Come and visit me in a dream,
And tell me how you are,
Are you floating on a cloud?
Have you found the brightest star?
I know you're with us somewhere,
Even though you can't be seen,
Painting the bluest sky,
Or among the grass so green.
As I'm wandering through the park,
Looking up at the trees,
Daydreaming of the joy you brought,
Will you visit me please?
Just send me a little sign,
White feathers on the breeze,
To let me know you're happy, free
And put my mind at ease.
Or ask a passing stranger,
With twinkling brown eyes,
A cheeky smile, and baldy head,
To nod as he passes by.
Or maybe play a special song,
Loud, on my radio,
That could have been written just for you,
About all the love we've known.
Come visit me in a dream,
And tell me how you are,
I know you're there, a floating cloud,
And one of the brightest stars.
He lives with her and says for sure, that's where he wants to be.
A lovely wife, who hides her strife, how attractive; Not to me.
Though she did stray, he chose to stay, defending love unkind.
He claims success, when it's a mess; A delusion of the mind.
He comes to me for I am free, my mind and soul complete.
I do not reflect; I have self respect and can't settle for defeat.
It's hard to say why he won't stay, perhaps I'm just to real.
He can't fool me, for I can see beyond ones fake appeal.
He will not leave though, she'll deceive and hide behind her fear.
It's way too late to close that gate; He would rather die than veer.
There was a time it crossed my mind, he'd choose this maiden fair.
This is me, miss reality, and he's not going anywhere.
Although I know that time will show, mistakes burn deep, ask me?
For I've been there without passions flare, and I lived in misery.
At least I know I'm not a show, but it seems that's what they crave.
A challenge, please! I'll never tease and you can mark that on my grave!
They live in a war zone, battling, absent of pause,
While seeking from within some exonerating cause;
Their existence is no more than one breath on a string,
They squint at the carnage, their war's sure to bring.
Having no distant future for the moment they exist,
All because of some substance free wills can't resist.
While their string continues their brains do so fry,
It has made drugs our problem a fact we can't deny.
With warmest regards and the saddest lament
I write this small note with the best of intent
The newspaper’s account of your husband’s death
Made me feel as if I was short of breath
As the son of a Veteran who twice went to war
I’ve often wondered, what my life would have had in store
If my father had not returned home one day
And I had to share my grief on public display
I was not born the first time he went away
And was just ten when he left again, somehow feeling betrayed
I didn’t quite understand why he had to leave
It took a while to learn not to grieve
I read that you have two little boys, just six and eight
I can’t imagine what you say to make their restless dreams abate
My mind used to play out my greatest fear
Misplacing his last tape recording, saying his coming home date was near
On return tapes to him, I played guitar and talked too
Trying to make him feel like he was home, even if untrue
I write this note to help me remember
That even though my father returned in December
Many that go off to war, do not
And sons, daughters, spouses and families are caught
In a process of grieving that abates only with time
It takes as long as it does, there is no magical chime
To help you and your sons with your journey that I feared most
Enclosed is a contribution to their foundation host
Not at all a fair trade, just to help provide for their well being
I know you remind them that their father’s love is all seeing
Imagine a vagrant...asleep on a bench
Imagine his body.....alive with foul stench
Picture this if you can/his life in the past
His mother a drunk, his father lives fast
Cast from his home at a tender young age
Still going to school at the puberty stage
Thrown to the streets to live as a bum
Nobody caring/his future looks glum
But, The Homeless Are Human, despite disbelief
Most even have Wisdom, bring comfort/relief
So, when you start thinking they belong locked in a zoo
Just remember my Friends....that this could be you
I feel for the miserable day,
They try to take MY gun away…
So we all face the weepy songs, throat clogged
just because its blue month with the rain running down.
So our stomachs quiver and we can’t quite turn
the doorknob, enter in to the late arrival complaints.
We forget them, next morning when the sun is strong
and our legs move us and our heart soars to sky.
And the breaking times, all alone, no one who understands
when nothing fits and we can’t figure out what went wrong,
we all have them sometime in our life, when our closest
teddy bear is a pillow smashed and covered with tears.
We set aside those memories, never going there again,
parent or child who died, suicide on mind that we recognize
in seeing you and hold you against the time you will reject
because even when we forget, we remember, all the deaths
and paint them yellow, plant the daisies, turn on brass
joyous refrains because having endured, we are strong.
Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?
Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.
And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.
I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep.
Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.
And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.
As all things come together and so again must end,
We gather now in tribute, to our brother and our friend.
His life on earth, now at a close, but in hopes of things to come,
We take comfort; he’s in a new life, far beyond the setting sun.
Free now from all the torment, that had filled him with such pain,
And in hopes that springs eternal, when we board our twilight train.
To walk a mile in ones shoes,
Takes more then a glance,
Hold close with no excuse,
To give sympathy a chance.
