiped it on the glass.
This was a sign of endearment.
I laughed out loud.
And I swear,
He smiled back.

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what are you

The only companion with that endless imagination,
You mostly preferred a solitude atmosphere,
Because you are filled with jealousy:
How did you solidify a mild heart and makes it bold?
You are the first who authoritatively pronounced your spell on others,
And so many clamored for it, mostly the trembling souls.
You are the oldest in the history of mankind.
Are you so ugly or beautiful to reveal your true identity?
So many  famished for your sake,
Some were helped, assisted hopes were given back to them, 
still for your sake.
Some killed for you, you agreed to be used  as fallacy,
Now you have been declared wanted.
I now understand why you individualized yourself:
and uses peoples images as your hideout:
You are so wicked, generous, full of honesty and deceit.
You are hard to find, but easy to come by.
But guilt and honesty had just revealed your identity as (LOVE)

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Balance Within

Introduction: Even if you're tied to barely holding on, your control over will power shall pull you up towards the truth and success. But only if you believe up to all, that it's stronger than what you could be - that's when you balance the fall...

You may get old
Your memories may drown,
But your soul won't get cold
And beliefs won't breakdown.

Just don't you let go
As you never know,
Things you seek for all your years
They could be in your back yard.

Find the truth within the lies,
Fight your pride to end this cry,
Trust your soul; open the door
Balance yourself and roll the stones.

The one's you heart will always stay
So don't throw life out your doorway,
Life's too short and it's too real
Sometimes it's hard to see and feel

That's how you live a life,
The risk that breaks you down to bits
Saves and brings you back alive,
That's what we call the gift of life.

No matter how rough things might get
We get rewards for the risks we take,
No matter how hard or sad
Learn and value what you have.

Though, too much pride will leave you dried
Don't let 'hopeless', be your life's stride,
None of this will you take to grave,
Your deeds will lay, only your pave.

As you breathe in and do breathe out,
Make each one profound
And stand your ground,
As lies are just the fantasy,
The truth - is your ecstasy
And this will forever be plain to see... 

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Winter Solstice

Peering from my window
Through a thin veil of frost,
It seems that an unseen force
Had resolved to obscure my vision,
As if it were saying, 
“There’s nothing out there but darkness
And frightful frigid discomfort
That is best left to creatures
Who are suited for such environs.”

Hastily I wipe the frosted pane
For a glimpse of something rare,
When the Earth 
Seemingly bickers with the Sun,
Demanding a moment more of its
Radiant solar comfort
Only to be abruptly silenced by:
Old Man winter,
Who masterfully placates this
Sibling wrangle and
With authority unquestioned;
Darkness falls
With Winter’s command.

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Lily Flower

How could I forget those days when the Lily Flowers blossom
in mother's garden 
when it sprouted its enlarge bundle of flowers around the zinc fence
moments when strangers gazed
moments when bugs feast to joy
How could I forget this all
the days when its leaves struggled in the long rainfall
How could I forget the days when children crowded themselves just to touch the softness
of the flower
the days when mother sweat for an hour
How could I even forget that special day when mother and I went outside
only to see our neighbor whom we did not knew trespasses in mother's garden
we laughed with our mouth shut
he then say goodbye
How could I forget mother's garden
the days she planted flowers
How could I forget the days when she whipped my younger siblings
for damaging her only planted flowers.

Demeter Edwards

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Untitled #340 / Colored pencils

Colored pencils in an artist’s even hand
sketch rolling fields of wavy grass
sprouting from the barren plain
of barren pages.
Now she reaches for Burnt Sienna.

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The Door in the Closet Pt.2

The Constable asked me if my elevator went all the way up
how cute, I assured him it did, and knew what I was doing
I assured him that I would be fine, and probably only needed
a day or two to find the answers to my questions.

Well, I suppose it's alright, but thars no lectricity
nor whater neither for that fact. Hasn't been for a long time.
I told him that I had plenty of gear and food, and noticed
some chimneys, I just needed some firewood for the fireplaces. 

So I asked him where I might get some. Sure I do he said
and told me he had plenty on his farm and would be glad to 
let me have some, which he offered to bring by, but he 
would only go as far as the front gate, he wouldn't come inside.

I chuckled at that and told him he had a deal. We agreed on a time
to meet at the gate. It was already two in the afternoon and I wondered
how time went so quickly. It seemed like I had just arrived. I had
come into town a little after 10 am passing Old Knob Hill road.

I finally made it back to the old house, where there was placed
in front an old Gothic style gate, kind of creepy looking at that.
The gate was rusty and stiff,but was still fairly easy to open
to my surprise, and it wasn't locked.....Creepy indeed.

I drove to within about fifty feet of the front door, I figured that
was close enough, and turned my SUV around to point towards 
the front  gate, just to be on the safe side mind you. I have been
told I am crazy, maybe, but I'm not stupid last I knew.

While I waited for the Constable, I decided to unload my SUV and
move everything to the front porch, since the door was locked( I checked)
So I could carry all the firewood in one trip since I was eager to get started.
I was hell bent to debunk this old house as being just an old house.

Continued in Pt.3

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The Eighth Wonder Of The World. ( Motion Pictures.)

" Scream, Ann, scream! Scream like you've never screamed before!"
     I saw their eyes, wide like turkey eggs
     for his bombast had provided us sneers.
     Just what is it he expects her to see
     that would leave her shaking, in tears?

 " Have any of you ever heard of..Kong?"

    There it is! This is it! The man's a fool!
    He's off for a film so they'll be thrilled!
    This ship is a tramp, not proper or trim.
    He'll wind up getting all of us killed.
   " All hands on Deck! All Hands on Deck!"

     She's gone! Oh my God! She's gone!
     Now what do we do? Hand out the guns!
     Is there enough bullets for them all?
     I still wonder: are we the only ones?

   " Come on! Who's going with me?!!"

     I can't believe the size of it! The size!!
     It's a mirage! It must be a nightmare!
     It's carried her off out in that jungle!
     My hands feel cold. We'd better beware.
     I might be lucky. I'm staying behind.
     I  shot it. I know I did!

   " I tell you, skipper, this Kong is as big as a house!"
     I slip up by Denhams' side to hear about
     Kong and these dragons and there's more!
     I thought those things were dead and gone
     Suppose one of them comes to this door?

   " Kong's Coming! Kong! Kong!"

     I heard the gong! Oh my God! It's Kong!
     He followed Driscoll and Ann right here.
     We've taken up arms! We've bolted the door!
     I wish I could be somewhere and not here.     

     He's In! He's Loose! Run! Run!
     EXPLOSION! I turn
     Kong stops. He staggers.
     He's down.
     I hear Denham shout:

   " Come On. I Got Him!
     We'll teach him fear! We're millionaires, boys!

     I never slept all those weeks back.
     Gunshots and whips from the hold
     It's a mistake to bring this thing back.
     Denham is foolish and brazen and bold.

     I shipped out right after we docked.
     I pour another shot, look out to the sea.
     The mate just told me the news
     over the wireless:
     Kong is loose in New York.
     I wonder where Denham is...

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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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If I were a river

The river does flow it keeps on going.
It is much like me without even knowing.
I stay my course on my journey to the sea.
I know upon completion I will finally be free.

I stumble over obstacles along the way.
The journey isn’t smooth I must say.
Still I progress leaving them behind.
Many seem to be just in my mind.

Contrasts in colors fade into gray.
The sun hits the ice and melts it away.
My banks confine me like a wall.
I wait for hope expecting a call.

When I slow down the water runs deep.
I am a waterfall from a hill that is steep.
To many species my water brings life.
I cut through the landscape like a knife.

When I get blocked I form a pond.
It takes more time to move beyond.
I reach the other side and I am free.
I return to the river where I should be.

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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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Dead in winter contest

As I sit here waiting for the last bus run of the night
Memories of what just happened play in my brain filled with fright

I can barely feel my little toes
There was no time for socks I had to just go

The sirens still echo in my frostbitten ears
Frozen drops attempt to become my tragic tears

Last I recall we were doing just fine
A Pillow fight and a glass of red wine

His mother called us down for dessert
Suddenly my throat began to hurt

He squeezed until I could no longer scream
This night of joy became a horrible dream

His brown eyes transformed to a devilish deep red
I’ll never forget the words he quietly said

“I could kill you and no one would know”
In my mind I begged for him to let go

What possessed him I will always wonder
Thank God his mother came up and banged on the door like thunder

I had no idea he had moved his dresser in front of the exit of the room
I was convinced I had met my eternal doom

While he was yelling for his mother to go the hell away
I jumped up fast and she heard me say

"Help he’s mad get me out of here"
She broke down the door and I ran out in fear

Last I heard him throw her down the stairs
I was long gone and extremely unprepared

I heard him behind me screaming my name
I kept on running in utter shame

He ran so fast and knocked me down
I fell flat on the icy ground

“Your mine forever don’t you leave”
I slipped out of my jacket sleeve

Down the hill I went rolling
As if my body was being used for bowling

The cops went racing up the mound
I heard him scream, so I know he was found

I have no phone no car or coat
Just three dollars and a crumpled up note

In my jeans from earlier that day
I should have listened to what it had to say

“Stay away from my son; you have no idea what he has done”
“Charming you may think but just like all the others you too will sink”

Now it all makes sense
He told me his mother was mentally ill and dense

He is the one who is severely deranged
I must get home this night has been exceedingly strange

As I rehearse this the bus finally pulls up to me
My stomach is in knots and I can barely see

Blood is streaming down my face
I just want to get out of this crazy place

Why is the man driving wearing a big black hood
I am so cold and devastated; thinking is doing me absolutely no good

The doors slam shut as I quickly sit down
I am the only one that seems to be around

I look in the rear view mirror and what do I see
Those chilling red eyes once again devouring me.

BY: Sabina Nicole

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lone hangout

there's a spider in my great-room
high up near the apex of the ceiling
hanging from the whitewashed wall
a spindly one, like a leggy daddy
but surely of the arachnid order

it is now early spring and this 
patient arthropod has been there
since late last autumn, 
five to eight months maybe
hanging from a thread he spun
to end his life and hang upon

is there such thing as arachnicide?
or did he (or she) just naturally die?
either way, i must say, preferable
than some other way, like the
black widow's suitor, dated,
then out-dated and consumed

to hang out, about and alone
yet plain in sight forgotten 
all that ever was ever known
is or may well be the fate of all, 
bowing for one last curtain call

© Goode Guy 2013-05-23

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Love Is Most Powerful

The sun cries poorly on the bare skin of my arms
It's dreadful rays melting my eyes burning the lashes
Begging me to wake up and sing a song for it
I sing my song with a voice of a violin
Move my hands back and forth they went
This was back then

I head down stairs with a noisy thump sound of my feet
I hear mom calling up to me
Good morning I would say
Hoping it was a better day
Was I dreaming or hesitating
What it this?

Flashback it was indeed
I have mother or father either
I want them back please!
The devil took them away from me
Now it's his turn for me I defeat

I run to the graveyard realized I cut both feet
I keep going cause that's just me
Running faster and faster 
Ignoring the pain each step I take

Cover with armor rose in my hair
I represent faith and courage I yell about
You can't bring me down this time
I with angels by my side
Can defeat the true power of evil
Leave or be forced to leave!

He ignores and walks away 
In his ugly red palms lies my parents
I love them more than you can kill
LEAVE!  He runs towards me 
I see a white light and head to sleep


I end up in my room still singing
I think to myself and head downstairs
My parents there
What's going on?
Am I alive I say over and over in my head.......
Is this a lie?

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i am a dreamer

She cud feel the attraction between them, 
She took a step closer to him, 
It was like a magnet was pulin her towards him, 
His warmth was like a blanket put on her to keep
 her warm in a winter nyt... 

His breath was warm, 
But it made her feel cold. 
All she wanted was to tuk into his warm arms. 
When he took her in his arms, 
Her world stopped, 
it was all she needed. 

She felt as if she was dreaming, 
She was a dreamer, 
Today she was in a dream, 
A dream she wudnt want to wake up from. 
The feeling came from within her 
She felt her heart dancing, shaking, 
She loved the feeling, everything was clear to her now. 

She cud feel the love... 
Even tho she had neva experienced
 anything of ths kind b4, 
she knew it was love 
Everything felt so real to her. 
He had a smooth touch, 
His lips were sweet nd wet. 
She wud love to keep them locked in his 
for as long as tym cud allow it. 

He talked to her, 
Now she realised that it all is real, 
She is not dreaming. 
His words were those of love. 
He was expressing his undying love for her. 
She felt his presence in her life. 

He was, he is wat she needs, 
She is in a real world with him 
And that's all that matters to her, 
He is the main reason for her everyday smile. 
She put her arms around him 
She kissed him back and smiled. 

She is in love with him too...

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As It Rains

Today would be the perfect day
To call out of work
And laugh & play
As the bed lays 
against the window pane
I can hear each drop
As we lay
As it rains

Just the two of us
Trying to keep warm
I breathe your kisses into my lungs
And they heal a heart that’s been torn

You make me so happy
After pain attacked me
But each rain drop explodes
As you grab me

Your kisses to my forehead
Bring tears down my face
I have a bleeding heart
That has been saved
As we lay,
As it rains...

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The Forsaken

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Do Si Do Your Partner

I hold three magic rocks, in My hand.
Rolling them over and over and over
leaving this reality far behind.

Amber, golden, polished, yet flawed and fecund,
a dollop of honeyed sunshine, light and pulse, 
surrounds the remnants of wing and limb.

Opalescent egg of rainbow and pearl, chill and slippery;
the second shape crosses the surface 
of the amber sun, warily and with grace.

Turquoise mottled and marbled 
with veins of ocean blue and pastoral green
the third rock spins around and between
the globes of white and gold.

Life writhes.

My eyes pierce the depth of ocean and 
atoms of hydrogen cling to singular atoms of oxygen 
positive and negative charges mirror 
the Earthly psyche of Yin and yang.

Within the amber ball hydrogen dances with helium.
Electron clouds orbit proton cores, 
just as the three globes spin round in the palm of the Universe,
Do Si Do ing with the uncharged, seemly barren, third opalescent egg
which mirrors the neutron in a molecular night.

Far below on the turquoise marble,
man looks skyward into the MY All Seeing Eye of God.
Then into his own palm where the dance continues.

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The Dictionary Hunting Expedition

Yeah, just grab an old rusty shovel, a case of Bud Light and hop in the back of my red
pickup truck, because us country boys are heading down to Sweetwater Creek to hunt for
some rare species of dictionary. Boy, don't you worry about nothing. We got plenty of
ammo. Uncle Willie, you know them dictionaries got some powerful stuff. 

Yeah, they got all kinds of words that I cain't spell or spit out my mouth. Some folks
say, you can use them fancy-polished words printed in a dictionary. You boys know better.
We can't read, write or arithmetic! Boys, we need to shake a stick, saddle up and go
rustle up some wild dictionaries. To capture a wild dictionary, you need to wear
specialized Desert Storm camouflaged gear, and be very quiet! 

Boys, its time for the hunting dictionary expedition!

Now, big Willie, listen to me good, when we find this critter, I am not settling for a
handshake, because I need to bust a few caps in those hind parts with my double-pump
shotgun. Boy, be quiet. Do you hear something rattling behind them bushes? Hey, look down
yonder! Oh, Nellie, I got a big surprise for that old slick Willy dictionary.

Well, I am a Southern Boy, with a background in cannon artillery and fire weaponry. I will
deliver the final blow and knockout punch with my deluxe  K-Mart special, double barrel
Winchester rifle, equipped with a high-powered scope, aiming  right-between-the-eyes of
the victim. 

Big Willie, You know stuff is going to fly in every direction. Now, its time to grab that
slippery dictionary right by the tail, fling it straight up in the air and shake the
cobwebs loose! Just in case, we might have to tap it with a few more rounds of buckshot
from my shotgun named big Shirley. You know, just so I can let it marinade. 

Man, I am so cool, when I captured this black double-breasted Oxford dictionary, I skinned
it and cleaned it and turn it into a thesaurus. 
 Posted By: Gregory W Golden Dated 16 Oct 2006

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The New Dawn of Man

Their yellow teeth smile, stained a lacquer brown.
We swap greetings, though the format banal.
Actions reveal bedeviled, forced manners - - - 
though fear could not goad me to leave, undone.
The wise one approached, glistening black, shines.
Covered with burned motor oil, the smell reeks.
Chanting, he leads high above the lagoon.
A small cave, on the outcrop of the cliff,
would be where my ritual would begin.
He crushes some small pods into a paste,
and motions to hold it under my tongue, 
while I drew on a long gurgling reed pipe.
I went inside the cave, but he stood firm.
Confusion began to muddle my thoughts …. 
His finger in the flame began to burn, 
and his whole body shortly thereafter.
It was so peaceful, I waited enthralled.
Suddenly a fiery mouth engulfed me.
As I shrank into the mottled abyss,
the creatures converse and our minds entwine- -
Their entire saga long before the earth;
how this grand experiment came to be.
How pleased they were with the spirit of man,
and his penchant to learn and understand. 
The beautiful gel being, touched my chest.
It felt more strange than the fire still burning.
I could see all manner of strange symbols,
instantly knowing the meaning of each.
Equations, by the hundreds, flowing in.
Faster and faster millions and millions,
of bits of data flow from his vast mind !
And I awoke---how long- -what- --just a dream?
My mouth funky, I needed some water.
As I sipped at the table and doodled, 
(something which I never do)
I glanced down at my college grad Buddha;
I had drawn him looking at a blueprint- -
An inter-dimensional transporter?  

for Catie's"out of body" contest.

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That day my whacky words dried up

Never say never
I was still laughing,
still having a blast 
giving my two cents 
on what’s hip and what’s not
little did I know
it’s so not me
that’s definitely not my calling…

Wearing my hat half skew on my head
jeans so baggy
I almost tripped
thinking I look so fly
only thing missing was my rhymes
“whasup my peeps!! how’s things rolling?”
silly me!

Should have seen those quizzical expressions
as if to say, err what the hell or who the hell are you trying to be
silly me!
thinking to myself…

What to say next when you silence a room?
earth open up and swallow me whole
it happened that day my whacky words dried up!!

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Untitled #304 / Juvenile Court

I was the only one to attend
the poetry write-in downtown at
Juvenile Court, though I thought I saw
the outlines of a couple dozen young souls,
already forgotten, bored as me
but blind as bats.

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Testament Of Have Not

God gave me a life to visit the earth
To see the beautiful heaven
Full of fruits and awesome sky
Sets me free with joy and peace

God gave me a mother with full of love
instinctual, unconditional, and forever
persuaded me the greatness of motherhood.
I learnt how dearer was the mother for me
I enjoyed life with liberty and peace.

God gave me a dad with full of care
Affection and great regards
As everything was going grand
I start searching more pleasure and joy
Thus, I have been selfish being all my life.

I punished my parents for my own choices
For the pursuit of happiness.
All charming people, I fancy, are spoiled
And I forgot to wipe other’s tear.

I got sick and found that life is short
I know now how beautiful a day can be
When love and kindness touches the heart
with motherly love.
Be care and cared is only the route 
to our common good, then
Return to the God rest in peace.

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Modern warrior

I am a modern day warrior.
My mind is my sword.
My words are my shield.
I do not battle on fields of strife.
My battlefield is that of ignorance and oppression.
I do not fight on display in coliseums.
My battles are that of discussion and reason.
I will never fight for king and country.
My only master is the truth of knowledge.
The battles I fight do not end in victory or defeat.
My truth is not so black and white.
I do not reside in a fortress.
I only exist only as ink, sound and code.
My fight is not for fame, gold or jewels.
The only reward I seek is validation.
I do not fight evil or injustice.
My only fight is for the truth of the world.
I am a modern day warrior.
When I am slain in battle,
I may fade from memory but my achievements will live on for eternity.

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As I lay on the floor
Lost inside the pool of my tears
I finally knew what life was for
And found that all that I had feared

Was nothing more than emptiness
Was nothing more than lie
I know that in the truth, sweet kiss,
Is found a feeling that will never die

My life is but to love and not be loved
To drown inside the sorrow of the years
To feel and not be felt, to lie untouched
As I yet watch her face pass ever near

Ah, I've never been loved
And never will
For I have known true love
And know it still

In my mind's eye
There, the night
That shrouds her face
Inside my sight
I've known perfection
Whole, complete,
Within that sky
Between heartbeats

So here I lie upon the floor
Lost inside the contours of my mind
And now I know what life is for
I know, have found what I could never find

Inside my soul, inside the sky
Of what's within the perfect night
I find my love, I find her there
The one who's now my only sight

A perfect grace, a perfect face
A perfect love, a perfect kiss
A perfect sleep will, perfect, keep
What perfectly exists
Within the only truth that I can find
Within these real imaginings, my mind

So still I lie upon the floor
Still lost within my own reality
So still I lie, in my heart's core
And drink the dew of what I'll never see

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Hurt and You Could Have it All

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

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The Winds of Fate

          I wait as midnight steals by,
          Wait for signs of night’s intent,
          But did I behold the winds of fate 
          Where the essence of our judgment lays

          Too long I ponder accepted thought 
          Here in the value of our own wisdom,
          When forgotten seem the thoughts and deeds 
          In a place where judgment ends  
          Noble is mans lost intent 
          Nobler then nights design;
          But somewhere waits the winds of fate 
          Here where judgment lays            


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For hours
her whole world was 
hunting for rocks at the
banks of the shallow
narrow river that runs 
through the canyon behind
the house.

On her knees,
wrist deep in the
icy current, she
sifts through piles of 
polished stones, 
searching for the 
perfect little pebble.

She slips the pebble 
safely in that pointed place
in the pocket of her jeans.

Down the path, 
she's conscious of the
precious cargo, 
digging her hand down
now and then.

At home,
she reaches in
with her fingers, to
pluck the pebble
from her pocket
and she places it
on a shelf
with the others.

That evening,
stretched under the covers,
tucked and tight, and drifting,
she dreams of 
skipping stones.

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Nothing is more delightful
and simply remembered by a sweet word...
than a walk through a green forest,
to find a remote spot on a low hill
and put those daily worries to rest;
the anxious eyes long for that vision
of a last, unforgotten season: 
the gentlest rain which brings
a familiar fragrance from other lands...
when spring hides its flowers!

Whenever the lonely poet dreams,
his unerring hand is quicker that  the flowing streams:
the distant vison of his flourishing thoughts
is carried to unseen places; 
and all he wishes is to feel  a sublime peace...
when spring hides its flowers!

The wishful child ,led by his mom ,searches 
 the leaf-covered paths with a sorrowful glance,
even the robins and blue-birds can't confort him,
 or give him some kind of hope for his unleashed whim;
and will he relish the joyful promise of each year,
as a gentle hand caresses his blonde hair...
when springs hides its flowers from his zealous eyes,
and one of those adolescent dreams unexpectedly dies?

I, once, was like him:  curious,cheerful and so restless:
seeking surprises in unexpected places...
finding myself in front of simple wonders
that couldn't  be perceived by the adult mind,
as if they were another mystery, not the creation of God...
when spring didn't hide its flowers!

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A Town Made Of Happy


When you’re feeling low and don’t know where to go.
   I know a place where love just grows and grows and grows.
A place called Sappy Mountain in the town of Get And Go.
    Troubles there just melt away like the morning snow.
Smiling faces greet you with the morning light.
    Happy songs are all they play morning noon and night.
They have a sign outside their town.
     This town they say was built by clowns.
There are funny looking cars of every size and shape.
    Houses painted candy colors make up this great escape.
It truly takes your breath away, it’s such an awesome place.
    A smile is all you ever see it’s painted on their face.
Of all the cities in the world this one takes the cake.
    It’s full of love and happiness and none of it is fake.
So if you’re ever down our way won’t you come on in.
    I’m sure you’ll love the stay at our Magic Inn.
Only happy people reside there, come but leave your care.
    No money here will be found only love that people share.
Two hugs and a handshake is the price you pay here for a meal.
    And with the tip it still adds up to quite an awesome deal. 
Come on down and bring a friend.
    For Happy is the way of life it’s not some passing trend.

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i'm beginning to know them
a bit smudged at first
like spots on my readers, but 
gradually, after a few gentle rubs
of my fingers between something soft 
like a spritz of sonnet,
they slowly come into focus and
recognition comes to me

i know that one - and that one 
and oh, how i loved the something or other
that that one wrote awhile back 
i don't remember what it was about exactly,
but feel clearly, know, that it touched me
it's hard to know just how that happens,
yet, dear countenance, you are a friend now

i sit by the fire, welling up at your words,
i stand waiting for an elevator to
take me up, and i rise to your eloquence,
how good of you, to take me along
i lie in bed at night, occasional insomniac
and dream of your touch, your clever wisdom
your warm smile crafted across centuries and 
continents to me, a once total stranger, 
but now, devoted friend

© Goode Guy 2013-05-23

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Pat and Henry: Mutual Feelings

I saw you last week by the river, right?

Oh, I couldn't say.

It was you alright. You were staring up at the sky. You were muttering about the clouds.

Yes, that was me. The clouds trouble me.

Oh, right. They say the end is near.

Sure, sure. Nothing but flat screens from here on out.

What on Earth are flat screens?

No, I said rat screams.

Oh, right. I hate rats. Gnaw at your feet. Pester the off-spring.

(mutters) These clouds will be the death of us...

Say what now?

I'm sorry. I tend to get a little melodramatic in the late afternoon.

I tend to get a little hungry. Especially these days, when everything seems to be dying
around me. I miss the live catch!

I suppose they'll learn from all the left-over bones...

Sorry, who will learn what?

They will learn what happened here.

And what do you think is happening, Cloud Gazer?

Not sure. But whatever it is, it's happening now. Look over there. IPad, by the way.


My name is Pat, I mean.

Oh. I'm Henry. Nice to meet you.

The feeling's mutual.

Where are you headed Pat?

Into history books most likely.

May I join you?

Don't think you have a choice.

We're all dying off, aren't we? Ever since that beam of light in the night's sky last
month, and now this thing with the clouds...we're done for, aren't we?

We had our run, Henry. Now it's time to lay down.

Okay, then. What a shame this all is. (sigh) I'm laying down. Alright, I'm down.

That's it, Henry.

Aren't you gonna lay down with me, Pat?

Naw, I just got up from a nap about an hour ago. 

Well, what else is there to do if all we got left is to lay around and wait to die?

I was thinking about going rollerskating. 

Really? Me too.

Probably too cloudy though. 

Yeah, definitely.

Should probably rest some more.


Goodnight, Henry.

Goodnight, Pat.

See ya in a drawing on Facebook.


Nothing. Go to sleep.

Sleep I am going.

The feeling is mutual.

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The Melody of Hope

There I lay upon the curb, my heart still beating An Icy breeze cutting through, my souls was fleeting Looking up into the skies, I saw a flash of hope The clouds divided into blue, and dangled down a helping rope Rising up I start again, I'm fighting stronger The music plays inside my head, this I remember I use the melody to build my strength, I'm shining brighter I lace deceit with the flammable truth, I drop the lighter The phoenix rises from the flames, I see it's eyes Exploded candles ignite the way, I hear it's cries The path I walk leads to my home, a second chance At the end one final trial, it's the devils dance There it lay upon the curb, It's heart still beating Reaching out I take my sword, It's life depleting One final strike and a broken heart, death becomes her The sun comes out and begins to beam, hope forever

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The Sea Blue Eyes I

Once in a while I meet a person whose eyes tell their story
The story is like the sky reflection on the seas of glory
The eyes are all the wonder of the world
It sees the future, past, and present
The eyes give us knowledge of the world and reflection
The reflection of sadness and weakness of each creature
The wonder of each individual being has a present
To the world who has lots of false images
To arise the moment of that one glance
To follow the heart in romance
Just the reflection that gather in your eyes of blue
What a man and a woman should view
Life is such a pain without stopping to see each eyes
Its like roses you have to enjoy each passion in side
When that moment collides with mind and heart
Nothing in your soul can keep your love apart
Join in the fun look in every eyes of a person beside
With passion and romance I bet you, you would cry
The luster of all the things to come
A bounty of life long needs to be given by just the wonders of the eyes
The blue seas reflects the different depths of our feelings
And it should become revealing
Come to your senses with ravaging hormones of lust
The sea can take you and even the reflection in the eyes of the person
The beauty is not held by one it is held by everyone
Such looks with fear for no relief
Is almost a dreadful part in our human nature
Beware of what can happen when emotions are held
Held to the core of an individual
No such thing is kindness when you find yourself in the Sea Blue Eyes
Calling in your soul by just looking
With ignorance you play around with such futile emotion
Gush away the fear and do not go insane with life so dear
The grasp of the titans comes to reveal
The evil within your heart is so obscenely noticed
You want the sea and you want those eyes to look at you with wishes
The rage in the heart are waves that cannot stop 
It pushes and pushes with no regret
The heart falters and there is only one thing in your mind
The idea of one soul to be with is the ocean 
The rifts that is trying to break to end the wants of desire
Cannot be trusted in a human lier
The beauty of man is destruction 
The beauty of women are commands
The eyes of each does not matter in the sea
Because all emotion and desire is given to those who are true
Command of a person is just one thing 
The desire to destroy is another
The Sea Blue Eyes will see no bother cause it bares it all
Even the utmost desire
To be continue.

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The Funny Farm Revisited

 Well it’s getting close to that time again,
    When I’m not suppose to be happy and I’d better not grin.
Hiding is okay as long as you don’t make a sound,
    Pray like all get out that you don’t get found.
Well it freaks me out to say the least,
    One minute she’s happy the next she turns into a beast.
Someone said they got a pill for this kind of thing,
    I’ll give her a double dosage and hope it’s relief it brings.
If it don’t work on her I’ll try one of them pills,
     Just thinking about last month done brought on a bad ole chill.
I’ll just keep my mouth shut that’s the best thing I can do,
     I’ll just look at her and nod and pray I nod in the right direction too.
Here she comes with that sweetie pie look,
     The last time I saw that my goose was about to cook.
So if you guys don’t hear from me in the next few days,
     Know it’s been fun but she said right now I’ve got dues to pay.
I guess I’d better close, ouch hang on baby let me finish this line,
     Dat gummit woman now don’t hit me with that sign.
Well she didn’t break but one hand so I can still hunt and peck,
     She’s like that Dr. that turned into a monster I feel like I was in a wreck.
Going through the change doesn’t seem to bother her at all,
     Shoot I’m the one sporting bruises and having close calls.
Well that pill made her sleepy, 
      But her eyes are wide open and that’s down right creepy.
I guess I’d better close,
     And go change the cotton in my nose, night all!!!!!

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Sonnetina Sequence-THE RIPE ORCHARDS

September has come
and the ripe orchards
abundantly display their delicious fruits:
peaches of delicate rose,
and cherries of deep red!
Teens, with their empty baskets, 
anxiously run to pull them 
off the drooping branches;
and one of them yells,
" I have gotten the first one! " 

What a gleeful celebration for youngsters 
about to return to loved-and-hated school
with their band-new and heavy backpacks;
and they will write about these harvest's moments,
and wait with exciting eyes how their writings
will be scored by their teacher, and if someone 
should cheat, points will be taken kids,
squash your curiosity and kindly behave!
All of them did their best in writing poems without rhyme,   
poems of a harvest with an aroma so fine!

The hot afternoon reddens the faces
of all the experienced fruit-pickers,
and these struggling young ones
can't speed up to their pace!
" Hurry, Jack...let Susan help
you with your over-loaded basket...
everyone has finished picking and gone! "
What a humorous remark that
even makes the sullen and tired sun 
smile...when his duty is coming to a sudden end!

Happily they trot out of the orchards, singing nursery' rhymes,
sustaining the heaviest load they have ever felt ,
not to let their baskets drop and give the watchful squirrels 
a chance to snatch some of the tempting fruits away!
And as they look up, dusk makes its appearance to scare them away!
And as if they were chased by unleashed dogs,
some fall, some run for their useless drama started by fancy!
Much fun they had, but unhappy about the bruises on their knees,
at least, they had one consolation: all the peaches and cherries they could eat!
And they laughed at each other, no one could ever forget about their fright!

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Beauty,abundance and mirth
Three Graces of an imaginary earth,
Sisters,three to Muses of Greek royalty
Personification of everything artistic in mind
Twelve daughters,but none of the human kind.

The daughters (3 Muses and 9 Graces)of the legendary mythical King Zeus

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Sitting in a room
Filled with darkness and gloom
Only I wish
To leave here soon

Yet locked are the doors
The sound touches the ear
A sound of devilish laughter, and terrifying roars
Is all i can hear
Where am I?
Where have I gone?

Is this place where
I truly belong?

Not sure of the path
My soul has chosen
Hazy and unclear
My thoughts seem frozen

Everything seems
Like one large test
Despratly i need
A good nights rest

Yet the sound of evil
Is knocking on the door
Can they do anything
Possibly more?

I'm at a crossroad
with two seperate paths 
Yet which shall bring
a reason to live once at last
Judged by everyone
Criticized by all

Still i am standing

Still walking tall

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Eden's epiphany

Eve came, her bush brushing through,
figuring fig was sufficient to 
leave that feeling behind, 
(was it even a word, good or evil)
to converse with her landlord
before her in the clearing, clearly annoyed.

"Where have you been Eve?, 
 I've been looking for you." 
Her first thought was not 
"You know very well where I've been, 
 you are the Landlord, aren't you?". 
She was a bit overwhelmed with 
 the fresh emotions in her mind.

Showing newfound respect (fear?) she replied 
"I have been in the lush green, 
 making love with the Other." 
She thought maybe the Landlord would tell her, 
 to go back to doing what she had been doing, 
 but instead, the Landlord said 
 "You haven't been eating the fruit 
 I told you not to, have you?".
Eve, new to the idea, might have
 thought "You know very well I've eaten it, 
 you are the Landlord, aren't you?". 
But innocent was her first thought
 and she admitted that she had,
 further offering "The Other did too".
Landlord, fixed his view of her 
 and proceeded to quote from memory
 "You have violated the terms of
 the lease to this land and therefore
 the penalty clause comes into effect."
"You, Eve, and the Other tenant too,
 will vacate said premises effective
Eve, taken aback by the newfound
 demeanor of Landlord, simply asked
 "But why Landlord do you treat
 me - us, so sharply?"
To which Landlord replied ominously
 "You have committed the original sin!"
Eve, having partaken what the Landlord
 had explicitly denied to her and a bit more
 sentient than when first awoken, replied
 "But I have not committed what you say,
 it is you in fact, Landlord, who committed it."
Landlord, knowing the rationale about to be
 uttered, played close to the robe.
"How do you believe that Eve?"

