A day in the country
I went to the country
To see my Bro's Land
I saw he had worked hard
His land looked so grand
For a second this envy
It tapped on my soul
But then I looked deeper
Saw things as a whole!
I looked at his features
All the lines on his face
Not character lines
Those lines that add grace
Just sad saggy lines
From worry and stress
There was naught in his manner
That read happiness.
I’m a loser to his type
I have no ambition
I live for today
He lives for his mission
But I have a smile
And a generous heart
While he, how I see him
Is a grumpy old fart.
10 August 2013 @ 1700hrs
a trumpet sounds
but refuses to blare
it just doesn't know
how to harm
what it takes
to infect the living
out last the past
bond brothers and sisters
as it loses
to a force
because the vibration knows god
and is ONE
and though human imperfections
sit in the shadows of it's path
and forever will
we choose to destroy
but how can we concentrate
on methods of malcontent
when god sits at our breakfast table?
as father urges child
"stand on two feet!"
he tolls the bell
as we lay on deaf ears
he loosens ties with anger
as the path warns and wears
driving this cosmic ship
of no loses
and he smiles
for he knows
what we yet
have to find...
and all is well.
In Florida one right hot summer
A free soul was havin' a bummer
So in spray painted undies
Next holiday Monday
He split to the Springs with his rummer.
Equally inspired by a net(te) comment and the lovely natural resources in North Florida
we are one spirit...
there shall be no division...
edify each soul...
Nature’s Single Dad:
The Australian Emu :
The first 55 days
Emund is busy
partners who’ll put
him to the test.
His pedigree line
has proven with time
that it is now his
turn, to be best.
He hears them emerge
from the bush as
they gather in
answer to nature’s
They dance, and then
go away, they know
they cannot stay;
there is not enough
food for them all.
They dip and they
weave as they mingle
that each has a
With his reputation,
there is no
he is ready to join
in the dance.
‘Bonk! Bonk,’ comes
the sound of another
Emulena!’ he says
with a grin.
Others move to the
side as he leaves
to greet this dancer
as she flounces in.
rhythmic movement of
hips she fluffs up
her boa, it bounces
He matches her mood.
His movements are
as they twist and
twirl in their
He does not fuss
about who takes the
lead, he follows and
their dance now is
With steps that are
light he glides to
he meets her, bows
“Sorry, we cannot
stay longer, we all
must find paddocks
It matters not
whether we all stay
we trust you to know
what to do.”
As she speaks, they
deposit their gifts,
and he hears, as in
chorus they say,
“We know you’ll do
magically, what you
to deliver these in
your own way.”
After completing her
task, Emulena stands
tall and she fluffs
up her feathers once
They follow her lead
in twos, and in
and promenade across
the dance floor.
Left all alone, he
goes back to his
duties and looks
closely at each pale
He checks all for
defects. He sees
they are perfect,
so with care he
covers every one
He sticks to his
task for fifty-five
days in sunshine,
strong winds and
He values each
treasure and tends
them with pleasure
as he, turns each
egg every three
Through his long
lashes he sees
danger coming. He
drops his neck down
like a log.
Feathers flying on
high and red fur
he needs to fool
both bird and dog.
The shells have now
turned a dark bluey
green, there’s an
infertile egg in the
This egg will be
food for his hungry
but he won’t eat or
drink, ‘til they
Each day he looks
up, and turns his
head to the sun as
it rises each
He’ll sit day and
night until the
He knows, that time
to be continued...
What can I render to the Lord for all His gifts to me
He who took MY SINS
His abounding Mercy
His fathomless love
His total commitment to my salvation
To my wholeness
To my welfare
To my emotional stability
To giving me eternal life
He gave a pure white robe to cover me with HIS RIGHTEOUSNESS
Because of Jesus-I now know Him as an adoring Father.
A Brother who will always walk so close I feel His presence and who always watches over me.
