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Narrative Time Poems | Narrative Poems About Time

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The Clouds


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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Gold Star

I remember as a young boy, going out to play, I would sometimes see old Mr. Kimball, sitting on the steps of his porch, often reading the paper. World War II was in full swing so the newspapers and radios were avidly sought out for the latest news.  Mr. Kimball was a fireman, and probably not even that old, but he seemed that way to me.

Sometimes, he would invite me to sit with him and we would talk about everything and nothing.  I loved spending time with him because, he was the only grown up I knew that took the time to entertain the mind of a young boy.

In his front window hung a small flag. It had a red border surrounding a white field, upon which there were two blue stars.  I was always curious about it, so I asked him what it was.  He said “It's a Sons in Service flag.  One star for each son serving.  You remember my boys don't you?”  I did of course.  Chuck, the oldest, used to tease me, calling me a sissy to get a reaction.  Bobby was a couple of years younger, and the bike I was riding once had been his.

Mr. Kimball went on to explain how Chuck was now in the Army and fighting in France.  Bobby was in the Navy, aboard a ship somewhere in the Pacific.  He didn't say it, but I'm sure he was worried about both, communications being what they were back then.

One day, when I was walking over to see him, I noticed that the flag had changed.  It now carried one blue star, but the other one was gold.  With the innocence that comes of being a child, I asked what the gold star meant.  He quietly said “It means Chuck is coming home”, and without further comment, he turned and went in the house.

A couple of days later, I saw a hearse pull up to the Kimballs house, and four men carry a flag draped box up the porch steps.  That is the moment the meaning of war came to a small boy.  I knew Chuck was home.

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An Escape

Have some time to spare in-between a work schedule 
burning me from the inside, out.
Wasted too much time on the computer already,
my body aches from physical inactivity.

Thoughts are racing faster than the speed of light,
the routine of modern life is trying to cage in a free spirit-
a pen for a wild horse with boundless energy,
a strong kick and large teeth.

Haven't come down to this part of the bay for years.
Not sure why anymore?
Not too sure about anything right now.
Believed I was too young to be having these thoughts,
but here they come like a booming drum beat,
keeping time with the pounding of my heart,
but always just a little louder,
to remind me how this warning isn't about to depart.

The putrid stench of kelp and dead crabs
baking in the afternoon sun,
curls up my nostrils, awakening memories of childhood....
....the salt in the sea is the salt in my blood;
we have been one since conception.
The salty, deep green rot, smells like bliss to me,
compared with the scents of over-heated wires,
burnt coffee, and industrial-gray carpeting.

Sit down on a large chunk of driftwood.
The waves aren't crashing in their usual rhythmic crescendo,
but lapping quietly like chortling laughter.
The ocean is chuckling,
laughing at my insignificance
in comparison to its almost limitless horizon 
of cruel, cold water.

A familiar pungent aroma creeps my way-
the high citrus scent of bergamot
mixed with the sweet perfume of skunk.
Two young punks are hauling on some reefer
up the beach from where I am sitting.
Can hear their youthful, carefree chatter.
The last time I smoked weed, seems eons ago now.
The smell invokes the rebel still alive inside,
giving a glimpse of who I had once been-
eyes blazing red,
mind full of humble awe
flying high above the clouds like an eagle.

The shrill cries of gulls fighting over a starfish
breaks my stupor of reminiscence,
reminding me of the hungry ways of nature-
the hungry ways of mankind and money.
Damn! My stupid job awaits!

As I make my way back,
pant legs causing the sand grass 
to sigh in dry moans and whispers,
I make up my mind to visit 
this old stomping ground more often.
In fact, I might start coming out here
on all of my lunch breaks.
Out here, the wild horse has ample room to roam,
even if for only a few moments of escape-
an illusion of escape is far better
than having only stifled dreams
and no hope left at all-

feel much better already.

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My Favorite Devonshire

  What the Quack!
I dont want my poems in Poem Zoo!

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My White Lace Tablecloth

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

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

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

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Time Before Winter

September tries to convince herself,
Making pretend that she is really, truly,
A Summer month, albeit one of dying fire,
Holding at bay the chill of Autumn winds.

October plays temptress with her Duality;
Sun to warm the back of your flannel shirt,
With punkin' frosting nights, crisp and cold.
Air so clear it sears the throat like a glass of cider.

November comes dark, wet and gloomy.
An ancient harridan forced to bridal bed.
Chanting "fools, there's time before winter comes,
Still time enough for love."

December mutters in her sleep........

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And The Road Begins?

Mornings are dreadful time in life unless waking beside gorgeous woman hopefully 
a not married one  husbans can be such a downer.
And when ya wake to a warm beautiful creature by your side.
And the first thought that comes to your mind is i wonder whats for breakfest.

Then ya probaly cant read the menu to start with and desserve 
to have a oversized weight lifter re arrange your ribs.

Im a southern man once means several things  non of which means im normal.
And this morning finds my yerning for a trip and widespread  mischief.
My amigo had vanished after are trip south of the boarder I remember saying 
to myself as i watched him  running naked across the dessert  being chased 
by the flying monkeys  he was surley seeing after his consumption of a foreign substance 

There goes a fine american.

I would have ran after him  but  but i didnt want thoose things to turn there attention to me 
I herd they had a thing for southern  actscents.
And theres nothing  worse than a bunch of horney flying monkeys trust me 
Ive delt with this problem  befor.

and being it was happy hour i knew my slightly insane amigo would understand 
in all his naked glory.
Besides  I left him some sneakers  and a sixpack.
And kept his credit card for safe keeping.

Naked men have no place to keep credit cards and I figured he was in no state to handle 

So as i sit  behind  the wheel  ready to to get lost in the madness of fast food and
  the ant hill of insanity that is wall mart i turn my thoughts to vegas.
For where would a lost nude slightly insane person  run to and feel at home.

I had turn the music up to drown out the sound of whoever was in the trunk.
I figured if i had put sombody in there  in a drunken moment.
It had to be for a good reason.

And so with slightly hungover mindset are road begins.
and so with that do the games also.
And i figured hanging around with a cops wife wasnt the smartest idea.
That and im allergic to bullets.

My muse and 16 year old spirtiual advisor had phoned me to say that.
I probaly needed to Invest in the spirt of Jack Daniels  today.
And hey she had went to church more than once  so who was I to argue.

With a five five spitfire by the name of tinker.
so with A unknown companion in the trunk not helping my hangover i was off
to the races  Untill next time kiddies. 
Adios and im off to find my amigo.

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King and Queen for a Day

We bound down the stairs, out into the light-of-day, and into the blue of the
misty breezes, heavily laden with the smell of wild sea salt roses that grow in 
perfusion along the winding road, that bends and turns in gentle lifts and dips to 
the other side of the bay, where it crosses the bridge and rises up and winds 
away, over the hill.

Overhead the seagulls screech and glide over the ocean spray that washes on 
the rocks on the lower banks behind our house along the Fundy Bay, where we 
run like the wind through the fields of fresh cut hay and make our  way to the 
rocky mantle below .

There in the volcanic plateau, worn smooth as glass by the constant rolling 
weight of the ocean, is our pool, known by all in our village, as ‘Lizza’s Bathtub’, 
created by the eruption of the earth’s inner core, millennia’s ago.  

We slip into the still, salty water that has been warmed beneath the blazing sun, 
and float with the perry winkles and tiny crabs and  listen to the sound of the 
ocean, that roars beneath us as it leaves in the receding tide, while we drift 
away, in our minds, my little brother the ‘King’ and I, the ‘Queen’ for a day on 
the ‘Fundy Bay’.

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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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Memories of You

There was a little boy whom I called “Joshie.”  He had a face like sunshine. He would play outside all the time; never coming in when I said to. He loved to skateboard until the sun went down. I would say “Joshie come in; this is going to get the best of you!”  He would just smile that silly grin and look down. He loved to help the elderly for he felt their pain. He charmed them with his compassion and passion. He loved pen and paper, brush and paint, too. For art was his talent, it was what he loved to do. Awards were plenty, recognition was abound. Once they found Joshie’s work, nothing could turn them around. He loved his dog Oliver, just a little thing at that. Whenever he would lick me, Joshie said he was giving me a bath! Joshie was good with the little ones for he knew how to play. Make believe was his specialty and it was always a good day. Grandma K-K and he were very close; little spats now and then. The best she only wanted, so she gave much attention to him. Jonathan, Joshie’s little brother, was the greatest of all. He did want not to be called Jon-Jon because that made him feel small.  Joshie taught Jonathan to ride, and Jon taught Joshie to skate. It really did not matter for they always stayed up late.  Jingle bells and peppermint sticks; our favorite time of year. Houses lit with colors. What is your favorite pick?  Joshie awoke with the sun, while Jonathan wanted none. So, the stairs down Joshie would go ready to take a peek; deciding to open everything just so we could sleep!  But, they grew older.  And, Joshie moved to the city. He was not well, but he did not dwell, 
He just did not reach out to us. The evils of this world encircled my son and slowly took him in. The devil and all his workers really did a number on him. I reached, and reached stretching my arms long.. I called for help, but no response for he was gone. He was going down a path of destruction, and there was no reason or deduction. I thought I would watch him simmer that the bad habits would slowly evaporate. But, the more I watched, the more he detached and Joshie seemed to dissipate. Merry Christmas, Mommy!..... I love you, Joshie. But, can we go back to bed?.....Only if you take me, ‘cause there is no one I want instead. The last time I said “Goodnight”... they were burying him in the ground. The pain remains; the memory will not fade. I just want him around.

Holly P. Moore
October 2012

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Winter Slumber

Winter be but two weeks old and already they lament.
No passion seems as strong as their loudest prayer for spring.
Spring will come when it will and wake the grasses and willow.
Let Natures brief time of slumber last long enough to rest her.

The winter be time for beauty to be found on ice etched panes,
And bayonets of glass, hanging from every eave to be seen.
Winter be found in crystalline air so pure only heroes inhale it.
And footsteps crunch like breaking luttuce upon the snowy ground.

Beyond winter times will speed and rush their way forward.
Spring then Summer and Autumn sprinting to their ultimate ends.
Let winter luff her way on tiny frozen feet while fire warms yours.
Add another log and settle in for a long nap and a dream.

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To All Four-legged AND Two-legged

Hello to all four-legged and two-legged friends in the big world
The people who take care of us, do not know as much as they think
We are probably smarter than they are
Take for example, that little cell phone that our people
always have with them wherever they go
What we do.....lift the foot and "send a message" to a friend
When I am out and walking with my people I get many interesting "messages"
Some "messages" are very interesting and take a little longer time to "read"
Then my people impatient, pulling and struggling the leash
What they can not understand that I must "answer" to all "messages"
Our "conversations" and "messages" are equally important
Think about it....they are also free....there is no expense
When their cell phone call or pling they take time to respond
Hello all two-legged humans our messages are just as important as yours

A-L Andresen

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He played softly on (Les Paul Strings) (The Day That He Returned Home) from the war. (One 
More Mile) to go, then he will be (Kissing and Caressing) her. That was all he thought of on 
his long journey home. He was going to try and win over (The Iceberg Beauty) he saw so 
long ago while (Sitting on the Beach). (Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained) so (He Left Her a 
White Rose). He was hoping the (Dark Maiden) would become (Golden and Gorgeous) once 
again when (In the Meadow We Lay).

(She Entered My Dream)s forever on that day, right after we dove into the water. When (We 
Came Up For Air) (The Flow of My Heart) stopped suddenly. (Have You Ever Sat Still), so still 
breathing stops, the eyes suddenly glaze over and when the (Doves Fly), (The Raven 


(Her Reoccuring Dream) was to become a blond (Beach Beauty) once again for him, as  he 
was always (In Her Dreams). He would cover her with (Sunset Kisses) and the flame of life 
in her would never flicker and die. Alas, (The Mirrors Spoke) of her (In Ageing Decay) as 
she (Sat in Shame No More). Her time was up, those (Three Wishes on The Sandy Beach) 
were not enough. She needed a fourth to be young for evermore. Instead (On Blue Silk She 
Lies), this time her eyes will remain shut (When They Close For Evermore)!

* Narrative derived from one poets work here on the Soup.

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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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A Memorable Person

On a train going south on business
For what seemed an eternity,
I chanced upon a memorable man
Who changed the path of my destiny

He was itinerant to look at
With tatty coat and shabby shoes,
An unshaven face, his hair unkempt
And string, as a belt on his ‘trews’

He boarded the train, peoples heads dropped
For fear that his gaze they’d meet
He walked down the aisle, disappointed,
As no-one would give up a seat

I offered the seat beside me
He thanked me for making the space
I replied with a sincere ‘you’re welcome’
And a smile warmed his weathered face

He asked me about my journey
And I asked of his in return
I felt in my heart, that by talking to him
There was much about life I could learn

I bought us both refreshments
As he told of his life’s history,
Once in a while I would interject
With a small anecdote about me

Behind the shabby persona,
Was a man of intelligent mind
He’d lived on the edge in finance,
Made his fortune, left it behind

As his bank account grew he’d lost everything
His family, his friends, his wife
He’d found out, too late, and at great cost
That there was so much more to life

‘You have to stop and smell the roses,
Make some time for those you hold dear’
And as he spoke, down his rugged cheek
I saw the track of a small, salty tear
As we reached the end of our journey
He clasped my hand at our time to part,
He thanked me for my company
And told me I had a good heart

When I got to my lonely hotel room,
I called my daughters on the phone
And told them ‘we’ll be together soon
I’m taking some time off when I get home.’

Sometimes it takes a chance meeting
To give your whole life a shake
I felt I had met my ‘Hermes’
And now had decisions to make

When I got home, I made a decision
The missed years with my girls I’d amend,
My life took a different direction
All down to my indigent friend

You can’t judge a man on appearance
But if you look in their eyes you can,
I knew in the instant I gave up the seat
I had met a remarkable man.

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Old Pet

 I remember a riding pony I had as a lad which was born blind. A filly she was born during an 
Arkansas blizzard and we did not know that she was blind at first for we kept our horses in our 
barn for several days because of the winter storm. We all had fallen in love with her by the time 
we learned she was blind and could not bear to put her down. I remember training her to ride 
after she was mature enough and I named her “Pet” for she was my riding pony.
 We spent many happy days together riding inside the green pastures. 
I remember she never refused to let me ride her even the first time. And she learned very 
quickly to respond to my voice and she trusted in every command that I gave her. 
I would say, “easy Pet” when we would come to rough terrain or an eroded ditch in the 
pasture. She would slow to a careful walk, in response to my voice.
 I would ride her down into the lower part of the pasture to the creek in hottest part of the day. 
Pet could of course smell the water and when she would come near the bank of the creek I 
would again say, “easy Pet” and she would respond by slowing to a snail’s pace down the steep 

 Pet would wade out about belly depth into the water where she would drink her fill of the cool 
clear water. And I would use her back as a diving board launch and swim to my heart’s delight. 
After she was through drinking I would climb on her back again and give her head to her and 
she would trot to the barn where she knew I would give her treats, such as carrots, apples, 
sugar cubes and so on. 

 I remember I never did have the heart to make her run full speed as 
I supposed that her blindness was burden enough in her life for her to bear. 
It is said of truth that one gets to keep in heaven those things of this life that were loved sufficiently. 
I know that my beloved Pet shall be my precious playmate again in the heavenly ethereal of the Spirit.

 Pet lives on even now in the depths of my childhood memories. Her loving low neighs as she 
approached me by smell, and her nuzzles into my pocket for the sugar cubes she knew would 
always be there for her. In heaven I shall see my Pet again, and this time she will see me, 
maybe for the first time.    

For and in honor of Carol Brown
and Contest.

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As I think back to that dark time in our community I don’t know if I’d ever seen anyone quite 
like that (Cinder Girl). We girls thought she had (Lovely Bones). The last time I saw her alive, 
she was sitting on her porch blowing a (Dandelion Wishing) for a long life.I think she knew 
that (Before Night Falls) her (Worst Fear) would be realized. The beast from the nether 
world, who I think directed everything was that (Dog That Wears a Cone). He sat in her side 
yard staring at her. The locals called him Cujo, he was (By Any Other Name), (The Beast of 
Our Making). Cujo aside, (That Guy Paul) Cujos’ minion, was one (Bloody Bastard). He was 
going to involve Cinder in (A Rural Tragedy) of epic proportions.
It went down on a (Heavy Slush)y winters’ eve guaranteed not to be a pastoral (Scene On a 
Road in Winter). I had entered the old abandoned farmhouse on my way home from town. I 
was cold and my feet were wet from the slush. I sat down in a small room out of the draft. I 
heard voices outside. Paul endured (The Wait) for his accomplice in the cold. When she 
arrived he began talking to (The Girl Who Wears the Dragon Tattoo). Then I saw what he 
had done. 

(What was I Thinking) (What If) they found me hiding (Inside This Little Room). Paul and the 
dragon lady were sweaty (Toilers at the Trench), digging frozen dirt in winter is hard work. I 
heard Paul laugh as he said to “TATS,” this time we’re (Cleaning House)… Was I next?

Suddenly, the opportunity for escape from this nightmare arose. Jake the bumbling county 
snow plow driver unknowingly swung the truck onto the farmstead with its’ halogen lights 
probing deep (Into Night). He had (Thwarted) their hiding this heinous crime. The sight he 
illuminated gave me the [That Potent Urge(Gotta Go, Gotta Go Right Now)]. I ran from that 
house into the night. No one ever knew I was there and since Jake was the only witness the 
court needed, I never came forward.

Jake had never been (My Kind of Apple) because (Jake Sure Loved His Beans). Regardless, 
Jake unknowingly saved my life that night. I never thought it would happen but over time I’d 
grown accustomed to the gas. We were married late last fall and as we left the reception I 
saw Cujo on a nearby hill wearing that ominous cone. I thought to myself as he watched us 
leave, he knows…

            Oh God, he knows I was there!

            *This narrative derived from the titles of one poets work here on the Soup.

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A Christmas Conversation

Daddy, were you alive when Jesus was born?

No honey, he was born a long time ago, over 2000 years ago.

Where was he born Daddy?

In Bethlehem, a small town in the desert in a manger,

Whats a manger Daddy?

It's a place where they kept animals to feed them.

You see when Jesus was born the Inn was full, so 
they had to get Mary to a warm place to give birth to Jesus.
that was the only place they could go.

Daddy who is Jesus' Daddy?

God is his Father honey?

But who is Joseph?

The Chosen Father, who God chose to raise him, Mary's Husband

I don't understand Daddy!

God wanted a son, he could not have a son without Mary and Joseph's
help. God asked them both if they would help him, without even thinking
they said yes. God gave to them a great gift, God gave them Jesus.

At that moment God gave us all a great gift, He gave us the Son of Man.

The Son of Man Daddy?

Yes honey, you see God is not Man, not one you can touch, Jesus
was, he healed people who were sick, He showed people how to love God 
and how God loves them. There is one more important thing
I want to tell you honey.

What's that Daddy? Jesus did a coupla more things I think are 
important, there are many of course but two I like.

Go on Daddy!

Jesus taught us how to love without conditions, like the way I love you 
and you love me and your Mom and Brother. But how to love everybody
like that.  The most important thing is, is that he died because we humans
broke God's laws, which means we sinned. He died so God would
forgive us.

Wow Jesus really did love us didn't he Daddy...?

Yes he did baby, and the really good thing is he still does and always will.

Come on it's time for bed!

Not until I say my prayers Daddy!

How bout we Pray together tonight?

I'd like that Daddy!

So would I baby, so would I .

Jump up on my back and I'll give you piggy back ride!

I love you Daddy!

I love you too baby, I love you too.........

My Christmas wish is you all have Conversations like this with your 
kids. Trust me they bring tears of joy!

May God Bless you all this Christmas Season as he has Blessed me.

    From Mary, Josh, Shay and myself  MERRY CHRISTMAS and HAPPY NEW YEAR

                             With Love.....Taz

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I drift into the night

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Summer Scent

Summer scent is the smell of freedom
where we can escape the flavor of boredom
so we plan to have our vacation on the beach
where we can relax and fresh air is within our reach

The warm wind tenderly embraced my spirit
I felt excited on this first visit
on an island where refugees can find paradise
an island where spending time is wise

The dulcet breeze gently kisses lush green trees
and the mirthful sun smiles over the vast seas 
Where surfers play with gigantic waves
and are not certain on what road it paves

The fluffy clouds are smoothly sailing 
the birds are singing and harmoniously dancing
There are butterflies that are colorful in hue
like enchanted fairies changing colors from pink to blue

I need my sun block, it's time for swimming
the tables are full because later we're all eating
Ladies are smiling to many cool surfer dudes
Children are hungry seeing delicious exotic foods

I picked a shell that whispered peacefully in my ears
and we built castles that we fancied over the years
out of the small grains of white sands
and all you need is helping hands

God was really great in creating splendid wonders
that were loved by all especially the nature lovers
There are numerous oceans that are aquamarine
and abundant trees and grasses that are green

The brother sun was slowly hiding
because the sister moon was coming
I guess it was our time to pack
but there will come a time for us to go back

Go back to a place of leisure and freedom
where you'll not taste the flavor of boredom
It would be hard for us to say goodbye
because truly we will come back and say Hi!

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The Last Goodbye

The last time I took Pop to the big lake, the wind was so strong,
it nearly blew his wheelchair over, I knew just where to stop...
at the top of the hill, the windiest place!

I left him alone, he just looked out on the lake unblinking,
rewinding moments, that made him who he was.

In days past.....

He told me the story of his best friend in high-school, who wanted
Dad to go along with him duck-hunting on that sunny, warm morning in fall... 
1940, Dad had promised my Mom (not yet married!) he would go with her 
on a picnic in the bluffs along the Mississippi.... so he declined.
From sunshine and 70... to freezing white-out conditions up and down the river,
many lives were lost that day, including my Pop's best friend.... 
the Great Armistice Day Storm lived on in Pop's heart...
Dad went to his friend's funeral.

Or the time.....

 Dad took my Grandpa (Mom's Dad) on the first vacation he had
 ever been on! Grandpa worked until he died...... the Company
he worked for had tricked him, letting him work 29yrs. 11 months,
and 28 days, then firing him two days before his pension would kick-in.
Pop took him fishin' for the first time in his life! bought him a straw fishin' hat too!
Dad kept baitin' his hook and Grandpa caught 6-fish before Dad could cast a line!.... 
Pop called him 6-fish Bumford after that! and us kids weren't allowed to touch
Grandpa's straw-hat from that fishin' trip..... Dad kept it on a hook in his work-room
 in the basement, with the words "Six Fish Bumford...My Best Friend"
 scrawled under it on the wall (I still have it)

In a while, I knew it was time to bring him back......he had finished
looking out on his life....

.......he was ready to go

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How I Snagged Joe (and the rest is history)

Hot August, 1974, I was back for my second year at college,
having just settled into a new place at Anita Apartments,
right next to the guys’ apartment complex called Tanner’s.
My first night, we answered a knock at our door.
Steve Dietrich, a friend of my roommate, entered our apartment,
but my eyes went immediately to the younger man with him.
That would be his brother Joel, there for his first year at BYU.
My first thought was this: How shy he is, so reserved. . . but so adorable.
He was tall and thin and cute as the dickens.
They stayed for just a while, and by the time they left,
I’d formulated my big plan:
 to get to know this boy Joel (who everyone just called Joe).

There was to be a parking lot dance that weekend,
and so I waited expectantly, hoping all week 
 to catch a glimpse of this boy I’d found so attractive,
but no matter how often I strolled past his apartment,
my opportunity for a “chance encounter” never occurred.

The night of the dance arrived and I was right there,
all decked out in my colorful tight top with bellbottoms,
long luscious lashes curled and pink frost lipstick applied.
When I caught sight of Joel, he was slow dancing with some girl.
A blonde with glasses, she was rather plain and smaller than me.
I was not pleased to see her with Joe, and I thought to myself:
Hmmmm, who does she think she is? I saw him first, 
and he is NOT going to stay with her tonight.

As they danced, I fixed my eyes on him, 
my beautiful, long-lashed, sultry green eyes.
He looked up and saw me then. I must have taken him by surprise
because I did not lower my gaze. 
I wanted him to know that he was going to be mine,
so I willed him with my gaze to break away from that blonde
and come to me.
And so he did. .  the rest is history.

Beside me at this moment, lying on our bed, watching TV,
is the man who today bears little resemblance to that 
very young man I met 35 years ago.
I turn to him and ask, “Do you remember the VERY first time you saw me?”
He replies, “I don’t know; a parking lot dance?”
Well, at least he came close. . .

For Frank Herrera's Contest: Love Story

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Unzipping the Past

I am sorting through the pictures, in a weathered leather album
And sorting through the questions, that are tethered in my head
If time is relative, as they say, then,...what defines this moment?

I am living here missing them....but is it me that's really dead?

Am I here? Am I there? Is it now? Is it then? 
Am I living in the future, or has tomorrow already been??
All the familiar faces, here before me, in sepia faded poses...
I sense the comfort of their arms, with voices, soft and lingering...
how can that be, if they are gone......yet still a part of me?
Perhaps they still live and it is me,  who is fading, all along?...

Wind at the window, and an old ticking clock,
      keeping me counting, pondering thoughts
While the questions unanswered circle the room...
I re-memorize the faces, ....each page is a story, 
the story keeps weaving, memory's loom 

My mother, alive, long brown braids, as a child...
Younger than I ever knew her to be...
My father, so strong, ...before he was frail...
The faces before me, did they follow my trail?
Or did they come first, ...with stories to tell?
Yes, here is my grandmother, who cradled me well.....
Where did she go? She lives in me still... 
Or is she still here, looking down from above
while I still feel the love, as I look down at her now?

What is time, what is death, where am I in the scheme of things?
Can you help me unlock the spell...
Tell me, ....tell me......
Do we circle around the wheel of life, of death, of time....
In sepia, faded yellow and brown?

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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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Farmer Joe

On the banks of the mighty Skagit,
where the rushing waters flow,
sat a fisherman of merit,
the one known as Farmer Joe.
Long he sat there, long he fished there,
always waiting for the day
he would catch a mighty salmon
and it wouldn't get away.
He had lived upon the prairies
where crop farming was his life,
working hard to care for family,
seven children and a wife.
Times were hard and for this farmer
it was toil and toil some more.
If good crops the price was lower,
if good prices, crops were poor.

He worked hard, did this poor farmer
and he fed his family well,
for he raised this big truck garden,
pigs to eat and milk to sell.
He thought often of his childhood
on the banks of the Wabash,
where he spent his youth just fishing,
some to eat and some for cash.
Rationed waters on the prairies,
in the years when it was dry,
made him long so for the rivers.
Even tough old farmers cry.
Family raised he quit his farming,
and he headed for the West,
where he'd heard of powerful rivers
and of fishing at its best.

Once he saw the Skagit River
in the State of Washington,
said he then, "We'll go no further
for I know this is the one."
Stayed he there by that big river,
never straying far away;
stayed he there and fished it daily.
It was now his time to play.
Grown old he had at farming,
he had just a few years left
for to catch that wary salmon,
the great one of mighty heft.
When the fishing season opened,
he'd get up at break of day,
fix his breafast, fix his lunch sack.
He'd be on that bank to stay.

There he met his fishing cronies,
all retired with leisure time.
Sat they fishing by the river,
all these fellows past their prime.
Then one day at last it happened.
He pulled out that fishing prize.
Then they weighed and then they measured
and declared it super size.
And the fisherman of merit,
the one known as Farmer Joe,
grinned and said, " I'm glad I did it,
before it was my time to go."
God in heaven must have noticed
how he longed for that big fish.
Said He then,  "I'll let him stay there
long enough to get his wish".

On the wall there hangs a picture 
of that farmer and his prize,
for that farmer was my daddy
who a few weeks later dies.
Called he then to old St. Peter,
standing guard at the Golden Gate.
"Welcome Joe",  said that old fisherman.
"Come on in, the fishing's great".

Won 3rd place
For Mac's Best poem contest.  (It may not be my best but it is the one of which I am most 
proud.  It hangs on the wall beside my daddy and his big fish.

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The old man sighed
Sitting on a rock next to a pond
Crookedly balancing Yin and Yang between his eyelashes
Conversing with the Lady of the pond
Jade eyes and un-wrinkled time
In Her beautiful face
Held in his hands
An old fishing rod

Bends and flexes with the times
It holds and catches even the biggest
Devils in the water 

The lotus flowers embrace the jade tide
Soft-hearted water caressing unmovable rock
Trees bent in silent reflection

The ultimate knowledge, the Lady whispered
Lies between the murmur of the leaves
The laughter of the lotus
The bend in the trees

Listen! Listen!
These will outlast everything

He thought
I shall give knowledge to my sons
And teach them

The old man contemplated
The secession of his life
There is a time to hold on and a time
To let go
This time, his time
Is over, long gone with the Maiden on the Moon
Beckoning him home

He taught the young men
To bend with the rod
To bow to the spirits
To be one with God
To be forceful, to be soft
To listen and to speak
Wise Man’s words
And Foolish Man’s dreams

He told the Old Stories
He sang the Old Songs
Traditions and ancient verses
To light their path through life’s courses

And as each of his sons threw the rod on the ground
Frustrated with the old man’s ways
Outdated methods and foolish wishes

The heavens opened and unleashed
The ultimate Father’s Rage
The rain pounded on the once peaceful pond
Dismantling the flowers and smothering the land
With a wrathful urgency
Drowning the Lady in the lake
Her beautiful jade eyes never again to reflect philosophies
Hidden in the reeds
The lotuses closed onto themselves
Never again to give such a sweet smell

The old man sighed
It’s out of his hands now, it’s out of his hands now

And this, 
This will outlast 

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I Lost a Whole Weekend (Please Pardon My Rant)

I am your champion, I fight for your cause,
my love and devotion give some people pause.

When I saw you I knew you, just like with your dad.
I guess our deep happiness makes some people mad.

I work hard at my job, so that we can live,
and hear me now, son, when it's time to give,
I am the one who ups the amount,
I've done this more often than I can recount.

I also work so your dad will be covered,
for doctors and dentists and allergists and others,
and who do you think pushed him to go
to the skin doctor some two years ago?

From the moment I met you, you felt like my son,
but this is a battle that cannot be won.
When your dad and I married, I didn't steal him away,
he's just as devoted to you to this day.

I heard someone had told you that I was "controlling,"
(I can't even write this without my eyes rolling).
Who insisted your dad fly to LA to see you?
Who worked overtime to pay for this venue?

I encourage his freedom, I've not clipped his wings,
his happiness, above all, is the important-est thing.

I will not be silenced, nor be vilified,
and it just breaks my heart when you take HER side.

and I'm tired of being so misunderstood.

So, pardon my migraine, it wasn't intended,
my strength just gave out as your judgement descended.

I lost a whole weekend, I slept like the dead,
I was just too defeated to face down my dread.
I kinda' felt reality shatter, unsure what was real,
like in "Jacob's Ladder."

We're getting no younger, your father and I,
the older we get, the faster time flies.
I love you as if you were my own child,
I'll not carry this burden unreconciled.

©Danielle White

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As The Clock Ticks On

Looking back on the winters of my life,
I realize now, each brought a new light.

Though at the time my eyes did not see,
the wisdom, God was planting in me.

Certain seasons, bring more rain,
and surely, some bring more pain.

As the clock ticks on, taking us through,
for it stands still for no one, this is true.

Change is for certain, as the harsh winds blow,
making us stronger, from that winter's snow.

We pick up the pieces, and our journey goes on,
another chapter finished, then another season born.

An endless cycle are the seasons of life,
and all will be remembered, for wisdom brings new light.

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In The Shadows


With my head on the pillow I see you in the shadows.
Slipping back into your clothes when all my eyes can do is follow.
My mind starts to wander as you step back into those heels.
The silk touch of your body my hands just want to feel.
I roll to the side where your scent still forms where you stayed.
Then over to the rocking chair where we laughed and played.
I watch you dress and put yourself back to who you are. 
And hold my breath and kiss this star ....

                        ~Mysterious Lady of Soup~~
Reaching for the stars I feel the passion in our eyes.
We lay naked and free as  the moon makes a rise.
Without pushing the boundries on who we are.
We stare at each other without feeling one single scar.
You run your hand over the tightness of my dress.
I cherish every provocative moment as you caress.
You rub your hands up my shoulders and through my hair.
We kiss and say good night as you rock the chair.
I walk away into the shadows of another night,
and kiss the stars as we await morning light...	 

Want to take this time to thank this lovely lady
for taking time out to collab with me again...
xoox Michael


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Memories For Sale

I climb into the big haymow
On this eventful day
Looking for childhood memories
Trapped in a mound of hay.
The large expanse is empty now
And somehow looks too small
To have held all the busy times
Now sweet in my recall.

It took a lot of sweat to get 
From hot hayfield to mow
And then some more to pitch hay down
To feed each horse and cow.
Horses and cattle are all gone,
Mama and Daddy too.
It's time for selling off the past
And starting life anew.

I hear them coming, clamber down.
It's time to sell the barn.
It will be moved, the very last
Of Dad and Mother's farm.
The land will go to buyers who
Will break it into lots.
The only farming then will be
In little garden plots.

Entered in Rambling Poet contest 
Inspired by her poem "The House"

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         Moment by moment
         day by day,
         year by year.
         Wind-borne dreams
         cascading amongst
         perpetual memories,
         gifts of light that
         penetrates through the
         windows of time, the
         clarity of it all
         giving hope to a
         fading prayer.
         The village supreme
         basks in the delicacy
         of a august sunlight,
         the moor-side bleak, in the
         shadows of a hoarfrost
         moon, fluvial waters
         jostle amidst ancient
         limestone, kisses floral banks
         of wooded ghyll. Even
         the folk remain incessant,
         anchored to an inflexible
         pace, bridled within their
         time warp of conformity.
         With memories to conceive
         each precious moment, an
         endless reaching out to
         embrace a time gone by,
         only I it seems, cannot
         find a place there within
         the dream. “Looking in,
         always, looking in!”

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Say Goodbye

 I seen your face
 I felt your embrace
 And it just wasn't the same
 I finally walked away without lookin' back to call out your name
 Once you were my best friend
 Once I swore I'd be yours to the end

 But I guess its time to say goodbye
 Many of times you have clipped my wings but now its time for me to fly
 I  still remember all the drunken fights
 I still remember all the sad lonely nights
 It was constant infedlity
 My only prayer was to be set free
 Thats not a place a girl can call home
 Life is better when I'm out on my own
 Sleepin' in alleys, living off dumpster buffets, and seeking dope
 Stealing and lying is no longer my only hope
 I won't fall for what you have to say
 I refuse to cry for you today
 I have come so far and moved onto something more
 Life is better than ever before

 But I guess its time to say goodbye
 Many of times you have clipped my wings but now its time for me to fly

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Family Camp

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Tick Tock

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tick tock
It's over now..

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His Worth

Touched by His wisdom, 
my heart now clear,
upon His shoulders,
I cast my fears.
His word is genuine,
as was His birth,
the truth He spoke,
revealed His worth.
Riches, not important,
they mattered not,
but those that knew Him,
never forgot.
Kings were frightened,
of this kind, warm man,
they never listened,
how could they understand.
Then an Angel,
came in the night,
He arose from the grave,
can you imagine the sight.
His new home Heaven,
by His Fathers side,
waiting to welcome us,
this is the reason He died.
Now it is CHRISTmas,
and we rejoice His Birth,
but still some people, 
don't understand His worth.

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The Willows

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

®Registered: Ann Rich 1998

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A Painting

It's a quaint little street, bustling with tourists
Shops selling ice creams and coffees, sandals, and seashells...
People rushing, a bike or two in the street, a car searching for a place to park
A baby cries, and mothers wipe sticky faces....chatter, and laughter..
One small gallery, tucked descreetly, into the narrow cobblestone alley
A blinding ray of sun's reflection, catches my attention
The window display, filled with seascapes, antique sailing artifacts
And one small painting....sitting, poised, proudly on an easel...
At first the glare makes it hard to see
But I cup my hands around my eyes...

A lovely rendition of this very same village
Painted many years ago...long before tourists
Long before lattes and souvenirs...
Just a little fishing village...dated 1918
The houses wearing chalky patina,
Narrow lanes leading away from the main road,
       dipping down into golden sand dunes,
A small general store and a blacksmith shop,
Seagulls gliding like angel wings against the summer blue 
White steepled churches slumbering in the warm afternoon sunshine
The quietness, the peaceful nature of it....simple and serene...

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

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

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Satan Rules

Speak, and be heard, let those feelings be set free,
our God given right, I once heard, freedom for you, and me.

Look at the picture, some paint covered in clouds,
isn't it our right, to speak out loud?

History in high school, was taught with pride,
now all those Americans we studied about, have long died.

With them went hope, and a chance of equality,
these are the things they fought for, not selfish greed.

The Pledge of Allegiance we said everyday,
and everyone stood, as the words were said.

The Constitution was studied, and reports were made,
in front of the class the next day, we would stand up, and say.

All our freedoms that were given to us,
now narrowing down,  "help,"  who do we trust.

A prayer was given, with our heads humbly bowed,
using our freedom of speech, we thanked God out loud.

Everything has changed, now we worry about safety in schools,
shootings, perverts, and God was evicted, now Satan rules.

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A couple in Love

A young couple sits together on the beach
As he holds her close darkness approaches,
The sun free falls toward the sea.
Refusing to let her go he kisses her,
And whispers in her ear,
“I love you”
He lets his true feelings show
Three words so simple yet so meaningful
She smiles realizing she wants to be no where else in the world.
“Let’s never forget this” she says 
60 years later…
An old couple celebrating their anniversary,
Wades into the water as the sun drops to the horizon.
Holding hands the woman looks at him with teary eyes,
“Do you remember…” she begins to say
“The first time I told you I loved you?” the man responded with a smile 
“You told me never to forget” he chuckled
Tears roll down her cheeks as he holds her close
Refusing to let her go he whispers in her ear,
“Let’s never forget this”

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Senior Year

It began on a high note
Dreams of a New Frontier
Those dreams were shattered in Texas
In the Fall of the same year
Christmas time was solemn
Before the storm there was the calm
We saw them escalate a war
Sending our young to Vietnam
It was a vibrant time to be alive
A good invasion hit our shore
The British sent their music
Our lives would be changed forever more
The times they were “a changing”
Was it better, was it worse
There was no time for apathy
Was it a blessing or a curse
In June came graduation
The fulfillment of our dreams
The Four Seasons sang about a Rag Doll
We were introduced to the Supremes
Now that our senior year was over
And we would go our separate ways
There remained a bond to hold us
Until our dying days
Some went off to college
Not knowing what’s in store
Almost all would serve their country
Some went off to war.

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Home Awakens

The house sits silent. 

All but for the creaks and groans 

as the house settles on it’s aging foundation. 

The arthritic sound of wood. 

A faint hum from the refrigerator, 

is the backdrop, to the passing of time 

from the Grandfather clock in the hall. 

A cat sits on the stairwell landing. 

A silent witness to the night. 

It’s green eyes glowing softly, 

within the slash of moonlight. 

The gentle sounds of sleep 

come from the rooms above. 

The slow steady drip of a faucet, 

the only sound within the home. 

A breeze sweeps through an open 

French door, billowing, gauzy curtains. 

Carrying with it the scents 

of Honey suckle and Rose. 

The wood rope swing that hangs 

from the gnarled tree, is caught 

up in the nighttime breath, to cast about. 

The old rope squeaks it’s protest. 

The wind in the leaves rustle out 

their own soft song.  Singing to sleep 

the birds and small creatures of the day. 

Welcoming the night hunters. 

As the night passes and the sun begins to rise, 

so too the house awakens. 

The cat uncurls to stretch 

and head out the open door. 

the drip of the faucet, 

is now a steady stream, 

Washing off a face of sleep. 

From the kitchen, comes the smell 

of coffee freshly brewing. 

So starts the new day. 

The sun will ride this day's sky, 

to set once again. 

The house will settle anew, 

welcoming the night time stage. 

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Upon A Gentle Breeze

As seeds spread new life,
to the corners of the world,
out there somewhere,
he is praying for that special
A season is not forever,
it lasts for only a while,
now dry those misty eyes,
and put on that hopeful smile.
Between the pages of a love that
has passed,
a faint little ember,
will bring a love,
that will last.
Hearts can't be made,
to go against their will,
when one tries,
then comes a barren chill.
Patience is a virtue,
such a difficult task,
and you are it's keeper,
if love is to last.
Open new windows,
let the seeds come to you,
upon a gentle breeze,
comes a love,
that will be true....

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The Time has Come

What is the sound that I hear, the early call of the sparrow? their music is very
clear. Last nite-I heard gunfire and yes that's typical as in my neighborhood we all
live with fear. But each morning the mocking bird's makes noice of cheer. What
is that sound I hear, are they singing a tune of triumphant that seems to help ease
my fear. As the siren's and emergency personal pour into the hood, someone has
died, O'that point is very clear. 
    As another night of voilence-young folk's and old playing against the noon-early
in the morning the birds of prey, play's another tune. Jacksonville, once a proud new
city sparrowling with the promises of a Dreamer's dream. "Now the time has come-do
we take back or do we all cry". The sun will still shine tomorrow-but for many in the 
city they all are asking why. Why is my young daughter hurting or my son spending
this night in the morgue, "do we take back the city, or do we all cry".
    "Yes the Time has Come, will all ye pastor's not worry about the trouble or the crime".
But will your prayers help motivate some, give strenth that's excruciating to everyone.
"The time has come, apply yourself, before the rise of the Sun".

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Wonders of nature,
captured in time,
a blend so perfect,
as the rarest of wines.

A creation so beautiful,
a breathtaking view,
the inspiration of many artist,
as only they knew.

Each masterpiece different,
no two eyes see the same,
as the canvas comes to life,
and long live their names.

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He was just crawling out of a cardboard box
And I turned in time to see him fall
Running over to help him up
He cried I don't need no help at all
Reaching under his arm, I helped him stand
I must have stared and I heard him say
Get out of here. Leave me alone.
Don't worry about me, I'll be okay
There's a shelter, can I take you there
You'll get something to eat and a place to sleep
He said I got all that I need ain't going nowhere
I sowed these seeds, now it's time to reap
Sometimes things don't work out no matter how well you plan
For each day of sunshine, you get a month of rain
Then one day you try to dream but no longer can
And the happiness and joy are replaced by pain
Then you drown your pain and move from city to city
You blame everyone else and to yourself you lied
Don't look at me. I don't need your damn pity
Each night you look back and that's when you cried
So thanks for caring but I'll be fine
Got all I want and all I need
Got a brown paper bag and a bottle of wine
Be going home soon, then I'll be freed
So I left him there and went on my way
At home, I thought about him when I got inside
I saw his obituary in the paper the very next day
An old man died in the street, and I sat and cried.

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The Key

Those raging waters caress my soul,
so many are here waiting, as His words unfold.

Hidden treasures that lie within,
silently manifest, again, and again.

Joyful faces unknown by miles,
suddenly familiar with their journeys trials.

Searchers of peace stand side by side,
awaiting an answer to simplify.

Graspers of riches, they have no rules,
much like a thief, taking all they can use.

Desperate is the path of a poor hungry man,
survival the key in every land.

Locked from the place where comfort dwells,
seeking refuge from the flooding swells.

Mountains so high they take your breath,
never to be climbed all by yourself.

The key to a good heart, was created with love,
understanding will be given from God above.

Those raging waters such a powerful thing,
all made possible from our Heavenly King.

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A Baby Was Born

Marching as one, they rejoice His Birth,
children of Faith, know His worth.
Gathered in worship, separated by miles,
all know the meaning of His given Child.
Wise Men came far, to look upon His face,
the child of Mary, asleep on the hay.
Shepards in the fields, were told to rejoice,
voices from Heaven, told of this boy.
A star led the way, across many a mile,
followed by many, to see the Savior Child.
One cannot forget, how Christmas began,
a baby was born, and Jesus, He was named.

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The People's Voice

The people's choice, not the people's voice,
this is what I hear in a country so lost.
Who do we elect to stand for what's right,
how do we know they will, when they are out
of sight.
Ron said it best with his poem, "ReUnited,"
and he can count on me, to always, be right
beside him.
He touched on life, the war, and death,
and he tells America, don't be led.
God made us equal, at least in His eyes,
we never have to stand for deceit, and lies.
We can lie down, and take what we get,
or we can join hands, and stop this regret.
Silence means acceptance, and no one cares,
but how can we let them betray us, do we dare?
I'm with Ron, stand up for what is right,
polygraph them all, on T.V.  tonight.

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Fact and Tale

Between the lines, of fact, and tale,
a persons life, we know not well.
Some insight we have, but not all the truth,
between the lines, read by me, and you.
A release of sort, in our words of rhyme,
our therapy to calm, when we feel like crying.
Days will come, and then they pass,
bringing sunshine, and shadows that last.
Thoughts rekindled from yesterdays mind,
reading the words written from a poet in time.
Miles between, separate our face,
but words of wisdom we daily trace.
Explore the words from everyone here,
although very far, they are always so near.

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And Then

And Then…

My work finished
     I glanced back at the clock
Ah… The Witching Hour
     Hung heavy on the next tock
My thoughts raced back
     To childhood days
          To scary stories
               Round campfires haze
                    To daunting dares
                         In dark woods maze
               And then… It caught my eye

A phantom shape
     That just moments before
Had been shadows tossed
     Twixt the walls and floor
And I admit
     Twas’ dimly lit
          Random shapes
               In chances knit
                    Poorly viewed
                         From where I sit
               And then… I saw it move

Just then I thought
     Tis’ time to trust and pray
And steady my hearts resolve
     Should this be the reckoning day
And then I swear
     The room grew cold
          Events purpose
               Moved to unfold
                    My chest I clutched
                         My soul to hold
               And then… I heard it speak

“Time is at hand”
     And those words comforted it seemed
And my God in a timeless moment
     I became one with all I’d dreamed
Tis’ certain this
     Event of page
          Will visit all
               Upon life’s stage
                    Fully quenching
                         Life’s burning rage
               And then…

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The Best day of My Life

I always thought that I knew love
How intense that feeling could be
But, you were my gift from above
Just exactly what I'd need

I never thought I'd be a mother
I thought that time had past
It was a shock to believe another
For I was pregnant at last

I was 39 at the time 
I felt kind of tired and old 
My doctor said that I was fine
And a child is precious like gold

It wasnt always very easy 
Being pregnant, working each day
Some times I'd get kind of queasy
But, eventually it went away

Tests, ultrasounds, bloodwork , all were fine 
An amnio to see if you were okay
Monthly appointments, filled much of my time
Everything was progressing each day

I worked until the day before
Your grandparents flew out to see
I was very ready, couldn't take no more
Wanted my child for just for me

Finally the day had come,when I was to see my son
I got up early, got everything ready, even checked your room.
Slowly I drove to the hospital ,awaiting for the fun
For this was it what I had waited for, i'd see you before noon. 

At the hospital they readied me
A Doctor put a catheter in my back
My Mom and Dad rushed up to see
Their grandchild in a wrap

I told them of my nervousness 
How I forgot the words to say
So together we as a family
We were able to pray

I had to wait for a long time 
Emergency twins were on the way
They said I was next in line 
In the holding room was where I stay

So at 930 they brought me in to the room
They draped a sheet in front of my face
I hoped my head wouldn't  zoom 
I wanted to start this race
At 9:54 you came into my life
Your Dad ran to the end to see
The child that was bore by his wife
We became a family of three

My eyes filled with tears and I felt joy
It was all so new, I never had felt it before
Here's your child, perfect, handsome, and its a boy
For on that day my love for you grew even more

The bond between a mother and son
Is a story that can't be told
To look into your little eyes, I was overcome
My memories of that first time will never get old

So on this day when you had came 
Was the best day I could have ever thought
Never mind fortune and fame
To have a child is a lesson in life that can never ever be taught. 

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The Discipline of a Student

Oh Lord, I know you know I have been thanking you a lot lately
But today I want to pray
~~~	~~~	~~~
Almighty Lord
You know me and you know how in life I pine to succeed
I know all that I want
And I know what to do in order to get it all
The will power, emotional power, confidence... certainty
...and all that entails the achievement of a dream
But there is one thing I specifically need
For with it my success is guaranteed

Almighty Lord
Please give me the discipline of a student
Please make me endear my keenest efforts on my chief pursuits
Just as though I’m about to sit for an exam... for I know in a way I am

Please give me the sense to properly manage my time
And take from my heart the desire to waste time 
...and the vice of procrastination
In its place fill me with the fear of punishment and failure
...if I go about work like a truant does
...spending too much money here... and too much time there

Please sharpen my focus like that of a student aiming for that higher diploma...
...knowing the realisation of it will chance him a higher degree
Help me aptly execute the duties entrusted unto me
For its exceptionality will lift me to the reach of even higher doors

Almighty, please fill me with the discipline of a student
To sacrifice my little peer pleasures now... and invest all my heart into my pursuits
Knowing all too well that as that an empowering reality awaits me the end of my truest efforts

Help me to be honest with myself
...knowing that all I do now first of all for my own benefit
And that if I do it so well
It will benefit and inspire even many more to garner more of their potentials

Now my Almighty Lord,
Think of this as a business proposal
I have the dream and capability
You have the power over reality
If you take my dream and capability seriously 
...and assist me with your power over reality
Very soon I will succeed, and there will be many wanting to be like me
All these shall be to your gain too for I shall direct them your way as proof
So you see Lord, your help and my efforts will tomorrow make us both a happier lot 
Think about it
~~~	~~~	~~~
Mhmm...  Who am I kidding, I know you did think about it and that’s why you 
decided to make me live
Thanks Lord

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Grandparents Before - But not today

Grandmothers and grandfathers how they look,
how can we see that there is a grandmother or a grandfather
When I was a little girl we could see a grandmother and a grandfather
Grandparents used hats, glasses, and walking stick
The skin of their face was weathered and wrinkled
Some had teeth they put in a glass in the evening

Grandmothers always had time for a glass of juice and a hug
She was never impatient, tie shoelaces with pleasure
Always in floral dresses, which smelled like grandma
Grandmothers wont not be at work tomorrow, she has time for an adventure
She does not skip a single word, to be finished soon
It was always sweets in grandmother's hand bag
She never spared, but shared with a beautiful smile

Grandfathers were a bit more restrained,
 bit concerned about the day's news in their newspaper
He would like to go for a walk, and he walks with small cautious steps
When he meet someone he knows, he lifts a bit on his hat and nod
He has very little hair on his head, and his head shines in the sun
Grandfathers have a strong hand to hold, I was confident in his hand
He could tell me what all the birds called, he was so wise

Everyone should experience an old-fashioned grandmother and grandfather
one that does not have a television, computer or washing machine
A grandmother and grandfather who always have good time

But it was in the past ..... not today...

A-L  Andresen :)

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My Conversation With God

I have been praying to God ever since I first understood the concept of a deity.  Although I have struggled through life with my acceptance of and belief in the religion I was force fed as a child, the praying has always stayed with me – on an almost every day basis.  In some way or some form or for some reason, it seems, I find myself praying to a God I am not sure I believe in.

Over the years, some of the things I have prayed for or prayed against have worked out in my favor.  Other things didn’t quite work out the way I had hoped.  So, I wondered, was this proof that my prayers are sometimes answered or simply the law of averages?  It really didn’t matter, I was programed to pray and so pray I do.

This has been going on pretty routinely for over 50 years; so, imagine my surprise when, for the first time last night, God talked back to me!

I may not get this exactly right, but, in essence, this is what He had to say:

(I am not sure what font to type God’s words in, so I will just keep on with the default.)

“Joe, Joe, Joe.  I have been listening to you for all your life.  And, whereas I do enjoy your thoughts; your words; and your sentiments; I find it is time for me to respond.

You really do pray a lot for lots of things.  Mostly good and humane things.  Mostly with a pure and caring heart.  But, son, you need to stop doing so much praying and start doing more stuff on your own.  I am not up here to make your life easier and to do things for you.

When you were young, instead of praying for that bicycle, you should have been doing chores to earn money towards buying it.  You could have cut more lawns, washed more cars, got a paper route, sold lemonade, or many other things other young boys were doing to earn money for the things that they wanted.

When you were in high school and prayed to me to help you do well in your wrestling matches, you should have, instead, been working harder at practice; spent more time on your conditioning; spent more time in the weight room; and studied harder on the art of wrestling.

In college, when you prayed for help on your mid-terms and finals, you should have, instead, spent more time studying and less time partying – I think that is something you already know.

Even when you pray on behalf of others – you should be doing more.

Instead of praying I would help old Mrs. Conner at the end of your street, you should have gotten up off your butt and walked down to the end of the street and looked in on her yourself.  You could have offered to go to the store for her, pick up her prescriptions or simply keep her company in her final years.

When you prayed for me to care for the starving children around the world, you should have been volunteering to help out yourself or donating more money towards this cause.  If you funneled all the money you spent on unnecessary junk food and extra meals you consumed throughout the years towards charities that help feed and clothe the poor, you could have saved many of the children you prayed that I would save.

Instead of praying that I cure your family, friends and acquaintances that you knew were ill or dying, you should have been visiting them in the hospital or writing them letters or providing assistance to their loved ones to help ease their pain.

Prayer is not the vehicle for you to be lazy and yet gain the rewards.  Prayer is not a means to have me do for others what you have the power and ability to do yourself.

I am glad that you talk to me, but you have been granted the ability and means to do so much more by yourself and yet you choose to take the easy way out and pray to me – the God that I know you are confused about.  Please, do me a favor, and before you pray, ask yourself, ‘Have I exhausted all avenues available to me to achieve the result I want God to perform?’ 

If, after you have done everything you can possibly do, then I may be more willing to consider what it is you ask for.

And now, my son, you can wake up.”

I sat up quickly in my bed, sweating and confused.  Was I just dreaming?  Was that really God talking to me?  Then, somewhere from deep inside, either from my conscious or a left-over message from the Almighty Himself, I thought (or heard): “What does it matter?  Whether it was God or not – the message is valid and something I probably already knew.”

“Well,” I said to myself, in prayer, “I will give it my best.  But, is it okay if we still talk?  It kind of helps to give me strength?”


I will take that as a, “Yes”.

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Follow the Yellow Brick Road

Follow the Yellow Brick Road As I was walking Along my chosen path Where each step marks A notch this world hath I caught a glimpse of A Yellow Brick Road Like the one from Oz Once long ago told Now how the glimpse Came my way I chose a path to take On a sunny day Back to work from break Strolling merrily along Head held high with joy Whistling a happy song I jumped over a little crack Just purposely out of my way Being sure to be aware Never matters which day As I came up to my office Tapping a rock with my heel Then the feeling hit me The vision seemed very real A comparison factor in our minds Creating obstacles out of fear Or do we step over them To prove we are there It’s our choice to place sunshine On the path we choose to go Thus creating a happy path To Follow the Yellow Brick Road Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Lobster fishing

                     Lobster Fishing

It was still dark when I arrived at five o’clock
I commenced the day by going to the wrong dock
I was a little concerned that I may be late
When I arrived they were still loading bait.

