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Narrative Inspiration Poems | Narrative Poems About Inspiration

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The Clouds

"THERE HE WAS HOLDING HIS HAND OUT"

My voice=
God, can I hold your hand and go with you?

"Gods voice"
My sweet child, it is I who will walk with you now! You walked down my path with and without faith. You took my protection to ease your pain. My shielded wings comfort you during your moments of suffering while your life staggered across the earth... Your love and devotion are what made you strong. Every time your dreams were broken. You managed to build more dreams in their place. You called my name during your happiest and saddest moments. You always ran up to me when you fell behind. Your secrets became our private talks. The key to your heart was always unlocked. I was there during your trials and troubles of tribulations. We could not speak, but it was my light that would not allow you to get weak.

My voice=
Is this that dream of beauty? The one in the book my preacher spoke of. 
Yes! I remember it now it is called paradise. I felt this company once before, Lord.
Many times, I have forsaken this light, and still it never left my door.
I felt it the day I was born, and the day I became baptized in your holy name.
I felt this light before, can you explain it some more? 
Lord pleases clarify that day I fell down to my knees and accepted Jesus as my savior? 
Every day since, I felt as if you stood away and walked on by, allowing me to face my own failures’.  Was my life a waste in this impossible world?"

"Gods voice" 
My child, this is the everlasting light you will feel every time your body is re-born onto a new road.  This light never left you. 
My sweet child did you not listen, Matthew *19:26* MY SON looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with ME all things are possible. My child you were not searching for the right answers.

My voice= 
My Lord everyone told me if I prayed you would come. Did I not pray right?

"Gods voice"
My child sometimes your heart asked for more than life itself, which left questions for someone else.  
At times how could I answer when you shunned heaven away from your eyes?
The obvious question is whether this is the final immersing of your souls disguises.

My voice= 
Lord, I have other questions to ask. 
What should I expect out of my personal sins? My testimonial sits in the palm of your hand
My mind and my heart's inner core have been wicked since my adolescence days. 
How is it that I am in your promise land?

"Gods voice"
Getting right with me has brought you here!

My voice= 
One more question My Heavenly Father
Can I see them? My Daughter, Mothers, and Sisters~

by;PD


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Justice in the Quest For Love

I saw how martyrs longed for love, and so began the play of my flitting heart
A strange girl had I become, with airs of fickle dream,
My heart an embodiment of wonder to all that dared to behold it
Closing my eyes, I would find myself knowing something new would shine my way
Had I known what was coming, the dawn would seem far less appealing...

As all journeys begin, a darkness began to veer its head
The plot of reality melted in dissonant chords... 
Dark blue fogs of doubt caked my mind and heart 
Though the longing for love never left... 
And had it left, no dawn would await me 

I saw there were rules setting a foundation for my intensely embarked mark 
I knew if I were to feel any twinge of fire, 
I must first be rid of the fog...or at the very least find my way through it 
How it stung as it hit my virgin skin, not like gentle clouds talking me through it, 
Caressing, surrounding and seducing. . . 
No, like a poison, the bleak thickness of the doubt choking me 
Reducing me to child's tears...I toiled through its torments, 
I rested upon rough rocks of rhetorics 
Admiring their vitality and honesty... 
At one point in time I had convinced myself that I was one of them 
A rock- cold, rough... hardened and overlooked...destined to crumble 
Though more demands surfaced on this quest for love's Justice 

Weakened by the blue fogs blackening,
 I cried out in the pit of my heart, surrendering before me 
Words...kept so long inside... 
I freed them from the strongholds of my darkest nights 
And soon there was a deep, hypnotizing reply... 

Justice, tall and proud, said from above the sinking pit, 
"True, I have seen you before, 
A token of adoration you have become, 
Crying night after night in melodious black, 
With little to take, and everything to give... 
My demands are simple, as your longing is profound, 
You, yes, you! Take my hand so I may hold you tightly..." 

