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Narrative Childhood Poems | Narrative Poems About Childhood

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Details | Narrative | |

Will You Tie My Shoes When I Grow Old

You were beautiful, 
my tiny child, 
wrapped tightly in my arms, 
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.

Will you hear me
when I cry out? 
Will you hold me close
as I held you then? 

I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway, 
and introduced
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run? 
no longer work? 
Will you realize
that I love
freedom too? 

I laugh
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.

I am proud too, 
of my writing
and my drawing, 
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you? 
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth? 
Will you be proud of me too? 

I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however, 
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.

I'm afraid.
I forgot
whether I took
my pills today or not.
I forgot
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
My mind
is my treasure
the only thing I have left, 
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am? 

You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love, 
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for him. You gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.

I too have a
broken heart.
The love of my life
left me after
fifty-six years.
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.

You welcomed her home today- 
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
to visit.
It has been a while.

You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
and ask
almost desperately, 

"Will she tie my
when I get old? "

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On the southern side of the old cemetery, corner of Gilmore and 1st, there was a field claimed by children. It was riddled by gopher holes, and nettled with blackberry bushes where bare feet constructed cupped paths, trampled deep in tall amber grass. It wasn't far beyond a patched wire fence that hemmed my Grandmother's russet old house. Westerly whirlwinds would rattle the ragweed and seeds of the bull-thorns, that prickled our toes would race with the tumbleweeds, once tossed into rows like last winter's snowmen, the sun decomposed Traces of honeysuckle mixed with wild rose from Grandma's old arbor, which loomed in the distance A rusty old weathervane, cruised 'round, and 'round The ivy was overgrown, and a sleepy dog snoozed But, deep in the field, was a land of our own A place we called 'Neverland', our loft in the wind In the yoke of one tree, with the help of our dad a fort built of scrap wood, from piles by the shed, And by hook or by crook, I would take all commands from my brother's wild brainstorms, while his black plastic hook, assigned him the Captain, and me of his crew of a ramshackle ship, like the old storybook While I dangled in air, from the tired old swing "Tinker" my this all-boy domain.... I would push off, he'd pull me right up to the sky and into the branches, brittle leaves in my eyes...... I would fly to the depth's of a steel gray-blue sky I could grovel, and shovel, to have his approval........ for he was much older, much wiser than me and I would play like a tomboy,.....shoving doll-drums away, on those hot summer days......with red hot splintered rays in the dry summer sun, that would spotlight our play. We would play until twilight, and watch the day fade Defying all gravity.......I could see to eternity Tootsie Pops clinging to the tip of our tongues while the sun of the twilight, dipped over the dunes and the call of our mother, slipped over the moon
____________________________________________________________ Inspired by Charlotte's Contest "Places" 8/22/14

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Gold Star

I remember as a young boy, going out to play, I would sometimes see old Mr. Kimball, sitting on the steps of his porch, often reading the paper. World War II was in full swing so the newspapers and radios were avidly sought out for the latest news.  Mr. Kimball was a fireman, and probably not even that old, but he seemed that way to me.

Sometimes, he would invite me to sit with him and we would talk about everything and nothing.  I loved spending time with him because, he was the only grown up I knew that took the time to entertain the mind of a young boy.

In his front window hung a small flag. It had a red border surrounding a white field, upon which there were two blue stars.  I was always curious about it, so I asked him what it was.  He said “It's a Sons in Service flag.  One star for each son serving.  You remember my boys don't you?”  I did of course.  Chuck, the oldest, used to tease me, calling me a sissy to get a reaction.  Bobby was a couple of years younger, and the bike I was riding once had been his.

Mr. Kimball went on to explain how Chuck was now in the Army and fighting in France.  Bobby was in the Navy, aboard a ship somewhere in the Pacific.  He didn't say it, but I'm sure he was worried about both, communications being what they were back then.

One day, when I was walking over to see him, I noticed that the flag had changed.  It now carried one blue star, but the other one was gold.  With the innocence that comes of being a child, I asked what the gold star meant.  He quietly said “It means Chuck is coming home”, and without further comment, he turned and went in the house.

A couple of days later, I saw a hearse pull up to the Kimballs house, and four men carry a flag draped box up the porch steps.  That is the moment the meaning of war came to a small boy.  I knew Chuck was home.

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Precipice of a Lost Innocence

I am standing outside my bedroom, on the precipice of lost innocence.
Wide eyed, and barefoot on cold hardwood.
Someone is hammering on our front door.
My father, looking a bit annoyed, shuffles anxiously down the stairs.
Tussled hair, a bewildered vein bulging in his forehead,
wearing his old, blue plaid robe, the one with the woven rope belt,
he looks like a lightweight boxer, ready to enter the ring.

There are two grim faced policemen waiting on the front porch.
My mother, at the top of the stairs, clutches the neck of her gown.
She looks as if she might choke herself.
Confused concern, reflects in sleep swollen eyes.

They ask my father,  “How well do you know those folks across the road?”
As they notice me standing on the stairs, they quickly lower their voices.
In a hushed, rather husky monotone, they explain to my father... 
whispering something about a boy who has taken a shotgun out into the hills… 
He has taken his own life…and has been identified as the boy..., 
the teenager, who lives kitty-corner across  our road.
The same kid who mowed our grass when Dad was sick for a spell last summer.
The one who bags Mom’s groceries at the local A & P.
They think I don’t hear them            ……but I do…
and I hear them ask my father, 
      would he,  please, come along to help them break the news?

My father, glazed eyes, and head low, steps away a moment, to quickly dress.
I remember hearing my mother gasp, then suck in a  sob,..
But then is right behind me, pulling me towards her…..
and I can feel her heart pounding, through flannel of my pajamas.
She is squeezing my hard that it hurts,.... somehow I don’t mind.
I look up seeking reassurance,.... her eyes are huge, …
                      and she knows that I have heard…. 
And we both know,...that nothing will ever be the same. 
After this day is over,  the childhood of yesterday, will wear a different face…

Father pulls a coat over his pajama tops, …he gives my mother a touch on the arm.
With a desolate look at me, he touches my head.
He steps out into the darkness of a not quite dawn.
And through the window,  I can see the line of shadows on the lawn.
Three men, like hunched over soldiers, walking slowly into the wounds of a new day.

(Sadly,  this is based on a true story)

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Surprise Factor

    (Why I'm Still Breathing)

When the cow was dry, she was compliant.
When she calved, she turned vicious
and no fence could hold her,
but she gave milk in abundance,
and Dad refused to sell her.

She chased Mother 'round and 'round the barn
until Mom panicked, climbed the corner logs,
and perched under the roof,
clinging like a cicada shell on a weed-pod.
Beasty pawed and bellowed until Dad came home.
"I could gain on her on the corners,"
Mother said, "because I could turn faster,
but she gained on me on the straightaway."

Plug-ugly tore through the fence,
into the garden, where Mom and I worked.
"Run, Cona Faye, run," my mother shouted.
How did she know? The cow passed Mother
and thundered straight for me. I ran.

At the fence, snorts filled my ears. Hot breath
steamed my back. I saw myself stomped,
pulverized into the dirt. I turned, screaming 
at full volume, and flailed my arms
like a windmill in a strong wind.
That old red cow locked her front legs
and skidded like a freight train on full brake.

I seized the moment, and scaled that rail fence.

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October's Gift

It is October again, but I have another in mind
One long ago, and it brings tender memories
It wasn't the usual, of Halloween kind
Of parties and goblins, of which there were many

It was a year of some changes, our family had moved
I was ten years old...struggling and shy
A small little town, I'd been replanted and torn 
It was late in uprooted and more...
A different school....a country close neighbors next door

On Halloween night, it rained and it poured
The end of the world...I was unhappy and bored
Leaving what had been home, familiar and sure
Where our old street had been filled
With Halloween thrills
Here in the country, one came to the door

I was dressed to go out...but storms plagued the night
My mom understood....she saw my sad plight

She went up to her room, made up her face
She combed up her hair, until it stood on it's roots
Covered her face with black fireplace soot
She threw on her robe, and pulled on dad's boots
Crept out the back door, and to the front porch

When the doorbell rang....I jumped in delight!
Trick-or-treaters had come to our house this dark night!!
When I opened the door, at first I didn't see
It was mom, ...trying to hard, bring me some glee!
She grabbed me and laughed and pulled me to come
Out into the rainstorm....up the road we would run
We ran in the downpour, getting soaked to our skin
Laughing and yelling....such fun it had been!

Later that night, we warmed by the fire
She let me stay one was tired
So cozy and longer so cold
With popcorn, and candy...and the ghost stories told
That one Halloween, on that night of the storm
Was the best Halloween....and reminds me of home.....
I'll never forget  when each Halloween comes
The gift of the fun....   all thanks to my mom.....

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I read Darryl Ashton’s poem Called Pinocchio Rex and this brought back 
memories of a childhood incident

When I grew up we had a smallholding – the house was called ‘Longacre’ as we 
had over an acre of land.  Over the years we had chickens, pigs named Pinky 
and Porky and a goat called Susie… she had kids called Billy and Nanny – guess 
I was no good at names back then… but I digress
Attached to the house was a small village shop but my parents also made a 
small income from selling fresh eggs and in the summer home grown 
strawberries – I would help pick washing baskets of them and bag them up to 
Every week a little old man would arrive for his dozen eggs and if the shop was 
shut he would ring the doorbell. He wore a pointed felt hat, had steely blue 
eyes and the most enormous nose you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to him 
my parents nicknamed him 'Pinocchio'.
When I was aged about 7 years old the doorbell rang – mum was busy baking 
in the kitchen so I answered it. There in front of me stood this old man wanting 
his eggs. Mum shouted from the kitchen
‘Who is it Janet?’ 
I replied ‘Oh its only Pinocchio’ 
At once mum appeared from the kitchen, her face was the colour of beetroot. 
She apologised for the comment from her ‘cheeky daughter’ The man 
purchased his eggs and walked away – never to return!
The moral of this true tale is that parents ALWAYS tell the truth and that 
children have ears the size of an elephant and a mouth just as big … so if you 
don’t want them to repeat something YOU have said keep it zipped!

Jan Allison
11th August 2014

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Color Me A Father


A child with a crayon can color an imaginary world,
With dolls of mommies, daddies, boys and girls,
Full of horses, cowboys, cars and trains,
Can scratch them out and draw them all again,
Color me a rainbow with a pot of gold,
Color me a fairy with ribbons and bows,
Paint my face, a bright yellow sun,
In a green grassy field where a blue river runs,
With mountains and  trees set in a colorful scene,
Monkey bars, teeter-totters, an old tire swing,
Color my face with a bright happy smile,
In a wonderful world, if only for awhile,
I can pretend my life is happy and gay,
Not worry about the mean stuff, just for the day,
Not worry about what I will eat, or where I will sleep,
Or the cockroaches and rats that make me creep,
Color me a family with brothers and sisters,
Color me a man to call Daddy, not Mister,
Color my mom in a bright yellow dress,
Stretched in a hammock under a tree with a nest,
In the yard of the house, we can call our own,
With neighbors on each side of our lovely home,
Color my dreams carefree and wild,
Color my life always as a child,
Color me a father, color me a Dad,
Color me the life that I never had. 
Color me a garden with fruits of all kinds, 
Apples, pears with grapes on the vine, 
Color me a crayon that’s really a crayon,
Not this old sharpened pencil that I just found,
To draw my picture on this brown paper bag,
That was once filled with gin and Ole’ Granddad,
Now, Dream me a dream…Once upon a time,
 I had a real father that I can call mine!

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The Beauty in Belle

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
A coward.

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.

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                          My daughter`s budgie "Sissie" died a late night
                       The next morning I told her that "Sissie" was dead
                     With tears on her eyes and cheeks, she asked her mom
                      - Is "Sissie" in heaven with God and grandmother ?
                       - Yes, she is with God, grandmother and the angels
                                                I answer her

                         Surprised at this answer, my daughter investigate
                                            whether it was true
                             She walks into the room where the cage with
                                         the budgie used to stand
                             After a short while, she runs back to mom....
                        - Mom, mom.... God has not only taken "Sissie"
                                       - God has taken the cage too


                              This is a true story  -  - - from gold child`s mouth

dedicated to: Laila A.Mjelde
A-L Andresen

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Adult Child of an Alcoholic

Your face and rotting teeth and heavy jowls
         and sunken breasts with bulging waist and
         wooden legs
Your image of laughter, lovemaking, seeking
         bourbon tweaked philosophies
         of life begins
         at  forty.
The hands that tremble as you tilt
         the glass that begins another
         day of
Tirade thoughts, empty lies, money spent on
         lipstick coated leeches who prey on
         your diminishing

Through these wintry days pass faces long past
         into what was then
              while with the coming spring ...
                       at last!  at last!
One can remember
         and want no more 
              what could never be:
                      a Mother.

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My Bicycle

Once I had a bicycle,
A loving present from my grandfather;
Since I was his favorite granddaughter,
He granted my wish at a snap of my finger .

Since he was so old,
A new bicycle he could hardly afford;
He took his bike when he was young,
Which I found it once at the back of our barn.

As far as I remember,
It was really so old and rugged;
But my grandpa was like Mr. Mac-Gyber,
Amazingly fixing all things all-over.

My granda was a well-known painter,
I thought he will repaint and use sandpapers;
When I surreptitiously sneaked into his hut,
He was there recycling all my milk cans.

When everything was done,
He gladly gave it to me with a big hug;
I hurriedly drove it at once,
Down the street and field with so much fun.

“My bike was real a unique one!” I thought.
So different from others in our neighborhood,
Its wailing siren was made up of a  cow’s horn,
Tubes were made of dried bamboos and corn.

Other parts were still the same,
Like forks, hubs and chainwheel set,
The rest were made up  of my milk cans,
They were pedal, brake and seatgear stem.

Handle bars were what I like  most,
Converted from the handle of his old plow;
So sturdy and so strong all I knew,
And  I can drive it  so long in full control.

However, when I travelled quite afar,
Parts were falling one at a time;
Until everything suddenly split apart,
Eventually it dropped and rolled me down.

Date: Aug. 3, 2012
( A loving tribute to my dearest Dad)

4th Place Winner (My Very First Winning Poem)
Contest: Any Poem of the Week Contest
Contest Judged: 8/4/12         
Poet Sponsor: Poet-Destroyer

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The Sugar Cube House

Love is a season.
And holidays mark the seasons, and years like signs in the road,
reflecting the bumps in our journey, but showing us a way back home.

Sixteen, in pajamas, watching the rain pelt down,
it was long past midnight, Christmas eve.
Twinkling lights on one house across the road, stared back at me.
It was if they were trying to fill our dark house with color.
The block was filled with a hundred lighted windows.
But the blackness of our own, somehow, seemed more appropriate.  

There was no Christmas tree in our house that year.
I suppose Dad felt it was too soon, or perhaps just the effort to get through each day
had taken all the strength he had.
We had stayed up and watched a Christmas program together.
Perry Como, I think it was, for I think I remember he sang "Ava Maria", and Dad got teary eyed.
My brother had come home from the Air Force earlier that week,
trying to help bring us a bit of cheer, least, for awhile,
but he had been called back to duty, and I missed him terribly.

The house was silent after Dad had gone to bed.
I wasn't sleepy,....and it was lonely looking out at the cold night
It seemed the whole world was sleeping, waiting for Christmas.
As I finally headed for bed, I noticed a light had been left on in the front coat closet.
I opened the door, and looking up, to pull the chain, I noticed the box.
The shoe box that had kept the sugar cube house, safe, dry, and out of harm's way.

A sugar cube house that Mom and I had made together when I was 8 years old. 
Little sugar cubes stacked into walls, and a roof, glued together with red frosting.
We had copied one out of her Good Housekeeping magazine that year,
and had surrounded it with little trees, and a oval mirror pond, and items we had found at the 5 and 10 cent store.  She had carefully packed it all away last year.
After her last Christmas.

Late into the night, I sat in the dimness of the house, laying out the sugary scene on the fireplace mantel....just as Mom would have done.

When the freckled morning moved into day...I woke on the sofa...Dad sitting next to me.  He had covered me with a warm blanket, and had fallen asleep beside me.

After breakfast....he disappeared outside, and soon came in carrying a sorry looking branch from our old evergreen tree. 

We decorated that bedraggled wasn't the most beautiful tree we had ever had, but it brought Christmas back to my family.

For Deb's Contest: A Christmas Tale
(Inspired by "The Match Girl" By H.C. Anderson

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True Praise

I used to look at your wrinkly hands
And see the veins follow routes like a map
Your fingers shook like a spayed chihuahua on the piano keys
Demonstrating the chord in which I was supposed to play after you

I was thinking instead about the stool we were sharing
How old and fragile  the wooden piece was
The green-blue floral padding faded and worn
The chipped, wobbly legs 
That creaky sound when you repositioned...
And I was praying it wouldn't collapse under our bodies

Your voice was gentle and calm 
Softly pushing me back to my practice
 and my fingers played that bright G Chord
“Very good,” You praised with a smile
Your voice so small and lightly faded
But still loving and pleasant

You explained to me arpeggios and broken chords
And I was glad it was you explaining it
I remember yelling at my dad
And throwing a big tantrum over playing “Allouette” 
His straight harsh voice cut my fingers off the keys
As he ordered me to pay attention
Watching his hairy fingers demonstrate the left hand
And then the right
Pressing loudly and ramming the song into my every being

And I remembered 
I was never concerned about making him angry
I would laugh if he made a mistake in teaching
Or if he stumbled on his words - which was frustratingly rare
I would scream if he corrected me
And yet I was determined for his praise
That he never gave 

Your son loved music like you
And he wanted me to love it just like him
In an annoyed kind of way, I obliged
But I would make him suffer for forcing it on me
Even if I couldn't deny it was something I would always love

We never have our piano lessons anymore, Grandma 
But I will never forget how you taught me
That stool remains in the room
It hasn't been sat on for days

And it took far more than mere days
To receive from your son…true praise

But that’s okay
I will pray it collapses under his body

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It started growing in a field
Billy Stover watched it grow

Because the corn was tall
Because Billy Stover was small
No one knew
Now one saw

No one saw how the tiny boy watched by the hour    in summer's heat
Even from the top of high elm trees by the road
    who could have detected that small lad    stretched out
    on his stomach    leaning on his elbows    watching

On stormy days    Billy watched from the closest window
    elbows propped up on the sill
He knew it was growing    though he couldn't see it
He'd be down in the field now    in the mud    watching
    but    his mother forbade it
"What do you do out there    Billy    all by yourself?
What is it you do out there instead of playing?"

On certain days    when the wind swayed the green stalks
    and    nipped Billy's cheeks    his eyes would light up
He fought back a burning desire to run into the white kitchen
    to tug at his mother's apron    to bring her out
    and show her his one spot
He jumped up    once    when the flames leaped high
    started running for the house
"Mother!    Mother!"    he silently shouted
Every part of his small body shook with joy    but
The bleak    white walls of the kitchen
    his mother    her hands dipped in bread dough....................................

It started growing in the field    in the dirt    in the mind of Billy Stover
And    no one could have kept a secret better than Billy

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The Blue Danube

   There's an old upright,
   standing tall, against the wall,
   no one plays it much anymore
   as it sits there in silence, out on the old sun porch

   But I can imagine it quite regal in its prime, shiny and new
   And age has turned the varnish yellow
   The veneer, a bit buckled, and the bench has been repaired
   With clamps and screws, and Elmer’s wood glue

   A relic from another time, although the
   sound has not changed throughout the years
   and tears have spilled upon the keys
   There's one key that sticks, and three more are chipped...

   If only time could skip…backwards to then…
   To when my mother and I sat side by side
   together,.... playing “The Blue Danube”.


Her hands over mine, pointing out the key of C
And what I do see,... still in my mind….,  
         are the blue veins of her hands
                  enveloping mine,
                    and hearing the waltz, a bit off key

                   (It needed tuning…it always did, it never mattered, it never will)

I was small…my fingers couldn’t reach them all, 
         those pock marked, scarred, and magic keys

But the measure of Johann Strauss would bounce off the walls…

She would hum into my ear…
        Her soft brown hair would mix with mine
I could smell Breck shampoo, and feel her breath upon my cheek
And the music, soft and sweet, classic light…from that old Upright...

A simple tune…the waltz of time
     that has played on and on... long beyond her life
        and will play on long beyond my own…


Recited on youtube.....


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To Elizabeth

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eye'd,
Such seems your beauty still. 
~ William Shakespeare

I have looked into the mirror
Looking for a trace....a trace of my youth
A trace of the girl that I used to be...
Is she there?  Buried deep? Is she still part of me?

Years can't be halted, change can't erase..
And my face, are the lines of experience
Stories and time...I see staring back at me
A part of me wants to grieve for that girl
The girl that I was..   Has she vanished for good?

Oh, I do understand....
That I can't hang on to "then"..
To days long ago, when time was our friend
When summers, together,  seemed never to end
But, then............ , here by chance, we meet up once again.....

Our friendship born in young, and carefree
You...with bright eyes, and brown hair that fell long
Around your high cheeks ...and a wide, gamin smile!
You were the one who's light shined so brightly
Who's charm, laugh, and wisdom I fondly admired
A girlhood where we danced together in sweet grass under sunny skies
And under nighttime stadium lights, to the music of the high school band

After years, that have taken us to separate worlds
In my mind, and in my dreams you have always been
The fair maiden, the one who held my hand
Two girls who made promises...who sat in the dark, under a summer sky
And talked of our "somedays", of our future, our hopes
By the light of the moon, we wished upon the stars

Now here in this moment, I have found you again
And here in this moment, I have found "me" again....
I can be that girl we share our history
our moment in the sun, ....I am "her", again!..
I can be that child, I can be fifteen, I can wear a crown, upon a teenaged throne... 
And I can still dance to the sound of the drum, and the tuba,
I can sing football songs, and gossip about the boys, 
   and make fun of the stuck-up girls
     and laugh about the teachers we didn't like, 
                   and about the night of the prom, when I cried in your arms

I can hear Johnny Mathis singing "Misty", and the words will make me weep
       I can hear "Canadian Sunset" as it lulls me off to sleep

Perhaps the stars have faded a bit...but beyond the weary miles
They still shine when I look into your dear friend, from the past...
They will shine through the ages.........where a summer will always  last....
                      ~                                    ~

For Frank's Contest:

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The One That Got Away

Every year our vacation was always the same. Two
weeks of fishing, playing, eating and being together 
on the river. We had no electricity, no TV, and we 
all loved it. The four cousins had time to get to know 
each other and to just be kids. In the woods, on the river,
building forts and damns, catching frogs, campfires,
and , of course, fishing.
One day, when everyone else had given up and the kids
were playing on the bank, I hooked on to a BIG one.
I started to scream and shout...they all gathered round
to urge me on, give me advise and to share my
glorious moment. My tackle was not rigged for
salmon, but we could soon tell that's what I had.
For at least 15 minutes I was a star, playing that
fish, back and forth, until he was close to the
bank and we could see that he was a monster..
a big reddish salmon. 
My niece, who was about 10, jumped into the
water to help me land him, and then, disaster struck.
He spit the hook, flashed his tail, and off he swam.
We all stood there in stunned silence..not knowing
whether to laugh of cry. I did a bit of each.
The story has become the stuff of legends, the story of
Aunti/Mom and the "one that got away"..really, its 
more the story of the bond of family and times that 
were so precious. 

For the One That Got Away contest...

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Coming Home

As I gaze out the upstairs window, it feels like yesterday
It is early, and a burst of sun gleams through the branches of the Cottonwood tree

It's not there anymore....
  that string of washing that used to wave on the clothesline, 
            looking like colorful flags flapping in the wind....
                      and I wonder...who does that anymore...hangs their wash?

Doves are still strutting on the cobbled path, cooing their song....
                   or perhaps complaining about the chill of the October morn...

I look about the room,... 
        Right there, that's where marguerite daisies sat in a jug on the dressing table
             next to a framed photo of five, smiling young cousins...
                 Scrubbed and shining faces, dressed for church one Easter morning, long ago

The faded chintz curtains, and the cover on the four poster is a pale primrose yellow
        And the wallpaper is striped in blue and white....
               It all looks a bit more worn, but still rather pretty

The bedroom is small,....a bit cramped, and a bit shabby, but comfortably familiar
Over on the north wall hangs a painting of Willowby Pond...
           so pleasant to look at, just before falling to sleep...

Mother would tuck into each dresser drawer, a bar of scent the clothes
     I recognize the fragrance of English Lavender, still lingering in the air...
            even though she has been gone these many years...

Here I stand again, having things so familiar, much the same...yet changed..

I take a deep breath, recalling the sense of home, the fragrance of lavender
                     and the sound of the doves...
                                Like slipping into an old pair of slippers
                                     after spending the day wearing high heeled shoes....

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Growing Up

Gritty angry surface
The diving board;
Encountered by his anxious shin
One more childhood innocence lost
Heady summer swimming
Expeditions to the bottom;
Pressure building and breath burning
Too quick to mount the board
His youthful haste subdued
Tears and chlorine
Shriveled swollen skin bleeding
No longer to be comforted by a kiss
Just old enough to be proud
Young enough to be hurt
Sitting at the edge
Stifling his pain

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Twilight Child

~*~ Perched on the porch steps, as the crimson sun goes down I am sipping on my cold iced tea, and drinking up the joy I am smiling as I’m watching him, as the weary day retreats… While the shadows of the trees and poles are stretching long and narrow He is running swiftly in the yard, in the warmth of summer breezes His arms are opened vast and wide, while he races through the trees I see him weaving figure eights, he is flying like a sparrow While he studies how his shadow moves, as swiftly as an arrow He is laughing at his mirrored twin, a silhouetted super hero Now he’s jumping over power lines, finely etched upon the grass Reflections from the poles above, in the magic of the dusk The joy lights up his face with wonder, a new power of discovery! It seems if he could tightrope walk, those lines into the sky His shirt billows out, like hero’s cape, his glee is free and wild Oh, joyful moments watching him! … my precious twilight child !
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Inspired by Rick's Contest "Shadows and Lines"

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Beyond The Land of Counterpane

Gentle sounds of rainy days, Cool dampness on a counterpane The memory of my childhood years, beneath a quilt of poetry Stirs longing for that healing grace, that comes again upon the page... A mother's touch with vapor-rub Some toasted bread, a tender face A playground out beyond the dew.. The dampened swing, my misty view.. A shadow was my childhood friend, and sick-bed days a game Imagination flew so high, my carpet ride to magic lands My tattered book of childhood poems, still takes me by the hand
................................................. My first introduction to poetry...Robert Louis Stevenson's Childhood Garden of Verses (A sick-bed keepsake that kept me company)

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1-15-10 look into my eyes

i caught your eyes on me. dont bother to look away. ive already noticed. i wish i was 
brave enough to stare back. it doesnt bother me, just makes me curious. what are you 
thinking? or are you just observing? try to figure me out. but you wont. because youve 
only met the imposter. you havent stopped to look into my eyes.

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The Water Tower

The water tower stands above the town and can be seen for miles around.  It has a 
ladder leading up to the base of the tank.  This ladder has been climbed by countless 
teenagers, for thrills and mischief and young kids answering a dare.

     Over the years, many symbols and words have been painted on the tank.  From 
Highschool mascots, to hearts of love and proposals.  Flowers and Holiday wishes 
joined in.

     It had always been one mans job to keep the water tank painted and to cover up 
any impromptu artwork.  He always took his time about it though.  Making sure that 
each message stayed up at least two weeks before he would paint over it.
     One day he received a phone call.  On the line was a little boy.  This little boy asked 
the man to please not paint over his message he had written on the tank, as it was 
very important.

     The man explained to the boy that it was his job to keep the tank painted and 
clean.  But, that he would leave his message up there, untouched, for two weeks.  The 
little boy, with tears in his voice said  "Thank you, I hope it will be long enough".

  The next day, as the man was driving past the water tank, he looked up.  He saw no 
message or pictures of any kind on that tank.  He shrugged and assumed that the boy 
had just been to scared to make the climb all the way to the top.

     Three weeks later, the mans phone rings again.  It was that same little boy.  Very 
excited, he proclaimed  "Mister, I just wanted to thank you for not painting over my 
message...It really worked!"

    Intrigued, the man went to the tank with his paint and supplies.  He climbed to the 
top, set down his paint and brush.  He walked around that tank several times and still 
did not see a message.  But, as he bent to pick up the paint can, there it was.  
Towards the bottom of the tank, in crayon with a young child scroll was written:

       "Dear God, pleeze let my daddy come home frum war I miss him
                                   Your frend Mike"

The years passed.  Many drawings and words were painted over by one man and then 
the other, as they took the job over.  But never, the one small patch, with that heart 
felt prayer.

For the contest:  Story Time
Hostess:  Carol Brown
Placement: 2nd

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Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills 
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms 
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat! 
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?    

Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...

After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "

Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!  

My theme is: Happiness In Childhood

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Don' Wanna Bee ‘Roun Ewe Noh Moh

Don’ wanna bee roun ewe noh moh.
Don’ wanna see da trajuhdee dats heded,
At yah doh.
Ewe wuz vary ahful tah mi,
God’s chile. Eye didden doyah nuttin.
Yah ‘sposed,  tah bee ah liter rite?
Butt ya playin’ roun  wit da won,
Whooz comin’ bak leyek ah,
Theef en dah nite.

Win yah ain’t treet mi rite,
Yah naglect’d dah powah uv God.
Cuz onlee wit Him ah wuz,
Ovalookin’ wat ewe wuz doin’,
Ta mi fah da harvest ,
Of God’s chirren bein’ edumacated,
Mi yah outrite hated.

Butt dats awrite God-n-eye,
Gon’ win dis feyght.
Ah wheel hav’ victuree cuz ah,
Choze ta spread luv butt ewe,
Choze ta spread mizuhree.

Don’ wanna bee roun ewe noh moh.
Don’ wanna see da trajuhdee dats heded,
At yah doh.
Ewe ramyned mi uv ol’Pharoah,
Hoo woodn’t lett God’s pipahs goh.
Ah didden wanna fase yah awl dose
Otha daze.

Butt God help’d mi leyek God help’d,
Moses speek up tah ol’Pharoah.
God tole Moses tah lett mah pipahs goh.
God telling mi ta tale yah phake  Pharoah
Tah lett mi chirren’s goh.

Ah noh ah hatta bee roun ewe sum moh.
Butt itell bee worfwile, 
Cuz God wantz freedom,
Fah ebbery chile.
Yah hut mi fah alil wile,
Butt we’ll bee at da prahmased lan’,
An out uv yah Egypt.
Cuz fah awl uv uz ta prospa,
Iz God’s plan.

Ansoon we won’ be roun ewe no moh.
Wheel nat laugh leyek yah didaht mi.
Win trajudee nocks aht yah doh.
Wheel helpyah cuz God, 
Wantz uz awl tah bee free.
Frum dah phake phone’ powah,
Uv da enumee.

wrote 6-27-10

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Christmas Memories

We were poor, but my brother and I didn’t know it.
Before Christmas my dad would take us to find just the right scraggly 
fir tree..a wonderful afternoon tramping around in the woods.

Old and worn decorations..we were delighted to open the crate
and unpack them; it was like seeing old and beloved friends again.
The red velvet car was my favorite..  his a bedraggled Santa sled.

We always had a present or two..but the most exciting gifts were
in our stockings. The stockings were my dad’s work socks..washed
and pressed for the occasion. They hung with pride, beautiful to us.

One year I got a fishing pole in my stocking. It was stuck through
a hole in the heel. I thought that Santa was the cleverest
of men. Imagine..using that hole to my advantage!

My dad’s boss would give us the same thing year after year.
A crate of oranges, something we never had at any other time.
I can still see the juice on my hands as we devoured that special gift.

I wouldn’t trade those Christmas memories. The greatest gift was feeling
warm, and safe…and loved.

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The Park

Saturday afternoon with a few moments to kill
Took a ride by the park up on Dutch Hill
My mind went back to a time and place
When I wore a little boy’s smile on my face
So much had changed since those innocent days
I drifted back through the years where a child plays
I played in the sandbox and rode the swing
Climbed the monkey bars in the Early Spring
I remembered church picnics and being there after dark
Playing cowboys and Indians with my friends in the park
We rode the sliding board and climbed in the trees
Spraining our ankles and skinning our knees
Sometimes we gazed at the stars while we lied on the ground
Or tried to see how fast we could push the merry go round
We learned from each other as we grew up back then
And drifted apart as we became women and men
We played from sun up until it was dark
The best years of our lives were spent at the park

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Child Prostitutes (2006)

Staring head on in the face
What is happening in each corner of this dreadful place
I don’t want to say rather me that you
I wish there was something I could do
Children for sale just isn’t right
Buts its happening day and night 

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He Loved You

He loved you too, you know
Loved you like his very own
In away you were
You came into his life as my friend
Through the years you grew to be my brother in arms 
Along the way you became the son he never had

He loved you as a friend
He loved you even more as a son
A son he never had
When things began to spiral out of control
You stayed when so many others ran away
You helped when I couldn’t

You meant a great deal to him
You never looked at him differently 
Nor did you treat him differently
You stood by his side
When he fell, you stood by his side and mine
You were willing to help me fight his battle for him 
You were there from the beginning 
You were there until the bitter end
Always remember my friend, my brother
He loved you more than you’ll ever know

Dedicated to close Family friend Rodney Howard. He loved my Daddy just as much as I did/do.

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A Letter To My Hero


November 19, 2001

Dear Doc and Doris,

	It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you. I believe it was some years ago at the Sims reunion. That was several years before we moved here to Florida after my retirement.

	I talk to Dorothy and W. D. fairly often and got your address from them a couple of months ago.  I also have a recent picture of you that was taken at Mike’s funeral in Marlow.

	I suppose it was something about that picture that caused me to begin reflecting on when I was a kid in Cameron many years ago.  We lived down below the railroad tracks there just south of the jailhouse.  I was just a kid 6 or 7 years old. Then later we moved to Houston where Dorothy and Daddy went to work in the shipyard.  I remember during those years thinking often of my cousin Carl Sims and his brother Melton Sims who were far away fighting the war against the Germans in Europe.  I still have pictures of you somewhere showing you in your uniform.  Doc, I remember how proud I was to tell everyone about my cousins in the army and how I wanted to grow up and be a soldier and fight the Germans.  

	In the last couple of years those memories have been revisited with the release of the movies “Saving Private Ryan” and even more recently, “Band of Brothers.”  Having never experienced the horrors of war, I look upon these two movies as the most realistic presentation of wartime action ever made.  Even at that, I’m sure they haven’t portrayed what it was really like. 

	Doc, I write you now having much more hindsight than when I was an impressionable kid.  But the years have not robbed me of the pride I have in calling you my hero. I think of those years when I was but a child and you, a young soldier. I remember how excited I was to hear any news about my cousins in the army. And I remember the sadness in hearing of Melton being killed in action. 

	Though time has painted a different picture for each of us, those things that linger in our memory can still be seen through the eyes of a child and a young soldier. I look at that recent picture of you and still see my hero. I see a young soldier in uniform and feel the same pride well up inside a young kid in Cameron.  
Doc, I wanted you to know these things.  I could have kept them hidden inside my heart and never told anyone.  But, they are mine to do with as I please. And I choose to send them to you and Doris with the love I have for you. As Christians, we know that the love we are sharing in Jesus Christ will be eternal. I believe the respect and admiration I hold you in for what you did will also last forever.  

	Maybe we will get back to Texas one of these days.  If so, I hope to have the time to come by Mexia and see you.  If not, who knows, someday a kid may tug on the sleeve of a young soldier. The young soldier might turn to find a freckle-faced kid, joyful in the presence of his hero.

	Doc, if not before, I’ll see you in Glory. I send you respect and most of all, love.

With eternal admiration,

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The day’s hot-the wind like a convection oven
Blows hot air in our faces.
My cap and gown insulates me
Baking me like a potato wrapped in aluminum foil
I desperately fan myself and look around
My eyes search for my peers and see;
The bros that survived school with me;
The others who shouldn't have;
The girls with memories already wet in their eyes;
The people I never met and will never know;
All desperately fanning themselves
In silence and in waiting.
We all are waiting for the same thing-
What's next to come.
For some it will be their names
For another a trip to boot camp
For many including myself- college
A couple can't wait to forget the tortures of high school
And a few will already be planning our high school reunion
because it was the best years of their life.
As I bow my head, not out of sadness,
but out of sheer defeat by the sun,
I scuff up my dress shoes in the clumpy grass of the field- 
that just finished another infamous drawn out lacrosse season,
I'll be thinking about the 4 plus years, 8 seasons,
worth of drilling and conditioning I did in that very field and on the surrounding track,
With a flash of ivory across my sweating face
I'll be thinking about
All the nooks and crannies
that I sanctioned for the intimate meetings of my girlfriends
The times caught and not,
All the heartbreaks and rejections,
The friends made, the best friends kept, and the many lost.
The drama, stupidity, and immaturity,
Everything that was and used to be.
And, all this time spent waiting-preparing
for this one moment
You can't help but remember it all
And with one, final sweet goodby-

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My Tooth Fairies

I was six when I first had a tooth decay, I spent squalling in pain almost the whole day; When my mum brought me to a male dentist, I ran away upon seeing his muscles and big wrist. She took me back home and asked my dad, “What shall we do with our child, she’s so coward?” My dad patiently cuddled me as I sat on his lap, “Take this aspirin my little girl, soon the pain will stop.” While my dad was coaxing me, He told me a tale of a tooth fairy He made me believe that she will come at night To replace my aching tooth---so new and white. While I was attentively listening to him, The soporific aspirin drew me to a sweet little girl’s dream, The tooth fairy appeared real in my sight In her silver gown and hair-dress, dazzled me so bright! She smiled at me and asked for just one wish, She gently blew one big flying magic kiss, Fruity- toothpaste’s bubbles meander everywhere As she waved her golden wand, fairy dusts filled the air. I moved around stretching my arms with glee, Jumping once and a while with the enchantment I see; I giggled and screamed until my dad woke me up I told him about my dream, my joy was on top. Dad asked me to open my mouth to check my teeth He found a new one coming out from underneath My decayed milk tooth was moving to and fro He tied and yank with a yarn…he was my dentist and a fairy, too.
Aug. 25, 2013 6.30am ©2013by Leonora Galinta All Rights Reserved First Place Contest: Fairy Dust Judged: 10/16/2013 Sponsor: Poet Nathan A

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Wild Flower

Wild Flower
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 In Death Of A Rose by Nate Spears
Rescue this sunflower
It's capable of being a ray of light
Nurture it, value it, and love it
Its petals are more delicate than they appear in sight
 A wild flower it is; but it displays beauty
The facts of its species remain unknown
Its fight to reach its true potential is admired
It’ birth to existence is undetermined
 It’s roots shows trauma
Its presentation brings hesitates to potential caregivers
No one's prepared to take a chance
This flower is destined to win
All earthly roots sprout from above
At some point in a life’s span; we could use a kiss or hug
 He who refuses to display any element of the wild
Is merely real
An artificial representation of life
Stuck in Styrofoam surrounded by fake moss and dust
No breath, no soul, non-existence
A human being choked from an outer dimension.
Rescue this wild flower with love.

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Grandparents Before - But not today

Grandmothers and grandfathers how they look,
how can we see that there is a grandmother or a grandfather
When I was a little girl we could see a grandmother and a grandfather
Grandparents used hats, glasses, and walking stick
The skin of their face was weathered and wrinkled
Some had teeth they put in a glass in the evening

Grandmothers always had time for a glass of juice and a hug
She was never impatient, tie shoelaces with pleasure
Always in floral dresses, which smelled like grandma
Grandmothers wont not be at work tomorrow, she has time for an adventure
She does not skip a single word, to be finished soon
It was always sweets in grandmother's hand bag
She never spared, but shared with a beautiful smile

Grandfathers were a bit more restrained,
 bit concerned about the day's news in their newspaper
He would like to go for a walk, and he walks with small cautious steps
When he meet someone he knows, he lifts a bit on his hat and nod
He has very little hair on his head, and his head shines in the sun
Grandfathers have a strong hand to hold, I was confident in his hand
He could tell me what all the birds called, he was so wise

Everyone should experience an old-fashioned grandmother and grandfather
one that does not have a television, computer or washing machine
A grandmother and grandfather who always have good time

But it was in the past ..... not today...

