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Narrative Inspiration Poems | Narrative Poems About Inspiration

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The Clouds

THERE HE WAS HOLDING OUT HIS HAND.

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 is 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 her?  I meant, could I see them? My Daughter, Mother's and Sisters~

by;PD


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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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 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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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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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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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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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. 6:29 PM, December 08, 2014


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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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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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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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at the VLW

Sarah, her two kids in tow
walks in a second-hand shop
for only a second, since she turned
her pocket inside-out yesterday
for a large box of rice crispies
and a half-gallon of 2% milk.
Her old man stopped beating 
her three months ago, 'cause 
Social Services was on him but
she ain't seen him or any of 
his paycheck in about nine weeks
She heard he'd gone to Idaho.
Their daughter, Rachel's been
skippin' school with other kids - 
Sarah knows, but doesn't say anything

Jason's hanging near the dumpster out back,
his kinda short-lease home since he got 
let outta prison for a possession charge 
that he definitely was guilty of, but 
he's been clean for three weeks now - almost

Raul's been running the dishwasher and 
cleaning up in the bathroom at the fast-fried 
chicken place, for three years now 
without taking a sick day, although that 
cough has been hard to hack for two weeks now. 
He hopes the steam from the washer will 
kill whatever's in his lungs

Soon Kie shows her green card to anyone to admire. 
She has for the last thirty-four years, 
but since she arrived back in '80, 
when she already had seen more 
war and death then most actual soldiers,
she still can't read above a third grade level
She's too busy cleanin' rich houses and
doin' late-night business park office spaces.

Once in awhile, they meet up in twosie's, 
maybe more, down at the park, 
near the whitewashed howitzer
from WW II government surplus
These are the Veterans of Local Wars
Sloggin' the towns trenches, listenin'
to the deafening blows of indifference,
marching every time they're told to
"Get up 'n' move on, no sleepin' here"

Life is daily skirmishes, the occasional battle,
sometimes being soldiers, sometimes the 
innocent citizen victims, cut down, strung up,
strung out, frozen out, sometimes cryin' out
'most every day, wonderin' what life's all about
to have treated 'em this way

Still, sometimes, when they see each other,
they can smile, talk about that time awhile back,
sayin' "did you see what that crazy bastard did!"
laughing at the incongruities and the ironies.
Don't have no medals, don't need no parades.
- just keep movin'

© Goode Guy 2013-05-03


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The Contest

Of course, as soon as a new poetry contest was posted I had to immediately enter.  In this 
contest, you had to email the sponsor to get your own, unique theme.  

Off went my email; back came her reply: “Write a poem about what inspired you to write 
poetry.”

She even included one of her poems as a sample of what she was looking for.  A beautiful 
poem indeed; relaying the story about how her Grandmother inspired her to write.  

So, I tried to emulate her with my story.

I wrote a poem about my football coach who taught me real men can write poetry without 
feeling emasculated.  A nice poem, albeit, total fiction.

I penned a verse about my first love encouraging me to write about our romance and how 
the subsequnt breakup inspired me to write about the sorrow of love lost.  A passionate and 
beautiful poem, although pure BS.

I rhymed the touching story about how my mother, on her deathbed, confessed that she 
knew I was writing poetry by reading my secret journal for years.  Her last words to me 
were to follow my passion and write poems for her in heaven.  Problem is, my mother is 
alive and well and has never shown any interest in reading my poems.

The fact of the matter is, I cannot pinpoint a moment in time; a person; or, an experience 
that inspired me to write.

Just as I need no inspiration to breathe in order to stay alive; I write poetry as a reflexive, 
survival instinct.

Just as I need no inspiration to eat in order to satisfy my hunger; I write poems to placate 
my yearning inside.

Just as I need no inspiration to dream when I close my eyes at night; words, rhymes and 
stories fill my mind whenever I find a moment of peace in my hectic day.

Whereas, I envy those who know where their inspiration came from, I am less blessed with a 
birth of inspiration and am more cursed with an innate need to write.

In my email to the sponsor, I bragged how I was up to the challenge, but, alas, she 
presented me with a theme I cannot relate to.

I will continue to breathe words of poetry through my keyboard.
I will continue to nourish my hunger through prose.
And, I will continue to dream in rhyme and meter.

But, I have no story to wow you with about what motivated me to do so in the first place.

The irony in all of this?  After admitting this truth about myself to a complete stranger in an 
otherwise meaningless contest, I am inspired to continue to feed my curse and write poetry 
forever more.

Thanks…damn you.


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Modern Proverb 5

Time is the consistency in the overall package


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Modern Proverb 6

~~*~~ put a smile on some ones face today take pride in knowing you put it there


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Fanciful Meanderings

Memories of illogical unreality saunter past my mind, 

Planning expectations of a future with no feelings, 

Deja vu days multiply with an intensity so unkind, 

Happiness is eroded by endless waves of lapping sadness, 

I fall weightlessly to the bottom of life's end, 

Regrets dashed upon ragged rock thoughts that scream to confess, 

My childhood laughter flows tears of wishful pretend, 

As I wait helplessly at the back door of destiny, 

Sharing Earth with billions I will never meet, 

A poet joining lonely words into meanings of complexity, 

I wander through imagination hoping to land on my feet.

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


 


Details | Narrative | |

dexterity

Hands down, perhaps a more sapien trait
than most of the usual attributions of
what it is, that distinguishes humans.
I listen to a prime example of Sondheim
samples on a Steinway & Sons eighty-eight.

