You are the light of my world my precious son
filled my days with happiness and fun.
Always smiling, never blue
how quickly you grew.
shine so bright.
Strive in all you do
now, and for your whole life through.
Spread your wings and fly; my job is done.
You are the light of my world my precious son
Contest – An Invented Form – Andrea Dietrich
syllables checked 11,9,7,5,3,1,3,5,7,9,11
name of new form - mission almost impossible!
~awarded 3rd place~
~awarded 1st place by Carol Eastman~
Copyright © JAN ALLISON
FROM A HOSPITAL BED
Even if I’m dizzy with an aching head,
I must not disturb the others in the beds
In this hospital ward where not much is said
For fear of making a fuss.
It’s not much fun with nothing to do
Can’t even get up to go to the Loo
The doctors come, and ask, ‘How are you?’
It’s hard to tell them which is worse
Visiting hours and here’s Dad and Mum
Who immediately asks me why I’m so glum.
I tell them, ‘The others had ice-cream, but I got none,
And, if it was you Dad; you’d curse!’
Patting my hand, Mum says, ‘It’s all right,’
And Dad says, ‘You might get some tonight,
Cos you’re looking better, you’re not so white,
I’ll go over and ask that nurse.’
Back he comes grinning down the ward,
And sits back in the chair without a word,
To Mum he whispers so he can’t be heard
Then his eyes meet mine, his lips are pursed.
The doors swing open; a nurse comes through,
Carrying a tray and says, ‘This is for you,
You can have some now you are healing like new,
To Mum, Dad says, ‘We’ll cancel the hearse!’
I’ve broken no bones, the x-rays prove,
But there’ll be a scar and a slight groove
Left from the fencepost that failed to move
When I fell on it, off my horse
With an arm in a sling and one foot on the ground,
The other in plaster and my head bandaged round,
I’m going home soon, and my horse has been found
Across the river, but he’s none the worst.
It’s easy to laugh with no aching head
And it doesn’t disturb the others in beds
‘There is no need to fear,’ as everyone says,
‘Just ring the bell for the nurse!’
Copyright © J Eliza JAMES
I am the Preacher's son
who stole the bread
and broke it with a wrinkled face,
the essence weaving behind her retinas.
When I stole from the church,
Mrs. Worther 'the bird', had spied me
sneaking out the vestibule door,
from her usual early service perch
in the very back pew.
She carried this secret for many years,
including when she caught me eavesdropping
on midweek board meetings
from behind crates of cheap wine.
Instead of showing scorn,
she had given me a warm wink,
offering a lesson
by leaving me there to think.
who had been my Sunday school teacher,
had made me study the lessons
without ever becoming a preacher --
when it came to my thievery
and excursions into the park,
where I broke the bread
with a wrinkled face,
the essence shimmering behind her retinas.
I am the Preacher's son,
who instead found the presence
amongst ducks and swans,
when I broke the bread
with that crazy old lady -
gleaned what I needed to do,
and since then,
have never again
sat in another pious pew.
I am the 'bad' Preacher's son.
Some people whisper righteously
how I have come undone,
made a pact with the dark,
while I break the bread
with that age-old essence in the park.
March 24th, 2014
(originally written: March 24th, 2010)
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner
W-hen the fullness of time had come, Jesus was born behind an Inn in a cave-like stable.
I-n the Inn there was no room for the Son of God, no room for the Saviour of men.
S-tar was shining so bright above the stable for the shepherds to find their way to Him.
E-ven angels proclaimed His birth to those shepherds "Unto you is born this day."
M-anger is where Mary and Joseph first laid him. It was filled with hay.
E-very animal there must have known that their Creator had come that day.
N-o one knew the depth of love God had, to give His Son to dwell among men.
S-ame star guided three kings from the Orient, who studied the stars and heavens.
T-hese wise men from the East came saying "Where is He that is born King"
I-n their hands they brought him gifts of gold, frankincense and myrr.
L-ike these three wise men, wise men still seek him today!
L-ove is the reason that God sent His only Begotton Son into the world to save us.
S-eeking for you and me, yes God was seeking for us because we had left Him.
E-veryone, yes, all we like sheep have gone astray. Everyone to his own way.
E-ach one has to make his on decision to follow Him or not to follow Him.
