They ask me why I’m so happy
Asking me, if I just won a prize
I replied, well I reckon I did
Today is a wonderful surprise
When you have a past like mine
My today is always bright
There is no better feeling on earth
Than the joy of doing right
I may be an old man on a cane
My heart is skipping along
I learned to embrace the meaning
Life is a beautiful song
True life has its ups and downs
There’ll be forks in the road
With a smile I’ll stop for a while
Help you with your load
I had me a bag of popcorn today
It tasted exceptionally good
In fact, I will go as far as to say
Better then it probably should
For years, I had a guard in the pen
Popped him a bag each night
Then he would simply throw it away
His twisted little delight
He knew, it was those little things
Ate at our heart and soul
Movie with the wife Friday night
Popcorn in the bowl
I had a bag of popcorn today
Wife sitting at my side
I had a smile, which lasted awhile
One I could not hide
They ask me why I’m so happy
Asking me, if I won a prize
I replied, I reckon I did
Today is a wonderful surprise
For some reason today I was thinking about C.O. Talbert and
how he would pop a bag of popcorn even though he didn't eat
popcorn. He did it just because he knew it would make everyone
want some. I always felt sorry for him. His life must have been
very disappointing. The moral here: when you learn to appreciate
the little things in life your popcorn will taste a whole lot better.
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2011
Here further down the hillside slope
Down close to the creek with hope
My husband bought a house, land
Fenced in and made many plans
Subdued the land to cow pasture
And planted a garden, fruit trees sure
Fathered another child to call him sir
The creek seemed to like the stir
Enjoyed the children for a little while___
Loved them so that it made her smile
Today she loves grandchildren the same
No girls there are in frills ___tame
The creek keeps on flowing to the sea
The land is mostly stripped of trees
(This is my adaptation of Robert Frost's poem "The Birthplace". I hope that it does not insult
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010
A nation of peace,a nation of pride
A nation that's spread far and wide.
A nation of hope,a nation of joy,
Thats free for all, man,women ,girl and boy.
A nation to give,a nation to take
A nation filled with reggae,socca,calypso and rake and scrape.
A nation of colors; black,gold,aqua....sometimes called blue
can be seen everywhere above land and under sea too.
A nation of democracy and old english style,but things sure have changed if you
look up our file.
From outside rock stoves,to TV,radio,computers and wi-fi connectivity.........
I'd say that a long way from July 10 1973.
An nation filled with hospitality,love and history,
Arawaks,Caribs and American Indians are the basis of our nationality.
A nation where Tourism is number one, because of the Bounty of sand sea and sun.
Yes,a nation of Youth,sports ,culture,uniqueness and island fashion trends,
Like native Androsia our own local blend......and straw work and junkanoo,the list has no end.
This nation of beauty,splendor and self defense ;yes its celebarting its own INDEPENDENCE.
Copyright © Quentin Sands | Year Posted 2008
A coffee bar with orange paint --
Brown tables on a tiled, grey floor --
Soft light within blown glass above --
A neon sign hangs by the door.
I come here sometimes just to write.
A coffee bar with orange paint
To some would be apalling; but
I do not see it as a taint.
Tonight an artist's work is hung
Upon those walls in bold display;
A coffee bar with orange paint
Allows her dreams to have their say.
I like the color in these walls --
A brazen hue, not pale or quaint;
And in this place I weave my words --
A coffee bar with orange paint.
Copyright © M. Teresa Blaylock | Year Posted 2006
In my quiet times I often try,
To remember places I've been.
To recall folk I have passed by,
And sights that I have seen.
There is nothing wrong with my mind,
Sometimes my memory is quite refined.
I think it's filled over many a year,
With so much junk, nothing seems clear.
So, I made up my mind to write it all down,
To recall it all caused me to frown
It started like I was in the dark,
A memory flared, I was in the park.
That day in the park was just the lever,
I found my mind was as good as ever.
Tho' times and places got out of line,
I wrote it all down, now wasn't I clever!
I'm nearly at the end of my story,
A journey I'm glad that I took.
For my grandsons to read in years to come,
I'll call it Granddads Book.
© Dave Timperley 2012.
Copyright © Dave Timperley | Year Posted 2012
Shall I turn back on
stepping stones to yesterday-
wait,while I reflect
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2010
Reflection on a Summer day
Here I sit on a summer day among the pine trees on a mountain side.