Balancing between enchantment and amazement
contemplating the purveyor of sounds and 
the craftsmen necessary for such synapse sublimity. 
Nimble is a word oft applied to such 
vocations equally as well as with magicians, 
cake-decorators, painters, surgeons, 
bomb defusers, and a good seamstress.

The dexterity of mind is just as amazing 
as dexterity of digits. the juggling act 
of keeping in the mental air so many 
separate thoughts. Wandering only briefly 
to the another tangent only to return 
the instant before the thought fades 
to invisible shards on the floor. 
How quickly the supple mind guides 
the supple fingers.

Primarily, it's about placement of details, 
in space and in time. I hear 
the gentle trepidation of the protagonist 
through the skill of the pianist, vocalist, 
the composer; each displaying their dexterity 
by dropping just the right, the exact amount, 
of emotion into, my senses. I close my eyes 
and imagine I see visions of nimbleness, 
fingering a dexterity of my own.

© Goode Guy 2013-05-23


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Light On the Devil's Chord -part 1

And it was as God and His Word had said – 
I watched the lions and the cattle alike grazing, 
Laughter filled the roads of righteousness,
Each action was a kiss from the Spirit, 
Flowing in all of us—those of like mind, and those of great heart

In all of the happiness, I felt something rather strange, 
It was almost a sadness…I couldn’t quite put my finger on it
As I watched the children play with the serpents and scorpions, 
I felt His breath behind me…

In reverential sorrow, I turned and knelt before him and smiled,
Christ lifted me before I objected and looked into my eyes
“Dear one,” He said, His voice soft spoken, yet clear
“Something baffles you; I know it to be so. . .”

I looked at him and sighed, “Surely you know my Lord…”
His eyes glistened as He laid His holy hand upon my shoulder
“Ask, and it will be given to you…”

I smiled, remembering that was the very verse I had studied that morning
He laughed jovially at my slight surprise
“Yes, Lord Christ, as You said, knock and it will be opened.”
He smiled again, with a hint of knowing
Peace rushed over me, and my curiosity and love grew…

“Christ almighty, son of God,” I began, taking his open hands,
“Something baffles me, indeed. Something troubles me even, 
And I have long tried to push it from my mind.”
Squeezing my hands, he remained silent and sober, 
Patiently waiting for me to continue…

“Here I am, among the fields, watching the lion and the cattle, 
Smiling at the fearless children I have helped nurture,
Kissing back the waters of Your Holy Spirit…
Yet Lord, though my eyes never stray from the beauty of these lands, 
My mind often goes to a very dark place, 
A place that I wish You can bring to light, 
A place where the tormented one thrashes and screams,
And no one hears him! 
He is ignored, tormented by his own thoughts
Bashed by the stone of Alone
Cradled in the dust of the abyss…
He, in darkness dwells, as we in light rejoice…
I feel for him, Christ, I do…

Is this right?”

He stared at me long and smiled at me again
“Agape love is always right, dear sister
You are a thoughtful, intense, and kindhearted woman,
Mercies of the Almighty God reflect off your dimples,
Though I have long noticed your drift…
Many days I have contemplated the same,
Though well we all know God’s plan is perfect.
And His mercies are beyond the world and I…
He will hear you… He will always consider your concerns. ”

Silently, I absorbed his reply and sighed

Noah suddenly walked over to us and embraced Christ and I
“Hello fellow sister, hello Christ,
May I share this with you to ease your mind?
I Noah, when the world was awry,
Fell down upon my knees and asked God for mercy,
In His planning to destroy the world, He heard my request…
He heard my request and changed His plan according to my righteous works,
In good will, giving mercy onto man yet again,
Though Man’s ways continued, throughout time, in sin…”

I nodded, understanding Noah’s input
“Thank you Noah, and thank you Christ,
I think I know what I must do…” 


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A Row Of Beans



Finally getting back into the swing of it Holidaying in the Dominican for a week Sure did wonders for my psyche Appreciating what I have a whole lot more Aside from the absolutely gorgeous All-inclusive resort we stayed in Living conditions there were sad to see But in spite of it all, Dominicans have a lust for life The smallest thing makes them smile A great big wide sparkling smile! Was I impressed? You can bet your sweet bippy I was! We uptight North Americans could learn a lot from them About what's REALLY important in life As long as we have loved ones who care Everything else just amounts to a row of beans! © Jack Ellison 2014


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Elusive Graspings For Happiness

Trying so hard to see the good in humankind, 

Just praying for that butterfly's fervent caress 

Disappointed again and again and feeling so blind, 

Sadness is but a blink away from life's true joy 

The pathetic thing is others need love as much as you, 

So many you've trusted have treated you just like a toy 

Yet deep seeded hatred is so hard to see through, 

Remember compassion can help to clear one's mind 

It takes every ounce of faith to avoid the valley of the blue, 

We must help each other or paradise we'll never find

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


Details | Narrative | |

Modern Proverb 4

~*~ The daydream is the freethinkers nightmare


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Ever Rode A Mind - question

Climb aboard mine and hold on ever so tightly,
Fasten yourself safely for these coming thoughts.
My brain has ridden above a thousand pounds of steed,
Flying at forty per on pounding hooves is quite astounding.

Then again those were just my knightly times of past,
Yet if you could have seen through my eyes that glory.
To confront evil with only shield and sword a true wakening,
Looking into eyes of forever death can be quite astonishing.

Seeing dreams in bright vivid colors brings morning early,
Long before sun peeks just above mountain's lofty top.
That cold snow never touching you until you've been there,
Struggling to a place so unforgiving tells one of reality.

This mind you are now riding can tell of so much more,
It has done so for years and will continue until infinity.
Holding you in my memories is what I have done best,
For to lose just one of you would be my greatest tragedy.

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