A mother whose words and affections surround me daily with care like a Mother hen
What can I render to the Lord who took my pain
Who in His own body was wounded and bore the sorrows and my grief I was to going through and the mistakes and the sin ready at every moment to try and trick me out through my life-time-
He sent His WORD- His LIGHT to enlighten my darkness and show me clearly the road I should take-(Proverbs: chapters 1to 9)
Yes YOU were always ready to defend me, a helpless orphan- for without YOU as my Dad and as my mother- I was abandoned to this world-
But Now I can cry with all my heart- ABBA FATHER I love you - But YOU say
LOVE Y MORE
What can I render to the LORD- MY God- whose precious pure blood was spilt to bear the sins of all our humanity- I will take ‘the cup’ of Your salvation and honor your name with my life- For only your pure blood is worthy to pay for all sin-I will confess your name before the world for which you died to save -and I will call upon your HOLY name - for your name alone is WORTHY- JESUS.
© Brenda V Northeast 28th January 2012
Out across the country lanes
and down into the woods,
these places we would play
for they had all “the Goods”.
It didn’t matter the time of year,
Spring, Summer , Winter or Fall-
we were ready as each one drew near
for we played hard through them all.
Adventures of the highest kind
as we’d run to the chasm again.
We’d swing across on monkey vines,
not walking around it instead.
Our sleds would speed the power lines,
shooting down the treacherous slopes.
Careful to miss the towering pines,
we’d hold tightly to the ropes.
How carefree were our younger days
as I look back across the years.
We spent our youth under sun’s gold rays
and conquered our childhood fears.
Many quests filled these gallant years,
these quests for “the other side”.
Memories like these become more dear
as I sail upon life’s tide.
Teens walk the streets full of fear,
A ton of murders every year,
Hate and knives,
These are the things I see,
But they shall never create me,
It's crazy how most of our teen
murders are gang related,
For some teens never had love,
After joining a gang,
They will fight for their lives,
To the point where guns are being
More than a singing bird,
And murders are being committed
more than child birth,
And some see Detroit as hell on
But no one pays attention to the
intelligence our teens are worth,
For Detroit is a city full of broken
Hoping one day all gangs will work
And unite as a team,
Then we will create a great future,
For Detroit's wound will rejoin with
And one day we will make a
Detroit is a city full of hope.
My head rested
on the pillow of her smooth skin.
She opened the curtains of her being,
My hands slip into indulgence while
they explored her expansive dark skin.
With half words she whispered moans,
followed by screams of passion.
With her shadow I bounded, as she
swarmed waters of our endless longing passed.
We have hot oil in China,
Rising slowly from the ground
There is a deep dense fog hovering round
The air is smokey, so dense it seems green
The sun so hot it's making everyone lean
Curfews so early all think it's obscene
And the hot oil keeps rising, if you know what I mean
Hot oil keeps rising, it doesn't go down
It's been well over a month since it covered the ground
Machinery moves carelessly all through the night
I bothers us so much we boarded up the windows tight
I bought ear plugs but I gave them to my brother Mike
Bells keep bleeping on and off go the lights
So another pair of ear plugs I bought
School won't let me wear them, saying I'll rot
So I decided to grow my hair long
Hide my ear plugs under it all day long
But when I go home at night
And I cover up really tight
And I pray because theres nothing else we can do
Oh hear me Lord, don't let my mother find the ear plugs in my shoe
(a place no one has ever been)
We live out in da country
Miles away from anyone else
Papa and six boys, well, we're young men now....just sayin
Momma died at childbirth when baby brother was born
Love it here, cept at night, sleepin through “the howlin”
Big old wood frame house, island by grassland; den da forest
We keep a farm of pigs, goats, even cows; what da heck for ?
Every night Papa slayed an animal; laid it at da edge of da woods
Never new why until he called us six boys together one creepy night:
“Boy’s, listen to me, listen good….your Papa’s dying,
It won’t be long
The last 20 years, your Momma and I set out here a sacrifice
I don’t know what in God’s name is out there
This thing ain't human
Notice how it’s quiet for a while so you can get to sleep
It’s feeding time
Damn right, it’s eating the sacrifice
Long as we put them dead animals out
When I’m gone, it’s up to you six
Be my Nightwatch, ya hear me boys !
You all are men now
I love each one of you very much”
Father finished da story, den...
Said no one ever been in dem neck of doze woods
He bought property twenty (20) some years ago;
Prior owner told him da whole story
In a way I look at dis big monster as our protector
I've heard screamin at night, den da 'howlin'
O man, den dis loud munchin, chompin, chewin masdacated cry
Den more 'howlin'
Call da police ya say? No way. We safe...