Looking out across the valley below.
I see the colors of summer landscape spread across the valley in all
shapes and sizes, like a jigsaw puzzle of nature.
The rivers and roads cut across the landscape to places unknown to me.
In the far horizon I see mountains that fade into the blue sky, while white clouds float across the sky.
Like sailboats searching for the wind
The sun filters across the valley floor playing hide and seek with the clouds.
Making the colors of nature into majestic summer day.
The heat of the day sends all seeking comfort of a summer breeze, while
butterflies dance on the slopes and fields near me.
Watching falcons fly endlessly in the sky, catching hot summer up drafts from the heated valley floor.
Around me there are pine trees that stretch toward the sky.
Many tall and thin that give shelter from the sun and heat
The fallen needles provide me with a gentle soft pillow to sit on.
A front row seat to natures beauty that encompasses me.
There is a distinctive sound of the wind which blows though the pine trees.
Like whispering to my soul.
It refreshes the mind and comforts the senses, with the scent of pine.
A time to relax and enjoy the beauty around me.
God’s gentle way to guide me though life's journey and find comfort in the minutes, of reflection and Solitude this summer day.
This poem was a memory of a day while I was in survival School for the USAF in Washington State in the 80’s.
Copyright © Paul Arnold | Year Posted 2016
This never-ending roller coaster
makes life unpredictable, even to myself
The ups and downs take me from high to low
in a matter of minutes and hours
Twists and loops send my mind into a whirlwind
as it leaves my body numb
Dark tunnels seem cold and lonely
but I make it through in no time at all
Things start to slow down and I think the ride is over
only to speed past the exit
Each time I pass, the scenery changes
and new events take place, leaving me choices I least expect
On occasion, the brakes come to a screeching halt
but this is only for a second
I then find myself no longer moving forward
but riding in reverse, gripping my harness even tighter
Eyes closed, my biggest fear is not the places I've never gone
but the places I've already been
Copyright © Alana Tye | Year Posted 2008
The wind did stir the thought in kind wanting - for if she knew my soul, just a spark
of it, I would be a rich man...
So long this ribbon of love that flows over the rocks of age and distant torment...
The gate keepers sit alone watching, waiting for the violators who dare not call
It is those shackles which bind misguided dreams that which make fertile ground for
the barkers at the door, for what else does one need to grey the vision and dull
You carry the scent of the well-traveled said the withered old man - I too know your
pain, that which comes from never knowing home - those of us who seek blindly
that which the world cannot give - home is not a place but a thought in time and
nothing more than a stop to rest your ambition...
Cry only for only those who cannot hear you, for it is selfish to do otherwise and
seek home in the gentle embraces of those that know you...
Be kind to those who would bite you, for in doing so it will bring light to a dark path...
Always rejoice in life - it pisses them off and helps them to see the tragic flaw of
their diluted beliefs...
Copyright © Robert Sellers | Year Posted 2011
There is that barn again
The red peeling paint shouts
Old worn gray tired it says
Memories running track
Back in the fourties when
Youth did reign rule really
When the paint was new red
Dancing and prancing here
Singing joy fiddle plays
Squares were formed to music
Kicked up her heels in time
Red paint new drew her beaus
Well now that tired worn look
Only need new coat_paint
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010
I fear it will never end.
I know the impact will ne’er fade
the pain is slow to abate.
Dear God, may I never grow weary of
having 'seen it all.'
Dedicated to the bravery and commitment of our soldiers around the world. We cannot possibly
deserve the sacrifices you make for us. Thank you from my soul.
Copyright © Jill Martin | Year Posted 2006
One fine day as I was traversing the green,
in the last throes of Autumns' twilight.
I sat upon a flat stone,
overlooking a trilling brook,
to ponder the meaning of life.
As I sat ,and thought,
the soft chimes of music,
from the water spirits,
lulled me into a dream state.
Some where in that liquid crystal,
stubborn stones are worn smooth,
by the passage of time.
Elsewhere the fluidous mercury,
rushes toward a cleft ,
a water fall.
Bringing forth melodies,
never to be reproduced ,
by mere human hands.
As my lids grow heavy,
I'm awakened by the flash of silver,
silhouetted by the last rays of the setting sun..
With regret its time to leave,
as I turn to go ,
a misty rainbow is captured ,
by the fading beams of light.
