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Narrative Death Poems | Narrative Poems About Death

These Narrative Death poems are examples of Narrative poems about Death. These are the best examples of Narrative Death poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative | |

The Clouds


My voice=
God, can I hold your hand and go with you?

Gods voice~
My sweet child, it is I who will walk with you now! You walked down my path with and without faith. You took my protection to ease your pain. My shielded wings comfort you during your moments of suffering while your life staggered across the earth... Your love and devotion is what made you strong. Every time your dreams were broken. You managed to build more dreams in their place. You called my name during your happiest and saddest moments. You always ran up to me when you fell behind. Your secrets became our private talks. The key to your heart was always unlocked. I was there during your trials and troubles of tribulations. We could not speak, but it was my light that would not allow you to get weak.

My voice=
Is this that dream of beauty? The one in the book my preacher spoke of. 
Yes! I remember it now it is called paradise. I felt this company once before, Lord.
Many times, I have forsaken this light, and still it never left my door.
I felt it the day I was born, and the day I became baptized in your holy name.
I felt this light before, can you explain it some more? 
Lord pleases clarify that day I fell down to my knees and accepted Jesus as my savior? 
Every day since, I felt as if you stood away and walked on by, allowing me to face my own failures’.  Was my life a waste in this impossible world?"

Gods voice~  
My child, this is the everlasting light you will feel every time your body is re-born onto a new road.  This light never left you. 
My sweet child did you not listen, Matthew *19:26* MY SON looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with ME all things are possible. My child you were not searching for the right answers.

My voice= 
My Lord everyone told me if I prayed you would come. Did I not pray right?

Gods voice~ 
My child sometimes your heart asked for more than life itself, which left questions for someone else.  
At times how could I answer when you shunned heaven away from your eyes?
The obvious question is whether this is the final immersing of your souls disguises.

My voice= 
Lord, I have other questions to ask. 
What should I expect out of my personal sins? My testimonial sits in the palm of your hand
My mind and my heart's inner core have been wicked since my adolescence days. 
How is it that I am in your promise land?

Gods voice~  
Getting right with me has brought you here!

My voice= 
One more question My Heavenly Father
Can I see them? My Daughter, Mothers and Sisters~


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Love in the Silence of the Soul

As a young boy
Sitting in a pew
The winter darkness pressing down
Candlelight waves from hidden drafts
Shadows danced on the walls

I heard the words destined to me
“Be still . . . know that I am God”
So I listen  . . . eyes open
“The Passion of Christ”
I was gone . . . 

I saw eyes . . . 
Judas under the olive trees - Gethsemane
His eyes  . . . cold, darting  . . . filled with manic evil
Torchlights hissing  . . . turning eyes yellow
Then a kiss and chaos erupts
I closed my eyes  . . . suddenly afraid

Now I see a set of eyes  . . . filled with burning hate
A High Priest screaming . . .    B-L-A-S-S-P-H-E-M-Y ! ! ! ! !
All around ugly eyes staring with dripping contempt
Old men spitting with bared rotting teeth
Then I noticed . . . and . . . 
And my heart ached . . . 
Jesus . . . standing quietly with closed eyes

Then we were off to Roman authority -- Pontius Pilate
I saw his slanted eyes . . . squinting as if too much sunlight
Loud voices yelling outside . . .  “Crucify him!”
In my heart, I cursed these people – but his eyes
His eyes were dark, soft – forgiving
A hand washing and we are walking . . . 

To a hillside, a place called Golgotha – the skull
Empty eye sockets . . . a place of death
The eyes of soldiers hard, focused  . . . 
Spikes, woods – his sad eyes burning my heart
Closing my eyes, I heard a sharp gasp . . . soldiers yelling

As I opened my eyes – I was looking out with his eyes
We were seeing the same things
Angry faces with eyes of burning ashes
Taunting and jeering – a wave of hysteria hitting us
I heard and felt a deep groan 
Fear gripping me – I knew instantly we needed to go

Men, women, soldiers, slaves, leaders, teachers 
Eyes filled with blood lust
Evil, hatred . . . . I can’t breath
Death coming with the darkness
Jesus!        Can’t you see . . . 
Then I heard him whisper
 “Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.”

My heart sank realizing with horror
Jesus is staying . . . dying
I felt his purposeful breathing
Muscles, bones, joints aching with a searing pain
My eyes filled with tears

I saw another set of bloodshot eyes
A voice next to me yelling
“If you’re the Christ, get down from the cross
And take me too!  Let’s go!”
NO, NO!!!  . . . What is he saying
Those are my words – I am sick
My stomach seizes  . . . guilt fills me
I close my eyes

Another voice – on our right speaks
“Lord, remember me . . . “
Jesus painfully turns, twisting his body . . . looking . . . 
He sees blue eyes – my eyes
I am hanging next to Jesus
“Today you will be with me in Paradise”

We were one – together . . . one body
Now separate crosses . . . I feel crushed by loneliness
But his words . . . “Paradise” . . . “today”
He loves me – I see him looking at me
His eyes illuminating my soul . . . it hurts
I tried crying out – I love you . . . 
But only a sob squeaks out

Gravity pulling down pulling down
Eyes straining against the pain
Joints and ribs stretching . . .  popping
Chest heaving for each breath
Body convulsing against wood
Head back . . . eyes wide open . . . he screams
“My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me?”

No one answers . . . surprised eyes
In my tears I felt the agony of the cross
The bleakness . . .  hell
Dead eyes

Back in the pew
I heard the preacher 
“He died for you”
What . . . why . . . no . . . 
No, I don’t want you dead


Hey, wait for me – slow down
Running hard, breathing deeply
I stuck my head in empty tomb – hum??? . . . . 
I sat quietly next to Mary Magdalene . . . wondering
The gardener spoke – “Mary”
But he was looking at me – bright eyes
He said . . . “David”
“David, I love you”

Yes!!  Woo Hoo . . . 
Look at me . . . I am dancing
With shinning eyes 
“I love you too”
“I love you”
“Lord Jesus”
“I do”

David Meade

Love Generously

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Sweetest Love Note

One night a guy & a girl were
driving home from the movies. The
boy sensed there was
something wrong because of the painful
silence they shared between them
that night. The girl then asked the boy to pull over
because she wanted to talk. She told him that her
feelings had changed & that it was time to move on.
A silent tear slid down his cheek as he
slowly reached into his pocket & passed her a folded note.
At that moment, a drunk driver was speeding down
that very same street. He swerved
right into the drivers seat, killing the boy.
Miraculously, the girl survived. Remembering the note, she
pulled it out & read it.
"Without your love, I would die."

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---And the Angel Looked On

"I heard an angel speak last night and he said "write" - Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

that was the last word he whispered before his eyes closed forever...

I close my own eyes, bite my lower lip, 'til I taste tin, stone angel crying with me...
The wind sends chills through me, as the heavens threatened to weep
brown leaves skittering between my feet, seeking for shelter.
How I related to those leaves: dry...brittle...dead.

I look at the Angel that watches over him,imploring for answers, 
begging this Guardian to take pity on me, help me remember. 
She only looks at me, with tears in her eyes, her beautiful face
always looked enigmatic to me, for she was smiling...
and yet those tears hinted at sadness, 
seemingly reprimanding me with her look.
I bow my head in shame, and reach for her hands, 
but I only feel cold, hard stone...not unlike my heart

My throat catches, I can hardly breathe--
I loosen my grip, feeling it might burn this time
...from guilt, for forgetting...

I glance at her magnificent wings, and wished I had them, too,
if only to fly away, but my feet are stuck on the ground, 
with a heart buried in regret.

I whisper one word: "Sorry":spoken so softly, I think I only said it in my heart;
I say it louder, my body wracked with sobs, my heart bleeding crimson tears of anguish. 
I look at the Angel and notice something on her sash--
One pristine white feather lay there-a stark contrast to the moss covered stone.
I take the feather, notice wordings etched on the sash--and scraped off moss, 
Tennyson's words go straight to my heart...
" 'Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."

The memories come back like a flash flood, assaulting me, bringing me back to that day.
He told me he had an angel carved to be with him at his grave, 
since I, his angel, couldn't always be there for him. And that he understood, 
that it was okay. I shrugged it off, told him I love him forever.
I still do, that's why it shamed me that I also love another now.

Seeing those words, I felt such a sense of peace, like he was embracing me, 
smoothing out my hair like he used to, telling me it was all right. 
I blink back tears, and say "Thank you" this time...I hug the Angel and I felt warm.
Drizzle and sunlight bounced off each other as I walked away. 
I turn my head around to his grave
--and the Angel looked on with a smile.

Constance's Angels in Cemeteries contest
 June 18, 2011

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How a Blue Rose Came to be

Once upon a time, many years ago,
There was a sweet and lovely -  red, red Irish rose,
That was plucked prematurely, from the garden vine;
A budding beauty, taken in her prime.

She was laid to rest, upon the death, of a lovers dream;
Upon a chest of ebony, where lie, his would-be  Queen; 
Lowered deep into the depths, of the church yard cemetery;
Her scarlet petals, wilting in the summer breeze.

Then the earth begin to fall, like autumn leaves;
Upon  her petals, and the chest of ebony,
From above her tomb, where stood the grieving groom
Weeping , weeping,  like a willow tree.

Then the sky begin  to disappear, amid that mournful cry,
As  tears - from above, fell from that lovers eyes,
And came to rest, like dew drops on that  Irish rose, 
As she disappeared beneath the earth, there in his grief below 
In time, he laid a stone of ivory - upon her grave;
Etched deeply  - with the promise he had made:
To love his Irish Rose - forever and a day.


The years and all their seasons came and went
And a million lonely tears were cried and spent
Upon her grave where everyday he kneeled and prayed
And dreamed of her until his dying day.  


The epigram has long since faded on the ivory stone   
That still stands alone   upon her grave
Where from the million tears of love he gave
A seemingly impossible - blue, blue rose has grown.

 Written:  June 18, 2010

Note:  To late for the contest,
but I thought I would post it anyway. 

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when autumn comes

here, where I walk,
confused silence swirls around my feet,
and the anguished summer leaves
are lingering limp, waiting for autumn...,
waiting to crumble and mingle with earth
drunk with the morning dew

somewhere beneath them
under the thunder
earth wears the scab of a fresh wound
in a place that will not be forgotten...
corrupt with mourning
sprouting with questions
immersed with regret
hollowed with anger
and shadowed by trees of despair

birch-bark faces, heads bent low, shadowed eyes
stone-cold voices, carried in the wind, behind disguise
while mute birds watch without a song
the leaves will decay, green goes, and the eye forgets
forget?  never....
while pawing on the hard and bitter earth
of reason, is impossible...

autumn comes
and autumn goes
I will live in hope that baffled minds
will clearly see a winter sun
and give up blaming ... who?


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Life Is What You Make It

Birth was suppose to come easier than this.
I pant quickly as I was taught, 
but it isn't helping, nor does squinting my eyes.
But again, the pain evaporates for a moment
like the tears in the corners of my eyes.
It fools me in thinking it is almost over now, and I try to relax.
But all I can think about is my mother
and how different it was for her, 
especially, since her young husband was so far away

My back aches, and once again, I look for the owner of the mysterious voice
That voice is my own...
I groan, and the doctor finally makes a quick-fire decision.
I am given a block for the pain, an incision is made,
and although I feel numb, and my mind is foggy,
I can feel someone's hands groping, 
... a tug, a void, and then...a small noise...       a baby is crying...

The next several hours are a blur
until everything is clear and I'm back in my room
on the sterilized sheets, too stiff, and too sleek, 
too fragrant of bleach, to think about sleeping.

This miracle I bore, soft as silk, with tiny closed fists, rose-petal nails
fills me with joy, with relief, with a deep pang of grief
for another time, another place, a place long ago...

I bathe in the scent of my brand new beginning ......
But my thoughts stream behind me,...... to a hope that had ended
My mother in bed, after losing her first....
So young, without child,........ bleeding red
from the war that she fought, while my Dad fought his own

I cry tears all alone.... for the grief that she owned
I so cherish the breath.....of this babe on my breast

The circle of life, starts with birth .....sometimes, death


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The Rose

Once bloomed a rose so young and fair
With dark brown eyes and long black hair

Beside her be a tall dark tree
Whose branches stretch to smother thee

Too close beside the shadowy bark
That soon begins to leave its mark

She cries for help, but none shall hear
Her thorns too sharp, who’d dare go near?

To save this rose, who’d risk their life?
With naught to gain but pain and strife

Alone, afraid, she lays to rest
Her heart beats low inside her chest

And with the hour growing near
She sheds her final grieving tear

And so the rose soon falls asunder
Her final day, eternal slumber

She lies beside the old dark tree
The only one who mourns for thee

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JE SUIS CHARLIE -- Afterthought

JE SUIS CHARLIE — Afterthought

The shock of this most frightening tragedy is practically beyond 
the pale of any reasonable or adequate attempt or effort to explain
it or to rationalize the horrible circumstances surrounding it.

Let me just say that all of us who are writers and poets ply our
poetry, “our intellectual wares,” if you will, in a common written
medium that expects the same unrestricted level of freedom of
speech and expression exercised by those extraordinarily brave
artists at “Charlie Hebdo” who were recently murdered in cold
blood by self-styled Islamic extremists in Paris. 

It is also equally saddening and deplorable that some courageous 
police officers died in the line of duty defending these freedoms 
as well as some other security people and hostages caught up in 
the midst of these most terrifying circumstances. 

The heinous actions perpetrated by these armed extremists
destroyed innocent lives and affected the lives of a number of
loved ones whose burden of sadness and tragedy is unimaginable. 
Their actions also were an attempt to strike at the very heart of 
those sacred freedoms that all of us who live in open societies and
democracies cherish as part of our everyday lives. The armed 
extremists, by their actions, also personified and demonstrated an
obvious affectation for barbarity, stupidity, ignorance, and cowardice 
that were all on ample display as a result of what they did.

Freedom of speech and expression are among those certain
historic inalienable rights given to all of us by the divine hand of
God himself, and certainly not by the generosity of any government 
or religious group (regardless of faith). The brave souls who died
at Charlie Hebdo, died exercising this most sacred franchise.

The point I’m driving at is this: Those extremists who committed
these most reprehensible actions of recent against their fellow man 
did not win in spite of their collective efforts to destroy lives and to 
sully these precious freedoms that all of us as writers and artists 
hold so very dear.

The outpouring of emotion and sadness in support of these slain
heroes in the face of this most despicable crime is quite compelling, 
and underlies the continuing determination of all of us who love
and cherish the freedoms of speech and expression to continue to
speak out and to exercise these sacred rights without reservation.

With all of this in mind, I humbly and proudly conclude my narrative 
to all of you here by saying and echoing as loudly as possible:
“Je Suis Charlie” . . . “I am Charlie.”

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (January 10, 2015)

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The Drying Of The Ink

No longer at desk the typewriter has been given 
it's final rest.
As he cant recall the day or year.

The once strong mind is closed the body
but a museum or tribute to what once was.
he his home but locked within himself.

Vist's from thoose who once knew the man 
are like people viewing a body at a wake.
he calls from within the shell for for release.

Yet his lips will not move his voice never sounds.
Inside he burns for the chance to run as the river
chases the sea.

To be the man they never knew and the one he 
could admire and both despise.

The page sits in typewriter like a willing 
eager lover in bed. 
Waitting in stockings that cling to delicate thigh.
the tears escapes it's minds prison.

He thirsts for it like a drunk for that morning drink
of whiskey waitting hands held togather trying
to keep from shaking.

He sits as a painter without hand.
watching the most beautiful sunset fade without 
a chance of ever capturing this moment.

The ink is drying he feels it everyday.
Soon he hopes like the dust that does gather
he will be swept away.

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WAR- A Cherita suit

Terrified in a corner She screams Hearing the rockets Exploding Shattering her heart Once more... They shake Their heads not accepting Is happening again Forced to move out They leave their homes With no place to go The horrors of war Are just to many To count No food, no water No help Just missiles Destruction and death Piles stacked up Of smoking debris Mangled bodies Carried out Breathing no more Innocence In their eyes Long gone Just horror And pain for those Children to witness A treated of Peace That can't never work For a long time Permanent Peace Only till Jesus Returns! Dorian Petersen Potter Aka ladydp2000 Copyright@2014 10.12.2014

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Love Never Ends

I wept upon the news deployed
For now within, exists a void
My heart has stopped, it’s turned about
For life with love is now without
Now cast away, the physical form
I await the fate, to be reborn

To one day greet you there, again
The Gates of Heaven then let us in
Hand in hand, we move ahead
As souls permit, though bodies’ dead
A smile to you I then will give
For past our deaths, I know we’ll live

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She sits alone 
She draws her knees up to her shoulders, hugging them tightly
She shivers in the icy wind 
Her teeth chatter and the stream of tears from her eyes, sting her cheeks 
As she lifts her head towards the heavens, 
Her eyes burn with pain and her piercing scream, barely human, expresses her Excruciating 
suffering and anguish

She is gripped by immense sorrow, the most powerful and destructive emotion
It roughly envelopes her, throwing her into a pit of darkness, filled with evil shadows
The shadows claw at her, ripping into her flesh like daggers
She shakes violently, tasting blood as she bites down hard on her bottom lip
But she feels no pain, her body is numb, numbed by the demons of sorrow, who, 
Are slowly overpowering her, devouring her heart 
And locking her in an eternal web of pain

She is engulfed by fear as the intense sorrow surrounding her, compresses her
She gasps for air as the merciless hands of sorrow close around her throat
She fights in her lonely vacuum, with everything she has
She reaches for her only comfort, her fingers coil around the blade
As she stretches her arms out in front of her, her void eyes gaze upon her pale skin
Her skin is etched with scars
Her scars an eternal, entwined, tattoo of her excruciating suffering
As she runs the jagged blade over her skin, its cold feel calms her
The compressing sorrow surrenders
This is her saviour, the one who can release her from this life of pure hell
Her skin begins to open, the river of blood flowing strong
Her pain is flung into the open, through her wounds, 
Leaving a sense of tranquility in her distraught heart

Her red stained fingertips caress her raw wounds
She is mesmorised by the life force flowing from her, as it paints 
Her tragic story on her body
Painful tears bleed from her eyes as regret shudders through her
She rocks backwards and forwards, lulling herself into a sense of peace
Her body is drained
As she lies back she becomes limp
Her eyes close and her whispered prayers fill the open air,
Creating the painful melody her heart sings
As she slips away

Thunder roars and the starry heavens open 
As God’s tears rain over His beloved daughter, 
Healing her wounds and piecing her broken soul back together
As the sun rises above her, 
It illuminates her peaceful expression
Her earthly father collapses besides her
His silent tears wash over her beautiful, pale face
As he lifts his dead child in his arms, 
Vicious sorrow rips his heart apart, 
Creating wounds which will never heal

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Moment of Clarity

Stumbling Through a Bewildering Maze,
Of Thoughts and Dreams, He Finds Emptiness.

The Over-exhuming Haze of a Comfortable
Life Exhausts Him, And He Sinks into Himself.

Words From His Brief Interactions Are Destroyed
By Him, Not Absorbed. It's Killing Him.

Water From His Dusty Satchel, Glints as
He Spills it onto His Lap.

                 -You're Losing it -

He Feels The Stares From Countless Eyes,
And Shrugs it off with Solitude as his Shield.

You've Become The Guy Your Parents Used
To Tell You To Avoid in The Street.

                  - You Wanna Hurt People -

He watches the Cliques of People Enjoy his
Insecurity. No-one Takes him Seriously.

He Picks The biggest Guy, His Shank, more
Powerful Than His Fist, He walks towards Him.

                   - It's About To Go Sour -

His Feet Crunches Aeons Beneath Him, And
Stamps Out His Future Genetics.

The Shank, Concealed in his Sleeve. Here it
Comes, This Was his final mark of Respect.

                   - His Veins Pump Hard -

The Adrenaline Sends Tears to his Eyes,
And Weakens His Legs, he'll Fight or Cry.

The Shank Slides Like Threading Silk Into
His Victims Stomach, Eyes Locked.
                    - Control it, Stay Calm -

There Was To be No Assistance, Retaliation 
Was To be Swift, and Effortless.

He Smiled as They Withdrew Their Weapons
From His Chest. 

                     - Fall To Your Knees -

Choking on Muffled Screams, behind The 
Blood and Mucus Filling his Mouth.

                      - Close your Eyes -

The Light Seemed To Bend in and out of The
Dark patches, It hit his eyes, and blinded him.

                      - This Makes Sense -

His Face hits Sand...

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Bubbly Cheerful And Happy

                            In a small town there lived a little lady
                                  The lady`s name was Lucinda
                     Lucinda was always bubbling, cheerful and happy
                           When she laughed here rolling laughter,
                              both her cheeks and bosom shaked
                          She was a beautiful woman with wide hips,
                              and a butt as big as a dinner table
                           Lucinda was old and walking was difficult
                                and life was not so easy for her
                              She had not so much in this world,
                               but she always brought a bicycle
                         Everyone in the small town would help her
                                        as best they could
                 Whatever you did for her, she thanked  with these words:
                             "You shall have my old bike when I die"
                Following the bubbling laughter, shaking cheeks and bosom
                           Everyone in the small town knew Lucinda,
                                 loved her and wanted to help her
                                     Same thanks every time:
                            "You shall have my old bike when I die"
                                        Now Lucinda is dead
                    Her bike the city has received as a gift from Lucinda
                   If you see a bike in the flower park in the small town
                  Is it to remind the beloved sweet, rolling round Lucinda 
                                 that was always cheerful and happy


                             * Just written for joy..... not for a contest

A-L Andresen

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They were married for sixty-seven years.
Lovely she still was to him,
though wrinkled of face and hair of pure snow.
Entwined hearts forever held sparkle and glow.
Honestly believing, he was the luckiest man alive.

Just thankful to be by her side,
sharing her life and giving her all that he could.
But fate did loom, bringing unmerciful doom....
she died a long time too soon....
leaving a lonely and broken-hearted man.

To his son, he said, "Say it ain’t so, Joe!
Just say it ain’t so!
She can’t be gone.
She’s been with me so long.
What can I do without her?"

As news spread throughout the town,
many a friend came to call.
He tried to maintain, but three months away,
his heart just couldn’t withstand.....he died that day.
Mourned, his daughter to her brother, amid flowing tears:

"Say it ain’t so, Joe!
Please say it ain’t so!"

Contest Sponsored by:  Deborah Guzzi
Won:  5th Place

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Raven's Plight

Raven was Death. She dwelt in death. She lived on death. Ages past, she had worn 
the blue-black, purple, feathers of the raven and dined on royalty at Tower hill. A 
tumble from grace had lodged her here in this fragile form. No more would her maw 
drip ruby red, no more would her caw fill the mourning, or her soaring flight slice 
the air like a Frenchman’s sword. A Raven, with clipped wings, was she.

Centuries had passed since she, in her feathered form, had feasted on the King.
**Bran the Blessed, giant, King of Wales, had been her down fall. Cursed was she,
as she dined on his eyes, in the field of battle. Ah, what did a raven know 
of the curses of man.  But, she knew now. Bran's head was placed,
as a talisman, on the grounds of Tower Keep in Londontown. She, 
transformed, cursed, walks the night in this beautiful, weak, human vessel for
as long as, Bran's name is remembered.

Her satin-sandaled feet hold her earthbound. Just as superstition 
holds her clip-winged brethren in the Tower courtyard, Bran's Curse holds her here. 
No longer can she fly, but, she is free to roam. The churchyard calls her. Ashen skies no longer welcome her, but the gravestones, spade-shaped like the tails of carrion feeder, beckon. The evening corpse has arrived. Draped in mourning weeds of black, her death-like pall, luminescent in the moonlight, her lips a tell-tale crimson, she arms her self with a firebrand. The bluish steel glistens. Death with a gun, certainly, one could see the 
over kill? She laughs. Looking skyward, she calls. “Husband*, children…” 
she mimicks the caw of her unfettered kin. “Come to Ma Ma..dinner is served.”  

*Raven's mate for life...or death? ;)
**Bran is the Welsh word for Raven/ King Bran the Blessed


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The Ghost Dance

A shaman prays, the Spirit hears
While a Seventh Calvary regiment waits
Unarmed, a tribe endures a Union's hate
Their animosities, and their fears
As the blue coats begin to circle...
Their wrath begins to circle.

That shaman saw but a single Spirit
That was split between different beliefs
He could accept the white Spirit Chief
But the white men would not hear it
They would not blend their God
With the red heathen God.

Anger explodes behind powdered shot
Spraying death from muzzled shame
Cruelly winning their ill gotten fame
Painted heroes claim a tainted spot
History claims the Ghost Dance...
As death claims the last dance.

A Dakota creek runs darkly red
Forever silencing the Ghost Dance
A chanting shaman dies in his trance
One hundred fifty Sioux lay dead
Now, only blue coats remain...
Only the blue remain.

A creek ran red with Union shame
When a shaman called the Spirit Great
And that Spirit did not hesitate
He fell on Wounded Knee and came
To take His people home...
His people swiftly home.

                                     Timothy I. Brumley

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The Empty Tissue Box

My heart was in such pain
I felt like I was going to go insane
I just don't know what to do 
And my eyes full of tears that distort my view

I fell to my knees and felt the urge
My muscle tighten and pin needles struck me like a surge
My body was warm and with feelings so confused
My mind felt sadness had fused

I could not conquer my fears
I just sat down and fell into tears
When some close to you passes on
It felt like a warmth has gone

So I raised my hand towards a box that was empty with no tissue
I first was embarrass and had a little bit of issue
All my friends hugged me and said sorry for your loss
So now I cry in my bed and toss

April 14, 2013

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You're Still With Me

Rushing  to your bedside,
cars blurred, people passed me by
yet I still looked for a sign
to know you would be all right
but I only felt God's tears on my cheeks that day

You just lay there,
the fire in you set to low
and I could not see your bright smile
but your heart still beat, ever so strong
and I felt God’s arms embrace me that day

For seven days you held on,
a day for each of us 
even then you were so thoughtful...
you could not speak, but we still heard you breathe
then I heard God whisper to me that day…

As I left with papa to buy your mattress
to soothe your aching sores
I heard His voice say, “Go back and kiss him,”
“This just may be your last.”
And true enough, it was.

We left you there still breathing,
not on your own though, but still
Then that dreaded phone call...
No more need to buy that mattress,
your heart had already gone still

A part of my heart will always be numb,
and I shall never be the same again
a certain twinkle in my eye won’t shine anymore,
it died as you took your final breath
but my smile, how thankful I am I have a hint of yours...

Tears still flow from my soul you know
for all my mistakes, for my version of coping
I am just so sorry, I hope you have forgiven me
and I still hope to feel your embrace once more
when I reach Heaven’s door someday...

It may only be in dreams that I truly see you,
only in prayer do we speak
You are here no more and yet I feel you,
inside my heart, the depths of my soul…

** this is about the last image of seeing my only brother alive...
he was diagnosed with a brain tumor the size of a tennis ball 
5 months prior to his seizure which led to a 7-day coma, 
which he finally succumbed to, 
just 2 days before I turned 23...he was 32...

** originally wrote this for Frank's Images contest- 
thanks Frank for coming up with this, 
it's helped me to write and share this... 
please say a prayer for Raphael, my brother--thank you...

** submitting this as well for HG's Personify a Tear contest

--nikko palmario

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I have died so long ago.
The pieces of my bones were buried in Sheol.
It was so dark where I lay now.
My flesh is rotten and almost gone.
I have lived once in this world,
Where a loving family I was involved.
A dearest mom who loved me so,
Loving siblings I treasured most!
I'm a free-spirited young lady.
I love to entertain the world,
Wind hums as I hit the notes.
The nature  became my hidden world.
I was once  a fruit in a tree.
Until one day, a harvester picked me.
Still unripe, too young and fresh.
He stole my innocence.
Too many years past and my seed grew.
I have started bearring fruits.
But the harvester did not content, 
He pulled me out from where I'd been.
He murdered me on one darkest night.
Then buried me beneath the ground.
I'm so helpless, no voice to shout!
My breath is counting one by one.
Until I surrendered the last air in my lungs.
I have died so long ago.
This girl that you used to know,
Isn't the one who writes a poem.
She had died so long ago.
She walks every night to find her home.

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The Bell My Mother Rang

The 18th of December was her last day;
she neither knew the date nor cared to.
Gathered at the hospital, keeping vigil,
we couldn't overcome her fright, or ours.
The pain, too great to be driven away,
was only "managed" with IV drips,
needles stuck in bruised appendages --
bony things -- arms and legs, hands and feet.
Above the medicines and washes, we sniffed
her scent, which, more than her yet familiar
face, to us identified our mother --
a smell we never would mistake
for any other. It went quickly
as her body cooled. The rouged and pickled
carcass they displayed was more a statue
than a person. We planned to bury her
with homely tokens, like an ancient mummy:
a family photo, a brooch she liked,
a pink hairbrush, and the brass bell she rang
to call her keeper during her last years.
But, when the time came, I could not bear
to see her leave so finally;
I took the bell from her metal box.
And, now, I ring it -- not to bring a keeper,
but to recall my mother on her birthday,
and on many dark days when I need her.

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A Mothers Last Goodbye

“Good-bye my daughter dear,” she said As tears welled up in her eyes “It’s time for me to go to sleep This must be no surprise The good Lord knows my battles And my health is ailing still He’s given me so many blessings I’ve passed them to you in my will I’m sad to say good-bye For we have shared much joy Remember me to Sarah My grandchild I love and enjoy I love you my daughter These years together have been sweet I’m so glad you love the Lord And again we will meet I’m not afraid of dying ‘Cause I know that in a while Christ will call me from my grave I feel my life has been worthwhile For I taught you to seek your Father To help you through every trial He’ll always be there to guide you With never a denial I leave you in His hands”, she said As she gently kissed her daughter’s hand Her eyes closed very slowly Against cancer she’d lost her stand She’d been a wonderful mother Teacher and true friend Faithful to her Lord And gracious to the end. Copyright © Maureen LeFanue 2007-2012

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Shattered by her past

Her childhood indelible painted upon her brain. She can still see the knife in her stepfather’s hand and her screaming mother pinned to the bed beneath him, and she knew her mom was dead, even before the last breath escaped her body. But for one brief moment their eyes met, and she could not erase the horror it has painted upon her brain. It was a seed that has grown into a tree. It is revenge.

He went home early that day to “butcher” his step daughter; she was only ten. When her mom returned from work, she was hiding under the bed, and blood was flowing down her legs. Her mom entered the room, and saw him lying on the bed; she fetched the kitchen knife and leaped towards him. They fought, and he stabbed her to death.Yet she cannot be convinced that her mom is dead. She still believes that her mom exists in her, and the doctor has mistakenly pronounced her dead.

 Leaving the bed soaked, dripping red, he bolted through the door, and a voice that was not her own screaming above her head. When last she heard of him, he was sentenced to be hanged, but she was in another world. She thought that God would come that day, but he didn’t and her mom has not risen.

                                                ©2013 Christine Phillips

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Tea is Served

In a lovely corner of her garden, 
 a trellis was curled with rose climbing vines,
  and something enchanting, had been designed, 
     from an ordinary day on a warm afternoon.

Tea would be served, with her large knuckled hands, 
to a bouquet of her friends, and some neighbors of mine,
by the most gentile’ lady, I have ever known…

She made it seem like days of old, when decorum was in fashion, 
      before composure, and poise,.. had become scorned and cold
          where propriety still mattered, as precious as gold.
Lilting voices would chatter like the birds on the wing.
Ringing with laughter,  across fragrant grass, 
Flower frocked ladies, around a few scattered tables. 
Linens and laces, under ashes and maples.
Silver coifed hairdos, with apple cheeked faces, 

                    And me?   There I'd sip.... quite out of my place... 
                      watching it all, from the cool dappled shade.
There were delightful surprises to meet the eye…
Delicate confections, cucumber sandwiches,
made by her hand, just for the occasion.
Fragrant branches, covering the veranda.…
Rose petal blossoms, painted on china.  
The most beautiful tea set, oh, how divine it was! 
Envious eyes, covetously pined for it!

She wore a floppy garden hat, a dress of mauve, and there she sat.
Her weathered skin, her cheeks of rouge... a smile to love, would have too,...
She had lived a war, and more than one.....iron strong, a generous heart
Knowing eyes, and sparkling wit, 
She would hold your hand in hers and smile,... listen well, of that I'm sure
  and then would sip and chat awhile, of this and that…
                                                         and you would learn of love somehow

I sipped my tea, and watched it all, and never thought of future things. ~

For now I sit here all alone…the chatter gone, the birds have flown.
Where once her charm, her love of life
the grand old ways, have slipped away…gone are those days, she loved so well.

Soon after, in the autumn chill…when word soon spread that she was ill 
      I was away, and never knew.….I hope, oh Lord, she was not alone ….

And looking back …I think of that….. and how strange the fact….. how odd it is…..
that something owned by someone grand, a china cup, so delicate, 
                                                                                 so fragile in the hand,
can last beyond the grave...intact,….
                    although a dear, enchanting friend, her life would have to end…..

                                                     ~ ~

For Contest Sponsored by Just Archaic Poet:  Song choice- "Tea For Two"

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She pounded the last nail into the lid of the coffin
The coffin that held her dream
She sat there for a while
In the silence
Thinking of all it had meant
What it was meant to be
Her dream
She threw herself over the coffin
And wracked away with sobs
The last hopes that lay
Buried deep within her

No one had come to mourn
No one had said a word
Except when her dream was alive and well
Only then
Then…they told her
“Look at the tell-tale signs
Can’t you see?
Something is amiss
Your dream…Your dream is…sick
It won’t make it
It won’t survive.”

She hadn't believed them
Thought they had lied
Yet, here she was

She wiped her tears away
What did they know?
What did they care?
How could they understand…
That wrapped up there in her dream
Was her beating heart

She could not bear to bury it
So, she pushed it underneath the shade
Of a weeping willow tree
For who she couldn't be
And she walked away



Eileen Manassian Ghali

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The Angel Of Death

As I walk this earth 
Bare and broken
Blood soaked and driven
My soul in supernova
My mind, frenzied.

My body bruised
My sword well used
Breathing in fresh paint 
From beaten bodies and torn souls 

Sudden movement
A quivering soul
A careless action
My attention
To hold. 

A smile drapes
Bearing into my soul
The world disappears
My deathly hunger

Slow and pleasuring 
Each clink of steel 
Warms my heart 
Mending my soul

First blood, 
A lonely bead 
Inviting my wrath
It trickles 
No warning sold.

Teasingly, it lays in waiting 
Pulling me closer
Begging almost 
To bring more 
An abyss, 
It draws my victims in 
Craving, wanting, yearning 
To feel bloodied flesh 
Against my skin
A fear, I sense 
Another victim to claim

Pleasure streams 
Blood oh glorious blood
My eyes feeling, each soul I’ve claimed

A vulture stalking its prey 
Yet again
Imperative, a mission
Deep wanting, to quench

Valiance, a virtue, I dare not detest  
Submissive, he glares eye to eye
His being laid not to rest

Unsteady, yet giving.
My hands he guides to my sword
Thrilling me more 
A kiss so chaste
My heart explodes

Like a child 
I revel, 
Rapture so pure 
Beautifully he whispers 
“Be a sinner no more 

Take my soul
Gruesomely, I beg 
Treasure the blood
That my body 
So willingly sheds 

Your craving 
To sate 
I was born to the earth
Release your demon 
Release it form its depths 

Stay hidden no more
Bare, naked, run free
Believe it not a disease
But a gift 
As I see.

Unsheathe your sword
Glorious, shall it gleam
Purified, ready 
Through my heart 
Shall it go.” 

Pleasure shudders through me.
A kiss I lay 
Goodbye, my dearest 
Your debt has been paid.

Amanda Miller 
{This is to a new friend , a faceless being 
that brings out the person hiding in me }

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Pain in my Heart by Pamela Espinal 8th grade

Pain in my heart,
from the day you left.
Thinking that you would be next to me soon
but I guess it was too good to be true.
Why is it when I say it's going to be a good day,
I truly know it's not,
especially without you?

Pain in my heart,
feeling weak when I think of you.
Just wanting to break down and cry
but not wanting to make a show.
It's true what everyone says,
how a smile can hide pain
but this pain is too strong
for me to hide.

Pain in my heart,
waiting to hold you in my arms
but  never got the chance.
Hoping there was no harm
but there was,
for me.

I know you're in a better place,
that's all that counts
but I still wish I could see your face.

Pain in my heart,
but you're happy in heaven
while I'm not well.
Trying to snap out of this misery.
depression isn't me.
Life may have ended for you
but love will not!

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Beyond the crave for death
All I sought was first,
Weep-not my newborn soul
Where fireflies shine lighter than the lamps
And fishes swam faster than their homes
Like  trampled troubled tramps,
Then, demons also cry.

Groans and moans of pain,
Down they roam like rain
Memories sparked with flashes of feisty flare
For all that is left is nothing but darkness
Piercing the thread of our bond
That even angels dare not dare
Then, demons also cry

Here, days brimmed with sadness
To miscarriage of nights darkness
That even birds glide backward
And when asked why, we say, its nature to nurture
Conscience lye frozen in muss, has God punished us?
Que sera, sera and all go wayward,
Then, demons are also crying
						By Tutuola michael

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They burst forth and charge downwards
Matching uniforms shiny against the grey sky
Their only desire to smash suicidally upon our ranks
We hear the thunder of them coming, and carefully prepare
The vanguard already lie smashed upon the ground
The rest will soon swell the regiments of the defeated
Moments before they arrive we deploy our umbrellas
Countless warriors smash harmlessly inches above our heads
Their watery remains dripping from our defences
Mingling with those of their already fallen brethren

Contest : FALL YOUR CHOICE any theme/any form max 12 lines
Honorable Mention

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The Old Rugged Cross Suffered The Worlds Greatest Loss


My favorite of songs is The Old Rugged Cross.
   The most tragic of days was the worlds’ greatest loss.
For sinners that day were all given their chance.
   His Father in heaven could not even bear to look not even one glance.
Forgive them He prayed as His life’s blood ran down to the ground.
   Can you picture Him there wearing that thorny old crown?
On that hill so far away, sad but precious memories were made.
    Born of a virgin mother in the tomb He was laid.
Death could not hold Him, death would not last.
    Three days in that tomb, so long ago, death too it would pass.
He arose and was seen by many it was said.
    Our Savior arose from the grave and no longer was dead.
As He gave His final words to His apostles and friends.
    He ascended to the clouds but they knew they would see Him again.
He made us a promise He would rule once again.
     I feel that day is coming we’re reaching the end.
The prophecies that abound.
     With each new day they seem to be coming unwound.
Are you ready my friend for the Millennium Reign?
     Are have you sunk to wearing the mark worn by Cain?
Sacrifices my friend we all have to do.
    Just look at Jesus and the sacrifice He made, was made just for you .
So on that hill so far away I kneel at the thought.
    With His precious blood my cleansing was bought.
And what have we learned, or did He die just for nought?
    I look to Jesus and His love I have sought.
He must come first in all that we do.
    And when the day comes you’ll see I speak true.

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A Blind Sunset

He glances out the window,
And watches the sunset,
But he doesn’t see the beauty,
Nor the warm rays which, 
Pierces through the glass,
Only the anticipation and, 
Anxiety of a long night,

Carefully, he watches, 
The colors change,
First the bright orange, 
"God I pray this never ends…"
Filling with a deep red,
"Just a little while longer…"
Slowly softening to the, 
Deceptive pinks and purples,
"Please, one more minute…"
Fading into the crimson black,
Which only night can bring,

Reluctantly, he gets ready for sleep,
Yet, knows it will never come,
He tossed and turns,
Half praying, half waiting,
Knowing what will happen,
In the way only a child can,

A light! It peeks through a crack,
In the door as a shadow floods the opening,
Quickly, the figure slips through the door,
And shuts it softly, but not without the,
Empty creak which has become so familiar,
The shadow climbs in beside him,
Touching his trembling leg, whispering,

“Hush little brother, it’ll be alright,
While I’m here, have no fear,
I’ll keep you safe tonight,”

He struggles and writhes,
Sadly knowing he will never,
Break the grip and prays to faint,
To loss all consciousness and,
Memory of that horrible night,
Just for one night without the pain,
Just for one night without, 
The cold empty feeling, 

Several years pass, too many to count, 
A single call, one he had never expected,
He rushes to the hospital to find, 
His tormentor for so many years,
Lying on a cold, hard bed,
Able to move, but only by pushing a button,
Able to speak, but only with a whisper,

He stays by him for weeks, caring for him,
Reading to him, watching over him,
Still suffering, still unable to move, 
He takes his brother home, 

The day goes on, moving slow as all,
The evening comes and he,
Watches once more as the sun sets,
Carefully watching, Orange to red,
Red to purple, and as the purple turns to black,
He walks into the room where his brother lies,
Slowly, he sits next to him, holding a pillow,
Stroking his head whispering,

“Hush big brother, it’ll be alright,
While I’m here, have no fear,
I’ll keep you safe tonight,”

The difference between right and wrong,
Can be hard to find,
But who’s there to see you,
When justice is blind?

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The Bottomless Pit

From the bottom of an abandoned gravel pit
behind my childhood home, seated, 
leaning against its hardpacked sandy side,
he watched the July sun set,
the empty prescription bottle at his side.

Did he walk that day to his unnatural fate
slowly, shoulders rolling like a big cat,
alternating first one, then the other, 
forward, head bent, one black errant
curl tumbling across his troubled forehead.

Did he hesitate or did he hurry
and did he think of me, just 12,
soon to be fatherless, before he
began his two weeks of decomposing
in the hot Texas sun until
the man on horseback found him
while looking for a lost calf. 

I couldn't blame my mother 
for the divorce she filed.
I had wanted him to leave, too,
and hadn't I prayed he would die
when he dragged her over the yard,
by a handful of her hair clasped
tightly in his fist,
because she had cut it without his permission.
Especially the next day when I found
the clump of auburn hair caught in the lush 
purple blooms of the wisteria bush,
I wanted him to die.

He played his harmonica for me,
and I sang, "Daddy's Little Darling, 
Don't you think I'm sweet?"
But I prayed my dad would die,
and though I asked God to ignore those
prayers of terror, I will never be able to
love enough wayward men to save my dad.

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Morning light fills in the details
hidden by last night's new moon.
His pillow bears no dent, seems colder 
than the draft that she needs to find
and fix, soon, before winter sets in.

It means going into the workshop,
poking through sticky, old drawers,
a territory that was never truly hers.
She must find the caulking gun and try
not to stare at that festooned hat,
the once well-cared for fishing gear 
robed in cobwebs, a calendar unturned,
bowling trophies, an empty chair,
one model schooner never finished.

She pours a mug of coffee, though she 
prefers tea, slowly steeped in a proper
pot, loose leaf oolong, nicely cozied.
His mug is too large, too practical, too grey,
and her small hand is more familiar with 
English bone china, roses and ribbons,
the romantic pattern of their days.

There is a slight dip in the kitchen floor
as though he is still standing by the stove,
as though the tiles hold onto him, too.
Thirty years of omelets, his way-
polish sausage, spanish onion,
over cooked, over salted. 

She expects to hear
the whisk, his voice, laughter.

Weekends they'd shop at the market,
Farm fresh eggs, he'd said, were best,
worth the trip and he'd indulge her
love of something sweet or 
surprise her with marmalade,
clover honey in tiny jars.

She opens the fridge door, takes out the
cream and settles for toast with jam,
thinks about canceling his subscription
to Sports Illustrated, Rod and Reel,
but decides to wait until tomorrow.

She sees the egg carton, reads:
brown. free run. flax fed.
Some chickens just have it good,
he'd said. Oh, he'd said that often.

She stills and her shell breaks
as she notes the best before date...

Two months have passed since
her world expired.

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Remembering The Children of Beslan

It was the first day of the new school year
The children of Beslan had no need to fear
In anticipation they eagerly left home for school
Some walked hand in hand with Mom and Dad
Others skipped along the well known path
Excitement filled the sidewalks and the streets
As fleeting thoughts collided in mid air

Some thought of new friends to be made
Others of old friends with whom to play
A little sister left at home 
Of baby brother asleep in his crib
Much too young to run and play
Some favorite lullabies which Grandmama sang 
As Grandpapa played his violin

The first day of the new school year
Mothers beamed with such pride
How their little ones had grown
Never would they ever want to let go
Others gave in to their children’s cries
‘Mamma, I do not want to go to school.
May I stay with you today?’

On wings of hate evil had already arrived 
With diabolical plans and bombs in hand
To maim and murder the children of Beslan
Who became captives in their little school house
After the dastardly deed was done
Dreams and aspirations lay splattered 'cross the floor 
Childhood innocence forever vanished! 

On the day of internment the sun in his temple hid
Earth wept pouring rain, her bitter tears
As Mothers’ voices cracked and strained 
Cried out loud, their children’s names
While others pleaded in vain for death
Fathers in a state of shock stood stoically in the cold autumn rain
Wearing faces carved in stone

The blood of children cried out to Heaven
Where at the throne of mercy 
Sits a God who is just 
Though their bodies lay broken in tiny white coffins
On angels' wings their souls did ascend  
He will judge all men and their deeds 
All, on one appointed day

A tribute to the children of Beslan, No. Ostetia, Russia 9/1-3/ 2004

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Her name is Lovely part 2

Suddenly a very soft and familiar voice spoke to her conscious saying “Lovely”
“Yes” she replied   
“Tomorrow you are coming back home”
“OK” she said breathing heavily
The conversation ended right at that instant 
Seven minutes later the unpredictable happens and Lovely dropped into a short comma.
A new day arrives.

Date: 01/01/1788
Ding dong, ding dong, sounds the door-bell
Lovely wakes up; open the golden windows the sun is raising
Knock, knock someone is at the golden door
She didn’t know what was going on this time
She walks all the way to the door not noticing that her house was made out of the finest
marble, and the finest gold that ever existed.
Lovely answers the door thinking is the mail man with the missing letter.
When she finally opens the door instead of the mail man was her husband with open arms and
a smile on his face.
Saying “welcome home baby” “I had been waiting for you”  


Diogenes Zuniga

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Another I Do Another Pledge

I saw death in the face of the viper
The day he broke my heart
Deep inside I know he set you free 
Sang the Meadow Lark

 Another I do! Another pledge
 The treacherous viper wore the same black suit
 He wore the colors of devil’s cape the second time around
Because strait is the gate and narrow is the way 

His face shines as he fake a smile
A sort of camera pose, 
I saw death in his face and Pinokio nose

The well-wishers whisper “no taste
 What a disgrace! , what a waste!
 A pitiful image of a man
 The pastor sadly said Amen!

I saw death upon the face of the haunted soul
The cracks in the old brick wall whistle a tune
“Thou stand before the alter another fool”

A wedding or a funeral an evening of doom! 
 The middle-aged groom
 The love, kindness in him decline.
Love is blind.

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Her name is Lovely part 1

Date: 12/31/1787
Ding dong, ding dong, sounds the door-bell
She wakes up; open her window the sun is raising
Knock, knock, some one is at the door
She rushes to the door thinking is the mailman 
She is expecting a love letter from Iraq
She finally answer the door but stead of the mail man is an officer from the army, he is
well dress and carries a small box with him and inside of the box is an American flag with
three different medals.
One medal is for being a soldier of the US Army, the second medal is for being a national
hero, and the third one, is a medal of honor for dying for his country.
She goes crazy crying out for help, screaming all out that she was expecting a baby.
“I’m really sorry” the officer says
“If there anything I could do please call me” he reached his wallet and pulled out a
business card and gave it to her.
“He was a brave man” he said
The officer turned around and left the house with out hesitation.
Poor girl was drowning in her own tears; she still didn’t believe what just happen 
“Lord please help me”, “help me go through this horrible pain” she cries out.
She goes back to the bed and tries to sleep it off, but it didn’t work out, the pain was
too much just to act like nothing didn’t happen.
She finally falls as sleep after several hours of crying painfully.
She tosses and turns all night long, sweating like crazy with massive pain on her chest 
While she was having a horrible nightmare; dreaming about the death of her husband-

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Misguided Symphony

He composes talons as men walk into the fire

Twisted hatred inspired in fountains of meat

A self propelled corruption of delusion

Raining sheets of copper sparks 

Blind knives open sand whipped architecture

Two breeds of darkness, light engulfed

Dystopian bred ignorance swallowing rage

Fluctuating temperaments shroud utopia

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The Benefits of Old Age

As he sat on his old front porch gently rocking his swing.
    His old mind a million miles away not really thinking on anything.
Staring into space he just let his old thoughts run free.
     Wondering how he got to this place, all alone and lonely as could be.
Just killing time somehow became the daily norm.
     Without someone to share your thoughts somehow life can take on a brutal 
His children are all grown and they never come by.
   They’ve got lives of their own was his reasoning as to why.
Was I this selfish, as he tried to recollect those memories from way, way back.
     Maybe I was he thought as he tried to get his thoughts back on to track.
A tear ran down his old face as he got up to go back inside. 
     The pain was still there too hard for him to hide.
There was nothing left for him to prove, he was just an old man and this he knew.
     Everyday played out the same as he longed for this day to be through.
His nights were quite short while his days seemed to never end.
    As he sat down at his table and called out to Jesus his only true friend.
He said Father when You’re ready please take me home.
    I’m tired of this heartache of living alone.
As he sat at the table he felt a sudden peace.
    He felt his soul being lifted in its final release.
With angels all around him he ascended in flight.
   Heading for heaven he’d be there fore night.
As he reached Heavens Gate there stood our Lord.
    He said I’m sorry but you weren’t ready I know it was hard.
He said I know that you’re ready so please come on in.
    There is someone that’s been waiting she is waiting within.

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Time is a vehicle used to travel through life's passages,
Then once you have arrived at a point of understanding,
Your actions speak like deafening utterances,
Wisdom and foolishness are the children of your experiences,

Each occasion is used as tools,
To capture apiece of a moment,
So it can stand out in your heart,
Like the most precious of jewels,

Daytime will not wait for no one,
For the seconds turn to minutes and minutes turn to hour,
Plus, hours turn to days and days turn to weeks,
As well as weeks turn to months and months turn to years,
Then our youth looks as if it has vanished,
While the solutions to those problems seem to have appeared,

Nighttime will eventually come for everyone,
For there is rest for weary and sleep in the midnight hour,
As sand passes through the hour glass of life,
All we can do is live it to the fullest,
In hopes of receiving the most precious gift of Christ,

Time is a vehicle used to travel through life's passages,
As some travel swift and others travel slow,
When it is finish it is complete,
Where your fate rest only you know,

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Quit That Tapping

like the raven 
who taps taps upon 
your chamber door
do not fret my Virginia
for it's my shadow
moving across the floor
this is what I'm telling you my darlin
and nothing more

beneath lattice
I still call your name
come to me virginia
come hear the tap tap 
upon your chamber door
for only you my love 
I surrender and never more

wind howls in blanket snows
here I stand so all alone
broken hearted and misconstrued
my Virginia who lies under stars and moon
just a tap tap upon your chambers door
tis I and nothing more

tales of hidas truth
blackbird sings harps cords
just like the tap tap upon your chambers door
my sweet Virgina whom I adore
for there'll be love waiting and nothing more

as I lay right next to you in this tomb
I counted only seven who have even knew
the times of this raven who 
tapped tapped upon your chambers door
twas only I and will be never more

Tribute To Edgar Allen Poe
And His Young Bride Virginia
Also To His Poem The Raven

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Death Of The Saints

A cousin called the other day saying "Another cousin has passed away".

