Since first I saw you, it was your eyes,
mesmerizing, your gaze transporting
me to a realm, not of fantasy, real,
where young men go when cupid’s
arrow takes root.
Since first I saw you, it was your lips,
captivating, holding me frozen
in anticipation of our lips brushing
for the first time.
Since first I saw you, it was your voice,
a crescendo, light, invigorating,
each word you speak intensifies
my hearing, enveloping each
note, time ceases as I hang motionless
Since first I saw you, it was your hair,
long, flowing, gently rising above
your shoulders as a slight breeze
passes through sending waves
of your essence my way.
The sun magnifying each strand,
highlighting the minute
variances of invigorating color,
creating a halo effect, a portrait of
your beauty forever imprinted.
Since first I saw you, It was you,
my love forever more for you,
How Can We Hurt The Ones We Love?
How can we hurt the very ones that we love?
How can we easily neglect our God above?
It seems like I often heard about many victims
Many times, it’s from a loved one who’s been with them!
The hate and the anger that boils from deep within.
Often “boils over” toward our family and friends.
It’s the love of Christ that we need to find!
His love can totally cleanse our life and mind!
The hearts of many families are bruised and broken.
By the harshness of many of the words spoken.
If we would allow Jesus to rule and reign.
We’d have little reason to murmur or complain.
If we would yield our lives to the master’s will…
The emptiness and brokenness, he shall fulfill!
If we could allow ourselves to sit at Jesus’ feet…
He can make any family totally complete!
If we could just listen to what Christ has to say.
His words of life would brighten our day!
As a family… Won’t you give HIM a chance?
And allow his love to change your circumstance!
Won’t you allow his spirit to bind you together?
You can experience his peace today and forever!
He can change your family throughout!
This is his will and what God is all about!
By Jim Pemberton
Figures do not lie
So true, though also is this
Liars can figure
While transient love is all I yearn for now,
A state of panic engulfs as I imagine.
When my life takes a decisive turn
Hair white, wrinkled face and lack of sin.
Will I see shadows of myself?
Will my contagious grime enthuse my sons?
Have I discovered my faults too late?
Can my heart endure those countless revolutions?
Inhabiting my substance, torturing my world.
A life full of faults and guilt knotted.
I travel aimlessly for an ounce of peace.
Disturbed and heart so cruelly destructed.
My parents whom I did not revere,
Their love, I never answered.
Their forgiveness, I never asked for.
Those words of love, I always stammered.
Oh! Those heart beats, when I came hurt.
My letters, they never threw away.
Their magnificence, and my bag of sins.
A false remorse every single minute of the day.
Have I drowned in my own forever.
Or is this realisation a guide for the lost?
It’s never too late to ask for clemency.
Certainly not late to fulfil the unrequited love.
Forgive me for all I have done.
Let no one in this world have unrequited love.
A Mother’s Love…
How precious is the love
of a mother’s heart!
Even as a child… It’s there from the start.
A mother’s love knows
no boundary or limit.
It’s often shown by how
much the mother gives it!
Whether her children are
young or growing old…
And whatever circumstances
in life may unfold.
Her love is continually
a solid foundation…
That can’t be removed, torn or shaken.
Her love is what is
a guiding force.
Even if her children’s lives
stray off course.
I’m thankful for the love
my mother’s given…
It’s surely influenced
the way I’ve been livin’!
To all of our mothers across
our great nation…
May we show them our love
Their love has stood and
endured the test of time…
I’m so glad that one of them is MINE!
By Jim Pemberton
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
The little girl who begs for mercy is away,
her angry alter-ego took her place.
The little girl might possibly come back someday,
But now her eyes gleam red on her fair face.
All the wicked things she said and did,
It was not her but that evil thing.
Maybe the little girl just hid,
Afraid of all the alter-ego may bring.
She is evil, can't you understand?
The sadness, the anger and hatred she gives,
Is it possible to withstand?
But maybe inside that evil thing, the little girl who begs for mercy lives.