I smile, at peace,
the promise ,
the sun will once again ,
eclipse the horizon.
Copyright © Jim Skinner | Year Posted 2007
Immersed in the sound of the low rustling wind
Memories and places they haunt yet again
Passed by so quickly as each falling leaf
Drifting and flowing on an unyielding stream
A current to carry from birth right on through
Filling our moments with cares which ensue
A mind lost in remnants of lovers and friends
Babies and children and time long since spent
Familiar, intangible, just out of reach
Longing for ghosts that my heart doth beseech
Winter is looming and summer is past
A time for remembrance the years gone so fast
Beauty is captured in my last breath of life
The sparkling colors in the warm golden light
Do mimic the glory and wonder be told
In those bright days of autumn and a life to behold
Copyright © Sara Ray | Year Posted 2006
Down in Haiti
Far from the dream
Way on back
From the vacation scene
Lives the people
Trapped in a life
Toil and strife
From worm infested,
Starving little bellies
What would Golden
Flower think of today
The country she loved
Destroyed in such a way
(Missionary from Haiti came to visit our church yesterday. With his visit and
talk, I see solutions to problems in an instant. Something to treat the water
before the people use it, reforestation, wells in places that need them, and
proper out door facilities for areas that don't have them. Money, work, and
time is needed to carry these projects out .)
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2009
Let's bring into this world peace
So all these wars and violence can cease
Let's stop all this hatred
And give the poor and homeless a piece of bread
Let's start by changing us all and right from inside
And letting God be your guide
There's so much we need to change
Even if it looks and sounds strange
We can all start sometime and somewhere
By showing in everything that we do, that we care
Let's be careful in the manner that we speak
Let's be strong and not weak
Let's show this world, that we still stand strong and tall
Let's unite together with courage and tear down every single wall
Let's bring into this world of ours much more love and peace
So a lot of this vicious circle of strife and pain can one day cease
Let's start today and let's do it right from the place in which we live
Let's always be respectful of our neighbors and our fellow man
Let's give the best of ourselves everyday and all the time that we can.
Let's stop this madness and get rid of all these illegal drugs today
They can destroy everything that you have and will kill you too
Make a vow to bring God into your life every single day
And make Him part of everything that you do.
Believe that your life will be more productive and blessed
When you put Him first in every thing
That you set your mind to do when you bring
Him closer and right inside your heart
And from you He shall never depart
So start by doing this and much more
Let's answer the call and open the door
Let's be watchful of everything that we do and say
And let's be thankful and pray to God everyday!
Dorian Petersen Potter
Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2008
Is this the place of the deepest depth?
Does the void also have an abyss?
Can one go so far down underneath
that looking up IS looking down-
"Where is this?"
Is this the place where sound can't be found
and velvet darkness is considered bright light?
Do we go there by just closing our eyes
when we lie down to sleep at night?
Is this the place where we seem to float
suspended in endless peace?
Is this the place with cessation of thought
so imagination and creativity can increase?
Is this the place where memories come forward,
opening and revealing the past,
or is this the place where we see ourselves
from day of birth to the day that's our last?
Is this the place where we have the sense
of having done this before?
The place with the sense of "deja vu",
a sense that's difficult to ignore?
Is this the place that's so far removed
there is no knowledge of daylight,
or is this the place that knows of no time
a place of timeless twilight?
Is this the place where dreams originate
and nightmares sometimes get their start?
Is this the place where we touch hands
and feel HIS touch within our hearts?
Wherever it is, I do know this-
it is within....
SO deep inside!
It must be the place of our deep inner space
where the soul of the soul does reside!
Copyright © Walter T. Ashe | Year Posted 2016
Joseph His servant
Enslaved by those in the dark
A female falsely accused
Delivered by God
Displayed a heart of pure gold
True testament of God’s love
Comments: One does not have to look too far in today's society to find a modern
day Joseph. The Sedoka is an unrhymed poem made up of two three-line
poems called a katauta with the following syllable counts: 5/7/7, 5/7/7. A Sedoka,
pair of katauta as a single poem, may address the same subject from differing
perspectives. The katauta is an unrhymed three-line poem with the following
syllable counts: 5/7/7. This Sedoka highlights Joseph, God’s noble servant and
Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2007
I do not know?