So long we feed him, or it
At night: WHOAAA am scared to death
Papa's been gone a few years now
It’s up to us six to offer up da sacrifice
We older now and don’t all nestle up in one bed
Howlins still be, but we sleep at night best we can
Hated killin doze animals, deys didn’t do nuttin wrong
Dares no other way; we twied once and almost got ourselves scavaged alive
Am not goin out dare, never, not to
A place where no one has ever been
SEA TO SHINNING SEA,
...this is so intimate of time, as a first kiss of time is...so close of soul, so near, so dear of heart beat, so precious a rhyme that flows so intimately,
deep of time, down by the Crystal Seas...
...this is so intimate of dreams,
as the Crystal Sea so reveals of destinies galore,
destined as the night light of the moon-glows of starry eyes,
upon the waters,
...seeing tranquility upon the waves...
watching to the depth of a dream,
and a sun-rise
being so true...
for underneath and within this a moon-lit poem of starry night eyes, down by the Crystal Seas, a vessel sets sail upon the deep...into a kiss of dawn...
Sea to shinning Sea.
Mary fought until her last day
gazing at the stars of the bay,
" I will soon die, but deep pain
I won't feel...Heaven is my gain! "
And muttering those courageous words,
her pale face pierced by hazel eyes held off
her tears not to make me profoundly sad,
but my caresses warmer than sunshine
consoled her by not making her afraid...
all she saw was a brother praying by her side!
Mary sang many songs and smiled feeling only joy,
not seeing her bold head and missing breast
and despite her suffering, she kept abreast...
wanting to be another survivor and tell her story.
That October evening Mary died without a breath of air,
and with semi open eyes turned to a pink sky...
seeing a sun redder than scarlet;
she stepped into the realm of death
to join mother and sister already there...
why wasn't a cure found? She didn't have to die!
Written by Andrew Crisci
The most powerful note:
" Wanting to be another survivor and tell her story. "
Perspiration beads my beleaguered brow,
running in rivulets down cheeks aglow.
A hazy miasma the air does plough,
electric energy begins to flow.
Distant rumblings, crowned palm trees start to shake,
gorgeously lush green fronds partner their dance.
Waves rippling the ground harbinger earthquake,
eerie silence, then lightning’s jagged lance.
An earth shrieking crescendo tears dark skies,
a tsunami of sound deafens each mind.
Birds of Paradise scream with fearful cries,
as two tectonic plates viciously grind.
Silence resumes, a young friend lifts his head,
widened eyes white within a dusky den.
I speak, “See brother we live we’re not dead,
dispela wantok bilong Jackson Ken.”
I lived in Papua New Guinea for four years in the 1990’s.
The earthquake was 6.5 on the Richter scale, epicentre within 50 mile away.
Jackson Ken is a young Papua New Guinean man whom I befriended and who ended
up working for the company that I was managing.
The last line is Pidgin English, widely spoken in P.N.G., its root bases are German,
Dutch and ‘modified’ English. It basically means that this fellow/man (dispela, which
is me) is a cousin brother (wantok, usually associated with another member of your
own village) belonging (bilong) to Jackson Ken.
The recovery from life at seven is so trying. Having witnessed
your brother being taken to heaven. What future can a child see
through cascades of tears, what future does a parent explain to
allay his fears.
Their day to day life has been forever changed, as their different
tomorrow brought loss and sever. Where do I start to tell you if I coped.
What words for the loss as my fathers health sloped.
Decisions were made from the pain we must move, to be on the peripheral, to
rejoin life, to gain. Absorbing our loss, brought us closer than
before, but it has taken a life to go through their last door.
My father and I, responded by living. We walked in beautiful glens
surrounded by heathers, as we as a family grew from our weathers. The walks
on Ben Nevis in nature surround, as he taught me plenty about animals and
plants. We would drink the clear waters as he told me it brought life. Being
so educated at seven, filled the void. Every so often we would say " Boom
Boom " would love being here, as we thought for a moment and then the
But the toll of our loss, for my father was heartbroken. His health declined
with the loss of my brother. Six more years of sporadic times, as hospital
became his home and child support became mine.