Eve replied "Well, my Landlord, you
 know everything about everything, right?"
"Yes, I do." returned.
"And it was you who made the knowledge,
 even before you made the fruit, right?"
"Yes, I did." was uttered.
"And you did so knowing full well ahead
 that I would, I in fact MUST, take the knowledge."
"Therefore, it was you who committed the
 original sin, knowing that the Other and I
 would follow the path provided to us."

"So good and evil have become part of us,
because it is part of you, right?"

"You give a persuasive argument Eve,
but I am the Landlord, 
therefore, I make the rules."

"God damn us." Eve replied.

© Goode Guy 2012-09-05

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The Land continued

The stories handed down generation to generation have influenced the imagination of the young, sometimes for better, from the perspective of youth, it’s often for worse; it seemed as though the oppressive drudgery of the old and the light, hopeful freedom of youth and the wide open plains of the future were always in conflict.  Age and youth became a contradiction; they were irrelevant to each other.  Maturity has taught otherwise; we want and need each other so to remind us of our stories and so that they’ll endure.  We rekindle the imagination of youth by digging through memories.  It’s necessary to dig to find who you are; we discovered this at a young age, when we could still be inspired by old stories; this became part of our play, but somehow we forgot.  Our strengths and also our weaknesses that are embedded in our youth, are then, in turn, entrenched in our children securing that they hear and follow the same lessons; we are a continuum, as is the land; we hold onto thoughts and deeds; things inherited from those long buried and we pass them on; The land rejects nothing, it holds on to everything to be discovered by those that are willing to simply come and dig.

Such memories leave me with an ache, feeling saddened, but still deeply satisfied, as I imagine the land spread before me with the wind in my face and share some of my buried secrets.

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My Battle

I was broken and bloody My soul was torn asunder,So death came for me.He thought it would be easy I thought I was done. But when he reached out to take my soul My spirit which was fading fast found its last ounce of strength and began to glow with an amazing power. So a battle began a battle for my soul. My tattered body then feel into a coma to try and save the last bit of its self.The battle raged within me for a full day. Somehow my spirit weak and faded managed to give death all and more then it could take. The battle ended and I awoke....alive the victor. So the question I ask the world is "If I still won the battle that weak and tired. What is there that I can't do if given the time to heal?"

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The assasination of Margaret May

The wind was blowing,
as the car was going,
across the hills ; across the vales
the night seemed young , as each nightbird sung 
to the moon there long and timeless tales.
Then, at midnight hour
the chauffeur rested, his iron fists upon  the wheel.
There it was,
The mansion of Margaret May, 
whose life tonight I shall verily seal.
I approached the moors like a silent hound
I scaled the walls then climbed the mounds
And though the night was dark and still
I still saw the great house upon the grey hill.
I scanned each wing like a wolf would see,
a sheep as it feeds with humility,
and yet it was no prey, that I was to kill,
for the hounds, they now bayed upon each hill.
The moon gleamed its mischief upon the terrace;
And it shined, like an unearthly thing,
it gleamed its sorrow upon my face,
and wailed its scorn, against the human beings.
I entered the house 
the doors were not locked,
so I opened them slowly and its  walls they did talk.
They spoke of devils and demons and familiar kind;
But I did not see them for my soul was blind.
I took out the weapon and its barrel shined,
by the light of the moon thay was now declined.
And having climbed up the ladder,  to the rooms upstairs,
I found  May just finishing her prayers.
She turned around and I gazed at her eyes;
How could such beauty be 'bought' to demise?
I dropped the weapon,
no bullet could shred;
The flesh of the mortal,
that before me was spread.
And yet she would die for the world could not accept,
what in this masion was hidden and kept.
She was not lustful but lust itself 
and yet I could not stop myself.
For I had no soul,
I had no sin,
I went for her throat, and held tight her chin.
She did not struggle;
She did not plead.
Rather she smiled, till I had finished the deed.
And left her silent;
And still upon her bed,
and there she lies smiling,
but her heart is cold and dead

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God Still Rules My Life


What do we as Christians do,
    To get our point across to you?
Is violence the only way to make you understand,
    We are not going to take it any longer this is our land.
In a land of democracy the majority rules, 
     It’s time for us to wake up stop acting the part of the fool.
Christianity still leads the way in America today,
     So I think it’s time for us to let the minority hear what we have to say.
For too long we have sat back and swallowed our pride, 
      I for one am not an ostrich and I will not stick my head in the sand to hide.
Start letting the bunch that run our government know what we want.
      Let them know there will be hell to pay if they don’t.
Now they are giving birth control to our children at schools without our consent.
      That gives kids the go ahead and that gets me bent.
Plus they are taking away our God given right of having a say on what they can 
teach our child .
      No wonder things are getting so screwed up and kids are going wild.
I’m not blaming our kids or the schools, I am blaming us the parents for letting 
things get this far.
      Mrs. Goodie Two Shoes and Roger Doright can make rules up all they like, 
but in my house I wear the star.
My kids are grown and now I am raising a grandchild that I love dearly.
     So I know what is happening I see it clearly.
If we don’t draw a line it will only get worse.
     So I ask for support in putting our Lord back where He belongs and that is 
     Thank You!!!

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My Infatuated Desire

From the day our eyes were locked in rays of glance
Love-sweats forms and drips fast-freely to a frenzied fall
As I hoped moment spares me a daring chance
To woo her, for I could but would awaits love’s alluring call
Whilst I reminisced the hazel eyes that I mirrored my blissful future
In my gallery of thought, I imagined what her name
Might be, the lass with an endowed beauty of nature,
Treasures of men I alleged her to be, as I felt the same,

The thought she had of me, I so deemed she could think the thought!
Consciously I wait as time travels and days fade into dates yet to come
My heart began to quiver for what my fear may have brought
A loneliness glittering in my lounge of fantasies, and some
Aging wrinkle patiently drawn on my artistic handsome face-
Still waiting while time busy pass me in a fast ridden pace.

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Sunrise versus Sunset

“Ok, I need to know, which do you prefer, a sunrise or a sunset?”
The question was odd, who was this guy?  Hadn't we just met?
I pretended to ponder on it carefully and tried to look very sage.
To choose one was to decide which of my appendages I preferred
My arm was a chosen  favorite so should I leave my leg deferred?
The elf was insistent.

I said I didn’t care, I shrugged my shoulder and he almost fell off.
I started to laugh at him but instead I just gave a bit of a cough.
The little guy looked up at me and I tried my best not to smile at him.
He looked impatient and I sighed and thought about the puzzle again
I suppose I preferred sunset because it always got a lot of attention.
The elf nodded slowly.

I made a decision and I said that sunrise was good because
It meant the start of a new chance and then I gave a pause.
The little guy looked impatient   I sighed again and he said, 
“Do you really have to do that?  Answer my question, hurry up.”
I looked at him and thought about producing one good hiccup.
The elf glared at me.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on the front of a cereal carton?”
His face turned red and I decided to pay more attention.
“Sunset is good because it means that soon there will be a new day 
Although it depends on when you ask me this question, you see
What if tomorrow doesn’t come, then sunset would have to be…”
The elf was losing patience.

“Are you hungry?  My neighbors brought some food from next door.”
He didn’t bite and he definitely wasn’t interested in eating a S’more.
He didn’t like it when I said I usually slept through most sunrises.
He told me I had only a minute left and then I would be sorry I joked.
He stomped his foot, pulled a pipe out of his pocket and then smoked.
The elf had a mean look.

 “Ok, I pick sunrise are you happy?”  I wondered if he’d leave
The elf puffed on his pipe, “You’re just trying to get rid of me.”
The smoke entered one of my nostrils and I tried to suppress it.
With one giant sneeze the tiny elf’s body went head over heels
He landed on one of the brownies in a plate with a few squeals.
The elf was still.

“Eat your way out of there, I have got to get some sleep tonight.
I’m sure you’re just a bad dream.”  I started to turn off the light
But I’d left the TV on and Fiddler on the Roof was playing that song,
“Sunrise, Sunset”.  I decided it was too coincidental.  I got the plate.
And I grabbed a brownie. “I love it when my neighbors cook this late.”
The elf just held on.

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The Road

The road takes me on
Through meandering mazes
Into mists and hazes
Till the time of dawn

Fiery icicles swarm
As Heaven's haughty torch
Lies on azure porch
With flames to charm

Divine breaths plead
Pink rose-buds to dance
As swallows prance
Little mouths to feed

Drops of divine sorrow
Quench the meadows' thirst
Mighty pillows burst
Doomed to weep and morrow

Locks of green hair
On the hills and dales
Harks to soothing tales
Lion in his lair

Fangs of the Earth rise
While a gaping hole
Devours my soul
As the last ray dies

Water pillars fall
Foaming fast in fury
Ridden by Mercury
As by Devil's call

Lands bereft of lawns
Wind in pain grieves
Rainbow of fallen leaves
Cursing, moaning pawns

Watery fingers hold
Sands' burning breast
Wails a wrathful crest
Secrets to unfold

Ferries drown in a mad witch's frown
Clowns thrust in the Fate's claws
Satan sneers at human flaws
Feathers caught in Persephone's crown

Of the Devils' art
Saw a rotten bow
Broken arrow
Aimed at Heaven's heart

Shrouded trees in a cold clasp
Beaten hard by ferocious hails
Frozen fingers with icy nails
Sting the heart, a cruel asp

A silver crescent, gloomy and dim
The night's coy lantern
And the Hours' urn
Drunk with ashes, filled to brim

Centipede of light
Rusty metal domes
The road still roams
I've run out of might...

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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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Down by the river can you picture me here?
    Fishing pole in hand, sipping on a beer.
Life is just sweeter than sweet.
     Hopefully by night there’ll be a good mess of fish for me to eat.
Well my line just went slack,
     Now something seems to be a bringing it back.
Hope it’s a big ole blue cat a taking a bite.
     He’ll be frying in the frying pan come later tonight.
I got my camp all set and a fire a burning low,
    Cast iron skillet goes with me wherever I go.
Got cornmeal and fixings to make it taste right, you know bamm, I call it poww.
    That was an ole blue cat and I’ve got him cooking right now. 
Got taters and onions stinking up that ole grease,
     Sure is good catfish reckon I’d better get me another piece.
Sure do wish ya’ll were all here,
      Got plenty of catfish but you’ll have to bring your own beer.
Bring along a fishing pole or two,
      Bait it up and throw it out is all you need to do.
This ole water hole is just plumb full of fish,
     And cooking over the grill makes it simply delish.
I spit on my bait, throw it out, and in a minute or two,
     I’m reeling in a catfish and betcha you can too.

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The Sky, The Tree and the House

A man and woman 
Lived side to side
A tree and English house
A pen is found on former’s hand
That knows no fetterings

His tales are based on happiness
A simple life with a tree
While all the while the woman sighs 
The binds of residency

She brings her ladder down to him
Slowly down the tree
To invite him into her bleak
And somehow make him stay

The scarcity of the man’s life it seems
To be her serenity

And sadly so, she is declined
By the man who bears her love
A tear then falls to the saddened house
Accentuating the depression

A drop, five drops and a shower
As the skies sang with her sadness
The sky that longed the woman’s touch
Has decided how he could love her

The hardened tree falls at the man
In solemnity he was crushed 
To which befalls the irony
Her then desire was to be gone

Two bodies felled to the silent ground
The woman and the man’s
An oak that fell at storm’s command
A crime of love it seems

Love lost, unreturned and forever gone
Longings torn from the hearts

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Not for personal gain or glory

Like the Vikings who left us this word – ‘berserk’ 
some of us may have shown it through human reaction,
where we go berserk against disproportionate behaviors
such anger or infuriation that defines the immediate actions.

It’s still very human to act in this way with sudden eruption,
when inner anger overrules and makes us manifest towards others;
a strong element that fuels harsh words and outrage within,
oh, what a state of mind! so capable to influence us in many ways.

But Jesus Christ’s experience when confronted with torture,
suffering, crucifixion and eventually death in his heroic way;
his courage and humility which are worth mentioning here.
truly, a sublime reaction against those pains and persecutions.

He becomes human who copes with greater risks and pains,
identified not as a historical Jesus of natural stoicism;
with his real grasp of what his destiny may entail along the process,
his only response – to embrace the cross which means so much for us.
On Good Friday reminds us of his passion and crucifixion,
being betrayed, denied and left alone in humiliation;
in darkness and dread, in sorrow and bereavement,
he remains true to his mission and love for all the people.

His lonely agony in the garden of Gethsemane,
touches us so profoundly as he awaits for his destiny;
here is his obedience to the Father whom he prays to,
one with him, distinct in person, one in the Trinity.

Courage or bravery is worth remembering here,
it’s born out of a vision that comprises his self-giving;
that knows no fear but is moved with deep reflection,
all for otherness, all for humanity, all because of his love for people.

In today’s world where we’re constantly tempted with selfishness,
self-centeredness or obsession for power, money and prestige;
Christ’s journey with his disciples makes us reflect what it means,
to be a disciple is to be willing to sacrifice for the sake of others.

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Senses be Still


Where must senses run to be still. 
Could it be that it is in the hills or maybe by the sea. 
In the hills where the eagle soars and the white tail runs. 
And I hold so dear to my heart the excitement of morning. 
And the fresh taste of mountain air lays softly on my tongue. 
As I walk on leaves fallen to the ground. 
From the many trees of different kinds. 
I listen to call of the nature oh senses do be still. 
Now I hear the sound of waves whispering in my ear. 
Slapping, lapping, crashing the beach. 
Crawling up very close to my feet. 
Returning to the waves as it tucks underneath. 
As I listen to the waves oh senses be still. 


David Pennington

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What IS that dancing Light?
Moving closer--getting bright!
How come it dances to and fro?
Coming down-then around each row.

I love the colors of this Light-
Reds, greens, then yellows--all in my sight,
It makes me feel bright--then funny-
And it shines as if it were So sunny!

Is this Light coming down from Heaven?
Is it the Spirits of God--numbering seven?
Could it be the glow of a gorgeous Angel?
Will we ever be able to give it a label?

Dancing Light, burning so bright,
Please don't Ever leave my sight--
I love You! I love You! You are so Pure!
Tell me! Tell me! Are you humanity's cure?

A Voice from Heaven came to me--
"Believe in Me and you will see--
How I can heal and cure all ills-
Without shots or treatments or even pills."

"For I will make your Earth happy again- 
Happy and free from every sin,
For I am He Who made you all,
So pray to me--I'll answer each call"  

"I love you", said I and fell asleep,
And when I awoke, the day was mine to keep.

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The Master Artist

The Master Artist Pt 1  --Pt 2--the ending, is the next posting

The artist’s tray was loaded with colors, each pastel waiting for its turn:
Hues of indigo blues lie impatiently, sparks of carmine seemed to burn.
While English chrome colors lay in anticipation for the Master’s touch.
The yellow ochre pansies readied to fill the void on the painter’s scene.
Each hue was waiting for its turn but chosen first was the yellow green.
Winds blew lightly against the canvas and upon each color that he lay
Each sound had a melodic lilt as the grass seemed to grow and sway
Under a fountain of colors, each strike radiant upon the colored field.
Cerulean blue skies lightly painted waited for a stray, pearl-grey cloud
To float above the lively meadow, yet no spring rain would be allowed.
The artist was tired, yet couldn’t wait to return quickly the next day.
Morning came and his fervent fingers reached for the pastels that lay
Undiscovered upon the palette—more hues waiting for their chance.
He painted a sapphire blue creek moving snake-like up then down.
The artist smiled wisely, painting groves of trees of Van Dyke brown.
Afternoon came and pastel shades were glazed upon the flowing water
As the creek rippled over the violet stones painted on by the Master.
He seemed to lose all sense of night and day as each hue told a story.
Colors flew from left to right and the meadow seemed to come alive
Ruby hues were topped upon the phlox as fragrant flowers did thrive.
His hand would not cease until he had painted the bluebird at its song.
The misty meadow was melodious as he painted crickets to sing along.
The artist looked upon his growing scene and knew what it still needed
But his hand was weary and the pastel scene would wait another day
For colors that still lay brightly unused upon the Master Artist’s tray.
The next day he painted against the sky purple hills gently sun-kissed.
His hands worked with great passion as twisting trees seemed to tryst.
Pastel colors floated upon the land as pink butterflies flew here and there.
Sounds of songbirds were singing as his meadow seemed to nearly burst
With every color and every hue that the great artist had fervently dispersed.

Part Two has the Master Artist poem ending that I posted after this one-- 
(PoetrySoup doesn't allow enough space)

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When my body decided to get sick again,
six sinus infections since last birthday,
I marched into the best ENT specialist,
waiting room lined with Hollywood’s
finest stars begging for reasons why they
couldn’t reach the octave of the day before,
impatiently flipping through old magazines,
interrupted by cell phones ringing in unison.

I got the lead role, thanks for your inquiry,
want to go to Hawaii for the weekend? Susie 
died. Funeral tomorrow. Allan’s away on business.
This doctor sucks. I have lunch with Ellen at noon. 
Dad’s in the hospital. Freckles just had pups, want one?

My name is called. I shuffle behind the nurse,
my chart clasped to her chest like the baby 
she might never have had, into the shoebox size room 
packed with instruments I didn’t know, 
despite three years of nursing school.

The suave, forty-something doctor,
released my X-rays from their sleeve,
and mounted them onto a screen. 
He looked up through his sleek wire frames, 
“You’re absolutely beautiful on the outside,
but a mess on the inside.” I wondered if 
he was making a pass or soliciting
a surgical procedure and how many times 
he repeated that line, loud enough for 
the pedestrians five floors down to hear 
this and the other truths about my battlefields—
three C-sections, knee surgery, twice a victim 
of what strikes one in eight women, and reconstructed 
organs of sensuality with tattoos to hide their truths.

Now I dodge doctors as one avoids the cones 
at the scene of an accident, but I can’t dodge this one.
My voice is hoarse, my breathing is shot
and I envy those vacuous starlets in the
waiting room, listening to their chitter 
chatter on cell phones. I sit in the exam room 
before the surgeon tells me one more time, 
something I need to do to hang onto my life, 
but I’d rather be the person before the scalpel found me. 

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“come fluttering words, come drifting words to me…”

               A Rambling Poet

A mere housemaid awakens before morning light.
Eyes wide, she bolts upright to the bed’s edge, as if late for work, though she 
never is.
Another beautiful day to labor away. 
Polishing silver all day has its advantages.
Each piece polishes to a looking glass, each a porthole to her dreams.
As she stares into the final polished vase, her weary face transforms into the face of 
a lovely, fair skinned maiden.
Soft red lips highlight her perfect cheek bones and straight nose. 
A simple pink ribbon holds her long, auburn hair in place.
Sparkling green eyes and a happy smile portray her excitement as she admires her 
floor length pastel summer dress. 
“Oh my, It’s time for my evening stroll,” she reminds herself.
Twirling once, she heads out the door leading to the apple orchard.
Barely noticing the orchard’s beauty, she strolls toward the stone steps leading to her favorite place, the stone rose garden.
Making her way down the steps, she immediately notices someone has placed two arrangements onto the platform from the stone cabinet.
As she bends to smell the flowers, she accidentally brushes some petals off, sending them floating to the platform and moss covered stone walk.
Closing her eyes, she lets the essence take her back a dozen years to a young girl 
planting pink roses with her mother.
“There’s not a lot of room to plant,” her mother would say.  “Two inches of soil between all this stone is what we have to work with.”
She opens her eyes to find herself staring into the polished silver vase.
Her tired, smudged face reminds her it’s time to go home. 
Something different catches her eye in the polished looking glass.
Her long auburn hair is no longer neatly bundled under her cleaning bonnet, but held in place by a simple pink ribbon.

Randy Steele
July 25, 2011

"What Is She Thinking?" contest

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Bond And Find Yourself

Grasp the bonding freedom,
Captivate me in an everlasting wisdom,
Tickling our favorable endeavors 

Bond and find our way out of temptation 
Find yourself in this hovering world of lust 
Learn to trust this knowledge and find yourself 
In a bonding life

Grasp the bonding freedom,
Captivate me in an everlasting wisdom,
Tickling our favorable endeavors 

Find yourself
Without these favors in mind 
Bond the unseen knowledge
Plead that you'll not miss a single moment...make up a pledge: 
Flaws will try to prevail 
Don't give up...don't fail 

Bond yourself in this Wisdom 
And you'll know 
How to find'll be seeking more and more truth
That's not all you'll know...there's more in the future! 

Learn to trust this knowledge and find yourself 
In a bonding life

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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 Sea Blue Eyes II

There she is the false image standing quietly
She is just standing looking at a beautiful flower
She notices her passion of earthy desire
Something is happening she burst into the sun
I look up as her hands grasp my face
Her sea blue eyes gazed at me
Her warm hand and then a bright light blinded me
I went down on my knees and cried
The salty water dropped on to the ground 
I live by the ocean so deep
I do not know how to swim
By the thought of a beautiful look 
That made me shake
With fear in my head I saw those Sea Blue Eyes
I cannot restrain myself she burst into the sun
What is going on is it just the feeling of being left behind
She was a desire and now I have none
Driving nuts and insane what will I do
Believing such a image is a dream
I walk on the sand by the ocean with flowers in my hand
Raising it to the sky and trying my best to lure her
The image came close 
It pulled me into the ocean I was soaked
What a lonely human being I am
I grope the sky with such desire
I look pitiful and look anguished
What horrible feeling I have to pull the beauty that is nature down
The wind blew one day the image once more appeared
A young woman standing beside a flower with deep Sea Blue Eyes
Looked at me a glance of hope and happiness came
I reached for her and all of a sudden I fell into a deep sleep
Months past they had told me that I jump off a cliff 
They explained that the flower patch was by it
I realize heaven and earth cannot be reached with out a sacrifice
With meaningless thoughts I would wonder of to the cliff area
To see the ocean were it meets and ends
I was told a story long ago that the feelings of the ocean can seep into your soul
The trend of this story came shortly after some deaths
I was fooled the lady with the Sea Blue Eyes can manipulate anyone
Ladies and men, she is an illusion of the utmost desire
Blaming everyone human kind knowing they are lyres
The ghostly images that creeps everyone is oneself
Desire falls upon those who are lonely 
Believe of the unnatural becomes science
The Sea Blue Eyes is no lie cause they have been taking souls
Through century they have been taking souls for tolls
I stood once again near the ocean reaching to the sky
Lonely I was ready to disappear 
One day she not the lady of the sea it was the one I knew
I was blessed that day she embrace me 
I then fell into a slumber of bliss and desire
Now I just hear voices and I am paralyze down
A disappointment I was fooled once more by the Sea Blue Eyes 

To be continue.

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The Tale of Old Man Withers Gold part one

Three little boys
Went out on a adventure quest
To find the treasure of old man withers
At his place of final rest

In the forest of many lost souls
Is where the three boys would go
A dark and gloomy place
Especially to find some gold

Full of monsters and goblins’ 
Unknown I am told
That eats your body and even your bones
Right down to your soul alone, I am told

Knowing all of the risk
The three boys would still go
Cutting each of there hands
And sealing the deal in stone

The gear that they had got
Wasn’t considered a lot
Just three turkey ham sandwiches
Cajun style and that's Hot!!!

Eight bottles of water
And one rinky dink rope
The boys thought they were prepared
At least the boys they hoped

So they began walking to the forest
The forest of many lost souls
Down an old dirt road they went
One with many rocks and stones

On this dirt road
The oldest boy foretold
The stories of the forest
The forest of many lost souls

To prepare the other boys
Of what was expected to come
You could tell the look in there eyes
That they both were ready to run

But they both stayed
Because there was no way!!!
That a goblin who eats souls
Would get in the way of these boys gold

As they reached the forest
The Forest of many lost souls
There fingers began to chill
Warm blood turned to cold

They looked into the forest
The forest of many lost souls
Not noticing a single shadow
And especially no lost souls

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The Tale of Old Man Withers Gold part three, Conclusion

As the boys walked and walked
Through the forest of many lost souls
The boys began to feel they were lost
And would never find old man withers gold

But as the boys, were about to give up
The oldest had another feeling
And decided to look up
There he saw, what looked to be a cave
He told the other two, and they all shouted YaYYYY!!!!!

But this cave that he saw
In the forest of many lost souls
Didn’t seem to even contain
Any of Old man withers gold
Instead of precious gold
There lay a big pile of bones
Bones of little lost children
Children from there town back home

As the three boys noticed
That this was no treasure chest
The oldest boy realized
Head home would probably be best

But as they turned to head back home
The oldest boy heard
 A scary and vicious groan

So he looked into the darkness
To see what he could see
A big blackish wompass cat
With big ole shiny teeth

The three little boys 
That set out on a quest
Found themselves alone
Almost frightened to death

This wompass cat they saw
In forest of many lost souls
Was very big and very tall
I guess he ate all the souls

But these boys couldn't give up
As they didn’t do before
But they couldn't just outman this beast
For there strength was way to poor

As time was running out
For all the little boys
The oldest boy picked up
A stone that was on the floor
As he threw the stone
With all he had in store
To keep this wild and mangy beast
From getting all three boys souls

With this throw of the stone
Draw a quick blow to the head
There this mangy beast cat lay 
This wompass cat was dead 

As the boys started to leave
Towards there home they would head
The oldest boy noticed a light
Behind the cat that lay dead
This light was pretty gorgeous
A beauty often unseen
The boys took a closer look
The oldest said Cha Ching!!!!!

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No Matter What Happens

As I travel through this torn valley
I look around then I drop to my knees
Graping the blade that guides my me
I will always fight knowing that I can be happy
Cutting through the sorrow and torment
Until this moment I have wasted the time spent
Focusing on my future
Thinking of my past
As long as there is something worth fighting for
My bad memories leave me fast
I will never give up nor will I back away
Not at night, not at day
I will always have a purpose
No matter what happens...

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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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Upon A Pale White Horse

A man in his field,
Whose heart rumbles fast,
To fear he shall yield,
The echoes of his past,

Of a life he stole,
The innocence he killed,
Deep in his soul,
No longer concealed.

As a sound of thunder,
 Vibrates the ground,
He’s lost in wonder,
At this mysterious sound.

But as the thunder nears,
He knows its course,
Now a vision he hears,
That robed figure upon a pale white horse.

Flowing in the wind,
Is this vision of Death,
Who’s face bears no skin,
And breaths not a breath.

In it’s bony hand,
It wields a scythe,
This soul forever dammed,
Has come for a life.

Grasping a book,
That reads one name,
And the life he took,
Bearing the finger of blame.

It is Death who’s come,
For that lost soul,
It can’t be undone,
There is only one goal.

He tries to hide,
But cannot escape,
Though the fields are wide,
They match his fate,

Death now arrives,
At his final dwelling,
Watching the cries,
Of his silent yelling,

It takes the life,
Of a soul evil tainted,
With that razor scythe,
 Now maroon painted.

Upon the horse he’s tossed,
Without screams or kicks,
Now Death carries him off,
To the river of Styx.

So when thunder does fall,
With that figure you see,
Run or stand tall,
You still can’t flee.

In time it resides,
Feeling no remorse,
It is Death who rides,
Upon the pale white horse.

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Looking through this window
The gateway of life
One must be cunning
As sharp as a knife
To realize
Any choice made
Shall affect
Any plan laid
No matter how big
Or how small
Everything and anything seen, or performed
Will result in a rise or fall
Act fast, yet not foolish
Carefully plan
It takes good thought
To become a man
Use your skull
Not your back
Live longer you shall,
It is a proven fact
Windows are opening
Opportunity is at the doorstep
Chances are here for you to accept
Act quickly, yet not in stupidity
For this open window
Is not open forever

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Ralph Zimmer Acrostic Poetry

ralph my great poetic friend 
after the puff of smoke ends 
last man standing will be you, 
provider of poetic words so true 
having great thoughts, not blue! 
zimmer has a philosophical blend 
in his poetry he has started a trend, 
man of excellent Acrostic poetic flow 
ahhh, the reader smiles with a glow, 
even after closing his acrostic page 
one remembers his poetic great taste, 
friends his poetic words are very kind 
openness displays in his rhyming lines, 
every syllable count is very great 
he always write with amazing faith, 
riding the poetic highlights today 
He sits on the “Dock of the Bay!” 

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Final Fantasy

Follow me and I will follow you only to sacrifice and pledge my soul.
Now known only as one!
Soaring in the winds with rapid inspirations exploding one by one,
It is your final fantasy to live again!
Victim of suicide revealed by fate and conquered by the depths of love,
Life of life has just begun!
The warmest touch begs respect for the quality found deep within.
It is your final fantasy to finally begin!
Encouraged by beliefs to uphold the strength of one’s destiny,
Yet, embraced with one final and endless thought!
A kiss of pleasure obscures the kiss goodbye,
Accompanied with its warmth to pleasure your need!
It is your final fantasy to bow down for these borrows and trade.
Subtle with perfection you are as pure as a white dove.
Your desire is to never ever get lost with what you’ve caught.
Insensitive delights begin to dwell from deep within,
You burn and ache for a place to finalize where it is that you belong.
It is your final fantasy to conquer these steps in which you alone have made.
Sacrifice those objectives captured and held in your time!
Acknowledge your very own self with the quality known only by the depths inside of you!
Fly away with me, but only for a moment.
Embrace only that which enlightens the moment seized!
It is your final fantasy to touch and feel everything that you never knew.
Life is our mystery, yet we uphold its true value with our righteous dignity.
Harvest your life moment by moment,
Make it your very own prey for the little ones who never knew.
Gather the sensations and absorb life as you breathe in your every breath of air.
It is your final fantasy to indulge with the intrigued and explore all of these parts inside of 
Release yourself from the depths of love and find what it is that you truly seek.
Life of life has finally just begun!
Looking up and looking down but never looking all of the way around,
The loss of control is the loss that you will gain!
It is your final fantasy to whisper in the dark and to cry in plain sight.
Open minds with open hearts capture the true essence, for they completely belong!
Spirits fly and soar through life with so much energy powered with intensity’s strength.
They find the treasures you’ve always sought but have never found.
Your final fantasy is to escape your darkness and to find yourself inside of this beaming ray of 

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Working in a Factory of Words n Poetry Soup is the Hub

A hub stays put
But around it the wheel rolls
A hub only feels the weight of the load on the road
But the wheel rubs on the surface of it all

In mud, on dirt, on tar
The wheel is not afraid to roll for it fits within its purpose
The hub always stays put in the middle of the wheel
But with it everywhere it goes

Poetry soup is the hub
And around it like a wheel I’m gonna roll
Sometimes the surface maybe on a tarmac so smooth
Sometimes I may wade through mud so sticky and deep 
Sometimes I may leave so much dust rising on my trail
But an artist is all I am
A creature of emotions working shifts in the factory of words

Mine is just to pack
The emotions endeared to me in the wrappers of words
Each day different from the one gone past
Sometimes it’s heaven is on a roll
Sometimes it’s hell in a storm
But being the servant I am 
My position at the factory
Impels me to wrap it all in the assembly line of words

So please understand
Don’t blame the packer working shifts in the factory of words
Blame the company for producing all the sincere stuff

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Living on the Edge

“Wow, life”! 

Always in the proper order organized and determined to stay intact.
Step by step rules with regulations and all judged with such strict order.
And all of this is what’s focused on me?
My, My! What a revelation in front of me a definite soul searching moment indeed.
Walking the plank I can see death before my eyes and visions with just way too many lacks.
I step further in to grasp this concept presented so directly in front of me.
Ha! A life with nothing but clearly lots of undistinguished metaphors!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but it encourages the will in me to succeed!


Ruled by the throne of ethical, morals, and values,
Condensed all into one challenging the best of my integrity!
Step by step an opinion is drawn or the matter disregarded at hand, 
And all of this challenged by me!
My, My! What visions are in front of me a time to expect the unexpected my constant need! 
Playing Russian roulette with a loaded gun, firm and adamant I maintain all of my dignity.
Pushing further for results to stimulate an aura I capture a much higher demand!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but it examines these laws that strive so hard to be!

“Wow, life”! 

Expectations meant for perfection encourage the best of me over and over again.
Step by step blueprints are calculated, analyzed and specified by the finest details.
And all of this is what’s focused on me?
My, My! What examples are set before me a moment to test my own integrity!
Sink or swim? A desperate moment I recognize and exemplify as purely sublime.
Getting closer and closer to the seed itself the core is mine to unravel and reveal!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but it’s argumentative from all that I can see.


A yes or a no, but never a maybe and all before my time so it seems!
Step by step a path has been laid before me all engraved in gold or stone.
Most definitely a challenge for my authenticity!
My, my what a grip on me, a chance to acknowledge what it is that I believe?
Suffocated by these laws that be, I’m caught in the rapture of my finest dreams.
I step further in to grasp the concept presented so proudly before me,
A challenge I care to defy on the Royal Throne!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but I know what I believe and I truly believe in what’s in the best of me,
And that my friend is strictly my authenticity!

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A Witch Made Me Rich

I found a little witch,

Tied up in a ditch.

She was very surprise,

When I uncovered her eyes.

Looking up at the sky,

She let out a happy cry.

And began to talk,

As she picks up a rock,

She hands it to me -

Saying, "soon you'll be,

Very, very rich;

For saving a witch."

"I am very thrilled,

And over that hill,

Your fortune awaits you;

Much happiness too."

She thanked me that day,

Then was on her way.

I, indeed, became rich -

But never again saw the witch.

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My World

My world has always been a world of eternal dusk not so dark I could not see but not light enough to see more then a foot in front of me. There are other people in this world I can just barely see them. They are transparent just outlines of people when I watch them move it seems like the air around them is honey they move so slow. I have screamed at them them but they seem unable to hear or see me and I pass right through them If I reach for them. As the years have gone by I have grown to realize that they are not just outlines but I'm the one who is not fully here. This is how I have been living my life as an outline and as the years kept passing I found myself becoming less and less of what I was,slowly began to lose my mind. No longer trying to get people to see me or hear me I have been walking up and down the same road mumbling to myself for the past 10 years. But a week ago a light appeared just a dim light far off into the distance but a light none the less. I have been slowly drawn to this light ever since. It's still so far away but I have begone to hear a soft female voice calling to me. But I'm fading so fast I am trying with everything I have left to reach that light and find where the voice is coming from.

