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Narrative Loss Poems | Narrative Poems About Loss

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

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Obsession (by Calvin Klein)

undeniable as dawn and dusk upon the still horizon
as tulips reincarnate in bright hues on blue grass gardens
so is the scent that lingered in the folds of your leather coat
as it catches wind on someone else’s skin….so wrong….

familiar…just  like my breathing….obsession in the air
aching like a thorn in my heart it bleeds a refrain of pain
remembrance should be buried in the earth where you lay
yet it haunts me still and taunts my soul in turmoil (indelible)

like midnight slaw mangled in a bowl of noose and weeping
somewhere you slumber (buried asleep) as my throat chokes
I still miss your laughter when that cologne hit’s a June breeze
if I close my eyes I still see your crooked grin in mid day sun

as tangible as wisps of smoke my fingers reach your smile
I toss the solemn words “I miss you” on the lakeside silence
I will see you again….this I know….and the scent assails
always like footprints dried in concrete….forever with me

*R.I.P my friend…..

Inspired by Sir Brian’s contest “Indelible Impressions”

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The Game, Playing the Game

'I want you to use all your powers and your skills
I don’t want his mother to see him like this
Look, look how they massacred my boy'...
Don Corleone (Marlon Brando) in “The Godfather”
Playing the game. It's a game isn't it?
Life is but a game, but a dream isn't it?

I drove home by that road many, many times,
that very same short-cut country road that you drove
that road where our lives crashed, exploded and shattered
shattered in jagged shards of Silver-Saturn pieces

(This is where you must have seen the swerving headlights
What were your thoughts? Were you worried? Were you alarmed?
This is the spot, oh God this is where, where it all hap...
What were your LAST thoughts? What were your last words
when that pick-up jumped, jumped and flew out of that ditch?
You always said "WHAT THE!"... Yeah, you must have said that)

Driving myself to madness playing the 'what if' game
What if you had driven just a little faster?
A little slower? Stopped to pick up something?
DIDN'T stop to pick up something? (Did-didn't-did...)
Stayed at work a minute longer, or left a minute early?
(What-if-what-if what-if-why-where-what-when)

Just what are the odds? Just what are the chances?
2:AM? Maybe one car, one car every 2 hours or so?
It was 'perfect' timing, a 'perfect' flash in time

I drove home by that same road many, many times,
that very same short-cut country road that you drove
that same short-cut road, that road you were driving
innocently driving....trying to get back home
Yes, playing the game. It's a game isn't it?
Life is but a game, but a dream isn't it?

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Nevermore Will Raven Return

 *Note:  A 60-year annual tradition that involved a mysterious visitor leaving three 
roses at the grave of writer Edgar Allan Poe on the anniversary of his birthday 
ended in January 2010.  Curators of the Poe House and Museum are at a loss to 
explain who left these gifts and why they stopped.  On many occasions people kept 
vigils  near Poe’s grave during this period that began in 1949, but no one ever saw 
someone leaving the roses. In the morning, however, they were always on his 
grave.  Poe is considered the father of the American short story and 
his poem The Raven is one of his best known works.

Once upon a midnight dreary, Poe heard a tapping at his window
     While grieving the loss of his young bride, a maiden “angels named Lenore,”
A radiant teen whose long, black hair in gentle breezes would billow,
     Tapping at the window ceased, but suddenly it was heard at his door

Upon opening it, a Raven flew in repeating, “Nevermore”
     At first he welcomed this odd visitor until Poe whispered, “Lenore”
When he heard his word echo, the strange Raven he began to abhor
     He asked if he’d see his bride again and the bird replied, “Nevermore”

Though Poe died in eighteen forty-nine, a mystery evolved much later
     A century after his death, his grave had an annual visitor
Roses were left on his birthday by someone whose love appeared greater
     Who had left these floral gifts forever stumped the Poe House curator

Perhaps the answer can only be explained by reincarnation
     Did the Raven embody the spirit of Poe’s beloved Lenore
If so, perhaps the Raven returned again in a life rotation
     In human form she visited to lay roses on the earthen floor

And upon her death in two-thousand nine, she took to the skies once more
     A Raven who now joins the flock circling above her late husband’s grave       \/
Could it be her spirit remains with Poe, as it did in life before                         \/ \/ \/
     Bringing him in the afterlife all the roses a poet could crave                     \/ \/ \/ \/

For those who consider this possibility totally absurd
Just consider the fantasies Poe created with the written word

By Carolyn Devonshire
Contest Title: “Among the Dead,” sponsored by Constance LaFrance ~ A Rambling 
Poet ~

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Sweetest Love Note

One night a guy & a girl were
driving home from the movies. The
boy sensed there was
something wrong because of the painful
silence they shared between them
that night. The girl then asked the boy to pull over
because she wanted to talk. She told him that her
feelings had changed & that it was time to move on.
A silent tear slid down his cheek as he
slowly reached into his pocket & passed her a folded note.
At that moment, a drunk driver was speeding down
that very same street. He swerved
right into the drivers seat, killing the boy.
Miraculously, the girl survived. Remembering the note, she
pulled it out & read it.
"Without your love, I would die."

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---And the Angel Looked On

"I heard an angel speak last night and he said "write" - Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

that was the last word he whispered before his eyes closed forever...

I close my own eyes, bite my lower lip, 'til I taste tin, stone angel crying with me...
The wind sends chills through me, as the heavens threatened to weep
brown leaves skittering between my feet, seeking for shelter.
How I related to those leaves: dry...brittle...dead.

I look at the Angel that watches over him,imploring for answers, 
begging this Guardian to take pity on me, help me remember. 
She only looks at me, with tears in her eyes, her beautiful face
always looked enigmatic to me, for she was smiling...
and yet those tears hinted at sadness, 
seemingly reprimanding me with her look.
I bow my head in shame, and reach for her hands, 
but I only feel cold, hard stone...not unlike my heart

My throat catches, I can hardly breathe--
I loosen my grip, feeling it might burn this time
...from guilt, for forgetting...

I glance at her magnificent wings, and wished I had them, too,
if only to fly away, but my feet are stuck on the ground, 
with a heart buried in regret.

I whisper one word: "Sorry":spoken so softly, I think I only said it in my heart;
I say it louder, my body wracked with sobs, my heart bleeding crimson tears of anguish. 
I look at the Angel and notice something on her sash--
One pristine white feather lay there-a stark contrast to the moss covered stone.
I take the feather, notice wordings etched on the sash--and scraped off moss, 
Tennyson's words go straight to my heart...
" 'Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."

The memories come back like a flash flood, assaulting me, bringing me back to that day.
He told me he had an angel carved to be with him at his grave, 
since I, his angel, couldn't always be there for him. And that he understood, 
that it was okay. I shrugged it off, told him I love him forever.
I still do, that's why it shamed me that I also love another now.

Seeing those words, I felt such a sense of peace, like he was embracing me, 
smoothing out my hair like he used to, telling me it was all right. 
I blink back tears, and say "Thank you" this time...I hug the Angel and I felt warm.
Drizzle and sunlight bounced off each other as I walked away. 
I turn my head around to his grave
--and the Angel looked on with a smile.

Constance's Angels in Cemeteries contest
 June 18, 2011

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when autumn comes

here, where I walk,
confused silence swirls around my feet,
and the anguished summer leaves
are lingering limp, waiting for autumn...,
waiting to crumble and mingle with earth
drunk with the morning dew

somewhere beneath them
under the thunder
earth wears the scab of a fresh wound
in a place that will not be forgotten...
corrupt with mourning
sprouting with questions
immersed with regret
hollowed with anger
and shadowed by trees of despair

birch-bark faces, heads bent low, shadowed eyes
stone-cold voices, carried in the wind, behind disguise
while mute birds watch without a song
the leaves will decay, green goes, and the eye forgets
forget?  never....
while pawing on the hard and bitter earth
of reason, is impossible...

autumn comes
and autumn goes
I will live in hope that baffled minds
will clearly see a winter sun
and give up blaming ... who?


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The Fire Rages On...

the fire rages on….

smoke hot and murky 
(like sodden dank  old whiskey)
burns the backs of her brooding eye lids
as she watches fires power frolic 
like a mesmerizing ghost
                  it consumes with licking fingers
the aromatic lavender and the intricate lilies
destroying so slowly 
                the dark hard leather
                           and delicate white lace
(it could be gone in an instant)

the quiet like a devastation spills into her
like bodies of the long passed
                                       (already ascended)
eyes like cheap gin
on a Saturday night
begging to be borrowed
in someone else’s head

forms of faces out of tune like an old scratched record
replaying into a wiped out ancient black sky
breeding dismay between what should be kissed lips

burrowing into flames she sketches with her ruby red
and shadowed pink mouth
(had it always been this way?)
she….with fragile fingers
                                    twining and untwining
(with temptation of a rose thorn)
      unhealed with lacerations 

does she own the capacity 
                                      on her own 
  to block the fierceness of the sun?

beneath the stale sirens
(pounding out a raucous rhythm
                                    on her heart) 
of a raw and frantic flutter
she hears the wild piercing
of wings beating in futility
        against harsh walls
rat tat tatting….rat tat tatting….
battering and scattering 
                                  trapped inside a cage

“fly free….just fly free!” 

she pleads to the lady she visits every  Friday
                 “why the hesitation?”
as she whimpers from the wounds
                  old and dead and long buried
in the ground beneath a willow

and still the fire rages and rampages
                                          steals the flower petals 
while ripping through the forest 
as she trips on tender heels of the never fast enough

smoke still burns the backs of her brooding eyelids….

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The Devil's Tide

I looked up at a silver moon 
Peering through a cloud of misty gloom 
As we sailed across the Atlantic Sea 
That fateful night in June 
And as I stood upon the bow 
A furrow crossed my troubled brow 
When I saw a dying star fall from the sky 
As the wind out of the north 
Began to cry 
'Twas then with fearful heart 
I came at last to realize 
That we were sailing 
On a wave of ill-tidings 
Known as 'The Devil's Tide' 
For no omen of the sea 
Brought more fear than thee 
A fallen star -  a silver moon 
Together in the month of June 
If legend true would surely bring us doom 
So with no trace of land in sight 
We sailed onward through the night
I -  the Captain 'Louie Lou' 
With my faithful crew 
Aboard the 3 mast schooner 'Angel - of the Blue' 
On canvas wings we flew 
Upon the wailing wind that blew 
Then suddenly a hush of malaise 
Crushed the summer night
Filling all the crew with dreadful fright 
As all the stars in heaven lost their light 
And the silver moon dipped completely out of sight 
Leaving us to drift without guidance 
To our unknown plight 
An eerie sound began to roll out of the west 
Growing louder and louder as we held our breath 
Until it was upon us and the ship began rise 
As we looked in horror into the Devil's eye 
As the Angel of the Blue began to fly 
Up the Devil's breast she climbed 20 fathoms high 
One by one the Angel's wings were torn away 
As she fought to save us from the Devil's rage 
Screams of horror falling from her timber sides 
As the crew fell into the Devil's tide 
And I -  tethered to the helm -  watched them die 
As we climbed even higher into the Devil's eye 
And as the Angel's body creaked and cracked
We finally scaled the crest and rode upon the Devil's back
Just before I fainted and my world went black 
I woke up in the morning high on a mountain side 
Never knowing just how I had survived 
knowing only that my Angel and my crew had died 
Many years have come and gone since then 
And I am forever haunted by each and every one of them 
My faithful crew and my mighty 'Angel of the Blue' 
I see their faces in my dreams 
As I awaken to their screams 
Wishing, too -  that I had died 
But someone had to live 
To tell the tale of the 'Devil's Tide'.


Author:  Elaine George
Entry for contest:  Legends
Awarded:  First Place

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Love Never Ends

I wept upon the news deployed
For now within, exists a void
My heart has stopped, it’s turned about
For life with love is now without
Now cast away, the physical form
I await the fate, to be reborn

To one day greet you there, again
The Gates of Heaven then let us in
Hand in hand, we move ahead
As souls permit, though bodies’ dead
A smile to you I then will give
For past our deaths, I know we’ll live

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She sits alone 
She draws her knees up to her shoulders, hugging them tightly
She shivers in the icy wind 
Her teeth chatter and the stream of tears from her eyes, sting her cheeks 
As she lifts her head towards the heavens, 
Her eyes burn with pain and her piercing scream, barely human, expresses her Excruciating 
suffering and anguish

She is gripped by immense sorrow, the most powerful and destructive emotion
It roughly envelopes her, throwing her into a pit of darkness, filled with evil shadows
The shadows claw at her, ripping into her flesh like daggers
She shakes violently, tasting blood as she bites down hard on her bottom lip
But she feels no pain, her body is numb, numbed by the demons of sorrow, who, 
Are slowly overpowering her, devouring her heart 
And locking her in an eternal web of pain

She is engulfed by fear as the intense sorrow surrounding her, compresses her
She gasps for air as the merciless hands of sorrow close around her throat
She fights in her lonely vacuum, with everything she has
She reaches for her only comfort, her fingers coil around the blade
As she stretches her arms out in front of her, her void eyes gaze upon her pale skin
Her skin is etched with scars
Her scars an eternal, entwined, tattoo of her excruciating suffering
As she runs the jagged blade over her skin, its cold feel calms her
The compressing sorrow surrenders
This is her saviour, the one who can release her from this life of pure hell
Her skin begins to open, the river of blood flowing strong
Her pain is flung into the open, through her wounds, 
Leaving a sense of tranquility in her distraught heart

Her red stained fingertips caress her raw wounds
She is mesmorised by the life force flowing from her, as it paints 
Her tragic story on her body
Painful tears bleed from her eyes as regret shudders through her
She rocks backwards and forwards, lulling herself into a sense of peace
Her body is drained
As she lies back she becomes limp
Her eyes close and her whispered prayers fill the open air,
Creating the painful melody her heart sings
As she slips away

Thunder roars and the starry heavens open 
As God’s tears rain over His beloved daughter, 
Healing her wounds and piecing her broken soul back together
As the sun rises above her, 
It illuminates her peaceful expression
Her earthly father collapses besides her
His silent tears wash over her beautiful, pale face
As he lifts his dead child in his arms, 
Vicious sorrow rips his heart apart, 
Creating wounds which will never heal

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Moment of Clarity

Stumbling Through a Bewildering Maze,
Of Thoughts and Dreams, He Finds Emptiness.

The Over-exhuming Haze of a Comfortable
Life Exhausts Him, And He Sinks into Himself.

Words From His Brief Interactions Are Destroyed
By Him, Not Absorbed. It's Killing Him.

Water From His Dusty Satchel, Glints as
He Spills it onto His Lap.

                 -You're Losing it -

He Feels The Stares From Countless Eyes,
And Shrugs it off with Solitude as his Shield.

You've Become The Guy Your Parents Used
To Tell You To Avoid in The Street.

                  - You Wanna Hurt People -

He watches the Cliques of People Enjoy his
Insecurity. No-one Takes him Seriously.

He Picks The biggest Guy, His Shank, more
Powerful Than His Fist, He walks towards Him.

                   - It's About To Go Sour -

His Feet Crunches Aeons Beneath Him, And
Stamps Out His Future Genetics.

The Shank, Concealed in his Sleeve. Here it
Comes, This Was his final mark of Respect.

                   - His Veins Pump Hard -

The Adrenaline Sends Tears to his Eyes,
And Weakens His Legs, he'll Fight or Cry.

The Shank Slides Like Threading Silk Into
His Victims Stomach, Eyes Locked.
                    - Control it, Stay Calm -

There Was To be No Assistance, Retaliation 
Was To be Swift, and Effortless.

He Smiled as They Withdrew Their Weapons
From His Chest. 

                     - Fall To Your Knees -

Choking on Muffled Screams, behind The 
Blood and Mucus Filling his Mouth.

                      - Close your Eyes -

The Light Seemed To Bend in and out of The
Dark patches, It hit his eyes, and blinded him.

                      - This Makes Sense -

His Face hits Sand...

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Alone in a Hospital Room - An Alzheimer's Song

Don’t you remember, love, how we danced that first night;
beneath the sun’s rays, toes dipping in the cooling sand, 
to the tune of our favorite song –
with me humming the best I could – 
(I sounded terrible, but you told me I sounded divine, remember?)
while falling all over myself, and your delicate feet; 
and you, trying so hard not to laugh as I made such a fool of myself!
Did you ever think we would go 
from being love-sick teenagers dancing on the beach, 
to a couple of old-timers reminiscing 
about our best years – our long ago days together? 

Sweetheart, please…
If there is any part of that teenage girl 
left within that beautiful head of yours…please; 
please, just look in my eyes as you once did…
look at me, sweetheart…
Don’t you remember? 

My love, do you hear? 
They’re playing our favorite song…

*Inspired by Izzy Gumbo's Solfege Contest
I really hope I did this right! :)

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Eat Pray Love

On the edge 
of the evacuation zone
Miyuki holds her daughter 
tip-toeing in pink sneakers 
her small hands fragile 
blossoms opening
to the man with the beeping wand 

They were outside in the karesansui 
washing and raking 
rocks, when the school 
heaved, convulsed 
then pressed into silence
voices rising inside

So now they wait with strangers
in ordered lines of sorrow 
for bread and drinking water 
as an adolescent, eyes downcast
sees the small pink laces and
offers up his only ration 
of precious onigiri

Hooded and white masked they walk 
three days and bed-less nights toward 
Ishinomaki by the ocean
to family, friends, and home forever 

The landscape jumbles unfamiliar
with plastic wreckage 
and automobiles 
detritus flooded in a field
where Japonica once grew
while moon-suited men 
and women gather
albums for the living

And after sunset Miyuki moves 
her little girl away 
from a white-taped blue-bagged 
lifeless form 
toward the humming black-robed Monk, his
prayers for light 
and workers burned
exposed to radiation ten 
thousand times too high 

And in the shadows one old man kneels
beside a fetid pool and scoops  
rice to carry back to neighbours 
moved to higher ground, un-opens 
one last bottled spirit
bows his head and offers
Miyuki and her first and only 
everything  he has 

At last they reach the shelter’s glow
beneath the starless robe of night 
not used to wearing 
shoes indoors
Miyuki helps her daughter fold
sheets of painful news into
an origami box to hold
her last and only pair

And in the morning as they face
the stretch of road for home 
to unknown love and losses there 
they turn and gaze toward the east 
awaiting still 
spring’s warming breeze 
to rise with brilliant red once more
new light of wondrous dawn 


'karesansui' is a Japanese rock garden or 'dry landscape'.  Rocks are often washed.
'onigiri' is the emergency rice being distributed to survivors in Japan.
'Japonica' is a type of (short-grained) Japanese rice.

for Debbie Guzzie's contest, 'Tribute to Japan'

by ~Soulfire~ 


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They listened to your clever lines,
Felt guilty when you gave them blame
Bought in to your stick man stories
The anecdotal evidence you proclaimed

So now adoption is the enemy
Christian families are a villain 
Gotcha day is doom's day
A horror story of joy killing

They believed you, "He was trafficked!"
But if that was true then what went wrong
The dollars would have moved me out of there
If these books were credible I'd have been gone

Of course you knew the true reality
Your agenda was so thinly veiled 
There isn't this army of rescuers
For years adoption numbers have fell

I'm not copy for your editors
Don't care about best selling lists
I wasn't a child for any Catcher's
Those kinds of children rarely exist

You'd think there was an evil industry
By the awful things you wrote
You created your desired fiction
The fact is agencies are going broke

So don't imprison me with narrow labels
I'm just a hurting human being
I'm not a product or a talking point
I'm a somebody, not a something!

No one shopped for me like it was Walmart
I'm a fatherless child, now an aged out orphan
I have a name, hopes, and fears
You sold me out and made a fortune! 


Sponsor: Chris D. Aechtner
Contest Name: Anything Goes

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Adult Child of an Alcoholic

Your face and rotting teeth and heavy jowls
         and sunken breasts with bulging waist and
         wooden legs
Your image of laughter, lovemaking, seeking
         bourbon tweaked philosophies
         of life begins
         at  forty.
The hands that tremble as you tilt
         the glass that begins another
         day of
Tirade thoughts, empty lies, money spent on
         lipstick coated leeches who prey on
         your diminishing

Through these wintry days pass faces long past
         into what was then
              while with the coming spring ...
                       at last!  at last!
One can remember
         and want no more 
              what could never be:
                      a Mother.

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The Empty Tissue Box

My heart was in such pain
I felt like I was going to go insane
I just don't know what to do 
And my eyes full of tears that distort my view

I fell to my knees and felt the urge
My muscle tighten and pin needles struck me like a surge
My body was warm and with feelings so confused
My mind felt sadness had fused

I could not conquer my fears
I just sat down and fell into tears
When some close to you passes on
It felt like a warmth has gone

So I raised my hand towards a box that was empty with no tissue
I first was embarrass and had a little bit of issue
All my friends hugged me and said sorry for your loss
So now I cry in my bed and toss

April 14, 2013

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The Bell My Mother Rang

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

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The Sugar Cube House

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

Sixteen, in pajamas, watching the rain pelt down,
it was long past midnight, Christmas eve.
Twinkling lights on one house across the road, stared back at me.
It was if they were trying to fill our dark house with color.
The block was filled with a hundred lighted windows.
But the blackness of our own, somehow, seemed more appropriate.  

There was no Christmas tree in our house that year.
I suppose Dad felt it was too soon, or perhaps just the effort to get through each day
had taken all the strength he had.
We had stayed up and watched a Christmas program together.
Perry Como, I think it was, for I think I remember he sang "Ava Maria", and Dad got teary eyed.
My brother had come home from the Air Force earlier that week,
trying to help bring us a bit of cheer, least, for awhile,
but he had been called back to duty, and I missed him terribly.

The house was silent after Dad had gone to bed.
I wasn't sleepy,....and it was lonely looking out at the cold night
It seemed the whole world was sleeping, waiting for Christmas.
As I finally headed for bed, I noticed a light had been left on in the front coat closet.
I opened the door, and looking up, to pull the chain, I noticed the box.
The shoe box that had kept the sugar cube house, safe, dry, and out of harm's way.

A sugar cube house that Mom and I had made together when I was 8 years old. 
Little sugar cubes stacked into walls, and a roof, glued together with red frosting.
We had copied one out of her Good Housekeeping magazine that year,
and had surrounded it with little trees, and a oval mirror pond, and items we had found at the 5 and 10 cent store.  She had carefully packed it all away last year.
After her last Christmas.

Late into the night, I sat in the dimness of the house, laying out the sugary scene on the fireplace mantel....just as Mom would have done.

When the freckled morning moved into day...I woke on the sofa...Dad sitting next to me.  He had covered me with a warm blanket, and had fallen asleep beside me.

After breakfast....he disappeared outside, and soon came in carrying a sorry looking branch from our old evergreen tree. 

We decorated that bedraggled wasn't the most beautiful tree we had ever had, but it brought Christmas back to my family.

For Deb's Contest: A Christmas Tale
(Inspired by "The Match Girl" By H.C. Anderson

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Bottled Up

Summer of '99

How ironic. There I was, waking to a magnificent kaleidoscopic sky 
and I had no one to share it with. I thought you'd be there but I knew 
that it was too good to have lasted. It was too perfect--
you were too perfect, all the way down to your cheesy pick up
line... "Steamy Summer Love" indeed...

But what is steam anyway? I guess the love that we shared
that summer literally evaporated. All at the heat of the moment.
How cliched. But it sure burned me, now I realize how true it is 
that steam is way much hotter than boiling water. 
Was it all a dream? I tend to think so, but then 
I finger the bracelet around my wrist, 
and realize it was true after all.
 Breath on breath. Skin to skin. Heartbeat to heartbeat.
Soul to soul? I thought so.

I've come back here, to this same spot where we were a year ago,
just for me to let go.
 Literally bottling up everything... 
this write goes in this bottle, as well as some sand here 
and your joke of a bracelet.
I'm tossing this out to sea, because that's where it belongs--
those memories to be swallowed up. 
Passion purged 
by angry waves...

Was it a fantasy? Maybe, but then I hold him close to me
and realize it wasn't. I named him Nicholas, you know.
See, I remembered your name.


Summer of 2008

I've come back to this place to mull over something rotten
 I did a decade ago. And remember-- that gorgeous face, 
those mesmerizing eyes and smile... that amazing spirit. 
And hit myself on why I was such a fool. 

Then I see this bottle, and in it is some sort of letter, 
and what is this? A bracelet? An all too familiar one--
holding it in my palm, I get a chill not brought on by the sea breeze.
Reading the note, I burn up, ashen.
I then weep till my eyes and soul feel like dying.

I have a son.
and her name has escaped my memory. 

** July 18 2010r06262012

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America, Why Did You Stray?

America, why did you stray from the old way.
A constitution put forth, the foundation of our land,
barely recognizable what was originally Jefferson's hand.
Tarnished and smudged by misinterpretation,
overindulgence and greed, to satisfy political,
judicial, and journalistic need.
Once majority rule, now bordering on ridicule,
the law of the land, ever changing, meeting demands,
of whoever takes a stand.

America, why did you stray, parents unable to discipline,
fear children undisciplined now rule, school in chaos,
students unruly, guaranteed to pass, unprepared for their future,
parents unsure, wish for the past, hope the next generation,
won't be like the last.

America, why did you stray, streets used to be a place to play,
neighbors knew one another, socialized every day,
doors left unlocked, nothing to fear, families stayed close,
helped one another, took care of mother.

Now drugs rule the day, hate and crime more common than play,
multiple locks symbolic of today, rarely talk to a stranger,
living in fear; life no longer precious, taken away,
day after day, the bloody count rises, a country in crisis,
victims pay, guilty appeal, courts give them the best deal.
Nobody protests for victims rights, put a murderer to death,
they scream all night.

America, why did you stray, hatred and bigotry alive 
and well today, nationalities split, long for the old way,
when an American, was just an American, now hyphenation,
the accepted way.

America, why did you stray, once an industrial giant
you gave it away, too high a standard for industry to pay,
moved out of country, the new American way, unemployment,
poverty, homelessness rapidly increasing, ruined lives,
while billions are spent on so called allies.

America, why did you stray, what's written today,
barely address the wrongs building every day,
religion is accepted, God is not,
country divided, politically split,
presidential bashing provides journalistic wit,
hatred and bigotry, live for it.

America why did you stray, new chapters every day,
really a damn shame.

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A Note To None

If I rewrote the story and somehow are paths
did not cross.
In temptations fire.
We would only know the cold of others.

Freezing in the silent agony unable 
to speak.
The statue remains its meaning erased.

As into others we will seek.
The emotions we no longer share.
Alone I am now inthe isolation of many blank

The jokes are but a wall built to conceal.
All that I am.
That I could never reveal.

Use the substances to keep you numb.
And let the voices take you to another place.

Beyond the madness there lies 
beauthy in pain.
And always truth.
Destruction breeds art.

I light up in a room of vacant stares
and empty lives.
To blind in addiction to know the other does exist.

In this den like some scene from a opium parlor from the west. 
Ashes hit the floor along with my pride.

This battle im losing with devilish glee.
All but nothing is left.
so in the shadows I confide. 

Sometimes wisdom can come from great acts of stupidty 
sometimes pain brings us closer to the truth 
nothing stays buried   it just lays in wait.

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Morning light fills in the details
hidden by last night's new moon.
His pillow bears no dent, seems colder 
than the draft that she needs to find
and fix, soon, before winter sets in.

It means going into the workshop,
poking through sticky, old drawers,
a territory that was never truly hers.
She must find the caulking gun and try
not to stare at that festooned hat,
the once well-cared for fishing gear 
robed in cobwebs, a calendar unturned,
bowling trophies, an empty chair,
one model schooner never finished.

She pours a mug of coffee, though she 
prefers tea, slowly steeped in a proper
pot, loose leaf oolong, nicely cozied.
His mug is too large, too practical, too grey,
and her small hand is more familiar with 
English bone china, roses and ribbons,
the romantic pattern of their days.

There is a slight dip in the kitchen floor
as though he is still standing by the stove,
as though the tiles hold onto him, too.
Thirty years of omelets, his way-
polish sausage, spanish onion,
over cooked, over salted. 

She expects to hear
the whisk, his voice, laughter.

Weekends they'd shop at the market,
Farm fresh eggs, he'd said, were best,
worth the trip and he'd indulge her
love of something sweet or 
surprise her with marmalade,
clover honey in tiny jars.

She opens the fridge door, takes out the
cream and settles for toast with jam,
thinks about canceling his subscription
to Sports Illustrated, Rod and Reel,
but decides to wait until tomorrow.

She sees the egg carton, reads:
brown. free run. flax fed.
Some chickens just have it good,
he'd said. Oh, he'd said that often.

She stills and her shell breaks
as she notes the best before date...

Two months have passed since
her world expired.

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The Bottomless Pit

From the bottom of an abandoned gravel pit
behind my childhood home, seated, 
leaning against its hardpacked sandy side,
he watched the July sun set,
the empty prescription bottle at his side.

Did he walk that day to his unnatural fate
slowly, shoulders rolling like a big cat,
alternating first one, then the other, 
forward, head bent, one black errant
curl tumbling across his troubled forehead.

Did he hesitate or did he hurry
and did he think of me, just 12,
soon to be fatherless, before he
began his two weeks of decomposing
in the hot Texas sun until
the man on horseback found him
while looking for a lost calf. 

I couldn't blame my mother 
for the divorce she filed.
I had wanted him to leave, too,
and hadn't I prayed he would die
when he dragged her over the yard,
by a handful of her hair clasped
tightly in his fist,
because she had cut it without his permission.
Especially the next day when I found
the clump of auburn hair caught in the lush 
purple blooms of the wisteria bush,
I wanted him to die.

He played his harmonica for me,
and I sang, "Daddy's Little Darling, 
Don't you think I'm sweet?"
But I prayed my dad would die,
and though I asked God to ignore those
prayers of terror, I will never be able to
love enough wayward men to save my dad.

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Remembering The Children of Beslan

It was the first day of the new school year
The children of Beslan had no need to fear
In anticipation they eagerly left home for school
Some walked hand in hand with Mom and Dad
Others skipped along the well known path
Excitement filled the sidewalks and the streets
As fleeting thoughts collided in mid air

Some thought of new friends to be made
Others of old friends with whom to play
A little sister left at home 
Of baby brother asleep in his crib
Much too young to run and play
Some favorite lullabies which Grandmama sang 
As Grandpapa played his violin

The first day of the new school year
Mothers beamed with such pride
How their little ones had grown
Never would they ever want to let go
Others gave in to their children’s cries
‘Mamma, I do not want to go to school.
May I stay with you today?’

On wings of hate evil had already arrived 
With diabolical plans and bombs in hand
To maim and murder the children of Beslan
Who became captives in their little school house
After the dastardly deed was done
Dreams and aspirations lay splattered 'cross the floor 
Childhood innocence forever vanished! 

On the day of internment the sun in his temple hid
Earth wept pouring rain, her bitter tears
As Mothers’ voices cracked and strained 
Cried out loud, their children’s names
While others pleaded in vain for death
Fathers in a state of shock stood stoically in the cold autumn rain
Wearing faces carved in stone

The blood of children cried out to Heaven
Where at the throne of mercy 
Sits a God who is just 
Though their bodies lay broken in tiny white coffins
On angels' wings their souls did ascend  
He will judge all men and their deeds 
All, on one appointed day

A tribute to the children of Beslan, No. Ostetia, Russia 9/1-3/ 2004

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Butter Toffee

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

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

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

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

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

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

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In Between, Silence

The oath spilled over my lips
If you hurt me, said she 
I will never forgive you!
No, it was not the words
Probably the pose, or the voice
Or was it the silence between?
But there was power, and I swore
A daunting spirit 

In Between, Silence!

Today, I awoke to the mocking bard
I am sorry, said she
Forgive me, forget me
It was the words, no pose, no voice
And the sinful silence aside,
There was power in the words
The daunting spirit.

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Her name is Lovely part 2

Suddenly a very soft and familiar voice spoke to her conscious saying “Lovely”
“Yes” she replied   
“Tomorrow you are coming back home”
“OK” she said breathing heavily
The conversation ended right at that instant 
Seven minutes later the unpredictable happens and Lovely dropped into a short comma.
A new day arrives.

Date: 01/01/1788
Ding dong, ding dong, sounds the door-bell
Lovely wakes up; open the golden windows the sun is raising
Knock, knock someone is at the golden door
She didn’t know what was going on this time
She walks all the way to the door not noticing that her house was made out of the finest
marble, and the finest gold that ever existed.
Lovely answers the door thinking is the mail man with the missing letter.
When she finally opens the door instead of the mail man was her husband with open arms and
a smile on his face.
Saying “welcome home baby” “I had been waiting for you”  


Diogenes Zuniga

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Invisible Tears

Invisible tears spring from my wounded heart All senses on alert as soul cries out, still And out of its windows, overflowing A river, crystal clear, glistening ~*~

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Her name is Lovely part 1

Date: 12/31/1787
Ding dong, ding dong, sounds the door-bell
She wakes up; open her window the sun is raising
Knock, knock, some one is at the door
She rushes to the door thinking is the mailman 
She is expecting a love letter from Iraq
She finally answer the door but stead of the mail man is an officer from the army, he is
well dress and carries a small box with him and inside of the box is an American flag with
three different medals.
One medal is for being a soldier of the US Army, the second medal is for being a national
hero, and the third one, is a medal of honor for dying for his country.
She goes crazy crying out for help, screaming all out that she was expecting a baby.
“I’m really sorry” the officer says
“If there anything I could do please call me” he reached his wallet and pulled out a
business card and gave it to her.
“He was a brave man” he said
The officer turned around and left the house with out hesitation.
Poor girl was drowning in her own tears; she still didn’t believe what just happen 
“Lord please help me”, “help me go through this horrible pain” she cries out.
She goes back to the bed and tries to sleep it off, but it didn’t work out, the pain was
too much just to act like nothing didn’t happen.
She finally falls as sleep after several hours of crying painfully.
She tosses and turns all night long, sweating like crazy with massive pain on her chest 
While she was having a horrible nightmare; dreaming about the death of her husband-

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Shut Your Dirty Mouth

Tonight I thought I shook off a roach. Swore I felt it approach. Imagined it crawling down
my throat. My Dad came out from the den and asked What’s Wrong? I said, Nothing, I’m fine
when I still felt bits of dead roach nesting in my spine. That’s Divine.

I feel the Holy Spirit in me tonight. Jesus Christ! I must have done right! Don’t come
near me, I’m contaminated, clearly. Oh, God, need me! So that the sky doesn’t turn black
every time I look up to seek your advice. My chips are stacked, I’ve got them wracked.
Roll the dice six six six every time. On my Dime. I think I may have crossed the line.
Maybe I’m sick. Maybe I’m not hip to this.

Maybe I just need to settle down. Take a breath. Take a pill. Sit real still. Stare until
I become comatose blare my music so loud that my eyes become brazen and I can’t hear what
you’re saying.

Do roaches bite? I wonder at night. As I hide beneath the covers that used to shield us
from one another. Protect us from the evils in this world, bring no harm to little girls.
Now they just cover up old condoms and dirty food crumbs.

Numb. Numb. Numb. Can’t move. Limbs feel numb, limbs feel wrung, limbs feel slung,
stammering and slurring like grandma after her stroke.

This is a joke. The world’s a joke. We’re a joke.

Then why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing until our paws fall off, our mittens
become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.

Oh boy, here I go again. If this is a joke why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing
until our paws fall off, our mittens become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.

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I'm holding your letters, here in my hand 
Each word is wrapped in cursive swirls
Of trembling, eloquent, handwriting...

You shared your life with me...

A gift of yourself,  like little grains of sparkling sand...
Slipping through my open fingers
But, it's only now.... that I fully understand...

They were small chapters, and stories....detailed accounts...
         of a picture you framed, 
                      a flower you grew, a morning of mauve,...
                             a dress you made, a puzzle you solved...
                                      or the rains that quickly came, then disappeared...

A little life, a simple day, so quickly came, and left....through fading years....

Snippets of a life that seemed unremarkable, too easily dismissed

Until you were gone.
  Until I missed you...
      Until I began to realize 
                  that I wouldn't have a second chance...
                      another day,  to pay closer attention, ...
                                      to ask more questions, show more interest
                                          to look deeper into your eyes,
                                                    those eyes of experience, clarity...
                                                        kindness and charity...
                                                         so filled with the wisdom of age
                                                            ....before the page of love had closed....

Your caring, ...your patience,...your understanding....
That in my neglectful ways,
                      I thought would always be....

These letters I hold in my hand,
            ending with words of love.....
                          that perhaps, I didn't really deserve

                                That only now,  I've truly heard....

By Carrie Richards


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My Mom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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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this was me

it began so innocently
we exchanged ideas on poetry
his art, the suffering he endured
he preyed upon my compassion
as he meticulously bided his time...

i felt safe as we expressed
our mutual love of words
i was excited, i was learning,
unbeknowst to me, i was his prey..

many months and thousands of hours, 
talking, reaffirmed my trust; faith in him
he shared his life, triumps & tragedies
i supported all he desired for himself..

i understood, i felt his pain, 
his drive i admired, he overcame tremedous odds,
became a doctor so others would not suffer as he had;
he baited me; the innocent and naieve one.

living life with no regret,
i chose to take a leap of faith,
he guided me, alleviated my fears,
of promises to cherish and adore me..

as a tiger waits patiently to pounce on his prey
i was oblivious to his hatred inside,
he was a master of manipulation
his mission - to destroy me..

i felt he was worth giving 
up all i knew to build a life
he so lovingly described to me,
little did i know, his words - poison..

america bound i left everything i knew; i loved.
the terror of his drunken rages, his icy silence,
the cruelty of his words stung like red hot coals.
what he admired most about me,intensified his hatred.

the vacancy in his eyes was terrifying, 
i was alone in a strange country, 
knowing no one, in a house, not a home, 
full of tension, rage, abuse; numb and in shock;
this was my reality..

with each painstaking day of living in terror
dreading his arrival, my fear reached new heights;
i had enough; i was leaving.
his rage increased, his words pure venom..

i was numb, shaking, fear drove me to action
he became desperate, i did not sleep 
for fear of never waking, his actions so terrifying
i felt a strength within, empowering me..

planning my escape, fear became my ally,
i reached the airport and did not stop shaking
until safely on the plane, doors shut, 
moving down the runway to take-off;
i wept, i crumbled, i collapsed.

jubilantly at home, i felt peace, safe, 
and soaked in the beauty of my freedom; my home.
it has been six weeks; i have flashbacks, 
terror still haunts me; i am determined 
to not let another change me.

i am healing and am grateful for every
moment i smile, smell a flower, witness
the marvel of each sunrise and sunset.
i am a blessed girl.

~this was me~ 

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Bloody Nightmare

A heart is broken and I am dead
Wondering when this pain will end
My heart will need to mend
Crying out loud screaming through blood
It soaks the floor I collapse in mud
Crawling slowly I cannot breathe
My vision is blurry and now I can't see
I hear a scream and demon bell
The world is now a freezing hell...

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Visiting Hours

You didn't shake
as much in
the psych ward, 
possibly because
of the medication.
A cocktail of 
paxil, seroquel,
lithium and sedatives.
The white walls
dimmed your 
pale complexion.
The pink rosed
paintings on the
wall reflected
the first bit
of color returning
to your peaked
gaunt cheeks, and
big sad eyes.
You'd get so angry,
trying to hold back
from all the secrets
of your condition that
the uniforms and 
clipboards kept 
from you.
We'd walk the 
circular hallway.
My black work loafers
and your socks 
circumfrencing the
middle ground of 
We'd hold eachother
in the corner, under
the light wood
safety rail.
You, propped up
against the wall.
Me..pressed againt
your chest.
You'd envelope 
me with your
long arms and 
whisper in my ear
between your tears
that this...
couldn't last forever.

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Child Prostitutes (2006)

Staring head on in the face
What is happening in each corner of this dreadful place
I don’t want to say rather me that you
I wish there was something I could do
Children for sale just isn’t right
Buts its happening day and night 

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He Loved You

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

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

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

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

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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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One Last Time

Hold my hand she asked.
One last time before I leave you
It's so hard trying to let go
Whisper to me 
One last time so I believe you
All my life I have loved you so
Then he smiled 
Reached out and put his arms around her
Kissed her gently while teardrops filled his eyes
He said a prayer
That bands of angels would surround her
Held her close feeling his fears begin to rise
A life together 
Sharing hopes and dreams, joy and sorrow
One last time he'd see her smile
For he knew there'd be no tomorrow
So he held her for a while
A heart so broken
Remembering all the things he loved about her
He would be overwhelmed with the loss of his wife
As she passed, he knew he'd never live without her
He kissed her one last time before he took his life.