A-L  Andresen :)

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Let me tell you a story

and the story goes like this . . .
I walk up the dusty, dark staircase that had been my favourite place, playing with my dolls, make believe, dreaming of meeting a prince; Wanting to grow up, but that was many years ago, many heartbreaks ago, my reason today, Grandma has left this world and all in the attic is mine. The door has not been opened in years, it creaks and groans as I push, I stand in the doorway, hesitating, finding the courage to enter the dampness; The sun filters in through a small window, dust drifts and cobwebs lace the corners, the atmosphere still and silent, like death, echoing of the past as I look about. No one else wants any of this, they call it junk, only I know the treasures, passing by an old lamp, a stroller, a rocking chair, a chest of drawers and bed; Old portraits of ancestors long forgotten, dusty old things, treasures from the past, a peacefulness comes over me but I am searching for something special. And there it is pushed into a corner, an antique chest, long forgotten, it holds the vintage clothing and jewelry, and writings of the child that was me; Things I had treasured as a girl, playing dress up, pretending, making up stories, kneeling beside it, my hand touches the ornate surface brushing away dust. Slowly, I open the lid, peeking inside, everything is there as I had left it,, my eyes fill with tears, memories swirling in my head of that lonely little girl; Dressed up in Grandma's old clothes, writing stories on the attic room floor, stories that will become poems for I have found my lost treasure chest. ___________________________ July 21, 2013 Narrative Submitted to the contest, Any Old Poem #4, sponsor, Skat A Contest, Treasure Chest, sponsor, Anthony Slausen, September 2013, Fourth Place

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I Do Not Want Eggs - Do Not Like Eggs


                        Little Laila was on overnight visits to Grandma
                   Early in the morning Grandma made Sunday breakfast
                     Little Laila came into the kitchen where the smell of
                freshly cooked coffee, freshly baked bread....and "boiled egg"
                  Little Laila does not like eggs....and says to her Grandma
                             "I do not want eggs - do not like eggs"
                                But Grandma had not boiled eggs
                             she had farted and it smelled like eggs
                                     Grandma got a good laugh
                              And I hope you will laugh at this too.... :)

True story
Anne-Lise Andresen :)

(5th in the contest)

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My friends and I had midnight hide and seek
One had to stand by a tree and not peek
In my state of hiding great I was hard to find
My friends decided to just be unkind
They all got together and decided to hunt me down
I first hid in the river near my house and almost drown
When they walk close by me I silently move through the grass
It was very hard to see, but I crawled a long time and almost ran out of gas
Then I heard one say that they were going up and wait by the tree
I had an idea that made a way to make them see
A shadow that ran in the distance thinking that would be
I had my horse pull a little manikin to make them think it was me
My friends took their flashlight and shined it toward it
I thought I had them but one thing was clear they did not fall for it not a bit
They all laugh and started to call out my name
They all asked how the heck did you have time to pull that trick that was so lame
I did not answer so they kept on looking for me, but I was so quick 
Some of my friends started to get really mad and tick
I was a master of doing weird things they all knew what I can do
The night was still young and the grass was collecting dew
I decided to make a distraction once again
To think of it, it would probably make the night end
My friends finally surrounded my tree house
I was quiet, so quiet, more than a mouse
I had some rope in the tree house to make my escape
To distract them I made a loud noise like an ape
The tree that my tree house was in was at least forty feet up
I had some stash in my tree house a drink or two in a cup
My final hour is about to end I did not want my friends to catch me till I got to the tree
I took the rope and tide it on a branch and pushed off and that was the key
I landed on the garage roof and sneaked my way to the tree
My friends knew me to well that they plan things before I could see
They had a fish net ready for me to step into
I thought that was kinda wise and some what like pew
The few feet by the tree there was two of my friends that was ready
Up in the tree they both jumped down and pulled me up in the net fast and steady
They thought they had won, the person had to tag me before I touch tree
She ended up having to get something to stand on to reach me
I swung my weight back and forth till I ended up touching and the game ended
My friends and I were so full of surprises and that is what the game handed

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A Woman's Worth

A Woman’s Worth
By Nate Spears

Her purpose in this world is hurting
She’s never been a designed of perfect
But she is a mom, so she’s super
She works
She cleans
Then roll up her sleeves ; and
Take care of the kids; and
The house 
Making it a home
For a beautiful family to roam
Building wonderful memories
Becoming a woman of worth
Keeping her faith through Christ
Keeping her pace through health
Keeping her sanity through managing
This is a woman’s worth 
I’m giving you

Despite of all the stress 
She receives her family with open arms
Through all the mess
She’s a fantastic mom
A wonderful woman 
Deserving a round of applause
Plus a standing ovation
For always being an American sensation
That held this continent down since day one
Since the Plymouth Rock landed on us
Thank you for her giving
Thank you for her living
Thank you for her children
This is ,
A woman’s worth.

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Pretty Things

She skips.
Sunlight combing her hair,
Bright lines through braids.
With sweet song notes dancing on lips.

She trips.
Verdant beds cushion her fall.
Tickling her with soft petals and stems,
As song turns to laughter.
The notes quickly flip.

She places her flowery clip,
In her hair. blue bloom lightening the air.
The smell of dark honey,
Leads her away from thoughts of the whip.

She giggles, pouncing towards another lily,
The two filled the grove, a merry pair.
“Hello”. She cups the lilies’ bulb,
With hands like leather,
Gentle as a feather.

She whispers through scarred lips.
“Just thought you should know how pretty you are”.


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Whatever happened to sitting out

Recollections after dinner: 

When evening came how the neighbors gathered,
on the front porches and all the kids rode bicycles and screamed,
"Look Ma, no hands!"  The reply was always a soft voice,  "Dear be careful"

The dads were on one side of the porch and the moms on the other. Talks of what 
had happened that day were ongoing, combined with what was going to happen. 
Halloween,  Christmas, Vacation, schools out and mom relieved of packing the daily 
brown bag lunches.   

It was a time when favorite recipes were discussed and who would host the next 
backyard cook out of hamburgers, hot dogs and bring a dish. Dads talked of their 
next fishing trip and how the big one always got away. The subject of college never 
came up.

No one had a TV and the radio drifted through the screen doors allowing the music 
to softly  flow out onto the blissful porch. 

Miss Jenny was always late getting to the porch due to her arthritis which was the biggest health problem, unless you fell down and broke your leg but that was 
reserved for kids.

Everyone had an old oak tree in the yard as it made things cooler.  Window fans 
were prominent because they drew the air out from underneath the tree into the 

Whatever happened to sitting out?  I miss it ....

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You look over she has a smile 
But you don't realize the pain inside her
She laughs and plays til the day goes away 
Just a normal kid you would think 
But behind those laughs and smiles 
You wouldn't know she's a survivor 
From a disease that took everything but her spirit 
When people thought it was too late 
A miracle happen that day 
She made it through sitting in the hopsital room 
Behind those laughs and smiles 
You wouldn't know she's a survivor

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True Valentine

True Valentine
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 in “Death OF A Rose” By Nate Spears

A lost woman the mirror reflects
Young; and it’s apparent
I can see it in her eyes
No focus and childbearing
Just ass, legs, and thighs in mind
No marriage

If she knew better
Learned better; and
Wanted better,
He would show her a better way of living
Instead of dealing with cowards
Seek a man with moral and merit
He’s stealing your joy
He’s bringing you pain
Removing your youth
He’s playing games

The truth at heart is
Reality should be your first thought
Loneliness is not your fault
It’s a part of life for most
Don’t let it destroy your values 
Just wait,
You’ll find a true love to treasure you.

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Can You Still See It

                                             When I was a little girl
                                      I enjoyed studying the clouds
                             The clouds turned into all sorts of shapes
                                       Yes, it was a great fairytale
                                         high up in the blue sky
                                    Beautiful castle with princesses
                                   who were playing in their garden.
                                      I could see different animals
                                              as small cute cats
                                    dangerous fire-breathing dragons
                                    The sky could be an exciting world

                                     I had almost forgotten this world
                                      Today there are many clouds ....
                                            I have to go and see ...
                                                Is it still here
                                              My fairytale sky
                                         I see the clouds, yes I do
                                             many clouds ...........
                            Yes now I see, you're still here my imagination
                                  I see a big bear sitting on a lace pillow
                                       lift one arm and waving to me.
                                        Hello .... yes I can see you
                                                 I wave back

25. August 2012
A-L  Andresen :)

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My year of living dangerous

just missed that
earthquake caused it 
Bobby said

A jetting eye
caught the rocker coasting
to and fro
on a sad white porch
March 1968

They said you were crazy
and to steer clear
but I gave you an apple
producing a smile
a laugh
and the freedom to just be

We Kelly'd around a lamp post
losing track of time in the warm twilight
of childhood 
and life
then you shared with me a secret

a tree,  knot,  hole

that held a mother load
of silver

and we were richer than rich
till my dinner bell rang
and your hidden voices sang
in March 1968

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Summer Fun

I remember back when times were simple. You could have your milk
delivered to your door. One of my favorite memories was waiting for the
Helm’s bakery livery to drive slowly down our street, alerting us with his
musical whistle. Specially built Chevy suburban panel wagon’s, bright
and shiny yellow, contained the most heavenly scents of do-nuts and
cinnamon swirls, rolls and breads to delight the most discerning. Our driver,
we called by name, would stop, get out of his seat and come to the back to
open double doors to the smiling faces, of usually about three or four neighbor
kids besides my sister and myself. The most difficult part was trying to decide
what delicious pastry we would put on our monthly tab. Fine wooden drawers
with glass windows let colorful do-nuts peek through. We would get our usual loaf
of potato bread mom would tell us to buy, but then, quite often we were treated to
a glazed jelly do-nut or a chocolate covered cream filled éclair. Mmmmm my taste
buds tingle at the fond memories. Those succulent delights would be out of the bag
and into our mouths before we hit the front door. By the time we got inside all that
would be left would be little pieces of sticky wax paper and our gooey little hands.
As I recall those happy memories of the late ‘50’s, my only regret is that I am sorry my
children were not given the thrill of hearing “Here comes the Helmsman”, let’s beat feet!

© September 12, 2012

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in my mind only

in my mind is a place of unbearable beauty so agonizing to recall the charm a place so lovely and pretty, rows of sweet homes with window boxes of bright flowing flowers and lace curtains billowing in the breeze the place of my early childhood where children played and lived safe until that day, that dark day the day my sister Suzanne died hit by a passing truck, suddenly and my world changed forever and ever my family left this home far behind, we moved but in my mind this place remained unbearably beautiful many, many years have passed, life has gone on and now I return for the first time the beauty in my mind shattered beyond belief replaced by the reality of an inner city ghetto rundown, devastated, ravaged rows of boarded up crumbling houses, gone to waste and ruin it is more than I can fathom but yet, yet there is a shadow of the beauty that was and as I view the destruction of a time passed houses fallen and given away to neglect I realize my memory is no longer a valid thing closing my eyes, I imagine the loveliness that once was a time that I had placed upon a pedestal gone forever in reality only and forever existing in my wandering mind this unbearable beauty of a place and time . . . May 17, 2013 Narrative Submitted to the contest, A poem that took more than a week to write

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Taste like Chicken

In the wee hours of the morning
When the owls and imps were upon the marsh
We would take our old pirogue and paddle into the darkness
Our intent was to catch bullfrogs but anything was game 
We were two young boys armed with BB guns and fishing poles
Headlights strapped hard and tight around our skulls
We searched the shore and stumps for eyes glowing in the night
Cypress trees towered overhead and occasionally the canopy would break
And we would see the clouds drifting quickly past and catch a glimpse of the moon
The paddles would never break the waters surface, as silence was our friend
Once we spotted our prey we would move in slowly and my brother would creep 
Slowly to the bow.  He would bend over the bow reaching out many feet in front of the boat and grab the frog behind the front legs and quickly stash it away into a burlap sack
Every catch brought us great pleasure, as this was no easy feat.  We could have shot them with the BB guns but that was illegal and not nearly as fun.  On occasion we would have to steal them from a water moccasin that was ready to strike.  Those moments were like lighting and only steeled our intentions to catch more. 

Once we had caught a dozen or so we would begin to look for other prey to catch or harass (we were teenagers and couldn’t help ourselves).  The occasional raccoon caught out in the open was always fun to chase but never pleasurable to have in the pirogue with us.  We learned that lesson the hard way one night when I pushed the boat into the fork of a cypress tree with an old mother coon eating a turtle.   My brother and I fought like hardened sailors to keep her at bay but both ended up in the water and nearly sank the pirogue.

Other occasions found us pulling loggerhead turtles from the depths and trying to dispatch them before they bit off a finger.

We both have all our appendages to this day, but I swear Lord we tried, we really tried to lose them. 

I never saw a frog leg jump from the pan, but the old man did make us slice them at the knees just to be sure we didn’t loose a piece of that meat that tasted better than any chicken I ever ate.

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Don't Leave Me

I can't imagine being alive without you
I can't imagine what it will be like when your gone
I don't know what I'll become without you
Maybe I'll just run
Run away from everything and leave everyone behind
Maybe I'll find a way to be close to you
Because I won't believe you died 
My heart will ache so much more 
Tears will always run
My eyes will hold the wisdom 
That you bestowed upon me young
And my recklessness will be noticeable
People will wonder why
Why am I running when the person I needed most died
How can I face my life when I can't do anything right
I won't believe you have gone away
When God decides to take you
I'll still come by your house and always expect an answer
I Love You Gamma
You Taught Me About My Heritage  
Please Remember Me When God Takes You
Please Guide Me In the Right Way

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Diary of a Child

I remember the land of drums I was born,
  Bedded beneath great hanging nets:
  The sound of the conch and the horn!
I remember the hounds of revolution nightly howl
  On the streets of my island home:
So now I conjure far in melancholic exile
  As might a king denied his throne

I remember my first day of school so bleak,
  A gingerbread house on Picton Street:
  Where I first kissed a sweetheart cheek!
The loud guttural yard turkeys' gobble, and matronly
  Nelly Stone with her straggly silver hair:
Reading me the adventures of Robin Hood
  Sitting back in her old rocking chair

I remember the front yard we would play,
  The annex rooms we called home:
  Living and growing and finding our way
Unmindful to extraordinary fates - to age and time -
  To long siestas in the hot afternoon:
Where beneath the corner streetlight halo,
  Late and drunk, slumped Blue Moon

I remember Down-the-Islands dashing
  In outboard across Staubles Bay:
  Sea spray waves over the bow crashing!
And watching when darkness fell the moon and tide
  Shining on bay and jetty so bright:
When as young eyes grew weary I would
  Rest at peace all through the night

I remember leaving on board port side,
  And beyond Panama Canal gate
  Swell and tempest from my cabin eyed:
I remember the cutting lulling deep sea of no return!
  Out of the Americas my voyage traces
That southern ocean and setting sun upon -
  And all my island names and places


Trinidad and Tobago

September 1990

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Eight-Year-Old Logic

(Learning prudence at a young age.)

Granddaughter is back 
for another weekend visit. 
She's a voracious talker.

"Mom and Kenny,"
she says. "argue about
who gets to do the dishes.
Mom says, I will do them.
Then Kenny says, No,
 It's my turn."

"That will soon be resolved,”
I say. “Your mom will decide 
Kenny gets the job." 

"I said that in my mind,”
she quips. 
“But not out loud.” 

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A Talk With Dad

Hi Dad, I guess we all will see our time and all will pass
Sometimes I lie awake and cry, longing for another chance
So much I never said, so often I said too much
Once in a while i'll drive by where Grandma's house was
Stop and reminisce awhile
Wonder what Mom's childhood was like in that old farm house
Remember you saying how you loved the place
Talking about how you walked all those miles to see Mom
At night the sounds of crickets and the truck traffic miles away on 54
Fourth of July gathering on the back porch and in the yard, beer on tap
Burnt fingers holding sparklers at night, Grandma's cooking
Old Jack barking and howling, uncles throwing horse shoes
Kids playing baseball in the grass between Grandma's and Chick's place
Did we lose the Utopia we dreamed about, never recognizing it
What I'd give to take you for a ride again, through your old haunts
Caught up in the nostalgia of your childhood and mine.
Times were tougher, times were better, Paradise lost.
You measured riches in family, friends and neighbors
Somewhere, somehow the present generation lost that
Seems as I got older, you got wiser,  couldn't see it as a child 
Never said I love you, Dad often enough
Never said thank you, Dad for the lessons on life and living
Got to go now, i'll say a prayer for you and mom
Who knows, maybe we'll find that peace within us
That we had growing up and you were here.

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it's magic

it's magic!

A prestidigitator I know
graciously agreed to show me
how to make quarters vanish
for small children in costume
on Halloween night.

After insufficient practice 
the night came for me to 
offer the choice, "trick, or treat".

Few came by to engage in the 
uh..."hallowed" American tradition
but that is another trick.

When asked "Do you want the trick, or 
do you want the treat?",
everyone, said "treat!", much to my dismay.

The final costumed charges came up,
a probable four-year-old girl
and her younger brother in tow,
mother at the driveway.

I asked her the question, expecting 
the previous answer in return, but
to my keen expectation, she answered "trick!"

I proceeded to pull out a quarter
and do a slight bit of slight-of-hand, 
somewhat clumsily, but when I opened
my hand to drop the vanished coin
into hers, she looked at her empty
hand for a few perplexed seconds,
then began to giggle uncontrollably
- now that, indeed, is magic to me.

© Goode Guy 2012-11-01

she got the "magic" coin and a big candy bar.

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Hostile Times II

Hostile Times II
By Nate Spears

Busted love is my Crystal Ball's fortune
My heart hurts in a torturing way
Nothing ever works in my favor
Standing still 
I lower my head and pray 
Confessing to God 
All I have to give

A 16 year old rebellious daughter
A 13 year old son that’s dead
My father is in prison; so is the one of my two kids
Is this really a way of living?
I didn’t have a choice from the days beginning
Anything different
Would have a given me a chance
at living

Walls of barriers bearing on us 
On this earth we stand
Refusing to let go of this curse
If no bill is signed by Congress
My unemployment runs out next Thursday 
Now I contemplate what’s next?
Sex dollars or Creflo's Dollars?
Be an honest woman; or
Be a fool that’s starving?
When pushed to the limit
All governors are discarded.

Hostile Times rains upon us
Other nations joins the honors
The Elite makes me vomit
There’s plenty of resources among us
God have mercy and let it trickle down on us
Rather than become degrading
In this pew 
I choose prayer
Becoming Sunday Mornings best
Washing away my pains that become abreast; with my chest
Bringing in a new day, 
A today, 
For a better way
In these hostile times we live in.

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Rouging of the Lamb

        Sweet Mother of pearl
struck a ruby eyed reef 
then quickly sank into the deep,
just shy of the cay of life. 
Don't remember much about her,
those that did have long since blown away,
daddy  never had much to say... about the sinking.
Ancient pictures tempered fawn curiosities..
whispered to me that she had sunset red hair
a mother of pearl smile..
diamond chips set deep in lonely eyes...that's about it
 Soon after the sediment of death settled,
         "wrecking ball mom"
swung into the salty blue mix... 
Daddy must have been moon rock lonely
because he only waifed the soft, silky pretty
not the pyrite hearted 
soul licked
by cold, cold fires....
     A much to young, to cuddle a half orphan, kind of bride.
In public her voice cooed ,
"I'll buoy your little sinking heart,
with a million butterfly kisses
chocolate chip all your wishes"...
but in private
she plotted, with steely strap, to carve a granite man 
from a wandering lamb,
who never really needed carving 
only a little gentle kneading
on the potters wheel of life and love.
     I spent a healthy wedge of childhood 
treading a rolling ocean of dorsal fin coldness:
cutting a backyard full of weeds 
with a pair of rusty hand shears,
rescuing favorite toys from the garbage can
staring into plates of things I didn't like to eat.
like asparagus my least favorite "anti-treat".
Everyone would drift into the living room
to frolic away the evening
but I was chained to her electric chair... 
gazing into a saucer filled with green devil spears..
At times I sat so long the food would harden 
into the face of  mother of  pearl, 
her sweetness trapped between rows of bitter things.. 
a gone forever kind of look in our mutual deadened eye.
    Most of the time wrecking ball mom won the food battles. 
Rarely did the boy under the sink come out on top.
One night I'm sparring with the devil spears... again,
deciding on a whim, to slide them under the table, 
into the willing jaws of my beagle friend.
Chalk one up for the half orphan...right?....Not so fast.
The next day I shuffle home from school...
wrecking ball mom is frothing in the doorway,
wants to show me something..
She quickly leads me under the kitchen table
and to my ,deep green, horror..
there lay a small forest of day old asparagus..
Seems this is the one thing my best friend didn't care for.
This is when I was first introduced to 
wrecking ball's wicked handiwork,
that would often rouge the face and back, 
but cunning enough not to crease or crack the lamb.
I saw "hitting stars" for the first time,
wham.... wham.. 
I swear a cluster of explosions went off inside my head..
Carving a man out of a paper lamb 
was a long and painful sort of task.
In a way I felt lucky because, for a moment, 
I thought she was going to rub my nose into the regurgitation, 
Just like the time she rubbed the nose of my best friend for pissing up her new bride carpet.
By the way, daddy (the swing shifter) was oblivious to these rougings ...
its ok daddy your fully forgiven for wearing that rose colored hard hat,
we all must wear it at some point in time-to deflect the offal of life.
       Anyhow, that was many years ago...
doesn't really matter anymore,
I've outlived a few best friends.
the wrecking ball's backhanding and black belting days are over. 
She's silver headed and soft as a plate of over cooked veggies...
Every time I visit, I fantasize about rouging her...
wham- wham
until she sees that same pack of hitting stars...
wham- wham until she cracks...
You know, carve an old step bride 
into an under the sink child.
rub that nose in yesterday's piss in honor of my best dead friend.
Unveil those wrinkled whips disguised as mommy hands,
for the whole rosy eyed world to finally see.
but that fantasy will forever go unfulfilled...god willing..
So instead I offer her an atlantic ocean-cold hug instead.
just like any good, semi-forgiving step man would do.
Now, I'm heart deep 
in the meloncholy mist of fatherhood..
To this day, I won't touch asparagus
never never 
rouge the lamb- 

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My Story Telling Can You Trust Me

Gun fire all around, bombs going off in the distance
It was some of the angry mobs and resistance
Father was the king of SafeHaven a small kingdom
Like all other kingdoms it fell in random
Fire started in the castle
And along with it came a battle

It was a distance memory now because the child has now grew
Many things in this child that made memories stew
My name is Mastrey, a young orphan who was there that night
Mastrey saw her in the distance and her father and mother in his sight
Everyone was loud that night and made all the children hide
But that evening Mastrey saw her mother and father die

She ran into the bushes in such a fright
And evil doers were running around with flashlights
Mastrey remember it as he distracted them 
Her eyes was so confused with problems
Mastrey new that it was because of what just occurred
His feelings of what those people did was not awkward

The distraction worked, he went back to were she was
Hiding and very scared she was, he asked her, can you trust me just because?
Her answer that night depended on her lively hood
As Mastrey was their with his hand reaching out to her as he stood
Pulling her up from the ground he looked into her eyes that were SeaBlue
Mastrey had made a life long friend and love, She knew it was true

Next: My Story Telling,  Who is this Princess

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Robbing the Nest

I had survived how many summers? Five?
Six? 'til, self-taught, I learned at last
of terror that lurks in situations
which those I trust (myself included)
would swear offer only perfect safety...
My ball rolled under my Grandma's house
and I, well-guarded, scuttled after to retrieve it,
mindless of the tarry soil fleeced with fluffy,
small red feathers, newly molted by matrons:
hens that clucked contentment,
set upon their hidden egg troves.
Spying their nests, I thought to rob them
and so earn a Grandma's love for a city boy
unversed in country ways. Thinking, I acted,
reaching for a nest unoccupied,
half hid behind a house block.
I closed my soft, expectant hand
upon a wriggling creature coiled among the eggs,
drew back like lightning to watch
a brightly spotted snake slide off
into the farther, deeper darkness
amid a squall of squawks.
Emerging empty handed, terrified,
it wasn't Grandma's love I earned that day.
I have always since encountered similar brilliant colored
dangers whenever I have thought to grab,
for myself or others, unclaimed treasures
in strange places, in warmer or in cooler weathers.

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My magic Flute

My magic Flute

My first and only instrument I received as a little girl was
a Flute.

My mom’s old boyfriend had gotten me a Flute and after they broke up I don’t recall what happened to my magic Flute.

A few years later I had music class my Freshman year in high school and we all got black plastic Flutes and we were supposed to learn how to play the Flute.

As an adult and a lover of good music I wish I had learned to play the Flute. I’d play on the sidewalks of city streets collecting money to pay for my children’s education and to pay the bills.

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Life Is Like A Maypole


I recall the time my parents created a maypole,
                       in our backyard to celebrate the arrival of spring;

      it was quite wonderful and fantastic,
                            a delightful memory to remember  . . . 

            it consisted of a tall pole and rolls and rolls of ribbons,
all in different pastel hues of pink, yellow, green and blue;
                        the pole itself covered with greenery and flowers,

                  my parents worked on it for days and days . . . 

                                                we children came up with costumes,
some so weird and humorous that we all laughed at each other;
father played music on an old record player and mother sang,
            in a high pitched voice and clapped her hands to the beat . . . 

                                and us, the children skipped around the pole,
     sometimes waltzing, sometimes doing a jig of sorts;
     each holding a ribbon while chanting,

                             "go over it, go under it, go over it go under it . . .  "

and all the time trying not to get tangled up in the ribbons,
                  or knocking into each other;
                                                 making us laugh out loudly,
       now the laughter has faded but that memory will linger forever;
    and to me all those different coloured ribbons,


                    family, friends, happiness and childhood abandon . . . 

                                         and each of these I hold tightly in my soul,
for my entire life, I will never forget the magic of childhood;

                        the love that embraced me and the happiness,
                found under a maypole that spring day . . .  

January 25, 2015


For the contest Life Is Like A Maypole, sponsor Seren Roberts

First Place


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One, Two, Three, Four

Try as I might....I could not get it right
Small fingers that stretched over the chipped ivory whites
While scrunching her face, with that crabapple frown
She would tap out the beat, with her eyes looking down
"One, two, three, four"...."One, two, three, four,"...
"Try once more"....she would say round and round
I would sigh, I would stumble, as small fingers would pound...

She would point at the notes, with a yellow Number 2....
She would circle the flats...and would circle sharps too...
"One, two, three, four"....."One, two, three, four"....
Must not bother to look for the exit or door

In a room stifling hot, too warm for humans,
Perspiration would bead and shine on her face
..."The thermostat's at 80*", she so gleefully would say...
"It helps old bones keep limber, keeps my knees from giving way"
A scent of Vick's Vapo Rub when she leaned in too close
"For the horrors of my allergies"....I'd roast while she would boast
A Kleenex all waded....a ball in her fist,
Her glasses hung from her nose...(that constantly dripped!)

"One, two, three, four"....One, two, three, four"....
Oh how I wanted to run straight out the door!

"Now, try it again", I glanced through the glass
Out to the sun and the summertime grass
With the sidewalk so ripe, for skinning my knees
And hopscotch, or jump rope, or roller skate keys...
A day.......NOT for Mozart, or Bach, or Beethoven...THOSE guys!!!
How could those grim, long dead dudes, wearing wigs in disguise
Understand a little girl's heart?  "One, two, three, four"...."One, two, three, four",

Oh how I wanted to run straight out the door! ...

But now, dear teacher,......I wish you could know
How I grew to love music, and remember those days
When you gave me the knowledge and a spirit to play
A wonderful gift, which I cherish today....
"One, two, three, four"......the sound of it rings in my memory's core
I will play you a melody...and perhaps even more....
One, two, three,, two, three, four,, two, three, four...
I still hear the sound of your voice, chanting the beat...and the score....

I will remember those moments, and to say even more
I thank you, Miss Ella and I will ever more.......

Miss Ella Mae Engle.....Rest in Peace, God Bless You, and Thank you from my heart

By Carrie Richards .......age 10

"You're A Little Kid Again" Contest: Sponsored by Juli-Michelle

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I Will Make Her Proud

It had only been a few days
Still unfamiliar with my grief, (it was my first time, you see...)
I was such a novice to the proper routine
Of condolences, phone calls, and flowers
Pity in the air, ...a pat on my hair, and those hesitant smiles...
Neighbors....even those we hardly knew,
Reaching out with assorted casseroles
Devils food cake, and strange jello of all kinds
...To me, this ritual, seemed obscene,
Who would eat?....How anyone could?
Our home intruded, invaded, shaded in grey
This odd assortment of long faced people milling about
I wanted to shout...."Leave us alone!"    (I just wanted her home.....)

And though I was numb, her voice filled the room
"I know you'll be strong"...
But this is so wrong...
I needed to weep, please let me sleep....please make this a dream...

Aunt Bea, who could not stop crying
Uncle Russ, pacing and sighing
Aunt Delores, tough as nails, taking command...
   as if our house had taken a military stand...
Dad, who had been swallowed up by his own tomb of loss
No place to lean....for this girl of sixteen, in a world that was tossed....
Into that black horrible space....It only happened to others
It couldn't be couldn't be her   ...I needed my mother...
I felt so alone, how could I be strong??  

How hard to say "Thanks"...for those kind acts intended
I was too young to know, a first step to mending
comes bearing small gifts.....comes in disguise
...just one small thing to grasp....

People are kind, as they spin their cocoons
They need to lend hands, they need to do good

But time heals all wounds..
And I've learned and I've lost, 
How steep is the price and the cost 
Of living and dying, of loving and striving...
It's the circle of life
Her words were a song....and I still hear the sound
I understand better now,  ..and I've learned to be strong...

Today I have baked
Have made the best that I could
I'll tap on the door, in my own neighborhood...
When words aren't enough...I will bring them some food
I'll extend a kind hand, a shoulder to lend,....I will make mother proud
I can be strong...when the world has gone wrong
All the things that I should
     When intentions are good.
                  ~                 ~

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Physically and Mentally Abuse

I was born in a world of poverty and soiled life of a third world country
The way I lived till I was five years of age was walls of boundary
These walls had towers of guards that had no heart or care
If a child would try to climb the wall they lose their life I swear

Father had drank and threatened my mother with a knife
My father lost his job and wife and that was the hardship of life
He stopped my mother from taking off with me in her arm
Hoping that my father would ignore and left me be with no harm

When my father went off to drink one night and came home with rage
My brothers stood by my crib and took a beating that set up the next stage
My father had woken up to three scared children half starved and in pain
His final words as he walk away from the orphanage gate live life do not go insane

I was still a baby in the orphanage; the caretakers did not really care about the babies
They stole items and materials those wicked men and maternal evil ladies
They starved all the babies because it cost a lot to keep them alive
As a child of that age I could feel the sins and greed that gave out bad vibes

I was ignorant about what I drank and ate, as I see white maggots move in my bottle
As I see them move I thought about how they were playing and some were hostel
They ate each other to keep each other alive in a manner that took me by surprise
In the back round I hear others throwing things with sounds of painful cries

I got very strong at a young age I was able to start pulling myself up over the cage
My feelings were to see my brothers with strong lungs that I cried out of rage
My two brothers came to see me and sneak food into my crib
The caretaker would find the food in my hands as they grabbed it and hit me on my ribs

As painful as it was I kept eating the food with blood in my mouth as it was instinct
I sometimes laid in my crib dazed and confused with smell of death so distinct
With all my might I kept myself strong and climb the small wall
I finally was old enough to get out of the building and I could hear my brothers call

With tears of joy with short legs that ran as fast as my heart
I ran to my brothers arms and held their hands to have a new start
I grew stronger everyday but more things came into my life in a manner of dismay
If my brothers stay by my side I could smile and everyday their would be okay

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Five-Year-Old Logic

She’s excited, an entire weekend
with Grandma and Grandpa.

She chatters about friends,
answers questions about school,
then blurts, “I don’t like Katy,
she’s stupid.”

I’m primed to lecture
on name-calling, when she adds,
“She pushed me down,
and hurt my head.”

“That wasn’t very nice,” I say.

“Oh, she’s nice,” she says.
“I don’t know why she’s stupid."

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Moon River


Moon River …

you once held my Huckleberry friend,

the two of us ... after the same rainbow’s end

in your timeless rhythm

as I pushed him in his swing,



white and

chipped on the edges,

showing rusty metal underneath

because we were so poor.

My heart was filled with joy

even as he cried from the pain of

being in the cold world. So new.

He would come to me and I would sing:

“Wider than a mile … I’m crossing you in style 

And then when he left, his eyes would search the 
blurry, dark images

for me … just me.

A miracle.

Sometimes when he came back, he would be 
smiling, blindly searching.

“Two drifters off to see the world…there’s such a 
lot of world

to see.”

And when I told him he was my Huckleberry friend 
and I looked

into the pool of emptiness ... his brown eyes,

I could swear he knew me, all of me,

right from the very beginning.

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The Scar

“Only girls cry!…Oh, boo hoo!” laughed my brother, (as big brothers often do)
 He had been taunting me, teasing me, heckling me, as I whined, complained.
 Neither of us would have won a prize, for being the angelic sibling pride, 
 of Kirby street one day outside, in hot July...
              “You jerk!”..I cried,…a laughing stock...his mocking me.. 
               He smirked, while our brawl played out for all the world to see.

No recourse, no remorse..(poor me!!)… I was the butt of his demeaning jokes 
and by then my temper had been stoked, he had poked me once too often!

So HUGE, was my disdain for this smug, big thug, that grinning face, retaliation, for my humilation, (as an enraged little sister might do..)
I grabbed one of his model airplanes….and threw....! But then.....
it broke into shards, big shrapnel pieces…I dashed for cover...
cowering behind the hedge…waiting for his own revenge!…

Instead it left a gash, an ugly wound, I was aghast...!
Above his nose.........a bloody rose
Well, of course our Mother got involved.. .
It was resolved by iodine and bandages
And a tongue lashing...
“You could have put out his eye!! ….and then we cried, …the two of us 

Well, we would repent, with orders to spend the day becoming friends...

The afternoon sun was hot in the yard….  
Until, a sudden, lightning shot skidding loudly down hot asphalt
One unguarded moment fell, and things came to a halt

As if a horrible spell, was cast upon the day ….
 there was a car,.... around the bend 
  the game we played, about to end....
         his dog, (a sweet dalmatiion friend) was hit
               ....and then....  
                      all time suspends........

My brother’s sweet dog, who slept on his bed, was gone
The next hours painfully hung…with weight of the memory lingering on….
Ending with me alone in my bed..
Mute with grief ….remembering his words….”Only girls cry”….
Hearing his sobs……all through the night..
And my parent's cooed comfort, the soundtrack to this tragic movie
That still plays in my darkest theater….all these years later

I shudder still, have a lump in my throat…how that faint little scar,
above his nose.... can still emote…    
such feelings of tenderness I felt on that day.  
Over the years…we have shared many tears…
            we have leaned on each other, me and my brother
Big girls will cry, just as little girls do…and big boys can cry,
                    ..And hey,...ya' know what? ..That’s okay, too.

Carrie Richards

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Bloody Bloomin Rose's

Ah, the bloom was on the Rose
yet, the taint of alcohol and drugs
looms nightmare like behind her baby pink cheeks. 
Porcelain skin tones, raspberry rogue
nails to scratch and lift bits of dirty lucre.

She was clawing her way up,
and hopefully out, he hits her, “Slut,” he screams at her.
a sometime replacement sat beside him. 
His Chicano inner-city drawl hurt her ears 
and the fake diamonds studding them. 
The new girl beside him

She’s due at work by nine,
grabbing a smooth wrap-top and a mock
grey skirt, she rushes from the room to the bank.
She can still see his long fingers playing in other girls cleavage.
Rose, well, Rose pays the rent. She strikes a teller’s pose 
behind the formica countertop...

Long days, counting other peoples money
kindness, and sweetness sucked from her
like a ripe plum on a summers day.
She needs work, more work.
I asked her to help in the garden.
Long blonde, buxom, bending over weeds,
only six months to go to graduation
an associate degree…

Rose chuckles, “Look who I’ve been associatin’ with?”
I eye the twenty-five thou lottery ticket in my jean pocket.
“You want to move here Rose?”
“What would they do without me?”
I sigh, thinking of her alcoholic mother
off bingeing and her “boy fiend”.

The lottery windfall went for Rose’s college tuition. 

The bloom is off the Rose now, 
two hundred plus pounds later
strung out beside her Mom on a ratty couch, 
she eyes the Diploma in it’s cheap black frame,
and rocks her baby girl
some things, never change….

*Names have been changed, and the amount given, but part
of the ending has truely come to pass already [sigh]. 
The rest is all true.  

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Miserable Marriage

Dint of darkness running in my blood  
A Love less marriage in the pool of mud 
Heathen Heart and a crying soul 
Filthy promising -lies  untold 
Blinded by your Vampire Love
Is it something that I deserve ?
I ran for your Love and you for my money !
This hum drum game is no longer funny !
Let me depart from your ludicrous life
Stop calling me your miserable WIFE . 

A lot of poets in this forum can relate themselves with this 
miserable condition .

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And Sometimes Why

I hoped to be with you today 
That once again we two might play
True friends forever we will stay
One thing that will not go away

A funny thing you’re asking me
For there is nothing wrong to see 
This time I thought it best to be
With friend awhile and live care free

Again persistent question why
Pounds at my doors for its reply
No longer can my sighs deny
A friend who really needs to cry

For breakfast Mama didn’t show
And where she went he didn’t know
He didn’t even see her go
What made my mother behave so

I don’t know why I’m telling you
With all the pain that you’ve been through
We’ve always been like brothers true
There nothing that we two can do

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A decade in to
a new millennium,
a woman, nearing
a century on Earth,
braces herself in
a doorway of
the house,
she has lived in since birth.

Her oldest son unfastens his belt, and takes a seat at the end of her table,
where her middle son just fixed the legs of the chair; to make sure it was stable.
Her youngest son brushes the webs off the wall, and scrubs the stains from the floor.
Her only daughter packs up her pictures, and helps her through the door.

A decade in to 
a new millennium,
a life, almost
a century long,
comes flooding back
to the thoughts of a woman
who feels removed 
from where she belongs.

Her daughter tries to lift her spirits, (from the room in which, she slept as a child)
but no one could easily witness their memories, all being sorted, and filed.
Her house is dissected, and put in a truck that waits - like a thief - in the drive.
-The cumbersome stance; the delicate dance; together, they help one another survive.

A decade in to 
a new millennium,
a woman approaches
a century - passed.
A man in the attic
waves from the window -
Assuring her: 
This home will not be her last.

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First Picnic

The rains have lasted all the spring.
We’re longing for some sun.
With advent of the end of school
We look to June for fun.

The kids have found their bathing suits
And have them at the ready.
It’s not fair in vacation time
For rains to pour so steady.

The first nice weekend that we have,
We know where we’ll be going.
They have the hampers all cleaned out
For  picnic food we’re stowing.

I will rise early on that day
And chicken I’ll be frying.
They each will ask for favorite foods
To please them, I’ll be trying.

Their daddy will gas up the car
And tell us all to hurry.
He’ll want to go while sun is out
And weather not a worry.

We’re heading for Cranberry Lake
Next to the picnic ground
Separating the  two waters.
The other side is Puget Sound.

It’s all part of Deception Park,
Every visitor’s destination
When they’re in Northwest Washington,
One of most scenic states in Nation. 