The boat started up with a thunderous sound
You must stay the channel so you don’t run a ground
Next you head into the safety of the bay
Everyone’s quiet with not much to say.

As we turn the corner the sun divides the sky and sea
A blend of orange, purple and blue explode in front of me
The sea starts to pick up and the boat gets tossed
A peace grows within all else is lost…

You pull the traps up in what’s called a set
You winch them on board to see what you get
My job was to restock the bait
It seemed kind of an ironic fate.

It was pretty hard work yet so much fun
Me, the boat, the sky and the sun
We had a pretty good catch and turned to go back
The auto pilot planned our course of attack

On the way in you wash down the boat
It cleaned up quite well with water and soap.
As I view around me as it was time to go
The sea put on its own picture show.

When we returned to the river the tide had come in
All of the lobsters had been placed into bins 
The boat was too tall to fit under the bridge
Like smooth sailing and then hitting a ridge.

We had to unload the boat so the catch wouldn’t be lost
Our pride and a little work was all that it cost
When we had finished it was time to rest
Having comfort in knowing we did our best.

We cleaned up and had dinner to end the day
This is my lobster tale of today
Everyone found humor in what I had to say
Then we said goodbye and went on our way.

When I got home I fell fast asleep
I dreamed of a bottom far too deep
It was a long day and I needed to rest
The lobster became someone else’s dinner guest.

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

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The eraser belonged to me; it was saved by my mother and returned along with many other 
childhood items when I became middle aged. I was curious as to why she would save a 
stubby old eraser from the primary grades, so she reminded me of its’ one and only use. My 
faded memory of that time suddenly became crystal clear, as my mother recounted for me a 
watershed episode from my formative years. 

I had, as they say these days “acted out in school once again,” this time by writing 
unspeakable words in a textbook. Without any hesitation or forethought, I chose as my 
repository the teachers’ edition of our English composition book. Quite frankly, at the time, I 
thought they were literary gems worthy of publication. That’s why I knowingly inscribed them 
there for all to see. Upon further review by more knowledgeable minds, it was determined 
corrective guidance and a phone call home was in order.
I was to spend several hours after school that day sweating in contemplative silence as I 
erased the teachers’ edition and many other similarly defaced books. It was during this time 
of reflection that I ground that eraser down to the stub as it remains today. The last visible 
vestiges of my bad expositions disappeared forever that hot afternoon, along with more than 
half of the eraser.

Mother then reminded me of what she overheard the Superintendent tell me, as she sat 
mortally ashamed and waiting for hours in the hallway outside that sweltering classroom. I 
can still visualize her ample adult size, trying in vain to get comfortable, in a sticky one 
armed desk made for a 5th grader.

“ John, I want you to try and remember this:
WHAT YOU SAY to others might last with them until THEY DIE.
But regretful WORDS YOU WRITE, the residue of which, will last long after YOU DIE. 
So you keep what’s left of this eraser and I hope you never need to use it again.”

*For the "Rub it out" contest, i still have the eraser.

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Jack and Jill

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The Found Phone - A Short Story

I was running some errands and stopped into the little waterfront restaurant for a late lunch.  It was kind of that in-between lunch and dinner time hour, so the place was completely empty.

I ordered a bread bowl clam chowder at the counter and took a seat next to the large bay-window looking out over the water in the empty seating area.  As I was lost in a daydream staring out the window, I noticed a cell phone sitting on the window ledge.  I looked around the empty room to see if I might have missed who it belonged to before picking it up and turning it on.

I slid the “slide to unlock” bar and got to the main menu with no password required.  Thinking I was smart, I decided to see who the most recent phone calls were received from and thought I would “call back” that number to see if they might know who the phone belonged to so I could get it back to the rightful owner.

By far, the most phone calls were from “Sally”.  I touched the “Call back” button.

Ring sounds were followed by a quick, hurried and frantic, “I told you not to call me!  I can’t talk now, you need to stay way!”

Flabbergasted and embarrassed, I tried to stammer out that I was simply trying to discover who this phone might belong to, but I could not get the words out as I heard screaming in the nearby background.

“Who is that?  Is that him?”

“No.  No, it’s …”

“Give me that damn phone!”

I could hear sounds of rustling and crying; then, what sounded like a slap and …

“Hey you, << expletive >>, what the << expletive >> are you doing”, shouted a man’s voice into the phone.

This was immediately followed by more rustling and sounds of a struggle.  I could hear the original voice, Sally’s I assume, crying, “Give me my phone you << expletive >>!”

Another slap.  Rustling.  And then a loud: POP!  POP! POP!  And silence.

The phone was still on.  I could hear heavy breathing for what seemed like hours.

Then the man’s voice said, “And, now I am coming to get you”, and the phone went dead.

Sweat was pouring down my forehead.  Oh my God, what had I done?  And, now what do I do?

The waitress brought me my soup and I asked her if she knew who might have left that phone there.  She simply said, “No” and sauntered back to the kitchen area.

I called 9-1-1 and tried to explain what had happened.  They connected me to the police but I had no luck in convincing them that a crime had occurred.  For over 45 minutes I was transferred from department to department; put on hold; and, transferred again before someone finally took down Sally’s number, but I hung up convinced nothing was going to be done.

I looked for other numbers in the phone’s directory to see who I might call to try to identify the phone’s owner and tell them what had taken place.  The second most popular number belonged to a Tony so I pushed the “Call” button.

The phone was answered by a now familiar voice that yelled, “That’s right << expletive >> I am on my way to get you!”  And he hung up before I could explain.

Quickly, I went to the “Messages” icon on the phone, selected “Tony” and tried to type out an explanation of what was going on.  When I touched the “Send” button an error message came up indicating, “You have exceeded your text allotment for this month.  Please visit the App Store to purchase more options.”

Then I heard someone yelling from the kitchen, “Linda, have you seen my cell phone?  I can’t find the stupid thing.”

The waitress yelled back, “Oh hey, that guy out there found a phone on the window sill.  Is that yours?”

I saw the cook come out of the kitchen heading toward my table about the same time a large man burst into the front doors with a gun in his hand.

The cook turned; said, “Tony, what the hell”; and then took three shots into the face.

The waitress started screaming from the back of the restaurant.  Tony turned and stared at me; placed the pistol into his mouth; and, pulled the trigger one last time.

By now, the waitress had fainted.  The metallic smell of spent pistol cartridges hung in the air.

I called 9-1-1 one more time from the found phone and told them there was a shooting at the restaurant.  I wiped down the phone and dropped it by the cook’s lifeless body and walked out of the restaurant glad that I bought my lunch with cash and not my debit card.

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The Christmas Kiss

I was sitting in the crowded train station with time to waste, waiting on the train to take me home on Christmas Eve.  A very pretty, young lady, carrying a full backpack headed for one of the only open seats across the aisle from me next to a rather dirty and disheveled older man.

As she removed her backpack to sit down he glared up at her; she smiled a beautiful bright smile and said to him, “Merry Christmas”.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas”, he barked up at her.

“Yeah?  Well, that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy on the day that I celebrate Christmas.  And I hope the day is merry for you as well.”

“What is there to be merry about”, he moaned, “A bunch of hypocritical religious zealots pretending to be nice to one another while the world goes to hell in a hand basket.”

“Well, at least for that one day, most of us believe the hypocrisy, and even for just a few hours, we practice the morals that our religion tries to instill in us.  At least on that one day, for us religious zealots, there is a glimmer of hope that we can save the world from going to hell and, I, for one, believe that is reason to be merry.”

“Terrific!  And, what does that get me,” he whimpered.
“Well, what you get is this one time of year, when a twenty-two year old college girl is not afraid to sit next to you; smile at you; and, wish you a Merry Christmas.  And, if you just say, ‘Thank you’ and ‘Merry Christmas’ back to her, she just may give you the biggest and best kiss you have ever experienced.”

She stood back up and started to put her backpack back on as he simply stared up at her.  Once she was situated and ready to move on towards her train, she stopped; smiled at him again; and, said, “Merry Christmas.”

It seems I was not the only stranger that was witnessing this exchange.  All of those around me were perched on the edge of their seats waiting to see what might happen.  The old man cracked a little smile.  A glimmer came to his eyes, and he said, “Thank you.  And, Merry Christmas to you, too.”

The girl leaned down and planted a kiss right on his lips for what seemed like ten minutes.  Smiles lit up the faces of all the men, women and children watching this take place.  When the girl finally pulled back, the old man was frozen in place with a big ole smile on his face.  She adjusted her backpack and started heading towards the tracks.  All the men she passed on her way who witnessed this exchange anxiously yelled, “Merry Christmas” as she passed, hoping for a kiss as well.

I looked back at the old man who was still in a dream.  Suddenly he caught me looking at him and barked, “What are you staring at?”

I just shook my head back and forth and said, “Merry Christmas”.

“Yeah!  Well Merry Christmas to you, too” he shouted.

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Glen Campbell -- A Special Person

Glen Campbell – A Special Person
      It was September 4th, 1968 and I threw an empty suitcase into the trunk of my car, telling Joan, my daughter, that I might not be home to celebrate her birthday. She would turn 13 the following day and Wanda, my wife, had planned something special. As I dropped her off at school she had no clue as to what was in store.
      Joan had become an ardent fan of a young Glen Campbell and he was due to be in town that very night for a concert.  We led Joan to believe we had given up all hopes of taking her to see him since my travel plans would probably keep me out of town that night. Joan reconciled herself to the distinct possibility she would not be in attendance at his concert. She was a very understanding young lady.
      When I returned home that evening, Joan was advised we would celebrate her upcoming birthday with a simple dinner out and maybe a movie. As we drove, Joan was very animated and proceeded to tell us of all the activity of the day. She didn’t pay much attention to where we were headed. Her chatter told us she wasn’t on to our plan.
      Well, when we approached the Music Hall in Houston, TX Joan realized where we were and became so excited I thought she was going to faint. She shrieked with joy and showed the textbook signs of one about to see their idol.  I don’t believe we had ever seen her so excited.
      Wanda had managed to reserve some wonderful seats, center stage 3 rows back. We took our seats and soon were enjoying watching our daughter watch this young performer transform the audience, mostly young people, into an almost hypnotic state.  We had joined Joan as fans of this young man from Arkansas. He was really putting on a great show. But something special was about to happen. 
      He finished the first half of his show and we sat there and listened to Joan excitedly chatter about what was taking place. 
      About halfway through the 2nd half Glenn pulled up a stool, sat down and asked, “Is there a Miss Joan Posey in the audience?” Joan was literally dumbfounded. We acknowledged to Glen that indeed she was here. Glen looked at here and said, “Well, tomorrow you’ll become a teenybopper. This one is for you.” He proceeded to sing “Hey, Little One” and there were probably as many tears in Dad’s eyes as in Joan’s. Her insistent question was, “How did he know?” repeated time after time.
      Wanda, in her fantastic way of pulling off the impossible, had written to Glen Campbell, in care of the Music Hall, and told him of Joan’s upcoming birthday. It would mean a lot to her if he could only wish her a happy birthday.  It was a long shot and he only received the letter some 2 hours before show time. Someone on his staff picked up on it and took it from there. He finished and instantly became a very special person to two proud parents. Joan became an instant VIP since almost half her class had been in attendance. It was a most memorable time and Glen Campbell will always have a special spot in our hearts…. Jake

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The Fisherman

Never once have I been enclosed in exhaustion
Until now - like a black woolen blanket, drenched.
I've looked and crawled and even found unceasingly 
Before screaming from the riverbank: "This Is What It's For."
But now I can hardly whisper,
Sensing, maybe, a changing tide that sends the fish away
Or remembering past moons that moved them to more fertile feasts.

Yes - both it must be.
For now the water's meandering isn't hopeful wanderlust;
It only serves to annoy me.
And is it me or has its flow slowed?
Although now more than ever I note its swiftness
In comparison with the glassy new-born lake
Or the black curmudgeonly seas.

The gulls still call but no longer in triumph.
It seems it's morphed into a dirge
Though their wings still hang a crisp angel white in the sky.
Gliding, though again more slowly,
Before snatching a fish with ease;
Now it's mockery in their squawking. 

Continuing along,
Trudging through muddy waters,
I feel more akin to washed up wood
And the log floating on
Than to the swift fishermen
Across the river.
I sit and listen to their songs
Carried by the soft wind,
Encompassing the gull and my own fragile breath 
(A song of a son lost at sea and I can't find where to put my hands).
I taste their hope in the sand and the sun
And it oozes from my eyes.

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You're my Star

hey there,
You have lighted up my world..
Now you're the one I am dreaming of
Dont you know,
I can sit here forever,
Just looking into your eyes?
The things I see there
Always take me by surprise
but I don't see you coming...
I see you standing there;
so close but still barely out of reach;
I want to be closer to you,
so I'm on my way...
I will be missing you
I will be missing the places we used to know..
wish i could carry you with me
I hope I make you a little happy too
I am not saying goodbye
I know I'll see you again
I would be crying in that strange city
and you wouldnt be there..
but I will carry on..

6.22.11 (my goodbye poem before I boarded the plane)

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LOVE Conquers All

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

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Darkest Moment's Passing By

it was already dark outside silence had totally ruined the night only my lampshade in my room was at my side trying to comfort me in all my sorrows and trembling fear inside as soft tick-tocks of the clock were heard my heartbeat increased its rate I asked, “Are they reckoning that few time for him has already been left?” I began to feel, I was already in abyss of despair the phone had rung for the second time my mom and aunt once again were at the other end of the line thunder storms blasted followed by a torrent of rain when they asked me to talk to my dad to finally say goodbye to him I tried to talk to him but he could no longer answer me despite the silence at the other end I didn’t stop begging him I cried and cried out so hard as the darkest moment started creeping through my veins until my aunt answered the phone in lieu of him begging me back to let him go, so as to release him from all the pains to say the word goodbye to my dearest dad was the hardest thing to do in my whole life it had totally broken my heart and seemed as if I was losing my mind so, I kept crying out and begging him to fight he’s miles away and I couldn’t just reach him out or to be right there on his side I knew he can hear me, so I kept reminding him about what I’ve promised when I went back home to spend a short time and took care of him I’d promised that I’ll fly right back home after my work to take care of him again and walk him out of the door together we supposed to walk around our house with his arms on my shoulders my aunt begged me for the last time to finally free him it was against my will but I decided to do what was best for him when he was finally gone, I unconsciously screamed alone in my room miles away from home, I was in deep pain I felt like I was totally engulfed by the darkest of the night I rolled my body on bed, crying out loud and hugging my pillows so tight wishing someone had to put me into trance, so I closed my eyes while in prayer, I imagined him waving goodbye as he finally went up there through the brightest light
Feb. 23,2013 ©2013by Leonora Galinta Second Place Contest: New Poem Judged: 2/24/13 Poet Sponsor: Poet Linda/PD

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Unspoken Words Unwept Tears

Unspoken Words Unwept Tears
Thoughts locked away and tears that fall no more.

The things tucked away that can no longer reach the surface are things that bring 
such pain one would think they are going to die. There’s a place that holds all the 
secrets so far out of reach the mind can no longer tell if they or even real. There 
was a time when things were spoken aloud and thoughts took on real meaning.

I would whisper to you and beg you to listen to my heart and my needs. I wanted 
you to look through my eyes. My whispers went unheard so I cried and pleaded 
with you, won’t you hear me? I need you to do as you promised…This did not work 
so I bargained and threatened. My tears soaked my pillow night after night. I cried 
in the quiet with no one to hear!

 You said, “You loved me and I would always come first”. What happened? I love 
you and cannot understand. My heart has been torn to the core and my eyes 
blurred with searing pain. The disbelief of such agonizing grief has scarred not only 
my heart and eyes but my mind as well!

I just can’t argue anymore or try to make you see things my way. I thought I was 
what you wanted, I was good enough for and you trusted me. I trusted you: 
trusted that you loved me and that was all I needed know…

I can’t allow myself to think of these things that have been tucked away or allow 
myself to cry any longer. My time was spent this way day after day and night after 
night till I locked this part away. Now when I scream it is in silent only from within. It 
never makes it to the surface. The tears that used to fall only wet my heart and fill 
the cracks. They fall no more! 


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Straight to Hell - A Short Story

I was a seventeen year old senior in a coed, catholic high school.  Our gym classes however were still all boys and all girls.  My senior year we had gym every other day and music every other day in the same time slot.  The music classes, therefore, were also all boys or all girls.

She was a twenty-eight year old nun in her first teaching assignment.  She was in way over her head.  She was about five-foot-four and weighed practically nothing.  The nuns in our school no longer wore habits and I remember thinking it was a good thing because she would probably fly away like Sally Fields.  If you don’t know what I mean by that then you are too young to be reading my story.

The music class was a mad house.  She could not control a room of twenty some boys bound and determined to make her life hell.  I mean, music class?  Really?

We never did the homework assigned; never answered her questions seriously; never believed her threats at discipline; wouldn’t accept the demerits she tried to hand out; and basically goofed off for the hour that was supposed to be dedicated to learning about music.

For some reason, she seemed too proud or too green or too determined to go to the principal or another teacher for help; and, sensing that, we knew we could get away with our childish behavior and so we did.

One day, a handful of us “got in trouble” and she said she wanted to talk to us after class.  I was the only one that actually stayed.  She tried to lecture me on my bad behavior but I guess my smirk was evidence it was not sinking in.  Then, she started to cry, and for the first time I saw her as a person.

“What am I doing,” she cried.  "I can’t do this.  I am trying; I am really trying, but I am not cut out for this.  Why are you boys so mean and hateful?”

I stood up in front of her not knowing what to do or what to say.  I felt like a real jerk.  I was a real jerk.

Tears poured down her face, which I finally recognized as being a pretty face.  She bowed her head and just sobbed.  In my awkward seventeen year old manner, I slowly opened my arms and allowed her to lean into me.  And I hugged her while she wept.
At seventeen, I was no ladies’ man, and this crying nun was the first woman I had ever held so close to me.  I could feel her breasts pressed against me; the heat emitting from her body; and, the delicate nature of her womanly form in my arms.  I knew then that I was destined to go straight to hell for the thoughts that were going through my head and the feelings I felt between my legs.

She pulled away and whispered, “I am so sorry, I should not have done that.  You may go.”

I simply said, “You know, you are doing fine, you just have a class of a bunch of butt holes”, and walked out of the room.  It was that night that she started coming to see me in my dreams.  To hell I go, for sure.

I wish I could tell you I had the moxie and the influence to whip that class into shape, but I did not.  The mad house continued with one less student joining in the fun.  I tried my best to behave, answer her questions, pay attention and feign interest in the topic of the day – but I was just one in a sea of monsters.  I stayed after class and after school a few times to talk with her, ask her how she was doing, and see if I could help in any way.  She was actually starting to get the hang of things and was able to focus on the few classes that were willing to learn.

At the end of the school year, I was one of the few students who had not enrolled in a college for the coming year.  Because I was one of the better students, it caused a little bit of a fuss and a number of teachers talked to me about the huge mistake I was making taking some time off before going to college.  It seems they were all convinced that if I did not start into college in the fall, I was doomed to never go to college.  I challenged them by saying what they were really worried about was their statistics of percentage of students who went on to further their education.

During the last day of classes, the music teacher asked me to stay after class.  It appears, it was her turn to try to talk some sense into me.

“So, I hear you are not going to college,” she said.

“No, I’m going to college … some day, just not this fall.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet.  Take some time off.  Work.  Nothing.  I don’t know.  Why is it so important to everyone?  When the time is right, I’ll go to college.”

“They just care about you.”

“Bull loney,” I said, only it was another word.

She smiled at me.  I had been dreaming about her now for six months.  I changed the topic.

“Have you ever kissed a boy?”

She laughed, “You know, I grew up the same as every girl in this high school.  I did have boyfriends.”

“Yeah, but have you ever kissed a boy,” I challenged.

“No.  Not the way you mean.”

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like?”

“No.  Never,” she lied.

“If I told you I will register for college if you kiss me, will you?”

“No.  I believe you when you say you just need some time off.  I think that is a good idea.”

Then she walked up close to me and stopped a heartbeat away.  Suddenly, she reached down between my legs, grabbed the crouch of my pants and said, “Just don’t let this thing get you in trouble.”

She abruptly turned and walked out of the classroom while I tried to catch my breath.

During the graduation ceremony I saw her sitting with the other teachers and shared a private smile with her while walking back to my seat after being handed my diploma.  I would never see her again … outside of my dreams.

I often think about my high school music teacher and my ticket straight to hell.  Unfortunately, I never heeded her advice.  That body part of mine she grabbed ahold of for a fleeting second those many years ago, has gotten me in trouble time and time again.

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Peace Tonight

I sleep in peace tonight.
Hope that day will come.
When I find you underneath the 
Waiting for me and a life that never 
For Eternal love will always be 
And you will know that I care no 
matter the troubles.
That even If death were to come, it 
be with us a couple.
I sleep in peace tonight.
Hoping my family loves, and so do 
my friends.
And that God may forgive for all my 
Because when I am gone, let there 
be not a tear shed.
But a laugh of remorse, and that you 
treed lightly.
For I will sleep in peace tonight.

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The Bad King

Ana Cecilia Callejas 

Rodrigo Perez Gavilan

The Bad King 

“Lexer” was a lion who was the King of the entire animal kingdom, during his reign all the animals lived in complete harmony, they were all happy and graceful, and Lexer takes care of them and protects them. One day “Lexer” and his wife had an adorable baby lion that was named “Dylan” as he grew up Lexer teached him a lot of things since he was going to be the heir of the animal kingdom. Dylan also made a lot of friends but his best friend was Jim. Dylan and Jim spend almost all the days together, as the time passed Jim started to hang out with the Rhinos, which were the bad ones of the kingdom. Jim turned into a bad lion and started to incite Dylan to make bad things and he became also a bad lion. One day lexer got very sick and a few days later he passed away so Dylan became the king. All the animals were very sad because they loved Lexer he has been so far the best ruler of the animal kingdom. Time passed and Dylan forgot all the good things his father taught him and started to become a bad lion and a bad king. Influenced by Jim and the Rhinos that were friends with Jim Dylan started to do bad things. He put animals to fight between each other just for their amusement and had some of the animals as slaves just to be his servants, he also ordered other animals to kill so he can eat and have feasts, and this caused a lot of panic in the entire animal kingdom. Dylan mother tried to make him reconsider and change, to do all the good things his father taught him for him to be a good king but Dylan just became worse. All this caused that the animals lost his confidence towards the king and started to live just with the ones of their own kind and also began to fight with all the other animals to survive. This caused that the world became a bad place and since that moment the harmony did not existed anymore and the animals had to take care on their own.
Moral of the fable: if you are a good person and you have good values don’t let anyone to influence you and change the way you are.

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My sister had a small horse that no one else could ride
and anyone who mounted him soon had a skinned up hide.
It was haying time and Daddy took on some extra hands.
With brawn, brains didn’t matter much.  A rancher understands.
One new hand started boasting of broncos he had ridden.
Bragging around my brothers should have been a thing forbidden.

It didn’t take them long to brand that young cowpoke a phony.
They hatched a plan to get him on my sister’s half-broke pony.
If a man bragged of his horse savvy, he’d better know his beans.
They’d all been breaking broncos since before they hit their teens.
That evening when Sis brought the cows, Buster was so mellow
my brothers knew it was the time to trick that boasting fellow.
They asked their prey if he would like to ride the little horse.
The horse was acting gentle so he took the bait of course.
My sis got off and he got on, or such was his intention.
Buster remembered all the tricks those lads forgot to mention.
He gave one buck and that cowpoke was hanging from his mane.
He almost had him shaken off when he came down again.
Then Buster noticed the barn door was opened just a skin.
He was wider than the opening but still he wanted in.
He made a mad dash forward, just a-heading for that crack.
He made it through, the buckaroo was skinned right off his back.
The fellow was a sorry sight a-lying in that muck.
He must have thought the world was done or a bolt of lightning struck. 
Those rascals stood there laughing at the gent so mortified
then feeling sorry complimented him for his fine ride.
The moral of this story you don’t rate a horse by size
and misjudging one like Buster could get you a big surprise.     

For Carol's "A Horse Story" contest  Won 3rd

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Three O'Clock In The Morning

There was a time when
You couldn’t leave my side
We lay in bed
Two lovers waiting in the dark
Wishing the night would never end
Listening to each other’s heartbeat
Instinctively knowing what the other wanted.

Then you turned your back on me
And just had to do your thing
I didn’t care for your new friends
Or was it they didn’t care for me?
You remember, don’t you?

Technically, you’re no longer in my life
But you’re still here
Somewhere deep in my memory
Your way back in
Like you always did.

It’ll be a long, long time
But I’ve waited long enough
For the day
When I completely forget you 
Banish you to the garbage heap of bad memories
There’s nothing wrong with the way I feel about you
Next time I’ll be 
Determined never to look back.

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The Singer (Narrative Dialogue)

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

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

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Collab with Shogun series Richard Pickett poetry Bill's side part 6 Team up

After Bill got Brick’s emergency call about the new find under the Bywater bridge, he downed 
his coffee, shoved his files in a drawer, donned his 9mm w/shoulder holster,  traded his  
Stetson for a NYPD ball cap, made for the squad car, punched the blue lights and headed to 
Brick’s destination.
     When he approached the bridge , the bus was already there and Brick was talking to the 
driver. His car was parked slanted into the traffic slow lane so all had to slow and go around 
the scene. He already had it cordoned off with tape.
    Bill pulled up behind Brick’s squad car adding blue lights to his. Brick spotted Bill getting 
out of his car and motioned him over.  They both stepped towards each other after Brick 
finished his instructions to the bus driver. When Bill first got to NYC. He had no idea that 
the cops referred to the ambulance as the “bus” but it was just another colloquialism he had 
to pick up on after his stint in Texas. .and here it was on the scene again. It wasn’t usually 
a welcome site.
     Above the noise of the oncoming traffic, they shook hands heartily and Brick grinning, 
beat Bill to the punch saying “What the hell took you so long? You stop and kiss your horse 
good morning on the way over here or something?"
     “Nah, I just decided to take the scenic route. I figured you’d have this case all wrapped 
up by the time I got here. …How in the heck are ya, Brick. Seems like I ain’t  seen you since 
back before the Alamo.  What all this fuss about here? 
     “Well let me show you, cowboy.” Bill followed Brick to the blanket laid on the cracked 
pavement roadside in the shadow of the bridge. Even before he got there Bill could see 
blood oozed out from under the cover in a stilled puddle. Brick slowly pulled the blanket back 
to inspect the victim while looking up to Bill to catch his reaction. “ Whaddya  think?” 
     The grimace on Bill’s face said it all. He had seen a lot of carnage in his time but never 
anything quite like this. He caught his breath and let it out slowly and quietly whispering the 
words “ Holy  crap…. It’s a butcher job!... “
(continued on Richard Pickett poetry (Taz)

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Before I Die I Want

Before I Die I Want….
Deep inside of me things have begun to stir. My hopes and dreams are mixing with 
my needs and desires. As feelings come to the surface suddenly my mind and body 
are taking on a life it seems all their own. Never before has such a sensation to fulfill 
what was once hidden demanded to  be made known. Now all that lies beneath 
waiting, longing to come alive bubbled forth.
It feels as though an unexpected force has entered my entire being pulling me, 
urging me on. Somewhere out there time and chance is going to come for me. Life is 
all too short at times so what do I do with what stirs right beneath the surface? Risk 
it all before I die for what I want!
I set my hope and dreams to the wind to carry forth. My wants and desires followed 
close behind. They whistled through the trees and brushed the mountain tops. The 
ocean waves carried them far away to places my eyes have never seen. The desert 
floor was sprinkled softly with each and everyone I whispered. The stars in the sky 
lit up with my secrets and scattered them near and far.
Now somehow they have been found out and are coming alive. I can feel it inside of 
me as now the demand to be filled has been sensed and demands to be satisfied. I 
spoke of hidden things only to have them set free. Dreams are private until spoken 
into the wind. Desire carries a scent that can’t go without stirring needs you 
whisper and only hope to fill. 
Before I die the things I whispered into the wind may come to be. I knew the risk of 
the whisper and that perhaps time and chance would take my secrets. These things 
have taken root and began to grow so strongly that not even I know if the risk of 
hopes, dreams, needs and desires will be fulfilled before I die.
                                                                                                           Debbie Knapp

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The Forest

A woodland path stippled with sun, hushed and quiet -
but the path I found myself on was a dark and dangerous one.
I'd been blackberrying - bramble-scratched, branch-slapped -
snapping from barbs berries fat as leeches
seeping blood-juices on my fingers.
Wood anemones opened pale hands to reach for me,
their fragrant star faces enticed me.
They beckoned, pulling me further and further away
from the world I knew and deeper into the wood.

The forest closed around me, trapping me
in a tangle of twining paths and trembling trees,
the ground layered with brown and golden leaves. 
Treetops cackled with the black caws of crows,
bushes bled red berries, grasses lashed my legs.
And every time the footpath forked
I went deeper, I went darker.
Tick-tock time slowed to a crawl,
watch hands wound backwards.

The whispering wood grew dimmer;
what little light there was struck trees and disappeared.
Fly agaric mushroomed into blood-raw open sores,
ivy ropes dangled nooses from branches.
Crying was useless, my panic-forced tears were hopeless.
Moles mouldered, luminous with maggots,
rabbits rotted, their throats ripped out.
Sky turned ink-dark, lonely wood-wild nights engulfed me.

With time, thoughts of home began to fade,
the seething forest seemed friendlier;
trees were a tease of teal and green,
rippling with strange and teeming life.
Amber algae scorched sunsets on umber bark,
wood sorrel crept, beetles burrowed, lichens came alive.
The forest floor was feathered with ferns
and plush with sponge-soft moss.
Now and again I caught the briefest glimpse of blue,
cool and welcome as water,
and once or twice, through distant trees, I spotted
what I took to be the twinkling lights of a town,
but it was only rainbow flickers glinting on leaves.

I've been gone too long, I'm too far gone.
Faint memories of home still siren-sing to me,
but just when I think I've found the right track
the forest tightens its grip, drawing me back.

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The day Passes By

Sometime I can’t see past the day.
Many times I get in my own way.
Thoughts swirl, then land on the page,
Just like a beast released from a cage.

The sun rises as I thought it would.
The light shines down, just like it should.
I hear a voice and drift away,
Wonder where I will wind up today?

My mind wanders what shall I do?
I see a smile, it sees me through.
I can’t see where I’m going,  just where I’ve been,
I know that the start is a good place to begin.

I begin to live my life day by day.
Words speak what my heart has to say.
I seem to find comfort where there was none,
I see so much peace I try to grab some.

The day flies by, I don’t know where it went.
I dig in my pocket, but the money is spent.
I find a piece of paper that you gave to me,
All of a sudden, I see what will be.

I spread my wings expecting to fly,
To reach out, then soar through the sky.
The sun sets, it starts to get dark,
Another day recorded inside my heart.

The stars come out and shine so bright,
Guiding me through my journey this night.
They sparkle like diamonds catching my eye,
The last thing I see as the day passes by.

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A Tale Of Vampirates

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Waves of Change

Waves of Change Changes in life descriptionalized In comparison to waves of the ocean Our bodies are made mostly of water A body of water with flowing emotions Now an ocean will flow peacefully Until there is a bit of turbulence Disrupting from a smooth flow With the up and down currents As we walk onto a new path A different kind of feeling steps in New ventures can be scary in thought Of what is left behind when we begin An air of difference can bring on a spin To a funnel effect as does a water spout Sometimes when in the spin motion cycle We are shaded by clouds and cannot see out When actually caught within the spin We do not see the change is there Our sense of direction is lost We become totally unaware If you are the one caught Within that fast paced spin You will not be able to see The shape you are really in That’s the time we need someone To give us a tap on the shoulder It’s not a matter of who knows more Or which one of the other is older You’ll need a friend like Dory was Saying to just keep swimming the sea To never give up your hopes and dreams As changes in life really just happen to be Florence McMillian (Flo)

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The little pen that tried to get drunk

That goofball husband of hers brought her to this joint to see her get drunk for the very first time. She actually plugged her nose trying to sip her first glass of beer. Good grief. 20 minutes and she barely finished it. She walked to the restroom and I felt her teetering just a little bit. She likes the feeling though, I can tell! I sure liked it when she started boogying to the beat of the band on her way back to the table. Too bad Mr. dingbat won’t ever dance with her. She keeps tapping her hands on the table to the rhythm of the music. That’s why I have to write so slow. . . . 
      Now  she’s   tryin ta   drink  another   beer  but   she   can   hardly stand it  an  her husband  sez come on don’t ya wanna know  how   it   fills   ta be drunk? She says   well at list I fill buzzd now. . . 

The nice buzz wore off. It’s at least an hour later. She and hubbie got this idea to go to the liquor store. First time she ever went to one. She thought maybe brandy would taste better so then she could drink something stronger and know how it felt to be drunk. Brandy sounded sweet and fruity to her. Boy was she wrong. She took a little taste and it burned going down. That stuff sucks just like the beer. . . . 

Wow she jus finisht tha hole boddle rily fast lik mebbie ten minuts ago so she kud fil drunk an she put me down ta finnish tha boddle in one shot    now she kant evin    kip her   eyez    opun    UH  ohhhhhhh

Epilogue:  The preceding narration was based on actual fact. Upon consuming an entire bottle of brandy in less than ten minutes, "she" immediately passed out, and I recall she awoke in the morning having forgotten everything that transpired once she fell asleep. Furthermore, when she went into the bathroom the next morning and saw some flecks of vomit on the walls, she was quite amazed. Why? Because she had no recollection of throwing up, and she realized her goofball husband had actually attempted to clean up a mess in their house for the first time in their young married life!!! 

By the way, Jenny, if you happen to be reading this, Shhhh. Please do not tell her other sisters. It would surely get back to you guys’ mother, and your poor upstanding church-loving mom might have a heart attack to hear of her daughter’s one transgression with the devil’s brew! Sincerely, Her Sober (albeit sometimes fanciful) Pen

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Scarlet Portmanteau

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

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

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

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

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

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

Large and far
Travelled he
From spring to fall

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

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

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

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

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

The Snow Man disappeared.

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

He found


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One Day I'll go Home

One Day I’ll go Home.
Home is where I could do anything. I would listen to my music and clean as often as 
I liked. There was no right or wrong as time belonged to me. When I listened to my 
music nothing else mattered I was just happy. Happy was a simple thing with only 
music and cleaning for my home was a happy place for me!
Music brought an upbeat rhythm to lift my spirit at all times. I felt the beat as I 
moved about doing all things in time with the songs. I enjoyed cleaning my home 
with joy as things shined so for my pleasure. A combination of music and cleaning 
nothing could beat. I wanted and needed to feel so complete.
Now a new house and life with music I still have. Now the music is less and the 
cleaning so rare. The joy of the shine is far from my home and the call of pleasure 
and being complete I’ve left behind. The feeling’s once felt while my music played 
and I scrubbed things down has been handed over to another. 
My purpose has changed to be that of another. I fill this house with things from life 
with part time music and rarely clean as someone other does this. I have a purpose 
in this house and although kept secret my spirit knows things come to pass. The 
rhythm of my music and the spirit of the song will ensure happiness come along!
Now as I grow old my mind turns inward to find my home. I am there at last the 
place where my music plays and I find rhythm. I see myself start to clean and the 
shine appears. What welcomed relief to hear and see these things that made me so 
complete. Once again I am just that for joy fills my heart and I know I am home 
                                                                                                    Debbie Knapp.

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A Summer-Colored Memory

So many memories I have are summer-colored,
like those walking-down-the-lane days recalled in various hues of green.
Green for Grandpa’s cornfields spread all around us
and green for the grass on which my sisters and I used to run and play.

Besides that color green, which prettily surrounded me through all my childhood,
I think a favorite memory would be
the colors of one lovely day spent with my family,
the family created by my spouse and me and a day our kids were young.

We lived near San Francisco. 
Few troubles plagued us then and I loved our short time in California!
One summer day at last we went to see the beach of Santa Cruz.
I don’t remember details of everything we did.
We walked along the boardwalk, naturally.
I’m sure the kids, both pre-teens, enjoyed the rides. 
Even I was every bit as excited as the two of them.
I’m sure my spouse and I took pictures, ate good-tasting food 
and watched our children doing things all children love to do.

But what stood out for me was our time spent on the beach
and how we all jumped up to greet each wave that tumbled toward us
time and time again to knock us down.
What pure pleasure in the splashes of blue that fun-filled day,
the blue of the Pacific, which chilled me at the start
until I warmed to it as the yellow sun in blue of sky above
smiled down on us.

Yes, the blue of sky and water
and the constant shining yellow of the sun:
those would be the colors of my favorite summer memory -
when times were good and we were young and simply having fun.

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Broken Treasured Flower

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

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

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

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

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

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Not posting for a while

Due to health of Dad, I will not be posting new poems for a while.
Things are going downhill fast....
I will still read other poets when time permits.

Quality time spent with him is more important at this time. 
I do appreciate all of you for your support
on my scribbles and for the warm welcome 
that has been given me.

If you pray, I will ask for prayers for all involved.

Thank you ahead of time.

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Long Shadows

He waited 
Under fluorescent lighting
The kind that highlighted
His salt and pepper hair
It was almost 5:30
Quitting time 
But he didn’t have to worry about that anymore
Today was his last day
The people in the office took him out to lunch
Had a round of drinks
Opened a few cards
Hugged one of the secretaries
Felt pretty good about himself
But what next? 

Adjusting his glasses he looked straight ahead
The tools on his workbench 
Cold metal
After twenty years still usable and dependable
Pliers, screwdrivers 
Lined up in front just the way he organized them 
Some lost
Some borrowed but eventually all returned
He wondered if he would miss holding the hefty hammer
The one with the smooth maple handle?

There was nothing more to do
Would he bring his tools home?
Or come back for them later?

Rubbing his hands
To keep his fingers moving
He lingered at his bench
Until it was time to leave
A day’s pay for a day’s work
That what his father told him
Back when.

Put off the final decision 
To retire as long as he could
When he signed the papers 
It felt like somebody lifted him up
And put him in another life
Careful with money
Saved all these years
With Social Security
He and his wife hoped it would be enough
To see them through.

Enough thinking
It was time to leave
Waving to a few co-workers
He walked out 
The shop door closing behind him
Brick building
Casting its large shadow behind him
Outside it was the usual scene
Busy streets 
Crowded coffee shop
Sounds of buses and traffic
In a hurry to get somewhere.
This time it was different
A cold chill of exhilaration 
Gripped him in a vise of uncertainty
He couldn’t believe he 
Was walking away 
From decades of 
What was once familiar
And part of him. 

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My Tale

Listen to my tale of two lovers that ventured forth,_From two waring peoples for up in the north.__O now Littlefire was the daughter of the chief,_And she knew to tell her father of her love would just bring him grief.__Now Icefox was a noted warrior with stealth knowing and pride,_But his love for Littlefire he knew he just couldn't hide.__Now on a cold clear night they ventured forth to a place they were to meet,_A little house of ice their own small retreat.__But a vindictive soul fallowed and hurried back to the people to tell,_Oh and for the lovers this didn't bode well.__Oh untill it was to late they never heard a sound,_And there in each others arms the two lovers were found.__Now the chief's met to give punishment for what the two lovers did,_Oh the shame to their families was something that could not be easily hid.__So sentanced by the chief's death would be the price,_Their living hearts cut from there chests and togather barried deep with in the ice.__O but you can't kill passions flame or put out the fire of love,_Now the beauty of their hearts still burns in the night time skies above.Now if you don't belive my tale then you should venture forth,_Look into the skies up in the north,_And when there love is shining bright on cold clear nights._You will see what we call the great Northern Lights.__Oh Native people call it Icefire in the north But for their people that watched them die,_It will ever be known of as Littlefire loving Icefox in the sky.__So ends my tale of two lovers that paid the ultamit prece,_But the fire of their love will alway reflect in the night time sky from deep with in the ice.

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Oh, My Beloved Africa

Oh, my Beloved Africa
Why are you always so behind time
Why is it that the world always has to be miles ahead
For you to follow in the trail of dust they leave behind

Oh, my Beloved Motherland
Why is it that these sons and daughters of yours
Are always so eager to get up and leave
Why is it that you always only get to keep
...those whose thoughts are to beg and keep the obsolete
...of history from the worlds abroad 
...which have nothing better than the makings of thee

Oh, Africa my Beloved
Even I sometimes get the urge to just get up and leave
But so strong is my love for thee
For it always anchors my spirit, here to be
Perhaps if you and I were to form an alliance
We would prove to the others
That indeed, even in Paradise dreams can still be achieved
We can prove to them that on the canvas of life 
Anyone can paint whatever his heart may like
For it isn?t life that matters
But the reality of what you make of the opportunities it offers

Oh, Africa you truly are my deepest love
For you, in my heart is nothing but pride
But there is just one teeny-weeny bit of help I need
Please speak to Mother Nature for me
And ask her gently to lend me her scriptures of life
So I may peruse through to see if I can find some answers I seek
For I feel inclined to believe
She has a lot more acumen to offer
Than of the realities that graces the ordinary minds
Of her intelligence, I wish to spread to the extents it may prevail
So in speaking to her on my behalf
Please ensure to make clear of my selfless intents 
So she may keep sealed from me the pages whose secrets she doesn?t wish 

Oh, My Beloved Mama Africa
You truly are such a Great Mama
You have seen it all in time, 
...and even beyond my time you will still continue to see it all as time strides
Truly, in me your roots run deep
For your were still here, when more than a thousand years back 
...plans to have me alive were hatched
Son after father after grandfather after great grandfather
...after an endless series of other greater grandfathers in time
So why should I abandon thee when it?s finally time for me live 
Just to show you gratitude for having me 
...this life I live I shall on behalf of all before me dedicate to the benefit of thee

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Loneliness is Driving Me Crazy

I wake up in the morning and have to decide which side of the bed I will get out of today – it 
doesn’t really matter, because there is no one there to block my exit on either side.

I turn on the TV, not to see what’s on, but just to hear another voice in the kitchen other than 
the one’s inside my head reminding me that I am having breakfast alone once again.

I once thought that working from home, through the internet, for myself and by myself, 
would be a wonderful thing – but, that was when I used to change out of my pajamas at 
some time during the day.

Now the keyboard sits there mocking me in my loneliness.  The monitor acts more as a 
mirror to remind me I haven’t shaved in weeks than it does to display words of a manuscript 
that I should be working on.

How lonely am I?  I actually called my mother the other day.  Rock bottom.

I watch out my window for the approaching mailman so I can open the door as he is 
depositing bills I can no longer pay into the mail slot on my door.  He says he likes my 
Spiderman pajamas the best.

If I had a reason to do so, I would probably take a shower.  But then, I have become 
accustomed to my own stench and there is nobody else around to offend, save for the 
mailman, who I noticed doesn’t hang around to talk much any more.  Could be related, I 

I don’t even please myself any more.  My imagination is not sharp enough to fantasize about 
things I haven’t experienced for real in such a long time.

There was a time when I would not answer my phone when an 800 number was displayed on 
the handset.  Today I do.  Talking to someone bemoaning that I am late with another 
payment, again, is, at least, talking to someone.

Stop mocking me Qwerty! 

I have given names to the inanimate objects in my apartment.  At times, they talk back to 
me.  I think today may be my birthday; the dishwasher was smiling at me.  The dirty dishes 
inside now have mold on them.

The mailman didn’t come today – perhaps it is Sunday.  I wore my Spiderman pajamas for 
no good reason.  

I didn’t write anything again today.  These words are just floating around in my head.  I am 
pretending you are a stranger reading them to make me feel a little less lonely.  You 
believing you are that stranger is just further validation that I am, indeed, crazy.

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Brother and Sister

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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Mom's Malaise, part three

For all of this apparent tragedy in her life, and truly it all only set the stage for my
mother’s soul growth in this experience, what I remember most about my mom is her courage, her compassion and her ever-present service through her Words of Encouragement project that she carried on for the last nearly forty years that she was on this earth. She would collect inspirational writings, sometimes writing her own, and send them to her list of people “in bereavement”. She would volunteer at some local church that would allow her to print copies for mailings. People inspired by her faith would donate envelopes and postage so she could continue mailing Words of Encouragement to people she learned about who were dealing with some kind of difficulty or loss in their life. After she died, we found she had maintained a carefully hand-written log of all the people she sent mailings to over the years. This was her form of “selfless service” and I’m certain that it was her service to others that kept her in the world when it would have been so easy for her to just give up finally.  

I learned from my mother that we can pull ourselves out of our depression and self-absorption by turning our gaze outward and giving service in one way or another, how ever it is we can find a way to serve our brother. Even though it appears we have no material worth and nothing at all to give, on some level my mom understood the value and importance of giving encouragement to one another. She faced enormous loss, criticism and complete lack of support throughout her life but, time and time again, she found the courage to rise above, call to Holy Spirit for help, and carry on ... giving whatever she could give, whether it was a place to sleep on her couch for a homeless person, finding a market for handmade crafts created by women in prison, or even if all she could give was a Word of Encouragement. 

This is in tribute to my mom, Anne Pauline Theresa Labus King Coker, 
February 11, 1928 to April 4, 2002

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'Refracting Reflections'


"Imagine a lovely garden, tea for two, and this story . . . "

All the barriers broken down
Nothing left to shelter it, 
Her heart now exposed 

The first time in years
She has left it all bare,
Unlike all the other times
When the excuses piled up 
Before it even started

“Why would you do things differently, this time around? 

She looked at me, with a puzzled face

“I don’t know” was her reply
Maybe I need to see what will happen
If I let things be -

Not let my fears
 be my principle decision maker

just take the plunge,
I might find that little rainbows 
Lead to bigger things
Moments of happiness
Or even love
That has eluded me…

Maybe I am ready now
To embrace 
Not having control
Over my emotions
Whatever they might be - 

I looked at her, 
Holding back tears   

With just one wish,
That I would be as brave 
As her one day,

That the mirror image 
I see, be 
Reflective in me

Maybe that day is closer 
Then what you might think

The echo came - 

It may only be 
a breath away… 

Refracting Reflections
By Wilma N. Neels
Contest Name : I Fancy another Sad Poem
Date: 15/08/2011

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Year of the Stingray

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

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

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

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

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Time for you to get a job
Time to remember
If you file untimely you may lose your right to government benefits
Untimely arrival at a job interview means no job
Time for you to grow up
Time to wake up
Time to fall back
I need more time to think it over
What time are you coming over?
Isn’t it about time we talk? 
How many times do I have to tell you?
Time waits for no one
The hand of time moves exceedingly slow
It’s time to change
It’s time to go
What time is it?
This time, make the time to make more time for yourself

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Thanks for that Memorable Day

Written by:  Florence McMillian (Flo)
Dedicated and written for my friend, Lisa Giessinger, as a special message from her to her mother, Hazel – about a most memorable day they spent together.

To My Mother Hazel Thanks for that Memorable Day This poem is specifically Being written just for you I requested it from a friend For she knows just what to do That special day we spent together Is so very memorable for me, I’d say I want it to be memorable for you too With a poem written in a rhyming way We’ve had our ups and downs in life With probably most of them being down You raised me to know how life can be Not easy to cope, with down things all around Well I’ve stepped up to a new level To be happy no matter what the hell Of any negative surroundings to be I live thankful that my life is all well That special day started out so bad for me As I was headed for back injections again I was really happy you were taking me there With a comfort feeling knowing we are kin It seemed like the first time in a very long time Where we just enjoyed each other that day You were kind of like that sweet rose One stops to smell along the way In this path I have traveled Through many overgrown weeds It was refreshing and pleasant this time With no discussion of what someone needs We got along together talking and laughing It gave me such a lasting good impression We even ate at Don Julio’s afterwards I sure hope you had just as much fun I want you to know how much I appreciate this time we spent together Making this a most memorable day for me To truly cherish for always and forever Now let me tell you, that day did get worse With everyone putting me down everywhere You were the rose amongst the trash talkers It felt good to know my Mom really does care Even if everything dips to the downside Within the journeys of my life I may go through No one could ever take our shared moments away They’re in my heart forever and I’ll always love you I had the best time with me and my Mom If I told the world, that’s what I’d say So I really want to thank you Mom For that most memorable day Love, Lisa Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Adam loved Eve

Once there was a man named Adam
He walked around very alone
Until a loneliness made him fathom
A name for all of these animals
Would truly make this place
Feel much more like home

He started with the green ones
For they had caught his eye
Frog, lizard, toad and turtle
Then doves and eagles flying high
Deer, horse then the wallaby
Trying so hard not to do a pun
He named the floating one, butterfly
Then he started on the blue, on land and sea
Until he finished with the golden sun

At last it was done, he went to the garden
Very tired and hungry, he found a fruit tree
Then heard a voice that was warning him
This one forbidden choose another, thee
No problem as there was plenty
So, he ate some bananas and kiwi

Sleeping sound on grass of green
Until he awoke to a happy laughter
It was Eve, the first person he had seen
He called out, come here and talk
They laughed, they ate and they talked
And while on a long slow walk
Adam showed Eve the beautiful land

The sea and the great rivers
Along with the troubling tree
That stands among the timbers
Forbidden, they can never even touch
They walked around it wondering
Why the tree snake had whispered
"these apples are so sweet" in hush
Adam and Eve had them for lunch
Fell fast asleep in each others arms

Their dreams were of a dark abyss
Banished from the garden, punished
But as the time passed and went on
They were blessed with these two sons
There was Abel, who knew all the animals
And then Cain, who grew the golden corn
It was a very great time for Adam and Eve
So as Cane and Abel grew up strong and tall
They praised and thanked the Holy Lord
Who made the sky's touch the waterfall

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

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

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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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     Of  this quaint mountain village sparks a longing  strain lay dormant these many years. Was it some childhood visit, one too early to recall, or existence in another life? The two, to my searching soul, ever close together.
     A white steeple  pokes through, rising from a wealth of green. The instant sensation,  deja vu. I’m standing at the edge of Castle Lookout – so said a sign – a mountain promontory surrounded by jack pine, and the cozy little town – if you could call it a town – lay half buried in verdant summer wealth, purple mountains distant. All one may see of dwellings are white sidings and reddish roofs, save for one large two-story quite near. I could swear I see a lad and his dog on a patch of meadow But no. He’s disappeared.
     A flash! An instant panoramic spectacle,  an all encompassing vision covers, blots-out the town, the distant purple mountains, every waking sight. I am playing with the lad and his dog, throwing a stick for some fetch it game. His name is, Tommy, and I know him well, both he and his family. And for just that instant – superimposed – I walk those village streets, hear a park band in the square and wave at familiar folk. It has been given when a person falls from some high place his whole life strings into consciousness. Yes, but this too-real-apparition has other-worldly quality. No childish imagination pervades the montage. It is that of my mature self, save playing with the boy and his dog, which reaches back even more mysteriously. I sense all at very depth of soul. The traveler is not my present self. He has appeared from some other port of call too distant in time to name. 
     Now I’m back, visitor on a whim, and deigned experience what few have gone the crystal ball route. How polar different I feel  walking back to my car. I am almost reluctant to leave, the two-entity identity still with me, but I get in, start her up, and drive onto the highway with a wide-eyed shrug for that glimpse of transcendental history.

Dave Austin

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And then I think “Why is it that the good ones are hard to find?”
Shouldn’t be just the opposite?
That generosity and loyalty is the norm?
Someone who is serious and is dedicated to more the just sports and getting layed?
Why are my only two options to settle for less or to keep on waiting until I have no faith left;
Believing that they are all the same 
And then these expectations turn into self-evaluations
Thinking and feeling things I shouldn’t have to be
And so here I am on a Tuesday night
Sitting, waiting, wishing.

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Not Needing a Meeting, Daily 31

Some work day mornings just fill with sour time.
The evenness of the florescent lights is annoying
I see all the familiar faces hating every moment along with me.
A department meeting, how horrifying.

The common voices outlining choices--that have nothing to do with you
Blacken and blue, I must stomach this painful gathering of shrews 
A pressured push in the brain
To not let this  poison my day
I rely on pleasant memories to carry me away:
The last cherished talk, the phone message from a friend.
I really can’t wait for this meeting to end.

Now my agitation has been noticed.
I am not paying attention--thinking about folly and Ben.
The expression on my face shows rejection
Can she see my recollection of the last time we met?
Crap now I am found out; she must be judging what my whole life is about.

Turn toward her stare, show sincerity and care
Easy now tiger-- and smile--give the moment awhile.
Save face, my Japanese ancestors would say.
I am disciplined, this is work--not time to play.
Don’t let distraction make you her prey.

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July 4, 1961

           Well HELLO MARY LOU, 

You won’t believe this but I just HEARD IT THROUGH THE GRAPEVINE that someone else was 
getting a DOUBLE SHOT OF MY BABYS’ LOVE. Right now TIME WON’T LET ME alone ever 
since I heard GLORIA saying please, BE MY BABY. I was just WALKIN’ THE DOG when I SAW 
HER STANDING THERE. She came right out and told me she would GIVE ME SOME LOVIN in 
the MIDNIGHT HOUR. She guaranteed we would feel JUST LIKE ROMEO AND JULIET; all I 
had to do was HOLD ON TIGHT. But I CAN SEE CLEARLY NOW, thanks to the warm 

I remember when I was playing the field; all I ever thought was WHY DO FOOLS FALL IN 
LOVE?  I’d give anything to get back to someone like sweet little SHEILA. You remember her 
don’t you?  OH DONNA, if your sister lets you read THE LETTER I wrote from SAN 
FRANSCICO, you know I’d be taking ROUTE 66 back to see that little BROWN EYED GIRL. 
Then maybe CUPID          can draw back his bow because until now this TRAVELING MAN 
has just been SINGIN’ THE BLUES.
I’ve got to find some kind of LOCOMOTION because WE GOTTA GET OUT OF THIS PLACE! 
Maybe I could hitch a ride with MUSTANG SALLY; you know I was BORN TO BE WILD if I’m 
thinking of asking her for a ride. Remember when you and I used to cruise down to 
SUNDAY afternoon. If it rained we kept time with the wipers and the RHYTHM OF THE RAIN. 
By the way, did you hear that BONEY MARONEY really did DO RON-RON after she drank that 
bottle of LOVE POTION # 9? I guess it is just another example of we really have to LOVE 
ONE ANOTHER because a little SUGARTIME  will go a long way towards making it a 
Poor LOUIE LOUIE  told everyone that I FOUGHT THE LAW after spending a few hours 
drinking down at MARGARITAVILLE, don’t believe him.  There are always two sides to every 
story and BLACK IS BLACK because THAT’LL BE THE DAY I’d be handcuffed by that CHAIN 

IT’S MY PARTY next weekend but it will be just ANOTHER SATURDAY NIGHT unless I can find 
a little RUNAWAY to be my DREAM LOVER. After all, what would a WORLD WITHOUT LOVE be 
like?   If I can’t hook up with her, DO YOU WANNA DANCE the LA BAMBA, or maybe LET’S 
TWIST AGAIN? We can do anything that you wanna do but LET’S DANCE to that hot little 
oldies band called THE RUNAWAYS.