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Don't Take My Kindness For Granted

You think that you know me
But you don't know at all
Every day you say your sorry
After that I fall
I hate it when you lie
You think your doing good
When all you cause is pain
Just tell me that you hate me
So my life won't be in vein...

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Thunder and Lighting

Love is prominent but lies are still troubling the arch in my back is still aching  thru my core/ To calm to peaceful Today not enough appreciation from you
You make me feel less important.
 How many more audition do I need to perform for you?
 Your Personality changes like the weather negative energy creates “Thunder and Lighting” 
   Your Ego is higher then the altitude in Denver 
You are the weather that changes everyday I never knew when its cold are warm 
Today I was prepared for a Sunny day / But  like the weather you change unpredictably have me puzzled just wondering Why?
 I was not prepared for your  precipitation/ you never allow me to grasp your feelings never appreciate my love  you was only  obsessed with yourself and not my heart.  When its cloudy or rainy outside my vision gets a little blur and  fuzzy when you are around.

Meteorologist Predicate Sunny and warm air with the chances of early morning cloudiness’

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Girl Rising

She felt the world turned upside down in apace, When he left her suddenly with his sad goodbyes in her last embrace; She was so weak to endure the pain of losing him, She thought, her life will be useless, In his absence, how else can she live? He brought her into the altar a month ago, The same date when he left her, even if she begged him so; “Please don’t leave me babe, please? “ she cried His warmth and tenderness was deeply felt in his touch and waning smiles. He gently held her face… whispered all the words of his eternal love, As he looked lovingly into her eyes, Took his last breath and on her lap, he died. She cried out and whined under the rain, She was abruptly fallen into the dungeon of pain; Thunder rumbled in confusion As lightning tried to ease as much as it can, Nothing happened; Instead, she did no longer care. She asked, “ Why’s life’s so cruel and so unfair?” Why did such dreadful disease came and robbed him away from her? Without any past sign that he’d a bitter pill He suffered in few days and in just a short moment The wave of euphoria’s great love came to an end. She walked distraught toward the sunset, She lamented so much of his death. So miserable, she couldn’t sleep, A long period of time that she languished; All she’d wished was to follow him too soon, Without thinking anymore the life in her womb. Looking at her with pity and grief, Her friends and love ones extended their hands to lift up her spirit; It took time for her to stand again on her feet, Until finally, she clasped them… Yet, she roved her future, Feeling alone in the prairie, she walked ahead. An old rickety soul was gradually rising, The love around her and their future child served as her riggings As words of comfort kept pouring…driving her to resilience, Looking up unto the sky for another sunrise…anticipating… Hoping to begin her life again, Until a complete restitution may happen.
Aug. 4, 2013 2.45 pm Note: A true story inspired by my mum’s old friend. She married on June 24 (June Bride) and her husband died exactly on the following month, July 24.I can’t remember the exact year. I was still very young at that time and the couples were very close to me. Their love story and the man’s apparition to me on the night after his death harbours forever. Second Place Contest: Girl Rising Judged: 8/5/2013 Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux

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They ran laughing
Into the night.
Hand in hand.
Heart in heart.

Twenty-One, and Nineteen.
Forging new pathways,
Skirting danger,
Laughing at the wind.

It took only 
A second,
A heartbeat,
For the driver
To mow them down.

It took only
A second,
A lifetime
For love realized
to be lost.

But years before
He stood next to his father
Who said the choice is yours.

And the proud young man
Checked the box
And signed his name

Not knowing
That the heart
He gave the girl
Would not be
His to give.

Seven hours
Of waiting,

Seven hours
Of holding breaths
And hands,
And the heart
Began to beat


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Broken home

Remax can sale you a home but can't sale you happiness. I never visit the state of Georgia but things do get a little peaches. See this what happens when you eat finger food and take out orders. I never receive your Southern Hospitality/ I couldn’t even receive a  plate of food you cook/ you can finally see now when I walk away out your life forever I don’t even have a single word for you. Only thing you will receive from me is this middle finger. You was taught at young age to go to School and learn in Class. But surely class can’t teach you “CLASS”!!

 A moment silent   things were so quiet and  complicate in the beginning I thought we could have reconnect /But just like the chips to connect four they don’t always stay in the same order. You had play a handful of games and this when the “Battleship” games has to end. Now I hope you feel the water rise from your sinking ship and allow your tears to fumble into your lap.

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The Final Confessions II

These were my confessions
(A message to God)
The light begins to fade
(It’s time to go)
Back into the shadows
(That hard black fog)
Where darkness has its way
(God rest your soul)

Nothing left to tell you
(It’s all been said)
No more songs to write
(This silent Fall)
Nothing left to offer 
(The well’s been bled)
From a shadow’s waning life
(Who lost it all)

Take my words and hold them
(Don’t be afraid)
Place them near your heart
(And heal your pain)
Shadow words will kiss you
(And heal your pain)
When your world turns dark
(Don’t’ be afraid)

And I kiss you
Kiss you
I kiss you in the dark……..

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I'm on a dusty backroad journey, in the Pearl of Africa;
They don't invest in road repair in the country of Uganda.
It's a pot-holed highway, that seems to go on forever;
We're in a worn out SUV, and our group is crammed together.

Finally, we pull off this road, to a sight I've never seen;
They call it a "Highway Orphanage", truly nothing there is clean.
There's just two broken down huts, and a large field of clay;
And the sun is beating down on us, it's the middle of the day.

The Chief tells us a tragic story, that's repeated almost every week;
How children are abandoned here, to a future that's somewhat bleak.
Mothers of these little children, so very desperate to simply survive;
Travel the long road to Kampala, in hopes of work to keep them alive.

Its here they leave their precious child, and sometimes more than one;
I'm sure they're confused and brokenhearted, when the sad deed is done.
The clothes on these children are old and torn, and many have none at all;
And they aren't left with any toys, there's no games, stuffed pet, or balls.

There seems to be scarce food here, and there's no close running water;
But I'm sure the greatest lack, is these kids don't have a mother or father.
Some of the children sit in the shade, but most are sitting in the field;
For them it's just another mundane day, till I walk over and kneel..

They are just starring at me, I wonder what they could be thinking;
"Who is this large, sweating, white man, with eyes that keep blinking?"
But soon my friendly smiles are returned, and the kids are drawing near;
Within minutes I'm a human jungle gym, and the children have no fears.

What happens next I'll never forget, if I live a hundred years;
Just the very thought of it, brings this grown man to tears.
One of the little climbers, gets real close to me and speaks;
"Are you my Daddy", he whispers, my knees instantly go weak.

A great well of emotion erupts, words still can not describe;
Feelings so overpowering, it was impossible for me to hide.
And one by one the children whispered, those same sad words to me;
Their little mouths would hug my ear, and say "Are you my Daddy?

*On the crossroads out of Kampala, Uganda

Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Contest Name: Heart And Soul 

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Don't Leave Me

I can't imagine being alive without you
I can't imagine what it will be like when your gone
I don't know what I'll become without you
Maybe I'll just run
Run away from everything and leave everyone behind
Maybe I'll find a way to be close to you
Because I won't believe you died 
My heart will ache so much more 
Tears will always run
My eyes will hold the wisdom 
That you bestowed upon me young
And my recklessness will be noticeable
People will wonder why
Why am I running when the person I needed most died
How can I face my life when I can't do anything right
I won't believe you have gone away
When God decides to take you
I'll still come by your house and always expect an answer
I Love You Gamma
You Taught Me About My Heritage  
Please Remember Me When God Takes You
Please Guide Me In the Right Way

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Soul Cry

As my days grow shorter my memories are long.I sit reminiscing in twilight,of two hearts that were laid bare.And the many tears that were shed inside our moments of anguish, hearts seeking shelter from lifes ever raging storm this miracle we found within each others embrace. I fully realize that now it is the past, for i am alone,as my time draws near and you are faraway,i must somehow gather the strength to face another day.Fight off the suffering which racks my bones along with my broken heart that will never be healed.Because with the knowledge that you will never return my once promising fate has ultimately been sealed. by. nathaniel e watkins 9/19/13

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In My Nightmare I Wore A Wedding Gown

You stood there beneath the taunting man on the cross
Yet you stared at the stained floor
I was walking in the dreaded aisle unnoticed by the groom
The bouquet left no petal
For the fluttering flies took them as the bell rang
But you remained unmoved.

I was there almost
I even took the veil
But instead of taking my hand
You lit the candle
Then sprinkled water
On to the glass
Then laid a rose on my breast.

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The Hat - Part 1

Travelling on the road for business gets old fast.  The inside of one hotel room starts to look the same as another in any town you name.  When you travel by yourself it becomes even more mundane.  Customers, clients and/or prospects all have their own after-work lives waiting for them and seldom include you in their plans.  So, as you depart at the end of the business day you are on your own, in a strange town.

You do get used to exploring cities, towns and suburbs on your own.  You figure out how to avoid always eating in the hotel restaurant and you master the art of dining alone.  For men like Josh, that usually meant eating at the restaurant bar.  Even though he seldom ordered a beer, wine or other alcoholic beverages, the bartenders were always a willing party to chat with and enjoy some semblance of human interaction.

On this particular occasion, the trip was even more difficult than usual because Josh was having trouble at home with his wife.  Whereas, some may think it a blessing to remove yourself from the situation, it just made Josh feel even more lonely not being able to talk to her to try to work things out.  So, after putting on his happy and buoyant work-face all day to keep the customer satisfied, Josh donned his fedora and walked out the front doors of the high-rise office complex onto the crowded and lonely city streets.

The fedora was a relatively new addition to Josh’s wardrobe.  Not many men wear fedoras any more.  Josh’s wife thought he would look good in the hat and surprised him with it as a Christmas present six months ago.  Josh was still getting used to wearing the hat, but received many compliments on his appearance while wearing it.

Without even bothering going back to his hotel room, Josh slowly strolled around the city streets lost in thought about the situation with his wife and wondering how they might resolve the loss of passion, the loss of caring and the loss of love in their relationship.  Finally, he stepped inside the doors of an enticing pub to get himself some dinner.

The bar in this particular establishment had plenty of stools available to pick from.  Josh sat down on one and placed his fedora on the empty stool next to him.  On this evening, Josh started off by ordering a beer.

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My Legacy

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

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

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

(November 13, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)

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

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The Baseball Mitt

My father's Roger Maris mitt
Was kept in perfect health.
It showed no wrinkles no blemishes
Nor flakes of skin.

Its limber fingers were sheathed in leather, 
Its pocket was well stretched
As it yawned with each breath.
Bathed in linseed oil, 
It was a dark jersey cow
As it slept like an oyster
With a pearl cradled in its palm.

My father's attention was precious as gold; 
His time was well spent with little to spare.
He was my coach, he was my father
Playing catch on our field of honor.
Years passed by with a blink of an eye; 
His fraying attention became unraveled
By his job, by money, his family's health
And his aging body.
His golden mitt seldom saw light; 
Snaring a baseball was wishing
Upon a starless night.

With patience and compassion
My father guided my life, 
By catching a baseball my self-confidence grew.
But, his life was snatched by death
His game forever ended.
He was part of my foundation
Which will never fade from sight
As long as I remember, a baseball
Caught on an autumn night.

Standing in my backyard, I see my father's mitt
Cradling me; 
Like a baseball I recline
In his loving arms forever.

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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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The rain slides off my hair,

soaking me wet.

The sky seems to be crying over me,

I don't care.

In the middle of nowhere,

without no soul to speak with.

Should I embrace my fear?

Tears are coming,

though not mine.

But I await my fate,

inpatient for all to end,

not worried for ones deathly drop.

I never had my laughing days on this smiling planet,

nor smiled at gracing sunsets.

No need for me to be where I have my wrongly self being,

in a world that doesn't want me in it!

Can't I be free?

escape, without it not labelled a sin?

My words doesn't breach a sound!

Am I bound to disappear with just one argument?

I now don't feel the need to fear,

useless waste from above.

But I do regret for what soon my breathless body didn't become,

maybe in the end it'll turn out to be all I was.

They will finally see,

a lost poet.

Instead you'll be seeing tears in my lifeless eyes,

like fallen old crusty papers,

with no expressions,

nor emotions of any kind that suits your almighty mind,

for ever no sense.

Throw away my heart and mind into dark flames of hell!

Feel my fury from the heat of not understanding!

All vanished within my last dying breath.

Don't cry for me,

cry for yourself.

Dead writing,

like me forever,

I was........


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He woke and he got down on the creaking knees

He didn't know if God listened but  tried

His grandson was in a coma and God was asleep

But he said the prayer but  was afraid of the silence

God was the great politician in the sky

And his son Jesus would listen to the poll

When there was trouble God was the first name

Grabbing  his coffee he humbly turned to God

In his eyes it was humbly but he loved the sugar

As he sat stirring and  sweetened  thoughts 

The prayers flowed with his coffee

"Maybe God only listens to the regulars"

And he definitely wasn't one

It was  years and God was famished

The whispered prayer ended with death and the anger

"Why did you not take me"

"I have lived and gladly would take the grandson's place"

The pastor warmed up and the sisters hummed

The cup spilled over as the prayer of the faithful

He became a hugger and he covered each drink 

And the Irish believed in wake and liquor

He hugged the people tight and the salt became a scab

And God left him there with his drink

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Nine Eleven

The old woman argued relentlessly, her case.
Resolute, she raved in her conviction; 
two thousand and one reasons were there for her to be mad.
Eleven was given to questioning eyes.

It was September, 
and Bernice brought home the bourgeois man, 
and the two fell 
from the pedestal
they held among friends in the big city, 
(the city) a melting pot, 
now a city in affliction.

Bernice’s brown eyes combed the neighborhood; 
two boys, with open arms, 
played aero planes; 
Across the street,
the rug pilot laughed his ass off 
as if mocking the bourgeois man,
and his woman hid her face in rags …, 
in degradation – 
but her sad eyes openly mourned her son’s suicide.

Grief of that magnitude brings offense, 
and the bourgeois man was red with wrath, 
and he abhors the old woman 
with every inch of his being. 
Racism was reversed.
He avowed by God to ruin the rug pilot, 
and the people that loved him consented. 

Hearts were left to wonder
what makes men so cruel.
The reasons for the old woman’s rant was explicable, 
and of the grounds for the revenge 
the negros conceded, 
in only one instance. 
Revenge was foreseeable, 
and the spirit breeds more phobias.

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The Forest

The Forest

I walk through an ancient, gloomy forest.
Everything is shrouded in a dark fog,
flowing over the contours of the earth.
Uncertainty floods my mind, warping what I see and hear.
In the distance, an owl faintly asks his question.
I spin around, again and again. 
Faint padding. The cracking of a twig.
Wind howling, fear takes my head. 
A flash of grey, gone as if never there. 
I flit about, glancing this way and that…
A faint moon reveals my horrors.
A half dozen wolves, grey and black,
crouching before me, ready to snap. 
I stumble away, my back now against a tree.
They close in, readying themselves. 
I unveil my dagger, but to my dismay and distress,
the wolves are like no other.
Transforming on spot, into those whom I love, 
I think, “Am I strong enough for this?”
Before I conclude, they strike with speed.
And before I conclude, my horrors are gone.
Before I conclude, I’m hearing Death’s psalm.

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Physically and Mentally Abuse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Curtains drawn, clouded moon
Silent streets, and swaying branches, silhouetted trees
One apartment upstairs, resides sorrow
Dimmed lights, windows are shuttered
Ticking relentlessly are clocks
Days, hours, minutes are passing
Closed are doors, but memories creep inside
There lived joy once, yet fate is cruel
Heart barren now, and eyes empty
Lingering stories dwell there
Young and bright days are gone
Love lost, years faded 
Bitter and alone
Alone and bitter
Faded years, lost love
Gone are days bright and young
There dwell stories lingering
Empty eyes and now barren heart
Cruel is fate yet once joy lived there
Inside creep memories but doors are closed
Passing are minutes, hours, days
Clocks are relentlessly ticking
Shuttered are windows, lights dimmed
Sorrow resides upstairs, apartment one
Trees silhouetted, branches swaying and streets silent
Moon clouded, drawn curtains

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So that was how the beautiful piece of heaven they had on earth stopped existing

We live in a world full of anger, hate, mistrust, fear and hypocrisy, but it wasn’t meant that way. Once upon a time, thousands of years ago God created a green, pretty and healthy planet to live in where all the animals could work together and live in peace, but suddenly, all started to change. There was a kind and good-intentioned lion, the king of the world, that always tried to do the best for his planet, taking care of all the animals on earth and maintaining peace all along the different species, but there was also a hyena, his best friend, who was so jealous of the king that he stabbed him on the back. The lion always trusted on his best friend, he told him everything he knew and all his thoughts. He thought he would be there for him whenever he needed him and always sought for his good, but the king started to notice his odd mood and felt like he was loosing his best buddy, he tried to talk to the hyena but he refused. So the king turned to somebody else to ask what was going on with his friend and nobody told him. That was so weird, everybody loved the king, everybody would kiss his ass for free, but not now, everything was different, not just with the king but the mood itself. Everything looked sad, darker, like dead. Then, one afternoon, at the weekly meeting of the Great Council, where everyone was discussing, telling wrongs and rights, the hyena stood and spoke up and turned everybody from the king, he was creating a revolution. With all the king’s ideas, with all the tactics he had, the hyena started to create a new team, he was creating bad people, he created evil. Even though there were still animals in the lion’s side, the evil one was stronger. The king, surprised and devastated by his best friend’s betrayal, he took up arms and started to defend his kingdom, the beautiful world he had. So they all started to fight, there was blood split everywhere, screaming, shouting and violence all around the place, like never before. Nobody stopped until wining or dying, dying was the choice they had to make to live in honor. So that was how the beautiful piece of heaven they had on earth stopped existing.

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He glances through the curtains as she leaves.

And he knew she was going with him instead.

Desperately he washes his soul of her but its for naught.

And  he hangs each feeling on the line and the cool breeze.

She walks to the corner and gets into his car and flips her hair.

He always loved the way she flipped her hair and the body after a drink.

Her body would glisten with the sweat of his thrust and the bite on his shoulder.

The car pulls away and he watches the lights drive off with his heart and the bite.

The laundry machine moves like her and shudders and vibrates.

But she will return with food from the Chinaman.

Chinese food was how he knew.

She never ate Chinese food except afterwards.

The clothes lay fluttering in the night air as his heart dried.

And she came home with egg rolls and the feint smell of polo.

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Hearing the Words

Although my voice rose in volume
his ears rejected the sounds,
unable to distinguish the words.

Speaking to his back,
I felt like a mime without a mirror.
My heart grieved at the loss,
no longer able to reach the one 
I had laughed with, and loved, 
all of my adult life.

But his eyes spoke eloquently,
his smile erased my anger,
and his kiss warmed me to my toes.

New hearing aids brought his world
into sharper focus and now the words
bounce off walls like cymbals on a drum.

"Three thousand dollars," he grumps.
"and I prefer the silence."



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Dead Winter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Two of Twelve

Ten remain hidden, two thousand years lost. 

Two struck down by bullet, gas, and flame; the ghetto stage one. 
Six million perished before the world ended this crooked crime
Remanent of those lost rose like the cedar in Lebanon, Ezekiel knew best
Twas God who gave men courage; they fought such tyranny, such hate
Twelve mourned for a season while two given back old land
North and south, east, west flock to come home, a great exodus at hand
Two now settled, secure where they stay; diligently searching for those...

Ten remain hidden, two thousand years lost.

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A perfect abode
A perfect dwelling
Crafted for mankind
The paradise on earth
Until they came…

Brothers of the league
Vicious and hostile
Pitiless and heartless
They are called “pain”
They are a terror

The first flows hot
Burning and frying 
Anything in his path
Caring for none
But its freedom

Its brother in one roar
Cracking open the face of earth
Pulling its victims down
And tearing limbs from flesh
A quick temper

Another, always in a massive rush
Drowning and destroying set ups
Dare to stand in his way?
He rushes past you
Taking you all the way… down!

Their sweep is massacre
Even the earth suffers
Proof they take along
It doesn’t look like;
They are stopping anytime soon.

© Naa Takia, All Rights Reserved 2012

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Una Visita con Mama -- A Visit With Mama

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

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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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Opposites in Love collabaration

The crashing waves hit the bow, as we cut through waters deep.
Clasped in irons that cut the skin; forged in the fires that never sleep.

The desert was dry, the sun beat down, I am free as a bird
The breeze tickled through the oasis, near the camel herd

Now my love is fading, like the burnt embers of those flames.
I am now branded a thief and prisoner, amongst some other names.

The hate I felt for the whore that tried to give his love to me.
Was so strong I felt I could kill him, my love he will never see.

I stole for her a flower, a simple heart felt gift.
The perfume now a memory, on this prison galleon adrift.

I am traveling to my wedding, across the desert so hot and dry.
Perfumed flower petals along the way, by slaves are scattered awry.

Seven years the price for my gift of love it did gain.
Hard labour I endure, to avoid the leather cat pain.

My arms are full of bracelets, and pearls hang round my neck.
I never think of him, now shackled on that deck.

Her kisses sublime, a memory fading, the perfume of her skin and hair
The price is high but I will pay, I took her from him to be fair.

To think I could have kissed. him makes my skin fairly crawl.
But the plan worked well, for my new rich lover, it managed to enthrall.

Slaves to love, there is no choice, when our hearts lead us astray.
I stand here windswept and tear stained, with seven years to pay.

How dry my eyes now he has gone, freedom is beckoning me.
So easy it was to frame him, now he has seven years before he is free.

I stand in the wind, rope in hand, waves crashing all around.
My ankles are bleeding with the chains, and the cat makes a whistling sound.

I lay on cushions with rings on my fingers the slaves are fanning me.
My wrists are bathed in rose oil, and kissed perpetually.

My love is strong, my heart is given, and I know I will endure. 
My love will wait for me, my beauty, my life, my own sweet amour.

Thank goodness I kept my heart for me, and for me alone. 
This thing called love is foolish, my heart it has never known.

In collaboration with Declan Fitzgerald who started the story off which made it easy to alternate my side of the story as a femme fatale between his couplets.

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A decade in to
a new millennium,
a woman, nearing
a century on Earth,
braces herself in
a doorway of
the house,
she has lived in since birth.

Her oldest son unfastens his belt, and takes a seat at the end of her table,
where her middle son just fixed the legs of the chair; to make sure it was stable.
Her youngest son brushes the webs off the wall, and scrubs the stains from the floor.
Her only daughter packs up her pictures, and helps her through the door.

A decade in to 
a new millennium,
a life, almost
a century long,
comes flooding back
to the thoughts of a woman
who feels removed 
from where she belongs.

Her daughter tries to lift her spirits, (from the room in which, she slept as a child)
but no one could easily witness their memories, all being sorted, and filed.
Her house is dissected, and put in a truck that waits - like a thief - in the drive.
-The cumbersome stance; the delicate dance; together, they help one another survive.

A decade in to 
a new millennium,
a woman approaches
a century - passed.
A man in the attic
waves from the window -
Assuring her: 
This home will not be her last.

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An Inmates Dark Christmas

An Inmates Dark Christmas....
It was the first Christmas right after my momma passed away.
Any other Christmas I'd be making the best of the situation, but it was a very dark day!
It was a day I wanted to escape from, and nothing could distract my mind.
My body felt so numb, and the pain fed off of me being confined.

An Inmates Dark Christmas...
I laid on my bunk in a funk in that cold dark cell.
I was emotionally drunk, and that Christmas day was pure hell!
I pictured my momma in my minds eye, we were hanging decorations on the Christmas tree.
It was at that moment I wanted to die, for I just knew I would succomb to insanity!

An Inmates Dark Christmas...
That day I even contemplated suicide, for the pain and loneliness was just too much.
A bonified emotional homicide, for my momma I would never see or touch!
That Christmas I was a man with an empty shell, and a troubled soul.
A day of pure hell, and alone in that cell became my dark little hole.

An Inmates Dark Christmas...
I thought that day would never end, but then Christmas was gone.
No family or friend, for I was still terribly alone!
Christmas is still the hardest day of the year, but I manage to get by.
And although I still shed a tear, at least I no longer wanna die!

By Jimmy Matthew Anderson for Constance La Frances contest "Your Saddest Christmas 

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Maybe there's just one star in the sky.
Harbor it, keep it, you and I.
Our secret gem, our weekend retreat,
char on the path to which we sneak.

A day of rememory of the crisp night air.
12:10 in the woods; sweet speech in my ear.

Drissle turns to downpour which electrifies the dark.
A towel dabs a leak where the roof splits with bark.

I vaguely remember slipping into a taxi.
A light! Our star! Seen from the back seat.
Another! Two stars? And more, and more
lining the way to my front door.

Too many! That's enough!
They are burning my face! 
Oh no! Oh dear!
And it all went blank.

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Loneliness engulfs him
consumes him
like an arsons match
he ignites the bond
setting their relationship ablaze
now...that foundation
simply reduced to a pile of ash
in a distant haze

Loneliness entangles him
weaves thru him
like diseased roots of an aging tree
they wrap around his feelings
squeeze out emotion
and eventually choke the life
out of his reality

Loneliness is his soulmate
and for all the years
joined together by selfishness and fate
at the expence
of someone else's tears
now, as the years drip away
they quietly disappear
leaving no trace
but landing ever so gently
and all to clearly
upon his lonely artificial face
though it's not by choice
that this partnership remains
but as a cruel reminder
of a love lost
and a heart tragically stained...


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Stones of life, Pebbles of destiny
Round, smooth or rough
They told the future

Weeds and grass
Leaves of shrubs
They all had essence

We had been great
We were divine mould
Our hearts and bodies simply joined

Thinking to thoughts
Once too many times
Leaving dusts of doubts

Mist of secrets
Fog of lies
Ever unsettling

Clear as blues;
You never seemed
Never that vivid

Thick as dark clouds
Angry and tearing
You gathered quickly

Petals and thorns
Trees of breath
Birds of value

Opaque is you
Torn is me
Wrecked is us

That makes three
Three perfect words
Too perfect truly

Sun, moon and stars
Nothing left up there
Everyone’s gone

It is you; 
And me now
With all our ties broken!

©Naa Takia, All rights Reserved 2012

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If I could see your tomorrow I would fill the empty void that steeps so deeply within me, that rustles and tussles inside my naked being.  I would know exactly what to do to brighten your day and put a comforting smile on your face that would make you stay.

If I could see your tomorrow I would erase all the bad things that would happen to you and place luck in your path.  I would be the flame to your candle and spirit to your soul. I would take joy in being your own personal protector.

If I could see your tomorrow I would lay down my lives worth dreams at your feet and profess everlasting love to you.  If I could see your tomorrow I would present unto you my secrets and my faults.  I would place them all on a silver platter with roses and sweet essence sprinkled all over. If I could see your tomorrow it would be a dream come through.

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Son of the Morning

Once, he had the most brilliant light
In Heaven, he'd been the star even at night
The most favored, the most beautiful
He never thought one day he'd become a fool

He was always pure, never felt insecure
Until Heaven borne one special creature
And the angels cried, the angels wondered
What would happen if they are no longer favored?

Angels watched as Heaven gave the man a special woman
My beloved one walked away, flame in his hand
Why the special gift for a man made in soil?
That was when anger and envy started to boil

The most beautiful star sat alone in silence
Heaven's in peace, can he dare start a violence?
Yes, he would for the love of Heaven
So he called all his beloved brethren

War would never do good for anyone
He knew from the sight of blood in his hands
And stared at the ground where his brethren laid
From the bloody battle, my beloved angel turned away

His wings unfurled, made of pure Heaven and glory
They were as black as night, magnificent and lovely
He made once last glance as he begun to descend
He knew he made a mistake he could never amend

It was his nature, no other pleasure than flying
But his heart broke knowing that he's falling
He landed to the ground, broken and wounded
Tears from his eyes, he felt ashamed and abandoned

He stood alone in the middle of the night
His wings dimmed, slowly fading its light
For the first time, he felt the rain on his skin
And for the first time, he shivered from the coldness of the wind

He looked up and saw his brethren
Why did they follow him, he's a Fallen
They bowed their heads, still loving him
So he decided, He's Lucifer and no longer the Son of the Morning

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She doesn't deserve this.
Alone, after fifty-odd years
Married to him.
Alone, too attached to her home
To leave it to live with a son
In a place strange to her.
Alone,  still talking to the husband
Who has been dead a year now.
In a moment of clarityy, she realizes he is gone
And feels compelled to visit him
At the cemetery.
Down the road she started
Picked up by neighbors three times
And taken back home.
They, knowing she was no longer capable of being alone,
Yet no one thought to stay.
Now she's gone, we don't know where
The woods, the river, the roadsides
Where can she be?
Wherever it is, we can only pray, Della 
That you are no longer alone.

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The love dressed in black

The lady walks away
With thoughts clogged of grey
She couldn't stand there any longer

Watching him go underground
It was dead scilent, not a sound 
His motionless body on his death bed

She cried tears of death and sorrow
Knowing for him, there is no tommorow
Her love thrown away like nothing

No one knew who she was
Because she had only met him the other day
when they fell in love at first sight

The bullet that once saved her 
Killed her first love, in a shock and a blur 
He bled out and died in her arms

Why didn't things work out that day?
Why did things end up that way?
She walked away, a lady dressed in black

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When will I learn what I know so well, this priceless thing You may have it from me kept strong and so closely that it's returned as we share it growing stronger each day as we keep and we hold it.Strange that it is, if either one sold it or broke it. Just once sad to say is enough that neither of one us would or could if I may hear words of pure truth no matter how true if the other had told it.No second chance just second guessing , every fond memory comes under question.The import of deeds now become past deceptions as the paths of our lives take a turn for the worse and what once was so simple a thing with no question .Second star from the left straight on all thats left is to mourn bad directions that led straight to this Hell.Sincerely I hope You have learned what it is I won't give You so long as I live Unless You have earned it , I have nothing to give.So TRUST in this as I TRUST it will serve You .I have TRUST in Your words in these ones alone .I didn't deserve You .TRUST me if only I'd known.       jAMES P Kail  thursday november 22 2012

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Doctor Please! Part I

Doctor please, you must listen to me
Do you have the medicine to set me free
A day in my life you would not understand
The pain I must endure with all that's at hand
I didn't ask for the genetics that made me this way
Maybe there will be a cure for my disease one day
Until then I suffer from my head down to my toes
The kind of suffering no one else knows
The kind of suffering I keep to myself
Just playing the cards that I was dealt
A prisoner to my body with no relief
Causing those loving me much pain and grief
You don't understand and you never will
Doctor please I beg of you to give it a shot still

For the problems at hand I did not ask
It was all dumped in my lap with a blast
I'm no longer capable of work for hire
Because so very quickly do I get tired
To find a job letting me work when I can
Just doesn't fit into the employers plan
My stomach hurts I throw-up and can't eat
After so many days of it I get so very weak
Some days have mercy I feel better than most
But on a good day the pain is still no laugh or joke
My husband went and left me for a younger girl
When I got sick he thought he'd give her a whirl
The divorce then came soon after to follow
The pain from that it was hard to swalloiw
 Cont'd in Part II

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Poet In Exile

We live are words and if not were just typing.
Ive come to a crossroads understanding little or nothing of the game 
but knowing my place has been taken.

No longer in demand I sit with the other burnt out writers looking
back with grand dellusion and litlle hope for my return.
The dark waters of a uncertain tommorow overshadow the past glory
and future failures of my existance.

The last round poured the new gaurd will be here tommorow.
And as you pass the ones toblind to see as you've become to
jaded to feel you realize.

To live the words failure is a must for no agnst is true without 
a glimmer of hope. 
I stay ahead of the verse like a pool waiting for the tide.

Now in a place once called home I find strangers in old faces
shadows cast dark figures in alleys all lost for the better day.

But im no judge just a exile forced to carve a nitch 
outta his  same old space.
To tired to care yet still to ego ridden to leave.

Im a exile to friends who live next door.
They hammer the walls  laughter takes there nights.
Im locked in  only with memories to recall.

The smoke trails across the empty room of my mind.
Like some old stories ghost I merely haunt this worn down shell.

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Dark clouds drift slowly across the leaden sky.
The air is stagnant, still, heavy with promise of the tempest to come. 
Standing, abandoned, forlorn, on the edge of the abyss I wait.
Tears of anguish course down my cheeks, vanishing into the dust.
My head bowed in grief as if in worship to the god Aeolus.
The sound of my low sobbing a mantra to his approach.

Dark clouds drift slowly across the chaos in my mind.
The old fear has brought forth the fruit of despair as it was ordained.
Sounds of thunder arise, the harbinger of the furore to come.
Thoughts of what has been lost, expunged, from my view overwhelm me.
Memories, so many memories so many colours all turned to grey.
The  moan breaks free rising with the wind, a sirens song of futile love.

Dark clouds drift slowly across the ruin of my soul.
The sky is lit with bolts of white light joining heaven and earth.
Scars of wounds long healed reopen, I bleed for each friend lost.
Terrible is my lament as my head rises and I turn to face the gale.
More than heart can bear, the pain, the grief, the loss, my true friend.
The crescendo of sound and light is reached, the edge of the abyss stands empty. 

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The meaning of destruction.

Its cold, clouds grey, no sun to guide me,
hands search for the missing eye that has long since past.
I hear them bicker and curse, do you know what they are?
Slimy slurping dripping muck, the snow has gone, but left my
world with black soot earth.
These creatures seem to thrive on it, thrive on my shallow pit
of existence.
I gather myself, I crack my knees as I bend to pick a limb,
what should go first? Of course my feet to carry me.
With such effort for a pointless quest I begin to think that
there is nothing but death scraping at my neck, hinting at
my demise.
Ages since my trumpets call, they call me home from a 
nightmare of cry's and vomit.
My mind begins to flash with imagery beyond comparison,
a child I see inside my heart, is naked, blind, sick and pale,
OH GOD!! Where is the source for this madness.
I have gathered my pieces and attempt to walk, but see
that I have gathered more than my own share of flesh, there
are those that belong to men,the men thats beneath the soil,
the creatures are red inside my nails.
My color is that of a ruby stone, as cold as one and as hard 
no doubt.
CRACK! BANG! Lighting and sound rip through the sky, this sound
is not of guns or drums.
The dark sky is fat with victory, it spues out its fill upon me, it washes
my world around me only to reveal my horror.
My comrade, my friends, my enemy's and alas, the child of whom gave 
such sadness.
Did I die too? Looking at my broken self, was I tricked to war, yes, this was it,
the price to pay, to pay the earth for its company, it seems we were guests that
outstayed our welcome.
Ha! If we were ever welcomed, I don't think invasion is the same.

So clear now, the rain making sense of it all.
My knees don't crack as I begin to fall.
Cant you see me?I have been killed.
So you can keep your stomach tanks filled.
Thank you all, your prayers are gone.
To feed the horde there victory's won.

Is the memory gone from them?
The world is sane but our race is thin.
Is this world so leaderless? 
Mankind is lone, the world is fearless.
Must we die before they see?
No, die but twice before you free.

Do you have the answer?
With blood in hand and gun in holster?
No one has the meaning or an answer to a thing.
Just that they are happy with there life they have to bring.

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She calls me stranger

She calls me stranger       By: Steven Hudson

I’ve watched you grow from a distance,
But only through second hand pictures and story lines,
Watched you grow from a baby girl, to little girl, and promising young lady
Silently, keeping quiet because that’s the promise I made
I know you, but you don’t know me, precious one,
For my life was a whirlwind of trouble then,
And I wished to spare you from the same,
If I passed you by, you wouldn’t even know my name
To you I’m just a stranger, a passerby, a no one,
But for me you are my little girl.
My blood courses through your veins,
And now I must confess, I do it now sadly,
That you have had to call another not me, your daddy.

I’ve often wondered if there would be a connection if you saw me today,
Even though you don’t know who I am,
Would I give it away, the way I gave you away, would my eyes betray the truth?
I really don’t know.
It has been heartbreaking at times my dear,
And I would spare you from the same,
So it was I who would forgo the introduction, and allow you to take another man’s name
And a stranger I must remain
Was it right? Was it wrong?
In my mind it has been so long now
But still I wonder sometimes,
If you were scared, did you have a hand to hold?
If you were uncertain, did you have someone to reassure you?
If you’re hurt, who was there to comfort you?
Questions heaped upon mountains of regret.

But find you, find you someday I will, my dear
And begin to build a foundation that will last,
In hopes of, She calls me stranger, a thing of the past

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Dearest hon,

You cannot believe how excited I was to see sunflowers in the market today!
It’s been quite a while since I saw these cheerful flowers, and it just made my 
day...the lady selling them was even kind enough to give me some seeds.
It felt like it has been months of endless rains over here, so seeing those 
bright yellow blooms was my sunshine for the day. 

And since it’s still going to be like 3 months before I get to finally be with 
you, I decided to enclose these seeds so you can plant them for me ahead of time.
You’re such a green thumb, I know that my sunflowers will be happily waiting for
me when I get back, and hopefully you’d be clutching them in a huge bunch, 
together with that great big smile of yours! Sure do miss your smiles!

Let soil embrace these little tokens of my life here without you. Nurture it with care
while I’m still not yet there with you and just shower it with your love as you’ve 
shown me...

Counting the days until I’m with you...

Yours forever,


Dearest Aurora ,

You won’t believe how moved I was to finally receive that letter from you, and those
sunflower seeds were such bittersweet tokens. I took what you said to heart and 
you would be so happy to know that those sunflowers are the biggest there is here
in our neighbourhood –very fitting for you, love –
since you always did have the brightest smile and the biggest heart.  Heaven knows
how much I miss you...God knows that my tears have also showered these plants...
My heart is literally breaking now, as I write this. People have told me you were 
holding the biggest bunch of sunflowers that day you left the post office, and you even had 
a smile on your face... know sweetest heart, that I shall take care of your sunflowers 
until the day I die. My love for you still shines as brightly and will never fade...

Your hon until the sun refuses to shine...

*** June 29, 2010 Written for Constance’s flowers contest 

uh-oh I don't know where to put this--narrative maybe??

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My phone is Ringing

My phone is ringing it's the call I've been dreaming about. I try and reach for my phone but my arms are numb laying in a pool of my blood and my fingers refuse to work. My phone is still ringing, as each breath becomes harder then the last. I try one last time to pick up my phone but its to late my body has gone cold ...and all the pain is gone. My phone is ringing and its the last thing I will ever hear.

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9-11: Never Forgotten

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


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

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

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Ten Brothers

Beneath a flag of red and white
A soldier quietly lies,
His mother sits just to his right
Tears falling from her eyes.

Brothers lie all laid in rows
Around his final bed,
A cross for each one shows
Their names above their heads.

Seven more stand by his side
With rifles standing tall,
Dressed in honor, feeling pride
For this brother who gave all.

One more stands by his feet
A bugle in his hand,
Plays that melody so sweet
Of taps now for this man.

Two more now step up to fold
Old Glory from her pall,
And place it in Mom's hand to hold
A present from us all.

Ten brothers stand by this man's grave
With respect in just suffice,
For this soldier who proudly gave
His life for freedom's price.

Ten brothers came to send him on
To take his final station,
But thousands more sit at home
Giving thanks with the entire nation.

Somewhere, lying overseas
The man who took this life,
Ten buzzards now has he
Giving thanks at his grave site!

                          Timothy I. Brumley

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The Brave Bear and the Brown-Haired Boy

When bombs rained down a neighborhood
In Shiah, south Beirut one night
A brown haired boy tight clutched his toy,
A cuddly brown-furred bear, in fright.

And sobbing through the roaring din,
He whispered to his cuddly friend:
"Oh, Teddy, Teddy, hold me tight,
And stay until the bombings end."

The cuddly bear then softly spoke:
"My little friend, be not afraid.
Just hold my hand, and never cry,
We'll go to where all toys are made."

