I joined the Brownies when I was seven
Oh what fun I was in seventh heaven
Having fun and making new friends
But in the Brownies my life almost ends
We were doing badges - this particular one was for swimming
I wasn’t a strong swimmer and was having lessons
We sat on edge of the baths in our costumes and hats
Then we had to swim along the side of the middle of the pool
To gain our badge we had to swim a width all the way across
I’d only ever swum in the shallow end before
But everyone else was swimming across…
So I started off… got halfway across…
And then I got into trouble
Began to go under the water…
I sank to the bottom of the pool
Two men dived in to save me
My parents were frantic
They had been watching me ‘swim’
And were sitting upstairs on the balcony
Unfolding before their very eyes
Was their worse nightmare
Thankfully these two men saved my life
All I can remember was being rather ill at the side of the pool
As the water came gushing out of me
One memory I have is of being given chocolate buttons to eat on the way home
I was awarded by Brownie badge – guess it was out of guilt
I never did complete that width.
Now I am scared of deep water
If anyone asks me if I can swim…
I say ‘yes’… like a stone!
Contest: Near Death Or Near Life Experience
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
I'm always there, in that place that doesn't mean a thing to anyone but me. A far away
meadow where I don't have to hide all the happiness of a young girls heart. One that has
been ripped apart, so many times. I stare at all the beautiful flowers and trees of my
surroundings and let the wind gently rustle my hair. I close my eyes taking in all these
wonderful things, as I lie on the cool grass. My body mixes in with the air, and I'm blowing
past natures statues and creatures galore. I stop at the edge of a nearby pond, my body
floating softly to the ground as an eagles feather. I look deep into the sparkling image that
makes me who I am. I gracefully touch the water with my fingertips and let the water
shimmer like the stars. A white unicorn grazing near the freshly harvested hay, called out to
me. It approached me as I stood, and nuzzled my arm. I brushed its silk coat and burrowed
my face against her cool cheek. This is the reason I come to this place. To interact with the
things not known or believed in their world. Its just my own, my sound and the behind
scenes of my eyes. It's calm and peaceful, which their world is far from. I'm the only one with
the doorway to this meadow. I love going there, it's like a blanket that warms its comfort
over me when I need it the most. And when I get there, my feelings are a boat sailing to
sea, leaving me filled with perfect serenity. I'll always be there, till the end of all life, and I
know this lovely meadow will never be replaced.
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
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
These will outlast everything
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
This will outlast
A Fountain for Carmela....
In the village of Santa Maria, high in the mountains lived a little girl named Carmela. It has
always been the tradition of the women to carry water from the well no matter how far and bring
it home. This was done sometimes twice a day.
It was another beautiful morning as the Sun began to rise. Outside the front door, brightly
colored Parrots were singing sweet songs as Carmela’s mother, Esperanza, prepared the
morning meal of tortilla’s, black beans and sweet coffee. Carmela so enjoyed sitting next to her
mother by the cooking fire. This was her time, alone with her mother, learning how to tend the
fire and grind the maze that she loved the most.
As her Mother dipped her ladle into the water jug, it was plain to see that it was almost empty.
Carmela looked into the jug and asked….
"Mama, can I carry the water today?" Little Carmela asked, she was so happy to be old enough
to do such a thing. Her mother had taught her how to balance the jug on top of her head just
right, so as not to spill even drop on their many trips to the well. But the well was half a day’s
walk down the mountain and back and she had never gone all by herself. It was a hard task for
sure but her familia needed water for cooking and cleaning.
The water tower stands above the town and can be seen for miles around. It has a
ladder leading up to the base of the tank. This ladder has been climbed by countless
teenagers, for thrills and mischief and young kids answering a dare.
Over the years, many symbols and words have been painted on the tank. From
Highschool mascots, to hearts of love and proposals. Flowers and Holiday wishes
It had always been one mans job to keep the water tank painted and to cover up
any impromptu artwork. He always took his time about it though. Making sure that
each message stayed up at least two weeks before he would paint over it.
One day he received a phone call. On the line was a little boy. This little boy asked
the man to please not paint over his message he had written on the tank, as it was
The man explained to the boy that it was his job to keep the tank painted and
clean. But, that he would leave his message up there, untouched, for two weeks. The
little boy, with tears in his voice said "Thank you, I hope it will be long enough".
The next day, as the man was driving past the water tank, he looked up. He saw no
message or pictures of any kind on that tank. He shrugged and assumed that the boy
had just been to scared to make the climb all the way to the top.
Three weeks later, the mans phone rings again. It was that same little boy. Very
excited, he proclaimed "Mister, I just wanted to thank you for not painting over my
message...It really worked!"
Intrigued, the man went to the tank with his paint and supplies. He climbed to the
top, set down his paint and brush. He walked around that tank several times and still
did not see a message. But, as he bent to pick up the paint can, there it was.
Towards the bottom of the tank, in crayon with a young child scroll was written:
"Dear God, pleeze let my daddy come home frum war I miss him
Your frend Mike"
The years passed. Many drawings and words were painted over by one man and then
the other, as they took the job over. But never, the one small patch, with that heart
For the contest: Story Time
Hostess: Carol Brown
Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat!
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?
Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...
After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!
My theme is: Happiness In Childhood
Waves crash down on the rocks reducing them to sand
Then sweeps them away to some far off land
The wave roll in covering my feet in sand
In the concept of time I wonder just who I am?
I gaze before me the vastness of the sea
Represents all the possibilities inside of me
I can’t think of any place I would rather be
I have trouble describing there’s so much to see.
I walk out to the rocks to find some treasure
I find many starfish much to my pleasure
It seems that the only way to go is up
So I step up and take a drink from life’s cup.
Peace and tranquility fill me inside
While the waves provide a pretty good ride
The water is cool and so refreshing
All of the pieces seem to be meshing.
A seagull in the water and gets hit by a wave
I dawn a smile and feel I am saved
I like how the sky melts into the sea
Over the horizon sounds like the place to be.
The adventure I’m on may never be through
Sometimes I’m not sure what I should do
I just press on and see what shall become
I like what I see so I try to grab some.