There will be a crowd of other folks,
All soaking up the sun
And trying out the waters
Eager for some summer fun.

Our son will try the diving board 
To prove he can be bold, 
The girls will test lake gingerly 
and howl if it's too cold.

They will have hearty appetites
For all my picnic fixings.
I will have brought potato salad
And other salad mixing’s.

Chocolate cake and water melon,
Will be part of the desserts.
By now we are so hungry
We will eat until it hurts. 

We’ll go home at the end of day
All happy and contented.
It has been one more special time
To keep us all cemented.

For Carol's " Picnic  Time"contest Won no. 4

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The Woods

I met a rabbit in the woods,
With no whisker but two boots,

I asked him, ‘Sir, where are your whiskers?’
He replied, ‘I traded them for a pair of boots and some biscuits’,

It did make no sense to me, to why a rabbit would do such,
As, a pair of boots and some biscuits could do him not much,

The rabbit muttered softly, ‘It is unwise of you to look down on us creatures,
Only because we haven’t any human features,’

I was taken aback by the rabbit’s statement,
Only to grin in ailment,

As for me, it is peculiar for a rabbit, whose gift is to hop,
To mask such a gift like what weed has done to fertile soil,

In great humility I questioned him once more, ‘How are you to escape a fox,
When it is done with a man’s lox?

You can jump not, with those boots on,
Making you an easy con,’

The rabbit then replied in displeasure, ‘I have brains of my own,
You make me frown,

I can take them off whenever I want,
And put them back on when I’m done,’

Notwithstanding, it made me still wonder,
‘What were the biscuits for, besides easing his hunger?’ 

Written by Sunil Rao.

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Over The Years

Childhood is the best part of everyone’s life! You might think so, but there are people who’ve never experienced the beauty of this utopia. Sometimes parents often unknowingly destroy or neglect the childhood of their kids, without them even realizing it. This may have terrible consequences later in the life of these kids.
A poem on a terrorist's lost childhood..

As a kid, he cried for a pack of crayons.

But all he got was, some fat books on Maths, Science and Freons.

He grew up amidst the stench of his suffocating passion.

Tinting his mind in a rational and scientific fashion.

He went on, emphatically learning new things.

Just like the bird, flying without his own wings.

He strived and thrived to be the best.

Strangling his dreams, he laid them to rest.

Over the years, his soul was infiltrated with hatred and anger.

Piercing his heart, like an acute dagger.

And, today he creates weapons of mass destruction.

Using all his knowledge, wrecking innocent lives has become his addiction.

Who knows? It might not be his fault.

As he’s a man with his wounds on salt.

Brainwashed, seeking revenge of his mercilessly destroyed childhood.

His rational cognizance failed to discern between the bad and the good.

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Baby's Father

I never thought you'd be just a baby's father.
How can you call yourself a man then turn your back on your own daughter.
I wish you had to tell her to her face that you don't love her.
So you could wipe the tears from her cheeks while you make up an answer.
I can only hold her while she cries tears that I cannot relate to.
And make excuses for you of why you're missing so she don't hate you.
It’s not fair for her to be forced to deal with emotions she can't handle.
And the worst part is you never even gave her a chance at all to love you.

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When I met Maizie, she was about eight years old.  We were living in Kentucky and my wife's mother and brother lived near us.  Her mom was a widow and suffered from some physical problems that restricted her to her home.  Her son was an unemployed n'er do well who spent a lot of time drinking and living off of his mothers income.  He had been married several times, none of which lasted.

It was a pleasant summer day when my mother in law called and said that her sons first wife had showed up to visit, along with her current husband and their daughter, Maizie.  Since we normally were over to her house several times a week to clean and shop, we soon met all of them.  It turns out that the husband was “between jobs” and it soon became apparent that they were there for whatever they could get, and quickly settled in.  Her mother accepted everyone at face value and couldn't see that she was being used.

We kept a close eye on the situation, stopping by more often to see what was going on.  It was during these visits that I noticed that Maizie was odd man out.  She was a very affectionate child, but was usually ignored and or yelled at by her mom.  She would frequently sit quietly on the periphery, swinging her feet and observing.  I felt sorry for her and started to pay her some attention.  We would talk, and laugh, and take short walks around the apartment project.  Sometimes, when I would go shopping, I would take her with me.

One day we found out that they were going to move on.  When we went over, Maizie seemed despondent.  I asked if she would like to take one last walk and she eagerly agreed.  While on our walk, Daisy suddenly blurted “would you like to be my daddy”?

I was at a loss for words, but finally said “Maizie, you have a father”.

“I know” she said.  “But I want a daddy”.

That's the last time I saw Maizie.  Today she would be a woman in her twenties and I can only hope she found the love she so richly deserved.

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Dance Above The Stars

The laughter I see,
is hidden so deep,
a memory of yesterday,
mine to keep.

Those that know you,
or think they do,
can never hold dear,
the days of me, and you.

Saying goodbye,
hurts me so bad,
my eyes now misty,
my heart is so sad.

No one knows,
when time is no more,
eternity takes over,
when we enter Heaven's door.

Sing so joyous,
dance above the stars,
my heart will know peace,
for I know where you are.

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The Tea Party

A game of musical chairs has just begun in earnest. A pot and kettle band arrives 
through the dining rooms’ French doors following the Valentine Queen. A putrid pink 
flamingo with a croquet ball stuck in its beak settles it’s derrière onto a fine caramel 
leather seat. His humor is short lived. A snort echoes from each of the six bullhorns 
forming his head. “Got him that time, you really did, Matilda!” laughed Lucky, the 
horn-backed chair. A single, rose-pink, button pops off Matilda’s back and lands in 
the hatless brigands’ teapot, just as he is placing a silver tea ball inside. “Ou a le 
petite fille?” Matilda groans. Around the far end of the table chasing a set of 
disembodied eyes with a cat tail, a girl child runs screeching. “She looks familiar, 
don’t she?” Windy whistles beneath the lacy tablecloth, tickling Mattie’s fancy. “Her 
name ain’t Louise,” as with a plop, a brigand crushes Laddie’s rushes. The windsor 
replies. “Geeeeeeeeez Louise!” the ladder-back mutters, between its back straps. A 
top hat flies through the air and landed on the top knob of the lanky ladder backed 
chair. The child righted herself, wiping her nose on the errant apron string. She lisps 
through the spider web pattern of her seat. “Awww now what a shame,” Mary 
whispers to Tex. The loose tails of her apron caught beneath Mary’s rocker and the 
child tumbled face forward into a full cup of Assam tea.  A girl child resplendent in 
golden locks and white pinafore tore into the room planting herself on the caned 
ladies rocker Mary. “Mon Dieu” She moans. “Ya’ll see that nasty monster splatter 
chocolate icing on my skirt?” A knob kneed, potbellied prig, holding a cupcake, 
shoves his way onto Matilda, the little ladies slipper chair. Tex the horned back chair 
at the tables girdle chortles. “Do you know who’s been invited to this soiree?” The 
rabbit topples over backward, his watch bashing his delicate pink nose. Windy 
sneezes.“Aahhh chhhooo!” Tufts of fanny fur tickled between his spokes. 
“Good golly Miss Molly,” shrieks Windy the windsor chair at the far end of the table,
 as a wild-eyed, white rabbit with a gold watch plunked into his well-worn seat.

*Refer to "The Chairs Have it"
This poem can be read from the backwards too ;)

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Soccer Crazy

Soccer was the thing for all young men to play.
And my little love wanted to join desperately in the game.
So he got to be the goalie… to wear that special crown.
He was so excited as he was sent in front of that net.
And we were so very proud of what this honor surely meant.
I told every one he was my son and we couldn’t be prouder of him, than that.
But it didn’t take long for him to feel lost as his friends went running in the game.
So alone, he started kicking at dirt clods and looking for bugs with which to play.
Then he spun in circles and showed off for some girls in every way…
So the girls were sent to help keep his eye on the ball… as best they could.
For he had been paying attention to them, as the first goal went sailing through…
At this point I said oops and boys will be boys… as I smiled, though in doubt…
But it got better as he suddenly started exploring the net, and I heard a shout…
He’d decided to play spider man as he ran and threw himself at the net.
He tried to cling up higher with every jump he brilliantly took.
As I was waving my hands back and forth while trying to tell him to cut it out…
I was getting really frantic, trying to tell him that the ball was coming close…
But he was half way up the net as the next goal came sailing past to score.
Now my head was in my hands for the team kids were looking kinda sore....
For now they had to run their hearts out… to try to win the game and score.
I began to wonder if the team would ever forgive him if they lost?
The coach made two more visits to try to get his attention at any cost…
He really was quite kind as he said in no uncertain terms to leave the net alone…
And so, my son paid attention for another moment or more, you know…
But while everyone was running and scoring at the other end…
I turned to see him hanging upside down, his foot caught in the net, up in the air.
Everyone ran out to save him with me… or was it to save the net?
When we got back to sit down the coach was looking a little strained.
And I was contemplating hiding under the bleachers as the other team scored, again.
At half time, my little goalie seemed happy relegated to the bench with all his friends.
But I was worried he might be… kicked off the team… I was in terror, my friend…
At this point, several turned to assure me every thing would be all right...
After all, last year it had been their kid’s turn for… hanging upside down...

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Deserted Children

Parents do not desert your children,
If you desert your children then you do not understand the essence of child bearing.
Children should not be motherless or fatherless!
Help your children to acquire knowledge and skills to be beneficial to society and nation.

chipepo lwele

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Belle's Day

Little Preshy Preshy trying to impress hidden fresh buttons
So down to earth i could pick you up even if i fumble
You sister hood my hood-ness in me till my ears turn into functions
You child a sister with a train of smiles that bottle passion

In birth you must have had piles and styles of 
life's appreciated stanzas in all poetic judgments
I bow before your spirit, for you Queen your surroundings with pounds of outstanding heart flames 
Love should give you unexpected roses not stains
This poem is a gift i long to plant in your gifted chest believe me
Though words can never paint your born day in fine art sickness,
its my remedy
The world is field with smiley diseases of felonies

Take a flight to nowhere and return with more clans that know your temple
Press the birth button while killing fears
Impress Isabel with a doorbell for she cleans her heart with smiles far from cooler bags
Your circle is shielded by hugs and lipsticks
Impress Isabel with a doorbell for she cleans her heart with smiles not illegal favors 
Let Preshy Preshy row before her words start drilling bad manners in your day 
Happy day

(c) Raymond Ngomane

A dedication to Isabel's Birthday

Preshy Preshy : A nickname given to girls named Precious.

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Waiting for the world to end

If you look backwards in time
you might see us

It was August
too many summers ago to recall
long after midnight
my brother and I
slipping through the valley of sleep
crawling out the window
onto the roof of the old sun-porch
drinking in excitement of the fresh night air
sprawled on a coarse gravel bed
searching the starry night
and watching for the first time
as the sky fell apart

then waiting for the world to end

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Growing Up Rich

Growing Up Rich

My childhood home was just four rooms, heated by a black stove in the kitchen.
No phone, no car, a toilet in the basement. Money was tight. The rent had to be paid.

I spent my days in youthful endeavors. Playing baseball in the field where the high school now stands.  My dad, a laborer, walked to work each day, every day. My mom typed envelopes at home for extra money.

At dinnertime my mom would ring a cowbell, calling me home. Responding was not an option. I'd ride my bike home, wash my hands, and join the family at the table. Food was not plentiful, but prepared with love.  I never went hungry.

In my teens dad took ill and could no longer work. Mom got a job at the Woolworth s
I got two paper routes, my earnings split with my parents.

Neighborhoods were tightly knit then. Bad news arrived home before you did. Fruits of backyard gardens were shared, and helping hands lived right next door

School clothes were few in number, but were always clean and ironed. You took them off after school and donned the jeans with ironed on patches. Shoes were passed down from my brother, their lives extended by glued on half-soles or cardboard, cut to shape and stuffed inside. But mostly, I wore my high top P.F. Flyers.

Christmas meant a cut tree with strings of large colored lights. Our stockings were hung on hooks behind the old black stove, to be filled overnight with oranges, apples, candy, and maybe a toy. We thought we were the luckiest kids in town

Sitting here now, reflecting on my childhood, how hard it must have been to make ends meet, but meet they did. The things my folks must have gone without to make sure their kids didn'. We learned early the value of a dollar. They taught me to respect my elders, to know the difference between right and wrong, and to practice it. Their values became my values and stood me in good stead. Their greatest gifts were the love and guidance they provided

I realize now all my memories are good ones. My folks gave me everything it was important for me to have, and although I didn't realize it then, I understand now how lucky I was to have grown up rich.

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Southern Summers

A two-story house stands silent,
no longer prideful of its bay window,
running water in the kitchen,
and a shower in the basement,
or of having erased memories
of shotgun houses with no heat
and back-yard water pumps.

Its blank windows stare 
onto fields where cotton once grew 
tall and green; where stinging dirt clods 
flew from our brother's straight arm, 
whose aim my sister and I could never match.

Its closed face once laughed
at red noses, dust-crusted necks, muscles 
tightening under skin worn waxed-paper thin 
by twelve-hour days under burning skies
and the bitter taste of ashes 
blown in by a greedy little weevil.

Our minds hung heavy 
with hard-packed dirt and skimpy crops
as our hoes wielded strength and hope, 
our toil fueled by dreams 
of emerald fields and rain-kissed rows,

our memories ripe with younger days
when we swam in creeks, bucketed 
minnows, and climbed trees 
in search of possum grapes.

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In The Embrace of Mountains

Mountain soften the gawp of sun 
far beyond the boondocks, 
where the fog plays in stillness,
 ‘fore the banties arouse the glade
When life came to Bottom Land 
bare feet stomped common paths 
Between the tall oak trees 
echoes stood for seconds, 
as tiny voices cartwheeled  
from hanging rocks that bite into the dell

The Good River lend a hand, Big Sandy, 
to water the Bottom Land, 
three acres that fed nine mouths
 and satisfy our bellies
When the snow turn up, 
and pile high on the new year, 
like cotton on a mule cart, 
Pap wore rags to keep his toes; 
we count ten in early spring
When God send Roosevelt and the WPA, 
Pap wore cow hide boots like men ought to

The log cabin was heaven; we lived like gods
In winter, we listen to the hissing of burning 
fir and pinewood, and Pap’s alluring hunting tales
Ma’s fried-green tomatoes and cornmeal pancakes 
were more than quails falling ‘fore Mt Horeb,
and Pap was more than Moses, 
We loved more than Israel, 
far from the isle where milk and honey flow

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THE BULLET TREE - from A Neighborhood Child


No one knows how long the bullet has been lodged in the big    old maple tree
Mr. Ailey claims he knows    but    Mr. Ailey is an old    old man
No one    till Teddy    so far as we know    ever tried to dig it out
Mr. Ailey says the growth    at last    will push it out
Ailey says    “The shot was fired at trailin’ injun’ horsemen”
He rubs the wrinkles down off his face    and says
“It was a Wells and Fargo stage    a rollin’ down what now appears yer Downin’ Street
That there tree was jist a sturdy pole when ‘Ugly Ben”    a sittin’ shot-gun fired a round
At them    them injuns”    Then old Ailey clucks his teeth
The bullet tree is just down the terrace from the deaf lady’s house
It stands on the dear lady’s property  (Mrs. Troutman)
“That there house ya see”   Ailey’s pointing with one crooked finger
“That there house useta be nuthin’ but prairie dog territory”   He coughs    spits a string
“I come huntin’ buffalo afore even that there tree was more’n a shootin’ twig
Ta git back ta Ben    Now    Ben come back one day ta see ifn he could find a shell or two
When he come upon the bullet lodged in tha tree
So he drove it in and pushed the empty shell casing in in back of it
Thet there bullet    Ya see?    Goes tat ha very heart o’ thet there tree”
Even at our age we didn’t believe half of what the old man said

Teddy tried to pry the bullet out one day
But the deaf woman crackled threats from her porch
Her voice    we thought    what a porcupine might sound like
Anyway    the deaf woman’s cackle was a bad omen    we thought

The bullet tree    at last    became a challenge
To dart    after careful observation    then
To touch the dented    weathered    circled end
Without arousing Mrs. Troutman 

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A New

Waking  I wander where did those happy days go.

My New Year resolution is to shed those unnecessary thoughts.

My Comforter will guide me and wants this for me.

Patiently He answers my unspoken prayer.

And childlike I stomp them where they lie.

They will tantalize me no more as I crush them.

And I play with those toys in the dirt where i was free.

Mother  calls me to dinner and washes my hands and face.

Tomorrow I will clean up the mess I left.

I need to rid myself of the filth.

I wear my past like new clothes that are stiff.

They need to be washed and dried and softened.

The doctor will have me lie on her couch and prattle.

She will take me to the cleaners and steam the past.

Sitting at the top of the stairs and listening.

With my tears running famously and glistening.

I hear  the television and you slowly drink your beer.

Mom waitresses  while father and his greed cracks another year.

Tomorrow I will clean up the mess I left.

I need to rid myself of the filth.

I hear you sing the song as I sit on the doctors couch.

Crying and wonder if it is my fault and the rope is lowered.

The strangers hand reach for me and they hold me tight.

Bathe me with whispers not to tell every night.

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Each Visit

*I wrote this one a while ago, dedicated to a very dear friend of mine...I had almost forgotten about it until I came across it in a random notebook*

I walked into the house on Arkansas Street
And felt an immediate sweep of welcome
It was the first time of many visits that
I remember the excitement in her eyes
I remember her smile and her warmth
After introducing me to her sister, 
We sat in the living room with cheer
As shy as I was, I felt at home
I felt received and at ease
She is my friend, and how close we have become
We know many more times are to be shared

Her mom was sweet and kind…
She worked on dinner as we played video games
Then my friend guided me into her room
And there she shared an imagination I never knew
I was in love with this girl—her mind
In a way that bonded me to her forever
It was a love so exciting and innocent
That felt no need for physical touch
I was saturated in her light—her art
And I never wanted to leave her side
Her art was where my heart belonged

Since the first day I walked into her house
I knew what we have is very special
Even now I look back at that day
And remember all the happiness and laughter
It is the love of friendship that makes me whole
And the art surrounding us comes to life
Lighting up our minds and hearts

As we join hands and as we touch
I am surprised at how much we have grown
And that excitement has never left my soul
I know each new visit sparks so much more

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As Sunset Dusks the Sky

There's a place I go in fields nearby
Where I like to simply stand and watch the sky.

I see the trees in every season
That change throughout the year,
But I know that if I go away
They will still be there.

The streams will still flow
The leaves will still fall,
The sun will dusk the sky each night,
The birds still sound their call.

For now I'll walk this well loved path,
Let twilight gentle my mind,
And wonder as I go from this place
Of other paths my restless feet may find.

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From England's dark blackout
We came to these shores
I and my siblings
In refuge from war.
How enchanted we were
With all we saw.

First Sydney's fine harbour
And her bridge of one span
Then the azure blue sea
The long beaches of sand
The beautiful city lit up at night
To our youthful eyes a wondrous sight.

The Aussie soldier in his famous slouch hat
The long train journey to the far outback
The Cockies screech the Kookaburra's cackle
New sights and sounds for my brain to tackle.
The grazing sheep the fields of wheat
The fun of the master the blistering heat
The long hot summers with respite at the sea
Where we swam and surfed in unspoilt glee.

School days were spent in city or mountain retreat
Strict was the discipline our uniforms neat.
Happy the friendships spacious the grounds
Nuns telling rosary beads flitting around.
With firmness and patience they taught us well
Recreation was announced by the tolling bell.

Oh the joy when the holidays came
What fun we had on the old school train.
It trundled along past wilga and gum
Past meandering creeks and billabongs
Past Emus grazing and Roos hopping along
Through wide open spaces rich in bird song.

At the graceful homestead with veranda surround
Stood the welcoming grandmother so recently found.
With parents far off she gave care and love
How proud we were of her pioneer blood.
She cooked and scrubbed and chopped the wood
She could do everything she really could.

But tragedy stuck
With her soldier son killed.
She grieved and withered and lost her will.
No longer in her life
Would he take part
Months later she died of a broken heart.

There came a time when with many tears
I bade farewell to this life so dear.
I had no choice I had to go.
The years passed on
I missed it all so.

This time when I came
I touched down by plane.
New visions flood my startled brain
Australia I find is absorbed in change
it makes me feel so very strange.

The laid back Aussie with his old world charm
A computer wiz now and amazingly calm.
The coastline is cluttered highrises abound
The noise of the traffic an ugly sound.
But the song of the Bellbird is still a wonder
It soothes my senses as I ponder.

For no land on earth has so much to offer.
So I’ll settle here I will not hover.
Perhaps the maternal ancestors smile from above.
For at last I'm here In the land they loved.
And I'll spend the twilight of my years
In this country I've always held so dear.

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A Dragon's Tale

Kicking up dust with my Mary Jane shoes
too many years ago now to be counted
in the darkening shadows of one bronze summer day
I was holding his hand, with assurance and trust
filled with concoctions of sugared excitement

I remember our feet crossing the plank
My Dad, (for the fourth time, with a smile on his face)
giving me a chance to back out with grace
giving me a chance to change my mind
"There's no disgrace,"....he said once again

But I was determined, insistent and firm!
How many times, had they taken a turn...
my brother and Dad....while I had to watch and yearn
standing below, in the infantile shame of the nowhere zone?

Dad finally relented, to my mother's chagrin
then took my hand,.......and with bravado...I had won!...

Sticky was the heat, and so were my hands, while we waited
that with a fidgety impatience, leading to the front of the line

We boarded the Dragon, a faceless contraption, 
that seemed quite familiar...and oddly resembled
the creation my brother had made on our living room floor 
with his 'million and one piece' erector set

A strange looking man with a sunburned face
and a head that seemed too small for his burly, puffed up size
escorted us to a red metal bucket, and strapped us in

Before the sound of train wheels began to grind
I buried my face in the arm of my Dad....
Blinded by fear,  too scared to see, too scared was me!

I know we had the ride of my life....
The Dragon, I'm sure was fierce as could be
But I was not harmed
But for the life of me....
I only remember my shaky knees, 
and walking the plank back into mother's waiting arms


Inspired by Lisa's Contest: "Unamed County Fair "

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L O M L Always

The thought of her smiling gave me faith
From when we were little we bathe
My mother and her mother is best friends
They both took care of us and gifts they send
We pulled each others hair
And she was always quick to dare
When I smiled at her she knew it was no good
She learned to pull me up and she understood
I just wanted her attention and that she gave
She knew it in her heart love was my slave
From when we were a child with full of energy I had my way
She was the one who was my guide and she did not push me away
When I saw her cry one day and her eyes was so sad
I gave her a flower and I smiled at her and made her glad
When some one special leaves her heart
I sat by her and never wanted to depart
She is the love of my life always
She is the one who gave me my hope through out my days
So I gave her my heart and love from within
And I did not make it thin
I stood by her side since I was a child
I gave her my support when we were wild
She knew who I was and I let her go the distance
I did not hate her or give her resistance
My mother and her mother are great friends and their virtue will never end
Because of their love they both trusted us to live our ways to transcend
So my childhood friend was my best friend, and now my wife
She new it from the start that we part of each others life

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Serenade to Growing Up in the Fifties

When I was just a  little girl, we lived by railroad tracks;
We loved the steamy, smoky stacks, the wheels clickety clack.
On many days we would find, knocking at our door,
A hobo who had jumped the train, hungry to the core.
Hobos somehow had a way of letting other hobos know
Who, in towns along the way, would feed a starving Joe.
Mom surely was the subject of a lot of telegraphs,
Time after time, they found a way up our cottage path.
My aunt and cousin, Pam, would sometimes visit us,
And though the tracks might be blocked, Aunt Becky was nonplussed;
We’d hear her cheerful hello holler as she climbed between the cars,
We’d pray they’d have safe crossing, watching from our yard.
Aunt Becky was a lot of fun wherever she might be;
More than once she laughed so hard she couldn’t wait to pee.
At her house, we’d taffy pull or pour sweet boiled candy;
She didn’t need a marble slab, her windowsills worked dandy.
And cousin Pam was just as funny as any funny goes,
She drank purple Kool Aid and brought it out her nose.
Sometimes, the trains would bring the circus into town,
They’d stop across the street and we would watch the clowns;
It was our own, private show, a zoo animal parade,
A lot of fun for little kids who could not afford to pay.
Our pet chameleon we named Hinkie--we’d make him change his color,
And ice cream for the  four of us was way less than a dollar.
One time I jumped my baby bed to the chest of drawers,
It happened in my bedroom…all alone, I just got bored.
The Gospel of John was there, red, with a paper back;
Tore it into pieces, my little nose I packed.
It was in there good and solid, couldn’t get it loose;
I caused a big commotion, such a troublesome papoose.
Daddy sent my older sis to friendly confectionery,
The neighborhood store of stores--they liked us little fairies--
She was all excited, told about our bad nose problem;
They were in the business of helping people solve them.
“Tell your daddy, blow in her mouth, it’s easier than tweezers.”
And that is just what Daddy did to this naughty little sneezer.
The red book cover all flew out; they thought it was my brains;
I never took the Gospel in quite that way again.
There are tons of other tales I don’t have time to tell you,
Like how to get your freckles off by washing in the dew,
Of catching fireflies after dark and playing kick the can,
And having someone time us just to see how fast we ran.
We picked the bag-worms off the shrubs, our Daddy paid a dime
For ev’ry quart we brought to him; this system worked just fine.
He got rid of pesky pests and pay day made us run
Barefoot to the groc’ry store to buy up some sweet fun.
This tale sounds all perfection and that’s how we’ll let it go,
No need to bring in sadness and tell about our woes.
I think we kids were lucky, growing up back in the fifties . . .
It was a different world back then, this world is not so nifty.

July 11. 2014

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Food For Thought

His name was Randy Richardson, about four 
feet tall and always smiling. Randy had a big 
round head with little hair just like Charlie Brown, 
yet he was the love of my life at seven years old. 
Randy was very sensitive so I kissed him. In those 
days, being a tomboy, I wrestled many a boyfriend 
down to the ground for a kiss.

I used to collect boyfriends, depending on what kind
 of treats their mother offered when I came over. I 
remember sampling blueberry pies and moist chocolate
cakes.  Once I even had a piece of Carob cake from Jame’s
mother who was into health foods. It didn’t pass at all 
for chocolate.  Well then I grew older and stopped 
my culinary attacks on the neighborhood boys.

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Hereith a longing

Euston Euston station
I never pass Euston station at times without feeling homesick
hereith we call it - hereith a longing
watching the trains pull out of the station into its dark tunnels 
imagining a journey out of London through Kentish town and the suburbs
but in my mind I am far beyond them
past the marches and border country 
far away to my childhood 
back to mountains castles and streams 
to the valleys of my home 
back to my youth 
five hours and forty years away 

I remember the look of Wales 
the things that settle in my mind like photographs in a family album
Wales as I like to remember it the Wales I want everyone to see 
in those days it seemed to be always summer 
the sands or the shining sea in the great bay
things of childhood the sound of breakers 
the feel of sand between my toes
plunging into the distance of the past
So I go back to Wales as often as I can
I take the train from Euston and I go home
back to my youth 
five hours and forty years away 

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The Brave Bear and the Brown-Haired Boy

When bombs rained down a neighborhood
In Shiah, south Beirut one night
A brown haired boy tight clutched his toy,
A cuddly brown-furred bear, in fright.

And sobbing through the roaring din,
He whispered to his cuddly friend:
"Oh, Teddy, Teddy, hold me tight,
And stay until the bombings end."

The cuddly bear then softly spoke:
"My little friend, be not afraid.
Just hold my hand, and never cry,
We'll go to where all toys are made."

"We'll ride a fast, green, chugging train
That goes to Cave of Childhood Joy,
Just hold on tight and walk with me."
He told the brown-haired little boy.

And toddling off, they left in haste
To board the waiting silent train,
That left the station right on time
When all the other kids were in.

It softly chugged through tunnel bright,
Then reached the Cave of Childhood Joy.
All kinds of good things, there they saw,
And everywhere a brand new toy!

There, too, were dancing ice cream cones,
Brown trees with leaves of chocolate,
A bluebird singing on a branch:
"You're welcome all to choose and eat."

They did, and drank sweet soda pop
From spring they saw there flowing by;
They played on swings with silver chains,
While ponies neighed sweet lullaby.

Some drank fresh milk from gleaming cups,
And others picked sweet berries pink,
While others ate cream puffs so soft,
All fears just vanished in a blink.

The bear then told his little friend:
"I'll go to guard the tunnel door,
To stop the ants from getting in."
He left, and couldn't tell him more.

He hurried out that joyous place,
To bravely take his sentry post,
But bombs rained down the tunnel door
The entrance got, with rubble, lost.

And when rescuers came in haste,
To search through rubble for the boy,
They didn't find a trace of him,
But just his brave and cuddly toy.

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Little Jose (Vignette)

A half of him fell into the river running wild,
Yet still, his spirits remained in manner mild.
Then, he tossed freely the other half and said:
“Go! Seek thy mate that this great joy o’ thine
Be upon those who find you, slippers o’ mine!”


This tribute poem is about an event in Dr. Jose P. Rizal's 
early life. He was a poet/author of "Noli Me Tangere" and 
"El Filibusterismo", his famous novels that cost his life.

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The Adventure of My Boy and Mumbo Jumbo

.....Mommy walks and Jamie toddles inside the BIGGEST plane. 
Jamie thought he was inside its belly. The storm roars outside. 
The thunder is loud inside the metal beastie. They sit. Lightening flashes. 
Jamie screams “No!” The plane swallows them like Pinocchio in the whale! 
Jamie thought of his toy plane at home.
    The REAL Mumbo Jumbo jet roars, speeding down the runway. “Good morning everyone.” 
A voice says “This is your Captain for the flight from Bangor to New York. Once we’re above 
the clouds the weather should clear. Remain in your seats.” Jamie wasn’t going anywhere. 
“How’d Mumbo Jumbo get so big?” Jamie thinks. He looks out the port hole at the lights. 
Jamie begins talking to the plane. Mumbo Jumbo roars and whooshes, as if to reply. “Is that 
you little one?” The planes vents ask. “How’d you get so small?” “Mommy and Daddy made 
me!” He chatters to the drone of the engines. “Mommy and Daddy are makers? Oh that it 
explains it. That’s How you new my name.” Mumbo hisses. “Makers know everything. What’s 
your name, Tiny?”
    “Mommy calls me My Boy.”
    “You will be My Boy too!.” Says Mumbo. “For this ride I will take care of you and mommy.”
    “But, but YOU ATE US!” Jamie whimpers. “Why’d you do that?” 
    “Ate you? I didn’t eat you My Boy. I’m keeping you safe inside me, just like Mommy did 
before you were born.” BOOM went the thunder. Crackle ZAP went the lightening.
    Jamie screams. Mumbo Jumbo rises up, up above the storm and into the sunlight. A round 
circle of lemony yellow falls into Jamie’s lap. It was so warm. He stops crying. The clouds 
look like cotton balls out the window just like the fields in Peter Rabbit story!
    Mommy let Jamie down and he runs up the aisles. He chases the lady with the orange 
juice! He peeks in a tiny room with a potty! Suddenly, his ears hurt and he runs to Mom. 
She’s brought his old bottle and sucking it makes his ears pop! After a lunch of fruit, Mom 
gives him cookies on the small table. Soon a voice comes through the air “We will be landing 
at the airport in five minutes. Return to your seats! Buckle –up! “Daddy?” Jamie says. “No, 
the pilot!” Mom smiles. “Ready to land My Boy?”
    Jamie was bouncing with excitement. The plane bounces and jiggles across the 
runway. “Thank you!” Jamie says to both “Mum’s”
“You’re welcome.” Mumbo Jumbo and Mommy say.
    Off they go to Grandpa’s arms, and with a bye wave of wing the plane leaves.
    “Good bye My Boy.” Mumbo Jumbo roars! “See ya next time!”


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The Autumn of Life

With heightened urge to swim and splash
To the nearby river, with its twists and bends
In warm summer evening of Uttar Pradesh
A child sets out with a group of friends

The flowing water and its blissful rinse
The currents and waves and their silky flow
Climbing their shoulders and reaching their chins
The ecstasy causing the faces to glow

Oblivious of risks, bubbling with zeal
Knowing not a storm could mount a siege
The fury and rage could serenity steal
Ignorant that scenery could turn a page

You and I are riding the quick sand of time
The turbulent river of life is in spate
We know not that we could be victims prime
Oblivious of meeting a devastating fate

Is there a spring of autumn of life?
Where is the promised mercy’s floodgate?
Is our destiny anguish and strife?
O Saviour’s Benign Hands! How long to wait?


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Where Memories Keep Me Warm

My grandparents lived in a drafty old farmhouse.
Yet it was filled with a warmth, and stability that still lingers in my mind...
The days seemed sunnier, the breeze was brisk, the nights were cold and clear....
It took a bit of courage when bedtime arrived
For it was quite a cold affair
The back rooms of Grandma's house were never heated
The old bathroom smelled of orange Lifebouy soap
Which was cradled in the wire racks by the sink and the claw foot tub.
At night time, we would have to reach for the string by the door
   that ran along the wall, over to the the fixture above the sink,
                                 in order to turn on the light....
Must have been another one of Grandpa's great solutions!...
It was freezing cold...and no matter how long you let the water run
       it would never seem to get warm.  
         Quite often, my brother and I would fib about washing well behind our ears.

My bed was next to the old treadle sewing machine, 
A small daybed, in the corner of the dining room...
This was my place to sleep each time we visited my Grandparents.
Grandma would come in for a minute, before I fell asleep
And although she was stiff, from joints that knew when the weather was changing...
She would kneel along beside me, and together we would recite the Lord's Prayer
And follow by blessings on each member of the family...
      of course that included the family dog, and the family cat too!
         The old grey tabby cat, was allowed to curl up at the foot of my bed, and spend the night....
 How I loved that cat!

                 A kiss on the forehead..."Sleep tight, Don't let the bedbugs bite" before leaving.

If I close my eyes, I can still hear the ticking of the old school clock
And the humming of the small refrigerator coming from the kitchen
I still hear the mummering of grown-up voices, laughing playing cards in the parlor... 
I can still smell the fragrance of coffee, and cinnamon,
                                          mixed with moth balls
                                                            and the Old Spice that Grandpa wore...
I would lie there, trying hard to fall asleep, ...yet much too excited...
Impatient for tomorrow's early sun to rise over Mt. San Jacinto

Another sun filled day, another memory to make, 
                                    another place in my heart to fill....
                                                    at my Grandparent's house....

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At grandma's we played with 
Ate sweets that gave us cavities
And my cousins were my best 
Granny would make pap, white 
and soft
Served with wors
(sausages) that made everyone's 
mouth water, even mum.

We'd gather around a fire
''making maize magic'' we'd say 
As we braai maize and vleis 
Before the fire dies Gogo 
Makes her legendary vetkoeks,
A delight to enjoy for days.

Sometimes we' climb the mango 
As the thrill intrigued us, for it 
was dangerous
The bees would buzz and we 
just ran
But Gogo awaited at the kitchen 
With a belt to give a hiding
But we would cry before she 
punishes us
In hopes of dodging the bullet.   

At grandma's we grew up.

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Growing Young in Ziontown

Growing Young in Ziontown

Admiring the dogwoods as I walked that path with dad after the work day was through. He walked and talked of life, nature and wisdom showed from him to the light shades of the sky of blue. Showered at times with a mist, the forest, fragrant with a purity you would have to know it to appreciate the cleanliness of the naturality. The blossoms were sweet when opening and the vines hung from the trees that we used to play on, swing and drop like monkeys. Summer time was always a good time. In the morn, always breakfast served up right. Dad and mom's early conversations muttled and is what sleepily awakened me in security and peace. By ten, when warm and bright, chores for me were done outside (were not paid a dime. we didn't expect or want it). My big brother worked by himself and dad taught me everything I needed to know, then we were free to run anywhere we wanted to go! We knew "best be back by sun down!" Down the rolling pasutures, over the barb wired fences, looking for mysteries as we caught craw dads (searching for something very valuable ... like gold!) Nancy Drew was it and I was "Scoop Cayton", we were a team. So on we walked the dirt roads, on the sides wild ferns grew and still do. The buttercups smelled so sweet and I, drinking sweetness on my tongue. One single drop from the honey suckles on the bank (the darker yellow were much sweeter to me). Ronnie eats flowers! I told him he was stupid and I know I'm not aloud to do that. Mom was always gathering, storing for the winter and dad bought, raised, and sold stock from the sale yet the old billy goat deal between him and Jim, his friend had to convince him to take it. A week later, dad bent fixing the source to the trough. Dad laughed after I saw him the maddest ever had I seen! "whoop! whoop! whoop! he laughed with Jim and said, "I've never heard a billy do that" and how he landed in the water trough... I wasn't aloud to interupt the men, but I did inquire what happened to the goat. No information was given about the animal.., as jim chuckled and dad shook his head. Yes, I was concerned for all the life there but somehow, the food was good(except for the rabbit and squirrel, they floured and fried and lied and said it was chicken. We picked the spare corn off the ground that the combine missed(with permission). Most farmers left a row for the deer. It was narures way for the hard days of all the creatures of those Appalchian hills.

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Sunny with a chance of egg shell

Never had an Easter hunt, never got an easter basket
Each Easter we had a new outfit and easter shoes
Never any candy nor chocolate bunnies
We looked well dressed walking in at church
Smiling like a princess with chubby cheeks and freckles
We were ok, did not need the candy and I have never had a cavity
Mom knows best, she knew what we needed
Like country fried steak and mashed potatoes
Homemade biscuits Sunday morning
That was the smell-alarm for us
We got to eat at McDonald's some Sunday's after church
All the way in the next town, our town only had DQ
Life was good even though we never heard of an Easter bunny
Mom could sew real fine too, she kept me covered
Mama, thanks for the raising!!

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Is it a crime to dream?

Innocent childhood dreams
Full of lollipops and ice cream
Pretending to be a princess bride
Maintaining dignity and pride

Innocent childhood dreams
No longer filled with candy and flavors of ice cream
Slowly you begin to see
The triumphs and tragedies that are meant to be

Innocent childhood dreams
Replaced with ones that make me want to scream
My once protected heart
Now easily torn apart

A heart filled with passion, love and hate
Often questioning fate
So I can’t help but ponder this 
Is it such a crime to wish…
To wish I could go back in time? 

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Clear View

I can see it now even without looking that clear view above the steeply dropping 
rooftops.  That sight is peppered across my childhood memories, the open 
moorland, in all weathers and in all seasons.  Standing at the top of the road on the 
way to where ever, always a brief moment to glance at its beauty.  Be it tinged with 
purple heather, or covered in snow, sometimes missing altogether in the mists of an 
autumn morn, ever constant but never quite the same.  Beautiful, yet intangible too 
far to run, to young to drive.  Even now I long to see that view again with real eyes, 
so much so that I suspect, given the car and some time I'd find myself not on the 
moor of my childhood desires, but instead atop the hill above the rooftops staring at 
the view.

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Friday night in the Ghetto

It's Friday night 
In the Ghetto
From the dark ring out
A little girl crying
Daddy don’t hit mama
Sit down and shut up
On the walls
As neighbors threaten
To call the cops

Drugs in the hallways
Drugs on the streets
Who will that pretty girl meet
To make the money 
To feed the habit or pay
The bills or just to eat.

And still around the corner
Near the shops
The people stand 
And talk about the promise land
Its Friday night in the ghetto and the
Promise land is
The pawn shop
Fried chicken
Peanut butter and jelly.