My recovery from life continues to this day. As I think and look back at
all the times we spent surrounded by life, my father and I from the loss of
a life, but I still wonder why.
Broremann, the farmer worker.
Every morning at five thirty sharp, my brother Broremann
had to milk five cows by hand bring bucket full of goodness
to the scullery where maid sifted it and in a churn it went.
He had to start milking Rose first, she was the mother cow
other cows wouldn´t give milk unless he started with her.
After milking Broremann had to clean the barn five cows
make a lot of dung; he pushed it down in a hole in the wall
it was later used to fertilize the land. My brother was proud
of his ability to milk and his hands were, firm yet gentle.
There was a problem though Rose didn´t yield as much milk
as before as she was getting elderly and the farmer sold her
to the knacker’s yard. It was a sad day and the other cows
mooed woefully. The farmer bought a new cow to take Rosa´s
place, but Broremann couldn´t milk her first, as she was new-
comer, so he started with Gerda, now the oldest cow, and milk
the new one last, thus rural peace continued in the cow shed.
POETRY IS OUR NAUTURE N'
STRIDE,(LIFE..) TO LET GO!!
EACH PEN STROKES A UNIQUE
*POWER* VIBRANTLY BLASTED
COULOR: EN~SYNCED WORDS,
JUST DIFFRENTLY EX*
WE STAND ON FIRMED LAND;
FULL OF LOVE N' NOT HATE;
WE PULE N' LAUGH, BEING
SERIOUS OR JOKE AROUND:
WE'RE EQUALLY ABANDONED,
BUT AGAIN PICKED~UP BY A LOVING
HANDED STRANGER IN
STRENGTH.... AGAINST INK
SPILLED... WHERE WE ARE TRUSTED
IN LOYALTY AND GATHERED
THOUGHTS TO EXPLORE THIS
WORLD WE ONCE DESPIZED; A
MAXIMUM EXPLOSSION OF JOY
N' CHEER, ALL SEEMS SO
CLEAR ON LOVE OF THE SOUP
UNITED*TING!!! INKS PENNED;
AS ONE...COME JOIN US...
THIS IS A TRIBUTE TO ALL
WRITEN BY: SWEETHEART
BRITTANY MaD InK CalDwELl;
PACE, G "INK-U-SCRIPT" AND;
MARLON (THE SCRIBE)...
THANK YOU DEAR POETS!!!!
From planted seeds, trees have grown.
My hope, regards this scene, is to remind you of home.
Rooted and grounded have the trees come to be.
From different forests, though, are both you and me.
Yet, like one tree that grows and bares many branches:
Rather northward, to the south, eastward, or to the west;
And no matter where fruits from a tree are selected.
I want you to know we're still connected.
My brothers are much older than me
They're always teaching me how to live,
Like brother deer, and bird, and tree
And the bees, who teach me to forgive.
We take brother bees food but that's fine
He just makes more, being able to share,
He never wastes a moment to whine
But constantly hums his silent prayer.
Brother deer comes and goes like a ghost
Constantly in tune with one another,
Never disturbing anyone, never a boast
Or a complaint, he's my humble brother.
Brother bird older still fills the skies
In his faith he depends on God daily,
For every food and shelter, then flies
To God's feet singing his praise gaily!
Brother tree the oldest doesn't bother
To worry, and in total faith stands steadfast,
Lifting his arms in praise of Father
Who supplies all, his faith is unsurpassed!
I am the youngest brother of Mother Earth
But if I had to choose another one to be,
I'd choose the one that showed the most worth
So, I think that I would choose to be a tree!
Timothy I. Brumley
Coole park was where he took his friends
It was his joy until the end.
To stroll along the wooded trails.
While reminiscing or telling tales .
To stop and glare at the big oak trees .
Or those copper beech that stood for years .
He would tell you the story of this famous place .
Or read the inscriptions on the various name plates.
He would salute to a stranger he met there before .
For his manner was always to never ignore .
Then down to the lake to his favorite seat .
We would chat of our school days as if it was our first meet .
Or talk of our Parent’s who are now long past and gone.
Or joke about childhood and the things we had done.
He would speak of his Wife Kay and children at length .
That love that he gave them knew never an end .
On his last days with us he never forgot .
It was to Coole for that walk no matter what .
Nessan you have taken your last walk in Coole .