Mama and Daddy was always Love-Dovey
She is His Sweetheart – He is Her Honey
First Love… Real Love - Forever True
Pa… I Pray to find A Man Like You…
Daddy Laughed and Put His Arm Round My Shoulder
And Said, “I’ll Tell You Somethin’, Now You’re Older
It’s got to do with Your Mother’s Fame
And Why I gave Her, The Nickname…
… Boot-Legged Mama
Blue-jean Shorts and Vintage Tony Lama
Walked thru the Door… of A Liquor Store
… Packaged so Pretty… Pa Just had to Pour
… Boot-Legged Mama
Ma… Was there, to get 6-packs for A Party…
Pa… Was there, ‘cause of a Taste for Bacardi
He took One Look and Knew He Couldn’t Waste Her
Pa… Gave-up ‘Drank’… Just so He Could Chase her !
Dad, Said, ‘He’d Drowned in Dark-Eyes and Sweet-Aroma
Fine-Wine, Crystal… But Tuff’ Nuff’ to Down-Drama
Pa Claims, Mama’s Labeled by the F.D.A.
And Listed on Her Driver’s License is, A.K.A. …
… Boot-Legged Mama
Genuine Woman, Who Made Him Wanna’
Take Her to be His Lawful Moonshine
… Married at Midnight – ‘cross The County-Line
… Boot-Legged Mama
Alcohol’s in Trauma; and Prohibition Told Her:
"Boot-Legged Mama… Done Drove Pa Sober !"
Now, Homemade-Hooch… is His Acquired Taste
180 Proof… Kicked All Over His Case !
Right Then, Mama Flowed into The Room
Pa, Teased and Said, “Still Full-Bodied and Perfumed !
Ma Hugged Us, then Handed Me – Old Boots and A Dress…
(and good advice)… “Go Git’ My Elliot Ness…
… and be a Boot-Legged Mama!
( Hey !... Did I Hear Somebody, In A Country Drawl ….
Order Up A Bottle of Kicking Alcohol !
Well, Here She Is… Y'all ! ...
Boot-Legged Mama ….
Well John (Moses) Freeman... You Said You Needed
Somethin' :) to Read tonight, before kicking up your
heels... Well, Here It Is (Have Fun - Son)
(Thank You For All Your Wonderful Comments
Now, I Can't Get Thru The Door for My Ego.. (Smile)
I I I
I Not Afraid
F At All
L Be Free
w m Curviest
i a Thing you’ve
l k Ever Seen
d e Self-Esteem
s Is higher than
E Love flows deeper
N Surges Greater
c Than any river
r Emotions as unchanging as the sea
a Modern Day
z Super Hero
y Working hard
I To defeat
L Sexual Inequalities
D Worthy of stealing
Any man’s fancy
[Dedicated to the Women, the strong, the brave, the merciful]
[The Mothers, the Daughters, the Wives]
[ the women who make up our lives]
Yes I will die for her
Yes I will cry for her
But I will not turn my head and look the other way
I will not stand silent while others make a mockery of liberty
I will not stand silent while others
Distort the truth
And if I offend you
I DON'T CARE
Human rights for all does not require the denial of mine
Freedom of choice is not an entitlement
For middle class oppression
Pursuit of happiness is not a governmental gift
And if That upsets you
I DON'T CARE
I will pray
I will say
I will accept you when you accept me
If you are appalled
I DON'T CARE
I will sing God Bless America
If it offends you shut your ears
If you feel the need to respond
Shut your mouth
I do not respond to you denying your righTS
Do not deny mine
There is no room for bigoted fanaticism
In this the Mother Land
If this makes you angry
I DON'T CARE.
My head's up in the clouds
I'm walking on air
Thinking about you
Without a single care
'Cuz nothing else matters
Except for you and me
What we want to happen
And who we want to be
Am I to excited
Getting ahead of myself
I know another broken heart
Is not good for my health
I probibly need to calm down
Maybe take a rest
All these feelings happening
Because you answered yes
the children are crying
again there's trouble in the house
their mother's in the corner all bloodied
and cowering like a mouse
the father, the husband
who calls himself the king
seems to only dispense verbal abuse
and violent beatings
the police have been called
but she won't have him arrested
she thinks her faith, beliefs
and vows are being tested
her friends can't understand why
she won't just get away
her family is praying that
he won't kill her some day
domestic abuse seems to be on the up-rise
yet society always seems to be shocked and surprised
you'll hear people say, "they seem like a very nice couple"
but behind those closed doors there's nothing but violent struggles
the children are always looking neat on their way to school
they seem very shy and the mother acts somewhat cool
but inside that house no one really has a clue
of the level of domestic violence and abuse
Thank you – Zamreen Zarook
Thank you is a sweet word in the nature,
You may be a guy of adventure,
May be you are a person of agriculture,
What matters is your architecture.