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Southern Lie or Quest

To the west, or is it south they see.
Nay not, the west is the journey forward.
Southern views, latent with melody,
Journey now to the south and onward,
Eyes of red described in fright by day.
Eyes of red seen by one, at dawns break.
One that muses about disheartened display.
Disguised by mind tricks upon a wake,
She looked into the eyes of red, no form.
Not awakened by any sound or storm,
Shall this entity develop from only mind?
Dragged unto the sweltering still gaze,
What dimensions will continue to unbind.
Shall the horror take hold as it plays?
My tale may be real or just a lie.
You will decide what you believe.
Southward she still gazes as to comply,
Or is it in hopes of a tempered reprieve.

Upon the next eve, another rendition appeared.
Movement this time gazing softly to see,
Closely watching, feeling nothing - nothing feared.
Darkness has not complied, yet to any degree.
Misty light lies solemnly, playing these lies.
Performing a destiny of beyond our despair,
She sits soberly, gazing without any cries.
I stand waiting, guarding the way; I stare.
What illusion glares, or is it becoming real.
To her and me out of complexity or faith,
What shall be the answer of this time surreal?
Shall it be that a prophecy has begun its wrath?
They say the Moth man brings about casualties.
Would we be seeing sudden future fatalities?

Our eyes and mind play tricks upon what we see.
You decide if what we saw was evil or just a guest.
That our minds so overtaken by mere history.
Or are we all to be set upon, by a mysterious quest.

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A Silver Fluidity, stronger than time Crystal shatters against me, in my prime I’m bulletproof, and echoes rebound Piercing ricochet’s, transmitting the sound I fell from Heaven, fast and strong Into a world, endangered by wrong I wasn’t a hero, just a moment of love A second chance for humanity, sent from above I’m a legend, a titan of Greek mythology The body of an Adonis, the dream of muscology I defend the greater good, and eliminate the hate My methods far from clean cut, they’re an ethical debate I was born Titanium, with a sword in hand I can manipulate thunder, with a wave of my hand I am Titanium, and the overlord is my enemy The creator of greed, money and the impecunious amenity

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Why me

Of  tall, handsome, rich one
Smart , brave who has it all,
Which every girl dreams of
Who will come on a horse galloping,
And take her along.
He & her both into their own little fairy tale,
Gone with the wind , happily with each other.
All beautiful, wonderful moments spent together.
Love conquers all.
But time being I had no such sweet dreams.
Then why me..??
Even though you were surrounded with all hot chicks ;
All fair and pretty.
Beauty, grace and of good race.
And of loads heavy bundles..
Telling you angel eyes,
You lucky man;have all.
All even those many choco-vanilla swirls,
But then why me?
Is it a game or something...?
Even a mistake.
May be even a bet,
Knowingly or unknowingly,
Want to or  you have to win.
Answer it.
Why all that pain,sorrow again?
Wasn't I happy with myself before?
I to never said no;
Love conquers..may be all....
even me.
But why me?
Why did you choose me?
Or is it a double take?
Like few others...I dont think so
then just going half way.. 
But  you had true feelings for me..
atleast this time for me which were true
Confess it !! will you?
Atleast once in front of me.
Was i attractive? polite?honest?bright?
Or do u have another  new story to tell?
Or is that I am filled with all values your mother needs. 
Then why did u go ? and now u want me to come back again..
No.. now m saying good bye to u now n forever
With my feelings for you  though being true.
But before going, answer 
Why me ?
Answer the truth,at least for once for me.

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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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simple suggestion

It’s a simple gesture that one can say
Hello how do you do how was your day
It’s a simple suggestion
Like my hand in yours
So tender on the touch every single pore
What is his hand? 
And where can I find 
It keeps my mind in motion the simple unknown
Un devoted
Just done
Life can be a single turn 
A single term
Its rhythm is firm 
From the grey seas 
To the green trees
And another late fee
Just a divided hand
That might suggest that we chose the wrong path
That maybe our world is colliding with a wall
And that hand might not be there to save us all 
For the meantime the wren keeps it afloat
With his peaceful remedy and his tranquil notes
One can see the irony 
Of this simple pass by 
The one time you see our flutters fly 
Is all past that 
The Chat 
For it is my hand that does the work 
The simple wave 
And the smile on the other end 
Maybe the one to constrict my hand later
Or make it even bigger
Or it’s the one that litters
And keeps me undeclared
Or uncaring
When we take to the wind
We foreshadow our sin
And here I stand still 
With our glares and our posture 
Carefully making sure his hand might find us one day

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Strive not for strife
But confront conflict on all fronts
When it strides past your ride
Dispense with all disputes
Spare not your fangs
When fear rears its ugly head:
When it rains; have a free cold bath
If sun shines, dry your clothes
At the reign of darkness
Find the inner light 
That lights your path undimmed
If the flood flows
Swim afloat on lifebuoy
And if fire rages and smoke rises
Expect the afterglow
When horde of odds assail like bandits
Never retreat, nor surrender
Turn around, turn aside, 
Never ever turn in nor turn back
Enjoy the war.

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The Tale of Old Man Withers Gold part two

The oldest stepped forth first
Across into the misty cold
The oldest was strong and brave
Very smart and very bold

As the two other boys followed
Into The forest of many lost souls
The boys couldn’t help but think
About what they would do with all of that gold

Walking real fast and completely UN aware
Something stood watching
With a dark and creepy stare
This thing that was watching
Was definitely not human
But the boys didn’t notice
So they just kept on cruisin

The three boys kept walking
Looking at nature and what not
But the oldest had a scary feeling
That something was watching from the tree top

As he gazed and looked around
No evidence was to be found
So this feeling he put aside
And continued his long stride

The oldest leading the pack
The other two didn't look back
As a creature behind them
Was steadily watching there back

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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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Interrupt This Message...

I've been hiding here for years
but you don't know my name
You call me something different
but to me it's just the same
I'm hungry all the time
though I don't eat and tell
I love that cream colored coating
now, you don't feel so well
I devour meat and fats
but I never feel full
I've seen the 'nodes of Ranvier'
with them I have some pull
While I devour fiber with no shame
let me interrupt this message

I've been hiding here for years
but to me it's just a game
You call "myelin, my meal
I was born to inflame
I like getting on your nerves
and there is nothing you can do
Though You'll keep on trying
you can't move when you want to
So make them stop all the research
I must continue to consume
for I mantain control
in this axon of a room
so while I pause to feed
Let me interrupt this message...

I'll continue hiding here for years
as you complain about fatigue
I don't care about your fears
I must fulfill my needs
While you suffer I only hope
they never come up with a cure
because that inventive medication
might make you who you were
You would be walking once again
and feeling really fine
M.S. would be defeated
then I'd run out of time
Oh no, you've taken something new
and you interrupt this message
interrupt this message...
interrupt this mess...

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Wrapped in a black satin sheet
Feel him breathing, lying next to me
Smile to myself........
The way he molded me into his masterpiece
My body like clay in his hands
His hands.....sculptures hands
Ruff, strong, pleasing hands
His eyes.....soft chocolate eyes
Looking at me with deep concentration
Held me pinned down
Took in every line and curve of me
I was afraid to breathe
His lips.....kisses that would melt ice
Wet, juicy, body humming kiss
Shaped me to his pleasure
Giving him all that I am
He captured my soul
My hearts beating next to his
Closing my eyes.....lost by my sculptor.

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ROSEMARY THYME was walking down the street when she CINNAMON CUMIN,  who's name
was SWEET BASIL.  He was from OREGANO.
She fell in love with him ALUM the way, PARSLEY because of his good looks.

But her POPPYSEED her...ANISE mad!!  Her sister GINGER tried to intervene, but 
was PEPPERED with retorts and a big family RHUBARB ensued.

SALT was rubbed into the wounds when her boyfriend, PUNKIN SPICE, joined in and
the fray MUSHROOMED.  He, too, wanted to be with her in wedded ONION. 

POPPYSEED to it that they couldn't.  Some NUTMEG also got involved to make things 

So, all four of them decided to elope...and  left on the SAGE for OREGANO.

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Rust In Peace

Abandoned and forgotten 
left to rust 
no longer valued 
no longer cherished 
not much to look at 
well, not anymore 
just a bunch of old nuts and bolts 
piled up on the floor 

Once so full of life 
a true sight to be seen 
oh… such strength, such power 
all polished and gleaming 

Intelligence unmatched 
I filled them with pride 
from entertainment to security 
I was there to provide 

Paid the bills, did their taxes 
walked the dog, washed the cars 
I could calculate the distance 
from here on earth to mars 

School work and parties 
played games, performed plays 
full of laughter and fun 
oh…those were the days 

But nothing last forever 
or so that’s what they say 
nothing but maybe memories 
and even they will eventually fade 

So as the minutes turned to months 
then on to years 
it all seemed so fast 
like the spinning of gears 

Seasons changed 
as time too quickly ticked by 
my family they grew older 
and then eventually all died 
moving on to a place 
I’m never to follow 
not just buried in the ground 
but somewhere more hallowed 

And here I am left 
all by myself, completely alone 
in a quiet too quiet 
as darkness descends 
no one around to wind me 
power wound down long ago 
here I sit and stare blankly 
with not a soul…not a sound 

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In grey

As I stood in the doorway,
I thought my life a blissful grey.

All the feelings I possessed
dangling on display.

Gathered in one sentence
held tender in my hand.

I need a lover
a man.

Table was grey
waiter taking pay
Flowers were so pink
I could not think.

I just sood there
the music in my eyes,
No words to say
no lies.

To see if he would hold me
or flee.

To confess his love
or me mine
a time
in total grey.

R. Risley

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Gunfight in a Frontier Town

Chic Waco was the marshal of our little town.
   Stood near six-two and usually sported a frown.
Never said a lot but what he said, was said mighty clear.
    Most likely if he was talking to you, it was something you wasn't wanting to hear.
Chic was a mighty good marshal and did his job the best he could,
    There were those that gave him problems and he'd let them know just where 
they stood.
This one good for nothing family were as ornery as could be.
    When they got to drinking they'd threaten anybody they would see.
That's when Waco usually always earned his keep.
    Most times them boys didn't want to go quietly, so Waco would just rap them 
on the head, and pile them in a heap.
Them Trusdale boys packed an awful fierce grudge and just wouldn't let it lie.
    When they got sobered up they said reckon that marshals just gonna have to 
Well they thought and they planned for about a month and a half.
    Then the youngest got caught stealing a Circle D calf.
He was brought to town and sentenced to hang.
    Word got out ain't no Trusdale, what would ever swing.
They said marshal if you try to hang our little brother Jack.
    You just painted a bulls eye on the middle of your back.
Well that didn't set well at all with Waco and he told em flat out don't be a 
threatening me.
   If your wantin gunplay just whip em on out, then we'll all get to see.
Chic said Trusdales I'm calling your bluff.
    He said you're backshootin, yellowbellys, and you ain't got the stuff.
Bout that time the oldest I think they called him Will.
    Reached for his iron with intent to kill.
Waco saw him reach and he shot him dead.
    Then he felt the bullet that was fired by Will's brother Red.
It didn't do much damage it was fired in haste.
 Then Waco pointed at Red and let him have a taste.
The only brother left was a shaking like a dog.
   Waco looked at him and said scat on out a here before I unleash this hog.
Little brother Jack they hung him out back.
    The one that ran somebody found dead , snakebit outside their old shack.
Reckon that the moral of this story is don't mess with Chic Waco
    Reckon them Trusdales hadn't heard in Chics younger days he was known as 
Kid Wacko!

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Winter Nocturne Dream

                                                           On this winter's night
                                                         beneath sallow skylight
                                                       amidst prismic snow mist
                               wading snow banks that sank like shallow quicksand
                                                     beneath it deadened land
                                Falling snow gleaning grows taller than my height
                    stretching into snowfields,glowing bright as summer daylight

                                           Yearning winter days photographed
                                              when snow painted cedars cast
                                       black shadows against incandescent snow
                Timidly crossing glassen iced paths over frozen flowered meadows
                                       snowflakes falling like flower tree pedals
                                        windblown snow crystals pelt and prickle
                                                    Apparition whirlwinds whisper 
                                            glowing snow dust stirs and glisters
                                                   shattering ice crystals melting
                                                     glimmering streams pelting 
                                            celebrative seasonal window scenes
                                                reflect and filter pearl moonbeams
                                          through this winter's placid past is seen
                                                        winter nocturne dream

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Many roads I travel end on one
Walking at night I can't stand the sun
The sound of shaking leaves
The crying of old trees
I enjoy the woods, it's my place of peace
I hear something different
So I stand still and freeze
Listening closely the noise is a cry
The power of the forest tells me to fly
Getting closer I begin to fall
I don't know whats ahead, but I risk it all
As I land all that I can see
Is a girl wanting to be with me
I pick her up and wipe her tears
Using my powers I destroy her fears
I kiss her lips as she kisses mine
I tell her things will be just fine
Stay with me forever and ever
We will be happy living together...

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Dreams in slow motion,
Dancing in the lead;
Have you lost control...
Of the long planted seed?
Growing out of refuge...
The flowers in your mind;
Will you draw me a picture...
Of all that is undefined?

Draw them curtained;
Masked in the finest drape,
For reality needs not...
To find an escape;
But to see truth...
Behind these wall flowers;
Reveal to us...
The power of all powers...

For dreams bare nothing,
But hopes unknown;
While man seeks greatness,
To be written in stone.
In a day of souls for sale,
May you dream me perfection?
I have not a single hope,
Scaled in every direction...

Please rest young dreamer,
For we are all the same...
Tied to a faction,
Behind dreams that never came.
For your drawings mean nothing;
When we're all blind...
A sad proclamation...
But it's how we're designed.

This is but a moment,
In the poor dreamer's brain.
So don't forget the ending,
As we're inching down the drain.
Draw me a picture... 
Telling our future's tale;
And he threw me a dollar,
Screaming our future's for sale...

Before I knew it he’d left;
Running away screaming in his depart.
Who would’ve thought...
That a dreamer’s dreams could tear ‘em apart?
Beep... Beep... Beep...
And my eyes, I’ve just opened...
Shutting off the stupid alarm clock,
Realizing the dream that just happened...

The reality of it all...
Trying to put two and two together;
An idea by which to relate,
And changed my mind forever...
That we could all be dreamers,
Caught up in our own dream;
Subject to our curtains,
But never as we seem.

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One Last Kiss

The words you speak sound hollow to my ears.
She  left me  long befor  she ever said goodbye.
you can  never  own a person  love is but a illusion.

A well hidden snake so very cold to the touch.
Hate turns and drives  this muscle in my chest.
I will not allow your games to decive  me any longer.

Will you welcome  the cold grip around your throat.
In beliving you are all knowing will you make 
the most simple of mistake?

You can not be the player when it is you that is a pawn.
In deaths grip when at last you see all for what
it is.

Love is a wepon.
I was a thought to be victim.
But even in a moment as traggic as this.
As you fade I'll give you one last kiss.

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Finishing End

why this question?
why this need to question?
why this need to write about the need to question?

How much of what I do, directly results in what gets done. And how much of what 
I do actually becomes the impediment in what I desire to get done ? 
Does every event have an individuality of it's own ? Like you and I have. Or is 
every event, every eventuality, a potential, a probability ? And then are you and I 
also a probability, a potential ? So I if I want to get something done, how many 
other events must come into synch before the event becomes a percievable 
reality ? Even an event like my striking a match must rely on the match being 
made, the box being made, the process of the match and the box coming to my 
hand, and the moment that I actually strike the match against the box. How many 
events must have to be created for me to have chosen that moment. This would 
go back to the 'chance' of the creation of 'fire' and to the very birth of the Universe.

So here is the question. If so many innumerable events must have come 
together, to give me the choice of striking the match against the box, surely it is 
just my ego that tells me that the 'end result' of all those events was my striking 
the match against the box. I am obviously just part of the immense, continous 
and infinite chain of interrelated events that never ends. My choice, if it ever was 
that, is just part of that matrix. Not anything I do, or claim to have done, is the end 
result. And therefore, why do I consider myself an individual, if I am merely a cog 
in the wheel of the infinite matrix of the events, and nothing that I do is the 'end 

"The journey is the destination"

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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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New hope carried my soul through summer travels
its timing good karmic irony ,found in ancient parables 
I've dared myself to exceed my expectations
I've survived with new creations
displayed on the walls of art galleries 
in towns I'll never see

sometimes wisdom must resolve indecision
No desire no vision
gave myself permission 
never to keep my distnce from success

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Incredible Tale

Halloween night 
A few years ago
As dusk fell
It was blowing with snow

Billy Burke a young boy aged eight
Stayed after school until it was late
Helping teacher clear the party debris
When they left school they could hardly see

Teacher wanted to give Billy a ride
But brave little Billy politely declined
I'm taking the short cut thru the woods
And as he set out he drew up his hood

The wind howled and the air cold
As Billy struggled up another knoll
The trees were bare glistening with frost
Then Billy realized he was hopelessly lost

He should have seen his home by now
But all he saw was a broken down plow
Left in a clearing by a farmer years ago
Rusty and useless now covered with snow

Billy trudged on with beginnings of fright
But as he topped a rise a welcoming sight
The old Colby mansion but what was that din
Music and laughter he heard from within

The mansion had been abandoned for years
But not empty now he could tell by his ears
Billy drew closer light spilled on the snow
Thru the open door he stepped out of the cold

A Halloween costume party he saw at a glance
And by a blazing fireplace took up a stance
Carved out pumpkins had candles inside
These lit the room and the hallway besides

Billy saw monsters and a witch on a broom
His eyes opened wide as she flew about the room
How did she do that he wanted to know
But the guests only laughed in the fire's glow

They played games and ate party food
Then Billy hid a yawn he didn't want to be rude
He was bundled in his coat and sent on his way
But Billy protested he wanted to stay

However in a flash he was on the outside
The witch guest acting as guide
She led him back through the trees
Took him up on her broom when he said please

Billy looked down on the houses below
As they flew around town high above the snow
The storm had passed and they saw the moon
He was set down by his home and she flew off in the gloom

Billy went back to the mansion the next day at dawn
Imagine his surprise everything was gone
Dust thickly covered the furniture in the room
But in a cobwebbed corner he found the witch's broom

He remembered the witch goblins and ghosts
And the Count Dracula who acted as host
The dust in the mansion lay undisturbed on the wood
Except by the fireplace where Billy had stood

No one believed the story he told
Of Halloween night being lost in the cold
He stuck by his story they didn't know why
But you and I both know Billy wouldn't lie

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Is someday here?

I guess maybe someday is here.
   The day we all dread and some of us fear.
Isn’t it funny how sudden it came.
   You know the end, the end of the game.
We live as if tomorrow will never appear.
   Think again, I think tomorrow is already here.
Where did all the time really go.
   It’s just gone, that’s all I know.
A blink of an eye, a soft spoken sigh. 
   Wouldn’t it have been nice, had we just said goodbye.
But now it’s too late.
   You see time just won’t wait.
So if you’re still reading this. 
   It wouldn’t hurt to give your loved ones a kiss.
Think about it you just never know.
   Something we all must do, somewhere we all must go. 

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The fish in the pond

I’ve been living in this pond for quite some time, I don’t jump at the first bait.
I may nibble around the edges but I know the hook is my fate.
I swim around creating ripples, maybe change shall meet this pond.
I can’t think much of the outside world, of this pond I’m fond.

I go down deep when it gets cold, there’s safety in the deep.
How do you feel when the climb was rough but then you stand upon the peak?
My world seems rather small perhaps you all are right.
But in the safety of the deep, it’s like the darkest night.

Every once in a while I start to think about what is outside.
Then I remember, too many rules that I cannot abide.
Still it would be nice to leave this pond and maybe see a stream.
I’ve only seen it in photographs it seems much like a dream.

After all I’m not unhappy this is where I make my home.
But once in a while I wonder, that’s when my spirit starts to roam.
The pond becomes what I know so I stay inside the lines
Still my eyes are open and hope for any signs…

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Don't Tell

A cold drop of rainwater fell on my eye,
          Awakening me from a deep sleep;
I felt queer:
              "Hope my freckles haven't faded,
For summer's come and gone;
                     Today is cleaning day...
                   I turned on John Mellencamp,
And washed my walls which
                       Were painted antique white;
After rearranging my furniture,
             I placed on my brass bed, a new
Ensemble of white satin ~ oh, so gentle;
   "I really hope my freckles haven't faded,
For summer has come and gone;"
        I carefully washed my window till it...
Then stood for a long while;
        I removed my oversized flannel shirt,
and felt the sun's warmth on my breasts;
"Perhaps my freckles faded but little;"
Upon buttoning my shirt, I hung exquisite
              White satin curtains that brushed
                                       The floor;
Candles of violet, light blue and white
Were placed randomly throughout,
Just prior to polishing the sturdy oak floor;
       Finishing touch...a crystal chandelier...
Heroic...Hanging from my ceiling...
          I stood in admiration...observing the 
Magical sun dancing in hues of red, violet
                                 And blue;
As I showered, the warm water enchanted
My slender soul;
             Never before had I felt so peaceful;
As I slowly massaged my thighs with
     Vanilla cream, I observed that freckles 
Yet coveted my nose...bosom...legs...
    Summer embraced my waist and softly
          Whispered the secret into my ear...
I proceeded downstairs, poured a glass
                 Of wine, then...

              I politely asked my lover to leave.

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Suspension of Disbelief

He tasted the forbidden fruit,
          And accepted the tempest into the bows-
                      Of his soul ~
          Submission under the violet sky ~
Amidst the shadows;
          Secret desires satisfied,
Ardently drinking of the deep, red wine,
          Arousing her with his words in-
A garden where logic carries-
                      No weight ~
          Submerged within the sweat beads of-
The hour;
          Malignant was her power ~
Lost in her seduction...higher...higher...
          Fearing the lines on her hand ~
He was reborn with her music ~
          Horse-drawn chariots of fire ~
Embraced by the fervor of the moment ~
          Willing to move Heaven and Earth-
                     Her absence offered no serenity,
For her fragrance lingered-
                       Until presence was regained,
Abiding inside her green woods ~
                                Thunder under passion's-
Sultry blanket...
                            Venomous ~

She stealthily slid her delicate hand...


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Tax Time Blues

I am all confused about income tax credits 
Now you ask about something called debits? 
This is really driving me insane with a pain. 
Do I get interest at all for capital gains? 
What can I tell you about common stocks? 
Now liabilities and stockholder’s lock box, 
Is this really a case of stretching my brain? 
All this taxes take our money with no gain. 
Balance sheet increase, this just sounds crazy 
Income statement and loss, this is so hazy! 
It feels like my eyes are just filled with grain. 
Thank you the day is done and it was no fun 
Look at this accounting spreadsheet again? 
Help me lord, now I know I’m going insane! 

Comments:  This is a free verse narrative poem.  I had intended to make it a 
sonnet on taxation.  It was written during an income tax accounting class.  Input 
was received from several students.  Some thought it was really funny, and 
others thought it was very serious. It was read by the professor the week before 
finals and was very motivational.

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By wine besotted

While sitting back and listening
to my confreres in their conversation
a glass of wine – red and quite strong
with Tuscany’s best Brunello as a brand,
gives that taste so good; a fodder.

  Its spirit makes me reinvigorated
  as I think about relationships; 
  be they human or in a different context
  generates that appetite to communication.

Served as a conventional version
in any gathering or a meal, for example,
wine is indispensable, inevitable –
especially for the Italian people.

  Uncalled and strange to my culture
  having a wine on the table
  makes my Asianness wonder
  that truly this is wonderful!

It’s a beautiful experience I tell you,
a relaxing moment with a glass of wine
itts goodness and meaning to celebration;
adds glitter and joy to every person.

  With an inspiring mood it unfolds,
  spontaneity like in music with rhythmic vitality,
  with benchmark sentiments and robust sound
  wine’s spirit in general makes me speak up
  and interiorize certain reflections about human life.

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The End of My Nightmare

The dark took from the space I lived
And it buried me deep inside
But I struggled within my own soul
Leaving my heart and mind behind

I saw an open space where I crawled under
I could see a stream of light shining through
But the more further I reached there, it was getting harder
And I was stucked in the middle of the truth

I cried for help without my voice screaming
I tried to reached my hands forward to freedom
The world was spinning in my head
I decided I would have to stay here a little longer

Angels surrounded me when times I am in fear
And I seized all that pain away
Follow all my unfulfilling footsteps
I would never get lost in the way

And so I found the light again
It was becomeing large as I move closer
The dark faded as I went to open the door
And there was when I realised it's over

In the end of my nightmare
I struggled upon my very feet
Trying to stand with my mind broken
I won't wait till I bleed

At the end of this nightmare
I opened my arms wide in the light under the sun
And I stare into the blue sky which i had longing to see
Open my eyes to the clouds moving east
I saw the birds flying over me
And the nightmare I fought through
And in the end of my nightmare
I had finally found the hidden truth

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Break-in Upper as Thought

The cat disrupt her thinkable moments, by 
      attention thou needed.  She took the torso

and kept it hold from the breast by  
      all used ways, and kept her stand for 
apart the opening window, in somnolent   
       in love instant glaceing is helplessness                                                                         
in nightfall terrain moonily lasts sky, 
     standing for in deeds’ anxious sudden flow 
up fictions points then’ sinew not really   
      she moved away from the window                                                                                
Then! — put-down above rugs in blue  
        as faithful cat roommate, busing in breach

And ratified herself, at  joined her kitchen 
                     Baking feed.  
Now by! Blank went, her young mind 
And freed from images, in stages love —        
      In head a new channel, while, the nowadays.


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My true foe

Not to much longer now. I can now hear his screams of anger. Each day he grows in strength, each day another chain or lock is broken. My one and only foe will soon be free and my last battle will begin. I can't say who will win because we are one and the same my foe and I. Any day now it will begin

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So unappreciated, abandoned and unglossy 
you seem among other ordinary chairs  
with a less classical and unadorned design, perhaps
in the famous style of Queen Ann...
but silence can't reveal much, distrustful and sad friend;
then...start to talk about your history!

How many solitary and unhappy folks 
have relaxed in comfort while they lay into it gently, 
fearing to make those feeble legs crack;
and being one of them I must apply
the minimal tension deriving from these manly arms that
allow the blood to flow from my elbows.

I'm waiting for a reply to ignite this imagination,
but your stubbornness grows much impatience
in me, to force you to speak with me and clarify my confusion;
if this small house, so vibrant with sunlight, isn't your favorite place,
would you mind telling me where you would rather be...
possibly in the halls of a medieval castle, where you'll hide in obscurity?

Don't wallow in bitterness, begin talking to me;
what will benefit you to hide yourself under the cloak of mystery?
Not telling anyone of the greatness you've seen,
not feeling the touch of human hands...letting in the sun's sheen?
I'm very curious of how they treated you within those thick and dark walls,
have they ever protected you from the invaders blistering cannon's rounds? 

Before I stand up and desert you with disappointment,
I should honor you with an ampler and kinder compliment:
you've never attempted to stop me from dreaming, 
from seeing, through my fantasy, all the places you have been;
and now won't you talk to me and finally unfold that secret without hesitating,
because silence can't reveal much...when misery won't allow you to speak!  

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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The Fantastic Voyage

Living on the edge was a suicide way before my time!
A soul spread wide open with a spirit that truly believes.
Walking on water and backwards with life that glares over the sunshine!
The fantastic voyage rides the high and almighty waves of the greatest seas.
A voyage to never-never land right where I know I will always want to be.
True uninhibited expression is my addiction all within myself.
A soul climaxing in the exhibition of capturing all of the free empty space!
Walking the planks with the thrill of excitement from what’s consumed as it’s felt,
The fantastic voyage is aimed straight for that perfect little happy place.
My voyage to never-never land is where I know I will always want to stay.
Unpredictable with such balance is my mystery out there all on its own.
My soul opens and wills me to explore the depths of all that is real or such.
Walking the tight rope and looking down with my talent so proudly shown.
The fantastic voyage is never enough but is always over by too much.
My voyage to never-never land is where I know I will always want to feel what I touch.
Deep within the depths of all the deepness is where my connection is found.
A vibrant soul with brilliance magnified by a common need that has just got to give!
Walking narrow ledges with confidence and truly the one that has got to be proud!
The fantastic voyage gained my moments in time that I can say were actually lived.
My voyage to never-never land is where I will surrender standing on top of my deadly ground!

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A Narrowed Soul

Tonight I grow tired of keeping the secrets that were spark within my visions.  I 
must tell someone of what I saw and how the end came to be.  From the 
beginning we never understood how the human spirit came to be and the 
common thread of existence that bounds us like a string of beads waiting to go 
around the infinite loop of our universe.  Changes have come and gone and yet 
my memories do not change.  I saw the beginning and I saw the end but yet I 
live.  Why?  I remember seeing so many things.  I felt the fabric of everyone I ever 
knew intertwined within my every breath.   It was like we were machines.  As they 
say we were someone’s eyes and ears to a world that was going to end.  We 
collected as much data as we could before the end.  I am not sure if they know 
how much data I retained from these ordeals.  And maybe they know exactly and I 
am here because of it still.  But why?  I was taken through worlds that made no 
sense.  Worlds that were chaotic with no remorse.  I feared what I saw and 
asked my almighty GOD to help me overcome.  My children how I love them so.  
My daughter she was with me in my journey.  She is my life and what I believe 
has helped me make sense of everything that has and is happening.  Where am 
I?  Is this my world?  Is this the world that has become or just another vision.  
Someone’s idea of living.  Who would do this to a man?  I lost every connection 
to my existence, who I thought were my friends and family were only decoys of 
someone’s sentence.  Why? What do they hope to gain?  Am I lost in my mind?  
Is what I thought to be my reality a dream or a memory, am I blind.  Once I 
remember what it felt like to live with no fear.  To know that tomorrow you will get 
up and everything would be as it was and still here.  Unchanged and forgiving.  
How these things have change me!  How these things have narrowed my loving 
soul.  But I still hold the greatest love for my GOD.  If it wasn't’t for his helping 
hand reaching down and pulling me from the depths of the great beyond, I would 
have never been able to tell you this story.  We need to love life once again.  We 
need to go back to the basics my friend.  Is it too late?  Has the human race 
dwindled to the point that we must visit our past to fix our future?  The messages 
are clear, listen closely and you will hear.  Look even closer and you will see that 
we must never lose site of what it means to live.  This babble means nothing to 
who ever reads it but for tonight it will help me sleep.  Good night.

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Me and Him

We can't share this body any longer Him and Me.He is killing me and draining me of my strength.He is a weak and pathetic excuse for a person. Oh how I despise him He is always crying and Constantly trying to kill us both. He has even come close a couple times it was my strength that brought us back! Oh how he makes my blood boil. I want him gone, I want to kill him! But he runs and hides from the light and has survived everything I have thrown at him. His only good quilty is that He just wont die. He is nothing but a cockroach and I want him GONE!

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It only takes

It only takes three words to make someone happy
It only takes one action to show that you care
It only takes one second for something to become different
It only takes a lifetime to do what our parents didn't
It only takes one cry to make someone listen
It only takes one person to makes dreams glisten
It only takes one thought to creat imagination
It only took me until now to realize where my place is
Travelling with you to foreign, wonderous places.

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A Vampire is kissing my neck..YECH!!

It was a quarter past one in the morning
as the echoes of last night quickly went calling
My bedroom window is open for a crack
I felt something crawl up my back
It was a creature of the night looking for a pinch
to drain my body of blood,for was a cinch
Mr.Dracula was looking for a vain
to satisfy the lust before daylight comes out again
Unable to move
nore blink both my eye
Transylvanians have this need to make the victim die
His teeth was razor sharp but the breath needed Dentine
However,I was surely paralyzed,these arms couldn't do a thing
He began to suck
my life's time ran out of luck
Now I am ONE of many devoted LEGION
Watch out for Mr.Bart Jonas,before he wings his way toward your region

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Sitting by the fire

I went over to a friend’s house to sit by a fire.
The heat penetrates, quenching my desire.
I watch as the flames grow strong and true,
They are much like the fire that burns inside you.

I stand for a while but it gets rather hot.
I drift to a dream; I’m on a mountain top.
I look down and see a miniature world below.
The more I learn, the more I want to know.

I sit down beside it, It crackles and pops.
As the ambers grow hotter it simple just stops.
I watch as the flames devour all the wood.
The heat they provide feels so good.

We have a drink and start to chat.
There is no other place I would rather be at.
I feel this peace grow inside of my heart.
I just want to stay and never depart.

My eyes grow heavy and it’s time to go.
The peace within me continues to grow.
I don’t know of tomorrow, or what it shall show,
I’m just happy today, of this I do know…

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Wedded to the past

The iconography of childhood gives more vivid memories,
like an inward looking that draws to depth and human connections;
those relationships with family members, friends, and relations
the best of times and known to be the memorable years gone by.

To stir the pot and get myself riled up about human depth –
in many areas of concern and struggles to cope with life,
a culture of love gets developed and rolls through the years;
a dependable compass, an anchor that assures great strength.

It’s the habit of my mind and heart that keeps me growing
immersing constantly in the ordinariness of my routines;
form certain messages that shape my choices and decisions;
elsewhere in the context that brings me to embrace what life really is.

Perhaps it’s good to connect the wisdom of the past to present situation;
there’s complimentarity of actions with vision and interior inspiration
yes, with sense of connection and willingness to proclamation;
God, indeed, makes the experience worth thinking and sharing.

The crucible of commitment to the values of God’s kingdom,
reflects my interior disposition to enhance them through actions;
with endless thinking, meditating and ruminating the Sacred Scriptures,
can crown the heart that speaks volumes about dedication to my vocation.

There’s still the umbilical cord of my calling since childhood,
the ‘yes’ to God, the source and author of my priestly life;
with a great deal about ‘how I live and live out of my love,
like a climate change, a moral wavelength wedded to my calling.

Truly, it’s a never ending affair with God in many contexts,
amid the advancing forces of secularism and modernity;
not an easy world to live with; a real challenge with strident voices,
with so many meanings and understandings as life unfolds.

To find the language which describes mobility in my spirituality,
a point in time which braces for my daily encounter with God;
his mysterious signs and wonders that make me walk with him,
in worship and service to Jesus Christ, the Good Shepherd.

