Trust not in the words: "In God We Trust", printed on currency,
for God and Money should be kept separate,
unless one desires to tempt fate with the Money-God,
tempt fate by not over-turning the money-lenders' tables,
although many might argue how this isn't good for business.
Why not know the value of life,
instead of focusing too hard on the prices of Idols.
People are bleating at the prospect of "God" being removed
from money, arguing that if God is removed from money,
the grazing grounds will become Godless.
With or without the words,
a Money-God is a God nonetheless.
There is at least one true God,
whether man-made or not;
an authority of control,
a God of profit margins.
Violence is a profit margin.
Hatred is a profit margin.
Bullets, Amendments, and Death, are all profit margins.
The war being waged upon children, is a profit margin.
If I had been given the chance,
I would have tried my best to take him out,
morphed the vapours of my remaining hatred into bullets,
or torn him apart with my hands.
To stop innocents from losing their innocence.
There are lines drawn in minds,
that if crossed over, stretch beyond the bristle-board of rehabilitation.
Even Clockwork Orange bleeds into crimson spatters.
When a child survives a massacre,
runs across his school field to find safety from a stranger,
proclaiming to the stranger, "I can't go back to my school, it isn't safe there.
My teacher was killed, I don't have a teacher anymore.
All of my friends are dead."....
....then innocence has been lost, and the Money-God is empowered even more.
Lost innocence spreads like a disease through the minds of global villagers.
Fear breeds fear, breeds control and disintegration of the Stream-Mind.
If I had been given the chance,
I would have fought fire with fire,
fed the beast within,
taken him apart with a breath of hatred.
Breathed it out, pushed it out, purged it out.
Satan is a scapegoat used by people who are unwilling
to take accountability for their actions and sacred responsibilities.
The Beast is humanity -
not marked by a fairy-tale Devil,
but instead marked by the Money-God created in the image of man;
recreating the image of man through fear.
Some people might be intrigued by how many definitions of God there are.
Even if money is a necessity,
within our core there should reside a different Kingdom -
without and within, within and without.
If I had been given the chance -- past tense....
....if I am given the chance,
I will try my best to take him out,
smudge him out
with the remaining hatred in my heart.
Breathe it out, push it out, purge it out,
until all that's left is to love,
until all that's left is to love.
December 14th, 2012 - S.H.E.S: 28 - 2 = 26
January 7th, 2013
It is said that he was weak because he would not
conform, could not subjugate his will, would not
let them imprison his mind, cage his spirit. Weak
because he stood alone and not with the milling
mob. Weak, because he would not speak the
words they desired to hear. Weak, because he
smiled when others wept, laughed when others
wailed, stood tall when others bent beneath the
toil of life.
They prayed for him to come to his senses and
become as they. He, though he didn’t pray as
they, desired the same for them. He knew that
there was no strength in the coalition of the crowd,
no truth in the mumbling of old truths, no love
in the demands of unconditional love.
He appreciated their prayers, they did not so
much appreciate his. He would listen as the
sound of the choir filtered through the air and
caressed the trees and wonder why the
vibration stopped when the hymn ended,
why the sermon stopped when the preacher’s
voice stopped echoing in the apse.
He would sing the song in silence as he walked
the village roads, roll the preacher’s words over
in his mind, smile at soaring hawks and old
barn cats, straighten a fence, remove a stone,
bid good-day to those who thought him weak.
He was not rich nor was he poor, neither wise
nor foolish, he just was. And so he shared his
weakness with all who thought themselves
strong, his loneliness with the friendless,
his thoughts with those who sought to teach him,
his spirit with those who allowed their spirit to be
It is said that he was weak by those who never
dared to share his weakness.
John G. Lawless//10/15/2014
Submitted to Verlena Walker contest
My shortcomings are overwhelming; however, my strengths are defeating them!
O Teacher! My Teacher!
I would dare to channel a master just for you.
I know not if I am up to this lofty task,
but it is to your expectation that I try to rise.
You never asked for anymore than my best
and I love you for never demanding any less.
O Teacher! My Teacher!
If you had not opened a locked door,
the engulfing rays of enlightenment
may never have caressed my yearning face,
or held me tightly in her awakening embrace
releasing the song desperately trapped in my soul.