Toasty mornings with teakettles whistling bring to mind Danish days on Marata’s
horse farm, ponies prancing in the unusually warm sunlight, and new fangled
sparkling silver water fountains. Mirada, Karen and Laura’s Mom hosted Bob, Jamie
and I for a summer vacation. We had just settled into the whitewashed kitchen
when the problem was presented to us. For years the housed herd of guest horses
had been watered by filling lovely old white porcelain cast iron tubs which had been
scattered all over the rolling green fields of the farm in Faum.
Mirada had the forward thinking idea of saving farm hand time [and her the hourly
wage] of piping water to these beautiful horses with new fountains! Yes, my
lovelies, all you have to do is push your nose right here. Out bubbles crisp cool clean
water, minus the dead flies, which often drowned in the old tub! Seems horses are
very suspicious. Nope the herd was having none of it. Soon, if not cajoled, they
would be passing out from lack of water in the Danish summer’s heat. What foreign
creature had replaced their friendly old white tub of water? Where was their water?
They saw no water. Sure there was a scent of it from that pole but “What the
heck?” snorted the black stallion shaking his head at the girls.
We were told there would be no breakfast, lunch or dinner for us until we helped
get those horses watered. So off we went, shuffling our feet to a meet and greet
with the herd. Marata and the girls knew the horses. We almost knew a horse from
a cow. I went right up to this large black beauty, pet his nose and rubbed my cheek
on his face, love at first sight! Blackie started following me and we walked toward
the fountain. Then the sun glanced off the dreaded thing and he shied. I pushed the
control, filled my hands with water and brought him some. Lordy, lordy he drank
from my hands! The herd behind him whinnied. I tried to get him nearer the fountain
but it was a no, go. He’d drink from my hands but not the fountain. It just goes to
show you, you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink, is really
*The next morning Laura begged her own pony AGAIN to drink. He finally did the rest did too then ;)
In the wee hours of the morning
When the owls and imps were upon the marsh
We would take our old pirogue and paddle into the darkness
Our intent was to catch bullfrogs but anything was game
We were two young boys armed with BB guns and fishing poles
Headlights strapped hard and tight around our skulls
We searched the shore and stumps for eyes glowing in the night
Cypress trees towered overhead and occasionally the canopy would break
And we would see the clouds drifting quickly past and catch a glimpse of the moon
The paddles would never break the waters surface, as silence was our friend
Once we spotted our prey we would move in slowly and my brother would creep
Slowly to the bow. He would bend over the bow reaching out many feet in front of the boat and grab the frog behind the front legs and quickly stash it away into a burlap sack
Every catch brought us great pleasure, as this was no easy feat. We could have shot them with the BB guns but that was illegal and not nearly as fun. On occasion we would have to steal them from a water moccasin that was ready to strike. Those moments were like lighting and only steeled our intentions to catch more.
Once we had caught a dozen or so we would begin to look for other prey to catch or harass (we were teenagers and couldn’t help ourselves). The occasional raccoon caught out in the open was always fun to chase but never pleasurable to have in the pirogue with us. We learned that lesson the hard way one night when I pushed the boat into the fork of a cypress tree with an old mother coon eating a turtle. My brother and I fought like hardened sailors to keep her at bay but both ended up in the water and nearly sank the pirogue.
Other occasions found us pulling loggerhead turtles from the depths and trying to dispatch them before they bit off a finger.
We both have all our appendages to this day, but I swear Lord we tried, we really tried to lose them.
I never saw a frog leg jump from the pan, but the old man did make us slice them at the knees just to be sure we didn’t loose a piece of that meat that tasted better than any chicken I ever ate.
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)
The rush of swish against the shoreline
The wind blowing swift by is a sign
A storm a brewing, clattering, and shattering
The thunder clapping a great sky battering
The waves swoosh higher up
As you can get this sound like in a cup
But more so just cover your hand
Now the feeling of grit giving sound to sand
Whoosh! the wind takes your hair
It is fear-est when water spit as it declare
War on your skin, with vibration that pings
And the silence of slow blowing wind sings
Hot summer sand
Tiny pinpricks of fire dance against my bare back
I vaguely realize I’ve slipped off the blanket
But it’s all right my arms are not entangled
my hands free to run through his hair
Silken strands flowing between my fingers
I inhale his special scent of sea salt and sweat
Water lapping at my toes
At my bikini laying unnoticed on the shore
Waves breaking over our bodies
Icy cold rushing in to meet sweltering heat
as the moon spills her sultry glow
to make it seem we are swimming in honey
I feel the tide flow in and back out again
Surging over and over in that ageless rhythm
we think is ours alone
Our expression of love
is as natural and elemental as the tides
As the moon the stars and the look in his eyes
Home is a thousand miles away
in the land of cornfields and clay
Home is a thousand light years away
in the time before I threw my inhibitions away
during a hot summer night
And was loved
on the gulf shore in the moonlight
For Blame It On The Moon Contest sponsored by Poetess Darkly
Oh,no!not again,my book is in a mess.vomits of inks all over my notes.
My pen is drunk again.Stench!,stench of vomits everywhere.As it wobbles
from line one to line four...No!no matter what I must finish this piece,so
that I can have peace.I`m writing a Sedoka to a wonderful damsel and....
the ground is spinning,I`m feeling very dizzy; Hiccups.....hic...cups this is
frustrating,oh! it`s not me,it`s my pen....then I travel to the world of
extreme bliss where I`m married to a princess in a golden castle....
with plenty cattle...the sky is blue as the flowers bloom and the stars
are sparkling;Oh,yes!I`ve been here before~the apex of glory...
cool cosy water fall touching my head....De ja vu ~~de ja vu....inks
dripping on my feet...Ha!my pen~~I jerk back to life....thick inks flow
out of my drunken pen forming a sea of water on my notes.Oh!smell
of whisky fills the air.......my Sedoka is ruin.Ha!my princess in the Ca..
cas..tle..;Wha..t an illusion..Staggering..waggling...rambling, my pen
There may be troubled times ahead
if things do not change.
In as little as 30 years monsoons could stop
this is due to deforestation.
To avoid this happening we need to
reforest vast areas.
It is not possible to plant trees without
preparing the land first.
It can take up to 10 years to re-bond the land
and get it stable enough to support trees.
The Monsoon is one of earth's most important
If we lose it climates will change completely
and the earth could be little better than a dust bowl.
Activeremedy.org is fighting hard to avoid this happening
lead by two ladies who have dedicated their lives to this cause.
In a little as 60 years water could cease to exist
and with it life as we know it.
People need to be aware and to find out what they can do.