K-ing, born to be a King. King of the ages. King of the past. King of the future.
H-eaven, He came from Heaven to earth to show us the right way.
I-niquity, the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all.
M-elody, He gives us a sweet melody, we sing many songs of praise to Him.
T-ree, A Christmas tree, the love that Jesus had for us, to die on a tree.
O-nly one life and how soon it passes. Only in life can we accept His Love.
D-eliverance, He came from Heaven to preach deliverance to the captives.
A-cknowlege Him and accept Him. Behold now is the accepted time.
Y-ou, Yes, this Christmas Love was for You. Will You accept this love?
For Brian Strands Christmas Love contest.
Copyright © Marty Owens
My Life, Mountains Dropping Pebbles
My life, mountains dropping pebbles on me
true treasures openly hidden, I couldn't see
Although now that I am wiser, so much older
I thank God each dropped was not a boulder
My youth, a series of epic good and bad
if only, I'd listened and obeyed my Dad
I was the rebel that sought so much more
suffering deeply every wild and big score
Decades flew by with me chasing a mist
grabbing love that never truly did exist
A vapor that glistened golden all around
demanding that in my blindness I be bound
Fate and Time both beat happily my heart
I foolishly thought myself so very smart
Memories now play images to teach mistakes
my speeding on never hitting on the brakes
O' mountain, why not shed that one small boulder
to break sin's passion and sooner set it much colder!
Robert J. Lindley, 09-26-2014
note: Took decades for me to ever see the light
and change my stubborn ways. If that boulder
had tapped me sooner Id have found this current
bliss decades sooner and my wife and I would be
enjoying a grown son instead of raising a 7 year
old at my advanced age..
Copyright © Robert Lindley
My affirmation deceitfully severed
forever robbed by selfishness
Left to tackle life alone
Tumbling in the wake of my dad's mess
He left when I was three
The crevasse has increased for 33 years
Traded his life with us
For another woman and a couple of beers
He wasn't there to pick me up
When I fell off of my bike
To teach me how to fish
Or enjoy a nature hike
Now I'm a father to my son
Hoping not to make the same mistake
Living day to day on this lake of life
My son in tow through my own wake
It's been nine years and we're going strong
Six more years with my son
That's more with him than I had with mine
My son I guard in a web I've spun
A web of love, discipline, and nurture
Full of "I love you's" and "see ya in the morning"
A kiss before school and one before bed
Lots of playing, talking, reading, and singing
My son doesn't know the pain I feel
To not know my dad in intimate ways
No hands to comfort me or words to heal
No dad in sight for 12,045 days.............................(and counting)
My son and I have a great relationship and for this I am thankful......
Copyright © Abe Lopez
My father and me
He did the best he could
Because once we were three
And then we were two
His rise and demise
As his life withdrew
Looking back, to the memories we had
They never lasted for years
Some great, some sad
For an ill man he did his best
And in me, I have his zest
He never recovered from the loss of his son
To say goodbye to the elder one
He was hospitalised for months and years
On the day he was taken, uncontrollable tears
The years we shared
Fifteen in all
In every one
He helped me grow tall
To appreciate, what life will give
Remember your past, let your future live
He's all around me every day
For on the wind I hear him say
Enjoy your life, live happily
I hope you get to the land of the free
My reply to you Dad
As you look down on me
The Aura around you
The man I hope to be
" Happy Fathers Day to you Dad, I still miss you, your loving son James "
To be read listening to Boston's < A Man i'll never be >
Copyright © James Fraser
How far can you fall and get back up
How high can you jump
And keep your feet in the sand
To touch grace and fall from within
Next to you I was out of my skin
I missed you yesterday and you leave tomorrow
A life spent in the shadows of lushly tint
Smoke your waves
Exhale the freshness of your menthol scent
Home is what you call shelters that need no defense
You’ll say goodbye
I’ll send again
You won’t reply
Is the appreciation of another’s existence
Is the anticipation of seeing you again
You and I, we’ll cruise the shores
Together we’ll settle with the wind
The joy of a small hut, a lovers den
I’ll wonder why
You’ll send again
I will not reply
"our songs for sale"
Copyright © Jerry Golden
She should have been Hera, goddess queen of heaven, the sister-wife of
Zeus, king of the gods; she would have caught him one Friday night tipping
Out while she sleeps to visit one of his plumy wives and over 100 relations.