Well my husband said "How old was she.""


A stalwart woman who had served family and community well. Producing one child that 
became a missionary serving in a foreign land..

While talking the cousin asked "Did you know ______"?

My husband answered, "Well, I don't think that I knew them".

The cousin proceeded to tale this story.

"The man had been down with cancer for a while and passed recently..The funeral had been 
conducted and the hearse had gone on to the cemetary..The family car with the family was 
not to far behind..But when it pulled up, the wife of the deceased did not get out and the 
funeral home staff was gathering around..The funeral home director decided to go see what 
was going on ...."

The cousin said, " That this funeral home director told him". "That he had been in this 
business for thirty-five years and faced something that he had never had happen to him or 
any other funeral home director that he knew."

The funeral home director said, "When I got to the family car, I found the wife of the 
deceased had passed from a massive corornary."

She had said, "I don't know how I will live without him." She didn't have to learn. God called 
her home..

The roosters crow, the crows craw and are answered by the gobble of the turkey across the 

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Crucified Clown

Blue velvet caged
Behind rusty bars.
Soul within chars.
Fervent flames raged.

Mighty door creaked
Black-veiled phantoms
Chanting the anthems
Thus the dusts freaked.

All the phantoms read
The holy pages.
The pious sages
For repentance plead.

Life’s last drops
Time’s burning tears.
Soaked deep in fears,
Crushed by crops,

The soul crumples.
Satan’s oracle
Tempting manacle
On heart tramples.

Towers of flesh
Drag my weary bones
As the axe-man hones
His blade afresh

Heard the Devil's voice:
"Crimson Cross!"
My dice to toss
Fate's generous choice!

"Kneel by the altar
Take my rosary,
Or God's pillory.
You have to falter?"

Succumbing feet tread
On scaffold's heart
As the moments part
What's there that they dread?

Nails of Divine love
Prick my palms
Grope for balms
Wails a benign dove

Mocking herd of sheep
Ignorant vultures
The gaze tortures
The wound doth weep.

The Fallen Prince 
Roars with laughter:
"The hereafter!?!
Who else to convince?"

"O thou Holy, hark
The Forsaken Son
Has thy Father won?"
All the rest is dark…?

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Don't let death be a four letter word


What do we do when we know our life is nearly through?
   Do we get mad and throw a fit, what good would that do?
Or do we push everyone away with nothing more to say/
   Or do we turn to God and thank Him for giving us this final day?
We all know from that first day how life as we know it must someday end.
   What if this were not all there is, would you then be willing to listen my friend?
What if we knew there were certain other places we must attend?
    The Bible speaks of heaven and also of a place called hell for those who 
choose to sin.
The good part in the bible tells how even the sinners can be forgiven.
    It tells us by repenting and claiming Jesus as our Savior we still can enter in.
Is death our final captor, well I sure pray it’s not for me.
    There is but one way to know and not many are in a hurry to see.
I just pray death is not a four letter word for that’s not where I wish to be.
   No I choose to walk in the light of my Savior for all eternity.
Not many know what day is their chosen day.
   And that is why we must turn to Jesus and follow in His ways.
So  don’t let death be a four letter word and make you afraid.
    That you repent all your sins and turn your life to Jesus is what I just prayed.
Death awaits us all behind every corner or maybe behind the next door.
   I just pray that we are all ready and someday we meet on Heavens Shore.
The Lord Keep Us Till Then.

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The Saddest Story Known to the Human Heart

He sped home, 
His hands covered with desperation
Pedal down to the cold of the floor
His mind clouded with hesitation

She stood alone on the porch,
Her hands covered with damnation
Heart cold from the winter night
She was yearning for the liberation

Tears streamed from down his eyes
The night was clouded like a horror movie
Breaths are heavy and cold with perspiration
Thinking, “How could she do this to me?”

Her legs gave out,
As she collapsed to the floor
Headed to the phone
She crawled to the door

His love burned out,
As he slammed on the gas
Eyes blurred with tears
He was going way to fast

She had to tell him,
He was the love of her life
Phone was cold as she grasped it
She quickly dialed his number in strife

His phone rang in the side of his jeans
He scrambled for it and saw her name
Mind conflicted whether to pick it up
He answered in a crying shame

She hears his voice from the other side
She tells him she loves him and starts to cry
Then it happened
She never got to say goodbye

His speedometer was to the max,
His attention was taken of the street
Head on collision
He had his life swept from under his feet

She heard the crash on the other end
Screamed out his name in an awful blur
And collapsed again to the floor
He never got the chance to say he loved her

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Self Trephining

Lesions Spread Across His Self-Esteem,

Rupturing the Delicate Under-Belly of

His Thoughts.

                       - An Atom Splits Behind his Eyes -

She Dominates The Innards of His Marrow

Casing, Patrolling Every Corner. 

A Masochistic Dream Injection.

                       - Every Thought Incapacitated By Memory -

A Worrying Pain Began to Build Beneath

His Weakening Skull, His Worn and Bitten

Nails, Useless at Tearing Flesh.

                        - The Toolbox Opened With Ease -

The Screw-tip Stung as He Pushed it in Hard

Above his Eyes, Trickles of Blood Baptised

The Occasion.

                         - Pressure Relief -

His Fingers Squeezed The Trigger,

Piercing His Skull Like a Hot knife

To Butter.

                         - It Sank Deep -

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To What Do We Owe Thee?

To what do we owe thee for the sacrifice of your son?
The shedding of His precious blood to show love for everyone.
The death of Christ was necessary to save us from our sin,
For the glory of our Heavenly Father, life and peace within.
The gift of salvation was our God's compassionate plan,
As He included all mankind from each and every land.
The emblem of the rugged cross was filled with suffering and shame,
But eternal life was God's purpose all in Jesus' name.
At first Jesus spoke not a word, as He hung there on the cross,
The propitiator for all our sins, so we would not be lost.
As the hour neared for Christ's death, He murmured a forgiving word,
He directed His wish and last request as He looked upon the Lord.
"Forgive them Father",  Jesus said,  "For they know not what they do",
Through pain and anguish, He stayed on the cross just to save me and you.
Jesus' mission was accomplished when He hung His head and died,
The nails driven in His hands and feet, two thieves hung by His side.
The victory of death was heartbreaking, and it seemed all hope was gone,
But now our Saviour Jesus Christ sits right hand on the throne.
What an awesome act of love, delivered with no charge or fee,
To God be the glory for all He's done, everlasting life is free!

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Lettie Died

Lettie died, the house is empty,
No one in the family left.
Flowered sheets once used as curtains
Faded now by brilliant sunlight
Rot and crumble to the floor.
Beer and Coke cans thrown at windows,
No one seems to care;
The lock is broken, all may enter
Look! the bed where Lettie died!
The front porch sags where Lettie sat
Passing all her summer days
Diabetic and overweight,
Withdrew from life when Mama died.
Noisy tots on tricycles
Pump their legs to get on by;
The house of ghosts, or so says Grandma,
Restless souls who cannot sleep.

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And Then

And Then…

My work finished
     I glanced back at the clock
Ah… The Witching Hour
     Hung heavy on the next tock
My thoughts raced back
     To childhood days
          To scary stories
               Round campfires haze
                    To daunting dares
                         In dark woods maze
               And then… It caught my eye

A phantom shape
     That just moments before
Had been shadows tossed
     Twixt the walls and floor
And I admit
     Twas’ dimly lit
          Random shapes
               In chances knit
                    Poorly viewed
                         From where I sit
               And then… I saw it move

Just then I thought
     Tis’ time to trust and pray
And steady my hearts resolve
     Should this be the reckoning day
And then I swear
     The room grew cold
          Events purpose
               Moved to unfold
                    My chest I clutched
                         My soul to hold
               And then… I heard it speak

“Time is at hand”
     And those words comforted it seemed
And my God in a timeless moment
     I became one with all I’d dreamed
Tis’ certain this
     Event of page
          Will visit all
               Upon life’s stage
                    Fully quenching
                         Life’s burning rage
               And then…

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Me, Myself, and I - (Part 1)

Hello Friends... I suffer from Severe Bi-Polar Disorder and this submission was inspired by 
actual events that occured during one of my especially critical manic episodes. Be sure and 
read Part 2 to complete the poem and leave your comments on the Part 2 submission. Thank 
you for allowing me to share my pain for pain shared is pain diminished 

Me, Myself, and I...

“There are things that concern us,”
		Consensed my “Selves” in earnest
““We” fear that “I” have succumbed to delusion”

“And after careful deliberation
		It is with much hesitation
That we choose to delineate upon this confusion”

“Fact is your intuition
		Is riddled with superstition
And your judgment leaves much to be desired”

“So you leave us no recourse
		Don’t push us to use force”
It is then that the “I” was summarily fired

I exclaimed “By whose authority?” Response, “Rule of majority”
“The “Myself” and the “Me,” (forthwith the “We”), are experts in our field”

“And with much technique and time
		And some forays into the sublime
The nature of your malady will be revealed”

“So to keep yourself from having a fit
		Step back and just calm down a bit”
“We,” they said, “certainly have this under control”

“We swear this won’t hurt at all”
		Then I felt my inhibitions fall
Still I said a prayer to God that He keep my soul

You know, fact is I do feel off axis
		As evidenced by such parapraxis
As this prose that I, (or is it “Us”), seek to pen

And with my mind feeling numb
		I finally chose to succumb
And allow the “Me” and the “Myself” to begin

And then came questions in a flurry
		Answer, answer and please do hurry
Not one moment of respite did they give

They pushed and they prodded
		With every “T” crossed and “I” dotted
My mind felt like it had gone through a sieve

And all this psycho-analysis
		Is causing my mind paralysis
The questions, can you stop with the questions please

“Yes, oh yes indeed
		I do believe we have what we need
To make an attempt to identify your unknown neuroses”

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Me, Myself, and I - (Part 2)

Hello Friends... I suffer from Severe Bi-Polar Disorder and this submission was inspired by 
actual events that occured during one of my especially critical manic episodes. Be sure and 
read Part 1 first so as to get the true gist of the poem and leave your comments here on the 
Part 2 submission. Thank you for allowing me to share my pain for pain shared is pain 

Me, Myself, and I... (continued)

“Your, (Or “Our”), symptoms seem to intermit
		And the fact that “You’re,” (“We’re”), a hypocrite
Tis no wonder we’re having such problems with diagnosis”

Then “I” had an idea so grand
		To dispense with this at my own hand
A self-inflicted coup de grace would be my prognosis

So while the “Me” and the “Myself” squabbled
		With courage newly cobbled
“I” spotted the dresser drawer and made my run

With fingers fiercely fumbling
		Whilst they continued grumbling
“I” produced from the depths of the drawer a shiny gun

And now my life, though ill-fated
		Was soon to be vindicated
This would affect us all equally the same

Would be no myself or me
		No you, him, us, or we
But an inclusive all would be to blame

It took me a moment to figure
		Out the safety on the trigger
Then “I,” (or “Us”), prepared to do the dirty deed

Then the barrel found my temple
		And as it settled into the dimple
A still small voice did my “selves” choose to heed

Hence a moment of clarity 
		Harkened me to posterity
And I thought what a legacy to leave behind

“Can’t we all find a way
		To save this miserable day
And avoid a broken body for someone to find”

And then deep within my soul
		I felt and heard a simple drum roll
And the differing sides of me just subsided

And with my mind now as one
		I worked to get this all undone
The whole business of this stuff I derided

And tis now true of fact
		That I survived this ordeal intact
And lived to raise my face unto the sky
And here now as it ends
		I find I’ve made good friends
With the “Me”, the “Myself,” and the “I”

Thank you for taking the time to share in my poetry. Please feel free to leave your thoughts 
or comments here on this page. 

J. Scott Burns...

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One Last Time

Hold my hand she asked.
One last time before I leave you
It's so hard trying to let go
Whisper to me 
One last time so I believe you
All my life I have loved you so
Then he smiled 
Reached out and put his arms around her
Kissed her gently while teardrops filled his eyes
He said a prayer
That bands of angels would surround her
Held her close feeling his fears begin to rise
A life together 
Sharing hopes and dreams, joy and sorrow
One last time he'd see her smile
For he knew there'd be no tomorrow
So he held her for a while
A heart so broken
Remembering all the things he loved about her
He would be overwhelmed with the loss of his wife
As she passed, he knew he'd never live without her
He kissed her one last time before he took his life.

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Don't Take My Kindness For Granted

You think that you know me
But you don't know at all
Every day you say your sorry
After that I fall
I hate it when you lie
You think your doing good
When all you cause is pain
Just tell me that you hate me
So my life won't be in vein...

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Polish woman made sure to cancel her own funeral

  She was going to visit her old auntie at 91 years
  The sweet old aunt lived in her own home
  in the town of Ostrow Lobelski in Poland
  On the floor she found her body lifeless and cold
  Her heart did not beat, and she was not breathing
  Medical and police were called
  The old auntie Janina Kolkiewicz was declared dead
  After she had been in cold storage at a mortuary for 11 hours
  she ensured that the employees got themselves a real shock
  Body bags began to move - she was not dead
  The niece says that when they came home
  Janina asked for a hot cup of tea
  she felt cold all the way into her body and soul

  - This is a true story !!! - 

   A-L Andresen :)
   Copyright © All Rights Reserved 


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In The Dark

Walking alone in the dark
All is silent
Until theres a snap of a twig
Hands come from behind
Holding my neck
I try to scream
Noone Hears
The hands grow tighter
I give up fighting
I take a final breath
He lays me in the bushes
My body cold and still
Noone knows who did it
They probly never will

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The Old Man

Up on a hill there was an old house and in it lived Abigail, a young lady without a spouse. One day her doorbell rang and she went to the door. There stood an old man, his head to the floor. He appeared scared and weak so she let him come in, for if she didn’t it’d be a sure sin. The old man smiled and gave his thanks, and she said, “Not to worry, there’s no need to thank.” Abigail and the elder talked for quite a long time. Sharing story after story, and soon drinking wine. The two became very good friends and laughed, and laughed ‘til night came to end. When the next day dawned, they went for a walk, down at the pond they decided to stop. It was frigid and misty, but they enjoyed the stroll because their friendship was warmer than the wind’s dreadful cold. As they stood in front of the calm, cool pond, Abigail asked, “Where do you come from?” The old man laughed a deep, dark laugh, “I come from the boneyard, the place of last breaths. I am the man, which many name Death.” The creeping old man then pulled out a knife and slashed Abigail’s throat before she could fright. Her life left instantly, her body grew cold, and the elder’s smile sparkled like gold. The pond was hungry and the old man knew that Abigail’s corpse would have to go soon. He tied a brick to both of her feet and tossed her away into the deep. As her body sunk into the watery blue, the elder stood there and felt renewed. Back on the trail the aged man went. Not a worry in mind, no remorse ever meant. He did what had to be done, to the grave his soul belonged. The elder approached another ol’ house. He rang the doorbell and waited, innocent as a mouse.

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Two Seconds To Say Goodbye

It buzzed.
She smiled.
He had replied.
Eagerly she dug
Her phone
From her pocket,
Her other hand
On the wheel.
Her gaze remained ahead
Into the darkness
Of the cold wintery night.
It buzzed again,
The screen illuminating
The shadows of the car.
Would he be there?
Would he come over
After his shift at work
Was done?
“What did he say?”
Another young voice replied.
“Give me the phone.”
She hesitated,
Not fully trusting
Her friend.
She wanted to know.
She wanted to see the words.
She wanted feel
The exhilaration
Of reading his words
She glanced down,
The screen now dark,
And fumbled
To press the keys.
“He’s coming,” she said
Trying to calm
The enthusiasm
In her voice.
Her heart beat harder.
How did she look?
What should she reply?
Gr8 C U L8T
In the same 2 seconds, she could have typed

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A tale of two

He laughed, she laughed, together they loved.
They rode for hours to a destination of no where just listening to the rain.
Listening as it persistantly fell, drenching every thing it touched.
Each moment greater than the last.
Each smile Brighter
Each look longer
Each story better.
A memory being made by a day unmet
A sun unseen, a cloud unpassed
They conquered it together. 
A road un travelled became travelled by them
A story unfolding, two young people in love.
The rain continued, picked up its pace.
Falling faster and harder, no mercy at hand.
Creating a solid wall that no man could see through.
Dropping a hush over this new found love.
Blanketing these two souls with worry.
Darkness envelopes them as this mortal man loses control.
Careening off the road, unaware of even this.  
Unable to waken her love, she's forced to leave him in the flames
So hot, so unhumanely possible to fight them.
He perishes.
She survives.
Their love left behind.
The rain put out the flames.
His spirit is resting somewhere, atop a hill with a beautiful view, unbothered by the rain that falls. 
She will meet him again.
She will search until she does.
With no destination in mind her legs will take her there.
And there she will rest, her hand on his heart, curled in his arms.

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Scars Left Behind

Story of a boy.....

I was to go to bed at 8 that night
When there was firing at the door,
Heard mom gasp,"God save my son."
I had no idea of what was in store.
We ran to the basement and shut it tight,
Mom pointed to the passage where dad hauls in wood
Sternly commanded me to go
While still as stone there she stood.
The sinners banged the door hard,
Through the passage there was just room for me to fit
So I sat down and shook my head,
There was no way that on my mother I'd quit.
She looked at me in the eye and gave me a kiss
And said,"Darling please listen to me,
I love you so very much
As fast as you can, do get to daddy."
'I'll get Dad' I thought and started to crawl,
I had to hurry,the door had almost gave way too
Noticed a sharp thing in the way and stopped,
But mom, in haste pushed me through.
I yelped in pain as iron cut my arm,
But what hurt me more was the door falling with a 'thud'.
Scars on my soul left me nightmares for years to come
Mom's cries and final scream echoing as I ran in the mud.
Fifteen years later, in the same but better town,
I show my arm to my wife and say
"If not for these scars I was left with
I would be with mom today."

-Sadaf Syed

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Losing Someone to Cancer

I did speak with them, seemed very confused.

Apparently from what I have been told,
the cancer has gotten worse, and has 
began invading the rest of the body…

The hospice nurse doesn’t,
think they will be with us much longer…

They don’t know where they are living, can't 
remember me seeing them recently, can't 
remember me talking with them yesterday...

I know that this is very depressing news,
and if it weren't for friends and family,
I would be going crazy…

For it is hard to lose a loved one,
whether it be family or friend…

Since we don't know, when that fateful day
will happen, we can only take it one day at a time,
I only hope and pray that they won't suffer, I would
 rather see them be in a coma, and not have 
the pain and suffering…

I know that sounds harsh, however,
I don't want them to suffer, I want them
 to go in there sleep….

By Sandra L. Hoban

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They ran laughing
Into the night.
Hand in hand.
Heart in heart.

Twenty-One, and Nineteen.
Forging new pathways,
Skirting danger,
Laughing at the wind.

It took only 
A second,
A heartbeat,
For the driver
To mow them down.

It took only
A second,
A lifetime
For love realized
to be lost.

But years before
He stood next to his father
Who said the choice is yours.

And the proud young man
Checked the box
And signed his name

Not knowing
That the heart
He gave the girl
Would not be
His to give.

Seven hours
Of waiting,

Seven hours
Of holding breaths
And hands,
And the heart
Began to beat


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Gun Shots

Sudden as thunder they crack in the night,
the boys in the lane leap over fences,
bottles crashing into stone walls,
and bullets whistle with echoing sound.

Political war,
Tribal war,
Gang war.
The boys fight with one another for the release of "the Don"
they rampage in the little town,
and round up all the informers.

Night comes alive,
doors open wide,
then suddenly,
"Lord, someone shot Sammi Joe!"

Lights bang!
and everyone rushes to look at the innocent one
lying peacefully in her pool of blood.

"Sammi Joe is dead!"
Her frightened mother yells.

Gunshots cracking in the night,
smashing glass,
and chiseling walls,
the burning night heat,
people scatter in the street.

Mr. Crow pisses his pants when the boys spot him as the informer
Dragged in the streets,
Crow's face flushed with the wall,
bullets puncture his head.

Further down the road,
the innocents grip tightly to their beds,
wondering who will be next.

Bullets dances around the walls,
wailing heightens,
The massacre begins.
Blood washes the street,
dead bodies blocking the gate of the little town.

                                  ©2013 Christine Phillips

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TEARS ON SANTA'S CHEEKS Daddy's little girl is going. Daddy's little girl is slowly leaving... Silent night... it's what the angels are singing Outside there are ringing laughter, however-- on a hospital bed which was cold white as the snow lies the body of a little girl, dead. Her little soul just had to go. She just had to go ahead than the others. Her once sun kissed face when she smiles now the palest cream. Her once twinkling eyes now shut so tight. The glow of light and love she always bring was lost on Christmas night, as Santa stood in red and white holding a present on his hands staring at the child his eyes wet with falling tears for his little girl had died. ©O. E. Guillermo 12:02 am, November 27, 2014

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Beautiful Bloody Angel

Bloody fetus in a jar 
I buried her, at sixteen years old.
My heart crumbled for the very first time. 
I want to know her skin,
Every smile line, every dimple, 
Every scar that has yet to fade like and incision too deep on my lung
I can’t breathe.
I want to know her scent
And I dream of it like it is the breeze of the coast
I can feel the vibrations of the ocean smacking against my skin
Weeping, rapping, weeping, rapping,
As I fall to my knees. 
I want to know. 
what you meant
when you said to me “Baby I’m gone”
gone home
running home
gone home
ill go
wherever you are 
I want to know.
I want to see the crop farmers clapping to the weight of wind 
Let me in
To you
I want to know,
Your love.
Every opportunity that arises that meteor showers this millennium
And the way the clouds hide it all
Underneath their power to protect us from what,
From what.
Like the weight of the world fell on my shoulders
And the clichés clapped at the poet’s last line
And the heavens smoke glazed my eyes
As I stepped outside 
Put my thumb up for a ride
Because I want to know
The smell of dissatisfaction 
And the tingle of effective poison
And the embrace of a lost loved one
Up there, covered in clouds
That protect me
From seeing her
My sweet, sweet baby.
My beautiful bloody angel.
I want to know what it is like to forgive,
have my mind freed of all resentment 
and neglect of the happiness that went hidden into the frozen corners of my brain.
I want to know love,
to know contentment and stability and the light that rains on so many men,
so many women.
I want to grasp that.
I want to hold peace and press it against my chest.
I want to take God and cup him in my hands and scream
“Where Were You!”
Where have you been!
Where will you be when I am falling… or floating
Where will you be.
I want to know
Where is she.
Not just about that old mason jar buried in my garden
But God, did she fall or did she float?
Because I want to know
Because wherever she went I will go. 

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The Final Confessions II

These were my confessions
(A message to God)
The light begins to fade
(It’s time to go)
Back into the shadows
(That hard black fog)
Where darkness has its way
(God rest your soul)

Nothing left to tell you
(It’s all been said)
No more songs to write
(This silent Fall)
Nothing left to offer 
(The well’s been bled)
From a shadow’s waning life
(Who lost it all)

Take my words and hold them
(Don’t be afraid)
Place them near your heart
(And heal your pain)
Shadow words will kiss you
(And heal your pain)
When your world turns dark
(Don’t’ be afraid)

And I kiss you
Kiss you
I kiss you in the dark……..

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I loved My Life of Bird

I fly in the sky
I swim in the sea 
I sleep in the night
And in the trees I live

The forest once was my home
That I always cherished
For me and every one
Who lived on this beautiful heaven?

Coming into the flame of fire
Together with my family
Helps me to remember and tell to all
That has caused the dead of all?

Came five days ago
Three to four men
With something in there mind known as the plan
To destroy what was known as our home

Came few men 
After few days
To destroy us all together with the forest
To clear the land

They lighted the fire
They parked some big bulldozers
To clear the trees and removes the stones
After everything is burnt by the flames of the fire

Together with my family
Praying to the god as one
To forgive our sin 
And tell the reason for this everything

Nothing I heard from up
But something from down 
As few men said
For the development, let happen this destruction

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into the wedge

There are some things, we will never forget


the sound of a phone call, still rings in my ears
squeezing my chest.....squeezing my chest...

the sun was sinking low, into the west
along with my heart
cold, under a blood-red sky

as we drove into the wedge of dusk
on the edge of our seats
in a frozen state 
on that icy slope
I was holding my breath in the liquid silence
coping........not coping
engaging in warfare
of knowing, without really knowing
how to hope, ...or what to hope for

but deep down
already knowing, the war was over...

my torso was rocking
without my control......forward and backwards
a life of it's own
a balm for raw nerves, I couldn't calm down
something to do, something to do
knowing, but not knowing
be hopeful, or be resigned?
coping? not well
 ...knowing, but not knowing

yet, somehow fearing
the war was over....


on that night that would change all...

he clung to the wheel......I clung to the seat
we clung to our prayers, but what was done, will be done...
what is gone.....will be gone

as we drove into the wedge of night
watching the moon replace the sun without remorse
we stayed on course, without a word between us said
but a slither of light on the horizon
filling my head with visions of birds on the wing
flying into the clouds
like a sign
as a shroud
taking my eyes
taking my hope
taking the doubt
taking instead
my own resistance
to what I already knew
it all

what was done....will be done
what is gone....will be gone
losing losing hope
the war was over...

what is left 
we must accept


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Fear and Pain

Fear is my pain alone.
Death is what you wished, 
so now let  me go.
In my remorse I am scared no more.
For this pain and fear is all I have,
left to show.
When you bury me let go,
of what love and hate,
you have left to show.
For Fear and Pain is what you deserve.
No longer in my remorse.

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Darkest Day

In loving memory of Silly

The ominous clouds brew, icy darkness looms,
Evil cackle flashes sparks of its menacing fangs,
Sinking them deep into my soft yellow downy,
Yanking me apart, leaving me naked and lonely.

I shiver, tremble and chatter.
Mama, mama, where have you been?
I look at my nest up in the tree,
Mama, mama, why did you leave me?

Gnarled tree branches snatched away my home,
Clawing, ripping and towering tall over me,
The fall - blurred vision of trees, terror painfully gnaws,
Now, only, cold and numbness as I cannot feel my claws.

I inch forward slowly to find a worm.
Mama would have picked some for me.
But now, I scarce can see no hope,
The bittersweet taste of the worm makes me choke.

Suddenly, I find I am nestled in a little girl's hands.
The slightest tinge of warmth delights me,
Gently, she ruffles through my scarce feathers,
Puffing up, I brace the changing weather.

The pungent smell of the rain stings my nostrils,
I chirp helplessly in disgust,
Tears from the sky pelt on me, lashing out angrily,
I retreat, sink back in, and cry along silently.

Her home smells of fresh toast,
Mine smells of juicy worms, but I settle in anyway.
The fall has crushed my feet in its cruel hands,
My feet are broken, I cannot stand.

For the next few hours, I wallow in misery.
She knows nothing about my agonising pain,
But fits me into a sock to keep me warm,
As I listen to the sighing trees mourn.

The sock begins to feel cold and icy,
I try to swallow the slimy papaya she mushed,
But in my throat, the concoction swells and becomes thicker,
Burning sensation, daylight flickers.

I shiver, tremble and chatter.
Mama, mama, where have you been?
The rain distorts my view of my tree, 
Mama, mama, why did you leave me?

You guaranteed my freedom one day
You never said the price I had to pay
To never see another sun ray

If my life were a thread, it would now have frayed
What little daylight I saw had become grey
And as I cuddled up and started to pray

I became an angel today.

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Peace Tonight

I sleep in peace tonight.
Hope that day will come.
When I find you underneath the 
Waiting for me and a life that never 
For Eternal love will always be 
And you will know that I care no 
matter the troubles.
That even If death were to come, it 
be with us a couple.
I sleep in peace tonight.
Hoping my family loves, and so do 
my friends.
And that God may forgive for all my 
Because when I am gone, let there 
be not a tear shed.
But a laugh of remorse, and that you 
treed lightly.
For I will sleep in peace tonight.

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Little Red was riding all alone

but she lost her way back home

Sweet Mommy, ready with her jam and pancakes

waited for her dear Little Red all day

but where did she go?

where did she go?

that night was starless

and the wind was blowing so cold

Sweet mommy got so worried

so she called up Little Red on the phone

and asked the little brat where did she go

"mommy dont worry, please be calm", she answered

"i'm here at the city to hang out.

got a new baby, and by the way, grandma's ok, the wolf is dead

I'll be fine. i promise... I'll be home at ten"

So Sweet mommy stayed awake

waiting for her dear Little Red

But no Little Red came at ten

"that stubborn brat...", sweet mommy said

Again she called up Little Red

but the daughter's phone was unattended

It was already past eleven

"tomorrow, she'll have a good beating..." the mother said

It was past twelve already

when Sweet Mommy's phone rang

It was Little Red with a trembling voice

crying to her out loud

"Mommy, mommy...i'm so scared...please pray!

My baby's drunk and our car lost its brake

Mommy, i'm so sorry for what i've done and said

Mommy, mommy...I Love you...Oh shit!!!"..then the phone was dead

That night was starless

The wind was so cold

Where's Little Red now?

Nobody knows.

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Swan song

The passionate young man on his way to his love
Walked by a lake carrying a snow-white dove
Inside his shirt he held it close to his heart
When he heard a song - an enchanting work of art

The melody was captivating, full of sorrow -
The cries of a soul for whom there’s no tomorrow
An unknown fear gripped the young man’s heart 
Dark crevasses of life to him were an unknown part

So full of life and hope, inevitability he never had to face
The source of the irresistible sound he wished to trace
He looked behind the dense brushes hiding the water
On seeing a wondrous swan his agitated mind grew calmer

He stood there mesmerized, the scene not comprehending
And a chill he felt from the bottom of his spine ascending
Why does something as beautiful as this must end?
Against a dark premonition himself he could not defend

The song told him everything that was, and ever will be
As he stood there listening, in his mind’s eye he could see
The birth of dreams and hopes, the path and the finish,
The igniting spark, the flame and the death of every wish

The swan sang his last and was swallowed by the lake
Slowly the young man from his vision did wake
He felt the dove in his shirt frantically flutter
He gently held it high and let it go, not a word did he utter

Innocence cannot build his nest in a bosom laden 
And burdened with knowledge so dark and craven
The young man continued his journey to meet his darling
A long shadow followed him in his footsteps crawling

Across the lake on yonder side, hidden by the morning fog
An old man, frail and haggard, sat quietly on a bone-white log
He heard the swan too, and watched it get swallowed by the deep
But at this lonely funeral his half closed eyes did not weep

He felt it in his bones, and knew the end was near 
So the swan song filled his feeble mind with fear
Since he was a young man he searched for the answer
The question being: What comes when to death we do surrender?	

He looked to the sky but in vain, he begged but to no avail
The heavens did not open; his body and spirit were broken
When with the last notes of the swan song resounding
Asking for a sign, he saw a dove above the clouds climbing

On his crooked legs he stood as straight as he could
Raising his hands he pleaded, “Take me, if you would”
The solemn swan song became a victorious celebration,
A joyous symphony of the never ending glory of creation

The frail old body fell back onto the bone-white log
Never again to emerge from that otherworldly fog
But a peaceful smile on the old man’s face remained
Having his long-lost innocence of youth finally regained

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Christmas Rebels

Christmas Rebels
It was about a weak
After that night walk
The unknown dangers, 
Made known, turned me weak,
I was managing myself,
After my heart was pulled,
From where it sank,
I was yet in the oven,
Of my haven,
To dry up the coldness,
And the wetness, 
Of that fearful night loneliness,

Today is Christmas,
The whole mass,
Was joyous,
Every home, glorious,
Meat was plenteous, 
Rice and beans.
Was every homes means,
Children bouncing in,
New goat skin jackets,
Mother’s dressed in costly
Beads and all the way,
Father leads.
For Christmas had taking over,
Taking over the African Shrine,
It supplied a joyous sunshine.
Our pockets were full of cowries,
Like a goldmine,
Happiness was mine,
For the usual war seemed 
To be hidden, and our teethes where like, 
“Forever opened”.

Oh! Joyful, blissful, plentiful Christmas.
Providing joy each time it surface, 
But joy has a slender waist that breaks so soon.
Christmas night came, so we visited 
Our beds as night rang it’s bell,

(To be continued in the next, same Poem).

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A Soul Awakened

The warm light calls me
And all the people who cries for thee
I raise my hand in this abyss
Only to make one wish
To float among the others
With all my sisters and brothers
I call out for forgiveness with passion
I take their pain into myself for this occasion
The moment that I see the sky
I will not look back and cry
My body is laying still
People standing by it with a chill
The air gets dense with sadness
I would not think of it less
Some people look up and down
To see the light hit the ground
Some can vision the uplifting feeling they see
One soul that has been and always be
It is special to notice such aberration 
And that might be how souls are awaken

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The Murder of Willow

A gentle breeze fluttered the curtain I hid behind, as I strained to hear above the 
pounding of the heart that was trying to break out of my chest, and above the 
roaring behind the eardrums that were channeling to me, the conversation taking 
place between my husband and Mr. Burly, who were standing out on the upper deck 
of the backyard.

“WE HAVE TO TAKE HER DOWN,” Mr. Burly commanded. 

“Is there no other way,” my husband asked? 

“No” Mr. Burly replied.  “You and I both know, she has gone too far… getting tangled 
up in all that underground activity.  It will only bring you BIG TROUBLE if you don’t 
stop her RIGHT NOW."

Many times over the years, I had fought for her life and won, but I knew there would 
be no changing their mind this time.

So…I locked myself in the bathroom while they murdered her.  There… on the lid 
of the porcelain throne, with my head hanging over the sink, I sat, watching a 
stream of tears slide down the drain as the sound of the chainsaw outside, shattered 
my mind. 

No one will ever know how much I loved her…no one but me and the drain.


It was days before I had the mental and physical strength to bring myself to the 
place where they had thrown her torso and severed limbs in the ravine among the 
discarded clumps of kitty litter, waterlogged cardboard boxes, weeds and wild 
flowers that grew there, in abundance.  


I remembered the first time I had ever seen her…a tiny sapling born from a seed 
that had flown on the wind and landed in the lower level of the backyard and taken 
root. Not knowing who or what she would be, I left her there thinking she would never 
survive the winter…but she did.  

“Too close to the house and the septic system,” the arborous said. “She’s a Willow, 
and her roots will cause you nothing but trouble, mark my words.”  But now she had 
leaves…and they were so beautiful. 

For twelve years, I fought to save her life as she grew and grew until she reached 
the upper deck, her beautiful branches and tri-colored leaves reaching over the 
railing…touching me as her long supple limbs swayed and moved to the will of the 
wind as she danced to the tune of the wind chimes as humming birds came and went.

Sentenced to death for growing to close, my beautiful Willow was brought down in 
the prime of her life.

Then, I had turned around, and looked at the barren place where she once stood, 
and heard the words someone once said to me, ‘NOTHING REMAINS THE SAME 
FOREVER’, but those words brought me no comfort.

The only solace I could find in that moment, as I stood above the quickly decaying 
remnants of that once beautiful creature was: knowing that my willow would never 
weep again.

Written:  August 26, 2014
Author:  Elaine George

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yet I remember his sweater

 I dreamt of my Father whom passed 3 years ago, 
 as I awoke , he was standing with his beige silk business slacks on 
 In truth, it may have been not a dream but his ghost telling me something ..
 he was a fine looking man and this time with no illness, 
   ~ yet I remember his sweater ~
 over 15 years the last time I saw my Father , he called to tell me Grandma passed"
 His beautiful Mother, and he wanted me present at her Funeral processions.
 I was important to him and my Grandmother , as my children were too.
 His heart was broken as we all are not exempt from pain in our lives..
 So his presence was much different then the last visit alive.
  ~ yet I remember his sweater ~
 he was here to tell me something
 his face beautiful and luminance with a certain serenity
 he appeared just before I awoke in full form 
 The beige pants, nice shoes, Italian, a white shirt underneath that sweater 
 I remember the sweater being of a fine make, cashmere and purple..
 I never wanted my Fathers money when he passed , just a sweater , his scent 
 being refused to grieve with my siblings and blood , refused any little thing of his
   ~ yet I remember his sweater ~

I love you too Dad , Your youngest girl.



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I Am Charlie

To all of the brain dead
raghead nazis in the world:
You are turds from the devil’s ass. 

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It's A Damn Cartoon

It’s a damn cartoon you stupid raghead SOBs.
If you are so very evil that you would kill people
over a stupid cartoon then you are not only
descended from apes, you are apes, hairless tailless monkeys.
You are dumb ass animals with absolutely no human qualities.

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My Last Day To Live

If it was my last day to live,
All my earning to the poor I would give.
There's a few things I would enjoy,
And share God's love with every girl & boy.

If it was my last day on earth,
I would of hug & kiss all who I hurt.
I'll apologize for every bad thing I said,
Because I have little time, next day I'm dead.

If it was my final day to love,
I would give my girlfriend all she deserve.
Not forgetting my family of seven,
Because they'll need it while await a place in heaven.

If it was my last time to cry,
I would do it until my tear well dry.
I'll weep for the moment I hardened my heart,
And for the emotional eras that I fought.

If it was my last day to run,
I would of sprint until my energy done.
I'll jump over every standing wall,
And get up & run again each time I fall.

How would I forget my last day to eat,
Every last delicacy I would defeat.
Chips & chocolate I would devourer by the case,
Better belly burst than junk food waste.

A few more minutes I live a day to the fullest,
Beep beep I'm going into cardiac arrest.
Everyone's shouting but don't bother I'm going,
Signs of life, no longer I'm showing.

Many a things I missed on my last day,
But in a far place I look & stay.
My final day was indeed great,
Hope for heaven's gates I am not late.

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The Emptiness of Life

Oh how frail is the life of mortals
Look at how our tongue treasures the taste of food
Without oxygen we die
We sleep as though we're dead

I've seen demagogs rising and falling
History hasn't been fair to their very great powers
In our virtues, our pride lights our vice
Oh such hypocrites at heart

Oh how our desires hook us like fish bones
Into doom we gleam
Until we see our fragile weakness on Earth
True repentance is just a dream

I've seen the Light I believe
The truth of God who lived as man
His sacrifice made me free
Oh such a hope of eternity I share

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Marla was a friend of mine I knew from working at UTMB Over 10 years we worked together In the department of pathology Though we actually worked In two different locations there We still became pretty good friends Leaving me memories of times we shared Besides her friendship with me To all, Marla was very helpful She knew her job exceptionally well And was always professional Our department felt confident As we knew Marla was the one To work in an accurate manner And get any task completely done Marla attended a few SSP luncheons We would both go there to meet She came as my guest a few times And we would save each other a seat I’ll carry the memories of Marla With me throughout my living years I know that when it’s my time to go She’ll be saving a good seat for me up there Florence McMillian (Flo)

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In memory of Bob

In memory of Bob
A true story.

It was in spring of two thousand when I first saw Bob. I’d just started working at Perth Dental hospital, and in fact it was my first day there. I walked up to the front door of this building, but it wasn’t yet opened. So I turned around and went to sit in the bus shelter which was just outside the building. As I went to sit down I noted a dark skinned gentleman sitting there with a happy, benign look on his face. He was about five feet eight give or take a little, and he was rather a thickset man who looked like he’d done his fair share of hard work in his sixty years or more.

     There was something about this Gentleman that I could not quite put my finger on. He had a certain charisma about him; not the phony kind of charisma that one seen in the car salesman or the philanderer who messes with women’s heads, no, Bob had a kind of friendly smile for everyone that he met, and he seemed to draw people into him with his love, and gigantic heart. I knew as soon as I met him that Bob was most definitely for me.

      As Bob looked at me and smiled, the whole world seemed to open up. He said “Ow ya  going mate” in a loud ebullient manner, then we started to chat. Bob was like myself, a thinker, and straight away we started philosophizing about this, that, and the other, and it was like we had known each other forever. Then all of a sudden I found Bob talking about death, and the difference in the way the Maori people faced death, compared to the rather the silly way us white folk look at the subject with great fear in our hearts. Now this had always interested me, and  somehow it just seemed natural to talk to this Maori gentlemen on this subject, and we spoke about it till the doors opened and it was time to work.

      I don’t think anything happens just by chance, and I definitely have this feeling that Bob and I were meant to meet, and I really think this was a major destiny thing. I have found during the course of my life,  that as I am aging, I can feel something pushing me into a certain direction, and I always felt that Bob was part of all this; and I had much to learn from him. Although I have never believed in organized religion, and never followed one I have always felt deeply spiritual, and I have met many people who I learned from, and Bob was most definitely one of them with all his great wisdom and patience. As I came to know Bob, we had many dialogues together, on many subjects. Bob used to love music and could always have time to plonk away on his guitar. He used to come round to my place and we would play songs together, though both he and I were no Eric Clapton’s, I would bang around on my guitar and play the harp, while we would both take out turns at singing. We’d have a smoke or a beer or two, and we’d play songs all day long,  ahhh, I remember those days well, the memories are so strong.

     Bob was one hell of a man, I could tell that he had been a wild one in his youth,
But when I knew him in his sixties he was an icon of wisdom and virtue; he had a kind word for everyone, and gave all his time to anybody who needed him, always.
He used to hear me waffling on like an idiot, trying to make him like me [as I always did] but never once did he tell me how foolish I was, he would just smile knowingly at me. He used to stand there at the window for hours, just drinking in the trees, or the clouds in the sky, and yet he was so aware, I used to try to sneak up on him; it couldn’t be done. His awareness was incredible.

     Then one day Bob fell ill with terminal cancer, and he knew that he had very little time left on this Earth. He lay there sick for days in intolerable pain,  but you never heard one complaint from him, even when he only had days to live, he was still worrying about the welfare of others. When the day finally come for Bob to leave his shell; he was lying there in deep sleep, when all of a sudden he woke up, with a smile on his face. His children asked him ‘Dad, do you want some pain killers” Bob laughed, compassion written all over his face, and he said to them ‘Not one of you has a clue, have you’ and he died with a big smile on his face.

   His daughter got in touch with me, and told me about his death, and also told me that his last wish was to have me watch his soul leave his body. I felt very honored about this and went and sat with his body [as Maoris do]. I got the most peaceful feeling come to me [which I presume was his spirit leaving his body] as I watched his silent body, a Mari war stick and a beautiful rose lay across his chest. I still see it, and I feel blessed by it. He was my Maori warrior, and I adored the man.

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Barometer Deer

A snow white deer was downed by a hunter
a once in a lifetime trophy, he boasted.
some folks were crimson pissed 
because a snow white deer is very rare,
a sign of good things to come 
the purist of beings to reappear....
an antlered angel... wearing a message 
a reminder that God is still present, 
still looking after- picking up 
from the edge of our acid cloud, sludge streams
burning forest of melting dreams.
Waiting for the perfect time...
the perfect time 
to float above the clearing
to cleanse
to whisper "there's still miracles-miracles abound
there's still time to turn negativities into lacy dreams
knead bullets into butterflies
spin the planet back from black to aquamarine"

to the hunter it was just a leaping piece of meat
to be silenced-devoured- skinned- displayed...
his thrill...
his miracle
now some people want to bow the hunter down
for stuffing their miracle
you know, nail his polyester neck to the forest wall

perhaps the white deer was a test, 
god's barometer,
to see where our hearts are really at...

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My Legacy

My ancestors came here long ago
Tough and strong not weak
But somewhere down along the line
Something went terribly wrong
And now I have to sit here and deal with my legacy
Of not what I thought it would be
Not where I choose to be right now
The legacy that’s me.

I can’t escape the past
The memories seem to last
Of the horrors of what has come before
The graveyard is the place
I can see it on my face 
My family’s legacy of suicide 
is haunting me.

My generational legacy
Is it going to kill me
Or will it just let sleeping dogs lie 
And allow me to exist
Will it allow me to just to see
The me that I am meant to be
To live beyond my years
To grow beyond the tears
To handle all my fears
To defy what could have been
My legacy.

(November 13, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)

(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved 

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Squirrel, What is a Friend

It was a green semi-dry oak leaf,
 last and youngest of the family.
 She did not want to fall
 as she stared at the heinous wind
 on a cold night in late fall

Maybe it was best to jump down,
 since it’s been long
 after her family bade farewell.
 “Oh loneliness!” she mused, “you’re unbearable”
 “I can not breath, nor can I smell”

Pretty soon, a squirreled showed up
 hungry but,gleeful.
 “Oh God! why do you look so scared?”
 he asked in all his mischievous curiosity
 She replied,”I’m an orphan,lonely and snared.”
 “Wind is treacherous and life is no fun any more.”

“No! don’t say that li’l leaflet.”
 “You are so fresh,but rookie,” said the squirrel,
 “You’ll have many friends in rest of your life”
 “What is a friend?” asked the leaf
 while her desire to learn was rife

“A friend is a warm hand,
 clutching your hand in depth of the storm…
 A friend is the one who cried
 once your heart writhed in pain,” said the squirrel
 The tiny leaf smiled as her tears dried

“So, do you feel my agony in my heart now?”
 “I truly do!” replied the squirrel
 Just then a gust pulled and drifted the leaf away
 The squirrel shed tears as repined
 while she yelled “Do not cry, squirrel!”
 “Now, at least I have a friend behind”

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The Woman In White

It was a cold and rainy night.
The stars were shining bright.
It seemed as if the world was at a pause and not a person was in sight.
I sat quietly in my car, 
the sound of music I heard blasting from a far.
I opened my door,
stepped out slowly and looked around.
Now suddenly the music stopped,
not a word is heard, not even a sound.
I turned my head, looked over my shoulder,
I saw a woman running.
She was wearing a white gown.
I couldn't help but wonder why this woman running
flaunted such a frown.
I followed her footsteps,
I listened for the sound.
Running through the darkness,
one question came to mind,
Who would leave this woman?
Who would be so heartless?
How can someone leave her when she is so obviously distraught?
Abruptly a sound was heard.
I came to a stop.
I listened closely.
It was a gunshot.
Now fearful I stood.
I began to run as fast as I could.
I ran so fast, I could hear my heart beating.
I came upon my car and noticed a woman bleeding.
She was gasping for air.
Someone had shot her and left her to die there.
It was as if they didn't even care.
She reached for my hand,
whispered softly to me
"never trust a man"
At that moment her hand dropped.
I knew her heart had stopped.
I looked at her white gown now dripping red.
I I cried to myself and pondered what she had said.
This could be me.
I could be lying here dead.
I will remember her words always.
They will haunt me for the rest of my days.
This moment I will never forget.
No man should ever be such a threat.

This was the day my life would change.
From this day on I would never be the same.
The lesson I learned here,
never have such fear.
Fear that will keep me from being free.
I learned that I can be happy just being me.

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Noises in the Night

One cold night, deep in thought, and curled in fright,
From folklore tales aimed to scare;
My rigid poise froze to a screeching noise
Outside, a voice not like I've heard before, to leave I would not dare
“It’s probably just an owl or creature of the night out there"
I muttered to myself, then pretended not to care

Oh, I recall quite vividly this icy Winter’s night
With grainy sight, the sandman came to lead me to his land
The weariness I fought but eventually he caught
Pulling me quite taut to somewhere far less bland   
Where I became the leader of a marvellous brass band
And down that path sandman tightly gripped me by my hand

Trumpeters and trombone players played musically in layers
Exciting each and everyone, spreading joy to all around
But my dreams were playing tricks, my mind was in a mix
The bass tuba sounded sick, not playing tuneful sounds
Instead a grating shrill, then the whining of a hound
The lightning and the rain came too, my dream then ran aground           

Alone I grew more frightened and the intensity just heightened
The shrieks and shrills grew louder with an occasional thunder clap
Taking sanctuary under bed sheets, preying for melodic sound beats   
Suffering this painful feat, my soul took a massive slap
Oh how I longed for it to stop and to return me to my nap
The bleakness of that night, my mind caught in a trap

Morning later broke, the ground outside was soaked
The noise had faded but there was still a haunting in my ears
A crunch, a grind, a squeak a whine
The cause I vowed to find, and to take away my fears
From the upstairs window I saw a farmer crouched in tears
And a windmill's broken sails; the mystery closure neared

Across the muddy field, I approached the man kneeled
Sobbing over what appeared to be a dead Alsatian
He'd found it just lying there, the hound, his best friend 
Downed by a falling windmill piece, killing gods creation
"A slow death" the farmer said "he must have cried out for attention"
"And my mill cranks broken causing noises of a nauseating sensation"

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Three Sorry Souls Now Burning In Hell

Chérif Kouachi, Saïd Kouachi and Amedy Coulibaly,
the three rat bastard terrorists who murdered seventeen people
in France are now dead. They did the Devil’s bidding with joy
in their stone cold hearts during their lifetimes and now that
they are dead, their sorry worthless souls are now burning in Hell
and will continue to do so for all of eternity. You reap what you sow,
even after death, and these three satanic SOBs will scream
in pain and terror forevermore. No one outside of Hell will ever hear
their terrifying screams. That is a well deserved ending
for these three totally disgusting two legged inhumane animals.

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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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I saw: A scrawny, wrinkled, little thing with sallow, wrinkled skin, a head of fine white hair that looked like a dandelion gone to seed, and a pair of faded blue eyes that still managed to twinkle. 


There she sat in an old Lazy Boy Recliner, beneath a halo of floating blue smoke, lips stuck to the tail end of a Camel butt, as ashes fell onto her already pockmarked terrycloth bathrobe.   

With a toothless grin, she smiled at me, then coughed up what sounded like gravel as she thumped her chest with a balled up fist until the coughing finally ceased; whereupon she made another halo that rose high into the air…and fell apart.

So….this was what an EARTHBOUND AGNEL looked like…NOT AT ALL WHAT I EXPECTED.

From all accounts told to me, Vera had spent most of her life doing without so she could give to others less fortunate then herself, with the one exception: the money she spent on her CAMELS…Oh! How she loved them. She loved the feel of them, the smell of them and the sense of REWARD they gave her in exchange for all her good deeds.

EVERYONE including ME, tried to tell her the relationship she had with them was unhealthy, but she refused to listen, claiming she had been kissin their butts for over 50 years, and it gave her great pleasure...thank you very much! All this, she sputtered as I swept up their droppings from the floor.