By working together we can hopefully avert this crisis.
I don’t remember any one moment or act that brought myself
and my friends to this moment….maybe it was the night we had
dinner at Aunt Elaine’s house….she had boiled water for the pasta in
tainted water because she had refused to update her data-chip implant,
and her filtered water had been cut off….anyway, everyone was sick
for days…..lesson all of us present heeded…. things we wanted to do like
before seemed out of reach….what with the twice-daily voice-response
activated check-ins…. and the ID line-up queue for food rations…. a guy
couldn’t just up and go fishin’ for the day….or go hiking in the woods,
at the drop of a hat….rumors flew like the wind of people I knew who
escaped to the northwoods, never to be heard from again….. some people
heard of folks arrested and taken to detention facilities….no one knew
where….everyone feared needing any acute medical care…. whether you
returned cured…. or returned at all…. was anybodys guess…. I just wanted
to go fishin’…..
© All Rights Reserved
(Good Advice Spurned)
Grandmother packed a picnic lunch.
Brother, sister, and I, with two uncles
traipsed into the woods,
in search of adventure.
We found it.
We ate our picnic lunch, sitting
on a fallen tree, spanning the creek.
We sampled “Rabbit Ice,” formed
on weeds, hugging the stems
in smooth, thin white curls.
We drank creek water in cupped hands,
so cold, we shivered.
“Let’s build a fire,” my brother said.
Uncle Larry cautioned, “You’d better not.
You’ll set the field on fire.”
We built the fire,
warmed our cold hands.
As the circle of fire began to spread,
we beat it with branches,
water carried from the creek in our hats.
Undaunted, the fire ate up the dry grass,
spreading like a pond ripple
from a rock thrown in.
Uncle Larry refused to join
our efforts to ‘beat out’ the fire.
He stood, callously laughing
at our futile efforts.
The entire field burned.
We worried all afternoon.
What would Granddad say,
when he saw the black field
from the kitchen window?
My first concern was to contact family, friends and employees that might be in the
immediate vicinity of the event. We are one of those lucky stories where my wife
had a doctor’s appointment and did not go to work that morning, otherwise - well,
I’d rather not think about otherwise.
Given what I do and where I was living at the time, I spent the rest of the week
trying to find corporate real estate immediately available for occupancy and doing
interviews. If you do a web search on my name and “eagle rock” you can still find
some of those articles.
Early Saturday morning, I took my one son who still lived at home onto the city to
volunteer our assistance. We took the Jersey City ferry into midtown. At first, we
made our way to the Javits Center where volunteers were to gather. Even at 6:30
in the morning this place was pure chaos with hundreds of people wandering
around with no organization.
We decided this was a lost cause and started walking down towards the World
Trade Center. What a surreal experience this was. For 30 blocks we walked down
the middle of NYC streets without any traffic in site. No taxis; no cars; no buses; no
pedestrians. It felt like a scene out of a science fiction movie with NYC totally barren
of life, save for the two figures making their way downtown.
A few blocks from downtown, we were met by roadblocks. We walked up and down
a few streets to see if there was any place we could be of service. We came upon a
street with a man on the other side of the blockade handing out water bottles to
rescue workers returning from the WTC. We asked the police officer if we could
assist the man and he let us inside the barrier.
The supply of water bottles was getting low so I gave the man $200 and he went
off to purchase more. Meanwhile, my son and I handed bottles of water to rescuers
covered in sweat and soot. Over time, a crowd started building up behind the
barriers and people started cheering and clapping for each rescue worker as they
came up to get some water.
Somehow, whenever the water bottle supply got low, a new supply arrived. My son
and I spent hours handing out water to tired and thirsty rescue workers as the
crowd grew and the cheering increased. It was just our way of providing what little
help we could and it helped us, personally, come to terms with what had taken place
in our own backyard.
This year marks the 10th anniversary of that tragic day on September 11. I hope we
I am Canine lupus familiaris
Known as dog
Man’s best friend
Someone to fetch
Someone to catch with
Someone to walk
Since I cannot speak
I watch and listen
I also watch my master drink sour water from cans
As he and his friends laugh
Their shrill laughter becoming louder and louder
Their voices hurting my ears until I leave the room.
One week master was excited
The phone rang constantly
A jarring message
A three day weekend
More sour water
More loud noise
Then suddenly I was left alone
Quickly and firmly
The door closed to me
At first I was glad for the silence
My eyes grew accustomed to the dark
Hungry, I searched the house
Found food and some water
I could smell the bags of dog food in the pantry
But it was no use
I couldn’t unlock the door
But I was brave
I didn’t panic
I made do with what I had
I conserved what little food was left in my doggie bowl
I drank water only when needed
I pooped in the bathroom
Like my Master always did
But it wasn’t enough
By the third day the water was gone
The doggie bowl empty.
When the door opened three days later
Master walked in
Sour water on his breathe
Short angry hissing words escaped his lips
When he found me
Alone and hungry
Rubbing his face
More short words followed
Anger directed at himself for neglecting me
Then he hugged me
Suddenly there was water
There was food
Looking up at him
My eyes told him
My father was the Wolf
From the frozen North
My mother the She Wolf
Who ruled the forest
And guarded the wolf dens
I came from strong genes
I learned how to survive.
One of life’s sunshine days
A pleasant walk down to the river
Scene of all basking in high summer sun
Sheep graze roaming enamoured of the warm grass
The river flowing passing on its ancient meandering way
A self carved path by an enticement no choice drawn to the sea
And over the river and water meadows comfy white cottages seen
The bright garden colours given now a soft focus by haze and distance
Onto the river bridge the weight an impetus of water a few feet down below
Grey stone ancient buttress shaped by old artifice granting water a gentle pass
Auric and glistening the strong suns noonday blazing light beams down
Lit the riverbed of soft golden sands transmuted a bronze by depth
Flanking green reeds softly sway the gentle current persuades
Shadows shapes seen moving contrary and counter way
Lovely minnow’s dark tops sides a silver hidden
Viewed unseen but in this summer light
Serendipity favour a glance a view
Perhaps a little peep
In the 80's I lived in Anchorage Alaska. You could go anywhere and catch salmon till your arms fell off. I would drive for hours to fish in completely desolate (of people) lakes. There were several lakes that were so clear you could see the trout swimming two hundred feet down (they were 8 to 28 inches long) you could see the bottom of every lake just by peering over the edge of the boat. After several years of catching these trout that were as long as your arm, I checked the map for new and more challenging lakes. I found a lake Southwest of Wasilla that had "fingers" cut into one side of it. Each one was 50 by 2,000 foot long, obviously man made. I didn't bring my boat and planed to fish these "fingers" from the bank.