As the journey is more than a window,
It has a house to build on,
Carrying the past as a shadow,
The ticket to the body of brawn.
The inner self knows all,
The outsiders read this to judge,
Don't point to the game with a fast ball,
For the true sympathy within will nudge.
You may not go through their times,
Or set yourself up in disguise,
Not one has the same obstacles to climb,
As some shy away from the hidden suprise.
You could be the one to make a change,
In the life of another or like wise,
You could be the one to arrange,
Or learn something new to revise.
Choices are given to each of us,
Some use widsom to lead,
Pull in the energy with blankness,
Alert in the errors; no need to proofread.
Sympathy gives off as a lifestyle,
Surrounded by a circle of care,
Listen with no words; a smile,
Giving your own struggles to share.
Use sympathy in all met,
For the main asset is understanding,
Walk a mile in anothers headset,
Not giving a blemish for the binding.
The shade of a swizzle stick dark and drawing
Fear head will fall in shivers while bowing
Snorts for some warmth fighting dreams till endowing
and save you from hugs where illusions are calming
Drooling aside to wiping the stubble
Awaken; then rising, then resting when humble
Sweet sleeping dreamer a'rest in the rubble
Left until morning when words will mean trouble
The hurtful smile
A life lived in denial...
Pressures exerted from the outside.
Life dealt him the hind-side...
The emotion of fear -
a peaceful, yet regretful tear...
Rolling, rumbling, glistening...
his face is resting...
The hurtful smile
relieved for a while...
When we come to a meeting
We are welcomed with a warm greeting
We come together because of a loss and pain
At our meetings, always something to gain
We try to help a friend
With hope and talks right to the end
This is a place you may see tears
We all have those fears
Where here to help our heart and our mind
All the people here are so kind
We talk about our loves, the good and bad
Sometimes we may get very sad
We listen to what someone would say
Someone may cry and that’s okay
One of our own had started a group, BSG
Bereavement Social Group come and see
Life is to live and then we die
It’s those in betweens that can make us cry
Oh Broken monster
in my arms,
I alone can see your charms.
Oh Broken monster
in my dreams,
only I can hear your screams.
Oh Broken monster
II beseech you as a friend,
Still you claim you will
Still you banish
and reject me.
Can't you understand
Have you not the slightest
how a love like mine
could change you?
smooth and soothe
and rearrange you?
no monster waits,
you were twisted by your fate.
the ugliness is in your mind.....
come to me.................
true love is blind.
Some times they say the great and mighty do fall…
And the penguin story of greatness, should be heard by all.
Polar bears are mighty and cunning with massive brute strength.
But they messed with the penguins, a mistake, I do think.
The polar bears went after the penguins and cute little chicks.
So you’ll never guess what those cute little penguins did.
Using the most courageous penguins as a target so nice.
They lured all the polar bears, for the first time, out onto the ice.
The greedy bears moved out in force for the kill.
But the penguins pushed the ice flows into the currents windmill.
So intent on dinner and full of themselves, were they that day…
That the polar bears didn’t notice the ice caught in the currents sway.
The polar bears were way out to sea, before noticing their plight.
And, by then, the penguins were safely at home tucked in for the night.
You might say, the current was a friend to the penguins that day.
For it eventually sent those polar bears to the North Pole far away.
Now the moral of this story is here to easily understand.
Brute strength is not the greatest thing to cherish; it is far greater to plan…
And, never turn your back on a penguin I say.
They’re the reason there’s no polar bears at the South Pole, to this day.
Tell Me A Story Contest
< riding home with brother and friend from convenience store
this masked man got out of his trucks door
asked each boy what was their ages
made them place bikes in ditch or face guns gauges
Jacob was the oldest of the three
just 11 good gracious golly
St Joseph Minnesota close to St Cloud
days weeks month lined with flowering shrouds
his mother and father got congress to sign an act
for crimes against children and sexually violence attacks
now there is a bridge of hope
called Jacob Wetterling foundation so families can cope
our little lost sheep
we still to continue to shed tears and weep
for there is still an unmarked date
where death has not been filled in on your headstones slate
Taken Oct 22 1989 From St Joseph Minnesota
In Search Of Jacob Wetterling still goes on
You Are Not Forgotten
It was the sound of her last word
I listened to and just had heard
Before to God she soon did go
Leaving me on earth here below.
Memories of her had come to me
Which I wanted to be reality
But would pass by and no longer last
And all became part of the past.
Away to God in heaven has gone
And near pond is a doe with her fawn
Reminding me of my mother
Who I always loved like no other.
By has past with all the time in it
That still in future will always fit;
When the day was at its end
Message to mother I'll now send.
Mom I still will love you so
And always tried to make her know,
So much to me she has meant;
Her soul to God in heaven was sent.