            All my Loving,

*Written as a tribute to a local 50’s/60’s cover band called the “RUNAWAY’S” using their play 

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When I met Maizie, she was about eight years old.  We were living in Kentucky and my wife's mother and brother lived near us.  Her mom was a widow and suffered from some physical problems that restricted her to her home.  Her son was an unemployed n'er do well who spent a lot of time drinking and living off of his mothers income.  He had been married several times, none of which lasted.

It was a pleasant summer day when my mother in law called and said that her sons first wife had showed up to visit, along with her current husband and their daughter, Maizie.  Since we normally were over to her house several times a week to clean and shop, we soon met all of them.  It turns out that the husband was “between jobs” and it soon became apparent that they were there for whatever they could get, and quickly settled in.  Her mother accepted everyone at face value and couldn't see that she was being used.

We kept a close eye on the situation, stopping by more often to see what was going on.  It was during these visits that I noticed that Maizie was odd man out.  She was a very affectionate child, but was usually ignored and or yelled at by her mom.  She would frequently sit quietly on the periphery, swinging her feet and observing.  I felt sorry for her and started to pay her some attention.  We would talk, and laugh, and take short walks around the apartment project.  Sometimes, when I would go shopping, I would take her with me.

One day we found out that they were going to move on.  When we went over, Maizie seemed despondent.  I asked if she would like to take one last walk and she eagerly agreed.  While on our walk, Daisy suddenly blurted “would you like to be my daddy”?

I was at a loss for words, but finally said “Maizie, you have a father”.

“I know” she said.  “But I want a daddy”.

That's the last time I saw Maizie.  Today she would be a woman in her twenties and I can only hope she found the love she so richly deserved.

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A Face Of Stone

I am a gargoyle 
Wedded to concrete and brick 
The guardian of my building 
From above the streets 
I watched a couple
Every night
Kissing in the hallway 
She holding on to him 
Looking deep into his soul 
Leaning on him 
Wanting to be near him 
Depending on him. 
He stood tall 
Proud as he held her  
That he could touch the stars 
And do anything.

I was jealous. 
For some time
Their life 
Had an ebb and flow
A regularity
As natural as the tides
From the deep dark sea.

Over time 
The girl walked slowly 
Hands on her stomach 
Nervously she waited for him 
She was pregnant 
A curse in her grandparent’s time 
But not a terrible thing today. 

The boy stopped
Then one day 
He came back
No longer sure of himself 
He spoke to an older man 
Tempers and harsh words 
They married 
Not a joyous affair 
They were days when I didn’t see her 
Him I saw often 
Returning from work 
Newspaper under his arm 
No longer tall 
No longer proud. 
I miss the days 
When they were in love 
The way they looked at each other 
Made me blush 
And when they embraced 
I looked the other way 
Can two people fall in love  
Is that feeling so strong 
That dreams become one 
To live only for the day 
That nights of love and desire 
Are not long 
And heartbreak is forever. 
I look upward
To the skies
And ask
If for one day
I could be human
Hold and embrace 
Feel a caress 
Have someone 
To dream with 
To live and love
To love and lose 
Is better than this,
A face of stone. 

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The clock is ticking

Ticks, tick I listen to the time go
An hourglass I watch the sand flow
Tick, tock I see the time upon the clock
I feel lost, wandered out from the flock.

My eyes view all that I’ve been through
The journey always brings me back to you
I can’t seem to focus and the time just flies
Another day passes and something just dies.

My heart feels passion, the clock keeps on spinning
I cannot see if I am losing or winning
I try to stand but can’t find my feet
I see pieces of myself in the people I meet.

My mind is racing to keep pace with time
I try to gather all the pieces that are mine
My life seems scattered across the floor
I need to escape so I head out the door.

The sun has returned and shines down on me
Its’ rays warm my soul, its’ light I can see
The world I once knew has all but disappeared
When I closed my eyes this is what I feared.

I walk down the street but it’s like I’m not there
I feel like a ghost on a journey to nowhere
I just wander around and the time still goes
My heart feels confused but my mind knows.

I try to find something to make some sense of it all
But sometimes the descent is worse than the fall
A cool breeze blows it seems summer is gone
The leaves will be changing before too long.

The time just keeps ticking another day ends
The hands on the clock it is time they defend
When I thought I had time it slipped away
Time did not have time for me today…

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Small World

Seven hundred and sixty two feet from corner to corner.  From the huge old elm tree in Dr. Rooney's front yard on one end, to the lamppost that sat outside my bedroom window on the other.  That's how long the street that I grew up on is.

So who cares?  Good question.  It really is irrelevant isn't it?  Well maybe.  At least it was until one day when I went back and visited the old neighborhood after an absence of many years.  That's when I realized how much shorter it had gotten while I was away.  Time was when I would walk up to Washington Street on the opposite end from where I lived and look back, and it was a very long way.  If I ran from end to end, I would be huffing and puffing by the time I collapsed on my front porch.  

Sitting catty corner across the street from where I lived was the Lincoln Elementary School, surrounded by fields that ran uninterrupted the length of the street.  Only the Noonan's house broke the symmetry, sitting there in solitary defiance halfway down the street.  I never did know why it was there, but suspect it had something to do with the Noonan's getting there first.  

Today the school is a nursing home, but everything else is still as it was, except of course, the field too has grown smaller, and the Noonan house isn't at all as large as it used to be.   

I had a paper route back then.  It encompassed several blocks of my neighborhood, with my dad being the last one to get his paper.  It took most of the afternoon to deliver my route, given the distance and all.  I wish it had been as small then as it seems to be today. 

Anyway, that was a long time ago.  I left for the Air Force right after high school.  I remember waiting for the bus next to that old elm tree in Dr Rooney's yard.  My folks moved to another part of town shortly after that, so I never did go back.  Occasions to visit the town at all were few over the years.  It was my dads funeral that finally brought me back for a few days. 

Funny how the world keeps shrinking.  Once distant destinations no longer are.   California seems to be a lot closer to Boston then it once was, and when did Canada become just a few hours north of here.   I guess maybe I shouldn't be surprised after all that my street ended up being only seven hundred and sixty two feet from corner to corner. Small world, isn't it?

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Before The Light

There are too many times when my eyes open and it’s still dark.

It’s useless to think that I’ll go back to sleep, and it’s no good at all to lay in bed and watch the passing parade of worries that comes marching down the Main Street of my mind. When I do that, the entertainment seems to take on its own life. The parade grows longer, more spectacular, with the noise of marching bands, my thoughts, growing louder. Clowns scurry ahead of the band leader, throwing red balls in the air. There are too many balls to count.

The best thing I can do for myself is to rise from my bed. But there are days when it seems too much to bear being home before the rest of the world rises. There’s just too much emptiness in my small house. 

I leave, escaping to DD's, where I sit and sip my coffee over a newspaper. Sometimes there are others sitting waiting for the light to come, too–like the woman who gives an animated “Hello” to everyone she meets, staring too long into our eyes. She takes out her cell phone to call a friend about the rashes on her legs. Something is biting her during the night. Raj and the other DD workers snicker, and I am drawn to–but at the same time repelled by–her morbid troubles.

Sometimes, in the winter, it seems as if the time I spend in the dark before the light comes is endless. I don’t think it’s normal for darkness to last so long; it’s probably one of the punishments for eating the apple in Eden.

I much prefer the early light of June and July, when the morning allows the gentle unfolding of life around me. Somehow, when the sun is in the sky at 6:30 a.m., a passing gasoline truck rattling my windows does not sound so lonely. Nor do I mind the sun revealing the stains from spring rains on my windows … or the birds loudly announcing their presence in the trees. Their manic chirping awakens schoolchildren eagerly counting down the days til summer.

When the darkness is especially long, and I have already sought out the comfort of others who cannot sleep, I will sometimes return home and do what I am so reluctant to do — sit still. I take up my position in a special chair near a window that looks out onto the street. I close my eyes and listen to the heated rhythms that only my body can make. My breath … my ins and outs.

But I wonder; why is it so hard to be still? Especially in the dark before the light.

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Fairytale Love

Fairytale Love

This is a story of young love to the old.
Best friends we were at a delicate young age,
Remained that way, until turning of life's page.
Now comes the time for our tale to be told. 

Attraction was strong but we never dared to dance.
The love we felt separately stayed hidden within, 
And many day's hours we longed to give in.
Not revealing our love we craved to romance. 

Oh young love, how innocent and sweet.
Fearing to admit it, may loose your best friend.
Dazed in each other's eyes never knowing back then,
The secret desire for our souls to meet. 

A meeting in mid-life was short and all too brief.
Years passed by and every now and then,
A song would play and you're in my heart again.
Silent yearnings may have erased many years of our grief. 

Older and wiser, we're given a second chance.
Days may be numbered, never knowing the end.
Profess your young love to your best friend,
And take that chance to romance that dance. 

A lifetime passes and now our love's revealed by both.
Admissions of love confessed to you my dear,
The truth of this has now come back through the years. 
This love we've always shared is now open to growth. 

An encountered stranger noticed the looks we share. 
Not knowing our story, he said to you and me,
This is a fairytale love that others can see.
There must be a glow when in our eyes we stare. 

The question still lingers, should we take that leap.
Has sorrow guarded our hearts from love,
Will time allow us to look down from above. 
Should we grasp onto life's pleasures to keep. 

Oh young love, how innocent and sweet,
To be given this gift that one only dreams.
Could this be...the real fairytale it seems?
Was it destiny in motion to once again meet. 

I know now what life is telling me I should do,
Here stands my best friend right in front of me.
He's been with me a lifetime in every breath I breathe
I've always been passionately in love with you.

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


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Back in the Saddle Samurai part 2 response to Richard Pickett collab

After hearing from Brick over the phone saying he needed a lift, Bill cradled the phone, adjusted his shoulder holster, slipped on his jacket and carefully donned his beloved Stetson. He skipped down the stairs to the mini parking lot where he recently paid to park his car just for the convenience of it all. Should a done this a long time ago, he thought as he coaxed his car into gear and popped the clutch to angle it onto the busy street.
    Once he got into the traffic he ground the gears as well as that old three speed on the column would allow and headed for St Cecelia’s. He probably would have got there quicker on his police horse but they frowned on him parking his old horse buddy in the parking lot.
   It wasn’t the first time Brick decided to take a sabbatical in St Cecelia‘s. Hmm ..He musta been hell on his Mom’s nerves when he was a kid, Bill mused. 
     He pulled a u turn couldn't help but smile when he saw Brick was already standing there waiting for him while removing a sling from his arm that he probably was supposed to leave on for a few days.
     Bill braked along side the cigarette butt strewn curb reached across, opened the door and Brick clambered in a little more gently than he wanted to. “Need some help old man?” Bill quipped. 
    “No I just happen to like taking my time so I can savor every moment when I climb into a piece of junk.”
     “Now that ain’t no way to talk about ole Nellie here, Bill chuckled. Say how ya feeling Brick? “I feel great.” “Oh? You might feel great but you look like crap. You’d best pull an overhaul on your carcass real soon or that’ll be the shortest date you’ll ever be on.”
Brick rolled his eyes at his partner “Don’t you worry none cowboy, I clean up pretty good when I wanna. You just try and do your best to see that this hunk of junk makes it to my place cause if I was a gambling man ,I wouldn’t put any money on it.” They both laughed and Bill drove Brick to his home. 
 “Okay, well call me tomorrow and we’ll talk business about a certain Samurai
if your up to it by then Brick.” Brick groaned his way out of the car turned and said  “Oh don’t you worry ’bout that. I’ll be up to it all right .” 
Actually, I ain't really worried about you, Brick. I’m a little worried about the Samurai.”
“Huh? How’s that Bill?” 
“You know .. your ribs, Brick … they gave his foot a pretty good walloping!”
Brick slammed the car door shut, shook his head and chuckled as he limped away.
  See Richard Pickett

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A Gullah Angel

“Be still sad heart and cease repining;
Behind the clouds the sun is shining,
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life a little rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.”- - Longfellow

Charleston, SC
After the Old Bethel church had been in decline for many 
years it was moved to its present location for the Gullah. 
A smell of salt always in the breeze, the sound of waves 
crashing on the rocks may be heard.

He stands in the old adjacent cemetery looking at a grave,  
adorned by an ebony angel, a tear falls as the wing tip is touched.  
My story was in a different time and place, a different culture even.
Taking place in 1881 long after the terrible division was over. 
Yet the landmarks, preserved from that war lingered, 
even as they took on new meaning and significance.  
The churches were all touting “demon rum”
while the temperance leagues marched.
With drum and cymbal they moved, 
from church to levee, up the banks
and through the square where the Citadel stands.
Then turning left through the heart of Charleston
to stop at the open market place,
where everyone gathered in the long hot evenings.
The church not segregated then, the Gullah 
attended along with the whites- - 
more for show and display of wealth, than for religion. 
For that they would reserve Sunday evening
and a larger church in the heart of town.

He lived adjacent to the church, beyond the graveyard.
The first time he saw her, she saw him first.
When he looked up and caught the stare
the most amazing look of rapture came over him.
Both were embarrassed and neither could speak.
He finally composed himself and invited her to come into the garden. 
After a short fiery relationship her swollen condition
prompted the church to intervene.  
It was on the verge of ostracizing both of them 
when she slipped on the rocks of the jetty. 
As he tried to save her she delivered a son.
In all the confusion and darkness, and because of her weakened 
condition he could not save both of them and she died.  

His Great Grandfather lived and so continued the long line 
on down through his grand babies. This one would not have known her 
even had she lived to a ripe old age.  But the fact of love denied to
these two young people in that moment in time, has been told and
retold down the generations.  Sometime, in the lifetime of each 
generation, the statue has been visited to keep a promise that is made 
by every son of every son. 

Sept. 29 2011 Charles Henderson
For Constance's "Church by the Ocean" contest

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Spring Heeled Jack A True Story

Walking along from the public house late that night 
My lantern giving just a little light
My thoughts as I walked, was I very late?
The time unimportant the year eighteen thirty-eight.

A scream I heard, from a far off distance.
Commotion coming my way, do I make a stance?
A lone figure running towards me, I stop dead in my tracks.
Do I move aside or run away, or even turn right back.

My lamp is only a candle; its light is very dim.
I see a tall figure with glowing red eyes; he is tall and very thin.
With a hooked nose and ears, those look as if they are pointed
He bounds past in the lamp light, with a hood and cloak appointed.

I know not what it is, but to me it looks very evil.
Wrapped in cloak with hideous looks, I am sure it is the devil.
The mob that is chasing it, finds me standing in their way
With cudgels and with pitchforks, but they let me have my say.

Satisfied it was not me, the chase begins once again.
I join the mob in the chase; my heart begins to feels the strain.
We chase the devil along a dark narrow path hoping it makes a gaff
We catch up and corner him, he gives a demonic laugh.

The devil turns to the mob; he’s trapped by a fifteen foot hedge.
His laugh rings out his claws are drawn, silver talons, light glistening on the edge.
One of the mob shoots at him, but the devil opens his mouth wide.
Blue flames and fire shoot from it, blinding the shooter, who steps aside.

The devil leaps the hedge with a great agility
I am aghast with fear and shock, a demonic laugh reaches me.
We stand not knowing what it was, will it be coming back?
A voice from the mob, whispers you know what…
                                                    That was spring heeled Jack

Spring Heeled Jack was seen during the time of Jack the Ripper in the streets of London in 1838.

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From England's dark blackout
We came to these shores
I and my siblings
In refuge from war.
How enchanted we were
With all we saw.

First Sydney's fine harbour
And her bridge of one span
Then the azure blue sea
The long beaches of sand
The beautiful city lit up at night
To our youthful eyes a wondrous sight.

The Aussie soldier in his famous slouch hat
The long train journey to the far outback
The Cockies screech the Kookaburra's cackle
New sights and sounds for my brain to tackle.
The grazing sheep the fields of wheat
The fun of the master the blistering heat
The long hot summers with respite at the sea
Where we swam and surfed in unspoilt glee.

School days were spent in city or mountain retreat
Strict was the discipline our uniforms neat.
Happy the friendships spacious the grounds
Nuns telling rosary beads flitting around.
With firmness and patience they taught us well
Recreation was announced by the tolling bell.

Oh the joy when the holidays came
What fun we had on the old school train.
It trundled along past wilga and gum
Past meandering creeks and billabongs
Past Emus grazing and Roos hopping along
Through wide open spaces rich in bird song.

At the graceful homestead with veranda surround
Stood the welcoming grandmother so recently found.
With parents far off she gave care and love
How proud we were of her pioneer blood.
She cooked and scrubbed and chopped the wood
She could do everything she really could.

But tragedy stuck
With her soldier son killed.
She grieved and withered and lost her will.
No longer in her life
Would he take part
Months later she died of a broken heart.

There came a time when with many tears
I bade farewell to this life so dear.
I had no choice I had to go.
The years passed on
I missed it all so.

This time when I came
I touched down by plane.
New visions flood my startled brain
Australia I find is absorbed in change
it makes me feel so very strange.

The laid back Aussie with his old world charm
A computer wiz now and amazingly calm.
The coastline is cluttered highrises abound
The noise of the traffic an ugly sound.
But the song of the Bellbird is still a wonder
It soothes my senses as I ponder.

For no land on earth has so much to offer.
So I’ll settle here I will not hover.
Perhaps the maternal ancestors smile from above.
For at last I'm here In the land they loved.
And I'll spend the twilight of my years
In this country I've always held so dear.

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The Buck

The light is fading, evening breaks
Between the oaken woods and lake,
It's time to finish with the row
And homeward bound, the trail to take.

With rake in hand I turn to go
To find my pick axe and the hoe,
When from the trail there ran a buck
And right behind him came two doe.

At first I thought, what rotten luck!
I'm here, my rifle's in the truck,
Then, as he stopped to look my way
He gave his tail a flip and tuck.

And then he spun and bounced away
The doe behind him sleek and grey,
Crashing through the brush and vine
Into the woods and welcomed shade.

He must have sported twenty tine
I thought as Shadow starts to whine,
Asking, should he give him chase?
I pat his head in soft decline.

The sun is gone upon my face
To lose the buck is no disgrace,
Although today I've been undone
There'll be another time and place.

Today the buck has rightly won
The hunters gone, the season done,
Perhaps we'll meet again next year
Before the season's had it's run.

The buck was ancient, and I fear
He may not see another year,
But then, another year is seldom clear
For man, or dog, or antlered deer.

                     Timothy I. Brumley

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The Bike

I remember it like it was yesterday.  I was probably twelve when Mr Kimball, who lived across the street, asked me if I had a bike.   I said “no”, and he asked if I would like one.  The answer was obvious.  I followed him to the cellar where, leaning against a wall stood an old Iver Johnson bike frame with two flat tires and no fenders.  It was beautiful.  Mr. Kimball said if I wanted to fix it up, I could have it.

I wheeled it home, washed it, and painted it black. My dad and I removed the tires to reveal two rotted inner tubes.  My dad said I would have to buy new ones and he would help me put them in.  It took me two months, working two paper routes to earn the money necessary, but I finally had them.  Good to his word, my dad and I put them in and used the old bicycle pump in the basement to inflate them.  I cannot tell you the ecstasy and exhilaration I experienced the first time I rode that bike.  It had multiple speeds, depending on how fast I could pedal.

I went everywhere on that bike.  You seldom saw one without the other.  I remember saving enough money to finally buy fenders.  The were shiny chrome and I thought they were beautiful.  But as is the way with young boys, after having them awhile, I decided to customize them by cutting them down to half size.  In my infinite wisdom, it never occurred to me that if I rode it in the rain, when I got where I was going, I would have a streak of mud down the middle of my back.  A minor detail.

From time to time, I would fasten a stiff card to the frame so that it would contact the spokes, making a sound not unlike a small motor.  Or at least I thought so.

That was so many years ago.  Since then I have graduated to cars and have owned many.  But I can't think of one that I liked better or that meant more to me then that old second hand bike.

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Some work to escape loneliness
Others drink to forget
A few take a more measured route
On a slower journey
Towards a tranquil place
Called sleep.
I myself like to sleep
Anywhere. Anytime.
Is OK by me.
But just when I feel warm 
And comfortable
Sleeping my life away
Nighttime slips away
And grudgingly allows morning 
To barge in
As always, uninvited and unwelcome.
Sitting on the edge of my bed
Legs dangling to nowhere 
I shiver in the early stillness
Feeling alone and vulnerable. 
Paralyzed, I beg for more time 
Please a little more time is all I ask
To gather strength
To face another day
But all I hear is the ticking of a clock
Reckoning each spent minute.
Not sure of how my day will begin 
Or how it will end
I pause to collect my thoughts
And a smile creases my face 
Because I know a secret
That I jealously guard. 
No matter what happens today
One thing is certain
When the sun goes down
And nighttime descends upon the world
Sleep will tiptoe back to me 
Holding me close to breasts 
As she always does.

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Cancer Survivor

I spent almost month in a hospital room
This ever worst sick was so much and doom.
Chilling so bad in a mild quiet night,
Freezing to death like I was losing my sight.

Lying on a white bed and feeling this pain.
Too excruciating and made me insane.
Medical tests were examined crucially,
Days were softly killing me physically.

Delivered my body in the operating room,
Wanted to extend this life and make it well bloom.
Hours of terror tortured me so ruthless
Felt heavy stitches which made me so breathless.

Years passed and I’m all too well.
Survived this disease given from hell.
I’m a cancer survivor! Fighting for life!
Saving myself for loved ones in life. 

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

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

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

®Registered: 2003 Ann Rich

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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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She isn’t beautiful
No knockout
Maybe it’s the surroundings
She is surrounded by –
Business freaks
Overweight teens    in ragged jeans
On the other hand
Exotica is well dressed
White blouse
Black skirt
Heels    which soften rather large calves
And her hair is long    black
    with those Aniston strands across one eye
           lots of mascara
I’m trying to pinpoint the impression
                                             the obsession
She’s aware of her superior dress
Face mostly hidden behind –
                   what else – an Apple laptop
From time to time her full features appear
She’s glancing (hopefully) around the Apple
Pencil brows
High forehead
Full cheeks
Full lips    that    somehow
       seem misplaced
Full describes the package
I fantasize
Something about her eyes……..
What is it?    (they look up at you, her head on a large
                       white pillow)
She smiles    (something on the computer?)
And the whole face blends    kind of
I’m just beginning to sense disturbance……..
Wouldn’t you know it!
HE sits down
Facing her
Bald    nicely trimmed thatch around both ears
I’d say 55
Nice Hawaiian sport shirt
Almost makes him look 54
Brief case….(belt-overhanging paunch)
They deserve each other!


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"The Life of Man"

In the caccoon of two lovers embrace and ecstasy a minute wounderous bliss of 
begins......sometimes unbeknowing by the sheer feasting of pleasure in unison.
Nevertheless what was once a tiny seed implanted in the fertile garden of nature now 
new form;as it grasps out ,clinging at the air shrieking,wiggling,stretching as it 
makes its 
presence known to its new world very audibly and triumphantly.

As  time spirals quickly foward  trials,victories,failures and successes beats upon his 
like an African drummer in  a low  melodic monotonous tune signifying the right of  
from boy-hood to man-hood. " Bum-ba-ba Bum, Bum-ba-ba-bum, Bum-ba-ba-bum it 
ever so louder as it progresses through life's journey.
Steps always moving foward,bound by its audious beat he goes.........but 
unforeseen circumstance or bump in the road causes him to stumble and lose his 
He frantically tries to recover, maintains his course and the rythum of life's beat one 

Then one day as he is basking in the sunlight of the day,enjoying the fruits of his 
works ,he is 
summoned  by his maker to cease from laboring and making merry to take his eternal 
Thus he brings the mourners about the streets,wailing,wearing dark gloomy garments.
Faces of anguish and disbelief fills pews as they pour out their souls in despair as 
like one 
who is without hope as he lies motionless berfore them. 
He appears comfortable and at peace facing upward like one who has settled in for 
the night 
upon his bed. He is asked many questions but gives no reply...many gestures are 
towards him, he gives no response.close shouting is made near his head but he pays 
it no 
mind........for he does not have to answer now, because his time for questioning has 

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Time is a measurement point of reference in our lives
It is measured in hours, minutes and seconds
We are in fact a slave to time, in our daily lives
Everything is based on time, meeting people, working hours
Medical appointments, they are all controlled by time
Even when we go to sleep and wake up the next day
Time is there to remind us of the things we have to do
We are all slaves to time and we are stuck with it.
When we are late for appointments we rush to get there
Even to a point were we risk our lives to it's beckoned call
Yes we all wish we could be the master of time
A wish that we all know is impossible as we know that
We can never beat the odds to do this.
Time is and always will be a necessary evil in society
Because if there was no time, the World would be a mess
So now you have it, we can't live with it or without it
Time is here to stay and we are all slaves to this unseen enemy.

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Stealing America

…As a proud American,
…Who sees the trouble were in,
…I can not believe my eyes,
…Watching them all spin their lies,
…Then I witness these events,
…Happen time and time again,
…And as our attention shifts,
…They play us all like puppets,
…These bold nefarious acts,
…Happening behind our backs, 
…As they plunder the coffers,
…As they take back door offers,
…And sell our votes for profit,
…They steal right from our pocket,
…And as they all watch Rome burn,
…They huff and puff mock concern,

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Summer Fun

Mermaids and watermelon

Summer time I became an aquatic creature
My best friend and I cooled ourselves floating 
Around and round the pool or rocking on an innertube
Waves as high as a couple of girls could splash.
Giggles and sunshine my summer fun times.
Mom would cut a watermelon after it was cold
The juice washed off in the pool and no one noticed
Summer time I grew fins and gills
That went perfectly well with little girl thrills.
Mom didn't know I would jump off the top of the slide
Right into the deep water....double dare you to try it!

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Shogun (collaboration with Richard Pickett's Samauri/Shogun story on his site)

     The NYC. Detective strolled into his little office that once had been a janitors supply 
closet in an elementary school . It was converted into a police station after the school had 
found a more suitable spot to try and teach those unteachable little darlings from this 
neighborhood. The cops were cruising around here most of the time anyway. It just made 
sense to the higher ups to operate from here, and besides, it fit into the limited budget. There was talk that next year we might even get a janitor. Till then we would hoe out our 
own cubicles. The name plate on  the painted peeling door read  Detective Sgt. Bill Lipton. 
     Looking around he could see it was much the way he left it before heading out for a 
much needed two week vacation. The tarnished coffee perculator was against the back 
white washed wall on a bench where he dreamed there’d be a window some day. Ahh.. It 
didn’t matter, he didn’t spend much time in here anyway. All… or at least most of the crimes 
were happening outside these walls and he spent most of his time in the middle of that.
     One picture of his partner decorated the wall; a police Warm Blood horse he named “Red Neck”. Bill toured a Central Park beat on Red Neck . Actually it was relaxing to work the beat on his trained horse as a mounted police officer...most of the time.

Continued as a part in unison with Richard Picketts Shogun/Samauri Stories on his site by his 
permission. -to be continued-

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The vacation

Vacation, boy  I need to vacate……
This American Dream stuff gives me a headache.
I want to go the land that created the existence of man…. Africa
So rich in culture such a strong love for life. my feet must touch the soil
of the royal…
Black is the color where there I’m a part of the majority; no longer in America where 
I am considered a minority. 
Minority… huh my spirit is greater than that, which is why it’s yearning to go where 
god’s beauty is at.
God’s beauty takes over, give you time to think about the true meaning of life and 
not the life I am trying to make. 
No pressures, no demand, no deadlines, no bills, no deals just god n me on the 
motherland of life.
Vacation… huh will I return? I must think this through twice. for the first time in my 
life I will feel like…
I finally came home.

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A saturday Wit Lobsters

I think of friends, ones I hold dear,
They live in my heart and always are near.
They provide light on days that are dark,
I search for a place to make my mark.

The sun sets, it’s been a long day,
Not enough time seems to get in my way.
I see what is done with much more to do,
I search for truth, but what is true?

Darkness surrounds yet stars guide me home,
When I think of my friends I don’t feel so alone.
I watch as some of the pieces join together. 
The sky is clear, no change in the weather.

I look up at the sky and begin to dream,
Was today really part of the scheme?
Some things change though many are the same,
I wonder if I’m getting any better at this game.

I watch headlights come and then they go,
The red of tail lights is all that does show.
It reminds me of time as it all disappears
With all that has passed I shed a couple tears.

I wonder what’s up above all the clouds.
Is the gateway to heaven what they shroud?
I think of a place much grander than this,
Where beauty is everywhere surrounded by bliss.

I drift back to earth much like a feather.
I try to keep all my thoughts together.
Inside I feel this calmness just grow,
Then it’s revealed all that I know.

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remember me

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

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

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

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

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

together that I will be remembered on your family tree.

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Here Once Again

Late at night,
when all is quiet,
my favorite time,
it feels so right.

No one talking,
no footsteps heard,
just me,
and your secret words.

Wind blowing softly,
warming my skin,
your memory,
here once again.

Sleepy eyes close,
beneath a blanket of stars,
you are somewhere waiting,
maybe not very far.

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Mooning The Wrong Crowd

Let's see, my oldest son was about seven years old.  The boys had to ride a bus to 
school, which my oldest did not do well.  He has this way about him, that tends to have 
women authoritative figures letting him off the hook, when he's been naughty.  I always 
thought it was his eyes and devilish smile.  They both still get him into and out of 
trouble.  But those are stories for another time.

This particular year, he was having a most difficult time behaving on the bus.  He had 
discovered that he could be a real clown and the girls loved it.  Go figure.  The bus 
driver gave him multiple warnings and "Bus Tickets" for misbehaving.  But, somehow, 
he was always forgiven by the schools principal (a woman) and never got detention.  
Even when we insisted on it.

All except this one time.  On the last day of school, he decided to end the year with a 
bang.  He came home from school that day and acted as though nothing had 
happened.  Later that evening, I received a phone call.  It was the bus driver.  She was 
laughing before she was even able to tell me why she called.  Although I was 100% sure 
it was about my oldest.

Apparently, he was a little angel the whole ride home.  That alone made her suspicious.  
She pulled up to his stop.  Out he got.  Then he mooned her.  The way the bus driver 
told it, it wasn't a quarter moon, nor a half moon.  But a FULL MOON.  He had hitched 
up his pants and ran before she could get her wits about her.  She said she laughed all 
the way home.

Well, I started to apologize through my laughter.  I assured her that we would most 
definitely take this in hand.  But she stopped me and stated "Oh,  I'll handle this".  She 
shared with me her plan.  I had the hardest time all summer, not telling him, that I 
knew what he had done.

Next year, the very first day of school, my oldest went to catch the bus.  Oh, I had a 
hard time waiting to see what would happen.  That afternoon, when he came home, he 
was upset.  "Look what she did Mom!  I can't believe it!" he whined.  There in his hand, 
was a bright red "BUS TICKET"  The reason, on the ticket, was marked in bold felt 
pen..."Mooning".  Now, you would think that he would be upset about the mooning.  
Noooo, not my son.  His exact words were...."I can't believe someone that old would 
remember what I did."

*sigh*  That boy has never changed

On a side note:  He and his Dad had a long talk about that Ticket.

Entry for the contest:  Harvest Moon
Hostess:  Deborah Guzzi
Placement 1st

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Don't Look Back

There is a time to look forward
Nobody knows what’s to be
The future hasn’t happened 
Not to you or to me.

There is a time to remember 
Good things and bad.
A time for reflection
On happy times, and sad.

There is a time for the living
The minute is here, with the wonder of what can be
So much can happen, so let’s live it and see.

But one thing I say is never look back.
What’s happened has happened 
So we don’t need to lose track.
The past is gone, and can be forgot.
Remember the woman that looked back;
                                                     The wife of poor Lot

She looked back to the place of evil and sin
She looked with a longing at the house she lived in
She looked back on the town, and that was her fault
The longing she felt slowed her, and she turned to a pillar of salt.

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Black Leather Pouch

I stood before the mirror
in my violet cotton shirt
and jeans from the Gap,
with combed brown hair 
falling just below my shoulders,
my backpack in tow.
Small but mighty,
there I was,
ready to be one of 
the big kids now.

I held on tightly to my mom's hand
on the corner of Hazel and Greenleaf,
anxiously awaiting the arrival 
of the yellow school bus
to take me off to my first day
as a 1st grader. 

She sensed my nerves
and knelt down beside me,
placing a small black leather pouch necklace
in my hand.
"Put this around your neck
and whenever you start to feel
scared or lonely at school,
just rub the pouch and I'll be there,"
she said with a smile.

I clutched the pouch 
in my hand as the school bus
pulled up to the corner
and opened its doors. 
Charlie the bus driver
welcomed kids with a warm smile,
but I didn't want to let go of mom's hand.
With the pouch in my right hand,
and her hand in my left,
everything was right.
But as the last of the other kids
boarded the bus,
I knew it was time to let go
of mom's hand.

I waved one more time from the bus
as I sat down on the sticky brown
school bus seats.
I looked out the window
trying to hold onto my mom
with my eyes until
I couldn't see her anymore.

I felt the tears begin to well,
and my lower lip trembled,
the only thing I wanted 
was to be back with my mom.
I took the pouch out of my hand,
and slipped it over my head
onto my neck.
Closing my eyes
I rubbed the pouch,
and just like she said,
she was there with me
holding my hand.

Years later 
on a humid day in late September
I stood in front of the mirror
in my apartment,
wearing a yellow tank top 
and a loose brown skirt,
my short hair pulled back
in a ponytail.
As the time came for me to leave,
all I wanted to do was cry.
I wish mom was here to hold my hand,
I thought, looking down at my
empty hands.
I grabbed my bag from my chair,
and a worn black leather pouch
fell from the chair onto the carpet.
I stared at it for just a moment,
and then picked it up and tied it tightly 
to the strap on my bag.
As I walked into the room
for my first day as a big girl
in the real world.
I realized I was rubbing the pouch
with the fingers on my right hand,
just as I did on the first day of 
the 1st grade.

I knew she was there with me
holding my hand through my struggles,
just like she promised me years earlier
while waiting for the bus
on the corner of Hazel and Greenleaf.

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Isnt it wild?
Just thinking about the people in your life
Some are your closest family members who have known you and loved you your while life
And then you have the others that have come into your life by being introduced by people you know
Some of them you may have met just striking up a conversation in the store
Or maybe you may have forgotten how u even met but they’ve made you see things differently;
 Giving you a new perspective in a way you never knew possible
And then you start to wonder what would’ve happened if you passed them by
Never said hello
Never formed that relationship
It is said that timing is of the essence and I couldn’t agree more
It’s wild to think that just a few seconds could mean everything

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Sequel to A Girl was raped in a bus that night

It is time to grieve a cop has died
Son to a mother, darling father to a child
Leaving kin behind and many more
Claimed by the force to have been beaten to pulp by a mob seeking gore
An honest cop fell of which there are a few
But it wasn't the cop that the movement slew
The lie is contested by those present, who saw
The ugly face stands exposed of the upholders of law
They tried to twist facts to make a point
In our country even post mortem reports can be purloined
Claims made by the force are inconsistent so far
The cop wasn't battered but it was the chief’s attempt to tar
Civil society and a spontaneous movement by far

He succumbed to cardiac arrest and possibly the atrocities he witnessed that day
Taken care of by civil society who sought assistance for his medical care
Humanity grieves whenever a life is lost 
Foolish decisions by foolish men and look who’s paid the cost
There will be an inquiry, a routine government demand
But in this age of vendetta politics, the state will likely seek an innocent's remand
So vitiated is the administration’s vision today 	
For a cop’s death a political adversary will have to pay 
But in that ill fated time there was only one villain in the fray
The rest were civil society gathered near Raisina Hill that day  
Policemen on duty who had donned their uniform
Forgot the law and the oath they had sworn
Striking citizens in chilly December with water cannons and batons
They have to learn policing anew from more civilized nations
The collateral damage the chief spoke of like some Bollywood goon
Has exposed him for what he is – our national buffoon
Listen governments past and present
It is time the Augean stables were cleansed
If the freedom guaranteed by our founding fathers is not assured today
If the birthright of security that a woman needs is trivialized and frittered away
Lest ye forget the girl’s condition hasn't improved and remains critical
Time to introspect and delve into a mindset, still medieval 
A handy tool to cover misdemeanours and serving well your political ends
Who turn on their masters and subvert truths for your petty gains 
You in Government remember we are a billion or more 
Our votes count – come 2014 and election day, you’ll be shown the door

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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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The Encounter

Out of nowhere she appeared
Something out of a movie scene
And this time it was no different
Boy meets girl is usually the theme
She came in with her orange hair flowing
With the movie star glasses
Without her ever knowing 
Beautiful is a term she surpasses
You’ve taken my breath away
Is what I wanted to step up and say
But as fast as she had stepped in
She also disappeared like the wind
I have spent so long searching for that love
For the one I believed was true
But once again love has escaped me
What else is there to do
The beautiful eyes and wonderful smile
It was as if heaven were dialed
The cute face and itty bitty waist
I’m never tongue tied but this time was not the case
I couldn’t believe my eyes 
And wondered if it was a dream
She was so unbelievable
So I guess a dream is what it seemed
I didn’t sleep that whole night
Trying to get her out of my mind
I wanted to hold her oh so tight
To the point our bodies entwined
I awoke to the idea that today will be the day
That I will be able to sit and speak to her
For I prepared all the words I shall say
My hopes were fulfilled
For there she was standing
My soul was all fluttered
To pop out my chest, my heart was demanding
i got the nerve to walk up and speak
I was so nervous; I thought my mouth would leak
She took off the shades 
And looked into my eyes
I had to stop for a moment 
Because I was so mesmerized
We end up speaking for a few minutes
But forever is what it seemed
Her ride had come to wisk her away
To another part of her day
But before she had left 
I exclaimed please tell me your name
She said oh I’m sorry I forgot to say
My name is Shyvonne
But you can call me Shay

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This is a special wish for all at Poetry Soup, my second family- the best poetry web site on the net- that you and 
your families be blessed this Holy Season and may 2010 bring you joy, peace, love, happiness and every 
good thing you wish for yourselves!
I believe that every person you meet in your life time is there for a reason and it is not a matter of chance but a 
part of God’s plan. I have found genuine friendships and love here. So with this in mind, I thank you for your 
kindness, the lessons taught, the time you took reading and commenting on my poems and sharing your poems 
and stories as well,which inspired, warmed my heart, brought me to tears, healed me, excited me, brought me 
laughter when I needed it most, offered good advice and helped me on my journey through this time.  I will 
always cherish this time in my life!  God bless!
Merry Christmas and a Happy 2010!  

With peace and love,

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New Years Eve in the ER

The doctors and nurses in the Emergency Room prepared themselves for the 
longest night of the year – New Year’s Eve going into New Years day.

As morbid as it may be, they even had a pool going to guess the time of the first 
alcohol related incident to come into the ER.  He had 11:30.  The clock showed 
11:00.  All was quiet, except for the broken leg in pod 1 as the result of a young 
man falling off of a ladder putting up New Years decorations.  This patient had not 
even started drinking yet.

They heard the sirens in the distance as the radio call came in announcing two 
ambulances were on their way with victims from a car crash – 11:15, Nurse 
Thompson’s entry in the pool.

Dr. Sampson took the first patient, a 30-ish man, conscious with blood streaming 
from his head.  The smell of alcohol was prevalent.  His patient was a young woman 
on a respirator with IV’s already in place.  Walking beside the rolling stretcher was 
her husband, holding her hand, tears running down his face as he said, “We were 
on our way here.  Her water broke at about 10:00.  This guy ran the red light and 
slammed right into us.  Is she going to be okay?”

An ER social worker took the husband to a waiting area as the doctor began barking 
out orders to nurses and attendants in assistance.

The drunk driver, of course, would be okay – for some reason, they usually always 

The husband and would-be father sat sobbing as police officers led the offender out 
of the hospital and into their waiting patrol car.  No word yet from the team working 
on his wife and child.

He heard fireworks from outside the window in the waiting area and could hear a 
few, “Happy New Years” being shared by doctors and nurses in the hallways.  

New Years was also welcomed in in the Central Time Zone, Mountain Time Zone and 
Pacific Time Zone before the doctor walked out to meet the husband in the waiting 
area.  The look on the doctor’s face said it all.  The social worker joined them as the 
doctor simply said, “I’m sorry.  We could not save your wife – but your son is doing 

The news crew that was at the hospital to report on the first baby born in 2011 
decided to cancel their story.  Nurse Thompson did not collect the pool money.   The 
father was led to a room in the maternity ward where he fed his new son formula 
from a bottle.

Maybe, just maybe, someone will read this story and schedule to have a cab take 
them home from the New Years Eve party and this story can remain a fictional tale.  

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What's up?

Strange faces facing stranger...faces once familiar,
once borrowed time from the wholesaler....with the retailer....
shared time and places similar....attention meaning superior,
where is that space today?...emoticon nowadays?...expressions moved on,
where is that face today?....concoction nowadays?...eyes carried on,
where is thy time today?...went without me to conquer.... another face...another laughter,
where are thy tears today?..vent thy intelligence to rapture...another mind..another fracture,
faces still try...smirk at a glimpse of thy....faces deny...allegations defy boredom to clarify,
naught but a stage...actions reply...obsolete vividness and fake wides,
ageless pretense through ages...a question why?....a resolute stillness in the tides,
faces frown....linger and ignore...stealing glances...when caught they alight,
buy pretty laws to nazify....ugly truth to pacify,
preach fascism to decline...attempts to gratify....cause thy voice to recline,
thy must fishify...feel nothing..sleep with open eyes...let them mummify,
ignoble faces surprise...bring thy amusement and rile,
faces still manage to arise when crossed....made to “cover up”, well versed with a 
jargon “what's up?”.

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A Rift in Time part 1

A Rift in Time

By Elton Camp

	Henry Higgins, B.A., M.A. Ph.D., graduate in physics from the Massachusetts Institution of Technology, is missing.  Born August 8, 1950, he was thought of as a genius by some, but as a crackpot by others.  Revolutionary theories on the possibility of time travel that he presented at scientific gatherings received a mixture of applause and ridicule.  None of his articles have seen publication in peer-reviewed journals.  

	How his machine works is of a technical nature, thus certain to be of insignificant interest to the readers of this account.  Suffice it to say that it works very well.  Henry had seen his device disappear and reappear multiple times after being programmed to slide both forward and backward in time.  

	Finally came the day to test it in person.  Surprisingly athletic for a man of his years, Henry strapped himself into place before the control panel, adjusted his eyeglasses and pulled a protective helmet over his thick, gray hair.  He set the chronometer to early August of 2040 to determine if he was still living at that advanced age and what honors had been accorded him by the scientific community.  

	With a barely-discernable jerk, the time machine began its slide into the future, the red cancel button prominently alongside the digital display of the date.  The world outside the device became a blur and Henry heard only a low hum from the engine.  All seemed to be well as the years rolled by on the chronometer.  At first, that is.  

	Henry noted with surprise the muscle atrophy and skin changes associated with extreme age.  A slight looseness of his helmet caused him to discover that he was now as bald as his father had been in his late eighties.  Henry’s eyeglasses no longer allowed him to read the control panel clearly.  The truth hit him--he was aging along with the passing years.  The inanimate time machine had shown no such effect, but it was different with a biological organism.  He desperately punched the cancel button, realizing that, if his future self was not still living, his death was impending.  

	To his relief, the chronometer slowed and stopped.  Without input from Henry, the time device began to move backward in time, slowly at first, and then at a brisk clip.  By the time the read-out showed Henry’s present, his physical deterioration had been reversed and all was as before.  

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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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ELVIS my impression

                           This is my impression of Elvis Presley 
I was vey lucky to be 16 in 1956 when Rock and roll came into existence the greatest music of all time and for all time, this is what it all met to me.

Elvis was the big bang to creating music like the big bang was to creating the universe
Before Elvis their was no rock and roll, no music, no dancing 
His look was unique
His movements on stage were unique
His voice was the greatest like nothing ever heard before
His songs started the greatest music craze in the history of music rock and roll
He looked dangerous 
He looked like he was having the best time of his life on stage
Elvis didn’t give a damm who wrote his songs black or white
He was the first entertainer who did it all before anyone else did anything
Both men and women loved him
Elvis was a mans man
Elvis was a ladies man
Elvis was a gentleman
Elvis was a Christian 
Elvis was a momma’s boy
Elvis was respectful of his fans
Elvis was just one man who changed music forever in America in 1956 
When Elvis sings you have to smile, to tap your feet, clap your hands, move your body, and come alive
It’s 2013, 35 years since Elvis died 
He is still the major Icon of the music world
Elvis is still the most worshiped singer and entertainer in history
Thousands and thousands of fans visit his home each and every year
Elvis didn’t smoke or drink
Elvis became an actor but could have become an accomplished actor with the right people and advice around him
Coronel Parker was both good for Elvis and bad for Elvis
Liberace taught Elvis how to dress with flash
Elvis had his own way of moving on stage when he sang no one has ever duplicated his signature moves God know how many tried
Elvis served the country he loved when he was drafted into the army no complaining 
Elvis asked fro no special treatment while in the army 
Elvis loved the woman and the woman loved him back
Elvis was the greatest entertainer of all time
Elvis met his tragic and to soon end to his life he was only 42
Elvis was hooked on prescription pills and that’s what killed him
No one could tell Elvis what to do many tried all failed
The music died on the day Elvis died
It was so sad that Elvis felt so all alone so much of his life that is what fame does to you
Elvis was the King
No one else will ever occupy the Kings throne
Elvis loved to sing gospel songs no other entertainer of rock and roll ever did 
No entertainers star shines brighter or ever will
You can ask any great entertainer and there are hundreds and will all agree Elvis was the greatest entertainer of all time
No entertainer in the history of music ever had a first year success like Elvis had
I saw Elvis in Las Vegas in 1972  when the music started and you knew that Elvis was soon to be coming on stage the excitement and the anticipation in the room was over whelming and beyond compare everyone in the room was mesmerized

This is my remembrance of Elvis Presley

Dennis Davis
March 15, 2013


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Iris of Poetry

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

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

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

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

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                              WE WASTE OUR FOOD AND 
                                    DON,T THINK ONCE
                                     WHEN WE THROW.
                             BUT THINK WHY FARMERS
                             THE GOVERNMENT HAS SPENT 
                             MILLIONS OF RUPEES.
                             BUT STILL THEY DIE,
                             WHO WILL ASK THEM WHY???

                             THIS IS TIME TO CHANGE
                             OUR ATTITUDE.
                             AND THINK DOES IT HAS TO
                             BE THE WAY IT IS.

                            STARVATION IS THE THING 
                            WE STILL FACE.
                            WHO WILL THINK AND CHANGE.

                            SO MY PEOPLE IT'S TIME TO
                            THINK AND CHANGE.

                            STARVATION IS NOT THE THING WE
                            ARE LIVING FOR.
                            LET THEM ENJOY POWER OF NATURE.
                            AND DON'T LET THEM DIE.

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A Blink of Time

This is dedicated to my daughter, Lanissa and son-in-law, Jon - they are now on their 6th child and both enjoy each precious moment with them for they've learned how fast they all grow.  Thanks for the inspiration!!

A BLINK OF TIME Everyone should try Enjoying each moment they find For when in the moment of time It may seem to slowly pass by Like a cloud in the sky It's a wonder why Only after time has passed by It’s as if it was in a blink of an eye And that's when we then realize That time really does fly Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Bill side 12 answer to Richard Pickett Watcher in the Dark

     The traffic light on the end of Brick’s street turned green and Bill headed for home after dropping off Brick at his place. He knew Brick would be okay after a bit because of the incentive of it all. For tonight, the incentive was in the form  of a pretty blond gal. After tonight though, Bill knew him enough to know that he would put his nose to the pavement and sniff out that Samurai like an ole Blue Tick hound after a scared rabbit. “Hmmm , he voiced aloud, only this ain’t no rabbit …and he for sure ain’t scared…. and he’s dangerous as hell … means business.”
      He got to thinking about it some more but stopped abruptly when some dude screeched out in front of him while giving him the finger and gunned it down the street turning the corner on the next block. Bill had to screech it to a halt for that little episode and as he went though the gears again, he marveled at the gracious manners of these New Yorkers compared to those in Texas where he had been a Ranger for 15 years. A little rough getting used to he thought.
     Getting back to his thoughts on the case he realized how close Brick could have come to getting popped. Apparently the Sam wasn’t interested in killing cops. He took Brick out only because he got in his way. He could very well have sliced him into a piece or two like his Vics in the same amount of time as it took him to disable him. Well at least we got that going for us ….this time. This guy was a vigilante from the word go. Obviously had a thing going for anybody messing with helpless females; probably had some score to settle and didn’t think the long arm of the law was quite long enough
to suit him.
      Bill parked his car, entered his apartment and saw the answering machine light blinking. He pulled some leftover Pizza out of the fridge and slapped a few pieces on a frying pan to heat them up on the old stove that came with the apt. He clicked on the answering machine to hear Tom down at the precinct remind him that he had a gig the next day doing a mounty beat in the park. Tom was always looking out for him. Great guy.
     Usually Bill liked doing the mounted police thing on his equine partner Red Neck, but this Shogun Sam thing was getting to him and he’d rather just keep on it with Brick. But orders were orders and Lt. Griggs was good about it so far so best not push it. He ate his pizza smiling as he wondered how his buddy Brick was turning all his rib pain to his advantage with his new blond medic date.  Time to turn in. 
See Richard Pickett site for next page.

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The Eagle Escapes from the Chicken Pen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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La Gala Grandeur

~La Gala Grandeur~

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

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

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

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

~Azaza~ June 19th,2010

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They stand alone in stark contrast to their surroundings.  Derelict, they speak of a time past, when they played a role in, no, were the heart of the community.  Gone is the smoke filled air billowing from the monolithic chimneys, spewing the acrid smell of wood and coal fired burners.  Gone is the cacophonous sound of the belt driven machines, never pausing, providing the textiles, the shoes, and the lumber for a growing nation.  The mill was the town.  The town was the mill.  Men, women, entire families, streamed in from Ireland, Canada, Asia, and Europe, all in hopes of finding work in the mills. .  Rural New England families sent their daughters to fulfill needs, wishes, and dreams,   Looking to find something better then the poverty and pain they left behind.

Cultures clashed and families melded.  Ethnicity's struggled to survive, while slowly being pulled apart.  Towns grew to cities.  Roots were set.  Standards established.  Normality changed virtually overnight.  It was a hard life, but one lived with pride.  Workers labored through twelve and fourteen hour days, six days a week, reserving only Sunday to reflect on how lucky they were and give thanks.

Through a war that consumed a generation, they toiled.  Those that could fight, did.  Those left behind molded the fabric and leather and logs and iron that became the clothes and tents and weapons that supported their effort.

Disease and infirmities squeezed the life from their bodies.  The ravages of the mills took their toll.  Many gave their lives to the mills.  Many others took their place.

From this a nation, grew and prospered on the backs of those that had a dream and chased it.  In the hearts of those that believed that there would be a better tomorrow if only they could get through today.  It became their country and they strove to defend it and nurture it, cost be damned.

I gaze now upon the mill.  Silent, it watches today, remembers yesterday.  A piece of history, long ignored.  I do not see the weathered stone and hollow windows.  I see instead a monument.  It says to me “ I am that from which this city sprung.  I did not abandon you as you did me.  Inside, my heart still beats.  I am the spark that ignited freedoms flame.  I provided the mothers milk of opportunity.  I am your foundation.  In my halls a country was built.  My empty floors now store the memories of a nation”.

They stand alone in stark contrast to their surroundings.  Derelict, they speak of a time past.

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This was a simple stress reliever

Kiara Lebel

Why do you need to go
Why do you need to leave and let me go 
Let us go
Tear us apart
All the fights and all the marks wasn't worth it?
You don't love me then you don't love us and you don't love yourself
I’m not crazy I’m just in love
I’m deeper than the average person and I realize what I can do
I might kill for you or even worse, myself
This is a problem for my health
You promised forever with no hesitation and left even quicker
Who am I to you? Nothing anymore
Because these girls are what you need
You crave attention that is not good enough for me, you crave it so much and don’t even realize how bad you really have it
But what gets me is that you're not lost without me
2 years and you're not lost without me
I should've known from the beginning when you left

I should've known......... I should've known.......

And I did know, I was just so blind
And now I’m dead inside and you don't care
So what do you have now, grace and glory?
Or embodiment and misery

I’m dead now......... I should've known.........

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It Tastes A Bit Like Chicken

I wish to reminisce
Upon the bliss
Of triumph
And the agony
Of tragedy;
Are they not twin and twisted ends
Observed as life occured
In random spurts and trends?

To calculate and gauge his fate
Man did create
The chime of time;
One more illusion born
Inside the mystic mind.
But once accepted
Does become illusion now rejected
And reality's new find.

As time is heard to tock and tick
We do begin to ration it -
Evaluate and allocate
Each tick and tock upon the clock.

Life is lived by few
Observed by many
And understood by none -
Not one!

Though volumes have been written
And creative man is smitten
By the elegance of eloquence
In erudite philosophies
Combined with feeble prophecies;
Man still can only speculate and fabricate
More trendy theories empty of all consequence.

The bard of Avalon
Knew nothing new would ever be
Found underneath the sun;
And though the bard is gone
His truth lives on and on and on.

Man's emotional devotion
To dissecting every notion
Into tiny bits from bigger bits
Until he finds a bit that fits
Within his pre-dissection so prophetic wit of wits,
Has only gained mankind
A loss of nonexistent time.

And in another galaxy
Far, far away,
There is a sweaty desert prophet
Eating crawling things and calling
All inhabitants to suck on worms
And be reborn
In squirmy wormy ritual rebirth.
Their prophet is quite similar to one
Found once upon a time right here on earth.

The Prophet:

"Repent, repent,
Prevent, prevent,
And then repent again;
Then maybe the creator of this hot incinerator
Will awaken His forsaken self, procrastinator
Self, and will begin his job again creating good...forgiving sin.

Now crack this crispy critter's back till flat between your teeth,
There's nothing like a juicy, chewy bug to feed your love;
It tastes a bit like chicken say the bug gourmets beneath
The desert floor who rarely speak to we who live above.

Go save your soul and eat your treat
And I will stay right here to greet
The Son of the Creative One
Who says His work is never done;
But after all He is the Son
Of He who always needs to sleep
And blood can run in blood so deep
Such lazy ways may slowly creep
And leave the Son of One too weak
To carry on the awesome dawn
With all creative juices gone."

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Thanksgiving Day Blessings For My Children

Lovingly Dedicated to my Precious Angels: 

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

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

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house wife

     This is it, the final step before crossing the line and I’m not sure I want to stop. What happens when I cross the line, the end? The end of all he and I share but what do we share besides pain and arguments; we share absolutely nothing. Maybe we have a few moments in time that we both believe that we wouldn't go back and change anything and then reality hits, I love him but I can see it, it being all the arguments that are to come. He will grow to hate me for asking him to quit school and even though I never actually asked, we both know that’s what I wanted. 
     Honestly, I am not sure of what is better anymore, if we should just move on and act as if we never happened, waste our time we spent together and start a new; or simply push our regret and anger into the back of our minds until we blow up repeatedly acting as if it were just spit of insanity. I am nothing more than his wife, not bound by anything more than a small piece of paper and some empty words. I wouldn't blame him for hating me; I could hardly even be upset. Life has tossed up a curve ball and we drop it every time. Neither of us exactly sure of what the other wants, I understand in instances that the first year of marriage is supposedly the hardest, you push and pull and see how much you can get away with; but we just push and push each other away and get nothing out of it. Maybe it was never love after all maybe we both will just wake up and it will all just be a dream, and maybe I am just another house wife realizing my marriage isn't as good as I thought it would be.