"We'll ride a fast, green, chugging train
That goes to Cave of Childhood Joy,
Just hold on tight and walk with me."
He told the brown-haired little boy.

And toddling off, they left in haste
To board the waiting silent train,
That left the station right on time
When all the other kids were in.

It softly chugged through tunnel bright,
Then reached the Cave of Childhood Joy.
All kinds of good things, there they saw,
And everywhere a brand new toy!

There, too, were dancing ice cream cones,
Brown trees with leaves of chocolate,
A bluebird singing on a branch:
"You're welcome all to choose and eat."

They did, and drank sweet soda pop
From spring they saw there flowing by;
They played on swings with silver chains,
While ponies neighed sweet lullaby.

Some drank fresh milk from gleaming cups,
And others picked sweet berries pink,
While others ate cream puffs so soft,
All fears just vanished in a blink.

The bear then told his little friend:
"I'll go to guard the tunnel door,
To stop the ants from getting in."
He left, and couldn't tell him more.

He hurried out that joyous place,
To bravely take his sentry post,
But bombs rained down the tunnel door
The entrance got, with rubble, lost.

And when rescuers came in haste,
To search through rubble for the boy,
They didn't find a trace of him,
But just his brave and cuddly toy.

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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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another day

pale pink is the pre-dawn sky
"pink sky in mourning..."
today will be a pre-proceeding
- for some it will be the same
for some it will purvey monumental,
tsunamic, quaking, flashing innocence
as a muffled buzzing and pounding followed
by eerie stony silence enveloping the sun

FLASH! - what you knew you knew is gone
flash of white to yellow to red to black
billowing dread washes over as waves 
upon waves cover all good of the world
and flotsam of teared memories float
in mind and vision from past treasures

dangerous are those loving thoughts
unarmed without any weapons of indifference
vulnerable to the suffering and anguish
to stagger about befuddled and weeping
singularly, communally the onlookers look on

and piles of cairned candles and trinkets
appear out of nowhere, everywhere
feeble attempts to express hurt and good
- no good will come - yet - in time -
in time - time scabs over the wounded

the blood-letting stops, tears wither
and night follows this immemorable day
that we always remember, eons from now
as if it were last hour that i noticed the time, 
where did it go?, when will it stop?

© Goode Guy 2012-12-17

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Sometimes you gotta get lost to find the emptyness of the true soul.
Bury thoose memories  to unearth old truths.
Cut the ties only to return to thoose past relations.

Ive seen the streets erase the picture only to relive the past.
Living ghosts a backdrop eternal.
I cant question thoose night's regrets like a blanket keep me warm 
on a  humid night.
When all is wrong why cant anything be right.

I'd never  curse you utter truths into your lies.
Tainted encounters in many ever changing rooms.
Neon lit dream's  sunset of my mind salt water taste the 
bitterness we love.

The mountain's veiw is empty and cold.
Have we lost the the spark.
Iced over thoughts leave only shallow promises 
to hold.

So I'll push you away only to hold the memory dear.
A coward  to live in the pressent.
A living ghost of the man  who once stood here.

I've lost track gone so far from all that ive known.
Sparks in the darkness.
Only illusion  paint's the reallity sanity grace me life 
once more.
I question has it vanished with my time?

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And his name is Moses

His father named him Moses.
Devoid of speech yet blessed.
Doctors said he would live thirty years hereafter.
Buoyant nature and carried a smile always,
With sense of humor lived through derision.
On the day his father passed away 
He sat still and hid his tears within.
Not long, few years later
His mother who would voucher him,
Understand the complexity of his heart
Laid on her final resting place,
He sat still and hid his tears within.
Later his bosom friend moved away,
He sat still and hid his tears within.
Enervate and lonely orphan he became,
Dolefully he wept when none would see.
Albeit the great sorrows of his heart, 
No trauma ceased him to live mirthfully.
After thirty still he lives.
And walking through the paseo every morning,
They who pass him by with admiration schmoose of a man
Who can’t speak and had great sorrows;
Nonetheless so twinkly he lives on,
Knowing not yet parfay wishful,
when he would wake up one fine morning
And meet his loved ones again on the other side.

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Little Jose (Vignette)

A half of him fell into the river running wild,
Yet still, his spirits remained in manner mild.
Then, he tossed freely the other half and said:
“Go! Seek thy mate that this great joy o’ thine
Be upon those who find you, slippers o’ mine!”


This tribute poem is about an event in Dr. Jose P. Rizal's 
early life. He was a poet/author of "Noli Me Tangere" and 
"El Filibusterismo", his famous novels that cost his life.

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Looking through the window

I stare at all the people, their different  shapes and build,  thinking to myself,  it takes all types  to make a world.
A tall man sweeping footpaths,  there's a big man in a car,  a lonely looking soul,  propped up at a bar 
A  redhead window shopping, looking at a dress, rummaging  for credit cards, and getting  in a mess.
Two drunks passing, swaying,  holding one another up,  a country type with greyhound  dogs,  one looks like a pup.
Two  schoolboys  mock fighting, until an elbow goes astray, now the fightings real, it didn't start this way.
A traffic warden smiling, giving tickets out with ease, the vehicle owners coming back, I don't think he'll be  pleased.
A blonde girl wearing glasses with stilettos on her feet, struggling to stay upright as she crossed the cobbled street.
I look at all the people and I look at them again, life would be so boring,   if everybody were the same.

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Mazi Nduka's Daughter

This is a tale of a broken heart
This is the news that was whispered in the market.

When I saw the maid from Mazi Nduka's house
I dreamt she was my spouse
So that my melancholy days were no more
That gentle sadness, which began when mama whom I adore
Joined our ancestors, my heart now abhor.

Asam, my comely maid is the delicious soup
Everyone wants a taste of it, I am the owner
Of the three storey building near my father's compound
In Amuzo.

I acted like a child who had a new cloth, I waited
Under the mango tree, for the maid whose sight abated
My ache, my pain. I called her nwam, my baby. nwam oma; fine baby
She smiled. she laughed. 

Her black skin shone from the palm kernel oil, mmanuaki
Her grandma had made. 
Her eyes is a mirror; the glorious stars's abode
Her hair is the thick forest of Amuzo
I held her hands and told her the story my mother told me
How the princess of Amuzo long ago
Became fair to look upon because she danced well
At the festival of the new yam.
My Asam laughed and whispered to me
She whispered to me she was as innocent as the day she was born
That the wall between her legs were waiting for me
In three market days, kola nuts and palm wine
Shall see the kinsmen of my beloved
My father shall say we want the beautiful
Flower in Mazi Nduka's house
Or the she goat in his compound.
I like the proverbs of my people,
But I love our prospective conjugal right 
My mind envisions.

Last night, I heard the gong of the town crier
Every one went to the town hall;
Three maidens must cross the river of Amuzo
That river which turns red at night, and 
Swallows the girl who losses her shoe
Three pure maidens, must bring a pink pebble
From the bank of the river, or be married to the king
My departed fever jumped into me
Next thing I saw my self seated beside
My ancestors. Then like a scene seen from afar
I beheld my Asam, thrust a metal blade
Into her flesh.

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Hear my plea and hurt me not
Have mercy and let me be,	
Lost I am but found I will be
Taunt not my image
Lest yours you taunt
Do not rob me of pleasure
Pleasure I will feel only with him
Part not my thighs
That I nurture for he, whose I am
Spare me this agony
Free me of this shame
Release me from this hurt
And do not steal my cries
Rob me not of my pleasure
For demented I will be
With your cold and evil touches
Touch me not, ooh rugged being
For my life you bring to an end.
 © Naa Takia, All Rights Reserved 2012

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The Chalice

Time can be defined as the experience of events between birth and death, and our
lives, I think, are defined by the association of friends and family who shared those
events.  The quantity of events which are shared with them builds and defines the
depth of our mutual relationships and strengthens that mutual bond.

As the bond strengthens with each passing event, characteristics such as trust, respect and admiration are created and incubated in the blending of those traits.  We come to expect and take for granted that sharing ... and enjoy it to its fullest.

Then ... after years and years, the bond is broken by the Call to the Other Side.

The void that Calling leaves is an open, searing wound.  We tell ourselves that the
individual called is in a better place.  We tell ourselves that whatever degree of stress
they felt is:  no more.  And ... those things are true.  However, large, entire sections of our lives feel as though they've been involuntarily ripped from our being.  Future
enjoyments of their camaraderie will never be constructed.  The pain created within
ourselves at their loss, is selfish because we've become so accustomed to the joys
created by the sharing with them of each of our lives that we fell we "owned" it - but we didn't ... we only shared it, and now we feel betrayed by its absence.

In the final tally, the things which can never be eradicated from our minds are the
mutually created images of those events which helped define the lives we lived - and
shared - with those who assisted in its' construction.

Remaining are the memories as our personal chalice which contains every conscious
happening of our lifetimes, along with those who shared it - and our minds will sip of its' contents whenever reverie, and thoughts of them, demands.

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Iridescence of Roses

Sleep eludes me, my thoughts engulf me...
   The room is quiet....
    I hear a branch outside my window, scratching the glass, in winter's wind
I cannot slumber; I cannot escape the ticking clock
  There are no tears left to cry
       Reflected shadows, dark silhouettes of trembling trees, hover over me

                               Oh God, please take her now...

Is it early morn, or early evening?    It is so hard to tell...
          When day is night, and night is day... each passing hour seems alike.
              It seems this night that would never end, 
                                is quickly giving away to morning

Restlessly, I toss and turn.. 
In the faint light, I can barely see the flowered wallpaper 
Iridescent, in pale pastels, ....sweet baby roses.......
I count them one by one, soft shades, a trace of the pink that they used to be  
              Worn by the years, faded by the sunlight that comes in late afternoon...
                              before the darkness filled the room....

I remember when she picked this cheery bright with color
                       Another time, ..... an eternity ago, 
                           It is loose at the seams, just a faint remnant of iridescent color....
Again,  I turn my head to check on her.
The large poster bed holds her like a small child
                                           She looks lost among the covers.

I see the frailness, a delicate shell of the woman she used to be, 
      There is a bit of light, shining on her sleeping face....
          She has the same iridescence of the faded rose....and I find myself smiling….
              And somehow it comforts me…

I watch the movement of her chest as it barely rises, and falls
               So shallow is her breathing, and outside the wind has calmed….
               I thank God that she is seems to be sleeping
                                         And I pray that her dreams are happy ones

In honor of Frank's Contest: "Iridescent"

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He'd Just Discovered Suspenders

No job 
No prospects
No optimism 
It took all his energy
Just to fake a smile 
Health eroding 
At the speed of light 
His world grew smaller by the 
Former small pleasures 
Transformed into ambivalence 
Blank and numb 
He walked blindly 
There were no solutions 
To any of his problems 
And then one day 
Out of the clear blue sky 
He smiled without effort 
I even caught a glimmer 
Of a spark in his eye 
Life became a little more 
We all cheered him on silently 
Me his number one fan.

As his confidence had 
His gut had grown larger 
He wore his belt below it 
But his pants always slid down 
Far enough to annoy him 
Another problem 
With no solution 
One day, after months 
With the spark in his eye 
He chose to die 
It was a shock because 
He'd just discovered 

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It was another beautiful morning in the city , Workers  looking radiant as always
People  strolling , Cars horning as pedestrians throttled along the Zebra crossing
The subway was crowded with the smell of early morning rush and sweat
Little did they know that there was a shadow lurking behind the bright sun

The announcer’s voice towered over sound of luggage’s being dragged
Flight attendants smartly dressed hurried  towards the boarding gates
Passengers sat patiently at the lounge, awaiting the call of the day
How could they have known that today will change their very lives

Nineteen bearded men dressed in polo shirts scattered amidst the crowd
Each missing the silky feel of their long white robes and heavily woven turban
As they try to fit in with their newly bought Jeans and Sky blue snickers
They knew what was about to happen, their lives was fading as the clock ticked

People going about their work and children being dragged to school
It was the ninth hour of the Mane , The plane heading for a wrong land
Passengers struggled for their lives, calling their loved ones for the last time
They saw the rage lurking in their eyes, the clothing couldn’t hide the evil

A Woman standing in the office, talking to her fiancé on the phone
As she stared out the spotless white glass, she saw it heading her way
She couldn’t mutter a word as her fiancé called out on the other end
Not  a step could she take as the wall crashed on her, it was clearly too late

Buildings tumbling down the great heights, fire flying through the sky
Bodies rolling through the sky like the brutal fall of strong rain in spring
Oh what a sorry sight for a blind man, oh what a poison for the soul
Some watched with great tears, they could do nothing to save a life

Deadly cry of babies filled everywhere, smell of blood saturating  the air
Heads missing the body buried under the crumbs of the fallen bricks
Some puffing out the last breath in them, hanging on for the very last time
Thunders of sadness roared everywhere, Mourning voices everywhere

So many lives were lost along with Nineteen men who thought it as fate
Not a year passes that we do not weep, for the lost souls of this day
The brave hearts that left us , even at the face of death some struggled
They linger forever in our hearts, as their thoughts dwell within us.

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Doctor Please! Part II

Cont'd from Part I

But even worse than that this horrible thing
Has been handed down to my offspring
My oldest hates me for all she's been through
And reminds me of the sorry cards we drew
My one and only son turned to drugs to deal
One day it was his precious life it did steal
My youngest child now she's gone too.
When she was diagnosed it made her so blue
Could I find a partner who can withstand
This road of suffering for me now planned
If so it would only serve to make me cry
Seeing them in pain helpless as they stand by
I've been cut on and pieced back together again
Being born with bad genetics one of my sins

With so many wounds and scars inside and out
A life sentence of hell for me without a doubt
Upon my face you'll see I try to wear a smile
Hide the suffering and misery when all the while
Beneath my clothes is the Bride of Frankenstein
And if you got the notion that I don't mind
Let me tell it to you so plain and very straight
Would've been better to stay at heavens gate
Patients in the lobby know much more about me
Spending hours together waiting to be seen
Doctor please I could tell you so much more
But you have another patient waiting next door
And one of the reasons you don't get it you see
Is I can't tell all in the few minutes allotted to me

Inspired and written for all the people who live with a chronic illness.
Copyright by Scarlett Sepulvado Anderson

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Ghostly Child

Ghostly child
peering through
foggy mist
watching from afar
from another dimension
in another era
from another place
drifting through time
caught in between worlds
towards spirit light
of beacon bright
shining on her
the way to go home.

She lingers on
from dusk until dawn
floating through air
searching for her mother
who was lost at sea
from long ago
entity from eternity
forever lives on
in her daughter's ghostly heart.

Free her from her earthly plane
into the spirit world
where she belongs
in finding peace
rather than remain
in limbo state
away from her mother's
loving embrace.

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

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

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

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

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An Imagined Goodbye

It is all I can do now but wait, and watch
Her plump crimson belly rise n fall
Like a ruptured bellow
She squats defeated on her perch
Feathers splayed, hiding her tiny claws – clutching

Her perch is sturdy, yet deformed in its peculiar way
As branches are; in nature’s own unique way
Perhaps she has considered this deformity reflects 
The nature of her disability
For she shunned the new perfectly doweled perch from day one
Preferring to sit upon her crooked stick
Her little black eyes blink then rest in a half open stare
Watching me as I fuss inside her cage
I watch her beak slowly open and close, imagining she’s trying to speak
Are her silent words at the heart of her imagination?
Do I hear her say goodbye?
Have I been selfish in ignoring her past?
Her life before the accident…

So I gently offer my finger as a temporary perch
A palliative gesture, a sign of compassion – tender recognition
She blinks again and her eyes remain closed
What is she thinking, my little friend for so long
Inside her silent pain

I recall the Vet’s final words
“There is nothing more I can do, I’m sorry…”

I recall the time we met
At the foot of our glass window
Your dusty smudge imprinted upon the glass
Your broken body not far away
I nursed you back to health
Encouraged you to fly
Yet crippled, you became part of the family
Part of our little world

I don’t recall the moment she hopped on my finger
I only remember wandering amongst those memories
Tangible to another being, loved just so
I don’t recall the moment she lay down
Her little crimson belly stained with the tears
Of so many years
Tears I now recall

I heard her say “goodbye…”

Brian Johnston’s Poetry Contest - Challenge Title 'Words - The Heart of Imagination?

23 Oct. 2014

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When I Was A Child

It started when I was a child
I was a kid with a gift
That no one understood or recognized
Instead of loved I was picked on and ostracized

However I blocked it all out
But little by Little its all coming back
Like layers of an onion
That held me tightly wrapped

Bits and pieces of my memory
That were hidden away in code
Deep within my mind a door was closed
I?ve reached in to remember because my life is now in jeopardy

All the emotional and sexual abuse that I closed off to survive
Has been staring at me sabotaging my life
This life is not what I have dreamed and I am dying inside
And if I don?t face the truth of what was done to me 

Then I will surely become the monster that I despise
And as the tears bellow up
I again take another breath
Like soot in a fireplace and a hair ball in a cat

I cough up the toxic memories
As images flash through my mind
With my face in the toilet I begin to cry
My body begins to stiffen as nausea rises to the top

I then begin to wail from deep in my chest
It?s a hideous cry that sends chills down my spine
As I grit my teeth and hang on for dear life
A thought runs through my mind why.. why.. why.. why.

I?m tired of the black outs
I?m tired of the fear
I?m tired of the loneliness that have held me prisoner here
I?m tired of the pain and suffering that has come in my parents name

I?m tired of all the trauma and I?m tired of all the drama
I?m tired of the neglect that?s been perpetrated on my soul
Keep your hands off of me, keep your beliefs away from me
From all the mental abuse and all the negative remarks
And you still don?t see how you?ve damaged my sensitive heart
I?m tired of hearing all the denial
I?m tired of hearing how there is nothing wrong with you
I?m tired of you blaming everyone else but you
I?m tired of hearing how you hate this and you hate that

I?ve tried for years to heal this wound
But it seems to have spread to my nephew too
I don?t know what else to do
I even ruined my only serious relationship to get revenge

In my mind I justified their crime 
From all the bad advice and all the dysfunctional decisions
And I thought I was reversing everything 
When I vowed never to get married and have kids
But that sabotaging act has done me more damage 

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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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Up Late

-Inspired by my temporary English instructor, Mr. Phinizy <3
Evening had diminished to night; how very quickly did She fly It is funny how quickly time passes, as if our brains tweak the clocks of life The night was of moderate warmth, and my house suffered terribly still And with the stifling heat inside, many hot questions filtered through my mind I asked myself, Where did the summer go? Why must our suns die? Why is it sweltering in September? Why has sudden anger blown her aside? I really need some sleep, thought I, looking at my face through the murky glass Tracing dark circles under my eyes, I was reminded of sagging Death longing to ensnare me Yes, Death followed me that night, dwelling upon me, boiling away the autumn breeze As I looked into my sleep-deprived eyes, I knew Death waited for my ultimate slumber, When all commemoration of time, that flew so rapidly before, suddenly just…stops. With many a sigh, I turned on the faucet, soaking my hands in the cool, flowing water I needed some relief from the heat…I needed a refreshing new idea, I needed cleansing Anything to clear my mind of the negativity daring to break me every day of my life For such depressing thoughts spewed forth like a wild river, the rapids racking my brain But these waters were not living; they were dead and hot like blue blazes of hell I turned off the faucet, for there was no Balm on this earth to sooth this soul There was no clock on this earth tweaked enough to return me to earth The warm breezes, the sickly pale cast of many thoughts had driven Her away And though the everlasting sleep of Death sounded soothing, the Balm does not assuage me… It only burns forever, in obstinate constancy; angered to the core, That night stuck in this fractured rhyme of time, I was up late…too late

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Goodbye Ray

Ray Ventre
even Loved by me,
his smallest acquaintance.
Want the ow to go away, want to 
go to last Thursday,
To see his joy
Ray was my teacher
On Thursdays, four to six
He taught patterns and continuity
Of the literary past, EN 281.
A big name for the
Enjoyment of
He died Wednesday,
The day before Thanksgiving
Two thousand fourteen.
Many are sad,
I too, am
Rate my professor
Rated him a four point eight,
Good, even great, but read what 
all students said for him
to know his rank,
to know our loss 
to know our sad.

I was a late addition to Northern Michigan University
I had planned another year at community college, but
a job opened up for my wife in Marquette, so I suddenly needed, two weeks before they started: 
classes, guidance, a mentor, I needed someone to care about a situation they never heard of till now.
Ray Ventre was the head of the English department, Ray cared, he set me up with classes including 281.
A more enjoyable class would be hard to find.
A more enjoyable teacher, impossible.
To find.
The joy he had
The special kind
That never fades, but grows
Like cancer of the heart
Spreading into all 
Who Love
And live for 
The happiest days.
His heart was
Too large to last.
Goodbye Ray, and thank you for teaching me.

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Monkey Business

I once got myself a monkey
(God knows what breed his was).
He was black, with dark, big eyes--
A devil-thing you could never pass.

Pearly-teeth shone in his mouth,
When you but pleased this thing;
We'd get-along well together,
(Me thought we could do with some training)
And, I tried teaching him
And taught him little tricks,
But my word! The poor thing,
Got rounded in the basics:

A few things of course, took him time,
While others, he could never learn:
Like when I said,"Sit Marcel",
He'd start to jump up and run...!
(Which wasn't quite the big deal,
For he was still learning what to do)
At least it was better than
When his filth I found in my shoe!

I coached him about 'toilet-culture'--
Taught him where men with a pot always rushed;
When that one day, on missing  my spects,
I found them only being flushed...

Nonetheless, we glued well as pals,
But for a diner's calamity:
When I ask him once,"Get me that rice",
He sat on the tray and chose to pee!

He sought a perch upon my head
So I always had unkempt hair;
He'd sit, digging deep and hard,
I don't know for what thing up there.
(A small cheery, childish thing,
He'd always place himself with me)
But if he'd not torn my favourite shirts,
I say, I'd be much, much happy...

We used to talk as great pals: 
He'd face me then, and play his part,
Although upon losing interest,
He'd slap me, scratch me, and cut me short!

This training and all friendliness,
Sure made each grow fond of the other
When I realized, he had to leave somehow
(Leaving  me to shrug and shudder):

As a final mischief of his,
He'd got himself in a dirty puddle,
Then placed himself in the cupboard,
Disturbing order to a state of muddle...!
When that I asked him to get down,
He looked at me somewhat askance;
As if he knew what it was--
The unpleasant thing that had come to chance...

The grin on that face I was to miss 
I know--the parting was like Hell...
He knew not what would change for us,
I still miss good ol'Marcel...

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All About Her

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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For Love of Liliana

On the 30th of June you entered this world,
so cute and content my beautiful girl.
I have never seen such a proud father,
kissing your hands and feeling your feet. 
Little blue eyes so hard to forget 
wrapped in a pink shawl, you were my princess. 
Your brothers smile when he first met you. 
He stroked your cheek and called your name.
But, it was too late my tiny princess.
The angels couldn't wait any longer. 
On the 30th of June you left this world,
so peaceful and pale my beautiful girl:Liliana

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The Emptyness Of My Night

Nights move  like a forgotten  ghost unwanted by all.     
A vision  unseen to all but one.

Down damp streets he haunts the same path every night just befor the dawn.
The empty hearts gather to drown togther in the sea. 

Togther feeling so very alone. 
Can we cast shadows in the darkness project happiness in such gloom to return the   same 
old haunts again and again.
A wheel  rolling  without question.
On into the emptyness of my night. 

Waitting for a return that  never will be.
Cursing the problem never understanding it was her and me.
As the dream turn to the drunk.

The painter paints no longer sunsets but
Nights and his thoughts of blue to gray.

Warmth in the darker corners gives a view to 
the young and  the still hopefull.
Tiping my half empty glass I wish them to never know pain.

Finding a home with other empty hearts caught.
In dirty sheets im haunted by the ghost of my
former self.

A puddle stepped in cast waves of reflected neon light.
As we play a roll unknown to all  
At typewritter  I sit.
Listening to To the bar and bottles clatter men and women's
laughter and soon forgotten fight.
Yerning to be free so is the emptyness of my night.

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Tears upon fear

My head is heavy
And your know where near
Our lives are slowly crumbling
And we're not there to hear

Sand bag to wall
We're there when each other fall
Release your load
Only so much you can take
Give it to me
I'll hold your world on my shoulders

Sandbag to wall
I'll do my best not to fall
In turn
I know we'll soon switch
My shoulders are in a slouch
And life's becoming too big of a bit©h

Your silent words spoken
Things said but not heard
A hoax in communication
A bridge thats now been burnt
Each lie and blameful word
Melted in a smoldering pot
Craters into your life
Strips you left with only a soul to show

The meteoroid was left standing there
Some what in tacked
But left a tear
Like a dagger in the heart
You refuse to take out
Time over time
The meteoroid has dissapeared
but still you imagine its there
Stuck in the past 
Your stubborn as a ass
When will you move on

We cleaned up the debris
Everyday we came by
Between each heart fulled hi and goodbye
We'd fill our baby up
Trying to help him get by
But no matter how hard we tried
He was just a hole

I look back to dusk
And see my blooming flower
So many bees all around
They were bound to sting
Ignore all signs and look at you now
After they all fly high
And leave you under the great blue sky

Everyday Ill come
And lay there with a rope
Waiting to pull you back
And carry you into a world of hope
Because I'm afraid  of your other ways to cope


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Seeking Bethlehem

The conductor stopped by my seat and advised me that we would soon be entering the Philadelphia rail-yards where the baggage car would be added to another train.  He would advise the engineer to have it opened so I could enter.

I thanked him and walked to the end of the car, stepping out onto the platform.  When the train came to a stop, I stepped down and walked along the tracks until I reached the baggage car.  I was met there by a brakeman who opened the car and allowed me entrance.

Soon I felt a jolt, and the car began moving on it's own through the yard until, it slowed and connected with another string of cars.  I jumped down and waited until the brakeman had again secured the car door, assuring that my cargo would not be removed accidentally.

In a few hours, we arrived at Bethlehem Pa, and I repeated the process.  This time however, I waited and observed as the flag draped casket was removed and placed in a waiting hearse.

I was eighteen and had been an airman for less then a year.  We were not at war, and I was safely stationed in Maine.  But this was a friend.  A fellow airman who had died in an automobile accident.  His wife had asked for a military escort home, and that was my job, made harder by the fact I knew them both so well.

The hearse carried the body to his hometown, a little mining town about an hour away.  I met the family and they offered me a place to stay, continuously questioning me about their son and his demise, trying to make some sense of his loss.

The following day, he was laid to rest in a military funeral.  A reverend spoke, a salute was fired, and taps was played.  His sister threw herself on the casket, sobbing uncontrollably.  The honor guard tri-folded the flag and gave it to me to present to his mother, who wept silently.

  To this day, I still relive the emotion of that moment. I think of the extreme hurt and sorrow experienced by the families of our young men and women who come home to say goodbye.  The circumstances change, but the result is always the same.  And it never hurts any less.

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True Love of a False Lover

Disturbed in daily thoughts
Thinking U all the way through
Longing for our old memories to flash.

Impressed by YOUR possessiveness
Also impressing U by my care
Trying to keep U with me alone.

Love which occurred strangely
Caused holding U tightly - when
U said I never leave u forsaken

Intending to make U close – though
Knowing that U’va been stolen by another HEART,
In U I fell in TruE LOVE for the first time.

Pretended to kiss, hug and embrace
Made my mind set to co-operate with UR actions
Made to forget UR first Love.

Chanceless Loving WORDS from UR mouth – which
Guided to share my incompleteness
Thereby aroused a pinch of Lust.

Hardened to control my Emotions
I SURRENDERED myself unto U
Been excited and ejaculated with UR hot touch

Altering my valued hours to spend conversing with U
Never expected such things would happen
Dragging UR presence all where and at all-time in my mind.

Nature’s call of age bonded us elastically
But its not our faults – it’s the situation that made improper future ideas
Still finding the reason – why U’va started avoiding suddenly ?¿
Still finding the reason – for what
Purpose U proposed even though having another girl’s heart in UR mind
Still finding the reason for our New Love
Its now impossible for me to return back to my old attitude
Where have my concentration went?
Where have my devoted feelings went?
Will I get back to it or not?
My mind is not under my control
Please don't see back my love
I don have another Heart to loose.

Daring new courageous behavior in my day-to-day life
U are the only reason beyond many things
My future is (?) with OUT UR hands holded
These are not just a stanzas which can be erased easily~
Its my lovable and unforgettable PERIODS – which
Makes to remember UR name and bitter sweet thoughts
Only few or no one can understand the hidden message in these lines. It is – *!!! THIS REVEALS UR NAME IN 
I’ve learnt how to live my forthcoming days.
Really THANK U love for the creation of certain Best characters in me.
I’ll never forget U till my last breath
May U have a wonderful and peaceful Married Life further.
For the first time I feel reality more strange than imagination
In fact it seems to be a TrUe LOVE of a FALSE Lover. It covers-
  A poetic story from	         Your’S & Only YOURS,
				         - Hannah (with tears° ° °) 

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''Runaway Wanted''

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

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Arabic Poem by: Adnan Abu Andalus*
Translated into English by: 
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk) 
No feather on his head
To escape hell
Was not a legendary hero of Rome
Nor a pirate with dreadlocks was he
 He was a soldier without a gun
 Guarding the land between the two grieves
 Conversing with himself
 And falls asleep with a whimper

Every night....
The Corporal gets down on his breath: 
“Get up it's time for your duty..
No matter how late you wake up
You will die!”
The sun generates the moment 
He begins to convey gunpowder
The storm spins 
The plane is hovering
Turns spirally
And doomsday befell Erkallios!

The child died
The child, Erkallios, melted
 Between fire and iron
 Screaming as if the moment
 Splintered Mayday
 The sound returned disappointed
 He …died.. with .. his ... with his comrades!
The plane, a cemetery for forty
Is lying on the road
Black ....
Like a corpse of a dead whale
Translated by Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashim
*Adnan Abu Andalus is a poet from Iraq
“Erkallios” from his poetry collection  “The Smell of Doomsday”

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The Lonely Road

Soft winter draped with white;
a lonely wand'rer travelling a road.
Rough tracks of a wheel in the snow
trample the earth with a fearsome mirth.

The lonely footprints follow thee
as you travel the long-lost path.
With shovel in hand, the frozen land
beckons you to the end.

I wonder what led you here
after friendship so forlorn.
Have you forgotten me;
left me here to live in fear?

Cannot understand, not in the least,
but you make the trekk seem peaceful.
Acceptance so prevalent - so unlike you -
what has become of the you so young?

I sit here in silence,
thoughtful under the half-sunk moon.
Together we fell into the frozen sea,
yet only you travel the lonely road.

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My Father Gone These Forty Years

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

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Liberty Street and Church Street

An eerie perception,"lets go,grab my hand, lets go......" as somber as midnight black
amid horrific pain the shrieking iron grinds upon iron in an imploding imbrication upon a 
clear autumn day, a feeling fugacious in hope , a plan surreptitious had arrived in the 
innocent morning sky, minutes to hours hour to days, a truth that would cry out 
evermore. An eerie perception, a voice screaming within...."lets go, grab my hand,
lets go......"
Upon his powdered white face, a stream of burgundy flow, his love, woebegone....
she lay deparate below within a black hell penumbra as chaos ran ramped above,
she struggled to move within an airless tomb, her arm stretched out in a desperate 
need, survival would become apparently clear, her fate would find a willing chance, a 
hero had come near, her life, would be blessed.....she would persevere....  

survival......perched at the edge of Liberty and Church street.  

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The Golden Cup

there he sat, still an Restless
under the muddy light post
on the Slimy, Cruel hill

the Dust blew in a daze
and Mud spat in his face
the Rain began.

there he watched his home Bury away
his mother, father, sister, and son
fly deep into the waves

the Fog sat in, and sat thick
while the Wind roared in wheezing and pushing
the rain kept on

then came a rich, beautiful man
bearing a clean red cross on his chest
his smile sympathetic, but reason hollow

Depression crept in, slow and quiet
picked a spot and was made comfortable
the Rain crashed hard

but there, behind the clean blond hair
over the mud, and past the dirt
a smooth, white cloud beckoned.

his heart, blackened and crushed.
the Rain, deep and dark inside, had Stopped.

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I Remember When

What happened to all the honey bees
That used to swarm all around and abound
And would cover the fruit and holly trees
Now, you rarely see them buzzing around?

Where have the huge flocks of blackbirds gone
That I recall who would blacken the sky
And bruise your ears with the shrill of their song
In the spring and fall as they flew by?

What happened to all those water frogs
That I recall whose deep rhythmic bellows
Would echo back down through the hollow bogs
All summer until the leaves turned yellow?

What happened to the little horned toads
That I would catch for a pet as a boy
That crawled all over the fields and dirt roads
And made a neat little pet to enjoy?

Why doesn't the wolf still split the night
And chill my heart with his long lonesome cry
As he howls away at the full moon's light
Adoring the illuminated sky?

Where are all the calls of the bob white
And the lonely calls of the whippoorwill
That used to pine away all through the night
And could be heard in almost every field?

Where are the spine chilling panther screams
That mimicked some poor damsel in peril 
And would often conjure up awful dreams
Of gruesome creatures wicked and feral?

Are they on a premature path into yore
Has adequate time been duly assigned
For us to say, "There are no more...."
Or could it be, I've just outlived my time?

                                Timothy I. Brumley

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Purgatory Chasm

The autumn leaves crinkle beneath my feet
Their radiant colors dulled
I see the reds and yellows as vibrant as they were
The last time we came here together.

I hold you in my hands,
The way you held me when I was a child.
Your urn jostles softly as I scale the cliff
To our favorite spot.

I open it up, and look at you one last time.
Bits of bone sprinkled in the ash,
Like the time we came here after the first snow fall,
The defiant leaves of abundant autumn
Refusing to be masked by light dusting.

Off the tip of the rock,
I turn the urn,
You flow out over our favorite hike,
As you would have wanted.
We pass through this trail
One last time.

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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.

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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...

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Our Little Girl

The light I see
In your eyes
only when I speak of her.
Our little one.
She would have had your eyes,
your nose.
she would have had my hair 
and my my mouth.
Our little girl would have been perfect.
But that horrible day in July,
I cried and I hated myself.
That horrific day in July when I lost her.
My world broke down.
Now when I speak of her. 
Your eyes water up, 
as do mine.
But one day we'll see her. 
I promise.
Our little girl, 
is waiting for us.
I promise.
And one day,
she'll finally say daddy.
Our little girl.

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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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The River

A simple God made paradice. 
So precious to behold. 
Once clear blue and full of life 
now dismal, gray and cold.
Sweeping through an empty forest 
flows the lonely river. 
Its banks a depot of trash deposits 
sends my spine a quiver.
Still peaceful in the deathbed sence 
I sit and watch astounded. 
Peering through a chainlink fence 
my memories recounted.
There were no signs that said "No Swimming" 
or "Do Not Eat The Fish". 
No soda cans or old yard trimmings. 
It was full of kids.
Ducks would gather once a year 
as they made their journeys south. 
Squirrels foraged with no fear. 
The water overflowed with Trout.
Though flayed of all its dignity 
I still find much pleasure. 
For in my minds imagery, 
it will always be a treasure.

                     The Applethoughtrotten

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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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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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Last Love

Love – a single word to relieve from all sorts of stress
A curing medicine fromcomplete sickness
A boosting therapy to energize oneself
A high-drug tablet to overcome worries
A model which doesn’t tear to pieces
A preservative to save human soul
A magical garden having summer throughout  the year
A blooming flower whose fragrance never sheds
A virus which cannot be shattered
A strange feel sometimes at first sight.

An endless stream taking source from mountains-where
 There is no instance of water foundation
  With neither a beginning nor an end
Starting from the eyes,
 stimulating the pulses,
entering the tissues,
 electrifying veins,
piercing the brainpower,
 pressurizing the blood vessels,
widening sensational thoughts,
 demolishing every part of incapability,
facing world with a chuckle in cheeks.

 -were the symptoms happened to me – when
  I too was caught as a victim.
It inspired whole organs of the body,
  making it a slave to Him.
Though grasped my heart's room for a short occasion - and
  Even if the person doesn’t deserve to be placed,
     The position is impossible to be replaced by any other
I was suspected to be flying far above ozone
  unaware my legs are static and silent in soil
Unsure of its advent, keyed up with its anticipation, 
  Moved at its motivation, wretched due to its annulment-and 
Now I’m in a lifeless state after the Loss of all my GAINS.

Clutching his hands, 
Clinging his shoulders,
Hours of conversations,
Desire to fulfill his every wishes ?
Locking my voice, when his anger raises,
A divine compromise following a huge quarrel,
Lived like a couple for awhile, unconscious that it was a play. . 
Believed of  walking unto the glittery path,
 I fell into the sun-which Burnt me entirely 
From brain cells destroying throughout my flair.

Clarify my doubts:
Am I attracted to your affectionate masculine talks?
	Is my mind polluted with your filthy lies?
	Is that warmth friendliness mistaken as Love?
	Is Possessiveness mistaken as Love?
	Is an act of care mistaken as Love?
	Is your Fleeting look mistaken as Love? Or else
	Is it substantial bodily Lust mistaken as Love?
Even after knowing U are a cheat, why couldn’t I ignore U?
May be I might have chosen a wrong person to love.
       But my Love never went wrong… being contented with my sorrows and tears.
Its my journey treasuring the pleasurable pain of my Last Love * * 		$$Good Bye$$

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KUNDUN, a movie about the Dalai Lama

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

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

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

then went to bed
And woke up sad; remembering:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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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You were born in Clermont, Queensland on December, twenty-four, 
Away back circa eighteen sevn'ty-two. 
Edward Jones now had a fifth child, whom his dear wife Anna bore, 
Their second son and both were proud of you. 
They'd migrated out from Ireland back in eighteen sixty-three 
And sailed upon the good ship Beejapore. 
Landing at Rockhampton harbour in the Queensland colony, 
Resettling on a strange and foreign shore. 
Childhood days behind you Victor you then joined the work force lad, 
Assigned to a gold mining company. 
In the range town of Mt Morgan you enjoyed the job you had; 
A diligent and loyal employee. 
You assisted the paymaster, though you left your posting when 
You chose to join your countrymen at war. 
For you heard the call of duty and you joined Mt Morgan men 
To fight for Queen and country 'gainst the Boer. 
Volunteering as a member of the gallant Q.M.I. 
You proudly donned that feather in your hat. 
First Contingent of B Company you waved this land good-bye, 
Enrolled as British troops and went to bat. 
Rebel Boers embarked on raiding farms of loyal colonists 
In Griqualand west district to the north. 
Counter measures were then put in place to stop these terrorists 
By sending Pilcher and his column forth. 
On the last day of December circa eighteen ninety-three 
This force would march from Belmont heading west. 
Information was forthcoming as to where the Boers could be 
And Ricardo led his party which was soon put to the test.
On the first day of that New Year Victor Jones you lost your life; 
They buried you at Sunnyside that eve. 
Since that day the world's continued to be filled with war and strife, 
So many die for what they do believe. 
But the nation recognises that the first Australian 
To die upon the battle field was you. 
So Mt Morgan folk erected to your memory young man 
A monument;  the least that they could do. 
In the not too distant future Victor, nations may yet  see, 
How precious all their young men really are. 
Then refrain from sacrificing them and let the young men be, 
Fine fathers to their families, not memories afar. 

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Her Personal Curse (Part Two) *warning, graphic in nature*

I felt his fingers bruising my flesh, tearing me till I bled onto him.
He made me taste it for him, I thought this would be the night I died.
Panic seized me anew when he settled between my thighs and pressed in.
A pain like none of his blows seized me, as he pinned me where I lye

I began to fight him again, digging my own nails into his shoulders.
It didn’t seem to anger him anymore as he pushed sending fire through me.
He let me scream now, and the bed banged the wall, but nobody heard.  
All I could think about was my mother in the next room, oblivious to my screams.

 He pound his member deep inside me as I gasped and begged him to stop
I called him by his name, and still, his hands grabbed hard as he continued to thrust.
Some of the pain subsided as he took me, I must have slowly slipped into shock.
I felt his hot release inside of me, as I lye under this man I once thought I could trust.