She would have said, “Sit down Zeus; let me inform you about the laws of
Property settlement and child support in heaven with a concrete poem.”
She would have straightened up Aphrodite, goddess of love and lust.
Especially when Aphrodite was caught red-handed making love to
Her son, Ares, the God of war, she probably would have said, “Now look
Here woman, quit messing with my son and creating all this rumblings in
Heaven with the gods.” I could see some Lanturne poems floating
She would have acted as the sister of Demeter, goddess of fertility,
Agriculture, and harvest, a sister of Zeus. Because she would have
Blessed women with children who need them, and also farmers
With great harvest and crops to feed their families and sustain the
People across the land, by waving a haiku poem in her healing hands
She would have screamed as the sister of Hermes, the crooked cattle-rustling
God; son of Zeus and Maia, who stole his brother, Apollo’s cows, then
Lied, and swore before Zeus, their father, “That even if I knew who stole
Apollo’s cattle, I would not even accept a reward for finding the thief.”
She would have gave her crooked brother, and son of Zeus, a flying senryu
She would have been with Athena, the virgin goddess of wisdom, reason, and
Heroic endeavors; the daughter of Zeus, and Titan goddess of wise counsel
Métis, especially when Athena appeared onto Swift-footed demigod,
Achilles, and told him, “Sheathe your sword and defeat Agamemnon, the
Greek king with words of wisdom.” I could see some wise epigram poems
She was probably counseled by Apollo, her brother, god of music, healing, and
Poetry; the son of Zeus and the Titan goddess Leto. Because she has cared
For the sick in hospital emergency rooms, and has also stimulated us for years
With her poetic muse. She has counseled many along the way and has calmed
Many storms with loving charm. “Hail my sister in Christ—Karen O’Leary!”
Happy birthday angel and wishing you many more for years to come!
Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr
Just a girl in a room, sitting on the floor,
I can see her in this window, but I see no door
Crying her song of anguish, of this unspeakable pain,
Has every intention never to feel it again
I rock, I tremble, my life is at cost
All I know is this shell, for it's myself...my core...my all I have lost
From the start I new this fight could only last so long,
I aimed to defeat it, striving to remain strong
Each day in and day out, facing the demon, fighting the doubt
At a moment with no warning, without any clue
I was losing my strength...my energy...all the will I once knew
For now, my all is lost, my memories are faint,
There is no pretty picture left for me to paint
This girl on the floor, in this empty room
Was this girl condemned for a life of doom
My tears disappeared, like they'd never been there
Dried up with my soul, the time is clear
Wanting to shake her, make her open her eyes
To show some hope, the blue is still in the skies
Then, out of nowhere, I found the door
I wanted to save the girl on the floor
As I neared and inched to her close
She wasn't that girl, what I saw was a ghost
As I turned to walk out, stopped by a noise
I heard the laughter of girls and of boys
With that came a voice of peace and of grace
She told me, she's happy, no-more demon for her to face
I am calmed, I'm reassured, I'm no longer in pain
She was the broken me, but now I am strong again
Copyright © Katee Surface
I sit, with deep contentment, by the window
And watching the young evergreen out-shadowed
The oak tree, where love once etched on it, I sowed
My time quietly slipped into the picture
Between my only son and his firstborn son
Between the past, the present, and the future
I have the feelings, but no words are spoken
When the words are spoken, my own feelings gone
Hidden for life, in my sagging rocking chair
I felt the late afternoon cold breeze, touching
White-bearded face, with the autumn scent tingling
While the golden sun has faded, into gray
I saw the charmed naked ladies, still smiling
In a bright purplish pink, for there are no snows
Soon, the land will be white, when tomorrow bows
As I eagerly wait for December sky
To glow, with sensational firecrackers’ lights
In my arms, my grandson awaken from sleep
No words spoken, but, has the smile on his face
In him I saw myself, in my father’s arm
Now I know, December’s coming, to give grace
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago
She once walked with him and stopped with him
when they heard that familiar refrain.
She'd stand beside him while he'd salute
her pride for her Soldier was plain,
and every night,
while he'd hold her tight
contented and happy, she'd sigh.
