I wandered and travelled
Nor knew where I'd gone .
Life became a problem;
T'was one long cruel song.
My problems seem to multiply;
They came from every side.
I vowed to find the answer;
by this I would abide.
I looked into nature
And tore apart my mind.
Then put them on the table
To see what I could find.
I found that I'de been greedy
and avaricious, too.
Whenever projects of mine failed
I put the blame on you.
I found that I was lonely;
I thought you didn't care.
But what I really didn't know
Was you were always there.
You tried to fill the void
That always was in my Life.
you tried to ease the sorrow
You've been a real good Wife.
Yvette & Grandpa Murray
From James Murray to , Janet Murray ..his beautiful wife.
" In great respect of Grandfather Murray's poem he wrote for my Grandmother Murray "
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
I can't believe you been gone 8 years today...I miss you so much...I wrote you a poem to let you know how much I miss you Taua ??????
I wrote you this poem for you to keep as you lie peacefully asleep to share the stories you once told
I will always remember those days when I sat up at the table studying the maze of nick knacks of ordaments and bits and pieces of priceless treasure sprawled around your room and throughout your house. And all the different types of animals you had over the years from cats, dogs, birds, chickens and goats.
I will always remember your trips out and about
The once a month trips to the sale yards to grab a bargin
I remember the time you brought a rooster only to realize when you got him he was no standard rooster...lol he was a bantam rooster who you named Billy. The laughter and tears of trying to jam everything into your small car.
And when whitebaiting season hit you were up at dawn and ready to go. The spread was always amazing pikelets, cakes and lollies.
I will always remember the family trips once a year to Caroline Bay, listening to the Topp Twins, you singing and dancing along to them. The mini golf game's and prizes you won.
I'll always remember your creative flare, your unquie style and all your different hats.
But most of all I wrote this poem to say thank you for all your wisdom and knowledge you once shared. It the time I didn't appreciate I did not appreciate it. But now I'm older and wiser I want to become a strong Wahine with a bit of you in me.
I remember all the fun times we shared
and as my friend and Taua
I miss you more than words can say
You will always live on within your children, grandchildren and great grandchildren...
Till we meet again
Copyright © Jamesa Love | Year Posted 2016
Years my father nostalgic for my mother.
She'd set the Shabbat table
Guess the white cloth the flu vegetable land
Let the fine flour, put the meat
Put the tomatoes and garlic
She could cook.
It tasted feed came from us
And so would put us as cookies Yu Yu Tonisaiot
Sweet biscuits dipped in liquid dam
Rosewater would add my grandmother if she had been allowed to
But here in my mother would make the salads very thinly
To unite us at the Shabbat table.
I did not learn a foreign language parents
My parents speak their language changes
Request a sweet Polish father
Tunisian mature mother
And I did not learn of them a foreign language
Only Hebrew sucked mother that it was not her mother tongue
She spoke with her sisters in French
Jewish and jargon that far.
In the kitchen I did not learn a foreign language
Copyright © shoshana vegh | Year Posted 2011
I understand the hearts of romantics,
The rapture of their words written on a blank piece of paper
Wrapped in pink ribbon to send to a lover
who only existed in the throes of imaginary adventure.
How the girl with the tattered spirit like a moth-infested closet
Sprouted wings in a butterfly-like metamorphosis
Only to find a hole in the dusted wings that sent her sailing to the floor in a
frightening free-fall only followed by her teardrops.
How she dusted her knees and asked the teddy bear to kiss it better who only answered her
with the silent glint in his button eye.
How she patched herself up and continued flight.
How she broke her knees and heart in repetitiveness.
in a love unrequited.
I am the girl, I suffered, I mended.
The silent crisis deafening the city,
The boy with a glass pipe in his hand for an easy thrill
lying in his own vomit across the street,
The grandmother weeping in the coldest room for hope and a time without need and addiction
with a window seat to the neighboring event.
I am the boy that chases the dragon with a fearless anticipation,
Ignorant to the addiction that chews at my brain and teeth,
I scratch at the deposits in my arms and legs with a compulsive uneasiness
to put on the sober face.
I fall on my knees in church,
Swear I believe in God and the Holy Ghost,
Pray to Jesus when it's unbearable,
Beg for the redemption of my fifteen year old soul because I know that my sins will reduce me
to the burning pyre.
Adaptation, addiction abstinence, and absolution are all part of me,
I ask not of what the addict needs, for I become his heroin
in his time of relapse,
My cravings turn to pity for the men in withdrawal.
Beaming bright and beautiful,
My wings glow with the illumination that Mother graced me with long ago that I never
I am the warrior standing at the podium with words as my only ammo,
Facing my biggest fear.
Again the stares of inferiority.
Again the whispered thoughts against me.
Again the prejudice.
The knowledge overflows my being of terms I never analyzed completely,
An analysis of my inferiority to the people gazing at me with glazed eyes and polite smiles,
The understanding that wealth is the status quo as I stand in my old clothes and shoes,
I have nothing better to do than feel uplifted.
Again, the knowledge bubbles up in an outlet of laughter as it soars through my spirit
like a lighthouse's beam
over the ocean.
They may be wealthy, but I am far richer.