Spent and dripping sweat, he fell down against me, crushing the breath from my lungs.
I felt his lips suckle my neck, as he leaned off to knead my breast.
I lay limp as he kissed me, I could still taste vodka on his tongue.
I lay there being fondled by my mother’s 28 year old house guest.

He hardened again against my thigh, while he continued exploring my body
He murmured empty words to me before flipping me over onto my stomach.
I tried to get up and crawl away but he pushed my head down from behind me.
I screamed against the mattress while he took me, preying for it to go by quick.

It was dawn before he left me, aching and soiled down to my bones.
I curled up onto the mattress after he told me no one would ever believe me.
I was stunned that this could happen to me in my own home.
I thought of my mother sleeping in such close vicinity.

She must have left and I didn’t hear her, I thought. I didn’t want to face the fact
That she had been there, steps away while I begged and pleaded for rescue.
But as I painfully left my bed to prove to myself that she wasn’t there to stop the attack,
I stepped out into the hallway and heard her snoring, the door left open to her room.

Passed out on her own bed, left as vulnerable as I had been left, she was untouched.
While I was riddled with bruises and blood, scars inside that would never heal.
I ran to her shaking her awake to tell her, wanting to be consoled so much.
She looked at me, still drunk, as if wondering how she should feel.

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No Ordinary Day

There was a day
No ordinary day
Until that day, I always had the stars to hold

My mother had said I am going now
When you are alone, you will be all right
Whether or not you think so
The stars will tell you so …

Beloved fields withdrew into space
I watched them dwindle, watched new lands unfold before my face
Weary mountains made an exchange 
For shapeless pain

But night settled down
And with it came new stars
Some were the old ones, some I would soon discover
And though the nights were longer
The stars still shined in the same familiar way
They seemed to be closer
And they seemed to be brighter
Yet, they were harder to reach
Harder to hold in my hand...
But, somehow they told me
My mother was right

Inspired By Frank Herrera's Contest: "Coming of Age"
By Carrie Richards 2/6/12

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The Ring

It’s only a ring
That is true;
Yet, this ring my
Father knew.
Upon his finger it
Never left,
Despite discomfort,
It was worn,
Though like a thorn.
A price was paid
For the right to bear
Its seal,
To fight the fight,
To conquer the night,
To prosper in life,
To comfort his wife.
I was young 
When my father stood 
Upon a stage and shook
The hand of an academic man.
Yet, like a thief, 
Death placed this ring
Into my hand.
It’s only a ring
That is true;
Yet, this ring I knew too.

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NEVER MADE IT............................a blind man's prayer 

whenever i look towards the sky, 
i can feel your your radiant smile spreading it's wings 
around the heavenly dark skies 

it doesn't bother me why i never made it so high in life 
i couldn't be a wise man for i never had the sense and humour 
i couldn't preach god cause i had no hope 
i couldn't feel the sun for i was so lost in my drems 

now im here all by myself waiting for a new beginning, 
waiting for someone to show me the way 
all i my life i have carried over my thoughts 
i couldn't raise a family cause no one would want me 
i feel so lost, that i no longer need to see where im going 
it's surely not home where im headed 
for my eyes are so tired that i can never see the world 

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The End of the Beginning

And with his final good-bye to his love, so long after her death. 
He then reached into his worn, ragged pocket and with his dirty and soiled hands he 
pulled out his wallet. 
A possession he no longer had the need for in this unruly and dead world. 
He slowly and gently opened it and within it lay the only possession it carried inside. 
A picture of her loving face. 
A reminder of what once was. 
He leaned far over the edge of the looming, empty causeway and looked down in the 
dark nothingness that lay below him. 
He once again longingly looked at the picture of the woman he had once loved and 
slowly his grasp on the wallet loosened and finally the wallet fell to the bottom of what 
was nothing. 
As it fell he slowly felt himself breaking free from the bond that once was there but had 
died long ago.  
And lastly he reached to his hand where a dimmed gold ring sat upon his withered 
He gently twisted it off, and in a movement that felt as if he were dipping his hand in 
molasses, he laid the ring tenderly upon the edge of the causeway. 
With resentment and regret he pushed the ring off the edge, trying to forever banish 
her from his mind. 
The he looked upon the darkened ashy sky, and with such weight upon his soul and 
heart he turned towards the long road ahead of him and walked on into the 
nothingness that was to be his life.

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Three truant scholars spending our sabbaticals
in crisp Colorado, we all re-read Walden,
dared to drink from streams so icy clear
the fish seemed suspended in mid-air.
Our flimsy nylon shelters shielded us
from what weather there was to worry on,
as summer slipped to autumn
and autumn waned winterward.

We walked well-wooded hillsides
of mixed conifers and broadleaf;
in deep drafts we breathed the earthy air,
interpreting the dent and trace of tracks.
Four full years past we trekked those trails
through stands of timber frequented by fox,
by birds, by deer -- and by growling grizzlies.

Now, when my son hugs his honey bear,
red-jacketed, black-button eyed,
I see the hellish maw, the blooded claw,
of the brownish-yellow raging beast
that tore off my arm and maimed two sages,
amid the yellow quaking aspen
where, yet, that gory grizzly ages.

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Swallow Your Pride

You were born with some sort of gift
Just remember this, my child,
Swallow the pride that takes away

You are a gifted human being 
You have grown a connection with God
He welcomes you to His understanding, loving family
He reminds you to never let go of humbleness 

Tell your foes, if you have some, swallow your pride
Don't be afraid of their actions
Be in tune with God...He'll get you through this living
and He'll send immediate help on the way
because you've been gentle, patient, and courteous towards people's 
emotional trials and dangerous tests
You have been healed by the Most High

Swallow your pride, woman full of spiritual life...
You are now a bride of humbleness

You are a gifted human being 
You have grown a connection with God
He welcomes you to His understanding, loving family
He reminds you to never let go of humbleness 

Remain humble 
Love your enemies...tell them to
Swallow their pride 

They'll never understand 
What the reward is for

Don't lack humbleness
Lack pride and practice
Patience before 

Men of dishonor, remain humble 
Love your enemies...tell them to
Swallow their pride 

Swallow your pride, you devious fools of shame!

Pleasure-seeking women, swallow your pride...
You are now a bride of humbleness

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Somebody Say Something

Somebody Say Something

By BJ Welsh

Tumbling towards the mountainous rim
All comes crashing down around him
Don’t be afraid, to rid one of vice
A whisper would have been nice

Looking back on those days
When life was good; albeit hazed
Was it just a phase?
Although it lasted longer than it should
Please, would you say something now if you could?
A few choice words would certainly suffice
A whisper would have been nice

Spiraling out and down it goes
Things go on and nobody knows
Gripping life tighter makes it melt like ice
A whisper would have been nice

If it’s silence that you’re so inclined
Don’t be shocked by a life denied
Repeat if you must once or thrice
A whisper would have been nice

Of course there was nothing to see
He made it that way quite happily
If I told you once I told you twice
A whisper would have been nice

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Tim in the Skies

I woke up screaming
from one of my dreams.
Stuck my face in a pillow
to muffle the screams.	

It's hard to watch
someone else die.
Are you up there watching
as I search the sky?

I'm looking for answers.
God gives me a few.
The answers are empty
down here without you.

I should have died.
Not you my dear friend.
You just tried to help me
and I dreamed it again.

The knife in your heart.
Your eyes that just stared.
I hate to admit this
but I was so scared.

I was the first one
to fall to the floor.
Kicked,beaten,and stabbed.
But there would be more.

I curled into a ball
and I should have stayed there.
Frank and your brother appeared
and both asked me,"where?"

I pointed as they ran.
there were to many to fight.
But they both rushed right in.
It was satan's delight.

I got up and followed.
Didn't know what else to do.
I walked right through the carnage
and that's when I saw you.

You asked me what happened.
But I was out of my mind.
I said I was jumped 
and then we both looked behind.

There was your brother falling
with ten guys on him 
and like Frank and Dan
you just rushed right in.

We both watched in horror
as Dan curled into a ball.
Then you grabbed this guy
and threw him into the wall.

Then everything was slow motion.
Guys were flying through the air.
I could barely see anything 
but all I did was stare.

You were making them run
but one still wanted to fight.
That's when I rushed in.
He had this big knife.

I got there too late.
I grabbed you where you fell.
The look in your eyes
is my own private hell.

You died in my arms.
Some of me died there too.
It's been thirty years now.
Thirty years without you.

Why did it happen Lord?
Will I ever know?
Will Tim ever forgive me?
Do I want to know?

A nightmare that lives
after I close my eyes.
A dream that makes me
search for Tim in the skies.

For my Best friend Tim Gitchel who was murdered on 2/12/1979 in Oxnard CA at the 
movie theatre when we tried to see The Warriors. I miss you buddy. RIP

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fairness in all its glamour isnt fair so is beauty in its pampered image,day breaks only for 
night to cry and for the moon to disappear taking with it the howls of the wolf.Beginnings 
mark the start of the end and with honesty comes the end of lies,My day starts with you and 
ends with myself,the irony of existance,the natural distance and abnormal closeness.
plagued are the words from my mouth,the gift of loki,my punishment is their 
consequences,the misunderstanding of what I perceive as plain and natural.The dizzyng light 
that welcomes me from my darkened slumber,my end of days and beginning of 
nights,matured dreams churned to cinders by my reality,it turned stale by the progress of 
my dreams.haunted by my nocturnal thoughts my vision blurred due to skitsophrenic 
sight,...thus all i see when i close my eyes with my face in the palm of my 
hand is the void of this solitude that you will one day leave me in and the colour green.

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My World

when i think of my world its all a dream
in my dream world people don`t just come and go
but in the regular world they do\

i wish this world had people last forever
i would`ve never thought i would be facing realiity
where i wouold have to see my grama go and disappear

now i see theres a time where people get sick and might have to pass away
until then you going to have to deal with it in the only way that you can 
and my way is talking about writing about my feelings in poem 

sometimes i just think that life can be a preiouse thing or i might just say sometimes life can 
be thorn up and thrown away. i just dont get why when people are close to you they just die and go away.
some say to a better place is it true 

some may say its crazy to question a thing like that or they might even say that you won`t get in to heavean like that
but what i belive is that there is one but not everyone always get in the place called heavean.  depends on there soul.. but i hope when the times write when the time comes her precouice soul will be protected by a such thing callled i dont know God. i dont  question it i know i belive in it but i do wonder sometimes about it. is it true what they say or just they saying mytholical things so everything can blown away

i watch people abandon 
i watch someone die 
i even watched a women who lived a lie
i know whats wright 
i know whats wrong but tell me this is whats right not wtong

im confused im depressed help me now so i can be happy as an lovely dove if best

            writen for hope to anyone that lost someone that was really close to them 
R I P my loving grandma

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A baby's courage

Nowhere to run, nowhere to breathe
And grasses are on fire.
The manly beasts are having their fun
For they have nothing to spare.
All the victims, coiled with each other,
No matter who is rich, who is poor.
The earth is crying and the devil is smiling
For there is none to cure.

A mother with a baby in her lap,
Running......the death is so sure.
One of the beast appeared from nowhere
And smashed her on the ground.
She was crying and crying and begging her life,
But the fate didn't turn around.
And then came the flash of gun
And there laid the lady dead.
The cruel has crashed through
Her trembling and sweating forehead.
The beastly pig was about to laugh,
While he stopped with a gaze.
While everyone was struggling in horror,
The baby was laughing in hi face

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Boggled Down Aug 7 2011

Boggled down and dragging behind,
maybe I'm carrying around to much weight.
I would never ask but I am really in need of a helping hand,
vulnerable and helpless, two emotions I really hate.

My brain is always running in overdrive,
it's hard for me to keep things straight.
I can't concentrate and I lack the ability to stay focused,
I have alot stacked up on my plate.

The pile just keeps getting bigger,
a little more and more each day.
As each day passes  it's all getting harder to hide,
I might as well place all of my business out on display.

Each morning when I wake up and every night before bed,
I ask the Lord above to grant me one prayer request.
Take away this mental madness, I don't want it anymore,
so I finally can put my mind to rest.

I don't understand why me, 
why did I get saddled with this horrible disease.
After talking with the Lord it was because I was strong enough,
to be able to handle whatever it turned out to be.

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The Super Star

His name was John Manty,
Who hailed from a shanty
A shanty where slums; 
Were not at all scanty.

He had a big dream,
Every day he used to scream
He was singing a nice song like;
Neapolitan ice cream…!!!

He wanted to be a star,
And drive his own car
One day at the bar;
He heard of “super star”.

He went for the audition,
Of the " super star" competition
He won it and then became;
A rich and pop musician.

He earned alot of money,
And spent on things so funny
When debtors came for money;
he hid himself under the gunny!

He could not pay his rent,
And he had not even a cent
He gave the key to the owner;
And to his shanty off he went......

"How can I go back to the shanty"?,
Wondered ex-star poor John Manty
He jumped from the Great old bridge;
And that ends the story of Manty.......!!!

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Blank Amongst the Fake

Wishing to be numb
Coaxed by it's powerful fake love
Let it take over and drown out

Wishing I've made bad choices
To be wash out
To not remember a part of your life is a gift
Get in 
drug up
drain in
Blood drips from my torn skin

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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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The Widows Hour

A black widow hides
the hour’s count, in a painted
red glass, on the underside 
of her belly.

Unlike a snow white kitten,
the hard shiny black widow
receives not one loving caress.

In the pale moonlight the black widow spins a silver web.
It created a growing and binding spell-like enchantment.

A man and a woman
are dancing through time.
A man and a woman and a black widow
are dancing through time.

I do not know which I prefer,
Us making love by a sizzling fire
Or us making love on the cold wet sand,
the black widow scurrying across the beach
Or the moment we met.

A web repaired a broken window
with finely spun silk.
The shadow of the black widow
remains hidden from view.
The silence
hanging in the web
spoke a thousand words.

Descendants of Adam,
Why do you fear this little spider so?
Do you not see how the black widow
splashes and plays in her bath
as naturally as the child within you?

I know that I know nothing
and I remember everything all at once;
I know, as well,
that the black widow does not worry
about what I know.

Dark spaces harbor the black widow.
Shake out your shoes,
shirts, and jackets after they’ve been on the floor.

The black widow’s shadow
encloses the stars like an eclipse,
even I cannot overlook a
cosmic event as rare as this.

She walked across the Nile
in crystal slippers.
Escaping, she never looked back
over her ivory shoulder,
the black widow’s shrill song flies
through the wind and echoes on the water.

Grains of sand are filling the glass slowly.
The black widow must be endlessly dreaming.

The sun beat down while it rained.
I was not moving
and I was not going to move.
In the peak of the thirteenth hour
the black widow traced circles,
after kissing me lightly on the 
back of my hand.

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A Walk Through the Closet

His blue coat with the gold buttons 
hangs in the closet with all of his other things
Belts hanging on their hooks, shoes lined up in order of color, 
his scent still lingers on every shirt.
I have so many memories....
the red polo shirt he wore to the beach
we had the time of our lives
and the old gray tennis shoes 
I begged him to throw them away
Levi's with a hole in the seat
a sweat shirt with mustard stained on the sleeve
Suits and ties, slacks and shorts
all of the things he wore holds a differnt memory
His dresser pushed against the far wall
all of his cuff links, his watch and tie clips,
the cologne that smells cool and clean
just the scent can bring him back 
I can feel his hands....
he touches my face and hold my hand
A walk through the closet
brings back all of our memoies
we laughed so much, cried very little and loved strongly
These things are everything to me
I walk through the closet when I need his comfort
I'll walk through the closet for the rest of my life.

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My Scars

We were both 16, we shared many firsts with each other. First girl I ever kissed, First person outside of family that I told "I love you" to and we took each others virginity. We were both young and foolish but to this day I still say I honestly loved you. The day you told me you never cared for me the day when you told me it was all just a game was the day I cut my first scar into my arm. I knew you longer then my own brother. We were best friends grew up together, we even got a house when we both left the "nest". Those were the best 3 years of my life we became brothers we became blood. The last day we ever talked is the saddest day in my life, even to this day I cry when I think about you walking away. The scar you gave me stands out from the rest, it's deeper and longer then the others. You were my star I gave you everything I had. I would of walked through the pits of hell just to see your smile. I thought you were the one, I thought we had a future and would be together forever. But one day I came home early to surprise you with this ring, yes I was going to ask you to marry me. When I walked into the house my heart was shattered and blown away by the wind. The image of the two of you is burned into my brain I did not say a word just dropped the ring on the floor and walked right back out the door. The pain of the knife cutting into my arm shocks me out of my thoughts. I watch the blood begin to drip onto the floor this makes 13. 13 scars on my arm

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Road to Redemption

Introduction: Tribute to brothers in the fray and families for them pray...

Life in these rough times, We barely even feel the daytime Every second counts greatly, As there’s no going back in time Sometimes we lose to win, try not to fail again, But mostly we end up back to where we all began Every single day, we wake up in one piece, Where brothers in the fray, they hardly get to cease Our tears drop all over the floor, They keep on till their blood stains from their core Every second till the end, We pray for them to knock on our doors Sadly at times, things go the other way for the best cause, All we can do really, is not breakdown and pause Prayer’s the only strand through the last breath, When they depart with a peaceful end Emptiness and happiness, constantly flowing along, The memories, they always live right within our souls When days seem cloudy and life gets lonely Debts grow high and smiles fade into sigh At that instant, that very moment, Just pray, pray to get healed, Heal from this insanity, pray to be free, Free from this misery It all comes down to the crying in the end, The stillness stares up towards the sky As we do bid farewell to dear friends But at some point through all the pain and sour grin, recovery does begin The ones we love and care, Though some are not so near Scattered through this bittersweet world, Waiting for us to share; This life is like the weather, It changes altogether It may get bad and may get sad, But know it’s not forever, Better days will come eventually, The morning sun will shine brightly Through our endeavors and our prayers, we shall recover From things we’ve lost so dearly So just hold on to the light and believe in salvation, And the rays of truth shall lead the road to redemption…

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The sun has set upon the hills
The moonlight glares as my body
Awaits the embrace of dreams.
My mind wanders, my thoughts drift
A noise stirs in the silence,
The crash foreshadows more.
A scream—is it my mother?
A boom, more yelling too,
A thud, is that my brother?

The men invade my room
I follow them and do as I’m told,
Kill them, they say, and hand me a knife.
I feel the fear in my family’s eyes,
My chance for life rests in their destruction
I give into my captors’ demand,
Coating my hands in unwashable stains.

My leaders delight in my compliance,
The tallest one turns to me
He motions to leave.
I step into the cold night,
I’m alone and shaking, my eyes leak,
My masters join me; both grinning
The stinging in my head is a joy.

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Written for Grace Keithley-Lee to express her thoughts on a particular matter

THOUGHTS ON THE MATTER I want to express my thoughts On this matter at hand A matter concerning A relationship of a good man Though it’s not my business To interfere or say what’s what He happens to be my brother I feel his pain down in my gut The relationship started off With so much love flowing They were the perfect couple And all could see them glowing Their happiness was an example That inspired me all the time To know that a good relationship I certainly would also be able to find I did find my true love About three years ago At that time their love Was still perfectly so I really don’t know Where it all went wrong A seemingly perfect love Now ending and saying so long It really matters not why Or what the reasons may be We should wish them the best In both their separate journeys Sure everyone has their sides To the story as it now goes It is really just between them Their feelings no one knows We should not speculate Of who did what or would Or even dig around for the dirt We should only remember the good There is good and bad in everything That’s one thing we all know is true They both need our support because Breaking up is hard enough to do There is no need in degrading To either one or the other The cruelty of the words Are painful to my brother Sometimes relationships Just need to come to an end Even if both are good people We can still lose a good friend Things were said in a hurtful way And were not really necessary Now I’ve also lost a close friend And that really does hurt to me Just a note now that it is over It was her choice to walk away I choose to remember the good No matter what any others say I ask all of you to please Let them handle it, if you will With moving ahead in their futures Letting their hearts to begin to heal Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Living Today

Living Today

By BJ Welsh

Waiting for the answer to come
Makes one’s life even more hum drum
Sitting and staring without any news
Is an impossible feat if that’s what you choose

How much longer can one be idle?
Losing one’s outlook as well their title
It’s easy to say just keep busy
The thought of moving makes one dizzy

It’s time to get over it, the pain of error
A life one used to treasure
But did you really believe that theory
Or did you grow tired and a bit weary?

Yourself or others, for whom did you live?
Did you really have all to give?
Suddenly, you put an end to it all
Now you have to accept the fall

Moving on is not so easy
The thought would make anyone queasy
Looking for acceptance in a loving place?
First try your young child’s face

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Unstable Lies

You knew at the beginning she was looking for more than you could give
But you let her jump anyways knowing that she’d fall
As she leapt you stretched out your arms giving her false hope
A smile like no other you’d seen on her face
But in a second you wiped it out of place
Her hands grasped out for yours
In a split second decision you snapped your hands back
Watching her fall
And now that’s all you can do
Sitting there watching her fall
Seeing the promising woman you took from her
Reverting her back to that insecure little girl
She once was a long time ago
You look deep into her eyes as she falls
You realize it wasn't worth it all
To lose someone like her
Now you beg for her to come back
Understanding the mistake you’ve made
But the future is unknowing
So there is no knowing if you can undo what you’ve done
Can you imagine a lifetime without her
Her laughter will no longer ring in your ears
You won’t be able to see that sparkle in her eyes
Are you really sure you want to build her up on your unstable lies…

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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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Today Is September 1 2007

On this day 16 years ago a beautiful baby girl was born.
As I cried they took her away.
My grandmother watching as if nothing were wrong.
Photos came for a brief moment then stopped
She was gone never to be herd from or seen.
It seemed as if she just vanished.
The agencies said her new family had moved.
No forwarding address to be found.
They apologize for the inconvenience.
Trying to convince me not to give up hope.
Hope what is this, something I find hard to have.
Years have come and gone and not a word.
The last photo I reserved she must have been 3 or 4 years old.
My search it still continues today, 
but not a trace of her or her family do I see.
On this the anniversary of her birth
 I still cry for the loss of my baby girl I bore so long ago.

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What I Pray

Walking down the hallway.
People look at me.
Clinging to my books.

Starring straight ahead;
focusing on the door.
Dodging dirty looks.

Standing at my locker.
I make no eye contact.
She whispers" Your such a freak"

Run to the door;
Make my way to the bus.
They throw stuff at me.

Keep forward,
finally get home.
I silently go to my room.

Fall to my bed;
break completely down.
So lost and hurt and gloom.

My parents go out,
Alone with the T.V on.
They say I'll be all right.

Make my way to kitchen.
Tears swell in my eyes.
The Chef Knife shines bright.

Afraid and alone;
with a sinking heart.
Hold it, shaking in my fist.

Slowly move it to my arm.
Pale white it runs;
from my forearm to wrist.

Blood on the white tile.
My legs are cold.
All my limbs heavy.

The door opens.
My parents are home.
My mother holds me.

Closing my eyes,
breathing slowly.
I sleep...

and if I die before I wake.
I pray to God.
My soul to take.

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Not the Better One

She’s the better one
Beautiful and what you deserve
Comparison is not an option
A rock to a diamond
I make little to none shine
And she can make mountains
Upon a hill of grind

Full with hate of what I've become to day
Disgusted with the monster
That’s been created an atomic bomb
And I feel all the shame
Wishing to change everyday
I am a nothing compared to that

Perfect is what she is
Cute is what you two are
Monstrous is what I am
Killing is what you’re doing
Burning away every dream is what’s happening
She is better one
Wishing it was me
She is the better one

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To Emptiness

Part I:

I stand here looking out across the land;
So vast and yet is covered by one hand.
I turn my head and gaze up at the sky,
Through endless heights that spiral up as I
Turn round and hear them coming from afar,
But never knowing what and if they are
The ones who, from the web of time, were spun
As I see that my journey has begun.

Part II:

I stand upon a mighty post up high
And look upon the world below.
Across this world I cast a critical eye
And ponder all that you don't know.

They all are sanctimonious as they
Preach things of which they never thought.
They teach it all but they have lost their way;
Within their dreams they have been caught.

Stop wasting time and turn your thoughts instead
Towards the thing we know for sure;
Awaken blinded minds within your head
And you are wiser than before.

Part III:

I have emerged from in this life
To see the light of darkened skies.
I leave behind both love and strife
And whisper all my last goodbyes.

I spit into the eyes of those
Who have helped me to realise
The things in life that no one knows,
When all we see and hear are lies.

You look at me but who looks back
Behind dead eyes; forever closed?
Your mind is still under attack;
All happens just as I supposed…

From when I realised the truth:
Ongoing death is greater than
The disillusioned dreams of youth;
All left is just one empty man.

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Widow's First Christmas

Turkey's done
dressin'  turned out  fine
gotta stop thinkin'
gonna loose my mind.

     Presents neath the tree
     that boy is one big smile.
     Ain't gonna start cryin
     hold on for awhile.

          God I miss you honey
          each and every day.
          Christimas time don't make no sense
          since you gone to stay.

               Sure miss you carvin'    
               that laughter filled with glee.
               Can't get no Christmas spirit
               when you ain't with me.

May the Lord bless you
keep you safe and sound
We just havin' Christmas
done here on the ground.
     Happy Birthday Jesus
     take care o' my ol' man
     and we'll be doin'  your party
     just the best we can.

          Merry Christmas darlin'
          where ever you may be ....
           "Whatcha got there boy?
            A present for me ......  "

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Legacy of an Artist

Pigments of color,
form the shapes,
that create an image,
of you,
within my mind.

The first aspect,
I view within your portrait,
is the permanent smile,
etched upon,
your blissful face,
cloaked with the,
celestial aura,
that captivated all,
who have the privilege,
of knowing,
the beauty,
of your soul.

As I glance,
into your deep,
brown eyes,
that shimmer,
with enthusiasm,
I am reminded,
of your passion,
for all aspects,
of existence,
that expresses,
the lines,
that unite to demonstrate,
how you always,
lived life,
to the fullest.

Your humor,
echoes through,
my ears,
as I reminisce,
 of how you place a smile,
 upon the faces,
of your loved ones,
who were brightened,
by your personality,
and irreplaceable.

The heart of a saint,
courage of a lion,
don’t come close,
to describing the values,
that distinguish,
you from,
anyone else.
You changed,
lives on a daily basis;
you gave me,
memories to last a lifetime.

You strum,
my heart strings,
in a way,
that no one else can replay.

I now notice,
hues of your portrait,
are fading,
from vibrant,
to banal neutrals;
the colors of my life,
began to vanish,
leaving a laceration,
of despair.

Out of sight,
and touch,
though you are intangible,
you shall never,
escape my heart,
nor depart from my mind.

The brush,
never forgets,
how to paint,
a masterpiece;
an illustration of you,
shall remain within,
my spirit,
through actions,
that delineate,
your legacy.

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I Will Be There No More

Every day it gets progressively worse
You always find a new way to make me hurt
My anger fills my mind and leaves my pores
All I can do is release it on a door
My heart is cold and fingers are aching
You can see and feel my heart breaking
Just love me the way I love you
You and I both know that you do
But you are scared and you are blind
Realization is what you must find
You lie to me as if I don't matter
Every lie you tell just makes me shatter
This time you tore my heart
And you threw it to the floor
If you hate me so much
Then I will be there no more...

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Watchin' You Die

Waken’ up alone
Bare feet hit the floor
Three a.m doors aint locked
Two windows wide open
The garage door is up 
And your car’s still here
I can smell it in the air,
That sick metallic smell.
No use lookin’ anymore
Your body’s here but your mind sure ain’t
How much do you love the smoke?
Can I compete?
The smell’s strong, you’re gettin’ close
Do I wait? Should I go back in?
Will it start a fight?
I wait and watch
You ain’t put it out yet
So I sit at your feet
Lookin’ up at you
Watchin’ you die. 

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Tears For You (2006)

My tears fall and my heart is torn apart 
Picking up broken pieces to make a fresh start
As my day slowly unfolds my mind starts to fray
I cry so much
But an angel told me that tears only wash the dirt away 

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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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An Old Photo

That still fresh old photograph of you
astride a spotted pony, bare feet
dangling as limply as your torn dress:
the background was a high veranda,
cool green trimmed with gingerbread.

A small boy sat the animal with you --
two solemn and handsome children
upon a well-fed pony, photographed
by an itinerant in the thirties --
the time frozen as long as the picture
or our fading memories of it may last.

The boy, our brother,
did little in his forty years;
but now, we see his boy's eyes,
soft, liquid, serious, sad,
no hint of smile about them;
we weep his loss.

And you, sister:
alert, protective, girl's face
set to fend off the world --
cast so early in your role
as the family glue
holding us all together.

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He Woke Me Up

Sound asleep when his screaming wakes me up.
“Why would you do this? No decency to tell me!”
Waking up I hear his words but still don’t know what they mean
“Your best friend? “Oh don’t be so jealous!” he throws my words back at me.
Hearing him, I understand.
Did he open my email? Did he go through my phone?
He stops his ranting, He looks sad and lost.
His shoulders drop and he breathes deep.
Sitting on the edge of our bed he looks me in the eyes.
Gently he puts his hands to either side of my head.
In a whisper he tells me “I could kill you, you know?”
Softly he touches his nose to mine.
He tilts his head until his lips brush mine.
“I want you out of my house for two o’clock.”
He gets up and walks out the door, dropping my phone as he goes.

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It's 1 AM
And we're making sweet love.
There is a house burning in the distant, cold morning.
You're called.
You rush to the firehouse,
Leaving me cold and empty.
How I wish you'd stay with me.

You throw on gear like so many times before.
Your son cries in his crib,
        He knows you're gone.
I cradle him in my arms,
Like you did me only minutes ago.
I put my breast to his mouth, hoping he's hungry,
Hungry as you were only minutes ago.
But it's no use.
    He knows you're gone.

You arrive at the house, which turns the black sky
Red with the burning of its materials and souls.
You search for the souls you can protect and save.
I hope you're protected, but I now know what your son has known all along.

You find a small girl in her closet, barely conscious.
You give her your oxygen and take her out of the fiery hell.
She thinks you are god, come to save her.
You tell her you're not.
You talk, trying to keep her conscious. She asks if you have a child.
"Yes, I have a son."
"Do you love him?"
"Yes, with all my heart."
"Did you say goodbye to him?"
"No, but I'll say hello when I get home."

The Little Girl sees her mother's burnt body carried out.
"Is that my mommy?" she asks.
"Yes. She told me she loves you more than anything."
"Hey God, where will she go?"
You pause and say, "Honey, she isn't going anywhere. She'll be right here with you,
protecting you as you grow up."
"Good. I love my mommy. And I love you too, god."
She closes her eyes
And falls on the stretcher she was sitting on.
You feel pain-the little, lifeless body will always be in your mind.

I begin to cry with our son.
I sway back and forth, gently rocking.
       He knows you're gone. So do I.
You find another body with a soul still alive.
A young boy.
You hand him past the door between the two worlds.
You've just let him go.

The house collapses upon you.
You're gone.
My strong fireman is gone.

I cry with our son, we both know you're gone.
I wait for that call.
I hold our son, close to my body.
I get that call at 4AM.
The sun is not up yet.
What they say to me, means nothing. I knew you were gone.
I cried, but not violently.
Tears just curved down my face.
I ask for your gear, after they remove it.

It smells of dust, fire, death, but
I can still smell you.
I shake it and my eyes fall upon your pocket.
It was full.
You never leave things in there.
I found a note, entitled to James and me.

"I love you both more than anything. I need to say it more often. I love you."

Dated today
1:45 AM

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What Do You See

I found this old poem while helping to clean out a house that was vacant. I hope you 
don't mind that I didn't write it but it was too awesome not to post. Enjoy--------

                                   What Do You See

What do you see, nurses? What do you see?	
What are you thinking when your looking at me? 
A crabby old women, not very wise.
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes.
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply.
When you say with your loud voice, "I do wish you'd try."
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
and forever is losing a sock or a shoe.
Who unresisting or not lets you do as you will.
When bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what your thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes nurse, your not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still.
As I drink at your bidding, as I sit at your will.
I'm a small child of 10 with a father and mother.
Brothers and sisters who love one another.
A young girl of 16 with wings on her feet.
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at 20. my heart gives a leap.
Remembering the vows I primised to keep.
At 25 now I have young of my own.
Who need me to build a secure happy home.
A women of 30, my young now grow fast.
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At 40 my young sons near grown will be gone.
But my man stays beside me to see I don't mourn.
At 50 once more babies play round my knee. 
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead.
I look to the future and shudder with dread.
For my young ones are busy rearing young of their own.
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm an old women now and nature is cruel.
It's her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body it crumbles, grace and vigor depart.
There now is a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells.
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and loving life over again.
I think of the years, all the few--gone to fast.
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes nurses, open and see.
Not a crabby old women, look closer,  see ME.

This poem was found among the effects of a patient who died at the Oxford
University Geriatric Service in England. Author is unknown.

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I Never Found Sense in Burning My Own Poems

You know, I planned on turning in early;
Put myself down to rest, but something 
About the rhythmic tapping always gets the best
Of me. That nervous twitch that supersedes 
Me physically. Drawing out the the words in the only way I know how.
"Standchen" with ears wide open! No need for eyes.
All I need to see is written delicately in front of me.
Poetio Concerto: orchestrated as I feel fit.
I planned on turning in early; putting my pen down.
Days had passed until I asked myself "could I leave something so profound"?
A once burning passion turned draining obsession. 
Every emotion, every waking moment, all of lifes components;
Taken, twisted; cramped into metaphors and analogies.
But who will be the next to read? Not I said the author.
I cannot cut myself with the swords that I have made
Written down on paper are thoughts that I have slayed.
Take them and do with them what you will.
I've hid them, saved them; watched them stale in a pile.
I've kept them safe inside a folder, and I've burned them
Watching every stanza smolder.
I never found sense in burning my own poems,
It helps me forget, at least that's what I told her.
I planned on turning in early but it always seems to find me.
An ugly little thing, this poetry.
"Teasing Comb" an emotional plea turned cruel prophecy.
I will not write my future, I refuse to.
I am no puppet master and puppets I refute you. 
My doubts, my fears, I speak of them freely.
I've learned: speak of your weaknesses and you will seem weak.
Speak of your strengths and you will seem strong.
But speak of your insecurities and you will be underestimated;
Put in a position to prove everyone wrong.
I speak of myself freely to make all of me strengths
And through this I do to prove myself wrong and will continue and any length.

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When I was young, I had these dolls, in various guise and shapes,
The first was been the simplest; in it no single garment
or any ornament embedded, but only made of clay and heights four inches,
“Imperfect doll!” I exclaimed and clothed the doll in scarlet dress.
The second doll was only made of scarves of woolen rags in many color set and 
“Imperfect doll!” I exclaimed again, and dangled some trinkets on its neck.
My third doll was more ornate and made of wood, which was slightly rough,
But its face and clothes were not alike from me; but of Japanese in a kimono
with a sash of obi around its tiny waist and wooden sandals on its feet,
“Imperfect doll!” I said, and furnished it with gesso.
Then my fourth doll was made of ivory, and clothed in simple bulk skin,
“Imperfect doll!” I said, and adorned its clothes with lace.
And my last doll was made of bisque from Germany:
fair-haired and fair skinned, until I noticed, some hairpiece fell as I untangled,
“Imperfect doll!” I exclaimed, and put a bonnet on its head.

And then I grew and see much of the world; more than my dolls, more than 
Like a woman I met, who’s very fond of costly suits and polish gems
only to make cover of her unwanted aspects,
“Pity!” I said, “she hides her imperfection!”
Then this bachelor who’s tired and aged, but still aspires for lofty aims,
“Alas!” I said “he’s blinded much of his imperfection!”
And to this lady I knew, who’s young and fair but lost a man she dear,
and grieves to him excessively, with no more time to stare and glad to other 
“Alas!” I said” she mourns too much her imperfection!”
And for poor man I knew, complaining day and night to his misfortune,
“Alas!” I said, “he hasn’t done a thing to his imperfection!”
And to this dying man of severe illness, reproachful to his fate,
“Poor man”, I said, “he ought to know that death is not an imperfection.”
And lastly, when I meet someone who grief or find no peace and happiness,
“Alas!” I’ll say, “you ought to see that life is made of many imperfections!”

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Walking to Redemption

Stuck in a place with negativity bound within it's Walls. I need to get out of here, before the phone rings with insanity's calls. I burst out of the door into the streets owned by the night. Shadows staring back dodging the lamps light. I begin to walk down the urban corridor of uncertainty. The workers of soul catchers carry out their shady activity. I find myself in the empire of danger invoking pure photo-phobia It's a small price to pay for escaping the mecca of claustrophobia. As I reach the climax of the spiraling vortex tunnel. I walk on tenterhooks as my problems funnel. Facing me at the end of this path, is a door laced with remorse around it's edges. The entrance to unknown stands out with a line of devoted pledges. Those waiting and queuing are the damned and the lost. As I drift towards them, I wonder how much my sin will cost. For I felt the weight of the pressure and stress, forcing me into the light of shame? For I was the puppet master, who poured onto me the petrol and drew the flame. My moment of selfishness was a cardinal sin to myself and others. lacking consideration, deprived of thought for my sisters and brothers. That self indulgent cowardliness, has lead me to this final act. A door beaten with the hands of the damned, regardless it's still intact. As the number descends down to it's final member. I stand there understanding my sin, bound to surrender. Reaching out I grasp the golden handle, and turn it to the right. As I push forward on the door and out bursts a green neon light. My chance of escape has come to a halt, it's time for me to face the jury's end. I stand by my plea of weakness and insanity, as into the court I descend. A skeleton of the peril court rises with a verdict and answer. The jury has decided I was overtaken by a vicious cancer. The disease wasn't voluntary but they agree my cure wasn't correct. My punishment is to fade into the man that never was, with immediate effect.

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Lost by Jason Feria 8th grade

I am unsure of what to do
I'm speechless
I feel so isolated
I am unsure of where to find help

I'm very confused
I have no idea where I went wrong
My life seems monotonous
I can get a little exasperated sometimes

I am hopeful to find someone new
I've been emotional... I guess life moves on
The situation was painful
I am in need of talking to someone new

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Why Did You Have To Go

Promises brake like shattering glass The night cries out for the light Stars replaced with water droplets Friends you thought you had were never their Just reflections in the merrier Can't catch smoke with finger grabs And when is all said and done You remember the real reason you when numb You cried so hard you almost puked How could the strongest love you knew Turn so violently agents you And when you look around for comfort All you find is a empty bead and cold blanket You tried so hard to lessen when others have problems Yet when it comes time for you to unload Everyone seems to vanish, alien abductions Is this why scorpions huddle together when its cold They know they can only find comfort with in them selves, crazy psycho killers And it seems that no matter where you go You meet dead ends and every rode You get so tiered of being lost you don’t care who finds you Not even a cannibal, hush now lambs And you get so angry you hold the world hostage, bank robbers And you have a grudge with everyone for no apparent reason, Oscar Maybe its because you know happy endings don’t exist Life sucks And then you die Only to be unsatisfied

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My Imprint

I always used to ask myself this question, "What kind of imprint do I want to leave with people once I pass and am I scared of dying?"  I had come to this question again once my grandfather passed.He was an amazing human being who loved God by the way.Anyway, I have learned over time through experiences of my life I have realized something and its what I want others to know, its that Life is a gift.So cherish every minute of it even the smallest moments in time.See, everyday is a new opportunity for Forgiveness.Love.Reconciliation. etc. one will not always have the chance to live promisingly.I believe that people need to go about their lives with the perspective of not what can I do for myself.But, what can I do for someone else.For instance, How can I make someone''s day? Or just simply How can I make a person smile today? For me, there's nothing that brings more joy to me than knowing I may have made a difference in a person's life. I just want others to know that the bigger picture in our existence is not just serving Jesus, but its to serve each other. I mean, of course we need to live for the Lord and spread the Gospel and live our own lives. But, there's nothing wrong with a little selflessness and its very fulfilling to do so. Oh, and No. I'm not scared of dying. You see, The Apostle Paul said it well, "To live is Christ. But, to die is gain." I know that it's different when your told you only have so much time to live than when a family member or friend is told this.But quite honestly, to me it's just death. Besides, if I could leave this earth knowing I changed at least one life, it was very worth living it.