For two more years I swept up their droppings as Vera advanced from a Lazy Boy Recliner to a wheelchair...still the Camel’s remained.  They were her loyal companions. Day in and day out, they were always by her side, especially on those lonely nights when there was no one else to keep her company.

 MANY, MANY TIMES over those two years,  I TRIED to convince her to let them go …BUT...she was addicted to that toxic relationship in MIND, BODY and SOUL.

Still, I PRAYED she would come to her senses, but all in vain.


It was a rainy morning in September when…THE CHARRED REMAINS of this once EARTH BOUND ANGEL, were found in the smoldering ashes, after she had finally let go of her last Camel while falling asleep.

Written: September 15, 2014
Author:  Elaine George

Author’s Note:  Every years in the US of A, over 1000 smokers and non-smokers
Die in home fires caused by smoking.

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The Depths Of Hades

I have seen the depths of Hades!
And it is not a place of tranquility; 
Neither is it a place of rest, 
but a place of unending cursing, 
and the gnashing of teeth is everlasting.

The multitude was too great to count -
Souls served as fuel for the unquenchable fire.
Hot coals were the bed for this place,
and flames covered Hades as a blanket.

Before encountering this beast,
a very long fall takes place -
Into a vast and immeasurable darkness.
There is no point of return!

Guilt, pain, sorrow, 
and hate obscures the minds of the afflicted.
Their eyes are blinded by their unclean conscious,
and regret is all that is left.

My heart was shatter into pieces -
To see hell boundaries expanding so rapidly!
It’s mouth is wide open,
and in the top fangs - 
Were Inscribed two words: “ETERNAL - PUNISHMENT”

The scorching fire,
the burns, the sores, and wounds,
and the desire to die is a punishment too great to bare.
But the greatest punishment of all -

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Another dead from injuries
In this latest mad attack.
Gun-downed by a supposed friend,
She had no time to fight back.
The fifteen year old gunman
Has died by his own hand.
Because of him, two others dead.
No one can understand.
Four children injured badly
Upon the schoolroom floor.
But for the heroic teacher,
There would have been some more.

We find this in the paper
And with a shrug of rage,
Keep reading other items
Then turn to the comic page.
But this one came too close to home,
Just another town away.
She could have easily been ours,
That lost grandchild today.

He didn't fit the pattern,
A well adjusted child.
No one can say what happened
To make him go so wild.
Experts as well as amateurs
Will have pet theories why
A cared for, beloved child would want
Someone's loved child to die.

By: Joyce Johnson

(This happened this Friday at a town near my own. )

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Christmas Rebels (2).

But night’s bell came with tears and without love,
As our bamboo door talked,
Before my voice could speak,
Legs ruined down my door,
Then eyes in different heights
In the starry night like 
Torch lights… attacked 
Me with their voices.
They came in mass,
Some brandishing cutlass,
Some matchets, guns and arrows.
Gang upon gangs,
Displaying their flags,
Blood stained, tattered, hair, shaggy.
They held human heads for their 
Oracles of war.
They were muttering songs as if 
Forced to sing,
They had leaves and grasses in the 
Middle of their mouths, they were mostly teens, 
They were the Hausa rebels… 
“Wait! Wait!! Wait!!!
Where are the bells?
Is this day not Christmas?”
I was asking myself,
A short tick man came out of the mass,
Not looking like human,
He looked backed at the rest,
Feeling like the best.
He weakened my hear drums 
By the manner of his question,
“Hausa or Birom?”.
To send my religion to the bottom?
Whom for this day, is Christmas? 
And sweet Messiah’s Calvary at Golgotha?
I wasn’t prepared for that, 
So the truth came out like a blast
“Yee! Yee!! Yee!!!
Enemy tribes” they shouted 
Like savage talking drums.

(To be continued in the next, same Poem).

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Heaven's Doorway

A light - beyond bright -
beckons me warmly
from a place beyond which I cannot yet see.
As I approach a stairway which glistens like gold,
all my former burdens and apprehensions melt away.
Body aches have vanished and I feel that I am floating toward the steps,
melting from a warmth,the intensity of which
can only be matched by the radiance of the not so distant light.
A tenderness I now can easily recognize 
emanates from that glorious light.

Nearing the stairway, I can hear sweet strains
of a music whose instruments I can't define.
I cannot see, and yet I strangely know, beyond any doubt,
that upon reaching the top of those golden stairs,
something splendid awaits me beyond the doorway.

Something forgotten is tugging at my brain,
an awareness of having been here before.
Am I simply returning to a place from whence I came
before my sojourn on the earth -
that place where loving spirits dwell in perfect peace?
On reaching the door, I do not even have to knock.
My mere desire to enter has been heard
and my unspoken questions have been answered, 
for the door slowly swings open.

I cross the threshold and enter not into a building,
but rather into another realm.
Vivid colors dance before my eyes in the guise
of flowered meadows, hills and rills, birds and butterflies.
This landscape of indescribable beauty seem to go on forever.
A deluge of memories comes flooding my mind.

Suddenly, a snow white dog comes bounding toward me.
It's my precious Ollyver, who died so many years ago, the first to greet me.
He leaps into my arms just as he used to do 
every night when I reached the doorway of my earthly home.
Flocking toward me are others. 
I become dizzy with happiness and the thrill of it all. . . 

And then appears my stepfather, no longer afflicted with dementia, 
along with my dear brother Dale, who left our earthly home
sadly when he was still in his prime and full of dreams!
Next come those beloved friends of my family, 
people whom I saw each Sunday at church and who later passed away,
people whose lives touched mine all those years ago of my childhood.
Others that arrive I recognize instantly as ancestors of mine,
 even though many of them  I'd never even met while on earth!
They come to embrace me, one after another in the beautiful meadow,
and the music I had been hearing swells to the joyous sound
of an angel's choir.

For Gail Doyle's Heaven's Doorway Poetry Contest

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April 15, 2013

They say that the only sure things
Are death and taxes

After gathering information and a bit of math practice and
carefully filling out the forms
And sending them in to various governments:
Federal, State, and Local;

After gathering resources and a lot of running practice
And carefully filling out the registration forms
And sending them in
For the Boston Marathon -

Who knew 
The end of the race would really be
The End of the Race?

Crowds cheered
As the runners crossed the finish line

And a few crossed over
No doubt, to cheering crowds of angels
And loved ones long past

This is fresh news; and no one knows
Who planted the bombs
Or why

They say that the only sure things
Are death and taxes

Who knew they’d both fall on the same day?

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For Dixie A. Miller 1965-1999

The headline screamed, or so it seemed,
to those who had known her well.
Said:  Killer's Confession Solves Case
(from eleven years ago).
The headline shrieked so now at last
we would know all the horror
of how she was strangled
when they were both drunk
and high on something evil
when he stuffed her body in a log.
Today, his conscience broke down.

She was a sweet big-hearted woman
living homeless in an alcoholic fog.
She kept coming around to the rooms of A.A.
and even though for her we would pray,
we worried her days might be few.

Because he finally confessed
manslaughter is the charge he will do.
Twenty years in jail.
Twenty years seems way too few
for the Dixie we once knew.

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It Was Me

You were taken to soon.
Ripped away from us.
You knew it was our final goodbye.
But the truth was hidden.
With a tear in your eye,
There was one last goodnight hug.
I wiped away the tear,
Then smiled and walked away.
By the time of the morning light
It was already too late.
You were gone and to a better place.
Never knew of your acknowledged your pain.
Of your suffering
Sometimes I wonder,
"If I only cared more
Would you still be here?
If I only hurt less,
Would you still be here?"
I'd deny it if I could.
But inside we both know,
I am the reason
You went away.

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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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The Lost Girl

There was once a girl
who loved and embraced life
she smiled even in sorrow
but her smiles were always borrowed
But nobody seemed to notice
that there was anything wrong at all
In this tiny town she used to call home
is all foreign now

She used to have no enemies
but now she has many
its not the ones who harass her
or threaten her, though
it's the lonely girl sitting within her

There's a lonely girl inside of her
fooling people so they may see
just how brave she may be
speaking of only happiness
despite all the hurt within

But all alone is where the danger lay
as she's sprawled on her bedroom floor
with pills in one hand and a blade in the other
there are some battles that can't be fought

So she cried, cried for another day
a day to feel loved once more
she cried, cried for another hour
one more hour to say she was sorry
but it was too late.

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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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Silence, Nested In The Sand

Coming apon, a large desert rock.
Along side, a smaller white rock, 
so I thought. A sun bleached skull, 
nested in the sand. Silence, with
a gentle desert breeze moving my 
many unanswerd thoughts; quickly
race threw my mind. This O'l skull,
once riddled before with dream's,
stolen memories, for ever gone!
A wide open jaw; Imagining, this
poor O'l soul screaming from the 
other side, but never heard. So
I walked away, and wisperd a few
words: Rest now, youv'e been found!

03/07/14   Written By, Larry Berdoo
                         WRITE ON!



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A Doctors Ballad

I never really understood people until I took apart my old school chum Rick.
Now I know exactly what makes the human heart tick.
The intricacy of the human circuitry is Gods most artful work without uncertainty.
Like a great operatic performance accompanied by a grand orchestra, all our organs sing as one and all together.
To give such life as this in a manor of theatrical grandeur, but life comes at a cost however, this is something that we can not sever, for one soul to live it must take from another.
You see hunting a human is just like hunting any animal, you always track those that are weak and incapable.
I study those that indulge greatly in life's pleasurable sins, I always proceed to take them apart starting with their limbs.
To squander such a gift is a crime against those souls no longer living.
It is a crime that should be dealt with swiftly and unforgiving.
You may find my words harsh and cruel but punishment is dealt where punishment is due.
The scholars and gossips call me a Devil worshiper or a Satanist.
But I am an admirer of God and I dream to be like him, a great creationist. 
To some I'm known as the mad doctor who haunts the river Rhine, but to my acquaintances I'm known simply as Victor Frankenstein.

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My Story Telling Who is this Princes

The night air made her feel tired
As she looked out side all the fences were wired
In the distance she hears crowds yelling
As she was to young to know they were rebelling
Father she asked where are we going?
Mother said to keep quiet and keep walking

Mother yelled in the night air
Father gave out a blank stare
They yelled run my princess run as far as you can
As that moment past her little feet pushed off and she ran
She ran to the nearest bushes and crawled into it to hide
She never smelled the air before as if someone just had died

As she lay on the ground under a bush she heard 
A loud yell in the distance almost to absurd
My name is Angelica, I am just a young girl who does not know 
Angelica just wants to live her life with help to grow
Angelica did not know what just happened she notice a figure in the distance
A little person just like her, a strong but gentle presence

Angelica saw the people who were shouting run off toward the voice
She was scared and she knew that she had to make a choice
Angelica fragile state was so confused and lost
She knew it will take burden on her at a cost
But in that moment of quietness a young but strong voice called out
Can you trust me just because? will you come with me with no doubt

My Story Telling  Together In A Strange World

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They call me the dying month, the bringer of cold harsh winds from the north.
I sneak up upon unsuspecting late summer well wishers, wrap my cold hands around their cheeks and come forth.

Moving silently across the country side, I graciously give the kiss of death to the once green leaves.
In my path I leave nothing but skeleton shapes twisted and old, they are nothing but shadows of once mighty summer trees.

In death however comes beauty of colour, the brown crispy leaves illuminated by the red autumn sky.
The stage is set and the players cast, the final curtain call is all but nigh.

With a crunch under foot, hat and scarves protecting such delicate pale frozen skin.
The first frost falls upon my deathly hands, I greet winter as my old friend with an honest grin.

Like the leaves from the trees my time is short, but the cycle continues without me and I die knowing my part has been played.
I close my eyes as you do in bed, into winters night will an autumn evening fade.

My time has ended and I bow out gracefully, for the work I've done I feel no shame.
As all things that share a purpose and live with meaning, it's time for us all to return whence we came.


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Misty White

Distracting my skin from the icy mist,
The horn booms in the distance.
The black horizon glows,
The moon reflected from our grave. 

Misty white threatens to consume us,
Feet slip and rope drag against the deck,
Their voices grow louder as
Waterfalls of rain pour into the ocean,

My stomach grows as cold as the rocky face before us, 
They hold on for hope and I let go,
Too late to turn back, I welcome the mist,
And all hands are lost.

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So that was how the beautiful piece of heaven they had on earth stopped existing

We live in a world full of anger, hate, mistrust, fear and hypocrisy, but it wasn’t meant that way. Once upon a time, thousands of years ago God created a green, pretty and healthy planet to live in where all the animals could work together and live in peace, but suddenly, all started to change. There was a kind and good-intentioned lion, the king of the world, that always tried to do the best for his planet, taking care of all the animals on earth and maintaining peace all along the different species, but there was also a hyena, his best friend, who was so jealous of the king that he stabbed him on the back. The lion always trusted on his best friend, he told him everything he knew and all his thoughts. He thought he would be there for him whenever he needed him and always sought for his good, but the king started to notice his odd mood and felt like he was loosing his best buddy, he tried to talk to the hyena but he refused. So the king turned to somebody else to ask what was going on with his friend and nobody told him. That was so weird, everybody loved the king, everybody would kiss his ass for free, but not now, everything was different, not just with the king but the mood itself. Everything looked sad, darker, like dead. Then, one afternoon, at the weekly meeting of the Great Council, where everyone was discussing, telling wrongs and rights, the hyena stood and spoke up and turned everybody from the king, he was creating a revolution. With all the king’s ideas, with all the tactics he had, the hyena started to create a new team, he was creating bad people, he created evil. Even though there were still animals in the lion’s side, the evil one was stronger. The king, surprised and devastated by his best friend’s betrayal, he took up arms and started to defend his kingdom, the beautiful world he had. So they all started to fight, there was blood split everywhere, screaming, shouting and violence all around the place, like never before. Nobody stopped until wining or dying, dying was the choice they had to make to live in honor. So that was how the beautiful piece of heaven they had on earth stopped existing.

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Dead Winter

I still remembered that night
the snow was heavy and unusually white.
We gathered around the fireplace,
Momma was sharing her Christmas grace.

Daddy went home and brought us presents
Momma stopped her story and away she went
out into the snowy streets 
buying us winter treats.

It has passed dinner and she’s not home.
Our stomach started to ache and roam.
Daddy began to worry,
and away he went in a hurry.

Me and Anna were still inside
looking through the window with eyes opened wide.
Then Anna started to cry,
I was still wondering why
until I saw a shadow in the foggy snow.
Anna squeezed my hand and wouldn’t let go.

A squeak, a squeal - 
a spinning wheel
down the hill
that’d thrill and kill.

It came clashing and crashing
through the glaciers it went bashing
through our door it was breaking, 
left us all shaking and quaking.

We did not restrain
the shrieks and tears weren’t feigned.

Next morning the neighbors came
and told us that momma and daddy weren’t the same.
I followed them and what I saw
with only a glance made me drop my jaws.

There, two coffins neatly laid
“Uncertain causes” was clearly sprayed.
I laughed and thought I just got played
but grief suddenly fell when the priest prayed.
Nobody helped when I fell limp on the floor
as they carried my parent’s bodies through the shattered door.

From that day on there wasn’t winter anymore.
Snow were redder than red – the color of gore.
Their tombstones were always cold solid steel
and if you came close you’d feel:
A squeak, a squeal - 
a spinning wheel
down the hill
that’d thrill and kill.

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Last Tear

Walking down Lehigh Ave in North Philadelphia where I used to play

Now I see teenagers playing with dirty syringes and caps of rock

Women strutting and screaming, "Hey," to the car slowing down to peak

Gotta get one more

And the mother cries as the police drag her son away

Cars with flats and smashed windshields litter the streets and gangsters

Old men walk fast and the litter races to keep up

Glass crunches underfoot as the junkie holds up his hand with two fingers

"Whatchou want old man?"

And the newspaper flies past swirling and the old man thinks it's the end

Police roll past and the thugmen walk casually in all directions

"Da Bien,"thugish screams and the dealers return

As she sticks the needle in her arm and pulls the blood through

She goes into a nod and her eyelids droop but  a tear rolls on her freckled cheek

Its the tear that has power as her breath becomes close

She takes one last lungful and the tear rolls slow as the heroin takes her life

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Salam, how are you there?
Wassalam, good, Alhamdulillah
How about the issue in Sabah
Nothing to worry
I am worried because you are my friend
I am okay; just want to know your opinion
No probs, what do you think of that opinion?
Does it hurt you personally?
Nope, it makes sense

I am not personally taking part, I have my own problem
Indeed but I am so sad, many don’t understand the situation
They are taking one side condemning Suluk in general
So as the other Suluk in Sulu archipelago 
Many also condemning Melayu in general
I always think about others
My cousin, a policeman is in the frontline

I am so sad, pray hard
Please cry with me
I am here for you to lend your cry
Can I pretend nothing happen?
We can’t pretend to be nothing to happen
Then rest and cry with me
To make people understand is not easy
Sometime we also take time to understand our situation
I am hurt to what happen, we are being fooled by colonisers
They ask us to inherit this misery

Hmmm I am so sorry to hear that
Hopefully you won’t hate the Suluk generally
So, as long as it does not contradict to my stand
What is your stand supposedly?
 At least I have one good friend from Jolo ancestry
I am a good friend because you are good

I know nothing about the war; I just wanted to know the peace
It’s really easy to smile and pretend that you are okay
Rather than telling people why you are sad
It’s not easy to imagine that war
I just want to keep it by my self
I wanted to keep this in my sleep
When I wake up tomorrow 
Peace is expected to blow
Let have this peace to reign right away

The poem is made through the conversation with Malay friends from Kuala Lumpur about the conflict happened in Lahad Datu. We shall never put the bangsa in general as what we are thinking is right: Suluk is bad and Melayu is arrogant. We need a better understanding to conclude that each bangsa like Suluk and Melayu have nothing to do with the situation. It is a matter of siding the truth and rights. I therefore personally accepted if everyone hates me because I am Suluk and that would make the world stay in peace and to save peace, I am willing to be called such: “Suluk is bad and Melayu is arrogant” but the “country and world is peaceful” is achieved. The war declared ended today by Malaysian authority. Let Us All Save Peace. Layag Sug. 11th March 2013, Sandakan, Sabah, Malaysia!

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Red Orchard

I don’t remember 
much about the day the deer jumped 
the fence and broke its neck.  

Late summer and I inhaled 
the plump morning air—red 
apples, brown
sugar and grass, my 
pudgy feet padding the damp
linoleum squares
where sunlit streams flooded gol-
den through the yawning kitchen window.   

And out that window, just beyond 
the five-foot chain link line,
an antlered buck 
lay, his great head twisted 
toward an ‘appled’ sky.

Then my mother 
a steam kettle whist-
ling “look away! look away!” “look away!”
and my father’s whispers 
thick curtains closing 
on the jagged red light rising.


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Sew my lips shut,
Never to speak again.
Every word I've ever said
Always comes out wrong.
I hear the screaming in my head.
All becoming too much.
Please will you all be quiet.
Just for a little while.
Walk away from the world.
Leave it all behind.
Don't look back,
Never turn around.
Forget the past,
And the future
Die in the present
Never to be remembered

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The Gift of A Body

Each soul is gifted, With an individual body at birth, To travel through the lessons of life, That we learn on this earth. Every body is unique, With their own special style, Creating lasting memories, With family, friends and smiles. As it is only knowledge, One can take with them, When their time on earth, Has come to an end. One special gift after death, Of knowledge for future generations, Is the gift of willing the body, For scientific research and medical education. To give thanks and gratitude, Is much more than words can say, To participants of the Willed-Body Program, For their precious gift that is given away. Florence McMillian (Flo)

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The Worst Day of My Life contest

Twenty odd years ago I was driving towards Oxford. As I came round a bend there were three vehicles involved in a horrific crash. I was first on scene so called 999 and reported it.
The van was on fire and we only managed to get one person out before the flames drove us back. There were four people in it. We cleared the car and the taxi of walking wounded. 
  It took over 35 minutes for rescue services to start arriving. First were the Fire Brigade followed by Ambulance and Police. I returned to my car. As I was sat there a man walked past, his hands behind his back. He was holding a camera, he stood by the burnt man and started to take photos. I told a fireman what he was doing and he spent him off. As he walked by me I said how callous he was. His reply Ma'am its my livelihood, I don't know what yours is I replied I sell Accident insurance and you don't see me being a ghoul. He walked off. 
  Unfortunately one photo made it to the front page the following day. It was his pure callousness that got me, it was bad enough to have to sit there hearing the screams of the dying and injured people and to small the awful smell of people being cooked alive, but to then stand beside a man who was conscious and knew his mates were dying. How can such a person call them selves a human?
  After two hours we were finally diverted and able to leave. The horrific memories of that day will haunt me forever. Twelve people of which 8 died, three at scene five later in hospital. I drove past nearly six years later and the scorch marks were still visible. I hope none of you ever have to experience what I saw and heard that day.

contest: Moment of Truth written 05/16/2013

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Your smile - Our last goodbye

I still remember that day,
Now almost four years ago
Christmas morning at 06H30...

My birthday, a day of celebration – 
One of joy, just like that with one phone call
Everything changed… 

You left me behind,
Tears and disbelief…

Our last conversation, a vivid memory
I remember asking, “Gummie what are you 
getting me for my birthday this year”
All you answered were, “it’s a surprise”

I don’t think that is what you had in mind 
But it happened, unplanned… 
God saw it fit to take you away that day…

It felt like I was dreaming
That I would wake up and you would be in front of me, 
That never happened…

Until today, I will never forget the last time I saw you.
That smile without words, 
A smile that was also our goodbye.

I never made it to your funeral
But I know every Christmas,
You are there, 
still smiling, the difference is 
you are no longer in pain…

Name: Wilma Neels 
Contest: Your "Saddest" Christmas Ever
Sponsor: Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~

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I mourn for your passing
for your family
for your friends
for those you held close
but do not mourn for you...

you came to our shores
you came and you lied
lied about your baggage
illegal baggage you bore
within your body...

your baggage was deadly
lethal and contagious...
biological warfare
launched upon our nation
silently exploding...

first target: Lone Star State
close to my home
close to my family
close to my grandchildren
why did you come..

your predecessor: a playboy
who detonated a viral bomb 
in a gay bath house
through seduction
why did he come....

he was careless, he was cruel
he was a selfish, silly fool
as were you
as am I
why do I judge...
(I mourn over suffering souls
whose insides turned to mush
a congealed and bloody mush
who writhed in ineffable pain
who mercifully died...)

yes I mourn for your passing
but do not mourn for you...

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A perspective on death

It’s a moment of sadness with a steady stream of silence,
bereaved family takes part in welcoming the mourners;
they pay respects to the one they value so much,
their presence is a gift with deep meaning to articulate.

  With that gesture of sympathy that goes out to the family,
  it’s consoling, gratifying, and profound in thought
  filled with spirituality that shows what relationship is;
  in an unspoken way strengthens the soul about prayer.

Like a running marathon, endurance is the name
to face the difficulty in coping with separation;
it matters much about the passing of someone
that death confirms the elements of change.

  While the proverb says, ‘every bullet has its billet,’ 
  leaves a space for someone to reflect on it;
  it’s in God’s hands, his will to put the timetable
  faith-wise, this is what we are before God in his kingdom.

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Drowning in The Sky

                 - Cutting The Rest of The Frayed Lines Slack With Pointed Rust -
              - They Fell and Tangled Into Themselves, Isolating Him From Entirety -
He Pushes a Little Wooden Craft into Water Rippled 
With The Night, and Climbs Into The Unsturdiness.

                        - The Ripples Take Him From The Shore -

Subtle Pieces of Jagged Rock mould themselves Into
Shadows, Underneath the Crescent of The Horizon.

                         - Voyage to the Dark -

He Can't Stop Thinking, He Can Never Stop Thinking.
Even in The Middle of Nothing He is Laced with Thought.

                         - Weight of Life -

It Burdens Him With The Tremendous Knowledge That
He is Forced To Live, Misunderstood By Love. 

                         - Camels Spine Snaps -

Purposely Damning His Own Vessel By Stabbing The
Floor Repeatedly in Large Thought out Punctures.

                         - Influx of Grief -

Drowning, Drowning, Drowning in His Little Wooden Boat
All Strewn Through With The Holes of His Ill Intent.

                         - Drinking Salt -

Struggling and Fighting The Liquid Soaks into His Lungs,
His Hands Start to Move Slower, His Legs Give Way.

                         - Ceaseless Struggle -

His Body Shuffles and Slumps Up Against The Stern,
His Vision Focuses on the Light Silking Through the Air.

                         - Radiating The Sink Holes -

When The Sea Had Finished Rippling, The Stars Were No
Longer Distorted and Cast Themselves upon it's Surface.

                         - Replicating Them Perfectly -

His Little Wooden Corpse Carrying Boat, all Strewn Through 
With Holes, But Surrounded By Light, It'll Carry Him Forever...

                         - ...Sailing Between Two Skies -

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For Now It Is My Time

For now it is my time,
I can see the light just ahead;
I don't know what is going to happen,
But I can tell someone's heart is filled with dread.

The angel came to me,
She told me it was time to go;
She took me by the hand,
it was by then I knew it was so.
She whispered, "Don't worry,
It'll be okay;
For all that was left behind,
will be with you again someday."
With a nod of my head,
and a tear down my cheek;
She looked at me,
as she continued to speak.

"My little one,
don't be so sad;
Once you are home,
your heart shall be glad."

For now it is my time,
and I never dared to question why;
I have reached the gates of heaven,
and I didn't have a chance to say goodbye.

For all is in the past,
and so are you;
If only I could go back,
and tell you how much I love you.
Please, don't cry, we'll meet again,
I'm promising you this;
I'll be waiting for you,
Here, home in heaven.
In heaven it was him that I saw,
The Almighty Father;
He opened his arms out to me,
as he started to move his jaw.
He looked down at me,
I couldn't think of a word to say;
And as he spoke,
I started to convey.

He said, "Welcome, little one,
I knew this day would come;
And now that you're here,
I will share my words of wisdom.
I've watched as you've done wrong,
you know this is true;
But I'm happy to see you here with me,
and I have forgiven you.
For this life now is eternal,
and tomorrow is gone;
Your old life will be nothing,
I promise you by dawn."

He wrapped his arms around me, 
and ran his fingers through my hair;
He held me tight,
and started to say a prayer.

Once he was finished,
he looked at me again;
He told me, "Dear child,
won't you stay with me in heaven?"

I looked behind me,
taking a glance at my past;
I'm thinking of you while I'm gone,
and in my heart that's where you'll last.

For now it is my time,
for this I will believe;
I will go on about my business,
and I shall take my leave.

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As you grow, happy moments shrink,
At some day, skin aches when you smile,
These are just ordinary lines, or
Maybe just exaggerated tales,
‘D thought so but no fraction of idea,
It could be real, as real as you dwell in it,
Just like another story,

How a freckled face glance down,
Why arched brows are falling down,
The crow lines of eyes say it,
When it aches to smile,
Wearing it which was disowned years back
Don’t spell or stare or nod,
May face lays as in absence of suspicion

Knot of rope around my neck, 
What changed or happened,
Somebody sprinkled dust on freshly painted canvas,
That Blush of youth _with self-indulged soul,
Beauty reflected in the eyes wide open,
Then agonizing hand interfered,
So made me wore this,
The face you don’t look at.

I have told enough, misery loses its grief,
If explained to satisfy that deaf ear,
Let it prevail, the dust,
Let me blacken myself in the stained canvas,
For that is what meant, and so,
Let this veiled face pray, in the shadow,
For the last breath, not for shrine,
Lived in mundanely and so did suffer,
Shall die in that ordinariness too,
If life asked you about my tiredness,
Don’t blame a name but a cure,
Which is desperately awaited, let her know.

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From Rotgut To Hell

Bart Coleman is my name.
Five Card Stud is my game.
I had ridden into Rotgut two days before.
It is a small dusty rundown nowhere town.
I spent most of my time there in Salty Sam’s Saloon.
I had taken the local yokels for a tidy little sum.
Then, to my shock and chagrin,
Zack Waverly walked into Salty Sam’s.
I had taken most of his dough down in Abilene
three months or so before I wandered into Rotgut.
Zack spotted me, called me a dirty rat,
drew his fancy Colt pistol and shot me in my chest.
I didn’t even have time to draw a breath
and I was stone cold dead before my body
hit the the creaky wooden saloon floor.
The sheriff had a couple of drunken prisoners
bury my body in a shallow grave up on Boothill.
In a flim flam flash my eternal soul was in the pit of Hell.
I would have cried, but a soul cannot shed tears,
when I was informed by that old serpent Beelzebub himself
that there is absolutely no gambling allowed in Hades.
Now I truly understand why the netherworld is called Hell.

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Born out of the moonlight

Every winters night I'm kept awake it seems, by the fainting ecos of my lovers screams forever filling the emptiness of my dreams.
Awakening within me the beast, with its eternal lust to drink and feast oh how I envy the deceased.
Given life's final pleasure of deaths final slumber, whilst I'm left here alone to wander.
Oh how I cursed and swore, when once more i bit and tore the delicate flesh of that human I adore.
It's burned forever into my memory, that night my lover was taken from me.
As the clouds cleared and moved from sight I bathed in the heavenly glow of the pale moon light, whilst an angel cried hast thou gazed upon such a calming night.
Calming indeed was it whilst in my human form, but as one well knows the calm comes right before the storm.
As the moons rays wrapped around my skin I felt the beast stir from within.
With one sharp pain in my chest so did begin this night of misery, as the transformation from man to beast happened almost instantly.
Detached now was my mind and soul from my body as I lost control like Alice tumbling down the black endless rabbit hole.
I was forced to bare witness to my claw as it tour open the entrance door like the rib cage of dear Eleanor.
Up the stairs I went in a frantic bound, moving swiftly without making a sound.
Opening the bedroom door my lover began to stir, upon the bed I lurched over her.
A small drip of drawl escaped over my teeth, it's touch woke my lover laying underneath, her eyes opened but her fright was brief.
Screaming at the beast who's control of my body was overpowering, as I could do nothing but watch it devouring the woman who's love for me had just began flowering.
And so since that night I lay cowering in my house who's rooms forever continue narrowing.
Empty though the house now lays, alone I am not, as within me the beast still stays.

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Pillage...and Peace

Upon a dead mound of rocks,
Approached a man, a horse,
With armored chest and visored face:
Well-shielded all across.
Looking back, he gestured motion
Then there was a shout
Of thundering voices in a parley--
Hark! A battle roust...!!

On and on went blade and sword:
Smote against smote;
The same action was followed as if,
The kill was conn'd by rote...
Insane, the enemy on which they charged,
Was forced to run amok;
A blow here and a blow there,
Death ceased those with less luck...

All at once--all was shaken,
All was left asunder;
Disaster had struck this land of dread,
Now all was left in plunder...:

No more of the smiling parched faces,
Covered in sandy gear;
No more were there happy looks--
None happiness left to bear...
They'd made a sudden chance
On those men, women and kid;
While none left to mourn askance--
The afterward's left placid...

The dead were being searched for life:
All alive left, were killed;
The loot was being gathered up--
The gathering hands were skilled..

A subtle cry was then heard,
And a hand was with hope raised;
The General turned around that way,
Scanned and sternly gazed...

It was here that he came down--
The horse he did unmount;
He neared the dying soldier's cry,
Then plunged his sword in ground...
A softer moan filled the air,
As steel pierced a mesh;
The bleeding heart bled some more,
They'd met--Blood, Steel, Sand and Flesh...

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~The Healer, I lay…Meditating, The Shaman’s path is inward and up, up, from the bed up, up, my astral body rises. Silence, surrounds … Looking down I see myself in a pit of covers my astral self slips from the window viewing home and hearth from outside and high above… No earth born sounds, awaken me from my flight. NO earthly forest, lush or deep entraps the Shaman she. NO bird calls fills the Predawn light… NO dewdrops distract~ Astral I recedes in time… a Dreaming Back, back, back without knowledge of time, or space like a fallen leaf~ twirling and swirling, letting the current take me, where it will through lifetimes to the womb and beyond . . . ~The Healer, I.. ghosts in space… my home but a speck lit with Chi. Silence, surrounds… Fair astral form of gossamer light, I…thread space on umbilical silk, the healer...reaches, reaches for the light, the He and She……God and Goddess. The Healer, I... reaches the World Tree, Yggdrasil, white crystal roots tendril into the primordial sea of space time, branching upward cradling Heaven. There below the tree in the soft grass an ancient one, a familiar soul, waits. ~Oh I am held by She, ancient Grandmother, and garner the wisdom of ages.~ But, the bodies time is now, and calls and as the clay rests, it calls down, down, down… I go ~Past the jumble-tumble between lifetimes, within the cycling universe of all, The Healer, I, reforms, snaps to the umbilicus of prone body, within the tumbled nest of sheets, in the now plane of existence. ~Arms reach out brushing cheeks, eyes gleam, and sparkle with the joy of sharing, kindred spirits having touched the ancient wisdon of the Light! Silence surrounds.

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Maggie and Porter

Come meet two of my former patients;
A nursing home room they did share
Maggie was blind; Porter became her eyes
Finding, picking up, helping her

He was kind.  Her mind had slipped - or had it?
"Porter, I lost my comb," said to mate
Frail as he was, under the bed he went
Crawling for Maggie - deliberate

Day in and day out he would meet her needs;
She contrived to keep him near her hand,
Porter this and Porter that - it did seem 
Though they each understood the commands

The nurses would come to help as needed.
Then, on that moring when a stillness
Penetrated the room reverently
Quietly sitting slumped by her bed

No answer; no movement; just sitting there;
Porter dressed for his daily tasks,
He had fallen asleep when breathing ceased
He had given all that was asked

"Porter, Porter, help me," was softly heard
"Porter, Porter, please answer me,
 Porter, Porter, where are you?" asked again.
"Porter's gone.  He loved you, Maggie."

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The Job - part 1

The Job

I got a plane to catch in the morning.  8:15 AM out of Austin, destination Orange County, CA.  Never cared much for California and I don’t think anything about this trip is going to change that feeling.  Ain’t nothing but a bunch of seaweed eating, tea partying queers out there if you ask me.  But hell I got a job to do; otherwise I’d stay here and water the dandelions growing in my backyard.  Bought the place on the GI Bill and been living here 20 years, most of them by myself.  Never cared much for “other” people.  That’s the whole damn problem with the world- other ****ing people.   Any Goddamn way I got a job to do in California.  I get a phone call from a guy called Phoodie and he says “Rick we gotta problem with someone out in Cali.”   Tells me there’s a plane ticket waiting and some money in a locker at the YMCA.  He just needs this person to go away.  I’m cool with that.  It’s not like it’s personal or anything it’s just a job.  I did lot’s of jobs in Nam when I worked for the Spooks.  That *****was all legal and legit.  This *****ain’t quite the same but it smells the same.

I feed the cat and put a little extra feed in the bowl cause I might be gone a couple of days.  Old Rollo can hang.  He’s a survivor.  If he runs out of food he can find a fat mouse chilling out somewhere.  I left him by mistake one time for a week and I swear when I got home he had gained weight and was eyeballing me on top of that.  Like he was stalking me.  I put and end to that *****right quick.

I like to work clean.  Some folks like to get close in and use a knife and get all-personal.  I don’t like people enough to take that path.  I like a clean shot, preferably just one but if I have to use two I do and beat myself up about it later.  Don’t get me wrong I have worked close in and have done so on many occasions but those were government jobs and I never liked getting wet.  Getting the blood out of the suit was never easy.  Time to prep.

I have a 9MM Mouser that I found after the wall fell in East Germany.  It was nothing but a shell of it’s former self; no stock just a barrel, cylinder, and chamber.  I took it to a friend in Istanbul that trafficked in old WWII weaponry and he put it together for me.  He made some modifications so I could easily break it down and get it inside a coat, added a scope and a very quiet silencer.  It is a killing machine.  It is the perfect weapon.  I could drop an elephant at 3000 meters with one well-placed shot.  No serial number and no way to trace it.  She’s mine and I am hers and we trusted each other.  I do my job and she does hers.  Together we are a fine tuned machine.

I pulled her out of the case and began the process that I go through every time we have a job to do.  She knew the dance and I loved to watch her move as I took her apart and put her back together again.  It was a sacred dance, a dance of death.  As I took her through the drill I poured myself a single malt scotch and slowly sipped it and worked both her and the drink methodically until we had both become a well oiled pair.  After a while I couldn’t distinquish between the weapon and myself.  We would commit the same crime and both walk away without feeling a thing because we were doing what God had designed us to do.  

After I finished the preparation I took a bath and cleaned myself from head to toe.  I then lay down on the fresh linen I had put on the bed after I got the call.  I needed to rest and think.  Killing someone is not as easy as you think.  You have got to get your head right.  Sometimes that means taking a couple of tranquilizers to steady the nerves.  You don’t want to get excited.  It just makes you make mistakes.  And one mistake turns you into the victim.

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My Downfall

Power and Control was my destiny, I rose from the bottom.
Hoping to become more powerful than you could ever imagine.
But you were my only hope of stopping my madness and hatred.
My passion and love for you was my downfall, it was all for you.
Now I clinch the remains of you, what have I done?
Am I a disgrace, or a foul, for falling so low to you?
I love you, but it seems, the same cannot be said for you.
I killed to be with you, and let this blood be shed.
A reminder that my rise to power, came with its loss.
Let this loss be the the Dagger that I hold.
A dagger of love, which these hands still clinch.
A dagger which shall be the death of me, as it was to you.

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life choices

the father sees a neighbor
screaming with child as she runs
out the front door to shelter
he hustles his own to shelter
and turns to see other neighbors
with their two dogs come running behind

the shelter's too small to hold everyone,
the father says climb in but we can't fit the dogs 
the neighbors hesitate - then pull the dogs
back to their house as father shuts shelter door

in a few seconds jets and trains and 
bombs overhead shiver into steel and 
time stops or stretches to infinity
as flotsam shoots through cracks

father opens shelter door sure he will 
witness haunting fears he knows
and runs to the pile that was 
minutes ago, the neighbors house

throwing pieces of piles aside
he digs to the small space that 
two hundred and ten miles per hour
had enclosed to free friends and dogs

both men shudder at their fortunes
the father, immensely glad to not 
have to bear witness and grief,
the owner, who couldn't 
do that to his beloved dogs

© Goode Guy 2013-12-26

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A missive from the damned to whoever have a little time to spend with this nonsense - Page 1

And so, I have made up my mind, once more.
I have decided to depart, to bid this husk farewell.
In order to do that, I must save coins if I desire to save myself.
For with it, I will be able to buy my ticket out here to a more blessed realm or the eternal void. Either way, I will be winning.
I mustn't, any longer, feel the starvation of affection and no more I shall be fed by the crumbs of fleeting joy they toss at me.

Thoughts of finishing are always in my mind, flooding it, making hard to go day by day, making hard to sleep, to have hope.
I fail to see where the hope is, I like to think that it can be find inside of one's heart.
But even so, I think I am mistaken, and when I glance at myself in the mirror, I quickly lose any spark of what could-be hope.

With the aid of the metallic sling, I shall leave this husf behind, heavy with its sins and sorrows, to no more nourish hatred.
For it does only to hinder my advance towards elevation.
With my metallic sling, I shall pierce, first, my heart, where lies the sorrow, then, my mind, where resides the sins.
Whilst the life in me start to wane, regrets I will not have, when my consciousness fade, my spirit will be no longer be trapped inside this imperfect cage of flesh.
Being free, my spirit shall roam far and beyond to, before, unseen places by men, to  untouched places by men.

Another day,someone inquired me "Are you happy now?" and for that I just said "Yes". How else could I have responded if not with a lie?
How could I tell them that I yearn for a premature closure in order to stop thinking and feeling but I also yearn for love.
"I am not absolutely happy, as per say, but I do suffer less when I am asleep" I could never say that to anyone...

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Once upon a hill
A lifetime spent
Sinking in my love’s quick sand!

Once upon a hill
Sweet melodies
Our hearts in a simple duet!

Once upon a hill
A life is born
The seed of our love!

Once upon that hill
Dreams are shared
Our graves we lay

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Today I looked at your picture and I shed a silent tear
We had never met yet, still I cry and I grieve for your family
Cut down in your prime just seventeen years old
Your friend – oh how he wishes he could turn the clock back
But he faces the rest of his life knowing he killed you
Guess you never dreamed when you went on a car journey
That it would be the last trip you ever made
At the end of the day a car is a machine 
Machines are dangerous if used incorrectly
Why Why Why don’t people realise

Jan Allison
25th August 2014

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Just Desserts for Rats

Still touching the hilt of the sword, she declares, “No fencing for HIM at the end of the month. His pastime is so bloody boring!” The mouse in her house regards her with cockiness from underneath a chair. “Yeah, BEN, my FRIEND, I’m talking to YOU.” She returns the stare of the mouse. “And you sure do make a racket at night down here on this kitchen flooring!” The ashes she flicks from her cigarette fall soundlessly to the tiles. She casually leafs through a travel brochure she holds, then looks over at “Ben.” “Yeah, that husband of mine sure thought he could fool me, but he’ll never try that again.” She fixes her gaze on Ben’s beady eyes and then back on the pages and smiles. There were rendezvous spots of her husband she’d got from a slime ball she’d hired to sleuth. “He did a good job, that big tub of lard. Yes, I do have to give him that, but he sure knew how to give me the creeps with his body all sweaty and fat.” She puts some milk on sweet rice in a bowl. “I only wanted the truth. Cat got your tongue? Too bad there’s no cat. I’d love to see you get swallowed.” The mouse doesn’t flinch. Now she looks down at a pile of the sleuth’s photographs. “This first batch of pictures wasn’t so hot.” She turns to the rodent and laughs. “But this second group. . . .Every cent was well-spent to have that bastard followed!” She puts the rice pudding with milk on the floor near a form that is centered there and stoops as she pours from a bottle marked “poison” its contents into the bowl. She leans down beside the shape on the floor, saying, “Soon you‘ll have Ben‘s company.” And then to the mouse: “ Come here, little rat, come now and eat till you’re full.” Then grabbing her bags pre-packed for Australia, she kicks at the form on the floor so carefully centered - kicks right at the spot where the sword’s blade so easily entered. For the Dirty Deeds Contest

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The Passing

There are words
But human emotions will always obstruct there comfort
There are friends 
Who present themselves for family consolency 
There are flowers
Which are beautiful to view -their decay is inevitable 
There are songs
Soothing the silent whimpering screams from within my soul
There is family
Whom I no longer comfortingly can embrace their tears
There is earth
Covering the light and pitching darkness about me
There is my passing
The start of my eternity 

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"Why keep fighting to breathe to live?"
Young girl ask the old man.
He been laying on this bed for five years now
each dawn he get more frail
the pain intensifies...
But his eyes remains as clear as the azure skies.
He motions his great granddaughter to draw the curtains
half a step a time
he make his way to the window and push them wide
"Princess" He calls her
"I have lived more decades than i bargained for.
I have seen wars and birth of nations
Cradle of Civilization and discovery of technology
and this thing going around,revolution you call,i have bore witness to."
His shaky hand reach for the cuppa on the table
after two three mellow sips he continuous.
"I have loved and been adored
Cherished as i have been treasured
hurt as much as i have been harmed
rejected as much as i been dejected
judged as much as i have been mis-quoted...
I have tasted and own world's most exotic flavors
I have taken risks and build empires that will live more than any of you
I have caved a name that your generations will forever ride on
I have walked in the wilderness and a left a trail where others will follow..."
"I have done,experienced,seen and have it all."
He clench his toothless jaw that runs a crease on his face
"Your mother think i have lived too long."He laments
And to you my little dove, am another burden.
You are all eager to see me gone
you pray my lungs will fail me anytime soon."
He spits on the ground,then shoot the young lady a disgusting look
"Why i keep living?i keep breathing?i keep fighting?
I have but a phrase for an answer."
He lets out a mean laugh that echoes down the hallway
followed by a long rough dry cough
"Not to today Mr.Death,not today."
He sit back and continue to enjoy the ambrosia.
He has seen another spring,
he awaits the summer,the fall and the winter after that!

And so in Grandpa's words
i find a lesson i shall forever keep
to fight the hollows of each night for a new day
to make each breath count while i still have my being
and to keep on keeping on living
because somewhere down the horizon 
in the dark shadows of the sun
death lurks.
And like grandpa says

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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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When I was a child I waited for Your call

How could You do this to me

We stood by the phone but You were busy

How could I have thought You heard

The youngness wasn't enough

You were too disconnected to answer

Unaware we dialed You again and again

The others waited too and starved

I believed in Your love

The Omnipotence fragmented

For you Brother 

The signal was one ring and I should ring back

But the Power said disconnected

I tried You again but the voice said no

The number you have reached is not in service

So I checked the number and again  it said clear

Those tears turned into a river and we saw You sail by

You were needed at the church and the glory

Two children stayed and together was no matter

Dancing we made new games and prayer

Oh Dio


Am older now and the prayer

My brother is gone cause he took a cab

Their was no fare

He doesn't wait now but I still

I hear him in the night

I see him in strangers and glances

Begging You I wait as before

The toys help with those moments and dialing

Your phone rings off the hook

God help us all

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Spoiled by Carson Eelman- 7th grader

A tribute to Ray Bradbury's The Veldt

by Carson Eelman

The nursery is a curious place
a place where dreams came true
inside lied an African Veldt.
In there the leaves would sway,
as the grass danced in the wind,
the lions roar, the sun beats hot,
it seems so real but know it's not.

In a world where thoughts come true,
what evil acts young minds will do;
I don't think we are alone,
in this place where lions roam.

The power of imagination,
can be a wonderful thing,
full of magic, fun, and wonder;
but it can turn to darkness as well.
The nursery became corrupted,
with thoughts of death,
becoming real to Mom and Dad.

In a world where thoughts come true,
what evil acts young minds will do;
I don't think we are alone,
in this place where lions roam.

The called a man
to see what's wrong
but honestly he wasn't sure.
He said they should take a break,
and so the father said,
"Shut down the house,
     we are ready to go," 
         but the kids said "Please No!"

In a world where thoughts come true,
what evil acts young minds will do;
I don't think we are alone,
in this place where lions roam.

They couldn't let it happen,
so they locked both inside.
The parents screamed and banged,
but to no reply.
The lions came and they were gone.
Peter and Wendy flashed a wicked grin,
then settled down and ate a meal.

In a world where thoughts come true,
what evil acts young minds will do;
I don't think we are alone,
in this place where lions roam.

In a world where thoughts come true,
what evil acts young minds will do;
I don't think we are alone,
in this place where lions roam.

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The First Day

Today is the first day of the rest of your life Make the most of it Everyone has a specific number of days here on earth But no one knows what that number is Best thing is to ignore it and live life As if you are going to live forever Your final day will arrive a lot quicker Than you thought when you were a young'un But if you can look back on a full happy life Then when your time is up, you'll be ready If that can ever be at all possible! Think of the good stuff, don't dwell on the negatives Everyone has them no matter who they are So be happy, think positive We're all sailing down life's stream In the same shaky old boat... ENJOY! © Jack Ellison 2014

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Ode to why you should keep your Door Double Locked

One fine morning, in early July,
A key opened a door that was locked-bye and bye
No notice, no call, no fateful warning
Uncle Frank walked in, unannounced, at eight in the morning

Lo and behold, the occupant was awoken
Some deep and recognized voice had spoken
Heading toward the voice, with sleep in his eyes
Robby said, "Uncle Frank!  What a surprise!"

"Well, I'm feeling fat and a little shaken.
I'm afraid that yesterday I ate too much bacon.
May I please use Grandma's old bathroom scale?
Ever since her funeral, I feel like a whale.

With a shake of his head and a polite, "No."
Robby said, "You gonna wake up my ho.
A  princess of mine is sleeping fair
So go ****ing weigh yourself in your own god damn lair."

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Cancer Took Him

His memory I have,
mine to hold,
no one can take it,
cherished as if gold.

Cancer took him,
but his fight was strong,
my brother is with our mother,
now their pain is gone.

His only sister,
treated so cold,
by some of the family,and friends,
the truth shall be told.

Take what you want,
go on your way,
you will pay dearly,
and answer one day.

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Empty House

Searching for a message, one that I could only see.
I looked in the closet, hoping for a piece of me.
Digging through a wreckage looking for the key.
Walking down these hallways, dark and incomplete.
Faded paint and broken glass, blood stains cover the floor.
Dead grass across a lawn filled with empty spaces.
The Clouds above grow closer, as Darkness takes over day.
Memories fade as the cold sets in.
Alone and Desperate for some hope and faith.
We die without knowing of our true fate.

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Forgive Me

Please forgive me for what I've done.
Take away these lies and promises that I couldn't keep.
Dig a grave, where I will forever sleep.
Take away these memories there no good to me.
Let it burn through my skin to bone.
Take away this love that I yield no more.
Let my ashes burn deep to the pores. 
Take away what's left of me.
And let my mistakes pass on.

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Final Plea

Inspired by the untimely deaths of young people I knew. RIP

In a dream, tonight would be my last

and I demanded to talk to God.

Of all the things I've gotten past,

to go now seemed so odd.

"You've taken all my friends you see

and now you want me, too?

Unlike one who pretends to be

I've always honored you."

Those sinners who outlive me still,

all I have to ask is how?

It mad me question His very will.

Why take a good man now?

But God just sat and let me rave

on and on about my worth

and why I didn't need a grave,

but rather eternity here on earth.

Pride let my voice be rather loud.

He never said a word.

I told of deeds that made me proud

and good things that I'd heard.

And when I tired He simply said,

"No doubt your life's been good.

But many younger are now dead

and their legacy simply would

be the song that is never sung,

no children call them dad.

for they came to me so very young

and left the world confused and sad.

Yet now your time has come as well

and selfish thoughts are all I hear?

Your life was full and I can tell

it's really death you fear.

Just remember that you have no choice,

for you all will one day die.

Be strong and with a humble voice

tell loved ones they can cry."

And in that moment I knew a peace,

and I felt a tear well up inside.

That most feared was now the least

as my selfish motives died.

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Untitled #351 / Sagittarius A

In the center of our galaxy
from 1992 through 2003
astronomers were able to observe
a star, orbiting compact radio source
Sagittarius A.
The star had an orbit with average radius
1.4x1014 m
and period 15 years.
From this information astronomers estimated
the mass of Sagittarius A.
v = 2π(1.4x1014)/(15x365x24x60x60) = 1.86x106 m/s
a = (1.86x106)2/(1.4x1014) = 0.0247 m/s2
0.0247 = (6.673x10-11)M/(1.4x1014)2
M = 7.24x1036 kg
7.24x1036/(1.989x1030) = 3.6 million suns!
Astronomers infer that Sag. A is a
supermassive black hole
(it cannot be seen)!