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On Call

My sister called, “You must come now, to see him still alive.”
He’d had the dreadful verdict just a week or so before,
my precious younger brother, last remaining one of five.
“You should accept the Hospice care, we can do nothing more.”

“I’m tired, Sis, “ he answered, when I asked him how he was.
He didn’t need to tell me, I could see that it was so.
It was strange to hear him say it; he had always been so brave,
suffering for years in silence, and not wanting world to know.

I stood there a bit awkwardly, not knowing what to say
and hating my own healthy hand that patted his thin cheek.
I battled back the tears before they had a chance to flow
as I prayed to God to help me find the proper words to speak.

It was not the first time I had come when Brother needed me,
like the time some years ago now, when he’d lost his only son.
I made all of the arrangements and wished I could do more
to help my grieving brother when things needed to be done. 

He had raised that boy by himself, after his wife ran away
and didn’t try to fight him, for she knew that she was wrong.
Joe’s life was lived around that boy until the accident. 
I was afraid that it would break him, but somehow he got along.

I was nine years old when he was born and I adored that baby.
He was so good and happy until the hated illness came.
Inflammatory rheumatism is what they called the sickness.
It affected him in every joint.  He never was the same.

I helped my mama care for him and loved him even more,
and promised God I would be good if He’d just make him well.
Finally the swelling left and he could walk again,
but he’d not be strong like others, almost anyone could tell.

But what he missed in brawn he surely made up with his brains.
He became a radio announcer and found some small town fame.
Then he moved to the big city and hosted a political talk show.
It wasn’t long before a lot of people knew his name.

But the good years were not long before the dreadful wear and tear
of his chronic illness  caused his joints to  deteriorate. 
He had most of them replaced but another one would go. 
And he had to accept the pain as just his fate. 

The pain medicine he took for years has come at a big price.
And he must give his life to pay the bill.
All I can do now is to be there and to stay until the end
for the brother that I’ve loved and always will.

For Paula's "Crisis" contest  Won first place

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Hand Over Heart

Hand over heart, when our National Athem starts,
taught from a child, and we sang every part.
Word for word as the flag was raised,
remembering the sacrifice our soldiers have made.
Patriotic to the core, our Red, White, and Blue,
Americans be proud, stand , and salute.

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What's on the Cover

What's on the Cover
        by Amy Swanson

"Fat, fat, the water rat,"
the other children said - 
and she could never after
get that phrase out of her head.

Little girl would anxiously
await the time for play,
praying silently that they
would not tease her today.

Every recess was the same
and each day she would cry,
at times she felt so hideous
she wanted to just die.

She had to work three times as hard
to lose a little weight
while others could eat anything
that sat upon their plate.

She grew into her teen years
all too quickly she found out
that if her food did not stay down
no longer she'd be stout.

She knew that this was not the way,
a miserable eating plan;
but it made the teasing stop,
she even met a man.

She kept her secret very well
continued it for years
while going through life's motions,
hid behind her silent tears.

Folks would say "You're beautiful,"
but if they only knew
just what it took to stay that way
they'd have a different view.

Life goes on, and time went by
no matter how she tried
she never felt like she belonged
sometimes she sat and cried.

Society cares far too much
for lust of lovely things,
And those that don't like what they see
will quickly clip the wings

of someone else who won't conform
to this world's shape and image.
It matters not, their brains or heart,
it's more about the visage.

She raised her head and looked into
the mirror, with wet eyes
she shook her head and suddenly
she came to realize

she was as good as anyone
with so much love to give -
she'd died inside, a slave to scales
she now wanted to live.

She splashed cool water on her face
and made a solemn vow
today would be a fresh new start
beginning here and now.

This is not just one girl's story
many share her tale;
warnings of bulimia
oft met with no avail.

If only we could look beyond
the flesh of one another;
True value based on what's inside,
not what's on the cover.

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The Night Time Show

~The Night Time Show~ Another night of sleep eludes me I wander throughout the house I feel like a night time lonely ghost Or an inquisitive little door mouse Into the conservatory where the floor is bright with full moonlight The square patterns moves discernibly tracking minute’s though the night The ghostly white of the bright moonlight blocks out the stars in the sky The air is still, no leaf does shiver a fox peers in and then wanders by A little wood mouse, he’s out late, skips across the patio Why do I complain of not sleeping well when I have this the night time show. A frog sits there and starts to croak then he leaps onto the wall Amazing leap, I am aghast and then I watch him fall In his jaws he has a slug, I'm glad we ran out of killer I think I 'll put the kettle on, the second half is turning into a thriller. ©~GG~ 31/08/2102

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I remember seeing her sitting there at a table in the recreation  room of the nursing home, staring out the window.  As I passed by, she looked my way, so I smiled and waved and she waved back.  Since I was there as a volunteer, visiting anyone that would like a little company, I walked over and introduced myself.

“What is your name” I asked.

She replied “Florence”.

I sat down and commented on how beautiful the trees beyond the window were with the sun filtering through the branches.  That is when I discovered that Florence was trapped within the walls of dementia.  She started to talk and most of what she said was gibberish.  I was only able to pick up a few words that allowed me to make comments.  For the most part I just sat and smiled, nodding my head from time to time.

We sat for about a half hour during which time Florence talked non stop.  When I got up to leave, she waved and again began looking out the window.

Several weeks and several visits passed and I did not see Florence.  Then a few weeks ago, as the staff was assembling the residents in the recreation room for an activity, I looked at the faces in the room and there was Florence.  As we caught each others eye, she smiled and yelled “Hi”.  I walked over to her and she held out her arms and we shared a hug.  I say shared because I don't know if I gave one or got one.  Probably both.  

Since that day, I have seen Florence occasionally on my weekly visits. Each time I am the recipient of a smile and a hug.  I don't know who she may think I am, but she is always glad to see me.  And if that, for just a little while, makes her happy, then I am happy too. Sometimes it is just easier to communicate with your heart.

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Fond Memories Of My Dad From Dustin

I want to share a few, Fond memories of my dad, With an experience or two, Of the times together we had. He was a carpenter by trade, Just like Jesus used to be, But the full time job with mom he made, Was taking care of me. I remember things we did together, When I was five years old, My first fishing trip, buying my first heifer, And letting me ride a steer in a rodeo. Fixing a racecar up together was fun, It was for me to race someday, Even though it was work that was done, It seemed more like play. It was in April of 2001, When my dad helped me find a steer, I named him Blazer and he was the one, That I thought would bring a winning year. I looked forward to the pick up day to be, When my dad would be breaking in the steer, And it would be just dad and me, Because my mom, of that, she had a fear. Before he had a chance to break her in, He had a heart attack and had to rest, He told me that I’d have to step in, And just try to do my best. I was a little worried and not so sure, If I could even really do this stuff, And since it had always been my dad before, I waited for my dad to guide me when he had strength enough. My dad wanted to help me more but he was too sick, So I tried even harder this time around, And Blazer sure didn’t like the show stick, But I finally got him to walk with me on the ground. And the time came that I knew then, Blazer would be ready for the Auction show, But my dad had another heart attack again, And I realized there was life lesson for me to know. The lesson that I have learned here, Is that sometimes we really do, Take for granted our family will always be there, But you never know when they won’t be able to help you. As the brightest star in the sky, Reminds me of Nana, my dad’s mother, There is now another bright star near by, For dad and the love we shared with each other. Written for Dustin 5/27/2003 Florence McMillian (Flo)

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A Failing Romance (Pt. I)

Memories dance in her head
As she waited for his flight to land
She remembered their first date
The first time they held hands 
The first time they kissed
The first time they said 'I love you'
It was long overdue for her to see him
He dreaded his flight was going to land
He knew it was wrong 
But he had found someone who he loved dearly
He loved his high school sweetheart
But the new person was everything 
He'd been looking for
They'd spent so much time together 
The past two weeks
     (He gets off the plane...)
She runs to greet him
Only to stop in her tracks 
And see him holding on to another woman
Her first instinct was to cry
But she chose not to jump to conclusions
And run to greet him
Maybe she was just a friend
     (He spots her...)
How am I going to explain this?
She is going to be crushed 
Maybe I can still keep this a secret
But that would only make it worse
Only time will tell
But I love her
But I also love this woman too
What to do, what to do?


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He Left These Here for You

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

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

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

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

© July 9, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen 

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The Art of Living Part One

Helen Caccumise was a very inspirational person. She loved drawing, painting, music 
and reading books. She owned a Veterans home in Greenwich Ohio, where I live. She 
has known my grandma Sandy for thirty years. They started the Veterans Home 
together. I always went up to the veterans home when I was little; it was around the 
time I started to call Helen, Granny Helen. She was a second mother to everyone. She 
would be the one to say that everyone looks for the perfect life to step into. They take 
all the right paths to get where they want to go, but no matter what, they always come 
back home to themselves. I usually went up there to hang out with a guy named Pat, he 
was a veteran. He went into the service when he was in his twenties. We were best 
friends but then something happened and everything changed when Megan (Helen’s 
Daughter) took over the veteran’s home. Helen lived in the house across from ours, so i 
always went to her house. She bought me my first ferby. She was the one that told my 
sister if she ate a full cigarette that she would be a smoker when she got older. Of 
course my sister ate it; guess what she is now a full time smoker, it’s funny how things 
work out that way.I’m writing about what happened the day Helen died because it’s still 
fresh in my memory, like it happened yesterday. I’m still getting over the loss of her. I 
spent most of my time with Helen because she helped me through my troubled times 
and she always wanted to listen to me play my bass guitar. So I owe her everything I 
own. If writing this memoir would help me find a way to get rid of the guilt then I’ll do it.

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I question everything he tells me from the moment it slips out of his mouth, if it sounds honest or forced. My life is simple and that’s not why I question it.  I am okay with having a little  but not or type. We have a little patience and too little time together. Thought we practically spend almost every second together we could never be more apart. As I think about it more and more it seems to hurt me less, how he always says he wants to leave when we argue and all that comes to mind is that I don’t want to be married again. Not because of how I feel about him but how much time I put into this relationship, it cuts me to my core to have that realization. When we were dating I could never let him leave me because how intimate we had become. Love was not the equation, love was never the answer, and love was the excuse.
    I am not sure if he loves me or just seems to hang around because he feels guilty, guilty for stringing me along for such time. Maybe both but I no longer see the man he was, I see depression and hate pointed toward me. I hate divorce, not because it destroys families but because you stand before you friends and family and you pledge to love someone who in turn makes you look foolish once the papers are filed. I am not unhappy as of now, and that’s not why I am writing this, it’s nothing more than I have come to terms with my stupidity.

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The Hidden Haven

What is held beneath the hidden haven is such a mystery.
Looking in and looking out never a dream and never a doubt.
Souls in need for mercy to plea a soul driven just to be set free!
The hidden haven remains such a mystery all throughout.
Obscuring what life is really all about and drenched in all of its diversity.
What is held beneath the hidden haven can never be known.
Many more tears are yet to come,
All hidden where we all begun,
A need to be loved with a place to belong with a chance to grow!
The hidden haven remains a dark mystery that’s all alone.
Concealing what life has really shown,
Omitting my every attempt to reach out and truly be done.
What is hidden beneath the hidden haven is between me with you.
A clear moment with your brightest light,
All given and laid before your eyes very own sight.
The force of strength will carry us through!
The hidden haven remains a mystery with the life we will choose.
Provoking the battle that is prepared to fight,
Crushing the life you always knew,
The hidden haven can never be known.
It is hidden!
For it is deep!
A soul that absorbs life alone,
A moment forbidden,
But held forever in my keeps!

®Registered: 1997  Ann Rich

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missing you

I see my daddy sometimes what we talk about is between him and I.

To be in his arms one more time you name it, I promise I wouldnt put up a fight...

It's been almost ten years and Im still grieving

I remember that phone call when they said he was no longer breathing

In my mind I was thinking everybody knows my daddy likes to play games that negro

just sleeping...

As time started fading away reality hit me and I had to check my own pulse to see if my

heart was still beating...

Being in a state of shock my thoughts kept repeating, flashbacks of those nights when 

I deserved a beating, you loved me so much I was never was mistreated...

Every night before I closed my eyes you always repeated those three special words

that young girl needs to hear, and even though your not physically here if I close

my eyes tightly not only does your face reappear, but I can softly hear you speak

to me in my ear.

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Times of yore

Life is more like a book
Its chapter never closes
How do I bury my times of yore?

Each corner I turn
Each route and avenue I take
There are my times of yore 
Right in my way

Malls and shopping complexes
Brings back all the memories
The good times we had.

Our favourite restaurants
There waiter that served us there very first time 
The sport we picked on our very first date 
Excavate my yore

The first smile
The first hug
The first stroll

Our sing along song
My music collection
Her favourite T.V show 
Brings back memories of us together

I am sick of my past
My time of yore always catches up with me
How do I close her chapter in my life? 
I crushed her heart into pieces

Her innocent heart is haunting me
I carry the burden of dishonesty
The weight of being deceitful is intense
I was inconsiderate 

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I eat and sit
Stretch and Sleep and
Dance with time.
I've found mundane
       In raw mounds in my palms
- and swayed in its drunkenness.

Time, she's tried to touch me
      - tries - 
But, floating, I hold no weight,
Amorphous, we drift about,
She and I, never touching,
She and I, never existing;

Meaningless and comforting.

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The truth about independence

Since childhood, I had a strong passion for earning my independence. I always had to obey my parents’ rules. If I didn’t follow my parents’ instructions, I would be punished. Every time I complained about the way I was disciplined, my parents as well as other authority figures told me that “life is not fair.” As a child, I didn’t understand what that phrase meant. I was a happy kid who enjoyed this period in my life that is considered a “time of innocence.” During childhood, I thought that becoming an adult would be absolutely amazing; I would only have to abide by one person’s rules: my own. I could go to bed at any time of the night. I would never be punished for a rule that I thought was unfair. I could practically do whatever I wanted without suffering from any consequences. When I evolved into a legal adult, age eighteen, I realized that an individual can’t earn independence without responsibility. When I entered the “real world,” I was not ready to handle the responsibilities that are required to seek independence. The truth is that I wasn’t disciplined anymore for not obeying by my parent’s rules; however, the penalty for breaking the law was a lot more harsh than disobeying laws as a child or teenager. I realized that surviving in a complex world was going to be a rigorous challenge for me. Even though human beings are imperfect, people still expect perfection when it is impossible for people to be perfect. I didn’t know how I was going to survive as an adult when I was always depending on aggression for survival. It took about ten years after becoming an adult to be able to handle the responsible of adulthood, and I had to learn the hard way in order to be a responsibility individual. I was incarcerated in prison when I learned how to survive in this difficult world through righteousness. Being incarcerated in prison is the best circumstance that had ever happened to me in my entire life because I can now say that I am a mature adult in a proud voice without any doubt.

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The Clock

I watched the clock struck twelve.
It turned over and over
Until it reached twelve again.
Suddenly, a moth flew at my sight.
I stared at the blank space,
My past turns like the clock.

On twenty eleven, I was on Jim’s clock,
Last year, on John’s,
This year, on Joy’s.
Different clocks with same moves,
On different time, On same path.
Is there a clock who turns counterclockwise?


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The Dragon Slayer

“Slay me a dragon,” a maiden requested,
“ I will, I will!” he said.
And he did, and the maiden was 
appropriately appreciative.

And time went by….

This time the maiden asked for
diamonds and pearls.
He thought for a moment, 
remembering  her charms.
“ I will find you a treasure” 
he said..and he did.
But the maiden was tired and only
had time for a quick kiss
and thank you…

And more time went by….

No longer a maiden, her luster fading,
she begged him to “ take out the trash”.
He did, grudgingly, asking for his just
reward.”please, dragon steak for dinner” 
and she reluctantly  complied.

And time went by….

One day he found himself under the apple tree,
kissing the baker’s beautiful daughter.
“Slay me a dragon,” she asked… “ I will, I will,” he said.

And so it goes...

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Honor of Friendship-Part Three

Once again silence envelopes me, like a thick blanket choking me, thrashing and panicking I wish to escape and wonder why you have left me like this? Why you have left me with such emptiness, such silence, digging into me, ripping me apart… “Please, do not abandon me…” I wish to say, to plead…to beg, but no words escape me for I can no longer breathe.
All I did was listen, that’s all I’ve ever done, and then…you’re gone and I feel so alone…so alone. Lost in a never ending darkness, floating aimlessly and I cannot find my way. All I did was listen, all I’ve ever done was listen, I was only ever by your side. Was that not enough? Did you want more? What more can I give? Please, tell me why must you hide, why must the silence over take us-me? Why must I be left on the sidelines…why must I be forgotten…?
When you speak with others, can you not speak with me as you speak with them? Do you feel shamed when spending time with me? Must our friendship be hidden? I do not understand… I wish to, I wish so much to understand you but I cannot. I cannot see when my only light is gone.
They are the only ones for you, they are your friends…I am the forgotten one. Abandoned; left behind, in silence, darkness, and sorrow. They are the ones for you, they are the ones you love, they are the ones you praise and honour…What am I? what am I?
Why do I surround myself around you, why do I care so much, when you obviously care so little? Do you even care at all? Am I just someone to fill the space, am I just someone to pass the time with until you can be with your real friends, once again leaving me on my own…

In glowing light you saturate them in words of precious gold, honors adorned by you electing them to be your true friends. Telling me that you adore them, love them, so; that they listen quite often to what you say, that you can tell them anything without fear of them judging you and all the while I listen to such high praise. As you bestow upon them the highest honor one can receive from you-the gift of true friends- I listen as you continuously adorn them with riches of words…

What am I to you? WHO am I to you? Will you ever say, will I ever know? Is there anything to say, anything to know? Or shall I always be left in the dark silence?

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My Little Adventure

I was driving down the street, so nice to get away.
Top down and in my Jeep? What will I find today?
Came across an old farm, which looked old and rustic.
I noticed this old barn, turned in the drive real quick.
I knocked on one of the doors, leading to the main house.
Saw a man doing chores, with a woman, perhaps his spouse.
Both were so nice and sweet, let me look through the rust.
So much looked obsolete, as gifts had turned to dust.
Then I discovered this tiny toy, I remember as a child,
Brought back tears of joy, as I removed the dust and smiled.
Outside the barn I quickly went, to get a look in the sun.
But everything was different, just like when I was young.
I noticed a young man appear, who looked like my dad.
He acted very sincere, and said I should be glad.
“Son, you have a second chance, and this time do it right,
As you know so much in advance, history you can rewrite.”
He slowly walked away, and disappeared on top of the hill.
I could not believe this day, and what I could instill.
For now I know the future, and when certain events occur.
Oh… what an adventure, and my power all must endure. 

By: Greg Stanley

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My aunty Gerty Gribble was a true blue pioneer 
as she and husband Harold ran a place called 'Bendemere'. 
Two dinkum Aussie battlers, who had given their life's blood 
to fifty years of toiling on their outback cattle stud. 
So constant had the struggle been that Gert would often quote, 
she'd worked her tiny butt off just to keep the place afloat. 
The hours were so demanding she had no time for romance  
and motherhood had passed her by, she never got the chance. 
Old Gert was old and wrinkled when they gave the game away, 
though fit as any Mallee bull and jogged ten k a day. 
They bought a little donga in a Queensland coastal town, 
but sadly, being childless often got old Gerty down. 
She knew that her poor Harold was beyond it, without doubt, 
so Gert would try a new technique that she had read about.   
"You're far too old for IVF," the Doctor kindly said, 
but Gert was not to be put off, she forged on right ahead.  
"It happens that my Harold has been looking to donate  
a hundred thousand dollars to a worthy cause of late. 
However if you cannot help".  "You'll make a lovely Mum 
I'm sure ... so may I ask would next week be to burdensome?" 
Aunt Gert she fell first time it seems and had a little boy, 
which left her Harold overwhelmed and Gerty filled with joy. 
This news then spread like fowl manure and folk were left enthralled, 
The Premier and local Mayor among the first who called. 
One day while I was driving past I thought I'd duck in too 
and see my little cousin ... sort of pop in out the blue. 
Aunt Gert was glad to see me, but she asked if I could wait  
until he woke from sleeping, though did not elaborate.  

Within the hour to my surprise ten other folk called by 
and aunty Gert told them the same and I was dumbstruck why. 
We sat and dunked our biscuits in the tea she'd kindly made 
while Gert was scratching her old head and looked somewhat dismayed. 
The Doctor from the clinic, who'd been playing basketball, 
had wondered how Gert's baby was and thought he'd make a call. 
"It's nice your dropping in" she said, "but Doctor would you mind 
just waiting till the baby wakes - I'm in a  kind of bind." 
"A problem Gert?" the Doctor said, "There something I can do?" 
"Not really Doc.  He's sound asleep,  these folk are waiting too. 
I'd show you him asleep and all, if that is what you'd like,  
but Doc, I can't recall just where I put the little tyke."

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World's Best Memory

When I was eleven years old, my family took a cross-country trip out to the western 
United States.

Along the way, we made a stop at a gas station / grocery store off the beaten path 
somewhere in Arizona.  Out front of the dilapidated store was an old Indian in full 
Indian regalia sitting in front of a hand painted sign that read: “Best Memory in the 
World.  Never forgets a thing.”

Curious, I walked up to the old chief and asked, “If you never forget anything, what 
did you eat for breakfast on your eleventh birthday?”

The leathery old Indian stared at me for the longest time before simply 
replying, “Eggs”.

By this time my father was calling me back to the car and I left the old Indian chief 
somewhat skeptical about his self-acclaimed World’s Best Memory.

Thirty years later, I was re-creating my family’s trip out west with my own wife and 
children.  As luck would have it, we stopped at the very same gas station and the 
old Indian Chief with the same old sign was still sitting out front in his chair.

Excited, I told my children that I had seen this very same Indian years ago when I 
was just a kid.  I said, “Come on, let’s go talk to the old chief.”

So I walked up to the old Indian Chief with kids in tow, raised my hand and said in 
my best Indian voice, “How”.

Without blinking an eye, he responded, “Scrambled.”

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The Painting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Life is sometimes ruff and hard and hard and sometimes just bites but if you stop and look closer at the situation there is always a positive side that  god has in store for every time you holler at you parents or every time you mouth you teacher you punishment leads you one step higher on the ladder of success that god has in store for you and more than likely your success will end with you flying in the heavens with god and living happily ever after

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Game Over

I was never able to see so clearly.
My view constantly obstructed by your hands.
As you kept my eyes closed.
But now as I watch you walk away.
I can finally see clearly for the first time in a long while.
Now it's not so hard to cut ties with mere memories.
As I watch you sink into the trenches, falling victim to your own disease.
The grass isn't always greener on the other side.
Especially when you fail to take the time to fertilize.
Fertilze the ground that you have laid beneath of your feet.
You mistake my silence for weakness.
This is when the cliche, "actions speak louder than words," truly speaks.
I will no longer cling to the strings that kept wrapped tightly around my shoulders&knees.
One scream,"It's over."
I will not allow myself to be fed by the hands of the likes of you. 
The game is over. 
How quickly will you succumb to the quicksand that lays underneath your feet.
How does it feel to stand on shattered knees? 
What's it like to fall straight backwards onto the sword that you buried deep into me? 
Your final days are brewing like the sweetest tea.
This will be our final confrontation.
Revenge is a sickening feat.
But I have never felt so bloodthirsty.
As blood runs black.
I will watch you oh so closely.
I hope you never forget me.

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Angels, where are the angels? they say,
What is the world coming to ,they say,
Everyone is searching for some miracle.
Miracles…oh! You pathetic man,
Why waste your time in searching
For miracles and angels.
Just look within you
There he lives the angel of your soul.
He is true and pure,
And so helpless.
His space is shared with the Devil.
The devil who is more powerful,
It is he who is with you
On your path of life.
You fight and you tease
You kill and you cheat
Each time along with him
But there are moments
Moments when you are alone
In the dark of the night
When the angels knock at your door
And it is in your heart that you find
The angel with purity and truth
Waiting, waiting for you to help him out
You’re ashamed and you’re sad
And you pledge to let him out in the morning
But when it is dawn
The first thing you do
Is lie to yourself in front of the mirror
Then you lie to your wife
And then to your boss
And then it goes on…
By and by you choke the angels
To death within yourself
And then spend the rest of your life
Looking for the angel
Searching for the miracle

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The Manuscript of Time

How much is time worth? Is the cost of opportunity beneficial? Compared to the time spent on a single affair. Are your achievements worth the hours wasted? Or your failures moments of clarity; something to have learned? Time is a fire and before long, you get burned. How you recover, is truly the answer in which your past regrets are your present woes and your future attempts are blind to the eye of happiness that remains closed. Is time your friend? Is it your foe? How many minutes have you given away? In turn, how many seconds have you received? By another courteous enough to spend the energy to give you the time of your life. Time, I deduce, is a waste of...i regress. For time has been no brother's keeper. It has transformed beauty to an unpleasant event. An open eye sore, vision-less. You get what you desire, eventually, in time. So, if time is all we have shouldn't my desires be mine? As I sleep I lose time; as I stand idle I lose the drive gasless in this vehicle of depression understanding time doesn't heal all wounds. Time cannot be gained nor inherited from a father that isn't of my timeline. He's your immortal enemy armored with an infinite spirit. We spend our time wasting time, losing track of and then wonder where it went. In due time, maybe so. Looking back over time of years ago. 

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I will always love you

You know I will always love you 
Far beyond eternity 
Much longer then forever 
For you meant so much to me 
Longer then a million lifetimes 
As long as time has its place 
I will always have you in my heart 
Soul to soul and face to face 
You will be there in my waking hours 
I will spend time in your dreams 
Two heartfelt souls together 
Embracing love as warm as it seems 
You know I will love you forever 
I can feel you in my veins 
In every single breath I take 
I can even sense your pain 
But there is nothing here quite like it 
And nothing that can compare 
With the fire and the passion 
And the depth of love we share 
There’s a friendship that holds us together 
Even when we are a part 
Through many smiles and laughter 
And caring words from the heart 
Through the aches of separation 
Reminding us just how we feel 
Often speaking the words “ I love you” 
Is most caringly revealed 
You know I will always love you 
You are the answer to my prayers 
My sweet and guiding angel 
For in life no one can compare 
With the love that you have given me 
And your words so soft and true 
To tell you over and over again 
I will always be in love with you

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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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New World Order

It is time for the world to change
It's time to take over the world
It does not matter what race or religion you follow
You can either be a man or a girl

To join our brotherhood
The reason why we are doing this is
Because we want the greater good
Of all mankind to be shown

We have all got a few words of advice for all of you
If you want to join our ranks
You're more than welcome to
But if any of you oppose us

Then stay out of our way
Because as far as you, and all of us know
It is the dawn of a new day
And there is nothing any of you can do about it

We're not here to maim or kill
We are just here to take control
Come now brothers, sisters in arms we are the New World Order
And it is time to Rock and Roll

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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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Eat a lot of fruits and vegetables
At separate meals everyday

Run or walk a reasonable distance
To burn food and dispel toxins 

Drink water or fruit juices everyday
To nourish and cleanse the system

Walk or sit in sunshine moderately
To allow vitamin D be absorbed

Control yourself against harmful habits
Use in moderation good things in life

Breath in fresh air everyday 
Ventilate your  home and workplace

Have time to rest from labour
Early to bed,early to rise

Have no time to worry too much

chipepo lwele
*special dedication to naturophathic  doctors.
PS;I believe natural remedies can cure`incurables`

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I push the buttons,
You push mine.
The light above your head flashes,
Doors close.
I'm in for the ride.

The elevator begins.

Off to a shaky start.
As we move further, and further astray
from the building's foundations,
And closer to the heart.

The awkward silence looms.
We pretend we don't notice the glances.
You study the floor,
Whilst my eyes explore,
Making out the warning signs
By the side of your door.

As another person enters
And pushes, yet, another button
Your eyes look up.

We go down.

Back down to the ground,
Back down to the start

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The once mighty tree

There once was a tree that was tall and beautiful. It was the talk of the forest. Its 
branches were sturdy, its leaves full, its trunk straight. Kids came from all around to climb 
its height and swing from its branches. On hot days it gave them shade from the 
scorching sun, and when it rained it bore the heaviest drops without thought. One day a 
kid broke off a branch and used it to scratch his back. The tree trembled a little. The next 
day another kid sawed off four strong limbs. He needed to make a chair. The tree shook. 
The third day another kid came and stripped the tree bare, he needed to patch his leaking 
roof. The tree stood naked and alone. No one came around anymore. It had given 
pleasure when they needed it, it had given a seat in its lofty heights, it had been a shelter 
in the storms, and now it had nothing left to give. One day a stranger walked by. He 
looked up at this skeleton of a tree. He didn’t say anything just looked for a long time, 
then took out a piece of paper and sketched something. Then the stranger dug a moat 
around the trunk and filled it with water. He did this day after day. And he would lean 
against the trunk, now scarred and talk about how it was the most beautiful tree in 
forest. And the tree couldn’t help but wonder if he was blind. At first nothing happened. 
But as time passed small buds sprang forth. They flowered and bloomed. Leaves popped 
out the very trunk seemed to straighten itself as if the moon was within its grasp. The 
stranger looked at the tree, there were tears in his eyes as he pulled out a crumpled 
drawing from his pocket and held it up, it looked exactly like the tree looked now. But the 
tree now could see over the tops of the other trees. It saw a house with a small branch 
propping open a door. It saw a wooden chair sitting in the yard, neglected, with one leg 
broken clean off. It saw where the roof had been patched. The tree shivered and shook. 
Leaves cascaded from its newly formed branches raining down on the stranger, who 
looked up bewildered. But all the tree saw were four wooden legs, it saw a patched roof, it 
remembered. The branches started to sag, the bark peeled off like dead skin and in a loud 
sickening crash the tree started to fall. The man turned to brace the tree with all his 
strength. But he was not a whole man for one of his legs was made of wood, it splintered 
and cracked under the strain. And in the house not far away a man looked up in time to 
glimpse a mighty tree crumble to the ground.

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Amid Chaos

Your garden is filled with bunnies –
 I see them hopping around like this ….
Oh, I have been fighting those things for so long; 
my husband thinks that I’m crazy.
I’m kicking against the resistance, tired and all, 
but I take a rain check on giving up. 
 Somebody is going to pay the piper.
 I am colder now; 
I haven’t been hot … 
for so long.
 I’ll be there in no time – 
my father is waiting for me.
I’ve spent milk money
 to see Jack Robinson and Willie Mays
 make their statements with hard wood and leather.
It is colder over here. 
I was there when Luther first had that dream; 
 the FBI had to shut him up.
Since then, black people stop dreaming; 
they’re scared of being shot.
Look what they do to my bed of lettuce.
My God, not my pak choi.
You guys are rabbit stew. 
Those fools don’t know how to do it, do they?
 All I want to do is get my tail back to Cincinnati.
 I’ll have a damn good time,
 just like I said, 
I’ll have a damn good time. 
You have got to know it for a while to see the changes. 
I had a young man, who was helping me, 
I told him let’s get the hell outa here.
What I was doing was the right thing to do;
 I was ready to go. 
I can’t handle it now, 
but I could handle it yesterday. 
I’m justice’s daughter; 
I believe in free will.
I was the lady that was there.
 It makes me feel good to know I’ve seen all struggles, 
but my time has come.
Don’t let those precious moments pass you by.
 Enjoy your life honey.

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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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Our Courtship


He worked at the local newspaper office.
I worked for his employer’s wife as a mother’s helper.
He had served his apprenticeship 
and was now a full fledged printer 
earning a magnificent sum of eight dollars a week.
My wages were three dollars per week. 

Mrs. Miller found reasons for sending 
me to the office frequently
and he was easy to talk to.
It wasn’t long before 
he asked me to go to a movie
and I readily agreed.
Movies tickets at our local theatre 
were twenty-five cents, usually.
The first movie we went to was called 
“The Housekeeper’s Daughter”
starring Joan Bennett.
I don’t remember a thing about the story.
The next week he called again 
and this time 
the movie he wanted to take me to was
“Gone With The Wind”.
I protested that it was too expensive.
This time he would have to spend
fifty cents each on tickets
and the movie was so long that
there was an intermission 
and I knew he would want
to buy refreshments, but
I didn’t take much persuading 
and we went all out for that
evening of entertainment.
This time I did remember the story.

From that evening forward ,
he was a daily caller at our home
and my mother did her best 
to keep him fed.

Most of our dates were merely 
a stroll down town and back
as we had no car.

We heard on the radio that
Major Bowe’s Amateur Hour
was coming to a bigger town 
about thirty miles away
and both of us decided we would like to
attend that function.
Money would be a problem
on our wages, so we decided 
to save up for it.
One of us bought a dime bank and 
we each put any spare dime we could, 
into the bank.
It held five dollars.
We managed to have
five dollars worth of dimes
by the time the big day arrived.
Dad lent us his car
and off we went.
I don’t know what the tickets cost
but we had enough to buy them
plus enough to
indulge in an ice-cream soda
at the big town soda fountain.

1940 was the year our story started.
In March of 1941
he left for Detroit, Michigan
where he had heard he could find work
at a decent wage.
He sent a telegram
that he’d found a job
at $50.00 a week.
He had a minister and marriage license.
I had never been away from home before
but I traveled to Detroit and
we were married in July of 1941.

Honorable Mention

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Soul Tunes

You almost have to be from New Orleans to understand
the mixture of the music that wails throughout the city,
It's zydeco, jazz, Cajun, classical, rhythm and blues
any combination from which you can pick and choose. 

Fats Domino and Huey 'Piano' Smith live down the street
along with Harry Connick Jr, Ronnie Kole and Mac Rebenack.
Mac came to record one day missing a finger, laid down his guitar
took up piano and called himself Dr John. 

You can't stop the music in New Orleans. You can't stop the musicians.
They are the soul of the city and the only time they hang up their ax
is when it's time to eat a hot plate of Red Beans and Rice, boiled crayfish,
hot boiled crabs, shucked oysters and thin fried catfish . Yum Yum 

When Fats was playing in New York he called Mrs Leah Chase and said, 
"Send me a hot shrimp po-boy and  toast the bread crispy!"
That po-boy was on the next plane headed to the big apple.
Hence the song,  "Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans"

Every bar of which there are many, too many perhaps, has music
and every establishment has excellent entertainment or they're fired.
A known New Orleans fact is "You cannot have music without food"
Hence, Soul Music and Soul Food, wipe your hands,  let's dance! 
Contest:  Soul Tunes
Sponsor: Kristen Bruni


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At Top of the Stairwell

When I was a young boy of five years old, I became very ill.  My parents took me to the Doctors shortly after Christmas.  I was immediately rushed to the hospital and there I would stay for the next six months of my young life.

Even though I had five siblings, my father would visit me in the hospital every day.  The nurses assumed I must be an only child based on how much time my father spent visiting me.

When it came time for my father to go home each night, we had a little ritual we would perform.  My father would try to sneak me out of the hospital to take me home.  I would climb out of bed, stand on top of my father’s feet and wrap my arms around his waist.  My father would button up his long trench coat over top of me and start walking out of my hospital room with me holding on tight.

As soon as we reached the nurses’ station outside my room, one of the nurses would stop us and say I was not well enough to go home yet and we would return to my room where my father tucked me in for the night.

One night, for some reason, we made it past the nurses’ station all the way to the top of the stairwell exiting the hospital.  My father unwrapped his trench coat and announced we had made it!  We could go down the stairs, out of the hospital and home to my mother, brothers and sisters.

I remember standing at the top of the steps looking down the long stairwell to the door leading outside to freedom; away from the doctors, away from the needles, away from the medicines, away from lonely nights, away from fear, away.

We stood there for what seemed like an eternity.  My father said it was up to me.  Do we go home or stay there?

The image of that long stairwell has stayed with me ever since.  Whenever I feel conflicted in my life; whenever I have a tough decision to make; whenever I am under stress; I see the image of that stairwell and the choices it represented to me.

On that night in 1963, I told my father we had better go back to my hospital room until I was well enough to go home.  Most times in my life since then, I have made the practical, safe decision.  But every once in a while – with the image of a frightened boy standing at the top of the stairwell in my mind – I have decided to take the chance and walk out that door.  Luckily for me, my decisions seem to all work well for me.  

But, that image still returns as those tough decisions seem to repeatedly present themselves.  I am just glad I am still around to make the choice.

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This state of confusion

It seems quite the same time after time,
I sort through the pieces to see what is mine.
 The clock is ticking, the spring unwinds.
I guess it peace of mind that I’m hoping to find.

I feel simply lost, in a state of confusion,
Is this what I dreamed or just an illusion?
The answer’s before me, but no conclusion,
I wonder if all that I see is just delusion.

I try just to swim but I go under,
I see a flash but hear no thunder.
Was it all real or another blunder?
I’m still quite uncertain so I wonder.

I look to the sky and try to believe,
I want to stay but see I must leave.
I get entangled in the web that I weave,
I haven’t a trick left up my sleeve.

I try to move but find I’m unable,
All that remains are crumbs at the table.
I watch from the edge the ground is unstable,
It seems so unreal like what is inside a fable.

I look for an answer but none can be found,
Life passes by, without  making even a sound.
My head in the clouds, my feet on the ground,
Time after time this continues to come around.

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A Rift in Time Part 2

(Please read part 1 first or this will make no sense)

	To the scientist’s dismay, pressing the cancel button was ineffective.  The plunge into his past continued inexorably.  It, however, was not without its benefits.  Henry’s skin became supple and his muscles bulged as in his youth.  His hair returned to the light brown that he hadn’t seen in decades.  For the first time in decades, Henry felt, not just okay, but good and joyous in his renewed youth.  He decided to stop his slide into the past at about age twenty when he would have his degrees and could live his career over again.  If his “other self” was there, Henry would assume a new identity and make a whole different life for himself.  It was an unprecedented opportunity and he meant to make the most of it.  

	Near his birthday in the year 1970, Henry hopefully pressed the cancel button and was rewarded with a loud click.  But instead of gliding to a stop, the time machine accelerated in its journey into the past.  Henry experienced the hormonal rush of puberty and felt adolescent acne break out on his face.  Within minutes, a reverse growth spurt cut his height by several inches.  Soon, he was a young child at play, oblivious to the danger of his situation.  The year 1950 saw a tot and then a cooing baby.  When August 8th passed, the infant suddenly had an umbilical cord attached to a nonfunctioning placenta.  Its two umbilical arteries throbbed desperately, but the return blood through the umbilical vein was not oxygenated, nor did it contain essential nutrients.  

	Membranes enveloped the devolving Henry who now had the “old man” appearance of a fetus. Then he became a blastocyst, ready for implantation in a nonexistent uterine endometrium.  Within seconds he regressed to gastrula, blastula and then the berry-like ball of cells called morula.  Like some weird countdown, he became 64, 32, 16, 8, 4, 2 cells and then a zygote.  

	The paternal half of Henry’s chromosomes disappeared next, leaving only an ovum ready for fertilization.  Even that became an oocyte needing to complete meiosis before it vanished entirely in the immature ovary of Henry’s infant mother.

	Henry Higgins, born August 8, 1950 and died November 8, 1949,  physicist and time traveler is missing forever.  

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A Different Perspective

Spencer just turned 7 the other day.

My wife and I adopted Spencer after many years of trying to add to our family the 
old fashioned way; then, after a few years of trying to add to our family the 
newfangled, medically assisted way.

My three biological children from a previous marriage lived with us from the time 
they were 12, 10 and 6.  By the time we got around to going the adoption route the 
two oldest were already in and out of college and the youngest was a senior in high 
school.  No empty nest for us, just a fast train to insanity.

I started my family, a story for another time, when I was just twenty-one.  After 
being the youngest father of most of their peers, I was now going to get to 
experience being the oldest father this time around.

People say that as an older parent you are more patient and understanding – I am 
not so sure that I agree; I just think fewer things bother you and you learn to 
realize that rules are not so important.  Many times, I think, as parents, we simply 
enforce rules because we can.

Spencer loves to dip his foods. He dips his mandarin orange slices in ketchup.  He 
dips his French fries in caramel meant for apple slices.  He dips his cheese in his 
yogurt.  Basically, whatever we serve him, if it’s a solid, of any kind, it gets dipped in 
the soft, liquidy food that happens to be closest to him.

Years ago, I probably would have not only tried to convince him that this was 
wrong, but I am pretty sure I would have forbidden him to do that.  Now?  What do 
I care?  If he likes it and he eats his broccoli, what do I care that he dips it in his 

A few years ago, Spencer and I went on a father son excursion to buy him his first 
gold fish.  I asked Spencer what he was going to name his fish and, after thinking 
about it for a while, he said, “I think I want to name him, Mmmgggghh.”  

I immediately responded, almost as a reflex action, “Mmmggghh?  That’s not a 
name, that’s a sound.”

Spencer, in his wonderfully innocent way, asked, “Why can’t a name be a sound?”

Why, indeed?  

He loved Mmmggghh and loves telling people the story about his first pet.

Now some of you may read this and think I am being too relaxed in my duties as a 
father.  You may think that I should be teaching my son the “correct” way to do 
things – even as simple as how to eat and what not to mix or dip in what.

Me?  Nah.  Instead, I wish to thank Spencer for teaching me to question the norms.  
Why can’t a name be a sound?

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Love of a teen

Love will keep us alive darling 
No matter what obstacle we may endure
Love can never be bought darling
Neither by dollars nor sterling
That i am absolutely sure.
What is love? I asked myself
Quite some time ago
When i met her.... for some strange reason
I suddenly felt i'd know
Her beauty filled brown eyes... like hazel nuts
Were gleaming through my dreams
She was everywhere... no matter where i looked
I was filled with an overwhelming feeling
And... i knew what it was all about 
This attraction all made sense
I was in love for the first time in my life
And boy! it really felt great  
It couldn't be barred by any steel cage
Nor by any sacred way
I tried so hard to keep it inside but Hey!
I too have my limits okay?
Limits were exceeded... feelings won the race
As i saw an empty seat where she sits
I sat down beside her... she smiled at me
I was in heaven... yes... heaven was what i was seeing

She was an angel indeed
So beautiful and lively
Lips like two red chillies
Her hair so smooth and fine
And as i was about to get close to my gal
Heaven itself did something rash.
I was talking with my girl with all the courage and might
But outta nowhere a dozen more angels popped in to sight
My feelings just shifted
And day dreaming started.
Love is blind they say - but not ma eyes
That is how it all ended
Was it love? Was it a crush?
Or was i a self centered ignorant mush
Answers! Answers! Answers!... seriously who can tell?
Love or no love..
Crush or whatever...
Man! It sure felt great.

             Let me know what you think about this too and for all the people  who
commented on my previous poem... Thank you very much for your kind words and hope that you
would enjoy this as well.


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The flow of the day

Life doesn't stop, we all carry on, 
Riding along the flow of the day.
Before the dawn, You wake, your day has already begun.
There are children to hustle about the house, lets not forget some breakfast. 
The television tells you, it's the most important meal of the day, but you really haven't the time this morning, 'sorry'.

Ahhh, the kids are at school, time for your self for just five minutes.
But wait there's work to go to first. So off You go. And as it's only up the road you walk. But you walk fast because 
your favorite band are playing in your ears.
Great. Your all hot and bothered. Just enough time to powder your nose and such. Work is busy and mostly you like 
busy, it makes the day go faster and soon you can go home. What was that noise? You ask yourself .Then you 
realize it was your stomach telling you off for not eating breakfast....

Not to worry it'll soon be time for lunch. But this is the time when, the first thing you do when you get home is raid 
the fridge, because it takes too long to make a sandwich when your this hungry. Mmmmm, much better, and most 
refreshing, especially the coffee. Just as you take in the peace of the house and have taken off your shoes, you 
notice the clock chimes three!  Time to collect the lovely brood from school, so off You go.

Who can get a word in first about their day, everyone's so eager to tell one another. Even you, You need to say too. 
It's so nice to walk through the front door for the last time today, there's dinner to make before settling down, have 
a hug and watch television. All three fall asleep on you, and you're asleep with them too. Few! What a busy day, and 
just think you'll do it all again tomorrow.

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The Penny Jar

At almost every wedding you could count on my father telling the newly wed couple:

“You know, if you put a penny in a jar every time you make love during the first year of marriage and then removed a penny from the jar every time you make love thereafter …you will never empty the jar.”

One of my cousins didn’t quite understand the jest of the challenge and, for years, every time she saw my father she would say, “Uncle John, we’re still putting pennies in our jar.”

He tried to explain it to her a couple times before just giving up and responding, “That’s great, Becky.”

When my father passed away earlier this year, while helping my mother pack up some of his things from their room, I found an old glass jar with a few pennies in it under the night table on his side of the bed.

I chuckled, and, after showing it to his wife of fifty-nine years, my mother, I said, “Looks like you guys were just a few pennies short of emptying your jar.”

My mother shook her head and responded, “That old fool just kept putting his change in that jar and telling me; ‘We still got some work to do to empty this thing.’”

I dumped the few pennies into my hand and noticed two of them with wheat stems on the back, indicating they were old pennies.  I handed them to my mom and told her to look at the date on them.

1952 – the year they were married.

A tear came to her eyes again, as had happened often over the past few weeks, and she just said again, “That old fool.”

I dumped the pennies back into the jar and placed it over on her side of the bed.

We continued packing up his stuff in silence.

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Our Candle

I have nothing to say
Not a darn word
I cannot be bothered to fight with you anymore
You don’t hear my words anyway
I seem to talk muted
You make me work so hard, I sweat and strive
While you tenderly sit back and relax, with a smile

I feel I kept this going on for so long
Except the candle wax had melted out a long time ago
A stump remained, that I maintained to keep alight
Except you never did try and aid me with it
It just kept on flickering gently
I kept it sheltered while you 
No doubt, blew on it, trying to wipe it out

As if on its last flame
It withers
The light diminishing
Darker, darker
I sweated to keep it going
But like the last time you snubbed me
And snubbed out the light,
It was I that thought this was worth more
Than being a burnt out candle
I brought it back to life, to light

Now once again, the candle flickers
The light did once burn white bright, the flame
Unmistakably blistering,
Now the wax lies around the base, melted
Used and deformed, distorted and unyielding
A sign that this is the end…
I try one last time, with all my might
A test to see
You seem unscathed if this ends now…so
I give up
My precious candle
Our candle
Blows out

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A Bunch of Flowers

Oh dad, you’re great, you saved me in crisis.
You make me able to enjoy juicy healthy spices.
When I fall ill you run to secure me in hands,
And introduced danger of Life and paid off prices.
You provided me knowledge and education for easy rises.
How can I forget you my success are your donation?
Otherwise who cares a child in this modern fashion?
People can’t afford human growth they claim expenses,
You were honest and industrious my mum has mention,
Your time was hard or mine, life has different sizes.
I think sometimes how olds has afforded a big family?
When mum was full time mum for children mainly,
And provided full opportunity to grow everyone’s taste.
Why do we modernise fail to respect and struggle shamely?
Divorce and separation isn’t wise for kind namely prizes.
I care how do you afford gifts and celebrates births and fests?
You never disappointed anybody and care for all lists.
I am boring and selfness, can’t afford a bunch of flowers,
Dad’s day comes and goes but feeling lives in the rests.
Time plays a part and love struggles with different Hisses. 

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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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poetry chat room exsperience

Bobb Marly 2/12/2010 9:59:51 AM Pacific Standard Time (PST)
The screen is void where is everyone at?

Bobb Marly 2/12/2010 10:00:26 AM Pacific Standard Time (PST)
I have come here to chat.

Bobb Marly 2/12/2010 10:01:10 AM Pacific Standard Time (PST)
I am alone as through cyber space I roam.

Bobb Marly 2/12/2010 10:01:39 AM Pacific Standard Time (PST)
I found this room and posted a poem.

Bobb Marly 2/12/2010 10:02:10 AM Pacific Standard Time (PST)
Thinking it nice to talk in rhyme

Bobb Marly 2/12/2010 10:02:35 AM Pacific Standard Time (PST)
I opened this chat room for the very first time.

Bobb Marly 2/12/2010 10:03:19 AM Pacific Standard Time (PST)
But no one is here for me to converse.

Bobb Marly 2/12/2010 10:03:42 AM Pacific Standard Time (PST)
So I will go on searching the cyber universe.

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

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Lazy, Lazy, Lazy

The years have been good to this senior man,
but why he is so lazy, I'll never understand.
So many talents, lie within,
and nothing is given freely,
from this senior man.
He says I b_ _ _ _, and grumble, and growl,
maybe that's so, I'll take my bow.
My grandad said, if the mule is in the ditch,
you gotta get him out, well, most of my b _ _ _ _ _ _ _,
is trying, just that. 
Things undone for so long now,
with my hammer, and flat bar,
I'll show him how.
Walls come down, that are hanging by a thread,
I"m remembering the words, my grandad said.
Projects lie dormant, from room to room,
eight years, and counting, in this house of doom.
Fresh paint has covered unfinished wood,
his, when I get a round to, and my, I wish he would.
Old windows of yesterday, forgotten by time,
only half have been updated, with the weather proof kind.
My nerves are shot, my voice is ignored,
while I'm still looking at these horrible floors.
A carpenter by trade, his ability is great,
but no improvement here, does he make.
Ceilings to floors, much needs to be done,
I'm just about ready, to pack, and run.
Or invest in more do-it-yourself manuals.

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A sailing I Didn't Go

I had won a sponsorship on a sailing ship,
I was ecstatic it was right up my street.
Trouble is, I was to go in hospital.
But I was promised I would be fit, to join the fleet.

I woke up from my surgery
It was over and I wanted time to go faster,
My lifetime trip, I could almost see,
But I was in bed now, and covered in plaster.

For my trip, I waited what seemed an age
Patience, not being my best virtue.
A sailing ship to learn how to sail, 
‘You can go.’ Said the surgeon 
‘That I promise you.’ 

Don’t worry you will be up and about
This is what the operation is for.
I promise you will be able to go
Even though, it will still be a bit sore.

They put special lamps on to dry the cast; 
I wanted to know how long this plaster will last.
He looked at me and in a voice devoid of feeling;
‘Oh six weeks is needed to repair the bones.’
I cried, and raised my eyes to the ceiling.

‘Well how can I go on a sailing ship? I cried,
 I felt my heart was breaking fast.
‘I need to unfurl sails and be able to climb the mast
How am I now, to do this, and sail the ocean blue? 
That is the main question that I am asking you.’

‘My job is to make you well;
And necessary if I find it,
I will plaster you from head to foot,
Never mind just your foot and hip.’

‘I say you can go, but up to me, it may not be.
But that’s not my problem, really - in all reality.’
He lied to me to get me in hospital, 
My trip was duly cancelled.
I was thirteen years old at the time,
And on this my feelings rankled.

They sent me a photograph of all those on the ship,
It was supposed to make me feel good;
I took it badly at the time,
But then I think any thirteen - year old would.

They may as well have slapped me in the face
As compensation, I thought it a disgrace.

A year passed, I won again, and this time I could go.
I won the “Best Sailor Cup” award,
And I still have it to show.

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The Dictionary Hunting Expedition

Yeah, just grab an old rusty shovel, a case of Bud Light and hop in the back of my red
pickup truck, because us country boys are heading down to Sweetwater Creek to hunt for
some rare species of dictionary. Boy, don't you worry about nothing. We got plenty of
ammo. Uncle Willie, you know them dictionaries got some powerful stuff. 

Yeah, they got all kinds of words that I cain't spell or spit out my mouth. Some folks
say, you can use them fancy-polished words printed in a dictionary. You boys know better.
We can't read, write or arithmetic! Boys, we need to shake a stick, saddle up and go
rustle up some wild dictionaries. To capture a wild dictionary, you need to wear
specialized Desert Storm camouflaged gear, and be very quiet! 

Boys, its time for the hunting dictionary expedition!

Now, big Willie, listen to me good, when we find this critter, I am not settling for a
handshake, because I need to bust a few caps in those hind parts with my double-pump
shotgun. Boy, be quiet. Do you hear something rattling behind them bushes? Hey, look down
yonder! Oh, Nellie, I got a big surprise for that old slick Willy dictionary.

Well, I am a Southern Boy, with a background in cannon artillery and fire weaponry. I will
deliver the final blow and knockout punch with my deluxe  K-Mart special, double barrel
Winchester rifle, equipped with a high-powered scope, aiming  right-between-the-eyes of
the victim. 

Big Willie, You know stuff is going to fly in every direction. Now, its time to grab that
slippery dictionary right by the tail, fling it straight up in the air and shake the
cobwebs loose! Just in case, we might have to tap it with a few more rounds of buckshot
from my shotgun named big Shirley. You know, just so I can let it marinade. 

Man, I am so cool, when I captured this black double-breasted Oxford dictionary, I skinned
it and cleaned it and turn it into a thesaurus. 
 Posted By: Gregory W Golden Dated 16 Oct 2006

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Moon Kissed

Shadows chasing shooting stars, the poets cry as they write the future.
Words begin to fall like rain, emotions flow between the wind.

The atmosphere evolves.

A beating heart peaking up beneath the pavement. Vines of green hug the pulsating instrument.
Flowers blossom to the sound, a bitter sweet symphony. Petals dance with pixies  upon trees.

The night is singing.

The air is thick and the moon is watching, the glow of silver pours on down.
A kiss of crimson and the heart starts racing. Midnight lovers of the enchanted woods.

A candle burns.

The wax begins to drip upon the rose, the lovers kiss begins to part.
The dancers stop as the crescendo descends, silence for the beating heart.

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I remember a time

I remember a time when I knew what to do,
A smile from your face would see me right through.
I remember the warmth I would feel from your smile.
My inspiration would soar, I could see for miles.

I remember a time when love was in the air,
It provided light and taught me to care.
Now time has passed and all of it has gone,
These kind memories become what I long.

I remember a time when I felt so alive,
Much like a bee, returning home to the hive.
Now I feel sad and seem to stand alone,
I’m just a lost soul in search of a home.

My pride was too strong you became someone else,
I not only lost you but some parts of myself.
I know I can do better and will always survive,
But so much had died I don’t feel very alive.

I remember a time I wanted better for you
I can’t understand some of the things I do.
Time passes by and then the memories are gone,
It takes all my strength to just learn to hold on.