Never forget the people, who guided you,
In no degree neglect who were with you,
Don’t ever overlook a creature, who gave a smile to you,
Because, you will meet them above you.
People forget the past due to selfishness,
They have no time to remember their unawareness,
Society, most of the times behave in awfulness,
They will understand when their lives come in to bitterness.
Be a person to thank and remember,
Don’t consider them as December,
Because, you might need them in November,
So, always be as a good subscriber.
Know how to make
The best of what you've got in you
You do it everyday in your life
***NOTE~TO BE READ WITH A RIDICULOUS "SILKY SOUTHERN DRAWL" (have fun:)***
"Storm over yet...?"
"Well hay'ell ye'ah!
sum'body git me a da'gumm cole beer.
whadda'bou that boy th'er?
sum'body git him'a cole beer too!"
"Diddy! that boy ain't nothin' but 8 years old!"
na'I don't give a jolly'durn, if he ain't nuttin but 8 year'owed!
'dat boy dun' sat him thr'ew a big ol', storm!
torna'durr warnin' too!
he gonna have him'a cole burr;
mama, git him'a cole burr!
ta'days father's day!"
© 2011 ~JSLambert Esquire
I was just trying to remember the past
trying to remember the good people
and the bad people,
that i came across on my way,
i want you to know
that you are among the good people
that left a good trace in my life,
once again i just want to say thank you
for passing through my life,
is so short but is wonderful
i want you here forever.
My mother, my grandmother before has always held a place in my heart.
My father, and my grandfather before has the same part.
I was young and very active with unwillingness to listen fully to what they had to say.
I had a problem, never could be solved without my parents and grandparents till today.
With patience they all come to my aid when I fall on my face.
With little dishonor I listen to them and what they had to say, I embrace.
Over the years I go to them with no doubt a feeling of no dismay.
Over the years I go to them and they help me solve problems that to me is O.K.
Now I am getting a bit more aware of what had happen to me when I was growing.
Now I remember how the ride was in my beginning: it was a trial of not knowing.
With the guided words of my parents and grandparents I survive through them all.
With it some being a problem that I remember I recall.
My mother and my grandmother always said to be patient and it will be easy to solve.
My father and my grandfather always knew that I would grow and evolve.
I could wonder everyday what if my parents and grandparents was not in my life.
I could just think that would be fatal like a stab with a knife.
With knowledge that they had past on to me of what they had experience.
With their proof of teachings they had past on to me is their self existence.
Over the years I grew with life so full of happiness that was because of my families love.
Over the years it showed me the path that led me to all the above.
Now cherish those words that help me through my troubles in my new family.
Now I listen to my parents healing words of wisdom and except them gladly.
I do not know?
someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...
(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)
a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband
who was in exile at the time...
in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...
the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...
one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...
the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay
the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...
the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...
a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...
the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...
by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...
but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...
the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...
the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...
and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...
the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...
she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...
the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...
‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...
the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...
the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...
Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...
then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...
the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...
a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...
the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...
Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...
This was in the mid-1970’s...
Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...
the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...
a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...
a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...
and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...
and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...
(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)
If it is off, I must turn it on.
If it is on, I must turn it off.
If it is folded, I must unfold it.
If it is a liquid, it must be shaken, then spilled.
If it a solid, it must be crumbled, chewed, stepped on or smeared.
If it is high, it must be reached.
If it is shelved, it must be unshelved.
If it is pointed, it must be run with at top speed.
If it has leaves, they must be picked.
If it is plugged, it must be unplugged.
If it is not trash, it must be thrown away.
If it is in the trash, it must be removed, inspected, and thrown on the floor.
If it is closed, it must be opened.
If it does not open, it must be screamed at.
If it has drawers, they must be rifled.
If it is a pencil, it must write on the refrigerator, monitor, or table.
If it is full, it will be more interesting emptied.
If it is empty, it will be more interesting full.
If it is a pile of dirt, it must be laid upon.
If it is stroller, it must under no circumstances be ridden in without protest. It must be pushed by me instead.
If it has a flat surface, it must be banged upon.
If Mommy's hands are full, I must be carried.
If Mommy is in a hurry and wants to carry me, I must walk alone.
If it is paper, it must be torn.
If it has buttons, they must be pressed.
If the volume is low, it must go high.
If it is toilet paper, it must be unrolled on the floor.