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My summer vacation

I made something beautiful
come out of the ground
painted vibrations and made
beautiful sounds
imagined shapes and colors
that delight the eyes
and planted them in a garden
and surrounded them with various skies
Spoke as God painted 
creation on the scroll
words that were silent
and beautiful to behold
words not said but sung
describing to the unseeing 
what God has done
Glorifying is the meaning
of plants posing and voices singing
of forces molding and chemicals
bringing into being 
other things with feelings

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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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The feel of Love

It is there I sat here all alone.
As I think of a woman not here in my arms.
There my love lingers in blues.
As I fill the emptiness of my soul down deep.
It's there my heart longs for love.
As I miss a woman’s love.
It is years that has past since I have felt pure love.
But even more I have never had a first love.
But there I long to be near one to hold.
As I feel I have became a nun with no one to love.
As it is that I am getting none makes me feel alone.
Not having one to touch and show my true heart.
It is there my soul cries for someone to love.
As I think of my pain of not having you here.
It is there it drives me crazy out my mind.
Just thinking of the moments we could share.
As I think of your curves and beauty you portray.
It's there I would love you for hours in the day.
As you would have the best of even foreplay. 
That when the time came, you would be wet with excite.
Not just your juices from inside but the sweat that would fall.
As I would taste each flavor all the way to your inner wall.
As the both of us would find a passion of love from inside.
But most of all, we would love of the heart and soul.
As you would know the way you make me feel.
Just by my action and the words I say.
You would know you are love by a true man.
Only to show the same in return.
But there you would feel like never before.
Because I would love you all the way to the floor.
But you would have tingles you could not explain.
Just because it's me there next to you loving in many ways.
It's there I give you my heart forever in life.
If ever that day comes and I make you my wife.
I promise to always fill you with the love and joy in life.
And never forsaking the one I would like to be with for life.
But knowing it is your beauty that I strive each day.
As my heart beats for only you, I dream of the day. 

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Beautiful Feelings

Plenty of flowers to the sight 
Green grass to rest aside 
One butterfly hovering in pride 
Which flower will be right? 
The flowers in a stooping posture like 
All up to the butterfly’s choice 
Well, the flowers are in a plight    

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Fountain of youth.

People has been looking for the fountain, 
Of youth since the beginning of time. 

With all the clues and guessing answers.
Just puddles of waters and a waste of many lives. 

It was written in a riddle That no one cared to find. 
Then the old riddle was framed for many years unfound.

The riddle said it was in a cave two miles down. 
Once they found the spot the cave was covered with rock.
But in the riddle the cave only opens at 3:00  

We waited till three then the cave open remarkably 
It was pitch dark black we lit lanterns to see where we were at. 

Finely they can see water and see light the mushrooms and flowers 
Were all great delights.

The old man wizard ask how old she was. 
42 se said. Take off your cloths and walked through the falls. 
To he surprised her answered and love has jus been called. 

She called down to her husband To walk through the falls.
He refused to Walk through he rather be old after all.
She did this all for him now she realize.
He blew his life for another woman.

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The Sharks and the Baracudas

One calm summer night
I visited the city aquarium and
I noticed the sharks and the barracudas
Playing a lovely game of tennis
Yeah, the sharks and
The Barracudas are just
Sitting around eating
Strawberries and drinking tea
How could this be?
The great white shark called out, "the surf is up!" and
The speedy barracuda replied, "fifteen luv!"
How could this be?
Suddenly, the sharks and the barracudas
Noticed me standing there, and
Standing on the other side
Well, they all agreed,
If you want to learn how to swim with
The sharks and the barracudas,
First, you must learn how to play the game!

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Poetry Magic

Busy thoughts,
create an art,
one of words,
from an inspired heart.

Many understand,
although some never will,
the magic,
ones pen can reveal.

True is an artist,
with unstilled mind,
capturing moments,
stilled in time.

The birth of poetry,
all begins here,
the canvas is waiting,
a masterpiece is near.

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Where the leaves go

I look out and wonder where the leaves go
Not those that are raked, the ones the wind blows.
Into the forest to die in dark decay
Providing the soil for the new leaves in May.

I watch as they fall from out of the tree.
For one brief moment they float down free.
The wind picks up and I hear a rustling sound,
Suddenly there are no leaves to be found.

Haunting shadows from lifeless trees,
The coming of winter and its cold freeze.
Soon they will sparkle when covered in snow.
Living but sleeping as the howling wind blows.

As autumn is ending I dream of spring,
The return to life and the green leaves it brings.
So much beauty that the birds have to sing,
Where the leaves go is like a renewal thing…

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Timeline as a chapter opener

How time flies quickly!
especially when one is having fun.
This famous line for the Americans,
shows the truth, indeed, a verisimilitude.

As a happy note to share
there's hope that makes a difference.
Seeing the world in a grain of sand,
can assured the mystery of humankind.

Chronicled and hidden in everyone's heart
aspirations and dreams that await to come;
They really imply a total renewal,
To embrace the challenge
with depth and significance.

We live in an age of competition
with great mobility and anticipation;
with our minds and hearts permeated with preoccupations,
a great deal to keep in tone.

With fears of every sort
With sentiments to unfold;
more experiences follow suit
Day-by-day for the struggles involved.

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Fairy Tale - Part 1

Raindrops on roses weren’t her thing. 
They were okay.

But patchouli and pine 
Curry and cloves 
Burnt orange dusks fading to midnight blue slumber 
Alto strings and reeds weaving symphonic tapestries in minor keys 
Woolen ponchos and leather boots and prairie skirts sewn from bandanas line 
dried for the hundredth time to soft perfection 
These were a few of her favorite things.

Depths of tone and texture 
Vast in richness 
Intriguing in complexity 
The labyrinth of wonder 
The land of the Prince.

He sought her out early in the season 
Just as the crocus bloomed 
In the exuberance that precedes 
Any need for discretion. 
Innocent, she held his hand 
Gladly following as he led her 
Spellbound though the sights and scents 
And sounds of sadistic nothings sweetly 
Whispered in her ear. 

So softly did he speak 
She didn’t notice when 
His voice replaced hers.

So slowly did he dim the lights 
She didn’t notice when 
The oranges turned umber 
The blues went slate.

So slightly did he turn the dials 
She didn’t notice when 
The harmony of the strings and reeds 
Changed to dull, discordant static.

So subtly did he administer his anesthesia 
She didn’t notice when 
The wool began to scratch, the leather tug 
The skirt tatter.

His seduction near completion 
Her will half a heartbeat from extinction 
With her next breath 
Her soul would be his.

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Intoxicating Eclipse

Let me know all your smells
I want to taste of them well.
Let me hold all your funk
and sweat with you.

An eclipse 
blending fire
melting ice
filling limbs heavy
with weight untold.
Hot flames flicker
flesh most ready
heaving writhing 
they meet
in a dark void.

And then,
as ashes smolder
they rest 
in awe
in sweat
in the intoxication
of an eclipse.

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Two Years Ago Today

Today I woke to your voice, on the answering machine
I pourd two cups of coffee, and read the morning paper
I wrote a little note, and placed it on the T.V. screen
Yelled out I love you, and that I would see you later

Your sister waved at me today, She still shows me that I'm Number one
So I just waved back to her, and went on with my day
On my desk sits your picture, where you were so happy and having fun
Down there at the lake, two years ago today

Talked to my momma today, told her that we're doing fine
She asked if we were coming home, on thanksgiving day
I told her you had to work, but I'd be there by nine
And that I probably could, spend a couple of days

Driving home I saw your sister again, I just waved and reved the engine
I think she really likes me, She's always waving I'm number one
Tonight I fixed you dinner, Made your favorite bite to eat
Then I done the dishes, so that you could rest your feet

I opened a letter in the mail today, as I read it the words made me cry
Then I realized that I was all alone, and that you finally went away
I just couldn't believe, that you would ever say doodbye
And that this all happened, two years ago today

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Escaping The Circle

Splendor in spin cycle...
No one escapes the circle;
For an odd man out... 
Rarely finds a way back in;
Life seems as though a blur,
When the circle’s in spin...

Render to the line...
That few have crossed;
A step ahead,
Leaves you left behind;
For we are all free here,
Found in what we find.

Sender with no return:
I sit abandoned;
The circle moves on...
As we lose touch...
Its lines have faded,
And with them our crutch.

Surrender to solitude,
There’s no turning back...
For we’ve found ourselves here,
In the front from behind.
There’s freedom in the rearview...
And thus an open mind.

For you see abandoned is found;
Where the circle is formed...
A world of one,
Taking until it drapes;
Soon a victim to your own borders...
Caught up in a circle, which no one escapes.

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The Power of Love

The power of love holds the battleground. 
Nuclear blasts from sea to sea. 
Wait and you will see!
Begging, kicking, and screaming:
Pleading, “Give it to me”!
Standing on God’s ground, defended by the armor and shield melting.

The power of love holds the mystery.
Things are never as they seem.
Do the means meet the extremes?
Where, how, when was I?
Wondering if it was only a dream? 
Standing on God’s ground, defeated by the lock that obtains that key.

The power of love carries the only prayer.
Time to come and be done.
Soon you will be the one.
Dead, black, despair:
Hoping, will someone hear?
Standing on God’s ground, lost in the dream in which you begun.

®Registered: 1998   Ann Rich

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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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On a dusty and narrow path dwarfed by the enormous
redwood trees, which have conquered all of the soft-blue sky;
I walk and I'm astonished by the tallest of them all! 
Winter has left and the snows begin to melt away, to invite a lovely butterfly
to perch on wildflowers like aspens and mountain daisies swaying at the foothill;
and right beyond them, granite cliffs gloriously shine like those
northern mountains' peaks dabbed with spring snow;
oh, yesterday they were invisible to the blinking eye!

I stroll underneath groves of sequoia and white fir, and see myself really small;
and these giant trees encircling me, will lament how they shiver when they're cold,
and sad when battered by the storm; how they'll strive for lack of space and sunlight,
but wildfires may cause destruction and leave this forest barren and arid! I fix my glance
upward, and I start spinning and whirling in the stylish manner of an experienced dancer,
and they spin along with me, in a soft crescendo, never falling down with an awkward thud!  
I continue walking and admiring the majestic view of a creation, too inspiring and sublime,
which was hidden from these very make their discovery more exciting and fun!

Who hasn't seen the redwood trees in my forest? Come along and satisfy your curiousity;
these trees have more stories to tell more than a victorious warrior galloping his horse away;
and for decades, they have seen greedy hands cut them down without regard or mercy...
depleting nature of its internal richness, and when it rains, floods corrode its terrain!
Imagine what the earth will become without any of these, adorning it with a variety of colors;
look closer, some of them are covered with thick lichen, others show a cinnamon, 
hard bark, so protect Nature with your best ability and be rewarded with amazing results!
A forest, which displays its wild and natural beauty, is a treasure like my redwood trees!    

Entered in Constance La France's contest, "A walk to remember" 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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The Legend of Jezebel


The harbor lights shine on a sea of ebony.
    That beckons come here, come here to me.
This strange impulse that commands my mind.
     Brings forth a longing to leave this world behind.

The sweet caress of the salty air.
    As I walk into the water totally unaware.
A hypnotic trance is what lured me here.
    And as I venture deeper where is the fear?

The splashing of the waves against my chest.
    Like it is trying to push me back, that it knows what is best.
As I gradually regain control of my mind.
    Twas a far better place I tried to leave behind.

I trudged my way back to the shore.
    And layed there in thought for an hour or more.
As I lay there thinking on what I had nearly done.
    I thanked the Lord for this victory I’d won.

What evil spirit got inside my head.
     That beckoned me, and wanted me dead.
It pulled me in and led me away.
     It was like a game, one I had to play.

There is a legend they say around these parts.
     Of a lonely girl with a broken heart.
That calls out some nights when the moon is right.
    And will lead you in to the briny night.

They said her name was Jezebel.
     And she could never rest for her souls in hell.
And upon this place she drowned that night.
     So if you are ever around come only in the light.

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As i read the last chapters of Isaih
in the hours middle of the night
i encountered them missing verses

they tell the story of Isaihs wife
tell of Isaih's journey to heaven
and his fight with pollynesians

a race of females who enslave
by use of technology and magic
they had taken over the gadgets

Solomonic devices used for communication
Isaih managed to defeat the pollynessians
and destroyed all the solomonic gadgets

Isaih gave up his spirit and was taken 
to heaven because heaven will need his
help again in the future 

the future when the solomonic devices rise
and the pollynessians try to gain dominion
once again through the technology

they hyponotise the user of the gadgets
the user becomes a worshiper of pleasure
and material wealth worshiper

that night am sure i read the missing chapters
the story is still very clearly in my mind
next day i searched for the chapters

to no avail and i wasn't sure any more
whether i had dreamt up
the whole thing

lewis nyaga

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This one's for louie

You got to love it, you know what it is!
you know i will, hey, it's me man!
how long have you known me? what else?
i just can't believe people!
they will lie to people, then lie for people,
who lie to other people, then get lied to by,
the people they lied for.
then cover their lie with yet another lie.
it's too the point anymore, that even they believe the lie's.
then what?
It's so bad when the high is more important, then the friend.
a man can never have too, many friends.
but one enemy is one too many.
It's so much better to walk in the sun,
then run for the dark, everytime you think you see someone,
you think you know.
If you like it dark, and love it hot, you're at the door.
he knows you're comming, years of knocking, knock once more.
then asked for louie!

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The Hurricane

The hurricane, so viscous, so violent!
Yes, it must rain.
This force is behind, 
This force beyond!
Yet, finally it came.
The winds, clever and dangerously rough,
Please measure this poll.
Dark clouds consume the heavenly skies, capturing ones soul.
With a love so hard, yet, a love much too cold!
Our world now spins, hopeless and out of control!
You are you and I am me,
Together, our climates capture and debate this Sea.
These winds are too strong, our sky so dark and dim.
Stricken with fear, too afraid to release what is deep within.
The storm is here, so grab onto your soul! 
Yet, beware! This one is fearless and this one we share.
Scream its name and it shall cry its love,
For it be you, far beyond the heavens above!
Hold your strength with a grip so tight,
That storm will surely break, so where’s your fight?
This hurricane can surely hold its own.
Our little world can and will be shown.
Our damage is as our damage does,
Surely this tiny world isn’t our just and only cause!
You hold that thought and forever we shall be,
True love bound and forbidden to set itself free,
Held within you and deep within me,
This love was meant forever, 
One day this you shall see!
This hurricane loves, yet, 
It wills to hate,
The forbidden fruit conquered by its very own fate.
Give your seeds, but stand your ground. 
Forever in this world!
For once we shall not be lost, but found.            

®Registered: Ann Rich 1997                                           

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Mi camma to America wid a passion for moni en fud,
hoppin to getta rich;
en de sai det gold is founda in striz!
Mi work en work ol dei
to meke sam dollar,
en mi eat pizza, en drink vino...
mi wanna be lika Al Pacino:
a famos attor ov Hollivud! 
En me veit too mani iers, to see butiful voman 
laika Marilin Monro...whata a fess!
Whata a bodi! A Diva so sexi!
En mi wanna be laika Valentino from Italia,
to sedus ol duh pritty ladi vid mi ciarma;
en ol kiss mi...O locki Casanova!  

English Translation:

I come to America with a passion for money and food,
hoping to get rich;
and they say that gold is found on streets!
I work and work all day
to make some dollar,
and I eat pizza and drink wine...
I would like to be like Al Pacino
a famous actor in Hollywood!
And I waited many years to see beautiful women
like Marilyn Monroe...what a face!
What a body! A Diva so sexy!
And I like to be like Valentino from Italy,
to seduce all the pretty ladies with my charm;
and they all kiss me...O lucky Casanova!!

Entered in Deborah's Gucci, " Dialects make the world go around "
(Brooklyn-Italian dialect)

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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In The Book Of My New Chapter

This is where I go
The land so far away
I found myself lost each time
Hanging to nothingeach day

In my dreams, I hide
In my mind, i cry
In my heart, i hope
For a better tomorrow in my life

And there opened a door
A Door only my eyes can see
Unblinded by illusions
The World I Saw Finally

There will be no ending to my life
When there is hopes each time I fell
In the book of my new chapter, i will write
A new story, a story of myself

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The ‘bar'

Places were information crowds ear.
Places were eyes sights situation.
In the ‘bar,’ mouths runs over tongues.
A mixture of false and facts.
A mixture of hot and cool.

Some stumble to the ‘bar’,
some rumbles in the ‘bar’,
coming home in gambles.
Ripples of life gambles.

In the ‘bar’, 
Mouths runs, tongues wag.
Eyes blinks, people blend.
The ‘bar’ full of nosy noses,
sniffing proceeds of mouth.
Injecting falsehood. 
Interjecting fact hood.

Over a bottle of beer, 
over catalogues of crises,
over settles of scuttles.
On courting of friends.

The ‘bar’, a difference of the ‘bench’.

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On a night in his thirtythird year, he knelt and prayed.
for he knew what was to come.
a man he loved would turn to greed.
he sold his life, and sealed his fate.
for the price of thirty pieces of gold.
they came like thieves in the night,
with ropes and swords drawn.
a mob of fear and hate, mistaken and lost.
one man with twelve, he stood his ground.
hold your place, there will be no fight.
with one kiss, they took him down.
thou, you may not journey with me,
i shall take you with me always
do not cry or weep for me, rejoice!
lift your eyes to the heavens, seek the father.
call out to your god, speak only of your love for each other.
i shall always be by your side,
speak and i shall hear, see and i shall know.
i give myself freely, so, you shall have all my father,
has prepared for you.

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I Took A Picture

I took a picture once as a thought of love and compassion
It showed me things that I couldn't  hold, touch or imagine
Such details such care that GOD put into this air we all share
And when I was there old friends I did see for they too would stare
At the glory of beauty we all can have as a dare, can we believe
The love and emotion I felt when I look at this picture was received
For you to enjoy you must let go and go the distance
Truly open the mind and feel your existence
For that picture captured you at your best and kept a second of your essence
For others to love, feel and see when they think of the past or the present
Remember my words they will ring true
The next time you look at a picture, you will see things anew

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Desert Rain

Beyond horizon canyons
the sun cloaked in an amber haze
casting colored shadows 
across steaming sandcrete 
baron since an ancient age
when oceans filled its expanse

Cloud evaporation cooled sweat cleansed skin
burning like hot blood
mixed  with dirtand sand,fail to form mud

Mirage shade stretch and fade invisable
yearning these is trivial

An ancient tale offers solace
its wisdom warped like an evesdropped story
infused with myth, its promise
"The heavens shall rain oceans shall fill desert plains"

An ancient burial grave
the desert's captives tortured desperate
thirsting yearn raining skies blue as ancient times
growing gray as storms from miles beyond horizon canyons
shadowed by skies dark as night

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Child Dreamer

The view I see so beautiful a new horizon a bright sky
everything’s falling into place.
Vibrations have started paving the way for a new life
Magnificent sights and wonders captured within my mind
Excitement within my heart beating faster
Air I breath I'm feeling good
Born with a gift within my labyrinth
Like the magic of a crystal
Images I see time talks to me
I close my eyes century’s pass me by
Looking in the sky my mind can fly messages I hear
By the water my power grows
By the touch of a hand a deep emotion I feel
I am the messenger from the light
My life force has the everlasting glow
The road that I travel lies deep within a realm of enlightened thought
In this land I am a mystic
Abilities within my heart and mind have no boundaries
My wisdom teaches the children of life
My thoughts can move the megaliths
With the wave of my hand a portal open up
Through this dimension angels guide my inner soul
Listen closely an echoing voice calls out
Now watch as my arms turn into wings
Hold tight prepare for an adventure through fantasy
Higher 'n higher into heaven sky
The many sounds that surround
A breeze that breaths
Look into my eyes watch me turn into a star shooting through the sky.
Tonight something beautiful is about to begin
In a world of wonder everything comes alive.
In the corner of a small bed room, 
A sleeping child soon will hear magic. 
A picture on the wall. a battered guitar by the window
This picture is filled with visions of harmony and dreams.
That guitar is magical it works for any child that makes wish.
Outside the window a shooting star with 
the power and magic to create dreams into reality.
A gentle breeze rushes in; an angel like glow ignites the picture
A symphony of color engulfs the room.
The guitar begins to play. A gentle voice fills the air singing
Dream that dream watch 'n see 
What you have always known and wished for soon will become reality
You are the one we’ll come to know and love
I know you’ve been abused it’s in your eyes
It’s alright to cry open up let the emotions soar
You are the star, climb the sky show the truth to the world
Show them what you can do, we have seen you do it and we know
You’ve been hidden from so many, a child so gifted and beautiful. 
That little voice you keep hearing is you guiding you along 
There are no boundaries for you and I in life.
Dream that dream keep creating
Watch and see what you have always known and wished for soon will be reality

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Blazing Star

Holding his long mane and strong reins

my powerful pure white horse

let me ride bare back

my hair and his mane blowing behind us

we rode like the wind

almost flying

to the store and safely back home

determined to weather all storms~

with his help I was unafraid.


This horse was invented by a friend's imagination to get him to work at age 10 
after he got a gun put in his face and there was no one to tell.

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Even My Kindly Donkeys Sleep

In the bitter cold of the foggy dawn
Their heels I hear on the hard grounds below
Yet another day to work it all 
And the master gets to keep all the pay
As obedient as they may
They head to where the heavy cart stays
Drums filled with pales of water
All day they pull this way and that way
Carts filled with heavy construction materials
Every day they pull this way and that way
Whether it rains or shines
Everyday there is load to be pulled away
Theirs is work bound by fate
Perhaps a purpose to which they were made
Perhaps a punishment of which they must pay
But what gives me a little comfort
Is that even they after a whole day of toil and pain
Even they get to spend some time away from the misery of the day
Even they get to dream of better days when heaven will employ their grace
The night is truly divine
For it offers my kindly donkeys an escape from the brutality of hard days without pay
The night offers my kindly donkeys escape from their enslaved ways

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Yellow Butterflies

In the corner of my eye,
Ah, ‘tis just a yellow butterfly!
A swarm of bees on its tail,
And whipping in the wind with a trail!
Gallantly afloat and drifting in the air,
A cardinal bird it did meet and then a bear.
Flying through the leaves of a tree,
And circling across the roaring sea!
The yellow butterfly zips on by,
Flying low and then flying high!
Through the winds it did sail,
Gallantly afloat a great big whale!
A swarm of yellow butterflies came to share,
The journey of flying from here to there!
Yellow butterflies were everywhere for my eyes to see,
And I was dancing in the winds when yellow butterflies started chasing me.
© Copyright: Ann Rich   2006

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She stepped into the blue ocean of morning, 
and looked up towards the sky
& as her gaze moved up and up,
something odd, atop a willow caught her eye

There, in the tall thin branches, 
swaying in the wind,
a still & silent tabby was 
curled amongst its limbs

She shouted to it, clapped her hands, 
her dogs enhanced the sound
but the cat just lay there, never moving –
its silence was profound

Knowledge that the cat was dead
slid slowly down her face
in bitter tears that came unbidden
with grief’s wet, salty taste

She struggled back into her house
through mourning’s heavy waves
& tried to ponder what to do,
and who to call to save

At least the body of this once fine cat,
to bring it back to ground -
She imagined how it sought its safety
then could not climb back down,

& how it sat there, starving, thirsty,
forever trapped in that green embrace –
She couldn’t stand it, went back outside,
but when she looked, saw only space

The cat was gone! Had played great possum,
just pretended to be dead!
And what she’d believed to be total truth
was just a story in her head

Then laughter hit her, exploded from her,
joy blazed throughout her soul
as the crystal blue promise of the ocean of morning
was restored, renewed, and made whole

© March 2006
RG Hudson

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Under Cover

Scurry To Their Side
And Try To Catch A Break
No One Has The Time
For Decisions That They Make
On The Road To Happiness
Hopes Fall On The Grim
Out Here, On The Horizon’s Edge
The Lights Are Getting Dim

In The End We’re Animals
Victims To Our Need
Giving Not Too Easy Now
Fallen, To Our Greed
All The Hopes In One Hand
And The Let Downs In The Other
Bringing Balance To A Life
Best Lived Under Cover

Falling Back Now
To A Place We Can Control
Acceptance Always Granted
With The Payment Of Your Soul 
Today Is Not The First
And We Are Far From Last
Just An Upended Recurrence
Footnoted In The Past

It All Seems So Long Ago Now
Gazing Through The Mirror 
Is There Any Truth Behind 
All The Stories That I Hear?
For What Once Was
Has Been Redone Ten Times Over
And I’ve Become A Memory
Best Lived Under Cover

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You Are My Curse

I had to let it all go,
The day and night,
Their hours ran too slow.
It was more than just a fight.
I trusted you and knew you,
My love succumbed to the worst,
Faith and loyalty just wouldn’t do.
You became my curse.
I was pulled down to Earth’s plane,
And judgment did set in.
Then new days begin.
I stood parallel as many went insane.
My heart drenched and my soul crunched,
I couldn’t let my heart take this very much.
I died and I died losing each endless breath,
I swallowed the victory and ate your death.
You reaped and I sowed,
But I saw no one grow,
Not even you.
What was I to do?
I let it go very slow,
Now I am all grown,
And I’m on my own.
I died watching you go.
I will always remember begging mercy,
I will always know this pain,
You are my curse you see,
And nothing did you gain.
I can never just be alright,
I can never love you the same again.
I died watching you go out of sight.
You are my curse and forever in my heart you made an end.

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In the part tonight 
all the eminent guests arrived
with their best apparels on,
full of illimitable mirth.

The assembly hall danced
with the fragrances of the deodorant;
cheer lightening their faces,
smiles lessening their age
and every new entrant
being treated warmly with a glass of beer.
The ladies,
burdened by the sparkling ornaments, 
smiled with serene indifference.
Creams moistened their dry face,
powder cloaked their bleakness,
lipsticks glossed over their lips
and I watched them all with flaunting dependence.

Before the party could enliven, 
there arrived a weird guest
with rugged palid face,
his clothes torn
through which his emaciated body peeped,
depicting his uncommon penury.
Barefooted he was
with his soul on fire
but how admirable his green eyes were!
Every black eye scanned his features
and followed me,
    scoffing at me,
    demanding the exegesis
             ......those untrained eyes!!

I discovered discoloring faces,
             suffusing sullness,
             questioning wrinkles....
Impertinent remarks echoed
and crannies appeared on the walls.
He said placidly,
     "Sirs, even I've got the invitation card!"
And I saw
all the candles decorated on the banquet-table
pinching out one-by-one
except one
which burnt-
   in profoundity of the darkness.
And then I realised
I had no explanation.

And I was proud of my house,
         my house in the west
       with its facade facing east.

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the occupy folks are sitting down
inside of me, softly chanting 
slogans in unison, "CHANGE NOW" -
as i am trying to notice - 
to take in the way the light
photosynthesizes through the leaves
of that tree over there
and falls onto the wall
of the building, with it's 
ruddy bricks stacked way up
and it lines right through
the glass of the window
onto the edge of that table
where the woman is standing
with a digital tablet in her hand - 
maybe it's a book, i can't tell - 
and she gazes out the window - 
at the pedestrians occupying her view, 
and i briefly consider
what it means to occupy me

© Goode Guy 2012-06-07

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Untitled #18 / A soldier-form

Shadowy, now constant
a soldier-form marched out of the void
before it arrives, it is gone.

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She was a Spaaacetripper

I took a trip out to the stars
one Astral leap, I landed on Mars
all those people living under glass jars
and driving clean biological cars.
Then Jupiter came a callin'
it did attempt fusion, but just kept stallin'
with an altered mass, I'm quickly fallin'.
Next I slungshot off to Titan
suspended when Jupiter's gravity did tighten
to pull away it tried a fightin'.
With another giant leap I arrived on Pluto
which as a planet is now a no go
it's been left out in the cold
with the solar systems debris of old
from Uranium to Ice and Gold
the Kuyper belt, with no trousers to hold.
Next up was Andromeda
lit up like Brighton Komedia
whizzing all about, near or far.
Epic jaunts through timeless space
meetin' and greetin' all kinds of race
from toes for tongues and hands for face
every feature had a different place
some were hideous, others truly shone grace
Velvet skin, with hair made of Lace
that really was a soft cushioned embrace.

The places I've been and the sights I've seen
like living a lifetime in one forever dream
the edge of infinity I touched it's seam
And saw the Universe cascade like a conscious stream!

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I walk and walk the many miles for you.
I give and give until I have nothing more.
I go on and on until I drop or fall,
But I’m searching deep because I search for it all.
Everyday I die more inside. 
Eaten alive by myself inside of my core,
Because I’m left alive with life that only I can sort through!
I just want to see the Sun rising up so full and so high.
I want to see the Sun set so huge with shadowing bits that glow.
So I’ll just believe in this strength that comes through you to me.
I search for you but why should I be the one who has to be one that believes?
Everyday I’m alone and it’s nowhere that I go,
Even when it’s my thoughts that I clearly identify!
I just want to see the Moon so round and so high beaming me into the glow of light.
I want to see the Moon peering through the lighter of my brightest day.
I keep seeing all of these cushioned visions of just you and me.
Searching for you gives me the sight of all that I am to see.
Everyday I beg and beg until I hurt that you will stay.
But I’m left alone with reality in sight.
I just want so much for you and me.
I even want the same air that you breathe.
I keep holding onto this strength that I am I feel I believe.
Searching for you I’m with all that I can ever be!
Everyday I’m straightened by what my eyes can see,
But now I’m alone with what’s left alive and what didn’t flee.
So I’ll just keep searching for you while I search for what will be the all of me.

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Ben Ja Min

on Jan 17th 1706 Benjamin Franklin was born 
became a printers apprentice 
established the first lending library
was known as an uncommom comman man 
that taught self in science and inventions

Benjamin Franklin 1706-1790

Also Entry For Brian Strand's   Vignette
A Literary Love Affair Contest
         GL All

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When I saw a different world I never felt anything 
There was no one and there was nothing 
Nothing to feel and 
nothing to imagine 
Nothing to say and 
nothing to mind 
Nothing to see and 
nothing to hear 
Nothing to worry and 
nothing to fear
Now when I'm back to this world, 
I have lots of things to do     
I miss that different world, 
where there was nothing to do

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This is it

So the dream is already real
At least the greater part of it
It’s now up to me 
It’s time for me to show what I’m made of
The lights are on me 
The audience of fate and opportunity are waiting 
Will I put on a show
Or will I kill the show

Somehow I have to find a way
To bring all the best that I’ve got in me
Somehow I have to find a way
To bring out the best of me that I’ve always been dreaming to give
The audience is silent
The eyes of criticism are searching me
The eyes of appreciation are waiting to applaud me
Will I impress or will I fail

The anxiety is overwhelming
But still doesn’t change the fact that here I am
Live on the stage of life
Now I must act
…for all have paid to get their worth
I must throw all care to the wind and fit in the cast
The only care I should keep 
…should be of the sequence in the script

So here I go
This is what I’ve been waiting for 
This is what I’ve been yeaning for
This is what I’ve been practicing for 
Now I shall perform for the applause I wish to own
I hope you enjoy the show

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Star star lights
glitter and gleam...nocturne dream
S.A.D.days age quick
Time Square...nostalgic bliss

Time ceased the city's alive 
Six sense corporate media's jive is
pervasive,invasive yet rudely persuasive
aerosol graffiti tagged wall mural ads
modern pollution spawns the clean air movement
terrorist assualts...primetime news
progressive activists protest biased corporate views

Closed eyes...cinematic trance
the worlds inviting at a glance
born and raised by t.v. productions
gurus predict the world's destruction
industrial pollution,high crime,war...atomic solution

My eyes capture Earth's essence,their spirit catchers each moment kept in mind
dreaming of somwhere beyond these confines
yet superficial memories fade with age
expiring like instant pictures
asphault and commercial realestate replace rural vistas

New age renassaince, crazed mystics predict doom,while internet profits boom
misleading mood crystals,biorythmic readings and psychic predictions 
tell vague stories of strangers once statistics
computer system data's erased as if their lives hadn't matterd

"Cinema Nirvana" passes for ancient dharma
their saccarine endings...cinema karma

Surreal retrospection
t.v. and reading magazines once cured my depression
Existentialism's survival wisdom's 
until my mind has matured I'm serving life in an asylum or until cured

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Forgotten Stretch

Subtleties seem apparent,
On the road to humility...
A pound of trust and a pinch of truth,
So profound within this reality. 
A car disappearing in the distance...
Leaves our hearts on edge;
For it’s just you and me now,
Exploring this forgotten stretch.

Abandoned among the wreckage,
For this is the home of exile;
Right next door... 
To what’s fading out of style.
Lost hopes and dreams...
Wander in the street,
Forgotten by us all...
And we never missed a beat.

Grant the change...
And give it a chance;
Dress to impress,
And prepare to dance.
Such a twisted cycle...
It chews you up and spits you out;
Along this forgotten stretch,
Before returning in route...

In a time destined for downfall,
We are all that’s sound...
Beyond a future commenced in falling,
We lie; resting on the ground.
The point of no return...
All of the abandoned beliefs and the far fetched;
Collect dust with you and I...
Along this forgotten stretch.

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One Fall Evening

Rhapsodic melodies from shadows depth
Are the sounds in the darkness before me,
As the owl, loon and crickets sing:
“Come out into the night we implore thee.”

A harvest moon bathes me in a luster
That stirs my melancholy soul,
As I wander about the autumn landscape
On a leisurely evening stroll.

Cool moist air permeates all things
That surrounds me in this rural scene,
And the smell and sound of rustling leaves  
Makes it all so very euphorically serene.

And so realizing the importance of 
Divinely regulated conditions,
I am once again reminded of the reason,
For cycles such as these
Are quite necessary you see:
That is why they are called “Seasons.” 

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A Flickering Flame

Ah, a flickering flame with shadows on the wall,
With glimmering lights rolling all around!
I will remember them all!
A flame so high,
But a flame so low,
A burn out in time!
A linger much too slow,
A flickering flame,
A moment that I claim!

Ah, a flickering flame where light covers dark and dark covers light.
With glimmering lights bouncing all over the walls!
A vision of true sight!
A flame so unpredictable,
But a flame so respectable!
A flame hard to know,
And one that can’t be controlled!
A flickering flame,
A moment that I gain!

Ah, a flickering flame showing dim light within its own domain.
With shimmering lights reflecting a glare of golden visions burning too bright!
How very well maintained!
A flame so harmless,
But a flame much too careless!
A flame too passive,
And one that’s way too captive!
Ah, a flickering flame,
A moment that I’m holding with no shame!