The music from the barber shop
Makes a fellow stop
And touch fists
With a friend 
From around the way
Hey remember the day
Then out of the night air
Shots ring out

That little girl
Sitting on the floor
Playing with her dolls
Ken and Barbie
Dreaming of a time 
When she will meet her
Ken and maybe
Falls on her face
This is the place
The ghetto
And its Friday

Poem by SGSteverson
From the book"Four Pieces of a Silver Coin"
Posted 09/14/2011

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Black Leather Pouch

I stood before the mirror
in my violet cotton shirt
and jeans from the Gap,
with combed brown hair 
falling just below my shoulders,
my backpack in tow.
Small but mighty,
there I was,
ready to be one of 
the big kids now.

I held on tightly to my mom's hand
on the corner of Hazel and Greenleaf,
anxiously awaiting the arrival 
of the yellow school bus
to take me off to my first day
as a 1st grader. 

She sensed my nerves
and knelt down beside me,
placing a small black leather pouch necklace
in my hand.
"Put this around your neck
and whenever you start to feel
scared or lonely at school,
just rub the pouch and I'll be there,"
she said with a smile.

I clutched the pouch 
in my hand as the school bus
pulled up to the corner
and opened its doors. 
Charlie the bus driver
welcomed kids with a warm smile,
but I didn't want to let go of mom's hand.
With the pouch in my right hand,
and her hand in my left,
everything was right.
But as the last of the other kids
boarded the bus,
I knew it was time to let go
of mom's hand.

I waved one more time from the bus
as I sat down on the sticky brown
school bus seats.
I looked out the window
trying to hold onto my mom
with my eyes until
I couldn't see her anymore.

I felt the tears begin to well,
and my lower lip trembled,
the only thing I wanted 
was to be back with my mom.
I took the pouch out of my hand,
and slipped it over my head
onto my neck.
Closing my eyes
I rubbed the pouch,
and just like she said,
she was there with me
holding my hand.

Years later 
on a humid day in late September
I stood in front of the mirror
in my apartment,
wearing a yellow tank top 
and a loose brown skirt,
my short hair pulled back
in a ponytail.
As the time came for me to leave,
all I wanted to do was cry.
I wish mom was here to hold my hand,
I thought, looking down at my
empty hands.
I grabbed my bag from my chair,
and a worn black leather pouch
fell from the chair onto the carpet.
I stared at it for just a moment,
and then picked it up and tied it tightly 
to the strap on my bag.
As I walked into the room
for my first day as a big girl
in the real world.
I realized I was rubbing the pouch
with the fingers on my right hand,
just as I did on the first day of 
the 1st grade.

I knew she was there with me
holding my hand through my struggles,
just like she promised me years earlier
while waiting for the bus
on the corner of Hazel and Greenleaf.

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THE BULLET TREE - from A Neighborhood Child


No one knows how long the bullet has been lodged in the big    old maple tree
Mr. Ailey claims he knows    but    Mr. Ailey is an old    old man
No one    till Teddy    so far as we know    ever tried to dig it out
Mr. Ailey says the growth    at last    will push it out
Ailey says    “The shot was fired at trailin’ injun’ horsemen”
He rubs the wrinkles down off his face    and says
“It was a Wells and Fargo stage    a rollin’ down what now appears yer Downin’ Street
That there tree was jist a sturdy pole when ‘Ugly Ben”    a sittin’ shot-gun fired a round
At them    them injuns”    Then old Ailey clucks his teeth
The bullet tree is just down the terrace from the deaf lady’s house
It stands on the dear lady’s property  (Mrs. Troutman)
“That there house ya see”   Ailey’s pointing with one crooked finger
“That there house useta be nuthin’ but prairie dog territory”   He coughs    spits a string
“I come huntin’ buffalo afore even that there tree was more’n a shootin’ twig
Ta git back ta Ben    Now    Ben come back one day ta see ifn he could find a shell or two
When he come upon the bullet lodged in tha tree
So he drove it in and pushed the empty shell casing in in back of it
Thet there bullet    Ya see?    Goes tat ha very heart o’ thet there tree”
Even at our age we didn’t believe half of what the old man said

Teddy tried to pry the bullet out one day
But the deaf woman crackled threats from her porch
Her voice    we thought    what a porcupine might sound like
Anyway    the deaf woman’s cackle was a bad omen    we thought

The bullet tree    at last    became a challenge
To dart    after careful observation    then
To touch the dented    weathered    circled end
Without arousing Mrs. Troutman 

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Back in the Saddle

When I was a child
I liked to go on horse rides
It felt grant to sit
On top of this beast so gigantic
And learn to have it follow
Commands, finding control.

There upon Marquis, the horse
That I dearly loved
I could find a bond.
Of each other we were so fond
An invisible give and take
With nature, there was no mistake.

One afternoon I rode
With my uncle upon a road
Freshly asphalted, lacking still a border
Riding too close to it, Marquis faltered
Losing momentarily his balance
Which made me loose my balance.

Instinctively I hung on
To Marquis's neck and didn't fall down
Though my body dropped on his right side.
With my arms still around his neck tight
I pulled myself back in the saddle safe and sound
As I knew I would be on his mount.

Remembering this episode today
Renews my determination to keep faith
While going through great struggles
Hanging on to life, seeing the gifts in its bundle
That help me pull myself back in the saddle
And climb the steps to reach grounds more stable.

By CarolineCécile
Copyright  © 08.15.10

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A Special Chicken Hawk

He's not just any chicken hawk,
He's very special to me.
With a hat on his head, a tie on his neck,
And some shoes on his little feet.

He's brown and tan, a little worn,
Well loved you might as well say.
He was my friend as a little child,
I played with him night and day.

I've grown attached to that chicken hawk,
Even though I'm not a child anymore.
He was my favorite, although he was stuffed,
And he couldn't fly or soar.

He's a very special chicken hawk,
He's very special to me.
With a hat on his head, and a tie on his neck,
And some shoes on his chicken hawk feet.

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Sacrament of Baptism

The day of Pentecost, Church celebrated
Administered Holy Baptism
St. Peter declares
“Repent and be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of sins and receive the gift of the Holy Spirit”

The apostles offer baptism to anyone who believed in Fr. Christ Jesus
You will be saved
You and your household
St. Paul declared to his baptized and with all his family

Baptism is birth into the new life in Fr. Christ Jesus
In accordance with Lord God’s will
It is necessary for salvation
As the Church herself, we enter by Baptism

Baptismal grace includes forgiveness of original sin
Birth to a new life by man becomes an adopted son of the Father
A member of Fr. Christ
A temple of the Holy Spirit

Those who die for faith
 All those without knowing the Church under the inspiration of grace
Seek God sincerely, strive to fulfill his will
Can be saved even if they have not been baptize

With respect to children who have died without baptism
The Church invites us to trust in God’s mercy
The angel of Lord God said
The babies are safe in heaven

Written 09172012

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There is Life Beyond Death's Door Part IV- (Most Awesome Paranormal Experience)

stammered, “Because, if Brian ran away, I saw him earlier today, downtown!  And  
he bought me an ice cream cone! And we talked and were even laughing at a joke 
I’d just told!  He was all dressed up and I asked him where he was going all 
dressed up on a Saturday. He just laughed and said that, he was on an errand and 
he was going back home. He said that he would see me later.  Then I said that I 
would come by to tell him about the trip. We said good bye and he walked away!

Papa’s face turned to stone as he starred in silence, and poor Thomas just stood in 
that spot like a statute.  My oldest sister or someone asked him what kind of 
clothing Brian was wearing.  He answered that Brian was wearing a grey suit, white 
shirt and a burgundy bow tie! He described the outfit down to the shoes Brian 
wore. With that said, Papa, wide-eyed called was rising out of his chair in slow 
motion as he called out to Mama to come and hear this.  Slowly, his tall frame stood 
in silence. Those were the exact clothes that Brian was buried in. There is no way 
Thomas could have known what kind of clothing Brian had been buried in because; 
his parents weren’t at home when he returned from camp.  He had returned much 
earlier than was expected. He didn’t unpack his bags, being in a hurry to get to the 
store downtown as they closed early on Saturdays. After, he would go and visit 
Brian to share about the trip.  Brian’s burial clothes were all new and made by the 
local tailor!  Thomas ran out of the house and my Father ran after him. The grieving 
had begun all over again. We never did see our dog, Blackie again.  The following 
year we moved away.  I am grateful for memories because even though my brother 
Brian died long ago, I still remember his handsome face, even his voice, the way he 
walked, his beautiful smile, and the many times he would carry me up on his 
shoulders to safety in escaping from an abusive uncle.

Next time I see my brother Brian, we will be together again, this time forever.

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The Day the Boys Set Out to Fly

Larry was the oldest,  seemed every day he grew 
Bubbling with mischief,   like a cackling witches brew 
At the time just  10  or so,  but that’s a long way back 
Humorously independent,    the joker of his pack. 
And then came Jan,   smiling face of missing teeth
Radiating   freckles,  a  tomboy underneath  
Followed by little Davey,  and his demon  dog named  Stiff
Really good at misbehaving,  or some real mischief. 

There are potent spells a witch can cast, riding on her broom
Sorcerers tricks from ages past, weaving trickery  on her loom 
To ferment a brew with some illusion, and  a spell or two
With spirit salts and then confusion,  to make her schemes come true 

Johnny was the toddler,  did pretty much as told
Shook his rattle,  sucked his thumb, let his world unfold 
So that’s team, the whole groundcrew,  dynamic  young and bold   
With dreams and schemes of their machines, something to behold
 With sticks and gum  and elastic bands,  a runway made of tiles, 
Perched upon the old shed roof,  it could be seen for miles 
Gleaming in the evening sun ,  the plane was quite a feat
A firecracker in an  upturned pail, as an ejector seat
A barnyard roof may not seem high,  20 feet I’d guess, 
The main thing was to make dad proud, something to impress
But to the boys quite high enough,  for their first flight test
To  act like men by doing good,  and sticking to their quest.
The plane was much too hard to move, even with all  three trying  
They ignored the pilots grumblings,  leaving Johnny close to crying  
What it really needed was a magic wand, the ones that sorcerers use,
One with proper magic powers,    that could also light the fuse. 

One more shove is all we’ll need,  lets give it one more try 
I’m guessing theres  trick to  this,  to making this  thingfly.
Then Abracadabra  he had the thought,    that used a pole and levers.
Come on now,  You’ll all be proud, we’ll show them non-believers
See it’s already at the edge,  nothing can stop us now.
But as the plane started to tilt, sweat  on the pilot’s brow
Litltle Johnny  started to sob, and could not hold back his tears,
And within the nearby kitchen, the cry fell on someone’s ears, 

What wicked spells a witch can cast, as she rides apon her broom
Using evil tricks from ages past, and illusions weaved by loom 
But that’s no match for a prairie  mother, running with a scream 
With terror in her eyes,  to end an evil scheme. 

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Garden Angel

It is late morning, and a string of washing is waving on the line
Clothes look like colorful flags flapping in the wind.

I'm watching her, as she pats a stray wisp of grey hair, 
    back into the braid she wears, knotted into a bun on the back of her head...
       She's wearing those sturdy black shoes,
           and a corn-flowered blue dress of calico 
      She has a smile of satisfaction, and her eyes are as clear and blue as the sky

Summer sun is shining
          ...she walks to the garden, and begins to pick vegetables 
Her flowered apron is folded into a hammock
          and is overflowing with cucumbers, tomatoes, and bell peppers...
              Quickly, into her mouth, she pops a warm cherry tomato....
                 straight from the vine,....a juicy, red marble

She bends to pull a weed, then comes over to me
 There, I am sitting in the tire swing, that hangs from the old Cottonwood tree...
"Try these, dear"...she says..."They are delicious....sweet as sugar on a Sunday morn"
           She holds one out to me, and I taste this juicy morsel of goodness...

Before she goes inside, she clutches the apron closed ...
   then with one hand reaches down
      and gently pets the old hound, who sleeps in the shade
         and somehow, the vision of her begins to fade,
As hard as I is fading....and then I hear the sound of an airplane overhead...

Suddenly, I am standing in my garden, 
             and the cherry tomatoes in my pail are shining in the sun
                and juice is lingering in my mouth....sweet as sugar on a Sunday morn....
                    and I feel warm glow of satisfaction under the summer sun


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Walking To School

I was standing in my dining room, drinking a cup of coffee, staring out the window the other day.  Across the street is the school bus stop, so for a brief time, each morning there stands a collection of young students, mindlessly milling around until the bus arrives.  Of note is that this is winter time in Maine.  Temperatures in the teens and twenties are the norm.  Yet, there stood at least two boys, wearing parkas and, to my surprise and chagrin, shorts.  What is the matter with kids today.

Then I thought about when I was a kid and how my mother would always be concerned that, when in my teens, I never buttoned or zipped up my coat.  Didn't bother me near as much as it did her.

Where I grew up, there were no yellow buses.  We all walked to school.  In the summer, it was fun to jostle with your friends, sharing lies and tall tales with each other.  But in the winter, it was quite something else again.  Mom would dress us in the kitchen.  Padded snow pants over which she would pull on and snap up a pair of rubber boots.  They were called galoshes then.  Next came a scarf over which a frayed but warm coat was buttoned, all the way up to the neck.  Lastly, my prized leather aviator cap with shear-ling lined ear flaps, and of course, the requisite mittens, which when very young, were pinned to our sleeves.

Our books were carried in an old green book bag, cinched at the top and thrown over our shoulder, or more often then not, swung around or dragged during our school ward journey.  Funny how I remember all this , but I don't remember ever being cold, even when my face was apple red.  It was just something you did.  If you weren't going to school, you would be playing outside anyway.  Winter was subjective.

So when you hear the stories from your grandpa about how he used to walk to school in waist high snow and how the trip was uphill, both ways, you may want to think back on the fun you had, and how much those kids across the street are missing.

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Chapel by the Sea

"The music in my heart is from the tolling of the bell"

I drove in silence, watching the road closely as it coiled along the rocky coastline, occasionally flipping on the wipers to remove the sea mist that gathered on my windshield.  How long had it been, I mused, since the last time I was here.  More years then I liked to think I’m afraid.  Yet still, the closer I came to the village that was my childhood home, the more a sense of belonging reawakened.

I entered the village, passing the old high school and several of the shops on Main St, most with new names and new owners while others sat dark and vacant.  I couldn’t help but feel a little sad.  This town was the soul of my childhood and I guess I had never expected it to forsake my memories.  It would somehow remain frozen in time, waiting for my return to begin anew.

I searched for the familiar as I neared the old port, only to be greeted by a today I had not anticipated.  I was home and my home was no longer there.  Then I heard the bell.  The mellow chime called to me, like the voice of an old friend.  I drove with haste until arriving at the little Chapel by the Sea. 
I stared as if seeing it for the first time, savoring the weather beaten wood and frosted windowpanes.  The sturdy steeple urging me to enter.  As I stepped into the dim, cool interior, it was as if I never left.  I was that kid again with shined shoes and slicked down hair that came here every week to profess my faith.

  The silence was overwhelming as I slid into a pew, letting the nostalgia of the moment wash over me.  I had found my anchor.  For all my absence, it had waited for my return and, wrapping me securely in its embrace, seemed to say "welcome back, I've missed you.

Bob Quigley
September 24, 2011
Written for “The Church by the Ocean” contest

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Once upon time, in a land not far, were a born prince and his baby sister. Their names given were Jacob and Jacoba. Now the tale goes that Jacob was a very insisting child. His sister Jacoba is his twin and cries all day and night. When four months of life had transgress, they had grown profoundly intelligent. Here’s the narrative!
Jacob is a very insisting child. His sister, Jacoba, is his twin and cries all day and night. They are infants with the age of four months now. They will grow to be healthy children after a while. Yet their faith will bring their empire. The reliance will come from far away. Thus, all will deceive the family of the infants. The struggle will not be perceived as such and Jacob is as smart as a whip. If there is no way for him to find out, his commitment will be in self. Therefore, he will succeed without anyone's help. Jacoba has sensed wealth. She desires to be famous. She is very creative and loyal to her blood and therefore, she will define her empire. Nevertheless, her twin must achieve to and that is when she discovered her royal blood. It was her belief in who she would become. Now if this story goes in a twist, Jacoba's success will be similar to Jacob's. However, if this tale is told correctly, Jacob has discovered his empire directly. Nevertheless, if this is just the imagination, the enrichment of each will be shared throughout creation. Nonetheless, is not to be discussed. This will manifest before all of us. Although Jacoba is now Empress in 1600 A.D., her brother Jacob has been crowned King. The endowment was given to them through a spell cast on their parents when they were merely ten. The harmony of this was it was never remove and strangely, their origin became under their ruling. Sovereign the people said they were to Empress Jacoba in the North and East and their Ruler was King Jacob in the South and West. Their people never told them why but soon they life would change before their naked eyes. Amidst tranquility and peace, a metamorphosis happens to each. Neither knew that they had change and therefore, they bond did not remain. Resemblance they kept yet, neither saw this and discord becomes present with each. A war would transpire and unity will become more desired. Would concord end the war and if so, would Jacob and Jacoba remember they are sister and brother? The aphorism to these twins' lives is that family is always a cease-fire! Amity ______________________________________________________________| Verlena S. Walker ©November 01, 2013

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A Two Woman Duo

A Two Woman Duo
By Missy Yourist 

I am from the inside of a woman whom I have never met. 
A birth mother who I do not know one ounce of who or what she is about. 
A person who bearably carried me for nine months. 
Gave birth to me, a 3 pound toe-head baby. 
She had to have held me right after, but my baby eyes don't seem to remember. 
Blurred by the brightness of the world, 
I never saw who my birth mother was. 

But after two months, I was passed onto the most beautiful creature 
that my premature eyes had ever seen. 
A woman who would ultimately become my real mother. 
A wonderful being who would raise me with pride. 
Teach me the ways in which she thought we right. 
A mom who would love me with all of her heart and care for me 
for the 14 years that she would be able to share with me.

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All About Her

I dont know much about her
but I heard she wasnt that talkative
She didnt like being alive
She was numb to all the pain she had to go through

I heard she didnt like anything that was green
She ate roman noodles everynight for supper
She always wore flannels and bellbottoms
Sometimes i seen her wear dresses and fancy tops
But lately shes been wearing band shirts

She wears converse shoes and uses an army bag for school
I know that she dosent like to communicate through talking... only through her peoms
or sometimes even her songs.

I see her drawing and painting all the time
She draws famous people
She would like to be famous and not so unknown
When she tries to speak to anyone they always walk away and leave her alone

When she gets home she goes upstairs to play her bass guitar
She hates chocolate cake but loves chocolate
Her family left her behind because she cant forget her past

Sometimes when shes alone she contemplates the meaning behind her life
Her favorite color is gray because her life is black and white
Everything she says is false according to the world

She is not so innocent
I understand that she dreams about the perfect life
When she opens her eyes they are pitch black

She is someone that is fake
She acts nothing like she should
She is very grungy and unclean

She knows of no safety
and of no time
Her life is smashed into pieces by the giant sun

She will always be a ghost
She knows of no god
She crawls around in the world of death
She remains forgotten

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too drunk, not drunk

When your with people you think you can trust

and you get a bit to drunk

and you thought you could trust him

after all your mom loved him


and you go to bed just afer 2

and mom went to bed just after 1

and he came in room just after 4

so you ask him for a pill...

He gets you the pill and you take it for your head

still drunk

     still drunk

and then you lay back down

still drunk

and then his hand snakes out

still drunk

and then his lips meet yours

still drunk

smell the beer

still drunk

and his hand slides under your gown

still drunk

and you just cant say no

too drunk

    too drunk

and his touches, soft but rough

not drunk

    not drunk

and he plays with your untuoched parts

not drunk

    not drunk

and you try to turn but you cant

not drunk

    not drunk

and you finnaly win and turn

not drunk

    not drunk

and he silently walks away

not drunk

    not drunk

and whispers to the dark room

are you drunk

    are you drunk

        are you drunk 

and you wish you could say that you were

so drunk

     so drunk

so you can turn, fall asleep, and forget

not drunk

    not drunk

and you know in deep and dark thoughts...

your not drunk

      your not drunk

             your not drunk

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Stunning Armadillos

Trees still shade the road
where Gramps and I once rode
in his old green car -- I drove --
on dusky early evenings
in my fifteenth year.
We stopped, as he insisted, at every spot
where an armadillo scratched
among the tender greenery
in ditches.
I was dispatched,
with Gramps' strong wood cane,
to kill a pesky armored creature
by striking hard, once, upon its snout.
Gramps waited in the car,
called encouragement or condemnation:
"That's it! Hit him hard!" or
"Can't you do a damn thing right?"
He knew I didn't like to kill
but was determined to toughen up
my softness.
That hard old man was not accustomed
to being crossed or contradicted.
But part of him was tender,
and he had a sense of what was right
in the bayou country of his day.
How could I tell him that I hated
killing just to please him?
Often, I killed, then killed again,
although, at times, I'd miss the snout
or be slow to follow up,
and permit an armadillo to escape.
Sometimes, I'd temper force with moderation --
I'd stun the creature, grab the tail,
fling it far into dense bushes
to revive and live another day.
My grandfather eyed me darkly then,
but often kept his peace.
He gave me the treatment
I gave those stunned armadillos.
Could he have felt the same
toward me as I toward them?

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The Progress

He was so dull and lazy 
Frightened and hazy 
Never was able to mingle with others 
And he knows that he always suffers 
Tries to avoid the school 
Does not like to be called a fool  
He was not that much responsible 
For his behavior so intolerable
That is his form of a character 
Anyways, it does not matter  
And his father passed away early 
When he was a 2-year old baby 
Mother always was worried 
About his studies 
A small business she was running 
Needs her only son to get going 
And people make fun 
Of her hapless son 
So much obscure the childhood, is unbelievable 
As childhood is indeed enjoyable 
But for him it is a curse 
Six years later he changed gears 
He decided to work hard to improve 
He yearned for, something to prove 
That he can do it 
He started to look fit 
For he concentrated hard on studies 
And completed even the medical studies 
He is now a famous Doctor 
And a pediatrician for that matter 
His was the worse childhood 
And for him a bright future stood 
He is now enjoying his life 
He has kids from a beautiful wife  

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A Sister's wish

"It has to be a girl," she had firmly announced,
My sweet little daughter, always craved for a sister!
So the news of a would-be sibling, did make her glad.
She had jumped and bounced.

"A girl would be perfect, boys are messy,
"I'd play my dolls with her and read princess stories",
Said my daughter, who was all girlie-girlie
She kept things in order, was neat and tidy, even a bit fussy!

She'd shopped for pink blankets, rompers, spoons and forks!
Smart girl that she is, she very well knew
"Babies don't come from hospitals nor gifted from temples
Neither are they dropped by visiting storks!"

She would be there for pregnant momma, a helping hand to lend.
She'd pat the sick mother and soothe her with a touch
Fetch her a glass of water
would not allow her to bend!

"My sis would look like me", so said Sara
Ecstatic she was about the brand new arrival
she promised even her stuff to share!
Found a rhyming name, "I'll call her Aura."

One fine day, mommy gave birth to a son
Hale and hearty, Sweet and chubby.
The family rejoiced but the sister said,
"Its not going to be fun."

"Give him back to the doctor, We won't keep this boy",
She said over the phone and with a frown on her face
She came visiting. Took the baby in her lap,
Saw his Angelic face and was filled with joy.

"He is cuter than any baby in the world can be", said she
Stroking her brother
"His skin is so soft and his fingers so tiny,
Well, we'll take him home, he looks just like me!"

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Covenant House Prayer

Lord God,

All people have problems and troubles in the world.
Provide children someone to love and be loved,
Help them have someone to walk with as far as they wish.
Give them wisdom or understanding and knowledge to do what is right and what is wrong.

Help children have strength and courage to face their oppressors who tease and bully them
Those who gather socialize and trade their images
Children who are being rape and abuse
Enlighten people to realize their horrifying acts

Please help children choose the right decisions to the things that happens
Help the children's attitude towards people.
Give them fortitude or strength to hope for their brighter future
Help them reach their teenage years in peace

Give them courage to face their trials,
Perseverance to strive hard to reach their best and be successful
Help them have Patience and Tolerance when dealing with hardships
Comfort them mentally and physically to be calm.

We ask this through Your Son, Fr. Christ
Who lives and reigns with You forever and ever.  


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The Duppy Man

The Duppy Man
On the island where I come from, where the golden beaches span. Lives a terrifying 
creature, known as the Duppy man.
Now the Duppy is quite picky, about whom he haunts at night. For it is only naughty kids, 
that the Duppy wants to fright. They seek out all the naughty ones to scare them at their 
leisure. For the screams of terrified children, is every Duppys pleasure.
What does the Duppy look like? , well let me tell you all.
But make sure you are sitting down, for the fear may make you fall.
His head is on the wrong way, and his left leg seems to drag. He knocks upon your window, 
screaming like some old hag. And over his right shoulder, he carries a big bag.
 And as he walks and drags his leg, he sings a little song, “All you naughty children, won’t be 
naughty very long.”
The bag is for the children who he knows will mis-behave, he takes them back to his lair 
where they become his slave.
But the Duppy won’t just grab a child, he must select the worst. So the evil Duppy calmly, 
will ask this question first.
“Is you a good child, or rotten to the core?” and he looks deep into their eyes, where he can 
see much more. 
For in the eyes he sees their souls, and the truth in what they said. And if you are a good 
child, the Duppy simply will say “bed”.
But if you are a bad child, and the Duppy says it’s so, he will offer you a choice, be a slave, 
or your big toe.
If you become the Duppys slave, he will put you in his sack, and after a night of haunting, 
with him you will go back.
He will take you to the underworld, where all the Duppy gather, never to see again your 
mother or your father.
But if it is the big toe, you decide instead. The Duppy takes it graciously and tells you what’s 
“Child I will haunt you now, forever and a day. Unless you prove to me child that you can 
change your way”.
Then he places your poor big toe on a necklace that he wears, and turns away and heads 
off, to find another child to scare.
So children, children everywhere, on the island that I live, please pay close attention, to this 
advice I give.
When you hear the whistling of the wind, and a dragging on the ground. Make sure it is not 
naughtiness, but goodness to be found.

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" I 'AM"

Its dark cold and wet below
I'am all alone does anyone know?
I fell the warmth of my padded earth;
Trying to make out what life is worth.

I wonder what's up there? will I know?
It must be good from that great glow.
HeY! I broke through....I can see.....
There is more around than just me.
Ah,what a releif I'am not alone;
I see others small like me too growing strong.

It feels so good to be on top.....but I am still growing, will I ever stop?
Up,up,up and out is how I go,in heat,rain,wind or snow.........
Alas........I AM.

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My Father Gone These Forty Years

My father gone these forty years,
my mother gone twenty, I remember...
the acrid smell of tobacco
on my mother’s rough fingers,
as she sat, silently,
in a predawn Texas coastal town,
my head in her lap, the short-wave
radio crackling with static.
She strained to hear the chatter of
shrimpers in the Gulf of Mexico,
yelling out to each other
in Cajun patois French,
Mexican Spanish, accented English;
she stroked my nine-year-old hair,
her middle-aged body aching,
hungry, worried, sleepless,
far from her roots, stranded
in this strange, dry,
totally foreign place.
Her imaginings of my father’s
struggles with the sea
and its weathers filled her mind,
and she knew, all the while, that
even if he were safe, earning money,
he (and she) would fail
and we would still suffer
the poverty of the hopeless
and desperate doomed
whose minor, occasional comforts
were only, onshore, the cold beers
and noisy camaraderie of the others
like him, like her,
like us.

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He Left These Here for You

Granddad saved change under the paper in his dresser drawer.
We never dared to look and see how much he had to share.
He saved it there with a purpose; to give when I was there.
For a nickel I would comb his hair; a quarter bought a shave.
He loved to give me money; I loved the way he cared.
A playful sort, he loved to laugh; he always teased and joked.
There was endless time to play with me; that’s how my granddad was.

My granddad grew a garden, the prettiest one in town.
I would help him plant the rows of corn.
Three seeds dropped in each hole that he made.
Row after row, together we worked our way down.
And when the work was completely done, it was time for fun!
A shave, hair comb, and a pedicure would make him fall asleep.
Grandma brought bright red polish to decorate his feet!

When he'd wake up, I’d sit on the floor, knowing what was next.
He would bring out coins from his dresser drawer
And laugh about his toes…  (A tradition as my grandmother knows.)
He was always amused while I counted all of my loot.  
He would tease and laugh and taunt.  To me, he was number one!
At age eighteen, while in the Army, the horrible message came.
Granddad had died from an allergy; life would never be the same.

I tried not to cry, like I promised him; I could not bear the pain.
He loved me so and I loved him.  I felt so alone.
How could I go through life and never hear his voice.
I must go on; we had talked of this; even now, he still is missed.
I didn't go home for many years; when I did…he wasn’t there.
Emptiness came over me, and an ocean full of tears.
Then, Grandma took me to his drawer… “He left these here for you.”

© July 9, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen 

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Air borne

When I was three foot tall I could fly.
Now that I've reached near six and descending
things have become more, grounded.
It wasn't an aeronautical event or
some Newtonian physics explanation,
or even a Las Vegas prestidigitation,

it was merely that my mind, that is to say I,
could entertain the obvious conclusion
of the possibility that if events, things,
were just right - JUST right, that I 
would be able to see a view I had not
seen up to that point in time, and,
in fact, haven't, for some time.

When I was a yard high in my front yard,
I could arise, even higher than a yard,
brightened, and too, wide-eyed wondering 
at the way the neighborhood looked from
above the treetops...who knew, I thought.

Did I get there by that some certain gait,
neither too fast nor too slow, but, 
like some Goldilocks visa, just right?
The sunshine vitamin D blowing breezily
around porch poles and branches to press my face.

Who knew indeed, who knows now, or soon,
what can occur without Google glasses,
or no child left behind or 
digital synapses to bit-by-bit,
obscure the inherent, the wonder, the view
borne away from civilization facts
to life outside or, above our gravitations.

When I descend toward a vertical yard again,
maybe that obscurant vision-set I have 
carried pensioned toward epilogue will
fall away like deciduous leaves and 
I'll be able to see the branches under
life, and rise away again.

© Goode Guy 2013-07-05

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Under May's Emerald Sky

Who remembers, is it only me?
One emerald morning in the month of May
Spread upon a kitchen table 
Paste made of flour, scissors, rainbow crayons 
Pretty paper doilies and….
Mama letting little hands
Create surprises, of cone shaped fans… 

The memory shrugs so many years away
Where innocence, was cut and shaped
Into bright-sprigged paper cones
Such sweet accomplishments, each our own

Then quickly running out the door
To pick spring beauties, one by one
Fresh Lillies of the Valley, wildwood fern, 
Gathering them, heavy on their stems
Sweet and fresh as morning dew, 
So filled with springtime, filled with bloom

Then paper cones were flower filled
Small bouquets of sweet perfume
Then down the dusty road we trudged
Side by side, with grins of pride
No greater pleasure as a child
The thought of bringing someone smiles

Timid knocking on a neighbor's door
Calling “Surprise...Surprise! Look what’s in store!”
Our little legs would run fast, down the road, 
Behind a tree, where we would hide
And watch them find this flower prize
Must not....get caught.....must not get caught!
And we were taught
That bringing light to someone's eyes
Was worth a lot !!
Under Emerald May Day's vibrant skies

For Tracie's Contest: "Flowers or Stones"...."May"

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''Will To Forget''

The frailness of a blank pallet.
Now conforms under hazed eyes that weep.
Does it bring truth to her treacherous past?
Oh' she is sure to find peace.
Life turns an unknown path.
Repulsive thoughts cease.
Sun breaks through.
Clouds lye no more on her tormented soul.
Reflections' sore heals in time.
Carry me to better place.
For now, I own the will to forget.

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My Glorious Birth

She screamed and shouted 
But i did not nudge.
She hollered and moaned
But again, my door, i did not touch.

I sat comfortable and played inside
For it was warm and homely
But of the other side, 
I knew nothing about life there.

But when I heard her being slapped to silence,
Of her cries and screams,
I was well moved.
And out of love and pity, I opened my door.

As i narrowly and painfully came out,
I was blinded by light rays and i felt pains
But the other creatures there shouted.
Feet stamped and hands clapped

'A lad'  I heared a white creature spluttering
Again feet stamped and hands clapped
'The third lad' somebody said from afar.
I discovered that I was crying.

Tired and wearied, my mum held me close, 
She surveyed my face and touched my nose
I felt love and joy surging through her
Though she will have prefered a lass

'Michael, Michael, Michael,' she called
And went limp with me in her arms
And so Michael i came to be
And that was the last i saw of my sweet mum.

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Turned Tables

What if the tables had been turned...
And it was her, looking at me
Seeing what the eyes can't believe
And what the heart can't embrace

I'm looking into sorrow's face
The sadness wraps itself around her 
Like a blanket of grey fog
A face so pale, so ashen and cold as a winter's day
Betrayed and abandoned by her youth
The girl she used to be....why can't I find a trace?
A youth taken away by choices,  
By circumstance, by life experiences 
By things that I cannot know
My memory of her has been stolen away 
In this unexpected, brief encounter
I swallow tears in my grief, as I mourn the vision
That had been tucked away in my heart for so long
Is it regret, or is it a guilt I cannot name?

A friendship born in childhood, so young, so carefree
She, with bright eyes, and blond hair that curled
Around her high cheeks and rosy smile
She was the one who shined so brightly,
Who's charm, who's gay laughter I had so admired
A childhood where we danced together in sweet grass under sunny skies
Where is the innocence, the radiance?
No longer there, not even a glimpse of the girl I knew

Oh, how I weep inside
Now, here, this meeting by chance
After years that had taken us to seperate worlds 
In my mind, and in my dreams, she had always been
The fair maiden, the one who had held my hand
Two little girls who made promises
Who sat in the dark, under a summertime sky
By the light of the moon and wished upon the stars.
The stars now gone from her sad eyes, the look of weary miles
Now fill the void one more time.....
                                         we say our goodbye.

What if the tables were turned
And it was her, looking at me.....

In honor of Desiree's Contest "What If"

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I Remember When

What happened to all the honey bees
That used to swarm all around and abound
And would cover the fruit and holly trees
Now, you rarely see them buzzing around?

Where have the huge flocks of blackbirds gone
That I recall who would blacken the sky
And bruise your ears with the shrill of their song
In the spring and fall as they flew by?

What happened to all those water frogs
That I recall whose deep rhythmic bellows
Would echo back down through the hollow bogs
All summer until the leaves turned yellow?

What happened to the little horned toads
That I would catch for a pet as a boy
That crawled all over the fields and dirt roads
And made a neat little pet to enjoy?

Why doesn't the wolf still split the night
And chill my heart with his long lonesome cry
As he howls away at the full moon's light
Adoring the illuminated sky?

Where are all the calls of the bob white
And the lonely calls of the whippoorwill
That used to pine away all through the night
And could be heard in almost every field?

Where are the spine chilling panther screams
That mimicked some poor damsel in peril 
And would often conjure up awful dreams
Of gruesome creatures wicked and feral?

Are they on a premature path into yore
Has adequate time been duly assigned
For us to say, "There are no more...."
Or could it be, I've just outlived my time?

                                Timothy I. Brumley

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The Land continued

When I was a youth the earth was our friend, as it was our means of escape.  We would run and chase each other across great distances, far away from the confines of home and its stifling traditions; we would imagine that we were flying a few feet above the ground following the contours of hills and valleys, crossing streams in a single bound or leaping to treetops.  Elsewhere we would dig elaborate tunnels in the earth.  We dug in the red clay until our hands were blistered.  Sweat and soil mixed in our hands and on our arms and chests; filling the pores of our skin.  We could taste and spit the iron colored dust.  When our day was done we would recline in the shade until our bodies dried with caked red earth.  We would then cover our labors with scrap wood, dirt and scrub bushes to blend with the surroundings.  The tunnels were constructed in obscure forested locations to further their concealment.  It was necessary to dig around tree roots and large boulders which became integrated into the tunnel structure and provided openings for multiple entries and exits.  As such the tunnel passages were never straight, but root-like, turning and twisting following a path of least resistance.  The passages were no wider or taller than what we could crawl through, and branching off the passages were multiple chambers where four or five of us could tightly gather in privacy, illuminated by candle light.  The tunnel interiors were cool in the summer and also protected us from harsh winter winds.  Here we would plot against nearby enemy tunnels.  This is where we initiated and observed our own secret rituals and myths; meeting times, passwords, schemes, fears and desires.  While excavating, we had discover buried bones and imagined they were our ancient heroes that the old ones talked about.  We placed the bones at the entrance of our underground fortress to warn trespassers and identify allegiance to our fallen hero, whomsoever it was.  Our heroes could have been anyone that we accidentally dug up.

We learned at some later age that we had dug our trenches into an unmarked cemetery that was taken over by the forest many eons ago.  Later, the tunnels were where we first became acquainted with sex, alcohol and drugs; fortunately for most of us, such acquaintances didn’t last too long.  This is how we came to intimately know the land and ourselves.  We were digging to find; shaping and making with our hands a place to call our own.  Here is where our innocence began and ended as so many generations before.  We are so connected to the land; always underfoot our lives roll over it, we dig into it and it’s where we finally return to rest to feed the soil; we are inseparable, as a fish to water.

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My Homeland Coast Of Africa

It was no more than eighteen months ago,
I left my homeland coast of Africa.

We moved to a place called New York City,
A place I always wanted to visit.

In my homeland men were fighting there,
Day and night gun sounds were in the air.

Those men with guns were so very cruel,
They destroyed, then burned down our school.

We arrived here in late Summer,
Though it felt like it was Winter.

The weather was a shock to me,
I thought that I would nearly freeze.

On my homeland coast its warm and nice,
It never snow or freeze to ice.

There, I often dreamed that it would snow,
But, of course, then little did I know.

For, it's no longer a treat for me to see,
Now, I want to see green grass and trees.

I'm told, Spring here feels much better,
It's almost like my homeland's weather.

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' Knock - Knock Jokes ... ( Quirky, Yes )

Aahhhh, The Quirky/Idiosyncrasies of MoonBee

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
     Icky …
Icky Who ?
… Never Mind, I’ll Come Back Later …

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
    Juan …
Juan Who ?
I Don’t Know, What Do You Have In Mind ?

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
    Hula …
Hula Who ?
Yes, When I Was Young …

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
   Toodle …
Toodle Who ?
  … Ok

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
   Bye-Bye …
Bye-Bye Who ?
Look Lucy, We Found Ricky !

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
      Nu …
Nu Who ?
Well, If You Know Who, Why You Ask ?

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
     Woo …
Woo Who ?
… Ok, Who’s In Trouble ?

(The Obvious-Obvious, One)

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
     Who …
Who Who ?
Late Night, Huh ?

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
    Yu …
Not Me !
Yeah … Yu !

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
    Yu ! …
You Who ?!
… Hi …

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
     Yu !
Naaaaa, Naaaaa Interested !

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
    Boo …
Boo Who ?
Wait, I’m Not A Bill Collector !

                               Knock, Knock …
                      Who… who oo ‘s  There ?
                                  Sue …
                           Su suu sue, Who ?
            (but then Door Opens, With A Crash
               Double-Barrel, Points Out, Blasts
     The Knocker Runs Fast, as Voice Shouts Out Rash
“ … Sue That ! and Don’t Come Back Talking ‘bout Whiplash”
          And The Man Sits Back Down, To Finish His Glass

                                 - - - - - - - - - - - -

              Oh, Darn, I’m Out Of Egg-Nog and Jack D
               Now, How Can I Make My Moonlight-Tea
             Well, It’s Back To The Market, For MoonBee
                                       He He He ! …

                            Have A Great Day, Y’all …


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My Favorite Devonshire

Footprints to Follow 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 Carolyn Devonshire When I read this poem, Carolyn, I picture my husband and son in those moments when they don't realize they're being watched. How my son looks at his dad is priceless. He hangs on his every word and wants to emulate his every action. My son is only four and I know one day in the near future, this will change (especially in those teenage years!), but I hope he follows in his dad's footsteps. My husband is a kind, loving and hardworking family man. Thank you for writing this beautiful poem. I have printed a copy of it for my husband to keep as a reminder of the tiny feet carefully stepping close behind his. As a parent, nothing is more important than our "impressions on life's shore". God bless you, Carolyn. Your golden heart shines through your words. Love and Blessings, Rhonda

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ISIL Dirty Stinking Pedophiles

ISIL came out with their Women’s Manifesto
in which they state that it is okay to marry
a girl as young as nine years of age.
The members of ISIL are dirty stinking pedophiles.