My mouth agape, I stretched out my hand to meet the vines of his fingers 
Clutching in sparks, he breathed into me life... and promise of love 

"Surrender your heart to the hope of love 
When you find you are not alone, as none of you are, 
When you praise with your singsong words that passion has altered, 
Giving all to a soul you have yet to see, 
You shall feel my hand lift you as I do now... 
Soon once more, you shall learn- the dawn will always be dawn 
And the night will always be your velvet pathway to Beyond." 

This, Justice proclaimed in the voice of a thousand cries of birth 
The overtones spilling out in rainbows of rapture 

It was soon after his visit, I knew I must perform... 
Surrender, faith, and action Three keys to the same door... 
And they, golden and alight, were in my hands to use 

The time came when my heart grew roses, thorns and all 
And hearts smashed their way through, though I cherished the burn... 
Fogs still lingered in the alleyway of fear 
And now I knew not to inch my way near 

For the punishment he had whispered like darts in my ear, 
"If you, now seeing the truth, dismember your heart, 
I will crush your petals into black abyss, 
I will reduce you to dust, leaving the thorns, 
I am animal in the face of failure, 
My tolerance for hate is shorter than an ant beholding a mountain 
And if you so much as reject my call, 
Hate is exactly what I will allow, 
And it will destroy you, oh singing heart..." 

This I ask of Justice, on the day of my calling, and yet still today... - 
"Tell me, oh spirit, 
Phantom of Epiphany, 
When the love I so long for locks tightly upon me, 
Becoming me, 
Shall it be as I dreamed, 
Or shall I be wholly disappointed, 
Left in the agony of reality, 
Where roses grow, thorns and all... 
Only to wither...and die... 
?" 

He was so gentle...that he merely smiled and left me... 

It was right away, soon after his departure, 
That I felt he never would fully leave... 
He allowed me to weave my own dreams, 
Finding out for myself if reality was truly as magical as they write 
And as for an answer, as dull as this may sound... it is... 

I, like many tearful martyrs before me, 
Continue to long for a love that will fulfill me 
Often reality teases me, and I know not if she is demon or angel 
Though one day, I will see reality is on my side, ugly or not 
The play of my flitting heart still beating its rhythmic drums 
The rainbows of overtones lulling me into ecstasy, 
As I see words of wisdom thriving in the hands that save 

This, though little, I know- 
Love is justice of reward beyond our wildest dreams 
He sings to us every night, never making promises... 
He just smiles and allows us to live it 
He allows us to discover, and in turn give... 
To enlighten others still trapped in the ruts of fog 
Once we feel it, there is no turning back 
Please do not let him crush those roses you have made... 
Even their foundations were meant to reach the skies 
Touching the brightest dawn...and Beyond..

 -For Justin Bordner's "Love Justice" Contest 
Love you loads, and thank you immensely for inspiring me! 


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JE SUIS CHARLIE -- Afterthought

JE SUIS CHARLIE — Afterthought

The shock of this most frightening tragedy is practically beyond 
the pale of any reasonable or adequate attempt or effort to explain
it or to rationalize the horrible circumstances surrounding it.

Let me just say that all of us who are writers and poets ply our
poetry, “our intellectual wares,” if you will, in a common written
medium that expects the same unrestricted level of freedom of
speech and expression exercised by those extraordinarily brave
artists at “Charlie Hebdo” who were recently murdered in cold
blood by self-styled Islamic extremists in Paris. 

It is also equally saddening and deplorable that some courageous 
police officers died in the line of duty defending these freedoms 
as well as some other security people and hostages caught up in 
the midst of these most terrifying circumstances. 

The heinous actions perpetrated by these armed extremists
destroyed innocent lives and affected the lives of a number of
loved ones whose burden of sadness and tragedy is unimaginable. 
Their actions also were an attempt to strike at the very heart of 
those sacred freedoms that all of us who live in open societies and
democracies cherish as part of our everyday lives. The armed 
extremists, by their actions, also personified and demonstrated an
obvious affectation for barbarity, stupidity, ignorance, and cowardice 
that were all on ample display as a result of what they did.

Freedom of speech and expression are among those certain
historic inalienable rights given to all of us by the divine hand of
God himself, and certainly not by the generosity of any government 
or religious group (regardless of faith). The brave souls who died
at Charlie Hebdo, died exercising this most sacred franchise.