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The mid-sixties weren't fun for a teen working...
I put foot on this prosperous and beautiful land
and looked forward to a great future,
but my plan didn't go as smoothly
as I thought it would have instead.
My question was, " Go to College, 
earn a degree or help mother and sisters? "
I choose to help them procrastinating.
From job to job I went hardly missing a day realizing what it would have cost me, 
but wages stayed the same or rarely increased much,
I loved to work and earn my weekly paycheck;
sadly, many boys of my age were drafted and went to war...
some returned, many didn't and being the only son,
they didn't draft me but witnessing the horror, the sadness, the crying of soldiers, 
and seeing all that: was like being there where the sky exploded with fire and smoke.
Isn't fate the course that nobody can predict regardless how scientists envision it...
if it were so easy to foresee, all would have control over it and all catastrophes
could be avoided to save millions of lives? Doesn't the Bible warn us to shun divination?
It's the sinful mind, the greedy heart, the unfaithful spouse, the disobedient child
making us stand at the crossroads deciding which steps to take to prevent a tragedy.

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Her Personal Curse (Part One) *warning, graphic in nature*

In a drunken stupor, I fall down on my comforter
Baby blue sky covered in fluffy clouds of cotton.
I kick off my shoes, faded pink chuck Taylors
And make clumsy work of my shirt buttons.

I slip an oversized shirt over my head, Bart Simpson,
And pull it straight passed over my bra and panties, past my knees.
Now in the dark, on my bed, I hear the door creak open.
I turn to see your silhouette, and I hear the door behind you locking.

I sat up, before you lunged on top of me, and smacked me in the face.
I tried to push you off, but a little girl is nothing against a man.
Fear pinned me down with your arms, the look in your eye was crazed.
I yelled out as you punched me again, before stifling my breath with your hand.

I felt your fingers probe underneath my shirt, rough and groping.
The straps tore at my flesh as you ripped my bra apart.
I tried to push your hand off my face, I was having trouble breathing
But when you took your hand off and I gasped for air, it fell back against my cheek hard

I stopped trying to push you away, tears streaming, afraid you’d hit me again.
I bucked when your course fingers pinched, it only seemed to excite you more.
I cringed as you raked your nails deep down my stomach digging in.
You stopped at the top of my panties before yanking them till they tore.

Panic sliced through me as I felt you unclasping your jeans, understanding swept me.
I knew then what you intended to do and my blood ran cold at the thought.
You took your hand off of my mouth and threatened to kill me if I screamed
But I yelled anyway begging for help, preying that you would be caught.

I was silenced by a stinging blow that sent me hard against the head board.
Too disoriented by it to yell again before you were done taking off my t shirt.
Through blurry eyes and mind I felt your eager hands pillage and explore.
I was smacked again for screaming at how badly your fingers inside me hurt.

You showed no mercy as I screamed in pain against the palm of your hand.
You only continued to probe and play, talking dirty to me, making me talk back.
Through bloodied lips and wrenching pain I was abused by this man
He made me say unmentionable things about him, while he cruelly laughed.

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My Best by Juan Torres 7th grade

Feeling sad as I see
him leave. He took my
brother and sister. What
more can he take from me.

I have always tried to be
the best I could be. Sad, mad, are
words that remind me of him.
It seemed that he didn't care
but I guess it was meant to be.

It seemed too long but hey,
I'm over it. He left, ok!
Whatever he did was best
for him. He now has a new family.

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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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                                            A TRIBUTE TO MY FATHER
                                                Frank Rollin Gillihan
                                                (US Navy 1941-1944)

April is the cruelest month,
Like the great poet said.
It was on a first of April
That I found my father dead.

His blood had flowed across the floor,
I saw as I entered the apartment door,
And it was then I knew for sure,
Sometimes a person just can take no more.

Not with a whimper but a bang.

April is the cruelest month,
The great poet said so.
That April still tears at my heart,
Though so many years ago.

He gave his life in the war,
He laid it down, there was no more.
And mom said when he was home at the door,
She knew he was not the same as before.

Twenty years after the guns were silent another shot rang out.

Wounded Healer
Submitted 8/24/09
Written 9/2/08

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Fond Memories of Jimmy

Like me, Jimmy had a passion For writing poetry too So I thought I’d write a special one To share with all of you For my cousin Jimmy Peoples I have a lot of fond memories From when we grew up together With such loving families After our Grand-daddy Gray I was supposed to be named Lawrence But since I was born a girl I was given the name of Florence Jimmy was born two months after me And Lawrence was his middle name Our childhood days were filled with joy And happy memories will always remain As we grew older through these 51 years And the adult life kept us mostly apart All of the fun, laughter and adventures Feels just like yesterday in my heart I developed a cousin family reunion To keep all of our cousins in touch To get together with all the families To me, it really means so much I trust in the Good Lord As only He knows just when It is the time for one of us To come and join with Him Though Jimmy is going home With the Lord before we do I’ll cherish all the precious memories Until I reach Heaven too Love, Flo Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Battle of Manila

My great, great, Uncle who fought in the
 Spanish-American War, although this was 
long before my time I was proud, my hero…

As told to me, he was in the Battle
 of Manila, he lost his life on March 30, 1899
 in this Battle…

Sending all the bodies of the heroes who 
fell on the Manila battlefield were brought
 to their respective homes…

The boy who gave his life for his 
country in the Spanish and Philippine
 Wars, arrived in Osceola Monday 
at 10:45 a.m. for burial near his
 family home…

War is a terrible thing, but freedom
 Is not free and it is a must!

By Sandra Lea Hoban

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Have you had or seen teenagers,
who abused drugs like marijuana
and became truant and unruly?
That same teens could be 
exposed to temptation again,
if they worked in a hospital,
where the supply of medical
marijuana is kept in glass cabinets.
And we think that modern vampires
are fiction as Drucula's legend seems;
there are indeed doctors and nurses
who will steal blood to satisfy their urge,
and if I have revealed this...
do you think that I am crazy?
If the FDA approved it,
what would the consquences be?
It will certainly diminish the acute pain in patients,
or make everyone around them get high?
Our streets are swarmed with pot heads,
who are hit daily by cars, because of unclear thinking;
and those who drive cause many fatal accidents...
others die of an overdose in filthy corners,
their lifeless bodies are spotted in small towns and big cities.
Is it a good idea to make it legal,
or will it endanger everyone in public places?

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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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A Sad Day

A sad day today for one whom 
has lost their mother…

She is now in God’s house with 
no pains…

She is with those who have 
gone before…

Just think of the reunion 
that she is having…

With those who’ve gone before…

Know that one day we 
will all join them again?

To be young, happy and frolic 
through the meadows picking 
wild flowers and wading 
in the streams…

Thoughts and prayers go out 
to you during this time 
of sorrow…

By Sandra L. Hoban

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dreams under dust 2of2

{continued 2of2}...

the third girl took her
bullet reluctantly but
Mr. Mohammed Merah believes
in an eye for an eye

i wonder if Mr. Muhammad Wazir
would have preferred to take
his farming plowshare,
beat it into a sword
and bring writhing attrition
to still more children.

i think...i prefer to think,
that Mr. Muhammad Wazir, 35,
of Panjwai, Afganistan,
would tell Mr. Mohammed Merah, 24,
of Toulouse, France
that children are innocent

not just in God's eyes, 
but in truth, in his too,
that killing only begets more killing
Alas, it is too late for Merah's merit,
and the sky still shines blue

© Goode Guy 2012-03-21

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Loneliness by Ulyssa Vinarta 8th grade

depressed, alone
nobody to
talk, walk,
spend, mend with

Feeling sad,
mad, glad,
facing memories
mentally lost.

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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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I'm Sorry I Can't Be Perfect

I try not to think about the pain inside
That is the one thing that I always try to hide
It's just to late and we can't turn back
There is one thing, the only thing that I lack
I try so hard to make it but I just can't take
We've lost it all and nothing lasts forever
I feel like you haven't noticed my love ever
I'm never going to be good enough for you
I just wish that our world was made for two
You just don't understand how hard I try
To make your heart love me inside
It hurts me when you can't even see it
I hope that you can at least feel it
I can't stand another fight
My soul is lost every night
I just want you to feel
That my love for you is real
I hope that someday you will see
That you are in love with me...

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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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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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The Bottle

The Bottle 


He walked down and empty alley, with a bottle in his hand 
His face was old and rugged 
From the rough life that he had lived 
The bottle lead him to this point and brought him to his knees 
But he always had the simple choice to let go, to be set free 
He was a friend like a brother and we hung around the bars 
I'd drink a few but his was more 
And I saw he could not stop 
It got to the point where all the fun was drained from my good friend 
I chose another path and sobered up and walked away from him 
And he never took the option 
To walk the straight and narrow road 
The whiskey bottle held him tight never to let go 
The pain got into his soul, it's sting he could not bare 
He took a big slug off the bottle and put the gun to his head 
Because he never took the option 
To walk the straight and narrow road 
For the whiskey bottle held him never to let go 
Now the bottle does not hold him and the pain he no longer feels 
That rot gut whiskey bottle has finally set him free 


David Gary Pennington 

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The Letter to The Lost

You were the gift that gave me eyes, and grateful I’ll forever be. The poetic beauty inside our loss is within the dark we see. So here I write my letter to you, the following week since you passed. You burst into my life like a firework, burning twice as bright but twice as fast. Unlike a rocket you’ll fail to fade, and your love will never be surpassed. As I pen the ink my words begin to smudge, with tears that start to fall. I feel your presence is close to me, and memories flood back to recall. So here begins my letter dear love, you were a gift and a loss to us all. Like a New York snow fall, on a starry December’s eve. Like an enchanted walk in central park, beneath the flowing trees. I took your hand and felt your pulse, as together we were free. Like a shore walk in paradise, along the edge of a summer’s breeze. Like a boat ride across the crystal blue, a magic sail upon the seas. You make me smile with one quick glance, and you rule my memories. The love for you cannot be described, and the loss can never be healed. I placed the flowers upon your stone, and ached with every petal that pealed. Now I know I’ll see you again someday, as we walk into the golden field. I leave you with a kiss and a hug, and pray you are safe and strong. I’ll count the days till I see you again; I hope that it's not too long.

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Looking Back

Every time I look back
I can remember the good
Maybe I will never get the chance
I still think of the dance
I am glad I didn't know
The way that this would end
Or the path on which it would go
But whenever I think of it
I will always get that grinn
Even if it is a sin
No matter the past
The future will win...

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A Blessing In The Heat (Part I)

It was 105 degrees that Texas day, and in the asphalt parking lot where we were performing it seemed like 150. But I was glad to be there. I had been invited to perform at a Cowboy Gathering in Weatherford, Texas and I had come there for one reason only...because Larry McWhorter was supposed to be there performing too. I had his tape at home and I was a huge fan of his work. After my set, I was approached by a lady who introduced herself as Andrea. She told me how much she liked my work and that she wanted me to come sit with her in the audience because her husband wanted to meet me and that he had a surprise for me.

We sat down in front of the stage and they introduced Larry McWhorter. I was thrilled that I was going to get to see him in person. His works stands high among the true greats of Cowboy Poetry and I identify with him because he is the "Real Deal," just like the men I grew up among. As I sat there Larry spoke to the audience. He told them that he had enjoyed my poem "Mustangs." I was thrilled! Larry McWhorter was talking about my work! He went on to say how he had worked in the part of Oklahoma I am from and that he had a particular poem about that area, that he was going to do it now and that he was dedicating it to me, the only Oklahoman performing there. He then recited Johnny Clare.

Of all the poems in the world, this is my number one favorite. I have stood at the grave of Johnny Clare. I have heard the stories about him since I was a teenager and a friend's uncle told us about him. While Larry recited, nothing else existed in this world. There was no background noise from the festival, the temperature didn't matter...all there was in the world were the words he spoke of an Oklahoma Cowboy.

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With heavy heart I take my leave of her.
My loves’ desperate screams pierce the still morn.
To war I go and must not look back for fear of faltering.
A duty to perform, a faceless enemy awaits.

Like a young herd of cattle comrades huddle together.
Seventeen and ashen faced their terror swells within.
In my hand a cherished picture firmly clasped.
There will be a time to let go, but it is not in this moment.

The dust and smoke erupts on landing.
My heart, racing so ferociously, might leap from my chest
My weapon of slaughter cocked menacingly
I run blind into this frenzy of hate.

The executed collapse around me
A steady tide of innocent blood saturates my leaden boots.
A searing pain rips through my wearied body
I surrender myself to the inevitable darkness.

My spirit is extinguished now
A crushing sense of unfulfillment envelopes me
My love awaits an impossible reunion
My fingers unfurl, memories to dust.

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What makes real men

I’ve seen so much
In the few years I’ve been here
Some things witnessed
Are my deepest fears

Not too long ago
On July 26th of 2004
Two great friends
That I greatly adore

The first on this day
Was my dear ol’ grand dad
The other was a kid
And this kid had

A bright promising future
Just out of high school
And he always seemed
Oh so cool

Thing happen
Unpredictable and unjust
Yet push on
Everyone must

What is done is done
The past we cannot change
And at time this causes our lives
To be rearranged

Honor their memory with laughter
Do not dwell on the grief
Just move on
You must believe

I have lost men
Whose shoes I could only hope to fill
Some had passed
Because they were incurably ill

Some have died
Before their time
Passing in the very beginning
Of their promising prime

What makes a real man
Is not how he starts things
It is the kind of finish
He shall bring

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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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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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I Send My Heart to Japan

Once again the Supreme Player has dealt the unfortunate card
From the famine in my lands
To the quakes in Haiti, and the other parts
Then the floods in Australia
Now the quake in Japan

I wonder what to make of these times
In the meantime, I’m just gonna be glad to be alive
And send my heart to those who survived
Sorry for the greatest loss of your time
My kind and I will each lend a hand in kind

Continue to see yourself as worthy in the eyes of your creator
For such are the shortcomings of nature 
Even we human beings who’re meant to be better, 
...always falter
Even the machines we make with our acute intelligence, 
...always have their failures

It’s not time to point fingers of blame
It’s time to offer tonnes of help
Even he who has help worth only a feather’s weight
Will find his place in the plaque of gratitude
...For helping restore the better days

The past is what was
The present is the gift we’ve been waiting for
We must now make profit of the achievements we harnessed in yester days
For today is for the purpose of manufacturing a better day

It is so hard to move forward while fixated with the scenery passed
So please to all of us in misfortunes of a kind
Let’s carry on ahead and take from the past 
....only the wealth of better lessons and faith
For as sure as one step ahead of the next will make us progress
Tomorrow is sure to erase all the sorrows and regrets
...and all the pains of yester days

Be keen, on your face a better smile to paint
Be keen, in your heart a better feeling to pump
Be keen, in your mind a better lesson to plant
Be keen, in your present a better experience to deserve
Be keen, in your future a better result to forecast

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In ventures dates arise and forth
Musky as tortures I swinging
       Quasi I view myself hate or enrich
Who by pigeonholed proof been
Of actives kinship thy bachelors
       Around I try within of ranged vibrantly
Indeed, handle as matters upon
the dressed encipher it dealt
       Tho doubts or widely inquiries
And sinlessly lo ways ...
In state did so hornily, so straight.
       And jealous by signify, foes smelled
up, the elegy crucial for her, and obvious
Culled off mine attends thy bachelor.

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Forgotten Fate

Introduction: For those who’re wandering confused within the lost and found - seeking silence…

Truth be never futile Stay and see awhile, Call back your forgotten dreams And feel that frozen smile, Linger of Love be worth eternal wait; When the time is right – That verity we do still hate And later we wind up too late, There forth we get lost in fate We get bemused with our innate That we can’t still relate, Don’t take on yourself as bate As never you trust an inmate, Our hopes and thoughts they fade away And we just see closed gates, So slay the lies, dig up the truth Someday you shall find, your forgotten fate…

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Beauty and the Unpublished Author

Far away in a little town tucked in the corner of a map
Lives the girl who ruined his heart
And broke his life

While with him she would smile and laugh so sweet
Tender as only she could be
In his heart she lit even the corners so deep

With time she became his definition of life
In all he did he had her in mind
Life wasn’t life without him seeing her smile

As moments grew into weeks
The flower of his heart started to reveal its wilt
In her eyes no longer was the sparkle he was used to seeing

Winds carried awful odour of their disorder
Tales went round of her illicit exploits behind the counter
The man with the shop at the corner savoured all the honey she offered

At first he dismissed the whispers with laughter
But soon he discovered he was the only one on the other side of reality’s border
Yes indeed, another prince had taken over

Trouble was how sincerely he loved her
Problem was that even she had only love to offer
Issue was he hadn’t yet sold a dime of the books he authored

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lurking to Lure

A successful man with a beautiful wife,
Three great kids, loves God and his life,
Goes into work every single day,
Loyal to his beliefs and makes an extraordinary pay,
He married real young, did the right thing,
A good looking man, always wearing his wedding ring,
But a woman in the office next door
Has been working late too and is looking to score,
She admires his rarity and is attracted to his charm,
Lately she has been asking for help on her assignments,
what’s the harm?
They have become friends and her luring begins,
This man doesn’t realize she has begun to infringe,
He has opened a door to the wrong kind,
While he's speaking his heart, she’s picking his mind,
Now instead of sharing his tension with his lovely mate,
He can’t wait to get to work and talk to her until late,
His wife can tell there’s been a shift in their communication,
She asks him if everything is alright with a slight hesitation,
But he quickly snaps back that he’s fine and just tired,
This happens all week and fights begin to transpire,
He begins to tell his venomous new pal,
She comforts him sweetly, she’s quite the gal,
Weeks later he comes to work stressed and depressed,
It happens to be the night she is wearing a silky black dress,
After going over a case accompanied with a few glasses of red wine,
Their relationship spirals into whats no longer benign,
In one evening everything this man has worked so hard for,
Vanishes, as his wife shows up with dinner 
and opens his office door.

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The crumbling down of the Berlin Wall finally 
ended the Cold War as a defiant Reagan challenged
Gorbachev as his famous words were spoken mightily, 
"Mr. Gorbachev, tear it down!"...And he shouted them with rage, 
while the heavy sledgehammer cracked it from the other side;
and a divided, lonely city still felt its utter demise.

On November 9th, nineteen-eighty nine, Berliners of both sides
tore down the humiliating wall which had separated them,
and with sledgehammers and bare hands they frantically
stripped it of every brick that prevented them, for a long time,
from sharing what the neighboring countries enjoyed;
and what was most desired by them was national unity.

Today is another day of remembrance and profound reflection:
when the two Superpowers agreed to end the plague of a city
that couldn't breath and prosper as the other European cities;
and remembering Reagan's words thundering behind that tall wall,
convinced a socialist regime to comply and bring back the harmony...
everywhere there were delirious shouts and many shed joyful tears.

Humanity, don't put the blame on an entire Nation for the horrible things
done to another race:  their Dictator was coarse, evil and vainglorious
as many were, have been and still are throughout World History;
and to seize power, it takes a tyrant who loves bloodshed and condescends dignity!
Wars are won by intuitive generals maneuvering their troops and warships...
before there was the sword, later the cannon and airplane, now technology is supreme.

If folks are denied freedom in all its various forms, tear your wall down
with all the required tools, halting the evil-doers despicable deeds,
and still be able to defend your vision of liberty, so defend it with alacrity and write
an ode or a ballad with an allegro tempo and remember Reagan's words
by unfurling your flag to cheerfully welcome your kindred who were exiled;
use the same words he spoke to unlock the closed minds so intramural.

Where there was bitterness and sadness, now there's irrepressible joy
and the streets and boulevards are open to all who were given a boundary,
and as it was anticipated the Berlin Wall had to be taken down to establish democracy;
celebrate Berliners and enjoy the fruit of your labors, your spirit will not down,
reminiscing the separation and grief that was caused by a socialist tyranny...
remember Reagan's words when you recall your divided city at the beginning of each dawn.  

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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I know it is not so
but I have the clear feeling
that at any moment
you will open the door
with your noisy key ring,
and I will hear distinctly
the off-key sound
of your slow and heavy steps
that no longer drag slowly
through my living room hall
which is now silent,
mute in its halftones. 
I know it's not so
but you will put down your bag
stuffed with papers in confusion,
on the table set for two
even though we are four,
but two of us will be in the bedroom
and won't want to dine, but
we will steal from your plate,
and you'll get upset
but you don't know how to fight,
and the argument will end with the providential
increase in the volume of the television,
that now is full of silly programs
because nothing is fun anymore.
Life drags on,
empty in its own apathy. 
You will talk about your day,
and you'll ask about ours,
and I'll be in a hurry,
going out to some rehearsal.
I'll shout that I can't right now,
that tomorrow I won't go out
and in the morning, making the strong, black coffee,
we'll talk about the script,
you'll give me some ideas 
I'll love to slip into the context
althought now this actress
no longer cares how she performs
because the fantasy is gone,
the scene has no more magic
and just repeats itself alone
on the stages I no longer trod. 
You'll ask,
and I'll help you put on your socks
having you sit on the bed
while our cat snores
in a light ending sleep.
Yet, you'll play with me
in your special way
that makes any single day
seems like Christmas,
with your salad sauce
that no one any longer tastes.
The 25th hides its face
at midnight, Jesus is not born
and the miracle is not the same. 
On Valentine's Day
you will buy two roses,
one of them you'll give to mom
and the other one is always mine
for I'll always be your little girl
who doesn't have a boyfriend anymore,
who has no joy, and
who counts the hours of the day
just to know the day has gone. 
I know it's not so
but I'll see you at any moment
when I lay my eyes
on our garden,
missing your confident hands
pruning its dead branches
like now it is dead our house. 
And like me,
our cat waits for you
every night at eight o'clock
under the doorjamb,
on the rug in the hall,
to say you are welcome,
to be happy you are home,
but our expectations fail,
for your arrival is delayed,
you won't arrive at all,
and there's no more future
for there's no more noise
of your key ring in the knob.

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There is Life Beyond Death's Door Part III

away like she did, made him ask what was going on. That yielded no response. The 
silence hung heavily in the kitchen. Finally, he asked, “Is Brian in his room?”  He 
looked at my oldest sister, Winnie who sat next to Papa. She didn’t respond. 
Instead, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes.  Thomas was as tall as Brian.  
At 14years old, they were 6’ tall. Winnie bowed her head to hide her tears.  She 
looked down at her plate before her. Thomas turned halfway around and was about 
to head towards the door leading towards Brian’s room, when Papa let out a deep, 
long sigh and motioned to Thomas to come sit next to him. Winnie got up to give 
Thomas her chair and Papa, with his voice low and cracked, told Thomas that his 
best friend had passed away. The humming of the fridge seemed much louder 
then.   Looking back now, seeing Thomas’s face, I knew he wanted to laugh but he 
stopped just short of that, and his countenance changed in an instant! A painful 
grimace appeared on his face.  His voice became shaky as he tried to mumble 
something.  He looked at each of us as if checking each face to see if someone 
would soon break into laughter, at this absurd joke. After a while, he took a deep 
breath, convinced now, that he was reading everyone’s face correctly. Brian’s Dad 
wouldn’t joke about something like this. He thought to himself. Then all the reactions 
he had seen as he entered the kitchen, finally registered, confirming that this was 
not a joke.  He nearly fell out of the chair, as it toppled over to the floor.  He began 
retreating slowly towards the kitchen door; his whole body still visibly shaking, he 
said loudly, shaking his head in disagreement, that it wasn’t possible.  “It is just not 
possible!” He shouted. Yet, there was no response.  Winnie was sobbing, tears 
rolling down her face.  He then asked if Brian had run away or something. Still the 
room was as quiet as a tomb. Not a sound from anyone, only the constant humming 
and the hymns being played on the local Christian radio station softly wafted across 
the room. He then blurted out, “Because,” he

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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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Last seconds

Any minute now, getting colder by the second almost gone Only darkness now and it's so cold. My spirit has been crushed, My soul has been destroyed and my heart was thrown away. I'm just empty like the darkness that comes for me. Any second now it's just so very col......

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Trying To Move On

I know that you are in a better place
Yet, I'm kind of sad I cannot see your face.

I wish I would have told you that I love you more
It's okay because I know that you are waiting at heaven's door.

I feel like you left this earth too quickly and I didn't get a chance to say goodbye
But I was with you when your last breath was taken, then I saw angel's fly.

I want you to know that I will always love you for the rest of my life
Everyday I am reassured that things will be alright.

I understand that it was in God's plan to have you with him in heaven's gates
Your not here with me physically and that is something I hate.

I have to learn to except that fact that you are no longer present
Having you as my father is something I will never forget. 

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Fighting, looting everywhere,
Burning the shops now and then,
Causing harm to people for no rhyme and reason.
And  thus,        
'riots is caused at any season.
Bloodshed, bloodshed everywhere, 
No peace only war.
Cries and Pains now and then ,
Where is the Love gone?
Put an end to this feeling .
Lets be friends and no more enemies.
Lets our generation grow with love,
Therefore riots wont cause at any season.

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hope - part one

for you, m

pale horse led by shrouded spectre through foggy thicket
dark days behind them illuminated by soaring ember skies
saturated soil slick under their feet impeding their ascent
leafy shelter their only escape from the rainy elements

their trek is treacherously long, winding over the countryside
days on end, not another living, breathing soul in sight
the spectre locked in inescapable conversation with his mind
rationalizing the pain and loss given and taken without ask

muscles sore, aching back, throbbing feet, gasping lungs
resting against damp bark, drinking water from a leaf
looking, his eyes piercing through the thick foilage
a sign of life comes to him, the humming of a muse's song

a lady in white, aimlessly about, content to herself
her fingertips gently caressing both flora and fauna
stumbling over a tree root, her majestic dress soiled
the spectre witnessing, rushes over, aiding her recovery

her arm draped over his neck, rolled ankle hindering her steps
taking her fully into his arms, he seats her atop his steed
back on route to new life, the company now made three
her inquiries met with silence, not so much as a name spoken

destination reached, he retrieves the damsel from on high
carrying her through the inn threshold, to her rented loft
dressing her ankle, elevating it and massaging away discomfort
his eyes fixated on hers, remnants of his past reflecting out

== see part two ==

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Boys, Men, Soldiers, Heroes

A day of rememberence
a day of joy but sadness
a day of thank you's 
a day of memories

Boys who learned to grow up quickly 
boys who were whisked away from all they knew
boys who put on their uniform 
boys who sharred one thing in common, pride

Men who fought for our country 
men who left families behind 
men who took their final journey 
men who fought for what is now 

Soldiers who suffered in the trenches 
Soldiers who dodged the bullets 
Soldiers who had no salvation 
Soldiers who stood proud for us 

Heroes who died out on the front line
Heroes who never lived to see this day 
Heroes who just made it to D-day 
Heroes who were our boys,men and soldiers

A day of celebration along with grief
a day of sorrow along with pride
a day of realistaion
of just how many never returned 
from a cold war 
boy's,men and soldiers

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My Saddest Christmas..12/27/'97 Pt. I

There were no premonitions, no feelings of sadness- no dreams
I picked up the phone in the kitchen; my brother-in-law’s voice greeted me
I could tell that he was stalling; thought my younger sibling had misbehaved, again
‘Alright, what’s she done now, and did you guys tell Mama?” I asked. ..(silence)
“Mama’s gone”. He said, almost inaudibly.  Not sure I’d heard correctly,
“What’d you say?”  I asked, feeling the rising fire…”Mama’s gone, Audrey”.
In shock I dropped the phone as I tried to stifle my wailing
Quite useless was my effort, as the family awoke from sleep
For hours I laid sprawled on the floor, no one could console me
The grief so overwhelmed me, left the deepest hole in my heart
When he called again, his voice breaking, he began to explain 
Mama spent days, making the Christmas pudding, a tradition in our family; 
Personally, she’d wrapped the ones to give as gifts - usually left for the children do
Mama’s house throughout the years was the meeting place
Where children, everyone congregated, practically every day
Christmas Day was joyful; friends too had dropped by to share the joy
She had danced with all her grandchildren; she was feeling very well
When I spoke with her early Christmas morning, she gave no sign of being ill


Note:  By Audrey Carey
 Submitted To: “The Saddest Christmas, Ever” Contest
Sponsored by:  Constance La France, ~A Rambling Poet ~

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Mother to Son

You live in another world
spiritual realm your heaven
a powerful entity in itself.

The watching of your loved ones
from the angels sky
sprinkling your wishes
of joy to them all.

Never missing anything
from the highest plane
where you can move on
to another journey.

The past, present and future
are all multi-dimensional
in the hall of records
where past judgments lie.

Spread your angel wings
fly down to me upon the earth
so I can feel you once more.

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There is Life Beyond Death's Door Part II

missing dog, Blackie. Besides the sound of our voices, the hymns playing softly in the 
background, the noise made by the porcelain plates as Mama wiped and put them 
away, the humming of the refrigerator’s motor, the house was quiet.  No body knew 
what had happened to Blackie.  We were really concerned about the whereabouts 
of the dog, even though Papa had assured us that he would return at some point.  
Since the funeral, he had vanished.  Even the old man who lived across the street 
from us and who loved Blackie, had not seen him, nor had any of the other 
neighbors. We had searched in all the usual places.  He had never run away from 
home before.  As far as I remember, Blackie never did come back home.

As Papa sat in his usual chair, quietly playing with the food on his plate, the kitchen 
door opened, and in walked Thomas, Brian’s best friend. They were the same age, 
and were very close even though they did not attend the same school, or the same 
church. The two had become friends since they met at a Junior Boys Scouts meeting 
at the age of seven. Thomas lived some distance away but they maintained a 
special friendship.  Out of school, wherever Brian was, so Thomas would be. They’d 
both turned fourteen last September. Throughout those years they still were active 
members of the Boys Scout, and had risen together in rank. Thomas had been away 
on the recent Scouting trip. They had traveled to a neighboring country for a Scouts’ 
Jamboree. Brian should have gone too but something to do with school exams came 
up so he couldn’t go.  Thomas had just returned from the Jamboree that Saturday 
afternoon, the second week after Brian’s burial. Lena, Reggie and I got out of 
our chairs and ran to greet him. It was like welcoming him and Brian home as the 
two were always together. He picked Lena up as he greeted our parents.  Mama 
standing at the sink, turned around, took one look at him and walked briskly, almost 
running out of the kitchen, with my other sister in tow.

Papa greeted Thomas, his voice almost inaudible.  Thomas looked puzzled. I guess 
he thought he had walked in during a family argument. He was about to turn back 
and walk out because he felt a little intrusive, I guess.  It was extremely quiet in the 
room; very unusual when everyone was in Mama’s kitchen at the same time.  And 
Mama, walking

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For Mark

His home is always
where he is –

Beneath the trestles
of clattering trains, he huddles
in the damp & sandy wind,
eyes across the ocean,
sandwich crumbled,
filthy in his coat pocket

His home is just
where he is –

Now inside a box behind a dumpster in the middle of downtown nowhere, 
surrounded by the 
bizarre aroma-therapy of steaming, festering garbage 
His home is exactly
where he can
no longer go –

Inside the placid, welcoming walls
of the house
where his sanity lives


He stumbles, aching,
crying from his
crying from his soul –

His pants encrusted 
with what he could not leave behind, 

His hands 
clutching a desperately empty bottle, 
His hair in stringy,
unkempt ribbons,
slapping his face in the wind


He, trapped & terrified
in a life beyond his living,
seeks suicide
by public transportation,
wishing it could all
just be over

Wishing he could somehow
force his feet to take his body
into the path
of the oncoming bus –

But the driver
will not mow him down,
will not have him on her conscience –

She refuses his anguished gift
of responsibility
& slams the bus to a squealing,
furious, bone-shaking stop
& screams at him


I will not do it!"

Sad, relieved, horrified, pleased,
he views the scene as
one more evidence
of his beleaguered, hated,
ridiculed immortality

And laughs his drug-indentured way
back to the motel 
which has a dumpster 
behind which he can once more 
box himself in 
until he thinks he can afford to
take the public transportation system on 

And maybe this time, he’ll 
find his win, 


be successful 

And never have to live 
inside these walls of pain 


which he only knows as home 

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What's Love Got To Do With It?

When she is pregnant, the father long gone, the street her home, she knows she cannot 
afford, or provide for you, yet, will not allow you to be forcefully taken from her womb.

When you are born, she leaves you on a door stoop instead of in a garbage dump.

Where after years of hardship and pain, she finds you once again, you reject her, then 
chastise her sin, send her away, do not let her defend against the hell she lives in.

When you marry in front of all your family and friends, the only one absent, your mother, 
you give nary a thought whether she is alive or dead.

When the day comes your children wonder why you never talk about your mother, they 
question what she did, to make you despise her, like no other.

When you realize there was no shame, she gave life over death, she gave you a chance you 
would never have, a home with a bed, instead of a crate over a grate.

When finally you search, years go by, until one day you discover her upon her death bed, 
your head awash with memories missed, those, you will never have, you look upon a face, 
you once looked upon with hate, tears held in check all these years, flow freely, 
overwhelmed with emotion, barely able to speak, she takes your hand, smiles, then closes 
her eyes.

The last she sees, her son at her bedside telling her he loves her, he wants more time, she 
dies peacefully, happier in this moment than any other time.

What's Love Got To Do With It?

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the shadows are memories which haunt me, they make me a slave to the past
only time can erase this mental pain and set me free to love at last
the shadows are good and bad times in love that happened not too long ago
while i am a slave to the shadows, my lover has started on a new love to know

the shadows grow in the moonlight and fade away in the sun
my nightlife is full of memories, my days are empty--until I become one.

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Billie's Voice

I do not think I will go to heaven
Since the life I led in the past
Will surely send me on that path
Straight to hell with vastly heat

I did my best to make things right
I quit the drugs and the life that was fast
To give birth to my only child, my son, my life
For which the life of the past will catch on me one day
I only wish I knew how it would portray

I fell in love for the first time past forty
With the best love ever to stow upon me
A women would you believe – she set me free
To be who I wanted – to fly with ease
We have such a bond unlike the others
My eternal comeuppance I believe

There are no drugs in me except to cure HEP C
A mistake I made before I was twenty
My life is the best it has been for what I see
I did not count on parting this new life I lead
I did my best to make things right
Now my only prayer is to see the light

I lived with my heart and loved with my mind
I touched many souls as I did my own
I had no idea how life could be
If it were not for that fast life in my teens
I would still be here in this life, with all my dreams
G. Goodwin 9/11/07

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Tristan & Isolde

From two seperate worlds,
Seperated by war-
Unaware to the fact
They're both looking for more

She is bound to be wed
And they're doomed from the start.
But, ironically, they kiss-
It's easy to see they'll be torn apart.

Only he could deserve
Such unsurpassed beauty-
She only hopes for a land
Where there is no duty.

They will never be apart again.
Though his wound is not mending,
They finally got their freedom and 
That's what I call a happy ending.

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Oh the changes I would have made.
I would have gone sleigh riding in the winter's snow,
I would have realized the miracle of the rainbow...
gazed at a sunset across the meadow.
It seems not so very long ago.
Forgive me Lord. I just didn't know!


Oh the changes I would have made.
I would have hiked through a forest and hugged a tree...
spent more time with friends and family...
learned the lesson of the honeybee.
Unawareness is such a tragedy;
I was blind and did not see!


Oh the changes I would have made.
I would have reflected more on what would carryon...
that which would endure long after I was gone...
thanked The Lord for the gift of each new dawn...
discovered the purpose of being born...
regrets forever I will mourn.


Oh what different choices I would have made.
I would have set my mind on things above...
laughed more, played more, and shared God's Love...
listened to the songs of the turtledove;
for this is what life is made of.
God is the hand and we are the glove.

My eyes are slowly closing.
Something is happening to me!
There's a Bright Light I see!
I feel such peace...a serenity!

Milton L. Delgado
October 6, 1998

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When I was young, I had these dolls, in various guise and shapes,
The first was been the simplest; in it no single garment
or any ornament embedded, but only made of clay and heights four inches,
“Imperfect doll!” I exclaimed and clothed the doll in scarlet dress.
The second doll was only made of scarves of woolen rags in many color set and 
“Imperfect doll!” I exclaimed again, and dangled some trinkets on its neck.
My third doll was more ornate and made of wood, which was slightly rough,
But its face and clothes were not alike from me; but of Japanese in a kimono
with a sash of obi around its tiny waist and wooden sandals on its feet,
“Imperfect doll!” I said, and furnished it with gesso.
Then my fourth doll was made of ivory, and clothed in simple bulk skin,
“Imperfect doll!” I said, and adorned its clothes with lace.
And my last doll was made of bisque from Germany:
fair-haired and fair skinned, until I noticed, some hairpiece fell as I untangled,
“Imperfect doll!” I exclaimed, and put a bonnet on its head.

And then I grew and see much of the world; more than my dolls, more than 
Like a woman I met, who’s very fond of costly suits and polish gems
only to make cover of her unwanted aspects,
“Pity!” I said, “she hides her imperfection!”
Then this bachelor who’s tired and aged, but still aspires for lofty aims,
“Alas!” I said “he’s blinded much of his imperfection!”
And to this lady I knew, who’s young and fair but lost a man she dear,
and grieves to him excessively, with no more time to stare and glad to other 
“Alas!” I said” she mourns too much her imperfection!”
And for poor man I knew, complaining day and night to his misfortune,
“Alas!” I said, “he hasn’t done a thing to his imperfection!”
And to this dying man of severe illness, reproachful to his fate,
“Poor man”, I said, “he ought to know that death is not an imperfection.”
And lastly, when I meet someone who grief or find no peace and happiness,
“Alas!” I’ll say, “you ought to see that life is made of many imperfections!”

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-Every Other Guy-

You gave me this look the last time I was with you
Asked, "What?"
Made the comment, "The way you look at me."
"How's that?", I asked.
"Like I'm every other guy."

This moment caught me off guard
Don't know what to say or how to react
It is true though
Maybe it's been the space between us
Or the year that's past

Call you sweetie, or sweetheart even darling and dear
Placed you in that category of meaningless
Someone I know but don't care much about
I have no intentions of wanting those feelings back

As I get my things together
See the hurt in your eyes
You say you understand
Place a light kiss on my forehead

I walk to the door
Hesitate, look back at what I used to have
Smile when that devilish grin appears
Wink, wave goodbye, I walk out on every other guy

For My Cutie A.H. Sorry for life not working out.

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take me from this misery

* this poem has been inspired by Breaking Benjamin's Dear Agony....*
* and was written in memory of my grandmother Jeanne Gula *

My name is Jeanne Gula, today i found out that i have cancer.
Its in a tumor, that's very painful, its very rare, its 3 cancers into 1
they already took it out once... and it came back.
The doctor said it was to late to take it out again.
Its not the perfect end to my life, but its all i can have..
I don't really know how much more time i have.
I used to be able to walk by myself, with out help.
I can't believe this happened to me... of all people.
It's be coming torture, they called in hospices.
This cant be good...
I'm in my own home, slowly dieing...
I really don't want to leave, I will leave so many loved ones behind..
So I think i will stay a little longer...
Its January, i now can't do anything by myself, i have to rely on family to help with
everything, my organs are starting to slowly shut down, its very painful to go through.
but my daughters birthday is coming soon... I'm not going to leave now... i don't want her
to be sad, on such a happy day.
I can't hold on much longer.
I'm now out of this misery, its feb. 2nd, and I'm finally free.
Free, of all this pain, and I'm healthy again, I can walk, with out hanging on to anything
or anyone, I can finally be independent again...
now no one cry for me, because i lived a full long life, and no longer in pain..
I love you all.
Love Grammy

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Bittersweet Wisdom

Death, in its unhurried wisdom
ends all doubt and sorrow.
It is a lasting remedy for all
illness, insecurity and loneliness.
The finality of it ends all pain, with
a sweetness not otherwise known.
It's sweetness is known only by those,
who, in their passing,
have smelled its fragrance.
The pain of those left behind
has a fragrance all its own, a bittersweet
emanation that assails the
senses with its pungency. The strength of
the void, left by the passing
of one loved seems endless.
Time and faith, working in unison,
will lessen the strength and fill the void.

