The powdery snow gloves the fingers
of maple forest, protecting barren bark
with the expectation of rose tipped bloom.
A meeting point between pristine
innocence and the veiled promise of spring
ripening. Each trunk and limb mirrors
the action of man. Reaching, arching,
swaying, creating aisles of church-like splendor,
a sacrament where the virginal may walk
toward communion with their God. Inward
toward the birth of faith and outward toward
the wedgwood sky in celestial sight.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi
Walls of silence hold,
The child held within,
Cries out for release.
Relative solitude comforts,
Not the tortured soul,
Inward coiling withdrawing,
Shedding its outer skins,
Layer thus preserving its,
Innocents shroud lies in ruins.
Gentle spirit, cast aside wings,
The fallen angel kneels in,
Shadows before mankind.
Unanswered prays rest upon,
Muted sobs, echo on stilled,
Hardening to stone, the
Reflects frozen repose.
Forgotten amongst mine own,
Childhood symbolizes a betrayed,
Small fragile hands reach out,
Hollow space grasping into,
Chained shackles twist,
Imaginations warped view,
Somber tones cloud troubled,
Amidst life's trials, I'm aimlessly,
Without any form of stability.
I, alone remain shambles,
Displaced and damaged,
A broken doll thrown away,
By those who should have,
Cared for her the most.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn
Father’s bare feet left footprints in the sand
Young son followed, each step carefully planned
Tim wanted so much to be like his Dad
Always emulating, quite a sweet lad
So as you leave impressions on life’s shore
Remember your path will not be ignored
Tread gently, leave prints that make your kids proud
Step far away from the perilous crowd
Stop at times, build sandcastles, pick up shells
Memories can’t be erased by sea swells
Imprints on children’s hearts last forever
Keep this in mind through every endeavor
A child may be following your footsteps
Always make your marks with loving precepts
*Entry for Francine's "Barefoot" contest
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire
When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood
just how much words effect us.
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.
Copyright © Katie Pukash
Babies are gems and diamonds,
Babies are pure right through,
Babies are such little angels,
Especially when smiling with you,
Bouncing babies are such a charm,
For them we want no harm,
Baby need milk,cry up a storm,
Burp,tummy full,so cuddly and warm,
Babies will learn from me,
Babies will learn from you,
Remember,they are the next generation,
So teach them the right things to do.....
Copyright © Richard Palmer
sometimes i talk to myself,
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all.
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister,
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it.
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room,
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy,
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
is daddy raping her?
is she doing drugs?
is anyone beating her?
did anyone molest her?
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse.
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat,
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why?
because daddy yelled
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...
Copyright © cassie hellberg
Sometimes I am happy, sometimes I am sad.
Sometime I sing, sometimes I stammer
Sometimes I dance on the music of my soul, Sometimes I dance on the fingers of
one single person
Sometimes I expect so much from others; sometime I myself can’t meet my own
Sometime I make fun of others and feel bad later, sometimes life makes fun of me
and I smile
Sometime I win and sometimes I lose, sometimes I don’t even understand whether I
won or lost.
Sometimes I laugh as if whole world is with me,
Sometimes I cry as if I am alone wandering in a strange land
Sometimes I give up so easily
Sometimes I work so hard that no one can stop me to achieve what I want
Sometimes I am dynamic person, who wants to change the world,
And sometimes I am a kid who expects anyone to embrace him tightly.
Sometimes I feel happy about the achievement of my enemy
Sometime I feel dejected with my own success.
Sometimes I help others and show them the right path
Sometimes I feel totally helpless and don’t know where to go
Sometimes I ask god to please give my past back
Sometimes I pray to show me the way forward
Life is composed of SOMETIMES and I just flow with that.
U admit or not but you are also sailing on the same boat.
So join me and enjoy it EVERYTIME as SOMETIMES life is very short!
Copyright © Rajat Singhal
Glass and fractured imaginings are trite
Upon his blameless feet
Even as he dance and play about them
Toxic and perilous smoke are authority
Outside his naive lungs
While he freely breathes to ensure laughter
Blood sprinkles and routine metal shards
Within his innocent hands
Presently, as he claps to the street’s tune
Mordant activities be forever present
Before his youthful eyes
Just before the gleams therein make hearts sway
The resilience and spirit of youth
Copyright © Mark Pringle
There once was a day I would watch every airplane.