He told me I had lemon skin
my breath was tart upon my lips
I carried the weight of the world on my hips
My tongue I should learn to bridle
It's just like the sun in the afternoon
with the windows open to dispel the gloom
Lime green pain lights up my room
With a whisper, a king could frighten
This house has ways to betray your steps
sour though I be as I falter and trip
courtesy gone in my first two sips
I'm wondering about tomorrow.
You've heard the old adage of extra lemons:
"lemonade stands for your family and friends
Positivity lifts and the fun never ends"
(accept when you dare to dream).
Lime green walls match the glint in my cat's eyes
My sadness creeps in when my little girl cries
I'm tart with my righteously indignant replies
Don't thank me - Thank my mother...
Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2005
generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them
Copyright © Green Trees | Year Posted 2012
In my travels around....
from town to town...
I found sitting next to a tree...
a red truck for sale...
that looked like _ell!
a ford, nineteen fifty-three...
So I knocked on the door...
and wasn't for sure...
if they'd sell it to me...
When they answered the door...
they wanted more...
but I gave them two-fifty, not three...
I got it running at last...
and oh! what a task!
I couldn't wait to set it free...
Yea!! it's really fast...
when I give it the gas...
ask those cops who tickets to me!
The body's intact...
just one ding and a whack!!
I'll paint it just wait and see!!!
Copyright © Lawrence Ingle | Year Posted 2008
A different time, a different place
A different life and different face
Different wants and different needs
Different values and different creeds
Different Pomp and Circumstance
Different songs and different dance
Different likes and different hate
Different foods on different plate
A different boat on a different sea
A different you and a different me
Copyright © James Burns | Year Posted 2010
My roots run deep & strong here in this place you curse & scorn
I couldn’t think of a better place than here to have been born
you say this is a dead end town, where dreams whither & die
I know this town has nurtured my dreams, seen them soar & fly
You say the cowboy has left & gone, run off by urban sprawl
Yet every morning, I still hear the young calves bawl
you talk of crime run amok & people no one can trust
I choose my friends carefully & fight for the right & the just
You say this is no place to raise a child, that they’ll not learn respect
but its our job to raise them up, their course in life direct
You say that no one gives a damn about another’s plight
but I have seen this town come together to turn a wrong to right
You say this town holds you back & you will never gain success
I can feel her sing my praises as I aim to do my best
I will stay here in this valley & no matter where I roam
I know my roots run deep here & I will always come back home
Pack your bags & go on down the road in search of better grazing
One day you will come full circle & return here to your raising
For your roots run deep here too, though you may curse & shout
and roots, home & belonging are what life is all about
© October 2003
Copyright © Catherine Devine | Year Posted 2005
What Is This Church All About?
Is this church meant for people like me?
Is this where God really wants me to be?
They claim to be filled with God’s spirit.
When it comes to HIS truth... Can they give it?
I’m sure there’s many who come and attend
It’s more than “church on Sunday,” that we must spend!
We must reach out to the lost and the oppressed!
After all, Christ gave us his very best!
May we all preach the gospel and God’s holiness!
And strive to seek his awesome righteousness!
Living for Jesus must be a daily walk and experience!
Not simply based on our “ambitious self appearance.”
God isn’t interested in a denomination or a title…
He wants to know… Do we really believe the Bible?
He’s not interested in the money put in the offering plate.
He wants to know; “Are you ready
to enter heaven’s gate?”
May we strive to serve Jesus with a zeal and passion!
And be filled with his holiness and compassion!
May we serve Jesus from a heart of humbled confession!
And making our commitment to him,
our #1 possession!
“Unless the Lord builds the house.”
They labor in vain that build it!
Let’s seek the power of God!
May his presence completely fill it!!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013
An earful of breaks...
in overnight silence,
the ticking clock,
a cat fight,
a siren blares,
a hooting owl,
a plane zooms...
trucks and cars
River City life,
Copyright © Lawrence Ingle | Year Posted 2008
Slow drawn, steeping tea bags, in an etched glass pitcher,
Lazily infuse its Oriental musk into the sun warmed brew.
My ice crackles along with the thunder over the great Mississippi
As the ewers’ spout releases the torrents of Southern comfort
Into the tall, foggy, frost laden glass; I await my fill.
A frigid sip chafes my lips and briefly deadens my longing,
Only momentarily, as the turgid air, again, envelops my throat.