They would drift off to sleep
listening to the beat
of the Soldiers Lullaby.
They play the National Anthem
to fill us with fire and pride
and the last one they play every evening
is the Soldiers Lullaby.
Twice a day at nine eleven
when her Soldier was in Iraq
she'd bow her head in silence
to remember that September attack,
and when she'd get home in the evening
tired and lonely, she'd cry.
She'd pray that somewhere he was listening
to the Soldiers Lullaby.
Now she stands at the gate in the airport
heart pounding as Soldiers stream by,
so excited she can barely contain it
overwhelmed she's starting to cry,
and the crowd is beginning to thin now
the tears and the laughter all die,
heart broken and lonely, she stands there
when she hears his voice simply say "hi"...
It's been years since she's thought of that moment,
they've been busy with life passing by.
Two girls and two boys
now fill their lives with joy
and time really does seem to fly,
but at night when she's tucked in her family
she still bows her head with a sigh
and she never forgets to remember
The Soldiers Lullaby.
~For Jenn with love
Copyright © Betty Johnson
Quiet and still now.
The swing occasionally catches the air.
The tire never moves.
There’s no one there to care.
The jungle gym beside it is played with by squirrels.
The sand box below holds creatures quiet and shy.
Tiny plastic men are lost in the sand deep below.
A metal car is with them, once favorite of them all.
Leaves stir in the clubhouse, with spiders in its loft.
My son hadn’t played with it for a long, long while.
But I hadn’t noticed while he was here running in the house.
And now when I see the Wooden Swing Set…
It’s connects with my empty heart.
A touch of Empty Nest Syndrome brought this poem to me.
Copyright © Carol Eastman
I have a wooden cedar box
Filled with precious things
Most of no value to you
But joy to me it brings
A copper penny, 1961
The year I was given life
A withered old white rose
From the day I became a wife
Two certified legal documents
That tell me that I am free
A US birth certificate
And a final divorce decree
Golden locks, adorned with ribbon
Clipped from the head of my son
A bag filled with tiny teeth
Exchanged for a dollar one by one
A report card, five A’s and one B
My sons first year at school
A tattered silken blanket
Still covered with infant drool
A book of poems that I had written
While I was a rebellious teen
Fifty plus love letters
From then, now and in-between
Old yellowed photographs
Of family long since gone
A dozen crayon pictures
That both my kids have drawn
Hospital anklets, pink and blue
That both my children wore
A stupid keep out sign
That I used to hang on my door
Each item within this box
Is a memory that I hold dear
I keep them for a distant time
When my memory won’t be so clear
So if you wish to see inside
To you I have one request
Do not call it just a box
‘Cause to me it’s a “TREASURE CHEST”
Copyright © Dawn Drickman
In life to get by, I really do try, very hard to live by,
the old fashioned ways, of how my daddy lived his days,
He often told me not to lie, and when he caught me, it made me cry,
and I still remember him say, son you'll be ok, tomorrow's another day,
Then daddy told me about the war, the first time he wrecked a car,
and of how it made him cry, when some of his friends died,
Then we looked up in the sky, and the whole world felt like ours,
staring high up in the sky, I just wished that we could fly,
Being young, I asked dad...why?...why do people have to die?
Then I heard him sigh....and say....my oh my oh my,
and he looked me in the eye,
as I yearned for his reply:
Son, people are dying without....and dying within,
with no way out.....hunger starves a friend...
Death is much about, bloody wars that never end...
The whole world, no doubt, suffers from serious sin,
Then we looked high up in the sky, suddenly a shooting star went by,
and the whole world felt like ours, as daddy told me about the stars,
Then I listened to him say, son...tomorrow and everyday...
let nothing stand in your way, and you'll succeed in life....OK.
Copyright © Lawrence Ingle
I do not know?
And then I took this box of blight, and cast it into the sea of forgetfulness
Once I had finally realized, that it had become a Pandora unto myself....
A portal of passage towards darkness' infiltering of my heart
To oppress and repress, within these guises of its warmth and love!?
For a few years now I have faced this siege it seems
Relentless within its assault; as it entrapped me within its enthralling snares
Amid, these cyber space affairs....
Carnals descentuous desires, coursing through the chambers of ones mind
To encumber the moments of it all; this winding maze of megrims melange
The reasons why I came!? And the reasons why I am here?!