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Can you escape from death

It was in the days of Farhan
that death took the form of a man
and before your knell did toll
death usually gave you a call

Sitting in his parlour by the shore,
there was a knock on the door
Farhan jerked it open and beheld the sight
dressed in black and holding a paper stood he,
stood death!!

“Thy time has come” he sputtered
“for you are next on my list”
“so soon” cried Farhan
who had lived for four scores.

He whimpered and went frenzy
but death stood expressionless.
with laser in place of eyes,
he was nonchalant and apathetic

Farhan thought of his opulent garments
and his stupendous cars, and again he did lament
looking at death with tears baked lips,
he quavered “lets have a feast of my passin”

For four hours they feasted
but he ate and drank intermittently
while looking at death with deceit in his eyes
he watched as death ate to a point of stupor and fainted

Farhan dragged the list of names from his cold hands
and from top to bottom, he displaced his name
feeling happy to have tricked death,
he drank happily to his health.

four hours later,death awoke
then looking at farhan with gratitude said
“for being kind I will add your days to next autumn”
by starting reading my names from bottom.”

looking at the bottom of the list, he read
“Abongobi Farhan ”
then looking at Farhan he smile and asked:

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The love dressed in black

The lady walks away
With thoughts clogged of grey
She couldn't stand there any longer

Watching him go underground
It was dead scilent, not a sound 
His motionless body on his death bed

She cried tears of death and sorrow
Knowing for him, there is no tommorow
Her love thrown away like nothing

No one knew who she was
Because she had only met him the other day
when they fell in love at first sight

The bullet that once saved her 
Killed her first love, in a shock and a blur 
He bled out and died in her arms

Why didn't things work out that day?
Why did things end up that way?
She walked away, a lady dressed in black

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The Indian Ocean Tsunami

My heart cries for thousands and thousands of people
those who perished in the earthquake-spawned waves;
known as tsunami, the worst natural disaster
that caused tons and tons of deaths across Asian countries.

It’s a great tragedy, a giant blow to humanity,
with its repercussions to all spheres of life –
a wake-up call, an immediate response
that needs to be attended to and done forthwith.

Global mourning takes its course in every nation,
particularly in these countries of Asia where –
Indonesia, Thailand, Sri Lanka are faced with difficulties;
in coping with destructions, tragedies, and other commotions
indeed, an urgent call that needs an international attention.

In four decades this catastrophe has ceased its wrath,
but after that starts another episode, so terrifying
that people who are caught up in that mere situation
can solemnly declare and profess their fears.

Oh, Mother Nature! at times we don’t know
your reactions that cause pandemonium,
tragedy, destruction, sorrow, and pain to all
like this one, a very strong and powerful disaster.

However, across the world, people show their compassion
with their unwavering generosity that floods in all levels
it’s an illustration that we’re humans with caring behaviors
to all those who’re afflicted and severely hit by this phenomenon.

I can’t imagine how the world mobilizes and responds
showing their love and concern to these people in pain
loss of lives, heart brokenness, and other misfortunes;
these generate an answer to be mindful of them in many ways.

I see the unprecedented generosity that rolls in every land,
institutions and other organizations make a collaboration
in what is conceived and put into action: fund raising,
charity, and pledges of thousands of donors.

Horrific media images shown in television channels,
are remarkable pointers for reflection and yet an invitation;
for someone who needs conversion and a return to church call,
that life can be as quick as those giant waves that killed many people.

It’s a theological reflection which embraces human sufferings,
Like a pathway to profound invocation, faith and trust in Him;
Oh God, our source of strength and goal to fulfill this portion
Where we unite ourselves to all those who’re in afflictions.

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Major Blowback

When rich Hollywood asswipes
criticize a dead war hero
such as Chris Kyle,
they can expect major blowback
from surviving vets like me.
Such ungrateful SOBs
are the ultimate “Ugly Americans”.

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In Dunkersfield Lies A Neglected Grave

In Dunkersfield Lies A Neglected Grave

In Dunkersfield lies a neglected grave
 last vestige of a precious life gave
No massive stone to mark the resting spot
of a simple man that gave all he got

Town people say they knew him so well
 had big secrets he'd never dare tell
One was about a child he'd never seen
 bastard son of a lady named Ilien

Others solemnly swear he kilt' a man
 beat him with that mighty right hand
Hard truth lies somewhere in between
 his life imagined and one he had seen

Ole Stoner Ace was a gambler for sure
 had lots of women, none were too pure
Worked that farm, won on a lucky bet
 hard life even for a tough combat vet

No church did he ever bother to attend
 lived alone with not a single friend
Money sent to pay for nephew's school
 kept his secrets, was nobody's fool

Christmas night he died old and alone
 his savings given away, every penny gone
Good deeds he always kept to himself
 bad maybe but he always was topshelf

In Dunkersfield lies a neglected grave
 last vestige of a precious life gave
No massive stone to mark the resting spot
of a simple man that gave all he got

Robert J. Lindley,  01-23-2015

NOTE:  Poem was written based upon the real life of a friend's uncle. 
A tough old bird that had quite a reputation. Lived a wild life as young man 
and had served time in prison for beating a man to death that had stabbed him in 
the back in a barfight. My Dad knew him well. Told me that he was an upright guy 
that came out of prison and left the wild life behind.
Sometimes life just beats the hell out of you and if you are lucky you still
manage to survive!

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Never changing

I’ve traded my final smiles for a rock and a rush..
Shooting my veins for death at thirty five.  
last chance to steal a detox from the county cause 
Everyone knows government checks don’t bounce.

Instead I wanna follow the needles of street lights all the way to winter haven Fla.  

Pittsburgh Dirt tells me the sun there melts your skin
Maybe I can drip on top of a burnt spoon,
And all the sick junkies can draw me through their cottons..
I’d do it you know, be a martyr,
No  more mom’s dreaming, then touching caskets.  

I wish I knew who crawled through my ear and blanketed my conscience.
Sarah R couldn’t uncover it, and she was 5-7 with C’s and a fastball.
Her prays linger, bounce off the ceiling fans arms.

Expectations hang framed on my bedroom wall, It reads university of Pittsburgh.
My four cornered nightmare. Do they still believe I can stop, forever, I cant; fathom a 

Blood actually runs clean through me today, but that doesn’t change desire
My purpose is to fade into my bed, cautionary tale.  
The only question left is who will write the end. 

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Dark clouds drift slowly across the leaden sky.
The air is stagnant, still, heavy with promise of the tempest to come. 
Standing, abandoned, forlorn, on the edge of the abyss I wait.
Tears of anguish course down my cheeks, vanishing into the dust.
My head bowed in grief as if in worship to the god Aeolus.
The sound of my low sobbing a mantra to his approach.

Dark clouds drift slowly across the chaos in my mind.
The old fear has brought forth the fruit of despair as it was ordained.
Sounds of thunder arise, the harbinger of the furore to come.
Thoughts of what has been lost, expunged, from my view overwhelm me.
Memories, so many memories so many colours all turned to grey.
The  moan breaks free rising with the wind, a sirens song of futile love.

Dark clouds drift slowly across the ruin of my soul.
The sky is lit with bolts of white light joining heaven and earth.
Scars of wounds long healed reopen, I bleed for each friend lost.
Terrible is my lament as my head rises and I turn to face the gale.
More than heart can bear, the pain, the grief, the loss, my true friend.
The crescendo of sound and light is reached, the edge of the abyss stands empty. 

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this light may bring hope…
a snap of moment to lead to truth…
i am of what i am because of the truth…
somehow Sulu will rise forth…

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The Murder of Lady Anne of the Marshland

'To the cauldron she goes, 
Her white gown simmering gold, 
Ere the fire of wee minstrels eyes, 
Raging with anger, envy and despise,' 

A malison murmured she to the brewing stew inside, 
Therein a dark evil doth reside, 
Made up of a charlatan's tongue, a brutish hand, 
Teardrop of a widow 'n a profane grain of sand, 

"Lady Anne of the Marshland, 
Thy star ascends to glory's helm, 
While in thy possession the heart of a blind man, 
To do so methinks is villain; thou must hang, 

Thy belief is vile; my crippled soul it pains, 
Akin fire it courses through my veins, 
Mortifying me while I bade in Wales, 
Sleep I haven't plenty as every night a bleeding hound wails, 

Thus, this stew shall halt thy good life, 
Relieving thee of duty as my son's wife,
Bear that little effort is little strive, 
This murder plotted I in my hive,"

A vial had she filled, 
Hoping blood be spilled,
Not just any but that of Lady Anne’s, 
Whose end wouldst be the doing of her two hands,

Possessed a fragmented heart she, 
Scattered like Maldivian isles across the aching sea,
Bred in a cesspool of bile, 
The thrusting waves her ally; her couthy visage a lie,

At the dawn of night, 
Whence the castle halls were lit by candlelight,
The cookery- thither the beldam marched, 
Vial in hand; back duly hunched,

Her wrinkled fingers did three drops slip, 
Of the deathly concoction into a silver chalice,
Heretofore ample in merlot, 
For the lady seated by the hearth whose hair reigned scarlet,

Lady Anne drank it whole, 
Shortly thereafter her skin turned pale and cold,
Dying embers reflected her dying self; 
Eyelids drooped whilst eyes peered at a nearby shelf,

A grey wolf thereupon began howling outside, 
It sang unmindful of an impending death; a quietus reprise,
Clerics utter words of reparation to a witch who burns at the stake,
The beldam offered words of malediction to the withering lady; thus spake,

"To end to end with this mortal life, 
Let the heavens tear it asunder,
Lay to rest lay to rest thy weary eyes, 
Forever and forever."

Written by Sunil Rao.

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The meaning of destruction.

Its cold, clouds grey, no sun to guide me,
hands search for the missing eye that has long since past.
I hear them bicker and curse, do you know what they are?
Slimy slurping dripping muck, the snow has gone, but left my
world with black soot earth.
These creatures seem to thrive on it, thrive on my shallow pit
of existence.
I gather myself, I crack my knees as I bend to pick a limb,
what should go first? Of course my feet to carry me.
With such effort for a pointless quest I begin to think that
there is nothing but death scraping at my neck, hinting at
my demise.
Ages since my trumpets call, they call me home from a 
nightmare of cry's and vomit.
My mind begins to flash with imagery beyond comparison,
a child I see inside my heart, is naked, blind, sick and pale,
OH GOD!! Where is the source for this madness.
I have gathered my pieces and attempt to walk, but see
that I have gathered more than my own share of flesh, there
are those that belong to men,the men thats beneath the soil,
the creatures are red inside my nails.
My color is that of a ruby stone, as cold as one and as hard 
no doubt.
CRACK! BANG! Lighting and sound rip through the sky, this sound
is not of guns or drums.
The dark sky is fat with victory, it spues out its fill upon me, it washes
my world around me only to reveal my horror.
My comrade, my friends, my enemy's and alas, the child of whom gave 
such sadness.
Did I die too? Looking at my broken self, was I tricked to war, yes, this was it,
the price to pay, to pay the earth for its company, it seems we were guests that
outstayed our welcome.
Ha! If we were ever welcomed, I don't think invasion is the same.

So clear now, the rain making sense of it all.
My knees don't crack as I begin to fall.
Cant you see me?I have been killed.
So you can keep your stomach tanks filled.
Thank you all, your prayers are gone.
To feed the horde there victory's won.

Is the memory gone from them?
The world is sane but our race is thin.
Is this world so leaderless? 
Mankind is lone, the world is fearless.
Must we die before they see?
No, die but twice before you free.

Do you have the answer?
With blood in hand and gun in holster?
No one has the meaning or an answer to a thing.
Just that they are happy with there life they have to bring.

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Darkness of One Spring Dawn

Your suitcase was home where you left it
We had left in a hurry

A clock on the sterile wall was ticking away dwindling moments
And was the only sound to break the morning silence

Outside a pale May sun, was laboring to start the day
And was the only thing that held our years together

I had stayed by your bedside if they allowed me to,
If they didn't, I walked and paced and waited until the dawn
I knew every crack on the hospital sidewalk
Bombarded by memories I could not remember to forget

Losing your battle, there was hardly a chance to say goodbye….
They handed me your slippers, and night things in a bag
I tucked them under my arm....for the trip home...

Later if people asked …..those same old questions they always ask
I wanted to say simply…."Why?  Does it matter?…..All that mattered...
                                                                                                         is gone…"


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A Moments Reflection

I am empty as the page that sits befor the flustrated poet.
Pain trapped in heart without words to put to pen.
Shaking cold knowing full well my time has passed as swiftly
as train through a midnight so very clear.

The road behind me I can longer recall.
Faces and places shallow as a drying river bed.
Life has taught me to put up wall.

Stolen moments from a welcome barstool.
One of many jesters in this fools 
kingdom I do rule.

The clock of my life grows closer 
to closing time.

When I walk out that door it's left to others to recall.
reflect in the thoose smokey dark corners.
How many of you ever did know me at all.

Thinking of times never had.
Missing friendships that never were.
To fail means at least you did try.
The road never ends so why must I?

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The Death Of A Friend

There was no casket to be set into the earth.
Only memories were to be  burried washed clean 
by the bottles embrace.

Strangers  do we part a vist to a familar cold place 
by the oceans shore.
Words spoken never hurt when you  understand 
human nature.

The dark inwhich  I only know.
A dark river flowing unto the sea.
Its broken current flow's with no true direction.

As children we start fresh only to loose the spark.
Dancing under a shroud of tenderness  apon lifes 
harsh stage.

Bitter souls reflect  anger lost only tears of  regret.
Me i just cast demons down   in some  twisted hope
I just might forget.

Sometimes you gotta realize when you crash through that glass
celling  you only got to look forward to the floor.
The bottle now empty I cast into  the dark waters
eternal bed.
Along  with a memory  I'll pretend to erase.

Distanse is only a thought away.
The road echos  my lifes song.
Underground burried  so deadly the truth
just as sweet as the lie.

Barbwire and daydreams  plague my soul.
Like the bottle that sit's within the depths 
of a water cast tomb.

I know strangers  as friends.
Night as backdrop.
Farewell  seems  fitting as hello.
When the river has run dry    
To whom will go?

Read more:

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At eight, Mary started hawking
Supplies, at Creek road market

Little Mary!

Up and down
In the hazardous market

''Buy your ice water'' 
Every now and then
She would cry

Many a kids
Also hawked wares
Hence, their continual cries
'' Buy kerosene''
'' Buy your ice water''
'' Buy your ice cream''

A customer's beckon
Always triggered chaos
The struggle to sell their wares
Some kids crossed without

Upon one hawking day
A reckless driver hit Mary
Slowly, she lost her breath
And went down in a thud
The driver escaped like a mad dog
A folk of traders like an ant colony
Gathered about the child
Shaking heads with folded arms
Soon they dispersed
With a tale to tell
How Mary, the hawking child
Died with the night
But shall arise with the sun no more

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The Visit

I visited you today,
At that place where you lay.
I placed flowers and a picture of you and me at your cold headstone.
As I was leaving, the wind picked up,
Throwing my hair in my tear-filled eyes,
That soon streamed down my face,
I tried to t hold them back,
Soon gave up on that.

I am not who I used to me,
I died along time ago, when you had to pass,
With one lingering question.....
Where is the "good" in this "goodbye?" 

I visited you today,
And cried, fighting the tears back.
Trying to figure what good comes from goodbye....

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Her eyes, though once bright, are cloudy,
Shrunken and fragile the form
That long was brimful of vigor
And a will to outlast life's storms.
She stares past a blank horizon
Through a door that I do not know;
The colors she sees are mem'ries,
Scents and sounds of the long ago.

A kaleidoscope of faces
Turns merry-go-round in her mind;
While trees out her window whisper
Soft lullabies long left behind.
The sound of my cheery greeting 
Draws her back to this metal room,
Away from a creaking rocker
And her mama's sweet, gentle croon.

If is not my name she whispers
As I bend down to kiss her cheek,
But a name more dear than ever
Mine was is the name that she speaks.
"Papa," the feeble voice quavers.
I'm no more a part of her world;
The grandma that soothed my sorrows
Is once again Papa's wee girl.

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My phone is Ringing

My phone is ringing it's the call I've been dreaming about. I try and reach for my phone but my arms are numb laying in a pool of my blood and my fingers refuse to work. My phone is still ringing, as each breath becomes harder then the last. I try one last time to pick up my phone but its to late my body has gone cold ...and all the pain is gone. My phone is ringing and its the last thing I will ever hear.

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The Cricket's Hymn

The mountains were asleep, 
in the night when sparrows weep, 
for if they hungry they mayn’t eat, 
for they haven’t eyes but have they feet, 
to brave the night but not defeat, 
during a quiet summers’ eve, 
a little cricket took to the leaf, 
to sing a song a song to sieve, 
a heart from hearts like a common thief, 
on that quiet summers’ eve, 
a little sparrow took his leave, 
during night-time whilst the light was dim, 
he couldn’t see well; no he couldn’t, 
but he could hear well; the cricket’s hymn, 
he followed the little critters’ song, 
not knowing if it were right or wrong, 
to go for a meal so late at night, 
whence the sun was out of sight, 
the cricket though wasn’t wary, 
for he was in his little quarry, 
not realising that his singing, 
was drawing him closer to a dining, 
then came a ladybug who happened to pass, 
the little cricket without a lass, 
she told him of the gaining bird, 
but to her great dismay she could not be heard,
for the crickets song was far too loud, 
even louder than thy common hound,
the little sparrow was now, 
an inch away from the cricket somehow, 
and in a flash, 
the crickets' song was as dead as ash,
the poor critters’ short existence, 
is now the ladybugs’ reminiscence.

Written by Sunil Rao.

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Final Days 2-15-02, 8:00 AM

Well, Pop is resting now.

He didn’t get to go home on Thursday. The Oncologist 
wanted him to have either Hospice or Home Health Care.
He wouldn’t sign a release for evaluation for services. Mom 
said he was rude to the social worker in charge. I can
imagine. She called last night at 3:00. The nurses said he
was raising hell. He woke up disoriented and wouldn’t take 
meds to calm down. He said they were peddling dope. I 
asked him what it was and he said methadone. The nurses
laughed a little. I can understand that. He really sounded 
like Pa Dillard. Pa was also very confused in the latter 
stages. When I got there, he thought Mom and I had locked
him in a room without anything to eat all day.  Said he was 
starving. Wanted to know why he was in the hospital at 
Archer City, of all places. Kept looking for his cap and pants.
Said it was time to go home, to Kamay. He must have 
forgotten he had told me earlier they had sold the house 
and didn’t have a thing to their name. Still can’t find his
cap. And now he has a trick leg. It won’t mind him. He tries 
to get up, at least he wants up, and so I help. He can’t 
stand. So he lies back down and tries to make his trick leg
go back to bed. I take care of the leg for him and cover him
up as he is no longer hot, but cold and shaking just a little. 
I don’t think Mom will be able to handle him at home.

He has made three references to “taking care of it himself” 
and the Dr. asked Mom if there were any guns at home. Oh 
hell! Are there any stars in the sky? Mom has the key to the 

gun safe. But, does he have another key hidden that she 
doesn’t know about? I don’t know, but he can’t get up to get
a gun anyway. I don’t know where we’ll be when you get here.

Call ahead to find out. Love, Dad,                                                                                                                             Or, brother, as the case may be.

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Final Days 2-20-02, 9:00 AM

Pop watched some of the Olympics with me last night. It was the first time he had watched television in over two months. He wasn’t refined enough to appreciate the figure skating, However, liked the speed skating quite a bit. He said it was more like track and he liked the Summer Olympics more than the Winter. He asked me for a shave and I obliged. In the past this was always by my suggestion. He’s been having quite a few visitors and I think he wants to try to be presentable. Mom says he embarrasses her when they have company. He can’t always hear what’s going on in the other room and calls for her. “Ruth Ellen, get your ass in here!” is not the proper way to call for my mother. Ralph E. has already cleaned his plow about that once before. I’m not sure how much he’s really aware he’s doing that sort of thing. I’m sure he’s lonely and stir crazy and just wants her company most of the time. Maybe that helps keep his mind off what’s happening. I’ll call if there’s a change. Love You Both, DAD

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Ten Brothers

Beneath a flag of red and white
A soldier quietly lies,
His mother sits just to his right
Tears falling from her eyes.

Brothers lie all laid in rows
Around his final bed,
A cross for each one shows
Their names above their heads.

Seven more stand by his side
With rifles standing tall,
Dressed in honor, feeling pride
For this brother who gave all.

One more stands by his feet
A bugle in his hand,
Plays that melody so sweet
Of taps now for this man.

Two more now step up to fold
Old Glory from her pall,
And place it in Mom's hand to hold
A present from us all.

Ten brothers stand by this man's grave
With respect in just suffice,
For this soldier who proudly gave
His life for freedom's price.

Ten brothers came to send him on
To take his final station,
But thousands more sit at home
Giving thanks with the entire nation.

Somewhere, lying overseas
The man who took this life,
Ten buzzards now has he
Giving thanks at his grave site!

                          Timothy I. Brumley

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GREEN Chapter One

Lying in an ocean of her own blood 
drowning in her own blood.
Her lungs burning from the bullet wounds 
she never thought this is how her
life would end.  Her tears start to flow as 
she thought of the years she spent 
slithering with
snakes.  Her job at the BNB bank made it 
easy to launder money for the Black 
Crime Syndicate.
It was six years ago on June the sixth that
 her life went to hell.  Upset at the thought 
of being late
for work Kenya floored the gas pedal.  
Weaving in and out of traffic hoping she 
didn't get a ticket.  
Arriving at the BNB bank right on time. 
Kenya rushed inside and greeted everyone 
with a warm friendly smile.
A short while later the most attractive man 
she had ever seen entered the bank.  Lost
in his good looks Kenya had to find the 
words "May I help you?"  He introduced 
himself.  "Yes my name is Malik Maxwell 
Williams.  I would like to open an 
account".  "Mr. Williams please follow me 
to my office".  Malik was in Kenya's office 
for twenty minutes before making his 
departure.  Kenya made it up in her mind 
that she would get to know Malik on a 
personal level.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka Red 
Seven aka The Green Poet aka The Brown 

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I stumble upon a river
the way it flows and feels
I take my shoes off and run threw it
laughing looking up towards the sun
I wake up and it was all just a dream
my sister runs up the stairs
she slams her door
i asked her what was wrong
she looked at me 
She says "mom told me you were adopted"
at first i laughed as i thought it was a joke
I run downstairs to see my mom and dad sitting on the couch
"mom?" i say
she replies "its true we adopted you!" 
she got up and walked into the kitchen
"after all this time i thought i was yours" i say
My father gets up and walks out the door
My mom lays her hand on her forhead
Just dont worry about it  everything will be okay
"No it wont i say"
i felt fake like i wasnt who i was suppose to be
i just sat on my bed thinking about the whole thing
my whole life and who i should have been
I packed my bags that light and i ran away
leaving the less important things behind
i set out on a journey to find my real parents
I had my sister get there info. from my dads office
I took a bus to indiana and looked up there address
As soon as i found it i knocked on the door
A man opened the door
he said "who are you?"
i say "apparently i am your son?!"
"you put me up for adoption?" i repeat

He yells "ANNA!?, Some kid is here for you!"
i repeat the story to her as she denied it
She looked bruised and beaten up
I wanted to help her but the man hut the door on my face

I had no where to go now
So i started on a journey back home
But i never made it there 
I found that old river i use to go too
i stayed there for a few weeks until
i remembered the way back.
I found myself that day
I realized that i was fake but now im not because i know that i am just me not any of them

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another day

pale pink is the pre-dawn sky
"pink sky in mourning..."
today will be a pre-proceeding
- for some it will be the same
for some it will purvey monumental,
tsunamic, quaking, flashing innocence
as a muffled buzzing and pounding followed
by eerie stony silence enveloping the sun

FLASH! - what you knew you knew is gone
flash of white to yellow to red to black
billowing dread washes over as waves 
upon waves cover all good of the world
and flotsam of teared memories float
in mind and vision from past treasures

dangerous are those loving thoughts
unarmed without any weapons of indifference
vulnerable to the suffering and anguish
to stagger about befuddled and weeping
singularly, communally the onlookers look on

and piles of cairned candles and trinkets
appear out of nowhere, everywhere
feeble attempts to express hurt and good
- no good will come - yet - in time -
in time - time scabs over the wounded

the blood-letting stops, tears wither
and night follows this immemorable day
that we always remember, eons from now
as if it were last hour that i noticed the time, 
where did it go?, when will it stop?

© Goode Guy 2012-12-17

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VA DEATH WAITING LIST - Update - from original post 05-15-14 Shinseki Resigns - Actually Fired

Below is my original post from 2 weeks ago, President Obama has 
announced that VA Secretary Shinseki has resigned "voluntarily" from
his position, but let's face the fact the President fired him behind closed doors
so that Shinseki could save face and save Obama from more embarrassment.
Yet, this resignation does not relieve the President from his personal responsibility
for the deaths of these veterans, and in his statements today he did not personally
apologize and ask forgiveness from the families of the dead veterans, this whole situation is criminal, instead, he just railed on about how
wonderful Shinseki was, how much more disgusting can this get? Obama thinks he can just fire the Captain of the sinking ship
and everything will be OK? These crimes against veterans have been blatantly ignored for over 5 years now, and when it comes down to
who is ultimately responsible? Well, Mr. Commander-In-Chief, as Harry Truman said "the buck stops at the President's desk", so you need
only to look in the mirror to see who needs to accept full responsibility for this tragic VA disaster! Mr. President, as you know, my father Albin was President for 36 years of the California AFL-CIO, and before he passed away in 2009 he was a big supporter of your 2008 Presidential Campaign, and I can tell you now, he would be so disappointed with you on this VA debacle. He was not just my father, he was my best friend, and one of the finest human beings I have ever known, let alone probably the greatest champion of all workers in the USA and the world, and I know he would ask you now to take immediate and decisive action to prevent anymore of these terrible acts of neglect to our brave veteran heroes! 

Very truly yours,

Robert William Gruhn 

(posted 05/15/14) Here Lies Veterans Administration Washington D.C. 2014
This government bureau and its chief secretary Shinseki refusing responsibility.
40 Arizona veterans died while on shameful death waiting list.
Chief saying he's "MAD AS HELL", to senate hearing then doing nothing.

Well, Mr. President, its time to fire your VA chief and apologize for this failure.
These brave veterans have been allowed to die needlessly while on your watch.
You need to get a spine and do what it takes to save any more VETS from this horror.
So, Mr. Commander in Chief Obama, please show us you truly are our LEADER.

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

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secrets began leaving the building
bar codes covered the license plate's
threats intimidation badgering
and fear meaningless arousal

I began to focus on her treason
again a righteous over reasoning
I was selected poet of Florida
four years in a row inspired

by montel williams and ms. survivors
i'd completed my poem mattie 
for the disabled child poet stepenek  
seated in mark ober's building on twigg 

states attorney jim shoemaker
having a panic attack
following a murder trial 
who was my imposter 

she wore dark skin 
and a very odd grin
why my death enticed her
I began to feel empty
again espionage a disease 
she was spreading. quickly 
throughout civil liberties finally 
I could go to the restroom 

without fear finally I could speak
without panting my imposter 
was a treasonist stealing
my passport to re enter canada

 i remembered the pelicans 
swooping their dinner 
over the seminole valley 
the whooping crane standing

in the merky waters
as alligators strolled by 
i'd remember thee imposter jane
a ladder up to my window pages ripped

why she latched on to my identity 
with a fierce strength a severe stronghold
why she believed she was me 
side by side the fbi 1994 investigating 

police corruption Jane was now a mole 
planted by corruption for the purpose 
of infiltrating fbi witness files
to sabotage an entire ongoing

corruption investigation an entire 
police department therefore killing me 
the actual witness everyday 
was the fourth of July my location 

constitution Blvd Arlington heights cemetery 
awaiting the flag to cover my coffin 
Jane relocated crime and built 
a city on that ongoing corruption 

the mother whose grandfather
protected the bischops 
in rome in wwll 
why she believed she was me

1989 a witness from chicago
a poet from tampa 1999 to 2005
standing before me four gunmen 
one seated in a tahoe with jane

the imposter the treason 
had began to explode before me
jane watching her gunman pointing 
the gun in the crowd of children

alerting the three other gunmen
while murder occured at my feet
i sat covered in yellow tape
sitting in a pool of blood

 i began to find peace
in a mans death during
the assumption of mary
after mass i was to be

assasinated and replaced
by treason it was my german
diplomatic  passport to be 
duplicated in canada dubai

mumbai london and turkey
i thought of frankfurt augsburg
munich italy and spain
while  panting my name
over and over again

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And his name is Moses

His father named him Moses.
Devoid of speech yet blessed.
Doctors said he would live thirty years hereafter.
Buoyant nature and carried a smile always,
With sense of humor lived through derision.
On the day his father passed away 
He sat still and hid his tears within.
Not long, few years later
His mother who would voucher him,
Understand the complexity of his heart
Laid on her final resting place,
He sat still and hid his tears within.
Later his bosom friend moved away,
He sat still and hid his tears within.
Enervate and lonely orphan he became,
Dolefully he wept when none would see.
Albeit the great sorrows of his heart, 
No trauma ceased him to live mirthfully.
After thirty still he lives.
And walking through the paseo every morning,
They who pass him by with admiration schmoose of a man
Who can’t speak and had great sorrows;
Nonetheless so twinkly he lives on,
Knowing not yet parfay wishful,
when he would wake up one fine morning
And meet his loved ones again on the other side.

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Death Of A Rose

Death of a Rose
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 in “Death OF A Rose” By Nate Spears
The onion blooms this summer with an essence of pleasure
The winter’s rose brings the smell of death
As X marks the spot
I ask why?
The letters reveal everything in a perfect storm
As my fortune grew wheels I became bankrupt 
My pockets flat-lined into dust
 My days became a Knights reality
My short comings were the guiding in my life’s fatalities
My burdens became the struggles of my light
Each and every day 
I deal with this in this life
My soul is sun burned
My life has washed ashore
Times two; my son’s bring me rays of light
Allowing me to see everything with excellent vision
In all four corners of this ring surrounding my fingers tip
Victory stands bold in the middle 
Failure has lost to a simple slip
So who’s the real champion now?

Tears and sweat are only separated 
By the point in which they’re released
Beauty lies deeply 
Within the heart of the beast
One moment for the momentum 
That destroys the cells of venom
Black and cancerous, 
It sickens our society as we watch this rose die
The funeral we attend today stems from this
This is the Death
Of A Rose.

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Forgive Before it is Too Late

The shallow deathly swamplands of an evanescent dream,
Consumed a mundane son thatched by a ragged spleen,
The boiler hence his equal in this tellurian scene,
A primrose- stilled, he once held dear for Ilium has left him,

He faced a trial of fire, by a friar; a friar,
His compatriots oft proclaimed that he a cunning liar,
At eventide he chanted, “O friends my foe, O foes my friend, 
I wish to make amends, forgive my wrongdoings whilst I still live,”

Cast from light and shunned by own shadow; he sits alone,
Curled upon the stilled floor within a sordid home derived from stone,
Dejected like a seasoned angler belittled by an unseasoned stork,
Staring wistfully at the mirror hoping the ill weather would away walk,

He faced a trial of fire, by a friar; a friar,
His compatriots oft proclaimed that he a cunning liar,
At night he chanted, “O friends my foe, O foes my friend, 
I wish to make amends, forgive my wrongdoings whilst I still live,”

At the temple feet to a faceless God resembled by statues he prayed,
Wanting Him to alleviate his sorrow and seal his fate,
Yet days upon days, summer upon summer naught changed,
Took he a silver sword and his humble family he doth shame,

They will face a trial of fire, in a mire; a mire,
They oft proclaimed that he was a cunning liar,
At morn they chanted, “O friend our foe, O foe our friend, 
Forgive us our ignorance, yet thou art dead, we are thus too late; too late.”

Written by Sunil Rao.

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Frozen Golden Hair

His smile was as warm as the summer sun.
But his cold-cold heart chilled the soul.
Debonair, golden hair, he often had to run!
Those notches scratched in his paltry pelt,
Lay evidence of his lusty embrace.
He was a hit and run, son-of-a-gun.
Many young women, 
Slapped without a trace.  
A new fair maiden fell for his heat.
He ripped virtue out, with a lusty hold.
Surprised at the end, not even a friend.
Her heart suffered.
The serpent’s sting –
All alone in the winters freeze,
Seething, in woman’s scorn.
- Loved and left without concern -
She had esteemed him, true.
What to do?
The answer soon was clear.
Death paid the toll in the winter cold.
Her sorrow would forebear. 
Debonair, golden hair, 
He no longer had to run!
Her smile was as frigid as the winter’s freeze.
And his cold-cold heart lay icy, still.
Death caught this man who left with fast feet
No more notches would he carve in his strap!
She grinned as she patted his manly pelt.
That winter of his frozen golden hair –

© February 13, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen

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A missive from the damned to whoever have a little time to spend with this nonsense - Page 2

But now, I wonder "Will I have the bravery to follow?"
Demise shall follow if I am to attain redemption and cleanness of my sins that tarnish my soul.
Sometimes, I cling to yes, sometimes I cling to no.
When the dark clouds blur my sight, I ask myself "What is worth living for?", some believe in god, some in money or in even a more mundane wish.
I lack this one thing, I lack the purpose that would impulse me forward. But then, I speculate "For me, must be love", but what is love? I do not know, I am an strange to it, perhaps this wasn't reserved for everyone.

Well, one thing is right, my passing will not be mourned nor missed. It will go like the wind, now here then gone and noone noticed a thing.
Many leaves were shaken, many tears soiled the ground, yet, none of this was spotted by anyone.

To the people I did wrong "I am sorry, please, do forgive me".
To the people that hates me, hate me more, be genuine with it and be the fuel of this endeavor. Hurt me more, make me bleed, cut open my flesh, as he once did when I was an infant, paint the wall with my crimson tint...
Make me regret to have been born, actually, this will require little effort, since I already regret that.
My mind is set, termination is the way to go if I desire to do something good, at least once, in this life.
No hope can be spied nor a glimmering light to lead this one to safety.

In a colorless world, only with shades of black and gray, thoughts of demise haunts me day after day.
I see the people around me, at work, on the the streets, everywhere and I cannot help but to feel disgusted and out of place and helpless.
I am tired of pretending, behind my mask, I weep, behind their masks, they laugh at me.
I am tired of being fed by deceiving tales and to feed other with my lies.
The lies... It is everywhere, one must tread lightly between them, or else will fall their prey.

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Mazi Nduka's Daughter

This is a tale of a broken heart
This is the news that was whispered in the market.

When I saw the maid from Mazi Nduka's house
I dreamt she was my spouse
So that my melancholy days were no more
That gentle sadness, which began when mama whom I adore
Joined our ancestors, my heart now abhor.

Asam, my comely maid is the delicious soup
Everyone wants a taste of it, I am the owner
Of the three storey building near my father's compound
In Amuzo.

I acted like a child who had a new cloth, I waited
Under the mango tree, for the maid whose sight abated
My ache, my pain. I called her nwam, my baby. nwam oma; fine baby
She smiled. she laughed. 

Her black skin shone from the palm kernel oil, mmanuaki
Her grandma had made. 
Her eyes is a mirror; the glorious stars's abode
Her hair is the thick forest of Amuzo
I held her hands and told her the story my mother told me
How the princess of Amuzo long ago
Became fair to look upon because she danced well
At the festival of the new yam.
My Asam laughed and whispered to me
She whispered to me she was as innocent as the day she was born
That the wall between her legs were waiting for me
In three market days, kola nuts and palm wine
Shall see the kinsmen of my beloved
My father shall say we want the beautiful
Flower in Mazi Nduka's house
Or the she goat in his compound.
I like the proverbs of my people,
But I love our prospective conjugal right 
My mind envisions.

Last night, I heard the gong of the town crier
Every one went to the town hall;
Three maidens must cross the river of Amuzo
That river which turns red at night, and 
Swallows the girl who losses her shoe
Three pure maidens, must bring a pink pebble
From the bank of the river, or be married to the king
My departed fever jumped into me
Next thing I saw my self seated beside
My ancestors. Then like a scene seen from afar
I beheld my Asam, thrust a metal blade
Into her flesh.

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GREEN Chapter Four

Nubia was on Kenya's hair for three hours.  
Monday arrived so fast Kenya didn't 
know where the weekend went.  That 
Monday morning Kenya got up showered, 
on her new outfit, and a little bit of 
makeup.  Carefully applying it so she 
didn't over do it.
Looking into the mirror to see how she 
looked.  Damn Nubia did a good job on my 
thought Kenya.  She practiced what she 
would say to Malik on the way to the bank 
that's if Malik
came to the bank today.  Kenya made her 
way through the bank front doors.  Right 
away her
co - workers mouths fell open.  They 
couldn't believe their eyes.  Is this the 
same Kenya They all
thought to themselves.  Her co - workers 
complimented her on her new look.  Kenya 
the hours before Malik finally showed up.  
She walked up to him and asked "How 
may I help you?"
"I would like to make deposit".  "How 
much would you to deposit?"  "Five 
thousands dollars".  Malik
handed Kenya the money with a cocky 
look in his eyes.  "Excuse me Malik I 
normally don't do
this but..........would you like to go out 
sometime?"  Taken back by Kenya's 
question Malik had to
recompose himself.  "Yes I would".  I never 
had a woman ask me out before this is 
different.  "Meet me in 
the bank's parking lot Saturday at 
6:00pm."  Kenya told Malik in a low voice.  
Malik left the bank with an 
extra stride in his step and a boost in his 
As he drove away from the bank his 
cellphone ringed.  
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The 
Green Poet aka Red Seven aka The Brown 

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He'd Just Discovered Suspenders

No job 
No prospects
No optimism 
It took all his energy
Just to fake a smile 
Health eroding 
At the speed of light 
His world grew smaller by the 
Former small pleasures 
Transformed into ambivalence 
Blank and numb 
He walked blindly 
There were no solutions 
To any of his problems 
And then one day 
Out of the clear blue sky 
He smiled without effort 
I even caught a glimmer 
Of a spark in his eye 
Life became a little more 
We all cheered him on silently 
Me his number one fan.

As his confidence had 
His gut had grown larger 
He wore his belt below it 
But his pants always slid down 
Far enough to annoy him 
Another problem 
With no solution 
One day, after months 
With the spark in his eye 
He chose to die 
It was a shock because 
He'd just discovered 

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The Job - part 4

By 9:00PM I was ready to go.  Dark pants, shirt, shoes, and watch cap.  The classic night on the town combo setup for a not so hip killer.   But these days you could get away with it because gothic was a style.  I didn’t bring my girl with me.  I never kill on the first reconnaissance.  I did pack a knife and 32MM Walthers just encase things got dicey.  I took my time and slowly slipped up into the hills, no need to get pulled over by LAPD.   As I closed in on the house I turned off the lights and the engine and glided to within 50 yards of the target.  The upstairs lights were still on and I could see one or two shadows moving around.  I would have to get closer.  I figured I would give it about an hour after lights out and break in and get a lay out of the house and see who was there.  It was dangerous but I had done it before and learned that moving slow was the key.
Lights went out at 11:30 PM on the nose.  A man of habit I liked that in a mark.  I smoked and waited another hour and then slipped out of the car and moved quickly toward the house.  I went over the back fence and stopped and waited.  No dog.  Even better.   Staying in the shadows I moved to the backdoor and picked the lock.  Once inside I settled down for a few minutes to get my bearings and listen to the sounds of the house.  It is very important to know how the house sounds, how it breathes, moves, and lives before you start to move around in it.  It can give you away in heartbeat.  I calmed my breathing and started moving slowly through the kitchen.  I could smell fish and vinaigrette.  Some one had been eating healthy.  A bottle of wine was corked on the island.  The dishes were put up and everything appeared spotless.  Either there was a woman in the house or this guy was gay.  I settled for the former and not the latter.  There was definitely someone else in the house.  A familiar scent caught my attention and then faded away.  I needed to be careful.  Something wasn’t right about it this hit. Once through the kitchen I made my way to the master bedroom, which would no doubt hold, my victim.  He was asleep with a CPAP machine by the bedside and a mask over his face.  Apparently he had sleep apnea, which means he was probably taking Ambien and a combination of other sleep drugs.  I crept over to his bed stand and slowly took his medication bottles to see what he was taking.  I was right.  He was sleeping with the prince Ambien.  He was out like a log.  And even if he did wake he wouldn’t remember a thing.  Suddenly I heard footsteps upstairs.  I lay flat on the floor and froze.  Within a few minutes I heard the toilet flush.  He definitely had a friend.  Time to chill and then go upstairs.  I didn’t want to have to kill two people but sometimes it is necessary.

I don’t know how long I lay there on the floor but it seemed like an eternity.  I checked my watch and it had been 30 minutes.  Time to move upstairs.  Stairs can be tricky because they always creek and groan.  I have found that quickly but lightly moving up them causes the least amount of problems.  I was on the second floor in a matter of seconds.  Again I smelled a familiar odor.  What was it?  It seemed so familiar.  There were three doors in the hallway one closed and the two open.  I assumed the other person was behind the closed door.  I quickly checked the other two rooms and nothing.  A bathroom and a spare bedroom turned into  a study.  With the patience of a cat  I slowly tested the knob on the third door, it opened without any resistance.  I slowly pushed it open and stayed close to the floor.  I could hear gently breathing in a slow rhythmic pattern.  From the sound and the aroma I could tell it was a woman.  I was beginning to think I new this woman.  As I got closer I realized it was Anna.  I hadn’t put it together the last name of Collins but there it was, right in front of me.  I pulled up a chair and watched her breathing.  All I could hear was her and the clock ticking out the seconds.  Time seemed to stand to still.  I had a problem.  I needed to think. 

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The Trilogy Ends

The brutalized girl breathed her last in faraway Singapore
She met her fate returning home, a couple of weeks ago
To shift the focus of the masses on an issue so emotive
And moved to a hospital in a distant land with a purely political motive
Reputed for organ transplants in which their hospital specialized 
What good did it do to a grievously hurt girl whose condition had not stabilized
The six hour flight to the distant shore was surely a misadventure
The government was uneasy with restive crowds near their hallowed seat of power

The government paid lip service to the girl who is no more
Making promises to a nation, both aggrieved and sore
But in the interim, another girl in a neighbouring state
Ended her life, harassed and denied for weeks from recording her rape
The administration’s handling of such incidents
Are not far and few and have many precedents
A woman parliamentarian and doctor to boot
Said something very strange in a television interview
Referred to a victim from the past
And on her character, aspersions she cast
Pronouncing to media that it was not rape at all
But a call-girl’s transaction gone wrong; what gall!
Another MP, this time the President’s son
Sought to have fun with his knowledge of the English lexicon
And portrayed the women demonstrators of civil society as ‘painted & dented’
The backlash was so vicious, on national television he recanted  
With red lights marking them as their sirens wail through the streets
Breaking traffic rules and followed by a bureaucratic fleet 
Politicians think that from their ivory towers they have seen it all
As elected office bearers they never cease to appall
In times of crisis you can sense the disconnect 
But democracy is about people’s choices, who do we elect?

And to men, I must ask why bestiality has become our way
Together we can surely change the world for a better day
Please resist if opportunity demands when you see a girl harassed
Or at the least seek help fast, you have to save the lass! 

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It was another beautiful morning in the city , Workers  looking radiant as always
People  strolling , Cars horning as pedestrians throttled along the Zebra crossing
The subway was crowded with the smell of early morning rush and sweat
Little did they know that there was a shadow lurking behind the bright sun

The announcer’s voice towered over sound of luggage’s being dragged
Flight attendants smartly dressed hurried  towards the boarding gates
Passengers sat patiently at the lounge, awaiting the call of the day
How could they have known that today will change their very lives

Nineteen bearded men dressed in polo shirts scattered amidst the crowd
Each missing the silky feel of their long white robes and heavily woven turban
As they try to fit in with their newly bought Jeans and Sky blue snickers
They knew what was about to happen, their lives was fading as the clock ticked

People going about their work and children being dragged to school
It was the ninth hour of the Mane , The plane heading for a wrong land
Passengers struggled for their lives, calling their loved ones for the last time
They saw the rage lurking in their eyes, the clothing couldn’t hide the evil

A Woman standing in the office, talking to her fiancé on the phone
As she stared out the spotless white glass, she saw it heading her way
She couldn’t mutter a word as her fiancé called out on the other end
Not  a step could she take as the wall crashed on her, it was clearly too late

Buildings tumbling down the great heights, fire flying through the sky
Bodies rolling through the sky like the brutal fall of strong rain in spring
Oh what a sorry sight for a blind man, oh what a poison for the soul
Some watched with great tears, they could do nothing to save a life

Deadly cry of babies filled everywhere, smell of blood saturating  the air
Heads missing the body buried under the crumbs of the fallen bricks
Some puffing out the last breath in them, hanging on for the very last time
Thunders of sadness roared everywhere, Mourning voices everywhere

So many lives were lost along with Nineteen men who thought it as fate
Not a year passes that we do not weep, for the lost souls of this day
The brave hearts that left us , even at the face of death some struggled
They linger forever in our hearts, as their thoughts dwell within us.

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The Dead Tells No Story

When the soul wind
Still flies about,
Life seems so precious
And un-ending.
Tales of life's friend
Told everyday,
But hearts which still have
The soul wind switched on
Forget in a brief,
Not until...

Not until
Darling soul wind ceases,
When tears lovers releases
For that heart.
That moment when sands are poured
And you can't do nothing,
I wonder what would have happened
If you still had that soul wind.
But here is the moment when all things blackout!

Or whiteout?
Well, I've not been there
So I sure can't guess which,
But i'm certain one day,
We all will.
When? How? Where?
I do not know.
Thence, I must live right
So my story could be told.
Cos the dead would be there
To tell, not even the name.

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It is in heaven I shall live forever
the earth is my floor
and the sky is my canopy
it sends the rains to make rivers
to water me and grow me plants
for a simple sustenance
and for me a bountiful food

I do not meanly the falsehood
and concealing the truth 
I do not create mischief
and trouble in my homeland
I am created from nothing
and nothing is me
and that me is secret to itself

A secret that Allah kept to discover
where I shall believe is true
nothingness is only seen from nothing
that nothing exists to prove I am nothing
that nothingness exists
in my existence it is indeed nothing
I do exist as nothing.

As I shall always need to believe
that my life would be restored
it is upon my life’s death
that Allah will teach me what I do not know
He will teach me who knows nothing
that nothing is indeed me
and without Him I really mean nothing!

UCA, Kota Kinabalu,
29 June 2014
1st Ramadan 1435

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Tonight, we have won

“You’re brave, you know
              …staying here with me in this brightly lit world
full of people with dark hearts.” 
"I don’t know if I’m brave." 
" but I’m not scared of dying either, 
because I never felt alive until I found you
                  …and the only reason this place is bright, is because of you.”
“The bombs flash, and light up my eyes, and you look into them deeper,
because we’re afraid. We’re clinging to life; using each other. Aren’t we?” 
"I am using you. I’m using your eyes as beacons, to find my way back to camp, your heart to calm the rhythm of my own; and find sleep in the chilling silence of my brother’s screams. He’s still out there, you know? His eyes were still open when we ran, I can’t believe I left him. I can’t believe he’s gone.." 
"You didn’t leave him, they took him. You would never leave anyone. You never left me, even when I told you to. Begged you not to follow me here…This wasn’t even your, nor your brother’s war." 
"Your war, is my war Angel…and my brother, he fell for the cause, or maybe he just wanted to protect me. I should have protected him!!" 
"Listen to my heart Samuel, feel it. We’re alive. We’re together. Tonight, we have won." 
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

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The Job - part 2

On the plane I meditated or at least I tried to.  Most of the time I get a seat to myself.  These days it’s just a ****ing Greyhound in the sky.  I am not the most handsome man and the tattoos don’t help.  I always wear a baseball cap with the logo: “Talk to Me About Jesus”.   That usually steers normal people away from me.  But every now and again I get a winner.  This gives me a chance to discuss religion, which is one of my favorite subjects.  Especially since I am in the business of sending souls to meet their maker.  These people are usually high on Jesus or hooked on dope.  But hey I am just an arbitrator.  You pay I play.  You want to make a deal I’ll deal.  I owe no one my soul except me.  This trip it turns out is an exception to the rule.  The most handsome woman I have every laid my eyes upon sits next to me.  There are other seats open but she shimmies down the aisle and says, “excuse me is that seat taken?” I try to keep my cool but I sputter out “Yes, I mean no…” 
“Well which one is it?” she says with a smile.
“Not taken,” I stiffly mutter back.
Before I can stand up she squeezes past me with her butt in my face.  She’s wearing a pair of tight leather pants and I don’t see any panty lines.  I ask myself why are you even thinking about that?  I need to get my head straight and she is a distraction.  She plops down in the window seat and asks me if I can hold her drink, I dumbly reach out and take it.  It’s going to be a long flight.  
“So where you heading,” she asks nonchalantly 
I lie and say Hawaii.
“Oh my God, I have always wanted to go there.  Do you have family there?”
“No I just like pineapples.”
She looks at me again with those green eyes.  She is a dark haired beauty with a hint of Boston in her voice.  Jaw cut of stone and olive complexion. I am smitten.
“Your ****ing with me, aren’t you?” she asks.
“No I really like pineapples.” I reply.
“Bullshit, you wouldn’t know a pineapple if it bit you in the ass.”
“Ok I give, I’m going to L.A. to kill someone.  Do you feel better now?”
She stares and her eyes’ widen and for a moment, I think she believes me.
“Ok pineapples, dead people, **** you.” She says and pulls a pair of headphones from her bag.
“Hang on,” I said, “I’m just messing with you.  What’s your name?”
“Anna…Anna Virginia Collins” and she extends her hand to me.
We shake hands and she asks me my name.
“Rick Powers,” I say.
“What’s with the hat?” she asks.
“I use it to attract weirdo’s”
“Well it’s working”
I laugh and say, ”Yeah they are usually not so pretty.”
“Well thank you, and by the way I don’t believe in Jesus.”
And we are off into a full-blown discussion of religion, which keeps us talking for at least and hour.  I buy her a scotch, straight up, and we share some inner secrets.  Then I realize I have got to get rid of this woman; otherwise, things could get dicey and I can’t compromise my client or the job.  I become belligerent and act like I am drunk…nothing.  She just laughs at me.  
“I know a drunk when I see one and your not drunk,” she say’s pointing an accusing finger at me.
“Ok I’m not, I need some sleep though.”
“Alright sleep then,” she mutters and puts her headphones on.
I close my eyes and feign sleep but I can’t get her out of my brain.  I can hear the restrains of “Roxanne” by the Police leaking out of her headphones.
Who is this woman?  Finally I drift off and dream of pineapples and Sting.