The point I’m driving at is this: Those extremists who committed
these most reprehensible actions of recent against their fellow man 
did not win in spite of their collective efforts to destroy lives and to 
sully these precious freedoms that all of us as writers and artists 
hold so very dear.

The outpouring of emotion and sadness in support of these slain
heroes in the face of this most despicable crime is quite compelling, 
and underlies the continuing determination of all of us who love
and cherish the freedoms of speech and expression to continue to
speak out and to exercise these sacred rights without reservation.

With all of this in mind, I humbly and proudly conclude my narrative 
to all of you here by saying and echoing as loudly as possible:
“Je Suis Charlie” . . . “I am Charlie.”

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (January 10, 2015)
(Narrative)


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CITADEL AND CONSTELLATIONS

CITADEL AND CONSTELLATIONS The green leaves in rugged moans; The tall bushes in rumbling groans; The roofs train creaks-- their fugue blow cobwebs hugging branches below, such are precursors inviting darkness lair for stormy clouds before crowd the days. Yellow horizon seem unreachable honey as in my life's ocean, balloon billows I bear. I-- surged in every swell to skirt yet still lashing waves dashed pushing me sometimes to despair. Again, cataclysm walk unheralded casting loose my hands upon the glimmer of silver lining from afar somber shadows enshrouded me in a mist of struggles. Ounce of strength I have, I try to juggle and juggle yet, curses fell from hearts and lips parched of love. All these came, one and all -- the flowing light has flickered flash and gone but beyond all these you stood -- my sentinel. You hushed the bad constellations hanging 'round my world like a lighthouse guiding a lost ship to his home. Yes, you are my beacon, a promontory amidst the cyclic onslaught brambles and chameleons; a rock to cling in the wind's creeping fury, Staunch and firmly a hero fighting the torrential cascade of tirades and reproaches: MY CITADEL. . . ______________________________________________________________________ ©O. E. Guillermo 06:37 pm, February 24, 2015


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I Want to Sing Too

I can’t sing
I mean I can’t sing
I’ll leave the singing to Walt.
But I assume, as he assumes, as you assume, as all assume,
I love like you, love like him, love like the Lord above,
What is there? Singing? Why can’t I sing too?

Every cell and feeling that exudes from me,
Leaves an impression that I’m proud for all to see.
Every smile and gesture makes me a man,
It doesn’t always fit into my plan,
But I think the trepidation is waning,
The insecurity finally is straining.
All this time I’ve wanted to sing,
But it’s always been my failing.

I can’t sing
I mean I can’t sing
No that’s not true.
Something is different.
I no longer assume, I assure.
I don’t wander, I wonder.
I can’t fear, I fight.
I don’t love, I love YOU.

I haven’t sung because of others.
But these others are sisters and brothers.
Sometimes my voice might crack,
The beauty I may lack.
But YOU have opened my mind,
All this time I’ve been behind.
YOU have opened my eyes.
I’ve seen the pretty skies.
YOU have opened my heart,
And I’m ready to start.
YOU have opened my lung,
And I’ll be heard, and sung.


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A Letter To My Hero

  


November 19, 2001


Dear Doc and Doris,

	It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you. I believe it was some years ago at the Sims reunion. That was several years before we moved here to Florida after my retirement.

	I talk to Dorothy and W. D. fairly often and got your address from them a couple of months ago.  I also have a recent picture of you that was taken at Mike’s funeral in Marlow.

	I suppose it was something about that picture that caused me to begin reflecting on when I was a kid in Cameron many years ago.  We lived down below the railroad tracks there just south of the jailhouse.  I was just a kid 6 or 7 years old. Then later we moved to Houston where Dorothy and Daddy went to work in the shipyard.  I remember during those years thinking often of my cousin Carl Sims and his brother Melton Sims who were far away fighting the war against the Germans in Europe.  I still have pictures of you somewhere showing you in your uniform.  Doc, I remember how proud I was to tell everyone about my cousins in the army and how I wanted to grow up and be a soldier and fight the Germans.  