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Death and beyond

Hours transpired like every other day. Perched on the trees, sparrows chirped, keeping the dreadful silence at bay, and sunlight across the land, whipped. Laid there on the grassy lawn, was a lovely lass dressed in a corset. Smelling the blossoms like a fawn, enchanted was she by nature's best. Up the hill ran a hysterical lad, his face as white as a sheet, shattered her heart to more than just a shard, and made her swoon to her feet. Minutes rolled to hours, and hours to days, and there she sat like a stone. With her eyes so lifeless and cold, her once rosy lips now as dry as a bone. Draining her blood was her soul, turning her visage as of a ghoul. Neither did she eat, nor drink, as she stooped over life's brink. Deep down was an endless bottom, which her rotting psyche couldn't fathom. The day came when her eyes lit up, like a hopeless spark in a dark cavern. She let go and set her eyes on the stars afar, and said "I'll be there wherever you are".

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Waking I find
Another chill encrusted day 
Awaits me
Where I shall walk alone in step of time
To the blighted rhythm 
Of what must be
And the looming shadows 
Of what might have been

My only solace 
Comes of looking back
Upon the horizon of 
Memories past
Where the fluxing tapestry 
Of life and chance 
Carried you soft and safe 
Into my arms

And I held you 
And you held me
And for a time
No wind of change
Could bear us sway

But somehow…
Some dreadful way how
My eyes left the beauty of yours
My arms reached out
For ambitions of pointless return
And in deafened silence
You slipped from me 
For I held you not

And now I am left to search 
Across the rolling linen waves
Of life and consequence
Holding hope that
Fate will grant me pardon
And bring you to me 
Once again

But I age in waiting
I tire of hoping
I stammer in broken steps
For each night your vigil kept
Brings me aside my bed
To utter yet again 
A prayer unanswered

                 …Jeff Bresee   

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A Modern Travesty

I Did Not Consume My Exquisitely Delicious Boston Cream At The Local donut shop on East Colonial Boulevard For Breakfast This Morning While On My Ravenous Way To My Place Of Employment .

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My Only Nightmare

I have only ever had one nightmare that kept me awake at night and has I sink ever deeper within myself.I can't help but think how I had everything I ever wanted friends, loved ones, people who cared and were always there.But one by one they started to fade away.Slowly at first one or two would leave then faster and faster still. I tried so hard to hold on to them to keep them close but they just faded faster.Until my nightmare became reality and I was alone.

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Retail Therapy

Yesterday I found myself slumped
into the saddest of trenches,
for no particular reason
other than a new moon cycle.
Instead of flopping myself
in my studio’s armchair to write,
I drove to the mall for an outing 
probably more expensive than 
what a therapist would charge
for an hour in his armchair. 

I wandered into the shoe store—
something about leather 
which grounds me, whether
the flimsy strapless heels 
or the closed-toed pumps or walkers. 

Already lugging two bags, I meander
into the lingerie store for silk 
to accentuate my only remaining 
middle-age curves, skipping over the thongs
and hesitating at the push-up section.

I try on four or five pairs of underwear
to accentuate my butt area,
the part of a woman which shares the 
secret of her fitness, that I work on 
each morning at seven.

I arrive at the boutique who sells my favorite 
blouses, gather some more bags, walking out
with an almost terminal case of rope burn,
until I finally decide it’s time to head back to my car. 
On my way I stop, smile, and realize 
there’s no better way to fight trench warfare.

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Jesus' dead body is taken down from the cross slowly,
Nicodemus' hands support it while His mother Mary,
not contorted by grief, is consoled by a glorious vision,
which will be revealed in the majestic morning of resurrection;
Mary Magdalene, not a virgin or chaste woman...once a part of the sinful world,
shares in that undying hope when Christ will be awaken by the trumpets sound.

Carved in precious marble by Michelangelo's masterful hands and ingenuity,
this awesome depiction is more intense than his own undisputed religiosity,
Christ still bleeds for Mankind's salvation, but death will not prevail;  three long
days He will lay down in the darkest and coldest tomb, and towards dawn
He will be resurrected by the voice of the Father whom He invoked before He died...
yes, sorrow is deeply expressed by these three figures, but their tears will be exiled!  

And Michelangelo abandoned the unfinished sculpture due to a marble's imperfection,
not realizing that he had captured the excruciating expression of the sacrificial Lamb,
and before these wailing faces, he must have knelt and fervently prayed,
humbly staring at Christ's lifeless head drooping and believing in Man's redemption;
and Nicodemus' face has indeed Michelangelo's resemblance, exuding much revelation... 
come closer, unbeliever and stare at this magnificent sculpture with profound admiration. 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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His young heart departed from 
that adored town adorned by the September's frost,
wisked away by an uncaring father
whose extramarital affair
marred the family's harmony;
and his pretty mother drying away
his tears so innocent and warm,
to console him with a touch that had no haste!

That unspoken wish lingered avidly
through the saddened and turbulent years,
resisting to give in to languidness... 
imagining, at night, each star gleaming
over his friend:  the moon which went wandering
to find that little boy, who loved to listen to the tales
of warriors and heroes that defiantly
wouldn't fall out of the History books!

He went on living, but couldn't forget at all
what he left behind:  a precious friend
even worthier than a treasure of gold;
and why had he to fulfill fate's prophecy in due time...
by sacrificing everything he wasn't willing to,
and opposing his will could have helped him turn the tide?
And as he grew older in foreign soil, 
it all became clearer to him that truth had lost its virtue!  

How could life deny him its fairness,
and make him choose at an age of fancifulness? 
To have outgrown time had its disadvantage,
depriving him of a wonderful youth 
not lived in spontaneousness 
and to have the chance to dream by night,
and, by morning, wake up in a brighter light...
to pursue another dream into the sunset! 

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There I Stood

There I stood,
Taking deep breaths-
Overwhelmed with fear.
Then I took a step,
Stepped to the edge.
In a flash
The curtains raised
And you shoved me 
To my fate,
Because you knew
I would be disheartened
And back away.
I knew you were still there,
Urging me to face the music.
There I stood (again),
Wide-eyed and trembling-
All eyes on me.
My heart began to race;
My hands became sweaty;
I thought I would surely faint.
I retreated.
I ran and I reached, 
But I couldn't get to you-
I panicked.
You looked puzzled,
So I just settled down,
Stood still,
And tears came.
You came to me
With open arms,
Embraced me;
And in an instant, 
You pulled away
And my knees felt weak.
You ushered me to go on.
I turned and I faced them,
All awaiting.
I began to cry,
Until I recalled the feel
Of the hug you gave me.
I looked up, 
And the audience's eyes 
All welled up with tears-
Every one wanting to hold me.
I dried my face and,
I told my story.
Every painful detail.
They were attentive,
All knowing the pain I had.
When I had finished,
They all came to comfort me,
Shake my hand, 
Embrace me, 
Dry the remaining tears.
After some time had passed,
The majority had left-
No goodbyes.
Few had stayed.
They made me smile, 
Reveal my laugh once again.
They assured me
All would be fine,
And, eventually, it was.
I recall, for a second,
I was not being addressed,
So I turned,
Looked back to 
The drawn curtain.
You were not there.
I felt almost like panicking again.
I couldn't believe it. 
The one who had pushed me,
Encouraged me all the way,
The one who helped me through it
Was gone forever.
There I stood.
Lonely again.
Scared again.
Crying again.

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There is Life Beyond Death's Door

Mama stood at the kitchen sink, quietly drying the dishes and putting them away.  I 
she was crying because every now and then she would wipe her eyes with the hem 
of her 
apron.  She hadn’t been eating much, lately. She looked so tired and drained.  She 
was a 
tall, beautiful woman.  At 40 years old she looked as if she had just turned 30.  She 
was on a 
leave of absence and had been keeping busy around the house, constantly 
scrubbing and washing.  In hindsight, now I know she was only trying to keep busy 
so she 
wouldn’t think about her first born son. Mama had slept so much the week before. I 
remember wondering, back then, asking myself, was she also sick?  I was too afraid 
to ask 
out loud.  I would lie next to her in her bed and watch her sleep.  Her stirring 
reinsured me 
that she was fine-only sleeping.  You see, my oldest sister, Winnie, after Brian died, 
explained to me what dying was.  So then I knew that dying was like sleeping, only 
never wake up. I was not going to let my Mama die also. I would bring into her bed, 
coloring books and pencils and would sit on that bed until she woke up. Sometimes, 
I would 
fall asleep, then awake to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, saying her rosary 
and I 
would join her. In some ways I was like Mama.  We were both of quiet spirits but 
she was 
strong and also an extrovert.  She made friends easily.  I on the other hand, was 
stubborn and introverted. Later on as I got older, our personality would clash on 

It was a Saturday afternoon in May.  We were all sitting at the kitchen table.  We, 
kids were 
eating all the sweets because Mama and Papa were distracted. There was still 
plenty of food 
left over from the week before. Mama’s many friends had really showered her with 
They had cooked and cleaned and comforted her as much as they could. Mama and 
very seldom ate any food, which seemed to last forever. My older siblings were lost 
in their 
own thoughts and grief, my younger sister, Lena, my cousin Reggie and I ate 
heartily of 
anything we liked. Being the youngest of the group, we did not fully understand 
what was 
going on.  We were talking amongst ourselves about our

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Did You Arrive Before the Fall

Your bones are charred black and your skin pulled tight,
Red and sunken eyes, boasting filth and pain, hurt and loss.
Betrayed on a bed of the cotton kingdom,
Springs stick out like trees from soil.

Did you arrive before the fall?

Troy on his empire and you on your drugs,
Each grave from the same effect.
Blinds blinding dust from the peeking of eyes,
No sun in a room no one’s known or left behind.

Did you arrive before the fall?

Needles and alcohol litter every inch of carpet,
And you’re just another stain to its story.
Tourniquet, oh tourniquet, can you bring the empty now?
Don’t hold back, let it free, and flush the toxin to every vein.

Did you arrive before the fall?

Poison stock piled to the brim, I’m surprised you didn’t drown.
Baring sin, bearing secrets and I wish you could’ve saved yourself.
Falling to my knees and so much closer to your end.

Did you arrive before the fall?

A death you didn't attend.

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Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Wondering the aisles 
In search of the perfect bassinet
Choosing between the wood and the metal
Selecting the perfect theme of it all

Then out of nowhere a loud bang 
Silence then another pop
What in the world is going on?
Looking for protection, she hides from the sound

Behind the secound corner, who is that man?
What is that he is carrying? Is she in any danger?
Oh Lord please don't let him do anything
For inside the woman, a infant she was bearing

He holds her done, puts the gun to her head
Is anyone to witness this?, can anyone stop him
She tries to tell him that she is no threat
She won't tell anyone, just please let the baby live

But he doesn't seem to listen to her words
A loud shot and she's falls down to the floor
Her pulse slowly weakens, then she is gone
The baby's heart no longer can beat without her

The guy escapes with no harm
The cops have no trace
The lady's family has no comfort
All because wrong time, wrong place

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Grandma, when Grandpa went to Vietnam
And left you at home alone
Did you ever think he wouldn't return
And be forever gone

No, dear I thought he'd be back
And never leave again
But that crazy war in Vietnam
Was one we couldn't win

Well, Grandma, where is he now
Is he still fighting the war
Will he ever come home to be with us
Why did he go so far

My child your Grandpa had to go 
And fight for freedom's sake
But he won't be coming home again
And that's so hard to take

But Grandma, if he's not coming home
Why did he have to stay
I'd like to see Grandpa again
So he and I could play

Well, son I'm sorry to tell you this
There is no other way
Your Grandpa may be a prisoner of war
Or what the Army calls MIA

Well, why is he in prison
Did he commit a crime
I don't understand, Grandma
It's been a long, long time

Yes, dear, you're right, it's been so very long
Since Grandpa went away
But all the love he gave to us
Is with us every day

You're right Grandma
He really did love us all
He had to go to Vietnam
To answer his country's call

My child you are so very wise
And one day you'll understand
Your Grandpa had to go and fight
For the freedom of our land

Grandma, I love you so
And I'll never go away
I won't leave you home alone
Home is where I'll stay

Thank you dear, that's very kind
But Grandma will be alright
I love you too
God is my guiding light

He's my light too, just like Grandpa said
He's always by our side
He helps us every day
And dries the tears we've cried

	Curtis Moorman
	June 17, 2011

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suicidal poem

I was looking through a magazine when something caught my eye.
A picture of a girl, the words "attempted suicide."
The photograph was taken on the day she turned sixteen.
The story told of how the very next day she O.D'd.
Her face no longer innocent, determined to conceal
a pain so deep she made herself believe could not be healed.
She dressed in only black, and when her father asked her why
she said "I make myself ugly because that's how I feel inside.
Tangled in a web of sin, religion played its part
so she found her love in heroin and worshipping the dark.
The day she turned sixteen she sat up in her room alone
and vented all her anger through a suicidal poem.
The next night as she closed her eyes, the needle in her vein,
she closed the door behind her on a world of only pain.
Her mother in a storm of tears, her father broken down
when they find her in her bedroom, laying naked on the ground.
They blame themselves unbendingly, determined that they've failed.
The train they've tried so hard to steer has finally derailed.
They stand beside the bed as she's unconsciess in her sleep.
The doctor says she's fighting for a life she wants to keep.
Hope can be a crutch, but sometimes hopes not what it takes
when its not the leg that's broken, but inside when something breaks.

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So long and farewell

A life long friend,
A soul mate,
A heroine, a star
A woman so phenomenal,
The very best by far

I never thought I’d have to 
Say these last goodbyes
So long and farewell my hero
A girls so strong and wise

These last few weeks of life 
Since your diagnosis
Have been so tough, but you pulled through
So difficult to notice

One day we will meet again
And live our lives together
We’ll start a new life, you and me
And share one heart forever

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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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                          As we embark on the 10 year anniversery of 9/11,
                  I look up in the sky and realize how lucky I am to be alive.
                   So many people lost their loved ones on that tragic day.
        All the brave, couragous, selfeless people that ran in to help total strangers!
         They never for once thought about their life but, only wanted to others survive.
            The day the two towers fell, those suicide bomber's died and went to hell!
               The United States suffered a great loss, so much death was in the air.
        I pray every night for those who lost their life, for their families to keep astride.
          I know what it is like to lose loved ones but, in the mist of all the tragedy, 
                           a phoenix shall rise and the eagel shall fly high!
                        The terrorists thought we would just run and hide.
                             But, what we did was fly OLD GLORY HIGH! 
              We as a nation banded together and helped pray for one another.
                    September 11,2001, we will never foreget all the losses.
               All the people that did not survive, they are watching over us,
                                              dancing high in the skies!

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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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Last One Loving...

I got a call, I am to report for military duty in the morning..
I reluctantly tell my wife as she was doing her usual cleaning.

She covers her face with her hands and begins to cry.
I gathered her in my arms and told her I would be back by her side.

Holding my wife, I drifted off on the couch, listening to music.
She was singing and humming quietly to the songs and their lyrics.

She tells me she understands and shows her love and support.
Morning finally came, and she drove me to the airport.

We exchange vows again, and I kiss her tenderly..
She whispers that she will remember this moment blithely.

She received his letters, read and cherished every one of them.
Thinking of the times they were together and the essence of him.

A month went by and she tried every possible way to find her soldier.
She closed her pocket filled eyes and prayed he was out of danger.

Three months passed by without word of his well being.
Trying to stay positive but, in her heart was a dreadful feeling.

She felt so oppressed and worried her hands were trembling.
She was weak and weary, her gait was somewhat stumbling.

She hasn't slept, it seems~since he left.
She takes some sleeping pills and takes a long deep breath.

Couple of days go by and he "rolls" through the doors.
He looked at her paleness and begins to feel remorse.

His thoughts start to torment, right or wrong, was now confusing..
Tears fall from his weary face, his mind is loosing…

She deserves better, he tries to reason with himself.
Reaching, he loads the contents~placing the box back on a shelf......

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3,000 Miles Separate Fate

There you were
Just a blur
In the spur
Of the moment

A spontaneous rush
Of flushed confusion
An overwhelming lasting impression

This brief encounter
Bringing two strangers
A precious and a joyous sensibility
That's all too serene to be fiction

Effervescent euphoria
Permeates its way through the senses
Infiltrating effortlessly

Why did you have to go
And get on that plane

Now you're never coming home

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Innocent Child

Raping my soul
with your angry thrusts
of domination
ceasing to exist
of your internal penetration
and your violation of my spirit.

Lost and confused
my feelings and emotions 
became immune.

A ruined and battered person
from your violent anger
and negative power.

Keeping me prisoner
in my own cell of fears.

Sleepless nights
nightmares of your face
reliving those moments
over and over again in my head.

You stole my essence.

It was not yours to begin with.

Robbing my innocence with your sick
and twisted ways.

I was just a child who thought it was a game.

Trying to lure me into hidden shadows to do the same.

I ran away but could not forget
or forgive without regret.

Feeling ashamed and blaming myself
for something I did not create.

I was too young to understand
to heal from my ordeal.

Time stood still when I was seven
from my living hell to my beautiful heaven.

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Love Blinded Him

Tears roll down a young mans cheek
As darkness rolls in overhead 
The pain is reflected outside his window
As rain rolls down the glass
His hands shake as tears mix with rage
As anger takes hold he holds no regrets

Vengeance Blinds Him

Rain falls on a young mans head 
As he walks methodically, 
On a mission, determined to get even
As rain rolls off his hat
His fists clench as rage mixes with hate
As the target comes into sight he never thinks twice

Pride Blinds Him

Fists fly from a young mans body
As he connects with his target time and again
Fatigue sets in
As rain still falls
His knuckles throb as blood and rain mix
Knowing his victim hurt her he holds no regret

LOVE blinded him

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The Wind

A man leaps from a tower's edge
And plummets to the ground.
His eyes are closed; his hands are clean.
He only wants to hear the sound
Of wisdom of the wind.

The seconds slow as he descends.
Floor by floor, he trickles down.
A sense of peace surrounds him so
That he could see the city drown
In wisdom of the wind.

He sees his image fall with him
Along the tempered glass.
A fighter for a worthy cause.
"At least that's what he thought he was,"
Says wisdom of the wind.

"I've seen this man do heinous things.
It's good that he jumped off.
The world's a better place because
This man has given up his life
To me," so screams the wind.

"But, as he's falling to the earth,
I think I feel a tear.
Now why would such a wicked man
Have anything at all to fear,
While falling through myself?"

"I think I'll just sit back and watch
This monster die tonight.
There might be something hiding from
My ever-present, clever sight
That glides through all the wind."

The man continued falling down
Until he reached the street.
A car swerved by the sudden splash.
The driver ran from the concrete
To speculate the scene.

The corpse is resting in the road
Amongst a pile of leaves.
A picture, then, falls from the sky.
This picture of a freshened grave,
Blown in by the wind.

On the back, the message writ:
"Here lies my little girl.
She was my life, my hope, my all.
And now that she has left this world,
I guess I'm leaving, too."

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© By Holly W. Schwartztol

Early on that morning
I wracked my brain
Trying to solve
A computer glitch

As I left the wretched machine
I rose and felt suddenly dizzy
And as the room spun

I chided myself
Saying this isn’t worth
Your having a stroke

I lay down on the bed
Listened to a disc
That promised 
Relaxation and rest

My head stopped throbbing
And the phone rang
The caller ID said

What was she doing at 
Home in mid-morning?
Only the voice on 
The other end
Wasn’t hers

But the 
Maid I’d never met
Telling me of mother’s 
Neck pain and strange speech

And then I knew
That my pain had 
Really belonged to her

That my dizziness
Reflected hers and that
It was she who was
In fact having a stroke

Frantic calls ensued
Between Miami and New York
A neurologist
Saying that the stroke 

Had been massive 
That the prognosis was grim
Words of paralysis
And irretrievable
Brain damage

I faxed the living will
Which is really the
Will of the living isn’t it?

We sat by her bedside
For four endless days
And then her breath
Was no more and she was gone.

And at 62 I was 
Suddenly an orphan
Both parents gone
The older brother
Having gone 40 years ago

How do I live in
This world
On this planet
As the lonely satellite

The last member
Of my nuclear family
Here to sift through
The pictures

And the letters
And all the memorabilia that 
Make up a life

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The Curse of Unlimited Time

“Don’t forget to take your dose.”
My stomach in knots, as I shakily spoke.
“Baby, you know my death is coming close.”
“But mommy, I don’t want you to go.”

Doctors walked past,
Blurs of white stepping in and out fast,
As my mother and I tried to make the night last,
Pulling out memories and revisiting the past.

All of our ‘remember when’s’,
Made me wish I was there again,
Back when I thought there was time to spend,
With my mom, on who I could always depend.

“Why’d this have to happen now?”
My lips trembled as thoughts were spoken aloud.
“How can we change it, baby? Please, tell me how.”
“Cancer can’t take you! It’s not allowed!”

I crawled up beside her,
Beside my hero, my mother,
I heard the slow heart of my source of will-power,
And cursed the sickness that absorbed and devoured.

My mind rushed with things I needed to say,
Secrets that I kept so they’d stay out of the way.
But I was cut short as time ticked away,
And only one memory in my mind began to play.

“Remember when I started to cry,
That one day you never told me goodbye?
I always knew it was a silly reason why,
But you came back anyways and this was your reply.”

“My pretty little princess, I love you!
And I will always know you love me too.
So if I forget to say bye, please don’t be blue,
Because our bond is strong and will always stay true.”

The memory made up for things I couldn’t tell her,
And in this moment it made me feel the slightest bit better.
But yet all these emotions were flooding like water,
As I knew I was going to lose my mommy forever.

“I promise I love you baby, that’s all you need to know,”
And this time it was her voice that shakily spoke.
“I’m not scared of death, I’m just scared of letting you go.”
She winced in pain, death was too close.

“Mommy!” I screamed, scared out of my mind.
She smiled, then it faded as she laid there and died.
It’s indescribable what loss and longing I felt inside,
My mind went numb as I couldn’t bring myself to cry.

I need you,
I want you,
I miss you…

I love you mommy.

Dedicated to all who have lost their moms.
In sickness or old age,
Whatever it may have been,
This is for you.

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Taken: Part 1

Better to never touch than never be able to let go
Suppose that’s how it works, but how would he know?
He slowly lifts up his head and opens his eyes
To see there’s no life left to live within the scope of this light

Here he can see that everyone’s gone, everyone left
The shadows give his mind room to play
They bring back the ones he needs to feel home
To make the beating in his chest hurt a little less
Complacency brings the warmth back to his hands
Just as they used to be before the cold came to embrace him
Hands that held so much, fought so many battles
Once had a dream, once served a purpose
But now they hang there empty and aching
No strength left to fight, but is just as well
As there are no more battles left to lose
No burdens left to carry, no faces left to leave
His shoulders slump too low to hold up his head any longer
Corrugated roof finally gives underneath the rain
Curses this city and its apathetic elements
Automatons with hearts, but still without feeling
The bastard children of a father that abandoned them to their own demise
He hates them all as they keep walking, uncaring
Either a hamburger or a loaded gun would suffice
Maybe not; he almost enjoys feeling this unique
No one else hurts as much as he does
No one else ever had as much to lose as he did
Break in concentration; a strangely dressed man throws a card towards him
He knows it’s not trash as the man actually looked at him before he threw it
“Chance of a lifetime: One game, two resulting prizes.”
Ten o’clock and he’s waiting for the door to open
Finally, an over-sized man lets him in and shows him where to sit
Grateful to be out of the wet, cold alleyway he forgets about the game
A man with a deck of cards sits down in front of him
Afterward, four other men sit down at the table
Players, he assumes...

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A Blessing In The Heat (Part 2)

Johnny Clare is an example of many a young man who Cowboy'd in the truest sense of the word. He did a job. He did it well. Though he met an untimely end, his life did not go unnoticed. Continental Oil Company put up a monument to a young man who worked for them, but Larry McWhorter's words made him real. The essence of who he was is immortalized in that poem. It is more than a poem about one is a poem about every Cowboy who ever rode for the Brand. It is a poem about the heart and soul of men who built our country through hard work and sacrifice. It is a poem about one man's basic belief that time may march on, but those everyday Cowboys like Johnny Clare will not be forgotten. The monument stands as a reminder of "where," but Larry McWhorter's words stand as a reminder of "why." His words, a tribute to the spirit of man and a lesson on how to live what you love.

I cried that day. Tears of joy for having shared this moment with Larry and Andrea; for having one of my heroes of Cowboy Poetry recognize me and for his gift of words to me. We have been friends since. I love and respect him and Andrea; because they are good, kind, strong people of the land with deep conviction in their faith and strong relationship with the Savior. They live each day with grace, they give that grace to others and they make all strangers friends. Proud am I that I know them. Lucky am I that I got to go to Weatherford, Texas that day.

I have learned that it's not the trail we ride, but the tracks we leave behind for others to follow that matters. Time may march on, but word and deed live on forever; as does the spirit of any person dedicated to living life to the fullest while serving their fellow man. The impression we leave is our memorial to this earthly life. Building a monument with words and telling the stories about others so they are never forgotten is our memorial
to those we love and admire. Johnny Clare, Larry McWhorter, all those men I grew up with and those I am privileged to call my friends; all living life their way by the Grace of God, all fighting the good fight and marching forward no matter the obstacles, all inspiring us to live life to its fullest. When it comes to great men of heart and spirit the memory never fades and the words of praise are endless. And that, my friends, is the greatest monument of all.

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The Falling: part I


Loud noise.

but it was not just noise, no, not to her.
It was the wild cries from the heavens, calling out to her, reassuring her that everything will be ok, that there is somebody out there who understands, who is just like her.
She emerges from her throne, in her cold, abandon dungon, in her lonly, abandon castle where she is kept prisoner. Kept prisoner from her dreams, her temptations, herself.


The scent stunns her.
Memories from her former life proceed to play like a movie in her memory...
a movie that she can not pause, can not forget.
She stumbles, -afraid to move for the thought that this magical moment may dissapear if she becomes too hasty- to her only escape.
Destroying the barriers that stand in her path.

Ice cold.
The tiny rain drops fall from the sky,
releasing her temporarily from her own personal hell.
From judgment.
From criticism.
From the abandonment that overpowers her.

Lifting her pale, desolate face to the sky
she lets the rain wash away...
Wash away the hate
Wash away the pain
Wash away the lonliness
Wash away the end.

She cries.
No one would notice, the rain unselfishly disguises her pain so any on lookers would assume that the moisture is just from the malicious storm.
The wind.
So rude, so loud, whips past her.
Attempting to knock the fragile being to the ground.
But she is strong, stronger than she thinks.
She is not phased by it's attempt.
Mother nature is kind.
The heavens cry out again,
begging the young girl to remember, to be happy.
But she cannot.
She can't breath.
She can't think.
Her heart stopped beating a long time ago.
Stopped dead in her lonly, broken chest,
and the heavens cannot understand why

No one can.
But no ones ever tried.
Suddenly, the vicious winds attack her once more,
this time getting a reaction.
A violent tremmor shakes her body
raising goosebumbps on her skin.
She barely notices.
Her imagination runs free, 
unleashing all her memories, all her former happiness.
They all consist of Him.....

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Situational Awareness Is The Undying Key

Disregard for effect
In the eye of the beholder
We sit in dire need
As the looks grow colder
Abandoned out here
At the horizon’s end 
We sleep all alone
With nothing to defend

The dreams come
But at what cost
When the lack there of
Has found us lost
The heart grows fond
In times of resistance
For reality lost touch
And with it our existence

But is that enough
To stand all alone
For solitude draws deep
Turning expressions to stone
The deals are dealt 
And dreams fell short
Where do I go from here
When every step I distort?

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The Return (A must read)

       The trumpet of the Almighty God will blow.  Then the whole world will instantaneously 
know.  That Jesus Christ has returned for his sheep.  You may miss this train if your faith has 
been asleep.  Millions of your loved ones will disappear in the twinkling of an eye.  Christians 
will be lifted up to meet Christ in the sky.  Those left behind have chosen their own path.  
When people tried to tell them about Jesus they just walked away and laughed.  It will be too 
late to repent.  Not ever hearing about Jesus can't be your argument.  For everyone in the 
world would have had their chance;  To know about Jesus the Savior in advance.  
Unbelievers need to be concerned.  Jesus Christ is going to return!
       Eventually we will watch the rise of the Man of Sin;  He will be the devil incarnate, 
wearing a seductive grin.  Millions will believe and be deceived that this man is the predicted 
Messiah.  The Bible warns us in several prophetical books,  From Ezekiel to Zechariah.  THis 
false Christ will have powers unlike this world has ever seen.  He will wear a mask of peace 
and claim he is the coming Nazarene.  People of this world will believe this lie and will 
spiritually die!  Simply put the world will follow this man blind.  This false Christ will do 
whatever necessary to get into your heart and mind.  This man will rule the One World 
Government and claim to end all bloodshed.  His actions will be so convincing, he'll even 
raise the dead!  But this is the anti-Christ, he is not the One.  He is not God's Son!  Here's 
something for the ignorant to learn.  Jesus Christ the real Son of God will return!
       This One World Government is taking place.  Get that Bible down from your bookcase, 
and you will see.  That everything is happening right now according to prophesy!  Beware as 
we watch nations turn on Israil.  More than half the world will attend it's own spiritual 
funeral!  Cataclysmic events will unfold.  World catastrophe that has been preached since the 
days of old  The American dollar has lost it's value.  A One World currency will be issued to 
me and you   Millions are currently spiritually deceased.  Even thousands of priests.  We are 
no longer the super power of the East.  So prepare to receive or reject the "mark of the 
beast."  The evil of this world will burn.  Jesus Christ the Savior will return!!!!!

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Poe Much In Little Time

Introduced to Edgar Allen Poe, many and many years ago...
By a teacher who quoted to me; of his love for Annabelle Lee
How his bride died at an early age and left him sad and depraved
This resulted in his drinking to increase because he couldn't deal with grief
Consumption of much alcohol  brought to him an early grave.

(Edgar Allen Poe, January 19, 1809 until 1849.)

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And there was Lucifer,
the proudest angel,
who envied God 
and His endless glory.
But Almighty Jehova
hurled him to Earth,
and Lucifer became 
the Serpent to cause havoc
among Nations.
Wars followed with destruction,
violence and death;
truth was veiled by deception.
Who could have defeated him...
if not Christ himself?
And because of Him,
we live with the vision of Heaven...
of governing with Him for perpetual ages. 
When Lucifer has finished
his kingdom of terror,
he'll be chained in the pit
with every soul he has deceived.
Is that a torture of eternal punishment?
It is worse than dying from an incurable disease:
with more acute pain and desire not to live!
Lucifer: the proudest angel..
willingly disobeyed his Creator,
causing rebellion and turmoil 
among obedient angels...
was he aware of the consequences?
No, jealousy blinded his conception
to foresee what was to come.

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In Your Eyes

gathering a criminal profile I shall conjure up a madman's perspective

a performance of a desperate actor

a stunning display , quite a persuasive objective

leading me through blackened allies , his premeditated grandeur

I must sit back , recall all possibilities , ponder in retrospective 

illuminating a twisted motive ,I shall gain a devastating introspective 

now you see............
I am close at hand
I am on your trail
I am a thirsty dedicated undercover detective !

the guilt I shall read in your eyes 

yes , they are the key to thy soul !

and the soul is so very reflective



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and as it began
so will it end
for we knew
times end.
there will always be He
the limits of our todays
are the promise of His tomorrow.

and as it began
it will end
for we knew
sorrow in the warmth
of the sun.
His son,
a boy so wise
to know his father
a woman
to know her life.

and as it began
so will it end
in my wait
my solitude.
I am His
he is ours
I the lesser
for he is the Love.
Mine merely a promise
to them
to know our tomorrows
and begin
as it will end

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I'd rather cease Existence

I've told you 
over and over.
I love you
isn't that enough.
But sometimes I don't
think you get it.
But I think I love
you quite too much.
I was the lucky one to get you
But yet the sad one to say good-bye.
So now when I hear in my head when you said "I love you"
The only thing I can do is remember those times and cry.

-I'd rather cease existence

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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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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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Grand Piano

I remember your fingers
upon my teeth.
We were
bread and butter;
I was le Sac and you were Pip,
a strummer and a quip,
the mesh of wet and dry
that even distance.

But how long it’s been.
My wires are shaky, achy
with desire.
Once ago,
you put your money where your mouth was,
and you took me home
and you kept me there.
Now you’re broke
you’re condensing down.
And you’ve got me quavering the silence,
longing for the final touch.

I burned and resurrected
to be this Grand Piano.
And it was you who took me!
My strings are rigid
from temptation of your wrists.
Holding on to my keys
willing for you to play
me to use me

But I’m breaking in limbo,
away from you
and I am too late
to mend you.

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-I'm Only Human-

Fell head over heals at 17
He was my first love and first love
He was larger than life, to me
Thought this is the one
What can I say, I'm only human

He asked and I did
He wanted and I gave
I opened and was his
don't remember exactly when time changed
He got upset and I blamed me
He screamed and I showed my fear
I never thought to protect myself, I was his
another day to you, but for me it changed my identity
He threw that first blow, and I fell stunned
He bruised my face, arms and body, and all I could say was "sorry"
I didn't see it coming, I was his
we were supposed to be happy, expecting our first baby
He lied and I cried
He cheated and I just looked the other way
I stayed and put up with the abuse because I was his
our daughter was six months old when time changed, again
He yelled and beat me till I was bloody and blue, and I kept saying in my 
head "Hurry up and get it over with."
He woke-up the baby and I knew, knew what he was about to do
I tried to block that fist, but he connected with her and I was no longer his

I fell out of love at the age of 20
He might of been my first, but he became my last
He was no longer larger than my life
He would never be that one
Had to learn the hard way, I'm only human

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Italy: their triumph over France

It's Sunday afternoon
bright, lovely and good for outdoor functions;
with music that soothes one's emotion,
finds strength in transformation.

What a sight to behold!
with people across the world;
watching the Soccer's World Cup in Rome,
a milestone, a great pride and honor.

In trying to embrace their triumph
Italians at large unfold;
their victory in global doors
to the minds and hearts of every culture.

A big deal of preparations,
both time and effort combined;
a view of integrated system,
shows discipline, vision, and continuation.

Identified in today's world of ambition,
with certain trends as wide as Catholic religion;
Europeans, Asians, Americans, Africans and other cultures,
expand and deepen how sports can strive for perfection.

Congratulations to all Italians! 
such a job well done 
that is enough to understand.
A graced experience, a defining moment,
to tell the world your triumph over odds.

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Who could forget what happened on that unsuspecting and sunny day,
when no visible clouds drifted over the Twin Towers?
Little after midnight, the cool rain adds to the melancholy 
of the descending angels; and I join them in prayer to remember the tragedy! 
This should be a day of remembrance, not of hatred for the ignoble acts 
the wicked committed, but would God accept unkindness instead of merciful deeds?

They called it another day of infamy,
and like Pearl Harbor we were taken by surprise;
that was an attack aimed at the military,
but on September 11 the terrorists attacked the civilians!
It seemed like lightning striking down sturdy trees,
and then fire broke out with smoke trails of a thousands feet;
" O my God! ", every employee screamed...quickly running down 
the stairs engulfed by fire...causing an indescribable chaos everywhere! 
" Take my hand, I will lead you to safety! " the firefighter said to the coughing woman. 
" Hold onto my arm! " the policeman yelled out to the frail man,
who had dropped his eyeglasses and couldn't see! 
Every firefighter and policeman acted like them, rescuing many without fearing death;
and hundreds of them, that awful morning, never returned home alive...
what a tragedy for their families that watched in horror and couldn't help!

Who wouldn't remember the courage of their noble and willing hearts?
And furthermore, who wouldn't engrave their valorous names on plaques and monuments?
Up above, by the gates of Paradise...Christ and His Father awaited them to accept their souls;
while archangels surrounding God's throne, sung hymns that humans couldn't sing...
those hymns that all the earthly heroes will sing with them when Heaven mourns again! 

Their portraits, pictures and memorabilia hang above the fireplaces,
and on the decorated walls of the victims' homes, precincts and firehouses;
how could anybody take them down as they were worthless items?
Prize them more than gold or diamonds, o friends grieving that tremendous loss even today;
don't hate those who caused you sorrow and unbearable pain, be forgiving and show mercy...
as God does toward us; o friends remember your heroes for their valor and sacrifice!  

My poem is dedicated to the victims and survivors of the September 11 attacks on America.

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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dreams under dust 1of2

i read and hear online the words 
from the other side of the world, 
the bearded angst and deeply rutted face 
of a soul with far, far too much 
sorrow to carry.

my eyes well, as i 
cannot help but too, 
share in the sorrow 
of the loss born by 
farmer Muhammad Wazir

Muhammad, from Panjwai district lost:
his mother, Shakarina,
his wife, Zahra,
his four daughters, 
Massoma, Farida, Palwasha and Bibya
two of his sons, 
Ismatullah and Faizullah,
a brother, Akhtar,
a nephew and 
a sister-in-law

Only the youngest son
Habib Shah is still alive
How can a father, a husband,
a son, a brother, bare it?

"I loved them all like 
they were parts of my body,... 
All my dreams are buried 
under a pile of dust now"
Wazir states. "My little boy, 
Habib Shah, is the only one 
left alive, and I love him 
very much" says Wazir.

I have a hard time
with the concept that it
must be God's will
to condemn anyone to this

Did Staff Sgt. Robert Bales
snap like a twig in the 
wanton disregard to sanctity
of children and mothers...
civilians. Who can forgive?
...Who can stand it?

Bales' wife Karilyn sends 
"condolences to all the people 
of the Panjawai District ... 
especially to the parents, 
brothers, sisters and grandparents 
of the children who perished"

Though heartfelt to be sure
she must realize that Bob
is beyond "normal" forgiveness
A strength like the Amish 
is needed to look into 
enraged hate filled eyes
with tearful forgiveness

What good...what good can
we possibly squeeze from
such tragic carnage?
Maybe God knows that answer.
I can only feel the sorrow.

meanwhile in Toulouse, France
Mr. Mohammed Merah,
a Frenchman of Algerian decent
knows in his heart that
retribution is necessary

and three French paratroopers, 
of North African descent, 
as well as a Rabbi and 
three Jewish schoolchildren,
pay with their lives

the Rabbi, and his two daughters
might have been aware of their
responsibility for the Panjwai
tragedy, perhaps not,

....{continued in 2of2}

© Goode Guy 2012-03-21

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Trapped Deep Within Your Robes

When you, Trapped me deep Within Your Robes.

thus Forgiven; I have forgiven you so many times
and you and yes and you.
Yet lest you remember it now naught.
For Tampa, ' was in nineteen sixty five.
Lake Magdalene, I saw no priests nor a
single nun and my mother was not supperior.
What I did see was wrong to be there only seven.
When I am gone the sun so of't 
from whom did we protect me from.
Forgotten I have been by you, 
and you.
and all of the Chief Judges saw me, 
when back then, was it considered normal?
That which was done to one single child back then
went off too many men then grown from which
has left no middle ground on which too stand.
Being said, ' Would I then dare to so remind you
why have I been forgotton now 
and then if naught from whence or where is yours shame 
whose shame before I die.
Did you do it not to yours, 'but a skinny frightned child?
Mr.Wilson and me a few others and knew Tampa stadium
that night as the Washington Redskins played 
the Miami Dolpins when even before, 
Robert Allen "Bob" was so Griese.

is it poetry

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Days With Pain Are Yet To Come

Days with pain are yet to come
So as such the heart would bleed
Over the hole life has made
From which it’s been sprouted as seed
And the emptiness would hammer hard
On the broken and shattered heart.

The past would whisper into the core of mind
The future would fear with brines in eyes
Over the silence that shout aloud
Under the stillness of a dark cloud
‘return back’, as I’ll scream out
With cycles of life, though the prayers are bound.

As would I hug a vacuum tight
And love it, caress it, with all delight
Wait for it to reverse back love
Kiss me, console me with a few word
And the illusion would last no long
Nightmares follow with the wake of dawn.