I am awakened by something on my shoulder.  I slowly open my eyes to find her head resting on my shoulder; she is asleep and snoring.  I close my eyes and think why now?  Twenty years I have lived alone and never really had a girl friend or thought about having one.  Now I am in love with this person and I don’t like it.
“Anna,” I whisper. “Anna, I love you.”  Nothing.
I nudge her in the ribs and she stirs.  
“Did you just say I love you?” she says sleepily.
I lie and say, “No you must have been dreaming.”
The Captain comes over the radio and tells we are about to land.  The waitresses in the sky scurry up and down the aisles picking up trash and drinks.  Time to hit the ground.

When we land things are awkward, I don’t know how to say goodbye.  Anna hands me her card shakes my hand and says goodbye.  I let her go thinking that I am better off without her, but knowing it’s a lie.

Once my boots hit the ground it’s time to round up my gear.  I have shipped it to predetermined location in L.A. paid for by my benefactor.  You can’t carry that *****on a plane anymore without drawing a lot suspicion.   Nobody needs a 9MM Mouser to shoot rabbits in America.  I rent a car and head for Huntington Beach.   There are enough tourist there to allow me to blend in with the locals.  I always stay at the same cheap hotel.  No one remembers me because the turnover is so high that I never see the same person when I check in.  

Once in my room it’s time to check my weapon.  I can’t live without her.  Which her am I thinking about?  This is not good. 

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A Viking Warrior pt. 1

In the grand days of old let the truth be told/

Those ships and mate's in plight,

With ancient fool's who had launched in an all night battle !

The one who stayed alone and quiet would lose/

A much happy time of old !

Mediocre drawn beers as an angry mob grew bolder !

For the little troll would oft' loosen his undergarments ?

Ready for a fight/

Along came a black knight !

The little troll found himself a bit helpless among the resistance,

In the distance a land far to quaint in which to behold,

Try to filter out the sorrowful resistance/

A castle promptly built for the proud and noble !

What was once thrown down into the rubble,

Yet still my heart beats a bit frantic now ?

Torn in the midst of breathless moments/

We suddenly captured a sweet glimpse of heaven,

But then to suddenly leave again !

With fallen trees of fern and elm,

Then suddenly the sword pulled out of the lasting storm !

With gentle onlooker's to approach,

A vining warrior with hidden spear inside,

Traveler's visiting from the East would often run away and hide ?

Yet what had hit me from my blind side ?

Was it the heavy notion of a wizard living inside ?

A darkened portal that had come to light !

With a famed court prince on some winged plight/

Along comes a big dragon with a focused intent,

Outside a winged servant was inclined to viscously launch out into the night/

To enlarge his welcoming with some frantic fright !

Amidst the hidden turmoil of the given plight/

With the great task in which to make all things right !

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She rolls on the dusty ground
pulls her hair
scratch her skin
dress halfway out
to a stranger this may look like the Ingoma dance
she falls on her knees
tears streaming down the cheeks
mouth wide but no sound comes of her screams
"It has happened again." They utter in whispers
She cannot hear the voices
Her nerves gone numb
eyes light out
skin is flooding with goose bums
her heart bleeding faster than the body she has scooped on her laps.
she is paralyzed by the pain...

"Parents should not bury their kids."Bitterly he spit
"But when they defy the law we have no choice."

He pick the gun and disappear in the thickening crowd.

Another body on the ground another bullet to the count

To family and friends it is another mistaken identity
Police man word is "Dangerous criminal."

We could riot in the streets, sing solidarity and slogans
but we know what happens each time
The order is "Shoot and kill."

One by one we will make our way home
socked in sadness and disbelief
The nation will run a headline "What happened to guilty till proven guilty?"
Nothing new really,just a few new punctuations on the last re-run.
Human rights groups,NGOs and lobbyist will pick it up,make some noise,attract more donors then go black
In the village the drums will echo for a week
we will dance round the fire each night calling on our gods for solace.
Then on Friday we will put his shattered body six feet under
hope our son(s) will find peace beyond the misery of us living.

Only right before the flowers on the grave goes faint
another son will be on the ground,another bullet to the count
And the ritual goes on...

Who dare question Uncle Sam?

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Ghostly Child

Ghostly child
peering through
foggy mist
watching from afar
from another dimension
in another era
from another place
drifting through time
caught in between worlds
towards spirit light
of beacon bright
shining on her
the way to go home.

She lingers on
from dusk until dawn
floating through air
searching for her mother
who was lost at sea
from long ago
entity from eternity
forever lives on
in her daughter's ghostly heart.

Free her from her earthly plane
into the spirit world
where she belongs
in finding peace
rather than remain
in limbo state
away from her mother's
loving embrace.

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''To Hell And Back''

Oh' you scared,persecuted square.
Dante melts my suffering skin.
Darkness falls in limbo as a curse to me.
I'm a gluttonous fraud.
Spitting in tune they say-''We spare not the tears of weakness.''
Rage fuels the hatred,as twas my acute demise.

Anoint thy soul heavenly father.
I was once tired.
Now given the gift of imminent strength.
Blessed by a prominent light.
I've surrendered my body.
Feel no pain,agony escapes me.

PD~Poet Destroyer contest~

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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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Sequel to A Girl was raped in a bus that night

It is time to grieve a cop has died
Son to a mother, darling father to a child
Leaving kin behind and many more
Claimed by the force to have been beaten to pulp by a mob seeking gore
An honest cop fell of which there are a few
But it wasn't the cop that the movement slew
The lie is contested by those present, who saw
The ugly face stands exposed of the upholders of law
They tried to twist facts to make a point
In our country even post mortem reports can be purloined
Claims made by the force are inconsistent so far
The cop wasn't battered but it was the chief’s attempt to tar
Civil society and a spontaneous movement by far

He succumbed to cardiac arrest and possibly the atrocities he witnessed that day
Taken care of by civil society who sought assistance for his medical care
Humanity grieves whenever a life is lost 
Foolish decisions by foolish men and look who’s paid the cost
There will be an inquiry, a routine government demand
But in this age of vendetta politics, the state will likely seek an innocent's remand
So vitiated is the administration’s vision today 	
For a cop’s death a political adversary will have to pay 
But in that ill fated time there was only one villain in the fray
The rest were civil society gathered near Raisina Hill that day  
Policemen on duty who had donned their uniform
Forgot the law and the oath they had sworn
Striking citizens in chilly December with water cannons and batons
They have to learn policing anew from more civilized nations
The collateral damage the chief spoke of like some Bollywood goon
Has exposed him for what he is – our national buffoon
Listen governments past and present
It is time the Augean stables were cleansed
If the freedom guaranteed by our founding fathers is not assured today
If the birthright of security that a woman needs is trivialized and frittered away
Lest ye forget the girl’s condition hasn't improved and remains critical
Time to introspect and delve into a mindset, still medieval 
A handy tool to cover misdemeanours and serving well your political ends
Who turn on their masters and subvert truths for your petty gains 
You in Government remember we are a billion or more 
Our votes count – come 2014 and election day, you’ll be shown the door

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Sarah lived in a simple town.
In a simple family,
in a simple gown.

She spent her life using simple speech.
And simple goals,
and simple dreams.

She married a simple man named Johnny.
Had two kids, 
one Sue, one Bonnie.

They all enjoyed their simple lives.
Till a missile flew,
Their home, it dived--

A simple funeral for this simple family.
A casket to share,
In its serenity.

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The Fault is my Own

Blinded by this Fear and Pain.
I've lost all sense of control.
Confused and Mistaken.
For all the lies I've heard.
The Fault is my Own.

Wounds breaking, Scars bleeding.
Trying to shake this feeling.
I take what's left of me.
Just to stop the beating.
The Fault is My Own.

The Sun sets in a distance way.
As I lay my body down to rest.
With no words left to say.
I give all I have left to waste.
The Fault is My Own.

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How Hard Could it Be Part 1

How hard could it be to take my first step?

“Come to mommy, you can do it.”

“Oh you're home. Hon, look at him go.”

As I take another step, he picks me up.

He hugs me tight but gently and kisses me on the cheek.

I feel so safe, loved and happy. Perhaps that's how it was.

(I really don't remember back that far.)

How hard could it be, my first day at school.

My mom meets me at the front door of the building,

hugs me and says, “How was your first day? Did you have fun today?”

He comes home after a hard day at work and mom says,

“Hi Hon, it was Den’s first day of school.”

He picks me up in his strong arms and says,

“I knew you could do it.” A hug and a kiss on the cheek.

How hard could it be to learn how to drive a car or a truck?

“Den, come with me. Let's take a short ride down the road.”

We both climb up into Dad's blue 1955 Chevy pickup.

He stops on the back road, gets out, comes around and says, “Scoot over. It's

your turn.”

I start the engine, push in the clutch, shift and we start out slowly.

I'm nervous, I speed up, clutch in, shift again.

Oh crap, I shifted into reverse, truck stopped abruptly and backfired.

Dad looks at me, “But you did it.“ He hugs me, a kiss on the cheek.

How hard could it be to go away to college?

I'm so glad she has a phone so I can call my mom and dad.

“Hi Den, how are things going? You've got a B average.

That's great. I knew you could do it. I love you, see you soon.”

“You met a girl? What's her name? Wow, see you soon. I love you”

“You want to marry her? Big step; in Holland? Okay, we love you.”

How hard could it be to have a family?

“Oh, it's a girl. Mireille, that's a nice name.” He hugs me, kiss on the cheek.

“Another girl, Michelle, that's a nice name too.” He hugs me, kiss on the cheek.

“You finally had a boy, Michael, good choice.” Hug and a kiss.

Birthdays, holidays, weekends, visits back and forth, phone calls.

He loves them all, unconditionally. Hugs and kisses all around.

How hard could it be as life goes on?

He watches them grow up, get married and have children.

He loves them all, unconditionally, hugs and kisses all around.

We take short trips and mom and Dad go with us now and then.

We go camping and mom and Dad visit us now and then.

Every time you left, hugs and kisses all around. Always, “See you soon.”

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Locked Away

This is a sad tale of Amanda Knox,
still but a child in bobby socks
who enrolled in an Italian school,
far away from her parents' rule.

Her folks say she was a gentle child.
Perhaps  she went a little wild
when by lover she was beguiled.
By a heinous crime she was defiled.

Sloppy police work, ambitious attorney,
poor Amanda had started on a journey
that would find her convicted of a murder.
She declared her innocence.  No one heard her.

Her folks have gone to immense expense
to hire lawyers for her defense.
Despite their efforts for two long years
she's been locked away beyond their tears.

Amanda has grown so thin and gaunt,
locked up with criminals who taunt
and seem to think it their sacred duty
to make life grim for this young beauty.

For Miranda's "Behind Bars Blues" contest  won 6th

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The Locklears Chapter One

"Wakey, wakey, sleepy head" the 
woman's voice was cheerful and playful
as she threw a glass of cold water in the 
unconscious man's face.  "Wha, wha, what 
Happened? Did I fall asleep?"  As the man 
opened his eyes he tried to move but 
Looking around he realized he was in an 
upright position eagle spread.  Each wrist 
and ankle
was shackled, locked, and chained.  "I'm 
not into locks and chains.  I'm the one 
paying for sex
you have to do what I want."  The man's words 
were slurred as he looked at the woman.  "Poor, poor, 
little man I'm not a prostitute.  I just pose 
as one on the 
internet and in the streets.  That's how I 
get pigs like you" said the woman with 
an evil grin.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The 
Green Poet aka The Brown Philosopher aka Red Seven

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to my soup friends. many of you have know me for a long time. long enough to know that i lost some one that i loved dearly. i won't say her name at this late date. but for a wittness to Death i'll say that the person that died yesterday. died the same way my loved one died. the drugs caught up with her. and they took a life of misery. in my case it took a bit longer to find her. but find her they did with empty drug bottles. sitting in a chair.
 and it is only now that a new message has come from the grave. "If I would stay. I would only be in Your way. So I'll go. But I'll know, that I'll think of you everystep of the way. and i will always love you, I"ll always love you."

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For This Reason

"Greater love has no man than this, 
that a man lay down his life for his friends."*

The four men were more than friends,
they were brothers. 
Brothers of different beliefs, 
but of the same Father.

Each took their Father's commands
literally, even unto death.
They embraced an icy, watery grave
with the six hundred sixty-eight others
who perished on February 2, 1943.

In Operation Drumbeat, German U-Boats
turned our eastern coast into a "Sea of Death,"
sinking U. S. Ships at the staggering rate
of 100 per month, churning the North Atlantic
into "a steaming human sea of fear."

Fear rode heavy on the shoulders 
of men aboard the U.S.A.T. Dorchester, 
plunged into terror in that hateful dawn,
packed "head to toe" in her bowels, 
torpedoed into eternity at 1:00 AM
Too late, they understood orders, 
to don warm clothing and life jackets
before hitting their bunks for sleep.

Four Chaplains stood strong,
in the face of mass panic,
hearts bursting with divine love,
speaking words of courage, hope, peace,
and hands offering life to 230 men,
giving their own life jackets and gloves.

Engraved in survivors' memories,
four Chaplains, arm in arm, braced
against the rail, praying the Lord's prayer,
and singing in the face of death. 

*John 15:13, RSV

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Up Late

-Inspired by my temporary English instructor, Mr. Phinizy <3
Evening had diminished to night; how very quickly did She fly It is funny how quickly time passes, as if our brains tweak the clocks of life The night was of moderate warmth, and my house suffered terribly still And with the stifling heat inside, many hot questions filtered through my mind I asked myself, Where did the summer go? Why must our suns die? Why is it sweltering in September? Why has sudden anger blown her aside? I really need some sleep, thought I, looking at my face through the murky glass Tracing dark circles under my eyes, I was reminded of sagging Death longing to ensnare me Yes, Death followed me that night, dwelling upon me, boiling away the autumn breeze As I looked into my sleep-deprived eyes, I knew Death waited for my ultimate slumber, When all commemoration of time, that flew so rapidly before, suddenly just…stops. With many a sigh, I turned on the faucet, soaking my hands in the cool, flowing water I needed some relief from the heat…I needed a refreshing new idea, I needed cleansing Anything to clear my mind of the negativity daring to break me every day of my life For such depressing thoughts spewed forth like a wild river, the rapids racking my brain But these waters were not living; they were dead and hot like blue blazes of hell I turned off the faucet, for there was no Balm on this earth to sooth this soul There was no clock on this earth tweaked enough to return me to earth The warm breezes, the sickly pale cast of many thoughts had driven Her away And though the everlasting sleep of Death sounded soothing, the Balm does not assuage me… It only burns forever, in obstinate constancy; angered to the core, That night stuck in this fractured rhyme of time, I was up late…too late

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A Messanger From Hell

I am sitting in my light brown leather reclining chair
after a strenuous day at my office glad to be home
no more stress no wife just my dog Bandit at my side
I'm holding in my right hand  my favorite relaxing drink
a single malt scotch on cracked ice with a twist of lemon

as I was about  to close my eyes just a little past seven
counting the blessings in my life from heaven
then out of the unexpected blue everything changed
never I mean never to be the same again
or maybe I was just going insane

out of the corner of my right eye
what I saw oh God what I saw was something that really 
scared the hell out of me 
as the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up
and my flesh turned cold

a man dressed all in black and red
with a haunting evil look in his coal black eyes 
I believed he was from the dead
stepped right through a solid wall made of brick an stone
and stood there looking around the room

then looked right through me as though I wasn't there
my dog bandit backed up in fright and hid behind the chair
making noises like I never heard him make before
as my goose bumbled flesh turned cold as ice
I sat paralyzed could not move from my light brown leather reclining chair

then he smiled a shark like pointed toothy grin 
as he placed his gaze my way
and pointed a long gray boney finger right at me
the only sound that I could hear was the beating of my own heart
as though it was going to tare my chest apart

then he spoke in a low evil raspy voice and said
I'll be awaiting you on the other side

then he turned to leave the room
the way he entered by stepping right through a solid wall
made of brick an stone
now I sit here all alone wondering and shaking 
what the hell just happend to me

is there something in my life that I must change 
my life do I have to rearrange 
I do not want to meet that messenger from hell on the other side

this is not a tale I tell
for you may think I'm crazy as hell
but I believe in what I saw
I was visited by a messenger from hell

if there is a lesson to be learned from my story
look into your life and change what will make it right
to travel into the light 
to heaven not hell
when your time ends upon this earth

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The Doppelganger She

I was once seen on one’s graveyard
Strumming an old guitar with a beer in one hand
I asked, “What was I wearing?”
“A clown’s”, the woman said, “and a cross lay flat on your chest.”

On a clowny day a white-clothed cried
“I think I saw you next to the baby’s’s crib.”
“What was I wearing?" went in my head. 
“A priest’s,” she said, then a puppet clung in your neck.”

On a priesty day, “You were that man!”
Said she gasping while a run.
“You hung your head, Oh belfry man!”
Then bellowed she, “Oh belfry man!”

On a gaspy day, in a purring crowd I passed
A woman lay naked on a road’s side
Pieces that woman accused me of possessing
Cross, puppet, white long garments the dead's hand clasping!

© Glenn L. Sentes
Written for Matt Caliri's Contest DOPPELGANGER
July 5, 2011

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Does God Sleep

At first light, I stood,
gazing out the window.
I thought not of the dawn, 
but of God who watches it rise.

The morning light is like 
the waking fingers of God 
touching the still sleeping land.

Our world stays primed to betray 
the innocent, destroy the small
or the soft and the beautiful.

Oshie and Carlos, docile alpacas 
claimed as "Part of the family,"
are no more.

Gentle beauties, savagely slain;
the only clue, one ghastly paw print 
in the snow. Did God sleep as tragedy 
stretched under tiny diamond stars 
in the frozen dark of night? 

"They were our buddies," 
sobbed the stricken ranchers.

Grief-gouged wounds heal slowly,
leave shadows reaching into eternity.

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Nothingness and Strife

Standing in the passageway,
I restrain myself from moving on;
The panting and sweating have opened 
my eyes,
Even before the break of dawn.

Slowly the grayness pushes me
Into the purple haze;
I’ve left the moonlit night behind:
Mind’s all confused—in daze.

I did come to meet my peace here,
And I open a door;
Its creaking lurks into my ear—
I’m restless to the core.

Darkness in front of me,
Does shine on in a gleam;
Silence doesn’t let me cogitate—
Ruthless as it seems.

The slow patter of my feet
Doubles into four…
A struggle within; a struggle without—
A struggle to finish a chore:

My muffled mouth grunts and croaks,
As I try to set free;
Then as I’m made to starve for air,
There’s Light calling on me.

Whilst I’m brought down to the floor,
A rope’s tight round my neck;
The ground shall embrace my corpse 
As I shall lie here decked…

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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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Cycle Of Life

They fight like two dogs after a female.
A cat and another cat for food, birds.
Becomes fodder for the Red Fox to pull
Feathers and chow down. Once half dead,
I put in can. Go to heavenly sleepness.
Leo got sick in new home, on to heaven.
Val - heart defect, needle shot. Gone.
And so on it goes, Caesar smoke. Slept.
Cremate, bury. Rise up to the gold gate.
I want to burn and sit on a white mantle.
Larry wants burn with ashes over Rockies.
Brother, mothers, father and grandparents,
Into ground, after productive life. Sleep.
Crops in the ground for all animals to eat.
Slaughter some. Feeds primates. Sweet meat.
So on and on it goes, in the cycle of life.

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For Love of Liliana

On the 30th of June you entered this world,
so cute and content my beautiful girl.
I have never seen such a proud father,
kissing your hands and feeling your feet. 
Little blue eyes so hard to forget 
wrapped in a pink shawl, you were my princess. 
Your brothers smile when he first met you. 
He stroked your cheek and called your name.
But, it was too late my tiny princess.
The angels couldn't wait any longer. 
On the 30th of June you left this world,
so peaceful and pale my beautiful girl:Liliana

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La Gala Grandeur

~La Gala Grandeur~

Revived from mine mortality,I adopt my rebirth
Through neonate eyes,the world now glows ethereal
As my resplendence arouses,death is relinquished dormant
Though newly formed,I step unteeteringly unafraid

Motlique auras,encompass my fellow scions
The firmament above,an wombous spectrum pletharic
Engrossed of adolescence,I become exhilarantly aware
My lineant precursors,swarm samely for my embracing

Free from fragility,I am no longer appraisal's prey
No less nor more than another,we abide incorruptable
Orchestras of saints and psalmists,exact an spectacled sonata
Devout and divinely,we dance dutifully for mercy's grace

This revel illimitable,is always available
Admittance thou art assured,whether or not of invitation
With none boundary of era,we know ye will attend
It is but a matter my friend,of just when... then

~Azaza~ June 19th,2010

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Distant Thoughts

Try to focus but I cannot see to read,
Visions of the past hauntingly serene,
Until I close my eyes and hear you speak.
There is no easing this pain,
Of the feel of your blood on my hands,
As your life flows through open fingers.
In pure white I shall stay,
The virgin bride n’er to wed;
I cry my tears alone where no one sees,
My agony is memories of thee.

© 2014 CM Davidson

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If I had lived yesterday
in that chaotic world echoing
of Gatling guns shots and canon blasts,
I would have made a difference:
hate and prejudice would have not prevailed,
and power wouldn't have been abused;
from History's records, we know that even 
when Jesus lived it wasn't that peaceful!
During the American Civil war,
Northerners fought Southerners...
did they hear Scarlet's desperation,
or the moaning of her loss as war went on?
And for sometime, it had become
a modus vivendi she couldn't change.
Let's return to the stark reality of the present:
have we noted some drastic changes
in Government and social behavior?
Yes, it has given us more liberty,
but another war has shattered many hopes
of ever seeing peace as blood continues to be shed...
while nations arm themselves to their teeth!
How can we welcome those winds of change and feel safe,
if we tell our children that danger still exists?
And has society been kinder and more caring?
Obscenity, teen sex, violence, greed, vulgarity
and exploited sexuality are being condoned by many;
we wouldn't be that cool if we didn't use obscene words,
and worst of all, we are called hermits or asexual
if we abstain from sex to prevent those sexual diseases!
Is this rebellion, or a trend of the new generation?
Having unprotected sex, making babies, 
laying the burden on their Government that's fighting
a terrorist war? Do we seen any future
for these lost kids who imitate the habits of their parents?
Blame them? Ah! Lots of things would be changed,
if they turned to God and ask for His guidance!
And to end my visceral narrative, I shamefully confess, 
" I hate to live in this loathsome age of greed!"

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The Lonely Road

Soft winter draped with white;
a lonely wand'rer travelling a road.
Rough tracks of a wheel in the snow
trample the earth with a fearsome mirth.

The lonely footprints follow thee
as you travel the long-lost path.
With shovel in hand, the frozen land
beckons you to the end.

I wonder what led you here
after friendship so forlorn.
Have you forgotten me;
left me here to live in fear?

Cannot understand, not in the least,
but you make the trekk seem peaceful.
Acceptance so prevalent - so unlike you -
what has become of the you so young?

I sit here in silence,
thoughtful under the half-sunk moon.
Together we fell into the frozen sea,
yet only you travel the lonely road.

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Arabic Poem by: Adnan Abu Andalus*
Translated into English by: 
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk) 
No feather on his head
To escape hell
Was not a legendary hero of Rome
Nor a pirate with dreadlocks was he
 He was a soldier without a gun
 Guarding the land between the two grieves
 Conversing with himself
 And falls asleep with a whimper

Every night....
The Corporal gets down on his breath: 
“Get up it's time for your duty..
No matter how late you wake up
You will die!”
The sun generates the moment 
He begins to convey gunpowder
The storm spins 
The plane is hovering
Turns spirally
And doomsday befell Erkallios!

The child died
The child, Erkallios, melted
 Between fire and iron
 Screaming as if the moment
 Splintered Mayday
 The sound returned disappointed
 He …died.. with .. his ... with his comrades!
The plane, a cemetery for forty
Is lying on the road
Black ....
Like a corpse of a dead whale
Translated by Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashim
*Adnan Abu Andalus is a poet from Iraq
“Erkallios” from his poetry collection  “The Smell of Doomsday”

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''Runaway Wanted''

I see my breathe.
Night has fell upon a frost.
Gods' chill lye now on my shoulders.
Alone yet not.
Silence now before the icey rain.
Surrender as my nervous teeth chatter.
For the warmth of a home is all that is desired.
My empty haven.
But,I am filled with a heart that is full.
Want nor wait.
Arms now cover me like a blanket.
Gust of wind has carried your unwaivered heart.
Candles lit a way to find what is left.
Merely an image of what once was.
Break down into a sob.
Remains frozen solid as climate has taken its' vengence.
I suffer no more,weak body.
Now only in spirit.
Shall I rest.

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The Woman with the whiskey bottle As her tombstone

Learning to distinguish between and having a compassion for-silence that protects pain and silence that protects injustice has been a difficult important lesson-Julie Buckner Armstrong
                                      Rest in peace Mary Turner

May 19, 1918 in Valdosta, Georgia…
The day before, her 19-year-old husband,
hands cuffed behind his back, was strung up from a tree with hundreds in attendance
applauding his death.
She threatened to have her husband’s killers arrested. Outraged,
the Mob decided to teach her a lesson. 
With her swollen belly and feet, she tried to flee but was captured at noon
and taken to a bridge. One of the Mob men picked a tree. 
She was tied by her ankles and hung upside down and doused
in gasoline and motor oil from their automobiles. One of the Mob men lit a match. 
Engulfed in flames hot enough to make Satan sweat, she writhed in pain as her skin bubbled
and boiled. Pieces of flesh and clothing hung from her body. The Mob men howled in glee. 
Still alive, one of the Mob men took a knife and cut across abdomen as if she was cattle. The 
Mob men cackled like ravenous hyenas. Her premature baby dropped from her womb and hit the 
ground. It whimpered twice. 
The Mob, with boots of pure hatred and evilness, crushed its tiny
skull and body. Their final act was to riddle her burned and bloody body with bullets until she
finally died. The Mob, satisfied, went home.
The next day, they returned to cut her down from the tree. Her and her baby was buried near the tree, a whiskey bottle marking their grave. 

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Fond Memories Of My Dad From Dustin

I want to share a few, Fond memories of my dad, With an experience or two, Of the times together we had. He was a carpenter by trade, Just like Jesus used to be, But the full time job with mom he made, Was taking care of me. I remember things we did together, When I was five years old, My first fishing trip, buying my first heifer, And letting me ride a steer in a rodeo. Fixing a racecar up together was fun, It was for me to race someday, Even though it was work that was done, It seemed more like play. It was in April of 2001, When my dad helped me find a steer, I named him Blazer and he was the one, That I thought would bring a winning year. I looked forward to the pick up day to be, When my dad would be breaking in the steer, And it would be just dad and me, Because my mom, of that, she had a fear. Before he had a chance to break her in, He had a heart attack and had to rest, He told me that I’d have to step in, And just try to do my best. I was a little worried and not so sure, If I could even really do this stuff, And since it had always been my dad before, I waited for my dad to guide me when he had strength enough. My dad wanted to help me more but he was too sick, So I tried even harder this time around, And Blazer sure didn’t like the show stick, But I finally got him to walk with me on the ground. And the time came that I knew then, Blazer would be ready for the Auction show, But my dad had another heart attack again, And I realized there was life lesson for me to know. The lesson that I have learned here, Is that sometimes we really do, Take for granted our family will always be there, But you never know when they won’t be able to help you. As the brightest star in the sky, Reminds me of Nana, my dad’s mother, There is now another bright star near by, For dad and the love we shared with each other. Written for Dustin 5/27/2003 Florence McMillian (Flo)

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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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So painful yet so real, 
Robbing us of love and hopes alike
Do we need wish for more?
Than to just wish you away?

Of my grandpa is gone
And so the tales too
All because you wanted more
Me ask when less you will take
For now for then, its grief you breed

If only I had the power bereft
To destroy you away I would
For the sorrow you left me I cry
And my dear heart you tore
No mercy for you would I feel
And clear my conscience would be
To say I hate would be 
An understatement and a blatant lie
Forever gone and lost.

How I wish you were a tree 
So that I would cut you down
And feed you to the fiery furnace
That you may feel the scorching pain
That I too had to pass.
How bad I wish you would go.

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The Art of Living Part One

Helen Caccumise was a very inspirational person. She loved drawing, painting, music 
and reading books. She owned a Veterans home in Greenwich Ohio, where I live. She 
has known my grandma Sandy for thirty years. They started the Veterans Home 
together. I always went up to the veterans home when I was little; it was around the 
time I started to call Helen, Granny Helen. She was a second mother to everyone. She 
would be the one to say that everyone looks for the perfect life to step into. They take 
all the right paths to get where they want to go, but no matter what, they always come 
back home to themselves. I usually went up there to hang out with a guy named Pat, he 
was a veteran. He went into the service when he was in his twenties. We were best 
friends but then something happened and everything changed when Megan (Helen’s 
Daughter) took over the veteran’s home. Helen lived in the house across from ours, so i 
always went to her house. She bought me my first ferby. She was the one that told my 
sister if she ate a full cigarette that she would be a smoker when she got older. Of 
course my sister ate it; guess what she is now a full time smoker, it’s funny how things 
work out that way.I’m writing about what happened the day Helen died because it’s still 
fresh in my memory, like it happened yesterday. I’m still getting over the loss of her. I 
spent most of my time with Helen because she helped me through my troubled times 
and she always wanted to listen to me play my bass guitar. So I owe her everything I 
own. If writing this memoir would help me find a way to get rid of the guilt then I’ll do it.

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The Known Soldier

Last night awakened with thoughts of him
How long has it has been, only
Yesterday … 

First one I ever saw laid out
I sixteen, he nineteen, Viet Nam 
Airborne …

Purple complexion seeping through under glass 
I gaze on doll-like hair
Broomcorn …

His uniform perfect, tie straight
Blouse olive, at attention
Airborne … 

No one else at the funeral home
Me and a girl friend too early for death
Careworn …

Dead before he hit the ground
Cut down by ground-fire first jump no longer
airborne ...

So many years now, forty-two,
awakened with thoughts of him,
Wind-borne …

Still see his body rigid attention
rumor wire for arm, died before his time
Soilborne …

Didn’t know him well, would he
still be here if not
Airborne …

Would we have smoked and talked about 
women if he would be
reborn …

And what of Thua Thien, what now 
monument, blood of airborne boys?
Golf course …

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Foes and Lifelines

Foes and Lifelines
a day, a year, a century how long will the darkness last? blood drips from hands and blades, claws and fangs blood burns my eyes aflame foes that never cease hunting i live day by day hour by hour Rukan, Kiyamae, Setsuna, Asumae, Darren and Elvina these are my friends, lifelines, companions ,guardians and family the are the only ones who keep me living pushing me to stay alive and it is they who keep my soul and mind alive

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media coverage

while syria bombs homs
what is america doing with it's drones
are the bombs in syria less deadly than ours
or are the eye's of the media aimed at what 
our leaders want us to see
truly the terrorist live in terror
they sowed the wind and reaped the whirlwind 
but who is there to ask them to surrender
are they to be moved to reservations
without oil or water but a broken spirit
and wounded knee while the media
treats them like savages
a crowd going wild over a few books burning
lets face it; they chose this issue to unite
they have no diplomatic style except to say
were staying conservative in our own way
that is what i see. 
that is what the media wants me to see

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GREEN Chapter Four

As he drove away from the bank his cell 
phone rings.
"Hello what's up Mecca?"  "The deal with 
the Asians
is taking place right now.  They want one 
thousand for a pound
of heroin".  "Mecca hold off until I get 
there" Commanded Malik. Malik increased 
speed from 40mph to 55mph.  Pulling 
onto the premises of the old 
Condemned high school Malik killed his 
engine.  Getting out of his car 
he ran over to where the deal was taken 
place.  Jade the leader of the Jade
Dragons greeted Malik with a firm 
handshake.  Jade was a tall good looking
Chinese woman with plump lips and a 
small nose.  "Where have you been?" 
Jade.  "Where's the product?  I want this 
over with as soon as possible" replied 
"It's in the trunk of my car I'll bring it to 
you."  Walking to her car Jade thought 
weather she
should tell Malik about her idea of 
merging the two groups.  With her and 
Malik as king and 
queen of the organization.  Returning from 
her car Jade handed Malik the heroin for 
him to inspect
it.  Sastified with what he saw Malik 
motion for Mecca to pay Jade the 
Taking the money from Mecca Jade 
waved Malik over.  Looking him in the 
eyes Jade told him she
would like to have a private meeting. 
Agreeing to the meeting Malik gave Jade a 
Whispering in her ear for her to meet him a 
Club Envy Sunday at 12:00 midnight.  "Ok 
no one else is to
come with you are me.  Just the two of us"
Jade told Malik. Taking their leave
The Black Crime Syndicate top ranking 
members wanted to know what Malik and 
Jade was talking about.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka Red 
Seven aka The Green Poet aka The Brown 

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missing you

I see my daddy sometimes what we talk about is between him and I.

To be in his arms one more time you name it, I promise I wouldnt put up a fight...

It's been almost ten years and Im still grieving

I remember that phone call when they said he was no longer breathing

In my mind I was thinking everybody knows my daddy likes to play games that negro

just sleeping...

As time started fading away reality hit me and I had to check my own pulse to see if my

heart was still beating...

Being in a state of shock my thoughts kept repeating, flashbacks of those nights when 

I deserved a beating, you loved me so much I was never was mistreated...

Every night before I closed my eyes you always repeated those three special words

that young girl needs to hear, and even though your not physically here if I close

my eyes tightly not only does your face reappear, but I can softly hear you speak

to me in my ear.

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The Job - part 3

Once in my room it’s time to check my weapon.  I can’t live without her.  Which her am I thinking about?  This is not good.   I need to take a break and get my *****squared away.  I pull of my boots, pants, and shirt and throw on a t-shirt, shorts, and some flip-flops and head for the beach.  Time to take in the scenery.   Like I said I don’t care much for California but I must admit the woman out here never learned how to dress.  I have never seen so many women walking around in what amounts to underwear.  For a mid-western guy like me this is…well heaven on earth.  I look but I never touch.  Of course for every great looking woman there’s a matching Adonis so I don’t stand a chance of gaining anyone’s attention.   Which of course is perfect for me, as I don’t need to attract attention.  I am merely and observer.

I found myself a high point on a mound over looking the beach and setup shop. A cold six pack of beer, pack of Marlboro Reds, and binoculars. As I settled in for an afternoon of reconnaissance I heard her voice. “Rick…Rick is that you?” ****, really….? This can’t be happening. “Anna? What the **** are you doing here?” “I was about to ask you the same thing. I thought you were on your way to Hawaii?” “My flight was delayed, I decided to stay the night,” I lied. “Great! Let’s party, can I have a beer?” I tossed her a cold one and thought to myself what the ****. Her hair was loose and around her neck she was wearing one of those gossamer one-piece covers for swimsuits. I could see the outline of her figure and it was stunning. She cracked open the beer and proceeded to chug it. Crumbled it bare handed and asked for another. “Jesus, you’re a regular drunk!” “Shut up and give me another beer,” she said smiling wiping the dribble from the last one off of her chin. “OK, but your buying the next six pack,” I said. “No problem we will be drinking scotch by then.” And so it went. After we finished the beer we went to the closest bar “Barnacle Bills”, nothing fancy hard liquor, beer, and classic rock blasting out the sound system. Requests played for a dollar. We sat at the bar and talked and smoked until the sun went down. Then it was time for dinner. She invited me over to her place but I had work to do. It was time for some reconnaissance on my target. I declined and said I really had to go, work to do, which was the truth. On the way back to the hotel I contemplated what might have come to pass but that was the past. Time to lock and load and get this gig done. Once back at the hotel I opened up the dossier on the hit. His name was Kevin Collins. Business man, worked downtown, ran everyday, happy hour at the Black Orchid, home by 7:00 PM, and lights out at 11:30 PM. Straight routine very seldom strayed from the schedule. This would be a breeze. I needed to get this done. The sooner I get this done the better. I decided to stake out his house and see what was shaking. I would wait till 10:00 PM and then head up into the hills over looking LA. Apparently Kevin had done quite well for himself. The dossier never reveals why someone wants someone gone it just tells me the details and habits of the hit. No need to get personally attached. I had a few hours to kill so I mediated and took and power nap.

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Light House Keeper

As I stand awake
And gaze upon the sea
And the sea in turn 
Looks back upon me 

I look out over 
And see the moonlight glisten
I slowly shut my eyes 
And very closely listen

The waves crash hard 
Upon the rocky shore
I see ships light
And I set the siren to roar

The winds blow in hard 
And I know death is near
The sadness of a lonesome
 Lighthouse keeper is clear

As the winds blow in so fierce
The seas men must act wise and swift
They pull themselves to action
Working hard to keep the ship adrift

The winds blow in strong
As the ship crashes a-shore
The crew scrambles desperately
To survive this dreadful score

For the lighthouse keeper well knowing
His assignment fully now strives
To set out an alert in hopes
Of rescuing these lives

Now as daylight approaches
The search will reveal
There’s no ship to be found
And no bodies to prevail

Written by Neil Ofarrell and Skyler Dawn

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The Barman Legend

Another week ends and here I am once more. Friday evenings I sit, and my friend you pour. I drink to the gods who delegate my fate, a toast to a lover, a colleague or mate. You are "The Barman" a legend in your own right. You pour out the numbness, and soak up sins of the night. Stories are your rubix cube, a toy to pass the time. You listen with intent, a gate keeper in his prime. This week was different, there was a twinkle in your eye. You noticed, I noticed, and your smile was rye. A glance to your hands, and I see the crimson of blood. Your the legendary bartender, but are you evil or good? The tales you've absorbed, full of hatred and love. Which ones have you focused on, the flames or the dove? Suddenly I notice the bar is now empty. It's clear you are twisted, my one confession was plenty.......

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Purgatory Chasm

The autumn leaves crinkle beneath my feet
Their radiant colors dulled
I see the reds and yellows as vibrant as they were
The last time we came here together.

I hold you in my hands,
The way you held me when I was a child.
Your urn jostles softly as I scale the cliff
To our favorite spot.

I open it up, and look at you one last time.
Bits of bone sprinkled in the ash,
Like the time we came here after the first snow fall,
The defiant leaves of abundant autumn
Refusing to be masked by light dusting.

Off the tip of the rock,
I turn the urn,
You flow out over our favorite hike,
As you would have wanted.
We pass through this trail
One last time.

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M dot O

Every task has a game Every game, a strategy Every strategy has a reason Poised so gracefully with devilish intent Death by love Death by hate Death by a stranger Death by a familiar face An intention is all he needs To reveal his dangerous stead A simple act of sweet revenge Or a show of uncanny chivalry A game in the end it was A plan to dissolve the unpure A reason to prove treason A death that was needed to complete this unjust season Self-defense she screams My petite lady But the devil’s scorn She breathes so cloaked, yet so freely Victory, alas! Innocence she pleads. Her immaculate halo radiates an eerie glow For her task completed she rests, content Until her next victim she claims Her bloody thirst to quench BY Amanda.M.Miller

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It is the PROMISE OF NEW KINGSHIP.  THE END OF FIGHT  'Til an unending bloody finish.

I HAVE OVER HEARD TWO WOMEN DISCUSS DEATH as a little more than an irritation.  Maybe their age influenced their views on death.  They were young and  spry. It is  IMPERATIVE  THAT WE PENETRATE THE WORLD OF SUCH PEOPLE TO INFORM  THEM THAT DEATH WILL COME AND DEATH IS REAL



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So painful yet so real, 
Robbing us of love and hopes alike
Do we need wish for more?
Than to just wish you away?

Of my grandpa is gone
And so the tales too
All because you wanted more
Me ask when less you will take
For now for then, its grief you breed

If only I had the power bereft
To destroy you away I would
For the sorrow you left me I cry
And my dear heart you tore
No mercy for you would I feel
And clear my conscience would be
To say I hate would be 
An understatement and a blatant lie
Forever gone and lost.

How I wish you were a tree 
So that I would cut you down
And feed you to the fiery furnace
That you may feel the scorching pain
That I too had to pass.
How bad I wish you would go.

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Untitled #305 / The Traffic Teacher's Tale

They locked eyes. Engines revved and roared.
When the light flashed green, tires screamed across the pavement,
other horns were honked, and a cup of Coke
flew across the lane divider into the lap of the second driver
even as the car of the first driver veered off
into a ditch, overturned, cabin
crunched into a tree
and three souls rode their last.
The traffic teacher says we must control our emotions, but I know
this is impossible. Emotion binds the heart of every human.
We can control our responses to these feelings, or else
ignore them entirely.
I wish I could choose the latter.

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In my golden sunken eyes

In see the future of my life

Fraught with uncertainty

A name without sanctity

I made a world of desires.

Lost along the line of fires

A dreadful isolated life,

Where I had so long survived

The showdown begins with the start

The ray of hope falling from my heart

I pray for the grave which death promises to take

The life that my destiny gave

The endless voyage ended with despair

Oscillating between hope and despair

Now I sleep in complete silence

A soul free from turbulence…



 Leighann Anderson's contest ''  Sea of Words''

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They came in at the appointed hour 
to attend and witness and grieve, 
the friends and practitioners 
with the laying on of hands 
and the murmuring of soft voices 

Leg muscles quiver at the shot,
soft whimpers and welling eyes 
as willing grief drips from her nose 
quietly onto the shiny black coat 

Hands stroke the shallow breathing chest 
to feel and take a part of the parting
until stethoscope silence is certainty 
- the long minute of the long release

Hearts never harden to those loved 
the circle feels vast in the moment 
as final goodbyes are wept 
and "I love you" is whispered 

© Goode Guy 2012-12-09

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She was haunting the wilderness of Night
With the darkness over her damned Essence.
Suddenly, she had caught a mortal’s sight,
She had dark grimace on her countenance.

She ambled towards the forlorn young man,
She stopped as if someone had grabbed her hand.
On the man’s head, there was a flashy crown,
He must be a Prince from some distant-land.

Once, she too was a Princess on this earth.
Until someone bewitched her with a curse
That She will live within the life-in-death.
Will God still bestow her the reimburse?

Bewitched, she never had the time to love.
Now this new Love has bewitched her again,
Her rotten heart was fluttering like Dove
But her misery gave her utmost pain.

She prayed to God for divine miracle
In a slight hope that she was still hanging
Between life and death, with a debacle
That befell on her without her longing.

God took pity on her ill provision
And bestowed her gifts of Love, Eternal
Her dead skins freshened with apparition
Of Existence, once bewitched, infernal.

The Princess then met her despondent Prince,
Who too fell in love at first sight of her.
Their two hearts were blessed with inner peace
Though they were bewitched in love, forever.

[WRITTEN BY Osman Gani]

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In Vietnam

I had just turned eighteen, when the order came.
For long as I live, I’ll never be the same;
I was told that day I was going away,
To Vietnam.
I remembered that day, as my feet hit the ground,
As all around me came the sound,
Of the guns and screams,
In Vietnam.

Our leader ordered us to the trees,
Where everyone got on his knees,
To try and destroy the enemy,
In Vietnam.

We tried to stand, but the odds were too great,
And so we retreated before it was too late.
The fight continued another day,
In Vietnam.

We marched through forest, swamp and marsh,
Through weather fair, and weather harsh.
We endured a living hell, 
In Vietnam.

Friends were made and friends were lost,
The freedom we have came at their cost.
The price of war is often high, but not like that
Of Vietnam.

A hero’s welcome, I thought, for sure;
But nothing was farther from what I endured
When I got back
From Vietnam.

The price we paid was soon forgot,
For peace and ignorance is what was sought.
The truth died there,
In Vietnam.

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Our Little Girl

The light I see
In your eyes
only when I speak of her.
Our little one.
She would have had your eyes,
your nose.
she would have had my hair 
and my my mouth.
Our little girl would have been perfect.
But that horrible day in July,
I cried and I hated myself.
That horrific day in July when I lost her.
My world broke down.
Now when I speak of her. 
Your eyes water up, 
as do mine.
But one day we'll see her. 
I promise.
Our little girl, 
is waiting for us.
I promise.
And one day,
she'll finally say daddy.
Our little girl.

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Momentary Reflection

I was paralyzed in thought,
and standing all alone;
Surrounded by darkness,
everything was gone...

With barely a glimpse, from the corner of my eye;
I was travelling so fast as I passed myself by.
I was moving at high speed, as if,
somehow out of time.

Thinking to myself, looking back into the distance;
Could I have been resting, 
or was there something on my mind;
Maybe, I was just Reflecting,
on some Moments from past times...

A Momentary Reflection,
I thought as I laughed;
Reflections of mistakes, so many in my past;
Or maybe the future, and thoughts of my death.

There's no point in thinking that anything can change;
I passed myself there and found myself here;
Crossroads unmarked, destination unphased,
like a lost dog, covered in mange...

A strength unfound, a desire to disappear;
A Momentary Reflection,
of how I found my way here.

As I watch myself in quiet,
with no desire to stop;
In slow motion I fall,
from a single gunshot...

A Momentary Reflection,
of where I stood at the start;
Maybe if I had slowed, or come to a stop,
this Moment I have witnessed,
the confusion and doubt;
Just maybe, somehow;
I could have found a way out...

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Sneaking in, sneaking out
as clever as a mouse.

Running here, running there 
clearly gone without a care.

Sniffs up to the stars
shining light, shining bright.
Charming little creatures
till it comes to the night.

Savages, beasts, under their pearly white coats.
Black little buttons to match 
their black little totes.

Dimpled little grin
Swallowing--swallowing your breath.
Never trust these little killers,
they always lead to death.

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Near-Death Experience '85

It's been well o'er ten years
since I took my journey
through a darkened star-lit tunnel...
...Sucked down a streamlined funnel...
Many people say their 'experience'
was filled with feelings of love;
beautiful sights...colorful lights,
but mine was a fearful flight.
I saw no glorious revelations,
no visions of life past.
I saw only darkness around me,
with dancing stars surrounding...
I flew with blinding fury
straight ahead...out of control...
I could feel my soul screaming
as though the air was filled with electricity.
I cried "No!  No!", but kept going...
I screamed "I cannot leave my son!"
No escaping, filled with fear,
the force pulled me e'er near.
Suddenly, amidst my crying protests,
I came to an abrupt halt.
I was stuck there in the stars so bright...
...Ho'ering in my deathly plight...
Then an invisible door square, yet round,
opened oh, so slightly inward...
The brightest light I've e'er seen
flooded out one side to me...
A booming voice from all around
told me to "GO BACK."
HE said my work was "Not yet done",
and that I WAS "Needed" by my son.
...And I came back...
I was given the chance to make my life right -
to do what God has willed...
One day, though, my life will finally end,
and then I'll truly see
my loved ones and friends.

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Death of the Writer

His life was a long one
Full of pain,
The way he dealt with it all,
Was to write.

As a young lad writing comforted him;
When he felt lonely or sad,
Stories of great adventures or lost treasures,
would flow from his pen.

From a lad to a man,
The writer had become a prodigy
Highly regarded by his university,
He began to write deeper, with more feelings from within,
Stories of love or the meaning of life,
Now came shooting from his pen.

The years went by, the man continued to write
His writings were now garnered with great fame and through his age he gained experience,
Learning now the reason he wrote was because of the sorrow and loneliness of which consumed his past.  

Not until he lie on his death bed did he realize the life of a writer is one stricken with such great sadness,
Next to him his notebook lies hiding the hidden meanings behind the words, the secrets of his lonesome past.

The rest of the pages left to be unfilled
For the time of the the writer has come to an end,
He lies in bed 
Happy at least his words left his pen,
For the world to cherish. 

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Dream Catcher

When the light of the sun begins to fall Echoes of thoughts begin to ball Drifting into a sleepless state Possibilities grow, at a relentless rate I open my mind, in a wonderland of no validity Emphasized by a walk, through a mirror of fluidity Children's laughter in a sadistic tone This dream is a nightmare, far from home The path I am walking........leads to a house Beyond the door, I wish for my friend, my lover and spouse As the door creaks open a figure is revealed I brace myself, my numbness is my shield A wrinkled hand reaches out from the black It grabs my wrist, leaving no time to fight back As I'm dragged into the darkness, the figure becomes clear The face of my victim, my deepest fear

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Oh, Pepe (Vignette)

Too enthralled by his works done
Last farewell been said and made
Mockingbirds and sparrows came
Las vivas and the sound of guns-
He faced the 7 o’clock morn sun


Dr. Jose P. Rizal- poet/author of  "Noli Me Tangere" and 
"El Filibusterismo", his famous novels that cost his life.

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      A/N:Ths is a true story of a little girl in town, killed by a drunk driver on her 
             way home from her sister's wedding!  PLEASE don't drink and drive!

She was a vision in pink
Yellow curls spilling down her neck
Her tiny hands clutching flowers
When they found her in the wreck!
She had walked down the aisle
An adorable flower girl,
Tossing rose petals 
Smiling her last smile
But how were we to know?
A tiny life cut short
In the middle of the night
Her grieving parents knowing
Their world would never be right!

“Have a drink with me my friend
Why not two or three?
I’m all alone tonight
I want some company
What’s that you say
I’m too drunk to drive?”
Yes you were my friend
Now that child’s
No longer alive!
Was that drink so important
That you could take a life?
The fact that you survived
Haunts that man and wife

They will always remember
When they found her in that wreck
Her yellow curls covered in blood
Her head severed at the neck!
So have another drink my friend
As you step up to the bar
How many people will you kill
When you get into your car?

Copyright2008Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)

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For Brian Strand Footle contest

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She sits sullen
Quiet and isolated
Onto a sea-shell littered shore
Beaten by the wave
      Like a mute deafen by the midnight air

She stares at the moon with freckles of moonrock
Silhouetted against the sky streaked with white
As if tie-dyed in pale grey
As she reluctantly sniffs the salt-scented
Twilight mist cast by the sea breeze

She strums the smooth silhouette of
Her companion —a suspicious-looking
      Bottle fogged-up by her breath.
Considering such of a
      Sister —not in blood but in heart.

In a single doubtful gulp,
She devours its rust colored liquor
      Which, too later, guarantees nothing but
      The rest her body aches for.

Seconds passed,
Sea birds have flown
Streams of sweat
creep south the sides of her face
      The pins and the needles kick-off
      Their catwalks on the runway pole of her spine.
      While, the spotlight of her mind clothes 
      Her thoughts with numbness.

She sits still
Now prostrate with unease
      Like a pigeon that had lost half of its feathers
Beads of tears trickle
Down the wingtips of her lips
Frozen with a smile half-baked.

         Her eyes shut 
                     but gently
                                          For good.

Blues in the night.It speaks on her behalf.

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Death's Kiss

A cold dark night, whispers muttered, I fought for light, and then I uttered,
"Awake me from this nightmare, a black haunting I CANNOT BARE!"
opened my eyes jumped out of my bed, caught my breath, and nodded my head, only a dream,
then I said.

There need not be another that night so I stayed awake in fright,
in fright of that dream, that unbearable thought.