If it is a drawer, it must be pulled upon.
If it is a toothbrush, it must be inserted into my mouth.
If it has a faucet, it must be turned on at full force.
If it is a phone, I must talk to it.
If it is a bug, it must be swallowed.
If it doesn't stay on my spoon, it must be dropped on the floor.
If it is not food, it must be tasted.
If it IS food, it must not be tasted.
If it is dry, it must be made wet with drool, milk, or toilet water.
If it is a car seat, it must be protested with arched back.
If it is Mommy, must make her dirty
If it is sibling, must slap,kick,and fight.
If it has four legs, must squeeze tight until makes noise
If big person is on phone, must make lots of noise
If tv is not on cartoons, scream until they are
If food is not good, throw it, refuse to eat it and cry until big people give you something good
I Know of Someone Holding Unforgiveness!
I know of someone holding unforgiveness!
This has led to a life of much bitterness!
Toward his brother, he’s held on to a grudge.
From his viewpoint, he won’t even “budge.”
No matter what God’s word has clearly spoken…
He’s walked with a heart
that’s been broken!
His son prayed that God would speak to him!
That he would forgive, so God could heal him!
Forgiveness is a powerful thing to do!
If you want God’s mercy to
flow through you!
We’re not called to “hold back,”
the love God’s given!
Through Christ shed blood…
We’re all forgiven!
May the love of Christ come and touch us!
It’s no secret how much God
really loves us!
Please come Lord Jesus! And touch our soul!
May we express your love, wherever we go!
May God’s gentle love, be what always binds us!
HIS words; “love one another,”
do remind us!
By Jim Pemberton
Packed like sardines
inside a jeepney*—
with a jeepney strike going on.
mother and child ride along.
Greasy, dirty, malnourished…
The woman holds a can—
a makeshift drum.
Little boy hands out envelopes,
he looks like he's 3 years old,
he's most likely 6.
Woman beats her drum,
chatter drowning out the rhythm…
Invisible ears to go with
His head touches my legs,
an indicator of how long
he's been under the sun and smog
The thought chills me…
He stares at my sister's shopping bags
with searing eyes…
Windows that I can’t bear to look into,
afraid to see my reflection of clouded guilt and frustration
I shake my head, no food to share
but my hands reach out to his,
to give him some money.
My sister remembers a bottle of iced tea,
and hands it to him.
He has a hard time opening it,
and asks for help from the school girls…
I reach out and get the bottle from him
for a body that is parched,
for a soul who is thirsty for so much more.
I cannot help but gulp in guilty air.
He sits on the aisle,
savoring the tea
as his mother thumps on the can.
The little boy retrieves envelopes, all empty—
as hollow as the sound of the beating drum.
What do you do,
what can you do?
The jeepney stops.
They alight from it...
The mother looks back
and says, "Salamat.*"
It goes straight to my heart.
Her eyes move me most—
one eye is cloudy, grayed out,
perhaps a manifestation
of the storms in her life?
That single word seared through me,
and I felt how much she meant it…
Her thank you
made me want to give so much more,
to call out to her and give whatever I had at the moment
but they are gone...
Lost in a crowd of faceless people,
and I myself want to get lost,
hide my face in shame…
What can you do?
--For Debbie’s Tell Me a Story contest…
*jeepney—is a public transportation vehicle here
*Salamat is “Thank You”
She was a tappin' to the tunes...
of those Mississippi blues...
step-pin' out, in her white...
We were a watchin' her a prancin',
all through the kitchen, dancin'...
for she was so...hot & sizzlin'...
hummin' to those Mississippi tunes...
Funny curlers too, upon...
her head...for a new... Hair dew,...
she was, a swirlin'-in that bakers apron,
when her head...star-ted a bobbin' to...
those Mississip-pi blues,
'Pots were a knockin'...
Grandma a sockin' down all she brews,
while that kettle there was whistlin',
in har-mo-ny, with them good ole...
good ole...mississip-pi moves,'
That floor there, was a bouncin'
holdin' hands we were a jumpin',
an-a hoppin' In the kitchen, to those...
Where Grandma's feet were a stompin',
In her new...New-white-sexy-pat-en-
I have a confession to tell
and I don't know where to start.
It is something I have hidden
for many years.
Something I wouldn't let myself have.
I've had many fears about this.
Fear you would reject me.
Fear of disappointing you,
of hurting you in some way.