< Racial Segregation
Why Oh Why
Did King Try
Right Or Wrong
Black Or White
Put Up Fight
She Did Bark
Bright Lotus of the lily pad
Let it be known who fears the fall
You who all would uphold in slumber
Blind to a gaze refrained or stalled.
Amongst this lonely block of figures and sand
And thick, heated lines
You glide across water in whispers;
The divine scope of earthly kind.
You I had watched from this embankment
For days on end without question or hope
Enskied before me as light azure
Cool dream where pond turns to rivers slow.
Bright Lotus of the lily pad
Let it be known who fears the fall,
For at once you grip to the shadow’s hand
And draw through paths by the tone of his call.
He who is half in love with easeful death
Holds you like an ancient coin,
And raises glass above your breath
When markets make themselves purloin.
Bright Lotus of the lily pad
I cry for you cannot see the same,
Gaily look upon the water still
At once your face would seem to change.
And I cry out bright Lotus
Let it be known that you fear the fall,
For you run from reason and hide away
Clinging to the shadow’s pall.
Shadows suffocate purified air,
Voices that whisper no one cares,
The moon surrenders to the sun,
While Madness tries to steal what has already begun,
But just like the fiercest labor pains late in the night,
When it gets so hard and you lose your will to fight,
That is when the crown of life starts to be seen,
All that pressure in the end makes one glisten and gleam,
Carry on through the storms you now face,
For God won’t let any part of your struggles go to waste,
One person’s heartache is another person’s hope,
Sharing your story is like a fortified rope,
On top of a mountain used to assist others that climb,
Always remember to extend it in perilous times,
And if you should ever fall down yourself,
The extensions you have secured will bring you great wealth,
The extensions are physical, emotional and spiritual health.
By: Sabina Nicole
Pain Of The Night
There is a short story of Hemingway’s
Called “A Clean Well-Lighted Place”.
An old widower in a small Spanish town
Nightly frequents a café until it closes down.
Behind his back, some of the waiters deride
Him, because the widower had attempted suicide.
One married waiter complained repeatedly,
That because of him they couldn’t ever close early.
However one older waiter had more sympathy,
Because like the old man, he had no family.
The old waiter understood that pain in the night,
Could be held back in a place that’s clean and bright.
I remember when I was single and free to roam,
And later as a soldier deployed far from home,
That old message of Ernest Hemingway’s
About needing a clean well-lighted place.
Without love and family, life seems just sleep and work.
Solitude is most oppressive sitting in the dark.
Our connection to others helps keep us alive;
Gives us meaning and a reason to survive.
So if you have nobody, and feel the pain of the night,
Surround yourself in a place that’s clean and bright.
Introduction: It’s a piece dedicated to the lullaby of a different kind. It’s something which has happened to many out there, but the experience is distinctively significant…
A priceless surprise, silenced all in its tune
By a soft heavenly cry, from the delivery room
Only a few hours was the night; so young
Where for the first time, she opened her eyes,
While by her side her dearly loved one
For the last time, closed her teary eyes
Father held her near and resounded to her cry;
But all mother could share was, this lullaby –
The long last beep from the ECG
Echoed her heartbeat…The last goodbye
Happiness and sadness broke through the night
With streams of tears for mother’s plight;
She never had the chance to hold her close
But left precious prayers that never left her side
As she came down to their hearts
Her soul flew up high apart,
The transfer of two lives through one,
Their journey was complete and done
Caught within that reverie
He conveyed the Azaan through her ears,
In the wake of such irony
He fell down to prostrate in tears
When all hopes seemed to end, father’s prayer did transcend
O’ Almighty became her closest friend and had for her a Grande plan,
Under HIS mercy and HIS guide, she flourished through the darkest nights
To a new beginning – she set off to write.
My son had done it since just a kid
By others, forever they would forbid
When smoking often has been done
What you do others will start to shun.
Why should people smoke these days
When they will never receive any praise
To smokers seems to be an escape;
Smell does even get on each drape.
They continue smoking day after day
And for poor people I will always pray
They finally found an eloquent answer
It can cause you to end up with cancer.
James Thomas Horn
When I put myself in the reader’s shoes,
My mind it unlocks my heart becomes fused,
So many paths are written about,
Some with emotional pain, fear and doubt,
Some just admire love and the rain,
Some people’s words are written in vain,
Whatever the journey I can jump right in,
Words have no boundary’s they start where my eyes begin,
Echoes of sadness transfer through to my chest,
Welding the pieces of alone and depressed,
Confusion and clutter glued to their verses,
Lyrics and styles some blessings and some curses,
Some intellectually murder expression,
While others navigate me through lust and obsession,
Some make declarations, oaths and pledges,
Language can break through all previous wedges,
Others can take me back to long ago,
During wars of succession that troubled them so,
Drifters and seekers,
My fellow poets are speakers,
By a single rhyme,
Just like the lyrics of King David,
Heartache and trouble can leave some jaded,
But when others can take that journey with you again,
All from a poets notebook and pen,
The past comes alive and the present becomes real,
Dirt roads aren’t as scary and soldiers finally heal,
Our souls become one by the words we do speak,
So take time to read another persons week,
For their lessons may be the energy that saves some youth,
Their story’s may be the emotion that engrave in your heart truth,
Take a moment to walk through someone else's mind,
There is no telling what you will find.