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Guitarra is her name

Beautiful she was when I saw her
Nestled gently in that obscure corner at the Supa
If only she knew how many years I’ve longed for her
How sweet the poem I wrote for her was
Well, since I saw her and heard her beat in my heart
I swore with the little cash I had that I would buy her

And to buy her I now have
It was few minutes to nine
And the thought of spending another night without her,
 ...harassed my mind
I couldn’t survive the loneliness,
			...I wouldn’t 
So off my room I rushed 
...and into the Supa I dashed
There she still was, as beautiful clad as the day before
I didn’t have t look twice to know she was mine
That I had done in my mind so many nights before
Now, this was the time for her to really be mine
For opportunity to be theirs had long passed them by

Damn, how good it felt to have her in my grip
When I had her is when everyone else realized how fine she really was 
Now they all wanted to own her
Damn, I’m glad it was too late for them

Here she now is
Nestled lovingly on my thighs 
The feeling as sensational as I thought it would be
Her beautiful shape so bewitching
Her contours so obsessing
Her sound so marvellously enthralling
She is the love of my life and together we’ll be more than fine

She and I will find a way to make it sound and look right
We shall soon make love on the stage in the star light
They shall soon pay to see us perform our hearts delight
But before then it’s tough practice every night

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Watching the Moon Grow

Night after night I sit to see the Moon shining over me.
Watching its shield unveil a bright night I can just sit to be.
For each night gone by a star shines so bright,
The more and more I sit here this night.
Deeper and deeper I think tonight, 
“What if” I had no sight?
Watching its gleam covering more than a lot,
I just sit to see it shine its big light.
For each hour gone by the moments are sought.
So more and more I sit here deeper in my thought.
My mind farther than my further with what this glow has brought,
“What if” the man in the Moon was never sought?
Watching its shadows lurk in the glow,
I sit to see if he will finally be caught.
For each moment gone by clear nights I’ll now know.
So more and more I sit here watching the Moon grow.
There’s just so much to see because it covers over me.
I sit here night after night because it’s just such a true sight.
I give it quite a bit of thought because “what if” all of this was not?
For the more that it comes to glow the more and more I can watch it grow.
There’s just so much to know because it covers me with its tremendous glow.
I sit her with thought after thought because I have more than your lot.
I sit here night after night because “what if” there was no true sight?
For the more I can just come to see the more and more I can just sit to be.

®Registered: 1998   Ann Rich

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My Life's Song

The lights are fading,
as the shoreline disappears,
where another horizon,
awaits my tears.
How can one know,
or do I dare,
does he even care.
Hearts stale with remorse,
from rejection, and pain,
without hesitation,
I'm between here, and insane.
Salt in my eyes,
the taste on my lips,
many a trip.
Still that desire,
an ember so dim,
faintly creeps,
a sillouette of him.
Darkness has fallen,
my mind rambles on,
I will find my life song.

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'Window Dressing (or) Mannequin Lessons

She had Velvet eyes, Satin lips
Silk skin … Seamless hips

Threaded her way into his heart
and Stitched his mind up Tight
But the Needle Point, was coming
Pricking… with all its might! …

… Posed her Textile-smile
Watched Fabric – flow
All the Lycra-while
Sticking Velcro …

and Ribbons and Bow
… he didn’t know
she was only after
Every Scrap of his Taffeta

He thought she was quite fetching
… didn’t know, she was just Window-Dressing

‘can’t hold the Cushion, when Pins, Push and Shove
a man, can’t live on just a Thimble-full of love! …
… can’t move the heart of a Mannequin
…  your living doll is running around, again …
… Window Dressing …

He was an honest man
nothing up his Sleeve
but, he had a gold-band
said, ‘Honey, Marry Me…’

… and he Wrapped her in Furs
Draped her in jewels
Lots of Cashmere
… she left empty Spools

She took his Tape Measure
and Material Cut
kept Sharp Scissors
for her Designs … but

… He’d seen the Hem Ironed
and Sew and Sew
He knew the Pattern
and which Embroidery to go…

… the last Fringe turn
and which Bolt to throw …

She sat in front of a Vanity
brushing her Gossamer hair
Basting in her Veiled beauty
like no Wool was there …

… to see her Window Dressing
To see him Yard-Catching
the Collar and Cuffs …
… He’d seen enough !

He saw them thru the Window
Zipper and Buttons undone
He had to stop the Fashion Show …
… then he dropped his _ _ _

… Velvet eyes, Satin lips
Silk skin… Seamless hips
Threaded her way into his heart
And Stitched his mind up Tight

… but the Needle Point came Darning
Pricking, with all its might …

…’Cause you can’t move the heart of a Mannequin
but your living doll won’t be running around again …

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Crystal clear

I think back when I was young the world seemed so big
The answers are below the surface so you will have to dig.
I see this little caterpillar absorbing all that it sees
Hope is growing stronger than the tallest trees.

I remember the sky and how I would count stars
I would first find Venus and then I’d look for Mars.
The moon always seemed so big and so bright
Like a beacon to guide me through the night.

As I grew older I would dream that I could fly
Seems this caterpillar has become a butterfly.
I’d watch the dew drops glisten in the morning sun
Only to evaporate as I see who I would become.

Change comes so slowly, yet time goes so fast.
What was once right here has now become the past.
I miss those childhood dreams and what they would bring
But as a butterfly I have to learn to fly as my heart sings.

I know that nothing can ever remain the same.
I just hope to get better at this flying game.
I still see the sky before me so vast yet so near,
The direction I shall take seems to be crystal clear.

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The Sun on the Horizon

Honeydew on the grass sparkles with life as the Sun comes up shining.
Way up yonder the Horizon’s preparing for its glorious arising.
Purple, blue and gray radiantly come together and all stand out alone,
Way up under this great big earthly dome.
Bird’s shadows fly at distances, yet each distinct by their flocks belted,
And each disappears away in colorful misty skies where all of them roam!
Beauty in foresight is clearly seen on this perfect unthought-of day, 
Even to my own likings of a surprising.
Too compelling just knowing that all days are counted by,
Each exact group already individualized by being numbered!
Foliage secretes from its many branches of trees per several hundreds.
All with there own story to make known to the unknown.
Consistently re-budding as season’s change to each one that is now arising.
All seeming to prepare for that God-awful battle called Armageddon.
Years pass on and still the Sun comes onto the horizon.
Life’s at a standstill, yet, steadily ticking with the hands of time to carry on.
Nothing can be done to stop the cycle of our Earth’s creation.
For every beginning there is and ending as it is to see 
Dawning is “The Sun on the Horizon”!
Be thankful that you have this very day,
For the Sun is rising upon the horizon,
What a wonderful liaison!

®Registered: Ann Rich  2001

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There was a place called Loversville.
    Where couples could go to have their hearts refilled.
Those that had lost that twinkle in their eyes.
    Could go to Loversville to reap a joyous surprise.
You start off with a single kiss.
    Then you hold their gaze you cannot miss.
A simple touch can show you care.
    A soft spoken word brings forth fruit to bear.
Memories will suddenly flood your mind.
   The love of two hearts and a world left behind.
There is no charge the price is free.
    But when the love starts to flow you’ll drop to your knees.
You’ll remember the day, you’ll see her that way.
    When love struck your heart and you stuttered to say.
How all of your life with her you must spend.
    Till the world stops turning even then your love will never end.
Just look for the sign it’s always around.
     When lovers get lost and need to be found.
The population is small it’s always just two.
     Your lover is one and two must be you.
Come on in and fall in love once again.
     Be lovers once more aren’t you glad you came in?

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dressed as a lady in waiting
You come unto me
In the myst of the night
The river so bright
The moon shines above
smiling on the stars
The tide roars in
almost speaking in voice
On the sand 
You approach 
Through a cloud of fog
First your legs
Then your arms as they swing
Followed by your glorious body
with a mysterious smile
You come upon me not stopping
We are engulfed
Waiting No more

Peter LeBuhn

Copyright ©2005 Peter B. LeBuhn 

Peter LeBuhn 

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Masks of the Masquerade

The masquerade hides who we are,
covers our eyes with the mask
only left wondering about the lips you see
lips that beg to ask,
"Who are you, do I know your name,"
but experience holds them still
and the dance goes on as it should
some are marked for the kill.
Not everyone will go home tonight
tell me, will we make it out alive
with nerves jumbling senses and touches
each moment a new surprise.
The masks that we wear tonight
won't ever fully come off again
tonight we sew on new pieces of ourselves
tomorrow we'll beg to be forgiven the sin.
The purpose of the dance is to hide yourself
then try to find your way back 
as the dance takes another down
we must hold ourselves to the attack,
keep your lines perfect
try to remember everyone elses mask
keep away from the mirrors
and do not deny them who ask.
Don't let on you're afraid
let them make you bleed
just keep up the mask
and satisfy the gluttony and greed
so if your survive to midnight
when night turns toward day
maybe again we'll make it home,
but now let them think you hapless prey.
Don't look into the mirror,
never look back at the image there betrayed
the clock stroke twelves tolls into midnight
of this two person masquerade.

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The Witch Doctor

Face for fading music
Disappearing in the distant
Those that stood still
Were called forth by the mystic
To answer a question
To answer the inquisition
For this was not the path
That they had been thinking

The witch doctor stood fast
His crazy eye twitching
He spoke slow...
"Your path... You will be switching!"
Batting his lashes
His vibes bellowed long
Their initial reactions:
Over looked and over drawn

With a wave of his hand
His visions showed real
Finally their eyes opened
Now looking to deal
The shaman then laughed
And threw up his arms
The skies began spinning
Bringing down the stars

The chosen few looked all around
And before long at each other
Awe lost in disbelief
One right after another
While the mystic's laughs grew hysterical
The rest fell to their knees
For no one knew the awful truth
Behind what the witch doctor sees

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vignette-THE IMAGIST

Filling his verse with metaphor
Vers libre,not metre was the core,
He lit the fuse and walked away-
So little did his talent yield,for
He left his light on Flanders Field

Tribute to T E Hulme 1883-1917 initiator/catalyst of the Imagist form

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Summer's Day

Slow summer's day
rythmic ocean waves
soften beach shores
into tender clay as morningbyrds tour
crystal clear skies
over gentle lukewarm tides
somewhere miles from home

Crystal air and intide foam cools painful sand 
hot and smooth against my hands

Rising intides hiding sand castles and tidal litter
palmfuls of hot sand sparkle like glitter
burning my tender hands like sunburn blisters

Worn from the sand's rising heat
found cool shade beneath 
veradant leaves and dreamt until eve

Walking barefoot homeward bound
savored the ocean's last hushed sounds
lost in verdant camoflouge
thirsting fresh water , summer's mirage
passing orchard fields
tasting summer's yield
its litter...sweet , ripe and bitter
its temptation's like dodging sunlight
Amidst eve's paradise slept through night until first light

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roadway runway

Just ahead down the road a way
Queen Anne rides her florid carriage 
tossing lacy garments out the window 
frilly-white landing by the roadside

The carriage of course is pulled by mares
clicking their hooves like they were some 
courtesan's castanets and kicking their legs high, 
like line-dancers kicking a French can-can

Apparently Anne and her consorts 
wear quite a bit of lace to toss copiously
out of the gilded carriage window 
laughing gayly as they peel off another

White-laced garter ringing down green ways
judging from the profusion 
of sensuous roadside attractions 
swaying my pleasures from side to side

I'm hoping to catch glimpses of the entourage 
if I proceed before the runway without delay 
toward the teased creamy-white notion of 
a thrill frilled afternoon ride still flowering

© Goode Guy 2012-06-14

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A Long Awaited Thank You

When I was young and in Jr. High I had this teacher who would take jabs at me.
     She’d catch me looking at the clock, and for the whole class to see.
She’d comment things like time will pass but what about you?
     Little things like this she would always do.
She made me feel like I was no good.
     Till she explained one day the best she could.
She said I know you can do so much more, but I have to push you to make you 
     She said apply yourself don’t let your life become a sieve.
I didn’t understand just right away.
    Those prophetic words she gave to me that long ago day.
Now that I’m old and she’s no longer here.
     Those words keep whispering into my ear.
Now I thank her for what she did.
      She saw something in me though I was just a kid.
She said it’s a little thing called discipline.
      Just close your mouth and listen in.
She was right and now I see. 
      I thank you ma’am for your faith in me.
She said always hitch your wagon to a star.
      Believe in yourself and who you are.
This poem is for her and her encouraging words.
     You got my attention and yes I heard.

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Sense of freedom

Like tremolos and glissandos in music,
those crescendos and decrescendos in volume;
there’s observance of discipline and yet,
at the same time, there’s sense of freedom.
similar to life how it’s gonna be lived, so far.

Inroads within the wake of comfort zone
a melange of options shown for actions;
it gives an engaging answer to learn
in pursuit of love and openness to wounds.
Signs and wonders in today’s world,
reveal the message that God still cares;
though some people don’t look at this way
given that gift of faith in countless situations.

Now that modernity becomes superior,
in every way of living or communication;
with computers and electronics technology,
iconic symbols of the so-called Information.

But with higher gas and consumer prices,
along with recession fears and job layoffs;
there’s a call to be productive in every measure
to make ends meet and be really held accountable.

It slips to the periphery of life’s business and tests,
like a race in the battlefield where one competes;
wrestles with woes and sticks to what life holds,
with sense of freedom and God’s meaning to all.

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Comic strip hero Dan Dare
Space pilot extraordinaire,
Each week in the Eagle flew,
Against Mekon and his crew-
Dan's technology later came true.

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Ripples in the Sea

When I see this Moon and gaze deep into the stars,
My mind wanders as I search for where you are.
Looking up, looking down, this enormous Sea is where I can now be found.
Standing alone at the Ocean’s edge and hearing its roar,
My heart pounds and aches for so much more.
Gazing deeper and deeper out into this vast blue Sea,
I can gather myself with this soul that was given to me.
Ripples in the Sea are all that my eyes can see.
One by one they collide with force to touch what was given to me.
Infinity with the depths of this Sea, 
This is what the Moonlit Ocean conveys to the truth inside of me.
Standing alone and afar from the depths of this Sea,
Ripple by ripple captures the every breath that I have inside of me.
Oh how they carry every single thought away from the insides of me!
Reflections of our Moon spread across this glimmering Sea.
Endless and endless ripples!
This vision I know I will forever see!
I hold my breath and carry a true smile, 
Searching for that last ripple to reach its hundredth mile.
Alone I stand at the edge of this Sea, 
The depth of this Ocean covers over me.
I wonder and wonder can I truly hold what was given to me?
So if ever in search for that which you know you believe,
Please remember that I left me standing with the ripples in the Sea.
One by one they collide crashing directly into me.
I stand with a force that was given just for this person that lives inside of me.
Come to me! Please touch what is on the inside of me!
Feel what has been given just for the love of me!
So if ever in doubt for that which you truly know you believe,
Look deeper and deeper out into this incredible huge Sea.
The ripples one by one know you will believe.
They touch, they feel, they hear what is left standing out by the Sea,
And that my friend is the life that God had already chosen for the soul that lives inside of me.

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Guilty, Guilty, Guilty


As the doors to my prison door slammed shut.
   It was then I realized just how deeply my life had sunk into this rut.
And why, what was the reason that put me here?
   Second degree manslaughter and they said it quite clear.
It seems I plowed into a van full of kids coming from a high school game.
   One mother cryingly said, don’t you have any pity do you feel any shame?
For she lost two sons that night, that night of the game.
    I was there executioner, I was to blame.
I was just out for a good time making all of the bars.
    I didn’t know I was that drunk but I still pack those scars
The jury found me guilty that very first day.
    And the old judge handed me my sentence he said son you must pay.
Well locked in those handcuffs they carried me back to my cell.
     I heard one mother holler, I hope you rot, you rot in hell.
Thirty years was the sentence but not near enough.
     For it was three young men’s lives that I did snuff.
The death penalty would have been more fitting for this deed that I’ve done.
     Letting a drunk person drive is like giving a crazy person a gun.
And I think the people that sell the stuff need to be accountable as well.
     Let them get a little taste of sitting in a cell.
Folks this is just a made up story but it could have been true.
    For there were many nights I was out there driving drunk uncaring of what I 
could do.
I’m the lucky one, for God took my desire to drink and I don’t anymore.
   Alcohol is an addicting drug with a swinging door.
It weakens all your defenses and it makes you a bum.
    And like the man in this story his life will never be worth nothing he turned it to 
So friend if you’re an alcoholic, admit it to yourself then seek help, and right away.
    But please do it before something like this happens, that’s all I have to say.

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A New Friend

They lived in the glen
at the edge of the woods
with a stream near by
sounding perfect as it looks.

When the littlest one
went out one day,
she traveled near the water
where the stream met the bay.

She had never been here before
and thought it was such a sight
with the sun shining down
to make the moving liquid bright.

With her eyes closed
and her face to the sky,
she imagined to herself
she could fly really high.

The day was perfect 
not a cloud in sight
when a noise from the water
gave her a fright.

Her eyes scanned the scene
but for a moment saw nothing.
Then out on the horizon
she DID see something.

It was coming closer
at a very fast speed.
She squinted real hard
trying to see.

The bubbles blew up 
from below the sea
as an eyeball emerged
to take a peek.

Oh what should she do?
Should she scream? Should she run?
But just then it rose up high
blocking out the sun.

With it’s one pink eye
looking at her
it held out its hand
all covered in fur.

In it it held
a shovel and pail
as it moved toward the sand
with a swirl of it’s tail.

It’s vivid purple lips
when it smiled real big.
Invited her to sit
then it started to dig.

The girl laughed and played
with the creature from the sea.
They were having a good time
until both were hungry.

It was time to say goodbye
and head on home.
She knew her new friend
would go were it came from.

They waved goodbye
and hoped they’d meet again.
They didn’t want the fun to stop
or for it to be the end.

She headed back home
not sure what to say
about where she had been
or with whom she spent the day.

That night she dreamt
of her new friend from the sea,
the fun they had had
and how it made her happy.

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Invisable Memory

Summer twilight skies...neon gold
Carried by the wind to the land of wherever
Yearning the day despite its weather
Cameras fail to grasp these pleasures

Sunflower pedals light as jaybyrd feathers
Carried by the wind to the land of forever
Cameras fail to grasp this pleasure

Summer's pretty floral decorations
their subtle sweet fragrance 
timeless gift of patience
and celebration whenever
cameras fail to gasp this pleasure

An extinct era past 
Mythical existence for centuries everlasts
Unphotographed ,cameras fail to grasp their secret past

The silent past unheard in instant photographs
aging fade until black...invisable memories
Unshared and unremembered like secret dreams

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A visit in Munich, Germany

What a sight to behold! A home to immigrants,
a spectacular city rolled with a wealth of arts!
predominantly Catholic with its many facets
its historical resonance and genesis of existence.

While it’s a welcome contrast from other countries,
there’s evidence that it’s replete with triumph and fall;
just after Bolzano, Trento, Rovereto, Verona Porta Nuova, 
Peschiera del Garda, Desenzano della Garda-Sirminione and Brescia.

That from Milan Central Station the train arrives in Monaco.
Indeed, I was so impressed to see the main city
its combined history and culture; a satisfaction
just on the horizons they gave me an enormous impression
to the so-called civilization that München defines its soul.

Churches can be found almost in every corner
with their baroque or lavish rococo architecture, 
some artifacts and gothic designs in some parts
in the eye of the beholder, they’re indeed a treasure.

People from all walks of life converge at the epicentre
the bustling footpaths, crowded shops and restaurants
with families from Dubai, Abu Dhabi and Pakistan
Asians or other Europeans in common desire
this place holds a promise for future and families.

Germans in general, love to drink and hang out with friends
a place like Hofbräuhaus where huge crowds can be found
a good description, the best picture to recall.
Deutsch, the language spoken but difficult to learn
gave me an impression of its beauty in articulation.
With their conventional greetings like in many other cultures
respect is the by-word along with courtesy and reason.
like the Olympic Park, Marienplatz, Nymphenburg palace, 
English Garden, Königsplatz and many other sights
They’re beautiful places steeped with history and connection
to the people of München who love their own culture.

I may not be keen about other European cuisines
however, as  a person drawn to taste them all
with a sweet tooth I couldn’t resist a typical German version
of the American pancake served in the morning
kaiserschman, its name and it’s common to all.

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catharsis dreamt a wake

Imagine you are looking down on the bed,
from the ceiling perhaps, high up
by the shadowed side of the planet

They lay there quietly...still,
on their backs...maybe hands folded, fingers woven
under the covers, cotton or quilted, no matter,
on either bed side, not touching each other

Now imagine you are the one...nearest the door
sleeping next to her...or him.
You've lain there for years, 
listening...sleeping, dreaming...listening

Now imagine you are the other,
dead asleep, oblivious to the planet
dreaming, next to the other
in the dream, eyes closed, but awake

You sense each other as if you
are both the same person, breathing
occupying the same quantum space
yet you can see the other as if part
of some out-of-body experience

You, dreaming, reach to touch
...other...or yourself, you are not sure
who they are, or, for that matter you,
slumbering and stumbling to understand,
rolling it over in your mind and bed

still in shadow, it is cool...and comforting,
vanishing point converges to bifurcate again,
in the wake, the dreaming returns
becoming the reality now

© Goode Guy 2011-10-06

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Azure eyes gleam
touched by summer sunbeams
burning, melt and bleed salted tear streams
this morning's first extreme
stilled eyes close like protective
pearled oysters lost in dream 
blinking wide as cleansing teras
bleed their vision clears
somber gaze consumed solar rays 
as vision dulled
surroundings fade until night's shade
failing to monitor time 
summer laser rays blind

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Stones in the Wall

Of many, the stones in the wall have different sizes with different shapes. 
So many there are and each specific with their very own color.
The wall is long with the many miles of stone that support it and strengthen.
What a vision to see a wall that long, because of the many miles this wall has made.
Built stone by stone and layer by layer, yet clearly by the hands of amateurs! 
Old these stones in the wall are, for time can only damage what is already weakened.
Enduring the test of time are endless miles of broken down stones along this old wall,
Chipped away on the outside, but still standing sturdy and firm maintaining a delicate core!
Enduring such strength, for they are all very well defined by their evident and only weakness.
An endless wall of old broken down stones and still they will stand strong and still so very tall.
Miles of evidence from darker times for sure by their obvious structure of neatness!
Beaten and battered these stones are and still they maintain such a strong and sturdy core!
There are many weakened stones along this old broken down wall,
Yet it stands distinct and firm with its battle against its only known weakness.
Individualized by one is the other occupying the many miles of this wall from so long before.
What a vision to see a wall that strong, beaten and weakened only by its evidenced neatness.
Broken down stones hold this old wall and each one with their many different shapes and colors!

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one fine day

she woke up earlier,
no alarm needed.
scrubbing, meticulously showering,
each movement a ritual cleansing
of the dark parts,
the soft parts soon so softly
seen & sought by darkly fingers.
a dab from the alabaster jar
in every strange spot
his nose usually goes.
slip the thin yellow dress
that won't stop
the warm breeze of breath.
ringless fingers clasp the watch,
the tiny hands holding
an hour between their meeting.
they will walk the beach today,
she will smile in the shade.
the dress will rest in the sand
while nymphatic jealousy
invades every beast in the glades.

"where are you going?" i asked her.
"just for a walk," she said, eyes probing
her purse for a smoke.
"want me to go?" i asked her.
"no," she said, "i just want to be alone
today, to think about things."
she was wearing the yellow dress,
it used to be my favorite.
"that's fine," i said.

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The 70s Envogue

A yellow neon smiling face
a mismatching emblem of tacky taste
his collection of retro mood buttons is nothing
wild yet they celebrate '70s' fashion style 
with black saccarine ink smiles
and vacant black oval eyes widened in suprise

Relaxed fit blue denim jacket outlasted its time
beneath an ironed creased silk butterfly
collared shirt,paint splatter patterned
resembled spilled dye

Plaid squared on its reverse 
side,its cool fashion perk
unbuttoned wide without dress tie
instead an imitation gold chain stained 
his tanned neckline
the '70s state of mind

Matching blue denim,butterfly,bellbottom jeans
its gold silk embroidery glittered and gleamed
its timeless seems, more resilient than they seam

Dazed eyes gazed through glaring plastic,gold framed shades
its lens,black mirror glass reflect an era past
retro's envogue and '70s fashion everlasts

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Old Age Kills

Youth is bliss
old age cruel fate
when was I born I've forgotten the date
I'm old as Earth,dying since birth
every action's in slow motion near cadavic still
ther's no immortal youth potion ,only death pills
old age kills days are filled
with boring obsolete thrills
my mind betrays itself
until my will is forgotten
my flesh reeks,its begun to rotten
youth's our modern drug rave cause we age everyday
old age's perdition,suicide is wisdom
where am I now I've lost my vision
prayers to no one,who would dare listen
religion's myth and faith healings delusive
Tired ,near death,I've surrendered to painkiller bliss 
lethal injections and cheap narcotics
modern drug culture,youth sacrifice
stay high waste life
miracle news "Afterlife death cures old age too"
death is heaven
eternal life is memory
pain free forever , my death is destiny

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Simple Dream

I dream of such simple things
Such as birds and their wings
With the curves of each feather
And how they become weathered

I see the birds flying with wings a flapping
I understand how wings operate with no gapping
With push of a second the bird is in the air
This is how birds fly in the air with no care   

The birds in the air with freedom in their wings to fly out of trouble
Is how the bird feel with the wind pushing them up with force doubled
I get a happy when I see a bird fly
And I wish to be by their side so I give a sigh

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Don't Turn it Around, Turn it Upside Down

What do you do when life has got you down?
   Do you walk around unhappy sporting a great big frown?
That is the wrong thing to do.  
   Here's what I see for you.
Go stand in front of your mirror and look it in the eye.
   If you see someone that looks like a very unhappy guy.
Just start making silly faces at that person pretty soon you'll see a smile.
   Tell that person that you're looking at you should keep it for awhile.
Once you have that smile where it belongs,
   Ease out in the world and pass it right along.
Don't let life always get you down,
   Just remember how silly you look wearing that frown.
When you see a stranger on the street,
   Saying HELLO is a good way to greet.
And smile when you speak you'll see it work,
   You'll lose that reputation of being a jerk.
So go out there and make a friend or two,
    Is the best advice I can give to you.

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The Birth of Excalibur

The fire’s intense serpentine flames
Reached high into the cold dark sky,
The hulking metal smith’s
Hammer swung true,
Sending sparks spraying far and wide.

Large beads of sweat
From his furrowed forehead
Sizzled on the anvil below,
His heart pounded wildly
Like someone beating a drum
As the fire cast an eerie glow.
The metal being shaped
And worked with great care,
Had now been folded
Exactly one thousand times,
The sound reverberating
From the metallurgic work
Was indeed a very good sign.

The metal smith paused
To admire his work
By the glow of the fervent flames,
He pondered for a moment
About the secrecy of this task
And from whence this metal came?

Such questions seemed odd
For a man who normally
Makes a living
Crafting simple tools,
“Ah, it matters not!”
The metal smith spoke aloud
As he dropped the item
Into a barrel of water to cool.

A great billowing cloud of steam
Erupted as the mysterious metal
Eventually cooled to the touch,
And to the metal smith’s surprise
He quickly realized,
The metal now, did not weigh as much.

And so the procedure continued
As one craftsman after another
Labored for days to come,
Then, at long last,
The complicated task
Was completed, it was finally done!

An exquisite work of art it was
Intricately designed,
With the finest precious metals
And gems,
The razor edge was unrivaled, 
Fully capable of piercing stone,
Its solemn royal purpose: was to defend.  





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Don't Make an Old Woman Mad (repost)

As the day slowly fades into a much welcomed and peaceful night.
   The sound of crickets and bullfrogs serenade me as I turn out the light.
Well I told Jesus a quick summary of the day I had.
   I said Lord I’m not perfect, shoot today I plumb got mad.
Well I was sitting at a red light waiting for it to turn green.
   When all of a sudden this little old lady walks right in front of me and I get this 
urge to be mean.
Walking with a walking cane she was moving pretty slow
   So I tooted my horn thinking that might help her go.
I must have startled the old thing cause she hit my hood with her cane.
   It set off my air bag, broke my nose, and I went insane.
Next thing that happened I jump out of my car, hollering, and holding my nose.
   I guess I scared her again cause she starts beating me with that cane from the 
top of my head clear to my little toes.
Now I’m on the ground and this ninety three year old grandma turns into Rambo.
   Shoot she ain’t stop beating on me yet, and I ain’t got no place to go.
Long about then this cop pulls up which I was glad to see.
   At least I was till he slapped them handcuffs on me.
Well he sat me in the back of his car while he talked with her first.
   I didn’t know what was going on but it gave me a chance to get well versed.
He finally came over to me and he looked at my face and I thought he was going 
to crack.
   I had cuts, bumps, bruises all over my face from that eighty pound old womans 
He said son do you need an ambulance or can you make it on home.
   And the next time you want to scare some old woman you best have a hard hat 
on your dome.
Lord now don’t you start laughing too.
    Well I’m going to bed I ain’t got nothing else to say to you.

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Wolf- Man, the middle

Day crackles clean and warm like burning coal
A new passion swam his veins, they bonded him
For that pheromone was strong in him, and abrim 
The pack bayed towards the sunlight burning gold
And welcomed a brave brother wolf into the fold
For he who before the bear stood calm, his noble
Suit displayed, found his totem in a moment bold
And transmigrated his soul to the new realm possible.

He could not make destiny again, but destiny chose
For him, the wolf man everywhere was known. He 
Was the hero wanted, yet scorned with circles closed
Like doors against him, for all his deeds of mercy.
But the dog gene made him a man's best friend still
And howling he brings the pack always to his will
Neither did they sit while any child or innocent ached
With fear or pain, and from the malice of evil intent.
The wolf man knew but little thought how each act
Propelled him to a higher level and another death sent
For seeds all die that spring to trees, and the same fact
Was true for him every new level he was to attain
While propelled upwards greater animals to become
He knew the bear level awaited him next in the chain
Of cycles. But for service alone his heart still hummed.

Nor did he know hes was hunted too, for one man firm
In his conviction to repay, the thing that from forest came
The thing massive in muscles, humble in every term
That dared the forking tongue of a livid flame
To retrieve a child, the only child the mother left behind
The child that was enblem and memory of that love
Whose death would perish his flesh and torment his mind
The wolf-like thing, the man beast on wings, dove
In from above, and came out with life between his jaws
Hair fried, and limping as if with injured paws
And the throng of them that rush upon the scene then
Making a barrier between it and curious but cruel men
And how it seemed in thin air he vanished without reward
And cause a grateful father to follow the trail full and hard.

Did he have the hours to find him still, to meet the kind
That make us wretched because our hearts are blind
Did he with ego melted, and with a different disposition
Qualify to know and taste the foreign truth of transmigration
To destinies on the brink of fate, and death at the gate
Gasping and gulping, still in the grasp of time we wait.

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Drilling For Oil

I have been busy today,
digging in the yard,
looking for oil, I say.
Deeper, and deeper,
one mile, and counting,
wow, my head is ponding.
Everyone must do their part,
so here I am,
getting an early start.
I wonder how far,
this driller can go,
fifty bucks an hour,
I wish this thing
would blow.
My neighbors are looking,
oh, here they come,
nosey, nosey,
did you say, I'm dumb?

I feel silly tonight....

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Sailing through
The odyssey of my mind
I capture moments in time
Like a photograph etched in my soul
Absorbed by my heart

The experience of life
The joys and sorrows of living
The essence of my being

The me I am now colored by
The road I have traveled on
The love I have felt
The people I have known

These are the treasures  I hold
Deep inside of me each moment
Refining my soul through time

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     by Amy Swanson   11/2008

A little something to make you laugh ;)

Alarm clock didn't ring this morning;
Overslept - and now I'm late!
(but I would have stayed in bed,
had I known what lay in wait!)

Weatherman said "sunny skies"
I headed out the door;
no sooner had I stepped outside,
when it began to pour.

Water dripping off my nose
I got into my car,
turned the key, to my dismay - 
I found it would not start.

So I did the next best thing,
and called the cab in our small town
He said that he was covered up;
eventually, though, he'd be on down.

While I waited by the curb
I counted up my cash...
when suddenly, I heard a noise - 
a terribly loud crash!

The taxi driver was just fine
... but his cab fared not so well...
The front of it was caved and crashed
and he began to yell... and yell.

Thinking I could take the bus
(in my haste I broke a heel)
Bus just left as I arrived 
today requires nerves of STEEL!

Getting later by the minute
shift at work about to start;
thinking fast, my eyes beheld
an old abandoned shopping cart!

Oh what luck, oh happy day!
I hopped on it with glee,
and shucking off the other shoe
I rode it down the street.

I was doing pretty well...
until I saw some lights of blue.
The officer walked up to me and said,
"I'll have to ticket you."

"Please, kind sir, just let me tell you
what all I've been through today,"
as I related my sad story...

he shrugged, and fined me anyway.

Stranded now, without my cart, 
and wondering what to do...
idea! I saw a skateboarder
whom I quickly hobbled to, 

my hair was falling in my face
and makeup smeared my eyes...
"I'll pay you 20 bucks," I said, 
"if you'll lend me your ride!"

He thought it over, gave a shrug,
and happily took my money.
Overjoyed, away I went,
who cares if I looked funny?

Breathlessly, I finally rolled
into the parking lot
I tucked the board under my arm...
by now I was distraught

for my boss came out to meet me
and his face had turned quite red.
I tried promptly to explain
he only stood, shaking his head,

and pointed at the company clock
that sat above the office door
I turned and looked - to my appal,
I saw that it was half-past four.

Long story short, I came back home
and nevermore will be returning.
My ex-boss had made it clear,
a new job I would now be learning.

So here I sit, with pen in hand,
and classifieds upon the table;

next time a day begins like that,
I'll just stay home and watch my cable! :P

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Through The Door

The First One Through The Door
Is The Last To Fall Behind
Our Eyes Locked Forward
Bound By The Undefined
Perceptions Fade Quiet
And Dreams Fall Before
Our Hearts Broke Open
As We’re Passing Through The Door

An Age Of Conformation
Desensitized And Surreal
A Loss Of The Lack Of Emotion
Tell Me How It Feels
Everyday Is Just Another Day
Caught Up In The Whipping Post
While The First One Through The Door
Is Left A Lonely Host

So Step Right Up
And Pass On Through
Things Will Never Be The Same
But You Won’t Have A Clue
The Door Is Always Open
And Never In Disguise
Through The Door Of Perception
We’ll Open Up Your Eyes

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Demonic Irony

I sat on a merry-go-round from, to, and of Hell.
Goblins floating round and round,
Gremlins going up and down.
I sat on the merry-go-round from, to, and of Hell
Playing "Let's make a deal." with the devil himself.
And as his smile turned into knives,
I could see the infinite expanse of lives he had claimed,
like an insurance company running your life,
like an investor running your business,
like a lawyer running your troubles,
but this man led all of the above for millions.
There was suffering in his eyes,
but not his own.
You could tell how many tears have been shed,
but not his.
His hands were hooks,
"all the better to hug you with",
more like all the better to ravage my heart.
His nose was an expanse of two deep holes,
"all the better to smell you with",
more like all the better to sniff up my soul.
His ears were large and bat like,
"all the better to hear your wishes",
more like all the better to hear my supersonic whispers of all my deepest fears.
He spoke:
"Your soul is a small price to pay for true happiness, what do you desire?"
Right there I made my wish,
and before I could barely finish,
a contract pulled up and I scrawled my name.
Keenan MacKay.
After a short while he showed me those knives again,
those reflective blades that refuse to show the whole picture,
a metallic and deceptive smile.
And I smiled back.
For with my wish,
my plea for ultimate power,
I struck him down.
I made him afraid.
And as he cowered in the corner,
I took back my soul and walked away.
But not before I scratched at his feet.
"The Keenan giveth, and the good Keenan taketh away."