I denied this for so long,
it became the norm.
I tortured my soul over it,
for so many years.
I want you both to know
how much I love you
and I would never do anything
to intentionally hurt you.
You both gave me so much
even when we didn't have much.
You both did a great job raising me
and I think I turned out okay.
You taught me good life lessons,
a hard work ethic, honesty, and loyalty.
Up until now, I have led my life
the way I did for fear
you would disapprove of me and
that would be too much for me to bear.
I then realized, I wasn't truly happy.
I wasn't being me.
During this time, I met someone,
who made me very happy.
They saw the real me hiding inside
and loved me for it.
I now know true happiness.
I have debated and contemplated
in my mind of how to tell you both.
It is something I could
never imagine doing before.
I didn't know how to tell you
no matter how much I wanted to.
I want you to know
that you did nothing wrong.
I love you both very much.
Please don't think any less of me
because of this, but...
Mom, Dad, I'm gay.
Living day in
Living day out
Working as hard as I can
To get money to pay the bills
Searching for food for the family
Trying to get through the day
As best as I can
All it matters
Is to get some money
To be able to not to think
How am I supposed to support?
My kids, my husband, and I
It all hits me like rain pounding the roof
Is this how life is supposed to be?
Going down hills
Going up hills
Having great times
And some bad times
You think your life should be easy
It is not supposed to be
Life is difficult for a reason
*MAKE LIFE WHAT YOU WANT IT TO BE. LIVE EACH DAY, THE BEST WAY YOU CAN, LIFE GOES ON UNTIL YOUDIE. BE HAPPY BECAUSE YOU CAN DIE ANY MINUTE NOW. SO LIVE IT UP!!!
I do not know?
(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)
Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,
they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.
They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,
and white was right in South Africa back then,
but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,
you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.
You, my mother, would not, could not break,
You stood firm, you stood tall.
You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.
You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,
the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,
my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,
by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.
You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.
You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,
you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,
you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.
Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,
all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.
I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,
the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.
I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,
you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,
of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.
I salute you!
(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)
NOTE: This poem is a humoruos stab at PMS from a mans point of view
I can see your blood boiling
through the blades I once called eyes,
they were once beautiful like jewels
now they hurt my deep insides.
cutting at my guts
and like a noose on my lungs;
your words seek like bullets
your mouth like sniper guns.
I’m hit with each inaccuracy…
Being killed by words untrue;
and you even got the nerve
to tell me what you think I do.
But let me get mad
and try to plead my case;
then suddenly the world
is a f--ked up place.
You got tears running down…
What the Hell did I do?
We were just sitting and laughing
I could swear that we were cool.
I should have seen it…
It’s Aunt Floe…,
This battle can’t be won or reasoned
I think its best I go.
Cause I hate Aunt Floe
and she hate me too;
she sit and talk sh-t
about the gum I chew.
The color of my shirt…,
She say my look is a stair;
She say my best has no worth
And she doesn’t stop there.
I didn’t change
I’ve been the same
these 28 days,
but now I’m f_ckin A__hole
Aunt Floe gave me that name.
She said get out my face
This aint your home no more,
But I’m more puzzled by
What was said before.
I love you
With her glossy eyes
I knew it was true,
But horribly sly
You see these words
make me the fool.
The one that’s cruel
That a__hole dude,
That sparked the fuel
To this f__kin feud.
But I swear to God
I didn’t start this sh_t,
Why would I give up my love
To live my life like in a pit.
This is horrible sh_t
Wasted days spent,
On nothing but the worst
I could be bathed in your sent.
You could be laughing
While I’m smiling
But Aunt Floe Won’t let this be,
And the only way to make this right
Is hold my tongue a week.
And that ain’t gone happen
I’m a person too,
But I got feelins
and don’t know what to do.
Now its been six days
She locked herself
In the room
I call it her cage.
I smell a sent in the air
It wasn’t there before,
Now lookin down the hall
I see an open door.
Is this a trap
I’ll guess I’ll see,
If I fall for another
You know that’s dumb ass me.
Curled in the bed
I think I know that girl,
But where’s the hells Aunt Floe
The one that f__ked my world.
She packed up and gone
Didn’t even say good bye,
Just came wit gang of bullsh_t
And vanished in the sky.
Is that you my dear
Can you please come here,
Listen close and crystal clear…
I hate Aunt Floe
Next time she here
Make sure I’m stocked
with weed and beer.