I had snapped my Fly pole running through the trees and was tired from all the the frantic running. I rigged up my Casting pole and walked out to where the water was just above my knees, between two trees 20 feet apart. 15 min went by and I figured I better change lure. My right foot had sunk past my ankle in the silt and I pulled hard to get unstuck. My left foot sunk deeper. I had been in this situation before and kept working to get at least one foot unstuck.
Almost an hour went by and the water was to my waist, I had mud to my calves and the waders were like a second skin. I couldn't move, I tried everything. By now the water was up to my armpits. I saw my cooler float by and then my tackle box (and needless to say, my life too) That's when I started yelling help. There was no body on these lakes and I knew it. I went under water and tried to dig my legs free, only to run out of air! I came up yelling help. I yelled only to hear my echos of help, I had a wife and two daughters to live for. I was done.
That's when I heard a calm voice say "catch this knife" I looked over and it was an old man in his 80's. I told him I was stuck real bad- he said, "I know, cut em off" and tossed me a knife- It was a perfect ten foot toss and I caught it! I went under water and sliced my waders from the hip to the thigh (240 bucks worth)- when I came up again he was reaching out his walking stick to pull me out. It was 5 feet too short. I yelled at him to come closer, "just grab hold of the tree branch there and I could reach it" He shook his head and said again "cut em off" and then he walked away behind the trees.
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.
to tell the truth i have to tell the tale of a dangerous drunk...drowning in devil water...soon to get sunk
menacing stares from demons all around...laughing as he stumbles and staggers in the
another sip of devil water...slippin deeper into sin
he lights a cigarette and smokes his soul to death
from open until close he stays shackled and he's chained
i have to tell the truth...diminsihed he stays drained
devil water brings the pleasure and the pleasure turns to pain
riches turn to rags...beautiful babes and harlot honeys by morning turn to hags
dressed in bags dark disguises get discovered
sweat and tears in love stained sheets...he stays blind and undercover
hungover like a cliff now he's searching for a remedy...pop the top on deadly
poison...swallow hard his slow disease
a slow breeze it turns into a whirlwind...twisting all of his thoughts,hopes,and dreams
i have to tell the truth as his spirit starts to scream
no way out as devil water starts to rise...sexy smiles turn into sharks and brothers turn into baracudas
mind of madness just like a riot...lawless and loveless grab like looters
spending all his cash on a healthy ass,and hellacious hooters
taking shots like shooters...another bullet in his brain
will this be the lucky night? will he go dark and deranged?
DUI's like invisible spies...red and blue lights up the night
he puts the pedal to the metal like an eagle fast in flight
one turns into two and two turns into four and as four turns into eight...now he curses being born
mile long skid marks where demons bark...100 miles per hour straight into a ditch...his
corpse gets parked
way down in the darkest depths now he drinks the devils vomit
he gags and chokes and swears that he will never...
the devil he just laughs as he pulls another lever
"Imagine a lovely garden, tea for two and this story"....A Rambling Poet
Just nine years old but she had a dream
of serving others, of doing good.
Adults were failing, but this young girl
decided to do everything she could.
Her birthday was coming, she had a plan.
She asked her mama, who soon agreed.
No gifts wanted by birthday girl,
but rather money for world in need.
She’d heard of the children in Africa
with no fresh water to cool their thirst.
She wanted to cure all of their ills
and need for water would be the first.
Three hundred dollars she set as a goal,
which she almost reached by her birthday.
She didn’t give up, she would find the rest.
She must have three hundred to send away.
There are other children who’ve done the same,
given up their gifts for the water cause,
but Rachel’s story is quite unique
which I’ll tell you now, but I must pause
To steady my hands to pour the tea
and to wipe away this unwanted tear.
More of her story I’ll tell you now.
New twists and turns will soon appear.
Rachel was traveling with her mom,
on some good deed, I have no doubt.
A car pile up and a child was hurt.
That ‘s what this tale is all about.
Rachel died, but ere she did
she begged her mommy to finish her dream,
to get the money to Africa,
so they needn’t drink from polluted stream.
Over a million dollars raised
by tender souls who have heard her plea.
The money just keeps pouring in
from simple folks like you and me.
“A little child shall lead them”.
Dear, sweet Rachel was one of those.
She put the needs of others above
desire for birthday toys and clothes.
By: Joyce Johnson
August 16, 2011
For Constance's contest "I fancy another sad poem" Won no. 3
She's pouring from a pot of tea
as we relax on the quiet porch
Honeysuckle vines encircle the posts,
and webs of daddy long-legs
glisten in the afternoon light.
She nonchalantly chatters, telling me her stories...
as if they were ordinary tales
which, of course, ..they are not.
Sailing across an ocean during dangerous wartime,
Living in exotic, but threatened tropics
A life of adventure, of hardship, of fear
Yet none of that revealed on her weathered face
She smiles, cheeks rouged and eyes sparkling.
Inside the house, the counter is cluttered with dirty dishes
The floor is sticky, and dog hair floats in prisms of light
The old hound sleeps in the middle of the kitchen rug.
An older black lab is lapping up water from a brown dish
dripping water from his sloppy face across the checkered floor.
Throughout the house, a lingering musky smell of well loved pets,
and a stale, smokey odor of burnt toast from her attempt at breakfast.
Servants, cooks, gardeners, are now part of a long ago past.
The house is filled with dust covered, treasured belongings from yesterday.
Piles of clutter everywhere.
Junk mail, newspapers, dog treats,
documents and clippings
prized antiques and artifacts
On shelves, and on the walls, are sepia-hued photographs
People of fame, others of family and friends...
I see my own family among them.
A handsome young man, and she, his bride.
He would become a General.
She would follow him to the ends of the earth.
Their life like a story that one would read in a novel.
I sit here now,...with this woman of many lives.
Sitting on her porch, she wears a tattered, splattered dress.
Today, she is a homespun, country widow.
An extraordinary woman, this grand Duchess,
yet now who bears traits of Ma Kettle
She brought class, dignity, and a wealth of knowledge
to our small country neighborhood,....... to my life.