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Memories Of Christmas

Memories of Christmas through the years,
Have brought lots of laughter and many tears.
Memories of those who have gone on home,
Sometimes leave us sad and alone.
The good times that were had by all,
Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, their happy faces I recall!
The gifts that were given, the fellowship we shared,
The love we all had, showed each other we cared.
The trees were so pretty, the food, oh so good,
Sometimes we would go caroling in the neighborhood.
We would exchange gifts by drawing names,
Some would get clothes, others might get games.
The homes would be decorated with ornaments and lights,
And we would all feast on the many delights!
There would be cakes, cookies, sandwiches, pies, and punch,
Some might eat a lot, others would just munch.
Before you knew it the night would be gone,
And the wait for next year would seem so very long!
But Christmas means more than just these things,
As we remember the birth of the Christ child and the salvation He brings!
He came into this world in a meek and lowly way,
Born of a virgin and in a manger lay.
The Shephards were frightened as the angels came to say,
The great news of His birth on this special day!
Born in Bethlehem, God's only son,
Savior from our sins, He is the only one!
So as I remember the Christmas's of old,
The greatest of all, was the one the prophets foretold!

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Stymied by moral transgressions

While the church of today continues to wrestle with prominent issues,
like those of leadership, moral credibility, or fidelity of her members;
society remains critical to address certain weakpoints already at hand,
those seeming endless lawsuits against the clergy and religious members.

Moments in time unfold the wreckage of moral credibility, trust, and confidence;
it’s like a downfall of the human castle formed with the sanctity of wisdom –
continuity in liturgical sacraments, prayer, and reliance on biblical life;
with faith that God is involved in many events both ecclesial and personal.

It’s on a soaring journey where the Jewish concept of bitachon   is needed,
to move on amid the struggles and other evolving deal of human problems;
so inextricable that make one stronger to cope with what life really means,
in this generation where a culture of arguments abounds in moral situations.

It’s sad to think of what’s going on; it’s painful to experience those afflictions,
the church grieves and suffers with all her leaders’ and members’ transgressions;
with the abuse of power, freedom, and prestige of being one of Christ’ ministers,
heaven weeps as evil triumphs to lead those priests into the world of failures.

The turbulent waves of scandals that have wounded the sacred priestly life,
people’s trust and faithfulness to the sacraments of life – a great turmoil!
the whole Catholicism has been shaken and struggled to redeeem her reputation;
her running sore of afflictions – so widespread that only time can heal the wounds.

With the words of Jesus at his farewell discourse in Johannine literature,
“I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you.”   It’s reassuring so far;
the Spirit of truth  is Christ himself who’ll walk with his own people of all races,
his covenant with them, promise to his disciples, and assurance to all who believe in him.

The church echoes hope and perseverance in the throes of sufferings and tribulations,
She calls everyone to look for the true light – Christ, in hiddenness and humility;
His epiphany  in a continuing journey of faith, in the gospel cries, in various events,
Christ shines in one’s heart, along with the Father and the Holy Spirit – the Paraclete.

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The Man in My Dream

Last night I had the most amazing dream. I found true love with a man who had no name. He was casually dressed in jeans and a T and smelled incredible. 
We were at a house party, me sitting next to him on a couch, very aware of his magnetic aura. He passed a mirror with a small line of cocaine across it. 
‘Want some?’ 
‘Sure,’ I said. 
I leaned in and sniffed the line like a pro. I should have known at this point that I was dreaming, as I don’t party like that anymore. 
Next thing I know we are dancing real close. I am rubbing my hands all over his back, discovering his muscular torso beneath his T with the tips of my finger. I was hungry for this stranger, insatiable. 
He tries to kiss me, but I turn my head, conscious for the first time that I have a husband. I would never cheat on him. I feel the strangers hands tentatively trace the lines of my back, from nape to waist. I am electrified. I feel safe, happy, loved. 
Then the bed moves as my husband places a hand on my butt…his butt for thirteen years. Maybe he felt my passion and it woke the animal in him. 
Now I realize that I was dreaming. I peer at the clock: 4:34am. I don’t want to wake up, not yet. I can have sex with my husband anytime, but this was the first time I had ever had such a dream. I was determined to return to my fantasy lover’s arms. 
You can’t cheat in a dream, right? 
So I push my husbands hand away from my backside and I lay still, my face buried into the tempurpedic mattress and wait for sleep to come. I don’t hold much hope, as it is rare for me to enter the same dream twice. 
But there he is again. This time we are alone. He is dressed in a sharp grey tweed suite with shirt and tie, and silver cufflinks with my initials. I am blown away by his perfection. 
We hug and I am now ready to kiss, go all the way, as I am now fully aware that I am dreaming. I wanted to devour him quickly as I sensed he had to go somewhere. In the heat of passion he peels me off of him and says. 
‘I have some more cocaine in the car. We will party later.’ 
I smile and then he’s gone and I am back at the party sitting on a sofa. I feel lost and confused. 
A policeman sits next to me, smiles and then put’s an arm around my shoulder. He shakes his head and I immediately know. 
‘He’s dead, isn’t he? That’s why you brought me here.’ 
I feel the warmth of a single teardrop slowly rolling over my cheek. 
I wake up sobbing, no tears, but full of genuine sorrow for the loss of my one and only dream man.

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Twenty one years and an undecided future

A Slow drift in warm, slimy, stagnate waters that is what we have become.
He comes in the door and doesn't speak daily; He never asks me how I am.
His only response is no....
Just a touch in all the right time and places would mean so much.
The seven year itch has a hold on me accompanied by severe sadness that no pill 
can hide.
Losing long time neighbors often has my clock ticking noticably by me.
Sickness and aging has a deep sadness gripping my heart. I know to hold on to 
hope and make the day a blessing. Overwhelming pain takes my happy places.

Tomorrow......there is hope!

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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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The Stages of Life

I rise in the morning
like a bright new flower
crawling, staggering and falling
like the leaflets of a ripe flowers.
With my four wek limbs
and my toothless mouth
sucking and pulling the nipple of her breast
and feeling her warmth.
I rise in the day
like a healthy young bird
running, jumping and singing
like a matured bird.
I rise in the evening
going back to my early age,
with weak body, my grey hair
and the wrinkles that show the age.
My two limbs can no longer 
give the support without a staff
staggering, falling here and there
till i say "adieu" to the world.

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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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Up but Down- Part 5

Up but Down…part-5

“Poor place”, the spectral humming of the winds
Seems to tell, “the hills too would have to lose
Their birthright just like everyone of us.
On the way upward, somebody points

To a pitiful mile or so and tells
‘These are virgin forests left as they are’
But whereas on one side, rubber trees ooze 
Sap through cuts where thick forests once were which 

Bore not wounds but fruits and blooms in the past.
It’s only a question of time before
The virgins would bare themselves in sheer
Helplessness at man’s inhumanity.

The power station is off. More often than not.
With no power for itself to run
The power of water. Not a drop of it.
How imperceptibly we turn powerless

In our greed. To extract, to snatch, to steal.
From my place can I see a reservoir
Built by a far-sighted king of the past.
Yes, a grand pool of water it once was

Here can you now see miles and miles of sand
Dotted with puddles amidst bald hillocks.
A nuclear powe r station is being built
A little farther away. They have laid

Pipes to clear off even these puddles
To the project site. The signs of death and decay
Amidst the languishing signs of life
Is getting the stamp of authority.

And this region can now hope, sordidly
Hopelessly. To go through experiences
Which happen but once in a life time
Which will turn it to a land of thirst

Radioactive waste and wasted limbs.
We returned. Yes, a month ago. Not from
A hill of hope but one foreboding doom
Fast and noticeably. Must be changing 

Fast. So when next time when we come looking out
If I too could gain something in my quest
For wealth, power and pelf, what will be left will
Be some fire-licked hills plus all their ills.

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Why we have missiles?
To get them rusted in some iron containers,
And to do nothing when we continue to loose our men,
children in ghastly act done by coward soldiers of terrorists.

Why we have army, air-force & navy when we don’t have courage,
To fight that bastard who is responsible for every tear of my eye.
I hate dying like this again & again after every ridicules shot of those
Terrorists, if they want to kill me, kill me before me but not after me.

My life has changed because of that hidden enemy, I get checked
Every time I go to my metro or library as if I am not a human being
But an object, I am tired of this life; you may not see the chains I am in,
But let me tell you, I am not free.

They kill me in bus, train, market, plane; they kill me in hotel, road, beach and
Lane. They kill me anywhere they want and I get killed easily and always.
If it’s only me who has to get killed every time and everywhere then why not
In a bigger occasion like a war then to find a bomb in my own car.

Enough is enough ……….. I want WAR.

This time I am not going to blame any minister, politician, officer,
Policeman or even my enemies.
If it’s my fate to live like this, I am going to accept it and fight against it,
To either win my life or loose it, bravely.

When my GOD send me to this earth, he didn’t told me that I have to
Live in such a great fear and uncertainty.
That means he wanted me to enjoy life free & fearless and going by his
Choice, I will not leave myself on the mercy of some ill-minded men.

I miss the song of sparrow in this noise of guns; I miss the smell of air which is
choked by the smoke of burning layers, I miss all the things I used to do freely
when I was small and I wish my earth would not have had to face these
days but I know life will never be the same again as it was.

This is not that kind of world; I would like to leave behind me for my children,
And to the people who will come on this land after me.
Its time to act, to do what is needed and to kill the killers before we get killed.
My patience has crossed the bar.

We cannot afford this ‘peace’ …………….I want WAR.

[Throughout the poem I- stands for INDIAN not for the poet]
………………………………………………………………………….by every INDIAN not only VG!!


After the Mumbai attack on 26-29 November 2008 the poet was shattered, he was crying, he was angry, frustrated and wanted to launch a war on terrorists.

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Dream big, they once said, then anything you’ll be

The pressure is on by the time I turn three

He'll be doctor, an actor, win Olympic gold

There’s no longer time for the playdough to mould

No time for decisions the clock starts to tick

You must push him now to become the first pick

Dream big, they once said, then anything you’ll be

My age has now tripled, shot up like a tree

I’ve learned how to listen and do what I’m told

The world is on fire, no sitting, no cold

His test marks are high, but he lacks concentration

Investment ready made, copyright imagination

The graphs on the wall teach compare and contrast

In more than P.E. we are told to run fast

He’s bright, no doubt, but due dates he misses

Shape his focus, his structure, stop doting on wishes

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The Funny Farm Revisited

 Well it’s getting close to that time again,
    When I’m not suppose to be happy and I’d better not grin.
Hiding is okay as long as you don’t make a sound,
    Pray like all get out that you don’t get found.
Well it freaks me out to say the least,
    One minute she’s happy the next she turns into a beast.
Someone said they got a pill for this kind of thing,
    I’ll give her a double dosage and hope it’s relief it brings.
If it don’t work on her I’ll try one of them pills,
     Just thinking about last month done brought on a bad ole chill.
I’ll just keep my mouth shut that’s the best thing I can do,
     I’ll just look at her and nod and pray I nod in the right direction too.
Here she comes with that sweetie pie look,
     The last time I saw that my goose was about to cook.
So if you guys don’t hear from me in the next few days,
     Know it’s been fun but she said right now I’ve got dues to pay.
I guess I’d better close, ouch hang on baby let me finish this line,
     Dat gummit woman now don’t hit me with that sign.
Well she didn’t break but one hand so I can still hunt and peck,
     She’s like that Dr. that turned into a monster I feel like I was in a wreck.
Going through the change doesn’t seem to bother her at all,
     Shoot I’m the one sporting bruises and having close calls.
Well that pill made her sleepy, 
      But her eyes are wide open and that’s down right creepy.
I guess I’d better close,
     And go change the cotton in my nose, night all!!!!!

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The Ones Not Written

                                         THE ONES NOT WRITTEN
                                                 (Poem For K.)

The ones not written are the ones
Stuck in my heart like a crown
Of thorns.  If you look closely
You can see the blood seeping
Slowly from my chest.

The ones not written are the ones
I saved especially for you although
You left before I had a chance
To read them to you.  Maybe 
today is the day I’ll come up

Recite each one aloud then destroy them 
the way you and I almost destroyed ourselves 
in the flames of  alcohol and drugs.  
I’ll bury the ashes next to your
Headstone and only you and I

Will know about the ones not written, 
The ones you never read 
Because I kept them from you, buried
Way deep in my heart.  This
Is what I believed:

We had enough time to solve
the problems, plan our escape
And rearrange ourselves into newer, fresher
Versions of who we wanted to become.  I believe
You felt the same way even though you never

Really expressed yourself as loudly or as intensely
As I did.  I had, I suppose, a too large mouth
Which is never a good thing in a small town.
So here I am, alone, reciting to you the ones  
Not written, the ones stuck in my chest like a

Crown of thorns.  These are the important ones,
The ones I burned to ash and buried next to your
Headstone so that the next time you decide
To rise up from the dead you will read them
And know you are holding in your hands

My blood
My heart.

September 10, 2012
Jim Brewer 

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What is Time?

What is time?

Is there time  Is time perhaps in the wind?  casually in the wind?
Time passes by, time slips away
Time is in our hands, only to fly into the distance
If time flies by, at what speed does time fly
The speed of sound, of light?
People spend time. Can a price tag be put on time?
If I take time, does time become mine?
When I am given time. Do I spend it wisely?
What can I buy with time? Something I can see?
For I cannot see time. Can You?
Time is measured, accurately? No! I don't. Do you?
Is aging time? Do we often become afraid of time
Seeing people dear to us pass on
Does time stop for souls passed?
I have heard there is no time in Heaven
Infinity! Can time be greater than INFINITY!!
Does time go on and on, forever and ever?
Not ending. Even though we may or may not 
Accept that one day for us time will be over
So if there is no time in Heaven, 
So when our time is over here
And our time has come to a stop
Why do we worry about time 
If time for God is all we need
Keep the faith and earthly time will pass
For me I think I will give God my time
For whenI reach the pearly gates
And St. Peter lets me in.
I know God will have time for me
For with God time is eternity

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The Road To Peace- part two

When I preyed to you to save me, you laughed
When I prayed to god, I was ignored as well.
So I learned that I would always be alone in this world.
Every day filled with secrets I could never tell.

At ten I could drink your friends under the table.
I was barely afraid of what would happen in the dark.
I knew you were too drunk to hear me scream
And afterwards you refused to acknowledge my marks.

So I stopped trying to fight, I didn’t make a noise.
Because they would hit me less if I was quiet.
Soon I was filled with your same need to escape.
Every day I was on a search to find it.

If it promised oblivion, that was all I asked.
I immediately consumed it and waited for release.
But every time it wore off, I’d find myself there again
Always exhausted by my daily search for peace.

At first I misconstrued it for trying to get away from myself
Until one day I realized I was really running from you.
The spread of your fourth stage cancer of hatred and malice
And your unrelenting cycle of cruelty and abuse.

Your perpetual blame laid on me for your own mistakes
Finally had succeeded in taking its toll.
Years of fending for myself, succumbing to weakness
Had blackened my once pure soul.

For you I could harbor nothing but contempt, disgust.
The same lack of empathy you showed your own child.
I saw that you were at fault for my years of torment.
I made your rage, hatred, disregard appear mild.

I could never give you a strong enough taste.
All I wanted was for you to feel my Rapture.
You tried to silence me once again, tried to lock me up
But I wasn’t weak anymore and I refused to be captured.

I left you to your misery, I relished the fact
That leaving you with no one to catch you next time you fell
Was the most pain I could ever wish to conflict you with
Because then you would finally have to face your self.

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ROMANCE (for Amy)


It was something by Schumann    or    Schubert
A Sonata for piano perhaps

I wouldn’t have cared
But the music fit the girl
Flawless in dress
Hair not short    not long    middling
It swept just mildly over forehead and cheek
Cupable shoulders
And the rest?
Not a line    not a curve too severe

She came at the same time each day
I strained to see her face. 
But my view was taken just far enough away
The vision much in profile
I must revel in her stride
Not short    not long    deliberate
Just right

In a flight of fancy
With missing dimensions of the physical     time and space
I decided she was form-in-isolation
A shape behind a scrim
Always coming
Always going
Leaving her ghost in wake

And the door would softly shut
A little space for dreaming
Then    this same piece
It was something by Schumann    or    Schubert
(no matter)
Each day played with more polish
‘til    at last    it sounded perfect to me

I must know that which she played
Its name    (lack of)    haunted me
This was my excuse
My excuse for knocking on the door

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Change of Plans

Pete always greeted me politely, but without enthusiasm.
Between fourteen and eighteen years is an unbreachable chasm.
He was my older brother’s good friend and was often at our place.
I flirted with him, teased him and even got into his face.
He treated me as kindly as my own big brothers did.
I know now he must have thought of me as an annoying kid.

As time went on and I grew older, I learned to act with more decorum.
To no one did I divulge the fact that I was yearning for him.
He invaded all my daydreams and disturbed my sleep at night.
I knew that once he noticed me, his arms would feel so right.
To me he was as handsome as any beloved movie hero
And I vowed that when he came for me, I’d just get up and go.

In time my brothers left home and their friends no longer called.
I missed my brothers and their friends so much, sometimes I sat and bawled.
I thought often of my lost love and of my romantic dreams,
but young hearts will heal in time while sweet memory remains.
Before too long my heart was mended by a boy with laughing eyes.
When he put his arms around me they were just the perfect size.

Meanwhile, my Pete had moved away to a very far off state.
My brother heard from him sometimes and kept me up to date.
He had a wife and family and his life was a success.
Hearing how well he’d done without me, hurt a bit I will confess, 
until my brother told a secret that he hadn’t told before.
It was something Pete once told him in those golden days of yore.

Teasing him my brother asked why he'd had no girl and kissed her.
Pete’s answer quite surprised him. “ I am waiting for your sister”.
So though I wouldn’t change a thing in the life I have today,
I must tell you since you asked me, “Pete’s the one who got away.

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I am Wiser

I see you reach out to me with welcoming arms, beckoning me to enter and enjoy your 
beauty.  My heart cries out, my soul implores you for deliverance.  As the night, passes we 
live in our awareness, clinging while the gates of our hearts open to greet love created.
Many a time you have come to me when I was apprehensive and troubled, no sooner do I 
see you all worries turn to joy I am submerged in a welcoming calmness.  When my spirit 
rebels against all the trouble and injustice around me, I find your face amidst those faces in 
the crowd.  Rage in my heart subside and is replaced by the heavenly sound of your voice; I 
am at peace.
You may ask yourself, how can I be so content with such a simple existence, and how can a 
man like myself on the border of his twilight years, find joy in the silence of the darkness 
and the shadows of his dreams?  The time I have spent in those setting, I have found to be 
the foundations of all that I have come to know about life, love, beauty, happiness and 
Life is good to me now, the heavy weights that I once carried as if a yoke has fallen broken 
at my feet, and are now the stepping-stones I use to reach my goals.  The roads beginning 
has lead me to a point closer to its end.  With the horizon in front of me, I stop to smell the 
flowers; beauty with exceptional fragrance, my awareness of creation expands.  My smile 
radiates deep in my life and joys rewards become abundant.
I am wiser because of our alliance and richer in spirit due to our intimate episodes.  
Pleasures reached, physically and spiritually has altered the gathering of thoughts.  I am 
able to dissect meanings; foolishly, I believe there would never be a successful conclusion.  
However, with wisdom I have a happy beginning.

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Amiana Visits Grandma Flo

Amiana was so very happy When she finally got to go For a wonderful visit to see Her happy Grandma Flo They both got right on the ball Since many years had passed Without any visits at all Now the time was here at last They first tried their luck With a pizza they ate The cheese and paper got stuck But it really tasted great Next they decided to write A poem about the visit Grandma was a funny sight When she kept saying tis-it The poem was going to be About Butch the ceramic statue But their minds changed you see For there was nothing he could do Grandma’s dog Sophie made a fuss They just couldn’t concentrate As she was getting so rambunctious But she got quite after she ate With so much they wanted to do They made a list to prioritize Then for energy to get all through They first began with exercise Amiana needed to stretch her skin As she was beginning to grow And with Grandma getting so thin Her skin needed tightening you know They told funny stories to each other When they finished doing a dance They planned to put poems in ABC order But never did get the chance They giggled and laughed all around And even hid snow globes too Hard to locate but always found After searching through and through A lot squeezed into two days Amiana made a big poster And figured out a puzzle maze That Grandma Flo drew for her They dusted and shined the whatnots And took time to play with Sophie They updated calendars and did a lot While building special memories In the morning they still had fun They watched a little Joel Osteen And planned to go out in the sun But first got a few things cleaned Even using a timer they didn’t realize While tanning and talking of the fun they had That it was time to go home and were surprised When they were greeted by her mom and dad They will both remember this day When Amiana was only seven And how they laughed and played Like it was a joyful day in heaven Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Never Ending Nights

Ah my love
how these still Alaskan nights
feel as hollow as a dead oak
so still and so pure
as a reminder of the emptiness
and the haunting of those missed
the family left behind
and the dreams never conquered

ah my love
of all the things I would give
to have you by my side
yet only time slows us town
as time never passes
and we are stuck apart
until the sun one day rises
and never again sets

ah my love
its just me and my memories
praying for hope, warmth, compassion
but my love will not die
in this valley surrounded by mountains
for I know that when that day comes
we will be together
and all will be well

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Saturday Night in Cando

Saturday night was a social event,
a time when country and town folk spent
an hour or two in visiting
after their grocery shopping was done.
The young folks gathered as young folks do,
gradually peeling off two by two.
Some had found future mates in school,
marrying soon after, as a rule.
I was three years younger
than my school mates
and as a result I had no dates. 
My mama had kept me firmly in hand
until I was older, you’ll understand.
So I had never been kissed as yet,
that Saturday night when we first met.
I was old enough now but fellows were few.
He caught my eye for he was new.
He was working in town at the local news
and could have his pick, any girl to choose.
So I was surprised that it was I,
the quiet one, he stayed close by
and politely asked to walk me home.
I had no idea my world he’d rock
as we walked slowly up the block.
He tipped his hat and away he went
and left me to savor the time we’d spent.

How many days passed, I do not know
when he phoned to ask if I would go
to the local theatre picture show.
He didn’t need to ask me twice,
I told him I thought that would be nice.
That was then my very first date
and that is how I met my mate.
This time when we parted he asked for a kiss.
And I suppose I shouldn’t admit to this, 
but I’m sure I liked it as much as he.
In one year we were married.
Oh lucky me!!!

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The Diary Of Lord Kellington (18) Finale.....?

I am a pandora's box.

Let loose upon an unsuspecting society.
Once my night life begins,
complications arise.

Let me pen an example.
Keep in mind, it was not my fault.
well, not entirely.

I awoke in my usual good humor.  
I dressed with my usual care.
I gave more than adequate time to
the choice of parties to crash.
I fed Crystal.  Picked up her toys; dead mice and a human ear she had gathered from 
some unsavory alleyway. Kissed her upon her flea ridden cantankerous little head.

Then I stepped outside of my crypt.

Pandemonium ensued!

Young lads running hither and yon.
Screaming!  Bodily functions letting loose.
Not mine, I should add.

You see, it was all quite innocent.
Upon my stepping into the moonlight, one of the young bucks, at that exact same 
time, jumped out from behind the bushes.  Which flank my lair.

He had on the most ghastly costume.
Red cape.  Black tie and tails.  Fake fangs!  
Fake blood dripping from whitened lips.

I may have over reacted....a tad.
My preternatural instincts erupted.
I saw, briefly mind you, a rival in my territory.
I went from the Gentleman of night time adventures, to my full Monstrous glory, in the 
blink of an eye.

I dropped six inches of battle fang.  I bulked up to three times my normal, quite 
muscular, size.
Ruining yet another splendid jacket.  
Oh, what to tell my tailor?

There you have it!
Young men, out and about, on an All Hallow Eve's lark.
Running about as if the Devil himself were after them.

When it was only I.

~Lord Kellington

I hope you have enjoyed our little journey with Lord Kellington.  In what must be just a 
snippet of his long lived life.  
I grew to love his wit, his charm, his devil may care attitude and his kitten..Crystal.
But, the time has come.
I now close the cover on this dusty Tome, to place it, reverently, upon my bookshelf.  
Maybe, on a stormy, wind swept night, I may take it down, to open it once again.
Or perhaps, Lord Kellington, is at this very moment searching for his lost Diaries.  To 
save them from prying eyes, such as ours.  Wanting to kill all who now know his secret.
He could be in your home right now.
Hear that sound?  It wasn't a floor board, nor the house settling.  Nor the wind.
As you are now engrossed with your reading of my warning, he could be standing 
behind you....right now.
Reaching out with hands like claws.  Fangs, ready to rip out your throat...
                    LOOK OUT!!

Happy Halloween   

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My Infatuated Desire

From the day our eyes were locked in rays of glance
Love-sweats forms and drips fast-freely to a frenzied fall
As I hoped moment spares me a daring chance
To woo her, for I could but would awaits love’s alluring call
Whilst I reminisced the hazel eyes that I mirrored my blissful future
In my gallery of thought, I imagined what her name
Might be, the lass with an endowed beauty of nature,
Treasures of men I alleged her to be, as I felt the same,

The thought she had of me, I so deemed she could think the thought!
Consciously I wait as time travels and days fade into dates yet to come
My heart began to quiver for what my fear may have brought
A loneliness glittering in my lounge of fantasies, and some
Aging wrinkle patiently drawn on my artistic handsome face-
Still waiting while time busy pass me in a fast ridden pace.

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A Talisman

There, in the sand, you found me I stood out, alone, brighter than all other stones. Shaped by time, and polished by the tide, you thought of me, just a simple thing. That I would be a memory, a keepsake of a better time, when sadness was not a wound against the sky. I cannot solve the problems in your mind. But as your fingers reach deep to seek and hold…. the coldness of my polished stone, I will remind you…. As you rub my polished hide and hold me in your palm, keep remembering...., that time can smooth, and time can heal, and comfort all the qualms of a troubled world.

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The Road

The road takes me on
Through meandering mazes
Into mists and hazes
Till the time of dawn

Fiery icicles swarm
As Heaven's haughty torch
Lies on azure porch
With flames to charm

Divine breaths plead
Pink rose-buds to dance
As swallows prance
Little mouths to feed

Drops of divine sorrow
Quench the meadows' thirst
Mighty pillows burst
Doomed to weep and morrow

Locks of green hair
On the hills and dales
Harks to soothing tales
Lion in his lair

Fangs of the Earth rise
While a gaping hole
Devours my soul
As the last ray dies

Water pillars fall
Foaming fast in fury
Ridden by Mercury
As by Devil's call

Lands bereft of lawns
Wind in pain grieves
Rainbow of fallen leaves
Cursing, moaning pawns

Watery fingers hold
Sands' burning breast
Wails a wrathful crest
Secrets to unfold

Ferries drown in a mad witch's frown
Clowns thrust in the Fate's claws
Satan sneers at human flaws
Feathers caught in Persephone's crown

Of the Devils' art
Saw a rotten bow
Broken arrow
Aimed at Heaven's heart

Shrouded trees in a cold clasp
Beaten hard by ferocious hails
Frozen fingers with icy nails
Sting the heart, a cruel asp

A silver crescent, gloomy and dim
The night's coy lantern
And the Hours' urn
Drunk with ashes, filled to brim

Centipede of light
Rusty metal domes
The road still roams
I've run out of might...

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God Still Rules My Life


What do we as Christians do,
    To get our point across to you?
Is violence the only way to make you understand,
    We are not going to take it any longer this is our land.
In a land of democracy the majority rules, 
     It’s time for us to wake up stop acting the part of the fool.
Christianity still leads the way in America today,
     So I think it’s time for us to let the minority hear what we have to say.
For too long we have sat back and swallowed our pride, 
      I for one am not an ostrich and I will not stick my head in the sand to hide.
Start letting the bunch that run our government know what we want.
      Let them know there will be hell to pay if they don’t.
Now they are giving birth control to our children at schools without our consent.
      That gives kids the go ahead and that gets me bent.
Plus they are taking away our God given right of having a say on what they can 
teach our child .
      No wonder things are getting so screwed up and kids are going wild.
I’m not blaming our kids or the schools, I am blaming us the parents for letting 
things get this far.
      Mrs. Goodie Two Shoes and Roger Doright can make rules up all they like, 
but in my house I wear the star.
My kids are grown and now I am raising a grandchild that I love dearly.
     So I know what is happening I see it clearly.
If we don’t draw a line it will only get worse.
     So I ask for support in putting our Lord back where He belongs and that is 
     Thank You!!!

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No one's there

I sit by the phone waiting
I call time after time again
Counting each ring as they go unanswerd
Tonight there's no voice to confort me
No one to say "I love you".
My time is up, and I hang up
My heart aches, as my tears fall
I wanted to say "I miss you".
As I sit by the phone waiting

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The Dive

Standing on a cliff,
overlooking the sight before me,
Below me.

The water tempting,
the thrill exhilarating.
The adrenaline pumping.

The heart races.
The present danger 
runs through the mind.

I have been here before.
My focus is more than
any dive.

The heart becomes alive.
Feeling once more as it did,
so long ago.

Forgetting how it could feel like this
once more.
But wanting to try again.

But with it comes a cost.
The possible danger.
The repercussion of crashing.

That feeling I know well.
Never feeling the water below,
but the rocks that could kill you.

Torn up time and time again.
Wondering if this might be different 

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                                         IT IS A GOOD DAY MY FRIEND

No more regrets for time gone by,
You do what you can,
And then with a sigh,
You let it go.
What might have been
Could I begin again,
Should have
Would have
Could have
Is not a good place to dwell,
A cold dark miserable prison cell.
If only I'd done this
Instead of that,
Will drag you into the fires of hell.

All around miracles abound
In a universe without end.
The rain comes down,
The sun comes out,
It is a good day my friend.

No more fear for time to come,
From what tomorrow holds
I simply cannot run.
It's truly so.
No sense to fret
Over what's not yet.
Should be
Could be
Would be
How can I embrace today
Worrying about what's on its way?
What if this
Or what if that
Turn's life's colors into a dull gray.

All around miracles abound
In a universe without end.
The rain comes down,
The sun comes out,
It is a good day my friend.

Wounded Healer
Submitted 8/23/09
Written 10/11/08

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“come fluttering words, come drifting words to me…”

               A Rambling Poet

A mere housemaid awakens before morning light.
Eyes wide, she bolts upright to the bed’s edge, as if late for work, though she 
never is.
Another beautiful day to labor away. 
Polishing silver all day has its advantages.
Each piece polishes to a looking glass, each a porthole to her dreams.
As she stares into the final polished vase, her weary face transforms into the face of 
a lovely, fair skinned maiden.
Soft red lips highlight her perfect cheek bones and straight nose. 
A simple pink ribbon holds her long, auburn hair in place.
Sparkling green eyes and a happy smile portray her excitement as she admires her 
floor length pastel summer dress. 
“Oh my, It’s time for my evening stroll,” she reminds herself.
Twirling once, she heads out the door leading to the apple orchard.
Barely noticing the orchard’s beauty, she strolls toward the stone steps leading to her favorite place, the stone rose garden.
Making her way down the steps, she immediately notices someone has placed two arrangements onto the platform from the stone cabinet.
As she bends to smell the flowers, she accidentally brushes some petals off, sending them floating to the platform and moss covered stone walk.
Closing her eyes, she lets the essence take her back a dozen years to a young girl 
planting pink roses with her mother.
“There’s not a lot of room to plant,” her mother would say.  “Two inches of soil between all this stone is what we have to work with.”
She opens her eyes to find herself staring into the polished silver vase.
Her tired, smudged face reminds her it’s time to go home. 
Something different catches her eye in the polished looking glass.
Her long auburn hair is no longer neatly bundled under her cleaning bonnet, but held in place by a simple pink ribbon.

Randy Steele
July 25, 2011

"What Is She Thinking?" contest

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It Was Once upon a Time

Once upon a time not so long ago,
I turned my back on love felt I had to go.
I watched happiness become sorrow in your eyes.
Each time I saw some tears another part just dies.

Once upon a time seem much like a dream.
Life was very easy like drifting downstream.
I remember how you were my stars and moon.
Inspiration was served upon a silver spoon.

Once upon a time doesn’t seem so real.
I find it getting harder for me to even feel.
I wonder did it happen or was it in my mind.
This happiness I felt was just once upon a time.

Once upon a time maybe it shall come again
I hope for love to grow from the ashes of the end.
The sun is rising up time to start the day anew
Once upon a time I felt this love that was so true.

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It is a whole

In time it stood
A silence of the wind
A second chance
A covering of the darkness
No time to lapse
Life came to be 

A cool breeze
A drop of rain
A time to cry
A time to sigh

A fear to live
A quest to know
The whole or a piece
No time to lapse
A second chance 
No time to cover

A walk 
A run
A now 
Life came to be
A mystical realm

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Long Rocky Road

This road is long and road is long and rocky 
Like others Ive been on 
At times its paved with silver and gold 
And sometimes its a muddy mess 
But whether its smooth or rocky 
The Lord knows Ive done my best 
I chose good and some were bad 
But where my choices lead me 
Have gotten me where I am 
I have paid the price in honkytonks and bars across the land 
Ive thrown my share of punches 
Been knocked down on my can 
Taken my chances at cards and dice 
And fooled around at love 
Some girls I chose to get rid of 
And some of I never got enough 
I walked in the face of cold dark wind 
And came out on the sunny side 
I swam across rivers to beat the tide 
Im another man taking another stand 
Waiting for my time 
And when my time is over one thing I know is true 
Life's been fun even if this road 
Took a bite out of my youth 

David Pennington 

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I look for myself

As I view a;; around me I wonder where the time went?
In the concept of time I was a speck that was spent
Nobody is left as I stand all alone
So I pick up the pieces and just go home.

I feel a bit betrayed I helped all that I could
I put my heart into it because I thought that I should
As I look at the returns they don’t equal what I put in
I wish for just this once it was my turn to win…

I gaze at the sunset as another day passes by
The beauty surrounds me the colors in the sky
I’m thankful for so my yet I feel a little empty
I’m feeling a bit lost in this land of plenty…

So many pieces I don’t know which to pick up
I feel like my life was inside that paper cup
Everyone ws done so it was just thrown away
So I just learn to live and fight another day.

Time keeps on ticking as ther clock unwinds
I still have my hope and the sun still shines
I just feel I’ve lost a little of my fight
I look for myself but I’m nowhere in sight,

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Bountiful Interactions; Plethora of discussions;
Oodles of gossiping; certainly with those
Precious ones known as ‘Friends;

Those were the days at school – 
Innocence at zenith;
T’wos fun chatting over phone then;
Doing the Tittle-tattle about teachers,
Adoring those cute classmates;
Nostalgic are those moments;
Those moments with “Friends’

Then entered college, Innocence abridged;
With newer friends; 
Conferring extensively on careers;
Unrelenting analogous trend; 
Talking and gossiping; having a fantastic time;
College ended and so did friendship;

Work came anon, Innocence lost;
Extra mature, extra busy;
No time for friends, no time for anything;
Yet a thought about friends enduring within;
Suddenly again; 
Recalling those wonderful moments with friends;
Alas! Have no hint how to get in touch;

Technology popped in; 
Email, chatting, orkutting;
Reviving our friendships;
Reminiscence of school and college;
Wonderful are those moments;
Moments that we spent with friends;

Back is our friendship;
Back is our chitchatting;
Back to our old times;
Precious are those moments;
Nevertheless all those feelings remain unchanged;
Undoubtedly now shall emerge;
Better moments, Fun filled era;
Needless to mention;
Friends are forever.

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Simon's Story - Part 2

     There were several women nearby who were crying and wailing over  this condemned 
man. The convicted man turned slowly towards them and that was the first time Simon heard 
him speak. 
     Breathlessly, the convict stopped and quietly spoke to these lamenting women. Simon 
stopped with him under the weight of the beam. Simon never understood these words at that 
time, .. but he never forgot them. This blood soaked, ravaged dirty half dead man turned to 
the women and rasped ,…
      “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for Me …but weep for yourselves and your 
children.“  He caught his breath, wiped the dust and blood from his eyes with the ragged 
sleeve of his torn robe and continued…“For indeed the days are coming in which 
they will say, “Blessed are the barren, wombs that never bore, and breasts which never 
     The crowd had already become silent to hear what the accused was saying, because this 
kind of talk was unheard of in a time when bearing children and mother hood was considered 
extremely holy and a gift directly from God Himself. It was proof that he must have been 
     He continued , blood dripping from swollen lips, “Then they will begin to say to the 
mountains, “Fall on us!!” and to the hills, “Cover us!!” …“For if they do these things While I 
am with you,…what will they do when I am gone?” …… The sound of a lash slapped across his 
torn bloody back and he shuffled forward but not before looking directly into Simon’s  eyes.. 
The crowd again took up their noisy, morbid mission. 
     Simon grunted under the weight of the beam and thought they all sounded like a pack of 
hungry jackals. He was certainly confused and inexplicably terrified. 
     After that gruesome unholy nightmare ended and for the rest of his life while walking the 
hills, he kept hearing and was haunted by this man’s words over and over and wondered 
what on earth they could mean.   
     “ Do not weep for Me…but weep for yourselves and your children…for indeed the days 
are coming in which they will say, “Blessed are the barren, wombs that never bore, and 
breasts which never nursed!!”......
     This, to the people of his time was impossible! Children were a holy gift from God himself. 
Blessed are the wombs that never bore...and breasts that never nursed?! What could he 
have meant?

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Yard Sale Saturday

The tables are set,
the tent is up,
yard sale Saturday,
getting rid of some stuff.
Lamps without shades,
an old garden hose,
and tons of socks,
and out of date clothes.
Rusty old rakes,
some clippers, and gloves,
and out in the field,
that old yellow bus.
Some goodies for sure,
come early, and browse,
if you have the money,
you can even buy my house.
I hope it dosn't rain,
until everything is gone,
there is no way on this earth,
I could get this stuff inside my home.

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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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Then I Saw Her

The pastor I had met a couple months ago was sitting across the table from me reading 
from a book by a Doctor of the Church or Saint or from scripture. I can’t remember which. 
We had been doing this twice a week for four to five hours a night since he crossed my path 
as an answer to my prayer yelled to the ceiling at God to show me the truth! 
    I even tried to get rid of God by that time in my life but I couldn’t shake Him. Hadn’t been 
to Church in 25 years and never intended to again. I knew better….until I finally hit bottom. I 
had been raised a Catholic by my parents but I jettisoned that when I hit the service and 
basically never looked back. I knew by this time in my life that I would never go back to that 
church but here I was discussing God the Trinity with a Catholic priest every spare moment 
he and 
I had. No room here for details but it was a more than obvious answer to a prayer yelled out 
to God in frustration that even I ,in my stubborness, could not fight . We took turns reading 
and discussing various books, but today was special. It was Easter 1992 about ten pm or so. 
He was reading . I can’t remember what. I wasn’t paying attention. I was busy praying a Hail 
Mary that he had taught me again, for certain people. I was worried for them and couldn’t 
keep my mind on the task at hand even though it was enjoyable enough. ………..Then I saw 
her. I didn’t believe I saw her. But there she was....   
    continued in parts 2 and 3.

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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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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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Ravenous Wind

Resurrected tomb inspected but all that was left was a purple covenant torn and tattered
Next to this covenant of wet tears and blood was a letter evidently from his Mother Mary
This letter read:  I am sorry, I could not die with you and I know you will see me when the time is right
in the dark when it is neither day nor night.  I wrote this letter when you were a little boy to prepare for the worst because I love you so.
I hope when you rise you will realize my intentions were kind and true unto you and even the world to come, please see me before Revelations unveils your true majesty's will
On Easter Sunday a time between day and both night he rose out of sleep and read these words aloud that was laid on top of his heart.
 As you know his mother gave him strength more miraculous than any superhero or muscular man,
and when he read his Mother's Will to him a breath of
ravenous wind blew into him from every direction, it was a wind so heavenly like all the angels were calling upon him in a naturist way.
After the wind filled him with everlasting life he sighed and said to God
I died for all sins on earth; men will fear me now more than back then.
He took his tattered robe and clenched onto the dice thrown at his cross.
He rolled them before exiting the tomb and both of them landed as 1 and 3 next to each other.
13 spiritual healing prayers thereafter Mary was visited by his son Jesus.
A ravenous wind stirred up again on New Year's Eve 11:47 13 minutes before 2013.
Who is Praying Now? Then the whole world looked up at the stars in awe and said "Holy Cow!"

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Living on the Edge

“Wow, life”! 

Always in the proper order organized and determined to stay intact.
Step by step rules with regulations and all judged with such strict order.
And all of this is what’s focused on me?
My, My! What a revelation in front of me a definite soul searching moment indeed.
Walking the plank I can see death before my eyes and visions with just way too many lacks.
I step further in to grasp this concept presented so directly in front of me.
Ha! A life with nothing but clearly lots of undistinguished metaphors!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but it encourages the will in me to succeed!


Ruled by the throne of ethical, morals, and values,
Condensed all into one challenging the best of my integrity!
Step by step an opinion is drawn or the matter disregarded at hand, 
And all of this challenged by me!
My, My! What visions are in front of me a time to expect the unexpected my constant need! 
Playing Russian roulette with a loaded gun, firm and adamant I maintain all of my dignity.
Pushing further for results to stimulate an aura I capture a much higher demand!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but it examines these laws that strive so hard to be!

“Wow, life”! 

Expectations meant for perfection encourage the best of me over and over again.
Step by step blueprints are calculated, analyzed and specified by the finest details.
And all of this is what’s focused on me?
My, My! What examples are set before me a moment to test my own integrity!
Sink or swim? A desperate moment I recognize and exemplify as purely sublime.
Getting closer and closer to the seed itself the core is mine to unravel and reveal!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but it’s argumentative from all that I can see.


A yes or a no, but never a maybe and all before my time so it seems!
Step by step a path has been laid before me all engraved in gold or stone.
Most definitely a challenge for my authenticity!
My, my what a grip on me, a chance to acknowledge what it is that I believe?
Suffocated by these laws that be, I’m caught in the rapture of my finest dreams.
I step further in to grasp the concept presented so proudly before me,
A challenge I care to defy on the Royal Throne!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but I know what I believe and I truly believe in what’s in the best of me,
And that my friend is strictly my authenticity!

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Take it all back

Sometimes the world just takes its toll.
The pieces remaining are parts of my soul.
I can’t see all I have only what it is I lack.
This becomes the time to take it all back.

My mind does wander as I dream a lot.
Looking for something but not what I got.
Sometimes the train just goes off the track.
This becomes the time to take it all back.

The night grows darker it’s harder to see.
The moon and stars are a beacon to me.
They glisten and sparkle on waters below.
The way to the light they seem to show.

I toss and I turn  I am unable to sleep.
The still water ahead has gotten too deep.
The granite on the façade starts to crack.
This becomes the time to take it all back.

Time keeps going it shall leave you behind.
Always a constant that burdens my mind.
Even the gray seems to fade into black.
This becomes the time to take it all back.

Some days appear to better than others.
The walls close in my spirit it smothers.
I seem to fall back in my race with the pack.
This becomes the time to take it all back.

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Southern Lie or Quest

To the west, or is it south they see.
Nay not, the west is the journey forward.
Southern views, latent with melody,
Journey now to the south and onward,
Eyes of red described in fright by day.
Eyes of red seen by one, at dawns break.
One that muses about disheartened display.
Disguised by mind tricks upon a wake,
She looked into the eyes of red, no form.
Not awakened by any sound or storm,
Shall this entity develop from only mind?
Dragged unto the sweltering still gaze,
What dimensions will continue to unbind.
Shall the horror take hold as it plays?
My tale may be real or just a lie.
You will decide what you believe.
Southward she still gazes as to comply,
Or is it in hopes of a tempered reprieve.

Upon the next eve, another rendition appeared.
Movement this time gazing softly to see,
Closely watching, feeling nothing - nothing feared.
Darkness has not complied, yet to any degree.
Misty light lies solemnly, playing these lies.
Performing a destiny of beyond our despair,
She sits soberly, gazing without any cries.
I stand waiting, guarding the way; I stare.
What illusion glares, or is it becoming real.
To her and me out of complexity or faith,
What shall be the answer of this time surreal?
Shall it be that a prophecy has begun its wrath?
They say the Moth man brings about casualties.
Would we be seeing sudden future fatalities?

Our eyes and mind play tricks upon what we see.
You decide if what we saw was evil or just a guest.
That our minds so overtaken by mere history.
Or are we all to be set upon, by a mysterious quest.

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The Art of Living Part Three

Everyone was crying except for me, I couldn’t cry. I didn’t understand the full extent of the situation. The doctor comes out of the room and tells us that Helen is gone. Immediately I hear Renee saying “Grannies dead”. She cried, and after that everyone did. Mom asked if I wanted to see Helen one last time. I didn’t want see Helen blue and cold, I didn’t want to see her not breathing or moving. I wanted to see her alive, talking, and laughing like she usually does. Helen was a very bright person. When you were sad she would be there to cheer you up. I remember when Helen let me go up to the third floor of the blue house; we found records and cassette tapes. Helen let us have them; I remember they were Beatles records and Neil Young cassette tapes. She also let us have blankets and books on history. I would never give those records away.It was time to leave the hospital. I regretted not seeing Helen, I didn’t know if I would see her again because I wouldn’t be able to make it through the funeral service. I mourned the loss of her and I still do, so I will do anything I can to get this guilt out. I thought about the weekend again and how I could have waited one more hour till she got home so I could see her, but I left. Grandma Sandy said Helen was happy because she got to see her grandchildren wrestle. That Monday Helen was supposed to have a meeting about her will, but she changed it to a different day because she didn’t feel good. She scheduled it for the following Thursday, the day of her funeral. A lot of times I hear her voice and I see her face. I don’t know if it’s because I’m seeing things or if I’m hearing things. I think about her all the time, trying to keep her alive in my memory. I think of that day when I was sitting on the bus after that Metallica song I listened to the Foo Fighters- Let it Die. The lyrics read “Heart of gold but it lost its pride, Beautiful veins and blood shoot eyes, I’ve seen your face in another light, Why did you have to go and let it die, in too deep and out of time, Hearts gone cold and your hands were tied, why did you have to go and let it die?” It was around the time when Helen was laying on the floor, a few minutes before I heard the news. Sometimes I wonder if she was frustrated because of the way people perceived her, or if she was happy enough about the things she realized about herself that she could tolerate the way people perceived her and for that I think she was able to die in a happy state of mind.

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Such a wonderfully gorgeous occasion 
A time for loved ones to be near 
A time for friends and family 
To gather and witness and cheer 

The church was filled with such joy and bliss 
Not a moment a sound nor a sight to be missed 
As I watched you walk down the isle 
A tear slowly trickled from my eye 

Your beauty enhanced by your brilliant white dress 
An angelic sight I must say 
I could not believe my tear stained eyes 
You simply stole my heart 

The vows that we made came slowly 
As if to last a thousand years 
I take your hand in marriage you take mine the same 
Willing, I give you my heart to keep until my dying day 

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Love Note 2

On the other side of the world laying in the sand
Guns and grenades hanging around his hip
His mind flies back to the image of her riding her steed
What would he have done if he could take back time
Steal a piece only for a moment to declare his love
Letters  he wrote but never sent
Love notes stacked in his drawer
Never to be seen...never for her to see
A regretful moment in time that he could not fix
He knew he would not make it out alive
He knew that his time had run out
The sands of time will devour
Lying on the sand his heart full of regret.
For what he should have been brave enough to do
Send her those love notes that came from the heart.

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Top of the roof

Daddy told us not too, while Mom sourly warned. Though they scolded, loud and clear, we devilishly disobeyed. Up on that roof top, at least 30 feet from ground, carelessly balancing on the shingles, one step, two we were so young, so adventurous, the nights lasted decades, while the stars evaporated fear, they smiled at our virgin eyes, and when a gust of wind would catch our balance, we'd lay under the ratty quilt grandma made. The night sky was so full of life, a serenity in a chaos of lights, forever rotating yet a fulfilling stillness, the kind that cannot be broken Until the day we got caught. Daddy yelled while we ran threw the window, preparing for the worst, hearing Mom's fear in curses, we both sat quietly, reminiscing on that freedom, that longing for serenity. After taking in the fear- we went up to our rooms, and after one tapping on the wall between us, we both met at the window once more.

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The sun shall rise

The sun shall rise a thousand times
Thousands of tears erase all crimes.
Forces of nature carve mountains from stone.
Are we all strong enough only flesh and bones.

In time lies the secret of our souls.
Seeping into cracks and filling holes.
The light shines down revealing to all.
It covers everything both big and small.

Forgiveness rains down from the sky.
On the wings of doves peace shall fly.
The world will join together as one.
The light reveals who we have become.

In the end all time shall stop.
I see across this mountain top.
To the life in the valley below,
Sunlight provides so all shall grow.

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Why me

Of  tall, handsome, rich one
Smart , brave who has it all,
Which every girl dreams of
Who will come on a horse galloping,
And take her along.
He & her both into their own little fairy tale,
Gone with the wind , happily with each other.
All beautiful, wonderful moments spent together.
Love conquers all.
But time being I had no such sweet dreams.
Then why me..??
Even though you were surrounded with all hot chicks ;
All fair and pretty.
Beauty, grace and of good race.
And of loads heavy bundles..
Telling you angel eyes,
You lucky man;have all.
All even those many choco-vanilla swirls,
But then why me?
Is it a game or something...?
Even a mistake.
May be even a bet,
Knowingly or unknowingly,
Want to or  you have to win.
Answer it.
Why all that pain,sorrow again?
Wasn't I happy with myself before?
I to never said no;
Love conquers..may be all....
even me.
But why me?
Why did you choose me?
Or is it a double take?
Like few others...I dont think so
then just going half way.. 
But  you had true feelings for me..
atleast this time for me which were true
Confess it !! will you?
Atleast once in front of me.
Was i attractive? polite?honest?bright?
Or do u have another  new story to tell?
Or is that I am filled with all values your mother needs. 
Then why did u go ? and now u want me to come back again..
No.. now m saying good bye to u now n forever
With my feelings for you  though being true.
But before going, answer 
Why me ?
Answer the truth,at least for once for me.

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When I was young and naive, I joined a company where I thought I would stay...
The stay only lasted two years, as the President turned out to be a crook.
I had, at that time a young whom I had hurt by joining this company against her 
better judgement and who had seen from the first where this would go.
When I got wise and realized that she was right all along, it was too late to save the marriage.

There I was, no wife, no home, no job, $14,000 in debt, and the creditors at the door.  I was 
staying at my mother's house at the time...and being alone one night, I decided to call one of 
the people I used to work with.  He wasn't home, but I spoke to his wife.  She had been one 
of our secretaries, and I knew her as well.  As we spoke of things going on, and the things 
past, she interupted me in mid sentence.  "Dan, don't do It!"    "Do what?", I asked.    "I know 
what you're thinking, and it's not worth it."  She then proceeded to tell me how she would not 
be alive if someone had not found her after she tried to commit suicide after her first 
divorce.  "So, don't do it!"  It was like being hit in the face with cold water!

After hanging up the phone, I realized that she had heard something in my voice to spark 
her comment, and I would have killed myself that night had it not been for her.  I tried to 
sleep, but to no avail.  I decided to go to see an old friend whom I had worked with when I 
was a youngster.  He drove a bread truck, and I used to help him with deliveries.  When I 
saw him I told him that I had nowhere else to go, and didn't know who else to talk to.  
Without hesitation he said, "How much do you need...1,000, 2,000...5,000?"   "No, I just want 
to borrow a few hundred dollars to keep the creditors at bay until I can get myself a job."  
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a roll of bills, handed me $200 and said, "Call me 
tomorrow!"  A second dose of that cold water.

When I called the next day, he had gotten me a job driving one of the bread trucks.  I 
worked for almost a year at that job, paying off most of the creditors in that time.  And 
every time that I wanted to give back the $200 he would say, "Put it in your pocket, you need 
it more than I do".   

That was long ago and seems like a different lifetime.  Yet, I still remember vividly those two 
angels who helped me to still be here to write this for you.  Yes, I was a real lemon...They 
made me into lemonade which can't thank them enough!

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Staten Island Ferry

There's a huge crowd
with alacrity,
with variety,
movements continue.

across cultures
vary in shapes and forms
it's an experience,
worth knowing.

along with conversations
comes another impression
languages stand to reason
like a soul - the beauty of one's culture.

expressions and reactions
among these people
interesting to watch,
a piece of literature.

young and old alike
show each own picture
either a facial expression
or in speech form.

the cool breeze from the island
soothes the body temperature
like a whispering note
provides an inspiration.

a time to dock now
a time to get ready,
a time to say thanks
and say welcome to Staten Island.

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The Sound of Peace

The sound of peace
Like a waterfall
Whispers in your ear
Like a sea breeze
Lay your head upon my shoulder
And rest
Your time will come when you can sleep
You will hear the sound of peace
Like a waterfall while you sleep
Whispers in your ear
Like a sea breeze
And  when you close your eyes
You will see the light
The light will guide you
To the sound of peace
Like a waterfall
Whispers in your ear
Like a sea breeze
Lay your head upon my shoulder
And rest
Your time will come when you can sleep
And feel eternity
Oh so sweet
g. Goodwin 5/07

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In the morning
when the sun flash its first coysmile
behind the parting curtains of a sleepy sky
it rouse the world from harried slumber 
to the roar of monstrous machines 
and crawling cabs on congested streets
honking,hooting,swearing and sweating

At midmorning
its a floating disc;a kaleidoscope 
of pressurized breath and hooded brows
of grumbling bowel and galling juice
of idle hand and furious fists
of infernal fingers perpetually planted in public till
of sodden spirirtin fearful breasts
and mumified citizens in merciless cities

In the evening
a dying yolk knocking feebly on western door
shorn of blistering breath and scorching strength
trudging relentlessly with burdensome dreams
quietly,golden head rests in western grave

At night
a monarch ressurects with 
a retinue of chandelier stars and energetic drummers 
on the throne of a sombre sky
seething with ghosts of decayed dreams 
waiting impatiently for the birth of 
 a promising dawn            
                                     dejon 5.45am

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It is there when all is silent and quiet.
With sugar plums and misled toes dancing in thoughts.
Most time you can see the snow fall as kids play about.
As it is winter time and Christmas is hear again.
And it’s peace and giving again.

But do we always give thanks?
Or is it just during certain times of the year.
But do we truly remember the day!
The day when Christ our Savoir was born.
It was that of a Christmas day.

When Mary gave birth and gifts come from far and beyond.
For this day, there was a new King that had been born.
That all gave glory before Christmas was destroyed.
For there in his heart he gave Jesus unto us to rein.
That in the days at hand, we would know the true love.
And in our hearts he would rein.

It was there somewhere far beyond.
That Christmas is known as king of the year.
For it is there to which a new year rings in.
For there I say Merry Christmas and God Bless my friend.

Hope you think of the real meaning of Christmas this year..
To always be thankful through out the year.
For each day is a blessing just to breathe.
But each day was about giving and caring about the one of no name.
That in your heart, you find a love of that Christmas day.

As you find the spirit of kindness everyday.
May you share a joy of it to the passer by...?
That the spirit of Christmas lives and never dies.
That each day will be in Christ our King.
And In your heart, he will always rein
And that is a true Christmas Day!

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tension in the muscles
where the strain takes place
places where the sweat
where the sweat accumulates 
deep breathing
heavy lifting
escaping only in ones mind
making my way carefully
far from this space

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Can You Hear Me?