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tales about them

each time when some stories
are told I cringe
and swallow a lump of bitterness
and will my tear duct to stay intact
because I will never break 
in the presence of anyone
I'd rather shut my eyelids 
and start counting backwards 
from 10
She loves me, I know that
but tough love can only stretch
this far and sometimes
when u least want
your heart will melt
its walls will wilt releasing
molten warmth that will wash over
your tear stains and feed the demons
in your stomach
Love knows not only fear
but weakness, charisma and a wicked
sense of humor
and strength that will envelope
you further down the rabbit hole
that may possibly swallow 
and spit you to a shore
where the sand is shiny and glassy
it cuts your heels until you bleed
and come to a stop
where death will find you
or you could just hand over 
your life to Satan 
just to not feel anymore pain
for a second, to silence
the screaming voices in your head
that tells you hell isn't quite 
done burning you
and to quiet down the cries
of your tongue as it dries and 
stick to your throat until you suffocate
this life isn't yours to take
or trade or give away
its for you to give, to know and 
not even understand because if you did
then you would never feel pain
and you will always smile
even when the storms rips you off
of all you have
so right now this is me reaching out
hold on to my hand and be granted
one more good reason to stay
a bit of warmth and a glance of love
one day we will both stand before God
and recite this story

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The Red Kite and Wagon

Brother had made me mad so I knocked him down the basement stairs.
Choicely words he hurled my way-His teary eyes reflected pain and back at me they glared.
Like a viper he laid around the house daring me to come his way.
Sorry am I now for I have no one with to play.
After several weeks had passed, he still snarled and hissed.
Only his foot- to-hip cast kept him constantly at bay.
But I grew lonely with no brother to rumble with; no one to share my day.
Then the thought struck me as a jolt of reality-tomorrow is his birthday.
Off to Mr. Green’s corner store I went for a birthday present- I had fifty cents.
I spied a red kite- asked him to rap it and back to brother as I whistled and skipped.
I presented the little red kite which brother threw down-saying you ain’t right!
Sadly I looked for a solution of how brother can fly his new birthday kite.
It was in the backyard, positioned under the lean-to – the answer to my prayer.
I dragged it out and cleaned her with new found hope and no despair.
I carried my brother and placed him in the little red wagon with difficulty as he held his kite in hand.
The school yard was empty- we tailed the kite and then pulling the wagon I ran.
The little red kite stilled high in the air as brother and I where once again a pair.
The kite soared the faster I ran and finally at the end of the day, a brother’s love had been won again.

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My Birthday Wish

I sit on the floor and wait from dusk to dawn, for a new day will soon be reborn. I count all 
the blooming flowers, and count down the long hours, while mum takes her shower. 
Today's the day, for it's my birthday. I hope I get A car, or A guitar or maybe even become 
A movie star, but that's asking A bit too much of me. I walk around singing out A loud, 
acting proud feeling as if my heads in A cloud. To my surprise I start stumbling over my 
words and begin mumbling. Maybe mum just forgot about me, or are they just hiding the 
presents from me? I walk through the hall, with my head dragging looking at the floor, 
and go to bed with my heart feeling torn. It's getting late and I can no longer wait. I turn 
off my light, and close my eyes and cry having so much things go through my mind. I 
drift to sleep but then I see, mum walking in my room in the middle of the night with A 
light. It's so bright. She raises my heart like A kite, taking of it flight and she says, good 
night, and turns of the lights. She raised my hopes high and then shot them out of the 
sky. I break down and cry, it feels as if I've just died. No one remembered why today was 
A special day for it was my birthday. I look at the sky and wonder why? I light my candle 
and close my eyes, tears dripping down onto my thighs, and I start to whisper in my 
mind. "I don't want A car, or even A guitar. I don't even want to become A movie star. I 
just want to be free of this disease called poverty, I just want people to stop running away 
from me. Free me of aids so I can stop feeling afraid. Stop me from being poor, so I can 
afford to stop sleeping on the floor. Make me smile for there is no reason to smile, but 
please make my life worth while. Take me away from Africa, for all I see is people being 
raped and all the kids hearts filled with hate, I'm loosing my faith for I am living each day 
even though there is nothing to live for". A Tear drops on my candle, And puts out the 
flame I whisper in pain,This is "My Birthday Wish"
We wish for luxuries that only money can afford. They wish for water for they are poor. 
People need to learn to smile, for kids living in poverty have A legitimate reason not too. 
Be happy for what we have, and never complain for what we don't have.
- Wiko Te Maru

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The Darkest - Blackest Tuesday (Epilogue)

Daddy, George's eyes are still opened so he's alive
"Lilyann, what the Hell is going on ; Joe call the Police
Tell them we need a couple of ambulances"
Come here little guy, Dad took a hanky out of his pocket
wiped my lips Looks like you lost some teeth
At least they were baby teeth soon 5 Police cars and 2 ambulances
They took Ma'am In her blood soaked dress into the first car 
"Wait : Ma'am George said HE LOVES YOU
The next day We all headed to new Foster Homes.

Inspired by YOUTH Dedicated In LOVING MEMORY Of  George Francis Murphy
March 3, 1950 --- July 10. 1956 My Brave and Happy Brother

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A Special Place

Running memories
of a place in which
one walks and talks
in hushed tones.
Still, subdued, restrained
within a spirited energy
moving down rows of mystical bindings.

smelling musty on a rainy winter day,
passed through portals
where grandiose granite
lions guard the way.

Grandmother took me the first time.
I sat, at four, in a lemon yellow chair
as my feet touched the floor
(that had never happened before!).
Given a card on which the letters of my name
would be a magic wand,
I carried home treasures.

The Libraria.
A sanctuary grew as I knew
the joy of an explorer
within tales of other times,
other wordy worldly places,
as from meticulously managed shelves,
a perfectionist in me was bred.

The Library
evokes change in all.
With grown-up pretense left behind,
curious inner child faces abound -
eyes wide, heads cocked to and fro,
knees bend down, or arms stretch high
in search of knowledge, dreams, drama, escape.
The child in me will always find
spiritual wonder in this,
a special place.

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grand pappy's chest

A chest now sits where her grand pappy sat. The old worn out marks on the floor where he would rock. Sitting on his lap eating crackers and cheese. He would talk of the past like it was a beautiful dream. He had it harder than most boys. He lost his father before he was born. Raised by three women, he was great in the kitchen. Not having an abundance of money he would make due with what he had. She would ask him, "what was it like as a kid?" He would tell her, "there were no electronics." We had tops to spin, crayons and ink. All the neighborhood kids would gather to play, A game called imagination. Your imagination is a wonderful thing, never forget you posses it. You can sail far over the sea, or travel horseback to another country. Be president one day, or the big wig in a corporate company. Here is a chest for you to keep. The little girl opens the chest and reply's, "It is empty inside?" Her grand pappy says, "look again!" Tell me, "what do you see?" I see I can be anyone or anything I want to be! Her grand pappy passed away. About three years ago now. to this day the chest covers up the worn out marks on the floor. Her daughter asked, "mommy what is this chest for?" Telling her daughter what her grand pappy told her. Her daughter open the chest and replied,"there's nothing inside!" She told her to look past the emptiness. She told her daughter to use her imagination. Explaining that your imagination can take you anywhere you want to go. It can make you whoever you want to be All you have to do is dream! I do not usually write story's but this story of a grandpa and little girl just flowed from my pen. And it is so touching how the story unfolds..

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One December Night (The End)

One December Night
     (Continuation to the End)
All that year Santa had hoped and had tried to find a child's love that would strongly abide.  
But month after month he was given the boot.  It didn't matter whether he showed magic or 
gave them some loot.  Many children were selfish.  Not one gave a hoot.  
     Until one cold blizzard night, in a stormy plight, the frog rang the doorbell and walked 
right on in.  In the warmth of the house, after ousting the mouse, four children accepted the 
frog for his good.  It was a happy sight for the frog there that night.  Yes, they showed him 
great kindness and genuine love, the 
spirit of Christmas shown down from above.  The purest of love without expectations turned 
the frog into Santa who promptly gave each one hugs.  “I'll be back with my sleigh to leave 
gifts on Christmas night.  Thank you dear children for your gifts of love tonight.  Leave me 
some cookies.  I shall eat no more bugs!  He laughed as he juggled three gifts in the air.  
Then, soon disappeared out of sight by the moonlight.  
     The children, still laughing and squealing with joy, had broken a spell put on Santa 
last spring.  And the mean old witch that had made him a frog, sat sadly outside all alone on 
the log.  She had made him a frog with a croak, out of tune.  She wanted his voice instead of 
her own.  Christmas carols she had heard bring so much joy.  She could not carry a tune for 
one single song.  She had hoped she could sing if she stole Santa's voice. But the love from 
the children left her no choice.  The spell had been broken by love's sweetest choice. 
But while they were happily playing about, they noticed the wand from the brown bag lay 
out.  So they went to the witch and gave her a voice.  And taught her that goodness over bad 
is a choice.  So together they played with the now happy witch.  Who gave up her evil and to 
goodness did switch.  The gift of pure love and light in the world is a gift to all who give 
heaven a whirl.  For even the wickedest of wicked have some goodness in them.  So, 
encourage the right and to evil say, “Take a flight!”   (And let God be the judge…)

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
December 5, 2009

Inspired by:
Poetrysoup member's Contest Anything Goes! 	
Sponsored by: Constance La France  (I took you at your word... It's a LONG story.)

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...this is so intimate of time, as a first kiss of time close of soul, so near, so dear of heart beat, so precious a rhyme that flows so intimately,
deep of time, down by the Crystal Seas...
...this is so intimate of dreams,
dreaming reality,
as the Crystal Sea so reveals of destinies galore,
destined as the night light of the moon-glows of starry eyes,
upon the waters,
...seeing tranquility upon the waves...
watching to the depth of a dream,
and a sun-rise
being so true...
for underneath and within this a moon-lit poem of starry night eyes, down by the Crystal Seas, a vessel sets sail upon the deep...into a kiss of dawn...
Sea to shinning Sea.

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Frozen in time,
captivated by this enormous being,
the size of a small car.

his every move.
The way he used his hands;
so child-like.
With all the consciousness of the world, 
and graceless coordination.

of the visitors,
as they briefly called out for his attention.
Only for a moment,
then they were gone.

in an orderly sham. 
He sat there,
in his dark cave.
As if he was waiting for the light to find him.

on a boulder, 
squatting, and primitive.
Drawing in the dirt with one hand. 
Swatting a fly with the other.

His nature,
as he rushed to consume his food.
The females hovered behind him,
watching intently, 
like me.
His movement mechanic.
His presence powerful.
He was the king of his domain.

his magnificence, I watched.
How smart was he?
Could he feel my presence? 
Engulfed in the very essence of all that was him, 
I watched. 

how he felt, I watched.
Did he think he was still in the womb of Mother Nature?
Or, did he know the iron bars which embrace him now?

it happened;
our eyes met.
He noticed my presence.
His gaze intimidated me, 
But I did not look away.
He approached me.
I felt his eyes inspecting my soul.
A chill ran down my back,
I turned behind me,
only to find no other presence there.
When I turned back, 
we were face to face.
Separated by the sham,
And a two inch piece of glass.
Just me and him,
the two of us,
and the females hovering behind him.

His old eyes spoke to me,
They said 
“I am like you. 
I love, I feel, I hurt.
I am, like you.”

I put my hand on the glass
and with all the 
consciousness of the world,
he did the same.
With tears in my eyes,
I smiled.

Then, he pooped in his other hand
and wiped it on the glass.
This was a sign of endearment.
I laughed out loud.
And I swear,
He smiled back.

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He            started to seep himself into my shaken body              
	    After my 12th birthday; the day I got introduced            
            to what ‘menstrual’ is. Not once, twice, three but
            five rounds of this filthy act. BAM, BAM, BAM,
            BAM, BAM; just like that, five startling, heart 
            shaking, body rupturing rounds. At that time he 
            was 30, way older than I was. I would never forget
            those black liquid eyes surrounded by a stinging
            red rim piercing through my precious innocent 
            soul, followed by that crooked smirk. The

Raped       lamb—correction the ripe lamb laid heedlessly on 
            the grass soaking up the sun. It felt eyes preying
            its head, its body down to its heels but shrugged
            that feeling off. This larger figure jumped out and 
            put the sheep to sleep. It was dragged away;
            lifeless. I was aware of everything but taken over
            by utter shock. It was darkness, I could see the
            moonlight trying to bust open the deteriorated
            blinds. The incents battled the aroma of weed. I
            coughed but no sound came out, only my body
            shuddered. I then realized my mouth has been
            taped by a heavy sticky film; duct tape. The room 
            was small, very small as was the mattress that I
            lay on centered in the middle of what it feels, jail  
            cell. Everything is torn and worn. I attempt to 
            move but my hands are cuffed by a silver bracelet 
            attached to chains, it connects to the bed rails. I 
            scan the room franticly as I look at the closet I
            review those black liquid eyes and yolk stained
            teeth smiling at me. I swallowed my scream; Help
            Me. It was

Me             who would not move. Him who was panicky. Us 
           who put no connection. Them who do not know. 
           I wonder what would happen if I even whisper the
           events of that time.  No one but Silence and I 
           know the truth behind the vivid lies. I felt no 
           sympathy.  I had no chances. There was no
           escape. It haunted my childhood forever.
           Happiness, candy, joy isn’t that it? Not in my case, 
           mine’s was different. Silent Secrets is more like it 
           and it still is that way.

Rebecca C*

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God or Father Christ

Apostle is a priest
Eternal Son is the Apostle of Eternal Father
Eternal Father gave the name Christ when He was baptized by St. John the Baptist
He ordered the 12 apostle to preach His Gospel

He was the Highest Priest of the Universal Church
Universal means Catholic or Roman Catholic
There is a purgatory
Yes, purgatory is in the bible

The 2nd book of Maccabees, Old Testament
Purgatory or Purification
Intellectually understood 
All as in everybody should be under Eternal Son’s Universal Church

Eternal Son is the Highest Priest of the Catholic or Roman Catholic Church
It is for the righteous to call Eternal Son Father Christ
Eternal Father is in Him
Father Christ sends the Holy Spirit

Christians will be in the Purgatory
Until they learn from their Initiation before going to heaven
On earth is called Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults R.C.I.A. to be the true Christian
Three types are slain

Father Christ is the pathway to heaven
To face Eternal Father and the Divines
It is my job to inform everybody
Visit to know more

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It's sad being young and watching things change

Dogs getting old, sleeps on the couch most of the day, She’s tired. 
Def too, can’t even hear herself bark,
still does though.

Moms sad these days, she misses Grammy.
I do too.
I saw her in a dream,
I told Mom she said she loves and misses everyone.
She was so happy.
She believes in that kind of stuff. 

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The Worst Christmas I Ever Had

I was twelve years old and it was the Christmas Season.
We were on our best behavior; you know the reason.
Christmas decorations were taken down from storage.
Some of them were from last year; some of them were vintage.

Dad brought in the Christmas tree, a fragrant Douglas fir.
Mom put on twinkle lights while listening to our banter.
The three of us, laughing, imaginations unbound.
Jumping up and down with festivities all around.

One by one, we put on bulbs and talked of seasons past.
We sang a few Christmas songs; we were having a blast.
Logs burning in the fireplace warmed us very well.
Happiness was all around until I told this tale.

When I was just a youngster, seven or eight years back.
Christmas Eve, many years before, I shared the flashback.
The babysitter kept me up, my brother in bed.
She made me promise not to tell or I would be dead!

One by one, we opened each gift there beneath the tree.
I knew that it was wrong, because I was older than three.
I felt afraid, but she was so nice, a friend to me.
She re-wrapped every gift and my parents did not see!

I kept my mouth shut all of those years; then came the guilt.
I confessed to Mom; all of a sudden, life went tilt!
Santa won't bring presents; I felt like a doormat.
All you will get is a bag of coal; think about that.

Every time presents arrived, mine would disappear.
I did not believe in Santa Clause, but I felt fear!
Mounds of gifts were piled around; none of them were for me.
Wrath befell me for years past under the Christmas tree.

Solemnly, the weeks went past and I felt very sad.
I guess I deserved it after all; I had been bad.
On Christmas day, postal gifts returned along with one more.
The bag of switches from Santa Clause, I still abhor.

© November 14, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Written for: your "Saddest" Christmas Ever Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~

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Skippin Stones

“I just shot a fiver” my friend said.  “No you didn't” I replied. “It was only four”.  “Was so” he said.  “Was not” I repeated.  And so it went as two young boys stood at the waters edge, skippin stones.

Time was not so precious then and hours could be lost in simple games with rules made up as you went along.  You entertained yourself, limited only by the constraints of your own imagination.  Some old wheels off of a cart and a few pieces of wood became a racer, hand powered of course.  A piece of rope became a swing and inner tubes were prized.

It was a time when you did not buy your fun.  Every neighborhood had one football, and between us we had a collection of baseballs, bats, and gloves.  Pick up games were commonplace, springing up spontaneously, and yes, upset the wrong kid and he would take his ball and go home.

I thought of these things the other day while strolling along the shores of Crystal Lake near my home.  From somewhere within the reaches of my memory, I heard a voice say “bet you can't shoot a fiver”.  Not one to forsake a challenge, real or imagined, I stooped and picked up a few smooth and flattened stones, and proceeded to skim them across the water.  Years vanished and for just a few moments I got lost in yesterday.

I'm sorry to say I did not shoot a fiver.  In fact, the only thing I got was a sore arm, and, of course, the satisfaction of knowing that the kid in me was just fine.

Bob Quigley
October 7. 2011

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A Lifetime Lived, A Lifetime Begun

“You don't understand...”
“You will when you're older,”
A lifetime of pain,
That's what she told her.
“I can't worry you with this...”
“You have problems of your own,”
“But I want to help...”
“You shouldn't face them alone.”
“One foot's in a hole...”
“The other's almost there,”
“But why does this happen?”
“No one said life was fair.”
“Will this ever change...?”
“Can you ever get out?”
“I just have hope for the better...”
“That's what life's all about.”
“What can I do to help...?”
“How can I ease your pain?”
“Just do what you have to do…”
“Your success will relieve some strain.”
“Be there when I need you...”
“Do what needs to be done...”
“Through all rough times and hardships…”
“In the end, I'll know we've won.”
“I'll know that I've done my job...”
“Just as long as you've done your best...”
“And when I know you’ve made it...”
“I’ll finally be able to rest.”
“Get the best out of life...”
“Don't make the mistakes I've made...”
“For if you follow in my footsteps...”
“Your life will surely fade.”
“I know you'll make me proud...”
“You have and always will...”
“I know I don't show much affection…”
“But I love you still.”
“I know you do; your actions show it...”
“You know I love you too...”
“I'll live my life to the fullest...”
“I'll do it for me and for you.”
And then they cried and hugged each other,
And laughed a relieved laughter,
Although they knew there was more to come,
Could it ever be happily ever after?

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To Emptiness

Part I:

I stand here looking out across the land;
So vast and yet is covered by one hand.
I turn my head and gaze up at the sky,
Through endless heights that spiral up as I
Turn round and hear them coming from afar,
But never knowing what and if they are
The ones who, from the web of time, were spun
As I see that my journey has begun.

Part II:

I stand upon a mighty post up high
And look upon the world below.
Across this world I cast a critical eye
And ponder all that you don't know.

They all are sanctimonious as they
Preach things of which they never thought.
They teach it all but they have lost their way;
Within their dreams they have been caught.

Stop wasting time and turn your thoughts instead
Towards the thing we know for sure;
Awaken blinded minds within your head
And you are wiser than before.

Part III:

I have emerged from in this life
To see the light of darkened skies.
I leave behind both love and strife
And whisper all my last goodbyes.

I spit into the eyes of those
Who have helped me to realise
The things in life that no one knows,
When all we see and hear are lies.

You look at me but who looks back
Behind dead eyes; forever closed?
Your mind is still under attack;
All happens just as I supposed…

From when I realised the truth:
Ongoing death is greater than
The disillusioned dreams of youth;
All left is just one empty man.

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Ever Jumped A Train - Part 7 - Robert and Ernie Adventures

There Ernie and I were standing, at the edge of dark steps,
They descended into a concrete tunnel to somewhere below.
Robert, do you think she could have gone down there he said,
I don't know Ernie, but we're sure going to find out pal.

That's the type of place I would have run to, Ernie said,
Our eyesight isn't so good, but it's better in the darkness.
Robert, you'd probably break your neck running down there,
I can run down there easier than you can see it in daylight.

Okay Ernie, go down and see if you can possibly find Snowy,
But if I hear one screech from you I'm coming downstairs.
Okay Robert, stopping, he turned and said to me, I love you,
I said knock off the sentimental stuff and find your damsel.

He bared those teeth in his own form of that mouse smile,
Then I watched a hobo mouse friend disappear into darkness.
As I sat waiting I thought of how brave that little guy was,
Realizing that courage can't be measured according to size.

Crouching under that first flight of stairs I heard voices,
It was the train police trying to track me and Ernie down.
That bull I'd knocked over said he would crush us on sight,
It was the first time I was ashamed of another human being.

At that moment I understood I'd traveled from boy to man,
All in the span of less than two weeks of train transport.
Then, suddenly, there were the bull's boots on the stair,
I reached through and quickly tied his shoe laces together.

Then I yelled to him, you're an idiot wrapped up in a moron,
Bull turned on his heels and tumbled down those stairs.
That fall made the one earlier look like a walk in the park,
I think I really had put that train cop out of commission.

Heard him moaning and groaning down on the next landing,
Being a true humanitarian, I crept slowly down those stairs.
There he was looking so very pathetic in a crumpled heap,
Right at that moment I truly felt sorry for our enemy.

Suddenly, Ernie appeared with Snowy so proud at his side,
When he saw Bull he went berserk and ran up his face.
He said something in his ear and Bull went literally pale,
I mean, it was as if a ghost had whispered into his skull.

Ernie, I said, let's get out of here before it's too late,
I put him and Snowy in my jacket pocket and went upstairs.
By the way Ernie I said, what did you say in the bull's ear?
Robert, I just spoke in the King's English as you taught me.

(to be continued)

Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn A.R.R.

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the image

she met this girl
by the sand pitch 
where they played
and told their darkest secrets

This girl told 
once she was afraid 
of the mirror
because it revealed to her
this other pale little image
that was just scared to lift
its eyes

That image in the mirror
cried tears,desperate tears
that made her 
fear tomorrow
because everyday
her need grew 
but she was 
just too scared to 
stop,step back and say
"i need..."

it slept nights 
in a haunted  house
where five ghosts that 
lived in it wrestled 
to be unleashed
Their power frightened her

that image would
never leave the mirror
because that now,has become
its home
And there its allowed
to voice its endless thoughts
that a human mind could not console
thoughts of a wild mind that do not rest
and can take a wicked ride
on infant hearts 
and toxicate them 'til they 
are colourless

That very image
Is the one you are looking at...
that image 
lives with me

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The Darkest - Blackest Tuesday (Part ll)

The whispering begins  Maybe our Fairy God Mother came Sunday night and changed  Ma’am
Oh Dot we can only wish so , I’m a little apprehensive, Al  what does  aperentcive mean I 
It means unsure , unreal piped Joe and Jim  Bobby why aren’t you eating? Is there any rat 
Ma’am probably put it in the eggs Bobby don’t talk like that Billy’s woofing his breakfast down
Of course he’s Ma’am’s  Pet, alright, alright  let’s take advantage of the Fairy God Mother 
Becky tell Millie you and her will dry  George and Harry will put away Dot put everything away
The rest of you guys wipe the table and mop the floor I call wiping the table said Joe (always 
Hey Pet go upstairs and ask  Ma’am if she needs a fresh towel or anything tell her we’re 
almost done
When Billy came down we were all sitting at the clean table with our hands folded She’s 
coming now
Ma’am walked into the kitchen, wearing  a muti-colored flower dress that matched  to a tee 
her  parasol
Tucked in the bow of her dress  was the black rider’s crop which she always carried with her, 
just in case
Ma’am, you look beautiful, She playfully grabbed George’s ear I’m not going to tell all of you 
again Call
Me “MOM” I don’t want to use this today (touching the Ebony Crop) in fearful uncertain unison 
yes MOM
William go to the living room closet and bring the bag out here “hey guys look brand new 
beach pails”
“Jesus Christ” Did you say something  Robert  we all swallow our breath “ I-i said ”Mom your 
so nice”
Her hand never even moved toward the Crop Maybe Dotty was right, maybe we had a Fairy 
God Mother

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Church On Virgina Hill

All grown up now
Since that night we made our childhood vow,

I visited that beach along Virginia hill,
I walked it for miles; even saw that old wind mill,

The ocean roared like a tiger that had spotted its prey,
Yet I continued on my merry way,

Some would wonder why I would come here on such a dreary day,
But those where the times we went out and loved to play,

Remember the fall of 1992?
We discovered that deserted church and nobody knew,

We walked for hours and you saw past the rocks,
A broken-down building shaped like a box,

The stain glass windows were the only things beautiful left on it to see,
The doors were busted down from a fallen oak tree,

The cross still stood strong way on the top,
The steeple looked as if at any minute it was going to drop,

We ran away from home just for the night,
Their at the churches footsteps you held me tight,

It began to rain, I’ll never forget,
You took your shirt off so I would not get wet,

We were only thirteen what did we know about love,
But the night was our own and we fit together like a glove,

Both from broken homes, both had shattered dreams,
But for a moment we were King and Queen,

We made a promise never to forget,
The love we shared since the day we met,

You kissed me for the very first time.
I swear I heard the angels chime,

That winter your mother moved away,
Your mom left so fast my heart was in disarray,

She was in a state of trauma from your dad cheating,
I was in a state of trauma that you were leaving,

Now as I walk, years later, back into this place,
I can still hear your laughter, I can still see your face,

Trying to be my absolute hero,
Even if your bank accont was at zero,

It’s funny how time will always go,
But a place can keep memories of long ago,

I can still smell the pouring rain,
The night you froze all my little girl pain,

Now as I sit and look out at the raging sea,
It feels as though you never left me.

By: Sabina Nicole
Contest: Church
Written: 9/23/11

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For hours
her whole world was 
hunting for rocks at the
banks of the shallow
narrow river that runs 
through the canyon behind
the house.

On her knees,
wrist deep in the
icy current, she
sifts through piles of 
polished stones, 
searching for the 
perfect little pebble.

She slips the pebble 
safely in that pointed place
in the pocket of her jeans.

Down the path, 
she's conscious of the
precious cargo, 
digging her hand down
now and then.

At home,
she reaches in
with her fingers, to
pluck the pebble
from her pocket
and she places it
on a shelf
with the others.

That evening,
stretched under the covers,
tucked and tight, and drifting,
she dreams of 
skipping stones.

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An Old Photo

That still fresh old photograph of you
astride a spotted pony, bare feet
dangling as limply as your torn dress:
the background was a high veranda,
cool green trimmed with gingerbread.

A small boy sat the animal with you --
two solemn and handsome children
upon a well-fed pony, photographed
by an itinerant in the thirties --
the time frozen as long as the picture
or our fading memories of it may last.

The boy, our brother,
did little in his forty years;
but now, we see his boy's eyes,
soft, liquid, serious, sad,
no hint of smile about them;
we weep his loss.

And you, sister:
alert, protective, girl's face
set to fend off the world --
cast so early in your role
as the family glue
holding us all together.

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Encouragement From A Lost Friend

There was once a boy from a town in a city,

that always made my day of every minute.

We would always play hide and seek once

a week, and have conversations every day

and night, for his name is Sebastian.

Once separated, all fell from the stars

that held the dull moon. Though apart and

no longer together, he would always be

in my heart and in the black sky. Shattered

and broken hearted, strangers found my

path and for years became friends. For those

who betrayed and stabbed my back, I couldn't

leave behind my revengeful mind.

Relationships and friendships were said to

last forever long, but what would that do

when some left me hanging from a forgotten

wall? With no fame and no super talents, I

became strong for what life could bring me.

With the thought of my lost best friend, he made

me stronger every single day. Thinking that I

would be alone in the world, one single person

could change my thoughts alone, whether if

they're there or not. With no more hundred or so

friends to follow, I now only follow those who believe

in me and still have humanity.

Though still apart and all alone, I have encouraged

those who surround my joyous life than just me alone.

Standing guard to those who love me and to those

who take care of me, I live my life to the fullest

and to not make any worries and sorrows. With those

thoughts and actions in hand, I thank my lost best

friend to lead me to the life I want to live.

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My Road to Peace- part one

I had no way to ask for this, for you.
I was unable to take any precautions.
I was innocent in this decision
That you found yourself lost in.

Yet I was blamed anyway,
The prosecuted victim.
Those white jackets called you wrong
But you didn’t want to listen.

Remorse filled you, in you was me.
When you gave in to it at last.
Certain I’d be the end to your life,
Forcing me to play the role I was cast.

Growing strong against all odds
As you pumped into me your many escapes.
I learned exactly how good a mother
A selfish drug addict makes.

Through clouds of sweet smelling smoke
High as I learned to crawl and walk.
Through unfed affection and neglect, 
I learned how to talk.

Only to learn that screaming real words
Didn’t make one bit of a difference.
Between us, a thousand miles or beside you
Was emotionally the same distance.

I loved you with every breath I took
For so many years, you were all I had.
But you shattered me with you so many times.
As a baby I was already tired of being sad.

Not even finished with being a child,
You paraded me as your little adult.
You never believed me when I told you they hurt me
So I never knew that it wasn’t my fault.

You let me pay your debts for you
Never a thought to what I lost.
You fed me to things you should have protected me from.
Carelessly out the door, my innocence was tossed.

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Granddad loved to kid around.
I can still hear his loud gregarious laugh.
He teased me saying that a boy in the neighborhood was …
My boyfriend!
At first, I didn’t know what a boyfriend was.
We were about five or six years old back then.
When we walked home from school,
Granddad put me up to giving Terry a kiss.
Try as I might, with granddad taunting,
“Run Dane Run!  Give him a kiss!”
Terry squealed all the way home -
Running as fast as he could,
He always got away!
Granddad laughed and laughed.
I chased the poor boy almost every day.
And Terry cried.  But we were still friends.
Then, came the day we had our first date.
Our parents dropped us off at a movie.  
I think it was “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.”
At the ripe old age of seven, maybe eight,
It was the perfect choice.
We sat there together with some older children.
Holding hands never crossed our minds.
Neither did kissing.  
(I guess the fun was in the chase 
And granddad laughing.)
We went home awestruck by animations.
We played a lot, never thinking about a kiss.
My family moved away that same year.
Terry grew up and married somebody else.
We never did K-I-S-S at the movie…
Or in a tree, or anywhere at all!
But I always remember him fondly.

© July 9, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen

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One December Night

One December Night

     Susan, Joy, Marsha, and Pam crawled out of their beds to eat bacon and ham.
Their parents were sleeping.  They snored while the slept.  The children tiptoed to the very 
top step.  The staircase was chilly.  And it creaked while they crept.  Downward they were 
slinking, step by step.  
     Their puppy was resting on the fireplace hearth.  They sat down beside him for what it 
was worth.  They sat on the floor.  They did not use a chair.  And while they were sitting, 
Marsha hugged her pink bear.  They made funny faces and started to laugh.  They giggled 
and squiggled and chuckled so fast that all of the elves in earshot were aghast.   
     Then all of a sudden, they heard something loud.  It wasn't a trumpet, a flute or 
bassoon.  “I know what it is!  …A kazoo!!” shouted Sue.  
     They looked all around to locate the sound.  But, look as they might, it could not be 
found.  They looked in the kitchen and under the couch.  Pam bumped her red head and 
loudly said, “Ouch!”  Who played that kazoo?  They all wanted to know.  So, they scampered 
around by the fireplace glow.
     The dog started barking.  And bark loudly he did.  That's when it happened.  Beneath the 
windowsill Sue slid.  A great big toad outside, on that hill, in the cold wet snow, stood up 
suddenly.  Then, quickly down he did go.  Frightened, freezing, and carrying a load.  He slid 
off of the log and went a-rolling downhill in the snow.
    The children began jumping and squealing with delight.  Oh, what a sight to see at mid-
night.  The old toad was sliding with stocking feet in the air.  Behind him, downhill, slid his 
sack with a flare.  About all that sliding he did not seem to care.  Out there on the lawn in 
rare southern snow, up and down Roller Coaster hill he did go!  Faster and faster, he was 
sliding with time.  His suit became wet and covered with grime.  Where was he going?  Who 
would they tell?  At about that time, they heard the doorbell.   
                   (To be continued...)

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
December 5, 2009

Inspired by:
Poetrysoup member's Contest Anything Goes! 	
Sponsored by: Constance La France  (I took you at your word... It's a LONG story.)

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All I Wanted

For years
I have always cried myself to sleep,
But that started after those bullies' words
Began to creep
Into my mind,
My optimism and happiness had become blind.
Making me think that I was always alone.
I seen how I was bratty and seemed to be happy,
But inside,
My inner sadness resides.
The tears that I cried
Were all about me wanting or needing
Someone to be by my side.
Every night
I wished for a less lonelier life.
Nobody could come over or sleep over sometimes
And I would be doing nothing
Except for thinking
About my life's meaning.
A close friend was all I've been asking for:
Someone who would talk to me everyday,
Even when the sky's grey.
Someone who would listen to me carefully
And comfort me later on in the day.
All I wanted
Was a true friend.

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When I Saw The spirit

The holy spirits of “Christians” are unholy. What day earlier than mid-week did my brother,
the Nazarene call fools of their liking? I am work: I’m always against a force;
 the old black bag, that the spirit always quickens, called me a demon
 because I saw the devil arriving on Sunday mornings in lipstick and rouge, 
and when Rasimong came, “demon possessed,” they were endowed with tongues, 
like California wild fire and pushed him off the balcony, almost to his death.
They did not see the almost murder, ‘cause they were under the influence
of spirits in sizzling mid-summer heat. The preacher grinned 
his yellow, curry-stained teeth and pride himself on the spectacle, 
like his father did before him. My mother-in-law, the bur on my jockstrap,
is an almost murderer, her holy hands were tightly fixed to Rasimong’s private allotment.
Don’t take this straightforward; I have more than a bur in my jockstrap, a Colt 45
with barrel, cold, resting on the head of a snake; a python, as damaging as the serpent in Eden. 
Let’s recoup from unnecessary tidings. Before Rasimong flew like shot pheasant
and landed inches from a merciless metamorphic rock, I could smell the blood 
gushing from his almost cracked skull and marveled at who their god …is not

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Getcha Kosher Dills Here!

     Never been one much for food, always caused too much fear. “Geeeeez” would there be 
enough? Enough food was always a concern. I’d think of cold days when Dad was gone. Mom 
was crying and sled rides through the snow to grandmas where, maybe, there was venison. 
Didn’t like seeing the red, blue-black meat all smelly and sizzling in the pan. (The deer’s 
head was a porch wall!) Loved the golden butter and the onions. Gram would have potatoes 
always lots of them.
     I can’t ever remember wanting to feel full. When I was full if I ever got full “Wouldn’t 
someone else be empty?” I thought they might, so, I never tempted fate. I was a little bitty 
girl. I took bitty bites and wee tastes especially if it was yummy.
     There were and are things I love to taste, but I wouldn’t say eat. “Tastin’ now that’s the 
thing! Tastin’ doesn’t hurt no one. Don’t hurt them by eatin’ all theirs and don’t hurt you if it’s 
yucky” The bestest most happiest tastes, I can remember, are sour tastes “Go figure? “ I’m 
your kosher dill girl. I’m a prickle barrel surprise. My Jewish family Tanta and Uncle Don had 
the bestest pickles “Mmmmmmmm yummy!” What a crunchin’ delight and a pickle won’t fill 
you up either. A pickle will just make your mouth water and your tongue lick your lips. “If 
you have two pickles you ain’t eatin’ no ones supper either!” So I’d have ta say, “ Pickles is 
my food of joy crunchy, cold, half-sour, Jewish pickles given with love from my Uncle Donny.”

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Its forty years now
since that first day,
I remember still the
tears that dropped from
my cheeks as my mother’s
hand unclasped mine,
breaking the bond I’d
known from birth, handing
me over as though I were
a piece of lost property,
Miss Pringle was very kind,
and I’m sure understanding,
but she was only a
substitute, someone fitting
in between nine ‘o’clock
and quarter to four
five days a week.
But what of the freedom?
I’d known for the first five years of
my life, this institution was
taking it all away, two
times tables, abc’s, banging
blocks into different shaped
holes. “Yes innocence and
freedom had gone”
Gone, forever!

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One December Night (Continuation 2)

One December Night 

     Mama, at the oven, was taking cookies out.  When she turned around quickly to see what 
the shouts were about, the cookies started sliding.  And almost hit the floor.  But the frog 
took his wand from his sack by the door and started to say magic words galore.  
“Alacafrogsky majikazam, make those cookies go back into the pan.”  To everyone's 
surprise, those gingerbread men stopped in thin air, reversed, took a spin.  Then headed 
right back to the pan again.  Wide eyed, that is when the family realized that the frog at their 
table was not like other frogs.  
    And while doing magic, the frog said to the mouse, “You better start running, and I mean 
fast right out of this house.”  And as Dad, with his broom, was about to lower the boom, the 
mouse left the house wearing a great big brown mouse frown.  Then, Dad with a smile and 
real puzzled look put the broom down and the frog's hand he shook.
    At half past mid-night on that cold winter night the frog and his magic brought one family 
delight.  So, he stayed and ate cookies along with the girls.  And he took from his bag, lots of 
toys and some pearls.  He gave each one gifts.  Then, closed up his brown sack.  But as
he headed for the door, together they said, “Wait!  Come back! We have a gift for your 
     He turned around fast with a twinkle in his eye.  Then, the children ran to him with hugs 
and with sighs.  They gave him big kisses.  He smiled deep inside as they put one big gift 
marked for Santa in his bag.  
     All of a sudden with no warning at all, a bright cloud of sparkles surrounded the frog.  
Magically, right in front of them all, they discovered that the frog was not a frog at all! In just 
few moments, when all of the sparkles were gone, there stood Santa Claus.  Had something 
gone wrong?  His face was delighted.  He had a big smile.  All of the elves hiding began to 
come out.  Those tiny little people sang loudly, and danced. “Santa is back.  They have 
broken the spell.  Be sure to go everywhere and tell, tell, tell!"

        (To be continued...)

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
December 5, 2009

Inspired by:
Poetrysoup member's Contest Anything Goes! 	
Sponsored by: Constance La France  (I took you at your word... It's a LONG story.)

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Appalachian Kids

                                               APPALACHIAN KIDS

We are Appalachian kids
With nothing to do but pop
The pills we find in homes
That are not our own.

We sit with our feet splashing
In the warm river water
And wonder if we are going to go
Up or down, waiting patiently for either.

We are young kids willing to swallow
The blues, the reds, the yellows
And just enjoy the ride inside.
Dangling our feet in the dirty river

We laugh and laugh as the pills
Begin the magic of taking away
The browns and grays
The blackness of our 

Appalachian days.

Jim Brewer
August 16, 2012

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Once upon a time,
A long time ago,
A little boy stood by a window,
Wishing for snow.

Somehow the snow, soft and silent,
Makes everything seem new again.
Snow covers not only the ground,
Sometimes it can cover your pain.