O Teacher! My Teacher!
You always said I had a great gift.
If that is true, I heap all praise on you.
You have the most wonderful offering of all
for within you rested the ability to recognize
the potential now flowing freely under my pen.
O Teacher! My Teacher!
I will forever hold you in the highest esteem.
I am not certain if mere words could ever express
the appreciation I have long held for your guiding hand.
Undaunted by the impossible task now in front of me,
this student will once again try to impress his teacher.
This piece was inspired and written for Professor Judy Davis who taught at the College of Central Florida until she retired. She was my English Literature and Composition teacher the first time I went to college. Many go into teaching, but the special few, like Judy, are called to the profession. She is now enjoying her retirement, but her old student here still communicates with her occasionally.
Under her guidance, we stood at attention
forming a row for the national anthem
"Oh Say, Can You See?"...those familiar old words
We would sing, not in unison
but with avid enthusiasm
out of tune, out of rhythm
with our childish delusions
that we were quite good!
As we stood in the room
she would move down the line
with a frown in the lines
of her brow, then would bow
till her ear matched our voice
and her hand would be poised
with two fingers ensued
keeping time with the tune.
She would grit all her teeth
bite the inside of cheeks
Such a serious task!
it was all that she asked
that we please..do our best
When we mastered, at last
She would gasp, then exclaim
as we sang each refrain
Mixed with tears, she would clap
I remember it now...
Here I stand in this row
with my hand on my heart
as the first strain imparts
Yes, I know those old words...
they'll remain part of me
'til the day that I die
"O Say, Can You See?"...still familiar to me
But no..............I can't see....
There are tears in my eyes...
For the Project UFO Contest: Sponsored by Robert Heemstra
LIFE IN THE FREAK ZOO
When you meet a deaf guy no one says -
Wow, can’t you hear this (whistle)?
How about this (bell)? Or this (handclap)?
When you meet a blind girl no one says -
Oooh, can’t you see this (flashlight)?
Or this (computer screen)?
So why do people enthusiastically check out my ability
When they hear I’m colorblind?
Colorblind ? ! Oh boy, ( a freak !) this is exciting….
Can’t you see green? Red? How about yellow?
What color is this sweater? That ball?
What colour does grass look to you?
What about traffic lights?
How do you watch television?
Feels like I’m in a zoocage.
At school I was always in trouble because
In my drawings I colored the grass red instead of green.
All the same to me, but the teacher
Got quite abusive and angry because
In her world grass had to be green.
And tell me, who ever made it law
That oceans should be colored blue?
Mine were always purple, all the same to me.
Would the teacher have said to a blind kid,
“You little fool, can’t you see the grass?”
Or to a deaf child, ”Hey stupid, can’t you hear the music?”
Oh it doesn’t really bug me but
It’s interesting to see people’s behavior
Towards certain afflictions.
Alot of you folks have been able to say what you feel this holyday season with exquisite
wording and beautiful sentiments. I can't do that. Maybe if I tell you a story about a
little kid who was raised and worked on a farm. A farm boy in a class of city kids is ridiculed
for some reason and beat up alot cause that proves to city kids that they're strong when
they beat up a farmer kid. So I did the best I could with my sense of humor, got beat up
when challenged and avoided other confrontations by learning to run real fast! When they
picked teams for basketball, I was odd kid out. Too little. I found it hard to fit in anywhere.
One fine day our 7th grade teacher gave us a homework assignment to write a poem
which we would read aloud in class the next day.The stipulation was that, on your honor, you
could have no help whatsoever. A solo project.
After chores that night, I did as she said and was surprised at how easy it was. The
next day, when it was my turn, I timidly read aloud to the class the first poem I ever wrote.
When I finished, I awaited the verdict . All was quiet. The teacher told me to sit down. I did.
She then admonished me for cheating on my assignment and getting help. Of course I did
not. I still vividly remember how it felt to have all my peers watching me as our teacher
dismissed me for a cheater with a look of disdain on her face. I was speechless, devastated
and embarrassed by what others thought.
The experience pushed me deeper into myself than I had ever been.. It's amazing to me
how these feelings are resurfacing en force as I write about it. I've written poetry on and off
since then but never taken it seriously. It was just some force that reared itself once in a
while until it was subdued by writing one.