So now cool dude you walk with God .
In the forest of life they call Heaven .
So until we all meet again be cool.
Never ever forgotten.
I Hear Drum-Beats Across The Land… Can You Hear It?
All Our Homes Are Handed Down by The Highest Spirit
Long-Ago, The Native Peoples of The Land
Knew… The Earth and Us – Go Hand in Hand
I Hear Hoof-Beats Across The Land… Can You Hear It?
Its Not The Buffalo or Antelope – Who Grew To Fear It
Its Battles of Braves and Soldiers – Both Grim Reapers
Can’t Forget… We ‘Are’ Our Brother’s Keeper…
Blood – Brothers
… We Are Blood-Bound To Love
Blood – Brothers
We Are Blood – Brothers Of
All Sons and Daughters of Mankind
The Great Spirit Binds…
… Blood – Brothers
I Heard Hate – Beat Down The Land… Did You Hear It?
Pollution and Persecution… Its Time To Cure It
End Our Journey On The Trail of Tears
With Broken Arrows and Rivers – Running Clear
I Hear Heartbeats Across The Land… Can You Hear It?
If You Turn and Face The Wind… You Are Near It
It Pounds Deeper Than The Skin, Or A Flood
It Echoes To All … Its In Our Blood !
Blood – Brothers
… We Are Blood – Bound To Love
Blood – Brothers
We Are Blood – Brothers Of
All Sons and Daughters Of Mankind
The Great Spirit Binds…
… Blood – Brothers
* * * * *
The Eagle Flies On The Breath Of Life
And So Do You
May The Blue Sky And Your Clear Eye
See Many More Moons
Keepers Of The Earth… Guard This Turf
And Each Other
For Every Human Birth… Has Worth
As A Blood – Brother
For Those Killed and Blood Spilled
The Ground Cries
Soaks The Dust… And Curses Us
When A Brother Dies…
Blood – Brother …
I do not know?
From Sorrow to Acceptance -By Frances Ayers
On sorrows'wings I journeyed to a land where I had never been.
Each loss was undiscovered country,landscapes I had never seen,mountains I had never climbed.
I had taken a journey past familiar landmarks I missed, and memories that were past.I had
buried the familiar stories and neglected the happiness,which lay buried deep beneath the
earth,only now and then pushing to the surface.
I drank from bitter springs and sat among the weeds,neglecting to seperate them from the
Beheld only the sunsetting but forgot the beauty in each new day.
When I had shed enough tears,I remembered the laughter echoing in the valley and heard the
birds chirping a new song.
I saw the sun reflecting on the water.
and instead of weeds,I saw flowers. Where there were empty patches of dirt,I saw seedlings
and the possibility of new beginnings.
Diamond tears are falling,
crystal streams of broken dreams,
lost on the horizon,
children in a driftwood jungle.
Pilgrim souls of brown and gold
shining in the autumn moonlight,
A shooting star scattered sparks all around us
as you buried me in the sand.
Magic dust for infant eyes,
the treasures we unearthed
laughing at the blues,
and whistling in the wind.
Red tail Hawk Hovers
as loving Hands drop blooms.
Pallid rasp of care
encompassing not compare,
left but to idle, never share,
left but to wander, going where?
My soul in essence asks in prayer
am left to squander life's impair
neglecting waste, as if not there
recycling only watchful tear ~
Oh action yonder, take my stare
cause me to wonder, and repair,
the earth asunder, needs aware,
inhabitants with laissez faire!
To focus blunder, then revere
the force concern, not leftist pare
involving staff of righteous gain ~
each hand to merit, each to aim!
I do not know?
You tricky tricky little Love,
I had you in my grasp.
The sun was shine, the smell
divine, then you leap and
made me laugh...
Silly again, your flight in Time,
But I'll chase you just the same.
Tis too much fun
my shining sun
To love your mind thru game.
Your flight is like a little light,
and your trail a widdle milky...
but nay, say J, this
hinders me not...
as I spin a widdle silky...
I Love our chase thru time...n.space,
A little maze, a little phrase,
and I so do love the rhyme.
So leap my dear, my 'ittle frog,
I chase you in deLight, thru
all of Time and all our kind,
We play and continue, Our flight.
~It was never, pay and continue to fight~