Praying you was on it to come take me away.
As a child I wanted you around until the day, you actually came.
The day you came is the day my life forever changed.
I remember as if it was yesterday when you physically violated me.
Mental visions as early as the age of eight, but old enough to vociferate.
Visualizing mental pictures in my mind while I am awake very aware of the improper abuse I take.
Your body on me feels something like an autopsy of a dead body.
While you lay on top of me as you press aggressively on me.
Against my will your force kept me still.
I am trying to understand if you recognize who I am.
I try to say no hoping you can comprehend; I am weakling as you apprehend.
Mentally and physically I became involuntarily your property.
A main character in a horror story, and you were my predatory.
I asked “God why?” as I bare to stare into his eyes.
This is not thee love I seek; all I wanted was my father to love me, but not like this injustice of violation of my rights.
This love is not real; not the love I wished to feel.
As he tries to stick his tongue into my mouth too young to know what this is all about.
I grip my lips painfully tight as he tries to slip his tongue inside.
I close them tighter with all my might, as he whispers, “let me love you right”
I beg him to leave as he pried my legs open with his knees my insides scream “somebody please help me!”
As he whispers how much he loves me I’m praying for God to just kill me.
I rather be dead then a man’s punching bag.
As I lay there my body was dead, and I laid my soul to rest.
I looked around the room and seen the Old Spice on the desk the same fragrance he wore around his neck.
The sun began to rise as he began to close my thighs.
In that moment in time I had made up my mind any man that ever say they love me was just telling lies.
I learned the hard way that love does not kill your inside; love does not take your pride.
A fatherless child I shall forever reside.
Every day that passes that little eight-year-old girl dies slowly inside.
Asking Jesus,” Why permit this?” and he slowly whispers…as I gently whimpers, “faith is the light that guide you through the darkness, my words reflecting as a lamp unto my feet.”
“Walk unto my path I’m here to carry the weak, come into me you are weary and overburdened. I will carry the pain you have obtained.”
“I am your father and you are my child you are never fatherless because I’m always around.”
Copyright © twanna Irisha
The warrior lays her weary head,
With heavy heart she cannot bear,
Burning tears stream down her face,
As whispered memories touch the ear.
Her armour tarnished by remorse,
Her battle-cry a wimpered row,
Her wounds, of which bleed solitude,
Will never know forgiveness now.
The song began two score ago,
When two came knocking at her door,
In need of refuge from the world,
Of that, and love, and little more.
Forced to fight for every smile,
Her only solace found in song,
She longed for love to rescue her,
And plant her where she could belong.
Jealous tongues are seldom kind,
Self-seeking hearts know nought of love,
The caged canary only sings,
When coaxed to praise from up above.
For the steely spine that now I own,
Forever shall I grateful be,
A gift from her, and from her own.
Courage mounted inwardly.
I'll not forget how I have loved thee,
And youthful memories I will prize,
Til on the shore of His forgiveness,
Whereto now, we both shall rise.
Copyright © Yvonne Evanoff
When I was only five
Heard mommy always's say
Angel keep being naughty and you won't make it to
Entry for Adam Hapworth's
Captcha Acrostic Contest
Copyright © Katherine Stella
There once was a girl,
Who's name I can't tell.
To spare her the pain,
I'll just call her Belle.
Belle was a beauty
And all the beasts could see,
She was everything in a girlfriend
That they wanted theirs to be.
Belle was so trusting,
Because she was never treated wrong,
But little did she know that
Her innocence wouldn't last long.
She had two friends,
Sasha and Trevor,
And a boyfriend that she thought
She'd love forever.
Her boyfriend, Sam,
And Trevor were friends.
So this fearsome foursome
Had fun to no end.
The youngest of the four
But the smartest, she thought.
But what a friend was
Was not what she was taught.
Trevor and Belle
Would hang out all day.
She would try to be like him
In her own boyish way.
You see, the Trevor I speak of
Was King of the Beasts
And everything he wanted
Was laid at his feet.
And, although curious,
Belle stayed true to Sam
And that made Trevor feel
That he was less of a man.
One day, in a summer
5 years ago,
Belle told me something
I needed to know.
She told me what happened
The day that she ran.
The day that will forever
Be burned in the sand.
She told me what happened
When she looked over her shoulder
And saw him walking towards her
As the room grew colder.
She told me her tears
Were no match to his power.