The chills grip my spine, even in this oppressive heat.
Sauntering droplets roam slowly down my bare skinned back
And puddle where my hips widen at the curve of my waist.
Hope is lost for those of us who float through purgatory.
The weight of two centuries of sorrow hangs heavily on our skin.
The burden is at its worst to bear just before autumn,
When slave ships broken by storms washed up on the river.
Airlessness provides no clemency for those gasping for pardon.
Sorrow lies heavily in the lungs of the poor souls of August.
Heat, fetid and damp, feverishly enables man’s basest passion,
To be disguised as music, that wails from the saloons in the Quarter.
Deep, boiling, fermented tales of sorrow are turned into song,
Melodic tales spun of sorcery, savagery blue and untethered souls,
Forged metals and the scat of primitive voices, break the fugue.
Echoes of blasphemy wrought suffocating havoc and destruction,
As hot jazz blows cool through the streets of the Ninth Ward.
Copyright © Brenda Atry | Year Posted 2012
N ow I’m not one to complain.
O ther people think I’m insane,
W hen I tell them where I’m from.
H earing their laughter thumps like a drum.
E ach and every man jack or two,
R eally hates thinking my origins are true.
E arly on, I’ve rejected this questions’ repetitive drone,
M ore than once I’ve pinpointed my geographical zone.
A nswering the question, hope you’ll understand,
“N owhere man, from nowhere land!”
For the “where in the world are you?” contest,
With “a little help from my friends.”
Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2011
Green bark a prism creates,
Feel the pull of earth, you must.
Rotates, a slime of endless hates,
Can hold me not, this world’s crust.
Friendship’s ties, isolation Deflates,
Succumbs, my spaceship, to bitter rust.
Mist, my soul forever permeates,
Lift-off, booms the rocket’s thrust.
My spirit when light returns, elates,
Swamps swell, swallowed hope’s swirling dust.
Trapped, I am, until student from fate
Arrives to learn; Cloud City or bust.
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
I write about the things I know
Sometimes it’s places that I’ve been
Or, maybe places I would go
If I’d find time to now and then.
But mostly I write what I see.
A description lives inside of me
That forms a picture, but in words,
To reproduce in simple verse.
It might rhyme, if I’ve the time.
But, mostly I’m an artist poor,
With words for color, nothing more.
Poems that must have rhyme and reason,
Sometimes, just don’t fit the season.
Poets must be given freedom
To express feelings without borders.
We’re not soldiers given marching orders.
So I write of nature and man,
And try to rhyme it when I can.
But sometimes trees and birds and clouds
Will send me to a place I go,
Deep within my mind.
And there, with pen and paper,
I’ll see what I can find.
Like ships and trains and oil rigs,
I scribe around the clock,,, tic toc….
Like books and babes and butterflies,
Just because,,,that’s why,,that’s what…
Copyright © Ray Dillard | Year Posted 2013
The scene is a bit too bright, and the
Water is a bit too tart. Slightly acidic,
But mostly enticing, it feels good to him.
With measured step
He walks up - jumps -
And falls in.
Plunging deeper he tries to see
But the chlorine burns his eyes,
A rhythmic exhale eases the pressure on his ears
But he can’t breathe and is afraid his heart
Will beat out of his chest.
Acquiescing to his pain, he faintly hears a voice beckoning him towards the wall,
Finally reaching the bottom he pushes off the floor,
Frantically kicking towards the surface.
Swallowing his first gulp of air, his back stings as the wind renders an aftershock of motion,
But he happily pulls toward the ladder;
Eager to climb up and plunge again.
Copyright © Angel Diaz | Year Posted 2006
Like a tangled mess, stubborn knots
Emotions like this exist in me a lot
I begin to untangle, starting with ease
Relaxed in the moment, some therapy
Then I get stuck here and there in spots
Following the string in its twisted path
Two steps forward then one step back
Testing how far I will stay on this track
Lots of twisted, turns and loops
Emotions swirling like hula hoops
It’s just a knot, that’s all it is
Why get worked up deep to my core
Emotions are just like a knot at times
Carrying them subconsciously all our life
Taking us on a roller coaster ride
To places we hide, places that are new
Maybe if I dealt with, understood my emotions
Then maybe my knots wouldn’t be so hard to undo!
Copyright © Shaz Cheesman | Year Posted 2012