Here we are, together, so far from the world she once knew.
We sit in the shade of her covered porch
A long haired, grey cat jumps into her lap.
Under the veil of a summer day
I pour her another cup of tea, and a little more for myself.
Tea is served....I have much more to drink in.....to savor.
In memory of dear friends, most amazing people, who lived down our road ...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lester_Maitland Aviation Pioneer
The river does flow it keeps on going.
It is much like me without even knowing.
I stay my course on my journey to the sea.
I know upon completion I will finally be free.
I stumble over obstacles along the way.
The journey isn’t smooth I must say.
Still I progress leaving them behind.
Many seem to be just in my mind.
Contrasts in colors fade into gray.
The sun hits the ice and melts it away.
My banks confine me like a wall.
I wait for hope expecting a call.
When I slow down the water runs deep.
I am a waterfall from a hill that is steep.
To many species my water brings life.
I cut through the landscape like a knife.
When I get blocked I form a pond.
It takes more time to move beyond.
I reach the other side and I am free.
I return to the river where I should be.
The day begins with a tiny speaker screaming at me
I jolt from a disturbing dream (thankful)
Trying to distinguish reality from fiction
I collide with objects strategically placed throughout the house
First flip of a switch brings blindness to my brain
I am disoriented, but things come into focus
Why am I in the clothes room? oh...I need to shower
Onward I slumber through the house
The shock from the water pelting my body begins to unerve me
I start to relax, entering a familiar tranquil state
Again JOLTING my body upright, preventing me nodding off in my new found solidarity
I wait until the last drop of warm water is spent
Apprehensively I throw open the shower curtain, lunging for a towel
Crap! no towel
No wonder I found myself in the clothes room
What was this land like many centuries ago?
Furbished and full.
For is it science or religion that will make us a whole?
That would actually touch our soul.
Like babies once born of the pure.
Now filled with chemical aftermath and no cure.
Has living this live been done in vain?
Does experimenting have no shame?
Those ultimate ships that once sailed the blue.
For discovery of something new.
Fashioned dresses that went from foot to hip.
Beauty is that of ownership.
Transportation that was once by horse.
Now is space of course.
Schooling that was so simple then.
Computers now until the end.
The one room shacks with a dirt floor.
Modular homes with sinks of brushed chrome.
Fresh drinking water from a near by mountain stream.
Tanted city water claiming to be clean.
Land of plentiful virgin timber untouched by man.
Acre after acre of raped land.
Small buisnesses were built to get us by.
Skyscrapers were built and why?
We went from two parent familes with much stability.
Single teen mothers what a shame, no parenting skills children untamed.
Murderers were hung in the city square.
Now walking the streets to support their career of crime.
How man has made a place that we are to call our country, our land of
the free and the brave a danger to our childrens grandchildren.
Fire, fire around us…
Fire burning from the top of the mountain,
down to the sea surrounded by fire…
Grass, brush, and trees are just glowing ambers…
Fire fighters on the ground while water dropping
helicopter are all around, drawing up water from the
sea, brought back to drop over the hot spots …
Here come the water tankers they are a blessing
between them and the helicopters we should soon see relief…
Such a shame what fire does, and it was that
idiot playing around, like to look at the flame dancing…
Water shred gone homes burnt to the ground
and yet that idiot is still running around…
What justice we should have to put these fools behind
bars, lock them up and throw away the key…
Firestorms are nothing you want to see, and when the
season gets hot and dry who are the nut cases that televise…
Newspaper and newscaster should learn a thing or
two keep there opinions to themselves for all they
do is let those idiots know when prime time to burn…
When property is lost you can rebuild but
when a life is lost they are gone for good…
By Sandra Lea Hoban
Standing on a cliff,
overlooking the sight before 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
The heart becomes alive.
Feeling once more as it did,
so long ago.
Forgetting how it could feel like this
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
Don’t go near the river a tree has fallen down
The flow is blocked and it caused a dam if you fall in you could drown
But to us children this an invitation was
A big happening in our lives we had to see the cause
Of course we would not climb down to the tree
From high upon the bank we would satisfy our curiosity
Down Milfort Avenue we all trouped
The excitement mounting with-in our group
The boys were there first of course
Down at the roots torn from the ground with such force
You girls they shouted stay away it was their find
Just go home play with your dolls and leave our tree behind
Well did you ever hear such rot
We will soon show that lot
Mother’s warning soon forgot down we went to the spot
Those roots from up high did not seem so tall
But now down beside them we were made to feel small
Like gaint arms they were all slimy and wet
But we girls would conquer this climb you bet
I never was brave and from the start
My legs were shaking and in my heart
I knew I should back down and risk being the fool
But pride would not let me so I tried to act cool
The others had climbed over and to the far side had gone
Knowing I was frightened they egged me on
Up I went onto that tree trunk
Looking down to the river below my heart sunk
What would I do if I fell in I had never learned to swim
Well it happened and into water I fell for my sins
Plunged to the bottom then up I floated gasping for air
Again the depths called the water my death would share
With bravery someone dived in to save me from my watery grave
Trailed to the bank and with the water pumped out my life was saved
A neighbor heard the commotion and running came
Then into her house to recover my legs some strength to gain
For the walk back home to face Mum my misbehavior to declare
I really was a sorry sight but I did not care
Jumper and tartan skirt soggy the red dye running down my thighs
Perhaps she would think it was blood I had better start to cry
Water filled the fur lined leather boots which slopped and weighed a ton
My dad had worked for hours to pay for them and look what had I done
So sorry I was for myself but punishment I had to accept
My friends there with me for support they stayed and yet
When Mum’s face through that front door appeared
They drifted away the blame they feared
In I was hauled and asked to explain
Why I had ignored her orders given so plain
The fast flow of water that splashes past is the nature around us, hitting back
After all the pollution mixed in the purity
The river fights back using power and certainty
Until it destroys the polluters surrounding the site
Where once was a natural beauty spot
Is now an area of war, a fight
The water will not be defeated by man
It is too strong to hold off and too fast to catch
As it destroys the houses and the farmers patch
On this float of destruction, it will destroy anyone in its path
Hold on to your houses and tie down your cars,
The river is here and drifting quite far
The water was always the provider of life
And now it flows and is out to destroy it
What have we done that is so bad to this river
Disposal of waste and the throwing of litter
Now, we moan about this flood,
The river is only doing what man would,
Against the destroyer!