Now, in the autumn of my life, something very strange and wonderful is happening. I
have been introduced to you, my poetry soup friends. The injustice done to my poetic soul is
every day being identified by myself, rectified and healed by your loving support. I'm no
longer throwing my poems away. You have given me in two months what has been missing
since the 7th grade. You have given me courage, confidence, encouragement and the
companionship to take up where I was left off. Because of all of you, I can grow again. I was
at a stalemate in alot of things and then this. Coincidence? More like Christ incidence. Get it?
YOU are my Christmas gift from Love come down! This is my card to you.
GOD BLESS YOU ALL.- ROBERT
Why, why, why? Is all I ask
Do you send these folk my way
There not the ones I'd choose myself
But I attract within hooray
You must have plans to work me Lord
Have I really gone astray
I try so hard to be polite
You send me those who groan
From trials of life
Crying painful body drones
But I face a war continually Lord
Spine crumbling pained bones
I questioned much over the years
Of those you sent my way
But each one has had effect on me
What will I have learned today
I want to tell of things you've done
And why I've learnt to pray
You sent me counseling to help
Through things wrong in my youth
Then church fellowship did help me through
When marriage went down sluice
A teacher friend taught me much
In assertiveness and truth
You sent me someone kind and true
When I'd thought life was gone
A friend of a friend a neighbors brother
Turned out to be the one
Who'd bring me home and settle again
Protect me and my two sons
You showed me work where I did learn
The skills to pull me through
In kitchens I did learn to cook
In schools help my children too
The staff within were pillars and rocks
In illness helped me do
You send others now to my house
Now I can't go out all alone
I used to sit and ponder sorry
I couldn't do things on my own
But now I have found new waters
I can swim and write a poem
I help others through my charity support
When I can get to phone
I can help in ways that others cant
And control load with able zone
I listen to those there struggling
Look at positives not moan
So I'm thankful for those folk you sent
Though I don't understand your process
But each time one has helped me to
Understand and cope it's noticed
So send someone to help I'll pray
And I'll listen as perfect hostess
Okay, so I realize as it stands it needs tweaking, but at the time the pen flowed and now it
needs some TLC... any ideas welcome, although I do not want to detract from the
meaning/depth. Any idea of rhyme was not originally intentional so please forgive I know at
present its dreadful!! Help please?
Don't teach me nonsense
Seed my mouth and amplify the need for rare manuscripts
100 % my degree in exams
Spelling my conversational law facts
Teach me more sense
Release and ease my lazy spirit to tongue twist my images to the right sense
Teach me less law stress
Fade away chapters covered in adult pampers
Baby rhythms leaning on group fan fantasies
Slow mode every click in my tongue twisting slam illusions
Deep kissing my future pictures inspired by scriptures
Pro Pro Prosecute all free verses escaping jail exams
Pro Pro Professionals don’t live long in prisons premeditated to cage kids
Your lessons will child baby writers
Kids connecting former and future electrified fighters
Their fake ideas were all original
Teacher don’t teach me nonsense
They spoke so we can speak for all uncaring letters
Un-curving letters rebuking licences of nonbelievers
Alphabets that endlessly group hug messages in passages
Words singing bullets pointing to kill silence
Learn to teach lessons with judgments on stillness
Teacher how can i fail your corrections,
please ease my worries i need protection
I think I am qualified to be a poet though i failed my people
I wrote exams and failed to finish my languages about punctuality
Your stop watch gave no sympathetic second chances
Intelligence is for ever tested but never forgotten in sentences
Your judgments are too hash for our passion
Teacher don’t teach us your accent
Your language is connected to those ancestors wearing mini skirts
How can i judge with no law degree?
Teacher don’t teach me nonsense
Seed my mouth and amplify the need for fresh manuscripts
100 % my degree in exams
Spelling my conversational law facts
© Raymond Ngomane
It’s not fair
But then it never is
All the teachers
All the learning that they got
It couldn't prepare them
It couldn't stop it
Or halt it
Or even control it?