	In the last couple of years those memories have been revisited with the release of the movies “Saving Private Ryan” and even more recently, “Band of Brothers.”  Having never experienced the horrors of war, I look upon these two movies as the most realistic presentation of wartime action ever made.  Even at that, I’m sure they haven’t portrayed what it was really like. 

	Doc, I write you now having much more hindsight than when I was an impressionable kid.  But the years have not robbed me of the pride I have in calling you my hero. I think of those years when I was but a child and you, a young soldier. I remember how excited I was to hear any news about my cousins in the army. And I remember the sadness in hearing of Melton being killed in action. 

	Though time has painted a different picture for each of us, those things that linger in our memory can still be seen through the eyes of a child and a young soldier. I look at that recent picture of you and still see my hero. I see a young soldier in uniform and feel the same pride well up inside a young kid in Cameron.  
	
Doc, I wanted you to know these things.  I could have kept them hidden inside my heart and never told anyone.  But, they are mine to do with as I please. And I choose to send them to you and Doris with the love I have for you. As Christians, we know that the love we are sharing in Jesus Christ will be eternal. I believe the respect and admiration I hold you in for what you did will also last forever.  

	Maybe we will get back to Texas one of these days.  If so, I hope to have the time to come by Mexia and see you.  If not, who knows, someday a kid may tug on the sleeve of a young soldier. The young soldier might turn to find a freckle-faced kid, joyful in the presence of his hero.

	Doc, if not before, I’ll see you in Glory. I send you respect and most of all, love.

With eternal admiration,
John


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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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We Are There With You

You do not stand alone in your Battle
Your battle is our Battle
We may not be there in body
But we are there with you in Spirit

We are there in every beat of your Heart
In every whisper of the wind
In every thought and every touch
Every breath and every sound
We are there with you

You are wrapped in an Endless chain of Love
In every link we each send you a part of us
We send you some of our Strength
Some of our will to Fight
Some of our Courage
The most important of them all
We send you all of our Love

If you feel you need more
Just give that Endless chain a little tug
And we'll be there
Tug til you need us no more
Then we'll know you've gone Home
 


______________________________________________________________________
5/09/2014 Dedicated to my Aunt Nini, Wilma Thomas Gamble for Mother's Day. Sadly she lost her Battle w/ Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer on 5/30/2014.


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Jack and Jill

Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch some pails of water
Jack climbed some trees while Jill was picking some pretty flowers

After some hours Jack realized that he was wasting time
So he called Jill to hurry up before ‘tis half past nine

So off they went to continue their very long journey
‘Till they passed by an old beggar and gave him some money

When they both reached the well Jack and Jill filled up their buckets
Near the well were some berries which they put in their pockets

When they reached home their momma and papa were so happy
For dinner they had meatballs and soup and chicken curry

 And five bags of bananas which a rich neighbor gave them
The good that you do to others will always be returned 


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Rooted

It was once a good and honest worker calculation area. 
His life was encode the world on your back in the form of numbers and proportions of these.
When he saw the sun, looking for the angle to calculate its axis, 
when he saw another human being quantified his features, 
gestures and inferred about their possible reactions. 
Poor man, he did not see the horizon as a screen display of Monet, 
who did not see the other as an extension of divine knowledge. 
So is the mason, electrician, psychologist, engineer, 
administrator, businessman, politician, ... 
men who are good at what they do, but each in view of the world that surrounds it. 
Because it is simpler to be one ... than having multiple views of the same mind.