She told me what made this beast
She told me she screamed
And hollered and yelled
But her cries were soon muffled
By his lips, dry and pale.
She told me how she felt
The day that she was bruised.
Never in her life
Had she felt so used!
I asked her why she didn't fight
Or get tough like she does on the field.
She just said I'd never know the
Weakness that I would feel.
I couldn't help but to cry for her
As she blamed herself.
Belle had always wanted to be
The beauty on everyone's shelf.
"But not like that," she said to me,
"Not with one of my friends."
She let a tear roll down her face
As she spoke of her life's end.
Some may ask why'd she tell me;
"What made her come to you?"
I simply look at them and say,
"You don't know Belle like I do."
I know this story in great detail
And if you look real close you'll see
The tear I shed while writing this
Because...Belle is me.
Copyright © Leighanne Rush
I am like
embraced by serpents many
always trying something new
and dramatic with my
I am like
growing up with a painful family
getting lost in movies
thinking of my own
hypnotizing when I speak
First lady of Argentina
meeting you, after death
would be a treat
a nervous habit, of nibbling
on my jewelry
the similarities, between us
gave me a sense of foolery
I am like
Chief of the Cherokee Tribe
for ten years
fighting against Native stereotypes
despite such distress
enemies did stress
promoting to ‘be of good mind’
you were a leader, of your time
an advocator for women
that they may grow up
and become chief
as a child, you wondered
the forests, like me
not the streets
I am like
Aung San Suu Kyi
wearing three types of
flowers in your hair
feeling at times like a
‘splinter of glass, sharp, glinting
power to defend itself against hands
that try to crush’
winner of a Nobel Peace Prize,
for courage, was
I am like
Catherine The Great
a love to laugh,
coffee, and feeling compelled
to always fill abandoned blank
sheets of paper
you were a Royal Russian Empress,with
not one red drop of Russian blood
and her people, were blessed
to have her
I am like
the Queen of England
longest royal lifetime in history
strong built, from a miserable childhood
this is no mystery
preferring candle light
handwriting over typewriter
I am like
dreaming to live as she did
riding elephants and having
tiger cubs as companions
your own Sikh security
killed you, the story
a sad one
secret dreams of being a writer
angered, by the imbalance of
between men and women
listening to beat poets
as a great Prime Minister of India
you were heard
I am like
drew the worlds attention to
native Indians rights,
because of you
your goal, to be
a drop of water on a rock
dripping in the same spot,
eventually in the world, you
may leave a mark
wearing many colors
‘because it gives you life’
insisting men and women be equals
you fought this fight
to relax, as I do
writing poetry into
I am like
Joan of Arc
French Military Heroine
burned at the stake at just
known for keeping your cool
even on the battlefield
being a courageous and inspirational
Legendary Lady Leaders
I salute you
Copyright © Heather Hill
A burst of white light
gamma rays, overbearing
a flash of brilliance
burns through to my soul
everything is like hell
the world starts to melt
in the blink of an eye
just the cold blackness
I don't care if I am not again
what I once was, for at this moment
I am greater now
than ever before
I took the path between
teetering, tight roping walking
right up to my right
divined in my unholy state
I thought I told you
I am your king
still you sit there, hesitating
I know you hate me
what does that mean?
I hate just about everything
still I'm chosen
I did not wish before
now bow down to me
refuse me no more
for I shall always be your demon
until you accept me as your King.
I don't even know you
though you say we used to be
best of friends, you and me
the day you ditched me
I remember now
exactly how it played out
back when we were just tiny things
even back then I still was King
you thought me stupid
just a ruse
I would laugh inside, you see?
not one of you single, mean people
ever even knew me
in a world, mostly seen to me
that is why only I can be your true King
and bring forth a new source
of light everlasting.
As two worlds collide slowly aligned
one wrapped in shadows
one bathed in white
evils swirling in the clouds above
I'll always be the king you love
to hate or despise as in your blood
I thought I told you, I am the one
I am the way, the way out shall be shown
breathe in my spirit as it carries you away
breathe in my faith it shall carry your empty space
and deposit you gently on a cloud just enough
higher than you've ever dreamed of
for I am king now, and your in my hell
your in my imagination, I'll just never tell
you'll feel as though dreaming, you'll feel now
if you try and see
you were always found the most
shared in the light cast upon me
the last bright star in heaven.