But that day there was no snow,
Just pounding, incessant rain.
No snow to cover the ground,
No snow to cover the pain.

That boy is now a man,
And just as years ago,
He is looking out a window,
Hoping it will snow.

You can can make a man out of a boy,
But there's still a boy within,
A boy who feels like things are new,
When snow covers everything again.

Houses and cars and yards and streets,
The mountains and the plains,
Still it's true though he doesn't know why,
Snows somehow covers the pain.

Wounded Healer
Submitted 8/27/09
Written 9/17/08

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The Road To Peace- part two

When I preyed to you to save me, you laughed
When I prayed to god, I was ignored as well.
So I learned that I would always be alone in this world.
Every day filled with secrets I could never tell.

At ten I could drink your friends under the table.
I was barely afraid of what would happen in the dark.
I knew you were too drunk to hear me scream
And afterwards you refused to acknowledge my marks.

So I stopped trying to fight, I didn’t make a noise.
Because they would hit me less if I was quiet.
Soon I was filled with your same need to escape.
Every day I was on a search to find it.

If it promised oblivion, that was all I asked.
I immediately consumed it and waited for release.
But every time it wore off, I’d find myself there again
Always exhausted by my daily search for peace.

At first I misconstrued it for trying to get away from myself
Until one day I realized I was really running from you.
The spread of your fourth stage cancer of hatred and malice
And your unrelenting cycle of cruelty and abuse.

Your perpetual blame laid on me for your own mistakes
Finally had succeeded in taking its toll.
Years of fending for myself, succumbing to weakness
Had blackened my once pure soul.

For you I could harbor nothing but contempt, disgust.
The same lack of empathy you showed your own child.
I saw that you were at fault for my years of torment.
I made your rage, hatred, disregard appear mild.

I could never give you a strong enough taste.
All I wanted was for you to feel my Rapture.
You tried to silence me once again, tried to lock me up
But I wasn’t weak anymore and I refused to be captured.

I left you to your misery, I relished the fact
That leaving you with no one to catch you next time you fell
Was the most pain I could ever wish to conflict you with
Because then you would finally have to face your self.

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Her Personal Curse (Part One) *warning, graphic in nature*

In a drunken stupor, I fall down on my comforter
Baby blue sky covered in fluffy clouds of cotton.
I kick off my shoes, faded pink chuck Taylors
And make clumsy work of my shirt buttons.

I slip an oversized shirt over my head, Bart Simpson,
And pull it straight passed over my bra and panties, past my knees.
Now in the dark, on my bed, I hear the door creak open.
I turn to see your silhouette, and I hear the door behind you locking.

I sat up, before you lunged on top of me, and smacked me in the face.
I tried to push you off, but a little girl is nothing against a man.
Fear pinned me down with your arms, the look in your eye was crazed.
I yelled out as you punched me again, before stifling my breath with your hand.

I felt your fingers probe underneath my shirt, rough and groping.
The straps tore at my flesh as you ripped my bra apart.
I tried to push your hand off my face, I was having trouble breathing
But when you took your hand off and I gasped for air, it fell back against my cheek hard

I stopped trying to push you away, tears streaming, afraid you’d hit me again.
I bucked when your course fingers pinched, it only seemed to excite you more.
I cringed as you raked your nails deep down my stomach digging in.
You stopped at the top of my panties before yanking them till they tore.

Panic sliced through me as I felt you unclasping your jeans, understanding swept me.
I knew then what you intended to do and my blood ran cold at the thought.
You took your hand off of my mouth and threatened to kill me if I screamed
But I yelled anyway begging for help, preying that you would be caught.

I was silenced by a stinging blow that sent me hard against the head board.
Too disoriented by it to yell again before you were done taking off my t shirt.
Through blurry eyes and mind I felt your eager hands pillage and explore.
I was smacked again for screaming at how badly your fingers inside me hurt.

You showed no mercy as I screamed in pain against the palm of your hand.
You only continued to probe and play, talking dirty to me, making me talk back.
Through bloodied lips and wrenching pain I was abused by this man
He made me say unmentionable things about him, while he cruelly laughed.

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Still the Same

It is still lightly drizzling, as I pull into the parking lot
The sun is hidden by the clouds
A bit of light spits tiny rainbows from the tips of Monterey pines
The old school hasn't changed much, since my children graced it's classrooms...
As if all time has been erased..... 
Skinned knees on the playground, and stuck wads of gum under the desks
All those years ago that seem like yesterday.
I stop at the office, then wander down the familiar halls
I'm reminded of the teachers, who once taught my children
Those who have since retired,... Mr. Spencer, Mrs. Schueller, Miss Wilson
I wonder where they are now, and who could fill their shoes
I peek into the second grade classroom
And my I see my grandson working diligently
He looks up and sees me with a grin so wide
And soon a whisper scurries about the room.
Ten more faces are soon grinning at me.
But just then, the bell rings, and one happy little boy
Gathers his coat, and papers, and comes to me
He grabs my hand, and we walk to the car.
The clouds have disappeared.

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Ever Jumped A Train - Part 9 - Robert and Ernie Adventures

Well, here we were, me, Ernie, and Snowy on this new train,
Both of them were still inside my jacket and sound asleep.
I knew now that mice snored, could feel a strange vibration,
It came and went with a little wheezing sound under my ribs.

I sat there quietly and wondered now about our direction,
Figured it was most likely either west, south, or southwest.
Traveling any further east we would be heading for Europe,
I grinned as I imagined, that would be Captain Nemo style.

At 15 I could hold my breath for two swimming pool lengths,
Knew I'd need a submarine though for that big Atlantic pond.
Then I saw a sign along the highway that read, Mount Vernon,
We were passing near George Washington's home I thought.

I was in awe at that moment of the father of our country,
Would have stopped in respect but had no brake controls.
At least I knew now that we were rolling southward bound,
Later, saw some kids playing near the tracks at Jersey City.

Ernie and Snowy didn't wake up until we hit Philadelphia,
I told Ernie we were entering the city of brotherly love.
Ernie yawned and said, you mean the bulls there like us?
Well, not exactly Ernie I said, they're not our brothers.

Robert, you told me everyone are our brothers and sisters.
Yeah Ernie I said, but sometimes big brothers beat you up.
Robert, think we might meet some brothers here who love us?
I doubt it Ernie, not unless we go downtown into the city.

As we pulled into that Phillie train yard Ernie gave a sigh,
Robert, can't we sneak into the city tonight for a while?
Then Snowy chimed in and said Ernie, I'm afraid to do that,
Don't worry Snowy he said, brother Robert will protect us.

Will you Snowy said to me with those deep pink eyes of hers.
Now wait a minute you two, I said, I haven't said okay yet.
Oh please Robert, Ernie said, I want to go find a brother,
I know there have to be more like you who love us out there.

Ernie, people don't just love you simply because you exist,
You have to go out among them and show you deserve it.
They both sat there blinking up at me with curious eyes,
Okay okay we'll go downtown but don't say I didn't warn you.

(to be continued)

© Copyright 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved

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He was a silent man.

He stayed upstairs, typing unceasingly
and during dinner, mumbled accusingly
nothing ever finished

That evening he noticed, 
saw his child sitting in the distance
alone, he crossed the field

He teased; they played, 
among the blades of several hills, 
a thousand times they rolled, 

He laughed; they roared
 Disney visions, collaborating 
goose-bumps; torching recollections.

He taught; they practiced
hundreds, of air pockets among them 
they flew like ravens

They went home, and thereafter

He was a silent man; 
his child unspoken.

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The Darkest - Blackest Tuesday (Part l)

Alice! Alice wake up, She half opens the door, What? Wake the girls Ma’am’s  making 
Harry did you hit your head on something? Al , Ma’am told me to wake everyone for 
I went first to “Billy’s  mattress hey PET wake up, Bobby throws a pillow over his head “Jesus”
Harry shut up ,Ma’am will hear you”  Ma’am told me to wake you guys up Al’s waking the girls
The girls get the tub first again : I don’t think we have to bathe today We have to go down 
Everybody was ready at the top of the stairs Alice grabbed my hand “you go first  Ma’am 
expects it
We all joined hands and Alice prayed  “Dear Heavenly Father Watch over our souls, guide 
our Hearts
At the top of the stairs I yelled “Ma’am we’re ready “Call me Mom ,your eggs are getting cold 
Everyone’s eyes darted back and forth to each other, Ginny signed Millie Ma’am said call her 
Millie’s response was to fast to understand, down stairs through the living room into the 
kitchen “WOW”
Eleven plates filled with Eggs, sausage, English muffins , peanut butter and jam eleven large 
orange juice
We all stared with our mouths opened ; the lady in the kitchen looked like Ma’am acted like a 
“You going to stand there all day catching flies or you going to eat breakfast” we scurried to 
our seats
“Alice will say grace I’m going upstairs to soak, I want the dishes done and the kitchen clean 
when I return”
“God we thank-you for this food, for wind and rain and  Sun above :but most of all for those 
we Love Amen” “” AMEN”” 

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Too Much, Too Young

Looking back,
i should have listened to what they said
to the advice they gave but i did not 
and look at me now
Two children later,
my daughter deceased, a son of two 
and inside i am still a baby myself 
made to grow up 

Act your age,
thats what they said but how can I do that now 
I am nineteen but have soembody other than me
to consider

I will always be here,
is what most of them said 
two years later where are you all
there not friends

Decisions, decisions 
my options were open, i chose the wrong one
and now i must deal with it for the sake of my son 
I have done too much, too young

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My Awsome Great Grandma contest

I knew CRAZY ran in my family from a young age,
I saw it written all over my future page,
I was blessed to have known my Great Grandma while I was still young,
She was a little old lady that always sung,
But when she got mad you stayed out of her way,
For a woman who did not speak any English she had much to say,
Straight out of Italy, off a little farm,
This lady was capable of doing a lot of harm,
I recall walking at the age of eight,
Down a long road we met our fate,
Late in the day a man ran up on her,
This memory is vivid, It has no blur,
He grabbed her purse and kept on running,
Little granny was extremely cunning,
At age eighty five she was still so alive
A woman with vigor, she had quit the drive,
She ran fast after him and boy did she win,
I'll never forget great granny's sick little grin,
She grabbed her purse and beat him down,
Thank God there were people all around,
They called the cops and grabbed that guy,
I stood in amazement, I didn’t cry,
She showed no fear that special day,
Who would have thought little granny could fight that way,
Now I know woman have a unique type of skill,
When you mess with them or their children, their instinct is to kill,
I’ll cherish that moment for as long as I live,
Cheers to you great grandma you always knew had to GIVE.

By: Sabina Nicole

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I Remember AUNT B

I remember AUNT B for the way she took care of me when
mother was not home but working
She would take me to Boston on the Orange Line to go
shopping for comic books and clothes for the upcoming School Year
Then,we would go to a Burger King and have the Scramble Egg platter and
Orange juice for Breakfast
Walking over to the Boston Common by early afternoon,we would take a little ride 
on the Swan Boats and after that,take the elevator all the way up to the top of the 
John Hancock Building and Look down upon the Hustle and Bustle Bostonians 
from the view of the Observation Deck
After having lunch near a busy Mass Ave Cafe,we would go on the Green Line 
and switch back over to the Orange that would take us out of the city and back 
upon our Medford suburb.
Thanks AUNT B
for showing me how the world runs for free

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Six months away to travel
Home to a nostalgic place
Where, once more, I'd be able to capture
The free things:
Mountains, pristine rivers, rice fields, fresh air, etc

My relatives packing all sorts
Used clothing, spam, corned beef, Vienna sausage
Coffee, coffee mates, chocolates, candies
As if those items were not availabe
In any stores except United States.

My childhood I mirror
Daydreaming in the middle of the ricefield
Pulling strings of scarecrows
Washing clothes in the running river
Drying them under the sun.

My childhood brings me back
Climbing guava tree in the backyard
Riding a carabao was a delight
Watching a river gorge
Was a wonder and awe!

I have gone too far.
Now, I am a Balikbayan!
With big boxes in a row
Fascinating pasalubong to everyone
In return
Happy smiles I've got!


Balikbayan -----Overseas Filipino Workers
Pasalubong----a present or a gift
Carabao--------water buffalo

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The lush hill towered over the quite town mostly built with big rock;
it had three tall church towers
with different distinguished styles: Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque...
wondrous was every sunrise!

Oh, their loud bronze bells could be heard ringing
through the vast, sun-washed and peaceful valley
sorrounded by mountains that reached a sky so dazzling...
then the clock-tower stroke each hour so precisely!

The summer's aroma was kind of strong and irritated the eyes,
and it almost got me drunken as aged wine does;
and I ran to the lush hill thinking of finding a treasure
in a cave that the invading Normans might have hidden in there!

But to my surprise, only frescos of martyrs were discovered;
all the while, that treasure was in front of me:
Nature opening up with its magnificent beauty!
It took observation and reflection for the rare gifts it rendered.

Whenever I ran to the lush hill, either morning or afternoon,
I was astonished by the humble faces of saints showing no demise 
for their persecution and carnage by beast such as ferocious lions... 
as those pious faces looked to Christ for comfort in their doom!

Their image made me much stronger and believer in the Shepherd
whose sheep never was lost among grunting wolves waiting aside; 
and every mystery revealed, it grew to teach me not to be afraid...
when profound silence arrived bringing delights to an innocent child. 

Oh, lush hill...keep my image of young boy intact even after I die;
let it come alive when sheer curiousity arises and tantalizes...
to make me climb that lush hill again for the heart to fantasize,
and 'though my health may not be as vibrant as then, I must try!

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One December Night (Continuation 1)

One December Night (Continuation 1)

     Before they could get to the front door to see, their dad shouted down, “Don't go there.  
Let me!”  “Wait children.” he said from the top of the stairs.  You girls go and sit at the table 
in your chairs.”  “Why are you up and playing about?”  Those are the words Father asked in a 
shout., Quickly, he walked down those stairs on that night to see what was there outside in 
the moonlight.
     The girls in their chairs looked away from Dad's glares. And in the next moment, Mother 
bounced downstairs, too.  She had heard all of the ruckus and scampering around.  But 
she had not yet heard the loud kazoo sound.  She saw the girls sitting at the table with the 
     “Come to the kitchen.” Their mother said.  Let's have some cookies and gingerbread. 
After making hot chocolate, she continued to say, “We can look at the stars.  Honey, come 
us mars!”  They sat at the table underneath a skylight.  Hot chocolate and cookies were 
already in sight.
     But before they could take their very first bite, the door flew open.  Oh, what a fright!  
There silhouetted in the light of the bright glowing moon, the bumpy old toad stood, humming 
a tune.  And right beside him close to his feet was a bright brown sack with a blinking red 
bow.  “Merry Christmas.” he said, as he walked right on in.  He sounded like Santa and he 
had a big grin.  
     But they did not know him.  He wasn't their friend.  What should they do?  For whom 
should they send?  He wanted to stay.  They thought he should go.  What would they do?  
They did not know.
     In the very next moment, he took out his kazoo!   “A Kazoo!  A Kazoo!  I knew.” shouted 
Sue.  He pulled up a chair.  They started to stare.  He sat down at the table, the best he was 
able.  A frog at the table!  Whoever heard of such?  And Dad did not like it.  Oh, no, not 
very much!  The frog there beside them at the table where they munch.  Picked up a cookie 
and ate it with a crunch.  It should not be so.  Let everyone know.  That bumpy old frog 
simply must go!
     Dad started to tell him to get out of their house.  But about that time across the floor ran 
a mouse.  So, Dad grabbed the broom and chased the mouse about.  While the frog at the 
table calmed the children's frantic shouts.  
                          (To be continued...)

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
December 5, 2009

Inspired by:
Poetrysoup member's Contest Anything Goes! 	
Sponsored by: Constance La France  (I took you at your word... It's a LONG story.)

Details | Narrative | |



      She told me I should do this and that but everytime I called on her she always turned 

her back.  I get it now I see now you never really loved me, your ashamed of me and this 

has been way before u found out that I was into girls.  You would tell me all the time how 

you wish my stomach would go away, but I am me and you are you.  I bet just for one day 

you couldnt walk a mile in my shoes.....  All thee things you put me thru and all the times I 

depended on you, I wonder how you would feel if the rest of your kids turned their backs 

on you too. The feeling of neglect and mental abuse from you, in the back of my mind there 

are so many devious things I could do to you, but I am not going to put my hands on you 

because I know there will be plenty of nights that you will cry the blues.....

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The Tale of Old Man Withers Gold part one

Three little boys
Went out on a adventure quest
To find the treasure of old man withers
At his place of final rest

In the forest of many lost souls
Is where the three boys would go
A dark and gloomy place
Especially to find some gold

Full of monsters and goblins’ 
Unknown I am told
That eats your body and even your bones
Right down to your soul alone, I am told

Knowing all of the risk
The three boys would still go
Cutting each of there hands
And sealing the deal in stone

The gear that they had got
Wasn’t considered a lot
Just three turkey ham sandwiches
Cajun style and that's Hot!!!

Eight bottles of water
And one rinky dink rope
The boys thought they were prepared
At least the boys they hoped

So they began walking to the forest
The forest of many lost souls
Down an old dirt road they went
One with many rocks and stones

On this dirt road
The oldest boy foretold
The stories of the forest
The forest of many lost souls

To prepare the other boys
Of what was expected to come
You could tell the look in there eyes
That they both were ready to run

But they both stayed
Because there was no way!!!
That a goblin who eats souls
Would get in the way of these boys gold

As they reached the forest
The Forest of many lost souls
There fingers began to chill
Warm blood turned to cold

They looked into the forest
The forest of many lost souls
Not noticing a single shadow
And especially no lost souls

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Mysterious Disease

I never mentioned it to her, don’t know
if anybody did; the fact that she didn’t look the same
after she finally recovered..
I don’t know how old I was when Mama 
turned very sick with  such a strange disease 
and  even stranger name.

“Arasyplis” was what I thought they said.
I couldn’t find it  there under “A” when
 I searched the doctor book.
I knew I probably had the spelling wrong;
maybe it started with the letter “E”.
I found it there and started reading..

“Erysipelas, a dangerous skin 
disease.”  I almost closed the book, not sure
I wanted to read about it,  
afraid it would say my mama would die.
“ Caused by Streptococcus bacterium.”
I quickly closed the door.

“Inflammation and swelling of the skin”.
I’d be in trouble if they found me there,
not wanting me to know.
“Sometimes spreads rapidly, ending in death.“
My mama was going to die and I
wondered what would happen to us.

Could Papa take care of us without Mama?
My  sister and my baby brother were
both still so very small.
I wished that I had never learned to read
and didn’t know how sick my mama was,
from her dreadful disease.

Mama’s face swelled beyond recognition
and every night I prayed to God she’d live.
I didn’t tell anyone what I had discovered.
Our little town had no hospital then.
The doctor came each day and 
a nurse stayed to take care of her.

My Mama did get better and the 
swelling went away,
but she  never looked the same.
I wonder if she knew.

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Same Time, Same Place...

Same time
Same place
Different color
Of the face

Same K-12 system
Same university
Different college
Who gained 
More knowledge?
Who excelled?
Who got more hell?

Same job
Same school
Same students
Same certification
Different degrees

Who stayed 
On their knees?
Both of us
Yes, indeed.
Who achieved
Well let’s see!

Same time
Same place
Different color
Of the face
I made it 
By God’s grace
You are 
A Satanic disgrace.

You are the
Face of hateful
I settle for
None of your
Fallacious foolishness
And malicious mediocrity.

Same hometown
I keep it real
You a damn clown
God’s giving you 
A furious frown

A lazy witch
Probably born rich
Living in the sticks
Killing nature’s beauty
Just to get away
From people like me
An earth killer
Fake teacher
And destiny stealer
A true thriller
Makin fake scrilla

I worked hard
While you pressed bricks
Storing awful ATP
To make sure
You got the best of me
And people from my 

My adenosine triphosphate (ATP)
From glycolysis in my body
After Krebs cycle
Gives off love
While yours come
From hate
We’ve had the same bodily
Processes similar chemical makeup
I just have more melanin
You act the way you act 
Because of your grandfather’s mistakes

 I hate to see your fate 
If you don’t change
You are devilish
And deranged
I know your game
Your name
We’re from the same turf
You and I 
Are carbon based products
One tries hard daily to be just
So that when the minister
Says ashes to ashes
And dust to dust
That I get the reward
I deserve
You got my reward
I still work hard
Detests the enemy

It ain’t fair 
That we walked in the same place
Respect you received
And hate slapped me in the face
Walking around with on your face
Did a dissertation on me
If I looked like you 
With my knowledge 
At 23 I would have had
Ten PhD’s.

Girl please you got the nasty woman disease
Get on your knees for the right reas’
Pray to us Jes’
Save me from being a real bigot
And sometimes on the sly
Help me to love you
And all your creatures
And accept diversity

You need help with that dirty blond hair
Pony tails sticking in the air
Depicting your true savior 
Not mine that will catch the one’s
That are still alive and in Him 
Up in the midair.

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Domestics - blue berry pancake

Simmering,hot, pancakes, flushed.
Battered, beating, bruised,
Syrup, sweet, melted, dripping, 

Brown now, peeling, ripping 
Dark berries, smashed oozing bluish - black red,
Hands and words tossed instead,

Pancake Burnt! Pancake dead!

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Don't Go Near The River

Don’t go near the river a tree has fallen down
The flow is blocked and it caused a dam if you fall in you could drown
But to us children this an invitation was
A big happening in our lives we had to see the cause
Of course we would not climb down to the tree
From high upon the bank we would satisfy our curiosity

Down Milfort Avenue we all trouped 
The excitement mounting with-in our group
The boys were there first of course
Down at the roots torn from the ground with such force
You girls they shouted stay away it was their find
Just go home play with your dolls and leave our tree behind
Well did you ever hear such rot 
We will soon show that lot

Mother’s warning soon forgot down we went to the spot
Those roots from up high did not seem so tall
But now down beside them we were made to feel small
Like gaint arms they were all slimy and wet
But we girls would conquer this climb you bet 
I never was brave and from the start
My legs were shaking and in my heart
I knew I should back down and risk being the fool
But pride would not let me so I tried to act cool

The others had climbed over and to the far side had gone
Knowing I was frightened they egged me on
Up I went onto that tree trunk
Looking down to the river below my heart sunk
What would I do if I fell in I had never learned to swim
Well it happened and into water I fell for my sins
Plunged to the bottom then up I floated gasping for air 
Again the depths called the water my death would share
With bravery someone dived in to save me from my watery grave
Trailed to the bank and with the water pumped out my life was saved

A neighbor heard the commotion and running came
Then into her house to recover my legs some strength to gain
For the walk back home to face Mum my misbehavior to declare
I really was a sorry sight but I did not care
Jumper and tartan skirt soggy the red dye running down my thighs
Perhaps she would think it was blood I had better start to cry

Water filled the fur lined leather boots which slopped and weighed a ton
My dad had worked for hours to pay for them and look what had I done
So sorry I was for myself but punishment I had to accept 
My friends there with me for support they stayed and yet
When Mum’s face through that front door appeared
They drifted away the blame they feared
In I was hauled and asked to explain
Why I had ignored her orders given so plain

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Life is a swing

In life I need Dad
to push me forward.
Soon I come back, 
Just like a swing

Dad tenderly pushes
Me forward-
I feel free.
Then, I swing back,
Safely, in Dad's arms

He pushes a little harder
I fly higher
and touch the leaves.
Then, I am back, 
Safely, in Dad's arms.

He pushes again, 
It's hard to go
Yet, I know.
I can come back;
Safe again, in Dad's arms.

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The Tale of Old Man Withers Gold part three, Conclusion

As the boys walked and walked
Through the forest of many lost souls
The boys began to feel they were lost
And would never find old man withers gold

But as the boys, were about to give up
The oldest had another feeling
And decided to look up
There he saw, what looked to be a cave
He told the other two, and they all shouted YaYYYY!!!!!

But this cave that he saw
In the forest of many lost souls
Didn’t seem to even contain
Any of Old man withers gold
Instead of precious gold
There lay a big pile of bones
Bones of little lost children
Children from there town back home

As the three boys noticed
That this was no treasure chest
The oldest boy realized
Head home would probably be best

But as they turned to head back home
The oldest boy heard
 A scary and vicious groan

So he looked into the darkness
To see what he could see
A big blackish wompass cat
With big ole shiny teeth

The three little boys 
That set out on a quest
Found themselves alone
Almost frightened to death

This wompass cat they saw
In forest of many lost souls
Was very big and very tall
I guess he ate all the souls

But these boys couldn't give up
As they didn’t do before
But they couldn't just outman this beast
For there strength was way to poor

As time was running out
For all the little boys
The oldest boy picked up
A stone that was on the floor
As he threw the stone
With all he had in store
To keep this wild and mangy beast
From getting all three boys souls

With this throw of the stone
Draw a quick blow to the head
There this mangy beast cat lay 
This wompass cat was dead 

As the boys started to leave
Towards there home they would head
The oldest boy noticed a light
Behind the cat that lay dead
This light was pretty gorgeous
A beauty often unseen
The boys took a closer look
The oldest said Cha Ching!!!!!

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There is Life Beyond Death's Door Part III

away like she did, made him ask what was going on. That yielded no response. The 
silence hung heavily in the kitchen. Finally, he asked, “Is Brian in his room?”  He 
looked at my oldest sister, Winnie who sat next to Papa. She didn’t respond. 
Instead, she looked up at him with tears in her eyes.  Thomas was as tall as Brian.  
At 14years old, they were 6’ tall. Winnie bowed her head to hide her tears.  She 
looked down at her plate before her. Thomas turned halfway around and was about 
to head towards the door leading towards Brian’s room, when Papa let out a deep, 
long sigh and motioned to Thomas to come sit next to him. Winnie got up to give 
Thomas her chair and Papa, with his voice low and cracked, told Thomas that his 
best friend had passed away. The humming of the fridge seemed much louder 
then.   Looking back now, seeing Thomas’s face, I knew he wanted to laugh but he 
stopped just short of that, and his countenance changed in an instant! A painful 
grimace appeared on his face.  His voice became shaky as he tried to mumble 
something.  He looked at each of us as if checking each face to see if someone 
would soon break into laughter, at this absurd joke. After a while, he took a deep 
breath, convinced now, that he was reading everyone’s face correctly. Brian’s Dad 
wouldn’t joke about something like this. He thought to himself. Then all the reactions 
he had seen as he entered the kitchen, finally registered, confirming that this was 
not a joke.  He nearly fell out of the chair, as it toppled over to the floor.  He began 
retreating slowly towards the kitchen door; his whole body still visibly shaking, he 
said loudly, shaking his head in disagreement, that it wasn’t possible.  “It is just not 
possible!” He shouted. Yet, there was no response.  Winnie was sobbing, tears 
rolling down her face.  He then asked if Brian had run away or something. Still the 
room was as quiet as a tomb. Not a sound from anyone, only the constant humming 
and the hymns being played on the local Christian radio station softly wafted across 
the room. He then blurted out, “Because,” he

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A Witch Made Me Rich

I found a little witch,

Tied up in a ditch.

She was very surprise,

When I uncovered her eyes.

Looking up at the sky,

She let out a happy cry.

And began to talk,

As she picks up a rock,

She hands it to me -

Saying, "soon you'll be,

Very, very rich;

For saving a witch."

"I am very thrilled,

And over that hill,

Your fortune awaits you;

Much happiness too."

She thanked me that day,

Then was on her way.

I, indeed, became rich -

But never again saw the witch.

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The Art of Living Part Three

Everyone was crying except for me, I couldn’t cry. I didn’t understand the full extent of the situation. The doctor comes out of the room and tells us that Helen is gone. Immediately I hear Renee saying “Grannies dead”. She cried, and after that everyone did. Mom asked if I wanted to see Helen one last time. I didn’t want see Helen blue and cold, I didn’t want to see her not breathing or moving. I wanted to see her alive, talking, and laughing like she usually does. Helen was a very bright person. When you were sad she would be there to cheer you up. I remember when Helen let me go up to the third floor of the blue house; we found records and cassette tapes. Helen let us have them; I remember they were Beatles records and Neil Young cassette tapes. She also let us have blankets and books on history. I would never give those records away.It was time to leave the hospital. I regretted not seeing Helen, I didn’t know if I would see her again because I wouldn’t be able to make it through the funeral service. I mourned the loss of her and I still do, so I will do anything I can to get this guilt out. I thought about the weekend again and how I could have waited one more hour till she got home so I could see her, but I left. Grandma Sandy said Helen was happy because she got to see her grandchildren wrestle. That Monday Helen was supposed to have a meeting about her will, but she changed it to a different day because she didn’t feel good. She scheduled it for the following Thursday, the day of her funeral. A lot of times I hear her voice and I see her face. I don’t know if it’s because I’m seeing things or if I’m hearing things. I think about her all the time, trying to keep her alive in my memory. I think of that day when I was sitting on the bus after that Metallica song I listened to the Foo Fighters- Let it Die. The lyrics read “Heart of gold but it lost its pride, Beautiful veins and blood shoot eyes, I’ve seen your face in another light, Why did you have to go and let it die, in too deep and out of time, Hearts gone cold and your hands were tied, why did you have to go and let it die?” It was around the time when Helen was laying on the floor, a few minutes before I heard the news. Sometimes I wonder if she was frustrated because of the way people perceived her, or if she was happy enough about the things she realized about herself that she could tolerate the way people perceived her and for that I think she was able to die in a happy state of mind.

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Top of the roof

Daddy told us not too, while Mom sourly warned. Though they scolded, loud and clear, we devilishly disobeyed. Up on that roof top, at least 30 feet from ground, carelessly balancing on the shingles, one step, two we were so young, so adventurous, the nights lasted decades, while the stars evaporated fear, they smiled at our virgin eyes, and when a gust of wind would catch our balance, we'd lay under the ratty quilt grandma made. The night sky was so full of life, a serenity in a chaos of lights, forever rotating yet a fulfilling stillness, the kind that cannot be broken Until the day we got caught. Daddy yelled while we ran threw the window, preparing for the worst, hearing Mom's fear in curses, we both sat quietly, reminiscing on that freedom, that longing for serenity. After taking in the fear- we went up to our rooms, and after one tapping on the wall between us, we both met at the window once more.

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Rich kids from Hutchie

Another rainy Glasgow day
And I'm stuck in this train
With the rich kids from Hutchie

Bound for work
With a heavy heart
And they're all mocking me
In uniforms so smart

Confident and cocky
With the world at their feet
I wonder if they pity
This man the world has beat?

Anger wells up inside
As high-pitched squeals 
Pollute the air
So many lives unburdened
It just isn't fair

But this fury is really envy,
Mourning for a youth lost
I'd swap places in an instant
Even with the sullen goths

For there's no greater freedom
Than not knowing what's ahead
Memories of an office wall
Won't linger when you're dead

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Little know it all

Now know we. What we know,
What we thought we knew we knew.

Way back then we knew it all,
nothing to big or to small.

But as we grew from small to tall,
we came to know that we didn’t know 
what we thought we knew,  we  knew.

Experience and maturity pulled us through 
and taught us what we knew we knew.

So if they’re growing small to tall 
and they know they know it all.

Please be patient until they’re through.
Then they’ll know what they knew they knew.

Life on Purpose Live it berfor you lose it!  copyright 2009

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The Tale of Old Man Withers Gold part two

The oldest stepped forth first
Across into the misty cold
The oldest was strong and brave
Very smart and very bold

As the two other boys followed
Into The forest of many lost souls
The boys couldn’t help but think
About what they would do with all of that gold

Walking real fast and completely UN aware
Something stood watching
With a dark and creepy stare
This thing that was watching
Was definitely not human
But the boys didn’t notice
So they just kept on cruisin

The three boys kept walking
Looking at nature and what not
But the oldest had a scary feeling
That something was watching from the tree top

As he gazed and looked around
No evidence was to be found
So this feeling he put aside
And continued his long stride

The oldest leading the pack
The other two didn't look back
As a creature behind them
Was steadily watching there back

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      Growing up on a small council estate
         pretty close knit and plenty of mates
            we had our own little squad
              the park end crew, were like a pod
                 We went through a stage of oppertunist thieves
                    but what was to follow nobody believes
                      just of what was about to come in store
                         organised violence football hard core

                             The length and bredth of England,our firm travelled
                               coming up against the best and coming unravelled
                                 an incident occurred that would change my life
                                   the judge said to me, you did use a knife.

                                         12 lads went to jail for 39 years
                                            some hard faced and some with tears
                                               16 years old,5 years on my head
                                                 going to jail to lay on my bed.....

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There is Life Beyond Death's Door Part II

missing dog, Blackie. Besides the sound of our voices, the hymns playing softly in the 
background, the noise made by the porcelain plates as Mama wiped and put them 
away, the humming of the refrigerator’s motor, the house was quiet.  No body knew 
what had happened to Blackie.  We were really concerned about the whereabouts 
of the dog, even though Papa had assured us that he would return at some point.  
Since the funeral, he had vanished.  Even the old man who lived across the street 
from us and who loved Blackie, had not seen him, nor had any of the other 
neighbors. We had searched in all the usual places.  He had never run away from 
home before.  As far as I remember, Blackie never did come back home.

As Papa sat in his usual chair, quietly playing with the food on his plate, the kitchen 
door opened, and in walked Thomas, Brian’s best friend. They were the same age, 
and were very close even though they did not attend the same school, or the same 
church. The two had become friends since they met at a Junior Boys Scouts meeting 
at the age of seven. Thomas lived some distance away but they maintained a 
special friendship.  Out of school, wherever Brian was, so Thomas would be. They’d 
both turned fourteen last September. Throughout those years they still were active 
members of the Boys Scout, and had risen together in rank. Thomas had been away 
on the recent Scouting trip. They had traveled to a neighboring country for a Scouts’ 
Jamboree. Brian should have gone too but something to do with school exams came 
up so he couldn’t go.  Thomas had just returned from the Jamboree that Saturday 
afternoon, the second week after Brian’s burial. Lena, Reggie and I got out of 
our chairs and ran to greet him. It was like welcoming him and Brian home as the 
two were always together. He picked Lena up as he greeted our parents.  Mama 
standing at the sink, turned around, took one look at him and walked briskly, almost 
running out of the kitchen, with my other sister in tow.

Papa greeted Thomas, his voice almost inaudible.  Thomas looked puzzled. I guess 
he thought he had walked in during a family argument. He was about to turn back 
and walk out because he felt a little intrusive, I guess.  It was extremely quiet in the 
room; very unusual when everyone was in Mama’s kitchen at the same time.  And 
Mama, walking

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It was a miserable day out 
once during the hot summer
all through the evening
I heard only the children playing outside;
I looked out through my window
to recollect my childhood days..
something i found at that moment
a smile on my face
with tears in my eyes
I imagined that was a life otherside.

I saw the sun to settle down but 
that evening the moon didn't wake up
The stars were somewhere in the sky
that day it was out of sight through naked eyes.
A calm environment made someone's whisper louder
moment later a strong wind breaking that whisper
making miserable haunted clattering sounds outside.
Again i looked through my window
now i found the environment has changed 
from a hot sunny day to a dark lightning evening;
drops of water falling from the dark thunder clouds.
I experienced three different situations on the same day
from a miserable summer day to a calm evening 
from the calm evening to a haunted dark night.

I closed my eyes and counted from hundred to one
'it had been a miserable day
once during the hot summer;
It had been a painful life
once making a long journey'
'all through the evening
i heard only childrens' playing outside;
all through my life
i heard my own voice from inside'
'i looked through my window
to recollect my childhood days;
I asked my own heart
where i found only one name'
something I found at that moment
a smile on my face
with tears in my eyes
I imagined that was a life otherside.

I closed my eyes and counted from one to hundred-
I realized day by day my love to her perished down
this realization brought me a new life
but i found no love left within me
until i learnt there were no more water left in my eyes.
i met that unknown time when i heard another whisper
but moment later love brought me a natural death.
again i asked my heart
now i found it answered something has changed
from love to the coldest end.
I picked up the broken glasses and tried to see my own face
the images i got are solely all different.
and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it 
and see the broken glasses as long as I live.


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trip to disney land

Trip to Disney Land..
A day I got up,
To find the world shot up.
I found mickey dancing,
To the tune of dazzling.
I heard Donald sing,
The song and wink.
I wondered what I was,
When I was what I wanted to be!
I enjoyed and smiled,
I was away from all worries for a while.
The trip was fun,
To play and run.
The trip was where,
There was no fear.
I was alone and I was happy,
With prince and appy.
When I was sitting alone,
In the garden of wone,
Came in mr. pooh,
To cheer me up till I had flu.
He tickled me and said;
‘life is one live it your way and have fun’
I smiled at him 
He winked at me.
All I could say was I was me,
What I wanted to be but never was thee.
A day I got up,
To find the world shot up..!

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The Darkest - Blackest Tuesday (Part lV)

The thunder so loud scared Ginny , she tripped on the last step ,fell on the porch spilling her 
Another flash of lighting and in that split second “Mom” became a very dark and Evil  “MA’AM”
The Ebony Crop came out of the bow and with a force I’d never seen Ma’am use, across 
Ginny’s thighs
“YOU little Bitch, I slave all morning making breakfast , I take you out to meet mother 
nature; pick berries
And this is the thanks I get I want all of YOU to empty your buckets Right here on the porch 
Right  NOW”
Billy was first and then went to help Ginny; Billy YOU need help I said The Crop hit me right 
in the mouth
I spit teeth and blood all over Alice’s blouse; his name is William and then a sight none of us 
had ever seen
Ma’am hit Billy in the back of the head he fell on the floor and didn’t move Bobby tried to 
grab the Crop 
She split his face from forehead to chin. “Now dance, Dance on those berries; stomp them 
into the porch
Screaming, crying, blood , tears flying: a lunatic waving a blood coated riding crop in victory. 
Billy got up
“get over here William and start jumping on the berries, your not crying , there’s no babies in 
this house”
“HA HA HA HEH HEH I am the Queen, the ruler“---it didn’t seem possible but Ma’am’s eyes 
went black
“George Francis get your ass over here; ”Ma’am” open your hand OPEN IT Berries! YOU little 
Lightning lit up the yard for the fatal blow right in the throat blood spew from his mouth and 
from his neck
“Awice Awice wook down the dwive way Dawwy’s  coming home Bobby, Jim .and Joe tackled 
I couldn’t talk vewy well George, George “ Harry my real Mommy is right over there Calling 
me Home
Good-bye see you at my new house, tell everyone I Love them even MA’am.

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Bad Daddy

No more daddy I shouted every time I saw your shadow.
Don't kiss me or touch me, no more beating with the paddles.
I can't stand the pain, why does it hurt me so bad?
Why do you abuse me, you're suppose to be my dad!
The night time falls, it's the worst time of the day.
Daddy leave me alone, please just go away.
I'm just a little girl, have not experience womanhood.
Can't enjoy my first time or enjoy the things that I should.
You should have loved and protected me and kept me from harm.
Instead you held and caressed me with those evil arms.
You stripped away my self-esteem, my beauty there is none.
I just hold still and pretend I'm dead until you are done.
This sad little girl growing up never knowing if true love can really be.
Relationships with different men, having sex because they say they love me.
My mind is confused, my goals have been scattered, my heart broken into pieces like glass that's been shattered. 
Can't turn back the hands of time and undo whats been done.
Never hearing a forgive no not one.
I'll try to forgive you, but I know i won't ever forget, reliving these moments makes me break out in a cold sweat.

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I Was So Young Just Yesterday

The youth that entails a subtle declaration
is the man that recalls life and love without hesitation.

Today I walk
and talk 
with ease

The man I loved
and stuck
Was pleased

But the younger me 
of yesterday
Wants to speak
And never hesitates

What would he say
if he could say it to me
He would say I made my bed
Now I must cry myself to sleep

Maybe, tomorrow when I finally wake up
It will be a brand new play.
I'll wake up knowing all the answers
And tell them to the me of yesterday.