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Silent as night's presence with ancient peace I'm blessed
summertime,burning heat magnified stress
my brained tamed by '60s narcotic dreams
the key to time capsule memories

Spiritual void,trading city noise for quiet flowering plains and blue grass 
meadows lost in floral pedal 
camoflouge I detour and dodge its poison ivy
climbing lively
rolling hills where time kept still

Deaf silence night's present...nature's dharmic lessons

Concealed knee deep in verdant poppy fields 
and narcotic flowers...many kinds
where ripe orchards soured into wine
patient curiosity filled passing time

Slow night,poppies bloomed in pearl china moonlight
Pale stars cast broke through black overcast 
New visions...brief surreal psycotic doom
Spent day watching narcotic flowers bloom
gathering flowers for keeps
my hunger cured by an orchard's reap
until twilight stars littered summer's night far from home
tomorrow's journey...unknown


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A Serving Of Justice


The scene kept playing over and over in my mind.
   With such detail, but there was still something missing I could not find.
This was a matter of life and death of that I knew.
    There was something I couldn’t put my finger on as tension grew.
The E-Mail bomber was about to strike again.
     And the clues he gave us this time were just too thin.
He has struck three times in succession.
     Just random violent acts of aggression.
The only link in common is they were targeted on the poor side of town.
     Mostly where you find the homeless and those that are really down.
Each time he’s struck he has wounded or killed no less than thirty in these 
savage attacks.
     Never does he leave a clue, and he so cleverly covers his tracks.
This time he boasts to double his count.
     He claims he won’t be stopped and what he does is paramount.
I’ve got a hunch he’ll strike down by the docks.
     Where they use migrant workers and they all hang around in flocks.
We set up surveillance and just waited to see, 
      When about three in the morning an old van was parked close to where the 
workers would be.
 As we sat and waited for someone to exit the van,
     I just happened to catch the appearance of a dark clothed man.
He was slumped down as if hiding and he wasn’t readily seen.
     I quietly radioed for backup and told them to try to approach him unseen.
With in a matter of minutes we had our man,
     And he was holding a remote control device he used to drive the van.
We called out the bomb squad and they quickly found the source.
     Two hundred pounds of dynamite strapped under a barrel of bolts and a timer 
of course.
As bad as he thought he was he never attempted to fight.
    To me he acted like a little crybaby that’s why he had to hide in the night.
If I wasn’t a cop I think I’d lock him in his van and let him taste his on revenge.
    Sit him on top of those bolts where he could see the timer and be the first to 
feel the twinge.    

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The Visions Blend

Sitting all alone in deep thought, I am a world away.
No Sun, no Stars, and no wind!
My mouth can not speak the words there are to say.
The visions blend carries me to where it never ends.
My God I am here and I demand to stay!
I am here, but gone to where I begin.
Nights and days have come and gone and are now decades away.
No life, no air, and no death!
My God I am alive and dead on this very day.
I am gone, but here with my journey’s quest.
The gift of life is mine as I catch my last breath.
My heart can not hold the words there are to say.
Looking deep into this world where I have come to stay,
No love, no hate, and no sin!
The visions blend carries me to where it all ends.
I am here, but gone to where I begin.
My eyes can see the words there are to say.
My God I am gone and I demand to stay.
Time and time my thoughts have traveled my days,
No time, no light, and no pretend!
The gift of life is mine all over once again.
My God I am dead but alive on this very day.
My ears can not hear the words there are to say.
I am gone, but here absorbing the visions blend.

®Registered: Ann Rich 1997

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The Real Deal

The old pastor started hollerin about fighting the devil.
   Fight him with Jesus, and never on his level.
Yeah, he said that old serpent has got more weapons to use against you.
   But the one weapon that can stop him flat is Jesus, that’s why we repent the 
things we do.
That old devil’s a ridin high right now, that’s why we must stay in Gods’ word.
   He’s after backsliders right now in case you ain’t heard.
The look I got from that old preacher sent a chill down my back.
   That old guy must have been reading my mail cause I sure have been getting a 
little slack.
Ain’t that I was doing anything bad, just ain’t been doing all I should.
   You know living the best way I could.
We’ve all got to put on the Armor of The Lord, the old preacher said.
   He looked at me, not saying a word just shook his head.
He said we’re in a spiritual warfare and the devils fighting tooth and nail.
   And if you let him get his hooks in yah, son you’re on a jet plane to hell.
Everyday people are trying to change Gods’ word to fit their own needs.
   Some are saying all you need to get to heaven is doing good deeds.
Wrong that might knock some of the weeds off the road but you’ll fall short of 
getting there.
   The worst part when you even show them they are wrong, it’s like they don’t 
even care. 
Lots of folks don’t believe in heaven or that there is a hell.
   I just don’t want to take that chance and for sure this soul is not for sale.
Jesus bought my soul a long time ago with the blood He shed on cavalry hill.
   That’s why I’m sticking with Jesus, the 100% real deal.
I Pray You Do Too.

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The Great White Shield

Held prisoner under His Stars, 
I have fallen under the shadows of THE “Great White Shield”.
At a distance, those shimmering lights covered over me.
Built on THE highest plains, I stand parallel even when His rains come down.
My wall stands tall as my fate is promised and sealed.
I see my passage through time as I hold sturdy to my only God given ground.
I am all that I know I can ever be.
Confined by a little world where all that there is has been lost or found,
My bleeding wall holds my “ ALMIGHTY’S Great Armored White Shield“.
Balanced with time even when His rains are pouring down!
It stands to serve and to protect the best of the living me.
Layer by layer it builds with the strength it has lost or found.
For, I am all that is genuinely real.
Conditioned by my endurance, His Stars my eyes still can see.
Ruling the way that I move, His existence is wrapped tightly and I abound.
Parallel on His plains, a sturdy wall I did gradually help Him build.
My wall protects the only person inside of me.
I secure my only ground as I hold onto His “Great White Shield”.
I am all that I have ever truly found.
When the rains pour down on me, 
I stand atop of all His battled ground.
When I am all with my realest deal,
I am all that can or will be found.
When I am all that I know I can ever be,
I carry a strength that alone I can build.
I am the carrier of my Almighty’s Great White Shield”.

®Registered: 1998  Ann Rich

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Men are my chocolate candy, I like to take little bites, to throw away the flavors that 
i do not like
to nibble on the centers of those that I do.
I love to open the glossy box, ornate with a big bow.
I like to unwrap them individually and crumble the wrappers so that they will never be 
able to use them again.
I know that they are fattening and I know that they can rot my teeth, but I can not give 
them up.
i like the sugar rush so I unwrap them, poke the centers and put them back into the box 
waiting to be devoured at a later time.
     Men are my chocolate candy

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Bawdy tales of dreams and secret memories
their superficial veil infused with gossip sleeze
its curious listeners deemed  pretentiously deaf to what they mean?
Absorbed in superficial greed,the auction proceeds
quick tempered and tastelessly naughty
laced in gemed jewelry,outrageously expensive and gaudy
pretty things they dare not buy
yet the material persuades the curious unwise
there true meaning hidden from naked eyes
blind from envy and superficial curiosity
its tacky admirers gossip obnoxiously

Deathly bored...animals sacrificed
the blood and gore offered to each invite
animal rights activists,morbidly disturbed
paint fake animal blood on imported furs
there inclusion in fashion's everlasting
Curious auctioners whisperly asking
if blood dyed furs and tawed thrift leather furniture
that match with pastel carpet floors
would clash with Euro imported decor

their timeless pleasures appropriate whenever adored
their presence not for charitable cause
nor gifts from philantrophists
yet obviously tawdry gifts for the senseless rich

Gold fastened embroidered silk and satin 
Euro rennassaince paintings and pottery,
jewelry made of African elephant ivory
embraced by burnished gold,diamonds and gemstones,
mined on distant planets unknown,
Carrara marble sculptures from Rome,
offering endless antiques from ancient Greece
and artifacts of ancient kings made from carnelian and lapis
obsidian,quartz and gold
Every item presented sold

Yet amidst the ancient gifts,
the artificial persuades superficial slaves
to tacky taste is careless material waist

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Deep down in the Wild Wood
An empyty mansion stood-
Stoats & weasels squatted there for nowt,
Ratty,Mole & Badger with a loud shout
Helped careless Toad to kick them out.

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Heavens' Gate (Second Time Around)

 This old street corner sure gets lonely and dark.
   It’s when the cold night winds blow and you get that sinking feeling, somewhere that
you’ve missed your mark.
You’ve no place to call home and you've lost faith and wonder if you still believe.
   And you have no one to miss you or even to grieve.
What if I left this world today? 
   There would be no one to miss me or see me on my way.
I’d just be another John Doe for the county or state.
   Lord is this truly what I deserve is this my fate?
Wow I just got a strange sensation from my head clear to my toes.
   I can feel goose bumps sticking up clear through my clothes.
That was weird I’ve never in my life had a feeling like that.
   I felt like I was floating at least a foot above where I sat.
Lord was that You, knocking on my door, awake up call?
   Wait a minute I am floating, level with the roof, that’s three stories tall.
Well just how can this be?
   I’m up here and down there looks just like me.
If I’m dead I don’t care I feel so happy, so free.
   I’m still ascending and I see brightness no it’s brilliance I see.
That looks like an angel and he’s coming towards me.
    He said you must return back now, The Lord just wanted you to have a glimpse 
of what is to be.
With that I returned in a flash.
   I went from being more than happy to a bum with no cash.
Starting tomorrow I’m getting out of here.
   The Lord gave me a mission and He made it quite clear.
My life now has purpose and I’m getting it straight.
   To help myself and others enter into His kingdom thru Heavens’ Gate.

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Mansions in the Sky

The Stars lit up the skies and nothing could I see,
Except these huge Mansions that fly in the sky.
Swirling winds picked me up and carried me high.
Making trails in the clouds it was just me.
It was breathtaking just to be,
Afloat the top of mansions that fly.
The Moon was bright and the Sun a bit dry.
They were huge and magnificent to oversea.
 Mansions in the sky that fly above it all.
Mesmerized I went in and found no end.
None were too small.
None occupied, not even by a friend!
Mansions that fly fill a brilliant sky,
All emptied but not by I!
© Copyright: Ann Rich  2006

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Don't Make An Old Woman Mad (repost)

As the day slowly fades into a much welcomed and peaceful night.
   The sound of crickets and bullfrogs serenade me as I turn out the light.
Well I told Jesus a quick summary of the day I had.
   I said Lord I’m not perfect, shoot today I plumb got mad.
Well I was sitting at a red light waiting for it to turn green.
   When all of a sudden this little old lady walks right in front of me and I get this 
urge to be mean.
Walking with a walking cane she was moving pretty slow
   So I tooted my horn thinking that might help her go.
I must have startled the old thing cause she hit my hood with her cane.
   It set off my air bag, broke my nose, and I went insane.
Next thing that happened I jump out of my car, hollering, and holding my nose.
   I guess I scared her again cause she starts beating me with that cane from the 
top of my head clear to my little toes.
Now I’m on the ground and this ninety three year old grandma turns into Rambo.
   Shoot she ain’t stop beating on me yet, and I ain’t got no place to go.
Long about then this cop pulls up which I was glad to see.
   At least I was till he slapped them handcuffs on me.
Well he sat me in the back of his car while he talked with her first.
   I didn’t know what was going on but it gave me a chance to get well versed.
He finally came over to me and he looked at my face and I thought he was going 
to crack.
   I had cuts, bumps, bruises all over my face from that eighty pound old womans 
He said son do you need an ambulance or can you make it on home.
   And the next time you want to scare some old woman you best have a hard hat 
on your dome.
Lord now don’t you start laughing too.
    Well I’m going to bed I ain’t got nothing else to say to you.

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The Devil Takes Form

One may be strong,
but very weak,
when temptation comes,
the body speaks.
Raw, and bare,
so much exposed,
a secret shared,
no one should know.
Hidden from view,
the devil takes form,
sending those feelings,
of guilt within his storm.

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Ink dashed,paint splashed,
gaush splotched 
smeared and painted stained glass
fissured into irredescent shards reflecting clash
with bright technicolor light,its bright center
an unfertilized egg,overwhelmed by splintered
cells,chosen sperm that will grow and never tell
of wading plasma,mired in cigarrette miasma

Halogen light bleeding bright,from this distance untamed
bursts like shattering bulbs peircing wide staring eyes tamed
by dimming candle flame

Mediums tramsformed from their natural form and brillance's born
its odd subject matter framed,its message conveyed by paint splatter
its symmetry and definition enhanced by light's conture
conveys an eccentric prodigy matured

It's eve's hour,the time told by closed pedal flowers
the longer days delayed sleep
as time is forgotten,fond memories,is its creator's keep

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What I love about her

What I love about her 

What I love about her
I told her twice before
I don’t believe she heard me
Tell her tales of my amor

‘I think a lot about you’
I slowly brushed her hair
I guess she didn’t hear me
As I dreamed of our affair

‘What I love about you
I told you once before
It’s the way you look tonight’
I knew she wanted more

She sat there bated breath
As I waited for her coo
I saw her looking sideways
As she said ‘I love you too’

She teased me with her smile
Looking at me, while I sighed
I said she played too much
With me, she always lied


While she laid upon her bed
Before she fell asleep
I leaned, and whispered to her
‘My love for you runs deep’

My lips had slightly grazed her
she shivered from my touch
I laid my hand upon her
and comforted as such

I moved my hand up lightly
‘For warmth’ my fingers dancing
I lied to no one really
Flames in me slow advancing

Breath escaped from her lips
Heat was rising in her too
I wondered what she dreamt about
Oh, if I only knew 

I placed my lips upon her neck
I suckled at her skin
Sound rumbled from her body
As I drew her scent within

I became a bit more daring
Pushed her back onto the bed
She lay there blinking at me
Her face a shade of red

I pressed my lips upon hers
She press’ed back at mine
I tasted in between her flesh
I felt us intertwine

I smiled inside her mouth
We laid there spreading grins
While our teeth clicked each others
I began to count my sins

I nibbled on her lip
I kissed it well again
I lowered to her neck and
Denounced the need for men 

I bit her neck a bit this time
Her moans excited me
And so I bit harder still
And waited for her plea

I looked into her eyes
And knew it had begun
I fiddled with her blouse a bit
And then it came undone

‘What I love about you
I told you once before
It’s the way you look tonight’
I knew she wanted more

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The Wagon Train


The fire burned warm and brightly,
    As the little band of wagons were gathered close and their animals were 
tethered tightly.
The ladies sat about preparing meals for the coming day,
     While the men folk took on chores there wasn’t nary time for play.
Scouts were still out and their water was getting low,
     Restricting their selves was the only way to go.
The wagon boss was talking on changing their course,
      Said things ain’t looking good, best we prepare for the worse.
He said I know another way but it’ll be harder at first.
     But about a weeks ride south there’ll be plenty of water to fill our thirst.
Bright and early next morn the little train pulled out,
    Changing its direction added miles there was no doubt.
As they slowly plodded on the desert took on a new look,
    But the sun still shone brightly in the day they all cooked.
The third day in the scout came riding up,
     Said it’s a good thing ya’ll changed directions as he reached for the cup.
He said the last three water holes were only sporting dust,
     Real early next morning the old scout lit out said he’d find water for it was a 
He strapped a couple of small kegs on an ole pack mule,
      Took along a shovel in cased he’d need a tool.
Less than a day out he was taken by surprise,
       Found an old dry creek bed that had just been on a rise.
There stood a solid rock basin as full as it could be,
       He plopped down and drank his fill then rested for a moment by an old 
mesquite tree.
He filled up the little kegs then he headed on back,
       When he caught up with the train he told of the water and said there were all 
kinds of animal tracks.
Next day they made it there to this little glory hole,
      And rested up for a few days and then took off to their destined goal.
 You just hope for the best, 
       And make sure your guide knows the way west.
There is no guarantees whether you make it or not,
       The trip out west you’re either wet and freezing or you’re dirty and hot.

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Hiss, Hiss, Hiss

I ask you a question, and what do I get,
grumpy answer, like I am some kind of dummy,
I would run from you, if you had done this when we first met.

Your true colors didn't reveal, until about a year of bliss,
now I'm stuck with a man that can't carry on a conversation,
and when I want to talk, you hiss, hiss, hiss.

Maybe you need to enroll in personality classes,
or maybe you just need to be committed,
maybe I need a shrink, or just need to get sassy.

Anyway, you can catch more flies with sweets,
that vinegar ain't working too  good for you dear,
you have become a bothersome creep.

Now let's see, who needs who?
I have my poetry,
who needs you?

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Five Glychostones

There’s five glychostones and they’re hid very well.

One is a link to the future of a God given Grace.
One is a key to all of the boxes stuffed with mail.
One is a code to an ancient mystery and is a case.
One is a seed that grows throughout all the lands.
Moreover, the last is a main element for survival!

So we go journeying for the glychostones in the kingdom halls up in hands,

What a redemptive Holy revival!
Hands in hands they shall all go.
Not one, but two knows their way.
Just hope and always, always pray!
And never simply say I don’t know!

Just search for the five glychostones enriched in its purest true value,
Moreover, each has essential life sustaining merits of valor or honor, 
Hands fill up in the sands when the farmer awakens inside all of you!

Just search for five glychostones and seek to explore all you can do,
Each glychostone reaps in merits and honors ordained pure and true.

You will find every single one of them decked out in crystallites’ blue!
You are splendid with many abundant blessing hands upon your lands!

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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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Thursday Afternoon

The sky was gray, the air was cool
I skipped home Thursday afternoon
Down the hill, below the trees
A broken hose, a sea of leaves
Unbeknownst to me I stood
Watching, waiting, in the wood
When Missus Curiosity
Whispering across the breeze
Somehow got the best of me

Orange clay beside my feet
Autumn gray consuming me
Curious, I took a step (splash)
My shoes became so wet

Suddenly, below the ground
I heard a rushing, rumbling sound
Missus Curiosity then spoke
The septic tank below has broke
You better run, you better hide
‘Cause here comes the crimson tide

I understood, but I could not
Move myself to leave that spot
As the wave crashed down on me
I asked myself 'am I asleep?'
And I woke up.

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Another On The Way

Seemed all was perfect,
in her carefree world,
an only child,
this perfect little girl.
Spoiled to perfection,
nothing she lacked,
a life to dream of,
everything right on track.
Graduation came,
the top of her class,
the gifts were many,
and so much cash.
She told her father,
I want to be a nurse,
but there is something else,
I have to do first.
So she joined the service,
she wanted to serve,
all her friends thought,
she didn't have the nerve.
Up in the ranks,
she started to climb,
such a caring person,
so hard to find.
Then overseas,
she had to go,
her future about to change,
but how could she know.
Into a hospital,
to check some charts,
she had no way of knowing,
someone would capture her heart.
When their eyes met,
she knew it was love,
a feeling like no other,
sent from above.
Now her father,
is tickled pink,
his baby's coming home,
wearing a ring.
Now she is busy,
nursing all day,
the twins are a handful,
and another on the way.

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Electrical Dawn

     Seems like we can't 
get over it
       Our lives have become
          of the electrical dawn
       Don't ask too many 
       The answers may drive 
you mad
      The sparks we have 
suggest the power we 
     have become subservient 
    In a dark room 
     a       bulb
is lit
Eyes strain to read 
printed matter
In the distance 
the sound of a radio 
Electrical Dawn 
Something we must
face if we are 
   To continue on 
  As we have in 
the past
The sharp ring of the 
alarm clock
makes us rise 
from sleep 
   As dawn arrives 
the current that 
   powers the juggernaut
is what we must now 
deal with
In the early morning 
     you can hear 
soft voices 
Our only hope is 
to escape 
Later.... deep within 
and without 
    those voices suggest 
other possibilities 
    We must seize 
    If we wish 
to continue onwards
   as living beings 
on this blue orb

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I Hold No Fear

Tomorrow comes and oh God how it goes!
Do I care, why should I lend all of my spares? 
I’ll never know what tomorrow holds!
“Oh my”, how could I, what is it that I need to do?
Blessed by God, sure he loves me but what about you?
Why today and why tonight I really don’t care! 
I know that I love me no matter what my eyes can see!
Take it all but hold the very last thought that we share! 
My God, My God how I hope you all know what it is that you truly believe!
“Oh my”, capture and redeem my mind!
Complete my being that lives alive inside of me!
God you love me, these eyes have no doubt with that which they can see!
“God”, you know you have done all of this to me! 
Oh how you have loved these things that I can see!
Sheltered, protected, yet, condemned by that which I know you believe!
If I could, I think that I would, but oh God how I do stand here!
Come and get me with all of that, which I know you believe! 
Please God, just come take my all of me! 
I am still here my Lord and I hold no fear!
Tomorrow, hmm just another day for me to believe!
Oh well! Guess I’ll just have to see it through!
Ask me anything and I will tell you! 
I think we all know what it is that we should do!
Escaping the reality of what really should be, 
Oh God, I am so very here do you know what tomorrow will be? 
I’m still here my Lord and I am holding absolutely no fear!
Each morning the Sun rises to approach a brand new day. 
No doubt that I do love me!
Embraced with the thought that you have come just for me, 
I’m engulfed with this moment that I have finally achieved.
Oh my, I know that I could because I am coming to you. 
Where are you my Lord I just need to be so very near!
God you do love me! Oh how I knew that you always would! 
I’ve walked so many miles with you each and every single day, 
And I am still right here my Lord and I hold no fear!


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Day and Night

First light golden glow
daylight stains shadows 
near shadows staining light
until night
daylight's tanning glare
and crystal golden air
heated shadows paling everywhere

All matter's daylight's contured
creates this nexus 
until day's last light passed
when darkness cools in light's absence
night's conture creates matter's sillohuette
with ease eyes endure darkness
all matter's identity unknown
artificial light shone where shadows once roamed
where the material is invisable and shadows hide
and light never can't reside

Blind, insideout, when eyes are closed during eve's time 
The world's presence invisible, the new day's fate unknown
amidst dreams where the memory of light shone

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Shades Of Smoke

Ten Feet From The Floor
No Disturbances From Here
Air Escapes With Each Breath
Awaiting The Smoke To Clear
The Bitter Aftertaste
Of A Martyr In Disguise
Just The Cause And Effect
Bleeding In Their Eyes

A Subtle Collapse Of Reason
Bearing Its Ugly Face
The Smokes Still Clearing
Drifting To Another Place
Shall We Soon Follow
Sifting Through In Shades
Disappear Into Nothing
As The Essence Fades

The View Is Lost
And The Shades Have Sleeved
A Mere Disappearing Act
To The Eyes That Believed
Sudden Shades Of Smoke
Filter In The Distance
They All Endure Coming Down
And Exit To Existence

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I Make Me

Life like war has many casualties

It shows pity on none

I long for perfection in my time

Knowing I’ll never find that someone

I make me ‘Me’ not u so remember that!

Defined by what I think I am

Explained by who I aspire to be

Persuaded by nothing and no one

Bejeweled by my own aspirations

I make me ‘Me’ not u so remember that!

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Nobody should be by himself,
feeling the weight of desperation;
such is the fate of mine
struggling to see
my shimmering star...
I try to deny it to myself,
but all I see: 
is the reflection of me!

On those warm days of June, 
when summer knocks with joy
on the heart's door,
to bring songs and dreams
to those starry-eyed lovers
lying by gliding streams;
I wait like them ,with that feeling of anxiety,
for my beautiful one,
who promised me to dance in the open sky:
her long,golden hair 
covered by tiny,pink roses;
her delicate arms fluctuating like waves...

Alone in a place of isolation,
improvising my lamentation;
daffodils enamor me with their bright color,
even they have their friend sun
to whisper to in the high-noon...
as their words don't comply with my humor! 

On those warm days of June,
blu-jays gladly attune
to my melodious tune,
to turn those moments into a medley
and keep this lover's heart from being lonely;
from somewhere her love-inbued eyes
will surprise me with an illusory glance!

Who wishes to be immersed in desolation,  
imagining to be choked by closed walls...
when hope can lead one out of frustration?
It takes a strong will and a fantastic dream...
to bring to life what lies within! 

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My Dearly Departed

In this world, I can see many faces of you and me,
Boundlessly free with our new abilities to breathe!
I am a dime per every one dozen collecting my fee.

You see, it is just you and me rising upon this day.
Together we do be and forever on our merriest way.
It is just another day for you and me to pitch a say.

We are one word away you see my dearly departed,
We can all bail ship or get this whole thing restarted.
Or, we can confirm that which became our imparted.

Love me now and hate me later,
Or, love me later and hate me now.
Either or my dearly departed hater,
I impart onto you my Poof Bam Pow!

® Registered: Ann Rich 2009

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Earthbound sobriety

While crossing Verrazano Narrows Bridge
recurring mem’ries of New York recapture 
history and civilization of the two boroughs
provide me with deep interest and emphasis.

Brooklyn in its old Dutch for “broken land,”
and Staten Island named “Staaten Eylandt”
named in the early 1600s by Henry Hudson,
trailed off on a tangent through centuries.

A myth or perhaps a legend, the island thus far,
was like a quagmire of townships and disputes;
its meaning to immigrants’ culture and religion,
favored silence, security, peace, and integration.

The burden of too many choices based on clans,
growing businesses and stories of interactions;
new immigrants in droves through generations
like an orchestra combined with a sense of drama.

Reflections of their struggles to make ends meet,
reminded me of articulation through interpretation;
in sobriety of heeding of the composer’s intent,
such a musical piece made me suffer and sweat.

Oh, the pedal, rhythmic vitality and expression!
all these elements comprise what piano playing is,
the technique, in a special way, a benchmark item
indeed, a struggle to interiorize those conventions.

But as a human person with some limitations,
with my own history and capability in playing,
I see where I can be fit and freely express myself;
through movements in diverse missionary works.

As it says in French, “bon débarras, il est partí.” 
my life continues with a backlog of other issues,
a different world focused on service to the Lord;
with my own repertory – its beauty to humanity.

It’s true that my prayer for the church at large,
is also a bridge across the gulf of separation;
coming to this borough of Staten Island
a hodge-podge of concerns, covenanted within.

Now that relationship with God and people
brings me to nourish that faith and commitment;
with that long stretch of Verrazano Narrows Bridge,
a metaphor to my own journey as a missionary.

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Untitled #75 / No other viper

There’s no other viper in the world like her
and when she bit me she slithered off
now I know I’ll have to let the venom run its course,
for her fangs are the only remedy.

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In These Eyes of Mine

In the glow of the day, rise the shadows of a dark night where I come free.
Walking slow yet running with hot flames drenched by my body soiled, I am here.
My walk, my life, I stand with this seed.
Taking me down, all the way because I am the only one who care’s.
In these eyes of mine, let the Sun make glow of my hair!
In the depths of the Oceans may the Mountains peak, I am free.
Stroking slowly, yet rock climbing with the pain of broken rocks, I go there.
My depth and my height I stand with this need.
Rolling me around, all the way because I am the only one who share’s.
In these eyes of mine, let the Mountain make depth of my care.
In the brightness of the Stars lingers a magical gleam, all scattered and free.
Breathing slowly, yet desperate for the air to give my last and final breath, I am there.
My deepest, my highest, I stand with this greed.
Pulling me down to the ground all of the way because I am here!
In these eyes of mine, let the Stars make bright of my fear.
These eyes of mine give to you this planted seed with all of my prayers.

®Registered: Ann Rich 1999

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All My Friends

My many friends, 
this is for all of you,
please know in your heart,
you are so important to me,
in this soup we brew.
Although miles apart,
we are only a click away,
visiting each other,
I love you all,
and I wanted you to know,
for so many times,
we forget to show.
You bring me happiness,
I become a part of you,
reading your memories,
when you allow me to.
Sharing your heartache,
joining in a prayer,
each one so special,
please know I care.
When one day is over,
and another begins,
I can't wait to read,
the new words,
of all my friends.

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Horses are stars, coming out of the barn,
Snow white and dancing under the sun,
Out in the pasture-Prancing is FUN!
Whinneying loudly--voices heard on the run.

Black horses shining-with full tails streaming,
Manes braided with red ribbons-dark eyes gleaming,
Grays and reds, all  running through the grasses,
Men looking over the gate with high powered glasses.

Watching  the cars out on the road,
Neighing at children waving so bold,
Horses run up and down, hoping the children would come,
But  children stay in their cars-now aint that dumb?

Afternoon passes as horses grow tired,
Dreaming of corn and feed in the barn,
A mouthful of water as weary heads fall,
Night time comes swiftly as a low voice calls.

        "Sleep my beauties-- rest until dawn."

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The Bitter Truth

Skies so black, like, cold, cold, coal,
barren ground, exposing ones soul.
Mysteries of the universe, 
does anyone hold,
only decades of time, will show.

Masters of creation, all play a part,
made from deception, from the start.
Bringing much turmoil, where no one hides,
makers of misery, and lies.

Doom is the reaper, no conscious at all,
standing in a place, destined to fall.
Greed wins over, and cast goodness out,
as they lay down their weapons, and shout.

Long will be the journey, for the guilty of heart,
denying to them self, they were ever a part.
Sadness will follow these cold black hearts,
as they wallow in the blood, death has marked.

Sands of evil, infested with pain,
masters gather, plotting their gain.
Torment  of the innocent, no voice be heard,
waiting for victory, and graves be dug.

Temptation of power, so easily taken,
cover it up, someone is mistaken.
Cascades of smoke, swirling to the sky,
the bitter truth, our freedom died.

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The Cat

The cat fell off it's high horse,
it's course of flight only pointed down.
Screeching a sound while it was dragged,
a body bag would be necessary.
But the cat was struck by lightning,
and a single yelp for help issued from it's mouth,
cat monthly front page.
But even though it died twice,
it still lived to tell the tale,
but lost it's tail.
The cat got rabies at the vet,
passed from some god forsaken rabbits,
and had to be put down.
But before it was buried and laid to rest,
it pried open it's eyes and ran for freedom,
leaving a baffled doctor behind to try and comprehend what aspired.
And in it's flight it ran a red light,
and became a rubber guard for a semi's tire.
And even though it died twice more,
it still lived to tell the tale,
and was without a tail.
The cat flailed to free itself from 8 sets of winter tires,
and landed in a desert,
where it ironically drowned in an oasis,
and more ironically was food for the fishes.
And though it died twice more yet again,
it lived to tell the tale,
but was still lacking a tail.
Waking up not yet ashore,
middle of the ocean the cat was bound,
unfound yet by all past owners,
alone it made a raft,
and like a grill,
the cat fried alive,
but before it could be claimed by the sea,
some deep sea fishers caught this cat-fish,
fried and ready for a dish,
but sympathy was on it's side,
and the fishers couldn't let it die,
so they nursed it back to health.
The owners took the cat home,
and spoiled it rotten,
even giving it a tail,
before it rotted in it's mind from a lack of adventure,
and hung itself with a cat toy over it's scratching post.
And although it died twice more,
and had a tail,
it forgot,
it also had one more life,
and awoke just in time to escape a box set for six feet deep,
to go retire it's last life in peace.

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Just Because

Just because, 
I really thought I was!
I was coming and coming,
Holding nothing back!
I could go anywhere,
I could go running!
I came unlatched.
I just really can not compare!
Just because,
I just really knew it was!
I kept going and going,
Holding nothing back!
I went showing!
I was unlatched
I am just really glowing!
Just because,
It really was,
It was here and now!
Holding nothing back!
I go proud!
I am unlatched!
I am just really now!
Just because,
It really was!
But gone forever!
Holding nothing back!
I went clever!
I became unlatched!
I was prisoner, 
Just because 
I really was!

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The Power of a woma

When a woman feeds a man, 
she feeds his head.
When she feeds his ‘man’,
she feeds his heart.
When she feeds his heart, 
she feeds his ‘man’.

A man’s heart is the woman’s thought.
She acts to please the man.
She dangles her act to the man’s thought,
and brings out the man in the man.
She pulls and pounds the man with her prowess.
She rocks and rolls the man with her rules.

When she sneezes the man sniffles.
When she snore the man snort.
When she shouts the man shakes. 
When she stands the man sits.

A woman is the man’s delight,
the man’s desires.
Every man desires a woman.
Yes! A woman, because…
She is, ‘the bone of his bone 
the flesh of his flesh’.

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The Part We Play


As the wind rustles through the sycamore trees,
      It brings such a peaceful spirit that hovers over me.
It’s like the words spoken from a million foreign tongues,
      Hypnotizing and luring is the rhythm as the song is sung.
Ten thousand leaves all move in perfect harmony,
     As the trunk sways gently so majestically.
And the little brook that flows by this little forest of trees,
    Babbles it’s own little song not affected by the breeze.
And standing on her banks is a young whitetail doe,
    Just looking around not caring which way to go.
It’s so peaceful out here it’s like life has slowed down.
     Things are so beautiful when mans not around.
It seems like what ever God creates we have an obligation to mess it up,
     We act more like an unruly and disobedient spoiled little pup.
We’re not in tune to nature we never were,
     We are like the Vikings we’ve ravaged and pillaged her.
As long as we are comfortable no matter the cost,
     It doesn’t matter about tomorrow or if it is completely lost.
So who do we blame if tomorrow doesn’t show.
    It really could happen but who really knows?

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The Burning Veil

My eyes were opened to a bright red burning veil.
Sun scorched and Moon dried,
It was fried!
But, I brought it some water in a crystal blue pale.
The more it burned higher went the scale,
God knows that I at least tried.
There was just nowhere to hide.
But, I wasn’t about to fail.
I put the veil in the water and made it wet.
I held it to the Sun and the Moon to air dry.
The veil melted and glowed where it was set.
It was sparkling and made me want to cry.
Perception had been weakened to what it really should be.
At least, that’s what the burning veil conveyed to the truth inside of me!