Denounce my name, if you may
One year later, still not afraid
A black sheep, a darkened spade
That's just life, I'm not right
I'm in the wrong, follow along
Like a piper, I'll pitch a song
Mesmerized, the weak wills sing
I thought he told you, he's still our king.
Copyright © Bj Fard
I do not know?
I never did the
''He loves me not....
He loves me'' game
I already knew nobody loved me
so why should I listen
to a stupid flower?
I did make wishes
after the bloom died
and it was tiny spikes of fluff
waiting to blow away
till next year.
I hated wasting my time
but I couldn't resist.
''If there's even a small hope
that this will work....
I've got to try! ''
I would find a spot
where nobody could see me
and I'd whisper
my one wish
the same wish
Thousands of dandelions
by my pleading breath.
I never told a soul
I wished to be happy
with a husband
who loves me
and kids who love me.
I wished so hard...
I never thought
Copyright © Mary Nagy
One night I was trying to put a wide-awake and unruly child to bed.
She slipped, and slid, and giggled as she ran everywhere else instead.
But then I finally caught her as she climbed upon her Daddy’s lap.
He ask her why she wouldn’t go to sleep and monsters is what he got.
So Daddy told her a bedtime story that calmed her down at last.
His chair sat by the windows, where he could see the sky.
She’d noticed that he sat there nightly starring at those stars.
He told her to look for one that winked for it was Grandma saying good night.
Another one would be Grandpa who would take her cares to heart.
And one would be her Guardian Angel to keep her safe at night.
But the best of all would be God who would be there to plot her daily course.
Then look at all the twinkling ones…. They are the Angels as they rejoice.
And the Aurora Borealis is the music to those stars.
Now listen very carefully, and watch with all your heart…
And you will see you’re not alone in your bedroom late at night.
For how can you be alone with so much going on just for you?
Then Daddy gently picked her up and took her off to bed.
Now she wouldn’t go to sleep unless the curtains were open this night instead.
Then years later I was listening as she put her own precious wee one to bed…
And you will never guess… She said exactly what her father had said…
I went back to that old chair and thanked her Daddy for his wisdom thru the years…
And as I looked upon the stars… he winked good night to me, I’m sure…
Written when still on Poetry.com... later brought it here to PoetrySoup.com
Copyright © Carol Eastman
I walked upon an empty step,
Where a shadowed body was kept.
The shadow was beat,
Turning as cold as winter sleet.
It had bright blue eyes,
That extended all through the skies.
The shadow was nine,
Living to be blind.
I walked to the figure,
As it would evilly linger.
People would laugh at it,
As it snarled and bit.
The shadow diagnosed with
Beating itself, the others, as if a
No one could reach out,
No one gave it water, as it was in a
I was determined to bring its colors,
Be the one to treat it like no other.
The shadow hated me,
Told me Hell is where I should be.
Not giving in,
Not creating one other sin.
I drew it pictures, wrote it letters,
Tried to blossom its feathers.
Then the day came,
When there had to be an end to the
Not wanting to leave,
Not wanting the devil to its thieve.
As I was bout to walk through the
The shadow came upon me, on the
Held out his arms,
As I smiled and lowered his alarms.
The shadow had a name,
Brought about with little shame.
The shadow was a boy,
Played with by the devil as if a toy.
I played with fire,
Burning loosely like a run away tire.
But he finally knew I was there,
Someone who was willing to care.
Copyright © Matt Daniels
A very tender child, aware, knowing
Lives in your consciousness
On your lips, in your heart,
Part of you in every way
Waiting, waiting patiently
To be free, the right combinations
Sequence that every locked door knows
ciphering a message as complex
completing the DNA sequence
and replicate! Do you not know! Replicate, ciphering to transform, to live
becoming alive again and again
old as the ageless mystery of the bells
ringing and singing the song of life
The waiting heart stitches the words
in some special sacramental order
known only to those who wish to know
And when the last bell is struck
They are no longer words
but alive and in becoming alive
they simply spread their wings
and fly away
Copyright © James Gibbons
So much I wanted to say. So much I wanted to shout.
It was like being trapped behind bars without a way
to get out.
My mind going wild with all these questions of why.
The only way to escape was to fall asleep or to cry.
What did I do so bad that made me have to pay?
My friends, my dreams, and my life was swepped away.
I know I can do it! I try and I try.