Today I cleaned a clogged drain pipe.
It sounds nasty but not really.
This often happen in the country
where kitchen run off goes
to a French drain.
You cap the end and put
hot water in with a little clorox,
let it sit a while, then
drain the sludge.
So, I was in the process of
rinsing out the pipe after cleaning
and I had a small puddle of clean
water on the ground, and the
rinse water was to the left of that
because I had moved the pipe somewhat.
That is when I noticed the four earthworms.
What they were doing, I don’t know.
But, they were tied up in knots,
two by two, and really having a good time.
I could tell!!!
Just then more dirty water
began to flow out of the pipe.
One of the worms was somehow
attracted to what it thought was fresh water
and quick as a flash, in one quick move
untangled from the other worm.
Making a mad dash in the water’s direction,
and before even reaching it, stretched
out almost twice it’s length, the front half
rising off the ground
to put what I assume to be
equivalent to a mouth into the water.
In mid air, without even coming
to a complete stop it did a
one and a half gainer
with a full twist,
and was on its way back to whence it came.
It did NOT like that Clorox taste.
I never laughed so hard in my life.
Last time I looked it was tied up in knots again
with you know who.
© Sep 14 2010 For Carols Story contest
The rooster crows early in the Zambian morning.
With subtle sunlight starting to appear on the Horizon, ten year old Dikembe begins
has journey to gather water for the family from the Luapula River.
With water buckets balanced on the ends of a bamboo stick he carries across his
shoulders, Dikembe returns to find his Mother starting a fire to fix a sparse
breakfast for her three children. The morning sun already beats down on the dusty
village now alive with life. The ever present flies are already pestering Dikembe and
the sores on his limbs.
Dikembe sees the white man on the horizon entering the village by foot, carrying his
bag of medicines.
Women and children start to form a line at the small hut he will use as his office on
this day. For hours, the white man examines one patient after another,
administering what little medicine he has and offering healthcare advice that he
knows is not understood and/or will go unheeded.
Dikembe sits in the corner of the hut, watching it all with curiosity.
At the end of the long day, the white man packs up his bag, walks over to Dikembe
and hands him a piece of gum. Dikembe smiles and mumbles, “Thank you” in broken
As he puts the piece of gum into his mouth, Dikembe remembers the stories one
white man once read to him from a book called the bible, and he thinks, “I love,
Christmas. I hope it is this nice again next year.”
It was a miserable day out
once during the hot summer
all through the evening
I heard only the children playing outside;
I looked out through my window
to recollect my childhood days..
something i found at that moment
a smile on my face
with tears in my eyes
I imagined that was a life otherside.
I saw the sun to settle down but
that evening the moon didn't wake up
The stars were somewhere in the sky
that day it was out of sight through naked eyes.
A calm environment made someone's whisper louder
moment later a strong wind breaking that whisper
making miserable haunted clattering sounds outside.
Again i looked through my window
now i found the environment has changed
from a hot sunny day to a dark lightning evening;
drops of water falling from the dark thunder clouds.
I experienced three different situations on the same day
from a miserable summer day to a calm evening
from the calm evening to a haunted dark night.
I closed my eyes and counted from hundred to one
'it had been a miserable day
once during the hot summer;
It had been a painful life
once making a long journey'
'all through the evening
i heard only childrens' playing outside;
all through my life
i heard my own voice from inside'
'i looked through my window
to recollect my childhood days;
I asked my own heart
where i found only one name'
something I found at that moment
a smile on my face
with tears in my eyes
I imagined that was a life otherside.
I closed my eyes and counted from one to hundred-
I realized day by day my love to her perished down
this realization brought me a new life
but i found no love left within me
until i learnt there were no more water left in my eyes.
i met that unknown time when i heard another whisper
but moment later love brought me a natural death.
again i asked my heart
now i found it answered something has changed
from love to the coldest end.
I picked up the broken glasses and tried to see my own face
the images i got are solely all different.
and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it
and see the broken glasses as long as I live.
Jack and Jill went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water.
Jack went right, Jill left,
In different directions to see
Who could reach the top first.
On his way up, Jack tripped on a
Rock and roughly tumbled all
The back down, blood
Spewing from his head.
Jill screamed, seeing this happen
But knew that she couldn’t do
Anything; she was afraid of heights
And as she sheepishly peered
The long ways down the hill
Her vision blurred slightly and she
Felt dizzy. She knew she wouldn’t
Be able to make it back down by herself
So, continued to run, she did, all
The way up to the hill, where
The pail of water sat, crying
The whole way.
She was almost there,
The pail of water was in sight
She smiled, silently screaming
Her victory. Laughing, tears streamed
Down her cheeks; Jack would’ve been happy
For her. But she celebrated, it seems,
Too early, for she slipped on the wet, wet
Grass and she tumbled down, down, down
The hill only to meet her death, her blood
Marking a trail behind her, her screams echoing
Through the trees.
Jack and Jill went up the hill,
to fetch a pail of water
Only to fall back down and get killed.
Under the tree in Africa, we sap strength
from the songs of the sparrows before sunlight.
as we walk to the farm, the
morning breeze brush our
body from the billowing branches.
We pick up our hoes and cutlasses
and keep our basket and calabash,
the big Agbadas of the elders and our little
catapult hang on the bole as we plough and plant.
Under the tree in Africa we relish
the radiance of reality as we rest
after the rigor of raising ridges.
we break the dried branches to make fire
to roast the harvested maize;
we stroll with the spirits as we slumber,
listening to the whispers of the wind
and wake up to feast on the roasted maize
with some cold water from the serene stream.
Under the tree in Africa we share
the shield of shadows,
shying away from the sun
as we walk back to the village.
We use our traps to tame birds;
making some meat available mama's,
meal by moonlight, throwing stones at some
ripe fruits we have a feel of freshness
and get some fruit for friends and family,
we get locked in luck as we get lots of grains
and goodies that gives us passion and pride.
At twilight, under the tree is a place to be in Africa,
the elders drink from the cup of culture.
Passing the calabash with love; there is enough Palm
wine and bush meat to go round,
quarrels are settled, feuds are finalized as the echoes
of the evening resounds.
The day's delight are shared, friendships are
found and formed as fresh fragrance flows.