Then as I laid, eyes heavy and weary, so did I fade, into midnight dreary.
When suddenly I felt a presence of pain
a presence of evil, fear, and vain.

Onto the floor then came a drift, and with it fog and ice did sift.

"WHO GOES THERE!" I shouted, to which I doubted my feeble legs as I stood to the floor.
"It is I, Death."
Confused and confounded, I looked into the dark that surrounded, and quite astounded I saw
a monster appear
and to much of my dismay, its finger pointed my way.
"What do you want?" said I in fear "You." said monster, coming near.
"But so young am I" i did reply "Its an awful mistake, for you my life to take."

"Its no mistake, these I don't make." the creature did quake,
With wings of bone, scythe in one hand, he brought fear across the land
and still stood his finger, still at me it linger.
"NO!" I screamed and tried to flee, but move now I couldn't so quickly, for to my dismay
these legs did stay, a thousand pounds they did weigh.

So softly said death, in a single breath,
"No purpose is there, for death is not fair."
"You could be so young, but I do not care."
"And now you must bare what all will bare, Death's cold stare."
"But be not frightened, for with peace will you be enlightened. No more pain or sorrow,
this all I must borrow, until the morrow when all is no more."

His words like razors, cut through my heart
and with it peace, began to start.
For apart from the fear, the unsettled surprise
it dawned to me Death, had opened my eyes.
For life blistered my soul with a sore
that death would heal with its "No More"

"Ok" I said "Take life's pain from my head"
"Bring me peace, among the dead!"

And so quickly he came, and so quickly I went
and brought it no shame, and told it no hint
and with it he did, just as i was told
suddenly no pain, NO FEAR, NONE BEHOLD!
this all he did borrow until the morrow, when all is no more
and of it all i did hear, was just a faint hiss
then into the nothingness of abyss
did my peace come, with Death's Kiss.

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Untitled #300 / Thermopylae and King Leonidas

Thermopylae, Thermopylae
King Leonidas at

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Through the eyes of a cannibal

I sit alone, accompanied by none other than the souls of the deceased
Bodies and fro
Only to be stepped upon and left unnoticed
Vile death feels my head 
I am sick...twisted
I Creep into your soul 
For I have, no guilt, soul, nor heart
Tis only death in wich I take pleasure
I am a tramontane..unnoticed and feared by all
I trescend above all others
For all, fear me
Dare step to me..nor a simple glance
I turn to you...licking the remains of my last meal off my lips
I smile a smile that all know and fear..a smile so viscious and twisted
I drag you..letting the others watch in agonizing pain
Their cries please me
agonistic are you to escape
I divour you....Limb from limb
Leaving you to rot with the others
Fear me..for you can never love me
For all fear me
I am sick...twisted

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Nascentes morimur

Twenty-three chromosomes from my mother
Twenty-three chromosomes from my father
Already, I feel loved
Three weeks now and my heart is beating
My blood is pumping
My brain is dividing into three primary sections
Already, I am alive
Four weeks now and my limbs are taking shape
By five weeks I have my kidneys and external portions of the ear
My hands and wrists are taking shape
Already, I am partially developed
Six weeks now and I have brain waves
My heartbeat can be heard, and I can respond reflexively to stimulus
Already, I have feelings
By seven weeks I have fingers and toes to wiggle
Knee joints are now present
All of my organs are present by week eight and I am only one and half inches long
I have breathing motions, my kidneys are producing urine, and my skin thickens
Already, I will soon know if I am a boy or a girl
By nine weeks my eyelids close, I can suck my thumb and swallow
I’m grasping and responding to touch
At ten weeks I now have fingernails and toenails, and my very own fingerprints
Already, I have an identity

But wait…something else is swimming in your stomach
It’s making me starve and die
Here I am born four hours later, but only six or seven weeks old
Already, I am born and dead
If only you would have let me live
But wait…now at nine weeks there is a tube cutting me apart
A machine is sucking me apart limb by limb
This is the fad
Already, I have experienced pain
You should have let me live
At sixteen weeks there is a large needle
It’s poisoning me
It’s dehydrating me, my brain is hemorrhaging
My organs are failing and my skin is burnt
The next day I am born…but not breathing
Please let me live
Now here…I am fourteen to twenty-three weeks old
But there is a instrument twisting my arm off
Now the other, and now my legs one by one
My skull is now being crushed and no longer am I whole
But in pieces
If you would have just let me live
I’m mostly developed now
I now have a chance of surviving outside my mother
Here I am being born, but feet first and face down
Just the head left arms and legs squirming about
But wait…no…blunt scissors are being put in the base of my skull
The scissors are now spreading apart
Something is being inserted into my skull
My brain…it sucks my brain out until my head collapses
Now I am fully born, but no longer squirming about
Just still, not moving
Already, I have felt hate
Why didn’t you let me live?

Written November 11, 2009

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Creasy Smiles

Ol granny by the window
Smiles at me each day.
Her son is a soldier 
And he ain't coming back.
She waits for her sonny.
With a sunshine smile for me each day.
Days went by....
But I never saw her cry.
One day she went missing
I found out....
Senile decay took her away.
Memories greet me now...
Her Creasy smiles by the window.

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Confessions of a Psycho Lover

I’m so much obsessed!
Feels like I’m badly possessed.
Want to see you every day.
Crazy to say, “You make my day!”

One day, I woke up in my room.
Felt terrible and viciously doom.
Want to watch you moving around,
Crazily made my world so round.

I had a chance to see you! Touch you!
Pushed me away coz I’m your strangely new…
Kissed you entirely with my possessive lips,
Held you so tight in your shapely type hips.

Pushed me away coz you don’t know me…
Stabbed you at back! Things are so bloody…
Shocked and totally messed up.
Killed someone who is in higher up!

Handcuffs are gripping me so sad.
Missing that girl whom I killed really bad.
I’m a psycho! Crazily obsessed!
Confess that I kill the girl that I possessed.

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Precious Little Zack

Precious little Zack Sweet, innocent and pure Went through this lifetime For only a few short years I missed the opportunity of His last years of development But my memories stay filled Of the younger days he spent Even with disabilities Born to this child He always gave his cute Crooked little smile When Zack was a tot He was mellow and quite And when he laughed It was a wonderful delight His parents weren’t together As most of us know But both of his parents Dearly loved him so Zack recently turned eight Enduring struggles in his life I know it was God’s plan To end his pain and strife The time has now come For Heaven to get an angel back And our Lord has chosen Precious little Zack Love, Grandma Flo Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Soldiers dying
Children crying
In a strange and far off land.

Bullets killing
Bombs so chilling
This the work of our own hand?

We are the ones who did invade
Duped by leaders we did trust.
Misled by claims of mass destruction,
Hard to ask – but now we must.

Did our leaders so betray us -
Sell their souls for desert oil?
 Have they shamed our mighty nation -
Brought dishonor to our soil?

Will we now repeat this process
Raining death on one and all?
While we try to kill the evil
All the innocents will fall.

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I stand within these walls of comfort,
Called freedom.
While in every corner of this world,
My siblings die.

Brothers and sisters of earth,
Struggling for hope.
My vagabond mind wanders in circles,
Searching for answers.

Still, questions hang like dead fog,
Which never lifts.
Explosions of pain that ears can hear,
Waking my eyes in morning papers.

Wars giving less than nothing,
Smother my senses in useless regret.
So many feeling so sorry,
Yet simply changing channels.

Compassion being a dirty word,
Those elite few have come to despise.
While walls they've built soon crush them,
Beneath weight of their own insincerity.

Intellectual nitwits,
Unaware of their bottomless ignorance.
Marching beneath a banner of confusion,
They proudly do wave.

All the while chanting,
Let the common ones eat dirt.
As their warm apple pies quietly cool,
On selfish shelves.

As unfortunate mothers loudly weep in despair,
Watching their children expire.
These ones of power do not hear those sounds of death,
Only their greed raging out of control in a battle outside.

Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved

"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."

© 2014 Robert William Gruhn

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Morning glare

I saw it in dark mornings
And I let my friend to see
Its darkness lived in me
My friend cried and tried
But I kept behind darkness
I could see his tears burn
And I saw it again in me
I wanted to stop its glow
It grew so high that it seizes me
But with soft touch of desire it died
I thought it would end today  
But it grew through dawn and twilight
My friend don’t let me die in darkness
Let me die in light to see stars shine

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The End of the Beginning

And with his final good-bye to his love, so long after her death. 
He then reached into his worn, ragged pocket and with his dirty and soiled hands he 
pulled out his wallet. 
A possession he no longer had the need for in this unruly and dead world. 
He slowly and gently opened it and within it lay the only possession it carried inside. 
A picture of her loving face. 
A reminder of what once was. 
He leaned far over the edge of the looming, empty causeway and looked down in the 
dark nothingness that lay below him. 
He once again longingly looked at the picture of the woman he had once loved and 
slowly his grasp on the wallet loosened and finally the wallet fell to the bottom of what 
was nothing. 
As it fell he slowly felt himself breaking free from the bond that once was there but had 
died long ago.  
And lastly he reached to his hand where a dimmed gold ring sat upon his withered 
He gently twisted it off, and in a movement that felt as if he were dipping his hand in 
molasses, he laid the ring tenderly upon the edge of the causeway. 
With resentment and regret he pushed the ring off the edge, trying to forever banish 
her from his mind. 
The he looked upon the darkened ashy sky, and with such weight upon his soul and 
heart he turned towards the long road ahead of him and walked on into the 
nothingness that was to be his life.

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I've heard it said that if all the people 
who ever lived and died, were buried together, 
it would fill the size of Spain.

No gazpacho, no El Greco 
No Flamenco and no Bolero
Just row upon row, with nowhere to go
on a Saturday night
Dead all over, nothing to do

Of course Guernica might fit in 
as would certainly, the Inquisition
overseen by some church patrician
staking out his historical place
in God's eyes, of liturgical grace

But who would be then accepting
a place of Conquistadors amors
if all the American continents
couldn't be relied on to be invaded?
There's still the rest of Europe.

But stones and dates of birth and death
as far to horizon as can be seen
would be enough to put anybody off
Pablo Casals and his pals would
flee for less shaded climes
and maybe start again, in Portuguese

Pamplona's bulls unknown to run
would only be cast in marbled stone
above the heads of political deads,
world-famous and anonymous unknowns

So perhaps it's best to strew the gone
over on and around the world beyond
continental lands to north and south
to spread the wealth by word and mouth

We all in time will, without exception
join the breathless dance of sleep
Leave the Iberian Peninsula to  
Basques, the Castilians and Catalans
The lifeless can lie in hinterlands
peering up from past the Pyrenees

© Goode Guy 2013-07-27

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The Dentist's Chair

The Dentist's Chair

Staring up into the light
Your mouth and body
Frozen in unison
While your mind dreams of escape

The inane radio DJ
Is drowned out
As the drill's
Terror-inducing shrill
Sends shivers down your spine

Second seem like years
As you struggle for breath
With fingers and metal contraptions
Intruding like death

Is this what purgatory is like?
Pushing yourself
Towards the light
Away from what seems
Like eternal hell

When the reaper
Sinks his teeth into me
What awaits
When the waiting-room doors
Finally swing open?

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We used to rent a very old house
for our summer vacations, it was built
in the early fifteen hundred by criminals
who roamed the Atlantic Ocean for gold and diamonds:
roof, windows and doors reminded us
of a dark house that pirates frequented
in the could imagine 
how many treasure chests were there with one 
of them watching over them most of the day;
and had he gotten drunk, they'd have dumped him
into the Ocean! Those pirates were merciless:
life meant nothing to them as they pillaged and killed.
There was no air conditioner,
and we left the windows open,
so we could sleep comfortingly, but here and there
weird sounds were heard turning into a human voice,
" Child, wake up and come with me...
I'll tell you a pirate's story you haven't read yet,
the one that actually happened when I was your age."
His red face had marks that only swords could have carved;
his pointy nose as dirty as a kid playing with mud,
his teeth rotten and yellow with a horrible stench.
" No! " I screamed, but my scream no one could hear
as he pulled me off my bed and dragged me outside.
" Why are you afraid of me, child? I mean no harm!"
And as he said those words, I looked back and worried
about my family inside that unlit, haunted house...
with a subdued sob, I agreed to go with him and hear
the story he couldn't tell anyone, thinking he was mad.

Written by Andrew Crisci
for Gail Doyle's contest,
" Stranded Or A Ghost Story Of Your Choice
Any Horror Movie "

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Livearthia is a planet that is full of life.  A place were death has no breath, and nobody knows the meaning of the word.  Here death can't even be made up.  Here beings are born to live forever.  Growing up, being young, growing old, being young again, growing up and old, over and over again, and never dying.  In this world, age is determined by how many life cycles you have lived, each cycle you gain more and more experience, unlike planet Earth where you only live one cycle, and the word death is every where, a sad and lonely planet, oblivious to the vast space that surrounds it, there's an intelligence there that brings affliction and war to its kind.  In Livearthia the sky is lit up with planets and six of what earthling's call moons, livearthians call glooms and two distant stars that always shine, and it never rains in Livearthia there‘s just a fog, a mist, or a dew.  Living things just live, and hunger does not exist.. Livearthians do not speak, they use telepathy, and sign language.  One of Livearthia’s glooms is an albino gloom that shines bright but is only the size of  Mt. Rushmore.  Livearthians inhabit five of the twenty seven planets that surround it Affinity, Infinitum, Vernier, Sagacious, and Callow.

~ Leonard Napierskie


The Livearthia population numbers only in the thousands, planets in the Livear universe are much smaller, and younger.  Livearthians do not multiply and over populate the planet much like the humans do to the Earth.  Livearthians are much more god like obtaining powers unimaginable, and they do not travel outside there solar system because they choose not to, they are happy where they are.

~ Leonard Napierskie

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Precipice (Vignette)

The devil tap dances on the edge of your desperation
Your fate upon on a spinning coin of revelation
Faith nourishes as some lead without hesitation
Fear and greed lead to many a soul’s dehydration
God intervenes, protects His children – Salvation

Author’s note:  Stephen King’s The Stand

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Tim in the Skies

I woke up screaming
from one of my dreams.
Stuck my face in a pillow
to muffle the screams.	

It's hard to watch
someone else die.
Are you up there watching
as I search the sky?

I'm looking for answers.
God gives me a few.
The answers are empty
down here without you.

I should have died.
Not you my dear friend.
You just tried to help me
and I dreamed it again.

The knife in your heart.
Your eyes that just stared.
I hate to admit this
but I was so scared.

I was the first one
to fall to the floor.
Kicked,beaten,and stabbed.
But there would be more.

I curled into a ball
and I should have stayed there.
Frank and your brother appeared
and both asked me,"where?"

I pointed as they ran.
there were to many to fight.
But they both rushed right in.
It was satan's delight.

I got up and followed.
Didn't know what else to do.
I walked right through the carnage
and that's when I saw you.

You asked me what happened.
But I was out of my mind.
I said I was jumped 
and then we both looked behind.

There was your brother falling
with ten guys on him 
and like Frank and Dan
you just rushed right in.

We both watched in horror
as Dan curled into a ball.
Then you grabbed this guy
and threw him into the wall.

Then everything was slow motion.
Guys were flying through the air.
I could barely see anything 
but all I did was stare.

You were making them run
but one still wanted to fight.
That's when I rushed in.
He had this big knife.

I got there too late.
I grabbed you where you fell.
The look in your eyes
is my own private hell.

You died in my arms.
Some of me died there too.
It's been thirty years now.
Thirty years without you.

Why did it happen Lord?
Will I ever know?
Will Tim ever forgive me?
Do I want to know?

A nightmare that lives
after I close my eyes.
A dream that makes me
search for Tim in the skies.

For my Best friend Tim Gitchel who was murdered on 2/12/1979 in Oxnard CA at the 
movie theatre when we tried to see The Warriors. I miss you buddy. RIP

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A baby's courage

Nowhere to run, nowhere to breathe
And grasses are on fire.
The manly beasts are having their fun
For they have nothing to spare.
All the victims, coiled with each other,
No matter who is rich, who is poor.
The earth is crying and the devil is smiling
For there is none to cure.

A mother with a baby in her lap,
Running......the death is so sure.
One of the beast appeared from nowhere
And smashed her on the ground.
She was crying and crying and begging her life,
But the fate didn't turn around.
And then came the flash of gun
And there laid the lady dead.
The cruel has crashed through
Her trembling and sweating forehead.
The beastly pig was about to laugh,
While he stopped with a gaze.
While everyone was struggling in horror,
The baby was laughing in hi face

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The Devil Made Me Do IT

Don’t believe what you may see 
for your eyes they do deceive thee 
everything they say 
poisoned with half truths and lies 
only rumors to stifle our way 

I couldn’t have done those things 
none of that was real 
just horrible awful dreams 
there was no color 
only lack of light 
that could not have been me that night 

It wasn’t like I had a choice 
no not even my own voice 
I wasn’t in control 
the darkness took me over 
trapped me in a room so cold 
then it locked the door 

You just don’t understand 
the shadows they sometimes need me 
their call I can’t defy 
they whisper what I need to do 
to them I must comply 
it’s not me, its them to blame 
the blood is on their hands 

Know the beating of my heart's what’s real 
it’s the only thing that is 
beats each beat for the love I feel 
together it says, forever it says 
always, you are mine 
I’d protect you with my last breath 
put it all out on the line 

I never would have hurt you 
that’s the one thing I wouldn’t do 
It wasn’t me, it couldn’t be 
it’s not my fault, I have no guilt 
this burden it won’t be mine 
the devil made me do it 
it was to him I built my shrine

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I Am A Ghost

I am the ghost that haunts these hallowed halls...
Her I shall remain inside these walls...
Until the grim reaper comes to call...
And my body falls.

When the pain is more than I can take...
With a pain so ravaging it can never be slaked...
I pray the Lord my soul to take...
Before my heart completely breaks.

If I should wake in the morning again...
I shall still be the ghost within...
These hallowed halls is where it did begin...
And I will haunt them until the end.

I am the invisible girl you will never meet...
Yet the ghost you can not see is always fooled by deceit...
But I shall not retreat...
Or admit defeat.

So when the sun rises in a cloudless sky,
The ghost will cry...
And I shall not go nigh...
I shall remain a ghost for the rest of my life.


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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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Skins are scraping all over his flesh smoothly.

Flows of blood are running through his body.

His arms are flipped like a scrambled paper,

Crowd is rushing like a powdered pepper.


His face touches in a gray dusty ground,

Everyone screams and makes a saddest sound.

Tears are running on my mom’s face,

Death is mysterious as it goes someone’s pace.


I remember how he really looks like,

Pieces of brains are thrown away from his motorbike.

His death is the worst thing that I’ve ever known.

I can’t stand why his bloody death is so unknown.


I almost faint in his bloodiest situation,

It frightens and heightens my weakest tension.

Bloodstains are obvious on his shirt,

His death is noxious and incredibly dirt.

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The Widows Hour

A black widow hides
the hour’s count, in a painted
red glass, on the underside 
of her belly.

Unlike a snow white kitten,
the hard shiny black widow
receives not one loving caress.

In the pale moonlight the black widow spins a silver web.
It created a growing and binding spell-like enchantment.

A man and a woman
are dancing through time.
A man and a woman and a black widow
are dancing through time.

I do not know which I prefer,
Us making love by a sizzling fire
Or us making love on the cold wet sand,
the black widow scurrying across the beach
Or the moment we met.

A web repaired a broken window
with finely spun silk.
The shadow of the black widow
remains hidden from view.
The silence
hanging in the web
spoke a thousand words.

Descendants of Adam,
Why do you fear this little spider so?
Do you not see how the black widow
splashes and plays in her bath
as naturally as the child within you?

I know that I know nothing
and I remember everything all at once;
I know, as well,
that the black widow does not worry
about what I know.

Dark spaces harbor the black widow.
Shake out your shoes,
shirts, and jackets after they’ve been on the floor.

The black widow’s shadow
encloses the stars like an eclipse,
even I cannot overlook a
cosmic event as rare as this.

She walked across the Nile
in crystal slippers.
Escaping, she never looked back
over her ivory shoulder,
the black widow’s shrill song flies
through the wind and echoes on the water.

Grains of sand are filling the glass slowly.
The black widow must be endlessly dreaming.

The sun beat down while it rained.
I was not moving
and I was not going to move.
In the peak of the thirteenth hour
the black widow traced circles,
after kissing me lightly on the 
back of my hand.

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My Scars

We were both 16, we shared many firsts with each other. First girl I ever kissed, First person outside of family that I told "I love you" to and we took each others virginity. We were both young and foolish but to this day I still say I honestly loved you. The day you told me you never cared for me the day when you told me it was all just a game was the day I cut my first scar into my arm. I knew you longer then my own brother. We were best friends grew up together, we even got a house when we both left the "nest". Those were the best 3 years of my life we became brothers we became blood. The last day we ever talked is the saddest day in my life, even to this day I cry when I think about you walking away. The scar you gave me stands out from the rest, it's deeper and longer then the others. You were my star I gave you everything I had. I would of walked through the pits of hell just to see your smile. I thought you were the one, I thought we had a future and would be together forever. But one day I came home early to surprise you with this ring, yes I was going to ask you to marry me. When I walked into the house my heart was shattered and blown away by the wind. The image of the two of you is burned into my brain I did not say a word just dropped the ring on the floor and walked right back out the door. The pain of the knife cutting into my arm shocks me out of my thoughts. I watch the blood begin to drip onto the floor this makes 13. 13 scars on my arm

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I watched a rose grow
Far down the last row
Guarded it as it grew
From the strong winds that brew

As its branches did sprout
Its thorns spread out
piercing my hand when tending
I left to tender to my sore wounds

When its flowers did blossom
It left its sepal's bosom
Conspicuous and beautiful to the eye
Its scent burning the noses of insects

So the bees,wasps and birds paid a visit
On its sweet nectar they made  a feast
Some dusting its petals with dirty dust
collected from other plants that ailed

And the dust became a worm
that attacked from deep within
making it wither as days went by
and  the rose dried to death

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Road to Redemption

Introduction: Tribute to brothers in the fray and families for them pray...

Life in these rough times, We barely even feel the daytime Every second counts greatly, As there’s no going back in time Sometimes we lose to win, try not to fail again, But mostly we end up back to where we all began Every single day, we wake up in one piece, Where brothers in the fray, they hardly get to cease Our tears drop all over the floor, They keep on till their blood stains from their core Every second till the end, We pray for them to knock on our doors Sadly at times, things go the other way for the best cause, All we can do really, is not breakdown and pause Prayer’s the only strand through the last breath, When they depart with a peaceful end Emptiness and happiness, constantly flowing along, The memories, they always live right within our souls When days seem cloudy and life gets lonely Debts grow high and smiles fade into sigh At that instant, that very moment, Just pray, pray to get healed, Heal from this insanity, pray to be free, Free from this misery It all comes down to the crying in the end, The stillness stares up towards the sky As we do bid farewell to dear friends But at some point through all the pain and sour grin, recovery does begin The ones we love and care, Though some are not so near Scattered through this bittersweet world, Waiting for us to share; This life is like the weather, It changes altogether It may get bad and may get sad, But know it’s not forever, Better days will come eventually, The morning sun will shine brightly Through our endeavors and our prayers, we shall recover From things we’ve lost so dearly So just hold on to the light and believe in salvation, And the rays of truth shall lead the road to redemption…

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The Locklears Chapter Three

"What do we have here" reaching her arm 
out in the motion of a snake Linda became 
sexually aroused.
"We have a hammer, scalpel, acid, nail gun, and and 
an ice pick".  Linda's voice was
filled with excitement.  Pissing himself 
their victim began to cry.  "Linda this 
is your victim so you have to inflict the 
first wound".  Responding to Rusty's 
Linda picked up the nail gun.  "Linda you 
don't have to do this, I have kids that I 
for, My name is Timothy Yates, I have 
a wife".  Linda silenced Timothy with a 
swift kick 
to his testicles.  "Look Rusty it actually 
think we care about it's pathetic little 
Placing the muzzle of the nail gun on 
Timothy's foot Linda pulled the trigger.  
Firing a 
hard sharp nail into Timothy's foot.  Blood 
squirted into the air.  "AAARRRGGHH 
STOP!"  Timothy's screams and begging for 
his life only made Linda even more excited 
hornier.  Walking over to Rusty kissing 
him on the lips sliding her tongue in his 
"It's your turn baby".  Handing Rusty the 
nail gun Linda stepped back and shoved 
her hands
in her pants.  Walking over to Timothy 
Rusty began to beat Timothy in the face 
with the nail
gun.  The more Rusty beat Timothy in the
face with the nail gun the harder Linda 
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The 
Green Poet aka Red Seven

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GREEN Chapter Six

Whipping out his cellphone Malik dailed 
Mecca's number.  "Hello Mecca 
GET HERE NOW!"  Ending his call and 
dailing another number.  "Hey Phil I NEED
Ending his call Malik unlocked his apartment went 
and got a blanket.  He laid it out on his 
floor at the entrance of the front door.  He 
Violet onto the blanket wrapped her up 
and went back outside.  Taking his 22 
pistol out of his pocket Malik waited for 
Mecca and Phil.  Within 30 minutes the 
two men showed up.  Getting out of their 
cars gun in hand the three men went 
inside Malik's apartment.  "When I got 
home Violet was on my
doorstep dead.  There was money stuffed 
into her mouth and a note inside her 
hand".  Malik
handed Phil the note.  "I know of The 
Green Nation" said Phil as he handed the 
note to Mecca.
"There's a guy by the name of Steve 
who work at the prison.  He's a corrupt 
prison officer
and a member of the Green Nation" said 
Phil informing Mecca and Malik.  "Let's 
take Violet to her house 
and lay her in her bed".  Mecca said 
interrupting Phil.  The three men picked up 
Violet's dead body and put her in the trunk 
of Mecca's car.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The 
Green Poet aka The Brown Philosopher 
aka Red Seven

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I kneel on the dusty battlefield,
my eye catches a glint of the tarnished sword.
The glint blinds me, my mind 
fills itself with memories from long before.

I, a young boy, am riding on a youthful pony.
My body trembles with this new wonder,
as the pony’s smooth gait prompts me 
to kick its sides, increasing speed…

Next, I, the adolescent esquire, follow my mentor loyally 
into this new, brutal land 
where bloodshed is common,
beyond the shelter of the castle…the battlefield.  
The sight of men at other’s mercy chills me. 

Arrows pierce the ill willed,
as they fall like salty tears onto
the blood-stained earth. 

Yet I know my duty is to serve another,
older and wiser than I.
This harsh land haunts me as I refill
my mentor’s quiver of arrows
and adjust the gleaming helmet upon his head.  

My visions of the past clear like a herd of untamed horses, 
my eyes beseech my mentor. 
His worn gaze tells of the many battles he has fought, 
but wisdom shines in his eyes.

The sword taps my shoulder, 
like the touch of a seraph of heaven.
He claps my shoulder, 
as if to remind me of the dark times ahead.

“You, young man, are my equal,”
said he, “upon this field your courage 
has proved your worthiness-a noble 
knight you shall be.” 

The coward in my heart screams for redemption,
yet this new being-the knight-in my spirit
raises me to my feet 
and takes me back to the castle, where
good times-along with brutal-await.  

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My Thoughts

Here I am. Alone here I sat. 
My mind wrapped in many thoughts. 
Those I care not to have. 
The ones of my life, a woman near my heart. 
The pain and pleasures are like doing uppers and downers. 
Feeling your hearts going burst if it don't cease. 
What does one do in this case I wonder? 
It's not of my heart I want destroy but loving as the man I am. 
There the differculties are with being human. 
Not being able to control the thoughts as they run wild. 
What is it really like to live alone? 
I know its lonely but how does one cope with this? 
Even when their thoughts are upon things that matter. 
How does the mind think or is it really the heart feeling these thoughts? 
I know that's where the pain exist because its not my head that hurts. 
It is the thinking of having everything you ever wanted in life. 
Including the woman you love so dearly. 
It is of my sucess I have accomplish even after many have robbed me blind. 
It is that will to survive that keeps my fight alive. 
But that of my inner being telling me that life is a lie. 
That it's only a joke to live. 
But there I have struggle still standing tall even when I am knock down. 
It is the eye of the tiger and the roar of a lion I cry. 
That of my soul just feels like screaming to the top of my lungs and falling to my knees and 
saying,lord take me. 
Ease this pain I'm in. 
But let not life kill me nor my thoughts I have. 
But make me stronger in thy ways. 
But end this day and not let me wake. 
For I am dieing of these thoughts and feelings I have,Please! 
Somebody help me before I go insane and lose my mind. 
These thoughts are crazy but of a woman I love. 
That I can not stand the thought of her in others arms. 
But my thoughts is I must go on. 
Because I am the man I am and there's nothing I can do about this. 
Except stay strong and survive until the day of my life has come. 
By then,I probably be old and grey,still wondering how I'm going to make the next day.

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The Locked Room: Whispers of Anubis

In a dark, dark room, 
an eerie aura surrounds; 
deathly whispers crawl in the air, 
sounding like incantations. 

A sarcophagus lays still in the room, 
whispers oozing out of it; no one knows 
that the sarcophagus is a portal to the Underworld, 
where Anubis and his cohorts reign. 

Only the Book of Ra; its jacket containing the symbol 
of the Scarab Beatle, that can chase away the whispers,
and curses from the whispers. 

The evil dead continue to be undead, 'til when the Destined One 
finds Ra's Book, and chants the verses that he sees.......
''Dark things happened there....'' 
they say, with fading tones, 
almost reaching their vanishing point, 
due to unhidden fright. 

Sometimes they hear eerie moans; 
see dancing shadows on the space 
between the door and floor; other times 
whispers that make them feel as though 
they will shatter like hollow glass tubes. 

To stop the haunting, 
they hired spiritualists to seal 
the room's door with their divine will. 

Candles flicker in the night, 
as voices of the undead wander across the corridors.....

(The first verse is a poem titled “Whispers of Anubis”, which was published on 8/9/2014. The second verse is a poem titled “The Locked Room”, which was published on 25/4/2014. I have divided both poems with a dotted line.)

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Unidentify but identify terrorist

Although you revealed your identity
But no one to catch you.
Why are you so wicked?
You so called terrorist.
Ask me what you did?

It seems you don’t have 
Human feeling!
Where you not created by God?
Answer me,am talking to you.
Where you not conceive from the womb?
Answer me,you so called evil demon.
Who is your God-Father?
What are your want,
Tell me and I give you.

You have destroyed the north;
Take life like that of fish and
Slain a lot of throat.
I was told you are killing
Because of religion.
Was that true?
Answer me, am talking to you
So called terrorist,please
Put an end to all your wickedness
And let us build a great nation.
Am not here to fight you
But just for amnesty.
Remember the market, we are into 
One day surely we shall go home.
Reconcile with your destiny?
Think wisely

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Choosing Forever

I listen to the crunch of gravel as I drive slowly down the center avenue of the cemetery.  I gaze at the headstones, clustered on either side, some showing their age, while all silently standing watch over those they honor.

I first came here two years ago while researching my family, to find the resting place of a great aunt.  That had been a sunny summer day and I was taken by the shade and shadow provided by the elderly trees that spread their wings of leaves over the landscape.  I was smitten by the beauty and the feeling of peace that surrounded me.

Today, my wife and  I have come for another reason. I've told her of this place and wanted her to see.  It is a gray and overcast day, a chill in the air, rain threatening to challenge the clouds.  The overseer said that we would find the section on our right after passing through the original grounds.  

I slow and stop, knowing instinctively that we have reached our destination.  Stepping from the car, we approach the stones of those who passed not so long ago.  The markers are sparse here.  Near the end of the second row, I see the two unmarked plots.  I remember asking about trees and am happy to see that a maple of young growth lingers near.  I don't know why that  is important, but it is.

My wife and I exchange words of acceptance.  We agree that we could be happy here, as if happiness is something that we hope to take with us.  Again, even given the gloominess of the day, I  experience the feeling of serenity I experienced before.  It is peaceful here.  I feel safe here.  I know that together, we have chosen our forever.

Bob Quigley

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It was a game of checkmate for those whom could not see the end before it was too late.
It was a shame when they heard their name.
Death became their last breath.
Honor knew not one tortured soul.
Their horrific graves took control.
Their destinies they stole.
Favored a forbidden role.

It was a game of checkmate for those whom could not wait. 
It was their home.
They knew no longer any other way of life. 
Only anger, hate, and strife.
No longer a husband; never a wife. 
No sisters or brothers.
Never again fathers and mothers.
There was no escape.
Just the terror of murder and rape.
They could see it coming for miles at Hell's Gate.
This was not their game to win. 
No way out, no other way in. 
Just pawns in their very own game of checkmate.

Last days.
Last words.
Merely seconds left to pray.
Dying to be heard.
What were possessions now? 
They either died or chose to bow. 
Binding their hearts with an eternal vow.
Playing a game they wish they had never started.
Their places were unequally imparted.

The very last of them were the bravest of their brave men and women. 
No children left to speak. 
To see.
To witness or believe.
Not one belonged to another.
They were gone with the wind. 
Desperation from the souls that sinned.
Never time to care about one single word that left them with nothing to spare.
Hoping to awaken at Heaven's Gate.
Waiting for their turn to win Checkmate. 

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Widow's First Christmas

Turkey's done
dressin'  turned out  fine
gotta stop thinkin'
gonna loose my mind.

     Presents neath the tree
     that boy is one big smile.
     Ain't gonna start cryin
     hold on for awhile.

          God I miss you honey
          each and every day.
          Christimas time don't make no sense
          since you gone to stay.

               Sure miss you carvin'    
               that laughter filled with glee.
               Can't get no Christmas spirit
               when you ain't with me.

May the Lord bless you
keep you safe and sound
We just havin' Christmas
done here on the ground.
     Happy Birthday Jesus
     take care o' my ol' man
     and we'll be doin'  your party
     just the best we can.

          Merry Christmas darlin'
          where ever you may be ....
           "Whatcha got there boy?
            A present for me ......  "

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A tear is but a whisper from my soul

I stood there and gazed at the tidal wave of traffic surging down bellow.
I hovered frozen in time until by chance I glanced upon a troubled fellow.
He was sitting in his car surrounded by the outside noise of the gentle rain and the cars constant hum.
His ears could hear unyet his mind was numb.
As I moved in closer I could feel his sorrow and pain.
Mourning the loss of his partner his soul whispered through the misty rain.
I remember now I whispered back as I drifted into the seat beside him that was vacant.
And so to do I remember that aftershave as being my favourite fragrant.
As my soul whispered to his he glanced over to where I sat.
With sadness I could tell that he did not see his passed wife with the golden platt.
An empty seat was all that greeted his eyes.
A vacant stare for a vacant seat unyet I could hear his replies.
With his minds eye he smiled and his soul whispered such sweet words of love and affection.
Even now I could still feel devoted protection.
Some say that the words we speak in our heads are merely thoughts and nothing more.
But I believe they are whispers from our souls and the replies of those who are not with us anymore.
Before my passing I told him this with great certainty.
In this life and in the next our two souls will whisper to each other for eternity.

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How A Blue Rose Came To Be

"I have dipped my pen in the sublime, it is my gift to you . . ."


Once upon a time, many years ago,
There was a sweet and lovely -  red, red Irish rose,
That was plucked prematurely, from the garden vine;
A budding beauty, taken in her prime.

She was laid to rest, upon the death, of a lovers dream;
Upon a chest of ebony, where lie, his would-be  Queen; 
Lowered deep into the depths, of the church yard cemetery;
Her scarlet petals, wilting in the summer breeze.

Then the earth begin to fall, like autumn leaves;
Upon  her petals, and the chest of ebony,
From above her tomb, where stood the grieving groom
Weeping , weeping,  like a willow tree.

Then the sky begin  to disappear, amid that mournful cry,
As  tears - from above, fell from that lovers eyes,
And came to rest, like dew drops on that  Irish rose, 
As she disappeared beneath the earth, there in his grief below                                      
In time, he laid a stone of ivory - upon her grave;
Etched deeply  - with the promise he had made:
To love his Irish Rose - forever and a day.

The years and all their seasons came and went
And a million lonely tears were cried and spent
Upon her grave where everyday he knelt and prayed
And dreamed of her until his dying day.  

The epigram has long since faded on the ivory stone   
That still stands alone today, upon her grave
Where from the million tears of love he gave
A seemingly impossible - blue, blue rose has grown.


Author:  Elaine George
For the contest: Writing In The Sublime ~
Awarded: First Place

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Legacy of an Artist

Pigments of color,
form the shapes,
that create an image,
of you,
within my mind.

The first aspect,
I view within your portrait,
is the permanent smile,
etched upon,
your blissful face,
cloaked with the,
celestial aura,
that captivated all,
who have the privilege,
of knowing,
the beauty,
of your soul.

As I glance,
into your deep,
brown eyes,
that shimmer,
with enthusiasm,
I am reminded,
of your passion,
for all aspects,
of existence,
that expresses,
the lines,
that unite to demonstrate,
how you always,
lived life,
to the fullest.

Your humor,
echoes through,
my ears,
as I reminisce,
 of how you place a smile,
 upon the faces,
of your loved ones,
who were brightened,
by your personality,
and irreplaceable.

The heart of a saint,
courage of a lion,
don’t come close,
to describing the values,
that distinguish,
you from,
anyone else.
You changed,
lives on a daily basis;
you gave me,
memories to last a lifetime.

You strum,
my heart strings,
in a way,
that no one else can replay.

I now notice,
hues of your portrait,
are fading,
from vibrant,
to banal neutrals;
the colors of my life,
began to vanish,
leaving a laceration,
of despair.

Out of sight,
and touch,
though you are intangible,
you shall never,
escape my heart,
nor depart from my mind.

The brush,
never forgets,
how to paint,
a masterpiece;
an illustration of you,
shall remain within,
my spirit,
through actions,
that delineate,
your legacy.

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I Will Be There No More

Every day it gets progressively worse
You always find a new way to make me hurt
My anger fills my mind and leaves my pores
All I can do is release it on a door
My heart is cold and fingers are aching
You can see and feel my heart breaking
Just love me the way I love you
You and I both know that you do
But you are scared and you are blind
Realization is what you must find
You lie to me as if I don't matter
Every lie you tell just makes me shatter
This time you tore my heart
And you threw it to the floor
If you hate me so much
Then I will be there no more...

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Watchin' You Die

Waken’ up alone
Bare feet hit the floor
Three a.m doors aint locked
Two windows wide open
The garage door is up 
And your car’s still here
I can smell it in the air,
That sick metallic smell.
No use lookin’ anymore
Your body’s here but your mind sure ain’t
How much do you love the smoke?
Can I compete?
The smell’s strong, you’re gettin’ close
Do I wait? Should I go back in?
Will it start a fight?
I wait and watch
You ain’t put it out yet
So I sit at your feet
Lookin’ up at you
Watchin’ you die. 

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Washed Away My experience with Katrina

Innocent victims cry in the dark
Forced to take refuge in that park
Such wrath began to fall
For I shall never forget the day I got that call
Silence and sorrow heavy in the air
It was like nothing I could ever compare
Days turned to weeks
Thousands take dwelling beseeching for any relief
Thousands left waiting in utter disbelief 

I was supposed to be deployed
Yet an injury kept me here
My fellow workers attacked at the dome
Traumatized and in complete fear some had to return home
I feel so guilty
So guilty I should have been there
Innocent victims crying
Innocent victims now dying

An event so devastating
The stench of death filled the air 
We could not fathom something so unfair 
I counseled innocent victims
Still sticking strong to their convictions 
I still recall every haunting voice
Confused, frustrated and displaced
Innocent victims left without a choice

Families torn apart on that day
The day the levees broke
Families losing all hope
My job was to help them cope
Innocent victims left to cry in a park
Fear increases when light turns to dark
Like declaring Martial Law
Lives washed away, all humanity started to fall

On the dawn of a new day
So joyous… even an atheist bowed her head to pray
The media coverage was what really brought aid
Oh no!
Politicians began to look bad so of course something had to be done
Late in action but at least more help had come
There is still work to be had
Many left permanently sad
Entering in hundreds of names to locate the missing or those declared dead
Debriefed each night just to clear my head
I still remember so clearly the desperation and panic
When Katrina came in August 
Life turned frantic
Overwhelming emotions; I felt completely manic 
I will never forget the victims I helped in such grief
I hope when the bodies were identified; I wish just some…
Some could give a sigh of relief

It is important we do not forget those still suffering
The child who didn’t get the last kiss
The parents who will be dearly missed
We all have the ability to help
1,836 people dead!
Work together and ease the sorrow… 
Another disaster could just happen tomorrow
Make time to reach out 
So many innocent victims still in need
We all are capable of doing a good deed

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Three Souls at Heaven's Gate

He was slothful in the race
Yet entered in by wondrous grace.
His works of earthly gain, no more remain.
The world’s pursuits there now distained.
Forlorn of blessings lost to greed,
Mistaken goals and careless deeds.
While words of praise from men he sought,
Such idle words have come to naught.

Another entered into rest,
His works of love far greater blest.
While poorer was his life on earth,
At Heaven’s gate, unfathomed worth.
For small the pain in life he bore,
His sacrifices gained far more.
His faithful love and service too
Bore gold and gems of vibrant hues.

And then, all stood toward Heaven’s gate
Where throngs of anxious saints await.
An elder mother made her way
Past countless lives her life had graced.
A chorus rose of cheers and laughter
Extended arms, were panting after
That one great, logged-for-embrace;
Where every trace of loss met grace.
Beyond description or imagination
There came new heights of jubilation.
I turned to see the Savior leap,
To greet this one, now at His feet.
He knelt, and raised her up with grace,
Embraced, then gently kissed her face.
On cue, all heaven roared in praise
For they knew how this mother prayed.
Then Jesus cried aloud triumphant,
As with the voice of a thousand trumpets:
“Bring forth the crown of righteousness,
Well done, dear one, receive your rest!”
For such God waits and longs to bless,
For these are heaven’s highest guests.

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Pharoh's Fate

Thou oh man, who caused the kingdoms of this world to tremble and shake!
With wrath continual stroke against the nations raged.
Beneath the rose now entombed, ‘neath starry skies you shall await thy doom.
Blade and flame shall guard thy gates.
Silently shalt thou await thy resurrected fate.
Thou oh man, who caused the kingdoms of this world to tremble and shake!
With thy rod wonderfully thou smote throughout the land treading underfoot thy fellow man.
Thy pomp now brought down and thy scepter broke.
Thou besom of destruction yet no rest shalt thou find!
The kings of this earth shall gloriously in state lie, but thou oh man shall not join thyself to 
them in eternal state.
Thy renown once amongst the nations proclaimed now shall to the dust of time remain.
Prepare oh man, the earth hath opened itself for thee!

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GREEN Chapter Five

Taking their leave the Black Crime 
Syndicate top raking members wanted to
know what Malik and Jade was talking 
about.  "Just stay in y'all lane and let
me and Jade handle things" getting into 
his car Malik pulled off.  Malik lived alone
in a one bedroom apartment and drove a 
1996 Impala.  Malik wasn't a big spender 
show off.  He liked to stay under 
everyone's radar.  Only a few members of 
The Black
Crime Syndicate knew where Malik lived.  
Mecca was one of them.  So seeing 
slumped over on his doorsteps was some 
what a surprise.  Looking at the figure 
Malik could
tell that it was a woman.  "Who could this 
be?"  thought Malik as he got out of his 
Malik's brain was racing a hundred miles 
per hour.  Reaching out his hand to touch 
the woman
that's when he noticed bloody money 
stuffed into the woman's mouth.  "What 
the ****?" 
Malik's jaw dropped.  Looking into the 
dead woman's face recognizing who she 
was.  "Damn
Violet who did this to you?" taking step 
back he saw folded paper in Violet's right 
hand.  Taking the paper out of Violet's 
hand and reading it.  Malik couldn't 
what he was reading.  "It's in the best 
interest of The Black Crime Syndicate to 
stay out
of the escort business.  The Green Nation 
don't like The Black Crime Syndicate 
planting flowers in our flower bed.  The 
city of
Green Haven is our flower bed.
We had to uproot Violet to show The Black 
Crime Syndicate how serious The Green 
Nation is.  Thank you
and have a nice day".  
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The 
Green Poet aka Red Seven aka The Brown 

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He came from humble folks,
an adoptive father
and a virgin mother;
many didn't believe He was the Christ,
and still the parables, written in the Gospels,
amaze us to this day with their might!

Preaching with a fearless voice,
and speaking to them of hope,
of fraternity and unselfish love...
the prodigal son and the tears
of an indecent woman
are the  perfect reminders
how forgiveness can change someone's life;
are we on the same path to destruction,
and do we ever look back:
to reflect and avoid falling into the Devil's trap?

So hated and undesiderable,
 in the sinner's thoughts,
is the One who gave up His life,
so that we could enter the forbidden Paradise;
and didn't His blood, spilled on Calvary's cross,
save in sin and pride?

Pope Benedict condemns immorality,
and warns those violating celibacy...
while wicked priests molest innocent children;
what will it take to make this an obedient race?
If Jesus returned today, wouldn't he grab the whip
and start lashing them like a whirl-wind,
so that they would be punished for their sin
 and  their mocking faith?           

Religion has a deceptive look,
it changes and adapts itself 
to the ideology of modern times...
leading many down a dark road;
its light is a flickering candle:
making true faith so hated and undesiderable! 

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The Tunnel Of Light ( 6 )

Phil, they were my Parents : right, I can’t imagine what my Mother went Through
                                    “Really Harry ; Can’t You ? ”
                             “Are the Tears in Your Eyes : True ? “

                                  The Tunnel Of Light ( 7 )

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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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Hurt and You Could Have it All

upstairs in my room
i put my ear to the floor
only to hear my parents screaming
the argument is about me
my mom yells "look at what your son has become!"
Heartless, unintelligent, fake...
my father replies back
"hes your son, hes your own pile of dirt!"
whenever my family is out together
we act happy like these fights never happen
but every night they do and i cant tell anyone
i have to act like someone else in order not to get introuble
What have i become?...hurt..dishonest..will this feeling dissapear?
I will drag you down and i will make you hurt..
I lift my head from the floor
still hearing the angry voices of my parents
i found an old needle, and i dug it into my skin
the next morning i go downstairs
with a cut off shirt on, and baseball shorts
My father grabs my arm
"what is this boy?"
i yank my hand away from him and i sit down on a chair
"its nothing sir"
my father repeats "are you cutting yourself?, why?"
i grab my bookbag and i disapear out the door
My father runs outside pulling me to the ground
"are you cutting yourself boy?!" he screams
i say "no sir i just scrapped my arm on my dresser"
My father grabs my face
"you better not cut yourself again" he replies
He hits my face, as i lay on the ground.
I didnt wake up until i felt something wet drip on my face
it was raining and dark outside
i run into the house and into the bathroom
looking into the mirror i see the bruise that was left on my face
My father wasnt home and my mother went to bed
"everything goes away in the end right, if i let him have it all, my moms pile of dirt?"
I sit upon my liars chair full of broken memories i cannot repair 
I become someone else, but the old me is still right there
if i could start again a million miles away i would keep myself
i will find my way

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It's 1 AM
And we're making sweet love.
There is a house burning in the distant, cold morning.
You're called.
You rush to the firehouse,
Leaving me cold and empty.
How I wish you'd stay with me.

You throw on gear like so many times before.
Your son cries in his crib,
        He knows you're gone.
I cradle him in my arms,
Like you did me only minutes ago.
I put my breast to his mouth, hoping he's hungry,
Hungry as you were only minutes ago.
But it's no use.
    He knows you're gone.

You arrive at the house, which turns the black sky
Red with the burning of its materials and souls.
You search for the souls you can protect and save.
I hope you're protected, but I now know what your son has known all along.

You find a small girl in her closet, barely conscious.
You give her your oxygen and take her out of the fiery hell.
She thinks you are god, come to save her.
You tell her you're not.
You talk, trying to keep her conscious. She asks if you have a child.
"Yes, I have a son."
"Do you love him?"
"Yes, with all my heart."
"Did you say goodbye to him?"
"No, but I'll say hello when I get home."

The Little Girl sees her mother's burnt body carried out.
"Is that my mommy?" she asks.
"Yes. She told me she loves you more than anything."
"Hey God, where will she go?"
You pause and say, "Honey, she isn't going anywhere. She'll be right here with you,
protecting you as you grow up."
"Good. I love my mommy. And I love you too, god."
She closes her eyes
And falls on the stretcher she was sitting on.
You feel pain-the little, lifeless body will always be in your mind.

I begin to cry with our son.
I sway back and forth, gently rocking.
       He knows you're gone. So do I.
You find another body with a soul still alive.
A young boy.
You hand him past the door between the two worlds.
You've just let him go.

The house collapses upon you.
You're gone.
My strong fireman is gone.

I cry with our son, we both know you're gone.
I wait for that call.
I hold our son, close to my body.
I get that call at 4AM.
The sun is not up yet.
What they say to me, means nothing. I knew you were gone.
I cried, but not violently.
Tears just curved down my face.
I ask for your gear, after they remove it.

It smells of dust, fire, death, but
I can still smell you.
I shake it and my eyes fall upon your pocket.
It was full.
You never leave things in there.
I found a note, entitled to James and me.

"I love you both more than anything. I need to say it more often. I love you."

Dated today
1:45 AM

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Red Eyes and Sinister Looks

Chains, hay forks, knives, and a hollow whisper,
become more true and sinister.
Halt in the middle of the moon light, 
and a waver image soon is no delight.
Voices run a muck in the head, 
so not calming you wish you were dead.
Gushing blood through the eye
not an image that you would rely.
Nails stuck on your neck with such pain
so your paralyze just little life sustain.
Hoodlums terrorizing people running a muck
did not really know they are in luck.
More dangerous beings are out their
to commit such act and with sinister stare.
Laughing with haunting echo's through
is an aspect of fear can imbue.
The wind changes direction to smother
the echoing sound of laughter.
The panicking state that you are in
soon drives a knife within.
Blood rushing out of your vain
a crucial part of your life dropping like rain.
Running without a destination
you will never reach anyone of your relation.
Sliding your body on a wall
keeping your fall in a stall.
Red eyes you can see it at night
is soon devouring you with little bite.
Changing your belief with tonics of relief
and it is to late to turn a new leaf.
Ears start to deceive the animals sound
eating limbs are chewing around.
Slowly your red eyes steadily getting heavy
is starting to take your life with a levy.
Dropping down with no attitude
and your life force slowly loses altitude.
Breathing comes not so easy
smelling flesh seems so beastly.
The change comes a desire
with frightening red eyes of fire.
Comes more lethal than the hoodlums 
your heart beating like drums.
Your hand becomes all fury
claws come out and your howl with furry.
Trance your in with no one to blame
a rage thats hundreds of centuries of flame.
Rising from a slumber of long lust
a animal instinct that you can trust.
Tearing things apart with no meaning
is a trait that is so deceiving.
Red eyes at night you see in a window
like a poisonous black widow.
Keeps you in attack mode of insanity
that takes all your vanity.
Ferocious emotions eating away
the soul that you had once betray.
The echoing sounds of loud thunder
breaks away the armor with sunder.
You fall once again to torturous agony
the feeling of one self is so lonely.
Shaking in the corner you are found
with blood soaked skin you drowned.
The night becomes day cruel in some way
your memories go in disarray.
The hunters with torches and sinister look
had parted way their hands shook.