The whirlwind that is I
All the promises and
All the lies
It was all too much
It was never enough
The whispers behind my back
The taunts, and jeers;
Even the teachers
Who are supposed to protect
and keep order;
Just walk away
Just ignore her
She’ll go away
Yes Mrs. Mother
Well stop it
She has coodies
No one likes you
No one wants’ to play with a lesbian like you
It would be so much better if she were gone
I wish she would just leave forever
I never showed my face
But you still;
What did I ever do to you?
What could I have done to you?
I was only ten
Just barely out of childhood really
But I can't really blame you...can i?
No I can't
My only option left
Did it make you happy?
Did you smile?
Was all that work
All that cruelty
All that heartache;
Was it worth it?
Did it finally make you feel better?
Like you were better,
Who was your next victim?
Not like it matters
They didn't help them either
You can't see
You refuse to see
Just like the teachers
They all failed
Not only me
I hope you all are proud.
You never listen
Yes I know it's true
I see you try and deny it
How's that working for you?
I will say one thing
You will hear another
I will try to fix it
The misunderstanding you see
I just got in trouble
(Sigh) I told you so
They never listen to me
They say they do
And I know they try
But all I want to do is scream
"JUST LISTEN TO ME SOMEONE PLEASE"
All I asked is that you think
What is real?
Do I ever ask this?
Will I ever again?
All I really did
All I want
Is to be free
Free to listen
And free to be me
You'll never see
Just how much your
Not listening has killed me
I have tried
Really I did
I know that I'm not eighty
I know that I'm not nice
But the only thing I asked
For was five minutes (at the most) of your life.
I'm sorry that you failed
I'm sorry that I tried but
Mostly I'm just sorry that
I'm not sorry,
White board…names written hori-
To go pee…right when class starts –
THAT’S just wrong…
Of students who have bladder
Problems – WOW!
Not using lunchtime to do
No one knows
When to do their duties – SER-
I'm over it
I'm giving up
I don't have to do it
Yet you force me to like I'm a chump
I avoid it like an illness
You let it go
But today is the day
You took it no more
You didn't yell
Yet you exchanged insults
You hurt my feelings
That was the result
You called me a girl
You called me a clown
And if this keeps up
You're going down
Can't you see
I don't like PE
I'm not being rebel
But you scare me into anxitey
Just leave me alone
You treat me like a drone
You're not getting forgiveness
But you can get off my blacklist
If you cease and desist
Class or Claaassee !
Night owl with an open circumstance fears
from blue neglect with the rages of unfortunate
idealisms---“why don’t you”---a nag nag nag
sequence, fosters an arm’s length gaze glance
I peer through picket fence fingers, while tongue
depressing hop to it euphemisms to gag
your elementary gesture fantasies with lurking
adult gonatitudes, (envy) in full glee—“I don’t
care---but then what if”---and
would even believe me if I tried to tell
you the truth, you don’t want to touch in mind.
I fail to the order of kindergartenal suicide
and prose my character to mold your moods in
one tenth hope of a swelled down deep particle
secret desire. Take it for what it is and not think
to misabandon, stop look and feelisten.
Your neighbor is only good as you. Plain
simple downdeep and bittersweet bliss bias
but for—lorn fortunate to at least gain a
Goldilocks glimpse into your uncouth
vascular unconscious. Given a mathetical
½ chance I may le-learn a think or 2
and----------------------hey, gimme me a hecka break
as he razed her eyebrows.
A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.
One after another they arrive
Steeping my eyes in the world
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.
My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?
drinks wine after school
has far too many
that terrible mother
a 6 year old prism
My math teacher was such a colorful character
She loved to dress herself in a black pair of trousers
with a red belt adorned around her waist
She often humored us with her smile
and childlike laughter
and her heart was as pure
as the golden sand on Goodman’s Bay
She had a conscience as gentle as cotton
and she danced like the brown girl in the ring
doing the jump and dance
When on her best behavior
she loved to call her pupils her honeys and darlings
while her favorite words to us were: "y’all stop being slow!"