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RENEWED BY GOD'S SPIRIT

RENEWED BY GOD'S SPIRIT Falling, falling are the salty drops from my eyes. Crying, crying is my broken bruised buckled heart so long oh so long, I am within a cell of loneliness that windows and doors I kept on guarded walls-- strangers who passed by on microscopic study... My glass of trust cracked to pieces that I don't know how and when will it be whole again... Disturbed nights caused my eyes a free make-up of black shadows yet, one night, as I have no one left to talk to You may say crazy, but what I did is just to have a solid storm of cries together with my laptop, it's where I tip tap everything; that flooding pains and hurts rooted deep down that well of frustrations, unmet wants and needs raining along that crippling fear of uncertainty one by one, my every tap seems a spiral step of explosion. My shoulders droop, my body assuming a fetal pose then again I shudder--- tears running fast inevitable. Some sounds vibrate free from my drying throat I want to halt them but am too weak, weak but still, they came through volts of perspiration duet to my sobs and murmurs then finally, I came to my senses, I hold my hands close to my heart and I began to speak at first syllables to my God... I opened my heart to Him, my mountain to mountain jars of sadness I lift it all to Him... I confessed to Him like a child baring everything as I fall to my knees and bow my head. And in that deafening silence of cold November last year, there is the hush of warm breeze engulfing my being it did comfort me; suppress slowly my sobs and cries stirring my senses; firing my faith and spirit and so that fleet of darkness that touched my being. ©O.E. GUillermo 6:29 PM, December 08, 2014 Sponsor Shadow Hamilton Contest Name Fighting Depression(poems for PD) Placed 5th


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Lost Inspiration

Lost Inspiration

- ieL


a few years ago, i found someone
to chat, to talk, to share my time
i can't explain the words of heart
i just smile! it felt so right

in midst of my agony
i saw you! smiling at me
i suddenly asked, "why?.. why?"
she just said "you inspire"

couple of days, months
i used to have you, here at my side
i didn't know how it works
but you totally melt my pride

we still stayed as friends
even we have this feeling
fast pulse, cause we love each other
surely! we've hit by a love archer

i was so depressed, frustrated
you've rejected me to love you
tears fell in my eyes without no clue
'cause "I disagree!" your father have said

one cold night, i drunk too much
i felt so despair, drain my guts
i drove my car, so careless
i'll hit the bridge! i closed my eyes. . . 

i woke up early, i'm in a hospital
i remembered the accident last night
i stood quickly and felt so light
there's no mark of wound, in my body and heart

i'm on the gate of my home, i stopped and looked
it's full of mourning crowd
it's impossible to move forward
i used the back door to check inside

i saw you sitting, crying
i tend to touch you, but can't keep moving
my heart beats so fast, just like when i see you
but i felt not love, but nervous

i slowly came near to calm you
my feet froze in the ground, it's weird
i pushed myself to walk, even to crawl
finally got a few inches. to hear you

you were apologizing deeply,
because of ignoring my feelings
you begged for my forgiveness
'cause you truly love me

i felt no more pain, nor anger
i just smile and want to say "it's okay"
but before my words be utter
i was shocked, it blew me away

i saw myself, lying in front of her
sealed in a well craved box, a coffin!
i can't believe what happening
this was not a dream, nor nightmare!

i tried to hold, to embrace my love
but my hands passed through her body
i shouted and cried to my love
but it seemed she can't hear me

i'm crying at loud, for someone to feel
that now i'm in vain, in so much pain
i just want to show my love again
for God i wished, make me real!

but in the moment of my frustration
i heard you whisper, soflty
"i love you so much!, for i'll be
cherished you and be my inspiration"

my heart glows and released joy
for i felt your sincerity and love
all turned into such admiration
for having me in your life

i quickly wept my tears away
that my love for you was not wasted
maybe i'm not exist here, today
but i'll live in your heart, forever . . 




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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 CROSS ROAD

When words sound like a lost course

Who is will provide the answers to all this questions we ask

When the world feels like sinking sand

Who will beat fear to hold my hand?

When the road of life seems too long to reach the end

Who will tell me continue when am just about to stop

 

I am not afraid of what the world brings me

It is after all life, and it is meant to be

I cannot chose what my tomorrow becomes

But I can choose to become my tomorrow

And define my existence today

But a choice is but a choice

It may not define what becomes

Or what tomorrow may bring

 

When behind lies the tattered ruins

Of an interrupted middle class firmly

When our differences of reason cannot elevate

When sense make no sense

And the silence in my house

Is beyond the count of grief

I sit and take a moment to meditate

For you to read my thoughts in a poem

 

In the deepest end of solitude

I find a place to bury pain

What my heart cannot heed

My mind cannot feed

To corrupt my thoughts with greed

I am not afraid to be alone

Because no one is ever alone

But I am afraid to be what I am not

Like a wound left to rot

 

A defined sense of solitude

At the cross road

When thoughts collide

When we take a moment to weigh our load

When we all pause

To Whig history

 