Burning edges of this portrait; solstice melting amongst the fire
This refining within the furnace, of a copper coloured gold
Liquidized, and now pouring from my sediment covered lashes....
For here I have arrived beyond the gates, at sapients spired Cathedral
To wash them from the purified vascular vases; cleansings at Saint Valentines!
Standing before "The Father," within these absolute professions of truth ~
A spirit beseeched between, the seculars realms of want and need
In through the slanted door, wherein my steps once more, took, the twisted turn....
When shall I know? And when shall they learn?
Onshore land mines, which must forever be navigated throughout this life
Blind to their presence; these bemusing crossbows of befuddled night?!
Recipience, how you betray me; like an enemies sword thrust into my side
Gushing these endless rivers of lapillus' lavender....
Mingled within my very own bereaving blood
Seeping, from the virtuous veins of this unseen soul!?
Placing it all upon the ground again, as I must turn to walk away
Unto the vestige of understanding; drawing these "Holy Vesting Waters" ~
Into the sapphirine chalice, once bearing its wine....
To splash into this befoged visions, obscurities plastered shut
That they may crumble into pieces like frozen epizoons of dust, as, I fall upon my knees
"What is it that you desire that I should do for you?," He asked
Before spitting into my eyes, "This Breath, of 'Light!'" ~
Placing His hand tenderly within my own, and leading me quietly unto the side
"Welcome home," He smiled, "but I have been with you all of the time"
While as He gently and lovingly wiped, the mud, from my blurried sight....
The Prodigal Son!?
Copyright © John Rhinem
Once again, the powers that must
In rise again in what we trust
An overseas conflict, another war
Just what in the hell are we fighting for
Families are asking, Korea has just passed
Generations again reft, how long will it last
A country in need, to rebuild again
Flags at half mast, in wind and rain strain
Once again into war, sent by the Washington Post
To send back reports to hit home the most
Military observers were the first to be sent in
Another chapter of man entering existing sin
I'm witnessing our ariel power, Lam Son 719
US planners determine their incursion, saying all will be fine
Along the Mekong River, we'll carpet bomb their supply trail
Tons of munitions and napalm, this spread surely cannot fail
Many sorties are being flown, for the wounded and the dead
Whilst Nixon and his cronies, aren't thinking with their heads
The news of losses has reached me, nineteen have been killed
Eleven missing, fifty nine wounded, more American blood spilled
Seven fixed wing aircraft, more sons in action loss
Whilst back at home more protests, fading the dyeing's gloss
To to this job that I do, I was never prepared for this
To witness such bloody scenes, and ignore that life is bliss
How can I write about a soldier, whose name I'll never know
Killed at nineteen years old, his family he'll never see grow
Or even explain to his parents, when carried from the AH-1
His body bullet riddled and limp, when lifted it bloodily run
I never went back to the theatre, called the Vietnam War
Having witnessed the wanton killing, what were we fighting for
This colonial conflict that started, us on the side of France
So many came back as strangers, many to live in trance
James Fraser's entry into the contest " WORLD OF WAR: VIETNAM "
Copyright © James Fraser
I must confess!!
my mother was not there
when i needed milk from somebody's breast
Probably she was feeling stress -
daddy used to beat her down
living marks from the face to the chest
Eventually mom left,
living behind two sons;
i must believe she thought it was best
To do not worry about the rest -
she kept on going forward
and buildup a new nest
I'm not writing this for you to criticize
for you to analyze
That i had realize!!
You couldn't ever gone back
to get hurt and be utilize
So you came to the deep south
with only one purpose;
not ever going back to the devil's mouth
If i was you i would have done the same,
but again, what about my sons
you know what, don't take the blame
Mother is alright!!