In her voice which paralleled that of a teenage girl
She disliked when we make her stress level
race as high as a thermometer
and made her nerves
dance the heel and toe polka
Because she became very agitated
and spoke in multiple tongues
which I couldn't describe
to help us understand,
The beauty of the world and all its magnificence,
In hopes of cherishing all that we see,
and becoming a wonderful person with each discovery,
To be our pillar of support,
Embracing arms that we run into to confide,
They shield us from negativity as much as they are able,
So we can decide on how to fulfill our destinies,
Much like guiding angels from great fables,
One of God's gift to mankind,
The creation of teachers,
To lead and to instill values,
Harboring hopes of one day,
For the pupils nurtured and groomed,
To make the world a better place..
We wave good bye now
Yellow paper hearts
staple gunned to the bulletin board
flapping in the fan breeze
She nods at her work
The chalkboard washed and dried
And with gnashing teeth
One by one those staples pried from their chest board
breaking, tearing the delicate paper-thin poems
One by one they break her hearts
On the desks, the apples molded
Like she did them
From seeds of wisdom she watched
their minds ripen
You want to teach me how to teach yet you are not so discreet with your racial and social preferences.
You want to teach me how to be "refine" yet I would get a fright when I see you at night.
You want to teach me to socialize yet when we meet in the streets you turn head to wave at the other person who is busy crossing the street.
You, my teacher, have taught me to forgive
You , my teacher, have taught me to be genuine
You, my teacher, have taught me to be sociable
Although you possess none of these....
I've watched the war from behind closed doors;
Eyes too glued to close.
And now knowing what's in store, there's porn no more.
God's love is the only hope we know.
We are forgiven because of the love that is Jesus.
We are saved because of the love that is Jesus.
We give our lives to the Father for we are His children and He loves us.
We are loved!
No matter what we've done, we are loved!
Confess and ask for forgiveness;
This is such a beautiful gift!
Thank You God!
Thank You Jesus!
You forgive me!
You save me!
You change me!
I am changed!
I am new!
I am renewed!
I am forgiven!
I am saved!
I am changed!
There's porn no more
For God's hope is in store!
There's porn no more
For God's love is the hope of the world!
Written some where around 1962
By Douglas Malloch
In honor of Douglas Malloch with the hope
That I am only honoring this great Poem
By reproducing a part of it
This is not the beginning of the Poem ‘The Teacher’
A general, a great divine,
Yea, Men whose names with luster shine,
Learned Latin at that simple shrine.
For here the great began
To dream, to wish, to hope, to plan;
To day was born tomorrow’s man.
And so the teacher grew to gray;
And fifty years have passed away
When someone happens on a day
To pause before the teacher’s door,
The threshold that the children wore
A half a century or more,
And asks, as that good man appears:
“Are you not weary, tired to tears,
Of teaching Latin all the years?”
A simple answer he employs
To tell a teacher’s holy joys:
“I don’t teach Latin – I teach boys.”
God bless the teacher who can look
Above beyond, the open book,
The one who teaching undertook
Nor merely for the Latin’s sake,
But for the holy chance to make
Tomorrow’s man, a soul to wake;
By Douglas Malloch
This great Poem quoted in honor of all sinbcere Teachers & ‘Andrea Dietrich a teacher’
This is also in honor and love of my wife, who also is a Teacher.
Energy and passion,
excitement breeds attraction;
a brilliant work, a masterpiece
explored in true love fashion.
Traversing plots with disregard
for clear-cut truths,
it must be hard
Our cartoon minds
the words she spins,
the twist; the end.
I walk out the door
and know my thoughts mean
Whisper me the sweet sound of freedom,
The sweet sound found in Your Name,
Holy and Heavenly freedom,
All in the Name of Jesus!
They praise me like a saint,
But I am a sinner;
They don't know the man they see.
I am an addict.
Broken eyes to pornography,
Only Jesus can set me free.
Only by His death on the cross
And the grace of His Father's love
Am I able to be set free.
With God as The Light,
The One and Only Light,
The Only Hope in sight,
Will I be set free.
I am free.
Numbness as I walk in halls
A heavy load in my hand I bear
Tome of the ancient past
Portrays a fog in my mind
Emptiness, void and vanity
As I look at zombies like me
Consumed by an epidemic...
Which left us cold-blooded
At the darkness of dusk
When the sun shines no more
I lie below the tombstone of my grave
Devoured by a sleepy hollow in my coffin
Vitality where are you?