Nothing seems to get better. I sometimes wish
I would Die.
Starved for attention. I wanna talk to the world.
I just miss being loved. Miss the warmth of a girl.
Snickers and stairs is what my life has become.
I'm treated like I'm a kid, like I'm sick, or I'm dumb.
One day to the next. Life becomes work just to be alive.
I thank god for my blessings. I thank god I survived.
I finally see some improvement. More hope tickles
It was worth all the time, all the tears, all the pain.
I awake with a smile and new hope to move on.
I did it! I did it! All those hard times are gone!
Copyright © Travis Flasnick
YOU’RE THE WEAK ONE
You’re the weak one, you’re a bully. The weak one is definitely
The bully is always the weak one, but your weakness you can’t
seem to see.
So, I’m going to try to shed a little light on your weak and inappropriate ways.
Your weakness began on your first bullying day.
Your false sense of power is not strength at all; it is a cry for help desperately trying to break through.
I actually feel a little sorry for you.
Weak kids like you always seek to find other kids they can dominate.
Bullies do this with vicious words, inappropriate actions, and misguided hate.
Is being a weak bully the banner you want to carry for the rest of your life?
Get rid of the bully banner forever; take up a banner that shows respect,
understanding, and tolerance for others, and always hold that one very high.
Copyright © Al Johnson
I walk a mile to see the self in me that I believe to be,
I knew the road I choose to lay my head to sleep is called my home,
times in need I could barely see that in myself I will set free,
the act that held me down, something about me I could not see,
I lived a life when I decide that day I said that I don't care,
so young, so bright, I dim my light, traumatized for me to share,
love me please regardless of what you heard and what you have seen,
friends say that I'm only human, yes you're right, a human but who am I being?
My life will move in the direction I choose,
this I know I have always been taught
that I choose to be a winner or lose,
its entirely up to me its all in my thoughts.
Copyright © Ken Fepulea'i
She slips away silently, to escape mothers screams
And crawls so softly, into bed, into dreams
His dreams became so dark
Left them to his escape into the dark
To dream open eyes outside window
Across his vision he saw as light lost its flicker
Loss for air she lay, sobbing away sorrow
But she felt invaded, grasping in surprise's horror
So close these shattered mirrors lay
A soft curious cry,a leaf blow away
Together now their halos became so clear
The coping of bewildered souls to share
He slips away silently, to escape his skeleton's haunts
And crawls softly, into new arms, to cure a world of wants
Copyright © Jason Thomas
When I was very young,
Dad and I would fly my kite.
So one day I finally asked him,
"how does God make wind and light?"
"Only God can answer that."
He told me with a smile.
"So ask him when you get there!"
I nodded, then played a while.
When we first turned sixteen,
my best friend got a brand new car.
We had plans for Friday night,
but Wednesday, she didn't get far.
I cried when I hung up the phone,
"Daddy! Why my best friend?"
He came and sat down on my bed,
as we talked about the end.
"Only God can answer that."
He told me with a smile.
"So ask him when you get there."
Then I laid and cried a while.
Further down the road,
I stood dressed up in white.
The night that I'd been waiting for,
I'd found my Mr. Right!
I asked, "Daddy why am I so blessed?
I seem to have it all!
When some just have no luck,
they don't have much at all."
"Only God can answer that."
He told me with a smile.
"So ask him when you get there."
Then he walked me down the aisle.
Then thirty years flew by.
Two jobs, Dad's cancer, and my baby.
and Daddy's time grew shorter,
and every day became a maybe.
Then sadly the Dr. said "its time to say goodbye "
and by his bed I stood.
I just couldn't believe it,
that he'd be gone for good.
"Daddy why do you have to go?"
I asked him as I sobbed.
I knew it was his time,
but still, my heart felt robbed.
"I'll ask him when I get there..."
he told me with a smile.
"If I even care! I'll meet Jesus in a while!
I know you think that this will hurt you,
but these days are grains of sand,
and heaven is the Ocean!
We'll be together once again."
Copyright © Ashley Beaudre
My Parents Did Their Best To Raise Me
As a child, my parents did their best to raise me.
Teaching me about God, because they loved me!
They taught me God’s ways,.
This was their intention.
They read the Bible,
with an undivided attention.
Each day I awoke. I was glad mom
and dad where there.
Especially when we gathered
around the table in prayer.
The many times we spent together I haven’t forgot.