 

When the sea mimics the land

Life still exist within

When the sun set to the east

And the night is left for beasts to feast

Life still exist within

When all is lost

And when all is said and done

When fun has become less fun

When all have come and gone

When there is nowhere to run

Life still exist within

 

When something becomes nothing

When nothing becomes something

And when ideas deceive the mind

In the interregnum

It is the journey of life

Not the arrival which occupies my mind

When we get to the cross road,


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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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Golden Windows

A young shepherd living near the hill,
taking his flocks everyday to drumlin.
He wonders deeply while sitting upon the rocks,
looking at afar house while feeding his flocks.

The shepherd's desire is fantasy of afar home,
that has golden windows behind hedge of anemone.
He wonders if the windows of the house are gold
how other appurtenance of the house are mould?

He starts his journey to there, finally after some time, 
going along the way across the hill while biting a loaf of naan.
When arrives, he finds the house in fully collapsed condition. 
There are no golden windows but a poor crumbled house. 

He looks to his own house down the drumlin
surprised by the heavenliness of his own dwelling
The sun was casting back on his house's stained windows 
just like the sparkling on the gold as the sun downs


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From anxiety to Joy

From anxiety to joy

Hi to all my friends
   I decided to write this story of me down, because I see so many unhappy people on this site. They make this very clear to me when I read some of their beautiful poems. I have tried telling it in verse, but now I feel it is time to write it down in prose

    When I was a child I was not happy because I had very strict parents who robbed me of all my freedom. I was a very freedom loving boy and I felt so totally restricted in a family that never could and never would understand me. There was a lot of psychological cruelty handed out to me by my Father and a hell of lot of bullying, I was subjected to by the other kids, I came from a very rough part of London called Peckham, and I was an extremely sensitive young lad.

    When I grew up I married a beautiful Australian girl named Vera who is still my beloved wife after fifty years. We immigrated to Australia, and after about three months, I decided to join the army, and I volunteered to go to Vietnam, so I could pay back the kindness that the Australians had Showed me by receiving me to their beautiful country.

     I served in Vietnam for about nine and a half months, then they decided to ship me back to Australia because of injuries and illness. when I came back my troubles all started and I developed PTSD, even though I had not really been in much danger during my days of war. I was filled with a terrible anxiety, and  was absolutely terrified of both life and death. I had these periods of deep, deep dread that completely ruled my life. I was angry most of the time, and I detested everybody I ever met with a vengeance so hard to understand

     This got worse and worse as the year proceeded, and I tried everything to control it, from counselling to reading every kind of self help books, and I read every religion, and all the stuff by so many different Spiritual teachers until I had a bookcase brim filled with all the books I had read. I tried every kind of meditation, plus yoga, Tai chi, and many other things. However, nothing worked. They helped a bit but not enough to stop the ugly terror I felt.

    Then one day I came across a man named John Sherman on the net, who has helped so many people, and thousands of people now practice what he advocates with much success.

     John told me that all I had to do was close my eyes and look at the me ness of me, it was as simple as that. At first I laughed at him with this simplistic approach to gaining back ones sanity. But I was desperate; I had walked out on my wife for a year and given everything I had away. My anger was getting worse and worse, and when I finally came back to my family, I really wasn’t worth being with. My wife tolerated me because she loved me so totally, but I could tell that I was leading her into Pyschological, of physical illness.

    So I gave John’s method a try, I meditated every day using my me ness as a meditation point. I don’t mean my thoughts or sensations, emotions or such. I mean the ‘me’ the part of me that actually runs the show. The ‘me’ that always seems hidden but is always there in the background. I noticed some changes in me very quickly, but then the progress came slower, but very steady.  Now I have been doing this for nearly five years and the difference in me is phenomenal. I am so happy now, that I could almost scream with joy. I have no more anxiety any more, and the dread that once debilitated is totally gone.

     My neurotic fear of death has faded, and although I don’t want to die, when it comes I will be totally ready for it. My life is so beautiful these days and everything seems so beautiful, and crystal clear. These days I walk on feather feet, and I am so grateful to John and his wife Carla for what they gave to me. I really want to share this with anyone who cares to listen. You would not believe how beautiful my life is these days.  Thank you for reading, all you who reached the end of this story. I hope it helps you as it most certainly helped me….Peter.