Copyright © Miranda Bell | Year Posted 2011
See problems they no worry Timothy
He was raised by his Great Grandmother
One day she taught him
Miho you can make life beautiful or ugly
Work hard, find a woman who has a strong back
Beauty fades it doesn’t last long
Now let me tell you
A woman with a strong back may not be your perfect companion
Times are changing, I think Faith is more important these days
I say okay Grandma, can I have the horachata now that you made me
No hush up! You can have it when I’m finished talking
Timothy come your poor Grandfather wanted you to have this
It is his Journal and I have never read out of it
She hands it to me
I am struck by it’s cover, it is brown and plain
Yet it spoke to me by it’s elegant style
These words were printed on the cover “Blanco Vendetta”
I was drawn and pulled in untill I was covered by the spell
The first page I open too it says “My first Mil Besos”
The Temptess that blew my heart away
I turn to page 33
It says “The story of an Apache Warrior”
There are no rules to an Apache Warrior when it comes to fighting
He says if you are my enemy I don’t care how but I’m gonna kill you
Page 41 is like a fist full of words thrown across the page
Barrio boxing, The protection of the Shield of Faith
Brokenhearted for my careless speech has left her heartbroken
Strengthened by Love “Amor”
Nourished by the sunshine in her hand
There is healing in its beams
Blessed by her presence Del Dios I am Greatful
I’m like Grandpa what did you say wrong
Then these words come to me
Give her your full attention when she speaks to you
Because the Heart of the Wise studies how to answer
So I close it and my finger brushes a bookmark
It’s the Last page
It says To: “Timothy my son who is as mighty as an army”
I Thank you for the Greatest Gift
For the Greatest Gifts are as small as your small hand that touched me
I plant these seeds and they will take root and grow because you are good ground
Timothy let me say That without you I would of never found my Faith in GOD
Listen for it is your Grandfather who is dead and speechless
Timothy you see the good in everything
And I know you will understand my words clearly
If a man gives you his word
Promise me not to plan your future on it
And if you give your word my son
Do everything in your Power to fulfill it
AND NEVER Promise more than you can deliver
For it is better to put out more than you promised
Everyman is considered unwise when he appears foolish
I wish I could give you some insight about women
But your Great Grandmother may help you better than I can
But never timothy, Never be quick to fall in Love
Or give your heart to a woman
Listen carefully to her words when she speaks to you
Cherish Her give her your full undue attention
Because the Heart of the Wise studies how to answer
Love your neighbors as yourself
And do not strive against another man
If he has done nothing wrong to offend you
AS much as it is possible live peacefully with all men
And it is okay for you to speak these things with your Great Grandmother
She is a very wise and God-fearing woman
Amor take the greatest care of her, I Love you Son
Timothy when the time comes to avenge my death
Hit harder then you ever have before
But not in a Duel son, not like an open Vendetta
Marry his daughter Maria
The one who is pretty and Two years younger than you
Oh! He will suffer greatly!
And it will kill him to know that I chose this way to repay him
And remember son to be ready to fight any man at the drop of a hat
Copyright © Timothy Jacks | Year Posted 2012
Only one room of the home of thatched roofing
Night nest my childhood grew up
On the reed mat, at the cow dung floor
We slept in a line warmly in whole room
With the portion of my dinner, given by my mother
In the evening I came, Grandma’s home ever
Grandma, Grandpa, seldom with my brother
Nights I spent was a book grim brother
Close to the rice pot and two hot curries
Sat for the dinner eagerly by the light of cruet
Hungry amber color painted night touched faces
Taste of dinner though simply and smell haunt
Passed happy and sad days, rich and poor days
Stamped mixed memories in countless nights
After the dinner and betel desert of delights
Mats were laid, the door was ajar till sleeps
Of Kings, princes and heavens the story long
Longed to hear until grandma wants to sleep
Visualized images and in horrible forests
In Grandpa’s narratives, I wondered as a cloud
Once he tells and ends about a demon’s tale
Afraid my feet disinclined of going to pee
Night and dark when light and door were closed
A visual screen through roof’s holes that story plays
Grandma, Grandpa both are my cinematic creators
Unwritten epics of my big world narrators
Imaginary mind and poetic soul me granters
Your place far away and become exiled traitor
Copyright © Udaya R. Tennakoon | Year Posted 2015
It was such a simple act but it had a significant meaning
the Disciples had no idea what the Lord Christ was gleaning
they had witnessed His death with their own eyes
and could not grasp the concept that He would still be alive
the Disciples thought He was a ghost and were very confused
the silence was then pierced by the words that Jesus did use
"peace unto you", was what He did say
"peace unto you", were the words He said that day
He did not come at them with the spirit of condemnation
He came with forgiveness and the offer of salvation
He came to give them the power of hope over their despair
He came to let them know that God will always be near
the Lord Christ showed them the power in His righteous hands
He showed them the nail marks that were a result of His enemies plans
He spoke to Thomas that day and told him to rebuke that spirit of doubt
For I am standing before you, now let your belief system win out
He died for us so that we may again have eternal life
His helping hands nailed to the cross, the ultimate sacrifice
from the murky waters of sin and the mired mud of death
He looked beyond our sins when He gave His last breath
those nail pierced hands that had for the people broken bread
those nail pierced hands that were always spirit-led
those nail pierced hands that put many miracles into place
those nail pierced hands full of God's mercy and grace
with a head to hear, a heart to love and holding out our hands to serve
it's our total faith, belief and devotion that our Savior deserves
on a cold December night at the time of my birth
my grandmother was the instrument that brought me onto this earth
I was a breach baby and I would have surely died
if my grandmother had not done what was needed for me to survive
she was an unschooled midwife but possessed a wealth of common sense
she knew to sterilize her hands so in scalding water them she rinsed
she reached inside my mother's womb and turned me around
it was at that precise moment that my true destiny was handed down
and until the day she died she worn those scars on her hands
a reminder that my very existence was a part of God's master plan
she handed Him her hands to give me the breath of life
and as a result today I'm pastor, a true disciple of the Lord Christ
so hand Him your hands, let your faith become bold
hand Him your hands and welcome others into the fold
hand Him your hands, it's time for our hope to be rebuilt
hand Him your hands and receive the spirit to help and to heal
Copyright © louise nelson | Year Posted 2007