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What Do You See

I found this old poem while helping to clean out a house that was vacant. I hope you 
don't mind that I didn't write it but it was too awesome not to post. Enjoy--------

                                   What Do You See

What do you see, nurses? What do you see?	
What are you thinking when your looking at me? 
A crabby old women, not very wise.
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes.
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply.
When you say with your loud voice, "I do wish you'd try."
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
and forever is losing a sock or a shoe.
Who unresisting or not lets you do as you will.
When bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what your thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes nurse, your not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still.
As I drink at your bidding, as I sit at your will.
I'm a small child of 10 with a father and mother.
Brothers and sisters who love one another.
A young girl of 16 with wings on her feet.
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at 20. my heart gives a leap.
Remembering the vows I primised to keep.
At 25 now I have young of my own.
Who need me to build a secure happy home.
A women of 30, my young now grow fast.
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At 40 my young sons near grown will be gone.
But my man stays beside me to see I don't mourn.
At 50 once more babies play round my knee. 
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead.
I look to the future and shudder with dread.
For my young ones are busy rearing young of their own.
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm an old women now and nature is cruel.
It's her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body it crumbles, grace and vigor depart.
There now is a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells.
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and loving life over again.
I think of the years, all the few--gone to fast.
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes nurses, open and see.
Not a crabby old women, look closer,  see ME.

This poem was found among the effects of a patient who died at the Oxford
University Geriatric Service in England. Author is unknown.

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Why is everybody always picking on me?
Why does it seem like they enjoy making me cry?
These days they seem to always be shouting "Just shut up, Pee-Wee!"
If Daddy were here...
But he left without even saying goodbye.
My heart and soul seems to always be filled with so much sorrow
and my tears rush down from my eyes like an angry river,
But I just can't bare to live to see another tomorrow
If Daddy were here...
Just the thought of him leaving me behind makes me shiver.
Oh, God! Why were you so quick in taking my precious daddy away?
He didn't even have time to speak any final words to me,
So much I long to up and just run away
because this doesn't seem to much like home without Daddy.
If only Daddy were here to see how they're treating me now
I know it would make him madder than Hell!
This wouldn't be happening if Daddy were still around
since he's been gone it seems that they're determined in making my life a living
It has been just two days and my daddy has been long buried and forgotten
and no one seems to give a care about how I really feel,
Deep down inside I feel so mixed-up and just plain rotten!
this pain hurts much too real.
If only Daddy were here for me to talk to
sadly, he's no longer here because he's gone and left me behind forever,
Maybe God's the one that I need to be talking to
because my daddy's at home with Him up in Heaven.

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The Locklears Chapter Four

Walking over to Timothy Rusty began to 
beat Timothy in the face with
the nail gun.  The more Rusty beat 
Timothy in the face with the nail gun 
the harder Linda masturbated.  Placing 
the nail gun back on the push cart
Rusty grabbed the jar filled with acid.  
"Timothy you're in a world of hurt".
Pouring some acid slowly on Timothy's 
other foot.  Rusty smiled as the 
smell of burning flesh crept into his 
Looking back at Linda Rusty was thrilled
to see her getting off on her victim's 
agony.  High on the smell of burning flesh 
floated over to Linda.  Pulling Linda's hand 
out of her pants he sucked and licked her 
juices off her fingers.  "How do I taste?"  
"As sweet as honey.  It's your turn 
Grabbing the scalpel off the push cart 
Linda slashed Timothy's left thigh.  Like 
water from
a water hose blood sprayed through the 
air.  "W,w,w,why are the two of you doing 
this to 
me?"  "Because it's fun Timothy and 
people like you make me sick".  
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The 
Green Poet aka The Brown Philosopher aka Red Seven

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The tears of my heart

My eye's, they cry the tears of blood they bleed. 
The pain, the sorrow. It leaves its stain upon the surface. 
I lay there in this pull of blood. 
That of the trigger I pull. 
I give my life to another as I waste away and die. 
Not in existance but tears of my heart my soul cries. 
There it as loud as the shot you here. 
Not just there but the blade cuts deep. 
Deep in my being to which it rips flesh of my inner being. 
My body, dead in this life. 
There's no love for loyality of ones soul. 
There he give all not to die but give his life that if he should betray it is with dignaty he ends. 
With honor and heart. 
Tears of my heart is that of the trials I live but even more of a love torn from my flesh. 
There,I live no more. 
Only to turn to dust and return to the earth. 
Forgive me my father,for I guess I am not worthy of this love you gave. 
Though I try,regardless I have failed. 
For it is not strong enough for one to believe or to share its life. 
But to destroy and bleed tears of my heart. I cry them in hurt. 
Make it quick that I feel not the pain. 
But die quickly only to be rebirth of something less worry. 
But give me that life I desire. 
That of my soul dies,I can't live on. 
As the tears of my heart falls in blood red.

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Pat and Henry: Mutual Feelings

I saw you last week by the river, right?

Oh, I couldn't say.

It was you alright. You were staring up at the sky. You were muttering about the clouds.

Yes, that was me. The clouds trouble me.

Oh, right. They say the end is near.

Sure, sure. Nothing but flat screens from here on out.

What on Earth are flat screens?

No, I said rat screams.

Oh, right. I hate rats. Gnaw at your feet. Pester the off-spring.

(mutters) These clouds will be the death of us...

Say what now?

I'm sorry. I tend to get a little melodramatic in the late afternoon.

I tend to get a little hungry. Especially these days, when everything seems to be dying
around me. I miss the live catch!

I suppose they'll learn from all the left-over bones...

Sorry, who will learn what?

They will learn what happened here.

And what do you think is happening, Cloud Gazer?

Not sure. But whatever it is, it's happening now. Look over there. IPad, by the way.


My name is Pat, I mean.

Oh. I'm Henry. Nice to meet you.

The feeling's mutual.

Where are you headed Pat?

Into history books most likely.

May I join you?

Don't think you have a choice.

We're all dying off, aren't we? Ever since that beam of light in the night's sky last
month, and now this thing with the clouds...we're done for, aren't we?

We had our run, Henry. Now it's time to lay down.

Okay, then. What a shame this all is. (sigh) I'm laying down. Alright, I'm down.

That's it, Henry.

Aren't you gonna lay down with me, Pat?

Naw, I just got up from a nap about an hour ago. 

Well, what else is there to do if all we got left is to lay around and wait to die?

I was thinking about going rollerskating. 

Really? Me too.

Probably too cloudy though. 

Yeah, definitely.

Should probably rest some more.


Goodnight, Henry.

Goodnight, Pat.

See ya in a drawing on Facebook.


Nothing. Go to sleep.

Sleep I am going.

The feeling is mutual.

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The Locklears Chapter Three

Placing the muzzle of the nail gun on 
Timthoy's foot Linda pulled the trigger.
Firing a hard sharp nail into Timothy's foot 
blood squirted into the air.  
screams and begging for his life only 
made Linda even 
more hornier and excited.  Walking over to
Rusty kissing him on the lips sliding her 
tongue in his 
mouth.  "It's your turn baby".  Handing 
Rusting the nail gun Linda stepped back 
and shoved her
hands into her pants.  Walking over to 
Timothy Rusty began to beat Timothy in 
the face with the nail
gun.  The more Rusty beat Timothy in the
face with the nail gun the harder Linda 
Placing the nail gun back on the push cart 
Rusty grabbed the jar filled with acid.  
"Timothy you're in a 
world of hurt".  Pouring some acid slowly 
onto Timothy's other foot.  Rusty smiled 
as the smell of 
burning flesh crept into his nostrils.   
ME".   Looking back at 
Linda Rusty was thrilled to see her getting 
off on her victim's
agony.  High on the smell of burning flesh 
Rusty floated over to Linda.  Pulling her 
hand out of her pants
he sucked and licked her juices off her 
fingers.  "How do I taste?"  "As sweet as 
honey.  It's your turn again".
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The 
Brown Philosopher

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Walking to Redemption

Stuck in a place with negativity bound within it's Walls. I need to get out of here, before the phone rings with insanity's calls. I burst out of the door into the streets owned by the night. Shadows staring back dodging the lamps light. I begin to walk down the urban corridor of uncertainty. The workers of soul catchers carry out their shady activity. I find myself in the empire of danger invoking pure photo-phobia It's a small price to pay for escaping the mecca of claustrophobia. As I reach the climax of the spiraling vortex tunnel. I walk on tenterhooks as my problems funnel. Facing me at the end of this path, is a door laced with remorse around it's edges. The entrance to unknown stands out with a line of devoted pledges. Those waiting and queuing are the damned and the lost. As I drift towards them, I wonder how much my sin will cost. For I felt the weight of the pressure and stress, forcing me into the light of shame? For I was the puppet master, who poured onto me the petrol and drew the flame. My moment of selfishness was a cardinal sin to myself and others. lacking consideration, deprived of thought for my sisters and brothers. That self indulgent cowardliness, has lead me to this final act. A door beaten with the hands of the damned, regardless it's still intact. As the number descends down to it's final member. I stand there understanding my sin, bound to surrender. Reaching out I grasp the golden handle, and turn it to the right. As I push forward on the door and out bursts a green neon light. My chance of escape has come to a halt, it's time for me to face the jury's end. I stand by my plea of weakness and insanity, as into the court I descend. A skeleton of the peril court rises with a verdict and answer. The jury has decided I was overtaken by a vicious cancer. The disease wasn't voluntary but they agree my cure wasn't correct. My punishment is to fade into the man that never was, with immediate effect.

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The Melody of Hope

There I lay upon the curb, my heart still beating An Icy breeze cutting through, my souls was fleeting Looking up into the skies, I saw a flash of hope The clouds divided into blue, and dangled down a helping rope Rising up I start again, I'm fighting stronger The music plays inside my head, this I remember I use the melody to build my strength, I'm shining brighter I lace deceit with the flammable truth, I drop the lighter The phoenix rises from the flames, I see it's eyes Exploded candles ignite the way, I hear it's cries The path I walk leads to my home, a second chance At the end one final trial, it's the devils dance There it lay upon the curb, It's heart still beating Reaching out I take my sword, It's life depleting One final strike and a broken heart, death becomes her The sun comes out and begins to beam, hope forever

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My Imprint

I always used to ask myself this question, "What kind of imprint do I want to leave with people once I pass and am I scared of dying?"  I had come to this question again once my grandfather passed.He was an amazing human being who loved God by the way.Anyway, I have learned over time through experiences of my life I have realized something and its what I want others to know, its that Life is a gift.So cherish every minute of it even the smallest moments in time.See, everyday is a new opportunity for Forgiveness.Love.Reconciliation. etc. one will not always have the chance to live promisingly.I believe that people need to go about their lives with the perspective of not what can I do for myself.But, what can I do for someone else.For instance, How can I make someone''s day? Or just simply How can I make a person smile today? For me, there's nothing that brings more joy to me than knowing I may have made a difference in a person's life. I just want others to know that the bigger picture in our existence is not just serving Jesus, but its to serve each other. I mean, of course we need to live for the Lord and spread the Gospel and live our own lives. But, there's nothing wrong with a little selflessness and its very fulfilling to do so. Oh, and No. I'm not scared of dying. You see, The Apostle Paul said it well, "To live is Christ. But, to die is gain." I know that it's different when your told you only have so much time to live than when a family member or friend is told this.But quite honestly, to me it's just death. Besides, if I could leave this earth knowing I changed at least one life, it was very worth living it.


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The mid-sixties weren't fun for a teen working...
I put foot on this prosperous and beautiful land
and looked forward to a great future,
but my plan didn't go as smoothly
as I thought it would have instead.
My question was, " Go to College, 
earn a degree or help mother and sisters? "
I choose to help them procrastinating.
From job to job I went hardly missing a day realizing what it would have cost me, 
but wages stayed the same or rarely increased much,
I loved to work and earn my weekly paycheck;
sadly, many boys of my age were drafted and went to war...
some returned, many didn't and being the only son,
they didn't draft me but witnessing the horror, the sadness, the crying of soldiers, 
and seeing all that: was like being there where the sky exploded with fire and smoke.
Isn't fate the course that nobody can predict regardless how scientists envision it...
if it were so easy to foresee, all would have control over it and all catastrophes
could be avoided to save millions of lives? Doesn't the Bible warn us to shun divination?
It's the sinful mind, the greedy heart, the unfaithful spouse, the disobedient child
making us stand at the crossroads deciding which steps to take to prevent a tragedy.

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The Sixth Floor

Accuse me at will
Tear my insides
Douse the fire
That fuels my pride

I’m still here
Whether you like it or not
Still standing tall
A battle presently being fought

Feeling as if
Friends turned foe
Knowing their thoughts
Their final blow

Execution awaits
There is no hope
Metaphorically feeling
The noose around my throat

Don’t struggle now
Stand strong, stand firm
For my integrity now
Many will learn

Corrupt are the peers
Only seen through their eyes
Accusations of being unfit
For the well earned prize

Satisfaction never arrives
Remaining forever desirous
Plagued with insatiable lust
Engulfed by this greed like virus

Nothing is enough
To satisfy the thirst
A flawless example
Of mankind at its worst

Criminate me at your will
Make me prisoner to time
Tarnish my soul, kill the spirit
You’ve been so kind

Feeling so far away
Oh so out of place
Take my feelings, take my suggestions
Rip the skin from my face

You’ve been so kind
To have put me in this living hell
Everyone in life
I seem to repel

My presence not matter
I am told now
You tell me what I’ve done
Feeling herded like a cow

Times that we live
The times of today
Concern of all
Based on pay

Rip me to shreds
Leave no recognition
Glance at me or stare
In your minds own suspicion

Take my love, shred my arms
Destroy my scarce trust
Pierce my body with daggers
Thrust after thrust

Leave me in ruins
Then let your friends scavenge remains
All is so wrong
Far past insane

A forgotten memory
I am no more
No recollection
The only traces are sores

So I wallow
In this god forsaken cesspool
Made by you, I contemplate
Why mankind desire the power to rule

You spit in my face
Symbolically with your lies
Don’t deny it
Its in your eyes

A disgrace, and an embarrassment
Sheer revolt is felt 
By your presence
Your not even worth a blow of the belt

May your rot
Rot in hell
For I am a shadow
Can nobody tell?

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Apache's Final Thoughts

Indignant, his head hung low, eyes glassy, all he has is his memories.
Within the pain he can no longer tolerate, within the hundreds of enmeshed bodies…
Stinking and rotting.
All he has is his memories.
Escaping the frightful screams of death and the smell of blood,
He is remembering his fist love. He was so young, as was she.
Beautiful girl, kind hands, sweet voice and a carrot ever present in her pocket.
They rode and rode, hundreds of miles through trails and streams, as one
They loved each other’s company. Then a day came when she never showed.
He didn’t understand…but he could sense something wrong. SHE was gone.
Never coming back.
Then came a man, callous of hand,  took him- roughly. He didn’t understand.
Pushed into a trailer, his feet fell through the rusted bottom- PAIN…
The man whipped him into another place. He stood bleeding as they drove away.
Arriving to a place. So cold, no lush grass, tiny area, no place to run and frollick-
The MAN took him out of the trailer, bleeding hocks and all- shuffled him into a barn
where the stench was raw. Threw a huge, heavy, ill fitting saddle upon his back. This man,
A Goliath even to this horse, pulled the cinch so tight he could not breathe.  A bit
shoved in his mouth.
OUCH! A spade splitting his tongue- the huge man grabbed a whip and jumped right on.
“I’ll teach you not to be a WOMANS’ horse. You are now mine- you will be a MANS’ horse, and
Work like a horse should!” Shouting, the MAN spurred the horse into action- foot bleeding
the entire time.
The spade biting into his tongue, the horse raised his head, only to be beat between the
ears- the MAN was furious.  Flying round and round they went-
   This cruelty, this circus continued for many years. He was broken of leg and spirit at
the age of ten- whence upon the MAN called the “Meat guy”, and for a few hundred this
horse was sent to his end.
He stood in the corral of death awaiting his turn, for the bolt to shoot into his brain
and slide  down the conveyor belt.
   He remembered his first love during the last few seconds- her spirit came to him…
“Join me Apache, my beautiful mount, in Heaven we will be together where no one can hurt us…
He didn’t know what the words meant- but he knew his love was there to save him… he left
the crippled body behind and joined his true love before the cleaver sliced him apart.

*This is written for the thousands of horses sent to slaughter each year.
A. Green

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Sweet Memories of Norma From Susan

Sweet memories of Norma Come shining through There are just so many And I’d like to share a few We’ve been very best friends For about fifty three years Through the ups and downs With lots of laughter and some tears She has really been like A dear sister to me I’m even called Aunt Susan By most of her family In her life she has had Her share of difficulties Going through tough times, Illnesses and some disabilities But with her positive spirit And being a cheerful person She has always had a joyful heart That she shared with everyone As a single mom she worked so hard To raise her children and make a family And even when they were all grown They were always her top priority We worked and lived together Back some time ago Even when things got hectic She always seemed so mellow With any blockage in her path She found an opened door She always loved the bible And Christian music she’d adore Norma liked to take road trips And to her, the special one Was seeing the beautiful mountains On a trip to Washington She always had a hobby To sew, crochet or knit And with her special crafts She was indeed most artistic She was always able to make So many wonderful things By using her inventive mind She created beauty out of nothing She enjoyed good food And always liked to cook And some of her mom’s recipes She put in a handmade cookbook Yellow roses and chocolate pretzels Were things she liked the best But her grandchildren and loving pets Were better than the rest Though she was a little stubborn Some folks just might say For speaking her mind of what she believed But we loved her that way She was always there for Gracie By her side so close And being Dustin’s champion Her heart desired the most She kept a constant vigilance Sitting out in the hot sun Watching over their damaged home Of what the tornado had done Being outdoors was second nature With her skin tone you could tell Her natural beauty was clear to see And she had great legs as well A unique kind of soul With no one to even compare Always making us laugh And giving more than she could spare Dedicated to Norma Lee Ekstrom Written by Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Too Late

She sits in a corner,
feeling unwanted, alone.
Her friends and family deserted her,
they've been silent for weeks.
Where are they?
No one to talk to,
she clutches her pills,
and stares at the water that's been there for hours.

She thinks.

It's her birthday today,
but nobody called.
Today, yesterday, or before.
She pines for the phone to ring,
but knows it won't.
None of her friends are home, or family.
They must be out together
 - without her.

She swallows and listens
to her shallow breathing cease.
The phone rings.

She'll never hear them say,

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I sit next to her bed, holding her hand, watching her slip in and out of a lucid state.  Occasionally, her eyes open and she tilts her head towards me and gives me a faint smile.  It warms me to know that she is aware I am here.  I give her hand a squeeze and wait for her gentle squeeze in return.

She is so small, the body, now so frail, hardly making a statement on the sheets.  Time was, several seasons ago, her physical presence was impressive, vibrant and alive.  The eyes, now so dimmed by age were electric, holding your gaze with their warmth.  She was a person to be dealt with.  Strong, opinionated, and yes, even a little too critical for some tastes.  But she was always honest to a fault and wore her integrity like a medal.  She was the steel in her families foundation.

As I look at her now, I cannot help but feel a sense of loss at what she has become.  The shell of the person she once was.  The person who was always holding forth is now just holding on.  I know the will to fight is slipping away, and I am helpless to defend myself against it. 

I sense it before I know it.  Something has changed as I sit here in the silent room.  I gaze at her and see her mouth curled in a slight smile, a peaceful look enveloping her face.  She is gone.  The hand I hold does not return my touch.  She has slipped away gracefully, never letting on that she was leaving.

The day nurse enters the room and says I must be going.  There is nothing left here for me to do.  Mechanically I stand, bend to give her one last kiss, and carry the pieces of my heart out through the door.

Bob Quigley
Oct 3, 2011

This was not written from a specific personal experience, however, much of it I have lived.

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The Ghost in my House

The house was new on the inside and old on the out.
Busily we arranged and moved things about.
We worked all day until the night set in
We decided to wait till morning to again begin.
I decided to make us something to eat
I went to the kitchen with my dog at my feet.
I managed to prepare a tray full of snacks;
I picked up the tray and stopped dead in my tracks.
I heard a voice ask, “so what’s up with you?”
I thought to my self at least he didn’t say “BOO!”
I looked around and no one was there.
I have to admit it gave me a scare.
A day or two later, I was taking a nap.
I awoke to the sound of a repetitive tap.
I was startled to see someone at the foot of the bed,
A stocky fellow with a beard, flannel shirt and a cap on his head
I looked at him and he looked at me, a moment later he faded away
“I think this house is haunted!” I announced with dismay. 
I checked around town and found out his name.
I  found that he live in the house before we came.
“Rodney” passed from an accident a few years before;
After that day he appeared  he would visit us more.
I don’t mind that  he peeks through the bedroom door,
But when he dumps the trash can, I wish he would clean up the floor.

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The Locklears Chapter Two

With fear in his eyes the shackled man 
asked who they were.  "My name is Linda 
Locklear and this 
is my husband Rusty Loclear".  "Enough 
with the small talk Linda go get the work 
"As you command daddy".  Walking past 
their victim into the darkness Linda 
grabbed the cold steel push cart
and brought it to Rusty.  "Will you just look 
at all these toys" Rusty's eyes lit up like a 
child's at Christmas.
"What do we have here?"  Reaching her 
arm out in the motion of a snake Linda 
became sexually aroused.
"We have a hamer, scalpel, acid, nail gun, 
and an ice pick" Linda's voice was filled 
with excitement.  Pissing himself
their victim began to cry.  "Linda this is 
your victim you have to inflict the first 
wound".  Responding to Rusty's words 
Linda picked up the nail gun.  "Linda you 
don't have to do this" pleaded the man.  "I 
have kids that I provide for,  My 
name is Timothy Yates,  I have a wife".  
Linda silenced Timothy with a swift kick to 
his testicles.  "Look Rusty it actually think 
care about it's pathetic little life".  Placing 
the muzzle of the nail gun on Timothy's 
foot.  Linda pulled the trigger.  Firing a 
hard sharp
nail into Timothy's foot.  Blood squrited 
into the air.  
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The 
Brown Philosopher aka The Green Poet

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My Battle

I was broken and bloody My soul was torn asunder,So death came for me.He thought it would be easy I thought I was done. But when he reached out to take my soul My spirit which was fading fast found its last ounce of strength and began to glow with an amazing power. So a battle began a battle for my soul. My tattered body then feel into a coma to try and save the last bit of its self.The battle raged within me for a full day. Somehow my spirit weak and faded managed to give death all and more then it could take. The battle ended and I awoke....alive the victor. So the question I ask the world is "If I still won the battle that weak and tired. What is there that I can't do if given the time to heal?"

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                                            A TRIBUTE TO MY FATHER
                                                Frank Rollin Gillihan
                                                (US Navy 1941-1944)

April is the cruelest month,
Like the great poet said.
It was on a first of April
That I found my father dead.

His blood had flowed across the floor,
I saw as I entered the apartment door,
And it was then I knew for sure,
Sometimes a person just can take no more.

Not with a whimper but a bang.

April is the cruelest month,
The great poet said so.
That April still tears at my heart,
Though so many years ago.

He gave his life in the war,
He laid it down, there was no more.
And mom said when he was home at the door,
She knew he was not the same as before.

Twenty years after the guns were silent another shot rang out.

Wounded Healer
Submitted 8/24/09
Written 9/2/08

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Fond Memories of Jimmy

Like me, Jimmy had a passion For writing poetry too So I thought I’d write a special one To share with all of you For my cousin Jimmy Peoples I have a lot of fond memories From when we grew up together With such loving families After our Grand-daddy Gray I was supposed to be named Lawrence But since I was born a girl I was given the name of Florence Jimmy was born two months after me And Lawrence was his middle name Our childhood days were filled with joy And happy memories will always remain As we grew older through these 51 years And the adult life kept us mostly apart All of the fun, laughter and adventures Feels just like yesterday in my heart I developed a cousin family reunion To keep all of our cousins in touch To get together with all the families To me, it really means so much I trust in the Good Lord As only He knows just when It is the time for one of us To come and join with Him Though Jimmy is going home With the Lord before we do I’ll cherish all the precious memories Until I reach Heaven too Love, Flo Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Battle of Manila

My great, great, Uncle who fought in the
 Spanish-American War, although this was 
long before my time I was proud, my hero…

As told to me, he was in the Battle
 of Manila, he lost his life on March 30, 1899
 in this Battle…

Sending all the bodies of the heroes who 
fell on the Manila battlefield were brought
 to their respective homes…

The boy who gave his life for his 
country in the Spanish and Philippine
 Wars, arrived in Osceola Monday 
at 10:45 a.m. for burial near his
 family home…

War is a terrible thing, but freedom
 Is not free and it is a must!

By Sandra Lea Hoban

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Have you had or seen teenagers,
who abused drugs like marijuana
and became truant and unruly?
That same teens could be 
exposed to temptation again,
if they worked in a hospital,
where the supply of medical
marijuana is kept in glass cabinets.
And we think that modern vampires
are fiction as Drucula's legend seems;
there are indeed doctors and nurses
who will steal blood to satisfy their urge,
and if I have revealed this...
do you think that I am crazy?
If the FDA approved it,
what would the consquences be?
It will certainly diminish the acute pain in patients,
or make everyone around them get high?
Our streets are swarmed with pot heads,
who are hit daily by cars, because of unclear thinking;
and those who drive cause many fatal accidents...
others die of an overdose in filthy corners,
their lifeless bodies are spotted in small towns and big cities.
Is it a good idea to make it legal,
or will it endanger everyone in public places?

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The assasination of Margaret May

The wind was blowing,
as the car was going,
across the hills ; across the vales
the night seemed young , as each nightbird sung 
to the moon there long and timeless tales.
Then, at midnight hour
the chauffeur rested, his iron fists upon  the wheel.
There it was,
The mansion of Margaret May, 
whose life tonight I shall verily seal.
I approached the moors like a silent hound
I scaled the walls then climbed the mounds
And though the night was dark and still
I still saw the great house upon the grey hill.
I scanned each wing like a wolf would see,
a sheep as it feeds with humility,
and yet it was no prey, that I was to kill,
for the hounds, they now bayed upon each hill.
The moon gleamed its mischief upon the terrace;
And it shined, like an unearthly thing,
it gleamed its sorrow upon my face,
and wailed its scorn, against the human beings.
I entered the house 
the doors were not locked,
so I opened them slowly and its  walls they did talk.
They spoke of devils and demons and familiar kind;
But I did not see them for my soul was blind.
I took out the weapon and its barrel shined,
by the light of the moon thay was now declined.
And having climbed up the ladder,  to the rooms upstairs,
I found  May just finishing her prayers.
She turned around and I gazed at her eyes;
How could such beauty be 'bought' to demise?
I dropped the weapon,
no bullet could shred;
The flesh of the mortal,
that before me was spread.
And yet she would die for the world could not accept,
what in this masion was hidden and kept.
She was not lustful but lust itself 
and yet I could not stop myself.
For I had no soul,
I had no sin,
I went for her throat, and held tight her chin.
She did not struggle;
She did not plead.
Rather she smiled, till I had finished the deed.
And left her silent;
And still upon her bed,
and there she lies smiling,
but her heart is cold and dead

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To My Father

Father I look up to you. I'm so sorry you were taken from me and we never knew each other. I wish you could of seen me grow into the man I have become. I wish you could be here to see me fall in love and make a family of my own. You and my mother were only 16 you were taken from her right after I came into this world. Sometimes I think I can feel someone watching me and I hope it is you. Words can't explain how much I love you and wish we could of known each other

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A Shot In The Dark { Narrative}

helplessly he stumbled 
through the door
holding his bloody chest 
Mother gazed into 
her fourteen year old eyes 
and just knew that he was up 
to his old antics of gang banging 
Yelling and cursing did nothing 
to wake this kid up 
Mother's tears flooded 
like an open gate 
she wondered 
where she went wrong 
raising him 
for he had the best 
of everything 
a home a job an education 
anything he wanted 
or needed 
was right at his fingertips 
maybe having only one parent 
in the household 
or just not enough discipline 
now she stands helplessly 
over her young sons 
lifeless body 
lying on the kitchen floor
in a pool of blood 
all that she could do now
was to pick up the phone 
and call the police 
and the morgue 

Tribute To Children

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Long Live the King

My bow drawn back.
A deadly silence laid over the kingdom.
Not a sound has been made, quiet as death.
i hear foot falls in the distance, coming closer.
I press harder into the brush, awaiting the intruders.
Three lords and the King steps into the clearing.
My bow relaxes.
The nobles are mourning the fallen knights, what . . . laughter.
Cruel, mocking laughter.
The lords pull out bags of gold and laid them at the kings feet.
The kings servant, deaf and mute, carried the gold to the Kings castle.
His majesty pulled out a small bag and thrust it into the shadows.
A mercenary strode into the open, clutching the bag,
My anger boiled, he was using the money earned by knights to hire a mercenary!
More laughter, they dare mock the heroic deeds of the knights!
Why would the knights give themselves to such a pitiless, greedy King?
What of the families of those dead knights, they must need that money!?
The Lords and Mercenary  hurled insults at the spirits of the noble knights.
The King laughed.
Fury erupted within me, I let loose my arrow.
                                      twang-fssst                  twang, twang-fssst, fssst
The lords lay dead at the greedy Kings feet. 
Wide eyed, the King stepped behind the nameless Mercenary.
Only the King remained.
The King fell to his knees and died.
I retrieved and cleaned my arrows, then placed them in my quiver.
I thought of curses matching the Kings character.
They where all to kind.
None would make his black soul repent in his actions in death.
Some sweetly sour words sprang to my lips as I approached the coming dawn.
                                                    "Long Live the King"

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When my body decided to get sick again,
six sinus infections since last birthday,
I marched into the best ENT specialist,
waiting room lined with Hollywood’s
finest stars begging for reasons why they
couldn’t reach the octave of the day before,
impatiently flipping through old magazines,
interrupted by cell phones ringing in unison.

I got the lead role, thanks for your inquiry,
want to go to Hawaii for the weekend? Susie 
died. Funeral tomorrow. Allan’s away on business.
This doctor sucks. I have lunch with Ellen at noon. 
Dad’s in the hospital. Freckles just had pups, want one?

My name is called. I shuffle behind the nurse,
my chart clasped to her chest like the baby 
she might never have had, into the shoebox size room 
packed with instruments I didn’t know, 
despite three years of nursing school.

The suave, forty-something doctor,
released my X-rays from their sleeve,
and mounted them onto a screen. 
He looked up through his sleek wire frames, 
“You’re absolutely beautiful on the outside,
but a mess on the inside.” I wondered if 
he was making a pass or soliciting
a surgical procedure and how many times 
he repeated that line, loud enough for 
the pedestrians five floors down to hear 
this and the other truths about my battlefields—
three C-sections, knee surgery, twice a victim 
of what strikes one in eight women, and reconstructed 
organs of sensuality with tattoos to hide their truths.

Now I dodge doctors as one avoids the cones 
at the scene of an accident, but I can’t dodge this one.
My voice is hoarse, my breathing is shot
and I envy those vacuous starlets in the
waiting room, listening to their chitter 
chatter on cell phones. I sit in the exam room 
before the surgeon tells me one more time, 
something I need to do to hang onto my life, 
but I’d rather be the person before the scalpel found me. 

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Christmas Desire

Each and Every December 
the material things surface
I want, I want 
But what if the thing you want most 
You cannot buy or have ?

Each and Every
gift given or recieved
One after another
Is not the thing you long for most
Tears surface as it hits you 

Each and Every
tear that is shed
Drop after drop 
Cannot bring you your desire 
as the thing you desire is gone

Each and Every 
wintery night that comes
Snowflake upon snowflake 
melts just as your heart does 
as you look at that picture

Each and Every 
smiling child
smile after smile
reminds me of what i long for 
my beautiful girl 

Each and Every 
Christmas season 
Santa comes Santa goes
reminds me of what my girl has missed
and deepens the hole in my heart

Each and Every December  
people of this world
nationality after nationality 
all desire something they cannot have
but yet this happy season 
does not bring them comfort 
but pain and memories
What is it you want ?

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If all the things I have right now were taken away and I had nothing left I would fantasize about nature and how beautiful it is. I would imagine that I was swinging on an old tire swing in front of a river. In the river were little ducks and I would go feed them. In my life right now I don’t think of nature that way. I think if my freedom was taken away I wouldn’t take it for granted the way I do and I would know how much it actually means to me. I would also imagine my family getting together for my family reunion. We would usually have them in September. My aunt would make her fancy white cake topped with chocolate drizzle. My grandma always made her jello cake; I still don’t know exactly how she makes it. The others would bring KFC, at least three boxes full of chicken and fries. All the kids would sit together and play games and laugh as we threw food at one another. We would have a game where the kids lined up from age 1 to age 13 and you would get to pick a prize appropriate for your age. I would always get stuck with bath soap and tooth brushes.I take a lot of ordinary things for granted and I think a lot of people do but they won’t admit it. Sometimes I even take life and my freedom for granted. I think that if maybe we wouldn’t take things for granted like the trees or our freedom that maybe our lives would be a lot better and things wouldn’t happen the way they do. I have lived long enough to know that it won’t happen, nothing happens the way you want it to. Just a few months ago I lost my grandma and I couldn’t do anything to help her. I took all of the things she did for granted and now that she’s gone I miss her. She used to make this tuna casserole, it was just amazing but I never told her just how much she meant to me. I think if I would have told her that more then I wouldn’t feel so guilty or depressed that she is gone. I never told her what I needed to. If people could use the words of John Lennon “Imagine Peace” and actually think about it then maybe the world wouldn’t have to end because there wouldn’t be any enemies, murders, drugs, none of the bad things would have happened. If we could have just accepted everyone around us for who they are and known that one day we all have to die, we could have stepped back from it all and said I had a good life and I don’t regret any of it. I think it’s no good to step back from something and tell yourself that you could have done something to prevent it.

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Sight Pt1

Sight Pt1

I weep
for I see the world unlike others do
I am different, I am special
I am not crippled with vaunted views.

they see the world with contact eyes 
they see with colour and with light
yet they miss the majesty around them
and judge in black and white.

I see just like the others
vision is still my friend
yet I cannot bring myself
to see just as my kin.

My existence is a solemn one
as I see as shades of grey
I glimpse the world unlike they do
every single day.

My glances are not imposed
by the reasoning of man
I see my world around me
as time and glass and sand.
I do not judge my brother
who did kiss another man
nor do I bequeath my mother
with tattoos all up her hands.

I cannot understand a father
who judges those below
or those who follow his teachings
everywhere they go.  

I rail against injustice
each and every day
and strive to mend the fences 
of those I may dismay.

But my existence is a troubled one
of you I do implore
do hear my word for I talk
until I speak no more.

I do not live a life
of pomp or pedigree
my life is that of troubled minds 
of this you may well see.

I met someone of sun bleached skin
hair dark as ebony
here our tail doth now turn
they view life as grey like me.

one cannot simply juxtapose
such beauty and such strife
I cannot simply understand why 
they would take their life.

Yet one day across the sea
we saw a man of might
white and black and stoic was he
come to crush out light.

he broached our shores, with boats and oars
most running for their life
yet some remain to fight the rain
we held off day and night.

In a street we fight alone
forlorn of families and friends
against his wraith we do both dread
a solution to the end. 
A frightful flash of ebony 
and a knife as sharp as words
raise high into the night dear friend
and then there was no more.

I see a gash, a fearful sigh
in pitch darkness 
or in bright of light
O' the horror and the fright.

Ebony has left this plane
although heaven isn't quite germane 
the gift that was left behind
shall forever be within my mind.

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Sight Pt2

Sight Pt2

Of this gift I do now tell 
but not of duress or strife
Ebony did show the world
and brought it to the light.   

As Ebony lay there dying 
uttering words of writ
I see the knife that caused such strife
red smeared on all of it.
Words cannot entail
all that did go on
"I bleed so that you may see"
uttered softly as a song

Colour took purchase on the world
however all I could endure
was to take one last look into those eyes
until they shut once more.
The sight of Ebonys' blood
had brought our oppressor to his knees
"O' why could I not see past my vaunted views
please save Ebony!"
His request I could not appease 
for Ebony had meet a final hour
I turn and shake my head
The man did cry and shout and cower

I then turn to the man
colour bursting in my stare  
I saw the man for what he was
A father stripped most bare.

I cannot judge this man for he has lost his progeny
nor could I condemn for a hand this tragedy
I looked upon this man sullen with his ilk
and resolved to tell that there is still help.

I shared with him my gift
of which I hold most dear
To a hollow and a broken man
filled with hate and fear.

He resisted at first
like men are taught to do
but soon his gaze widened 
with reds and greens and blues.

"O' I have been so wrong' he bellows
fixing me with his stare
his gaze pieced my eyes 
filled with both hope and despair.

He had been so wrong
but it's what he was taught to do
a sullen man repents his crimes
he has nothing left to lose.

I sit here now on the grave of hope
spilling soul to pen
recounting the damage caused
by the vaunted views of men
I see now in colour, not grey or blacks or white.
It only took real love to truly show me sight
but now life is quite sad, but that I can endure.
for I will carry my gift, from now to evermore. 

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The Locklears Chapter Two

"Poor, poor, little man I'm not a prostitute. 
I just pose as one on the internet and in 
the streets.  That's how I get pigs like you"
said the woman with an evil grin.  "I know 
you didn't think a woman
as beautiful as my wife would be 
interested in someone like you."  Said a 
tall figure as he emerged out 
of the darkness behind the shackled man.  
With fear in his eyes the shackled man 
asked who they were.
"My name is Linda Locklear and this is my 
husband Rusty Locklear."  "Enough with 
the small talk Linda go 
get the work tools."  As you command 
daddy".  Walking past their victim into the 
darkness Linda grabbed the 
cold steel push cart and brought it to 
Rusty.  "Will you just look at all these toys"  
Rusty's eyes lit up like a child's at
Christmas.  "What do we have here?"  
Reaching her arm out in the motion of a 
Linda became sexually aroused.  "We 
have a hammer, scalpel, acid, nail gun, 
and an ice pick"
Linda's voice was filled with excitement.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The 
Green Poet aka Red Seven aka The Brown

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The nurses rushing
like bushels of people in Grand Central Station.
I was in a crowded room,
Yet I felt so alone. 
My world had stopped.

Soon enough, the rush was over
and everyone seemed to be dejected,
yet my countenance
filled with confusion.
Why were people passing me
with glances of sympathy?
Now I know,
my world had stopped. 

The constant “beep, beep, beep,”
had faded into the silence.
The heart monitor that was once 
doing jumping jacks had died.
Now his world had stopped.

His skin was cold
like the breeze rustling the leaves.
The blanket had a nice fold
keeping his tiny body covered.
Not one breath
was yet to leave his chest.
Not a dream 
yet dreamt,
his life was ripped 
from the seams. 
His world had stopped.

While I diverged
from the rest of the family,
I walked down the white hallways
where the cries still lingered.
The staff had doffed
their masks and hats,
some bowed their heads,
while others eyes glazed
deep into my soul. 
The world had stopped.

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Imagine how sad December would seem
if Christmas didn't exist; only the chill
and wind would be felt through the frozen bones,
nobody would live in these northern, frigid zones. 

What was the true purpose of Jesus's birth?
Some even would say that it never occurred,
and why would the Magi travel long days
and nights to pay homage to the humblest of Kings?

It was prophesied by Isaiah in the Old testament and the Wise Men believed him,
following with awe the biggest and brightest star that they had ever seen;
and didn't it seem strange that God would choose those simple shepherds
to be the first to hear that message sung by a thousands of angels?

Wouldn't you be happy when a child cries out and enters life?
Wouldn't you celebrate that event with overwhelming joy and grace?
The same way Jesus entered this world to suffer and die,
and if Christmas didn't exist, who would remember who He was?

Wouldn't that envious angel, whom God expelled from Heaven with haste,
laugh loudly, knowing that we don't worship Him in spirit and faith? 
Fallen Angels are the eternal enemies of this Child, who atoned our sins
by paying with His precious vindicate the Devil's astute lies!

If Christmas didn't exist, some unbelievers would shout and rejoice,
happy to erase Christ's redemptive message from the earth's surface...
contradicting the Scriptures themselves and the Divinity behind it!
Didn't Herod the Great hate Jesus, fearing He would have become the new King?

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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The Letter to The Lost

You were the gift that gave me eyes, and grateful I’ll forever be. The poetic beauty inside our loss is within the dark we see. So here I write my letter to you, the following week since you passed. You burst into my life like a firework, burning twice as bright but twice as fast. Unlike a rocket you’ll fail to fade, and your love will never be surpassed. As I pen the ink my words begin to smudge, with tears that start to fall. I feel your presence is close to me, and memories flood back to recall. So here begins my letter dear love, you were a gift and a loss to us all. Like a New York snow fall, on a starry December’s eve. Like an enchanted walk in central park, beneath the flowing trees. I took your hand and felt your pulse, as together we were free. Like a shore walk in paradise, along the edge of a summer’s breeze. Like a boat ride across the crystal blue, a magic sail upon the seas. You make me smile with one quick glance, and you rule my memories. The love for you cannot be described, and the loss can never be healed. I placed the flowers upon your stone, and ached with every petal that pealed. Now I know I’ll see you again someday, as we walk into the golden field. I leave you with a kiss and a hug, and pray you are safe and strong. I’ll count the days till I see you again; I hope that it's not too long.

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A part of me

A part of me is dying
There is no point left in crying

Everything is wrong,
and my heart has been bonged.
Im left confused
not knowing what to do.

The world has lost its mind
And now a part of me 
dies cause you never noticed
me crying while i lie dying.

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My Generation

On a crisp blue morning
Like any other day
Abruptly evolving
Into a horrific display

Few words describe
This event of destruction
Automatically you blame
Political corruption

Who else are you to blame
But our elected chief?
In all actuality
Labeled in fictional belief

The cards are all
Now on the table
Justice must be brought
By any means able

Yet now you criticize
Our leader's standing declaration
Whatever happened
To this nation's protection?

Now watched by the world
On satalite television
Explosions and death
In high definition

Now shown to the world
This terror named war
And YOU now ask
"What are we fighting for?"

Freedom and independence
Our inalienable rights
For which often
We still must fight

Jealousy and resentment
Hidden behind religion based hate
Failed to be realized
Is this trajic date?

Enragement short lived,
By our nation as a whole
Crying and complaining
About our soldiers death tole

Fighting for us
They are defending our nation
Yet to be supported
By our ignorant MTV generation

All of your "children"
Signed up for their job
When needed they fight
Now they're purpose you rob

Hide in your burrows
For you should'nt be seen
Spineless is this generation
Lacking the integrity it needs

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Rainbow of dreams

Sleep is good.
but when sleep brings nothing but fear, and hatred.
weeks go by, you forget the weeks.
when the weeks, become years it maybe to late.
So, when the door opened, i saw into hell.
but was it real or was i still dreaming?
It's now into what feels like many years, but how can i tell?
it's so dark, i can't see my hands, but i'am not sure, i have hands?
I  hear low moans of suffering, as i hear the pain, and feel the dampness.
i can sense i'm not the first, the smell of death is all around.
If your eyes could open, you would know the death,
and wear the fear.
Your eyes may close, but will they see forever?
When they go dark, can you feel the life?
The life that died with the arrival of the light.
do you see the rainbow, as it shines from your eyes?
So, may the shine stay with you, if it fails to reflect from your soul,
death is all you have...

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Tragic Juliet

These days have faded
Your nights are dead
Mush together 
Inside her head
The act is so selfish
Her lips quiver in fear
She knows it’s over
She senses you’re there
She won’t blackmail you again 
Her mental wounds you can’t mend. 
Juliet however still reaches 
For your hand. 
She still loves you. 
And wishes you’d understand
Why won’t you hold her anymore?
He screams still echo 
As you slam the door.

She stands alone 
It was your mistake too.
Yet you blame her. 
Have you forgotten 
That it was you? 
You stole her innocence 
You didn’t think twice
So why is it only 
Her paying for the crime. 

She kept your letters 
She remembered those date’s 
But you forget her
It’s her that you hate
She stands alone. 
Skin pale
Knife in her hands
She gets on her knees
Ready to meet her fate. 

You turn down the corridor
Run back to the door
Sweet Juliet 
She’s lying dead on the floor. 

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sleek onyx fur glistens in the midday sun while her blood saturated saliva pools in the dirt below her she howls in grief closing her eyes, she opens her ears to listen they are coming the smell of decaying flesh makes her stomach turn yet she knows what she must do she waits her heart beats fast as she accepts this fate she is close to vomiting just a few more steps tensing her muscles, readying for the fight she takes one long breath and lunges they are on her now and bile rises in her throat as the rotten flesh sticks in her teeth yet she continues she has to do this, rip their flesh so she rips and rips and rips until there is nothing left nothing but shreds of skin and innards resembling confetti if confetti were always so sticky with blood finally allowing herself to purge all this evil she sits on her haunches and breathes it is done the dead are, well, dead again but her family has not returned to her so her anguish remains but what is done cannot be undone so as she looks up at the sky, now brightened by the moon and stars she closes her eyes and listens once more haggard breathing unsteady footsteps and then...Daddy?

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An American Story

Blood rained down like teardrops
Down her cheeks and to the floor
Her head was resting on my lap
And she took breath no more

Love as fleeting as the sun
Cares as wasteful as moonlight
I made a promise there
To make things right

I arose to meet my destiny
I awoke like a beast in heat
I reached for the gun on the floor
And said goodbye to my sweet

Angie . . . .
            Angie. . . .
                        Angie . . . .

My own voice echoed in my head
Like thunder pulsing through my ears
I wiped my own tears on my shirt
And went to face my fears

"I'll be back my love."
My voice like sandpaper
The gun felt like a brick
The weight of my promise to her

My boots creaked across wooden boards
My thoughts ran like a river
Never stopping but going nowhere
Treading aimlessly forever

My shirt was red with her
Angie's life had spilled out on me
I wrung the shirt with my empty hand
And set her spirit free

A song was playing soft and barely heard
It drifted in like a spring time breeze
This musical wind strolled through my open door
And set my mind at ease

I followed this breeze to the street
And left it as I found my car
Setting down on the driver's side
I looked back toward my open door

Angie. . . .
            Angie . . . .
                        Angie. . . .

Alone I left her there

I promise to
Who did this to you
Will meet the same fate

Angie. . . .
            Angie . . . .
                        Angie. . . .

Alone I left her there

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With heavy heart I take my leave of her.
My loves’ desperate screams pierce the still morn.
To war I go and must not look back for fear of faltering.
A duty to perform, a faceless enemy awaits.

Like a young herd of cattle comrades huddle together.
Seventeen and ashen faced their terror swells within.
In my hand a cherished picture firmly clasped.
There will be a time to let go, but it is not in this moment.

The dust and smoke erupts on landing.
My heart, racing so ferociously, might leap from my chest
My weapon of slaughter cocked menacingly
I run blind into this frenzy of hate.

The executed collapse around me
A steady tide of innocent blood saturates my leaden boots.
A searing pain rips through my wearied body
I surrender myself to the inevitable darkness.

My spirit is extinguished now
A crushing sense of unfulfillment envelopes me
My love awaits an impossible reunion
My fingers unfurl, memories to dust.

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What makes real men

I’ve seen so much
In the few years I’ve been here
Some things witnessed
Are my deepest fears

Not too long ago
On July 26th of 2004
Two great friends
That I greatly adore

The first on this day
Was my dear ol’ grand dad
The other was a kid
And this kid had

A bright promising future
Just out of high school
And he always seemed
Oh so cool

Thing happen
Unpredictable and unjust
Yet push on
Everyone must

What is done is done
The past we cannot change
And at time this causes our lives
To be rearranged

Honor their memory with laughter
Do not dwell on the grief
Just move on
You must believe

I have lost men
Whose shoes I could only hope to fill
Some had passed
Because they were incurably ill

Some have died
Before their time
Passing in the very beginning
Of their promising prime

What makes a real man
Is not how he starts things
It is the kind of finish
He shall bring

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Upon A Pale White Horse

A man in his field,
Whose heart rumbles fast,
To fear he shall yield,
The echoes of his past,

Of a life he stole,
The innocence he killed,
Deep in his soul,
No longer concealed.

As a sound of thunder,
 Vibrates the ground,
He’s lost in wonder,
At this mysterious sound.

But as the thunder nears,
He knows its course,
Now a vision he hears,
That robed figure upon a pale white horse.

Flowing in the wind,
Is this vision of Death,
Who’s face bears no skin,
And breaths not a breath.

In it’s bony hand,
It wields a scythe,
This soul forever dammed,
Has come for a life.

Grasping a book,
That reads one name,
And the life he took,
Bearing the finger of blame.

It is Death who’s come,
For that lost soul,
It can’t be undone,
There is only one goal.

He tries to hide,
But cannot escape,
Though the fields are wide,
They match his fate,

Death now arrives,
At his final dwelling,
Watching the cries,
Of his silent yelling,

It takes the life,
Of a soul evil tainted,
With that razor scythe,
 Now maroon painted.

Upon the horse he’s tossed,
Without screams or kicks,
Now Death carries him off,
To the river of Styx.

So when thunder does fall,
With that figure you see,
Run or stand tall,
You still can’t flee.

In time it resides,
Feeling no remorse,
It is Death who rides,
Upon the pale white horse.

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Mourning by Kenneth Morales 8th grade

At a graveyard, looking down at
the grave. In deep emotional pain.
Hoping that, that one person is in
a better place. Last few weeks
for her have been hell. But everybody
gave her a blessing and 
then she passed away. Now she's 
with God, looking down on me.

Love you grandma.

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Murphy's Law in Autumn (part 2)

He was found that morning, the peace of the day was shattered
Before the day had begun.
That call raped my virgin heart from its’ happy emotions.
Leaving behind an emotional scar.
As I walked down the church isle,
I knew in my broken heart this would be the last time I’d see him.
What a memory to have the rest of my life.
The reality of not being able to laugh and have fun set in,
Even the walls, ceilings, and floors mourned.
They were used to hearing us laugh casting echoes of laughter.
Now they were quiet like the rest of us. 
The sound of clinking silverware and sniffling 
was the only sound heard that holiday season. 