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Still Here, Still There

God is still in heaven and that is where I eventually want to be.
Satan is still in hell and I am sure that is a really nasty place to be.
As for me I am still on earth and for a man of my age I am doing rather well.
I am not sure where you are but I pray you are doing fine and are having a great time.


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The Beauty Within

The Beauty Within When a heart is kind Goodness seeps into your mind Peacefulness flows all about As the inner beauty turns inside out When the kindness of the heart is given Energy flows with life worth living All living life comes from the Lord His inner beauty keeps us in accord That glorious beauty of nature Shows God’s kind heart so pure The beauty is an unspoken love That comes from our Lord above When we begin to focus On God’s beauty all around us A sense of peace will slowly start As you feel the goodness of God’s heart It is all the glory of the Lord’s Gracious beauty of His innards Kindness begets kindness like a friend Pouring out all the beauty from within Not everyone can see inner beauty As we all look at others differently Only within the eyes of the beholder Will the true beauty begin to smolder A person is not seen by their outer shell That’s how I see it as far as I can tell A bitter heart that deceives like a crook Appears ugly no matter how great you look Let your heart be kind and always shine Your inner beauty all of the time! Florence McMillian (Flo)


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Hopeful Thinking

Peace is the mental
grease for resistant
thoughts. Moving ever
so smoothly towards
our hearts. Final results,
is laughter among our selfs.



04/28/14  written by, Larry Berdoo
            ~~WRITE ON!~~


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The Empty Rib Slot

Dedicated to all of the guys who helped me to make the checklist - thanks!

The Empty Rib Slot I think I might have A perfect checklist Highlights from men Gathered now missed Yes special highlights Each man carried some Now added to my checklist For a guy having it all in one This could be the key to find The man I’m dreaming of Not with bits and pieces One filled full of love A man made for me No it would be not I should fit perfectly Into an empty rib slot Let me share this list With every one of you Then decide for yourself If it could possibly be true My first check comes from This guy with dreamy eyes He deeply touched my soul Way more than ever realized He even had a special smile That made you want to grin No matter if life was down He encouraged me to win There was the big hugger With squeezes oh so tight He lifted me off the floor Like if I was taking flight He never did grow tired Of giving me those hugs I never had to ask for them He always did it out of love Then there was the dancer He stayed light on his feet He loved dancing with me Carrying rhythm and a beat Now of course on this list There certainly has to be That best friend I count on Who can also count on me I am even going to count The good points of quality Generated from my brothers And even from my daddy From them they all carry A very good temperament Always being so easy going Not looking for an argument When I am nestled in that slot With a perfect feel of passion All of his glory will then shine As it eludes from my reflection The most important one of all He who shares a spiritual side Being spiritually open with me Not allowing his beliefs to hide I know how this all may sound Like a crazy thing that I’ve got I want the man I fit snuggly with When I match his empty rib slot Florence McMillian (Flo)


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THE GIFT

How splendid the day
that turns into night
as the world spins silent
away from the light

a body must rest
as the earth cools down
spinning so perfect
around and around

this gift that was given
so suttle but grand
comes from the heavens
created by loving hands


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A Friend of Mine Asked Me

A friend of mine asked me 
"How do you meet a man I'm lonely"
I told her "you can meet a man anywhere"
"you can meet him in the library"

"you can meet him at a bus stop"
She meet a man at a bus stop
within a week he had her facing court
a passenger in a stolen can 

The next time a friend of mine asks
I'm going to say you can meet a man
at university in a school as you learn
you meet a man that's also learning

You can meet a man
with dreams of building a career
follow the path to your career
and you'll meet a man on the road.