I am screaming your name,
But you’re not listening.
Instead you stand there glistening.
But I can’t feel the same.
I can feel you with me,
But I can not believe.
Remember that I came!
To you I say can you hear me?
You see me when I look at you.
But your eyes are not open.
You see what will come in.
But you are lost without a clue.
You feel alive touched by me.
But you will never set yourself free!
Remember that I came once again!
I say to you, can you hear me?

I see you do this.
But it’s not you.
I see what you go through.
But you hold what you miss.
You are not with me.
But I can never agree,
Remember my bliss!
To you I say can you hear me?
You are calling my name.
But I can not hear you.
You see that I already knew.
But I am still the same.
You can not see me.
But you hold onto your dream!
Remember that I came!
I say to you, can you hear me crying “’Tis shame”?

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A Friendly Exoneration

Twinkly bunch with loaded school bags
Ambition injustice and itching their backs,
Cunning those faces in front of the gate
Heedful pupils well-chosen apparently late.  
A fistful primary breeziness
Shared with smiles, tears and silliness,
Together they brawled, together they fiddled
At times they often complained to be differentiated.
Kiddo little minds and parents appeared unjustified
They cried, they blamed and they lazed,
Loaded by books and rat raced tutelage
They pass by a very dignified teen-age. 

Out from the custody of cynosure
Together they stepped towards Lyceum liberty,
Few were classed and few remained united
The formers became edified and rests were unidentified.
A masked – small compliments and the evening aloha
The river side sunset appeared to be ambiguous –
A fiesta time boogie and the overnight cockeyed
At times such occasions made them to blab out their twinkly time.
Grown up as buddies and with time they rationalized
Affairs, status and outlook made them more gratified,
Traits made them parted and one cried in solitary
The formers humiliated the frailer and the frailer remained solely. 

Lost in their computations, explores and technological justifications
Few carried out degree uprightly and few were abased shamefully,
Bucketed with knowledge, numbers, meetings and self-worth
They neglected those twinkly smiles who were grown up with assorted life.
Few became responsible and few got hold of ménage
Few were invited and rests seemed out of the sight.
Hearsays few get together known to be friendly trinity
Yet there also they lived with different hierarchy. 
Left away life they sacrificed the age of assorted life
One who lived with it can now front the barbarous life. 
They lost themselves to their twinkly buddies’ mobilization
Upcoming in their lives they will surly come by friendly exoneration. 

Dated: 18/01/2010

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The Man Who Tried

A man leaps from a tower’s edge
And plummets to the street;
His eyes are closed as he descends;
It’s such a daring feat!

He’s been in training all his life
For such a time as this;
He couldn’t even start to think
That maybe he might miss.

“I’ve worked too hard to give up now;
It’s either fly or die.
If I don’t make it here and now,
At least I made a try.”

He sees the sun begin to break
Into its morning light,
Exploding all throughout the sky
To dissipate the night.

“It’s such a pretty sight to see,
And maybe it’s a sign;
‘Cause if the sun is coming out,
Then maybe I can shine.”

He then begins to clench his fists,
And pull his arms inside;
And then he starts to invocate
And all his fears subside.

“So, this is it; the time has come,”
He mumbles in his breath;
“If I don’t make it here and now,
Then I’ll encounter death.”

He feels his back begin to tear
And rip along the spine;
It sparks a pain that no one else
On Earth could e’er define.

His fists are tightened harder now
As he begins to scream;
But as the blood is dripping down,
He forms a set of wings.

The wingspan reaches far enough
To stop him in the air;
The pristine feathers radiate
An incandescent flare.

A smile begins to formulate
As he begins to fly;
And all it took was willingness
To just give it a try.

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My Hiding Place

I thought I was smart to tell you,
to show you my ways.

My inner thinking,
my heart.

Yet you didn't fully understand me,
and I knew it.

I tried to move past it,
knowing you knew my secret place.

Where I write and dare
dream of the things I desire.

I tried to mask myself again,
removing myself from your presence.

To vent openly and freely,
to be honest again.

I hid myself for reasons,
not just to hide things from you.

To prevent you from being hurt,
from the words I write.

Still you sought me out,
still you wanted to see my thoughts.

Where can I go?
How can I write where you can see?

How can I remain hidden?
I need a new hiding place.

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Rust In Peace

Abandoned and forgotten 
left to rust 
no longer valued 
no longer cherished 
not much to look at 
well, not anymore 
just a bunch of old nuts and bolts 
piled up on the floor 

Once so full of life 
a true sight to be seen 
oh… such strength, such power 
all polished and gleaming 

Intelligence unmatched 
I filled them with pride 
from entertainment to security 
I was there to provide 

Paid the bills, did their taxes 
walked the dog, washed the cars 
I could calculate the distance 
from here on earth to mars 

School work and parties 
played games, performed plays 
full of laughter and fun 
oh…those were the days 

But nothing last forever 
or so that’s what they say 
nothing but maybe memories 
and even they will eventually fade 

So as the minutes turned to months 
then on to years 
it all seemed so fast 
like the spinning of gears 

Seasons changed 
as time too quickly ticked by 
my family they grew older 
and then eventually all died 
moving on to a place 
I’m never to follow 
not just buried in the ground 
but somewhere more hallowed 

And here I am left 
all by myself, completely alone 
in a quiet too quiet 
as darkness descends 
no one around to wind me 
power wound down long ago 
here I sit and stare blankly 
with not a soul…not a sound 

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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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In grey

As I stood in the doorway,
I thought my life a blissful grey.

All the feelings I possessed
dangling on display.

Gathered in one sentence
held tender in my hand.

I need a lover
a man.

Table was grey
waiter taking pay
Flowers were so pink
I could not think.

I just sood there
the music in my eyes,
No words to say
no lies.

To see if he would hold me
or flee.

To confess his love
or me mine
a time
in total grey.

R. Risley

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The Diary Of Lord Kellington (17)

Being that I am a philosophical being.  I find myself pondering many unique thoughts, 
as I sit and stare off at the night time sky.

Earlier, I dined upon a sweet, young flower seller, down at the Square.  She wore a 
shawl about her shoulders ,that were stooping too soon on someone so young.  As 
though the weight of all her thoughts, rested upon her delicate shoulders.  Well, she 
has no need to worry now.  After I sampled her blood, I slipped a thousand Pounds 
into her skirt pocket.  It always does good for a shepard to tend his flock.  

Ah yes!  Pondering thoughts.

I wonder what would happen, if  were to awake to be mortal once more?
What if I were to conceive an allergy to blood?
Maybe I should allow myself to fancy myself in love and marry?
What if I were to enter a church in all my monstrous glory?  What fun!
Or, what if I was no longer welcomed by Polite Society?
What if my tailor quit!?
Or say, if I were to reach out to you, the reader of my night time missives, right now.  
Grab you 'bout the throat and drink deep?  Ha!

But, what nonsense I ponder and write of.
For I will always be welcomed among Polite Society.  I am far too charming not to be.
My tailor, although routinely vexed with me for the late night hours I employ his 
services, would never quit me.  I pay his exorbinate fees without qualms.
The rest of my meanderings. Ha!  I fear not a one.

But, the mere thought of Crystal having kittens herself....GADS!

~Lord Kellington

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10 pieces of silver: a treasure restored or Stella had a house party

alienated and separated has become society
disenfranchised and distant are now the state of families
all of those systems designed to make us feel connected
have fallen short and now we feel rejected
we're just a bunch of numbers and no one even knows our names
we're just a group of digits and that's a darn shame
but we're more than pieces of silver for we do have hearts
for we are the blessed children of the Lord Of Lords, Our God
and it's only in the church where we've kept our sanity
for out in the world it's just total anarchy
we're more than just objects to be used and misused
we're more than just bodies who by our bosses are being abused

dehumanized and desensitized is how we've been treated by the status quo
but we are treasures in the eyes of the God we all love and know
God loves us and it's time we loved ourselves
Jesus loves us and died to give us an eternal wealth
yet people are more concerned with amassing monetary hordes
no compassion for each other and no love for the Lord
we need to seek the word of God with a desire to be changed
for now is the time for our spirits to be rearranged

no longer to take each other for granted but to treat each other with respect
to see ourselves as more than pieces of silver as more than just objects
to be like that woman who lost her coin and diligently searched until it was traced
and then to rejoice upon finding it for her treasure was now fully replaced
to diligently seek the treasure that is the word of God
and then to apply it directly to our hearts
to comprehend the true value of our fellow sisters and brothers
and come to understand that we need to treasure one another
for at some point in life you will need someone's support
for life is like a basketball game you need a team on the court

10 pieces of silver, Stella had a house party
a single coin restored, a parable about rediscovery
for whatever it is in life that you feel that you have lost
just take it to Jesus and lay it on the cross
let Jesus restore it, let your treasure be refound
let God reform you and place you on higher ground
to look high and look low for that which has been misplaced
to seek that treasure of the spirit, God's saving grace
and once it's restored to rejoice and celebrate
Stella had a house party upon the restoration of her faith

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Steeped in memories

I can still visualize my hometown in Gumaca, Quezon 
both in my mind and in my heart, with vivid mem’ries
rich with natural resources, the place where I was born
source of my childhood, a passage to my changing self.

It’s like a landscape of my continuing inspiration
a connecting link to my goal, the beginning of my calling.
our neighborhood and other activities at the main población
reminds me of those people who really care for their neighbors.

Their echoes of pain, hopelessness and other complaints
motivates me to keep going, follow that path that leads to God;
being called to serve Him with his influential voice within me
I can see and feel what they need with compelling movements.
people’s endless dream to grow and make a difference anyway,
becomes my own struggle, my own wish to blend in situations;
providing me with a new language that shapes me with freedom.

It resonates with profundity and claims its meaning to everyone,
those customs and traditions, popular religiosity and occupations,
they’re Filipino treasures with labyrinthine ways to articulate them
indeed, they draw people in as they take part in varioius gatherings.

Mem’ries of the past, a treasure trove of what life is all about;
being in my own homeland I can feel that I’ve my own freedom.
where I was, I grew up with friends, siblings, and other loved ones;
sometimes a challenge but characterized with so much wisdom.

Realities at hard times, economy with shortage in many banks
they’re key figures in preparation for what church says and suggests
Potuit, decuit ergo feut,  and I remember that with real gratitude
deep within my heart I see myself then with thanks and blessing.

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Bad Daddy

No more daddy I shouted every time I saw your shadow.
Don't kiss me or touch me, no more beating with the paddles.
I can't stand the pain, why does it hurt me so bad?
Why do you abuse me, you're suppose to be my dad!
The night time falls, it's the worst time of the day.
Daddy leave me alone, please just go away.
I'm just a little girl, have not experience womanhood.
Can't enjoy my first time or enjoy the things that I should.
You should have loved and protected me and kept me from harm.
Instead you held and caressed me with those evil arms.
You stripped away my self-esteem, my beauty there is none.
I just hold still and pretend I'm dead until you are done.
This sad little girl growing up never knowing if true love can really be.
Relationships with different men, having sex because they say they love me.
My mind is confused, my goals have been scattered, my heart broken into pieces like glass that's been shattered. 
Can't turn back the hands of time and undo whats been done.
Never hearing a forgive no not one.
I'll try to forgive you, but I know i won't ever forget, reliving these moments makes me break out in a cold sweat.

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Saw you walking down the street one day
and I could see you're very happy.
But your time is about to end now
‘cause I've got you, babe,
got you under my feet.

You used to tell all your friends how you
always got me chained around you.
But this time ain't the right time
‘cause I've got you, babe,
got you with me to bed.

Ever wondered how 
you treated me mean and cruel?
But the past is past, babe, and now is my time.

How does it feel to be crying, babe,
with all those tears in your eyes?
You look so miserable,
you're acting like a fool,
I don't love you anymore.

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Friends Are Our Rainbows

I think of you often,
with your distant smile,
forever my friend,
with your beautiful style.

Your message of love,
comes from a call,
be strong my friend,
keep your spirit tall.

So gentle you speak,
lifting your head to the sky,
giving all the glory,
to Jesus on high.

Friends can comfort,
although separated by miles,
knowing what to say,
God's gift to His child.

Always ready,
you listen, and care,
no matter the time,
you are always there.

Right by my side,
your presence is near,
with your gentleness,
I cherish so dear.

Friends are our rainbows on a cloudy day...
This poem was written for my sister-in-law
and beautiful friend, Marie Prance.

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The Angel In My Heart

                                       To my mother who had a kind soul.
                                    To grow up and be like you was my goal.

                                           You were so kind to all you met.

                                            A trait I haven't conquered yet.

                                            Some day I hope to be like you.

                                          Trying to master the things you'd do.

                                          I know you're up there looking down.

                                         I hope I'm not here making you frown.

                                   You've been gone from here for twenty six years.

                                      And even though I've shed my share of tears.

                                            In that short time you spent on earth.

                                           You showed how much one life is worth.

                                              I treasure the time I spent with you.

                                                 My love for you was always true.

                                          The fondest memories I know we've shared.

                                          You always showed me how much you cared.

                                                   I know your life now is supreme.

                                                  We'll meet again in my next dream.

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Hearth And Flame A Memoir

.     The orange and gold leaves are falling, days are shortening, a little more 
The chill in the air and brisk wind tells us to prepare for the cold. Daddy makes 
children gather the firewood onto the porch from the wood shed. Brother makes us 
enough for the week so we don't have to get the wood in again till the next week. 
splinters are the worse part of carrying wood to the house, spending time with my 
Robbie, is the best. Robbie is four years older than me, and much wiser, secretly he 
is my 
hero, though I would never tell him that piece of information; he would use it against 
me and 
his ego is already big enough!
    First thing each morning, we all gather around the fire after our parents get it 
burning; rooting in like hogs to the teat to get the middle spot. The middle spot gets 
heat on 
three sides, and also was the center of attention. As the flames rose and kissed our 
a rosy hue, it was then that we had to turn to our back side to prevent permanent, 
scorching to the face and clothes. Little times in life, such as these,
stand out to me as I get older, and make my memories sweeter. The people who 
loved me, 
not the accomplishments in my job nor my talents, warm my memories today.  
     The heat source was really important in our home, as you can see, in more ways 
than one; the heat we all seek and need for survival, but also a camaraderie 
between siblings watching the burning logs and seeking warmth. My eyes saw the 
flames, tall 
and short, red and yellow. Charcoal embers radiate the red glow, as they become 
ashes that 
are poured out on the ground, which was also a chore of the children, with much 
and complaining...
     Today I stand by the hearth with my new family, watching the embers turn the 
black then red and into grey ash dust. I feel the warmth and remember my childhood; 
it is a 
fond memory. The heat is needed and welcome on aching joints. The flame grows 
higher and 
becomes alive before my eyes, dancing. I remember a bush that was not consumed 
by the 
fire. This wood is being consumed slowly before my eyes. Memories are alive like the 
memories become written stories to pass the time and keep my sweet memories 
alive in time.

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What is Time?

What is time?

Is there time  Is time perhaps in the wind?  casually in the wind?
Time passes by, time slips away
Time is in our hands, only to fly into the distance
If time flies by, at what speed does time fly
The speed of sound, of light?
People spend time. Can a price tag be put on time?
If I take time, does time become mine?
When I am given time. Do I spend it wisely?
What can I buy with time? Something I can see?
For I cannot see time. Can You?
Time is measured, accurately? No! I don't. Do you?
Is aging time? Do we often become afraid of time
Seeing people dear to us pass on
Does time stop for souls passed?
I have heard there is no time in Heaven
Infinity! Can time be greater than INFINITY!!
Does time go on and on, forever and ever?
Not ending. Even though we may or may not 
Accept that one day for us time will be over
So if there is no time in Heaven, 
So when our time is over here
And our time has come to a stop
Why do we worry about time 
If time for God is all we need
Keep the faith and earthly time will pass
For me I think I will give God my time
For whenI reach the pearly gates
And St. Peter lets me in.
I know God will have time for me
For with God time is eternity

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Mind Travel

This is a journey of the mind That travels through infinity For all the thoughts left behind Are needed for the last extremity Time is like a winding tunnel A vibrant flexuous underpass That is elaborately exceptional For the mind that’ll grasp it Your inner soul is a passenger Looking for its purpose The literate mind surrenders And knowledge becomes a must Where is my destination How far can time reach There is no specific direction For only time can teach This is a continuous journey With no beginning or end You seem to travel indefinitely And never reach the door that is opened This is the travel of the mind Though it appears to be far away And ahead of you at all times You find yourself understanding each day This is a tremendous perplexity For which we try to escape By hiding parts of our reality We never find a break Those who sit and concentrate Their mind is traveling far There is a feeling you just can’t wait To find out where you are As I write of the mind I know there’s no completion This is a test that I find To be of diversification Florence McMillian (Flo)

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        Way back in year 1997 -
When curiosity seeks for answers
      When everything seems like a GAME
  When our BACKYARD be my Rendezvous...
           I'm still young in that very year
         Aged 4 - time for " playfulness " 
    There at the yard, grass nestled the loam soil
         Flowers blossom with a smile glimpsing on the golden daystar
               Birds sing with a lullaby together with the gust of the breeze
           Trees extinctly growing here in Philippines, seen
      -  I don't even know their English translation
            But it's not the point here. . .
       Once, oh that's not just once
           I think it's already my fifth time to be hurt
        Not by love - still very young for it.
             But by my own thing - being so CLUMSY
                             Playing hide-and-seek -
               Concealing in the Man-height Aromas
            Pretending not to be seen by anyone
        But that's for IMPOSSIBILITY..
              I've seen - and I ran from the place where I hid
                   To the Home Base to save myself
              But a 4-inched nail penetrate deep in my sole - feet
                     It felt like I'm dying in my very young age
                 Feeling of pain embraced me - seeking for a RELIEF...
            Like going Melted... Decaying - It really hurt a lot
                   Weeks passed by - 18 days to be exact
             Nothing heals my wound - except for my GRAND DAD'S HEALING OIL...
                              He's gone now, but the healing oil that keeps me alive
                Never been emptied in my HEART...
                                        Giving my second LIFE ---- ALMOST!



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I love big Oak trees with strong trunks,
I watched them at night from my upper bunk,
Tall Elm trees with leaves so green-
It was comforting, at night, just to sit and dream.

I loved those trees that grew in our yard-
I would play in and around them until I grew tired-
Sometimes I would sit under one and let the wind blow-
It would tickle my neck and cool my hot toes.

I was just a kid then, no worries or cares-
Just being natural- sometimes taking a dare-
Or I'd go out in the pasture looking for bears,
But all I found were two old mares.

Those trees still stood as I grew up-
The Maple tree would seem to
 offer me a cup
Of her delicious, Maple syrup
To put in coffee or tea while we watched the Cougars
               on TV.

Now I am old, but the trees are still there,
Now I have to sit under them in a rocking chair-
No more climbing or running around,
I just listen to the wind making whistling sounds.

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How I Feel About You

My days go by, you're not here with me!
My nights go by, I loose sleep, you're not there to hold me.
In my dreams you are there to let me know you want to be with me.
I cry and I cry to show that I miss you.
I wish you didn't go,just so that we could spend more time together.
You're my beautiful girl as i am to you.
One day we shall never let another go.This little bit of time that we have been together
my life has changed for the best.
My words cannot show how my feelings are to you
but deep down inside I think I love you

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Flip Aside

Every thing was quiet and peaceful
Before that crashing day
A planet burst and left a space
For life to form and play
We  gained a moon 
That pulled in tune
With tide and winds and weather
Then thunder rolled
As lightning tolled
A spark of life to grow
That grew and changed
and rearranged
The world to fit her tether

There’s them that fly
and them that die
and them that float
and sink
And after maybe half a while
Or maybe past a wink
In all the time it took to pile
The explosion stopped to blink
And someone stopped to think
Progress ran her down
At once
Let’s have another

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Time marches on

Time marches on as the sun begins to set
I see what I want and what I did get
It seems that the minutes turn into hours
The day becomes what time devours.

The colors across the sky are quite inspiring 
As I take a seat I think of retiring
The days are so full and go by so fast
The first one seems to blend into the last.

I don’t always accomplish all that I try
Still time races another day has gone by
I guess tomorrow I shall try once again
Maybe this time with the help from a friend.

I try to sit down and take it slow
But I always wonder where the time goes
If I only had a little more time
The hands keep on spinning the clock unwinds.

I try not to put anything off until tomorrow
I put a down payment on what I had borrowed
Sometimes you may not get a second chance
It all may disappear in a single glance.

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five sec in my life

just like any other day, going to the market, mom, me, and my brother my life.
talking with my mother as i notice the armored car, i saw a guard go in no cross in 
my mind anything could go wrong.
got off the truck. my brother behind me like always no big deal, first to go in the 
store were me and my mom as the gaurd past by us with 3 bags of money in a dolly 
i cared less but two seconds later.
"move away now" those words hit me hard it triggerd a nerve, blood boiled ready 
for a fight, rage, anger it all got collect so fast when i turned back and saw the 
rookie guard reaching for his gun and my little brother standing in front of him.
first sec, where were the cameras, how far was the armored truck who else was 
around, wht was around me.
second sec, i was faster and stronger than tht guard i could easyly take him down if 
i got next to him, i could run rush him n smash him against the candy stands.
thrid sec, i rush him he pulls the gun i smash him in the candy stand take the gun 
and shoot him down for even trying to reach for a gun at my brother.
fourth sec, run at him and just beat the crap out of him intill i got pulled off.
fifth sec, how would i explain my action, self defense? i just was trying to protect my 
brother i just got blinded with fear of my brother? i thought of so many things to say 
for my action for wht, i was going.
"move away" he said it in a lower voice and my brother just stepped aside,
i dont know becuase he lowered his voice, tht safed him from me taking action, what 
if would of yelled it again? would of i taken action?
thats something i think about because when it has come to my brother i care, i 
protect him with all my might n yes my life. but i always have tht question in my 
head  "wht if".

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The blind man waited, 
at the intersection, for someone
to help him cross the busy boulevard...
and he was accustomed to live in twilight,
fumbling for a hand on his right;
and he finally found mine!

Judge humanly...not pettily,
you could be in that situation 
and feel abandoned and helpless,
unless somebody extends compassion
and lends that hand in time of need;
only human love can render a good deed!

The orphan girl recognizes a greed so mundane,
her body has grown, so has her world's view;
that person who abandoned her at the orphanage
when icy rain pelted against the foggy windows,
was her own mother that refused to knock on the front door!
She still feels unwanted, unloved and rejected by who,
for some shameful reason, dropped her off and was gone
into the dreary autumn's night to forget her despair!

Judge the pain...not the circumstance
that impels a misguided heart to err;
beneath an appearance of denial,
there's a certain humanity we can't conceive,
and what prompts us to act in unreasonable and strange ways,
is still not quite understood by all;
all we can perceive is the guilt we can't bear,
and the resentful restlessness which shortens this very existence!

The elderly woman, sitting in an old wheel-chair,
waits at the traffic light as the whisking wind
brushes her frizzy and gray hair;
the sunken-cheeked lady is the regular beggar,
whose life has never been mellow,
but full of tragedy and sorrow!
Her frail voice is not insincere, but thankful and kind... 
when I hand her a dollar out of my car's window!

Judge fairly... that could be you standing there,
or someone you love;  fate can be changed if we dare...
we assert truths without clarity and condemn unjustly!
Let's take the mendicant's place, at the same corner, and beg all day;
wouldn't we be humiliated, be scorned or even be ignored
by the glances of passerby that regard us not as their friend?

The run-away teenager with lots of make-up,
looks like a madam out of a brothel,
who tries to hide her identical age by smiling at strangers...
and her trade is that of an inexperienced gal,
unprotected and exposed to many dangers;
and it might cost her life...that's already a living hell!     

Judge not too harshly...when facts aren't known,
and the only assumption rests with our pity;
along the side of the street there are many eyes that weep,
eager to return home, to a home that was so warm and cozy!
And the lucky ones will make until dawn,
others will not open their eyes, but eternally sleep!


The blind man with a steel cane  stooped and waited
for someone to help him across the busy boulevard;
he felt warm sunlight, and wished his sight back without living in darkness,    
then he saw a glimpse of that light when he was touched by my kindness.   
The orphan girl wants to escape, but she is afraid to venture in the outside world
still feeling unwanted, unloved and shivering unable to shield herself from the cold.   
On many rainy nights, she sits by her barred window recalling her frail mom fleeing 
into the Autumn dreary night, and inside she longs for caresses to begin the  healing.
Another teenager, hustles in the dangerous streets of night...she barely 
can walk on high heels, but she endures pain for gain;
her home was blessed with good parents, but she rebelled and ran away... 
she has no choice but sell her body...what will she attain?  
Lend a hand to anyone in time of need,
only human love renders a good deed;
How can we help abandoned babies and run-away
and get rid of all the plagues of our day that infest society?

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Is someday here?

I guess maybe someday is here.
   The day we all dread and some of us fear.
Isn’t it funny how sudden it came.
   You know the end, the end of the game.
We live as if tomorrow will never appear.
   Think again, I think tomorrow is already here.
Where did all the time really go.
   It’s just gone, that’s all I know.
A blink of an eye, a soft spoken sigh. 
   Wouldn’t it have been nice, had we just said goodbye.
But now it’s too late.
   You see time just won’t wait.
So if you’re still reading this. 
   It wouldn’t hurt to give your loved ones a kiss.
Think about it you just never know.
   Something we all must do, somewhere we all must go. 

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The Man, With A Pen

The man, with a pen in the pocket of his 
suit of yesterday and today, that has chosen a place 
in a rocky shoreline, sits contently, waiting 
for the orb to settle down a smile from which words 
of mystic sea whirl, enjoying the summer wind.

The man, with a pen in the pocket of his 
suit of yesterday and today, feels rejuvenated 
from the touch 
of those lips, etched in a photograph. Ah, memories
good or bad, are always permanent!

The mountains and the seas tilt nigher 
to the orb, who has selflessly warmed him with 
eyes blinking from heaven to earth 
and has felt the gentle ripples of tares and the whir 
of transient birds gliding, in jovial mood, in the air. 

The orb declaims a lovely poem, while endless sky 
guesses if it should please his aged mind and a pen adhering 
to a note pad. A man, with a pen in the pocket of his suit 
of yesterday and today, that will  
boredom less enjoy the evening graces whilst she’s away.


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From the parting pages of shakespare

Long i left
this room of rhymes.
Where poetry is our pen.
Price-tool, priceless
line full of ink line-chess.
where lord, nobles and kinks
read of the rhymes we bring.
Where the table is set of writers zest.

The rebirth is the spring 
of an offspring.
Better i don't swear and loss my hair.
Better i don't hide and stand half 
Like Adam  in Eden.
That i know is true
and i grow is a growth.
That i flow in my soul
makes me born anew.
Oh! weary soul put in a shoe.

Summer sink and sang
me once before i die.
lies are ever waiting.
Stories ever telling
Music ever sung.
A new one is born.
Poet are call to write.
News in the sky.
One sky to birth
For the rebirth is ours to write.
If i fail let my pen write me lie.

Killing, killing my limping lamp.
hurry staggered by a fairy wand.
pregnant still in moon light waves.
sparkling in sun-light waves.
Be quiet if thy lips ruined by teeth 
is blue and shining.
Trimming to tales, the rebirth told.
O' morning grave shall bury youth.

Old pages, weak and dusty.
Can you keep my poetic lines?
If yes, how?
Do not serve this rhymes with 
Do not fall as soaked sand slippery 
Thou parting pages of time!
save my line running fast.
Throne of two i fear thy ageing parts.

A second time thy throne my notes 
old margin.
Sacred scroll ruled to a metal toll.
Instrument in the finding length.
fear filing while the great brains
 summon the grace of thy keep.
Be still. old kiss.
Like the Greek of kings i beseech thee.

A third time thou make me small 
fainted by thy storm.
Maybe those rats visited with 
message deleted.
But teach us more dreams and 
that Grey green believe.
I am through to mine, hungry page of 

And  for the the fourth time
I bow like a maiden to a serve.
These pages delivered to a sleep 
spiting to a table.
Born to the dawn.
Finding these pages ancient of 
ancient age.
be burned, aged scroll,  I will read 
thou no more,
ancient lines of dreams.

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It was only suppose to had been just an innocent friendship
at least in the beginning that how it started out to be,
I was confident in believing that I could actualy be friends with him
but at that moment I was much too blind to had even seen.
That in all actuality he wanted more from me
way more that I was not able to give at that time,
I never had imagined in my wildest dreams
that just my very presence still remained on his cunning, devious mind.
He would always greet me with a sincere smile on a daily basis
whenever he would see me around in the neighborhood,
He accepted me for me with open arms and good graces
at that time he made me feel happy and good.
Suddenly, what started out as a friendship that was built on innocence
made a turn unto the path of regrettable sin,
That is when he made the bold step of taking advantage of my innocence
by wanting to be more than just friends.
At that tiem my life was filled with so much chaos and stress
and all seemed so dark and drear,
I felt that out of my life was gone all of my happiness
for myself I no longer gave a care.
He told me things that I had wanted to hear
for, it had been such a long time ago,
He had made all of my pain and despair disappear
he made me feel wanted and needed so.
But like a fool I had allowed him to take control of me
I was definitly in way over my head,
That night I found it so hard to believe
that I was actually in his bed.
After the sinful act had been over and completed
and I silently walked out of the door,
I asked myself: "Oh, God ! What on earth have I done?
I feel like such a whore!"
I cried and cried what seemed like an eternity
and I became violently physically sick,
What would my finace think of me?
was all I could ask myself at that moment.
That night when I had finally returned home
I got down on upon my knees and just prayed  to God for forgiveness,
That night I never felt so sad, confused, and all alone
cheating was not in my nature, only innocence.
I could not believe that I had hurt the man that I loved
by betraying him in that way,
I was so naieve in sharing one night of lust
with a man that just wanted to get laid.
I allowed myself to be put in a situation
a situation that had gone out of control,
I was just too weak to resist temptation
but right now, I am strong enough to know.

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The Diary Of Lord Kellington (16)

I had gone looking for trouble.
I found it.
I had awoke in a sour mood.  Very unlike myself at all.  I am usually, always in good 
Almost, always.
I was spoiling for a fight.
The need radiated from me.
Even Crystal could sense the difference in my demeanor.  
The flea bitten, sweet, craven coward.
After donning my new Peacock blue cloak, with the black pipping and carrying my gold 
tipped, lions head walking stick. I left straight away.
I walked for miles.  Ending up in the seediest part of the city.  The Docks.  
I aimlessly wandered the filth strewn, cobbled streets.
Passing many an Ale House.  
Finally, my preternatural hearing found the sounds of a fight.
Why, it was an all out riot.
Off I flew to join in.
Fists flying.  Daggers plunging.  Walking stick cracking skulls.  (that would be me)
What fun!
I held back from using my immortal strength.  I wanted to feel each time my fist met 
flesh.   To have to Pick teeth out of my knuckles.
One chap actually caught me a rather right smart jab to my chiseled chin.
Exhausted, the men crumpled to a heap.
Only I remained standing....and the fifteen or so Policemen watching the fray from a 
respectable distance.
I have always prided myself on being a law abiding, upstanding citizen.  As it were.
So, when they started gathering up everyone and loading them into the Jail Wagon.  I 
went along, as a lark.
What a buffet!
By the time we reached Central Station, I had sipped upon many a fine blood.
When the Police opened the rear doors of the wagon, I jumped down to the ground, 
tipped my hat to them and simply (to his eyes) vanished.
Preternatural speed can be so amusing, when used correctly.
By now, my description will be bandied about.  A well dressed gentleman ghost.  A 
polite wraith.  A handsome demon.  
I like that.  A Handsome Demon...very apt.
I am in a much better spirit now.

~Lord Kellington

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“Long time na see    Jim”

“Yip    Long time na see    Jake”

“D’ja see?”


“John Critchuns ‘n that danged Big White o’ his”

“Caint say as I did”

“They oughta be a law ‘gainst brangin’ cats inta tha saloon

But he’s niver without his dang cat

Don’t care ‘bout tha law

Men in here should cumplain

‘Cep John’s mighty fast on tha draw”


“That thing’ll walk around    top a poker table

Flashin’ them big white teeth    hisssn    yet

Dang thing’s sa careful not ta spill a chip

Niver seen tha like”

“Oh yeh?”

“He’ll perch on John’s shoulder    lick his ear

Don’t bother John none”


“Niver seen no cat sa big    sa white    sa downright mean

Meanest cat I ever seen!

Whatcha lookin at me thata way fer?”


“Ya keep scratchin yer head”


It’s strange”

“What’s strange?”

“When’s tha las time ya seen Big White?

“Why    jis las night    why?

“Member tha gun fight six weeks ago

When tha Deeler boys held up tha stage out near Castle Rock?”


“Weel    I was there

I was there when John Critchuns and Big White saved tha day

Big White went fer Luke Deeler jist as he uz pickin at the money box lock

Critchuns drew on Luke too

Then Pete Deeler brained Big White ith a rock”


“Damn sure!

Caved in his friggin head!”

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The Courtship

The Courtship

He courted her for many years
Said she was the one for him
She looked like a goddess he said
In the moonlight, tall and slim
No one else would ever compare
Yes…she was the one for him!

The years rolled by one by one
Each one getting older
But he never asked to marry her
And she often cried on his shoulder
When is the right time my love
When will the time be right? 

She stood by him though thick and thin
Always by his side
Certain that she’d one day be
His loving blushing bride
He depended on her every day
To always be nearby
It never occurred to him
That she’d ever say “goodbye!”

The years rolled by one by one
Each one getting older
But he never asked to marry her
And she often cried on his shoulder
“Time is fading away, my love
Our lives are fading away”

Then one spring morning he awoke
She wasn’t by his side
He looked in every room
But there was no where to hide
He walked out to the garden
Where she loved to roam
And saw her lifeless body
She was never coming home!

Time slipped away my love
You’ve waited much too long
You’re faithful love is gone now
But you’ll never forget her song
“Time is fading away my love
Time is fading away”
She’ll never be your bride now
She just… faded away… today!

Copyright©2011 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)

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We’re looking for more time Though everyone is given The same 24 hour amount Each day that we are living Your time spent is up to you If wasted with worry and woe Those precious moments of time Slip away before you even know So schedule your time wisely But be prepared to rearrange Because even scheduled time Is always subject to change Time brings changes in life That is certainly meant to be As each season shifts to another God’s perfect timing in reality Time is like little seeds of life Planted deep in the winter’s cold That grows beneath the surface Until the spring begins to unfold Try to fill your time with joy While you’re here on this earth Pull out the joy from deep inside That is put in your heart at birth Make time to share with others Who need more time with you Sharing happy times together Radiating in everything you do Don’t give your time to those Wanting to take your time away To use it all up for their own Selfish and greedy ways Let’s make every moment count As time passed becomes a memory That can only be captured in a photo And relived in your mind indefinitely Special times tend to quickly pass But it’s not really about the amount Don’t dwell upon the time you’ve lost For it’s the quality time to count Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Three Cheers

Sobriety is dying in me once again
The pain drains as I welcome home a long time friend
She is always their and is always fair she never lies 
Just slides down smooth and we fall back into our old grooves
My blood stews in a chemical imbalance and my mind finally finds relief from 
As me and my old friend kiss and lock lips she slips down into my soul
And once again plugs its holes
I never said a remedy didn’t come without tolls

So again the roses are red and violets blend to black
And once again I find myself speaking matter of factually
But the only sound she sends is my voice echoing back to me 
I’m downing her and she’s drowning me 
We can only be what we were designed to be
But she has always been a good friend to me 
And I’m always too willing to pay her fees 
Just so I can trade my memories for tranquility

Yet she is no difference than any other girl who has fallen for me
She is still slowly killing me
Her smooth curves are beckoning
But its her icy contents that bound us
And like the rest I always ask what will it hurt this once
But it happens again and again another lover 
With a pieces of momentary bliss and death that’s hoovering in each and every 
But with her I welcome the former and lace my fingers waiting for the latter 

Together we clatter through this empty house
And laugh for time is now the only thing that matters 
Let it cast our shadows and we can rejoice that ghosts have anatomy
Well that is until the sun passes a certain degree and even our shadows flee 
Because not even they can bare the nightmare that is slowly coming to be
And they dare not guess my fate and dare not stay and wait 

So I guess its just you and me baby 
We can weigh our heavy hearts 
And continue disposing of the memories it carts 
Just as long as I’m asleep by morning because I’ve been promising 
I wouldn’t let clean white light infatuate me anymore 
So lets escape and take that hidden door in my mind
Behind it is a mystery that I’d like to find
Who knows maybe its death waiting to be greeting me  

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Bedtime on Tramp - Part Two

He helped himself up to the wind's foremost blow
On a hillock where the moon searched his impecunious pockets,
Waking a flood in his eyes like swelled teats.
He opened wide to receive the Lady, this Endymion cheats,
No worm-wood virus but sweet philtre phials.
Finishing, he is a lover...
He sought the bosom of Erebus in her wildest glow.

He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.

A scavenger cat clawing a bushman's billy-can
Some hard laid by in his work, purred with surveillance
In disgust over him turning tins over in the bin.
Together he cast the lid by to biltong and raisin:
The cat devours, he abandons the prandial dance.
Pausing, he is a server...
He ate them all like yams those starved seamen.

He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.

Over the mellowy orchard, for a while he blotted,
Down the glen he skied on the mossy rock
And rubbed clean in the steamy fume of the fall.
Clambering on the paddock, the love-grass over him gall
His rag-patches, bee-combed, mock.
Swearing, he is a dreamer...
He tore tearfully through the palliasse of touch-me-not.

He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.

Now upon the road of life, he chanced
And espied himself the mutest spectre dust,
Cruising his hour in the propelled sleep of night.
He saw himself waft from this mount to that bight
And saw it was not wont or just.
Laughing, he is a god...
But this infidel purpose of man be countenanced.

He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.

(c) T. Wignesan - 1948 in Tracks of a Tramp. Singapore-Kuala Lumpur: Rayirath Publications, 1961. 

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A Double Edged Sword

The sun vanished I am left with gray skies.
As minutes turn to hours I see how time flies.
A cold wind awakens, feels like it may snow.
 I save what I can and let all else just go.

As snowflakes drift downward they cover the ground.
There is peace in silence seems no one is left around.
I listen quite closely for maybe there might be a sound.
The path is before me yet I don’t know where I’m bound.

 I wish for the sun as I long for its light.
It is the middle of the day but it feels like night.
All that is missing is all the stars and the moon,
I shall see them in a moment night will be soon.

I see the world around me but where do I fit?
I can’t see the answer from this place that I sit.
I have to have faith and a little more hope.
I need to just focus and put life in my scope.

I start to wonder for this is what I do
I try to decipher what is false and true.
The answer lies in the pieces scattered on the floor.
Things that I needed, I shall want them some more.

With all this in my head I just have to move on.
I don’t cry for spilled milk for it’s already gone.
I look to the horizon hope the answer is there.
It seems better than when, I was stuck nowhere.

As night time comes the sky does clear.
I remember the things that I once held dear.
The train is at the station so I climb on board
I watch what I pick for it’s a double edged sword.

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The Oldest Part Of The Cemetary

She is standing alone under the street lamp,
The light reflecting off her hair, 
The steam mists from her lips
She doesn’t notice that I am there.

So I pause and watch her leaning on the fence,
Lips and cheeks blushed crimson.
Crystal snowflakes glitter all around her
And light up the solitude she sings in.

Suddenly I am noticed, a slight turn of the head
Your notes disappear so fast I wonder if I only imagined it.
And those eyes, yellow as the moon glow,
Went through me with the wind swirling off the surrounding crypts.

I can no longer stare, now that I’ve been seen
I feel you tense at the approach of possible danger.
So I put up my hands in surrender, with a smile.
Now you know me, we’re no longer strangers.

What kind of person waits until dark
Then walks through a blizzard to sing to the dead?
She said nothing could be worse than never hearing music again
So someone had to come out here to sing to them.

The snowflakes were melting on your eyelashes,
I’d never seen someone glisten, you lit up like a luminary,
I held your hand for the first time that night
12 degrees below zero, in the oldest part of the cemetery.

That was the first time he saw me, 
In the midst of one of one of my many oddities.
I’d been embarrassed by his presence,
Surprised when he hadn’t been quick to judge me.

I’d first braced myself for his attack
Though I felt protected amongst my silent audience.
But I hadn’t seen any malice in your gray eyes
As you took a place beside me against the fence.

You were only cutting through the graveyard after work,
I was the freak with this morbid intentional destination.
You would later say the lilt of my voice that night
Made my audience feather up into a standing ovation.

Always my lyricist, you would pen the words
And I would pour them out beneath the rain.
You were the gilded crow, some child’s pet
And I was a stray that you hoped you could tame.

You thought that because I was able to mimic
That I might succumb to your choice of conformity
But I would never become civilized if it meant giving up
12 degrees below zero, in the oldest part of the cemetery.

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My Vision Is No Longer Blurred

I won't be afraid.


No, I won't suffer defeat. I won't fit into your mold.  I will no longer be the 
person that you have always wanted me to be. I will never live my life to meet 
your expectations, because all along I will always let you down. 


No, I think that I have grown tired of being a part of your game. I won't shape 
myself to be a piece of your puzzle. I will no longer allow you to put blinds over 
my eyes and now let me see myself in the mirror. 

I will break these chains of dependence because all along I never needed you. 
I'm not your puppet, no longer your pawn.


I will be myself from now on. I may be imperfect, but perfect you will never be. 
I may be full of impurities, but you can never wash your hands clean. I may 
have been wounded, but these lesions will heal. And in the end I will be 
stronger than you. My time has come for me to be satisfied with who I am. 


I can't please you and I never will. So I will no longer waste my time trying to 
be something that I will never live up to. I will no longer be scared to be the 
person that God intended for me to be. I may have my faults, but you will 
never be faultless. At times I may be weak, but I am content with where I am 
and I know that my feet are scarred from the roads I have travelled. But i will 
be stronger that you will ever claim to be. 


I realize now that through all of this, I have become a better man. I've loved 
and , I have lost. I have smiled. And I have cried. I've experienced times of 
happiness and yet tragedies have torn at my heart. But through it all, I realize 
that I am a very fortunate individual. I may not be a wealthy man. I may not 
have a countless number of contacts on my cellular phone. I may not 
be "perfect." 


But what is perfect anyways? Is perfect having a pocket full of cash and no one 
at your side? Is perfect having everything in the world but no one to share it 
with? Is perfect having a countless number of acquantances and no true 


I don't think I want to be perfect. I think I just want to be Logan. I think i'm 
fine with that and I have no reason to be anything else. No longer will my 
perspective on life be construed or manipulated by what you have to say.

I can now see what you always kept from me. You tied me down by my 
imperfections and made me aware of everything that I am not.

I will no longer waste my time on being what I'm not.

I will be myself.


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The natives are restless because of the economy,
turning to drugs, guns and brutality,
Even a good time makes them uncomfortable,
because beneath it all lies deceptions
and fables,

Restlessness is taking control of a nation,
turning good folks into vagabonds,
The lives that they have nurtured for so long
is going up in smoke before their eyes,
No one in power seems to hear or care about
their desperate cries,

Holding on for one more day,
only leads to more times that are gray,
When will the government heed their 
pleas and heal their discontent?

The natives are restless and harboring
thoughts of ill-intentions,
When will they be heard and given 
honorable mentions......????

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winters weapon

the harmony of the clouds
in the sky sing
the silent song of snow
half notes and whole notes
denoted in the air
while winds whistle
and whispers it's constant dare
eye's worship and stare
at the greatness of the shroud
hiding us from the moon
and stars
a frozen blanket stretches
so far
it equals the size of the sea
it speaks in the tongues of winter
cold, freezing and froze
contemporary names
for conditions under it's rule
the powers of the heavens
employ destruction
to those who do not fear
who have not shelter
and are not strong
whom time has scheduled
for an end
rocks break
mountains fall
the sun hath no protection 
for those whom winter covers
with it's shawl
it stands only to witness
the rules of winters regions
the extreme north and south
the white worlds
where solitude is inevitable
and nothing moves 
except the wind
to deliver it's stiffening potion
to liquid beings flowing with 
water and blood
the winter invades the south
with intentions of creating
a new ice age
but sand defends
the southern shores
time and time again
the silent song of the snow
eventually must end
giving in to the sun
to melt the weapons
of winters sin

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In Moses' Footsteps

And God led Moses to Mount Nebo
for his lush, new domain to survey,
in the riches of the Promised Land
among valleys of trees and olives.

Where birds in the sky soared free
and wild beasts roamed the land
along the dales and rolling plains,
Moses by his God was blessed.     

There he lived in that quiet place
wider than mortal eyes could see,
right in God's bountiful vineyard
till the day death took him away.

Yahweh was kind to Moses.

Eons have passed since that time
and here this pilgrim now stands   
where Moses once stood in awe
to view what God to him bestowed.

But what do I see?

Barren earth of rocks and boulders,
parched, lifeless, ugly to the eyes;
craggy peaks and harsh wasteland,
uninhabitable ravines and canyons.

Yonder out to the north the Golan,
once Syrian, now by the Jews own,
just like the serene lake of Tiberias:
grabbed, annexed and conquered.

In the western haze is a mighty river
whose waters once swiftly flowed,
blocked by a concrete Israeli dam
away from Jordan where it belongs. 

Far west is the ancient city of Jericho
where the Lord warded off the devil,
no more than a strip of old Palestine,
fenced in the West Bank, entrapped.

Lucky Moses and the chosen people
for by God from their bondage freed!
cry, Palestine, cry,  a homeland lost,
long overdue your awaited messiah!

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A Prayer and Answer

I ask and call to heaven for help I feel God listening as I yelp, out to him shrieking a call, 
praying in the end he won’t let me fall.

Help me I called out for little did I know he has been watching me keeping score; and he 
knew I wanted more.
Earn it you must but in your heart you don’t trust, majority of the time raising a fuss.
In pain you are this I know is true, there are many tests you must face before I bring a 
blessing to you.
You live in anonymity away from all, giving no one a chance and yet you still call. 
My son don’t you see you can’t live without me I gave you life through two; my will can 
change you given the truth.
My blessing in time will come to you, being patient is one thing that you have learned to do.
Do so with care and treat everyone fair, face all your fears leave sinful ways to your peers.
By then you will know by my word and all will follow. 

Rest easy my son…
James C Bryant Jr.
July 24, 2010

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We all stand alone

When all of time has elapsed & the moment for us will be no more
No, plight of fancy given hence to even ponder the ego
An explosion of sorts that marked a pulse on some plotted page
The door way of hope where no one bothered to offer your way
Through pillage of inner torment many will stand at heaven's door
With no intention of ever entering yet their will be w vast chasm to explore
A new exploration of that of content in nature

We have planted our seeds
Now is the time we will wait for the harvest to grow
Through vast fruition in timely exploits we will search further then ever before
To never relent in the place we will reach which will be in effect heaven's door
A given chance at which to humbly explore
A challenge to be made free is a question in time
Hope knows just where the stained glass window adjorned next to it's borrowed pew

To name just a few from the sheltered dormant of the chasm again
The given chance at which to humbly bow the head to count to the number ten
We must search ever vigilant to look within once again
Is their something that I had missed
Perhaps a fond lady that I was ever sorry that I had kissed
We stand alone on the promises of God
As we search within again
The given sphere on the oblonged gem'
Through portals of jest timely circumstances
We search even further then ever before

Through golden portals of emmense filled water that has been quenched to humbly 
nurture the inner palate'
Abounding in ever more stimulation,
We may need a break on some long awaited vacation
Then again to wander within
We all stand alone in that final day
One may never get a second chance at which to ever bow the knee to pray ?
Yet its all safe to say that it never had to be this way.

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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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Let us take a stroll,
into this war torn place,
where there is no answer,
and some people thrive on hate.

Let us take a stroll,
as we hide behind a wall,
one you cannot see,
absent of justice or law.

Let us take a stroll,
and pray for all this to end,
rebuild a world of respect,
even if we all can't be friends.

Let us take a stroll,
and question what is right,
the people of this place,
didn't ask for this fight.

Let us take a stroll,
and beg for peace right now,
we need to love each other,
and end this all somehow.

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		A home is a place where you feel warm and contralbe.  This house is your home to keep
you safe from all the climates outside. A home can be 4 walls, or a home can be just small
shack as long you got a roof over your head you have a home. My home is full of laughter
and sometimes tears, but most of the time there is a lot of love.  You can always have a
lot of love in your home, when you know it’s going to be there ever time you come home.

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When I Am Feeling Sad

When I Am Feeling Sad

When the bills come.  When bad news breaks.  When I’m feeling sad.
I simply start eating my favorite things.  And then I don’t feel so bad.
I eat cheesecake and some doughnuts.  Next its time for flan.
Peanut butter cookies, hot fudge sundae with whipped cream.
I eat many things.  

When my heart aches.  When I’m lonely.  When I’m feeling down.
I sometimes start drinking my favorite things.  And then I don’t feel so bad.
I drink: milk shakes.  Diet coke float.  Ginger with eggnog. 

If still feeling sadly, I sit down and eat: a half-gallon of mint ice cream.
I eat chocolates, some with cashews, almonds or pecans. 
If that doesn’t do it, I just eat more things until I don’t feel sad.

Calorie counting and meal planning do not seem to help!
My exercise buddy just threw in the towel.  So, now I’m feeling sad.
It’s time to start eating my favorite things; I hope I won’t feel bad.

© Dane Smith-Johnsen
February 27, 2010
Poetic form: Narrative

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Suicide Note

I'm sorry I haven't written in some time 
I've been lost in myself. I've been trying to find 
just one reason I shouldn't leave this life behind 
close the door on the past, which still torments my mind 
sure, I know all these years you've been trying to prod 
me along the right path saying “let go, let God” 
but to let go of guilt is what seemed to evade me 
for some reason not even God could persuade me 
There's so many times that I've wanted to die 
that I've wanted to call you and just say goodbye 
but I'd suddenly see the tears fall from your eyes 
so I'd drink myself numb and continue the lie 
I've been living and still live to this very day 
I just want it to end, I cannot live this way 
anymore, please just know I'm not putting the blame 
on you. You're not the reason I'm living in shame 
If I told you I loved you I probably meant it 
but words weren't enough, so you'll probably resent it 
There's so many things I've been needing to say 
I've kept locked up inside, my fear stood in the way 
and I've lost all these years to my selfish desires 
I've laughed as your dreams for us slowly expired 
If there was just one thing left for me to do 
I would go back in time to the day I met you 
and forget all those things that you wanted to show me 
I'd just walk away so you would never know me 
Forgive me for every word that I'm saying 
I know with each word that I'm surely betraying 
the hopes and the dreams through the years we have built 
but your innocence just cannot outweigh my guilt 
so good bye and I'm sorry. I'll always regret 
how I came to be someone you'll never forget. 

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A Lover's Confession

I can’t help why this is; I wonder often how it became
What is it about me that makes them so insane?
I love one ~ no I love two but then there is another
Do I dare take part in yet the other or leave them all in despair
I’m in search of the one who will no longer allow the pain
Is she already here, or is she there, is she even on this earth
I ponder this often and in the essence the others are in tears
I drift in and out of their life in search of my wife
Each has stolen a part of me and yet I fear they will set it free
How much more can they take ~ how much more will I give
The sorrow in their hearts has left scars in mine
I will forgive but I cannot forget ~ I ask myself is the love still there
Or is it just embracing the memory of what once was
Is it time to move on ~ is it time to let go
I am taking one step at a time in a backwards motion though
Because I am blind to the future when I am walking the line
It’s like standing still in time ~ will life pass me by
I love one ~ no I love two but then there is another
I feel myself splitting in half ~ I feel the cutting of my heart
As each has stolen a part
I cannot change who I am ~ I cannot change their fear
I want them close but do I dare
How do I know which one really cares?
How do I know who is genuine or if they are real
The repercussion of this mess is I will be the one to confess
I love one ~ no I love two but then there is another

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Passage of Time

Browsing the three dailies of T&T,
All I see are front pages covered with bloodshed, turmoil and misery.
Where is the country I once knew?
The multi-cultural twin island state: 
Where one can go out and not be concerned about the time he shall retreat,
Send his kids to a birthday party and know by night they would be returning with many treats,
A place where loud explosions can be heard at New Year’s or Christmas and know they are
simply in commemoration of these festive occasions,
A nation that can acknowledge each other with a glance and a smile,
Sometimes exchanging a few words of direction when someone ends up on the wrong aisle.

With the passage of time this peaceful atmosphere has changed,
And for that a spate of criminal activities has been exchanged.
Now I see my people crying out for attention,
Resorting to desperate measures to ease their mounting tension.
So they sprint to kidnap and kill,
For they think that producing chill would pay the bill.
But little do they know that the plans they concoct
Could have also been implemented to another situation to make a legal buck.
It seems that patience has departed from our people’s vocabulary 
And life is now being dominated by a blue periphery.

What happened to Sparrow’s “Education is a must,”
And Gypsy’s “Little black boy” that earned him gold dust.
Their messages were meant to be forwarded to future generations
Not buried with the public’s abominations.
These two songbirds highlighted the consequences of illiteracy,
Yet some people disobeyed and opted for anarchy.
Now that our country has entered a phase of endless confusion
The leadership is under attack for its lax disposition. 
While it would be fitting to place all the blame on the past and present government
It’s about time some parents took responsibility for their children’s detriment.

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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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Timeline as a chapter opener

How time flies quickly!
especially when one is having fun.
This famous line for the Americans,
shows the truth, indeed, a verisimilitude.

As a happy note to share
there's hope that makes a difference.
Seeing the world in a grain of sand,
can assured the mystery of humankind.

Chronicled and hidden in everyone's heart
aspirations and dreams that await to come;
They really imply a total renewal,
To embrace the challenge
with depth and significance.

We live in an age of competition
with great mobility and anticipation;
with our minds and hearts permeated with preoccupations,
a great deal to keep in tone.

With fears of every sort
With sentiments to unfold;
more experiences follow suit
Day-by-day for the struggles involved.

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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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Tanindem and Ma'ahar

This battle began,
a long time ago.

The land was pure darkness and evil
Ruled by a giant named Ma'ahar
Crimson eyes shone in the darkness-
Upon his head 
sat immense black horns
with daggers for ends.
He lived upon blood spilled
from the Earth's creatures
In blackness he ruled from the beginning-
Expecting his reign
Never ending.

On a dreary day, or maybe it was night
One could never tell (in those times)
Clouds parted, from the Heavens came
a never before seen light-
Instantly blinded, Ma'ahars'
minions took flight-
till this day where they are still bound.
From this opening in the Heavens
Came a huge rumbling (today known as thunder)
And bolts of lightening,
Which upon a massive herd of white beasts rode
In their lead- was Tanindem.
And a challenging bellow he bestowed

Tanindem, a beast silvery white
Huge in size, fearless to any spite
A Unicorn, never before seen by those
in the dark
Upon his head he wore a horn of magic
Boundless divine Magic created by the Heavens
to battle the Mighty Ma'ahar and his
Nefarious evil-
To end the eternal night.