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Cold window pane
Or prison bars
For Susan they are the same
Her imagination runs free
As she is trapped inside
But outside the dream
She can hear echoes of autumn
Leaves chattering
Rustling amidst dancing feet
So many children laughing
Her heart racing
Why is that not me
Yet Susan feels nothing
Except her breath on the glass
As reality comes between
She struggles to understand
Her only playmate her hands
Rocking her dreams to sleep
Cold window pane
Or steel chair
For Susan they are the same
Her imagination runs free
As her legs are strapped inside
But outside the dream

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Little Tag Along

This story is about a little dog called Tag Along.
   He loved and followed a little fat boy name of Edwin Armstrong.
The pair were always seen together where ever they went,
    He was the friend little Edwin needed, it was like he was heaven sent.
The kids at school always laughed at Edwin for being fat.
    But not little Tag Along for he’d have none of that.
When Edwin was in class he would patiently wait outside,
    Till Edwin came out then they played run and hide.
Little Tag Along would run ahead of Edwin in a game of tag.
    Then Edwin started noticing his pants would sag.
As months grew into years Edwin grew into a young man who was not fat.
    Because little Tag Along helped to rid little Edwin of that.
It was like little Tag Along knew ,
    What Edwin needed as he grew and grew.
When Edwin graduated the head of his class that once taunted and made fun of 
    He stood there to give his speech so tall and thin, while old Tag Along sat at 
his feet so proper and prim.
He said once upon a time there lived a boy,
   Who had no friends till Tag Along came and brought such joy.
The friend one needs to show him what he needs to do,
    To teach that life is not just something you hurry through.
He said we need to look past our noses and into their hearts,
   For he said that is where to me life gets its start.
Old Tag along knew what I needed more than any of you.
   And he showed me the way to overcome, what I needed to do.
He said I truly would like to honor my friend Tag Along first,
   Why old Tag Along sat up and his little chest started swelling you’d think it 
might burst.
Well old Tag Along barked to the crowd ,
    He just barked and barked real loud, you could tell he was proud.
Well Edwin and Tag Along left that day, 
   He and little Tag Along just packed up and went away.
I’ve heard reports that Edwin has made it real big,
    And that old Tag Along goes along as he checks on his fleet of rigs.

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Occurring being fearful the winter
while the mid-night minutes
by anew wake of dawn —
the snow-alike rain been falling
and the Cathedral is hollow-ringer
sudden gave off fifth pealing of belling 
and hour done announce by dawn turn,
over the semi vision bout darkness	
and through my window glass
the winter I listening 
giving a sound in torment whimper —	
and the illusion, the dreamy
and memories apart
occupying sort, my mind
the childhood and romance left moment
the school ever by a placenta winter
ever as passions area
the fountain and inspiration
a meant-up dynamic thy precious
the beauty–the greatly there
moments in life 
and by the end, I wrote
the winter I’d listened
in respond and convert ill temper
over hard fury whimpering sound
in landing in torment . . . 

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The Night of the Moon

It's the night of the moon
and though it's not in my sight.
The magic will be here soon.
The full moon takes the stage tonight.

I feel as low as the tide. 
The dark clouds set the tone.
Watching waves and sand collide.
I walk the beach all alone.

The clouds are fighting the sun.
They can't keep the bright light behind.
Sunset and beauty become one.
Doubt and hope crowd my mind.

Brilliant hues of orange,pink,and red
contrasting with clouds dark and gray
The sun paints a picture before bed
and then takes the painting away.

Splashing way out there in the sea.
Winking stars playfully laughing out loud.
I wonder,how this can be?
The night wont carry a cloud.

Where have all the clouds gone?
They've been plucked out of the sky.
The battle with the sun was been won.
I question not how, only why?

There's a bright glow in the west.
The curtain goes up for the show.
Dancing lights on the water are next.
Slowly rising the moon seems to grow.

Sometimes it's such a spiritual thing.
When nature reveals what it can truly do.
I can almost hear this moon sing.
So extravagant, it must be alive too.

My memory goes back to a time.
When the moon stole the show like this. 
I was with a girl that was so fine
and remembered that,that night we kissed.

But my memories are what had me down. 
I can't remember too many good.
There was the clouds at sundown
and suddenly I understood.

If I only kept good thoughts in my minds eye
and make all the bad ones just finish.
Maybe then my thoughts wont seem to magnify
what my memory can't seem to diminish.

Out with the bad thoughts in with the new. 
I'll fill my head with good memories only. 
But it seems that there are so few
that my thoughts might just get lonely.

That makes a smile come to my lips
and I wonder, did I just laugh out loud?
I watch enchanted as the moon slips
across the sky without a cloud.

My mood has changed I realize.
I knew I felt that pull.
Now I know hope never dies.
Hope lives in a moon this full.

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Walking on Water

I turn my back and look the other way, 
My shadow is a bliss you hope and pray!
I’m walking on water at the stroke of midnight,
Searching for the hope of a breaking daylight!
Everything’s just so incredibly beyond bright!
Closing my eyes to a brand new day,
Shutting down inside and feeling everything just die.
My thoughts surely would make you an empty man inside!
I’m walking on water in the shadows of daybreak,
Searching for the hope of my lost and alone faith!
Everything’s just so outrageously beyond great!
I close my mind to the brand new light of day.
Closing my eyes and just walking away,
But my shadow you hope and pray will surely stay.
I’m walking on water at the peak of nightfall,
Looking for this huge magnificently clear waterfall!
Everything’s just so enormously beyond tall!
I close my eyes and I begin to pray.
My thoughts could surely give hope to all,
For I walk on water on each and every day!

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The Art Of Growing Old

As the days become shorter and cooler,
   And my age climbs a little farther up the ruler.
Life has taken on a new and wonderful meaning.
   I’ve finally reached a point in life that many take to be demeaning
I am an official member of the Old Timers Club,
   It’s an elite and prestigious hub.
There is just one rule to join in this niche,
   You have to be as old as a rock and still able to scratch your own itch.
No dues are charged we just gossip a lot, 
   About what’s wrong with so and so and the ailments we’ve got.
How many medications you’re on or what new thing the doctors have removed,
   And what side effects they have and whether they’re F.D.A. approved.
Sometimes we reminisce about family till someone starts to cry.
   Then we just sit there rocking thinking on days gone by.
There is one true saying, if you live long enough you too will grow old.
   So far it’s not a crime but they’re working on that I’ve been told.
This exclusive club is known for its heartache and pain,
   But a lot of love is shown as long as you remain.
It’s something we’ve earned and we have the scars to show.
   That growing old is not always the best way to go.
As long as we’re able to gather or talk,
    And know that some one still cares whether we can stand and walk.
I guess maybe it’s support this thing we seek.
    Cause growing old alone truly makes life reek.
I think loneliness is the worse fear of all,
    Just waiting out your days and longing for somebody to come by or even just 
The young act like old age is a contagious disease,
   They might catch it if you happen to sneeze.
I remember when depends was a state of mind,
    Not something you wore around your old behind.
With that little thought I think I’ll close for now.
     That’s about all I think they’ll allow

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Docked by Time

Celebrating the glare that glows,
A reflection of you creeps in.
The glory of high rank again!
Somebody you do not know,
But a sacrifice all the same!
Docked by time with a name!
Riding the high tides,
A fear of you sets in.
The smile of pride again,
Somebody you hide,
But a sacrifice all the same!
Docked by time playing the game!
Laughter with the fame you claim,
The sound of you drifts in,
The look of confidence seen again,
Somebody you remain.
But a sacrifice all the same!
Docked by time is such a shame!

®Registered: Ann Rich 1998

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Open Season On Paparazzi's ?

I sit here and wonder how this life went so amuck.
      Sometimes it has no meaning, just how often does it suck?
Your private life gets so invaded.
      Usually by someone who’s mind is sick and jaded.
Think of all the movie stars and other famous ones.
      They’re stalked like criminals for the things they’ve done.
Did they make a pact, or did they sell their soul?
      To be rich and famous and achieve this awesome goal.
They try to disguise their selves and fit in with the crowd.
       But it never works for them for they were placed upon a cloud.
They have to run to foreign shores.
       Just to taste life as it was before.
I think it’s time we give them a break.
       After all they’re just human for goodness sake.
Put your self in these guys shoes.
       After awhile you get enough to make you sing the blues.
They cannot even go out to eat without a camera in their face.
       Why not give them a break and put yourself in their place.
The Paparazzis are to blame.
       They have no morals or no shame.
Their like leaches upon a bare back.
       Spineless amoebas in their never ending bloodsucking attack.
They cause much grief but they don’t care.
       It’s hard to fight them they are so unfair.
I think they should open season on Paparazzis just one day.
       With no limit, would that be okay?

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If The Sky Were To Come Down

Stardust falls from broken skies
the moon hangs on a hinge
ready to collapse, ready to break
heaven bleeds from within
some say the sky is falling
clouds crash up above
thunder laces trying to be the seam
that holds it all together.
Stardust continues to fall
black chips of night sky drip down
behind the sky--
dark matter upon the ground
that gaping blackness
it is suffocating, suffocating
--i can reach up and grab the sky
but my hand meets nothing
clouds now crash into the ground.
Where will the angels sit now?
Will they come falling next?
The moon sinks lower, she is too heavy
they sky can no longer yield her up
no more thumb tack stars to keep her in place
they've become glass on the ground.
She sobs at her loss.
Stardust is still trickling from someplace up above
it is empty now, so empty
blank vast expanse
there is no such thing as a sky.
Can neither feel nor touch
the heavens fell to below
darkness settles to the human eyes
blind and groping outward nimble hands go
trying to find in the darkness
some piece of heaven left.
Stardust falls from broken skies
the moon hangs on a hinge
ready to collapse, ready to break
heaven bleeds from within.

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Midnight and the Shadows.

Midnight drips down from the clouds
the sky, infected by her despair turns to ash,
and the grand Concords of heaven mourn
burning the world with their bitter tears,
tears of acid.
Brine from the breeze sticks silver
in the night
glittering with the sand stuck in it,
and the face of midnight sets 12 eyes
on the faces of the fallen.
Twisted in their misery of disgrace
torment is the deep set lines on their faces,
ageless to times touch
and the acid drips in time with midnight
much to mortal displeasure.
The snowfall turns skin to porcelain
becoming ash in the mouths of the innocent
setting them apart from the world of sinners
Midnight marks them as hers
claiming the purest, leaving the world to suffer their sins.
As night sets his hands in,
the innocent:
turn their wrists skyward
turn the bottle upside down
and line up the pills
just in time for the tolls of midnight to echo into the darkness.
Once, twice and the wrists are sliced
seventh, eighth another drink take
eleventh, twelfth, no more pill bottles on the shelf
no more minutes to midnight 
and beating hearts, pure and black, slow.
Midnight gathers her children,
casting them black shadows falling
growing and creating
an image of herself in the light of day
always some part of her in the moon or in the sun
until Midnight calls them to her again.

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The Story of the Dumpster Diver

 I asked him what he did?
    As he stood up and opened the lid.
He said some people call me a dumpster diver but hey that’s okay.
     He said I just reuse what people throwaway.
I asked him aren’t you afraid you might catch some incurable disease?
     He said you can do that just breathing the stuff that floats in the breeze.
I said it just seems like you’re taking an awful big chance.
    He did not speak but his eyes met my wandering glance.
I asked him did you choose this life or was it thrust upon you?
    He said I once had a home a really nice one too.
A little girl and a wife every mans dream.
     Everything was perfect like a fairytale theme.
One evening quite late we started home from the park.
     And I saw this car coming and saw flashes in the dark.
It was bullets they were firing that struck us all three.
     One hit my arm and one struck my knee.
One struck my wife they said it went right through her heart.
    The one my little girl caught ripped her apart.
My money all went for paying doctors, and morticians and such.
     In six months time I lost my family, home, and job that’s why now I don’t care 
too much.
I could have drawn unemployment, welfare and stuff.
     But instead I just turned to the streets I’ve just had enough. 
I said man I’m so sorry, I just didn’t know.
     He said that’s okay I catch it everywhere I go.
Well I bid him fair well and silently turned away.
     I often think about that old dumpster diver and the words he had to say.
I guess if this were to have a moral: How about never judge a book by its cover.

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The Torge

The blacksmith at his age-old forge,
Hammering in an arcane gorge,
His argent anvil overgrown with nettles,
Pounding celestial magic into arctic metals,
Creating the bladed blight, they call the Torge.

The infamous devil himself was at the door,
The carmine demon was evil to the core,
False wind billowed out the smith's brocade,
As the contorted blade was slowly made,
But then the vile devil took the floor.

The wretched smith turned swiftly to see,
What creature had entered so hatefully,
But the night lit with apocalyptic fire,
The smith's soul feeding hell's raging desire,
The devil lifted the weapon with courtesy.

The edge had been sharpened and was keen,
The blade extremely long straight, and lean,
Villiany was strong at this dark hour,
The blade simmered with the dark prince's power,
The demon's soul was abject and mean.

The Underworld gained a new weapon that night,
In preparation for the final divine fight.

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Who was She?

My father found it in the dirt
when he was a young man. A gift for
me that has held me in its spell for years.
Who owned this garnet stone in
it’s simple gold setting? Who smiled
when it was slipped on her finger?
My thoughts are so often with her
when I wear it . I feel I know
her in a special way, that somehow
our lives have intertwined. Now it is
my duty to gift it one that will have
the imagination to look into the past-
and proudly wear this treasure. Yes,
keeping part of this woman alive by wearing
her simple circle with a garnet stone.

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The huge sky overseeing the emerald and bluish earth...
wouldn't be the only sky in our incredibly diverse Universe,
if limited sight weren't the obstacle to the awesome images that surprise couldn't conceal;
but many more galaxies hiding their splendid suns and planets,,
are still unknown and Man, overtaken by such a magnificence, expresses 
himself in more atheistic ways not to compromise his own foolishness!
If we declare faith non-existent, cupidity can become our fetish... 
filling us with more rampant pride to enforce its hypocritical seal! 

More universes, like ours, lay dormant in their stillness,
" And will life be found on them? " is a question too inconclusive
that we can only answer by being so compellingly delusive;
more universes await the discoveries of the intelligent mind,
to lay out their awsomeness and beauty to discard the thought of finding life,
impelling us to preserve ours, not to destroy it by valiance or insanity!
Search history's events, are we capable of pursuing happiness...
without conquering and proclaiming our power with mighty armies?

In ancient days, they created unrealistic gods and goddesses...
not conceiving that the Supreme One wasn't a god in human form,
but rather the Invisible One, who often scolded them for their wickedness;
so in stone and marble they continued to sculpture divine faces
that the common people hailed and worshipped, and would they refuse
to obey their tyrant's wishes: their worthless lives would be taken...
and did Paul, the follower of Christ, go back to that cult so perverse?
We know, from the Holy Scriptures, he was converted and put down his sword...


More universes more magnificent than this one,
can be discovered and inhabited if they are livable;
and scientists are working hard along with astronauts to accomplish our dream,
and who isn't excited and show interest to take a voyage into the outer space?
Navigators ventured on perilous seas to attest that their concept was solid and real;
we, with more sophisticated computer science, are groped by the unthinkable!
Persuaded or not, discouraged or doubtful, researches must continue at our expense;
and what if we were successful, wouldn't everyone be taken by shock?   

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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   The cat disrupts her thinkable moment, by                                                                            
attention thou need, she took the torso                     

   and kept it hold from the breast by                                                                                              
used all ways, and kept the stand for                                                                                                

   apart the opening window in somnolent                                                                                          
in love instant glaceing the helplessness                                                                         	 
   terrain in nightfall moonily lasts sky,                                                                                           
after, stands for in deeds’ surge panache                                                                                         

   up fictions points then’ sinew really not                                                                                           
her moved away from the window                                                                                	
   thus, put-down above rugs in blue                                                                                                  
as faithful roommate, busing in breach                                                                                         

   And ratified self, at troughs enjoins kitchen                                                                                   
baking feed.  Now blank having, his mind                                                                         

   And freedom from images in love stages —                                                                                  
Anew think channels while the nowadays.


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Desperados run this town

Well I had just rode into town, got off my old horse and decided to walk around.
   I felt something behind me as I stepped quietly listening for the sound.
I slipped my revolver in my hand and spun the cylinder round.
   Right in front of the Long Fork Saloon and Grill lay this ole tick infested hound.
Bout that time I heard it again that noise was closing in.
   I seen that old cur growlin low and I knew the fun wuz fixin to begin.
The wind it started to howl and blow as I stood in front of the Long forks doors.
   The town it self wuz pretty small, rekon maybe six to seven stores.
Down the way I seen this ChineyMan dumpin some water in the street.
  As I stand here by the door with that ole dog sniffin out my feet.
Scat get on outta here and I placed my boot upside his rump.
    Well the ole ignorant thing just rolled over and layed there in a lump.
Reach mister you best be grabbin for some sky.
   Then he said it again reach I tell ya, less you be wantin to die.
Well I wuz pretty sure I knew that raspy voice.
   But I dropped my gun and did what he said, he left me little choice.
And as I felt his capgun stickin in my side.
   I knew this roody toot tooter carried my brand upon his hide.
And as I turned to look at him, he said I really got you daddy I really got you good.
   He said momma sent me to get ya, shes needin you to chop some wood.

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The White House

broken down
withered chimney
hidden stories within
lost loves in this tragic place
a tragic fire took many lives
the white house
may not be alive today
but neither are the owners
for this a place in history
in my lonesome life
the white house in my memory will indeed be sacrificed

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Words can take you wherever you wish to be.
   Words can capture and words can set you free.
Words have strength and words have power.
   Words can be descriptive like the beauty of a flower.
Words can be soft like a warm summers rain.
   Words can be harsh intended to bring only pain.
Words can be lifting like words filled with love.
    Words can be hurtful when anger replaces that love.
Words can be soothing like a young mothers kiss.
    Words can hold ecstasy and filled with heavenly bliss.
Words can show feelings and make things okay.
    Words can paint pictures if we know what to say.
Words are what separates us from all other things.
    Words can hold victory and the joys that it brings.
Words can hold life and a thing known as death.
    Words are just sounds made with mutterance of breath.

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The Night Of The Cougar

As the rain gently plays a melodious tune on my old tin roof,
   And the peaceful sound of thunder like the sound of a thousand galloping 
It feels like a spring rain but it’s the wrong time of year, 
    The weather each year gets a little stranger is the normal talk you get around 
I put on my old slicker and traipse out the door,
     And head for the barn to check on the animals once more.
Everything seems to look pretty good as I figured it would,
    But something caught my eye as lightning flashed back in the woods.
The biggest old mountain lion I guess I’d ever seen,
     And the look in his old eyes told me this fellar was mean.
I was hoping I could make to the door before he comes tearin after me.
    Luck was on my side as I ran past the tree.
He just sat there a squalling and making the hair stand up on my neck.
    I knew it was a gonna be a fight cause this old cougar had no respect.
I felt his breath on my backside as he let out a roar.
     And the thunder clapped loudly as I made the front door.
Well he slammed up against the door with all of his might, 
    As I grab up my old rifle with no bullets in sight.
Then I remembered where I had put them as I ran to the drawer.
     He was still on my old porch but it was too dark by far.
Well I heard him a scratchin on my old wall, 
     So I let loose a shot just hoping that’s all.
This was a man killer and I was the man,
     He was a smart old critter and I think this was his plan.
After I shot it got deadly quite,
      Not a sound of a cricket not nothing just the silence of the night.
I wanted to go outside but it was just too dark for me to see.
     So I decided to just wait that would be the safest thing for me.
When daylight finally came around I cracked open the door,
    And there he lay dead, I’d shot him through the head guess he won’t be a 
bother no more.
Well sir I skinned him on out and tanned his old hide,
     And at the smallest place he was more’n four feet wide.

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Have You Been Saved ? I Was Saved By A Tree!

Sitting by the creek one day, watching as two little ducks swam by.
   They were in such a rush it seemed, to catch a floating dragon fly.
I started to erect myself, when I slipped and fell.
   I must have hurt my leg somehow, for it began to swell.
The current was mighty swift as it pulled me on my way.
   I knew I was getting in too deep and I began to pray.
It seems the only time we talk is when I’m in a bind.
   A feeling just came over me, what if He should pay me no mind.
He wouldn’t do that to me, I thought, that would be unfair.
   Maybe He’s trying to show to me, what it’s like when no one’s there.
 Lord I’m getting in too deep, and I’m getting mighty scared.
   I never learned to swim at all, this secret I’ve never shared. 
 All of a sudden a log came by, and I caught hold of a branch or two.
   I thought how, did this log happen by, was it a gift from you.
As the water began to shallow some, I made it to dry ground.
   My leg was really sore I guess, but it seemed to be quite sound.
He answers our prayers in many ways, often though we do not see.
   For me, my prayer was answered, by Him floating me a tree.

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Another Ava Adventure

On a modern playground out by the Bayou
no see-saws, no merry-go-rounds to be seen-
Too dangerous, I'm guessing as we head to the swings
and I push her to the tops of the trees
I sing. And sing:
"Yellow Bird...
High Up In Banana Treeeeee"
( I never pretend to sing in key but belt it all the same)
She loves it, swings higher, asks me to sing again and again.
Then it's on to the jungle gym and slides, slides, slides.
Today, the structure is a hot air balloon 
and we run like mad bandits, pushing silver buttons
and letting air out.
"What's our altitude?" I yell
"400" she answers back in a panic
I push the silver screw on my right and let some air out
"We need 180!", I say, "Tell me when we reach 180!"
When we finally avert that disaster, she looks out of the spy glass
and low and behold, we are about to hit a tree.
A palm tree no less, and those things hurt!
We both quick steer to the right - in unison.
Then, unexpectedly, our battery runs out.
I didn't know hot air balloons ran on batteries,
but she assures me they do - and she happens to have another
in her back pocket.
We finally find smooth sailing
and have a chance to look out.
Pristine blue sky.  Sun taking every edge off the Bayou's breeze.
Apple green grass and trees with limbs bending every which way-
not trimmed, not sculpted, just allowed to grow wild and perfect for climbing.
It's with heavy hearts that we land our balloon to come back to reality.
For a while, she tells me that the whole contraption is out of our hands
and can't land back down on earth - We're heading North North North!
Cold country!
But, after the five extra minutes we spend in the air, she agrees to go.
"I love you", she says.
"I love you too", I answer, "Thanks for playing with me".
She smiles and we leave with plans to conquer the big climbing tree on our next adventure.

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Castle of Dreams

As I lay my head on my pillow, my eyes shut to the world, I
feel a "presence" of another world calling out to me. I open
my eyes and see myself dressed in purple velvet and
walking along a moat of wild flowers and tall grass. I hear
sounds of trumpets and see soldiers riding in on majestic
horses. I look up to find myself amongst a castle grounds,
with towers peeking out of the evening mist. Once again, I'm home...home at 
Raglan Castle.

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The Fishin Trip

The old campfire was pleasant as we sat by its flame.
   Talking about how things have changed, hardly anything stays the same.
Talking about the price of gas, now that got a rise.
    How you used to could fill up a tank for a ten dollar bill, that brought tears to old 
Bobs eyes.
Bob said he’s about ready to buy him a horse and be done with it.
   I said Bob you wouldn’t even know which end of the horse to put the saddle on, 
let alone make it fit.
He said yeah like you would, reckon I wouldn’t but least I know where to poke the 
   That got him tickled and he said you’re probably right, can’t you just picture me?
Old Jake finally had to put his two cents in, he said Bob get you one of them 
hobby horses ride that to town.
    Well I could see old Bob getting a little agitated, he chunked some more wood 
on the fire and gave Old Jake a frown.
Bob said to heck with horses, gasoline and all that other bull, let’s talk about fish.
   Bob declared, bet I catch the biggest & probably the most, me and Jake pop off 
about the same time, don’t you wish.
I said you know what guys we’re going to sit here all night blabbering and ain’t 
none of us gonna feel like wettin a hook tomorrow.
   As we decide to turn in old Bob says, dang I forgot my piller either one of you 
got an extra I could borrow.
Goodnight guys, busy day tomorrow, get your rest.
   Come six o’clock tomorrow evening, we’ll see whose catch is the best.

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Campfire Talk

The old campfire was pleasant as we sat by its flames. 
   Thinking on days gone by, and certain people with forgotten names. 
Talking of life and all that we’ve learned. 
   And of certain deals gone bad and just how badly were we burned. 
Thinking on good times as well as the bad. 
   Sometimes we make happy, sometimes we make sad. 
It’s all about choices, the ones that are given and the ones that we make. 
   The ones given freely, the ones that we take. 
We are lucky to be living in a country so free. 
   As we watch smoke billowing thru leaves of this old hickory tree. 
One thought came to mind and was spoken out loud. 
   As a citizen of America, I’m honored and proud. 
And as we reminiscence on our families, especially our wives. 
   We’d be nowhere without them, they brighten our lives. 
This kinship and loyalty to our country, should be given freely without being told. 
   If we do this, then democracy and freedom will be ours to cherish and to hold. 
Keep God on the front page in all that we do. 
   And He’ll keep standing for the Red, White, & Blue. 

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An Amber Alert for These Guys


They found an old friend of mine dead today,
    They said he just completely withered away.
He was said to have been a knight in shiny armor and rode a mighty steed,
    An was always coming to damsels in distress a champion for their need.
His name was Chivalry and he stood so proud,
    He stood out no matter where or the size of the crowd.
All the good ones are leaving one by one,
    Seems these things aren’t worth passing down to our daughters and sons.
 Mr. Scruples and Mrs. Gumption they had to leave,
    No one even missed them there was no one to grieve.
 I lived next door to a family called Morals many children they had.
    Some were really nice and good while the others were plain bad.
There’s old Mr. Love and his sweetheart missy Kindness they’re down on their 
    Seems like those old bullies Hatred and Greed have caused so much trouble 
aided by their cousin the infamous Mr. Schmuck.
All the goods ones are either leaving or gone,
   There’s no more Mr. Respect he’s not answering his phone.
There is only two left and they’re hanging by a thread,
   Their names are Praise and Worship and there are many who would like to 
see them dead.

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Shadows of Turning

One shadow.  Two shadows..  Three shadows... 
And two remain when the third one fades,
Until the light is directly behind me.  
And then there's just one.
As I move further away, a second and third one
Is cast from the light just ahead, 
And one of the three disappears
As the other joins the one behind me,  
Like an off-centered aura;
And when I walk from whence I came
There is my shadow and its aura in front of me,
Mimicking my every movement, until they join as one.
Then two others appear as I near a light,
The two at my side are strong,
As the one in front flickers away, 
So goes the one at my left side;
And the one behind, alone, slowly walks ahead of me.
Almost simultaneously disappearing, 
Until the shadow with an aura appears
And move around from back to left to front;
And so goes the cycle as I move from light to light, 
Until I see only one shadow,
Which slowly fades as I turn to go left, 
Then a lighter one angles long and leftward,
Disappearing quickly as the two reappear 
At an angle behind me, to my left, then a bit ahead
Until I turn left again and rest beside the column, 
And there I rest just me and my shadows.

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Black Rose

I am hanging on to this rose
In where I am hoping you will come
My hope for our love is high
Couldn't imagined what we had become

You surrounded me with your smiles
My fantasy built up with you
Colours of red only in my sight
And saw you always dress in blue

Love was in my mind
When I realised we had our first kiss
A way to figure out
That love was not actually a risk

I finally found her towards the end
Where no man could survived that far
My Hope was to build a new beginning
And to be as what we are

I know our love was strong
It was never wrong
I know this is what you want
Where we truly belong

When that one day comes
The sky turned dead black
Filled my world with emptiness
She would not go back

She left me but a note
A note that did not change my world
But it was a note
That change my heart

I could not forget about her
Her face, mind and soul was in me
I wish I could get out
To a day when I could be free

I know she still had my rose
I know she still had my heart
Our lives could not move on
With us staying apart

I wonder in my own fantasy
Where love did not exist in there
I couldn't erased these memories
These haunted memories I couldn't bear!

From here till the present
Where her figure started to fade
I wonder if the rose still had the same colour
That rose which I Believe will no longer be red

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The Devils Seed

The spirit beckons from deep inside,
   Leaving scars up on his hide.
Possessed he is, is what the old one said.
   Better off if he were dead.
His eves were wild and his tongue was crude.
   Lashing out as he stood there nude.
Howl like a dog, he’d growl and snap,
   Then purr like a kitten, then hiss and slap.
Something happened to make him lose it all,
   A man of substance before this fall.
He was the kind where enough was never enough,
   A greedy man who played life rough.
He’d take what he’d want and damn the price.
    The demeanor of this man was not very nice.
Then one day he met this pretty little thing,
   He even got on his knees with a wedding ring.
But she looked at him and she laughed out loud.
    It was more than he could take, this man so proud.
In his anger he took her life,
     All because she refused to be his wife.
They said his mind simply snapped after this awful deed.
      And now he’s cursed to carry the devils seed.

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The Bloody Dawn


The war that took it all away,
    Stripped us of our freedom, our rights, and left us barren in this world today.
They came on us like they were friends,
    As we opened up our gates to let them in.
With not a thought given as to what evil plans they had in store.
    To the foul deeds and power that they mustered as they invaded our shores.
Oil tankers by the thousands brought war machines and death like we’ve never 
    Into our ports and harbors as their flags of friendship so deceitfully were flown.
They stormed our southern borders without a fight.
     Killing and destroying any and everything that came into sight.
With no respect or mercy we had to flee.
    Leaving behind a world that now is just a long ago memory.
Hiding like animals the ones that would not bow,
    Or the only hope left to those they’ve captured in this crazy world right now.
So quick they came they flooded our land, 
      No one was ready to take this stand.
No warning, no nothing was ever given to us that fateful day,
     As war was brought on in a frightful way.
It was another Pearl Harbor of such enormous magnitude as we ran to escape.
    We have totally been violated and the only word that comes to mind is rape.
We knew this could happen but we remained ill prepared,
    Well now that it’s happened how well have you faired?
Just like a giant game of chess that they played us so well
    This could really happen but right now ( Thank God ) it’s just a story I tell.

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If Ever I Should Have to Wonder

If ever I had to wonder, 
I would simply wonder why our paths were even destined to cross.
Obviously, I have so many things I have to wonder, 
Because my love carries the strength of steel and an armor of cloth!
No doubt that I will think of the many things that could always make me sigh.
But I know that I’d forever wonder why so much pain comes with an inevitable loss?
“Tis a soul for a soul and one cast out with your solemn moment of pride”.

If ever I should have to wonder, 
Indeed I would have wondered where?

Where is the beginning and where is the end to this forsaken way of life?
Where does all this “hidden truth” lay and why is it that I’m still standing and I can survive?

No doubt that I will think of the many things that I could always compare,
But I know that I’d forever wonder how much warmth there really is out there to share.
Brought down from sorrows below my beliefs have become my sacrifice.

If ever I had to wonder, 
I’d simply wonder where?
Where do we go when we go away and why is it that we even have to leave?
Where is this truth and why should I be the only one that will produce my beliefs?

No doubt that I would think of the many things that could always make me instantly care.
But I know that I would forever wonder why there’s so much hope with all of this despair.
‘Tis a soul for a soul and each is in such a constant dire of eternal need”!

If ever I should have to wonder, 
I’d simply wonder why this was all even meant to be.

Why could you not see the power and the glory that God has invested in the life of me?
Obviously so many things to have to wonder because love carries so many will’s that fizzle 
and die.
No doubt that I would think of the many things that could always make me sad and cry.
But I know that I will forever wonder was it I, the one who has been received?
But most of all I will forever wonder what is it that you, as one, really believe?

© Copyright:  1998   Ann Rich

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A Thought Away

Courage under fire is what we are, 
Just thoughts away!
Tempting moments to just let it all go.
An empty world on a void day!
A pillar of strength with all that we know,
A thought away from a vision so far!
Strength under force is what we are, 
Just thoughts away! 
Incredible force with remarkable strength is what we see.
The chance to be with a chance to stay,
At a consistent level with the honor that only we can achieve. 
We’re a thought away from the flames of a shooting star!
One of the very same is what we are, 
Simply just thoughts away!
Mountains so high and oceans so deep with all that we deem.
So much unknown,
There’s just so much more,
It’s a given place where only we can lay!
Marks of pride are held in the eyes that stand glossed and gleamed.
We’re just a thought away from a world greater than our large.
We’re just one thought away from the world that we all disregard.
We’re just thoughts away from what it is that we really and truly are!

© Copyright: 1997  Ann Rich

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Misery + Ecstasy

"my ecstasy is my misery,"

and she swallowed the pill,
counting the minutes that
separated their difference:

misery and ecstasy, walking
hand-in-hand through the rut
in the valley of denial, drowning
so deep in waves of blurred
stimulation; hopeless, her nerves
rushing past the speed of pain,
only to slide through her fingertips
back onto another pill that,
yet again,

she clutches like a sleepless lover
in the glow of capsules and a blacklit
agony; her heart beats erratically-
a prisoner waiting to break free
from its cage, and feel life, smoothly
coursing through her veins,
as she swallows-

her pulse spikes and eyes roll back
to a place of no thought; no judgment
to measure just what she's living for,
looking for, or why - a fairytale land
of neon greens and electric
a place where she's alone
just enough to be comfortable
in a room full of dead light and
decaying relationships; 
she turns her back, knowing
she'll be stabbed, bound, tied and

but this way,
no one will notice her eyes
head lolling
back, moving
to the violent heartbeat-
stifling her mumbled pleas
of lonely syllables
not a soul will hear -

just bring me back"

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Our Garden Of Candles

How can one begin to caress the unknown,
as tomorrow is coming closer, our yesterdays gone.
Between the days, lie the bitter truth,
when youth disappears, and there is nothing we can do.
Reality is awakened from a dormant sleep,
capturing an image supposed to be me.
Unlike the making, of expensive fine wine,
years have a way, of being unkind.
The greatest treasure on this journey through life,
is the wisdom acquired, from our garden of candles, burning
so bright.