I love you punk. ?
A Very Inviting Temptation!
I remember of a particular situation.
I was offered a very "inviting" temptation.
The situation I was in... I didn't belong!
And lost any sense of "right and wrong."
At first... I felt no guilt or shame.
And brought embarrassment
to my family's name.
I tried to explain this to my wife and kids.
I heard; "Dad... please... no more fibs!"
The Godly principles were "tossed to the side,"
As the sin inside caused arrogance and pride.
Soon, all in my life that truly mattered...
Was gone! My life was empty and shattered!
I was sorry for all of the problems I caused!
This time... I took a moment to pause.
I cried to God to rescue me from my sin.
I confessed! Would God help me once again?
I read in the Bible of Jesus’ grace and love!
This time the help I needed had to come from above!
I asked him for a fresh and brand new start.
He removed the stain from a broken heart.
He restored to me the joy I once had.
I'm so blessed! Jesus has made me glad!
Jesus is the reason I'm here today!
I LOVE HIM more than words can say!
By Jim Pemberton
My parents taught me the Christian ways.
I was taught to obey what the Bible says.
I was proud of my parents! I really was!
And loved them so much… Just because!
They meant everything to me! I was proud!
Until one day... There appeared “a dark cloud.”
It was like a “darkness” hovered above.
Leaving their marriage empty of needed love!
Though they were together many years.
There were many cracks that soon appeared.
I say a once happy home soon destroyed.
Being with one another…. They no longer enjoyed!
How could this happen! I had wondered…
To see a happy marriage “totally plundered
As sin crept in... And allowed to prevail.
Very soon this marriage simply failed.
May this be a warning for me and you…
That our commitment remains faithful and true!
If your marriage is heading toward separation…
Please seek God for a healing and restoration!
If your planning to have a divorce..
Jesus’ love can put it on the right course!
He can replace the brokenness and hurt within..
And can put your lives back together AGAIN!
By Jim Pemberton
Springtime fills the air,
like laughing gas.
(Or maybe more like whiskey.)
The suburbs are drunk on the nectar of it's dawn.
are starting to dance.
(Or maybe they're just wobbling.)
They vomit whole families onto their lawn.
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV:
Confused and intrigued,
with a slight urge to pee.
The father cuts grass,
like a sleepwalker.
(Or maybe more like a zombie -
Ravenous for cheap beer, instead of brains.)
A six pack later,
he starts washing his car.
(Or watering his driveway.)
He's spreading on wax so he's set when it rains.
The mother kneels in dirt,
tending the garden.
(More like digging in a sandbox.)
Her spade is rusty. (Figuratively, at least.)
A sunset later,
she cooks family dinner.
(Or maybe orders some pizza.)
(If every mouth is fed, she can call it a feast.)
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV.
The son plays war games,
dying for fun.
(Or maybe more for practice.)
He whines about fruit drinks, as well as the heat.
A full pitcher later,
tweaking on sugar,
(Or maybe just corn starch.)
the war escalates, 'til its time to go eat.
The daughter makes a picnic,
inviting her toys.
(Or maybe not.)
(Her plastic spread can only spread so thin!)
After the tea time,
she's off picking flowers.
(Or maybe weeds.)
(As long as they're pretty, there's a vase that they'll fit in.)
They gather, as a family, at the table to say grace.
They hold each others' hands and say, "Amen."
(And proceed to stuff their face.)
The dog sits by the boy -
Loyal and true.
(Or maybe just hungry.)
He drools as he stares from the corners of his eyes.
he offers to help with the dishes.
(Or maybe he demands it.)
The boy sneaks him a bite. The dog is not surprised.
Bedtime comes soon after.
The kids are sent to brush their teeth.
(Or maybe just to run the sink.)
They put on their jammies, and to bed, they go.
After tucking them in,
the parents watch TV.
(Or maybe they just dream they do,
sleeping in its glow.)
The dog is changing channels,
looking for a better show.
Confused and intrigued,
he pees on the carpet below.
A serpent underneath blue sky,
in shade of man, in twinkle of an eye,
above brick wall, in the structure, at the floor,
venom of white dove; contaminated food, undrinkable water,
misguided youth, pregnant daughter, unfaithful father and hateful son,
mothers do pray while we walk through Babylon;
on teli and in the press, on top shells,
price none the less, in bedroom and at your door..
dawn of a new day seemed to be dark,