Ma'ahar screamed his fury
iron legs, split hooves digging up the earth
He charged Tanindem with all the maniacal strength
and hate He could forge
Tanindem- sending his army to bring light 
to the rest of the world
Lowered his his head- His horn
of eternal purity
ran to the charge.
A calamity of two colossal beings
Fighting for the win
One of day. one of night.

This battle began a long time ago.
And has never finished.
The two struggle to this very day-
Which is why there is light
and there is night.
If this battle ever ends-
Let's hope it is Tanindem who wins.
Eternal night and despair
Is all Ma'ahar has to share.

** Tanindem sent his army of Unicorns out upon the world to bring light to all places
covered in darkness, which was every place. From then on, things grew. Plants, and
animals. Eventually humans came upon the Earth. Only the very purest of humans may
encounter Tenindem's messengers. The very first man of recorded history met a Unicorn. His
name was Adam.

6th place in the "Fantasy" contest by Tirzah Conway

A. Green

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'Twas on a sunny day in May
Along the banks of Fundy Bay
When I met… my dearest Anthony

From a distance…I could see
His rugged frame…and symmetry
And the glint of Irish eyes…of bluish green

With manly strides… he lingered there
Along a path of grasses… where
The sun reflected on… his golden hair

And with a glance… he stole my breath
I could not still… my heaving breast
With every step he took… I nearly died
Overcome with… such profound emotions… that I could not hide
'Twas in that magic moment… that we fell in love
Blessed by heaven… and the angels up above
And with their keeping…we were married… in the month of June 
Underneath a pale misty silken silver moon
We built a house… upon a hill…that overlooked the harbour
With a winding path… to the door… that walked… between the arbour
And there… among the sea salt roses… and the ocean breeze
We lived and loved and raised our family

The years went quickly sailing by
Sometimes we laughed…sometimes we cried
But through it all…we never left…each others side
For…we had that kind of special love… that never dies

A love…that asks the reason why
I stand upon our path and cry
As I look out to the ocean...where you lie
So overcome… with such profound emotion… wishing I could die

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Mulling Over

He was not a Rock Hudson
Nor she a Marilyn
But it was a glance
Maybe, perchance
She paused in thought
Yet, she felt that she ought – 
To return that smile
For it seemed worthwhile.
Did she over react
Or was it a fact
Is there time to consider
Or does something forbid her.
In a crowded hall
No time to stall.
Another glance
Now is her chance
Must not debate
Or could be too late
Oh, he's moved out of view
Now what does she do
Then, gone out of sight
Not a hope, not tonight.

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The midnight plant-watering ritual

Long after the neighborhood sprinklers
had shushed the night into silence
the closing of a door interrupted
and a dark figure glided across
the lawn, behind a wall
and disappeared.

A moment later it reappeared
and the face of a man could be seen
flickering like a candle in the streetlights

Suddenly the man stopped
and the world
like a
beneath his feet.

It became unbearable to stand
and he sat on a porch step beside a stray cat

Sharp shadows crossed 
the man’s face and
an orange glint of
light was reflected
in his spectacles.

His cat purred as
he stroked it but
he looked straight forward
and did not smile.

His attention was focused
on a pinprick of light
in the vast dark canopy
called night.
He pondered his place
in the universe as 
tufts of hair fell
from his hand
and were

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passing letters

Dear Lee,

It has been a long time since I last wrote to you. 
I am sorry to have procrastinated so. Even though it 
has been a long time, I still think about you often 
and wish you were here.

Life here is good now...well actually it's kinda good,
kinda not so good sometimes, anyway never mind that.

Ol' Jesse dog, finally rolled over for the last time,
and went looking for you. I hope she found you well.
Scratch her ears for me will ya? Don't tell her too
loudly, but we got another puppy last year and she
right away went to Jesse's old spot and laid right 
down. I think she might actually be Jesse come back.

Jan is thinkin' of retirin', maybe next year. 'course 
I've heard that every year since the last election, 
but has it happened yet?...naw...'sides what would we 
do with all that extra time stickin' around? It'd 
get under my fingernails I reckon, and I dunno if I'd
be able to keep my wits.

I planted the garden again this year and used some
of those heritage tomato and squash seeds I had gotten 
from that stand we passed that day, remember? We had 
just gone for a ride and saw that place in the middle 
of nowhere, and we pulled over and that old lady was 
sittin' there in a straight-back chair snappin' beans.
She told us all the best vegetables to grow, and sold me
those seeds, and gave you a peach, and you dripped the 
sweet juice all over your T-shirt, and the wasps started 
buzzing around lookin' for the sweet nectar, and you 
started swattin' at 'em. She took another peach and 
squashed it in her hand and dropped it on the ground 
and the wasps lighted on it and started drinkin' it, 
and she chuckled and said they needed their share too. 
She had such a sweet, joyous laugh.

Oh damn jus' pop 
into my mind an' I start wellin' up...well you know -
I jus' miss you sooo much. It's's just not
the same, that's all. It's good to talk sometimes. 

I gotta get back now, I'll write later. I love you - 
I'll always love you.


© Goode Guy 2012-05-24

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Am I a fag
Or just another queer?

           A deer caught in the head-lines:
           Afraid of the stigma of being labeled "gay."
I've tried to sift through all the lies
Now it's time to open my eyes;
It's time for me to be true to myself,
I am a man & nothing more.
           A man with many demons & a thousand & 1 insecurities;
           Trying to rationalize what I can't deny.

Flip-flopping back & forth--
Am I or aren't I?

           Feeling so confused--
           My mind is clouded with thoughts abated.

I'm tired of having to defend;
I'm weary of the prospect of being typecast:
I am a man & nothing more.

           I am the abbreviation 
           Of 20 something consternation.

Headphones on
Always having to be on;
Pretending to be a man sure of himself:
Obstinately performing in this merry-go-round of lies.

           Tightrope walking over a lake of fire
           The warning is clear, the prospect is dire--
I am a fag, I am a queer
I am a deer caught in the dead-lights
Of living a life half-alive.

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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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Traded wings for life a dream

In my shadow I lay dreaming, lucid, like moonlit water gleaming,
I arove away from realms of matter, franticly climbing Jacobs ladder,
I creep through an open door, my soul falls further from the floor,
ascending further from reality, ghostly figures feast upon my tragedy,
I hear a voice that sound repents, an angel guides me from decent,

In this space my mind misplaced, I fly on the wings of an angels grace,
I try to speak but words don't form, ascending faster from the foor,
no turning back to his place of evil, an earthly realm ruled by the beezle,
I feel my senses fade away, as I enter eternity.

If I wake now I shall feel no pain, cold blood pumped though icy veins,
But my sanity would be my curse, in the abyss of a deeper world,
I have reached the end of an endless road, eternal restless light abode,
my spirit expands with violent thrashes, a one way flight the angel crashes,
and from the fire and ghoulish flames, I rise again to take his name,
A new birth upon the earth, he gave his wings I gave my curse,
Now I am an angel with a pact divine, to guide his soul through the sands of time,
until the sands of time run dry, and Upon my wings he flies.


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Inside Her Walls

Inside her walls,
no one hears her cries,
another soldier,
makes time to write.

A decision she made,
while still in high school,
to do something worthy,
keeping her heart so true.

Now far away,
in a lonely place,
she sits,and writes,
to her family in the states.

Trained, and conditioned,
to withstand the worst,
sometimes very hard,
and her body hurts.

The flag is her purpose,
and for everything it stands,
for every woman, and man.

Faithfully, and determined,
to do her best,
life as a soldier,
her daily test.

She is a survivor,
this is what she chose,
not dancing all night,
and fancy clothes.

As she seals the envelope,
she gives it a kiss,
for she knows in her heart,
there are always risk.

Inside her walls,
no one hears her cries,
another soldier,
makes time to write.

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He Stole A Gun Today

He stole a gun today,
a telescopic rifle made for hunting.

From a sixth floor window overlooking Main 
he thinks, 'how cool!' that the 'scope brings
the people on the street so close and focused.

He spends all day breaking down
the gun and re-assembling it,
polishing each part until it gleams.
He fits the telescope,
lifts the weapon to his shoulder
for just another look.

He'll bide his time until it's rush hour.
The streets will be teeming with people
making that last minute dash to get
last minute presents for Christmas.

The time has come, his palms are moist.
In the cross-hairs a Salvation Army captain,
a pregnant woman on a cell phone,
an old man struggling with his walker,
and children, lots of children.

A half-hour passes.
he slowly lowers the rifle
and puts it back into its case.
A half-hour passes
and he stumbles down the stairwell 
to the street, his mind confused and torn.
Crossing a bridge he stops 
to hurl the case into the river.

He wanders slowly home 
to his studio apartment,
his haven of forgetfulness,
his pressed and perfect Ranger uniform
and wonders why he just cannot stop crying.

He stole a gun today...

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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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City down south where fresh chill of every morning awakes to consciousness my likely to break into action bones
I have come from a place where the sun shines all year and time long for which it never tires out of giving heat; direct 
and ardent, often scorching heat. Here I feel no heat from even the brightest sun for the wind blows cold that always 
whiff the face as if saying "awaken the sun in your heart, your inner warmth inside which forever burns and now let it!"  
So I smile and embrace the cold air in response saying "Thank you... I have let it from the time that you said Hello."
The everyday greetings of the trees never fail to please my eyes. I have never seen such lush and vibrant colors of 
purple, pink, white, yellow, orange, and then from the daring dark of green to a subtle tint of yellow to gold. It all speaks 
to me… depicting moods of everyday lives changing by the seasons and every moment of life.  My mind raises to the 
many seasons I long to see and experience and I feel very much alive.

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Eighth Grade

1960 and the world was changing
A time for living and rearranging
Baseball in the school yard with a sponge ball and a fist
Donnie Brooks sang Mission Bell and Chubby did The Twist
Bobbie sox and ponytails, school dances were so much fun
Johnny Preston’s Running Bear. I loved the theme from Peter Gunn
A young senator from Boston was in the presidential race
Marty sang El Paso and there was a theme from A Summer Place
Mr. Custer and Alley Oop were fun songs to listen to
While Elvis said It’s Now or Never and also Stuck on You
Ford came out with the Edsel. Remember the unsinkable Molly Brown.
Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool even Cathy’s Clown
We had air raid warnings and marbles in our pockets
Movies in the park and Cape Canaveral shooting rockets
Gable and Monroe in the Misfits, Perry Mason on TV
And the Drifters were singing Save the Last Dance for Me.
There was a draft to serve our country and we were always ready
A time for holding hands and a time for going steady
Kirk Douglas was Spartacus and Burt was Elmer Gantry
Pies were made from scratch and there were apples in the pantry
Larry Hall sang Sandy and Bobby Rydell wailed Wild One
O Dio Mio From Annette. She and Frankie had so much fun
Lonely Blue Boy by Conway Twitty and Bobby’s Beyond the Sea
Duane twanged Because they’re Young and the Everly’s Let it be Me
Those days are precious memories that I hope will never fade
The world was so much kinder then and I was in eighth grade.

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Sleep tight

What, the hell was that?
I,I can't see, is anybody out there? what!
What did you say? man! what the hell's going on here?
Whoa!! hey! did i just see that? no way!
What time is it? time! there's no time here.
Do you know me? bars! we all know each other!
More bars, no walls! whats your name? you know!
Oh, my god! no! you can't do that! no, wait, stop!
Oh damn! you killed him. what the hell is this place?
No, please don't! stop! put it down! my leg,!
Wait it's not bleeding. is, is this a dream?
What's that? it's a skull, but who's? it can't be,
My god it's mine! but i'm not dead.
Where the hell are we? we, who's we?
Oh, no not again! more bars, now keys, but no doors!
I don't remember sleep, i must be sleeping.
What's that? a light, it's a long way down.
I can feel the blood, and smell the death.
No bars, just a key, their bones, and no lock.
It's bright, it's loud, it's death!
No face, no name, no past, time gone,
So dead, it's done, so long!!

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A Soldier's Anguish

A poem by Brian W Fisher dedicated to all soldiers serving in Afghanistan.

We left. It was the time of lush green.
Deciduous trees sucking moisture to their leaves.
It was the way. It was England's way.

Soon another season would demand.
Those trees forced to trade sap and goodness for
the dryness that always came with autumn colour.

Bronzed, they lost their tentative hold – fluttered to the earth,
the carpet deep and crisp, deadening footsteps that tramped among them.

We left. Engines leaving trails of white.
The deep azure sky streaked as we soared towards the east.

We left. Not alone but in our thousands.
A common purpose – duty – it was our duty.
Were we not convinced of that?

Now those footsteps were no longer softened.
The parched earth transferred its sun-baked surface upwards
through each step – boots symmetrical patterns imprinted
to guide those who followed.

We left. Those who loved us pining. 
No time for us to ponder – no time to reflect.
It was our time.

One by one our numbers dwindled. 
Each day saw that happen.
Our band of brothers less and less – we saw – we knew – we tried our best.

We left. The pals – the men who cared.
We watched as the arid earth soaked their blood.
We watched when the light faded from their eyes.

Then we took. We took their souls – we strengthened our own.
It was right. It was what they would have wanted.

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There's No Oasis in the Desert

Skies that turning dark, 
possibly the heavy storm will come.
Storm that will not make you damp, 
I heard a strident blowing of the wind. 
Life in a desert is similar to a sand storm;
You will not know how dreadful will cause you. 
First time I step on this deserted land, 
In my heart and mind I pledge my dreams. 
A dream that I know will confiscate, 
all the burdens of my life. 
In the glass window, 
a sea that didn't make any noise from its water. 
Every day there's all men under the heat of sun 
or shivering cold of day.  
Sound from the mother tongue of different people 
made me hearing-impaired. 
In a gloomy night I didn't see the stars, 
stars that at least will give you light for the darkness of your path. 
Seasons that the tamar tree will bear it fruits.  
Suddenly I heard voices, 
but how I will distinguish it from laughter's or cried? 
Bliss on lips to the ladies whose selling flesh, 
Every time I saw this people I feel the pain from their heart, 
The bliss in their lips is not real.  
Money that you earned is not enough 
for those who lost their dignity. 
Now where's the oasis in the dessert? 
Every day I wake up and walk in the sand
but still I cannot see the oasis.

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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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A letter to my friend - II

To my dearest dear…
I hope you are doing fine
Here am occupied by laboring time
I came along to write for you
Hear from you after a long-time.
The last I met you at my place
I remember that day when you smiled at my face
Since then it had been a year
I miss you like a meteor lost in space.
Overnight chit-chats and long distance calls
Without you my friend
I would have lost nothing but all.

The day when I first saw you at the college canteen
My friend! Please forgive me
As I saw you that moment bit adversely. 
Yet, it was so kind of you
That you meant for friendship,
I would never forget this acquaintance
An inbound eternal relationship.
I like you the way you speak
Specially when you speak overslowly,
I love you the way you care
Specially when you soothe me.
I admire your respect towards me
Specially when you intend me,
I wonder your candidness
Specially when I speak craps and nonsenses. 
I laugh when I think of your responses
Towards those names given
I smile at your melodrama
And often by those conflicts again and again. 
I felt so calm
A time when I shared my baffled charm
I felt so celestial
A time when you eased me by your warm. 

My friend! If ever you need me
I will kill myself if you remind me that
I’ll read your mind, I will read your eyes
I’ll read your voice
And you will see me there. 

How far you are going
You deserve a lot to me
Not matter if you forget me
I will live with your memories
Thinking that you are always there. 
But promise me this won’t happen
Or else its easy to say
In reality I may lose myself once again.

I just wanted to hear from you today
And I just wish you live a long way
You live with no fear, no tears
I promise you a day you will always find me near.

Oh! My friend
I miss you like anything
Just before leaving
I want to say you goodbye.
The words written for you today
Are written forever…
Just will wait to hear from you, a reply
Till then take care and bubye. 
With love from…your longed amigo.

(Please note: This poem is dedicated to my friend Angshumala Goswami)

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My Leave

I stand in the midst of that desolate place.
Once again.

The memories have faded.
The good and the bad.

The ashes remain still,
the sand that swept through my fingers.

So much time lost on these things.
This inferno that has destroyed a part of me.

The turmoil that continued afterwards.
And I stand here wondering of what is to come.

This place is no longer good for me now.
Maybe one day it would become more than what it is.

It is no longer home.
The thought of what is could be kept me here.

Yet no more.
It is time to move on.

Time for me to get up and leave.
These things have all come to an end.

The desolate place in me 
is no more.

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My cat

The cat just left the door open again tonight
I wish they would do what I think is right
Although they may not scratch or even bite
But my feet are cold, frostbite is in sight.

I close the door but she opens it again
The temperature inside starts to descend
She comes to it circle up and get a treat
Or just climb up and take away my seat.

I love her dearly but it's getting cold
That cat just simply put me on hold
It's just the way it is or so I'm told
But it seems my cat is becoming quite bold.

Her name is Nola but I call her Storkula J
When night time comes you better look the other way
She is certain to show you what a good hunter she can be
The carnage is the dead bodies in the backyard you can see.

She is able to catch a bird from out of the air
When you find it in the house it gives you a scare
So you try to save it and let it go out
The cat glares back with what looks like a pout.

When I had my heart attack she sat at my feet
I don’t know if she cared or just wanted a treat
It really doesn’t matter because I survived
The cat made me smile and feel quite alive.

I haven’t seen her in quite some time 
She lives with my ex but she treats her fine
I just hope in my heart she does not forget about me
Because she gave me the strength so that I could just be.

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From My History to Your Future

My thoughts linger in the bleak expanse that surrounds my disembodied conscious and  not even the pulsing epiphanies (a million lifetimes away) can bring light to the horrific darkness embedded in the remnant matter of this repented skeptic. 

As the winds once shifted on the golden plains of grains horded for profit and power, so to did the opinions of laypeople and professional swirl around this once complacent arrogant mind too enamored with the process of living to notice the force of life rapidly receding like a cool drink carelessly spilled on a hot surface evaporating before the instinct to lap it up was unleashed.
Now, darkness brings light and clarity to seek out those who are groping in their own brilliance. Descending down on the sea of life hoping to light onto the thoughts of one who will not suppose nature and God are enemies, while science sits adrift in a raft with room for one, watching the worthy vessel with its unworthy passengers rock to and fro unaware of the great fall just ahead. And in the abyss finned creatures too intelligent for their own good helplessly watch because they have no hands to take the helm. 

The wings fluttering above are just as useless, and back on shore the other passengers of the original ark wonder why the misguided stewards bothered saving them in the first place.

But if I could find a mind like a fresh flower obedient and open to receive this
pollinating knowledge, it might be enough to propagate the species of thought that will save billions of embodied cognitive factories from the impotent byproducts of denial: procrastination and the convenience of inconvenience.

Even now I observe changes in the political and environmental climate, and hope my
thoughts have not taken too long to drift from my history to your future.

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The Last Goodbye

The pain built up inside with smiles i attempt to hide savatage you say repetitively each and every day And its them you choose to believe I accept it because i am so naive little did you know there's pain i wont show it hurts so bad everytime you get mad turning everything on me why must this be do you think it's just that in me you refuse to trust yet in you i choose to confide all because there's nothing to hide trying my best to abide to maintain at your side but of course, in your head A thouseand lies I have said Did I mention? it was never my intention to attempt any kind of intervetion much less attract unncessary attention in my actions i have come to repent and it seems i'm the one you resent for everyone's wrong doings i must pay i have yet to figure out why when all th epain you've inlfincte makes me cry but then again you showed me a brighter day and for that i didn't dare say what was truly on my mind bottled up and to the truth remained blind protected with a sense of security Yet misunderstood with no clarity intentions behind you kindness Conniving and entirely ruthless Drawn in by the words you speak so dishonest, it's the truth i seek you've decided i must leave, Presently feeling trapped on a cold witner's eve i loved the things you do indeed feelings grew whch you overlooked, leaving it in the dust the "like" i had for you was nothing more than lust im not going to attempt anymore i'll just sit back and watch the rain pore, i thought with time you would love an dadore me and you would be in my glory i guess you weren't meant for me Because today you put an end to our story so with no remorse or regret I leave you with whats left of respect feelings and emotions, senseless with no touch You failed to realize the small things meant so much it takes dedicationand time to show love properly with no delay and at a stand still..... i must leave accordingly my love would have been good for you unfortunately, this type of love only comes once in a blue moon

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Waymanville Christmas-for Carolyn Devonshire

Christmas lights aglow, multicolors to replace the scarcely seen snow in the south, USA.Families around the evergreen awaiting the giving of gifts to remember our lord and savior's birth. Blustery weather shopping, season for giving to others and we don't forget the empty stocking fund, salvation army, orphanage and operation Christmas child. Candle light church service, children dressed like angels, wisemen, and shepherds. Baby Jesus' birth day celebration. A time for giving, a time for feasting, a time for decorations and lights, lights, lights!! Oh! don't forget the Christmas photo to send to relatives in the Christmas cards. Red and green colors to represent the blood of christ and evergreen for eternal life. The star on top of the tree, to guide us to the Christ child for salvation. Thank you Jesus for your blessings everyday!!
For the Christmas in your town contest.

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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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Time Slips Away

I remember yesterday
When I was young and free
The world was mine to conquer
And love was waiting for me
No dark clouds hovered o’er my head
I didn’t count the days
All was right in my little world
In so many little ways

But time slips away my friends
Cherish every day
We never know when the bell will toll
And loved ones will go away
Time slips away my friends
Time slips away.

Soon the babe will be a man
Friends will come and go
Sunny days will turn to rain
The future we don’t know
We think life will go on forever
We have time to say goodbye
We put off till tomorrow
We’ll do it bye and bye

But Time slips away my friends
Cherish every day
We never know when the bell will toll
And loved ones will go away
But Time slips away my friends
Yes time slips away

The house now is empty
Children have long gone
My love was called to heaven
I’ve no one to lean upon
I always meant to keep in touch
With old friends I used to know
Now we’ve drifted apart
And Oh…I miss them so!

Yes, Time slips away my friends
Cherish every day
We never know when the bell will toll
So say “I love you” every day
Nurture your friendships dearly
Hold your loved ones tight
Show how much they mean to you
Before you say goodnight

Yes time slips away my friends
Cherish every day
We never know when the bell will toll
For we were never meant to stay.
Yes...time slips away my friends
Time...just slips... away!

Copyright©2011 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)

Grandma Bea

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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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From The Diaries Of Lord Kellington.....entry one

Whispers of the dawn rush to meet me each morn.
They taunt and tease me
"Morning is not long to come. Your time to play does run out"
Alsa. That is true. My time in the night is short.
So I must hurry.
Shall I prowl the night as I? Or shall I don a disguise?
Once I think on it, either way does not matter.
There will be no eyes. None that see after my kiss.
So sweet and gentle that sip
It takes just a glance and the other night dwellers know to avoid me.
They sense that death comes with me.
Why...They could not be more right.
I will choose swiftly.
Swiftly so that I may go dance.
Ah! the night is my playground
and truth be told...I love it! 

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The blasting boom-box,on the dry sand,
plays my favorite tunes
as I read the local newpaper to scan
for some good news;
wars,sex scandals,murders,robberies
and terrorism make the head-lines...
Where are the good-spirited people
who make life thrilling and whole?
Are there anymore true heroes
who put others first instead of themselves?
Are there more good Samaritans
who live and die for others?

These sad news define our times
and however bad they may sound,
don't let them cause you doom
by staring into a mirrow of gloom;
try harder to bring more changes,
inspire unmotivated hearts with new words
and reprimand the villains and guiltless
by exposing their senseless actions!

These sad news define our times
as they unfold page after page,
praise those worthy of merit
and immortalize their remarkable deeds:
as a reminder of a time when
kindness was never overtaken
by avarice and meanness;
emphasize the struggles of their time
that turned those impossible tasks into fact,
to make sacrifice and victory forever bind...

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Numb without feeling, I drink down the pain 
Silence spills out, like the quiet that follows a rain 
Slowly I’m tearing, tear-tearing away 
little bit by little bit, coming apart 
unable beat it, to keep it at bay 

Held captive by the enemy, the enemy inside 
You may think I’ve lost it, my mind gone completely 
Spinning, spin-spinning slightly faster than most 
But more than my mind, it’s my life I hold close 

Leaving me here, trapped in my own head 
A fate worse than that of ending up dead 
All alone I seethe, still painted in your sin 
Runaway, run-runaway make your escape 
Such is a dangerous game you choose play 

But time will give way, as time always does 
Now on the outside, that what once was locked in 
Set free from these jackets that bind 
and soft walls of white they’re in 
Chasing, chase-chasing my prey I will find 
You’re more savage, more evil than I ever could be 
So much uglier than any beast living in me 

How I long to Introduce you, to the thing I’ve become 
The monster you created to use, just your toy 
No longer of need, abandoned tossed aside 
Fester, fest-fester emotions grow hot 
Still locked in a box, forgotten left to rot 

So patiently I’ll wait, just sit bide my time 
Worth it, every second each slip of the mind 
Ticking, tick-ticking the hours melt away 
With the voices building angrier with each passing day 

But soon enough I will show you the horrors that await 
Then your laughter, laugh-laughter is sure to abate 
As your cruel joke comes to a bitter end 
moments just moments and then, well… 
that’s when the true madness begins 

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The silhouette's View

Gazing at an abandoned silhouette, sitting amongst polite stars throughout the night
Striking hair carelessly blowing amid cool zephyrs, curiosity climbed crevices of my spine to 
witness such a mesmerizing sight
Interest reached its summit, I couldn’t resist to share the silhouettes’ zephyrs and intent
A nervous stride through high tides of grass as I went to join in the silhouettes event
I arrived, hey I’m James, didn’t mean to disturb you, just kind of wanted to share your view
The silhouette slightly giggled and asked me something around the lines of what’s my aim
Well I know this is going to sound kind of lame but I had an irresistible feeling so I came
Just wanted to share the view with you and I must say its one hell of a view to claim
Yeah it is, I sit in this field to answers questions about life that I just can’t solve 
If this view has the power of resolve this is destiny I thank you for letting me be involved
Another gorgeous chuckle sailed the draft as we sat in comforting silence
Time passed
Wind hymned
Clouds wept
We remained
Lost in thought, Blessed by the view
Unexpected in time the silhouette whispered 
“Blessings lie within the view”

The beautiful silences embraced us once more
 Time passed    
 Clouds wept
 We remained 
 Lost in thought, 
Blessed by the view
No matter what be you view, always find it when in search of you.
                                        “Blessings rest within the view” Silhouette

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Crimson Flesh

The bruises began to appear and she walked around afraid and in constant fear.

She felt as if she wasn't good enough or that it was her fault that he had gotten upset.

The tears wouldn't stop flowing and the abuse just kept on growing.

He sees his wife full of rage and anger he looks at her like she is a total staranger.

This is not the person he fell in love with she seemed warm and sweet now she bruised 
his face in the street.

He was too ashamed to tell anyone what was happening to him he felt as if he was less 
of a man.

He cried silently in his sleep even his woman didn't hear him weep he wanted to leave 
but felt he had to stay.

She walked around with sunglasses on and wore more makeup to keep the bruises hid.

She walked on eggshells aroud the man she loved as she asked herself if he truly loved 
but had assured herself that she couldn't live without him.

Saying that she must keep her family together and her kids need their daddy in their 

They heard the screams and cries from afar they cried in silence and tried to ignore the 

But they saw the bruises they tried to stop him but he struck them she tried leaving but 
he always found her.

Convincing her to take him back time after time she always went back but one day it 
turned to be fatal.

He beat her until she went unconscious the doctors tried everything they could but it 
was too late she was gone.

Her children wept bitterly wondering who they could turn to they looked at their father 
and asked him why daddy why!

He looked at them and was silent as the police carried him away they said who can we 
look to now.

The man tried to leave but was to afraid of what she might do she was a tough pill to 

She was full of rage with a touch of green envy and a shot of hate.

She was so paranoid she stayed up raising hell and then some.

She couldn't let him go who was she going to beat on and push around.

One day he had enough and left but as he was leaving she pulled out her gun and fired 
at him numerous times.

Leaving him in a pool of blood and lying there in fear and confusion.

She surrendered to the police with tears in her eyes with a gun to her head she coulld  
take anymore.

As the police begged her not to do anything the shots were fired and she was gone she 
ended her own life and his.

Crimson flesh takes away the joy and happiness within us we must fight it and educate 
those who are in need

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On Old Black Coat


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I walk and walk the many miles for you.
I give and give until I have nothing more.
I go on and on until I drop or fall,
But I’m searching deep because I search for it all.
Everyday I die more inside. 
Eaten alive by myself inside of my core,
Because I’m left alive with life that only I can sort through!
I just want to see the Sun rising up so full and so high.
I want to see the Sun set so huge with shadowing bits that glow.
So I’ll just believe in this strength that comes through you to me.
I search for you but why should I be the one who has to be one that believes?
Everyday I’m alone and it’s nowhere that I go,
Even when it’s my thoughts that I clearly identify!
I just want to see the Moon so round and so high beaming me into the glow of light.
I want to see the Moon peering through the lighter of my brightest day.
I keep seeing all of these cushioned visions of just you and me.
Searching for you gives me the sight of all that I am to see.
Everyday I beg and beg until I hurt that you will stay.
But I’m left alone with reality in sight.
I just want so much for you and me.
I even want the same air that you breathe.
I keep holding onto this strength that I am I feel I believe.
Searching for you I’m with all that I can ever be!
Everyday I’m straightened by what my eyes can see,
But now I’m alone with what’s left alive and what didn’t flee.
So I’ll just keep searching for you while I search for what will be the all of me.

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Tell Me Why

Tell me why men and women go to war.
Tell me why they die for causes that know one has an explanation for.

Tell me why we rush to the aid of homeless and hungry people who are not from the united 
Tell me why our homeless and hungry don't get the same treatment and our elected leaders 
will tell you its still up for debate.

Tell me why the elderly should have to decide weather to get food or medication.
Tell me why some of them cant remember their name or the last time they went on vacation.

Tell me why I use to pay for my gas with the money from my pocket.
Tell me why now not only do the oil bigwigs get richer, but now i have to also lock it.

Tell me why people that retired a long time ago are suppose to enjoy tier golden years.
Tell me why now those same people are working again just to survive and exist from there 
worst fears.

So someone please tell me why these same questions get asked over and over with no 
certain reply.
I guess we will never know with any certainty the answers, so until then I'll just ask please 
tell me why.

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Bedtime on Tramp - Part One

He woke down the slope, by the hay
With him a thousand shrill cries
That stilled to him, yawning.
He moved with strands of hay, trailing
On his rags.
Sauntering, he is a flaneur...
The road lamps gave him away.

He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.

Half-way on a bridge over its side
He saw a bridge in Japanese ruin
Chaffing in the hurrying waters below.
He cursed the Japs for lying fallow
Spouting his rheum.
Pondering, he is a sinner...
He knelt for those braves, never to ride.

He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.

A gale rolled down the road in dust,
Churning it up, a regular willy-willy.
The fizzing trees corked: the shutters' hinges off.
His eyes sore: swaying he would cough.
He stood now willy-nilly.
Thinking, he is a fritterer...
He chased the trapping miasma, loping his Wellingtons' lust.

He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.

The rains were bursting heavy on the esplanade,
A rocky splash soared with spray from the waves.
He sought the bulwark of the stony balustrade,
The waters were rising over the promenade
Like columns of graves.
Musing, he is a shirker...
He plunged into the sea, bold as a blade.

He moved and with him, his bed
And time moved.

© T. Wignesan, 1948 (from the collection: Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961.)

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The Setting Of The Sun: Part One

She no longer rules the waves,
no longer is heard the chink of ice
in gin glass beneath darkening Indian skies;
what jewels glisten in the corroding crown,
how happy now this happy breed who bows
collective heads and cries?
History’s pain trawled across the planet face,
when slaughter ruled and oppression demarcated
the only foreign policy;
exploitation and enslavement of the weak,
colonialism and the salvage rights
the tools of peace and democracy.
Empires of muscle, iron and discipline,
forged on the blood, bone and murder of millions,
so proud, so pleased as punch;
a bullish bite spreading wildfire rabies,
mad dogs and Englishmen
permanently out to lunch.
Empires of dreams, of glittering prizes,
home of the brave where freedom’s flame
burned naked and bright;
a cultural plague preaching death, destruction,
fed on subservient carcasses
in sinister shadows of night.
And now in dying feel-good days,
clinging to glorious dreams of the past,
of powder, bayonet, cannon and gun;
achievements in the global butcher’s yard
may be all that remains in bearing witness
to the setting of the sun...

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A Flickering Flame

Ah, a flickering flame with shadows on the wall,
With glimmering lights rolling all around!
I will remember them all!
A flame so high,
But a flame so low,
A burn out in time!
A linger much too slow,
A flickering flame,
A moment that I claim!

Ah, a flickering flame where light covers dark and dark covers light.
With glimmering lights bouncing all over the walls!
A vision of true sight!
A flame so unpredictable,
But a flame so respectable!
A flame hard to know,
And one that can’t be controlled!
A flickering flame,
A moment that I gain!

Ah, a flickering flame showing dim light within its own domain.
With shimmering lights reflecting a glare of golden visions burning too bright!
How very well maintained!
A flame so harmless,
But a flame much too careless!
A flame too passive,
And one that’s way too captive!
Ah, a flickering flame,
A moment that I’m holding with no shame!

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The Diaries Of Lord Kellington

    I would like to introduce you to a dear old friend of mine.
    I made his acquaintance by pure accident.  You might say, we bumped into each 
other.  Oh, silly me.  You thought I speak of an actual person.
   No.  I hold here in my hands, a diary.  Not just any diary filled with day to day 
frilliness of a Victorian Lady.  But, a diary filled with.......
Well, I guess you will have to just wait and read for yourself.  I will just pick a page at 
random to start out at.
    The Gentleman who wrote these entries, is a man of many facets.  He is kind; 
frivolous; confident; an egotist. He can be filled with anger and then *snap*, just like 
that, be his over the top self once more. 
        He is death himself.  He is a Vampire.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I offer you a look into 
              The Diaries Of Lord Kellington 

Whispers of the dawn rush to meet me each morn.  They taunt and tease 
me.  "Morning is not long to come.  Your time to play does run out".

Alas.  Tis true.  My time in the night is short.  So I must hurry.  Shall I prowl the night 
as I?  Or shall I don a disguise.

Once I think on it.  Either way does not matter.  There will be no eyes.  None to see 
after my "kiss".  So sweet and gentle that sip.

It takes just a glance and the other night dwellers know to avoid me.  They sense that 
death is my shadow.  Why!  They couldn't be more right.

I will choose swiftly.  So that I may go dance.  Yes!  I love to dance.  Ah.  The night is 
my stage.  Truth be told?   I love it!

~Lord Kellington

I hope you enjoyed the first installment of Lord Kellington's Diary.  There are more to 

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An ideal state

An ideal state?

The brazen blare of trumpets sounds.
As we approach the temple grounds
the rattling kettle drums compete
 with ominously marching feet.

The people gather here today
 in the old time honoured way. 
To hear our leaders justify
 why they have failed to satisfy.

The peoples wants, the peoples needs.
Explain their actions and their deeds
The leaders have no other choice
 but hearken to the peoples voice.

If they have failed without just cause.
The peoples justice will enforce
 summary execution.
A permanent solution.

  For politicians who have lied
by all their fellows they are tried.
Allowed to mount their own defence
 they must depend on eloquence.

We listen to their argument
 and we consider their intent.
Their motives are what we must judge
This is no time for them to fudge.

They ruled as triumvirate
 and so they must anticipate.
If one is guilty then all three
Will suffer the same penalty.

  If we adjudge them innocent
 by a unanimous consent.
They can retire honourably
having served us honestly.

We the people make the rules
 elect the leaders as our tools.
To do as we instruct them to
They do not rule the peopled do.

If we decide they are corrupt.
The peoples anger will erupt.
For them there can be no appeal
 it was their choice to cheat and steal.

An object lesson plain to see
for those who aspire to be.
Part of the next triumvirate
Chosen to serve our city state.

Ours is a true democracy 
where every citizen is free.
 To stand for office or refrain.
 Those who have served may serve again.

But every two years they must face
 the peoples judgement of their case.
Honest men need have no fear
 dishonest men just disappear.

Stripped of  all their ill gotten wealth 
 which they aquired by craft and stealth.
They pay the final penalty
 they’re put to death immediately.

The peoples will is sovereign
Offenders will not sin again
This is a dream I’m sad to say
 and not true of our world today.

Today our world is ruled by greed.
Use any method to succeed.
 rewarded for dishonesty.
The people pay the penalty.



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It's not until you've tried, you live!

I use to think you’d call or stop by
I use to believe nothing could keep us apart
I always thought you’d be around
I knew my life with you would last
I depended on you needing me

Now you don’t even call me
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind
You put something on me for a thousand life times
Something part of me wishes it never have. love
Though better to have love than not love at all
My heart can’t see passed the pain
Its eyes are cluttered by hurt, fear, desire and pain
Nonetheless, my love grows like a tree with bent limbs
But, my mind knows it’s better to have tried 
Because it’s not until you try that you live!

I long to live through your eyes
I need to live through your cries
I strive to live for you
I use pride to hide my deepest fears
I dare not tell anyone how I really feel

It’s because of you I know how to live
It’s because of the time with you, I’m still here
I never experience real pain until you left
In my mind you’re still here
That day part of me left with you
I still see your shadow, still smell your scent
I’m still reaching out to that gracious part of you
Fighting, broken in pieces 
Part of me wishes I never met you
The other part thanks you
For reminding me
It’s not until you try that you live!

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Watching the Moon Grow

Night after night I sit to see the Moon shining over me.
Watching its shield unveil a bright night I can just sit to be.
For each night gone by a star shines so bright,
The more and more I sit here this night.
Deeper and deeper I think tonight, 
“What if” I had no sight?
Watching its gleam covering more than a lot,
I just sit to see it shine its big light.
For each hour gone by the moments are sought.
So more and more I sit here deeper in my thought.
My mind farther than my further with what this glow has brought,
“What if” the man in the Moon was never sought?
Watching its shadows lurk in the glow,
I sit to see if he will finally be caught.
For each moment gone by clear nights I’ll now know.
So more and more I sit here watching the Moon grow.
There’s just so much to see because it covers over me.
I sit here night after night because it’s just such a true sight.
I give it quite a bit of thought because “what if” all of this was not?
For the more that it comes to glow the more and more I can watch it grow.
There’s just so much to know because it covers me with its tremendous glow.
I sit her with thought after thought because I have more than your lot.
I sit here night after night because “what if” there was no true sight?
For the more I can just come to see the more and more I can just sit to be.

®Registered: 1998   Ann Rich

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The Setting Of The Sun: Part Two

Tommy Atkins was a good boy
grew to be a good man, good soldier,
packed up his troubles in an old kit bag and smiled
as his entrails blew out with aplomb;
he died as the black rain struck his slowly glazing eyes
good son, good husband, good father
left only good for fertilizing the Somme.
Damned carnage-strewn carnival
of barbed wire bisected mustard gas days;
how “great” was the great war,
how “great” was the harm
when old strategists cast generations of youth
into the stalemate jaws of trench warfare death
and all those young hopefuls who bought the dream
unwittingly bought the farm.
Two decades down the smouldering road,
up rolls Euro Death Circus
rolling out Four Horsemen and a Fascist regime insane;
now technology enhanced the butchery
with planes and tanks, boats and submarines
and all the young hopefuls bought the farm again.
Proudly she revels in her past glory,
wallowing and exalting, sucking rotten cold comfort
from the memorial corpse of a golden fleece;
learning nothing;
we’ll meet again, no doubt,
over the white cliffs of Dover
beneath Spitfire engine trails, perhaps;
for she may have won the war,
yet she has surely lost the peace.
A land once fit for heroes, warrior kings and demigods,
now freezes crippled and immobile
when the race into the future has begun;
in a pox of politically correct Fascism on one hand
and the real thing on the other,
where is the hand of reason to stop the fall of night,
stop the setting of the sun...?

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sinking to the bottom

right here, now, as i type,
characters are getting 
that sinking feeling of 
their own digital oblivion

i am typing in my "working" file,
the one where i always start out with 
a few words or lines i might forget
if i don't net them right away

and they always start out on top
in the fresh digital aire of light
flashing their shiny tails and i's
and are captured for all posterity

should posterity ever be in need
of some flagrant synapses output
that fired through my skull
at some 100 metres per second

the thoughts from yesterday or,
tragically, a few moments ago
are pushed lower in the techno-lit
ocean of all possible lines

sinking slowly from sight
with their little character-eyes
looking up toward the light of
my screen receding in the now

there must be 53,696 characters
(statistics being numbered in many ways)
sinking now, like so many plankton
or diatoms in the digital oceans

to feed the dark "word fish"
and other creatures, maybe something
glow-in-the-dark with ghastly teeth
like in my fourth grade biology book

yet if those 53k of diatomic letters
are really four-letter-words 
that have been puzzlingly rearranged
like blinking cursor literary DNA

just think of all the swearing
that might be bubbling out
of that digital Davy Jones at
the bottom of this oceanic chest

© Goode Guy 2011-10-07


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So what's your excuse this time
for coming home late again?
I've been sitting here worried sick out of my mind
I want to know have you been out creeping?
Don't you dare give me that look!
You're not as innocent as you claim,
You should've been here at home hours ago from work!
but instead you're out having a good time with "Ms. Thing"!
Shh. Before you begin get your lies together
I don't want to hear any stammering and studdering,
I've stuck by your side through the worse kind of weather
and this is how you thank me!
I've been allowing you get by for quite a while now
when you come home late I've managed to not say a peep,
But I think it's high time that you tell it to me straight right now
we're going to settle things before we go to sleep.
You say you've be out with your friends
just hanging out and shooting the breeze,
But I've noticed that when you come back you don't have any more of your ends
you out spending like the bill don't need to get paid and we don't need to eat.
But it's not your friends that you be out with late at night
that's the same, tired story you always give me,
For quite some time my suspensions have been right
you've got another woman on the side other than me.
Tell me what on earth have I ever done to deserve such pain?
Tell me what on earth have I ever done to deserve such betrayl?
Things between us are never going to be the same
Just pack your bags and raise on up out of here!
You may think there's no way I can survive without you
because all of this time I've been so dependent of you,
With the help of God and my family I know I'll pull through
be gone! I no longer need you!
I'm just telling it like it is...

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not long ago the earth was young
a dark shadow rose and blocked the sun
the people were lost in the chaos and hate
they lost everything to this dying fate
as luck grew low and people grew weak
they cried to the sky "its a miracle we seek"
this was the first time the moon did glow
yet not one soul would know
the moon was the miracle of which they cried
and without the shadow passes as the sun bound
by the moon, cycled the earth around and around

peace remained because day and night
slept peacefuly with dark and light
with their truth, protected us all
but with them soon came the fall
a fight broke out between anger and tears
night tried to stop it, but then came fears
fears and envy bred hatred anew
and chaos again spawned and grew
all was not lost at this time of pain
but hope was rare and almost found it vain
a balance must create a chaos
just as finding causes true loss
so if we could not have perfect peace
then how do we quell hatred the beast
if light and dark were truly the same
why was it chaos who was always to blame

finally the spiris decided to go their own ways
tired of wasting energy on the fighting days
their final solution was what saved us all
keep far from each other or suffer the call
if one met another we would all return
and this world that was protected would cease to turn

so now with fears, hate, envy, chaos, tears, dark, night, day, and night along
if these nine spirits had left one another and where seperated and gone
this is where twilight enters the truth
along with the others and joining them were; friend ship, joy, compasion, teamwork, turth
twilight you see was the one that brought with it the rest
twilight brought together everyone and their best
twilight truly showed them the way
and these are the words twilight spoke that day

as long as i remain, i reside of both
dark and light
of day and night
of chaos and compasion
of envy and teamwork
of truth and tears
of joy and fears
of friendship and hate

so believe in me and have no shame
it is only i that hold the burden of blame
i who am everything of you and yet
i who have nothing to lose or benifit
you must reason among one another
and find it in your selves to trust each other

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Smart Woman

It was the evening before Thanksgiving,
so off to the biggest store in town I went, for a few items,
I needed to complete my Thanksgiving Feast.
Everyone was grabbing, and hurrying to get out.
I was totally out of my comfort zone, 
for I hardly ever come here,
except to buy a few things, you don't find anywhere else.
Then there he was, lost as a goose in a thunder storm,
his wife had played a severe trick on him.
A list he held in his hand for the items she needed.
I heard him talking to himself, so I stayed close behind him,
just for the entertainment.
Marshmallows, does she want the big ones or the small ones,
oh no, couldn't put that down, so I'll buy both.
Cherries, now where are they, probably way over on the other
side of the building.
Just then he turned around to look at me,
am I blocking you, if so I am sorry, but I don't know 
where anything is, and with this crowd in here, I can't
even think, much less find anything.
No, I said, you are fine, I am just as lost as you are,
that's when he told me, my wife played a cruel trick on me.
She wanted to come early, and get this over with, but I told
her, what is the rush, well, I will never say that again, ever,
and if I get out of here alive, you will never see me pushing a buggy
in here again without my wife.
I don't know how she does it.
I thought to myself, smart man.
We have to give his wife credit, smart woman.

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Ladies Choice

First time I remember attending a dance at school
White bucks and a sport coat, feeling like a fool
All week I’d played 45’s and practiced how to dance
I was nearly thirteen now so it was time to take a chance

I walked into the auditorium, friends met me at the door
Ricky singing Poor Little Fool and she danced across the floor
I stared at her, felt my heart go pop when she turned her head
I caught her eye, saw her smile, and felt my face turn red

I was frozen to the floor, didn’t know what to say to the girl
In the corner I stayed, while the DJ played The Duke of Earl
Robin Luke sang Susie Darlin’ and the time was passing by
Then Jack Scott was crooning My True Love and I could only sigh

Chuck Berry wailing Almost Grown, it would soon be time to leave
DJ announced ladies choice with It’s Only Make Believe
It was like a dream come true when I turned around to see
Her standing there and I heard her say will you dance with me. 

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                   Clairvoyance veiled by the unexamined presence fails
                                      To telltale what future prevails
                 Disguised as chance, fate rewards with wiser presents
                               Perfect timing and mystery its essence
                               In this sense our senses failed to grasp
                                      Until the future is the past
                 Like secrets seeds buried beneath the present keeps
                                             Futures unknown
        Intuition enhances senses deceived, though most reap what's sown
    Mythical, parabled, theoretical, volition's reward is considered good karma
            Our needs, granted through experience explains ancient dharma
                                  It's evident perfect hindsight's enlightment
                                      Trandscending sin, spiritual pollution 
                               Trial,error and inventive success is evolution
                                 Forsight time travel's the future is BRIGHT!

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To Love Or Not To Love

To love or not to love,
do we have enough,
can time hold on to the memories,
that once were flames of desire,
Years of thoughts,
locked inside my heart,
shall I free them,
or will I need them.
The spoken word,
love is the key,
unlock my feeling,
let me show you,
a woman,
waiting for her que,
gentle, yet strong,
all night long.

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Missing You

The Christmas tree is up the decorations all hung
The errands almost completed right on time 
Yesterday it snowed for the first time this winter
All along the eastern coast a winter wonderland 
Long and hard it fell wind- tossed everywhere
Now fine powder- packed and piled twenty inches high!
Today, it is shimmers like fine crystal glistening in the bright noon sun 
Enough to warm your Sunshine but not enough to warm
Her heart as her thoughts again turn to you 
Missing you so! It hurts holding on to that last mail I read 
Again and again I commit to memory every word
I am sending you messages via ESP whispering your name 
Tears flow easy and I am feeling blue 
This Christmas and New Year will be the worst I’ve ever had
Without you here I will not light the fireplace because
I will not see the firelight dance in your brown eyes 
Nor that quirky smile you wear so well as you reach 
To take my hands wanting to dance to Marc Anthony’s “My Baby You” 
Tonight I will light a candle and place it in the window 
Praying that you will see it through your mind’s eye and know that
Just a little way up north you are loved in return just as you are
As always I will be the warmth you feel on your skin
God willing throughout the years to come
I am missing you terribly!

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how can you
allow him to
continue to put you through
so much pain and heartache?
it's so plain to see
that there's no way that he
wants you to ever be free
of his rusted chains
he's taken away your smile
and when he thinks no one's around
that's when he puts you down
making you feel lower than dirt
I've seen the many bruises on your face
along with the tears that's left a trace
it's your beauty he doesn't appreciate
he's trying his best to disfigure you
he always makes you feel so small
with the many degrading names that he calls
you matter to him nothing at all
it's time to wake up and smell the coffee
over and over he refuses to show you respect
over and over it's your very being that he neglects
he brags to his friends about how he has you in check
how can you continue to stay with him?
it's high time that you start taking care of self
believe me, you can do bad all by yourself
put his sorry behind on the shelf!
and be the true warrior queen that you are

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Ripples in the Sea

When I see this Moon and gaze deep into the stars,
My mind wanders as I search for where you are.
Looking up, looking down, this enormous Sea is where I can now be found.
Standing alone at the Ocean’s edge and hearing its roar,
My heart pounds and aches for so much more.
Gazing deeper and deeper out into this vast blue Sea,
I can gather myself with this soul that was given to me.
Ripples in the Sea are all that my eyes can see.
One by one they collide with force to touch what was given to me.
Infinity with the depths of this Sea, 
This is what the Moonlit Ocean conveys to the truth inside of me.
Standing alone and afar from the depths of this Sea,
Ripple by ripple captures the every breath that I have inside of me.
Oh how they carry every single thought away from the insides of me!
Reflections of our Moon spread across this glimmering Sea.
Endless and endless ripples!
This vision I know I will forever see!
I hold my breath and carry a true smile, 
Searching for that last ripple to reach its hundredth mile.
Alone I stand at the edge of this Sea, 
The depth of this Ocean covers over me.
I wonder and wonder can I truly hold what was given to me?
So if ever in search for that which you know you believe,
Please remember that I left me standing with the ripples in the Sea.
One by one they collide crashing directly into me.
I stand with a force that was given just for this person that lives inside of me.
Come to me! Please touch what is on the inside of me!
Feel what has been given just for the love of me!
So if ever in doubt for that which you truly know you believe,
Look deeper and deeper out into this incredible huge Sea.
The ripples one by one know you will believe.
They touch, they feel, they hear what is left standing out by the Sea,
And that my friend is the life that God had already chosen for the soul that lives inside of me.

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Knight of the Night

Pregnant for the day,
sleepy, silent and still.
cozy, cold and calm.
with vomits of harshness.

Terrific, too horrific…
with masquerades of marauders.
Hunters hunting to hurt.
Fishers fishing to finish.

As silent as the night of the night,
winds noisy wind.
As still as the night
stone strolls striking still.

As sleepy as the night,
stress of the strong day stops sleepy.
As the night crawls in cozy,
a wind of change blows in cold,
causing cross feelings of channels.

The sleepy night, silent night.
Sleeping in the dark dark of the night,
waking worries of winter,
making the night to lose sleep.

The night still pregnant,
Unable to bear the day,
Unable to bear the day.
But, the forces of the bright morning star,
shine in the day.

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The Path We Choose

It is not so much the life we choose but the live we are chosen to live it is but a time we 
spend on earth trying to make what has been chosen for us into something we ourselves 
design. When in fact we should embrace this gift we have been given and experience 
rather than live it. So much time is spent on projections of what should and what could 
have been, we neglect to enjoy the very essence of being. And so, I have come to believe 
in the divine providence in as much all I can do to alter my existence will surely not change 
the outcome. So, it is now that i begin my journey in Ernest to the conclusion of my time 
here on earth knowing there is far greater joy in embracing this wonderful experience with 
the wonder and amazement of a child rather than to defy it with the painful cynicism of time.

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One Last Show

It has been so long since I have played here
May be when I am done singing and playing my guitar
I’ll go grab myself a drink
It’s a price you have to pay
To sing your heart out to all these people

I left my home a long time ago
Along with my suitcase and guitar
Because I had this dream
That I was to become a superstar
I still have this dream as a matter of fact

And I will not stop
Until I get discovered
By one of the record producers
Of one of those big time companies
I want it more than anything

But it seems like the end is in sight
I guess I have no other choice
But to just pack up and go back home
I will have to hear my dad

Call me a failure and a useless fool
But may be I can play this one last show
Before I completely give up
On this dream I have had
Since I was fifteen years old

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Ode to Vincent van Gogh


This is the time of the year
When I see the ravens and the crows
Especially in an open field...
It's when I think of you…

I catch myself remembering…
I have to stop myself and breathe…
I daydream of our starry nights
I think of the ravens and the crows…
I think about your untimely plight
I wonder if you ever felt like me
If you ever felt my presence near you
And I wonder now….wherever you are
If you ever missed me too.

Could you have ever imagined
Could you have possibly known 
That I’d still be thinking of you
Missing you...
After more than one long century.

It’s only been a hundred years or so
Since you severed off your ear
Since you shot yourself
Since you killed yourself
Since you shortened all your years.

If I had been there and loved you
Could I have saved you from yourself
Would it have made a difference
Or would everything have turned out the same
Would we both still be feeling lonely
Would you still be thought insane?

I did love you Vincent
I  just could never let it show
I didn’t know how to tell you
Back before these 100 years
I just kept hoping 
that somehow you would know.

Whenever I am in Chicago
I visit the Art Institute and sigh
As I gaze upon your starry skies
I stand before your paintings in wonder
And look deep within your eyes.

I always have to ponder
If you painted thinking of me
I know that you always knew
That I loved your greens and vibrant blues
I see that you tried to show me
How the stars reflected you in my eyes
I see the colors that you have chosen
Have always revealed your truth.

When I see your painting 
Of the ravens and the crows
I know that you remembered
How the sky that day looked too
How it felt to have autumn ending
And winter closing in
How wonderful that day was
How happy we had been.

The last time we were together
Everything seemed so right and true
I had no idea
Your heart had turned so blue.
Your feelings always hidden
You never said a word
How things would tragically end
There never was a clue.

So now I stand here after 100 years
I still miss you Vincent.
I really, really do.
I wonder if you are thinking of me
And if you are happy or if you are blue.

(November 16, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)

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

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Crack the Date

Guess what or guess who?

You shall sit old for I shall shape form and fashion your young.
Harkening heralds still laugh out loud bolstering it up with you.
You sound like a plummeting bee yet of all times now I’m stung.

Oh Really Now? 
Like I do not hear you?

If my truth is told then you are all that I can possibly do!
And poof! Your chord wraps only to get hung or strung.
You’ll still be silly but you’re just like a naughty old fool.

I know it,
And I know I know it!
I shall wait! 
While you knowingly remember to crack this once upon a time date?

Ah ha!

I scoff to my so be it with my most famous woe.
Obviously, you are late in my newfound state.
Now I am astonishingly confirmed as in lieu!

What does one do with the likes of one like you?
This is indeed my definite declarative stalemate?

I know you like I know myself,
I just know what I know I know!

So do check the date,
Or crack ye old mate.