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A Country In Tears

Once upon a time, in a country so far away,
little children gathered, and were allowed
to bow their heads, and pray.
And in this same country, a flag was flown,
a story was written about when it was sewn.
The country was founded on, a desire to be free,
and in this country, there were people, that would meet.
 They were very smart, and with God in their heart, they made up laws,
and documented every part.
These laws were written, so people could be free,
everyone had a purpose, they wrote them for you, and me.
A man was elected so honest, and true, he gave the meaning,
to our Red, White, and Blue.
Generations passed, and greed walked in, this was the evil,
that has destroyed many a good man.
War after war, and death after death, grave by grave,
that country wept.
Elections came, and elections went, each making a way,
for this countries decent.
Once upon a time God took center stage, In God We Trust,
 was stamped on the money, this country made.
It still is, to this very day, and with the voice of the people,
it will stay.
Once upon a time could be closer than we think, to
keep our freedoms, it is up to you, and me.

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Remember to Smile

I remember an old song called I think Turn Around.
   About a young girl and every time she turned around a new age in her life was 
As she turned around she would age five to ten years.
    It was so beautifully done it would nearly bring on tears.
She started out as a baby and ended when she had babes of her own.
    It seems like it was a commercial I know I’ve seen it shown.
Memories are our camera lens of these days gone by.
    Captured forever in our minds they often make us cry.
Sad memories seem to stand out most in our wayward minds.
    Like some old soap seen on t.v. they’re better left behind
Good memories will always prevail if we choose them to.
    Instead of feeling all sad and blue, think about some good times too.
Change the movie in your mind, one to suit your mood.
    Put a smile on your face and be a happy dude.    (or dudette)
Put an s between each mile and watch the day go by.
   People will look at you and smile and won’t even know the answer why.
Smiling and yawning are contagious things if you do them right.
   Yawning and smiling or smiling and yawning it is still a delightful sight.
Here’s happy thoughts to you and yours as you journey through the years.
    Happy memories to hold on to instead of those that bring you tears.
     Remember To Smile

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Old Becomes New

Hidden feelings now flourish within,
can one ever go back to claim them again,
into the past like a photograph in time,
foolish in thought with no rythem or rhyme.

Seems like yesterday as I walk in my past,
some things forgotten, but some will always

Regrets still linger, 
like a faint perfume,
as memories come forth,
in my silent room.

Where will this take me,
do I dare reveal,
as things start changing,
though I'm standing still.

New becomes old,
and old becomes new,
all this a mystery,
do you feel it to?

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My Little World


I feel so small,
   In the spectrum of it all.
No more important than a mere speck of dust,
   Lost in this matrix with no one to trust.
With no will to climb higher, 
    Scared of being burnt as I near the flames of the fire.
All trust has vanished throughout time,
    Putting your trust in another can often leave you feeling like slime.
Emotions can only blind you,
    And keep you from doing the things you need to do.
Your heart is your most tender of garments, 
    Especially when worn on your sleeve exposed for all to torment.
And if exposed for too long it is said it will turn to the hardest of stone,
    Isolation is wrong for the heart can’t stand to be left all alone.
So there we go again the circle is complete,
    Trust or isolation without companionship we’ve met defeat.
And without trust no companionship will be had,
    So forget what I just said I think I’ve just gone mad.
A white coat a padded room, 
    A safe place for brilliant minds to bloom.
It’s never to late to get it right,
    At least that’s what my doctor tells me most every night.
Said my mind just needed a rest,
     As he shows me pictures for some kind of test.
See ya later,
     Irish tater.

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I Dream of Dances

A dance I’ll steal from this night
And move slowly with the moon
Stars will shine upon my feet
I will create a waltz for each one.

My arms move slowly, entrancingly
Hypnotizing sleepy watching eyes
Light sprinkles on my face from above
My bare feet glide across the breezy grass

A dance I’ll steal from this night
Sailing between each strong tree
Fireflies accompany my spellbound trance
Musical allusions fly alongside.

The flowers bloom acceptingly in the still of the night
Their quieted lights reveal the dreams of those asleep
Nuzzled in their nests as I drift below the leaves
Dancing in a daze, as I would in any sleep.

My feet skim a cool stream’s edge
Fresh water glittering on my lively legs
A skip across the small blue belt 
The constitution of the forest
Winding from end to end.

A dance I’ve stolen from the night
In a forest of breathtaking captivities 
Each shining star a kindly ovation 
To my dreamy wander.

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The Destructive Hands of Time


The old Spanish mission had fallen down from neglect.
    Where it once taught of a different way, and housed anyone from the noble to 
the derelict.
Now it houses only varmints and things that crawl in the night,
    A place where man at one time could seek sanctuary when weary from the 
They were lighthouses in the most barren of spots,
     A place where troubles were brought in hopes they would be forgot.
This one had fallen because there was no water at all.
     The river stopped flowing and was the reason for the fall.
For without the water no crops could be raised,
      And it couldn’t support the animals which needed to graze.
The river itself had been a grand site to behold, 
      Teeming with fish and attracted all types of wildlife that was the story they told.
They said a quake must have happened the only explanation they had,
     And from the looks of things it must have been bad.
Artifacts of all type still clutter the ground, 
    From broken pottery to arrowheads can be abundantly found.
Outback of the mission an old cemetery is found.
    Such an uncaring looking place where no one ever comes around.
I found a date scratched on a stone that read sixteen forty three.
    Maybe a marker on a grave left in hopes someone might see.
A sad and lonely place that has been forgotten through time,
     Letting such an historical place go unattended should be a crime.

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The Big Event

The carnival is in town,
I just have to go,
riding the rides,
that I love so.

The circus is in town,
I just have to go,
watching the trapeze,
that I love so.

The concert is in town,
I just have to go,
listening to music,
that I love so.

The revival is in town?????

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There are some days when I just want to sit around 
During certain moments and just relax doing nothing. 
In my back porch I just enjoy all the views I can get 
It is so nice to dream away and just let go of things. 

This day is kind of nice and it is neither cold nor warm 
It seems like the perfect day and the sky has a pleasant blue hue. 
And as far as I can see now there's not even a single storm 
There's nothing in my life right now that could ruin this day for me. 

Well that's what I like to think at least especially in a pretty day like this 
But well all we know that nothing will stay in this life for us the same way. 
I remember all the good times I had and all the people I love so dearly and miss 
I see no butterflies fluttering 'bout my garden but still I am having a great day. 

I plan to get hold of some of my blank pages and then I'll seize my pen and write too 
There's something so wonderful 'round me that can't describe but that's the way I feel today!

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Santa Needs A Jet

The Christmas lights have now been lit,
Jack Frost has made his hit.
Before too long, the sleigh bells will ring,
as Santa readies his things.
That big day is nearing, the mood is set,
I bet this time of year, his wish is for a jet.

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To the spigot, to the Spider

At sunset one summer evening I stepped outside to enjoy
the summer evening’s sunset and water the garden plants that were
dying in the draught. So I made my way towards the hose spigot at the
back of the house, and as I marveled at 
the purple sunset
a dark writhing Figure appeared before my eyes, eclipsing the sun
and stopping me dead in my tracks.
It was not a dragon. It was not a Ringwraith. It was a Spider, a huge Spider,
busily at work crafting an enormous web two yards across, spanning the forest to 
the bushes,
His labor diligent and instinctual like that of a master craftsman.
There I stood, marveling at Its pained yet natural movements, wondering when
some bird or wasp would descend upon the Thing
and rip out the Ugliness from the otherwise
perfect scene. But when I shifted my point of view
and the Spider no longer tarnished the backdrop of the sunset
I noticed It disappeared into the shadows around It
and would have been invisible to all but the
sharpest of eagle eyes. And as I blustered through an invisible strand of the 
exciting the Demon even further, I knew
that the Thing must go. But how?
I knew how. I would give to It the same thing that I meant to give the garden 
for no terrestrial creature can long withstand the force of water.
So I unscrewed the spigot, marched around the other side of the house to grab 
the hose,
and walked back to the spot where I spotted the Spider.
But in my absence the Spider, too, had taken Its leave
and I wondered if Nature was not made for men 
to marvel at, or if in those moments
Nature does but laugh at us.

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Becoming A Man


When I was a young boy and making decisions on my own. 
   I quickly learned that some decisions were better left to those that were grown 
A child should not worry or ponder his fate. 
   But rather be humble and appreciative of whats placed on his plate. 
Although responsibility he should have, but let it be small. 
   And as he travels through life, should he stumble or fall. 
Reach out your hand for assurance, and let it be known. 
   That we can all use a little help even after we're grown. 


Keep your heart as pure , as pure as you can. 
   And seek to the Lord to become a righteous man. 
The roads that we travel are often masked or misleading. 
   There is only one path to glory and it is never deceiving. 
When He knocks on your door, friend what will you say? 
   Will you ask Him in, or will you turn Him away? 
I wish sometimes that life would be a little kinder and nice. 
   Don't you imagine that could have been Jesus' thoughts knowing He would pay 
the ultimate price. 
He knew in advance what was going to be done. 
   Crucified on that cross, God's only true Son. 


How can anyone forgive us for the things that we do? 
   But He died forgiving us, and I know these words are true. 
I just praise the Lord each day, for I know what He has done. 
   And He is the One, The Mighty One! 

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A Letter From Heaven

A little note to the ones that will miss me the most.
   I just wanted you not to worry I’m spending my time with our heavenly host.
He invited me to move in to this beautiful mansion He built.
   He said it’s next door to your mom, and yes she still makes quilts.
There is a million things here I can do.
   No more pain, and if you could see my new body, so perfect, so true.
Only in dreams could you imagine such a place.
   I cannot explain the awesome beauty of our Saviors face.
The most beautiful rivers and waterfalls abound.
   Only here in heaven can such beauty be found.
The trees are just loaded with fruit that are so sweet.
   They are for our enjoyment so delicious to eat.
If you wonder if I miss you, you know that I do.
   But I know I’ll see you soon when your days are all through.
Honey death held no pain actually it was a beautiful thing.
   You can put aside the fears of deaths mortal sting.
There is no sadness here or tears to be shed.
   Only happiness here will you ever be fed.
Well I guess I’d better go I’ve got things I must do.
   See you real, soon I’ll be waiting for you.

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I was shaving in the dark
hoping not to leave a mark
when I heard a voice outside of me 
Say, “hark!”

I first thought “odd remark!”
as naked I lay, stark
inside my bathtub,
shaving in the dark

“On a task you must embark”
continued the voice which first said, “Hark”
“We need you to go right now
to Central Park”

I then thought, “what a lark!”
& felt my curiosity spark – 
I decided then and there
to go ahead and hark

I wasn’t sure what harking was,
but I was game to try,
& doing what any good harkee does,
I tossed my razor by,
got quickly, slippery, out of the tub
and grabbed my towel to dry

But the harking voice said, 
“Wait a minute,
we do not want you dressed;
we want your body
and all your senses
by spring-eve winds caressed;
you must go down
to Central Park
(no one’s there, it is quite dark)
and stand before us naked,
and know that you
are truly, ever blessed”

“Okay,” said I,
“I’ll try.”


Stepping lightly through the dark,
I headed off to Central Park
& quickly reached my given destination

(On the way I passed a shark –
swear to God, I heard it bark –
or was that noise my own imagination?)

Now here I stand,
a naked man
& wonder what I’m doing

I obeyed a demand—
no, make that command,
& now that action I am ruing

For to tell the truth,
I feel quite uncouth
standing naked for the viewing

Of one & all,
both short & tall
(Dear Lord I hope I’m snoozing --

Then this would be
a fantasy,
from which I’ll wake refreshed
to find it all 
within my mind
‘cuz I’d gone to sleep undressed)

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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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The Wreck On Gastons Hill

I watched as the old train chugged heavily up the hill.
   Puffing and puffing the smoke completely shadowing J. Gastons’ saw and 
paper mill.
Then I saw what looked to be another train coming down from around the bend.
    Some one needed to stop them but what kind of message could I send.
The one going up the hill was still chugging slow while the other was running full 
   Well I started shouting to the top of my lungs but no one could hear.
I knew what was fixing to happen and I couldn’t bear to look.
    Then I heard the awful sound of crashing metal as they both fell tangled into 
Gastons Brook.
It was a good half a mile I ran hoping somehow I could maybe help or lend a 
helping hand.
    The site when I arrived was more than I could stand.
I don’t think there could be any survivors they went in the deepest part right next to 
the dam.
    The water was icy cold and there came old Cooter being pulled by his old dog 
that they called Go On Scram.
Well I got down to the shore and helped pull Cooter to dry land.
    He looked fairly good except you could see he broke his hand.
I asked him if he thought anybody else might still be alive.
    He said I don’t see how anybody in the front could possibly survive.
I got a fire a going and tried to get him warm.
    I knew the townfolk would be coming cause I heard the church bell ring its 
Here comes Jackie Collins followed by Dr. Lemuel White.
   Well he set Old Cooters hand right there on the site.
We helped him up to Doc Whites surrey and they drove him back to the old 
    And he hollered to me to find Go On Scram before I was to go.
Well I found Old Scram at the waters shore.
    I called to him but I’m afraid Old Scram can’t hear me anymore.
I picked him up and carried him all the way back to old Coot.
    Coot asked me if I’d help bury him down by the track, said Scram loved to hear 
that ole whistle toot.
We said goodbye to old Scram that night.
     Sixty five years later and I still see that frightful sight. 
Well that’s the story that happened there down by Gastons mill.
     The wreck that I can’t forget that happened on that hill.

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Where's Your House

I found a place they called it pride.
    Where buried friendships they abide.
Across the street lives stubbornness.
   In this house you’ll find no bliss
To my left, the house anger built.
   The grass is brown, the flowers wilt.
In that green house there where envy grows.
   There’s mighty strange things that comes and goes.
Jealousy lives just to my right.
   They’re hardly seen except late at night.

Around the corner, you’ll find happiness.
   In that house the family hug and kiss.
They’re garage they say is filled with joy.
   I wonder if it’s just a ploy?
The house is painted white and trimmed with glee.
   A welcome sign placed on the door, in letters bright for all to see.
Mrs. Goody- Two- Shoes is that her name?
   Always with a smile, just what’s her game?
Mr. Hotsy- Totsy thinks he’s so cool.
   Always trying to tell us about a golden rule.
I wished they’d move and do it quick.
   Their yard is so nice it makes me sick.
I do not like them they’re just too nice.
   Everything to them is just sugar and spice.
I wonder why they chose this neighborhood.
   No one here likes them, they’re just too good.
Go back where you came just let us be.
   I’m happy being unhappy, can’t you see?
I can feel sorry for myself if that’s what I choose.
   So mind your own business I’ve got nothing to lose.

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Smart Kitten

When he was in his prime,
the girls all swooned, 
breaking their hearts,
and promising them the moon.

 He never was caught, , 
just snagged a time or two,
this ole heartbreaker,
was loving like a fool.

Then one day,
she came riding into town,
her long blonde hair,
blowing around.

He was smitten,
he just stopped in his tracks,
this little love kitten,
was truly his match.

He chased her down,
and ask her for a date,
her reply was,
you don't even rate.

Go look in the mirror,
and tell me what you see,
I think tom cat,
you're to old for me.

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A Lovers Spat


I’m mad she said as she slammed the door,
    I’ve never seen her act this way before.
She’ll be back I keep telling myself as I stand there staring at the door.
    What if this is really it, and she can’t take no more?
I have to stop her as my mind races ahead,
     Why do I hurt her, I really didn’t mean the things I said.
Baby I said I am wrong, I knew all along you were right.
     Please don’t leave I am sorry I started this fight.
She turned and looked at me, and said don’t you know I love you?
    I said yes, yes I do, I don’t know why I say those things to you.
She said you’re my life you’re the reason I live.
    I’ve given you my heart, what more can I give?
As we stand there both in tears,
     Recalling all the happiness we’ve shared throughout the years.
Why do we spend so much time hurting each other?
     I’m your wife, dang it not your mother.
Her words spoke the truth while cutting so deep.
     I finally see and I’m sorry I’ve been such a creep.
As we walk back to the house emotionally drained.
     Holding each other’s hand thanking God our love still remains.

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Stupid Is Awake Now

I lie here in our bed, I can't sleep anymore,
listening for the slamming of your truck door.

I know where you were, and the reason you didn't call,
I followed you tonight, and I saw it all.

Don't give me excuses to cover your shame,
I already found out your new baby's name.

I knew something was wrong, and I just had to see,
so tomorrow when you are sober, you will have to leave.

I guess I have stupid stamped all over me,
so many nights before, you thought you were home free.

Well stupid is awake now, and she has had enough,
"oh by the way, leave your new truck."

All this is mine now, the house and everything,
I hope she was worth it, your bar room fling.

I will see you in court, and your new baby too,
my private detective has the goods on you.

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Out in the meadow, a shadow stirs,
A thought brought back from many wars,
A love which has lasted for many ages,
Comes back again to haunt her book's pages.

She puts down her pen, lost in thought,
A shadow flows under the door as if it were sought,
The thought of love, long lost, steals into her heart,
And she gasps as she recognizes her Bart.

She had had visions of him since childhood,
His name was lost, but not his warm love,
In her dreams, they chased each other out in the woods,
They would scream and play tag as long as they could.

Now he was here- her love of all ages,
Coming to her with the help of his sages,
The wise men of old, the young of today,
Had brought him back again and here he would stay.

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The Old Warrior


As the old soldier came riding in all alone,
    Worn out from battling said it was the worst he’d ever known.
He said they were heavily out numbered from the start,
    And everyone showed valor they all knew their part.
He said he was captured and beaten and left there for dead,
    His old uniform was stained bright crimson red.
He said he managed to escape in the darkness of night,
     And with a little food and rest he’d be ready to fight.
As he got off his horse he crumpled to the ground,
     And laid there in silence as they stood all around.
His comrades picked him up and carried him to an awaiting tent,
     Where he rested for days, the old man had been through quite an event.
As he placed his feet on the ground,
     His old head started spinning around.
He caught hold of a pole and steadied himself so he wouldn’t fall.
     He said I know I missed muster I just couldn’t make bugle call.
He told one of the troopers as soon as I eat I’ll be ready to fight.
     The trooper just laughed, said if you ain’t the sight.
The old soldiers face turned more than three shades of red,
     Said I want to go back and avenge my comrades that now are dead.
The other trooper said sorry you‘ve taken me wrong,
     He said they surrendered yesterday morning just west of the prong.
He said looks like before long they’ll be shipping us home,
      As he stood there polishing some tarnished old chrome.
The old man was thankful said reckon I’m going to retire, 
     And go back to Texas and see what kind of life will transpire.

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What A Day

It was just about midnight in the bright of day,
on a cold July morn in the month of May.
When out of no where came such a howl,
the turkey next door turned into a cow.
This ain't happening, it can't be real,
what in the world, must be a fire drill.
Then my donkey got up to run,
his pants fell down, they came undone.
Snow started falling, black as clear,
I jumped in my skates , and put them in gear.
This ain't happening, it can't be real,
now where did I put that bottle of pills?

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Fightin Makes Me Hungry


His old pickup truck was parked in front of Kevins Bar again.
   While he sat inside drinking with an old time friend.
As he got up to pay his tab he noticed something wasn’t right.
    He turned around and there he stood looking for a fight.
Well old cowboy wasn’t no where the meanest man around.
    But when it comes to tough, he’s the toughest in our town.
As the fight broke loose the stranger hit old cowboy with a cue.
    Old cowboy grabbed that stranger by the face and then the blood it flew.
They danced around a little while, till cowboy set him up.
    Then he popped him between his eyes and slapped him like a pup.
The stranger there was looking weak and I think he had his fill.
    But old cowboy said when you mess with me you’re gonna pay the bill.
He grabbed the stranger by the neck and headed for the door.
    He put his boot in his behind and left him on the floor.
Monday nights are always slow as cowboy left the scene.
    Old cowboys dog sat in the seat licking himself clean.
Scoot on over you no good for nothing worthless old mutt.
   Let’s go home and get something to eat as he patted his old gut.
Don’t know what it is about fighting but it sure brings on my appetite.
    As he cranked up that old pickup truck and headed off into the night.

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Let The Lord Lead

The old man was ragged, dirty, and quite ill kept,
       As he sat next to me on the park bench I could tell it had been a while since 
perhaps he’d slept.
He looked weary and tired like he’d just lost it all,
      He had the look of a man who had his back to the wall.
I’m usually not this blunt but I was suddenly inspired,
      Is there anything I can do to help I modestly inquired?
As his lip started quivering and he wiped the tears from his old eyes,
     He said I lost my job while back, still don’t know the reason as to why.
Next thing that happens, the company goes under and my pension is lost.
     I couldn’t afford a lawyer, they wanted their money up front and it was too great 
of a cost.
My savings went fast paying the mortgage and notes,
     I couldn’t find another job due to my age they won’t hire this old goat.
They foreclosed on my home and my wife left the scene,
     Said I was worthless, she was real hurtful and mean.
I took to the streets the only thing I could do,
     She took everything that was left even my clothes when she said we were 
Twenty seven dollars and eighty five cents was all I had to my name.
     It’s been a little over a year and I still haven’t figured out who’s to blame.
He said you’re the first person to show that you cared and it means quite a lot.
     As a tear ran down his face he said I’m not a bad guy really I’m not.
I said I have a little cabin on the lake that needs a caretaker but the pay is not 
     Free room and board with a small monthly salary and benefits as such.
So we shook on the deal and headed on out,
     He became a blessing for me as our friendship grew solid and stout.
If I had gone out looking to pick a friend he would have been very low on my list,
     But the Lord had other plans and He always adds His own little twist.

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When I Was Wrong

 She said the time has come there is no more,
    As she peeled off her ring and tossed it to the floor.
What did I ever see in you was her last reply,
    When I’m gone who are you going to have around just to make cry?
You never cared you were never there,
    And all your talk was just tons of hot air.
Yeah I remember when it used to feel so right,
    When you would hold me and cuddle all through the night.
But somewhere down the road it just came undone,
    Maybe I’m being selfish for wanting to be your only one.
I tried to please you the best that I could,
     But it got to the point that no matter what I did you made me feel that I was no 
Enough is enough my heart can’t break anymore,
     We can never have it the way it was before.
This is the hardest thing that I’ve ever done,
    You’ve been the first and only one
I don’t think death can hold this much pain,
    The love I had for you has nearly driven me completely insane.
I never asked you or expected that much,
     Just some recognition and maybe a casual tender touch.
How long has it been since you placed your lips on mine?
     As she wiped away her tears she said I’ve given you all kinds of signs.
Well the only words that came to my mind is I’m sorry for being so blind.
     I said I know you are right I’m thoughtless as hell and so unkind.
But give me a chance don’t walk away,
     I want to make it better if you’ll only stay.
Well we held and we cuddled and it really felt good,
    And she was right certain things I took for granted and some I never 
footnote: This is just another poem I made up

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Yearbook for the Blind

Silence has taken it’s toll on me
A breeze sifts through the light fabrics of my shirt
Stalling time
In the yearbook for the blind.

Creeping upon me is the quiet of the air
Forever captured in never-ending scenery
The soft daylight reaching through to the reader’s sensitive fingertips
Miniature lush green leaves of miniature trees forever held in place.

I stand frozen in a memory
Smiling an anxious smile
Cooly hooking my thumbs with the belt loop
In a yearbook for the blind.

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I could say to you:
You are so beautiful to me.
Or something rather like,
You are the only one my eyes can see.
But to say such seems predictable,
True as they may be.

To really love, I would say,
Would be to think of something unimagineable,
But I read poetry every day of people who love one another
That sounds like complete babble.
Now, I could end this poem and say I love you
In a way that is not fictional
And my love would never stray,
But, would tht not be predictable?

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Magic Salve

As we talked about life and the problems we have,
    I pulled out of my pocket a can I call Magic Salve.
You rub it on wherever the pain hurts the most.
    Believe me it works, I don’t mean to boast.
Whatever the ailment or the problem you have,
     It’s a guaranteed cure all this wonderful salve.
Warts or psorasis or what ever the need,
     I guarantee this to work, guarantee it indeed.
A broken heart it can cure but you have to beware,
     Don’t use too much cause it can remove hair.
An upset tummy nothing else can compare,
    Rub a little on the pain, by this salve you will swear.
From rheumatism to arthritis, from pneumonia to the flu .
     Just rub a little on you is all that you do.
From the colic to the croup, you can forget chicken soup,
     And should you get constipated it can even help you to po__ ?
Buy a small can or get the family size plan,
     Either way you’re a winner it’s the best in the land.

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The Tire Swing


He gazed across the wind swept meadow
To a lone  tree  standing there
Its jagged,  silhouette  surrendered 
‘neath a sky more fiery embered
His flaming hair, which crowned him then.
But--- it was neither tree nor sky
That stole his youthful eye.
It was
The tire swing
Whispering,  promising,
“ With-me,  you can fly ! ”

The boy lept across the meadow
Like a deer panting for water,
Till at last
He climbed aboard his dream.
His round,  black,  holed
Flying machine.
Then,  holding tight, and bending to and fro
With all his might
Began to drive,  began to  glide 
Against The sinking sun
It was night outside

Across the starry, littered sky
Beneath the moon’s soft lullaby
Ascending ever higher
Make believing he’s a flyer,
He smiles,
As he tips a wing.

He is an aviator.
He is the sky king!
And all because of one
Old tire swing.

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The Bogeyman

Soaking wet the grey sheep huddle
by the stone wall shaped and laid
to last five hundred more years still.
Rains sheeting o'er the moor leave 
us dripping as the fish in Foley's Tarn.
Clouds careen across the sky like 
ragged flags unfurling, our house is
battered by the storm's relentless wrath,

and something's coming...

It's nights like this that bring the creature 
from the other side of time, misshapen 
wretch with no measure of humanity,
dragging its loathsome body to our door.
Squelching abomination with dark sockets 
for its eyes, a travesty of decency and grace. 
Not marked in any almanac, no picture 
of this beast save in the nightmares 
of our child, who flies into his mother's 
arms and trembles, trying to scrape 
the ugly specter from his mind,
for he knows...

he can feel the slimy presence
hidden deep within the shadows 
of the house. Is it living only in his 
darkest fears? Once settled is he 
free of fang and claw?

"Leave the light on, Mom!"

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To Write the Words of Love

i CRAVE sweet dark night
   (we use the nights)
for daylight
  daylight betrays SUFFERING eyes
   (to hide the bruises)
                PALE KISSED SKIN
(the blood)

lathered in angry red
     (the tears)

"My Love?"
       (the GOODBYES)

(the secrets)
i CRAVE sweet dark blood

(and lies, lies lies lies)

for it gives
             to morning.
(and the words the blade left behind)

"We have forever"
         (buried deep inside your mind)
Leaving you wishing that you 
"or so we thought."

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The Funny Farm

The love we shared is now no more.
    With bitterness she slammed the door.
She said I’ve had enough I’m through with you.
   I’m tired she said of the things you do.
You have no respect for me at all.
   And when I talk to you it’s like talking to the wall
She said you go ahead and lead your life of fun.
   You’re nothing but a low life and a son of a gun.
Those weren’t the exact words she used right then.
    She called me everything from being my on kin.
That was just a warm up here she comes again.
    All of this started over me letting the cat get in.
Honey I said as I ducked her punch.
    I guess maybe this ain’t a good time to ask you to fix some lunch.
I knew she was mad I could tell she was hot.
    But why is she trying to hit me with that cast iron pot.
She got me on the run as I cut my trail.
    Throwing our dishes as her booming voice it did prevail.
As I locked myself behind the bathroom door, I heard the breaking of another 
    She started beating and a hollering and predicting my fate.
As I looked around I realized what I had done.
    I just laid down on the floor waiting for her to go and get my gun.
I laid there for an hour or two.
    Not really sure just what to do.
Well I finally got brave and took a peek.
   I didn’t see her around so out the door I did sneak.
Into the kitchen there she stood with a smile on her face.
   She walked over to me and gave me the longest embrace.
She said I made my little sugar burger a cake, his favorite kind.
    She said I’m sure glad I married you you’re such an awful good find.
Oh and by the way that moody thing the doc says it will take awhile but I will be 
    Going through the change just a normal day.

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A place of relief, so far from now,
planning the escape, somehow.
Day in, and day out, sorting through,
that freedom day, where my sky will be blue.
Tempted at times to just break free,
my freedom day, is calling me.
Buying my time, is what I am told,
get you a life, before you're too old.
Issues to ponder, my ducks in a row,
all this must fit, before I go.
Life is very short after that 50 mark,
but for some, this is when it starts.
Gathering my thoughts, sorting them over,
keeping them to myself, holding a four leaf clover.
When the day comes, and I roll on out,
that will be the day, you will hear me shout.
My freedom day has finally come,
throw me a party, everyone.

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Ladies, ladies, now let's all decide,
cheese on the burger, or, on the side.

Tom, may very well,help himself,
so we have to be sneaky, he loves it so well.

Let us meet in the kitchen, and be very quite,
if Tom finds out, we may have a riot.

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The House on Sycamore Hill


The old haunted house upon sycamore hill,
   Is the scariest place with ghosts for real.
You can hear their screams and crying out,
   You’re welcome to look if you’ve got a doubt.
No one can last the whole night long,
   Staying in that house from dusk till dawn.
The last one who tried his hair turned white,
   And he didn’t even last one hour into the night.
The story goes Janey Freedman was caught by her husband having an affair.
   He came home early and caught Tommy Stickmen there.
They both pleaded as he took dead aim,
    Tommy pleaded that they’d done nothing wrong and there was no shame.
The shots were fired and the deed was done.
    Then he shot himself with that same old gun.
Janey had hired Tommy to do a portrait painting of her for her husbands birthday.
    They were discussing the details and the price she would have to pay.
Almost eighty years have passed since that horrible night.
    A cursed place with those souls crying out for some one to make it right.
The place is still for sale,
   If you’re not scared of all these urban tales.
It’s really quite nice least the outside is.
   If you want to see the inside don’t ask for me please ask for Liz.

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Someday You'll See


The words he wrote were chiseled in stone.
    Meant for me, and me alone.
An epitaph of days gone by.
    Sentiments and reasons why.
Words etched into this marble rock.
    For all eternity, like a timeless clock.
Born this day the words did say.
    And then the date of my passing away.
Then the line I liked, this is how it read.
    I went to heaven though my body’s dead.
I’m happy now no pain at all.
    This brand new body, I’m having a ball.
So lighten up don’t cry for me.
    I’m happy now someday you’ll see.
When we’re together I saved this dance for you.
    We can dance on clouds and rainbows too.
Until that day I’ll be waiting dear.
     And watching for you to one day appear.
R.I.P. is not for me.
     For I’m at peace but there is too much to do someday you’ll see.
So drop the R and leave the I.P.
     I’m at peace and don’t need no rest, I don’t need to tell you someday you’ll see!

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As I walk down this dark and lonely lane. 
   I feel as if I'm being watched, it's hard to explain. 
I guess I'm too old to run, and I sure hate to fight. 
   Wished I'd stayed on that highway, the one with the light. 
I thought this might be a shortcut, but a shortcut to what. 
   And if I walk any faster I'll be stepping in a trot. 
I believe it's getting darker, I don't even see a star. 
   If I'd put gas in when I should have, I'd still be in my car. 
What's that old saying, if the dog hadn't stop to scratch he'd caught the rabbit. 
   Chalk this one up to human nature, and a certain persons bad habit. 
If I get out of this one, I'll try not to let it get that low again. 
   First time I've run out of gas, in I don't remember when. 
I see a far off light, a few blocks down the road. 
   Hope it's a gas station, or they know someone where maybe I could be towed. 
About the time I feel a little safer something strikes me on the arm. 
   I hear this voice, Gimme your wallet mister, and I'll do to you no harm. 
Well I reach into my pocket and I start to pull it out. 
   Then I stop what I'm doing and I forget what I'm about. 
I guess it was adrenaline that kicked in, for I was ready for this dance. 
   I said no it's you who best be leaving, I'll give you just one chance. 
He must have sensed the tenacity of my voice. 
   And fleeing the scene for him, was his better choice. 
I got my gas and a ride back to my old gasless Chevrolet. 
   I thank the Lord for getting me back, and letting me live another day. 

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Ode to the Nut


I’m not crazy I’m insane.
   Kind of goofy, have no brain.
Goofy is as goofy does.
    Can’t remember who I was.
Happy yes or happy no. 
    Here I am and there I go.
Looney toons is just my way.
    I’m in my world and here I’ll stay.
Simple, simple what’s the deal?
    I like things that are not real.
I just lost my peace of mind.
    I look and look but cannot find.
If you see it passing by. 
    Bring it back so I don’t cry.
I’ve got crayolas and paper too.
    So come on over and I’ll draw for you.
I have to go they told me so.
    Back to my room is where I go.
The people here they are no fun.
     Treat me like I’m a crazy one.

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Me and Old Booger

Why his old head is so hollow you can see him think.
   Onlyest  time he ever makes any sense is when he takes to the drink.
And that don’t last too long caustit puts him right to sleep,
   Kinda like me whenst I go to count’n them sheep.
Well old Booger never claimed to be the sharpest knife in the drawer,
   Shoot he just now figgered out where he’s possed to sit when drivin de car.
He’s been want’n to get hitched but there ain’t no single kinfolk around,
  And besides they gots to be some of the ugliest women I’ve found.
Well me and ole Boog went in to town, just kinda piddlin I guess,
   When out front Langtry’s hardware  stood this ole gal, and I think somebody 
done shortchanged her on that dress.
Why old Booger said that wuz the pertiest thing he ever did saw.
   Said he wuz gonna marry up with her and take her home to meet pa and maw.
Well old Booger started to put the move on this sweet little ole thing.
    He asked her right there on the spot, said I’ll even buy you one of those 
wedding rings.
Well she turned him down and it made poor ole Booger cry.
    She told him she wuz a transvestite that wuz the reason why.
Well poor ole Booger wuz kinda like me
   He didn’t know she wuz a he well this( he-she) fooled him and me.
Well we headed on back cause our luck done went sour.
    And besides it wuz getting onwards of the drinkin hour.
Should you ever find your way back here in these hills.
    Bring your on jug and have it filled at one of our local stills.
Shine down here the best you’ll ever find.
    Just be careful of the women some of em are the funny kind.

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Tiny Sailboat

My tiny sailboat is floating peacefully along,
no one to disturb it, everyone is gone.

Out on the shore, stands many  that could,
if for a minute my eyes closed, they would.

In the shade of darkness, I drift further out,
I know this course, I don't need a map.

The moon, and all it's beauty, will help me sleep,
all by myself, no one to defeat.

Quite is a blessing, in a mysterious way.
I have to find me, no matter what they say.

So me, and my sailboat have a journey to make,
I will decide, which course I should ta