The children chant with vibrating voices, moral
melodies are mimed with clapping of hands under
the tree in Africa.
Graceful games and spirited sports go on as
communal creeds cruise in their conscience.
The elders feed their seeds with the water of wisdom
as they share folktales and facts,the children are charged to
be charming as they listen to the tales by moonlight..
In Africa the women sings with virtuous voices
as they make mats, beads, basket and raffia
under the tree.
nursing mothers keep their sucklings on the mat
for the cool breeze to caress their soft skin,
at twilight, women roll out local pots, mortal and pestle,
to prepare pounded yam and melon soup for their household,
as the food-is-ready alarm sounds, folks and friends
gather to dine and wine as the moon peeps through
the leaves under the tree in Africa.
Vein of Life
Full river flowing into the open bay.
Standing on a stone bridge.
On a morning day.
Levy’s are built to hold water in.
To stop the cycle of,
Embankment water erosion.
A main flowing, vein of life.
Keeps our world fresh, and all things alive..
The water fluttered under the glass boiling in envy of itself
Marching to the sleek inner coating along the candid sphere like a band of drums ready for war
bubbling in heavy camaraderie the steam spoke a final thought and charged on into the night
"why cant I always bubble with such dignity"
Hot chili peppers are so cold to the unknowing, red suit and all buttoned up for the battle to come
Like a solider awaiting his shining moment on the front line
they make their mark by the way they stand so still,
Still like the nutcracker who comes to life only when awoke by the cheffly magician
Like a dream they are waiting for magic to awaken their slumber
As the night rumbles on under the black pot handle
great snowy mountain rests its head it never rests
And then as best it can hot water takes a stand to be noticed
And the cool touch of my mixing bowl greets me
a sprinkling of browned sugar today
A nose of cinnamon to the taste
clear glasses all in a row
tumblers are tumbling across the floor on my toe
My kitchen dances along the symphony's beat
A sugar plum masterpiece of squash, steam, and meat
And my fork waltzes to the tunes it plays like a string instrument to the waltzing flowers floating their way downstream
I spill the spaghetti onto my shoe and the squash laughs a little
I sing to the waters tune and the flowers smile a little
A little more into the water I boil my egg friend and rinse him good
I am interested in what you have to say to me tomorrow
Rambling on to myself I am slightly dripping with sparkle and glee
My ballet of baking completes its final scene
I am scored from the day and seek pillows therapy
Turning down the lights I fear for the moment in my mind when I remember all their might be missed in my kitchen symphony
And all that was, and is, and what might be
As the tile lay still, cold as fallen snowflakes in the night, I rest my head and dream
And I awake again when standing behind the red curtain
Over the horizon I see the sun as bright as always.
I can see the sea were the sun touches it.
The line that divides two worlds you can see clearly.
The suns image of fantasy and beauty relies on imaginations.
The sea water glimmers as the sun skims the light on it.
In the reflection there shows life twinkling just right.
The movement of the sea water flows endlessly.
It brushes against a solid object in the distance.
Large boulders weathered in time were blocking the waves.
Then I realized how unstable our world is compare to nature.
It is water in the ditch making ponds.
It is ponds of water making streams.
It is streams making lakes.
It took lakes of valley to make rivers.
It took mountains of rivers to make seas.
A cross sections of seas springs oceans.
Just like the Atlantic Ocean.
Just like the pacific.
Looking through the Indian Ocean,
through the rivers crossing the Jordan,
a barricade of boundaries,
between determination and success.
Crossing the Red Sea,
Is making the Israelites Journey.
Journey to land of Canaan.
Journey to success.
With a walk through the rigors.
With a long walk to freedom.
Crossing the Red Sea is divine,
crossing to close the path of the enemies.
Just like Pharaoh was plunge into the Red Sea,
crossing to begin a long walk to freedom.
Aided with signs and wonder
Who is your Red Sea?
The baby ponycorn took a long drink from the
Still water of the pond.
The Enchanted forest kept her safe and sound
Though the reflection in the water gave her
Chills that nearly woke the unicorns of old
From there dead slumber
Beyond the edge of the cliff where
A fatal lunge they took,
Saving the townspeople from the
Dark and grinning Drago
Thousands of years ago...
Now Drago had returned!
Through the ripples of the water
His dark and sallow face
Glared up at ponycorn.
She hobbled away from the riverbed
Staggering through the tall grass...
On her toddler legs she tottered
Into the city ruins, astrewn with the carnage
Of past battles, she stood against a small stone wall
Which rose into a tall pillar.
As she closed her eyes
In hopes of dreaming
Of centuries past,
She smelled smoke
Through her nostrils...
Her eyes shot open
To the sight of Drago
Charging towards her
On a water buffalo,
A torch high in hand,
The lean, sturdy little ponycorn
Blinked tears out of her eyes
As she flared her baby ponycorn nostrils,
Kicked dirt up with her left hind leg,
Thus is the tale of the last ponycorn.
FEELING THE COLD
Starting to feel the cold
After all these years
Always had warm hands
Wife called me hot water bottle
Her personal nuclear reactor
She has cold feet? cold hands?
No problem - just plaster them onto my bare flesh
And in a minute she’s warm
Have always slept with no pyjama jacket - just too warm -
Window open, she’s freezing, I’m feeling cosy
But after all these years
I’m starting to see her point of view :
It is cold sleeping with the window open.
Coming home, minus-twenty and a breeze
Used to be “refreshing”
Now it hurts my sinuses.
Eyes water now in response to
Snow shot in by the wind
Don’t make snowballs to throw at her
With bare hands any more.
God help me, it’ll be long-johns and
Woolly cardigans next.
The fire burned warm and brightly,
As the little band of wagons were gathered close and their animals were
The ladies sat about preparing meals for the coming day,
While the men folk took on chores there wasn’t nary time for play.
Scouts were still out and their water was getting low,
Restricting their selves was the only way to go.
The wagon boss was talking on changing their course,
Said things ain’t looking good, best we prepare for the worse.
He said I know another way but it’ll be harder at first.
But about a weeks ride south there’ll be plenty of water to fill our thirst.
Bright and early next morn the little train pulled out,
Changing its direction added miles there was no doubt.
As they slowly plodded on the desert took on a new look,
But the sun still shone brightly in the day they all cooked.
The third day in the scout came riding up,
Said it’s a good thing ya’ll changed directions as he reached for the cup.