And so I enter the door open
With fearful eyes for what is to come
And find it better to love in pure form
Than in the form of flowers over a mourn
So pace the life with love around
You never know when pain’ll surround…

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The Cardinal and the King

There were once two men
Who both ruled a country together
The year was Seventeen Hundred and Ten
When the two leaders met each other

One man was a Cardinal
Who belonged to the Catholic Church of Rome
And no matter what he was doing or thinking
He always wanted to go back to his home

The other man was a king
Who was unfit and too young to rule a country
When the Cardinal kissed the King's ring
Something was brewing inside of him

Between the two men
The Cardinal would be seen at night
Sneaking into the King's bedchambers
But one evening, there was an awful fight

Between the two men
The Cardinal told his "friend"
That he was going back to Rome
And that their "friendship" would have to end

The king in a fit of rage
Struck the Cardinal with a statue across the head
The Cardinal was hurt badly
A few hours later, he was dead

Not only did the King get away with murder
But he was at the Cardinal's funeral, in tears,
And wearing nothing but black
In all of the years

He was never really happy
But when that Cardinal came along
He thought he had finally fallen in love with someone other than his queen
But he was dreadfully wrong

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A great sadness has settled down upon me
a misty cloud of cold
I can hardly breathe
and I can barely see
and I'm damp and chilled
and in need of the scent of my lover.

A sometime intellectual but hardly
more than animal in my excruciating desires,
I leave my desk and go out on the street
to pace around the building in the dark
and wish I smoked
so I could fill these empty hands.

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Her First Homicide- part one

As I bounded down the stairs, I caught you watching me.
With blue green eyes, it was the first time I saw you.
My mother introduced you as her gay friend from work.
She said you could be converted, I wondered why she’d want to.

You were only a twenty three year old waiter
With mahogany waves of hair draped down your chest.
You became a regular at my house, drinking in my living room.
So the day you showed up hours early was just like the rest.

I sat down beside you as you poured a drink and handed it to me.
This was the beginning us, soon you were coming over every day.
You let me inside you and told me everything, It made me have to ask
How if you had never been with a woman, could you know you’re gay?

I’d caught you speechless, a rare thing for you
You couldn’t come up with any good reasons
Just that it was the first thing you experienced and you liked it
You’d only had sex with men. I had only willingly slept with woman.

One night, on the couch in your apartment
You leaned down to kiss my lips.
Everything after became a blur
Your body brail beneath my fingertips.

We gave ourselves to each other that night
For the first time, sex felt safe to me.
The beginning of you and I together
Another secret we both had to keep.

I wanted to experience everything new with you
And do everything I had done already, with you there.
I felt certain that your presence could make anything better.
The world could have been falling down outside, I didn’t care.

It was my own fault for seeing you stronger than the others.
There are some things I never should have introduced you to.
But I was so eager to run away form the pain in my life.
So before I took my hit, I emptied the syringe into you.

So began another lesson, I wish I had already learned.
Unlike me, you refused to come back from your escape.
And the more I would try to talk you back to the world
The more and more you would take.

to be continued....

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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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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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' Jennie - Pennie (My Big Sister)

Everywhere I Look … I See Jennie
Short, Red-Hair and a Smile, So Bright and Pretty
Jeanette … my Older, Big Sister… I Wish I was More Like Her…
        … My Dear Jennie … My Sweet Jennie …

Treated me like I was Her Baby … That was Jennie
Helped me to be a Real-Lady … Just like Jennie
Taught me how to Share and just how to say my Prayers …
        … Jennie … Great Lady Jennie

She was in Her Early Adult Years and I was Young Too
… when Mama Left… There was nothing, We Could Do …
            … Cancer … is not a Loving Word …
        I Wish It Had Been The Last I’d Heard …
                … Oh Jennie … Loving Jennie …

In that Cold-Clinical-Room … Lay Jennie
She Would Be Leaving Soon – God ! … Not Jennie !
She asked me, ‘Did She Fulfill … God and Our Mama’s Will …?’
        Yes, You Did Jennie… I Said You Did Jennie !

… She was in Her Late, 40-Years, but Still, Much Too Young To…
… Like when Mama Left… There was nothing, We Could Do …
                     … Cancer … is not a Loving Word …
                    I Wish It Had Been The Last I’d Heard …
                           … Oh Jennie … I Love Jennie …

When I Wrote This Song … I was Missing Jennie
God … We Can’t Believe She’s Gone … I Loved Jennie
        Jennie-Pennie … You Kept Your Promise…
                  Mama Will Be Proud of Us…

… May Jesus, Call Jennie … When The Time Comes, Please Call Jennie
          Lord Call Jennie … Lord Call Mama … and Then Lord Call Me …

            Jennie, Left Loved Ones... February 29th, 1992 …
          I hate Leap-Years Now …. ‘til I Leap of Faith to You …
                     … Cancer … is Not A Loving Word ! ! !
                             Will It Be The Last I Heard ? …

                      In Memory of my Beloved Sister

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Lost Value

He is as a field of lost value
Neglected by unknown reasons.
Seemed to have outwalked the furthest city light.
Becoming acquainted with the night.

A dark cloud covered him still
By those he never thought could still.
Help seems afar,
Like the stars in the boundaries of the sky.

Dealt by the strokes of the white water
That fall to earth.
A blessing he thought it was
For then sun never shinned its presence.

Sought for refugee,
As he was withering away
And made a fast decree.
But he had soon become a castaway.

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Black Beauty

She sits on her throne with a fixed smile on her ebony face
staring into the crowd, she sees the peasants all grim and dull
But the smiles on their faces tell her they have love, strength, and happiness

As a child in the Congo, she would swim the river and look upon the villages
filled with them
And like now, their smiles filled her hollow heart

Laughter choking the air
Making her existence stale and ignored

Love, dangling above her like her pet monkeys swinging in trees
imported from Asia for her father insisted she have the best

Turning away from the crowd, she looks into her
room filled with silks from India, Diamonds from caves in inner Africa

Plush pillows filled with feathers from geese that were handpicked from 
prosperous farms

She sits in her vanity, unwinding the long braid of hair secured at the top of her 

The long black hair falls beyond her shoulders, past her waist, until it lands 
above her ankles

A treasure, a beauty envied by all
And she used this, above the Congo River
Standing on her balcony

To drop, to tie it to a rail
to snap her neck, and hang freely
with one last breath, one last peek
at laughter and happiness

A life this queen never knew

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The Moon is a Thief

The moon is devouring my brothers/uncles/cousins/father/husband/sons

Last night my youngest son disappeared
We searched for him in the moonlight
(But I do not trust the moon)
She is a thief, fickle, many-faced liar
She deceives, manipulates
She is a crazy woman beckoning, then galloping away

Call her names
Better yet murder her
Gather her like cotton and push her
Down into a burlap bag
Grab her and shake her
Maybe the lost boys and men 
Will pop out of her like
marbles set free from a pouch

My son ran across her incandescent heart
Sweating, foaming at the mouth
I could not run fast enough after him
He was gone so fast
She is an enticer and a thief
A hard hearted moon who cares about no one
but herself
Blow the moon down
Then my men would return

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Forgive Me Father

Into the darkness,
where eyes can't see,
only voices crying,
"what is happening to me."
"Is anyone out there,
where daylight dwells,
do you have an answer,
does anyone care?"
Paper stacked up,
with no value at all,
vaults with guards,
behind these walls.
The forgotten word,
from somewhere within,
forgive me Father,
for I know I have sinned.

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Screaming and Showering

I screamed in the shower for a year.
I recall all of the pain and drear.
I remember blocking out memories,
Of harsh abdominal and back pain,
And the gruesome sight that I saw,
And how I was all alone and too angry,
To call you on the phone, and how 
You left me in ‘Roe to be with her in ‘Rouge,
Your new home,
Not knowing that you planted a seed,
And that it left and pain that you placed
On its mom caused its death.
No one I could tell because I was shamed
That I didn’t have your last name.
The incident was placed at the back of my mind,
And not felt again in my heart,
But once again 7 years later,
I become the narrator,
And you deny that this incident,
Or this seed could ever belong to you,
And I. I wish that he or she would now exist.
Now in heaven he or she is showering,
With the ultimate daddy.

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The Cold

   I stand alone from everyone.
In the dark morning shadow, cast down by a tree.
   It's long branches lingering above,
reaching out to touch me.
   I wait for a ride, with my hands down by my side.
The breeze comes, singing in the tree.
   Sweeping its way towards me.
Its cold.
   Yes very infuriatingly cold.
It crawls up my skin and sends...
   little prickles.
My flesh freezing to the slightest touch.
   Unable to move much.
I feel bitter, for I hate the cold.
   It makes me feel old.
For I am forced to remember, the old life I once lived.
   The things I had to give. 
The words left unsaid.
   The long ago snowy starry nights, full of porch and street lights.
Yes I remember very clearly, those dreadful long and lonely nights.
   I had my sister to keep me company, but no father.
For he would always be mad.
   Mad at me, mad at to whom or what I might turn out to be.
I hated him and with him, I hated the cold.
   The cold, that now sinks deep within my flesh and into my soal.

Dedicated to my Bastered father

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Off To Work

like many a day before,
I packed my lunch,
and headed out the door.

For many years,
every week the same,
in scorching heat,
and pouring rain.

Off to work,
two till eleven,
how many shifts,
there is no telling.

Payday to payday,
that's how it is,
house payment,groceries,
and doctor bills.

Then today,
I got the news,
another layoff,
what will I do.

Sell the house,
move in a tent,
my little check,
won't pay any rent.

The American dream,
where has it gone,
someone messed up,
I have no home.

Maybe one day,
my life will heal,
as so many others,
who got a bad deal.

Out on the street,
just trying to find,
any kind of job,
will do fine.

This is not about me,
but for so many this is the way it is....
I pray things will soon turn around,
and jobs will be plenty.....

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Poor Young Paul

Goodbye Paul, my dear young friend, 
even thought it wasn't you're end, 
I still get those messages you send. 
You burned so bright you lived so fast, 
surely that pace could never last, 
you lived like a law unto yourself, 
left that rulebook on the shelf, 
you were a rebel, always in trouble, 
upto so much you must have had a double, 
but not a bad lad, just headstrong, 
it might have been right for you, but others saw it wrong, 
we all saw the good in you, 
a caring heart, pure and true, 
fate conspired to take you away, 
but you still hear every word we say. 
To be dead for longer than alive, 
fond memories and photos are all that survive, 
in our thoughts though you live and thrive, 
strength from your presence I now derive!

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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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Sincere, But Unclear

Knock, knock
There's someone at the door
A man disguised in age
Claiming he has the cure
A cure for life
And all it's virtue
A magic way out
Where nothing else can hurt you

The pain you feel
The droning hassles undone
"Just follow me" he says
With eyes hiding a smoking gun
Take a trip
Or sit secure
The choice was yours
But was it pure?

Now you blindly step
With brainwashed trust
Enslaved to a dwindled vision
Believing that its now or bust
Watching the end grow near
Scared to step forward and object
You just sit and wait
Knowing just what you can expect

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I lived my youth without many friends,
yearning for a departed father so selfless,
renouncing his children for another woman over-sea,
while my mom resigned to her fate;
lamenting and denouncing his terrible mistake:
and she worked hard and prepared delicious meals,
even her outlook on life was fantastic,
but something was missing from that lovely face...

Mother, oh wonderful mother, I sympathized
with your pain and wish it would have disappeared,
so you would have enjoyed, once again, life in its splendor;
mother, oh wonderful mother, even love dies
when one is deceived by a false affection,
and father broke his promise and faced retribution...   

Mom loved dad from the day she married him,
and remained faithful 'till she died whispering his name;
I stood by her bed-side and couldn't console her sadness,
or fill that space with my insignificant presence:
by that remote glance, I could see her retracing, with joyous eyes,
her happy past with daddy delighting her with his funny words
while strolling down the quietest road scented by daisies,
as blue-jays flew over their delirious heads... 

Mother,oh wonderful mother, you gave me the enduring will
to withstand any storm:  to survive and cope in this hell, 
while living honestly and godly among thieves and sinners;
to despise prejudice with its ugly ways and be cautious
not to give in their demands when luck could have ran out on me!
I live with little, and though I desire finer things,
nothing stains my clean hand and be judged by man,
because life complements me with the trust of any friend...

Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci

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just look to the sunrise in the east

She'll always be remembered for her golden hair
Youll never forget her grey green stare
But youll always forget her writing
Youll forget her words of fighting
Her poetry of crying
And her pleas of dieing
Youll forget her screams
But youll still see her in your dreams
Youll always remember the beauty but never the beast
Just look to the sunrise in the east
There you will find her rising with the sun in all her beauty
And all her fraility
You will see her there rising dead and alone 
With her wrist forever sown
If you look to the east where the sun shall rise
You will find her clensed of all the lies
You will find her price
Her sacrafice
What it took to make her whole
And because of what you stole
This beauty will fade away
But not her wisdom
For in her book it shall forever lay

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Morning Star

Across her village far deep in to the forrest Morning Star found peace and 
contentment. Here away from her village, the young girl enjoyed the daylight 
hours with the sounds and beauty of nature and it's animals. Beyond the forrest 
the mountains held a mystery all their own. Their beauty touched her soul and 
spirit yet they seems so far off to her.Her thoughts wondered what lay over them 
and what new world lay beyond those haunting peaks reaching to the sky.
    Suddenly the early morning was shattered by the sounds of gunfire. With all 
the men gone hunting no one was there to protect the village. Morning Star's 
thoughts were of not only the others in the village but of her mother and baby 
sister, she had to get back to them. Screams of women and children cut through 
the forrest as the scent  of smoke and the sounds of horses grew closer.  
Suddenly the sounds began to fade and only the smell of smoke remained. As 
she stood at the clearing, Morning Star saw what was left of her village. Unable to 
move as her eyes looked across the bodies of women and children laying all 
around. Tears filled her eyes as she walked by so many searching for her 
mother and baby sister, hoping that they had fled to safety. There in the dirt lay 
her mother clutching her baby sister, both dead. How could this have happened? 
How could the soldiers have done this to them?
  Morning Star placed a blanket over her their lifeless bodies and slowly walked 
away. Her life as she knew it was gone, dead along with her mother and baby 
sister. She was the only survivor.  Slowly she walked back into the forrest. Dusk 
was beginning and the forrest would keep her safe for the night. Tomorrow she 
would search for a way up to the mountains, there she would find a path to her 
destiny and what the spirits have chosen for her. She would be the only one to 
tell the story of all who had been lost this day. She would be the only one to keep 
their story alive for generations after this.

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For Clarence

when the call came
I was tieing my shoes
it was raining and i was heading out for coffee
i felt the phone ring through
the line, the phone
my bones
he was 88 years old
the man of my dreams
he taught me about farm animals 
and righty tighty, lefty loosey
he let me sit on his lap while he backed the car out of the garage
and showed me the fine points of a good, homegrown tomato
once when i was seven years old
he came home from a road trip with a red cowboy hat and bandana
with my name on it
and he brought me a beaded belt with "San Francisco" on it
he taught me how to make a mean Manhattan
and how to clean a sink trap
he was a good man and a great father
that dad of mine

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Taken: Part 2

The cards are dealt and the game begins
He can’t feel the cards as most of his nerves are dead, but he sees himself holding them
Seems impossible; he’s already holding two aces
Calls for three cards to replace the others
Astounded, he stares at his current hand
This additional ace makes three
One more go-around awards him with the last and final ace
He knows he’s won, but refuses to believe it’s real
Lays down the cards, the game is called in his favor
The strangely dressed man approaches him with the prizes
In his left hand he bares a .357 Magnum with one bullet to spare
In his right, a check for two million dollars
He briefly basks in the opportunity to finally have relief
To finally afford and buy the freedom he’s so long dreamt of

Seems ironic; the final betrayal, this last, final thought
Is of nothing and no one, but the one he lost

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There is no way to let the cooler air in.
Windows are closed to keep out thieves.
The two doors open but they have Iron 
screens on them. You need a key.

The old lady inside does not care about the
apartment and doesn’t keep it up because
no one comes to visit. What was this lady
like many years ago when  she cared about

her life? Did she clean the house for her
husband and children and cook food to eat?
Now she lives alone, and eats only cheap English
muffins and coffee. It is hot during the summer

going up to 105 degrees, but she will not open 
the Windows. Maybe I should buy her an air 
conditioner but I can’t afford it? It’s going to
be so hot this summer.

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En Memoriam

I still see four smiling children
eyes full of love and trust
and a bitter deceiving serpent
feeding on the dust
We may never understand
the minds of evil men
Could it be part of a greater plan
to teach the sinfulness of sin

Is this the fruit of our free will
that one could sink so low
was the fate of these four children
decided long ago
I'll never know how this could happen
It's not my place to ask why
I don't know whether to cry and pray
or whether to pray and cry

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Untitled #270 / On the day I daw love

Would you believe that on the day I saw love
I knew I would come here?

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For my children

I remember my pregnancy with you 
I fell in love with your every move, and with the sound of your beating heart. 
I held your precious body in my arms for the first time and took in your sweet, angelic presence. 
Nothing could prepare me for what would lie ahead. 
Nothing could prevent my heart from breaking, but it had to be done. 
I tried to be strong, but my strength failed me. 
I never knew it would be so difficult to write my own name. 
I cried, and was grateful for all the precious memories you've given me. 
It was a new beginning for you. 
The healing was beginning for me. 
Time went forward, I learned and grew as I slowly let go of you. 
My heart was healed, my life was blessed and my prayers were answered. 
Still, there's days when I cry. 
I will never stop thinking about you. 
Still I wonder about the person you are now, and the person you've yet to become. 
I pray that you will always know of the love I have for you. 
It's only through the grace of God that you were mine for a time. 
He gave you to me, I lovingly obeyed his plans for you. 

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Opening a Place

An empty darkness
Unable to fill
People walk slowly
In wonder of your will

Then they shoot nasty
Unhumane, and cold
Questions about how 
You live in this mold

And it is disturbing
How often something
Is said about
How often you are bumbling

When the world is about 
To fall on your face 
Only one thought comforts you
And its about losing your place

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Never Ending Tunnel

Slowly walking down
the never ending tunnel.
A bright light blinds my eyes,
but I hear soft sweet music.
It soothes away the pain.
The light keeps getting brighter
and the music stronger.
But still as sweet as it was.
I keep walking down
the never ending tunnel.
I start to turn.
I can not go on.
Fighting for my breath.
Fighting for my heart to beat.
I'm back home
where I truly belong.

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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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The Leftovers

I was cleaning my room tonight  
and came across a guitar pick,
one of your used.
A further search 
among broken staple cartridges,
multi-colored plastic coated 
and classic metal paperclips and 
pennies, produced  
five other picks, 
worn down from their
original rounded triangles
to somewhat odd circles.  
I laid the picks out in a circle
like flat quartz rocks against
the sand-colored formica of my desk.
Two sky blues, one pink 
and two tortoise shells.
I close my eyes and hear your blues,
and mine surge like a wave
until I gasp for air.  
I treasured away your discarded picks
in a heart-shaped ceramic dish 
that got broken somehow
in the move at the separation.  
There should be more than this,
but I became unsupportive, you said,
when I tired of the smoky bars,
and then I wanted a degree,
which absorbed any extra energy,
so you no longer pitched me your picks
or thought I cared.
Maybe someone new gets your leftovers,
But I'm better off not knowing, 
just in case there is a limit past
the pain of which I couldn't take.
But I'll keep living anyway,
As long as there is a sun in the morning 
and the moon at night,  
I'll live for the rises and sets
if that's all I get. 

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The Golden Sparrow

Of finding 
The golden sparrow
Dream ended in blue sky
Too late to wish
 Innocence’s lost

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Tear Soaked Pillow

As the pillow lies there quietly
it contemplates on asking the question, why?
why are you crying?
what are you saying with those blood-shot eyes?
what's being muffled into this brown cloth of mine?
than the pillow realizes why this man is also asking why
through those muffled cries
she hears the name merry and knows all is not fine
she met her before
one night she slept on her
the pillow knows she wanted more
she listened to the man on nights when he was in
she heard the laughs, she heard the fights
she knows the man was happy with her in his life
as the pillow listens to the man cry
she can't help but feel sorry because he takes out a knife
the pillow starts crying
"please don't end it now,
 you're hurting I understand
but please I'm here now,
punch me, kick me, release your tears into me,
I'm here for you when you need rest
I'm here for you please
the man can't hear the pillow pleading
the man gets angry and curses at god
the pillow stops and thinks
"hes talking about Jessica and the last time he was on the brink"
be careful what you do to people, especially the one you love
because one day that special person will die
with or without your love
it finally happened, the end of the path on an inevitable course:
the man took up the knife
put it to his chest and ended his life
with his last dying breath
he reaches for the pillow
he kisses her and puts her to his chest
she starts crying because she's alone
as a blood soaked pillow

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He is in a spot I have never seen him before
A position I cannot fathom 
His hand folded on his chest
Wishing for one last breath
His care left us with everything
But what we didn’t know was that he was 
It never called for rain but it did that day
He never was all there anymore
And the song started playing
The guns went off
And my respect left for this man
Through battles he helped us all
Through it all we kept us alive
And he passed us by with a fair well
And a departure
For everything
And we was something to everything
We was everything to us

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A Little Boy Lost

I saw a little boy today,
hang his head and cry.
He asked himself over and over again
how'd God let her die?

He couldn’t comprehend it,
that she was really gone.
The years that he had known her ,
they hadn’t seemed that long.

Who would be there for him, 
during his times of pain?
Her smile would always bring sunlight, 
no matter how heavy the rain.

For as long as he had memories,
no matter where he roamed, 
when he’d fall; she was always there,
so he’d never be alone.

How he longed to have her hold him,
as she had always done.
When he’d hurt like he’s hurting now he’d say, 
“ It’s alright, you know I love you son”.

It might seem strange to others, 
and maybe they just can’t see,
the little boy I saw today,
that little boy was me.  

I miss you Mom - Ken

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Manuelito & Poseidon

Even as thunder boomed mighty overhead
and power lines on San Domingo Avenue outside
faltered and succumbed to the tempest
the Ortegas stood breathless in the family room, gaze transfixed 
upon the television screen like so many deer in the headlights of a truck.
Finally a flash from without, and a snap 
extinguished all light within the household. Ten seconds passed 
without a sound. Then the father uttered something and
the family members scattered, each returning a moment later
bearing possessions of infinite value. Within a minute, 
all had crammed into the station wagon, evacuation route ingrained
within their minds like a seed of hope.
All but one. Manuelito had been lost.
The mother howled and flied back into the house,
tears streaming down her face hard as the rain.
She reached the back porch, and to her eternal shock
found Manuelito standing alone on the beach like a mannequin
eyes locked upon the Cyclops-eye of the storm.
The mother cried out through anguished sobs
in vain, for the howling drone of the wind overpowered all
and when Manuelito turned around to face all that he loved
he did so with all the finality of a grown man
resolved upon his course of action.
The mother abruptly ceased her crying, and
her countenance briefly matched that of her son
as she, too, turned her gaze upon the jewel center of the storm
and was hypnotized by the awesome power of the divine.
At length she regained self-consciousness, and her eyes
darted back to that segment of the beach where her son had been standing
but his figure, like a stream of sand on the dunes of time,
had been replaced by nothingness,
the allure of the unknown and
Poseidon’s call of wild fury
too strong to resist.

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Remembering Tonya

To our Dear Tonya, its been six years since you left us today,
and yet as time passes these are just a few things we wanted to say.

You always inspired all who you touched, even if you were just hanging
with friends you were loved by all so very much.

Your passion for modeling made all who viewed you wonder with awe,
and with all your gracious moves revealed all the inner beauty that we all saw.

It was Gods wish that he took you from us at such an early age,
but we know in our hearts he had plans for you to be on a much higher stage.

So to our our darling Tonya we love and miss you and are always in our hearts,
for you will always and forever be a part of our lives like you were from the very 

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Silent Thought From Inside the Casket

Lying in Stately Unconcious
People are Gathered around Me
These Eyes of Mine no longer View
Arms are folded across my chest
I cannot feel the Satin Silk or wooden support underneath
Somehow..this lowly Spirit is surrounding these relatives and Friends

Past and Present,every person is in this Room
Lovers and Bosses,Nieces&Nephew
Brothers of the Dearest Kin and Blood
Father of the Cloth is ready to give Comfort
To the beriefed that cannot afford
This Man(Who is I)was a Mouse of the World
Many did Taunt
The School Yard Bullies enjoyed picking on Him
Women wanted nothing to do with this Timidity
Alas He(Or Me,if you Forget)is now A Soul of the Sky
This stature that is sleeping,a Cold longer here

It is a Tragedy to bear Witness upon this Service of Wake
To unable but Move and only to glimpse
Haven't been exactly..MYSELF ever since
These Hands want to move and hold my Mother's Hand
Dad cannot reveal himself,yet,I do understand
Whose to say that He is far away
They can only find,
a peaceful Memory from another Simpler Time
Right now,Nothingness is all around me
Am I a Living Spirit..a Ghost that cannot move at all?
If this be the Case,then..
there is one less being,
here in this Human Race
He cannot Wander or Leave his Deathly State
It is now 8 PM and the parlor is closed
The Casket is locked and the Body will eventually Rot
I am that Silent Thought,from inside my Tomb
Just to remind you

In Case You Forgot!!

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I Know You Read My Writing

I’m glad you’re entertained,
Or better yet informed,
About your mate’s past,
And how he lies to and with,
Me and you.

I’m overjoyed to have a fan,
That I thought would never be.
It simply flatters me.
I know that I’m a fan,
Of someone.
I’ll be lady like,
And not mention any names.

Dude had a field day all year.
Every time the dreadful day got near,
I started arguments,
For the madness to end.
There wasn’t any hope indeed,
He wasn’t trying to take heed.

I heard constant brags,
Of I get it from both of y’all
And how good I was,
And I often complained,
Not good enough,
Because I don’t have a ring.

Boy, would  he get angry
And say I have to stop coming over,
That was music to my ears,
It never happened until now,
That I told you 
In my poem “The Ugly Truth.”
I am glad, glad, glad,
That it is finally over,
So glad, I consider this
One of the worst  life experiences,
That I ever had.

I’m glad you’re entertained,
Or better yet informed,
About your mate’s past,
And how he lied to and with,
Me and you.

wrote 7-25-09

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My friend

The one I grew up with
the one that was like a brother
to me
has passed away
he took his life
on accident
he has a newborn daughter
and a lover they will love and miss
him forever
the only thing everyone can ask
is why.

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Of My Despair

In the darkness
Of my despair
I wondered
Where I had gone
The mirror
Having no answers
For me
Where I looked
Only to find
Wistful eyes
Wistful for what?
The man I love

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Don't Close Your Eyes (2005)

Sometimes we play dead but every time is a shock 
My heart chokes and my head rocks
Do you want me to die?
Don’t close your eyes
Living without you is not a joke 
My heart would pour and the my world will die and soak 

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Second rate beauty queen

When you look at her you wonder,
How can she think like that?
But when she looks at herself in the mirror,
All she sees is the fat.

She claims that she's too busy,
With friends, work, and school.
To sit down for a family meal,
But in reality she simply longs to be cool.

As days go by her body begins to wear and thin,
Her parents begin to wonder if it's too late.
To save their only daughter,
Who's still obsessed with her weight.

Knowing it was time, she left a note that said:
"To all those who were so mean,
And pressured me to be thin. You'll be happy to know,
I died as I lived: A second rate beauty queen.

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I passed the test
But failed
I ran the mile
But walked
I screamed
But remained unheard
I was quoted

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Burning wide black shaded eyes
squint,steal a blurred glimpse
and shut as stinging tears
mixed with facial muck smear

Gazing in the bathroom mirror
my eyes teared honey lime until my vision became clearer
and the world became visable 
sacred nightly ritual's
side effects of cheap sweet generic mess

Late night I gently applied honey lime
into fines lines , obvious signs of progressive aging
my taste in cheap facial care's always changing

The past proved new
generic solution unremoved
stick like crazy glue

There're awful goup imitations
causing severe skin irritations
they stricken faces with moles,
rashes and skin blotch discolorations
that clash with social circles
some are inexpensively hurtful

I tried to remove the sooth skin peel
sticky as glue as it congealed
my bleeding skin healed slow
and now blond peach fuzz grows
over healing scrapes,scratches,bruises,rashes
sores and blemishes it seems its side effects are endless

Heavy mascara and fake sunshine smiles 
are the safest fashion style 

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Immeasurably triumphant

Like an epic battle of warriors in the ancient times,
rhythms of defeat and success punctuate the line;
either one wins or loses the game doesn’t matter,
it’s sportsmanship, fairness and attitude of respect.

Super Bowl kick-off highlights Sunday’s program,
championship in historic match cheers everyone;
along with mammoth crowds like on Staten Island,
jubilant fans who emerge and show their smiles.

Giants fans elsewhere blare their cars’ horns
a triumphant meaning, a victorious experience;
truly, it’s a huge and festive moment to share
with others who admire those players like Manning.

New England’s Patriots acknowledge their defeat,
their strengths and weaknesses make them authentic;
how they react and show about their abysmal loss
echoes a challenge, an experience worth reflecting.

New Yorkers herald jubilations and their triumphs,
faithful followers of their respective teams combined;
begin to celebrat and make a toast of beer in bars,
getting the whole clan, along with peers and friends.

Such a boisterous scene that makes the difference,
with ordinary games shown on TV or big screen;
however, the Giants in their popular name here,
has got their favor and trust from people elsewhere.

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Wipe the tears from your eyes
surely you're not the blame,
When entering a room hold your head up high
there's no reason why you should feel ashamed.
Never mind the rumors that's going around town
people don't know you as well as I do,
Let the people continue to spread rumors about town
they just don't have anything better to do.
They're just going by what he's been telling all of his friends
painting you as being just some cheap thrill,
But it's the real truth that he's not interested in telling
because "his story" has more zing and more thrill.
It was your own precious gift that you willingly gave to him
because you felt that he was one for you,
But you never thought that he'd go away talking to them
and spread hideous lies and rumors about you.
He'd led you to believe that you were the only one 
that he wanted and needed in his life,
He'd led you to believe that you were such a good woman
that would in turn make him a good wife.
But you didn't imagine him jumping up and marrying another
someone which he'd been seeing for at least a year,
Whenever he did make mention of her he'd say that she was his "little sister"
a family friend that was true and dear.
Since that day he broke your heart you haven't been quite the same
you've been feeling that it was all your fault,
Honey, it's about high time that you stop carrying around the blame and shame
because in all actuality, it's his lost.
You're much better off without him in your life
he was only bringing you down to own level of low,
Maybe it was best that you never became his wife
because he never really loved you so.

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JODI drowned me

I went out to the swimming pool in the backyard
quickly and quietly I started to undress down to my underwear
Standing near the edge of the pool,my eyes looked down to see
SUDDENLY-I WAS PUSHED!! and I went into the water,head first
Everyone in my family knows that I cannot possibly swim
As well as my Friends
and assorted shut-ins
Except there is one person who wanted to do me harm
because I couldn't get the nerve to ask her out for a date


I was too shy and within myself to VoiceMail my invitation to the Senior Dance
But,alas..that was a lifetime ago(20 years this March to be more precise)
As my body sinks further to the bottom of the pool, my brain recollects only briefly,
the fun things we had used to do in school:

Skipping rope
Playing Tag
Hide & seek
Counting the Stars on the American Flag

The pain that my body feels from the drowning is fading
and the tired eyelids are beginning to shut
The life force that God hath given me is dissipating
I cannot shout for a breath
It is time for me to DIE forever and take the comfort


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In Her Mansion Above........repost

The day momma died.
   I held her to my bosom, and then I cried.
Silenced by death this mother I love.
   She’s there in her mansion with our Savior above.
She left just a short five months after I had accepted the Lord.
   Father she deserves peace for this life down here was terribly hard.
Her and our pastor baptized me in the sunny month of May.
   Scared to death of deep water, she climbed into that pool anyway.
And when my head came up from the water, I saw that look in her eye.
   She said I’m ready now for my Savior, I knew she was saying good-bye!
All those years that she prayed this was her day.
    The joy in that beautiful face what else can I say.
I love her so much and I miss her even more.
   As my mind takes me back to that day I found her lying on her kitchen floor.
Without the Lord on my side I don’t think I could have bore that sight.
   Momma I can still feel your arms around me, holding me tight.
My wife loved her so their love had tremendously grown.
   Like a mother loves a daughter their love truly shown.
You were more than a mom, and a friend, you were also our pal.
   The Lord got Himself a mighty good gal.
                 Love you Mom!

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Fight Only

Fear of the unknown 
Our lives undone 
Fire burns on 
But the hero doesn't run 
Facing the flames 
He calls out his loved ones names 
No room for loss 
But loss is sometimes exactly the cost 
Maybe sometime the hero should run 
Maybe the soldier puts away his gun 
Why waste bullets on this 
It can all be healed 
By just one kiss 
A soft touch to the wrist 
Causing a smile to appear 
Then only fight to keep it there 
Fight only to keep it there 
Unknown to fear 

-Elane Taylor- 

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I remember it was spring, of that year when we met.
Natures beauty, new love, so passionate.

The early spring flowers, young lovers in life,
So strong was our passion, would you be my wife?

The warm sun, the bright days, we laughed oh so often.
Our love in full bloom, our hearts in full blossom.

Fall colors such beauty, but nights turn to cold
Part of life’s cycle, we start to grow old.

We laugh and we cry, our love still remains.
We embrace with such joy, and share all the pains.

And now I’m alone, the nights seem so long.
With a shiver or two, I don’t feel as strong.

Oh, for just, one more springtime with you.
My heart would reblossom, from the love we both new.

I remember our joys, the seasons we shared.
I remember our love and the way we both cared.

The nights still grow colder, the fire becomes dim.
I pray to be warmed, by my memories within.

Copyright Tom Welch

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I'm thinking after talking 
to a dear friend about the death,
call it a passing, of his father,
about channels of communication,
of sorrow and too, channels of joy.

All the messages lining the county,
the state, a nation, even globe
like a satin-sheen of supple cloth
inside of the casket and the cradle

All the "comings-and-goings" 
as it might be said, of the family
"Did you hear that so-and-so passed"
or "I heard that they finally were
able to conceive and bear a child"

And times past, there were ponies and
postcards, and copper keys clicking,
and Alexander's operators plugging
us into our loved family and friends

And now, wirelessly, we blog
and update our homepage with
photos and tears of joy and sorrow
click here for an update,
click here to touch me now.

Still, your voice comes through
all the Dolbied hardware
attached to my head and I can
feel the emotion in your heart but,
virtual hugs are not yet, like real

© Goode Guy 2012-02-27

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Shipped Away

Lost in a world
I do not belong in.
No one cares to understand
what I am going through.
So they ship me away.

Away to a place
where I am asked to talk.
My feelings,
my fears,
my life.

My feelings are please let me go.
My fears are of you.
My life has ended...
since they shipped me away.

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The evening air blows twice as fair
when it is kissing her sweet strands of hair
to glimpse her rosy cheeks, perchance her eyes
any passerby would swoon.

Down the street the lamplights flicker on
a feeble gesture, half in vain
for any light forfeited by the sunset
is given to the moon.

And where it’s wanted shadow still creeps in
Observe! Behind a mule cart sits
bundled up in robes and motionless
the sweet girl prior mentioned.

Horses’ footfalls echo from the sides of shops
and disappear as masters drive
into some warmer corner
of the cold Parisian night

As well pedestrians shuffle by
at somewhat slower pace
and but the smallest turn their gaze upon
the pauper woman’s face

But none can see, but none can see
into this sweet girl’s reverie
the chillness in her breath
is the only sign she gives

Her eyes are closed, and now she flies
through darkest depths of mind to happier times
one summer evening on a porch
beside her lover true

When gaze is not transfixed upon the other
drinking from the depths of melancholy passion
it gorges itself upon the greenest grass
like heifers lowing on the hill

or bunnies bounding through the field
or crickets chirping in the reeded orchestra
all similes reveal themselves at twilight
to those in love, in elevated sight

and minds are read, so no surprise
can narrow further catlike eyes
when her lover true decides
to reveal to her the truth

“Upon this eve I have received
a letter from the Guard, with intent
to draft me into the army
as the gears of war are turned

you know how much I long to stay
within your arms until my dying day
but I’ve heard tales of those who tried to flee
many try, and none succeed

so in a week I’ll board the train
the line from Marseilles to Lorraine
and write you letters every night
until the morn that we shall hold each other tight”

And no words formed upon her lips
the falling leaves told all
but when they kissed tears did form inside their eyes,
rolled off, and mingled in their mouths.

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Our Right

Under the vines,
of heavy ruins,
comes much regret,
of other's doings.
Give it away,
just spend, spend, spend,
when it's all gone,
what then.
Borrow more,
get on your knees,
they are probably tired,
of our many needs.
Foolish, and carefree,
falling fast,
many told them,
this can't last.
Blind as bats,
and dumb as dirt,
now look at the people,
they have hurt.
Things change fast,
just blink your eyes,
and cover your ears,
here comes more lies.
Clean fresh air,
is what we need,
let goodness prevail,
exit the greed.
We can do it,
we know what's right,
we must speak up,
that is our right.
If money could talk,
of where it's been,
another nightmare,

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Why would it be 
that this should feel like the end?

Softened edges and sleek presentation
But blown about like leaves in the wind
There is no forward motion in this situation
I find myself in

A vacuum, they eye of the storm
Stillness and apathy despite the din
No where to go, but there is someplace colder

Waiting just out of reach
It feels like the end.

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Dreamer's Lot

Could emptiness be the reason I spend my nights
Wide awake, in a quiet restless daze?

I have now become confined by my unconscious thoughts,
Never felt more liberated,
I walk a path that leads me to those memories,
Now nearly faded,
I stroll through that path in the field,
Walking along the river where the low water sits still
A step towards fulfillment, a step towards happiness,
I step and catch up with an old friend
Four years come and passed, now here we stand, at last
Just as I remembered him, age hasn’t done a thing
Time is timeless? A beginning, but no end?
We stroll through that path in the grassy field
Walking along the river where the modest current moves a little 
A step towards fulfillment, a step towards happiness,
We step and catch up with an old friend
Eleven years come and passed, and now here we stand, at last
Your son’s journey has come to an end
Time is on our side, its time we didn’t spend
This is my destination, 
Rebuilding an old friendship through my recollections
 Building a mother-son relation
Previously missing, now an easy connection
Standing at the end of that path
Where the river passes graciously and its high tide shimmers
Paradise, by the dreamer’s lot

Never thought it could come to such a tragic halt…
I have now become confined by the conscious facts

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Fallen Hero

No man could clarify my pain into one single solitary word
when your hero falls whats there to feel but hurt
such a strong indivual unable to be knocked off their feet
never knowing the definition of lose, now openly admitting defeat
what happened to that strong determined person i had grown to admire
to hear you have fallen from the post of hero from which you have chosen to retire
as you fell from the pedastal i placed you on
i realised my character of admiration wasn't as strong
as the illusion of a person i built my life on
you were the template i drew my life from not what do i do
i'm half way through that drawing so do i finish it and fail like you
before your spirit weakened and your pride collapsed you were all i wanted to be
but now i see you for what you truly are, thats not what i want for me
how can somebody so true, be so free to abondon their honesty
you used to be so kind, noble, helpfull, showing nothing but modesty
you were there to show a better side to the world outdoors 
never taking anything from others but now your taking a great deal more
you were a best friend a honest soul a shoulder to cry on
a solid post an open ear, a person to rely on
now your just an empty room, the bed on which i die on
you used to be an open mind i felt free to talk to
now you have chosen in my words the wrong woods to walk through
how do i tell you exactly how i feel
you know the worlds a dangerous place why let them steal
the one thing that seperates you from us, your precious loving soul
why dont you attack a situation with nothing but your all
you always put your heart before everything including wealth
you haven't just let down the world you've let down your self

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I use to miss you

I use to miss you, but now I don't
You seldom cross my mind
I'm sure it's you, but you I don't want
Thought it was gonna be just you and I
Man wasn't I crazy to think we could survive pass the lies
Tried to fix something that was broken in you
Never saw the pain & trouble I was putting myself through
To experience something is to live and learn
To enjoy love with someone to me, will be well earned
Letting you go was priceless
I use to wonder if you thought about me
If you'd show you're self approved
Take that next move
Step up and be a man
You know, do all you can
Obviously it was just me
That wanted it to be
You and me far reached, silly of me!
I use to miss you, but now I dont
You seldom cross my mind, I'm sure it's you but you I dont want!

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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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The Visitor

A visitor came to me,
in the middle of the night.
His presence filled my soul with dread,
t’was chilled three times with fright.