I am very thankful
for i am very bright
Thank you again for giving birth
two beautiful sons;
worth introducing to the planet Earth
Copyright © Diogenes Zuniga
On a slope graced with green
White marble stands in proud salute
For beneath these engraved pillars of memory
Lie the resting places of heroes
A solitary green fir looks down
As if sheltering the lost and the taken
So many names, from all walks of life
A father, brother a girlfriend or wife
On a sunny day, they glow radiant like their lives
On a dull day, they stand out against the greys
For the living, life goes on
Tomorrow is another day
Copyright © James Fraser
Pulled himself to the very top
Looked over the world on high
Felt the warm and stirring breeze
falling from the sky
Knowing this was how it felt
to soar above the land
To feel so safe away from things
so free to be alive
Yet down the pole we all must come
to touch the very ground
This is where we laugh and play
gives us what we need
The loving smile of a young girl's face
a women's tender care
For up above the pole to fly
is nothing but the air
But on the soil we grow and live
to reach out, to touch, to give
So keep your feet upon the ground
take a good long look around
and see if flying above the pole
isn't like living in a hole
from where you never see
the reaching hands pulling you down
pulling you down to be
Copyright © Elinore Carney
Have You Been Hurt By “Religion”?
Are you tired of “religious people”
knocking at your door?
You wish they’d leave... “You can’t take it anymore!”
Have you been hurt by “church people” sometime in the past?
Somehow they hurt you... And the pain continues to last…
Have you been “wounded” by something
somebody has said?
Perhaps you wonder if “they wish you were dead…”
Perhaps there’s someone that you
may have “befriended…”
They have done something that
has hurt you and “offended.”
There’s probably many people that you wish would “go away.”
Because of something they’ve
done to “darken your day.”
I’ve been there many times… Believe me I know.
How someone’s actions or words can hurt your soul.
Even those who go to church are
often not very kind.
And they don’t hesitate to
give you “a piece of their mind.”
Religion is not the answer. Look to Jesus
and the life he gives!
He alone has the power to love
and completely forgive!
It’s only in his shed blood that you can find atonement.
He can change your life now! This very moment!
He can heal your broken heart and wounded spirit.
An everlasting joy and love... He freely gives it!
He can do what no “church” or “religion” could ever do
He can restore your life today.
And make you BRAND NEW!!!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton
I went back into that dark, dark place
Were demons dwell
Lives are taken away
Through the pain
Through the tears
You were there and kept me near.
You saved my life by loving me;
Your silent strength was the key.
Gentle touches and silent words
Let me know that love was the cure.
Depression is my evil curse,
When it planted the seed of death
Your love washed it away
Gave me the strength
To seek the help I needed to keep it at bay.
I’ve walked that dark path so many times
I’ve done lost track,
Things have change
And God’s given me a special tool
To help me through,
I have you and Joshua too,
Rooted deeper is the knowledge
Both of you want me to stay a little longer.
So like a drug addict that has lost their way
I start the road back to brighter days,
There are not enough words to say
I Love You
In every way
May God bless us ever day.
Copyright © Sarah Frieman
My only hope
Died for telling the truth
True wisdom and love is in you
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago
My Parents Did Their Best To Raise Me
As a child, my parents did their best to raise me.
Teaching me about God, because they loved me!
They taught me God’s ways,.
This was their intention.
They read the Bible,
with an undivided attention.
Each day I awoke. I was glad mom
and dad where there.
Especially when we gathered
around the table in prayer.
The many times we spent together I haven’t forgot.
I’m so thankful for the Christian values taught.
The values helped shape me into
what I am today.
And have helped keep me on “the narrow way.”
I believe many of these values
are being discarded.
Even before many families are being started.
A respect for God’s word seems
to be a thing of the past.
It’s no wonder many relationships don’t last.
God’s principles must be our daily ambition.
His love must be our rock and a TRUE foundation!
We must seek his purpose
and divine way of living.
It’s HIS example that must be our way of giving!
Giving to others kindness and love
that binds us as one.
Through the witness we have in Christ… His son!
May God bless our hearts and
homes in one accord.
As we give our attention
to Jesus Christ our Lord!