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Tata Madiba

Some believe that many names is a 
sign of stature, of importance.
How appropriate Tata that you are called
father, well as all those other monikers

Father of so many, how did you fill the time?
Three short steps, two regular, from one end 
of day, to another then back again, and again
Plenty of time to think, to brew a strong disdain
yet tea and mercy are your thirst and hunger

Monumental change can come with oppressive legions,
masks on, bayonets fixed, marching, 
toe-in-step, step-in-toe, closing in,
or much more slowly, with a well-tempered gait
and careful steps, feeling a way to a new life

Sharpeville a dusty, bloody turning tide
turning emergency of state to state of emergency
yet another rational, to push, to oppress,
yet another opportunity to protest saying
"a change is gonna come", yet to wait on

I remember hearing on that cold northern Sunday
that you would be released, and drop into sight
after so many seasons, I became slightly aware,
vague to the happenings of the world, 
as ascension starts to awaken me

The life of president of a country is full,
full of courageous opportunity, and pitfalls,
but to transform a nation from majority oppression,
to an erect healing democracy, is a gift of stature,
of moral fortitude, decency, a respect for humanity.

Tata, the nation of South Africa, owes much
to its first democratically elected black leader
The world, owes much to the example of you.

© Goode Guy 2013-06-28

http://www.nelsonmandela.org/content/page/names


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Worry Not

I re-dedicate this poem to my sweet friend, Stephen Pettye, who is full of power and strength as he travels this lifetime in a number one status to reach the goals of his full inner growth.  This poem is to help clear his path along the way:

Take those piled up worries And let your troubles go They always go back and forth In our minds to and fro On a clear day With no clouds in the sky Cast you worries away Leaving no questions to ask why Giving more time to count blessings And be thankful for what you’ve got It feels so gloriously wonderful To truly and completely worry not Just clear your mind Away from all thought And enjoy the great feelings That fill the space you’ve caught There are messages to read When the clouds are out That’s when we’re given Something to think about On a clear cloud free day Leave all worries behind Well that’s what I do To clear my mind Yes, it feels good To be worry free And to leave it all With the one Almighty So when the sky is clear I will always worry not And thank our dear Lord For all the blessings I’ve got Florence McMillian (Flo)


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Dreamare

I turn the light on,
 look into the mirror,
 I see the past.
 These clothes I wear,
 went down a negative path.
 An anomalous memory can trigger the melancholy adolescent;
 Only when I stumble across your scent.
 Then I know I have to go to church to repent,
 these subsequent actions I want to do to you....
 Excuse my disarray impulsive mind, 
 My dreams haven't been rational lately.


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Alzheimer's



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.


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The Prophecy:Wolf-Warrior's Winter Invasion

The priestess had seen it all well; she had seen it coming. 
The Snow Goddess had spoken to her in a dream. 
“How could this be?!” the priestess asked herself. 
The human nature in her could not make sense of what her visions entailed. 
The reality came to life in the night without the moon, but a night full of stars! The malevolent tribe of the wolves had broken the gates, and killed thousands of knights. They sought the blood of the Queen; the priestess herself! Her divine soul was too much for the vile and dark wolf warriors to bear.
The invaders were ten feet tall, with muscles as strong as steel, and teeth as mammoth as elephant tasks! Warriors of the Snow Kingdom were no match for such an army. 
“I leave my Kingdom’s fate to you my Goddess…” the priestess whispered in despair. As the wolf warriors reached the foot of a big mountain, the auroras began to appear. They were of different colors like rainbow! Their visibility invited a tremor that created avalanches, that buried the entire giant army to their deaths. The Queen’s vision had come true!


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A Message To Jesus

Guess you know now my Lord, 

The love that flies this mind, 

Caresses each memory in treasured colors, 

Soaring into bluest heaven I've reached for, 

Happily I glide into brightest darkness, 

Where eyes are not needed to see nirvana, 

Joyous light sprinkled all around me, 

To a warmed chill that welcomes everyone, 

This cold lit comfort that is my spirit, 

The plane that will free me forever, 

Traveling soon beyond furthest star of hope, 

Where salvation has waited so very patiently, 

A new voice given to me that will never die, 

Softly speaking truths that harm no one, 

Enfolding me eternally in beginnings that never end, 

Finally becoming everything I thought I couldn't be.

Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved

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

© 2014 Robert William Gruhn


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Modern Proverb 8

loneliness is a good thing...
to share with someone