A visitor came to me,
from the other side.
I lay so still upon my bed,
wishing I could hide.

This visitor who comes to me,
doesn’t use the door.
Tonight he’ll take a little bit,
each night a little more.

I used to be a child,
each day went passing by.
The child that I used to be,
is gone without a cry.

I remember in my youth,
I was fast and strong.
Now my strength is waning,
reflexes almost gone.

This visitor who comes to me,
took my kids away.
Turned them all into adults,
to live good lives I pray.

Sometimes the visitor comes to me,
leaves grief that’s way too strong.
Sometimes he takes so much away,
I feel I can’t go on.

He’s taken family with him,
other loved ones too.
It hurts to lose a loved one,
cause they’re a part of you.

He took my marriage with him,
took it very slow.
Took the love she had for me,
left mine to wither so.

Sometimes he takes too much from me,
to the other side.
Right now so much is finally gone,
I wonder if I’ve died.

This visitor also comes to you,
from the other side. 
Each time he takes a little more,
from him you cannot hide.

copyright  Tom Welch

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As the fragrance fades,
of love once so deep,
into the unknown,
where she now weeps.
Silent she stares,
at what once was there,
pictures, a reminder,
when her children were there.
Silver is her hair,
her body frail, and weak,
she calls their names,
as the tears roll down her cheeks.
Where have they gone,
why don't they call,
forgotten in time,
trying to recall.
Miles are between them,
their busy days, and nights,
just trying to survive,
and a mother cries.
Lonely she is,
and lonely she will be,
as she hangs their pictures,
on her Christmas Tree.

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Sad Night in September

How can I forget that sad night in September 
It’s so hard to forget
how can I not remember
For it was the night of my mother’s death
No one expected it to happen
For it was sudden when she left
Yes it was sudden when she left
And yet not peaceful
From what I remember seeing
It was very scaring

I cried with such tears 
as I watch her pass away
Scared because of how she looked
Sad because of I knew it was her last t day
And not only was it I
Who sat down and cried that night
 But friend and family too
Be4cause we all know there 
was nothing else we could do  

Happiness is not what we felt
at he end of that night
but sadness is what
broke the shine in our light
So how can I forget that
 sad night in September 
it’s so hard to forget  
How can I not remember

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Fifty-Per Cent

He put ten years on her eyes in a single morning.
He didn’t do much to her except walk away.
He never raised a hand and he never raised too damned much money.
But he left her fifty-per cent of his final pay.

She’s holding two jobs and she’s holding her little heart together
The children make their own beds and breakfast, too.
The women’s magazines provide advice—and coupons.
And her Mama and her sister drop by, to see her through.

There’s no hard feelings, they’re the best of friends, still.
He takes  the children on Sunday afternoon.
She’s liberated from love, she’s her own person.
And no one sees her cry except the moon.

She’s taking two classes down at the local college,
A book-keeping course and volleyball 101.
She’s twenty-eight, she’s changed her hair, she’s jogging!
And her friends down at work say her life has just begun!

But you know, fifty-per cent of the American dreams get broken.
One-half of the brides and grooms pay lawyer’s fees.
And fifty-per cent of the couples are coming uncoupled.
But the precise percentage of tears nobody sees.

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Blood Brothers

Rusted iron crosses 
Bled by ocean spray
Fascism’s fury rages
Churning ruptured remains
Haunted by steel specters
Drenched in frigid light
Waves of ruddy soldiers
Toppling tyranny’s tide
Machine gun masses
Deafening and fortified
Ricocheted cries crawling
Over fleshy speckled mines
Limbs of solidarity 
Buried on foreign shores
Blood brothers of freedom
Veterans of world wars

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My Broken Heart

So many dismal pieces my heart has become
Each dying cadence a tribute to its lost integrity
Solidarity is foreign to these islands of straining life
Remembrances of affection like failed ambition
Numbness and dispassion cling to each disjointed piece
And I float on in placid denial of all of the cracks
For it is too late to return…
All of the chasms are irreparable.

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R.I.P Mrs. Beyeres....

I woke up today
never knowing this would come
for I'd just seen you not a day ago
and there had only been smiles
we had been making plans
and your mother she just smiled and watched
how can we get back to that moment?
I never thought this then
but those would be the last
the last of the happy words between us.
I wish i could take this from you
i wish i could take it from myself
what where do we go now?
there is this gaping chasm between us
filled with this darkness
that drowns us in pain
your mother, they will say
no one can replace her
no one saw the street racers
as you two were getting off the freeway
no one could stop fates hands 
as the street racers hit you both
and the car rolled away
as if mere dust in the wind...
you were fine and i was glad
but my second mother?
she, she lay in her own blood
where do we go now?
i wish i could take this pain from you
i wish i could take this pain from myself
what do i say now
what words can be said..
nothing more than
may she rest in peace
may she go with god
know that we are here
to hold you up.
Remember those who love you
and know that your mother doesn't suffer here.
one day may we return to sanity.

RIP mrs. beyers who was killed in a car accident and passed away this morning after they
pulled her off life support, she was like my second mother and we mourn her loss, may she
be in pain no more though, and may we remember all the love she taught us.

Details | Narrative | |

A Momentary Lapse

...a true story

Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

standing apart, the other houses still intact 
with painted jalousies and window curtains. 
She must have fallen asleep, the cigarette 
still dangling from her arthritic fingers;
I never saw her without one. 

She told me of her life in Poland during the war, 
but not her suffering, she never spoke of that. 
She smiled wanly as she showed me old photos 
of her family and friends taken on holiday when 
she was younger, long before the ravages of war. 

TV was her constant companion along with 
her nurse and her beloved Pekingese, 
always sitting on her bed. We'd talk for hours. 
She was always interested in my schoolwork, 
and why didn't I have a girlfriend? 

Now she lay in hospital small and silent; 
there was nothing I could do but hope and pray. 
When they drew the sheet up over her I felt an 
emptiness, but no tears came. Fourteen years old, 
my first death up close. When I got home to mum 
and dad, only then in their comforting embrace 
did I sob my heart out.

Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

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Rupert Lang set out from London,
it was ten minutes to eight.
He meant to travel to the Midlands
to be with his dad in hospital 
in Birmingham. Weather forecast: 
chance of rain.

Peter Smith drove down from Penrith,
he was traveling to Dover
to take the channel tunnel to spend 
the next two weeks vacationing 
with his family in France.

On a section of the M1 south of Birmingham
a Vauxhall Vega, its driver asleep at the wheel, 
jumped the grassy median into the north-bound lanes 
and crashed headlong into a Ford Cortina.

An unclaimed hotel reservation 
and the latest Playboy magazine 
fluttered to rest, side by side, 
on the shoulder close to exit 31.

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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.

Details | Narrative | |

Go Ahead Drink And Drive

   The picture that you painted still hangs from our wall.
    There beside it is the photo of you and little Robbie that was taken at the mall.
Special memories that still make me cry.
    Each time I look, I have to ask God why?
Such a short time together you, me, and little Robbie who had just turned three.
   I wished we were still together but now it’s only me.
You know they said he never got so much as a scratch that day.
   That day he took you and little Robbie away.
They said alcohol was to blame and he just lost control.
   More than alcohol is to blame for it was my life that he stole.
My wife and little child can never come home ever again.
   All because you had to drink and drive, Lord when will it end?
I know you didn’t mean it, but it won’t bring them back.
   It’s no more your fault than the people that make and sell it, maybe it’s will 
power you lack.
Your punishment you’ll live with every single day of your wretched life.
   The fact that you murdered my young son and my innocent wife.
Lord your will, will be done, whether it be mercy or vengeance whichever one.
   I just know I miss my wife and baby son.
This is just a poem, but it really happens nearly everyday to some poor guiltless
soul,it's never too late to put the bottle down! I did and so can you!

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Opening is a bad thing,
At least it is if you’re me,
They see right down to my soul,
And sometimes that hurts;

I know I want to,
I want them to see my soul,
I want them to see me for me,
But once you open your soul,
Something leaves it;

If I open my soul too much,
The thing I lose doesn’t come back,
Then I slip down and down,
And just don’t feel quite right,
I know something is a little off;

Did you take something with you?
When I let you in,
Or was it my fault?
Was I too careless,
And lose what I had?

The depression will subside,
About going completely away?
I really don’t know,
I’ll tell when I know,
Until then I’ll just wait;

Before I let you in,
I’d never really been down here,
I’d always been mostly happy,
But something obviously changed,
I’m not the same as I used to be;

Letting you see into my soul,
That was not a mistake,
But now I have pain,
I hope it was worth it,
Just for you;

Maybe I gave it to you,
So now you’re happy,
You can stop coming down here,
And take my place up there,
Such is the price for opening my soul.

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My Life's Work

I sort of thought no matter what happen I'd have you
Now from the look of what happen recently it can't be true
I counted on you needing me
I guess that's hard for you to see
See you'll never know what I see when I look at me
You'll never know, how much I needed you to need me
I'm so into the idea I'd play the fool
And I'm saying right now I'd do anything to keep you
I'm not ready to lose you; I'm just getting use to loving you
Never say goodbye, never leave me like this
Don't walk away, alone I'm dangerous
If you must go, leave me my identity
If you must go, leave my shadow
Reflections of scattered thoughts of us two
I lowered my inhibitions for you
I honestly don't know how you feel
However I'm just keeping it real
I need for you to need me
My life's work or just a faded memory.

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The Sorcerer and the Apple

Hearken well,
As I commence to tell
This tale of the apple that fell
From a tree I believed from Hell:

Black I wore on this sunny day,
Similar to all my other days
When the Sun went away
I Lost all faith,
Thus lost my way.
Where my integrity went, no one says.
I Walked into a dark forest,
A maze,
On a night with no moon and no face,
I gazed at the gates
Not afraid, but rather amazed.

Me, myself, and I,
On this blackest of nights,
Walking in this forest of frights,
Without any shining light,
Blinded by self-stupidity,
A stark, blinding dark,
The beast's, who shall be named Anger, barks,
My bullying ego and my absent heart,
My sanity and humanity, were way too far,
You see I was helpless from the start.

When everything "seemed", or so to speak, wrong,
And hope was long gone,
Without a spawn
An apple came along,
I was no longer alone:

This apple gave me eyes,
In many ways made me wise
This apple offered light;
It defined beauty,
In color, shape, and size.
'twas a precious surprise.

But then came a time,
Again, I became blind,
Only with a stupidity, quite sublime,
So here came the crime:
I was succumbed by hunger and greed,
Needed to feed my needs,
My desire:
To eat the whole fruit but the seeds,
I devoured it,
Indeed I did.

What a waste, such a life,
Such a pity,
One True Lie,
I sliced the apple in slices with my knife.
That which represents my insolence and pride.

If only I had left Hubris by the tree,
Withholding Anger in his leash, next to me,
Then I wouldn't have agreed
To walk right beside Glee,
Sadly, I was weak,
As you can see,
My tolerance limited to short degree.

Here I am,
I see dark,
I see not.
Hear the lamb,
The one I'll sacrifice
To get my apple back.

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The affectionate mother, whom I loved has long left
her earthly dwelling to flee
to a Paradise extrasensory peaceful;
and surrounded by angels,
she tenderly flashes an effulgent smile and looks upon  
me and whispers many prayers
for a son whose face is her total resemblance!
And in me her noble soul lives with a sweetness,
which has made me forgotten that there's death...
by rekindling that maternal memory! 


Before I go to sleep, I reflect on my day that has passed without dire...  
by staring at a portrait, which makes her facial expressions
seem so real like when she eloquently spoke, glimpsing into tomorrow;
I'm wishing for tears to fall, but none do...too numerous tears
have her child's eyes shed to empty themselves of their sorrow!
Why cry and induce more mourning...when glory has awarded her a halo?
She endured much, and said little, to strengthen me with her example,
and will harsh winters lash me with their furious winds, no fright...
no discouragement can overwhelm me and make me shiver and tremble;
violent storms extirpate trees, fears won't uproot what I extol!

Extraordinary was her motherly love: intense and insuperable, 
to build me up when my confidence was down and I refused to have fun; 
and if I felt miserable, she mollified my misery, grief and sadness,
to never let me lose my momentum, to miss out on a great, indelible moment!
Showing my mistrust intensified the tone of her vocal chords...
low esteem wasn't another kind of modesty, just a lost milestone!   
Secular and firm...and yet divine, was her faith emboldening me;
emerging in the form of a lovely rainbow to brigthen my obscurity!
I longed for affection, hoping it would have been long that love so tangible,
which still guides my footsteps to rekindle that maternal memory!

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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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What is it about?

What does he have on me, that would make you leave me
How do I live without you
Go on like there was never a we
Two years of relationship, now it’s just me
Never saw you leaving after all the times
Your telling me, your never coming back
Your love for me has played out its lines
You expect me to just continue to live without
The love you put on me, what was that about

I put it all on the line so many times
Made so many changes to make it right
Found all this love to please 
Now you betray me with ease
If it was that easy for you to leave
Then love for me you said you had, I can’t believe

That song you sing is the same, from yesterday
Didn’t think I would catch it
Now why you handle your baby that way
At least that’s the way you use put it
Now you don’t even sleep on your own pillow
Running up behind some marshmallow negro
I weather the good and bad of you
Took all the stuff you put me through
Yet still I wasn’t enough
The bad in you, that front, that bluff
Had me all caught up with the good scene of you
Now you’ve moved on, B-jay ends & now it’s part two
Seems like just yesterday we were together, now I'm through with you

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All I Ever Wanted

All I ever wanted,
 Was to be treated right,
And then possibly his wife.

All I ever wanted,
 In my life was for you,
To return the favor,
Of my hard, unselfish labor.

All I ever wanted,
 From you not the material things,
Just to give me loving,
That would make my heart sing.

All I ever wanted
Was not the lies that you told me 
Was not the constant saying 
I treat you with the utmost respect.

I always wondered,
Why did you reject me?
And then want me only
When the lower part of your body,
 Stood erectly.

All I knew,
 That when you,
 First touched me
I fell in love immediately
My heart ticked for you,
Just like a clock.

I gave more than,
 What you wanted,
Which left my heart empty,
And haunted.
I received less,
Than your best.

All I ever wanted,
 Was to be treated right,
And then possibly his wife.

wrote 3-23-08

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Fallen Angel

There was a girl
She loved and laughed
She was one of God's angels
Her smile could light up the dark
Her heart was pure and trusting
She didn't know pain or heartache
Her wings were wide and flowing
Like downy feathers of a chick
And her halo was untarnished
And it had never been bent
She believed in nothing but happiness
Her beautiful eyes had never cried
And others looked upon her
With love, laughter, and hope
The little girl was broken
Someone shattered her crystal world
And as glass confetti rained down
She realized she was torn
Her wings had been broken
And they were covered in her blood
For her body had been violated
And she was innocent no more
Her halo lay at her feet
Bent sorrowfully in half
And she looked up to heaven
And heard a pitiful laugh
The little girl cried endlessly
She couldn't fix her wings
To fly up and sing with the angels
Was all she had wished to do
But because she was broken
It became all to clear
That little girl, she died that day
And I am what remains
A fallen angel

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The Red

She told me 
she used to have 
my exact same shade of hair 
when she was younger

Then she pointed 
to her graying locks 
as if to say...
“This is what you have to look forward to”

I didn’t have the heart 
to tell her mine was dark auburn #8B 
from a box
Putting my hand on her shoulder
I said “you look great!”

She said 
“I miss the red”

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Gondoliers navigate these old canals
that saw much joy 
and cherished glory;
go and tell about your trades
and mischievous love-affairs,
when voluptuous women
enticed your many travels
and drove you into flaming passions... 
Lambent lagoon,
impeccably domineering,
but impoverished by a loss so great...
that even the Saint Mark's bells toll in regret!
Lambent lagoon,
your lost treasures weren't lavishly spent;
they are still here hidden by sturdy walls,
and cherished by people visiting
a city trapped in its magnificence,
unable to admit its decadence...

Proud and handsome gondoliers,
row your gondolas under the splendid bridges
and sing of a glorious past
that will never come back;
these streets,squares and canals
that marked its sudden rise,
also lamented its quick dawnfall...
with the sail-ships anchored at shore!

Lambent lagoon,
I rejoice in your indelible glories
and express grief for your losses;
but your greatness is still recaptured...
to comfirm an aura so unconcealed
by the appearance of the glimmering moon!     

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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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Her Name was Nappy Monde

An ancient form of flattery
Enchanting was the scenery
Surrounded by her slavery
As her Master showed her ‘round.

To keep it clean was simplified
No need to keep the grounds.

To work in shelter clean and warm
She began to feel forlorn
And stepped outside to pick the corn
All nature not a sound.

To please the Master amplified
The barking of a hound.

A splitting pain and aftershock
She looked up from her picking spot
A man she formerly knew not
Had whipped her to the ground

A slave and not a person she
He called the Master down.

Confused her mind was racing
For no longer she’d be tasting
All the goods that now are wasting
In the kitchen where it’s found

No longer she’ll be favoured
The Master’s bitter wrath she crowned.

Now fated to the feeder
Her eyes gazed upon the greeter
A lady new and not so meagre
Would cause her a weary frown

Another damsel bated in
Her nervousness well-found.

Not plain she entered into bond
not a penny she had conned
She heard him whisper Nappy Monde
Her now adopted noun.

Her boundary now the walls within
No need to be outbound. 

For Thrice he bought a lady
Once named Donna then a Sadie
A carbon of an act so aerie
Walking in a wedding gown

His first wife was a Nappy
His psyche banefully unsound.

Then the night he left to visit
Finally rose to rest his gizzard
Up to meet the wifely wizard 
Who’s spell was painfully profound

To walk alongside his young Nappy
To worship saintly skin so brown.

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Untitled #24 / Two weeks ago

Two weeks ago I could stroll
along the riverside happy smiling in peace
Where’d it go?
And can the Timbuktu of tomorrow really
be closer than my home of yesterday?

Details | Narrative | |


An attack of this magnitude
was completely unforeseeable;
and who thought that an unguarded city
had to feel that sense of solitude...
through an urealistic exodus so undiscernible,
and later reclaim its struck territory!

What we not the superb Twin Towers: 
the pride of the wealthiest nation on earth,
towers that can be rebuilt in years;
it's those lives that enmity cut short!
And they tried to disorientate us,
and disrupt our ingenuous and lively living
by spreading unrest and choas
with absurd and infernal thinking!

This infamy is so ineffaceable
from the mind of the unfoolish,
fair and reasoning man with greater intellect...
that it becomes so inexplicable;
a shameful act not condoned by civilization,
confirmed by unsympathetic sentiments!

What we lost truly irreplaceable
by every imaginable remedy:
its the worth, the comfort  and the unbroken joy, 
which dazzled in the NewYorkers' eyes...
making their days so livable! 
What we eternally
carved out into those shining stones:
bearing glorious names to withstand time itself1


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The Vigil

Again, she moved,
and then again.
Hardly noticeable, no more than
a micro-milimetre twitch.
Tiny, tiny flickers of the cheek,
eyelids, lips and fingers;
easy to miss unless you look hard;
and I never miss a trick
for I always look hard.
She looks as if she isn’t breathing,
but if I lean across her, lower my face to her
dry lips, slow, fractional, gossamer gasps
bearing the cold fetid stink
of rain-moistened cemetery dirt,
tickle my fine facial hairs.
Time passes neither swiftly or slow;
perhaps it ceases to pass at all,
and she and I are nothing
but figures in a photograph,
a sombre, sad snapshot,
frozen mannequins trapped
in Death’s vigil.
She stirs the starched white sheets
a little; releases a brief, distant moan
other ears would not have heard
for they are not attuned to each and every
bodily nuance as I have become.
She settles her bones into the air-filled mattress
and the loosely wound death clock continues to tick on.
My eyes never leave her for an instant.
I will be here until the harsh and bitter end.
It seems a million sunsets ago that she
was all the world to me;
and now I am all the world has left to her
to keep this deathbed vigil.
In truth I dread it’s passing
for when it is done
I will be alone
and who will there be to
hold and love me then?

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He Will Never Change

I cheated myself
On giving my time
My love divine 
To someone else
Like he  did

He married one chick
To put him through college
To gain more knowledge
Now he’s out
With big clout

He married chick number two
And didn’t want to leave me alone
When I told it on him
He tried to flip the script on me
Like he was the object of my pursuit
But he was acting out in being sad 
And blue cause he thought 
That I would never do that 

Now I’m gone but he’s still
Doing someone else and her too
He is oh so lame
And outright insane
I’m glad I learned his game.

This dude is pitiful and crude.
Even when his cells mulitiply,
And rearrange this dude will
Never ever ever ever change.

wrote 3-21-08

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Her Story

She cuts with a knife,
Because you ruined her life,
She doesn't care how it feels,
She hopes it never heals,
She hates herself.

She said "I don't know who I am",
Her mind is in a jam,
She feels her pain,
And it makes her feel sane,
She's draining her anger.

The blade was sharp,
She heard the harp,from god
She slit her wrist,
She felt the mist,
It was sticky.

It was red,
She lost her head,
No one believed her story,
But her wrists are gory,
With blood.

Shes dead,
Nothing left to be said,
She cried that night,
nothing was right,
with her life.

But not anymore,
She took it away,
She didn't know what to say,
So she disappeared.

She's gone,
But her soul lives on,
She made everything change,
She made it rearrange,
We now know her.

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They Took His Pulse

They Took His Pulse _ _ _ _
Now, they’re Looking for Us
Up and down the Street
Drive-By-Boys …. Packin’ Heat !

We Dissed’ A Gang-Sign
They Took… What was Mine
Left a Blood-Soaked Message
On A Pain Wracked-Package

… Is He Breathin’ ?
… or is He Leavin’ _ _ _ _
If He is… Then He Must _____
‘Cause They Took His Pulse

They Took His Pulse
Which left Us  Furious
Gotta’ Let em’ Know, We’ Serious
Do Somethin’ – Delirious

… We gon’ Take They Pulse !
Gon’ do something Perilous !
So – Infamous  !
… we took each other’s pulse _ _ _ _

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The Future

We can't see the future,
although, we can make a 
pretty good guess at what
may be ahead.
If you go to the store,
you need a hundred for bread.
Fill your gas tank,
now that's a shock,
you better run to the bank,
and cash in all your stocks.
Home repair,
yea right,
building materials are 
out of sight.
Trying to stay cool,
watch that meter run,
when the bill comes in,
you may be stunned.
What's that you say,
I don't have a job,
some other country
bought us out,
now what's this about?
Try to buy American made,
they are really hard to find,
do we have any factories left,
now do you see the sign?
We are in trouble, 
our voice is quiet, and still,
all the other rich countries,
are taking advantage of this deal.
The future, what future, 
may I ask.

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Bring Them Home

I can still see his face in the early light,
as he boarded his plane for that fatal flight.

Kisses being thrown from a window so far,
taking him from me, back to that war.

On the drive home, I thought to myself,
of his boyhood days, and then I wept.

I had him back for  just a few short weeks,
never expecting a heart full of grief.

Somebody do something, get them out of there,
I'm beginning to think, no one cares.

Imagine for a moment,  just take a little time,
your loved one fighting in a country so blind.

Barbaric actions from the enemy within,
friend fighting friend , and next of kin.

I think it is time to bring them home,
"we can't change others, that's their home."

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Holy Tithe

I saw a man today with zippers on his shoes
and platforms in the news
never stopped him from stepping in the street

I ask him why he looks at the sky
while bombs are blasting at his feet
and he turned to me and softspoke lyricly

of rainbows and starshine, moonshine
and castles in the sky
flying carpets and aladdin’s – mysterious like gempurple – lamp

I saw a boy today with gold flecks in his eyes
and in tremblehands he held a prize,
the world. at his feet; he prayed.

why god are we made this way?
and why does this pain in my chest (such heavy feeling)
set like a stone. in hurting others we hurt ourselves.

why are so many blind to this paradox?
and lock their rationaltics away for ideals and
speals surreal. like a drug is the passion worth all the pain?

I saw a mother daypregnant with worry
for her daughters and sons and in such a hurry
to love with all her heart because that was all she could give.

I told her why don’t you leave this place. this
wreaking ball place. but she smiled with a
twinkle in her eye and told me such tales of scheherazade and her arabian k(nights

and me nightpregnant with fear flee dustfloating notions
that are my present circumstances and
like shahryar immediatly suspicious

the wheel turns and burns halfmooncircles
into the skin and banishes all the compassion of the heart.

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Sunshine when it's rains

Sunshines when it rains
In order 4 a flower 2 grow you have 2  have
sunshine and rain
heartache and pain
dis likes and likes

nThroughout life you will always have ur set of trials. 
But you can never be a winner unless u over come the obstacles that are 
constantly surrounding you.
I did it why cant u
that's the thing 
you can make it
with God
as ya strength anything is possible
Just belive and it shall come 2 pass......

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Through These Eyes

Through this journey,
I call my life,
many a beauty,
has been seen,
through these eyes.
My course not chartered,
during my younger years,
which led me to heartache,
and many a tear.
Loved ones have passed,
but sweet memories remain,
through this sorrow,
much wisdom I gained.
Trying to recall,
all the paths I've been,
the ink would empty,
from my many pens.
All this, and more,
make me who I am,
and I am bleesed,
To  still be around.

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I remember being loved very much
Of loving you too in the day, in the night and  . . . 
And I remember waking in the early morning
Before the sun rose
Before the moon fell
I remember watching the sighing of moonlight across your skin
How it rained just for us, for you in March
And how the skies shaded the sun on that one-day in October so slightly
I remember our children
And Mary
I remember our first child and the way you smiled in those first moments

I remember
In the sighing of my life I remember you
Watching over me
Loving me
Always loving me
And . . .

I remember dying

Growing old together with laughter and tears
Of looking back on our life together
Of being eighty-four summers old and new 
Of celebrating your eighty-third autumn and spring
With our children
And our grandchildren with their squealing laughter and “Nana, Nana!”

I remember my last breath
And how my eyes fell upon you to the last

I remember dying

My story . . . 

It was supposed to end there

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Tomorrow towers
As I lament the hours
Burying the days
That have already come

I know it is near
Swallowing the fear
Breathing the silence
That has yet to come

Born to die
Living a lie
Telling myself
It will never come

One by one
Till there are none
Who will tell me
My hour has come

Time will tell
When there is no one else
To have never lived
Is loss

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Killing Bobby

In their home they make me ashame
they're not aware of my pain
I will run,there's much to gain
I don't look back & my spirit sings
In my mind my legs are wings
freeing me to fly to my dreams
my heart is strong and pushes me on
my fear is stronger & clips my wings 
Again I walk,my steps are slow
my heart is heavey,my head hangs low
return to their home I know I must
As soon as I'm in the sermons begin
she cannot see she's hurting me 
can't they see I'm gonna crack
they won't let up,I can't fight back
I pray for strength but I am told 
it well be hell I will go
I have a friend, she sends for me
on a bus I travel there
I run to her and spread my wings 
far to the north I live with her
We love to dance,the music loud
I will try to be proud 
away from them I will stand
begin to love who I am
By the phone she does the same
hurting me with words of gloom
she penns her poison from the book
preaching of my future doom
I shed my tears not my pain
she only sees the ugly me 
She cannot see,till it's late
the man I dream I need to be
They kept their hold and wouldn't let go
I was wrong to have told
now I know I'll never be free
my soul is dark and turing cold
I know I'm weak but I'm not a freak

The darkess is coming
bringing me peace
at last I find what I seek

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The Old Shanghai

the old Shanghai,
that most devoted friend
doing a duty so faithfully, crowing,
rousing the farmer at break of dawn;

the proud Shanghai,
arrogantly strutting off, chest out,
white plumes advertising his place
among feathered brethrens in the farm;

the lusty Shanghai,
flirting with a harem of adoring hens 
if not fighting a rooster over some slight,
imagined or otherwise, though actually
just attracting attention from other hens;

the loyal Shanghai,
keeping his farmer-friend company
through many years of rain or shine,
never demanding anything in return
just his daily feeds, a friend indeed;

late waking up one morning the farmer,
when the sun is bright high up in the sky;
damn that Shanghai not to rouse him!
rubbing his eyes, rushing to the barn
to scold the lazy fowl forgetting his job;

tears flowing down the farmer's face,
eyes on a form prone on the ground;
leaving him without saying goodbye,
the Shanghai has died in the night;

no more the old, faithful Shanghai
for him greeting a brand-new morn
when the tired world again awakens 
in bold renewal, new hope bringing;

I miss that old Shanghai of mine. 

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Ode to the Player

Within the waning moon
This January eve,
Aquarius in bloom
Fixes on a faded tune
Played on a bass guitar.

How far you are are
From where I am.
Those junkie memories
Do sicken me.
The lost time of 
Soul madness.

Suzanne, by a river
He named me
Picking a bass guitar.
Here than you are
Here to say, hello.
Dark apparition
I have let go.

Lifes' curtain
Came crashing
And now you are asking, why?
So was I hearing only
The echo of a pounding
Bass guitar.

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In a poppy field.... 
Before the Great War 
Children danced and played... 
In bright colours.... 
That I saw 

The mud churned.... 
Men ,dead 
Men, dying 
Men, bleeding and raw 
Men, crying 
Men, aimlessly led 
Guns, firing, 
in the bright colours that I saw 

Vast regiments.... 
Disappearing in the light.... 
Gone forever.... 
It made no sense 
The wasted men.... 
Gone in to the night 

In a poppy field.... 
After the Great War 
No one danced.... 
No one came.... 
With no name 
In a trench.... 
In France 

Such despair.... 
In a field of such colour 
I felt it there.... 

The War.... 
To end all wars.... 
In a poppy field 
Where children played 
Bright colours..... 
In a poppy field 
There lay.... 
The hearts of men 

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Repeat Time

The sun was falling , as I walked among the brave,
so many markers in rows marking their graves.

I knew without a doubt, this was hallowed ground,
the wind was still, nothing making a sound.

Flags adorned each and every one,
a tribute of honor for all the brave daughters, and sons.

How many more, will be added each year,
I hung my head, and shed a tear.

These are our soldiers, that lie so still,
some of our finest, another war killed.

An end we must find, to this madness of man,
why in the world can't they understand.

Sadness, and heartache. they leave behind,
families still grieving as we repeat time.

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Deaths Kiss

Last night I dreamed a wonderful fantasy,
We were together for all the world to see,
We were in a field of white roses and snapdragons,
You were dressed in black from head to toe with a white dragon,
On your back I too was in a black dress and black lace,
Then a slow smile spread across your face.
You kissed me with black lips,
Someone said it was deaths kiss,
The kiss broke and you began to laugh,
Then you took my hand and lead me down a darkened path,
I saw Alaucard and he smiled at me,
As though he knew and could see,
Right through me to my pounding heart,
You said from me you would never part.
We kissed again and this time was different,
It was if this kiss had sent,
A coldness right into my soul,
Then you whispered you would never let go.
Your hand was cold as was your touch,
No one had ever affected me this much,
Then I woke up with a fright,
It had been a horrible night,
I went to the bathroom and what did I see,
The black deaths kiss you had given me.

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I’m tired of the lies 
And all the frustration.  
I don’t want love
If it means frustration.

I’m tired of you trying
To hold me down.
If you want a real friend
Quit kidding around.

I’m tired of playing 
Playing games is not for me,
If you don‘t want my love
Just set me free.

I’m tired of waiting 
For you to see 
That I’m tired of you 
Treating me selfishly.

If you think that I’m joking
You must be joking too.
To put it simply 
I’m just tired of you.

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Untitled #7 / The child

As the child rolled through a field of flowers
he spotted a butterfly flittering towards the sky
and thought he might grab the thing, sprout wings
and let the beauty carry him to heaven
he jumped and stretched out his little arms
but the insect had floated out of reach
and with a thud he fell back to the soil,
sobbing to the sun. 
But he had to try.

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Untitled #77 / The land is old yet reborn

Oh! The land is old yet reborn
baptized in the fallen rain, innocent
in spite of the pain it has witnessed
over thousands of years the stage of
countless tragedies, tales of mortal strife, now they all
fall away, oh, save for mine! 
On the porch I swoon from the fear 
of that coming witch!
My soul wavers! I cannot remain!
Though my eyes would love to drink up these angel tears
I will walk back inside with Hannah!
I am lost!

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My Lost Love

Invisible knife shimmering soft
Delicious brides shimmering soft
grooms chortle love on silky slips

Stealthy sultry skin
hot and waxen
Fevered positions
nocturnal passion

Vows of night
consummated by day
Shadow dressed light
love bled away

Invisible knife shimmering soft
Delicious brides shimmering soft

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I Do Believe

When it comes to the war,
why do many change the subject?
I have a voice ,and I speak it often,
I don't think this war is absolutely necessary.
I don't think our soldiers are getting the honor, and respect
they deserve.
I don't think enough is being done for our wounded.
I don't think enough is being done for the families that have
suffered a loss.
I do believe the longer our soldiers are leading the fight for
another countries Democracy, the longer they will be there.
I do believe if the soldiers were given a voice, we might be surprised
with the answers we hear.
I do believe four years is enough time to accomplish just about
I do believe in letting countries settle their own battles.
I know our soldiers are tired, homesick, lonely, and just want this
war to be over, and soon.

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Missing Mama Today



Lord, I miss seeing mama today.
   But, she's in heaven and I know that she’ s okay.
But Father, if You would, can I ask You this.
   Upon her forehead please place this kiss.
She was here for me so many years
   She would pick me up, and dry those tears.
Lord, You know that I still love her so, 
  And that goes without saying, but this You know.
Lord, I was the burden that she packed.
  I was that monkey upon her back. 
She saw something in me, that I just couldn't see.
   She prayed to You, she prayed for me.
She wanted me to step out of the night.
   She prayed to God I'd see the light.
Then it happened not long ago, I accepted Christ forever more.
   And it set her free, I opened the door.
But she couldn't leave until she knew.
   That I'd been born again , made anew.
So Lord, if You would, please hold her tight .
   And whisper in her ear she did it right.
Cause I sure miss mama today

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In Harms Way

Their mission at hand , can't be defined,
sent far away leaving loved ones behind.

Streets patrolled every minute of the day,
a land of bloodshed, a society in disarray.

Killed or wounded the reports come in,
as more are recruited, and trained to defend.

Tears keep falling every minute of the day,
as families bow their heads to pray.

A wise woman I'm not, but who is these days,
when they send more, and more in the middle of harms way.

God bless our soldiers, and bring them home,
this war we are in, has been going on too long.

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The Ditches Of Yesterday

The romance once felt, now where did it go,
I can still remember that thrill from head to toe.
Tingles from deep within, making you smile,
oh, how I miss, what I haven't felt in such a while.
Foolish I was to think passion could last,
as your mind keeps taking you, back to your past.
Dwelling on remnants, you can never find enough,
the past, is the past, and that is why, it is so tough.
Today is all we have, to be certain of,
the ditches of yesterday, will bury todays love..

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Shame , Shame

Shame ,Shame, you raised a hand,
no, your victim does not understand.
Whatever in this world, gives you the right,
causing such pain, looking for a fight.
You are the one, with a problem, you hear,
not the one, you've filled with fear.
Prisons, and asylums,  hold many like you,
help or punishment, for the things you do.

There is no excuse for this.

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Untitled #6 / The boy

The boy heard the familiar tune
wafting through the radio at midnight
as he lay alone in his bed, enshrouded
in darkness – “to be a rock and not erode”
cautioned the singer, but the boy
could not help but wonder
who his girl was making love to that night
and he could not help but cry.

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We Need Help

How careless they play their game,
do I have to name , names?

I'll do this, and I'll do that,
but my bank account needs to be fat.

Constantly they fight for votes, hey, 
they really know the ropes.

Don't blame me, it's not my fault,
and another one just got caught.

Sneaky, and slick, where do they all stand,
I believe we just got slammed.

Trust, respect, honor, what do these words mean?

They mean a war in a far away land,
They mean soldiers, that don't have a voice,
They mean graves being dug everyday,
They mean hospitals full of wounded,
They mean promises not being kept,
They mean we as a country, really need help.

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Silent Screams

Silent screams throughout the land,
 are heard from many, who don't understand.
Fighting a war, of endless rage,
still this battle brews more hate.
Innocence, once, so long ago,
now instead horror, rapidly grows.
Graves multiply, tears linger on,
voices never heard, lives are gone.
The Eagle is flying, his wings can't fail,
even though  once there were many, still his strength prevails.
Victory for others, as their blood runs deep,
in the middle of an explosion, will we ever see?
Silent screams will be heard, forever, and a day,
as they bury their loved ones, who were willing to pay.

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My Comfort

A heart that is hurting, is natures way to grieve,
the pain we feel so deep inside, really makes us see.
We are human, and we share love, but also we can lose,
special people in our life, and no one, can fill their shoes.
Sometimes I still cry for the mother I can't hold,
but those memories she left me, are more precious than gold.
Oh yes, I still see her face, and smell her sweet perfume,
unexpectedly it happens, when I walk past her room.
This is my assurance, that she is always near,
and still sometimes, she calls my name, but no one else can hear.
Now all I have is her memory,  and those, I cherish so,
they are in my heart, my treasures, and I'll never let them go.
She left them for me, my comfort.


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Untitled #4 / When his wife died

When his wife died after three months of marriage
the widower tried to fill the hole in his heart
with food, TV, cards, booze, Buddhism
but none could take her place
so instead
he put a hole in his head.

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Hand on hat,scarf wrapped tight
Black brolly angled low;
Each step a battle won.
A frail determined figure
On this year's reunion.

Face down in the mud
He was later found,
A note clutched in death's grip
"Better to die upon your feet
Than to live upon your knees"

No-one remembers why
No epitaph they wrote
Yet engraved thereon ..his final note.

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I'm Going To Die

What life has done for me,
Is not to set me free,
Now I’m waiting to let go,
But I don’t want to let my fear show,
So set me free,
Suck the life from me,
Don’t let this lie show,
Just let go,
I find freedom in death,
And now I’m holding my breath,
So take me away,
My life is in disarray,
I can’t believe,
You just now perceive,
That I am going to die,
But I want to say good-bye,
I’m going out my way,
I’m sorry I can’t stay.

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Gone, As With the Wind

It was dark and cold as he wandered the streets of Chicago
Strangers were the only people he saw, he had no friends
Searching nightly, he had never found her, the one he sought
He needed to find her, for without her, his destiny ends

Strangers were the only people he saw, he had no friends
He was new to the city, but felt welcomed, when their eyes met
Two in a crowd, for a moment, they shared a glance
A face of an angel, truly a face he would never forget

Searching nightly, he had never found her, the one he sought
For she wandered in to the crowd and was lost then from view
He ran, he stopped, he started again, searching everywhere
Until, as the sun had gone down, his spirit did, too

He needed to find her, for without her, his destiny ends
He feels in his heart, that the two of them were destined to be
Alas, he could not find her, in this big cold dark windy place
But he would never stop trying, else his heart shan’t be free

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“This place stinks, let’s get out of here,
  let’s paint the town and have some fun.”
“Give me a sec, let me grab my books,”
  I would reply and hurriedly we would run. 

Cutting classes in our suburban school,
we'd dash off to the nearest watering hole,
then drink like tomorrow would never come, 
stumbling out at midnight when we were done.

Wasting summer days on drinks and songs,
flirting with pretty waitresses all night long;
rather predictable but that was our routine,
we would get our fill, it was our usual scene.

Bosom buddies and so it seemed but that was then.

Built our careers to meet both our family’s needs
till the pressure to succeed was a knot in your head.
Though I’d often prod you to take things in stride,
your impatience was just impossible to hide.

When I made it quite big and became wealthy 
you fumed ‘The damn bastard is just plain lucky.’
When I built a mansion and acquired properties,
you felt left out and thought I was greedy.

You looked at your failures vis-a-vis my success,
wondering why you didn’t have more but less.
Yours was a friendship built on shifting sands,
easily dismissed by a mere wave of your hand. 

In our carefree days on board the same boat,
you know, it did not take much effort to float.
Yet years later when I started to get ahead
’twas when Mr. Hyde reared his ugly head.

So, old buddy, here is a toast and a cheer
for all the years we spent drinking our beer.
No need to feel sentimental counting the cost
nor feel regrets for what we may have lost.
For how could we lose what wasn’t there at all,
it was just make-believe, that’s all.