Where are your streams of life?
I' am lost, Where am I?
Oh wait, that's right
I'm in college
An Ode To LIFE
As I lay my head down and start to fall asleep I see myself being carried off to a place and time the place of our Lords birth in Bethlehem of Judea
As in the Bible tells the story of His life and how he lived and died in that human seance and rose on the day He told of
I do not remember being here but I remember the story I was taught so many years ago
As I walk through the streets of Bethlehem I see each scene and hear every word as I am learning the story they telling is true
The writer writes of a jealous King and his way of dealing with his people and of Mary and Joseph who came to Bethlehem to have a child
The story tells of the three wise men who saw a star in the north and heard of a child who was born to be the King of the Jews and come to see and bring Him gifts
An angel from the Heavens above came to Mary and Joseph in a dream and told them they had to leave Bethlehem or King Herod would have their son killed
So they left Bethlehem and went to Egypt and there they lived until King Herod no longer ruled
As I follow along in my dream I see each scene and hear every word as I am puzzled by the fact I understand each
I don’t understand why I’m going through this time but I know I must continue on this journey
As I am pulling through a time where I reach the place of Jesus’ in Nazareth of Galilee
As I watched Him grow and work in His father's shop I could see the thing in Him that were with me
As I walk along the streets and look around I hear the people talk of a child that speaks of wondrous love that’s all forgiving and of a Father in Heaven that’s loving and true.
By Rev. Samuel Mack, OMS
Inspired by God
One Monday morning, shortly before noon
I was sitting on the porch beside my teacher’s office
as still as a seagull on a wooden dock
then suddenly, as I listened
I heard the sounds of my teacher’s heels
“click, clack, click, clack!”
echoing against the pavement
as loud as shimmering maracas
It was the sight of my teacher
strutting out on the horizon
getting her morning coffee
as I listened to her dialogue
with her colleague mentioning
something about her foot
which made me giggle like
a circus clown, because of
her voice tone on the word “foot”
She then twisted her head
back toward my direction
saying: “Mia were you laughing at me!,
were you laughing at me, Mia!”
I sheepishly replied: “no ma’am, please don’t let your spirit
haunt me in my sleep tonight!”
I would like to nominate
He has followed my life
since before I was born
He watches over me everyday
and listens to my every concern
I can call Him anytime
He is never to busy
to help anyone
since the Alpha and Omega
There is no problem
that He doesn’t know
and if you ask He shall show
He comes by to visit all
knocking on their doors
so eager to teach
He lived and example
A live demonstration
on how to achieve the award
not to look back but move forward
not to live in greed
and to focus on the things we need
not to blend in with the weeds
but to give sunlight to the seeds
He taught me what really matters in life
while relieving pain and strife
He wrote the greatest book
The words will always remain
while others will come and go like rain
If you sit tight, and promise not to spite
I will tell you a story, when I was not in my glory
grade one, a new chapter
who knew my teacher would be a captor?
that’s right! I said it!
a washroom run, she did not permit
there I stood
as still as I could
but I couldn’t help wiggle, then jiggle, and out popped a nervous giggle
first I got a casual stare
not two seconds later, a frightening glare
Oh no! I thought
a quick exit I sought
I could feel the rush coming
my small feet started drumming
how could she be so cruel?
this has got to be against some rule!
and there it went
the warm stream I could not prevent
I could tell she was mad
but I had to go SO bad!
she pointed the way out
boy! Did she shout!
“go to the loo! You twitsy-poo”!
Oh. So you thought that was it?
why don’t you take another short sit
to the principals office I walked down
sporting a most shameful frown
she also looked unimpressed
thank goodness, I was wearing a dress
my underwear was wet but my clothes remained dry
if I had to wear lost and found clothes again, I surely would cry
I pictured Mrs. Marriotti as a belly dancer
while she called mom for dry underwear, but there was no answer
I was vexed, with what happened next
you’ll never believe me
the travesty that was caused by my pee
not only was I humiliated, and my new teacher I did annoy
but the underwear I had to wear for the day was made for a BOY!
January 30, 2012
CONTEST - Dr. Seuss is on the loose (G. Rix)
Tenderness and toughness.
Salute you with all sacredness.