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The Poets Dance

Paint pots and magic at the stroke of a brush, it’s the power of a picture for the lovers in lust. The splashing of water and addition of choice, it’s a musician’s beat, and the poets to rejoice. Hungary caterpillars and the ladybugs dance, it’s nature’s festival and the Devil’s mischance. The warmth of summer’s night amongst a starry sky, it’s the sparkle of lanterns drifting up to Shanghai. The poets and the dreamers smear ink to the page, it’s lyrical fluidity entwining a white witch’s sage. The smells and the colours are a carnival of love, it’s the power of family, drawing joyous tears up above. Live in these moments and build memories to keep, it’s time for our picture before we lose it to sleep. So take my hand as we enter the tent to the light, it’s an entrance to happiness and it’s just to your right.

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The Art of Living Part Two

Monday, February 27th   
The bell rings and all the people walk out to get on their buses or to get to their cars. I 
walk with some of my friends as we talk about what happened the day before. I finally 
reach my bus, and find the number of my bus seat. I sit down and pull out my iPod, and 
I listen to “Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica. I am thinking about the weekend when I 
went to go see granny Helen on Saturday, but she wasn’t there, she was at a wrestling 
match. It is now Monday and I thought about her for some odd reason. After an hour we 
finally reached my house; I have to walk a mile to get to my back yard. I calmly walk up 
towards the house and I open the door. I sat my book bag down on the floor, that’s 
when I heard a sound coming from my mom’s room. I quietly opened the door and I see 
that she has been crying, my brother was sitting on her bed. She looks at me when I 
asked her what was wrong, if it was her boyfriend? Or if something happened to my 
sister? She responds “Granny Helen is in very bad condition, they don’t think she’s going 
to make it.”I asked “what happened?” She puts on her jacket and grabs the keys.
She started the car and said “Granny was sitting at the table, she told Gino (her 
boyfriend) that she couldn’t breathe, and he laid her on the floor then called 911. By the 
time they got there it was too late, she already turned blue, her eyes were bloodshot 
and wide open, when the paramedics came they used a breathing tube on her, they 
kept her heart pumping even though she was gone. You could hear the water in her 
lungs.” During that time my mom called several people and told them the news. I 
remember when I used to go up to the blue house where granny lived, me and my 
cousins would be up there and we would play, watch scary movies and eat grannies 
tuna casserole. I was four when I started calling Helen, Granny Helen.  
I sat in the car thinking about all the years I had with granny Helen. My mother and 
brother were still crying, there was no way a tissue could help. I couldn’t find a reason 
to cry yet, because I knew that there could be a chance she would come back. 
We finally arrive at the hospital. We see Jason, Megan’s husband and we ask him where 
they have Helen; he ignored us and kept on walking. I got upset, knowing that it was 
serious and maybe she was already gone. We asked the lady where Helen was, which 
room she was in.

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The Hard Luck Girl

Well sister works a job in town
Joe sits there without a sound
Mama sets the bread to brown
And it's not enough to go around

Papa died last Friday eve
He was sick all winter long
Weren't too many there to grieve
But who's to say his going was wrong

His hard times over along with his life
Now the man can take his rest
Kids to feed and a poorly wife
Takes its toll-a mans very best

Sister says she's leaving now
Wants to follow her star to fame
We'll get by without her somehow
She did help feed us all the same

And Joe's discovered himself a cause
He's going to change the world some way
Wish I knew what it really was
Makes him think he just can't stay

Mama's not looking good these days
Hardly gets out of bed anymore
Such sadness creased into her face
And her eyes say just living's a chore

Me,I've got nowhere to go
Haven't already been in my dreams
And I'm old enough by now to know
That nothing's as it really seems

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His young heart departed from 
that adored town adorned by the September's frost,
wisked away by an uncaring father
whose extramarital affair
marred the family's harmony;
and his pretty mother drying away
his tears so innocent and warm,
to console him with a touch that had no haste!

That unspoken wish lingered avidly
through the saddened and turbulent years,
resisting to give in to languidness... 
imagining, at night, each star gleaming
over his friend:  the moon which went wandering
to find that little boy, who loved to listen to the tales
of warriors and heroes that defiantly
wouldn't fall out of the History books!

He went on living, but couldn't forget at all
what he left behind:  a precious friend
even worthier than a treasure of gold;
and why had he to fulfill fate's prophecy in due time...
by sacrificing everything he wasn't willing to,
and opposing his will could have helped him turn the tide?
And as he grew older in foreign soil, 
it all became clearer to him that truth had lost its virtue!  

How could life deny him its fairness,
and make him choose at an age of fancifulness? 
To have outgrown time had its disadvantage,
depriving him of a wonderful youth 
not lived in spontaneousness 
and to have the chance to dream by night,
and, by morning, wake up in a brighter light...
to pursue another dream into the sunset! 

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Boy and Girl

A young girl runs around the park looking at flowers.
She looks at them and smells them. 
This littler girl eyes lights up.
She sees all these yellow flowers and started to run around.
She goes through them.
She stops in the middle of a yellow patch of flowers.
She raises her arms up and smiles and screams happily.

A young boy was running around in the brush he sees her.
She has long golden brown hair and a great smile.
He notices that she had green eyes.
He notices that she likes flowers.
He runs around and looks for the perfect flower.
He sees several odd looking ones.
He does not know what she would like.

The young girl sees this boy running around in the bushes.
She tries to ignore him but she could not.
She saw him with short black shiny hair and light brown eyes.
She thought that he looks mischievous.
She also thought he was a regular boy who likes hide and seek.
It also looked weird that the boy was looking at flowers.
She thought.

By now the he saw her looking at her so he purposely started to hide.
He got into the bushes but these bushes had thorns in them.
He looked at the bush and saw a yellow and red flower.
He thought this was the right flower to get her.
He peeked out of the bush and sees her playing.
He looked to make sure he did not get a thorny stem.

The boy meets the girl and ran around her and showing off.
She sees him do this and thought it was ok.
She looks over at her mom and sees another mom.
The only two people other than her and her mom must be these two.
She stopped dancing and looks at him.
The moms see both of them and realize that something was going to happen.

The boy’s mom takes out a camera.
As he had his hand around his back hiding the flower, he notices her mom.
He stopped and looked at her and smiled.
She stopped and looked at him and smiled.
He has her attention and gives her the flower.
The flower was a red and yellow rose.
They became friends for life.

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        Way back in year 1997 -
When curiosity seeks for answers
      When everything seems like a GAME
  When our BACKYARD be my Rendezvous...
           I'm still young in that very year
         Aged 4 - time for " playfulness " 
    There at the yard, grass nestled the loam soil
         Flowers blossom with a smile glimpsing on the golden daystar
               Birds sing with a lullaby together with the gust of the breeze
           Trees extinctly growing here in Philippines, seen
      -  I don't even know their English translation
            But it's not the point here. . .
       Once, oh that's not just once
           I think it's already my fifth time to be hurt
        Not by love - still very young for it.
             But by my own thing - being so CLUMSY
                             Playing hide-and-seek -
               Concealing in the Man-height Aromas
            Pretending not to be seen by anyone
        But that's for IMPOSSIBILITY..
              I've seen - and I ran from the place where I hid
                   To the Home Base to save myself
              But a 4-inched nail penetrate deep in my sole - feet
                     It felt like I'm dying in my very young age
                 Feeling of pain embraced me - seeking for a RELIEF...
            Like going Melted... Decaying - It really hurt a lot
                   Weeks passed by - 18 days to be exact
             Nothing heals my wound - except for my GRAND DAD'S HEALING OIL...
                              He's gone now, but the healing oil that keeps me alive
                Never been emptied in my HEART...
                                        Giving my second LIFE ---- ALMOST!



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I love big Oak trees with strong trunks,
I watched them at night from my upper bunk,
Tall Elm trees with leaves so green-
It was comforting, at night, just to sit and dream.

I loved those trees that grew in our yard-
I would play in and around them until I grew tired-
Sometimes I would sit under one and let the wind blow-
It would tickle my neck and cool my hot toes.

I was just a kid then, no worries or cares-
Just being natural- sometimes taking a dare-
Or I'd go out in the pasture looking for bears,
But all I found were two old mares.

Those trees still stood as I grew up-
The Maple tree would seem to
 offer me a cup
Of her delicious, Maple syrup
To put in coffee or tea while we watched the Cougars
               on TV.

Now I am old, but the trees are still there,
Now I have to sit under them in a rocking chair-
No more climbing or running around,
I just listen to the wind making whistling sounds.

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The Darkest - Blackest Tuesday (Part lll)

Now Children the pink and purple pails are for the girls, blue and green for the boys
We are going berry picking down by the stone wall Mr. Bethel said we could pick his berries 
The stone wall off limits to the Webb household, Bobby, Joe and Jim had the scars to prove it
Oh, “MOM“, (coil in fear, no crop) Thank-you What did Millie say; Are we going to make pies?
Ma’am didn’t know sign language, of course we will tell her she can wear the number 2 apron
Dotty, George, and I started running to the end of our property Slow down They’re 
excited “Mom”
I know Alice listen you older kids will be paired up with the younger ones: Alice, George and 
Virginia, William and Dorothy; Joe Jim and Robert; Rebecca you’re the best signer, You and 
Alice, yes Harry why did Ma’am say we could call her “MOM” my voice shakes when I say 
 I think all of us feel that way; but make hay while the sun shines, What?  Just let her be 
MOM today
Pick them ,don’t eat them Wow, Al ,that’s what Becky just said to Millie look Millie said they’re 
so sweet
You can read that from over here Yep Millie and Becky have been teaching me. You know 
what this means
Easy: I Love you too Where is George? Over there George your not suppose to be on that 
side of the wall
It’s sprinkling , my pails almost full come on George let’s go back to “Mom” Alice go get the 
other children
This is the first time since I’ve been here that we were all together, laughing and talking 
while Mom smiled
As we got to the steps of the porch the sky opened sheets of rain a bolt of lighting , a sonic 
boom of thunder

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There is Life Beyond Death's Door

Mama stood at the kitchen sink, quietly drying the dishes and putting them away.  I 
she was crying because every now and then she would wipe her eyes with the hem 
of her 
apron.  She hadn’t been eating much, lately. She looked so tired and drained.  She 
was a 
tall, beautiful woman.  At 40 years old she looked as if she had just turned 30.  She 
was on a 
leave of absence and had been keeping busy around the house, constantly 
scrubbing and washing.  In hindsight, now I know she was only trying to keep busy 
so she 
wouldn’t think about her first born son. Mama had slept so much the week before. I 
remember wondering, back then, asking myself, was she also sick?  I was too afraid 
to ask 
out loud.  I would lie next to her in her bed and watch her sleep.  Her stirring 
reinsured me 
that she was fine-only sleeping.  You see, my oldest sister, Winnie, after Brian died, 
explained to me what dying was.  So then I knew that dying was like sleeping, only 
never wake up. I was not going to let my Mama die also. I would bring into her bed, 
coloring books and pencils and would sit on that bed until she woke up. Sometimes, 
I would 
fall asleep, then awake to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, saying her rosary 
and I 
would join her. In some ways I was like Mama.  We were both of quiet spirits but 
she was 
strong and also an extrovert.  She made friends easily.  I on the other hand, was 
stubborn and introverted. Later on as I got older, our personality would clash on 

It was a Saturday afternoon in May.  We were all sitting at the kitchen table.  We, 
kids were 
eating all the sweets because Mama and Papa were distracted. There was still 
plenty of food 
left over from the week before. Mama’s many friends had really showered her with 
They had cooked and cleaned and comforted her as much as they could. Mama and 
very seldom ate any food, which seemed to last forever. My older siblings were lost 
in their 
own thoughts and grief, my younger sister, Lena, my cousin Reggie and I ate 
heartily of 
anything we liked. Being the youngest of the group, we did not fully understand 
what was 
going on.  We were talking amongst ourselves about our

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Within Your Reach

A loving heart you have always had,
it shows in many ways,
and I will hold you dearly,
until my final days.

A brother by blood you, and I,
to walk side by side,
you helped me through some trying times,
with words you tried to guide.

Sometimes I listened to what you said,
and followed your advice,
then sometimes I didn't,
you just wanted me to do right.

You are so independent,
never needing to much help,
I guess in your silence,
tears you must have wept.

I was always  the loud one,
and I needed people around,
you are so private,
your thoughts so safe, and sound.

I just wanted to tell you,
how special you are to me,
and if you ever need me,
I'll be right here always within your reach.

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I Am Not Asleep

If summer is no longer summer
And the leaves begin to fall-
Prey, I no longer love you,
And I’ll call your name no more.

If I’m found amongst the leaves,
And the rain falls from the sky,
Prey-let me sleep.
And please, don’t ask me why.

When the night curls round me to sleep,
And when it silently dreams
I lay awake in solitude.
So lonely, and torn at the seams. 

I cannot see the beauty,
So I lie amongst the leaves.
When you find me, my love, I prey
Kneel and sing a song for me.

But now, summer is summer,
And I am not asleep.
So take my hand and walk with me.
For your love I am sure to keep.

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To the Faithful Player

To be the last, to finish, to only see ends without beginnings.
Xenocide could not claim you.
Ender did not name you.
Love’s the Card which framed you.
Orson Scott Card.
* For Brian's Literary Affairs Contest. Orson Scott Card author of books  Ender's Game 
(1985) and its sequel Speaker for the Dead (1986) both won Hugo and Nebula award winners.

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Sylvan Summer Part III

The cracker crisp Maine air 
rang with the rooster’s revel.
Moving day, time to clean the hens shed.
Monstrous three story hatchery,
thousands of burnt umber; beauties a laying.

Lace edged bobby socks, red Keds, barrettes, T-shirt and short;
and off to the hen house, pony tail bouncing.
Immersed in the acrid reek of chicken dew;
Blue jean boys, Georgie, Wayne,
Aunt Donna and pony tail girl [me];
wade through squawk, cluck and doodle.

The boys were more than sure this
horrific chore was a girl eraser. 
The mini-men had their gawk, on not at all convinced that this
pretty little missy was going to be up for the job!
And up they must go all those dirty, sticky cluckers!
Up they all must go! Sunny side up!

Up, up, with the upside down
their pointer pecker heads darting 
toward gapes between sock and pantleg.
Their leathery legs in the grip of my small pink hands.
Winging flapping with all their might 
as if they could fly the three of us
right up the poop covered stairs!
Oh but these Betty's were beauties.
And each omelet laying pecker
each shoelace eating Grande dame,
each button and barrette bobbing bird
wings flapping, feathers flying,
with their deep brown questioning eyes
must be moved! UP, up to the second floor 
of that p-you-trfying hen house in the heat
of a windless Maine August.

“Get along with you three!”
Aunt Donna screams spitting feathers
above the din. “Up stairs 
with the whole damn lot of them!”

The boys eye the girl and with a tilt of my chin
and scrawny pecker in each diminutive hand;
we troop gingerly, over the sawdust refuse strewn floor,
up the tangled trio go, up!
For they weren't going to get rid of me that easily
no man ever has [wink].

*More for Carry and Bob

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Be By My Side

I remember the day
When my brother died
He was just 22
I was just 9

I was so happy and so proud
When he was around
He would throw me into the air
And I knew I would never touch ground

Mom and Dad were
Never the same
It changed them forever
It was just a shame

They are all gone for now
42 + 7
I have comfort in knowing
They all are in heaven

So for now it's just time
And that I can bide
Because one day
They will Be By My Side

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Where Kids Play

The Christmas Wish for children,
has really changed a lot,
once riding through a neighborhood,
one could tell  what kids got.

Big red bicycles,
or a pair of roller skates,
or maybe even a pogo stick,
or an Easy Bake.

The times are really changing,
kids don't know how to play,
now the sofa, and tv,
is where they want to stay.

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Innocent Child

Raping my soul
with your angry thrusts
of domination
ceasing to exist
of your internal penetration
and your violation of my spirit.

Lost and confused
my feelings and emotions 
became immune.

A ruined and battered person
from your violent anger
and negative power.

Keeping me prisoner
in my own cell of fears.

Sleepless nights
nightmares of your face
reliving those moments
over and over again in my head.

You stole my essence.

It was not yours to begin with.

Robbing my innocence with your sick
and twisted ways.

I was just a child who thought it was a game.

Trying to lure me into hidden shadows to do the same.

I ran away but could not forget
or forgive without regret.

Feeling ashamed and blaming myself
for something I did not create.

I was too young to understand
to heal from my ordeal.

Time stood still when I was seven
from my living hell to my beautiful heaven.

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We all stand alone

When all of time has elapsed & the moment for us will be no more
No, plight of fancy given hence to even ponder the ego
An explosion of sorts that marked a pulse on some plotted page
The door way of hope where no one bothered to offer your way
Through pillage of inner torment many will stand at heaven's door
With no intention of ever entering yet their will be w vast chasm to explore
A new exploration of that of content in nature

We have planted our seeds
Now is the time we will wait for the harvest to grow
Through vast fruition in timely exploits we will search further then ever before
To never relent in the place we will reach which will be in effect heaven's door
A given chance at which to humbly explore
A challenge to be made free is a question in time
Hope knows just where the stained glass window adjorned next to it's borrowed pew

To name just a few from the sheltered dormant of the chasm again
The given chance at which to humbly bow the head to count to the number ten
We must search ever vigilant to look within once again
Is their something that I had missed
Perhaps a fond lady that I was ever sorry that I had kissed
We stand alone on the promises of God
As we search within again
The given sphere on the oblonged gem'
Through portals of jest timely circumstances
We search even further then ever before

Through golden portals of emmense filled water that has been quenched to humbly 
nurture the inner palate'
Abounding in ever more stimulation,
We may need a break on some long awaited vacation
Then again to wander within
We all stand alone in that final day
One may never get a second chance at which to ever bow the knee to pray ?
Yet its all safe to say that it never had to be this way.

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Fortune Cookie

Sunday evening, suburban New York,
we ate at the corner Chinese restaurant,
its fish tank hypnotic, the smiling 

welcome from the Chinese woman 
caressing menus to her chest, 
who led us to the booth which stuck 

to my legs as I slid across to my 
designated spot. Dad promised 
me a fortune cookie on the way out, 

which I took from the bowl by the door. 
We ate spareribs, licked our fingers 
and laughed, trying to pick kennels of rice 

and long noodles with splintered
chopsticks. We praised the food, 
but wondered why we often left hungry

for both food and fortune, after extracting
mine from the smashed cookie, reading then
putting the crumbled paper in my pocket, 

to be found weeks later, hoping somehow 
the words would have changed 
and the little paper whispered 

truths about my own future,
rather than just giving dad the
numbers for his weekly lottery.  

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Canvey Island Summers 1951-1957

Each time my Auntie Rosa went to shop in the High Street,
She’d bring us back a pink-iced bun; it was our special treat.
We’d take them up to Grandad’s (we preferred to eat them there)
We’d scoff them in the kitchen, in his big old Windsor chair.

And Grandad made us thick black tea, as thick as tarmacadam,
And carrots from the garden (if the rabbits hadn’t had ‘em!)
He tried, I guess, but honestly, his cooking was quite ropey,
And since he washed his plates in Daz, it always tasted soapy!

He kept rabbits out behind his house (some of them were tame.)
In the front grew antirrhinums – ‘bunny-rabbits’ once again.
Their soft and furry noses looked exactly like each other:
Each flower a tiny replica of its herbivorous brother.

His house was full of assegais, elephants and gongs.
He’d tell us of his voyages and sing us salty songs …
He always wore a waistcoat and a greasy old flat cap.
He still walked with a sailor’s roll, the nautical old chap!

When Grandad wanted 'baccy, I’d go down Kit-Cat Lane
To the musty shop in a wooden hut -  ‘The Cabin’ was its name.
T’was just like in a cowboy film, with barrels and all-sorts;
But best of all was the real stuffed bear, moulting on the porch..

Sometimes we’d go to Gordon’s house. His garden had a swing.
We’d crawl under his veranda, and discuss Lee’s brother’s Thing!
Gordon did love swimming! He went in the sea each day.
He went in once too often, for he drowned out in the bay.

Those summers on the island seem so very long ago.
These days I can’t remember why it is I loved them so …
But sometimes, when a nasty pong comes drifting from a drain,
It smells just like the Canvey dykes, and I am there again …

I’m padding down a sandy path, between two slime-filled ditches,
My hair is wet, my skin tastes salt, my swimsuit rubs and itches.
I turn the corner of the lane; the graveyard smell is gone …
In Grandad’s garden, there’s my Dad! He’s come to take me home!

For the uninitiated (or simply younger!), an assegai is an African Zulu warrior's long spear, 
and tarmacadam is the stuff you put on roads - blacktop!

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Stepping through its beaded door
was like walking into a time cloud, 
whiffs of marijuana and hashish pipes
lined up by color in the cabinet 
to the right, behind which stood
a hippie and his girl, with beads
and long hair, who lived in the VW van
parked in the rear, the one 
splattered with colorful peace 
signs like the psychedelic posters 
on their store’s walls, glowing
under the hidden black light. 

Nirvana was a safe haven, 
offering a calm which transcended 
my fifteen-year-old my psyche, 
magnified by the freedom 
to wander through without shoes 
or purchase, unlike the neighboring stores 
on Union Turnpike in the heart of Queens. 

The place exuded the potent energy
of my love generation. I wish 
there was a store like it here  
in my new neighborhood, but I suppose 
I’ll have to settle for the natural health 
food store, which offers the same sort of claim. 

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Each day that I get up and greet the new dawn
Posing at the mirror, see what changes have been going on
My eyes cannot look at what lies before me
55'waist on a 5ft 7 frame
These hands reach into the old treasure chest in the closet
I open it up and there before me is
A Superman comic(circa 1986-A CRISIS ON INFINITE EARTH crossover)
12 vhs tapes of STAR TREK,the original series(courtesy of Paramount Pictures)
An E.T.The ExtraTerrestial costume that mom made for me
and of course,the most treasured possession of all:
A FRUIT-OF-THE-LOOM jockey short that I wore throughout Freshman and
Sophomore year in High School
The DIRTY jokes that my Classmen used to tell
Old and disgusting chewing gum sticking to the toilet bowl with this note:


I hold up that smelly jockey garment from long ago to my expanding waist
Now I do know WHEN and WHERE the years did go
too much partying with the cubicle nerds
PAPA GINO'S and A&W root beer just lying around for some aging X'er to take
a bite and a gulp
Every night before I trot off to sleep,the hemorrhoids keep acting up
disturbing the many custard pie remnants that exhale from the behind
Mother told me that too much of that would be Dangerous,sickening,and unkind
I can't help it if I do not want to let go of my young appetite,as yet
Creatures from the old yearbook,Ravishingly young and wile
It brings forth a pleasant memory and before I am off to dreamland
This face offers up,one more juvenile smile,from yesteryear

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How Quickly They Grow

She always said,
"a ballerina I will be,
just watch me mom,
one day you will see."

"I will be so graceful,
as I leap so high,
and whirl, and twirl,
like a bird in flight."

"Maybe daddy,
will take the time,
to watch me dance,
wouldn't that be just divine."

I gave her a hug,
and told her that would be great,
then her daddy would see,
the beautiful girl, we had made.

Then off she went,
walking on her toes,
as I sat there thinking,
how quickly they grow.

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He wakes up every morning at the crack of dawn
He takes a quick hot shower,
Walks into the kitchen and turns the coffee on
And makes a bottle of milk for his baby son

He awakens his sleeping wife
And fixes her a nice breakfast
He is a man whose life is
Committed to his wife and child

He stops at the bank, stops at the grocery store
All because he is a dedicated family man
He runs all the errands, drops his wife off at her work,
Along with their son in a mini-van

He cooks all the meals, cleans the house,
And plays with his little baby son
All because he's a stay-at-home spouse
He has even decided that until his son is

Old enough and ready to leave for college
He will go find a job, but until that time comes along
He will be a househusband
Just as John Lennon said in that song

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The Good News is for people
who have a sickness and need to be healed,
and healing starts with a reborn spirit,
but spiritual blindness won't make one look upward,
to ask for forgiveness and becoming whole;
the Good News can give you a new heart
with their revelatory message full of promise...
coming upon you form the Divine Source!

Who has the audacity to blame God
for not intervening in the world's affairs,
whose troubles are too numerous to mention?
Starvation causes incurable diseases,
bizarre and unrestrained sexual behavior kills;
state after state approves of the same sex marriage:
Sodom and Gomorrah lives on
with their merry-making mocking!  

And the same individuals who frequent
holy places, in which they worship their god with vain praises,
condone the filth and ugliness already tolerated by society,
making easier for them to express their sexuality
in offensive ways and disobey God's commandment;
two men taking the role of a lovable daddy,
and two women that of a devoted mommy?
Aren't they sending the wrong message to those tiny beings?

If men lay with men and women with women;
conception is denied the joy of blissful birth,
and the screams of babes, coming out of the belly, 
won't be heard anymore...what an awful pity
for children not to have mom's and dad's affection: 
to live a normal childhood on this beautiful earth!
O lost and uncaring people, receive and hear with elation,
the Good News with their revelatory message of salvation!

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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He Has Me

He Has ME

You act like a victim my dear

Though I promise you, you're not the victim here

We did absolutly nothing to you

But if you want to act like we did that go ahead and do

We dont really care what you have to say

Because we would rather you just walk away

You are simply drama that no one needs

So dear stop with the pointless pleads

No one cares what you have to say

When you messed with his head in that way

You may regret leaving him honey

But that doesnt change the fact that he has me

Only insecure people want revenge dear

SO just think about how YOU must APPEAR

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The Road To Peace- part four

I like to think that I learned how to be a good mother
By never doing it the way that you did.
I know that no matter how hard it gets
I never will take one second with them for granted.

I will love them every moment I have with them
And succeed in making sure they know it.
So that they can grow up surrounded in trust and love
And never be too afraid to show it.

I would never allow their fears to go un-noticed.
I would die trying to protect them from that world.
I will never rush them, or fail to protect them.
They will be free to enjoy being little boys and girls.

Pride will fill me where jealousy filled you,
As I nurture them and watch them grow
Though I cherish their childhoods more than anything,
I look forward to watching their lives unfold.

Of them taking on the world, enjoying its beauty.
Becoming strapping young men and lovely young ladies.
I dream of them finding a love like I found with their Daddy
And of holding my perfect Grandbabies.

I used to want you to pay for my pain.
I used to dream of ways to make you feel like I did.
I still wish you had had more compassion than to lean on me.
You were my mother, I was just a kid.

But I no longer wish you any more pain or revenge
Because I have risen so high above that, I can’t even see you.
Because you’re still in that world I ran so far away from,
Surrounded in that pain I once was so used to

And knowing that I will have everything you denied yourself
Because of your hideous and unforgettable actions,
I am finally free to find more worth while adventures,
Other uses for my emotions, and my passions.

This finality is like cutting through the last bar of the cage
And finally freeing that dark and abused beast.
into the sunlight where she is free and beautiful
Because unlike you, in my children’s eyes, I found my peace.

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Eighth Grade

1960 and the world was changing
A time for living and rearranging
Baseball in the school yard with a sponge ball and a fist
Donnie Brooks sang Mission Bell and Chubby did The Twist
Bobbie sox and ponytails, school dances were so much fun
Johnny Preston’s Running Bear. I loved the theme from Peter Gunn
A young senator from Boston was in the presidential race
Marty sang El Paso and there was a theme from A Summer Place
Mr. Custer and Alley Oop were fun songs to listen to
While Elvis said It’s Now or Never and also Stuck on You
Ford came out with the Edsel. Remember the unsinkable Molly Brown.
Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool even Cathy’s Clown
We had air raid warnings and marbles in our pockets
Movies in the park and Cape Canaveral shooting rockets
Gable and Monroe in the Misfits, Perry Mason on TV
And the Drifters were singing Save the Last Dance for Me.
There was a draft to serve our country and we were always ready
A time for holding hands and a time for going steady
Kirk Douglas was Spartacus and Burt was Elmer Gantry
Pies were made from scratch and there were apples in the pantry
Larry Hall sang Sandy and Bobby Rydell wailed Wild One
O Dio Mio From Annette. She and Frankie had so much fun
Lonely Blue Boy by Conway Twitty and Bobby’s Beyond the Sea
Duane twanged Because they’re Young and the Everly’s Let it be Me
Those days are precious memories that I hope will never fade
The world was so much kinder then and I was in eighth grade.

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New School

Slowly as it approached, my body began to quiver.
Finally, I became valiant and up the stairs I slivered.
Apprehension built up in me and I stood there, frozen
 Why was this the school my parents have chosen
I sprinted down the aisle, catching no attention
I didn’t want to be the one everyone had to mention
The youngest; smallest, the babies of the rest
Everyone else, excited galore and surely filled with zest
After settling in my seat, waiting to finally arrive,
I reminisced about my home from which I was deprived
Distressed and on edge, I gawked out the window
As we approached, kids were as aroused as a Jindo.
The populous on the bus absconded so effectually
However, I was aghast and perceived perceptually
I skittered off the bus and admired the edifice
Here I’m at my new school, my old one I will miss.

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Long pressing 

Bears the weight of the falling world around me

Over tinkered days and hollowed years 

Has the growing spiral of downward turn 

Unwound before my eyes

As my heart and mind

Have weathered

And my soul and will

Have crumbled…bit by bit 

To the sorrowed step of un-kept time 

And I 

I have stood as if motionless

Looking on

While the blackened vines of ignorance 

And the fettered thorns of foolish greed

Have smothered, as would seem, all before me

And while I sat in huddled desperation 

Seeking not but to continue on in mere existence

A child passed by…

And suddenly I felt to leave all behind

And follow

…Jeff Bresee

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Trapped in the Past

Sometimes I feel lost in the moment
Feel like my die is cast
And times don’t have the same emotion
Must be I’m trapped in the past
Seems like there was a lot more love
Also a lot less greed
If my dad wanted a loan from the local bank
A handshake was all he would need
Meals were cooked on an old coal stove
Clothes on the line in the yard
Friday night fights on a black and white TV
If you had a nickel, times weren’t hard
Holding a sparkler on the fourth of July
Sometimes your fingers got burned
Honesty and pride in a hard day’s work
Were a few of the lessons we learned
Holding hot dogs over a campfire
Embedded on a stick
Burnt marshmallows for dessert
Or some blueberries that we’d pick
With a piece of branch and a sponge ball
A game of baseball we played
After working up a sweat
We’d have home made lemonade
Nothing ever went to waste
Financially times were hard
But even the leftover bread crumbs
Were spread out for the birds in the yard
How did the world come to this
Not even relationships built to last
If I have my choice of lifestyles
Dear God, let me be trapped in the past.

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She was smart and clever
The biggest judge of human psyche
Without a degree in psychology!
Nor in business management
Yet an expert at making pacts.
Her wizardly brain can well manoeuvre
The train of others’ thoughts....
She can sweet talk you into fulfilling her wish
She well knows even when to throw a tantrum
Dry wails as well as flooding tears
She knows which one is required where...
“okay I did well at my first big school interview,
Did not throw a fit, I well deserve that big big bag
Having a hundred colourful balls”.....
“now first day of new school, something for me each
day of the first week.”
“My birthday next month, I must have the scarlet gown
That the actress wore on the magazine cover.”
She has signed and sealed countless such one-sided pacts.
“I will be all good after these, 
And promise, no more demands momma, now on..”
So she says after each pact. 

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Rape My Future

I want to hide in the closet
My heart jumps with fear
I wish I wasn't here
The arguing begins to come to an end 
Tears began to escape my eyes
The shadow that locks my view
Is so cruel and devious 
I lock the door in fear 
Of what lurks in the shadows
What lurks beyond that door
The door knob turns with creaks of misery
The thought of what the cruel shadow might do 
Escapes my mind to hide in the dark corners 
Of the world that I was once afraid
Even though I fear the loneliness of the dark
The loneliness of the dark comforts my fears
The door opens in inches like a snake 
Awaiting its next meal like prey in the jungle
The pain makes the breathe escape my lips
The flesh to flesh touch makes my body numb
The rivers flow between thy legs
Where is thy protector?
I should speak for the cruel shadow
That shows me his pain and misery throughout life.
And now
Here I stand underneath the belt of poverty 
Rape my future
An I shall be one with poverties own.

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The Barefoot Days of Summer

The Barefoot Days of Summer

By Elton Camp

	When I was a child in rural Alabama during the 1940s, going barefoot during the summer months was still a general practice, especially for boys.  It was feasible because few roads were paved and sidewalks in the country were virtually nonexistent.  The sun on hard, dark surfaces created burn hazards that prevented city kids from going without shoes outside the confines of their own yards.  

	My father’s childhood had been spent in the more distant rural areas of Marshall County.  He and his siblings went shoeless partly by choice and partly because it was the inexpensive thing to do.  Shoes for their large family would represent a significant cost.  Memory being the fickle thing that it is, he looked back on “going barefoot” as a privilege and source of delight.  It was a childhood rite that he wanted me to enjoy.  

	“You can start going barefoot now,” he announced in June of each year.  His tone showed that he considered he was doing something wonderful for me, so I didn’t want to disappoint him by revealing my true feelings.  Going shoeless hurts—a lot.  Sharp rocks and stubs of plants seemed to be everywhere.  After about a month, the soles thicken enough that walking becomes less painful, but it’s mainly a matter of degree.  Without a doubt, the sandy, grass-free yards of his youth contained fewer perils.  

	In the forties, our yard had what passed for grass, but it actually was a mixture of grass, clover, and general weeds.  When the clover bloomed, it created a hazard that no amount of tough skin could prevent—bee stings.  The pain was intense and lasted a couple of days.  The only treatment my parents knew was to moisten the head of a kitchen match to make a paste to apply to the sting.  Despite their assurance that the folk treatment would help, I felt no better beyond the fact that something was being done.  In later years, I took a perverse comfort when I learned that the sting tears out the internal organs of the bee so that it dies shortly.  The mere fact that I was crushing the insect with my foot gave it no right to retaliate. 
	Apart from the beach, I haven’t seen a barefoot child over a year old in a long time.  Viewpoints and circumstances change and that childhood ritual has vanished.  Good riddance to it.  

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The Cold

   I stand alone from everyone.
In the dark morning shadow, cast down by a tree.
   It's long branches lingering above,
reaching out to touch me.
   I wait for a ride, with my hands down by my side.
The breeze comes, singing in the tree.
   Sweeping its way towards me.
Its cold.
   Yes very infuriatingly cold.
It crawls up my skin and sends...
   little prickles.
My flesh freezing to the slightest touch.
   Unable to move much.
I feel bitter, for I hate the cold.
   It makes me feel old.
For I am forced to remember, the old life I once lived.
   The things I had to give. 
The words left unsaid.
   The long ago snowy starry nights, full of porch and street lights.
Yes I remember very clearly, those dreadful long and lonely nights.
   I had my sister to keep me company, but no father.
For he would always be mad.
   Mad at me, mad at to whom or what I might turn out to be.
I hated him and with him, I hated the cold.
   The cold, that now sinks deep within my flesh and into my soal.

Dedicated to my Bastered father

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Vacation Dreams

Sittin around wonderin what to do,
Seems like there's only so little to chew,
Watchin the airplanes fly away
Makes you just wanna 
Just wanna wanna wanna

Sittin around qonderin what  to do,
Seems like everyones gone,
Somewhere someplace somewhere gone
jUST gone gone gone away
Makes ya just wannajust wana just wanna 

fly...fllllyyyyy..just go
just run someplace somewhere 
some town
nowhere known just wanna wanna wanna wanna..go go go away
just to relax

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Damaged (part 2)

One particular guy took advantage,
Of my dad choosing him to be with exclusively.
He ended up being with me in private and in public, 
With this chick who resembled a beast,
Who did not resemble in any way of her hometown symbol.
Her appearance made a mockery of a Ruston peach
He had the nerve to call me a “b”,
In front of her and called the authorities
Only after a few days of visiting me at my home,
And getting busy with me.
My home and love life should be described as this:
Complete tragedy.

The list goes on of the men who did me wrong,
But it all links to how I was treated at home.
Like a puppet, walked over, talked badly to constantly
Always being told that I would let men get the best of me,
Always being told if I wanted to do certain things,
 That I would be another word for a garden tool.
Often I was called an educated fool.
Being held on to by someone who meant me no good
Was not helpful to me at all.
Often I wish that I had no dad,
Because he is the worst man that I ever had.

My home life was simply disadvantaged.
It was bad enough that we were poor.
Women don’t worry about a man:
Only focus on God’s plan
For you.
The real Father on whom I depend,
Your life he will manage.
Don’t settle for earthly men and even your father
Look to God for your inheritance.
So you won’t be damaged.

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Vignette-MEAT & NO VEG

In the Dandy lived a Desparate Dan,
Perhaps the world's strongest man;
A brawny westerner with stubbled chin-
His favourite dish was cow-pie,
Eaten whole...I tell no lie !

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My Brother


               Used to think that God's name was "Harold,"

                         you know, after the prayer:

       "Our Father, whom art in heaven, HALLOWED be Thy name."

           (When he learned of his error, he was never the same.)

One time when I was three years old my parents wanted to go look at a house they were 
thinking of buying and they couldn't find


              so they just left and took me. I was three. When we got back


                  was sobbing so hard he was sick.


                thought we had moved without him, abandoned him.

                                          HE WAS SIX

                     Got my mother's beauty and my father's genius.
           (I got my father's looks *%#@%^ and my mother's brains #%@&*^)


                     Also got my mother's insanity and my father's alcoholism.
                            (I guess I won, having inherited their stoicism.)


                Was a comic genius. He was so funny, he could make a dog laugh.


                         Was such a tragic figure, he made the angels weep.


                       Is gone now, and I have only these odd memories to keep.

©Danielle White

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The Golden Sparrow

Of finding 
The golden sparrow
Dream ended in blue sky
Too late to wish
 Innocence’s lost

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The Examples We Set!

The Examples We Set!

“Grandma”, the young boy spoke.
His face was serious.
He was telling no joke.
Grandma was curious.
“What is it, my grandson?”
He points to one finger.
“See that finger Grandma.”
Yes.” She replied looking.
“That’s a bad finger…bad!”
He exclaimed pointing to
His little middle finger,
Continuing he said,
“When I grow up I am
Going to use that finger.
“That wouldn’t be very nice.”
His grandmother remarked.
“You are too nice to use
That finger…”
“Well, he continued,
“My dad uses it and
I’m going use it too,
When I grow up.”

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
March 19, 2010
Poetic form:  Free Verse

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Midnight Mass

There was a warmth in the snow at Christmas time
Earlier we had finished our last class
Steve asked if we were serving during the holidays
I told him I’d see him at Midnight Mass

About a half-hour walk from my house to the church
On a bitter cold Christmas Eve night
Snow was falling kind of heavy
All the streets were white

We were laughing and sliding going down the hill
The road as slick as glass
Steve fell and broke his glasses
Better not be late for Midnight Mass

We put our cassocks on and got ready
Wait for the choir to sing
The lens was in Steve’s pocket
He couldn’t see a thing

Steve went to the altar 
Where his candle was to be put
When he went to set it down
He missed the altar by a foot

We finished up the service
About one thirty in the morn
And headed home to celebrate
The day that Christ was born

We were only kids then
How quickly the years do pass
I revive the memory each Christmas
While attending Midnight Mass.