By Jim Pemberton 10/01/11
Copyright © Jim Pemberton
You came to me before I was ready
I cried when I heard of your existence
Over night my youth was gone
Worried sick that I wouldn’t be good enough for you
Clueless on what expect for the future
Carrying you under my heart for 9 months long
I knew that I love you
I just never knew how much
Then I saw your face
Those beautiful brown eyes staring straight into mine
My heart melted
And I asked myself how can a person love someone so much that they just met
But I did
I love you more than life it’s self
In that instant I knew my purpose on this earth was to protect you from all evil
I would give my last breath to you
I would kill for you
I would steal for you
The little keeper of my heart
My ray of sunshine during a thunder storm
So much joy have you given to me
My life is meaningless without you
I taught you how to walk and how to talk
You taught me that life’s most precious gift is the love of a child
Your smile gets me through tough times
Your laugh is a symphony of music to my ears
I dedicate my entire life to you
I make I lot of promises that I can not keep but the absolute promise to love you till Lord stops my beating heart is one that is forever
I was young and clueless
Wondering around the word deaf and dumb
Until the almighty sent you to me
I am now wiser and understanding
Selfless, patient and gentle
You, my wonderful son, are the reason for this
You changed me
You saved me
I am forever grateful for you
My little pitcher
My kung fu ninja
My super hero
The joy of my salvation
Life makes so much more sense when I’m looking at you
Where I go, you will go
I will starve so that you can eat
Go without so that you can have
Sleepless nights and empty bank accounts is all worth seeing you happy
Many will disappoint you, leave you, hurt you, and scar you
But remember momma will forever be right here for you
You are the number one most important thing in my life
You will never come second to nothing or no one
No matter how big you grow you will forever remain my little baby boy
My heart and my soul
My beginning and my ending
My tiny angel without wings
My meaning, my reasoning, my inspiration and my motivation
My one and my only Elijah William Tippett
Copyright © Kita Henderson
“Do you know just how old this guitar is my boy?”
quizzed the old man I’d grown to revere.
It was plain as the nose on his kind, smiling face,
and the fact that his heart beat had picked up the pace,
he’d a story he felt I should hear.
“We were all church mouse poor back when I was a lad
and my pappy he never had much.
But the one thing pa owned and did treasure the most
was this long necked guitar, and it’s not wrong to boast,
how that man had a magical touch.
He would work hard all day with his hands in the fields,
but at night he would gather us ‘round.
Then our Pa he would play to us kids and to ma,
and those calloused old hands brought to life this guitar,
which created a rhythmical sound.
But the years took their toll on this musical man
and my pap gave the playing away.
To this day I recall, with a real sense of pride,
how he whispered to me, as he took me aside,
“This guitar son is yours now to play.”
How it brought me such joy through these many long years
and I’ve played at a dance hall or two.
It has taken me places all over this land
and I’ve played with musicians in many a band
but it’s time now to hand it to you.
There’s a lot of tradition and pride to uphold
and I know you’ll respect that my lad.
Please remember my pappy and me when you play
and then maybe my boy you’ll be sure to one day
tell this tale when you too are a dad.
Copyright © Merv Webster
A seed was kept, by a pretty woman, in her pocket
As she goes, up and down the stairs, with a bucket
For nine long months, she has it, inside her pocket
Till she finally lost her strength to carry the bucket
When the seed popped up, from her maiden pocket
She promised herself, not to let it grow, in a bucket
Though, there is still great pain, in her worn pocket
She continues, even she’s weak, to carry the bucket
To the man of her life, she entrusted him her pocket
Till she went broke, nothing left, but just her bucket
Worst, the conman planted a seed, inside her pocket
He left her, when she has nothing, but only a bucket
Times has passed, the woman has gained her pocket
Because of a strong-willed mind, to carry the bucket
She has a fine young man, the seed, from her pocket
He is matured and never felt ashamed, of her bucket
When the beloved Romeo learned, of her full pocket
He returned with promises, of help, to fill the bucket
Too late, his own seed, he had planted, in her pocket
Will not accept him, for leaving them, with a bucket
No more love for the man, who likes only her pocket
Nor, for the man, who left them, because of a bucket
Will you pity the man, who has but an empty pocket?
Will you pity a woman, who carries her own bucket?
Will you hate me, if, I wish not to share my pocket?
Will you love me, if, I leave you with only a bucket?