He said the last three water holes were only sporting dust,
Real early next morning the old scout lit out said he’d find water for it was a
He strapped a couple of small kegs on an ole pack mule,
Took along a shovel in cased he’d need a tool.
Less than a day out he was taken by surprise,
Found an old dry creek bed that had just been on a rise.
There stood a solid rock basin as full as it could be,
He plopped down and drank his fill then rested for a moment by an old
He filled up the little kegs then he headed on back,
When he caught up with the train he told of the water and said there were all
kinds of animal tracks.
Next day they made it there to this little glory hole,
And rested up for a few days and then took off to their destined goal.
You just hope for the best,
And make sure your guide knows the way west.
There is no guarantees whether you make it or not,
The trip out west you’re either wet and freezing or you’re dirty and hot.
My eyes were opened to a bright red burning veil.
Sun scorched and Moon dried,
It was fried!
But, I brought it some water in a crystal blue pale.
The more it burned higher went the scale,
God knows that I at least tried.
There was just nowhere to hide.
But, I wasn’t about to fail.
I put the veil in the water and made it wet.
I held it to the Sun and the Moon to air dry.
The veil melted and glowed where it was set.
It was sparkling and made me want to cry.
Perception had been weakened to what it really should be.
At least, that’s what the burning veil conveyed to the truth inside of me!
I turn my back and look the other way,
My shadow is a bliss you hope and pray!
I’m walking on water at the stroke of midnight,
Searching for the hope of a breaking daylight!
Everything’s just so incredibly beyond bright!
Closing my eyes to a brand new day,
Shutting down inside and feeling everything just die.
My thoughts surely would make you an empty man inside!
I’m walking on water in the shadows of daybreak,
Searching for the hope of my lost and alone faith!
Everything’s just so outrageously beyond great!
I close my mind to the brand new light of day.
Closing my eyes and just walking away,
But my shadow you hope and pray will surely stay.
I’m walking on water at the peak of nightfall,
Looking for this huge magnificently clear waterfall!
Everything’s just so enormously beyond tall!
I close my eyes and I begin to pray.
My thoughts could surely give hope to all,
For I walk on water on each and every day!
The old Spanish mission had fallen down from neglect.
Where it once taught of a different way, and housed anyone from the noble to
Now it houses only varmints and things that crawl in the night,
A place where man at one time could seek sanctuary when weary from the
They were lighthouses in the most barren of spots,
A place where troubles were brought in hopes they would be forgot.
This one had fallen because there was no water at all.
The river stopped flowing and was the reason for the fall.
For without the water no crops could be raised,
And it couldn’t support the animals which needed to graze.
The river itself had been a grand site to behold,
Teeming with fish and attracted all types of wildlife that was the story they told.
They said a quake must have happened the only explanation they had,
And from the looks of things it must have been bad.
Artifacts of all type still clutter the ground,
From broken pottery to arrowheads can be abundantly found.
Outback of the mission an old cemetery is found.
Such an uncaring looking place where no one ever comes around.
I found a date scratched on a stone that read sixteen forty three.
Maybe a marker on a grave left in hopes someone might see.
A sad and lonely place that has been forgotten through time,
Letting such an historical place go unattended should be a crime.
The earth dried and withered. Rivers turned into desert, flowing springs into
thirsty ground and fruitful land into a valley of salt. The world languished, and the
people lay in dust as the land trembled. It was shaken like a hut in the wind and
torn open. Great structures crumbled into heaps. The vine was, also, cut down
by lightning and was burned in the fire and quaking.
There was no more trumpets sounding; the straight trumpet was no more
seen in this dry and weary land, where no water was; souls thirsted in anguish.
Flesh longed. Voices cried out,
“We have seen desperate times’ hard things that astonish us, and
we reel as those who drink wine and stagger.”
Even the merrymakers groaned for the new wine that had dried up in its
bottles; therefore, in dust and ashes, this, they made their lament.
“Remember us, O Lord, and what has happened to us. Look upon
us and see our disgrace. Remember our devastation and have pity. Show forth
your mercy and forgive us, for we have reveled in gluttony and drunkenness and
turned everyone to his own way. We, now, see our destruction, that we are
slaves to folly, and, again, we turn to you. So turn us, O God of tender mercies.
Manifest your loving kindness, which is better than life, and show favor to your
land by restoring its fortunes.”
“Mend its fractures! Heal its breaches! Give us your aid, for the help
of man is worthless. He is vain, but you, our God, alone, make your face to shine
on us with salvation. Save us.”
“May the waters see you and writhe; may they convulse in fear. May
the clouds pour down water from you upper chambers, when you answer us out
of the secret place of thunder. Split the rocks so that the waters may gush and
flow abundantly as the seas, and out of the rocky crags cause you rain to stream
like rivers, yet, remember your faithful promise and give us a banner that we may
unfurl and display under the bow, and when the waters have subsided, bring
your vine up out of Egypt.”
“We will clear the ground of all rubble. We will plow the earth and break up her
clods, so that the vine will take deep root and flourish throughout the land. The
hills will be covered with its shade; even the mountains with he mighty cedars
will be shadowed under its branches, sending out its boughs to the sea of reeds
and its shoots to the Euphrates. May her hedges never be hewn again, and let
her boundary lines fall for us in pleasant places. May her walls never be broken
through, so that boars from the forest and all the wild creatures may not pluck its
“Watch over this vine you will plant with your right hand, and so shall
our sons be ...well nurtured. They shall blossom like the lily, and our daughters
shall be like corner stones, like beautifully carved pillars adorning a palace with
their capitals cast as trumpets in the shape of lilies. So shall they be in rows
when the city is rebuilt. Our garners shall be full, and our vats shall overflow with
the fat of the land. There will be no more breaching of the walls within our gates,
and our fortunes will not go into captivity again.”
And when the entire host of people had shouted, “Amen!” it rained a great
rain, the former and the latter rain together, and singing and dancing
accompanied the sounds of land and sky. The wilderness was turned into pools
of water and parched ground into water springs; so their thirst was quenched
with wines and their hunger filled with grapes, and their captives were brought
again to tend their own vineyards in the land where trumpets are heard one
more; the straight trumpets are seen arrayed by the palace in the beautiful city,
and there they celebrate God, for the seed and fruit both sown and reaped in just
A Scripture Compilation