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The 70s Envogue

A yellow neon smiling face
a mismatching emblem of tacky taste
his collection of retro mood buttons is nothing
wild yet they celebrate '70s' fashion style 
with black saccarine ink smiles
and vacant black oval eyes widened in suprise

Relaxed fit blue denim jacket outlasted its time
beneath an ironed creased silk butterfly
collared shirt,paint splatter patterned
resembled spilled dye

Plaid squared on its reverse 
side,its cool fashion perk
unbuttoned wide without dress tie
instead an imitation gold chain stained 
his tanned neckline
the '70s state of mind

Matching blue denim,butterfly,bellbottom jeans
its gold silk embroidery glittered and gleamed
its timeless seems, more resilient than they seam

Dazed eyes gazed through glaring plastic,gold framed shades
its lens,black mirror glass reflect an era past
retro's envogue and '70s fashion everlasts

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A day to remember

The third of June is my father’s birthday,
it’s like a red-letter day for me to remember;
Though he’s gone now into the silent land,
his memories still linger in my heart and mind.

  I was still a child with abiding interest and recount;
  but with God’s sense of presence in me – I listened
  especially in movements where the Spirit led me,
  a moment to remember, a covenant to maintain.

Like an oasis in the desert elsewhere in the world,
God’s truth and consolation enabled me to stay;
that’s to hang on to his love and compassion
especially in moments when I felt so down.

  My father’s untimely death made me reflect so far,
  I was always in tears like an inward experience;
  a source of affliction, a regimen of confusion
  while seeing other children with parents around them.

I used to say that someday I would meet him
especially in my dreams and future plans to attain;
as his son who strove hard to make sense in his calling
with commitment and willingness to make a difference.

  He’s someone who’d carry and bring me to my bed
  at night whenever I fell asleep at our living room;
  at my early age he’s a loving father – I missed him,
  he’s a humble man, so simple in his own lifestyle.

However, when he fell ill and had to go somewhere,
he had to be confined for some tests and medications;
his sad face left me a mark that I’d certainly miss him.
It’s a time of parting and most of us were saddened.

  But his absence meant something else that we reckoned
  because he’s a loving father, so gentle to everyone.
  Just the right time when he’s about to come home,
  he’d a stroke that made him impossible to recover;
  a grim final chapter that marked the end with pain.

Oh my dear father! You gave each of your children
a legacy to live, a covenant to make in shared experience
that as your children we tried to cope with sufferings
to enable us to move ahead and be successful then.

  As I recall this important day of your birthday,
  I still remember you especially in my prayers;
  the vision that you gave me to be shared with my siblings
  was enough to keep me going and embrace the challenge
  to bring those gifts of love and sharing to my family members. 

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A Rose Short-Lived

In the early days of March, at the very start of spring
I saw people plant roses, and praise the love they would bring
Well, at that point I had been saving a special sort of seed
And that spring I would plant it, even though there where warnings, I did not heed
And now loves rose is dead, and with it, burnt, is loves creed

Woe! That seed I had saved, held close and took care of from a very early age
That seed I had obtained from an accidental meeting, on the swings, at a very early age
Now I fear that this seed is ruined, and I fear I’ve lost a friend
It’s a fear that digs deep into my cold, melancholy core, I can’t pretend
For it was a beautiful friendship, that I never intended to end

Yes, I had planted this seed in the early days of March, the month of my birth
And though at first the rose was shy, it slowly stemmed out of the earth
 But it was soon growing faster, faster even than the fabled roses of lore
It grew with such a haste that one might have thought that it wouldn’t grow anymore
Yes, this rose, that might have frown too fast, had put love in my core

Now, on the last day of March, the very date on which, many years ago, I was born
This rose gave me a gift as it hid from me every thorn
And this rose, it seemed, had given me the will to succeed 
In my life, I had finally had the confidence to take the lead
I loved, more than anything, the rose that sprouted out of this seed 

And the month that followed, I can’t lie, was bliss
And it’s time I will, forever more, miss
For the month following, I regret to say, my rose died
Indeed, it was the only time that, for a flower, I had ever cried
It left me weeping, with no ego left to gloat, with no self pride

Yes, early in May is where you may date my death
Call me death, for without that rose, I’m not living, though I still draw breath
Lay me on my death bed, and let my quietly pass on, away
For any place without that rose is no place I want to stay
So please, lay me on my death bed, and leave! Let me lay

Woe, that rose died, and I can only guess why
Perhaps I watered it too much, and forced it to be too un-shy
Perhaps I was too ignorant to say the words it needed to hear
Yes, perhaps, perhaps, that all I can say
And I will say it all the while 
While I walk away

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catharsis dreamt a wake

Imagine you are looking down on the bed,
from the ceiling perhaps, high up
by the shadowed side of the planet

They lay there quietly...still,
on their backs...maybe hands folded, fingers woven
under the covers, cotton or quilted, no matter,
on either bed side, not touching each other

Now imagine you are the one...nearest the door
sleeping next to her...or him.
You've lain there for years, 
listening...sleeping, dreaming...listening

Now imagine you are the other,
dead asleep, oblivious to the planet
dreaming, next to the other
in the dream, eyes closed, but awake

You sense each other as if you
are both the same person, breathing
occupying the same quantum space
yet you can see the other as if part
of some out-of-body experience

You, dreaming, reach to touch
...other...or yourself, you are not sure
who they are, or, for that matter you,
slumbering and stumbling to understand,
rolling it over in your mind and bed

still in shadow, it is cool...and comforting,
vanishing point converges to bifurcate again,
in the wake, the dreaming returns
becoming the reality now

© Goode Guy 2011-10-06

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The Setting Of The Sun: Part Three

Behold a land of monarchic decadence as celebrity status
of family values eroded in a smorgasbord
of half truths and bare-faced lies;
what life-model this,
one of toe-sucking chequebook journalism,
degradation and scandal, contempt for the public.
TV vendettas and cellulite thighs.
She no longer carries the big stick
with which to shake the world’s foundations
and bring the dogs to heel on bended knees;
now the blue-blood veins have been hacked and severed,
blood jets black and turns to dust,
led by Uncle Sam with ring through the nose
a merry John Bull with spongiform brain disease.
In a dying gasp of colonialist logic,
and meathead fascist chapters
the coda of the empire thug gives free way
to remedial apologism in overkill
that suicide bombers may rule this day.
Come one come all, loot, execute and pillage,
we’ll protect your rights to murder and plunder
and pay you welfare cheques whilst you do;
it’s politically correct that you do what you will
no discrimination in this here global village.
She is all but a fossilized relic with a makeover mask
extremist surrender when all is said and done,
and our children inherit a legacy of illusion,
of redundant beliefs, nothing left at all
for we stood blindly by and never sought to prevent
the setting of the sun...
for we stood blindly by and never sought to prevent
the setting of the sun.

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 Darkness, clothed in secrecy,
Surgical hands,
Not a breath was drawn.
Parasite, sucking life from me.
“Magical”hands of surgeon,
Giving back my Liberty.
30 pieces of Silver was expensive,
This job was cheap.
Eradicating this encumbrance,
Compared to Judas Iscariot.
In the night when all is still,
Memory broods, over shadows all.
Switch to Automatic Pilot 
sleep comes.
Daughters' wedding, babe in pram,
Jar's heart momentarily,
Of what might or could have been.
Wrinkled grave looms closer,
Memory now ceaseless,encompassing,relentless.
I am out of control,
Crashing, looming, explosion,
Thousands of pieces,
I lie  fragmented,
“Magical”surgical hands,
YOU  promised me liberty,

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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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Stones in the Wall

Of many, the stones in the wall have different sizes with different shapes. 
So many there are and each specific with their very own color.
The wall is long with the many miles of stone that support it and strengthen.
What a vision to see a wall that long, because of the many miles this wall has made.
Built stone by stone and layer by layer, yet clearly by the hands of amateurs! 
Old these stones in the wall are, for time can only damage what is already weakened.
Enduring the test of time are endless miles of broken down stones along this old wall,
Chipped away on the outside, but still standing sturdy and firm maintaining a delicate core!
Enduring such strength, for they are all very well defined by their evident and only weakness.
An endless wall of old broken down stones and still they will stand strong and still so very tall.
Miles of evidence from darker times for sure by their obvious structure of neatness!
Beaten and battered these stones are and still they maintain such a strong and sturdy core!
There are many weakened stones along this old broken down wall,
Yet it stands distinct and firm with its battle against its only known weakness.
Individualized by one is the other occupying the many miles of this wall from so long before.
What a vision to see a wall that strong, beaten and weakened only by its evidenced neatness.
Broken down stones hold this old wall and each one with their many different shapes and colors!

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This Journey We Call Life

Happiness begins in the depths of ones heart,
a place of complete joy,
where all good things start.
A smile is a rainbow,
delivered in peace,
worn on ones face,
showing a soul so sweet.
Sorrow is a part,
of this thing we call life,
it will fade into a memory,
making us appreciate,
when days are bright.
Darkness will deliver,
troubles of some kind,
always keep your eyes open,
all of the time.
Never allow,
temptation to enter your home,
don't answer your door,
until you are sure,
it is gone.
Time brings us wisdom,
if we are open to truth,
don't take life for granted,
you will be sorry,
if you do.

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The Graveyard

The wind seemed colder that December day,
as I walked among the graves marked with
marble so gray.
Some had a story carved for all to see,
while others were just marked, Rest In 
Pictures of the deceased, were on a few,
as I looked a little closer,
to see how many I knew.
Then in the distance, 
I saw a crowd,
another loved one to be buried,
then my head I bowed.
Old graves stood out,
their markers so tall,
darker than most,
like shadows at nightfall.
Sad to think, some had to die so young,
but way back then, not much could be done.
Strange it may seem,
to visit the dead,
but facinating to me,
on the life they led.

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Tiny Little Castle

The rain came suddenly to ease the drought,
a prayer was answered today, no doubt.
While visiting a friend, my heart came forth,
revealing such misery, buried to the core.
She showed me a castle, just two doors down,
a place of freedom, that she had found.
While walking through, I could see a home,
where life could blossom, and such peace could be known.
So very small, but with so much room,
no evil was present, I felt no gloom.
My eyes lit up, for God was telling me,
you ask for my help, now what do you see.
My friend had prayed so many prayers for me,
to give me strength, and help me break free.
We never expected to find such a place,
but there it was, a tiny little castle, and a home I'll make.

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The River

Cracks of corral emerged between the Earth’s proud crown of evergreen
Gleaming down on grateful Father whose arms in bloom embraced his Daughter
Moon upon Moon in prayer he spent that God would grant his heart’s content
Now all his dreams no longer dreams but infant in his arms serene
They traveled on til trails converged and River’s roar ahead was heard 
Then there upon the shore was laid, a bless’ed barge of birchbark made.

From the River’s roots they rowed, embarking on a fate unknown
Wide-eyed Child soothed by Father’s song amidst echoes of the Wild’s call
Sweetly metered by sweeping oar he told her tales of life before
The great divide of Earth and Sky, of Land and Sea, of Day and Night 
How God by grace named each creature each fish and fowl each fir and fur
Then in His hands mixed clay and sand, the gift of life breathed into Man.

Between each bend dear Daughter grew and saw the world from worn canoe
Floating onward until the day she traded hums and howls to say
Father, Father, I understand! With lamb and wolf we share this land!
How scattered seed grew into tree and tree we carved for pole to feed
Father you’ve grown and given me your faith and love so I might be
Someday just like you a Giver on the road of life, the River! 

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times tickin

So many times I pass by and do not stop.
A few blocks down I wonder why not?
I have to go here, there, always somewhere
but what if time runs out?

Im sorry, I love you
so many years, that i grew up threw
you did so much with me.
I guess I just forgot
how much I love you, ya see

Forgive me for not spending
the time i should had.
after losing my grandpa
well, seeing you made me sad

Im sorry, I love you 
Always letting me pick your carrots
and the times you'd braid my hair
oh ya and letting me sneak in your bed
when i was scared

Ill love you forever
always in my heart
your a wonderful grandma
you have been from the start.....
I love you......I love you.

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In tune with what matters

What a day with all the errands to run!
having other commitments to attend to;
it’s really busy; it’s saturated with preoccupations;
a hefty day that no one can just ignore thus far.

Where there’s time to find a space at least for each day,
to commune with God amid the bustle of the week;
it’s good to make it as a habit both heart and mind,
that prayer even in a short moment can mean so much.

Phone calls, follow-ups with some friends are appreciated
especially for one who needs to share and be with someone;
a kind of diversion, affably reckoned as human relations –
being interconnected in the sphere of living with others.

Some activities can really knock one down in bed right away at night,
with all the exhaustion, pressures, and tensions heretofore;
gauged with loss of energy, passion and enthusiasm,
a failure, a discouraging result that goes with physical limitation.

It’s true that a human body needs rest like any machine we have;
it’s something one has to take it into consideration,
with other factors through which one may look at them with actions
that life compared with seasons need some kind of variations.

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Fare well Paul Harvey

and tonight the rest of the story
let us not give the headlines 
the best of the glory

let's remember the times of old
a history, something told
a storyteller tells the tale
of the bold
listeners tune in to listen
to what is gold

a riddle, a clue, a mystery to unfold
who is the subject and what is the goal
and in the end remembered
the great invention
within the story meaningful intentions

the storyteller had a way
of keeping our attention
as we listened in the car 
or in the kitchen

for some he was our lunch time break
we listened to his commercials as we ate
the trick of advertisement was so sublime
we listened attentivly as he used his time

at times of mattresses, 
and pills we listened to his appeals
while he told the story his ad's would pay the bills

and tonight the rest of the story
lets not give the headlines
the best of the glory

Paul Harvey went to meet his glory
leaving the rest of us wondering
what would be the rest of his story

surely he knew how to begin
and how to skillfully draw us in
as every story the master would begin

but this time there are no commercials 
no special ad's made for his rehursal
only the quiet exit unto glory
and now we know the rest of his story

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Silent as night's presence with ancient peace I'm blessed
summertime,burning heat magnified stress
my brained tamed by '60s narcotic dreams
the key to time capsule memories

Spiritual void,trading city noise for quiet flowering plains and blue grass 
meadows lost in floral pedal 
camoflouge I detour and dodge its poison ivy
climbing lively
rolling hills where time kept still

Deaf silence night's present...nature's dharmic lessons

Concealed knee deep in verdant poppy fields 
and narcotic flowers...many kinds
where ripe orchards soured into wine
patient curiosity filled passing time

Slow night,poppies bloomed in pearl china moonlight
Pale stars cast broke through black overcast 
New visions...brief surreal psycotic doom
Spent day watching narcotic flowers bloom
gathering flowers for keeps
my hunger cured by an orchard's reap
until twilight stars littered summer's night far from home
tomorrow's journey...unknown


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On The Perimeter Of The Place Of Promise

to be in the right place at the right time
destined for greatness with God on your mind
when you're on the perimeter of the place of promise there's no time to hesitate
just trust that by the Lord God you've been set up for this date
at the appointed time there will be an obstacle to overcome
but through Jesus you have the victory so consider the challenge done
don't procrastinate, you need to keep pushing on
as your God-given destiny is just on the horizon
and if you perish, if you perish, if you should happen to die
remember nothing in life is worthwhile if you don't venture to try
destined for greatness with truth and righteousness in your heart
for nothing against you will prosper in the presence of the Lord God

Queen Esther was in the right place at the right time
positioned by the hand of God to for her people do something kind
uncertained and unsure at first she prayed and fasted with a heavy heart
urged by her beloved Uncle Mordecai to for her people do her part

sometimes we have to be pushed and prodded to do what is right
and then search inside ourselves to see the truth in God's light
and if a sacrifice is needed and a life must be given
it may be your destiny for by the Holy Spirit you've been driven
on the perimeter of the place of promise at your godly appointed date
and if you perish, you perish just be like Jesus and don't hesitate

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Unkept Secrets

                                    If fate's when first impressions love
                                  Then regret's yearning what never was
                                    At ease entranced my eyes retrieve
                                                Forgotten memories
                                      Told this tale countless times 
                                  I loved an angel who lost her mind
                             Choose one word which rhymes with fate
                             Relive my life and transcend its mistakes
                             Reclaim precious time, addiction wastes
                      Some angels charm, yet their misery is shared fate

                                         Past memories,I can't forget 
                                   To cherish the past without regret
                                               Until my last breath
                              An angel's death is my secret unkept

                     If wisdom's embraced, trying moments mature
                                Some more fortunate, won't endure
                                Search the cosmos, search inside
                                Is regret volition's reward?And why?

                              Some lost souls embrace addiction
    Save precious time , their unfurtunate fate is an intuitive prediction
                        Some have past lives they've barely survived
                           Is pain volition's reward, or human error?
                              Is regret finite? Will love last forever?

                                         Past memories I can't forget
                                   To cherish the past without regret
                                              Until my last breath 
                                  An angel's death is my secret unkept                                        

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Tea Time

 Tea time.

My watch says four its time for tea
 but I’m not where I ought to be.
Instead I’m stuck in this foul trench
 amidst the mud and slime and stench
Rotting remains which used to be 
young English soldiers just like me.

My country called I volunteered.
 My parents saw me off and cheered
They were quite proud to se me go
 “To teach some manners to the foe”
But now the smoke and gas has cleared
I’m on my own just as I feared.

Our forward trenches over run
 I’m trapped behind the wily Hun
I would surrender if I could
 but I cannot I’m losing blood.
I think my time is nearly done.
The only thing that I have won.

A nameless grave like many more.
 No one can calculate the score
  of those who died on either side.
Involuntary suicide.
There are no winners in this war 
a fact the generals ignore.

  I watch my life blood drain away.
Surprised to find I do not mind. 
I will be pleased: I have to say .
to leave this rotten war behind.
A game I volunteered to play
  I cannot stand another day

The mud the blood and misery
 which all around me I can see.
I leave behind without regret.
But I can see them clearly yet 
My mothers friends all taking tea
I wonder if she’s proud of me.


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Through The Door

The First One Through The Door
Is The Last To Fall Behind
Our Eyes Locked Forward
Bound By The Undefined
Perceptions Fade Quiet
And Dreams Fall Before
Our Hearts Broke Open
As We’re Passing Through The Door

An Age Of Conformation
Desensitized And Surreal
A Loss Of The Lack Of Emotion
Tell Me How It Feels
Everyday Is Just Another Day
Caught Up In The Whipping Post
While The First One Through The Door
Is Left A Lonely Host

So Step Right Up
And Pass On Through
Things Will Never Be The Same
But You Won’t Have A Clue
The Door Is Always Open
And Never In Disguise
Through The Door Of Perception
We’ll Open Up Your Eyes

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I wish sometimes that I had somewhere else to go
that special place that I can call my own,
This day-to-day routine is just bringing me down
I just know that there is something better that will be coming around.
Sometimes it makes me just want to holler and throw up both my hands,
and sometimes I wonder does he really and truly understand
That I long for time just to myself
without having to worry about  any one else?
Whenever he feels stressed and depressed he goes for a long drive
as for me I just continue to stay at home and try my best to survive,
Whenever I feel stressed and depressed I have to keep on keeping on
I have to continue portraying myself as being SuperMom.
I feel that under all of this pressure  and strain I am going to crack!
and it will be my mental wellness that will be hard in getting back,
I need some time to just get away and finally be free
and just go somewhere and have someone take care of me.

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I Got Scared (2005)

He came in with a mask and pretended to pull out a gun
I paused in fright
It was just a big kid having fun
But the fear was at my expense
I smiled it off in defense
I don’t like to show my fear
Otherwise I’ll know what would happen next time they are here
The fear we live in, they haven’t a no clue
Next time you mess the joke will be on you
People around here don’t like clever dicks 
They will beat you at your own tricks 

Another idiot messing around in my shop! Hillfields, Coventry the root of all evil!

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The Visions Blend

Sitting all alone in deep thought, I am a world away.
No Sun, no Stars, and no wind!
My mouth can not speak the words there are to say.
The visions blend carries me to where it never ends.
My God I am here and I demand to stay!
I am here, but gone to where I begin.
Nights and days have come and gone and are now decades away.
No life, no air, and no death!
My God I am alive and dead on this very day.
I am gone, but here with my journey’s quest.
The gift of life is mine as I catch my last breath.
My heart can not hold the words there are to say.
Looking deep into this world where I have come to stay,
No love, no hate, and no sin!
The visions blend carries me to where it all ends.
I am here, but gone to where I begin.
My eyes can see the words there are to say.
My God I am gone and I demand to stay.
Time and time my thoughts have traveled my days,
No time, no light, and no pretend!
The gift of life is mine all over once again.
My God I am dead but alive on this very day.
My ears can not hear the words there are to say.
I am gone, but here absorbing the visions blend.

®Registered: Ann Rich 1997

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The Great White Shield

Held prisoner under His Stars, 
I have fallen under the shadows of THE “Great White Shield”.
At a distance, those shimmering lights covered over me.
Built on THE highest plains, I stand parallel even when His rains come down.
My wall stands tall as my fate is promised and sealed.
I see my passage through time as I hold sturdy to my only God given ground.
I am all that I know I can ever be.
Confined by a little world where all that there is has been lost or found,
My bleeding wall holds my “ ALMIGHTY’S Great Armored White Shield“.
Balanced with time even when His rains are pouring down!
It stands to serve and to protect the best of the living me.
Layer by layer it builds with the strength it has lost or found.
For, I am all that is genuinely real.
Conditioned by my endurance, His Stars my eyes still can see.
Ruling the way that I move, His existence is wrapped tightly and I abound.
Parallel on His plains, a sturdy wall I did gradually help Him build.
My wall protects the only person inside of me.
I secure my only ground as I hold onto His “Great White Shield”.
I am all that I have ever truly found.
When the rains pour down on me, 
I stand atop of all His battled ground.
When I am all with my realest deal,
I am all that can or will be found.
When I am all that I know I can ever be,
I carry a strength that alone I can build.
I am the carrier of my Almighty’s Great White Shield”.

®Registered: 1998  Ann Rich

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Of homecoming

As the old saying goes, “be it ever so humble,
there’s no place like home.”
no matter what the place has promises to make,
to a certain period of time the inner core echoes,
‘I’ve to go soon; I miss my routine along with people.

Priorities at hand and much more the essentials,
given the freedom where I ought to keep that in mind;
it’s a kind of experience, an opportunity that goes hand in hand,
because being at home there’s a vision, a lovely action.

It’s amazing how things can make a great deal of difference,
with depth and length of life, God’s presence forms a meaning
in relationship which is replete with bounds and proportions
that capture the essence of being someone who returns home.

Its metaphorical connection finds an answer to my faith in Him
It’s like an encounter with familiar rhythm of my Asian background,
amid all the apparent successes and failures, or blessings and woes;
with the passage of time along with the flurry of interests done,
certain elements of change become a reason to come by.

There’s excitement and willingness to reconnect with loved ones,
friends, relatives, and all those who’ve been part of the process –
this kind of experience that shapes the wellspring of my perspective
opens the windows to showcase the wealth of mem’ries in depth.

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A Serving Of Justice


The scene kept playing over and over in my mind.
   With such detail, but there was still something missing I could not find.
This was a matter of life and death of that I knew.
    There was something I couldn’t put my finger on as tension grew.
The E-Mail bomber was about to strike again.
     And the clues he gave us this time were just too thin.
He has struck three times in succession.
     Just random violent acts of aggression.
The only link in common is they were targeted on the poor side of town.
     Mostly where you find the homeless and those that are really down.
Each time he’s struck he has wounded or killed no less than thirty in these 
savage attacks.
     Never does he leave a clue, and he so cleverly covers his tracks.
This time he boasts to double his count.
     He claims he won’t be stopped and what he does is paramount.
I’ve got a hunch he’ll strike down by the docks.
     Where they use migrant workers and they all hang around in flocks.
We set up surveillance and just waited to see, 
      When about three in the morning an old van was parked close to where the 
workers would be.
 As we sat and waited for someone to exit the van,
     I just happened to catch the appearance of a dark clothed man.
He was slumped down as if hiding and he wasn’t readily seen.
     I quietly radioed for backup and told them to try to approach him unseen.
With in a matter of minutes we had our man,
     And he was holding a remote control device he used to drive the van.
We called out the bomb squad and they quickly found the source.
     Two hundred pounds of dynamite strapped under a barrel of bolts and a timer 
of course.
As bad as he thought he was he never attempted to fight.
    To me he acted like a little crybaby that’s why he had to hide in the night.
If I wasn’t a cop I think I’d lock him in his van and let him taste his on revenge.
    Sit him on top of those bolts where he could see the timer and be the first to 
feel the twinge.    

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Lesson 101

You don't have no idea of what I'm going through
I've been through so many trials and tribulations
So don't even pretend or even tell me that you do
I've had my heartaches and many nights of frustration

I've soared and seen my highest high
But been crushed down to my lowest low
I know God got something for me in the sky
And I have many more places to go 

People continue to doubt me time and time again 
But I don't have to prove myself to anybody else just myself and I can win

Oh how I wish people understood me better, 
But it seem I have not yet found none
My life is not a fairytail at all

Welcome to Misunderstood Lesson 101

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Childhood innocence

Today I slip back to place of childhood memories
Like seeing for the first time and not believing what you see
I used to like to climb trees to the very top
One inch from the last branch I would stop.

I remember some of the views to me they were so great
I would stay in the tree until it was late
I remember I could see my whole world from this tree
The whole of the town in front is the visual I see.

I used to ride my bike for hours and many miles
No destination the wind provided the smiles
Sometimes I rode from dawn to dusk
I pedaled really fast to shake off the rust.

I remember like my life going by in a flash
I thought I could save time and created a stash
But I think about today and I still have these eyes
The blur of the scenery reminds me time flies.

I was always quite comfortable out in the woods
I’d go out and walk them as much as I could
Animals and I have always had a special bond
They would always come up to me as if I belonged..

I drift back to skipping rocks on a pond
Then wondering if the ripple would travel beyond
I have always wondered it seems to define me
It has always played a part in all that I see.

I’d like to think I’ve grown up but then I read my poems
My eyes still see new things my spirit still roams
I think of innocence and if it’s lost in youth
Perhaps I’m still a child to tell you the truth.

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One True Love

My life was so rugged and blue
Until God blessed me with a gentlemen like you,
I stop believing in love, love so kind and so true
I started back believing the day I laid eyes on you.

I was so skeptical this time around
Oops! I'd better watch it I don't wanna fall down,
Down the road of loneliness and despair
Hmmm....will I ever find someone who really care?

Indeed, it did take a long, long time
But who would have thought that, you, this man could be mine,
The actual day we meet was in July
But when you went to Montgomery, I felt like I was going to die.

In Montgomery way up there
I came to realize that, that was nowhere, 
The days I came to stay with you
Made me realize all the more, this love must be true.

The time we spent, we spent it well
Gosh gee! that sounds like weddings bells,
Bells of music, joy, and laughter
Bells that could means happily for ever after.

After two or three days, I had to come back here 
The thought of being without you caused me to shed a tear,
I'm counting down the days that I would use certain initials
Praying and hoping that it would be Mrs. Jermaine Mitchell.

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Yeah I’m Mad


Where do they mint our coins these days ?
    Seems they forgot one important phrase.
Like in God We Trust is missing now.
    Are have we stop trusting God somehow?
Isn’t In God We Trust our national motto?
   Are did we change it to buy a ticket, win the lotto?
Push came to shove I’ve had enough!
   Enough is enough it’s time to get tough!
Who am I fighting anyhow? 
   Show your self and feel my POW.
This is my country and I stand for God!
   I’m sick of backing up on my on sod!
Put God back where He belongs.
   You sicko bunch of congressional Ding Dongs.
You treat us like we don’t have a say.
    But I’ll keep praising my Lord till my final day.
If it makes you mad I hope it does.
    Because when they take God out of our country, we’ll be just a country that was.
In God I trust forever more.
   I think it’s time we show those pukes in Washington the door.

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Mansions in the Sky

The Stars lit up the skies and nothing could I see,
Except these huge Mansions that fly in the sky.
Swirling winds picked me up and carried me high.
Making trails in the clouds it was just me.
It was breathtaking just to be,
Afloat the top of mansions that fly.
The Moon was bright and the Sun a bit dry.
They were huge and magnificent to oversea.
 Mansions in the sky that fly above it all.
Mesmerized I went in and found no end.
None were too small.
None occupied, not even by a friend!
Mansions that fly fill a brilliant sky,
All emptied but not by I!
© Copyright: Ann Rich  2006

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In Such A Hurry To Get Nowhere

We are living in a microwave induced society.
    Where patience and mercy have no place and that’s reality
No time for friendly chit chat.
   Or getting to know your neighbor, you can forget that.
Very few people seldom take the time to know the person that lives next door.
   Such a sad situation, the art of making friends has become such a chore.
It’s like we’re almost in a race to reach the end.
   And we live in such a make believe world where nothing is real it’s all just 
We can circumnavigate the world in mere minutes instead of years.
   And if the bible holds to truth we may be living those days of horrors, 
experiencing our worst fears.
Time simply has no value it’s seems to be something we’re trying to defeat.
   Lord I miss those younger years when life still had some purpose and tasted 
so sweet.
Those days seem gone forever, gone up in a whirlwind of smoke.
    And if you mention to the younger set how things were so different, they look at 
you and laugh like you just made a joke.
 For me I know the difference and I know that I’m right.
   And as for God and my Country they’re still worth the fight.
A simple smile can go such a long, long way.
   It’s a sign to your fellow man that you’re happy and all is okay.

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The Chase

   Speed, adrenaline, the rush and wind.
Cheeks stinging, hair flying, cold skin.
   Why am I running?
From who or what?
   I can't recall, the rush makes me stop, not my feet, but my mind.
Thoughts that flow out through the passing time.
   Breathing as if no air will ever appear.
The magical surrounding of stars and trees, along with street light rushing by me.
   Reaching out to touch, the never staying stranger.
It gets dark, not just any dark, but as if a black hole.
   It wraps its self around me, engulfing my essence.
Shadows chase after me.
   Not to scare, but to make me aware.
The run becomes an endless abyss.
   What am I running from?
Is it my unforgettable past?
   Maybe its the undetermined future.
Am I being chased?
   I see nothing, but what stands befor me.
Longing to reach my goal.
   Can you see now?
Its not a chase, but a simple desire to run.
   To run for fun.
To enjoy the moon and stars.
   No houses or cars.
A desire like nothing else, to be by myself.
   My head is humming and my heart is thumping.

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That you continue to draw breath matters to me.
Every time that your heart beats
It means something to me.
Why is it that those things
That you most want and crave from life,
Are those things that you refuse to see.
It's time to take the self-imposed blinders
That keep you feeling sheltered, lonely, and desperate
Off and purposefully see what is really around you!
If you are unwilling to let it matter to you-
That you matter to me,
It is of no value, use, or purpose
That I continue to draw breath or
That my heart continues to beat
For to you, it is as if neither even exist.

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With the hoe's crown

Tinkerbell is such a hoe
She never hung out with Joe
Most of the time she hung out with Peter
Who never bothered to read her
Text messages or E-mails
Cause they definitly were sent to females

Peter never had time to work
because she was always out of her shirt
So Peter grew up and moved away
Because Tinkerbell always had time to play
With other boys that she saw when she floats around town
Looking for her hoe's crown

Now after Peter had done his growing up
Tinkerbell eventually caught up
But she was still wearin that crown
And still floatin around town
And Peter saw her and all her actions
Which led to his violent reaction

Tinkerbell went down in her sparkle and mist
Because Peter accidently caught her with his wrist
Then she saw her creeping up from behind
So she reached for her mist, which she just couldn't find
And she saw the look of Peter's satisfaction
And there was no action, but for Tinkerbell's contraction

Eventually Tinkerbell was found
But not without that hoe's crown
That she always wore around town.

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The Picture Of The Past

Far in the distance, time screams out,
I'm all around you, that is what life is about.
I can make you weak, or I can make you strong,
give you a reason, or play a sad song.
I have the power to erase your mind,
any given moment, you may see my sign.
I can hold you captive, and show no remorse,
you my friend, will never know my course.
Many have tried to predict my path,
this one is a mystery, no one knows my wrath.
Enjoy each day, as if it were your last,
you only know for certain, the picture of the past.

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Ink dashed,paint splashed,
gaush splotched 
smeared and painted stained glass
fissured into irredescent shards reflecting clash
with bright technicolor light,its bright center
an unfertilized egg,overwhelmed by splintered
cells,chosen sperm that will grow and never tell
of wading plasma,mired in cigarrette miasma

Halogen light bleeding bright,from this distance untamed
bursts like shattering bulbs peircing wide staring eyes tamed
by dimming candle flame

Mediums tramsformed from their natural form and brillance's born
its odd subject matter framed,its message conveyed by paint splatter
its symmetry and definition enhanced by light's conture
conveys an eccentric prodigy matured

It's eve's hour,the time told by closed pedal flowers
the longer days delayed sleep
as time is forgotten,fond memories,is its creator's keep

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I've been through the storm
all battered and bruised,
People always did me wrong
and I always found myself being used.
Always time and time again
I found myself frustrated and discouraged,
I felt as though I didn't have any friends
and I couldn't help but worry.
Now a day has finally dawned
and things are beginning to finally go my way,
I'm finally brave and strong
and I've got so much to say.
Finally, I can hold my head up high
and confidence is in my step,
There are no more tears left for me to cry
I'm finally taking care of self.
There's no more sorrow in my heart
my mind's rid of all doubt,
In this here world I'm determined to make my mark
I'm going to show this world what I'm all about!
People negative comments won't phase me
I'm going to handle what's mine,
In God I'm going to continue to believe
because He has given me a peace of mind.
The dark clouds aren't  in my way
the sun's shining brightly through,
This is my time, this is my day
I'm doing what I love to do.

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our souls pathway to the heart

                    Innocence and peace are states of mind at the very beginning and 
towards the very end . Everything in between , the mid-cycle , of our lives are what 
create all the differences , through multiple emotional interaction . 
                     The dual mind , positive / negative , and how it effects our behaviors , 
which ultimately becomes who we project and how we eventually percieve 
ourselves , or decieve ourselves and others , by not knowing honestly who we 
truly are internally , our soul being , a spark of light which is that spark of love 
within' . Our physical being is a shadow of our spiritual self , our shadow 
becomes an expression , an accumulation of emotions learned through 
experience . From the moment of our birth into the physical world , our life 
experiences begin as pebbles . Through the course of time and space , our 
experiences , our spiritual growth , become larger stones , boulders , or better 
put , " weights of burden " . Once we begin to understand and recognize , at that 
moment of facing our heaviest obstacle , at that moment , we have to take an 
honest look internally and summon the strength and courage to properly remove 
it . Once we can unlearn to relearn , those boulders , obstacles , begin to get 
smaller , until they again appear as pebbles . A story in retrospect .
                            Imagine yourself as a fish in the river . One day the river floods 
over it's embankment , and you the fish , instead of staying in the river , you get 
caught in the wave of the flood into a pool outside the rivers edge . As the flood 
waters recede to normal , you now become stuck outside the natural flow of your 
existence , in an outer pool . In time as the water evaporates into the air from the 
heat of the sun , you begin to lose sense of your life force , the essence of your 
being , until the moment comes when you begin to die and as the ground around 
you begins to dry and crack , so do you , being reduced to dust to be blown in the 
wind . 
                              If the fish hadn't lost his way and had faced the challenge of the 
flood , and stayed true to itself and stayed the course of his natural existence , he 
may have avoided such a tragic fate . Like the fish , that monstrous boulder is our 
challenge to remove and stay on our pathway , our soul journey . The moment we 
look for the easy way around and head in a different direction , we could possibly 
be setting ourselves up with the same fate of the fish .

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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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Five Glychostones

There’s five glychostones and they’re hid very well.

One is a link to the future of a God given Grace.
One is a key to all of the boxes stuffed with mail.
One is a code to an ancient mystery and is a case.
One is a seed that grows throughout all the lands.
Moreover, the last is a main element for survival!

So we go journeying for the glychostones in the kingdom halls up in hands,

What a redemptive Holy revival!
Hands in hands they shall all go.
Not one, but two knows their way.
Just hope and always, always pray!
And never simply say I don’t know!

Just search for the five glychostones enriched in its purest true value,
Moreover, each has essential life sustaining merits of valor or honor, 
Hands fill up in the sands when the farmer awakens inside all of you!

Just search for five glychostones and seek to explore all you can do,
Each glychostone reaps in merits and honors ordained pure and true.

You will find every single one of them decked out in crystallites’ blue!
You are splendid with many abundant blessing hands upon your lands!

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North bound train
Canadian land
Byways and the valleys
a time in quiet that may be found
Treasures of the Forest
Cars on a busy stretch,this afternoon
Later in the evening
I'll gaze upon the old man of the moon
A tourist touring
The splendor of Province country
The conductor is pointing out scenic spots
Still riding the rails
in Summer's time of Thunderstorm hails
Be as it may
I'll return to Boston somehow
some day
The children will be grown
nieces and nephew shake this hand
Knowing forever,
their favorite storyteller is now home

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The World

The world may hold many things, 
a choice we make when we wake up everyday.
To fall to the fate of chance.
Some may be bad and others that are amazing.
We can not judge what we do not know. 
The things that we cherish some times leave and we go though the process 
of  what they call grief.
At times i wonder what the world is really all about.
It is a question that will never have an answer, but i will always wonder.
Is it a place where love is made and life begins where happiness is just a hand 
shake away. 
You would like to believe that, but really the world i see is sadness, pain, 
suffering, death and war.
Beauty queens always say " i want world peace " well duh!, who doesn't want that.
I would be happy if we lived in a world where watching the news doesn't make 
me cry.
Where peace meant one day without hearing about the death of another 
American soldier.
It would be a great day if the world kept turning.

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In the Silence of the Night

In the silence of the night
The neighbors could hear
Someone putting up a fight
And shedding some tears
They had an idea of what was going on
But they turned out their lights
Even though they knew it was wrong
Night after Night
It was the same routine
The yelling would begin
Then the pain at 9:15
When the beating was done she would lay in bed
Lay under her covers crying
Praying to God for this all to end
In the morning she would leave for school
Trying to cover her bruises
And not wanting to break a house rule
Everyday, week after week
She came up with a new excuse
Hoping her teacher would not ask for the truth
Even though he knew it was abuse
She anxiously watched the clock
Hoping three never came
Hoping things would be different
But it was always the same
Daddy came home drunk
Mommy was high
Except this time her head hit a trunk
And she knew it was time for good-bye
She used to think it was because she was bad
That mommy would yell
And daddy would get mad
After she hit her head
An Angel came from the sky
It said there would be no more pain
And no more needing to lie
As she lay there bleeding
Blood pouring onto the floor
A huge smile came across her face
Because she knew God heard her prayers
And that she would be in a much better place

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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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Earthbound sobriety

While crossing Verrazano Narrows Bridge
recurring mem’ries of New York recapture 
history and civilization of the two boroughs
provide me with deep interest and emphasis.

Brooklyn in its old Dutch for “broken land,”
and Staten Island named “Staaten Eylandt”
named in the early 1600s by Henry Hudson,
trailed off on a tangent through centuries.

A myth or perhaps a legend, the island thus far,
was like a quagmire of townships and disputes;
its meaning to immigrants’ culture and religion,
favored silence, security, peace, and integration.

The burden of too many choices based on clans,
growing businesses and stories of interactions;
new immigrants in droves through generations
like an orchestra combined with a sense of drama.

Reflections of their struggles to make ends meet,
reminded me of articulation through interpretation;
in sobriety of heeding of the composer’s intent,
such a musical piece made me suffer and sweat.

Oh, the pedal, rhythmic vitality and expression!
all these elements comprise what piano playing is,
the technique, in a special way, a benchmark item
indeed, a struggle to interiorize those conventions.

But as a human person with some limitations,
with my own history and capability in playing,
I see where I can be fit and freely express myself;
through movements in diverse missionary works.

As it says in French, “bon débarras, il est partí.” 
my life continues with a backlog of other issues,
a different world focused on service to the Lord;
with my own repertory – its beauty to humanity.

It’s true that my prayer for the church at large,
is also a bridge across the gulf of separation;
coming to this borough of Staten Island
a hodge-podge of concerns, covenanted within.

Now that relationship with God and people
brings me to nourish that faith and commitment;
with that long stretch of Verrazano Narrows Bridge,
a metaphor to my own journey as a missionary.

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America Shout

I can't say anything,
that hasn't already been said,
but you are in my heart,
as I break my daily bread.
Many of our loved ones,
are not with us tonight,
they are protecting our freedom,
with all they have got.
Called to do a job,
in a land so far away,
brave men, and women,
America can never repay.
I look at our flag,
flying at the courthouse everyday,
and you are the reason,
soldiers sacrificing, so peace can be made.
I can't say enough,
but I am so proud,
Thank You American Soldiers,
America, SHOUT............

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When she returned back from Chicago
she wasn't quite the same woman,
She returned having dark secrets of her own
secrets that she's not revealing.
Her husband was back in Alabama
having the time of his life,
It was though he'd forgotten
that he even had a wife.
The old ball and chain was finally gone
he felt so footloose and fancy free,
But he dreaded the day that she came back home
he'd wished that she'd once again leave.
People seem to think everything's okay between them
considering in public they're always showing affection,
But the people don't know the true story about them
on their part it's just merely acting.
She just don't know that while she was away
he was fooling around with his ex,
And over in their home the ex did stay
playing the role of good wifey for a minute.
What he don't know is that while in Chicago
she'd found the man of her dreams,
And pretty soon she's making plans of returning back to Chicago
just to be once again with the man of her dreams.
Apparently, they're both keeping dark secrets
that either one doesn't want to know,
Eventually, in due time there's going to be a revealing
and over will be the charade and show.

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In These Eyes of Mine

In the glow of the day, rise the shadows of a dark night where I come free.
Walking slow yet running with hot flames drenched by my body soiled, I am here.
My walk, my life, I stand with this seed.
Taking me down, all the way because I am the only one who care’s.
In these eyes of mine, let the Sun make glow of my hair!
In the depths of the Oceans may the Mountains peak, I am free.
Stroking slowly, yet rock climbing with the pain of broken rocks, I go there.
My depth and my height I stand with this need.
Rolling me around, all the way because I am the only one who share’s.
In these eyes of mine, let the Mountain make depth of my care.
In the brightness of the Stars lingers a magical gleam, all scattered and free.
Breathing slowly, yet desperate for the air to give my last and final breath, I am there.
My deepest, my highest, I stand with this greed.
Pulling me down to the ground all of the way because I am here!
In these eyes of mine, let the Stars make bright of my fear.
These eyes of mine give to you this planted seed with all of my prayers.

®Registered: Ann Rich 1999

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Sometimes silent,
on the sideline they sit,
watching every move,
an education they get.
Words in anger,
linger somewhere,
forming their foundation,
for the ones we hold dear.
Actions really do,
speak louder than words,
listening, and seeing,
how many we hurt.
The mirror my friend,
reveals many things,
and sometimes very painful,
the revelation it brings.
Parents are the moulders,
their job sometimes tough,
but their future is coming,
and what they learn depends on us.

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Just the other day she asked me
did I still have feelings for you,
I admit, that off a guard she did catch me
that I did not know exactly what to say or do.
But the truth is...
even though six years ago you broke my heart
right now today you still have a special place in my heart.
Truth is...
even though I managed to get over you
I found myself still being captivated with only memories of you.
Truth is...
you were the very first love that I had ever known
that was why it was so hard for me to accept the fact that to someone else you 
had moved on.
Truth is...
I was so angry that I actually tried to hate you
but I found that it was hard even for me to do.
Truth is...
I done just about anything to try and keep you
because during that time I had been just that deep in love with you.
Truth is...
I thought there would be not another man that could take your place
and put a smile on my face.
Truth is...
I thought you were made for me and I was made for you
and we were going to start a life anew.
Truth is...
it had taken me some time to see
that even though our love was special, it just was not meant to be.
Truth is...
I learned it was best to just let you go
so you could be with someone else that loved you more.
Truth is...
I am glad that you are finally happy
and I am glad that I am finally happy.
Truth is...
my love for you is that of a friend
nothing else more, nothing else less just that of a friend.

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Just Because

Just because, 
I really thought I was!
I was coming and coming,
Holding nothing back!
I could go anywhere,
I could go running!
I came unlatched.
I just really can not compare!
Just because,
I just really knew it was!
I kept going and going,
Holding nothing back!
I went showing!
I was unlatched
I am just really glowing!
Just because,
It really was,
It was here and now!
Holding nothing back!
I go proud!
I am unlatched!
I am just really now!
Just because,
It really was!
But gone forever!
Holding nothing back!
I went clever!
I became unlatched!
I was prisoner, 
Just because 
I really was!

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A Time To Say Goodbye

A time to say goodbye
A time to fly
No longer shall these tears we cry

With each passing day
In each and every way
Oh how I wish that you could stay

But unfortunately your time has come
To travel out beyond the sun
Your journey has just begun

Your memory shall always live on
Every day at dawn
A single tear telling me that your gone

So precious were you to me
And forever shall you be
You still come to me in my dreams

I do not want you to leave
But I must tell you before you go
I will always love you
Love you more than you may ever have a chance to know
Take with you this memory
I was the best father that I could be
And a final thank you my child 
For all the joy that you brought to me

The End
Greg P

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Greetings weary traveler of the realm 
We welcome you with open arms and unconditional love 
Gaze upon the awesome beauty of creation 
Drink from the stream of forgiveness 
While we the keepers of tomorrow 
Cool your brow with the gentle breeze of compassion 
Walk with us down the lane of eternity 
Smell the sweet pine, taste the honeysuckle 
You have traveled far through the ruins of the past 
We have waited patiently 
All those you have ever loved are here 
Never again to regress 
They call this place Happiness 
Forever here you shall dwell 
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust 

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My Shady Tree

I am not going to let this world stress me out anymore, because the lord answers prayers.
Recently, I passed away and made it all the way to heaven. This time, I am one of God’s holy
angels. I need to step out of this world again, and find me a shady tree. 

Folks are killing each other for no reason at all. Yesterday, the sun start crying
because, they build those skyscrapers too high in these neighborhoods. I am too scared to
go in an elevator, down town. Every time I look up at those skyscraper buildings, my
arthritis kicks in. Lord, in the morning I need a little bit of sunshine on my face. Where
is my Shady tree? 

Every time I pick up the newspaper, I see corruption, violence and bad news in this world.
Mama use to say, “What the world needs now, is love, sweet love?” Look at these kids
bringing guns and knives to school and participating in lock downs, instead of lunch
breaks. I know some of these kids are spoil rotten to the core.

Anyway, the kids figure it is economical selling drugs, then attending Yale or Princeton
college. Well, too many video games and all that bling, bling rap music on TV is
destroying their young minds. Look at the young girls having babies and leaving a helpless
and poor baby in the trash bins for them garbage men to pick up. We have babies making
more babies. 

Oh, heavenly Father and sweet Jesus, I need my shady tree to recover from all this mess!
Lord, we got too many children ripping and running these streets without fathers at home,
providing clothes, food and shelter. 

Cassias bring mama a glass of ice water. Have you heard about the good news, “Jesus is
coming back” Lord, just let me live 999 years or live as long as Moses lived. 

I remember, back in the day, when ever, I had any troubles in the world, I just go look
for my shady tree. Cassias bring mama her slippers, so I can rest these tired old feet.
Bless his little soul. Well, I don't have to worry about it anymore, because I died and
went to heaven.

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Village of Delphi

Serene the sleepy village appears,
houses perched on steep hillsides
overlooking deep, forested gorges
among a sea of silent pines green.

Shops and stores face each other
across its narrow, one-lane street,
where grizzled men sip their ouzo
in some tavern’s outdoor benches.

Oh, just to commune with god Apollo
high above those lofty Grecian peaks
while clouds kiss the mountaintops
and the wind to the trees whispers.

Coming to a little place like Delphi
nestled amidst breathtaking beauty
where time stands so perfectly still
is to touch the face of the Almighty.

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Occurring being fearful the winter
while the mid-night minutes
by anew wake of dawn —
the snow-alike rain been falling
and the Cathedral is hollow-ringer
sudden gave off fifth pealing of belling 
and hour done announce by dawn turn,
over the semi vision bout darkness	
and through my window glass
the winter I listening 
giving a sound in torment whimper —	
and the illusion, the dreamy
and memories apart
occupying sort, my mind
the childhood and romance left moment
the school ever by a placenta winter
ever as passions area
the fountain and inspiration
a meant-up dynamic thy precious
the beauty–the greatly there
moments in life 
and by the end, I wrote
the winter I’d listened
in respond and convert ill temper
over hard fury whimpering sound
in landing in torment . . . 

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Painting the agony

The headline in today’s paper
caught my attention, and with interest –
I read through the article.

The case of someone who’s ill
with a dangerous form of tuberculosis
a target of all media people
with its overwhelming implication.

As an international issue to deal with,
a stark landscape of affliction;
being blamed for possible contaminations,
Mr Andrew Speaker,  the scapegoat here.

This reminded me of my own experience
as a seminarian in my own land;
I once fell very ill and needed –
a space for complete isolation: a quarantine! 
It’s an unforgettable experience for me.

life lived like in abandonment;
its effect on me spilled out over history
being vulnerable and reflective, an agony.

I hate to recall that particular mem’ry
were I felt driven away from my community;
it swelled to two weeks as I was isolated,
with a running sore of pain against them.

But that’s part of what we ought to do
with caution and concern to others who might be in danger;
that sickness, the so-called ‘chicken pox’ knocked me down
a lengthy episode marked with sadness, drenched in anger.

Like profiling passengers in transportation system,
for fear of terrorism who might cause explosion;
it’s same thing when one carries a disease – contagious
there’s a need for isolation or quarantine in procedure.

With today’s world overdosed by all forms of ailments,
there’s urgency or a wake-up call to everybody;
precaution and prevention that give birth to fruition;
a jarring departure for plagues of all seasons.

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An Answer To A Poem

 I read a poem just today. 
   Called the ignorant Christian and I felt sympathy almost right away.
It’s been over two thousand years since our Savior died. 
   But every day I see His name being unfairly crucified.
And to those of us who follow we’re called the ignorant ones.
   For wanting a better life when this one is done.
You can’t take the Bible and turn into just certain things you want to hear.
   Although it teaches forgiveness it also teaches fear.
Jesus says repent and from our sins we must turn away.
   It’s not an easy battle but one we must fight each and every day.
Being a Christian is not always an easy road.
   We face some of what Jesus went through with a much lesser load.
Personally I feel the time is near.
   It’s time for Christians to boldly stand up for Jesus and stand up without fear.
When the reckoning days have come and He reaches for His book.
   Is your name going to be in it wouldn’t you like to take a look?
Would you like to be set free?
   Then say this simple sinners’ prayer with me:
Lord please forgive me, I repent and seek Your forgiveness of all my earthly sins.
   I know you died for my sins, You were nailed to the cross, were buried but 
death couldn’t hold You, for You arose again.
I accept you as my Savior and will share Your mighty word.
   If you say that and mean it you can be sure our Savior heard.
Thank you and God bless you.

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Midnight and the Shadows.

Midnight drips down from the clouds
the sky, infected by her despair turns to ash,
and the grand Concords of heaven mourn
burning the world with their bitter tears,
tears of acid.
Brine from the breeze sticks silver
in the night
glittering with the sand stuck in it,
and the face of midnight sets 12 eyes
on the faces of the fallen.
Twisted in their misery of disgrace
torment is the deep set lines on their faces,
ageless to times touch
and the acid drips in time with midnight
much to mortal displeasure.
The snowfall turns skin to porcelain
becoming ash in the mouths of the innocent
setting them apart from the world of sinners
Midnight marks them as hers
claiming the purest, leaving the world to suffer their sins.
As night sets his hands in,
the innocent:
turn their wrists skyward
turn the bottle upside down
and line up the pills
just in time for the tolls of midnight to echo into the darkness.
Once, twice and the wrists are sliced
seventh, eighth another drink take
eleventh, twelfth, no more pill bottles on the shelf
no more minutes to midnight 
and beating hearts, pure and black, slow.
Midnight gathers her children,
casting them black shadows falling
growing and creating
an image of herself in the light of day
always some part of her in the moon or in the sun
until Midnight calls them to her again.

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How do I feel

Huh! I told myself that way.
There’s pain and I don’t know what to do.
Perhaps I may endure it but to no avail.
I’m fed up and wounded deep inside.

Uneasy muscles, headache and fragility
Are real disturbances which I feel this moment.
I want to stand up and be with my other friends
But I’m helpless and weak, unable to move.

Amid time and space, my solitude unfolds
My own state of being
That far beyond one’s sight, invites the work of my sentiments,
Of love and truth uphold then my human essence.

How I keep longer certain thoughts to share
The awaiting time that drives and cracks me through signs,
Is yet a question, quite profound
That entails much time thus far.

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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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Docked by Time

Celebrating the glare that glows,
A reflection of you creeps in.
The glory of high rank again!
Somebody you do not know,
But a sacrifice all the same!
Docked by time with a name!
Riding the high tides,
A fear of you sets in.
The smile of pride again,
Somebody you hide,
But a sacrifice all the same!
Docked by time playing the game!
Laughter with the fame you claim,
The sound of you drifts in,
The look of confidence seen again,
Somebody you remain.
But a sacrifice all the same!
Docked by time is such a shame!

®Registered: Ann Rich 1998

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Turkey Day And All The Trimmings And Stuff

Come on in my family, and friends,
let us all work together, as the preparation
Grab that turkey, and warsh him real good,
better make sure we have plenty of wood.
Fire up the stove, and get it real hot,
sure hope paw got out all the buckshot.
Cut up them onions, and chop them real fine,
make sure you don't cut your fingers this time.
Grab you a chere, and sit down right here,
grandma is busy icing down all the beer.
Uncle Pete is piled up, watching the game,
he is hollering for snacks, the only reason he came.
Pick that dishrag up off the floor,
this is the last one, we don't have nary more.
Set the table with paper plates, and cups,
maybe this year, we just might have enuff.
Save all them cans, and put them in this box,
we sure wish grandpa could be here with us, but he
is still in detox.
After we eat, and our bellies are full,
the guys will jack the cars up, and get under the hood.
From our house to yours we wish you the best,
Happy Thanksgiving from us all, now it is time to rest.

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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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Apart of me

I wonder how you feel when I run across your mind
Good, bad, or pleasant thoughts coming from inside
It hard not knowing how you feel
When the feeling that I’m feeling has got to be real
We’re so distanct yet so close
But I lack the things from you I need the most
It’s affection from you that I seek
It’s because, you’re Apart of me

It’s uncertain you have the same attraction
Because you show no emotion, it’s not in your actions
My heart just yearns for capture
Caught up in the love that it’s after
In your presence ,up under your skin
Posted up I want to lie within
But, it’s been 2 long weeks
And you’re still apart from me

Looks like nothings going to change
The world keeps moving and I just stay the same
I guess I need to move on before its to late
No matter how hard it feels, I choose my own fate
If you’re unsure about what it is you want
Tell me what you’re thinking right now upfront
I don’t need 3 months to decide if theirs a we
It’s evident to me already, beacuse you’re apart of me

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