Never rush to a person, who minds only your pocket
Nor, love a person, who has no guts to hold a bucket
For it is not so easy to be a seed, in an empty pocket
Nor easy to witness a mother carries a loaded bucket
She was a pretty woman, who once had a rich pocket
Thou abandoned she gave her son a life, not a bucket
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago
The story I have to tell- was told long ago to me,
About the creation of the Potawatomi Nation;
In the beginning the Creator made Anishabe,
And the Creator told Anishabe to name all of his creations,
Anishabe set out with a wolf, his companion,
And he went around naming everything;
From the mountains and the canyons,
To the Summer and the Spring;
He became lonely realizing, he alone had no mate,
And as he traveled everywhere searching,
He traveled towards the Great Lakes;
And there he heard a woman singing,
Her song was a thing of beauty,
About the home she was making for them;
Anishabe crossed the lake to meet her, finally,
The daughter of the Firekeeper-And quite a gem
Their’s was the first unity bond, It is where life came from;
Of each other they were inordinately fond;
Their union gave life to four sons,
Each of their sons went a different way,
The First son traveled North, it’s color is White, henceforth;
Given the first gift of the Creator-sweet grass-braided in a bouquet,
He married the daughter of the Spirit of the North;
The second sun traveled East, into the rising sun,
He learned that fire is the essence of life;
He was given the second gift-herbs to speak with the One,
East is the color Yellow, East’s daughter became his wife;
The third son traveled South, known as “The Way of The Woman”,
The way of seeds and all that give life, the color of South is Red;
He was given the gift of cedar-to purify and prepare food for his clan
And to the daughter of the Spirit of the South he was wed.
The last son traveled west, towards the mountain highlands,
He learned that the setting sun represents the circle of life;
Black is the color of West-Sage was the gift for his hands,
Married to the Spirit of the West’s daughter, Black stands for strife.
This is the story of the Creator, That my Grandmother told to me,
How my culture was started, And what our banner means.
~I've been holding on to this a while-Hope you enjoy the beginning of my culture~
~3rd Place in the "Broad Horizons" Contest by Deborah Guzzi~
Copyright © Tirzah Conway
I wake-up to a sudden wail
probably, someone passed away
the whistles of the melancholic tune
of the passing winds made
a woman weep, as the angels trumpet
in no tune now chanting in unison
without reason in the midst of
forgotten tombstones, of marble
rubble, where in silence lies
the diary, in which the secret of growing
vines could be found, the gardening
ways of the ancient gods, yet
in flick of time the vineyard will not
be the same, as the rake stand
rusting as days go by, and his
epitaph, engraved from own sweat
and blood has revealed that the sweet
wine, the true essence of his spirit
the glory that he had kept
for years, is nothing, but me…
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago
My name is James, born 1961
In Inverness, a small Scots town
To my father Andrew, and my mother Beryl
And Billy my brother, a pair of devils
In 67, we woke one night
Our house was ablaze, full of orange light
Our neighbour next door, for whatever reason
Started a fire, it must be crazy season
We had too move to a caravan park
By this time it,s three, to make a new start
My mother Beryl decide to leave
But the three of us left, never bothered to grieve
In the next few weeks, we ended in court
Two small children, in a marriage abort
We were asked to choose either Dad or Mum
But we ignored the parent, who went on the run
As we left the court, to start a new life
We felt sorry for Dad, as his illness was rife
He never told us that he was unwell
It would upset one of his boys, as the future will tell
Then came the night all parents dread;
Being told one of his boys is nearly dead
We were going to a boys club, on a Monday night
My brother was running so far out of sight
I turned the corner to see him ahead
No!! he's been hit by a van, Boom's Boom's dead
I ran to my father, sreaming and crying
I'm finding my life,at 7 - far too trying
After the funeral, and with my father unwell
We left Inverness, our eyes a swell
To go as two, and not three as before
It's like Mother Nature closed a door
So we headed west, to a place called Fort William
Was it in the stars, cause Billy " is " William
We moved there, as the air was so pure
Hoping my father will find his cure
For whatever reason, we left the above
We found no Angel or peaceful dove
So we headed back to Inverness
Fathers health decreasing, life still a stress
Over the next few years, i was fostered and loaned
In couples houses and children's homes
It was really strange in all those places
Different people, different faces
Then on the 16th of Feb - 76,
James, i was told, your dads very sick.
The cancer had taken your father away
To be with Billy, where you'll join them one day
In 77, i joined the Navy, as i promised my dad you see.
I did'nt enjoy it, i decided to leave
Back up north, where my futures to be
I wanted to have, what my parents had lost
And that was my aim, no matter the cost
see page 2 of 2, ty..
Copyright © James Fraser