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Spent thirty minutes past curfew 
mother's punishment an easy task,nothing new
finish chores when I'm bored
laundry cleaning's evovled from washboards
to cleaners and washer-dryers
the clothing's piled high,higher 
than my height and summer nostalgia's hard to fight
everything stunk with cigarettes,cologne and funk
something reeks...its my usual spot for hide and seek

Growing older my laundry's awful odor fades with age
I read more exercise less
My guess?
I'm gaining the weight of knowledge
yet its eight years until college

Yesterday's clean laundry is today's outfit 
faded nylon shorts,second hand thrift
my brother's birthday gift
snow white t-shirt...brandnew
matching Adidas tennis shoes
matches my favorite team an autographed blue
L.A. dodgers cap severed at the seams
beneath the sock pile and lingerie clutter
is my secret stash kept from my curious brother
at age nine everything is his even if it's mine
but I'm still fair and share
cause childhood's a gentle cycle...handle with care

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A Little Book

Adults should read more children’s books.
Simple stories, not cluttered with the angst
of daily life. Learning in it’s basic form. 
Stories of dogs and cats and wiggly things,
touch and feel and join in the fun.
Look at life at it’s foundations, to truly
believe and look at the world with wonder
and simplicity.

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What it feels like to be Adopted

Shining in the darkness.
Praying that you don't become heartless.
Like a rose wilting in the sun.
Wanting the love that has begun.
Slipping away from reality.
Daydreaming for an eternity.
Searching endlessly for a forever family.
Hoping that this is the one.
Day after day, wishing to belong.
Hoping that it won't be too long.
Before the dream is through.
Awakened by the sound of laughter.
Wandering into the hall to find out what is all the fuss.
Getting scooped up into unfamiliar arms.
Only to discover that this is us.
No more shining in the darkness.
No more waiting.
No more wanting.
Finally found the one.
Now shining in the sun!

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The Rise and Fall of an Empire

By the morning sun
The rain 
Of the night before
Becomes undone

In a steaming haze
As we make our way
To the place
Where the land
Is mostly sand
And meets the road
The ocean breezes blow

In a silver glow
We kneel below 
The banks
Where the earth
Is wet and dank
From the wind
As the buoy bells ring
And the sea grasses sing
Notes of promise
Of what this day
Will bring

From sacks upon our backs
We find the moulds
Of glass and earthen bowls
And chipped and old

We fill them 
To the top
With grains of sand
Place them
Upside down
With loving hands
As we wander through
 The visions in our mind

As the magic
 Of our dreams

We work for hours
Lost in time
Carving roads
 That twist and wind
To the very end of day
Where we stand 
 At the empire
We have made

In the morning
With eyes aglow
We return
 To the banks below
And watch
In disbelief
As our empire
Is blown away
By a north wind
Filled with

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Comic strip hero Dan Dare
Space pilot extraordinaire,
Each week in the Eagle flew,
Against Mekon and his crew-
Dan's technology later came true.

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Children's books of worldwide acclaim
Whimsical humour in nonsense rhyme
Of childhood days in summertime-
Its acrostic brought Liddel's fame,
The story ending with Alice's full name

Tribute to Lewis Carroll

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A Small Boy

A small boy in his search for God
looked up into the vast night sky
at all of the billions of bright stars
and slowly began to quietly weep.
Suddenly he heard a voice saying
“Little boy, ‘Why do you weep?’”
And the boy said to Almighty God,
“Where exactly is it that you sleep?”
You are ever so far away that I will 
never be able to see or touch you
And the voice answered and said,
“Little boy, I know it is I you seek.”
“If I did not already know your heart,”
you would not  know that I do exist
nor would you be out here looking
or be able to even hear me speak.”

© Eugene Harvey

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Uninvited Picnic Guest

Uninvited Picnic Guest
     By Dane Smith-Johnsen

One sunny day, perfect for a picnic,
Across the street from shaded woodland trails,
Mom, two friends, and we kids had a picnic.
All were enjoying fun beside the lake.
We girls were sharing our deepest secrets.
Whispering, giggling eleven year olds.
Our brothers had been running around.
Trying to get in on the snickering.
We shooed them away to find their own fun!
Girl-talk was strictly that back in those days.
The boys ran over to the waters edge.
Skipping rocks to see who was number one!
Both boys were skilled rock skippers.  Oh, what fun!
We decided to give it a try, too.
It was fun, but the boys liked it better.
We joined Mom around the barbecue grill.
It wasn't long before rock skipping stopped.
The boys tried to see who had the best aim.
So, they threw rocks at a log in the lake.
They were both pretty good shots.
Suddenly, Mom screamed, “Run! Go climb a tree!”
We didn't know why, but four children ran!
Brave Mom stood, squared off staring at the log. 
Looking back, we could see the “logs'” two eyes.
Mom and the gator, motionless, glaring,
It was a duel of stares we kids watched.
Our hearts were thumping, seeing her there.
Mom eaten by a gator was my fear.
Time seemed endless as she retained her ground.
Up on his legs to take a better look.
Dead silent children felt the air of fright.
Would we go home with our mom tonight?
Then the alligator began to move.
Step by step he at the edge of the lake.
Slowly, deciding, he made his first move.
One step back and he sunk beneath the tarn.
Hallelujahs, Mom won.  And we went home!

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Bad Days

 I'm in a messed up kind of mood and it was one of 
 those days
 Where I realize that I have no luck but in all the
 worst ways
 The husband that's never home, and the inlaws that
 always are
 What is family anyway, just people who will scar
 It goes back to childhood really, I always just 
 came last
 What am I really saying, that it goes back to my 
 But the truth of the matter is, I wasn't well liked
 Always the second best and not first asked to play
 Such a young age when I put the wall on my heart
 Because of childhood lost and the family torn apart
 Never wanting to learn, and not trying to succeed
 But I played a good role at pretending to be happy
 Just going day to day, living a crazy life
 With every passing second just thinking I would die
 All these bad things seemed to happen and I seemed to 
 only cry
 Like I was born with too many feelings, and I had to
 wonder why
 Always seeming to suffer, and it gets so hard to live
 Because the feelings that are lost, it makes me scared
 to give
 Maybe someone will notice, maybe they will see
 That there really are some good pieces of me

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Manuelito & Poseidon

Even as thunder boomed mighty overhead
and power lines on San Domingo Avenue outside
faltered and succumbed to the tempest
the Ortegas stood breathless in the family room, gaze transfixed 
upon the television screen like so many deer in the headlights of a truck.
Finally a flash from without, and a snap 
extinguished all light within the household. Ten seconds passed 
without a sound. Then the father uttered something and
the family members scattered, each returning a moment later
bearing possessions of infinite value. Within a minute, 
all had crammed into the station wagon, evacuation route ingrained
within their minds like a seed of hope.
All but one. Manuelito had been lost.
The mother howled and flied back into the house,
tears streaming down her face hard as the rain.
She reached the back porch, and to her eternal shock
found Manuelito standing alone on the beach like a mannequin
eyes locked upon the Cyclops-eye of the storm.
The mother cried out through anguished sobs
in vain, for the howling drone of the wind overpowered all
and when Manuelito turned around to face all that he loved
he did so with all the finality of a grown man
resolved upon his course of action.
The mother abruptly ceased her crying, and
her countenance briefly matched that of her son
as she, too, turned her gaze upon the jewel center of the storm
and was hypnotized by the awesome power of the divine.
At length she regained self-consciousness, and her eyes
darted back to that segment of the beach where her son had been standing
but his figure, like a stream of sand on the dunes of time,
had been replaced by nothingness,
the allure of the unknown and
Poseidon’s call of wild fury
too strong to resist.

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The River

Cracks of corral emerged between the Earth’s proud crown of evergreen
Gleaming down on grateful Father whose arms in bloom embraced his Daughter
Moon upon Moon in prayer he spent that God would grant his heart’s content
Now all his dreams no longer dreams but infant in his arms serene
They traveled on til trails converged and River’s roar ahead was heard 
Then there upon the shore was laid, a bless’ed barge of birchbark made.

From the River’s roots they rowed, embarking on a fate unknown
Wide-eyed Child soothed by Father’s song amidst echoes of the Wild’s call
Sweetly metered by sweeping oar he told her tales of life before
The great divide of Earth and Sky, of Land and Sea, of Day and Night 
How God by grace named each creature each fish and fowl each fir and fur
Then in His hands mixed clay and sand, the gift of life breathed into Man.

Between each bend dear Daughter grew and saw the world from worn canoe
Floating onward until the day she traded hums and howls to say
Father, Father, I understand! With lamb and wolf we share this land!
How scattered seed grew into tree and tree we carved for pole to feed
Father you’ve grown and given me your faith and love so I might be
Someday just like you a Giver on the road of life, the River! 

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Lonely is the Love
That has nobody to hold.
Lonely is the heart without a good night hug.
Lonely is the smile without a kiss to follow.
Lonely are the eyes without a star there is no sparkle.
Lonely is the love for without a partner there is no laughter.
The harp that no longer plays, a melody that fades.
The colors that slowly turn gray.
The touch of a warm hand and the hair that it caresses.
Loneliness, the inside cries of a child and the parents that have never seen it.

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times tickin

So many times I pass by and do not stop.
A few blocks down I wonder why not?
I have to go here, there, always somewhere
but what if time runs out?

Im sorry, I love you
so many years, that i grew up threw
you did so much with me.
I guess I just forgot
how much I love you, ya see

Forgive me for not spending
the time i should had.
after losing my grandpa
well, seeing you made me sad

Im sorry, I love you 
Always letting me pick your carrots
and the times you'd braid my hair
oh ya and letting me sneak in your bed
when i was scared

Ill love you forever
always in my heart
your a wonderful grandma
you have been from the start.....
I love you......I love you.

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for mandy

Thirteen is a long way from 46
When i was 13 it was easier and slower
Things were a little less dangerous and a lot less techno
but there was a time
When we connected 
when you asked questions i could answer
when you hugged me just because it was a good morning
thirteen is a short ride to 21
to a time 
i'm not quite ready for
learning how to deal with you as a peer
and your choices as an adult
you'll always be younger
and probably smarter
and there are so many things i want to tell you 
about life and love and what they can do for you
but 13 is a long way from 46 and right now
your thoughts are of school and horses and what not to wear
but know this 
you'll never have to ask how much i love you
that answer you already know

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the suburbs

we were blessed
with the rhythm of laughter and companionship
born into a family that taught us 
loyalty and the joy of taking our time
we were mentored
in the school of good and right 
to speak our minds, but always with a tempered voice
to question authority but always be polite
to listen carefully before speaking and never lie
my memories are carefree and childlike
peppered with a little danger and just a dash of wild
silly as we could be
with our toes just barely touching the earth's surface
we read and sang and spun ourselves around until we were dizzy with the notion
of an existence that had more than we needed
but less than we wanted
we were children, 
of children,
of the depression
living it up in a middle class paradox called the suburbs

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Brian Emil Carey

Brian Emil, my Brother, 
Tall, lean and handsome with
Beautiful almond-shaped eyes,
Always wearing a perfect smile
You never hurt a fly
My protector, my friend
Mama’s handy man
At such a young age
What special gifts you possessed
From fixing radios and ovens
Pianos and furniture
Every thing that broke you mended
And handled with such care
I only knew you eight years of
The fourteen you spent here on earth
Sweet memories of you live abundant 
In my heart after all this time
I remember you just as you were
I love you Brian, I always will

To my Brother Brian (RIP)-went home in many years ago.

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I lost my aunt Doreene
I still think about her
when I was little I would go over to her house
and she would give me
one day she packed her things and left
for Texas
the next day I got a phone call
my aunt Doreene had died
i sat on my bed and cried
asking myself why
my aunt Nancy didn't invite me to the funeral
because she didn't like me
I will never forgive my aunt Nancy
I just lost the person I have loved all my life
and I couldn't even say good-bye it hurt
so bad.

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NO Deposit, NO RETURN, only little throw aways

    Ladies I would like to stand with you and pray.
   For that little unborn life you just threw away.
And the only thing that comes to mind is how or maybe why.
   Could any mother in their right mind want their unborn child to suffer and die?
It was a gift from God is what you had.
   You turned such a joyous occasion into something morbid and sad.
I don’t pretend to know what goes on in most of these young girls mind.
   Are they really that ignorant or just totally blind?
And to the devil doctors that perform such hideous acts.
   Do you realize what you’ve done and to whom you’ve made your pacts.
They were part of the branch, they were your vine.
   Intended to be something heavenly, a gift so devine.
But you threw it away before it could bear fruit or see the light of day.
   And one day you’ll stand before your Maker and that little Throw Away.
I just pray someone reaches you before it’s too late.
   And stops you from what you know is wrong and leads you to a better fate.
They’re not THROW AWAYS, they’re KEEPERS, and so are YOU.

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Sleep Sweet Baby

Sleep sweet baby,
close your eyes,
mother is here,
by your side.
Dream those dreams,
of safeness, and love,
my arms wrapped tightly,
in slumbers hug.
As the moon gives way,
to another bright day,
know sweet baby,
I will love you, always.

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That familar brown-eyed boy
climbed the cliff the balmy hill
with his reversed red cap
and if it slipped off,
he'd pull it down his fair
strends of curly hair
while he listened carefully
to the cardinals's notes...
to memorize them in a melody
that he heard through the air!

That familiar brown-eyed boy,
passed by my open window
each afternoon after school
with his heavy pack-back,kind of small,
making him sweat and stoop;
he smiled and waved his hand at me...
his name was Andre,the gentle kid,
and he came from a modest family!

That familiar browned-eyed boy
whistled when spring came,
shouted with thrill
when the first snow fell
and ran outside of the warm house
to build another smiling snow-man!
Did you ever wonder at all,
what made him so happy?
Whether it was:  a bird's song at sun-rise
or an unusual,humorous game...
whatever it was, he had never told
his secret to anyone!

That familiar brown-eyed boy,
came down from the shady hill
when the tower's clock stroke six;
on his way home,he looked at red sky...
amazed by what his eyes had seen,
and tell his mom what a great noon it had been!   

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I passed the test
But failed
I ran the mile
But walked
I screamed
But remained unheard
I was quoted

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Back Porch

Paint was peeling off the banister
Grass needed cutting in the old back yard
Some weeds curling up around the fence
Neighbors sitting, times were hard
Burgers, dogs, pretzels and chips
Kids playing ball out front in the street
Quarter barrel on tap in the old metal tub
Back porch get together, plenty to eat
Mom had some shirts hanging on the line
Little income but no one cared
Laugher, smiles were spread around
Food and soda and beer were shared
Memorial Day would be the first 
Then the Fourth of July and Labor Day
Neighbors were family way back then
We wouldn’t have it any other way
Good time would last until late at night
Just neighbors getting together sitting around 
Laughing, joking, good old day stories
On the back porch is where they’d be found.

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Once upon a long ago
Len became my closet friend
visible only to my 12 year old eyes
5 ft 9,he was just about my size
Helping me through the loneliest time
We would write some sad poetry together in mind
I was slightly small
But..that hardly mattered at all
the two of us could BE
Shy and all together silent
He was the only one who could see through my talent
The words in music and verse
We would put down the emotion in pen of chorus

It was US against THEM(they must have been blind)
to castigate this friendship without first understanding the meaning
Up against the brick wall
THEIR world considered us somewhat stupid and oh!so small

Our brain was reeling from their fundamental cruelty of pain
This poetry that we had composed was torn to shread(IN FRONT OF OUR EYES)
Len was the only one
to help me see beyond the pettiness of an I GOT TO HAVE IT ALL kind of world
My elementary school chums would punch us in the nose
Called us asinine names:TWO PANSIES WEARING PANTY HOSE

Len disappeared some several years back
He left me for good after graduating from high school
It has been a lonely existence since then
I was the only one who could understand my friend,LEN
Quiet now ,
in my 30+years
Poetry is the only partner of my life 
Right here,even as I write..


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This dusty rocking chair hidden for, at least, two decades
in a corner of the dark attic, where a white-haired man
used to sit in and rock himself to sleep, cuddled in a wool blanket:
can tell many how and when it was made
by that cigar-smoking grandfather of yours...

It just lay there picking up much space,
silently abandoned and not needed by anyone to lay back and gaze; 
so ignored were the mastery and love that took in making it;
when I heard him stump on the long stairs,
sunshine filtered through, the unwashed window, to engage his wit....

Curious boy, staring at me with awe, you should know
that I originated from a timber forest too dense;
and the hard and thick wood was cut down by a sharp saw: 
bought in the quite borough of Queens, 
to be worked on by very rough hands:
with the intention of creating charm and  elegance...

Take a soft rag and some furniture polish from the tiny closet,
and bring me back to the previous life of my self-importance:
my luster lasted only for fifty prosperous years,
then suddenly I was put away to face darkness;
and I longed for someone who could listen with interest,
and keep me company to forget my wretchedness... 

Sympathetic boy, as I speak, write down this worth-telling story, 
in your brand-new composition book with an interesting essay:  
to let others know that I was a jewel that dazzled from all four corners;
when Americans fall again on hard and unacceptable times,
they can look it up to be comforted and be told how to cope with their woes,
or even how to see their hardship and deprivation a momentary demise...  

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Infants can vaguely
remember how often they were
attentively cared for...
kissed and touched by their mothers:
cuddling them in those 
protective and undetached arms,
claiming their babies to be the cutest ones!
I do reacall how mother fed me;
and made sure I was completely full,
until I burped and my tiny eyes began to roll...

Around seven a.m. I was awaken by the choir, 
when the massive medieval organ,
over the church's altar, began to play;
she took me out to the sunny veranda,
to let me hear its heavenly sound!
And it exquisitely played the" Ave Maria! "...
while all the nuns from the monastery,
across the stone-paved street, headed,
towards their place of meditation and prayer;
ever since their devotion became mine...

Time, you age our bodies with worries and diseases,
but only memories are timeless and unerasable;
childhood is the slowest phase of our fleeing life,
and that event can influence our well-being:
to make us happy or sad, lovable and kind...
bitter and unmindful, or resentful and hateful!
However positively or negatively, these feelings are fed to the heart; 
we act on them accordingly without the tendency to forget that:  
we were once loved so sweetly and so endessly by a mother, with a pious face,
who desired their children to be the mirror of herself...
when her cutes ones would become caring husbands and loving wives,
to carry on this honorable tradition for the survival of the Human Race... 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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The abyss is gazing back at you
someone wiser would remember not to LOOK.

Night grabs the breath from her lungs
filming them with frost
  the skin takes a blue like tint
   the last of the breath 
    entangles across her lips.
Spider web frost.
It grabs onto the night, and creates a mist.

Our eyes meet, red wild eyes laughing, sneering, knowing.
Watch me, watch it, freezing time in this moment of never.

She wanders the wasteland of heartbreak
where she has been left.
  left her here
   to breath in
    the grays and the blues
upon the teeter totter.
Straight into madness.

You can hear the laughter can't you? Yes, you can.
No, you are not crazy, no not yet my sweet.
But soon you will be ours,
you will belong to us.

The abyss watched me, I watched it, in the never ending depth
echoed the sounds of our madness.

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Sometimes silent,
on the sideline they sit,
watching every move,
an education they get.
Words in anger,
linger somewhere,
forming their foundation,
for the ones we hold dear.
Actions really do,
speak louder than words,
listening, and seeing,
how many we hurt.
The mirror my friend,
reveals many things,
and sometimes very painful,
the revelation it brings.
Parents are the moulders,
their job sometimes tough,
but their future is coming,
and what they learn depends on us.

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As the fragrance fades,
of love once so deep,
into the unknown,
where she now weeps.
Silent she stares,
at what once was there,
pictures, a reminder,
when her children were there.
Silver is her hair,
her body frail, and weak,
she calls their names,
as the tears roll down her cheeks.
Where have they gone,
why don't they call,
forgotten in time,
trying to recall.
Miles are between them,
their busy days, and nights,
just trying to survive,
and a mother cries.
Lonely she is,
and lonely she will be,
as she hangs their pictures,
on her Christmas Tree.

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Dad, did you think I had forgotten you,
Well Dad, I wouldn't want you to be blue,
Do you think just because you've been gone so long,
That I don't still feel those arms so strong?

I loved you Dad-you were my idol,
I remember you putting on the horses' bridles,
I remember the love you had for your farm,
I remember how, for you, it held such charm.

You loved your horses, the cows and pigs,
You loved that old sow that got so big,
You loved driving that big truck for all those years,
But you were gone so much-Mom shed many tears.

You worked many trades, my dear, dear Dad,
The depression years made many people sad,
But you always worked to feed those you loved,
God blessed you Dad, from His throne up above.

You smoked before we knew smoking was bad,
And because you started smoking as just a lad,
Lung cancer got you before you were old,
Death took you early,my Daddy of GOLD!

Yes, I loved you Dad,and I still do,
But with thoughts of your love and humor I'm never blue,
Another poem I'll write for you--later Dad.

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Her Memories

Looking through pictures,
of her memories stored,
put up in boxes,
ragged, and worn.
Some people in the pictures,
I don't even know,
but all had a place,
in her life long ago.
Her long brown hair,
always had curls,
such a tiny frame,
on my mother as a girl.
Most black, and white,
and fading with age,
picture, after picture,
my mother saved.
Sky blue eyes,
and skin so pale,
laughter rings out,
in the story they tell.
Now I wish,
I had taken the time,
to write names on these treasures,
that are now mine.

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Cold window pane
Or prison bars
For Susan they are the same
Her imagination runs free
As she is trapped inside
But outside the dream
She can hear echoes of autumn
Leaves chattering
Rustling amidst dancing feet
So many children laughing
Her heart racing
Why is that not me
Yet Susan feels nothing
Except her breath on the glass
As reality comes between
She struggles to understand
Her only playmate her hands
Rocking her dreams to sleep
Cold window pane
Or steel chair
For Susan they are the same
Her imagination runs free
As her legs are strapped inside
But outside the dream

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Childhood memories

Where I was born -
Gumaca, Quezon
a significant place,
a town suffused with history.

  It’s almost at the tail-end
  that long stretch of Quezon.
  A lot of coconut trees
  the source of many creations –
  like oil, wine, vinegar, and many others
  common in Tagalog region.

Houses in the mainland,
were razed by fire a number of times.
antiquated buildings
with Spanish influence in architecture
they’re already gone, just a vivid mem’ry.

  As a child growing –
  in a cul-de-sac road
  fear hovered and made us stay home
  with unconventional crowds
  in our neighborhood.

We knew each other
we formed relationship
as friends and caring neighbors.

  The church and municipal hall
  a rendezvous for sacred celebrations,
  cultural shows and other functions;
  a linkage to unity and appreciation.

Our schools – both public and Catholic,
made a great contribution,
along with religious devotions
in our educational formation.

  My childhood classmates,
  friends and acquaintances
  reminded me of our good, ole days;
  a wealth of experience to cherish.

We used to play, laugh aloud
and hang out at our place,
with my younger sisters,
we would play ‘hide and seek.’

  We used to fight too,
  scream and yell to one another,
  when our game seemed to turn out
  like a tight competition –
  we’d really shout and yell.

Oh, my childhood days!
those refractions of the past
enable me to seek constantly
God’s presence in my own journey.

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Mom, I've written of you before,
I see you coming in the door,
I see the smile upon your face,
I feel the warmth of your embrace.

Even though you've been gone so many years,
I still feel those bitter-sweet tears,
I feel your hand upon my arm,
And I knew that you would keep me from harm.

Mom, when you left, God took you for a reason,
Your brain had been gone for many a season,
For Alzheimer's claimed that wonderful brain,
And now your mind was in its chains.

I miss you Mom-I always will,
For life with you held many thrills,
You loved to travel-to go on walks,
You liked to get up at midnight-and snack and talk.

Yes, I miss you Mom, but I'll bet one thing,
I bet you've taught the angels to dance and sing,
You and Al are probably doing the jitterbug,
While the angels cheer-then give you big hugs.

I'll see you Mom, when it's my turn.

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O God, The Rat Has A Phobia!

The rat tiptoed to the house, picks up a thread
While the soft spoken black cat is, still, in bed
Sleepy, but, she is to battle it, to win, for today
To gain her breath, in solitude, for another day 
At first, she will fetch water, from a sacred well
Passing through the silent field of fears, of hell
While the sympathetic morning moon watches 
And giving her consoles, with uplifting touches

Of hopes, to warm her shaken, but noble heart
From the cold of early morn, that torn her apart  
Before the fading moon could bid her goodbye
Her tiny feet has swollen red, like a chicken fry

The rat sadly waves her bye to the fading moon
She kisses gladly the first crow, with her broom
To sweep the scattered butts, of Marlboro Light
Before favored kitten come, and give her a fight

She uses her magic matches to light the sticks
Delicately set at the center of a three big bricks
Eggs and bacon, with riz Cantonese to prepare
The boiling silvery pot, patiently, waits her care 

While the family feasts, the rat runs to the room
To fix the beds’ pleats, and then, she will zoom
To clean the ruin of wars, on the two slab tables
Before, she finds herself drown, in little bubbles

Her paled skin got burned, from the blazing sun 
While the soft spoken black cat enjoying the fun
Of watching, the afternoon entertainments show
That the rat never sees, for she has list to follow 

But, before the day ends, the poor rat was bitten
By the soft spoken black cat, left.....right up to ten 
That made her soul cries, under the mango tree
Hides her tears, in the dark, no one will ever see

Only when the soft spoken black cat’s gone away
Thus, the rat feels happy, for she has time to play
In a world, where no creatures exist, but, just her
She now lives in illusion, in her own, fake laughter 

The rat has beaten many times the first cockcrow
For the soft spoken black cat, not to live in sorrow
Till she left her, nothing, but full of fear and wraths
Forever haunt her, even if, she takes dozen baths

O God, the rat has a phobia, ‘cos of this black cat
Won’t you ever pity seeing her sleeping in a mat?
Or when somebody, with shot, scratches her tail?
For I cannot stand, seeing how human beings fail 


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Im writing this poem, it's not coming from heart. 
Im writing from boredom, uhh.. where do I start?
My day has been boring, the night not looking too great.
My body's too tired, though my minds quite awake. 
I slept all day long, it was an honest mistake. 
I’m checking my email, no messages will come. 
For it's late in the night, and no one is on.
And yet I keep checking, cause there always could be,
Another lame person, who’s bored just like me. 
Boredom is constant, it must live in the air. 
Cause its impossible to have fun, when boredom is there. 
I think I am tired, cause this poem won't flow. 
And I really am bored, which by now you all should know. 
So I guess it's that time, I'll just go to bed. 
No point of staying online, not much more to be said. 

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Another Ava Adventure

On a modern playground out by the Bayou
no see-saws, no merry-go-rounds to be seen-
Too dangerous, I'm guessing as we head to the swings
and I push her to the tops of the trees
I sing. And sing:
"Yellow Bird...
High Up In Banana Treeeeee"
( I never pretend to sing in key but belt it all the same)
She loves it, swings higher, asks me to sing again and again.
Then it's on to the jungle gym and slides, slides, slides.
Today, the structure is a hot air balloon 
and we run like mad bandits, pushing silver buttons
and letting air out.
"What's our altitude?" I yell
"400" she answers back in a panic
I push the silver screw on my right and let some air out
"We need 180!", I say, "Tell me when we reach 180!"
When we finally avert that disaster, she looks out of the spy glass
and low and behold, we are about to hit a tree.
A palm tree no less, and those things hurt!
We both quick steer to the right - in unison.
Then, unexpectedly, our battery runs out.
I didn't know hot air balloons ran on batteries,
but she assures me they do - and she happens to have another
in her back pocket.
We finally find smooth sailing
and have a chance to look out.
Pristine blue sky.  Sun taking every edge off the Bayou's breeze.
Apple green grass and trees with limbs bending every which way-
not trimmed, not sculpted, just allowed to grow wild and perfect for climbing.
It's with heavy hearts that we land our balloon to come back to reality.
For a while, she tells me that the whole contraption is out of our hands
and can't land back down on earth - We're heading North North North!
Cold country!
But, after the five extra minutes we spend in the air, she agrees to go.
"I love you", she says.
"I love you too", I answer, "Thanks for playing with me".
She smiles and we leave with plans to conquer the big climbing tree on our next adventure.

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When I was younger,
I had good friends.
Friends that did not talk bad
about me or leave me out.

All my old friends went
to different schools.
Now I'm in high school,
and I have new friends.

They say they're my friends,
but it doesn't feel like it.
They all ingore me.
I feel invisible.

Even though some of my 
old friends came back,
they also ingore me.
I feel invisible.

They make me feel
as if I am a stranger.
I wonder if my new friends
will ever really see me?

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I Dream of Dances

A dance I’ll steal from this night
And move slowly with the moon
Stars will shine upon my feet
I will create a waltz for each one.

My arms move slowly, entrancingly
Hypnotizing sleepy watching eyes
Light sprinkles on my face from above
My bare feet glide across the breezy grass

A dance I’ll steal from this night
Sailing between each strong tree
Fireflies accompany my spellbound trance
Musical allusions fly alongside.

The flowers bloom acceptingly in the still of the night
Their quieted lights reveal the dreams of those asleep
Nuzzled in their nests as I drift below the leaves
Dancing in a daze, as I would in any sleep.

My feet skim a cool stream’s edge
Fresh water glittering on my lively legs
A skip across the small blue belt 
The constitution of the forest
Winding from end to end.

A dance I’ve stolen from the night
In a forest of breathtaking captivities 
Each shining star a kindly ovation 
To my dreamy wander.

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Shuttered the stifling air
Confining her innocence
Clinging to a teddy bear

Ruffled the blanket of lies
Concealing her trembling
The lids to her cries

Echoed the corners of the room
Beneath the glowing ceiling
Of a neon moon

Creaked the rays of flight
Unlocking morning
Pardoning night

Jesus, she whispered
Lowering her weary head
Do you know why my father
Comes to my bed

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Horror Comes To Town

Way back when,
Living with my father Harry,
One Halloween I had an idea spark,
Seemed to me it'd be a lark....

Thus the tale of When Harry's House Held
The Horrific Holloween Hex..from Hell

Early 70's, my favorite time did approach,
For scary Halloween tricks and pranks,
I intended to truely host...

So, I spent some time, with tools and wood,
Made a faux- coffin, looked pretty good!   
Placed a self made dummy inside,
His head a bar-room prop for "Old Grand Dad",
This was gona be fun for me to be had,
Dressed him up, looking better all the time,
Stuck a big knife in him...
Guess it had been a vicious crime,
Ketchup blood stains,
Covered all in clear plastic wrap,
Placed it in the living room,
Just inside our front door,
But I wasn't done, I planned much, much more...

Forgive me, if I've already told this tale,
I can't remember,....oh, what the hale...

Had my girlfriend dress up like Morticia,
Black dress and more,
Put on my ill fitting black suit,
Almost ready for the door...
Powdered our faces with white talc,
Held a candle holder for the day
Put on eerie organ funeral music,
Still got more to say....

Set up two chairs near the "coffin",
My parents became the grieving mourners,
Waited for our victims to arrive,
Knew they'd remember this Halloween,
As long as they were alive....

Didn't take long,
Till the first kids came....
I opened the door slowly,
They would never be the same.....

Each group of children who knocked,
Ran out in great fright....
Oh, my golly, this gona be some night!!
Some dropped their bags of candy...
Boy I was "cleaning up"
The only house around,
Whose candy quantities tripled
by the cup!!

Then some frightened children,
Returned with many a wary parent,
Didn't believe their stories,
Thinking "No Way! They simply daren't!!"

Well, I escaped jail,
really don't know how...
But it left me with this tale...
That I tell often, as now.

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Melancholic Motes

We would tear along that path, drawn to his whistling
And the soft dulcet tones from the old wireless, yet 
Now you wouldn’t even know it was there
Unless you ventured beyond the gate
The path, long ago an entry point of dreams, no longer leads, but
Follows memories gathering dust with neglect now 
Overgrown with the passage of time

As children we would follow that path
Holding our pop’s hand, trying to count 
The myriad of bricks, to the end
Where we’d stop at the door, observe 
The large key enter its lock, clicking open a world 
That lived once in our childhood

Now I stand, near the end of adulthood, peering in the window
My reflection eyeing me pensively, though
I imagine the laughter, our useful little hands
Hammering in time with the wireless, our
Hair and clothes powdered with the dust
Gathered on the filaments of tales past

Those memories lying amongst the dust, like
The kingdom within that shed
The shelves full of everything, yet they are nothing now
-	Gathering dust
His stories lie buried amongst the particles, that
I now tread upon softly, not wanting the moment to dissolve
Into melancholic motes, as I close my eyes
In search of those stories
Buried in the dusty recesses of my mind…

John Lawless’s poetry contest – ‘Gathering Dust’
28 Feb. 15

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Toy Isle

The department store was busy tonight, and
as I approached the toy isle, mercy, what a sight.

Toys on the floor, torn out of the box,
parents unconcerned, all I could do was watch.

Kids playing happily with their new found joy,
papers, and boxes scattered all over the store.

Screaming, and hollering, tears, and snot,
a mad house for sure, these sweet little tots.

Red faced daddies, trying to sneak away,
while pitching a fit, in the floor their child lay.

Clerks trying desperately, to straighten the mess,
but to no avail, these kids were putting them to the test.

I just stood there, and watched for awhile,
while in the buggies, their favorites were piled.

If you get depressed, and need a good laugh,
find the toy isle, but steer clear of the crash.

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On common land,within the wood
Eking a living as best they could,
Betwixt Roundhead & Cavalier,they stood-
These children of the new forest
Adventures filled ,with youthful zest.

(Frederick Marryat-Children of the New Forest)

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A bee sting caused her world to crash. 
It made her leap about in pain into the 
sideboard, tipping hot dogs, mustard, 
ketchup, smearing stains on mom's new 
carpet as dad slipped and fell down, 
suffering damage (to his pride!).

The cook-out turned into a train wreck. 
Words of anger from her brother 
and a spanking from her father bringing 
enforced isolation for at least two days, 
(it's just not fair!)

But when clearer heads prevailed, mom 
dressed the sting with ointment and dad 
produced the ice cream. They gave her back 
her TV privileges (after all she's only six!) 
and kissed her boo boo better!

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Daddy, Jr., and Jasper

Soaking, and freezing,
he stands outside,
waiting for comfort,
in a bed warm, and dry.

Please daddy, please,
can we keep him, please,
he is all alone,
and he really needs me.

OK son, 
bring him in for tonight,
but first thing tomorrow,
you must do what is right.

His owner will be looking,
he is someone's pup,
I know they are worried,
he's a cute little mutt.

No one came, 
no one claimed,
this poor little dog,
now Jasper is his name.

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The Tire Swing


He gazed across the wind swept meadow
To a lone  tree  standing there
Its jagged,  silhouette  surrendered 
‘neath a sky more fiery embered
His flaming hair, which crowned him then.
But--- it was neither tree nor sky
That stole his youthful eye.
It was
The tire swing
Whispering,  promising,
“ With-me,  you can fly ! ”

The boy lept across the meadow
Like a deer panting for water,
Till at last
He climbed aboard his dream.
His round,  black,  holed
Flying machine.
Then,  holding tight, and bending to and fro
With all his might
Began to drive,  began to  glide 
Against The sinking sun
It was night outside

Across the starry, littered sky
Beneath the moon’s soft lullaby
Ascending ever higher
Make believing he’s a flyer,
He smiles,
As he tips a wing.

He is an aviator.
He is the sky king!
And all because of one
Old tire swing.

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Untitled #7 / The child

As the child rolled through a field of flowers
he spotted a butterfly flittering towards the sky
and thought he might grab the thing, sprout wings
and let the beauty carry him to heaven
he jumped and stretched out his little arms
but the insect had floated out of reach
and with a thud he fell back to the soil,
sobbing to the sun. 
But he had to try.

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Breaking The Rules

Breaking The Rules
My little girl who just started attending school.
      Asked me daddy, do we have to follow each and every rule?
And I answered, yes my love, we must obey.
     But daddy, she said, I have to pray.
Daddy you taught me, give thanks before we eat.
     And to thank the Lord is such a treat.
The teacher scolded me and made me cry.
     She said you can’t do that here but wouldn’t answer why.
The other kids laughed and pointed at me.
     Daddy I wanted to hide to run and flee.
I don’t want to go back not ever again.
     I don’t like it there daddy is that a sin?
Well I picked her up and said I’ll tell you what.
    Don’t you ever stop praising the Lord you give it all you’ve got.
She squeezed my neck so very hard.
    And said I love you daddy, you and the Lord.
If I must home school then that’s what I’ll do.
    But my little girl is going to follow You.

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My Thoughts

Should I cry because life is so hard for me.
Or should I  carry a smile and just oversee.
All my life I did not know it would be
An existence of pain for me to release.
Know I am here and you are there
Away from each other for the past year.
Wanting to be a family with wealth and joy.
Raising together a lil' girl and a lil' boy.
I have opened my eyes to see in front of my face.
A life of failure and disgrace.

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I Remember

I remember when I was born.
The memories have not gone.
He is like a girl, not a man.
Made to feel, I cost a lot.
Better off without this Tot.

I remember.not enough to eat.
From the table, hungry go.
Stealing wind  falls, from the snow.
Hiding under the table, to escape.
Cups and plates, they throw.
Shouting and screaming,  
Here they go
I hear it still.

I remember my school days.
Standing face to wall.
Getting the cane, for nothing at all.
When time to go home, the bullies I see.
The gang is waiting for me.

I remember the black eye.
Walked into a lamp post, I did lie.
Torn cloths, They are not new, ploy.
Go to your room, you naughty boy.

I  remember late at night,
Hearing a noise that made me fright.
Under the blanket I froze.
Who's there nobody knows.
Running in my mind.
Not moving and blind.

I remember running with all my might,
To escape a fight.
Survival lay in flight
Crying and screaming.
God help me.

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My Dream

I lost a shoe.
Don't know what to do.
A long way to go.
I am pretty slow.
People look and stare.
And say, how does he dare.
Walk with only one shoe?
A boy in the night.
With a shoe, out of sight?
What a plight.
Then I tried to run.
My legs froze, no fun.
Although hurtling along.
I was not getting on.
Being stuck to the ground.
I was trying to get away.
From who, I can't say.
Waking up in a sweat.
I washed my dream away.

If you dreamed about shoes 
it is a sign of insecurity.
Running and not moving means
 that you are dissatisfied and not
 getting anywhere.
Please send me your dreams.

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Letting Go

A child so innocent, has to be taught,
everything is up to you, in how far you will go.

You can't have the world handed on a platter,
education, and work is what will matter.

Sheltered for awhile, that is alright,
becoming of age, is when you begin your flight.

As you soar obtaining your goals,
you will always be grateful, your parents let go.

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Secret Me (2005)

I was a disconnected child
Outside confused but my inside was wild
A lack of confidence and no interest
Been spoken for believing it was best
A struggle and uproar and inside I burst
It was for the best but others always saw the worst
Never to this day will they understand
I am past caring I know where I stand
Never took pride in the home
Never ever felt it was my own
Away I am a different being
Always pro-active and everything is clean
A master chef believe it or not
Everything’s a secret kept in a knot 

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Minute by minute,I saw my preciuos
existence slip away with the speed
of a stupendous shooting star across
a promising life...yet so unfulfilled and hollow;
wasn't my birthright relinquished
to an undeserved punishment and sorrow?

Why wouldn't anyone be resilient and
alleviate my agony and atrocious pain...
to confront a stark and unfair fate?
I can remember the unjustified hurt
clinging to many unacceptable exscuses;
and weren't there spendid dreams,
flourishing amid lonely and uncertain days,
wanting to ascape and become real?

Years by years misfortunes made me
give up all the incredible joys,of a naive boy,
that I longed for desperately;
I straddled to neither please life nor me,
to see reality wrapped up in mystery
constraining my neutral pesonality...

Breath by breath life allowed me
to live by its harsh teach me
unlearned lessons and I paid the highest
prize of all; and was it really worth
putting my trust in that confident voice,
and neglect the purpose of my strides?

Looking back,with regret,
on a wasted childhood that made me lame
by a blunt destiny;
languish and lament
impoverished my sentiment:
chocking me with their final,implicit word!

I decided to assume 
the role of dreamer without dreams,
to take on the appearance of winner:
relying on vague assumptions
that turned me into the silent weeper,
who watched its thin shadow loom...