By: Sabina Nicole
The monster became a living, walking nightmare
my dive into insanity, no longer perfect, containing a blank stare
I should resist, the monster will find me, run away with me
Pretend to hear my meager complaints, force me to see what I'm afraid to see
Blame and guilt, volleying right and left, up and down
It's crashing me closer, with every step, I'm falling to the ground
It's all a game, just play along, play the game, play it well
Brimming confidence, dissolved in thoughts, of what? I won’t tell
Demons, devil born souls, run quick, run fast, stand my ground
No sense of fear, n sense of foreboding, not even a slight sound
High speed, pursuit of hell, bent on going, bent on crashing
Giving into the power, life's faster, lights flashing
Crash and torment me again, my eyes close after all
The beginning of the end for me, feeling numb after the fall
Is there a way out? I'm different, distant and moved on
Listen to the water, calling, coaxing into death, I'm gone
Endless, empty cloud; dreamless oblivion; oxygen, exhalation
Am I dead? Still alive? Broken into pieces, I need motivation
Reality closes in, walls me in; until there’s nothing there
Death comes behind me, containing a blank stare.
In a world with so much life and culture,
All you need is just a little something-something
It's better than a whole lot of something,
Because then it might be too much
All you need is a sample
It isn't the only thing to make someone happy
And if they think it is,
All they need is just a little something-something
Tell them they're better off without
Another terrible heartache
That there is nothing more better than being
Free from the name, "So-and-so's girl"
All they need,
Is just a little something-something
Such smile so rare that fascinates me;
Bestowed in the angel, not so long, I've known.
Like a lightning that strikes in the middle of the day,
In my heart I, quickly, built a home of her own.
An angel I've known not from a friend or a dream,
Who has teased me so gently to put-off my heartaches and pains.
She just befell in my solitude as I try to rebirth.
And helped me forget the troubles and the things that I hate.
How I love to hold her and offer her a throne
For to me she is regal and deserves to be crowned.
Before I could do it she has transformed to a form,
The angel is now a flower before the break of the dawn.
Behold! A contest erupts among the bees in the field,
To hover upon this new flower the sunrise revealed.
I could only sigh to the heavens to send a rare summer rain
To nourish and sustain this lonely rose called Lene.
Time & Date Written:
10:04pm - 10:33pm,
February 17, 2008
Dedicated to: A.T. whom I had the chance to chat in the net
when I was in Phnom Phen, Cambodia. The poem is written just
for you, my special friend, whether we've only known each
other through the net or by subconscious circumstances.
And when age wrinkles your lovely face, you can always claim
that once upon a time an obscure poet had purposely written a
poem just for you.
It was a one-time conversation(February 10, 2008) but her story
struck me to the bones that I vowed responsibility to protect her,
anyhow, if ever I will have the chance to meet her personally.
The above poem is written on imaginary impression of her that
if she ever deferred her dark plans and have the chance to remember me,
and read what I wrote, she will know that to me or perhaps to other
people she is special, desirable, and deserving of a happy life too.
Torment manifests in my soul
Loved ones seem compelled to console
I live my past again and again
People’s sympathies bring back pain
Suppressed feelings vanquish
Longing grief shall languish
Infuriating my flesh with pain
Someone remind him of his shame
How I wonder about her fears
Far beyond my withered tears
Believe me when I tell you this
My child’s father stole her bliss
Such torment frustrates my world
Satan exploited my little girl
How can I subjugate this hell
When Satan lives within her shell ?
Her skin white, drained
Her expression dark, pained
Eyes staring out, completely blank
Hair lifeless, dank
Her fingers curled, still
In her mouth, a cyanide pill
I sit here in this white walled room, not knowing what to do,
I sit here in my misery, thinking all my wrongs through.
All there is to do in here, is think of my mistakes,
And think of all the people that have blown me off like flakes.
This room is full of people that I truely do despise,
But I have done them wrong as well, see myself through their eyes.
Its really hard to understand why I mess up so much,
But in this white walled room it gives me time to dwell on such.
And why I'm so pathetic i guess we will never know,
I know I'm stuck in here because the punches that I've thrown.
So anyone thats reading of the white walled room I'm in,
I'm sorry for what I've destroyed, including ex best friends.