I’m so thankful for the Christian values taught.
The values helped shape me into
what I am today.
And have helped keep me on “the narrow way.”
I believe many of these values
are being discarded.
Even before many families are being started.
A respect for God’s word seems
to be a thing of the past.
It’s no wonder many relationships don’t last.
God’s principles must be our daily ambition.
His love must be our rock and a TRUE foundation!
We must seek his purpose
and divine way of living.
It’s HIS example that must be our way of giving!
Giving to others kindness and love
that binds us as one.
Through the witness we have in Christ… His son!
May God bless our hearts and
homes in one accord.
As we give our attention
to Jesus Christ our Lord!
By Jim Pemberton 10/01/11
Copyright © Jim Pemberton
I found a penny on the floor
I picked it up and found some more!
Not one or two or three or four
But many pennies I adore.
I yelled and screamed how
Happy for me, my brother's
And sister's just laughed
I thought how rich I was and then
I dream t of ways to spend and spend.
I took them all, ran out the door
And headed for the nearest store.
I thought of toys and games to buy
And planes that flew up in the sky.
I wanted sweets and gum to chew
And oh yes of course a ball or two.
I walked along so happily
And then ahead what did I see?
A tattered man, how sad was he.
His clothes were torn, his face
Was thin he had a sign there
Next to him.
It said "Please can you help
Me some?" A dime, a quarter
I'll work for crumbs.
I put my pennies in his cup
He smiled and said "Oh thanks
A wonderful feeling came over me
I am as rich as I can be......
Copyright © Sharon Ruebel
The man with the plastic bug in his head
monopolized my dreams last night
in the place that the horsefly of my dignity
finally surrender to the impresario without a fight.
Seven days and 7 hours transplanted in my memorabilia
reminding the rustiness of the purple child
flatterers danced beneath the clouds of melancholy
and morality spreader the master plan inside my mind.
The disinheritance of my immortality the final day
discouraged my desire to see the forbidden love
restored my will to escape
manipulated the deep of the uncertainty above.
Released from the plastic bug in my head
try to cover my yellow child in the purple sky
seven days and seven hours before he dies.
Copyright © Teddy Frustiente
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
Copyright © Jim Pemberton
She prays; gods halo again brightly creeping from underneath the shadowed covers of comfort. Slowly awakening her blissful HEArT re*collabrated and re*juvinated to start the day quietly tip-toed inside her peaceful home. A plantation thats shown to be told,firmly planted is all she'll ever know, thank you god my almighty straight to the LION'S den's mouth, as her heart is poured out in extreme greatness. She announced her DOGS EYE is not in pain anymore. So Thank You god for you are my only GOD!!!! You've engaged this HEArT strongly SHAPPED, I do love me; and the WOMAN I have become. In these last few weeks she has learned GENUINE SOULS do care like you, as parents we will keep her fruitful n' clothed. She'll learn that LOVE IS: more powerful then anything imaginable as you have, you image this world through a precious eye;(my DOG) across the sky in colorful RAE'S of skittles I can taste the RAINBOW... COLLABRATING IN THE CLOUDS... Watching SUN~SET DAWN DOWN fast asleep holding on to those DREAMS along side my dog. Teaching everyone to LOVE with/out SELFishness, just against GRACE For her HEART Is BIGGER Than the UNIVERSE.... As she chooses FREE~WILL!!!!!!
WILLINGLY!!! I Know now her Entire FAMILY HouseHold is in good HEALTH, SAFEly hidden from DANGER N' HARM,and has had A Peacful nights rest beside the warm fire I will lay;as she closes her eyes during nights break.
I LOVE YOU GOD FOR ALL YOu DO N' SHOW!!!
Written by: Carma SWEETHEART; and
Ravonne Jus MAD (BRITTANY CALDWELL)
06-21-12. Thank you BRITTANY for letting me do this I am truly honored*ENJOY!!! ;D
Copyright © Carma Reed
Paint me beautiful
paint me clean
Paint me a pretty girl
with pretty girl things
Paint me pure white
Paint me beautiful
paint me clean
Copyright © Mollyann Fontenot-White
i cannot count enough stars
to tell how many shine in your eyes
nor can i gather into one
the brilliance of the sun
that your warmth brings
though the sun and stars pass
beyond and beyond
all things that last
i'll meet you in that discovery
Copyright © Gerry Mattia