When I visit my aunt, the living room’s quiet, 
The sound of the ticking clocks break the awkward silence every time. 
If it weren’t for the clocks, I’d go insane.
This is a walk I don’t want to remember but always will. 
Seeing my uncle regret that bargain. 
One never knows the events that’ll transpire, 
in reality it wasn’t the bargain. He would’ve used whatever, it just happened to be that extension cord.
But that’s the weight of my uncle’s unhappiness, 
it wasn’t my aunt getting onto him that day,
Nor the officer that gave him a ticket, 
nor the fight his girlfriend picked that night. It wasn’t his brothers fault either 
For not lending him some money  nor mine for not spending the night and everything else. What if’s replaced 
our joy. 
“What if I’d stayed, would he have done that ?”
When a pebble’s cast into water, it doesn’t cast a one sided ripple casts ripples in every direction. I guess 
that’s why we all blame ourselves.

When we walk into the living room it’s not his pictures that reminds us of what we lost, it’s that new piece of 
sheetrock that’s brighter than the others. I guess my uncles regret never gave him the motivation to finish 
the ceiling.

Written in the perspective of a friend

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Murphy's Law in Autumn (part 1)

There’s a piece of sheetrock in my aunts house.
That’s newer than the rest of the pieces.
It hasn’t experienced the joyful times
The rest of the ceiling has.
I remember the days when life was normal,
Before that orange extension cord came into our lives.
My uncle bought it real cheap at a garage sale.
He said it was a bargain! He loved that extension cord.
Well, that bargain played a savage role that would plaque
The rest of our natural lives in the months that followed.

It was an Autumn morning, 
boy, how I love brisk mornings.
I stay up all night just to catch the morning sun.
I’ve always done this, ever since I can remember heck, I guess I always will.
A call came that early morning,  
I felt on the inside something was wrong.
It wasn’t normal for our phone to ring so early.
My cousin spent that night tallying up his list of unfortunate events.
I was suppose to spend the night, but I didn’t.
The issues of that day, drove him to take my uncles bargain 
and bust the sheetrock from the ceiling.

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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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Looking through this window
The gateway of life
One must be cunning
As sharp as a knife
To realize
Any choice made
Shall affect
Any plan laid
No matter how big
Or how small
Everything and anything seen, or performed
Will result in a rise or fall
Act fast, yet not foolish
Carefully plan
It takes good thought
To become a man
Use your skull
Not your back
Live longer you shall,
It is a proven fact
Windows are opening
Opportunity is at the doorstep
Chances are here for you to accept
Act quickly, yet not in stupidity
For this open window
Is not open forever

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Mozart's Final Hours

That he was dying and working on a requiem only increased
			 his foreboding – even a genius
is riddled with on-the-dark-side pedestrian fears
		 and emotions that make the flesh tremble suspiciously 

without rational cause. He had convinced himself he had
			been poisoned (acqua toffana, he insisted); 
that he was writing his own requiem, and must 
		complete it quickly, for Death would not wait

for a finished score. With effort he would sing the parts 
			of the unfinished mass, while Süssmayr 
hurriedly transcribed the notes, his wife Constanza watching
		 nervously by the bed, poised like a servant ready

to respond to his every physical need. For days now she had
 			been emptying bed pans of foul-smelling
fecal waste and washing his body of brown stomach effluvia.
		 As the days shortened to his final hour, she watched

his small body swelling day by day like a mushroom after
			 a night of heavy rain. The stench 
enveloped his body like a foul garment and gave evidence
		 of internal disintegration and decay.

Here in his deathbed lay the little man she had shared
			her life and body with for eight years;
and, after countless miscarriages, had given birth to two
 		boys; had laughed at his ribald talk and jokes;

had sometimes waited weeks for his coming home from trips
			and tours; had tortured herself about his
faithfulness; had done her best to gain his father’s friendship;
		had danced the nights away with him;

had sat down to dinner with the famous and the privileged;
			and put up with his antics and buffoonery,
often to her embarrassment. Here lay her darling “Wolfie,”
		the one-time Wunderkind, the child prodigy, 

who made all of Europe’s Who’s-Who take note; who
			by sheer genius, drove home the point 
musically that being high-born conferred only limited
	 	advantages, rank and title, petty privileges and nothing

of any real accomplishment; that genius was not the exclusive
 			property of aristocratic breeding.
He, of course, could not account for his own, if he ever did
		at all, and neither Leopold his father who 

acknowledged it a miracle but, opportunist that he was, 
			saw in the boy a quick means for easy money, 
and paraded him throughout Europe’s capitals and salons
		as if the boy were a rare exotic catch. 

Now, without warning, a jet of brown stomach fluid shot out
			of his mouth; he turned his head toward 
the wall, his eyes rolling back, his chest collapsing with
		a final pianissimo: a thirty-five year miracle

had come to an end, an unexpected coda plucked like
			a sweet morsel into the mouth 
of eternity – the sweetest morsel Death’s insatiable appetite 
		would ever taste.

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The Locklears Chapter Six

Rusty went and put the trash bags with 
Timothy's remains onto the back of his 
1990 black ram truck.  Rusty drove 
throughout the city of Green Haven and 
dumped Timothy's body parts in 
dumpsters on the north side, east side, 
west side, and south side of Green Haven.  
Returning home the smell of bleach, Pine 
Sol, and other cleaning products greeted 
him at the door.  "Linda I'm back".  "Come 
down to the basement Rusty.  Well this 
was the best Sunday I ever had".  The rays 
of the sun came peeking in through the 
bedroom window of Rusty and Linda 
Locklear.  "Linda get up it's time to get 
ready for work".  "Five more minutes Rusty 
just five more".  "We've already over slept.  
Get up".  Stretching out her arms Linda 
got up and headed to the bathroom.  "I'm 
using this shower.  You can use the other 
shower".  The two of them hit the showers
and got ready for work.  "Rusty who are you
defending today in court?"  "I'm defending 
this drug addicted, drug smuggling 
prostitute.  We'll talk after work.  I want to 
hear about what went on at Pine Needle 
Hospital today" grabbing his briefcase 
Rusty left for work.  Pulling into the 
parking lot of Green Haven courthouse 
Rusty parked and went inside.  Entering 
the superior courtroom Rusty took a look 
around . "Look at all these scum bags.  I 
want to kill everyone one of them" Rusty 
thought to himself.  As he approached the 
bench the inmates was led in by an 
officer.  After exchanging a few words with 
the judge Rusty took his place by his 
client's side.  The prosecuter presented the 
case to judge.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The 
Brown Philosopher aka The Green Poet

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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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The Boy Who Loved The Rain

Let me tell you of a boy,
A boy that I once knew;
This child once lived in Illinois,
Close to where I grew.

He always loved to play the games
Of Tag or Hide and Seek,
But he'd always play in rain,
And that's why he's unique.

I guess he liked the thunderstorm
And how the lightning struck.
He would run around the barn
And stimulate his luck.

One time, I guess, was his last run
As he went out to play,
The clouds that droned had hid the sun
And took away the day.

The lightning flashed and hit the grass
With so much bearing force
That people ran inside, alas, 
To dodge the bullet's course.

The boy stood out among the wheat
That grew inside the field.
He waited for the rumb'ling beat
That shook the grinding mill.

Finally he raised his arms
Into the sky, so unrestrain'd
And shouted all throughout the farm
That he was there to greet the rain.

That's when the final strike release'd.
That's when the boy had all his nerve.
And as the thunder pounded east,
All the people would observe

The death of one who loved the feel
Of water from the sky.
We buried him out in the field,
A tomb he'd not deny.

That's the story of a boy
A boy that I once knew;
This child once lived in Illinois,
Close to where I grew.

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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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I know it is not so
but I have the clear feeling
that at any moment
you will open the door
with your noisy key ring,
and I will hear distinctly
the off-key sound
of your slow and heavy steps
that no longer drag slowly
through my living room hall
which is now silent,
mute in its halftones. 
I know it's not so
but you will put down your bag
stuffed with papers in confusion,
on the table set for two
even though we are four,
but two of us will be in the bedroom
and won't want to dine, but
we will steal from your plate,
and you'll get upset
but you don't know how to fight,
and the argument will end with the providential
increase in the volume of the television,
that now is full of silly programs
because nothing is fun anymore.
Life drags on,
empty in its own apathy. 
You will talk about your day,
and you'll ask about ours,
and I'll be in a hurry,
going out to some rehearsal.
I'll shout that I can't right now,
that tomorrow I won't go out
and in the morning, making the strong, black coffee,
we'll talk about the script,
you'll give me some ideas 
I'll love to slip into the context
althought now this actress
no longer cares how she performs
because the fantasy is gone,
the scene has no more magic
and just repeats itself alone
on the stages I no longer trod. 
You'll ask,
and I'll help you put on your socks
having you sit on the bed
while our cat snores
in a light ending sleep.
Yet, you'll play with me
in your special way
that makes any single day
seems like Christmas,
with your salad sauce
that no one any longer tastes.
The 25th hides its face
at midnight, Jesus is not born
and the miracle is not the same. 
On Valentine's Day
you will buy two roses,
one of them you'll give to mom
and the other one is always mine
for I'll always be your little girl
who doesn't have a boyfriend anymore,
who has no joy, and
who counts the hours of the day
just to know the day has gone. 
I know it's not so
but I'll see you at any moment
when I lay my eyes
on our garden,
missing your confident hands
pruning its dead branches
like now it is dead our house. 
And like me,
our cat waits for you
every night at eight o'clock
under the doorjamb,
on the rug in the hall,
to say you are welcome,
to be happy you are home,
but our expectations fail,
for your arrival is delayed,
you won't arrive at all,
and there's no more future
for there's no more noise
of your key ring in the knob.

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21C-Warfare a Staged Art-form

Who remembers it
a bombed out hulk   a small meaningless train
carrying small meaningless PEOPLE
over a rickety bridge straddling the Juzna Morava River
fourteen KILLED    some CHILDREN
one meaningless pregnant WOMAN
sixteen wounded    but who remembers
UNWORTHY victims

It was a cunningly theatrically staged event 
(a harbinger of 21st CENTURY ART-WAR)

ART-WAR   The Art of Theatrical Experimentation
ART-WAR   The Logistics of Perception
ART-WAR    Humanitarianism    as Strategie de la deception
ART-WAR    The Pentagons RMA    Revolution in Military Affairs

 (O' what evils are sanctioned in the name of humanitarianism)

A NATO F-15E Strike Eagle    in acute timing
released one AGM-130 precision-guided munition
precisely as Train 393 was crossing the bridge
then returned to release another     

it was an “uncanny” accident    a regrettable happening 
explains the U.S. Supreme Allied Commander    collateral damage 
it was the rickety bridge we were targeting
Train 393 just came too fast
here it is    watch closely    (run the film)

see the gun-camera video     (a modern art-form)
393 just came too fast    look    (they keep re-playing the film)
(no one knew that the media version of the film was sped up 4.7 times)
Who really cared    (the field of perception was set)

uncanny    how two AGM-130’s precisely hit the train
uncanny    how imprecise CASUALTIES are
uncanny    how precise     COLLATERAL is

WAR IS ART-form    ART-WAR very carefully EDITED
the STAGE is expertly set    but never forget
the UNTRUTH of it ALL     LIES on the cutting room floor

where the unworthy are exhaled
by the breath of sibilance  Shhhhhhhhhhhhh...............

but let it be known      I AM AGAINST FORGETTING

"Against Forgetting" is a collection of  historical narratives
By Geo. V.   2002
Soundtrack No-15
CD Titled "Untracked" 

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My World

My world has always been a world of eternal dusk not so dark I could not see but not light enough to see more then a foot in front of me. There are other people in this world I can just barely see them. They are transparent just outlines of people when I watch them move it seems like the air around them is honey they move so slow. I have screamed at them them but they seem unable to hear or see me and I pass right through them If I reach for them. As the years have gone by I have grown to realize that they are not just outlines but I'm the one who is not fully here. This is how I have been living my life as an outline and as the years kept passing I found myself becoming less and less of what I was,slowly began to lose my mind. No longer trying to get people to see me or hear me I have been walking up and down the same road mumbling to myself for the past 10 years. But a week ago a light appeared just a dim light far off into the distance but a light none the less. I have been slowly drawn to this light ever since. It's still so far away but I have begone to hear a soft female voice calling to me. But I'm fading so fast I am trying with everything I have left to reach that light and find where the voice is coming from.

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I Am Going Home

I’m looking for my home That’s where I wanna be It’s not a place that I own Nor that I can even see Home is where I’ve never been But I know that it’s there Something tells me from within It’s not a place around here In any house that I may live It’s never really home for me Just a storage room and a bed And a place for my company I’m getting closer to my home I can feel it in every day I guess I should’ve known This life vacation wouldn’t stay When I finally get home My days will be filled with time From the past my thoughts have grown Deep within my mind At home there will be peace And never will I need For the wanting will soon cease Without a thought of greed Yes, I’m going home I know the time is here Should I have to go alone I will certainly find myself there! Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Last seconds

Any minute now, getting colder by the second almost gone Only darkness now and it's so cold. My spirit has been crushed, My soul has been destroyed and my heart was thrown away. I'm just empty like the darkness that comes for me. Any second now it's just so very col......

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Bernard James -- Burns Twice

Knock-knock, Come in, hey Bernie what’s up? Harry, you want to go to Peru?
Peru? What’s in Peru? Active volcanoes! I’m going to jump into one. WHAT?
Abby left me and I have nothing to live for. Bernie, I’m not Dr. Kevorkian.
Come on H, I already have the tickets, one round trip for you to come home.
Pack your 35 milliliter camera with the zoom lens and let’s go to Peru.
Bernie, my camera, and I at the west base of Ubinas; outside of Lima, Peru
The smell of hot wafting through the ashen skies, Ubinas is very active
Take a picture of this H, Bernie held up a 15x8 foot sign : Abby I LOVE YOU
He headed up the volcano ;  about 500 feet he turned around and waved : Click
Just then a thunderous eruption of molten hot lava, cascading down the mountain
Bernie turned and started running, the lava in hot pursuit touched his boots : in flames
He screams in pain, I’m snapping pictures as he tried to swim through scalding magma
As his legs disintegrate, I zoom in on his ashen white face, as the flames engulf his arms
For a man who wanted to die, the horrific fear on his face, the terrifying look in his eyes
A puff of smoke and Bernard James was gone. I could feel the heat of the lava descending
I run to the truck and drive as fast as I can back to Lima. In a darkroom, pictures develop
Deviously, I make a life size collage of Bernard David James ; starting at the feet---
I set the collage on fire: staring at a face afraid to die, I see the atrocity of Suicide.

Inspired and Dedicated to Colleen Bono    This is my part of the Challenge I hope it meets 
with YOUR approval…HG  

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Fighting, looting everywhere,
Burning the shops now and then,
Causing harm to people for no rhyme and reason.
And  thus,        
'riots is caused at any season.
Bloodshed, bloodshed everywhere, 
No peace only war.
Cries and Pains now and then ,
Where is the Love gone?
Put an end to this feeling .
Lets be friends and no more enemies.
Lets our generation grow with love,
Therefore riots wont cause at any season.

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Mother to Son

You live in another world
spiritual realm your heaven
a powerful entity in itself.

The watching of your loved ones
from the angels sky
sprinkling your wishes
of joy to them all.

Never missing anything
from the highest plane
where you can move on
to another journey.

The past, present and future
are all multi-dimensional
in the hall of records
where past judgments lie.

Spread your angel wings
fly down to me upon the earth
so I can feel you once more.

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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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Billie's Voice

I do not think I will go to heaven
Since the life I led in the past
Will surely send me on that path
Straight to hell with vastly heat

I did my best to make things right
I quit the drugs and the life that was fast
To give birth to my only child, my son, my life
For which the life of the past will catch on me one day
I only wish I knew how it would portray

I fell in love for the first time past forty
With the best love ever to stow upon me
A women would you believe – she set me free
To be who I wanted – to fly with ease
We have such a bond unlike the others
My eternal comeuppance I believe

There are no drugs in me except to cure HEP C
A mistake I made before I was twenty
My life is the best it has been for what I see
I did not count on parting this new life I lead
I did my best to make things right
Now my only prayer is to see the light

I lived with my heart and loved with my mind
I touched many souls as I did my own
I had no idea how life could be
If it were not for that fast life in my teens
I would still be here in this life, with all my dreams
G. Goodwin 9/11/07

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In the inky mass of moonless sky
angry spirits roam courting my breath
they swirl
applaud and dance behind my closed door
Cold confused creatures
cursed zombies cast off earth heaven and hell
Thirsty they long for the flow in my veins
quest is on for my fresh flesh
Scared and lost in circle and prayer i behold my soul
vigorous they get at the scent of my ignited righteousness
In coals and fire a sacrifice they intend to make of my undefiled body
light to alter doom and their state
key to unshackle the limbo
A mark
Baptism for their liberation.
I am a consecrated medium
haunted by shadows and shades of darkness.

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Dust rises from the rutted road.  Cannon laden caissons rumble slowly forward.  A red sun competing with the campfires glow. Weary troops break camp, joining the ranks of
colleagues on the move. An enemy, unseen, lays before them, waiting to exact a deadly blow.

Bellowed orders cut through the hushed encampment, bugles sound, urgency pervades.  Battle lines are drawn, men marching, resolve and fear etched upon their hearts.

Artillery from behind sing the opening anthem. Flashes on the horizon acknowledging their song.  In quickstep they press toward the waiting army, searching til they face the long gray line.

A fusillade rips through the forward soldiers, leaving death and carnage in its wake. A
row of men drop in lines of destruction, their cries of pain soon muted by the battles call.
Panicked faces seek cover as their Captains, yell and threaten, urging them on.

Deadly canister screams overhead, delivering their fingers of death,   Fragments of life left littering the field. “Close ranks” the Captain cries. “Rally round the colors.” In the
face of death the army presses onward, drummer boys beating cadence on their drums.

Smoke and bodies soon consume the landscape, fragments of lives lost, attesting to the
horrors of the day. On and on the contest rages. Giving, taking, winning, losing, dying. 
Until welcome darkness cloaks the field of battle, forcing war to take a short respite

In darkened fields, litter bearers rummage through a broken army.  Seeking those whose ravaged bodies won’t surrender, selecting those who might still have a chance.

Hot tears run down the face of hardened soldiers, gripped by a mix of anger, fear and
sorrow. Mourning for the sons and brothers taken. Respecting those that they must leave behind.

Unknown to them this is but a beginning.  A scene to be replayed so many times.  Our
nation would become a blood soaked homeland. Each side sure that they were on His side.

Time would leave its scars upon our nation.  Destroying in an effort to unite.  A terrible
price would be exacted. With the lives of many men it would be paid  

The War Between The States officially ended April 9, 1865.  The conflict cost 624000 lives.

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The burial place

Casually, and out of no where
My best friend turned to me and said:
Of coming death I've no fear
Just bury me in Port Charlotte when I'm dead
Why there, I asked, a child,
An old forgotten flame went before you
Why not Jamaica's tropic wild
Why has southwest Florida so allured you?

None of those, none of those, 
She told me, have you ever seen
The family plot that I will lose
It's a quiet remote woodland scene
A dense bush of animal sounds
A dark place even at top of day
Where loneliness still abounds
O let me not dead in a dead place lay.

I am a child of civilization
I like the music and the lights
The sound of feet, commotion
Of the cars, party through the nights
Port Charlotte cemetery meets
The bill, there is a church near
And a school, and always busy streets
At nights the clubs are never drear

Bury me where the party goes on
She said, and I amused, smiled
And swallowed every question
So did not her composure spoiled
For shall the dead enjoy all that
Or mingle with us again, vain dream
But I'll keep my broom lest some bat
Dare try to make my children scream. 

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Oh the changes I would have made.
I would have gone sleigh riding in the winter's snow,
I would have realized the miracle of the rainbow...
gazed at a sunset across the meadow.
It seems not so very long ago.
Forgive me Lord. I just didn't know!


Oh the changes I would have made.
I would have hiked through a forest and hugged a tree...
spent more time with friends and family...
learned the lesson of the honeybee.
Unawareness is such a tragedy;
I was blind and did not see!


Oh the changes I would have made.
I would have reflected more on what would carryon...
that which would endure long after I was gone...
thanked The Lord for the gift of each new dawn...
discovered the purpose of being born...
regrets forever I will mourn.


Oh what different choices I would have made.
I would have set my mind on things above...
laughed more, played more, and shared God's Love...
listened to the songs of the turtledove;
for this is what life is made of.
God is the hand and we are the glove.

My eyes are slowly closing.
Something is happening to me!
There's a Bright Light I see!
I feel such peace...a serenity!

Milton L. Delgado
October 6, 1998

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Rust In Peace

Abandoned and forgotten 
left to rust 
no longer valued 
no longer cherished 
not much to look at 
well, not anymore 
just a bunch of old nuts and bolts 
piled up on the floor 

Once so full of life 
a true sight to be seen 
oh… such strength, such power 
all polished and gleaming 

Intelligence unmatched 
I filled them with pride 
from entertainment to security 
I was there to provide 

Paid the bills, did their taxes 
walked the dog, washed the cars 
I could calculate the distance 
from here on earth to mars 

School work and parties 
played games, performed plays 
full of laughter and fun 
oh…those were the days 

But nothing last forever 
or so that’s what they say 
nothing but maybe memories 
and even they will eventually fade 

So as the minutes turned to months 
then on to years 
it all seemed so fast 
like the spinning of gears 

Seasons changed 
as time too quickly ticked by 
my family they grew older 
and then eventually all died 
moving on to a place 
I’m never to follow 
not just buried in the ground 
but somewhere more hallowed 

And here I am left 
all by myself, completely alone 
in a quiet too quiet 
as darkness descends 
no one around to wind me 
power wound down long ago 
here I sit and stare blankly 
with not a soul…not a sound 

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The Perfect Gift

Nine months is not very long...although
it seems forever, since you've been gone.

I still remember that knock at the door, two
strangers, I recognized, by the uniforms they wore.

Disbelief in the words, I heard them say...killed in
action, on Christmas Day.

When you left me, for a land far away...I ask Jesus
to keep you safe.

I have been so alone, with just my memories of you,
but today your Christmas Present arrived, and he is
so cute.

He came into this world, giving me back my life,
someone I can hold , all through the night.

Merry Christmas, my sweet soldier...the words 
I never got to say, you gave me a gift so perfect,
in every way.

Even though you are not here, to hold your son,
I promise, he will always know his father, and the 
good you have done.

We will decorate our tree in Red- White- and Blue...
"This year, and always, in remembrance of you."

Merry Christmas from us both, your wife, and baby son,
we will all be together one day....when our work is done.

"Please, pray for our soldiers."

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take me from this misery

* this poem has been inspired by Breaking Benjamin's Dear Agony....*
* and was written in memory of my grandmother Jeanne Gula *

My name is Jeanne Gula, today i found out that i have cancer.
Its in a tumor, that's very painful, its very rare, its 3 cancers into 1
they already took it out once... and it came back.
The doctor said it was to late to take it out again.
Its not the perfect end to my life, but its all i can have..
I don't really know how much more time i have.
I used to be able to walk by myself, with out help.
I can't believe this happened to me... of all people.
It's be coming torture, they called in hospices.
This cant be good...
I'm in my own home, slowly dieing...
I really don't want to leave, I will leave so many loved ones behind..
So I think i will stay a little longer...
Its January, i now can't do anything by myself, i have to rely on family to help with
everything, my organs are starting to slowly shut down, its very painful to go through.
but my daughters birthday is coming soon... I'm not going to leave now... i don't want her
to be sad, on such a happy day.
I can't hold on much longer.
I'm now out of this misery, its feb. 2nd, and I'm finally free.
Free, of all this pain, and I'm healthy again, I can walk, with out hanging on to anything
or anyone, I can finally be independent again...
now no one cry for me, because i lived a full long life, and no longer in pain..
I love you all.
Love Grammy

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Death and beyond

Hours transpired like every other day. Perched on the trees, sparrows chirped, keeping the dreadful silence at bay, and sunlight across the land, whipped. Laid there on the grassy lawn, was a lovely lass dressed in a corset. Smelling the blossoms like a fawn, enchanted was she by nature's best. Up the hill ran a hysterical lad, his face as white as a sheet, shattered her heart to more than just a shard, and made her swoon to her feet. Minutes rolled to hours, and hours to days, and there she sat like a stone. With her eyes so lifeless and cold, her once rosy lips now as dry as a bone. Draining her blood was her soul, turning her visage as of a ghoul. Neither did she eat, nor drink, as she stooped over life's brink. Deep down was an endless bottom, which her rotting psyche couldn't fathom. The day came when her eyes lit up, like a hopeless spark in a dark cavern. She let go and set her eyes on the stars afar, and said "I'll be there wherever you are".

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Bittersweet Wisdom

Death, in its unhurried wisdom
ends all doubt and sorrow.
It is a lasting remedy for all
illness, insecurity and loneliness.
The finality of it ends all pain, with
a sweetness not otherwise known.
It's sweetness is known only by those,
who, in their passing,
have smelled its fragrance.
The pain of those left behind
has a fragrance all its own, a bittersweet
emanation that assails the
senses with its pungency. The strength of
the void, left by the passing
of one loved seems endless.
Time and faith, working in unison,
will lessen the strength and fill the void.

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Worn Out Road

Nicotine stained hands
yellowed with age
cracked fingers shaking
inhaling his last breaths
drinking bottles of cheap wine
hardship his only crime.

Sunken eyes gone misty
remembering a different life
from long ago
now a distant memory
numbing every trace
of their loving faces
from his pain stricken mind.

Many harsh Winters lived
through every season
roaming on endless street
begging for money
for something to eat and drink.

The open spaces his shelter
with weathered sky overhead
stripped naked and bare to the soul
he trudged along on the endless road
going to nowhere.

Broken were his heart and dreams
sad memories still consumed him
following him like a shadow
through drunken binges
and smoke filled rooms
with other strangers
whose lives were also ruined.

As he laid his head down to rest
from his inner journey
of haunting thoughts
weary to the bone from exhaustion
he closed his eyes for the last time
using the stars as his pillow.

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His Dad had been fighting for years.
Never knowing when to take up arms,
But always needing to be prepared for war.

The pain would begin slowly,
Only then to accelerate into mass fury.
Small heart attacks had become frequent battles.

It may have been arrogant on his part,
But he believed if the big one hit,
His presence could be his Dads safe net.

He found himself spending more evenings at home.
And on the night it happened he was there,
Watching Dateline on the couch a mere ten feet away.

He yelled for Mom while grabbing the aspirin.
There was no use, it happened too fast.
His Dads body lay limp, and the war was done.

Watching his Dad pass will not haunt him.
For he knows his presence brought serenity,
He has far too many good memories to allow distress.

His Dad is now with Jesus.
The battles are no more,
Praise God.

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Sam, I am

If I had a secret that I wanted to share with you Dare you open your mind and let my creativity ensue? I don’t build bridges with bricks, I hang them with rope I can generate your fantasies and incubate your hope Open the pages of my mind, reading the fiery words of my heart Enter Pandora’s Box, and the epic journey will start! Follow me down south, through the mirror of liquid glass You’ll feel the calmness take over and watch the fear pass What a wonderful feeling, letting your inhibitions go into the night Now step forward onto the phoenix, as you drift into the light This journey isn’t everlasting, you know that it comes with a price? What? Did you think it was free? wouldn't that have been nice Open your eyes from delusion, and friend you will piece things together My name is Sam, Satan or The devil, that’s how I'll been known as forever! OK, so I tricked you, with my words and devilish charm What were you expecting? I’m frigging Satan dude, my job is sadistic harm! You look at me with those puppy dog eyes, you realise you've lost all of your family ties My head tells me to give you a second chance, double or quits is where my desire lies Do you accept the new twist, on my board game that is your life? I’ll take that hesitant nod as a yes, and commence this game of strife Give me the name of a family member and they can take your place However I will warn you, if you can’t then I win this twisted race No! You scream, and that’s your final answer which I’ll have to take Now I own not only your soul, but your families when they next shall wake He took my hand and promised peace for my sisters and brothers Now I’ve gambled with the devil and he owns my beloved others The deal is now done and a fiery rain begins to fall Burning me down to ash, disintegrating my world and all

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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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Jesus' dead body is taken down from the cross slowly,
Nicodemus' hands support it while His mother Mary,
not contorted by grief, is consoled by a glorious vision,
which will be revealed in the majestic morning of resurrection;
Mary Magdalene, not a virgin or chaste woman...once a part of the sinful world,
shares in that undying hope when Christ will be awaken by the trumpets sound.

Carved in precious marble by Michelangelo's masterful hands and ingenuity,
this awesome depiction is more intense than his own undisputed religiosity,
Christ still bleeds for Mankind's salvation, but death will not prevail;  three long
days He will lay down in the darkest and coldest tomb, and towards dawn
He will be resurrected by the voice of the Father whom He invoked before He died...
yes, sorrow is deeply expressed by these three figures, but their tears will be exiled!  

And Michelangelo abandoned the unfinished sculpture due to a marble's imperfection,
not realizing that he had captured the excruciating expression of the sacrificial Lamb,
and before these wailing faces, he must have knelt and fervently prayed,
humbly staring at Christ's lifeless head drooping and believing in Man's redemption;
and Nicodemus' face has indeed Michelangelo's resemblance, exuding much revelation... 
come closer, unbeliever and stare at this magnificent sculpture with profound admiration. 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Pieces of Poultry Part 2

Your only as sick as your secret, but this was only the tail end of his secrets, secrets buried so deep that not even he himself could exactly put his finger on the difference between what had happened and what he may have imagined. Never the less, it didn’t hurt him, so it only must have made him stronger. As he crouched on the outside of his housekeeper’s home he knew tonight would be over even before it happened. Leaving him teased by the feeling, what kept him looking for an experience that would satisfy such a hunger. The whole experienced seemed surreal, kneeling down he brushed his hands along the grass. Was it the same grass he had at his home? He thought to himself, Where the bricks on his house laid in the same way? .For a moment he just enjoyed the pleasantness of the experience, the calmness before the storm. The anticipation was a rush of ecstasy wrapped in delusion but Sam didn’t care this was the reality he enjoyed.
	Sam knew that his house keeper lived alone, that’s why he was so particularly surprised when young women in her early 20’s opened the door. For a moment they only looked at each other. Sam felt caught, as if he was wearing his intentions on his sleeve, caught and angry, angry that whoever this girl was she was intruding on a very special moment of his. She was trying to take something from him, going against his plans purposely. In anger Sam reached into his inside jacket pocket and when he removed it he extended his had outward in an arcing motion slicing a horizontal gash along the young women’s face. He had meant to slice her neck open, but he missed and in turn placed what now appeared to be another bloody mouth from cheek to cheek, slicing her upper lip open along with her septum and left nostril. The young women fell backwards and Sam stepped inside closing the door behind him never taking his eyes off the young women.

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That Girl, Eve

A small place in England
a city rife with crime 
full of the homeless
the jobless 
lives a small 
defenseless girl 
who was once a happy child 
into an angry woman 

Eve was a small girl
Life was hard on the estate
Father and Mother deceased 
when she was three
She came home 
But for what? 

Twelve years on 
Eve sobs 
as noone is there 
to answer the questions
anger has built itself up 
Why me? 
she often asks herself 
questions fuel the rage 
till one day it becomes too much  

The tragic day 
came after her fifteenth birthday  
life was the death of her
the poor girl 
with glazed eyes
who watched 
other children at the park 
with their parents 
couldnt handle it anymore

The local papers
portrayed the whole event 
as if they cared 
if they had cared sooner 
this girl, Eve 
would be happy 
enjoying her life 
like the other girls her age  
but they didn't
and still nothing has changed

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My Only Nightmare

I have only ever had one nightmare that kept me awake at night and has I sink ever deeper within myself.I can't help but think how I had everything I ever wanted friends, loved ones, people who cared and were always there.But one by one they started to fade away.Slowly at first one or two would leave then faster and faster still. I tried so hard to hold on to them to keep them close but they just faded faster.Until my nightmare became reality and I was alone.

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The Sabbretooth grinds ice with its teeth
Not for dull enjoyment but sharp urgence.
Its eyes glitter as the teeth is sharpened
While the sun fades away in numb sense.

The smell of blood orchids haunt the air
And the dry trunks and bushes whisper.
The Sabbretooth approaches near herd
That is grazing branches without guard.

The merciless hunter grabs a wild stag
And pierces it with its two sharp teeth.
At once the swift stag is in deathly rag
But its eyes depict cruelty underneath.

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One Last Kiss

The words you speak sound hollow to my ears.
She  left me  long befor  she ever said goodbye.
you can  never  own a person  love is but a illusion.

A well hidden snake so very cold to the touch.
Hate turns and drives  this muscle in my chest.
I will not allow your games to decive  me any longer.

Will you welcome  the cold grip around your throat.
In beliving you are all knowing will you make 
the most simple of mistake?

You can not be the player when it is you that is a pawn.
In deaths grip when at last you see all for what
it is.

Love is a wepon.
I was a thought to be victim.
But even in a moment as traggic as this.
As you fade I'll give you one last kiss.

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Some Kind of Fairytale?

A/N: so i just found this poem wrote it so long ago, didn't even know it existed. Here it is.

Her dreams were filled with her prince,
the prince father took away,
as he locked her in the tower
and took away her day.
Light was lost from her eyes
and her warmth began to depart;
within her veins coursed poison
from a broken heart.
Dreams floated over the rainbow,
breaking with what load it bore
and those broken fragments she took,
bloody footprint to the door.
"Dear prince," whispered paling lips,
and shaking hands closed in prayer
"I'll see you there as always,"
And life left her empty body there.

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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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Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Wondering the aisles 
In search of the perfect bassinet
Choosing between the wood and the metal
Selecting the perfect theme of it all

Then out of nowhere a loud bang 
Silence then another pop
What in the world is going on?
Looking for protection, she hides from the sound

Behind the secound corner, who is that man?
What is that he is carrying? Is she in any danger?
Oh Lord please don't let him do anything
For inside the woman, a infant she was bearing

He holds her done, puts the gun to her head
Is anyone to witness this?, can anyone stop him
She tries to tell him that she is no threat
She won't tell anyone, just please let the baby live

But he doesn't seem to listen to her words
A loud shot and she's falls down to the floor
Her pulse slowly weakens, then she is gone
The baby's heart no longer can beat without her

The guy escapes with no harm
The cops have no trace
The lady's family has no comfort
All because wrong time, wrong place

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Did You Arrive Before the Fall

Your bones are charred black and your skin pulled tight,
Red and sunken eyes, boasting filth and pain, hurt and loss.
Betrayed on a bed of the cotton kingdom,
Springs stick out like trees from soil.

Did you arrive before the fall?

Troy on his empire and you on your drugs,
Each grave from the same effect.
Blinds blinding dust from the peeking of eyes,
No sun in a room no one’s known or left behind.

Did you arrive before the fall?

Needles and alcohol litter every inch of carpet,
And you’re just another stain to its story.
Tourniquet, oh tourniquet, can you bring the empty now?
Don’t hold back, let it free, and flush the toxin to every vein.

Did you arrive before the fall?

Poison stock piled to the brim, I’m surprised you didn’t drown.
Baring sin, bearing secrets and I wish you could’ve saved yourself.
Falling to my knees and so much closer to your end.

Did you arrive before the fall?

A death you didn't attend.

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If You Could Have

If you could have,
just one more day,
a day with someone,
that went away.

Would you spend it,
holding them tight,
or talking a streak,
way into the night.

Maybe a dance,
to your favorite song,
or watching the sunset,
until it is gone.

Many have left me,
that have meant so much,
and a part of me,
can still feel their sweet touch.

One day I will see them,
if I pass that final test,
and be with the angels,
for they only allow the best.

When that day comes,
and I just go away,
maybe, just maybe,
my memory will stay.

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Jack and Jill

Jack and Jill went up the hill

To fetch a pail of water.

Jack went right, Jill left,

In different directions to see

Who could reach the top first.

On his way up, Jack tripped on a

Rock and roughly tumbled all

The back down, blood

Spewing from his head.


Jill screamed, seeing this happen

But knew that she couldn’t do

Anything; she was afraid of heights

And as she sheepishly peered

The long ways down the hill

Her vision blurred slightly and she

Felt dizzy. She knew she wouldn’t

Be able to make it back down by herself

So, continued to run, she did, all

The way up to the hill, where

The pail of water sat, crying

The whole way.


She was almost there,

The pail of water was in sight

She smiled, silently screaming

    Her victory. Laughing, tears streamed

     Down her cheeks; Jack would’ve been happy

For her. But she celebrated, it seems,

Too early, for she slipped on the wet, wet

Grass and she tumbled down, down, down

The hill only to meet her death, her blood

Marking a trail behind her, her screams echoing

Through the trees.


Jack and Jill went up the hill,

to fetch a pail of water

Only to fall back down and get killed.



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Grandma, when Grandpa went to Vietnam
And left you at home alone
Did you ever think he wouldn't return
And be forever gone

No, dear I thought he'd be back
And never leave again
But that crazy war in Vietnam
Was one we couldn't win

Well, Grandma, where is he now
Is he still fighting the war
Will he ever come home to be with us
Why did he go so far

My child your Grandpa had to go 
And fight for freedom's sake
But he won't be coming home again
And that's so hard to take

But Grandma, if he's not coming home
Why did he have to stay
I'd like to see Grandpa again
So he and I could play

Well, son I'm sorry to tell you this
There is no other way
Your Grandpa may be a prisoner of war
Or what the Army calls MIA

Well, why is he in prison
Did he commit a crime
I don't understand, Grandma
It's been a long, long time

Yes, dear, you're right, it's been so very long
Since Grandpa went away
But all the love he gave to us
Is with us every day

You're right Grandma
He really did love us all
He had to go to Vietnam
To answer his country's call

My child you are so very wise
And one day you'll understand
Your Grandpa had to go and fight
For the freedom of our land

Grandma, I love you so
And I'll never go away
I won't leave you home alone
Home is where I'll stay

Thank you dear, that's very kind
But Grandma will be alright
I love you too
God is my guiding light

He's my light too, just like Grandpa said
He's always by our side
He helps us every day
And dries the tears we've cried

	Curtis Moorman
	June 17, 2011

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suicidal poem

I was looking through a magazine when something caught my eye.
A picture of a girl, the words "attempted suicide."
The photograph was taken on the day she turned sixteen.
The story told of how the very next day she O.D'd.
Her face no longer innocent, determined to conceal
a pain so deep she made herself believe could not be healed.
She dressed in only black, and when her father asked her why
she said "I make myself ugly because that's how I feel inside.
Tangled in a web of sin, religion played its part
so she found her love in heroin and worshipping the dark.
The day she turned sixteen she sat up in her room alone
and vented all her anger through a suicidal poem.
The next night as she closed her eyes, the needle in her vein,
she closed the door behind her on a world of only pain.
Her mother in a storm of tears, her father broken down
when they find her in her bedroom, laying naked on the ground.
They blame themselves unbendingly, determined that they've failed.
The train they've tried so hard to steer has finally derailed.
They stand beside the bed as she's unconsciess in her sleep.
The doctor says she's fighting for a life she wants to keep.
Hope can be a crutch, but sometimes hopes not what it takes
when its not the leg that's broken, but inside when something breaks.

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As the sun rises, it casts its glory upon her exquisite anatomy
While during the night death stole one more.
It seems he steals more often these days 
With no mercy, in silence, 
His coldness courses through her veins
Absorbing the brilliant colors of life until….

Creation carries on as if it has been unaffected
Even though she cries for the ones whom death accepted,.
His greediness as insatiable as it is;
Has great value.
Perpetuating his cycle of life
Making room for humanity
No matter how merciless at times.

The colors of the world watch in awe and pity
at the sight of death as he sits by her hut;
Waiting for her to succumb to his seduction.
His kiss takes away the pain of this life;
Introducing humanity to the unknown;
Trying her best to maintain normality
She carries on with the work of the day;
Washing her linens, caring for her young
Hugging them tighter than before,
She knows her day may be soon.

Her knuckles are white as she clutches mortality
Not willing to let it go.
Its colors are too vibrant, 
too magnificent to exchange for darkness
Too magnificent to exchange for darkness.
The world watches,
With their cameras and satellites; 
As she majestically goes about the business of dying, it watches.
As her limbs become weak and eyes grow dim, it watches.
Along with the lion in the bush and the elephant on the plain
It watches.

She cries to the world as they gaze at her
She’s had so many problems, yes, since the time of her youth.
Then were her breasts were full of nectar
Her thighs fertile and supple,
But the greed of colonialism raped her, 
Left her, to die in her shame.
The shame it forced upon her 
In her ignorance she accepted its offer.
She wanted so much to be loved. 
But no love was given;
Only the agony of betrayal.
Her kaleidoscope of colors intimidates the others.
Parading her reds, hues of indigo and deep bronzes
Beauty, yet still.
Yes even in death her beauty remains
As the sun rises it casts its glory upon her exquisite anatomy
The world watches, it watches.

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“Long time na see    Jim”

“Yip    Long time na see    Jake”

“D’ja see?”


“John Critchuns ‘n that danged Big White o’ his”

“Caint say as I did”

“They oughta be a law ‘gainst brangin’ cats inta tha saloon

But he’s niver without his dang cat

Don’t care ‘bout tha law

Men in here should cumplain

‘Cep John’s mighty fast on tha draw”


“That thing’ll walk around    top a poker table

Flashin’ them big white teeth    hisssn    yet

Dang thing’s sa careful not ta spill a chip

Niver seen tha like”

“Oh yeh?”

“He’ll perch on John’s shoulder    lick his ear

Don’t bother John none”


“Niver seen no cat sa big    sa white    sa downright mean

Meanest cat I ever seen!

Whatcha lookin at me thata way fer?”


“Ya keep scratchin yer head”


It’s strange”

“What’s strange?”

“When’s tha las time ya seen Big White?

“Why    jis las night    why?

“Member tha gun fight six weeks ago

When tha Deeler boys held up tha stage out near Castle Rock?”


“Weel    I was there

I was there when John Critchuns and Big White saved tha day

Big White went fer Luke Deeler jist as he uz pickin at the money box lock

Critchuns drew on Luke too

Then Pete Deeler brained Big White ith a rock”


“Damn sure!

Caved in his friggin head!”

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So long and farewell

A life long friend,
A soul mate,
A heroine, a star
A woman so phenomenal,
The very best by far

I never thought I’d have to 
Say these last goodbyes
So long and farewell my hero
A girls so strong and wise

These last few weeks of life 
Since your diagnosis
Have been so tough, but you pulled through
So difficult to notice

One day we will meet again
And live our lives together
We’ll start a new life, you and me
And share one heart forever

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The Legend Of Julie Faye

Her name was Julie Faye.
   She was a little runaway.
She ran from home, the scene was bad.
   Beaten by her mom, molested by her dad.
She fled to the streets she had no choice.
   At least out there she had a voice.
Just thirteen and on her own.
   Neither love nor kindness was ever shown.
No childhood life could she expect.
   And no expectations as to what life would offer to her next.
Panhandling on the street was the way to eat.
    But it’s a dead end road this life on the street.
Eating out of a dumpster sometimes was the only way.
   To feed yourself, stay alive for just one more day.
Little Julie reached a point where her sanity broke.
   The streets just too hard for a lot of folk.
On the overpass she stood with no good memories at all.
   As she climbed up on the railing I said be careful you’ll fall.
Well she smiled for the first time since we had met.
   She said I’m gonna do it, do you want to bet.
And before I could stop her she threw herself to the street.
   Julie Faye I’m gonna miss you, you were just too kind and sweet.
Julie why did you go and do that don’t you know that’s wrong?
    I’m sorry I didn’t see it coming, I didn’t know you weren’t that strong.
Well good luck to you Julie wherever your at.
   I guess I’ll take your bedroll you won’t be a needing that.
         Good Luck Julie !

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Three Cheers

Sobriety is dying in me once again
The pain drains as I welcome home a long time friend
She is always their and is always fair she never lies 
Just slides down smooth and we fall back into our old grooves
My blood stews in a chemical imbalance and my mind finally finds relief from 
As me and my old friend kiss and lock lips she slips down into my soul
And once again plugs its holes
I never said a remedy didn’t come without tolls

So again the roses are red and violets blend to black
And once again I find myself speaking matter of factually
But the only sound she sends is my voice echoing back to me 
I’m downing her and she’s drowning me 
We can only be what we were designed to be
But she has always been a good friend to me 
And I’m always too willing to pay her fees 
Just so I can trade my memories for tranquility

Yet she is no difference than any other girl who has fallen for me
She is still slowly killing me
Her smooth curves are beckoning
But its her icy contents that bound us
And like the rest I always ask what will it hurt this once
But it happens again and again another lover 
With a pieces of momentary bliss and death that’s hoovering in each and every 
But with her I welcome the former and lace my fingers waiting for the latter 

Together we clatter through this empty house
And laugh for time is now the only thing that matters 
Let it cast our shadows and we can rejoice that ghosts have anatomy
Well that is until the sun passes a certain degree and even our shadows flee 
Because not even they can bare the nightmare that is slowly coming to be
And they dare not guess my fate and dare not stay and wait 

So I guess its just you and me baby 
We can weigh our heavy hearts 
And continue disposing of the memories it carts 
Just as long as I’m asleep by morning because I’ve been promising 
I wouldn’t let clean white light infatuate me anymore 
So lets escape and take that hidden door in my mind
Behind it is a mystery that I’d like to find
Who knows maybe its death waiting to be greeting me  

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Last One Loving...

I got a call, I am to report for military duty in the morning..
I reluctantly tell my wife as she was doing her usual cleaning.

She covers her face with her hands and begins to cry.
I gathered her in my arms and told her I would be back by her side.

Holding my wife, I drifted off on the couch, listening to music.
She was singing and humming quietly to the songs and their lyrics.

She tells me she understands and shows her love and support.
Morning finally came, and she drove me to the airport.

We exchange vows again, and I kiss her tenderly..
She whispers that she will remember this moment blithely.

She received his letters, read and cherished every one of them.
Thinking of the times they were together and the essence of him.

A month went by and she tried every possible way to find her soldier.
She closed her pocket filled eyes and prayed he was out of danger.

Three months passed by without word of his well being.
Trying to stay positive but, in her heart was a dreadful feeling.

She felt so oppressed and worried her hands were trembling.
She was weak and weary, her gait was somewhat stumbling.

She hasn't slept, it seems~since he left.
She takes some sleeping pills and takes a long deep breath.

Couple of days go by and he "rolls" through the doors.
He looked at her paleness and begins to feel remorse.

His thoughts start to torment, right or wrong, was now confusing..
Tears fall from his weary face, his mind is loosing…

She deserves better, he tries to reason with himself.
Reaching, he loads the contents~placing the box back on a shelf......

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The Oldest Part Of The Cemetary

She is standing alone under the street lamp,
The light reflecting off her hair, 
The steam mists from her lips
She doesn’t notice that I am there.

So I pause and watch her leaning on the fence,
Lips and cheeks blushed crimson.
Crystal snowflakes glitter all around her
And light up the solitude she sings in.

Suddenly I am noticed, a slight turn of the head
Your notes disappear so fast I wonder if I only imagined it.
And those eyes, yellow as the moon glow,
Went through me with the wind swirling off the surrounding crypts.

I can no longer stare, now that I’ve been seen
I feel you tense at the approach of possible danger.
So I put up my hands in surrender, with a smile.
Now you know me, we’re no longer strangers.

What kind of person waits until dark
Then walks through a blizzard to sing to the dead?
She said nothing could be worse than never hearing music again
So someone had to come out here to sing to them.

The snowflakes were melting on your eyelashes,
I’d never seen someone glisten, you lit up like a luminary,
I held your hand for the first time that night
12 degrees below zero, in the oldest part of the cemetery.

That was the first time he saw me, 
In the midst of one of one of my many oddities.
I’d been embarrassed by his presence,
Surprised when he hadn’t been quick to judge me.

I’d first braced myself for his attack
Though I felt protected amongst my silent audience.
But I hadn’t seen any malice in your gray eyes
As you took a place beside me against the fence.

You were only cutting through the graveyard after work,
I was the freak with this morbid intentional destination.
You would later say the lilt of my voice that night
Made my audience feather up into a standing ovation.

Always my lyricist, you would pen the words
And I would pour them out beneath the rain.
You were the gilded crow, some child’s pet
And I was a stray that you hoped you could tame.

You thought that because I was able to mimic
That I might succumb to your choice of conformity
But I would never become civilized if it meant giving up
12 degrees below zero, in the oldest part of the cemetery.

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Me and Him

We can't share this body any longer Him and Me.He is killing me and draining me of my strength.He is a weak and pathetic excuse for a person. Oh how I despise him He is always crying and Constantly trying to kill us both. He has even come close a couple times it was my strength that brought us back! Oh how he makes my blood boil. I want him gone, I want to kill him! But he runs and hides from the light and has survived everything I have thrown at him. His only good quilty is that He just wont die. He is nothing but a cockroach and I want him GONE!

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The Curse of Unlimited Time

“Don’t forget to take your dose.”
My stomach in knots, as I shakily spoke.
“Baby, you know my death is coming close.”
“But mommy, I don’t want you to go.”

Doctors walked past,
Blurs of white stepping in and out fast,
As my mother and I tried to make the night last,
Pulling out memories and revisiting the past.

All of our ‘remember when’s’,
Made me wish I was there again,
Back when I thought there was time to spend,
With my mom, on who I could always depend.

“Why’d this have to happen now?”
My lips trembled as thoughts were spoken aloud.
“How can we change it, baby? Please, tell me how.”
“Cancer can’t take you! It’s not allowed!”

I crawled up beside her,
Beside my hero, my mother,
I heard the slow heart of my source of will-power,
And cursed the sickness that absorbed and devoured.

My mind rushed with things I needed to say,
Secrets that I kept so they’d stay out of the way.
But I was cut short as time ticked away,
And only one memory in my mind began to play.

“Remember when I started to cry,
That one day you never told me goodbye?
I always knew it was a silly reason why,
But you came back anyways and this was your reply.”

“My pretty little princess, I love you!
And I will always know you love me too.
So if I forget to say bye, please don’t be blue,
Because our bond is strong and will always stay true.”

The memory made up for things I couldn’t tell her,
And in this moment it made me feel the slightest bit better.
But yet all these emotions were flooding like water,
As I knew I was going to lose my mommy forever.

“I promise I love you baby, that’s all you need to know,”
And this time it was her voice that shakily spoke.
“I’m not scared of death, I’m just scared of letting you go.”
She winced in pain, death was too close.

“Mommy!” I screamed, scared out of my mind.
She smiled, then it faded as she laid there and died.
It’s indescribable what loss and longing I felt inside,
My mind went numb as I couldn’t bring myself to cry.

I need you,
I want you,
I miss you…

I love you mommy.

Dedicated to all who have lost their moms.
In sickness or old age,
Whatever it may have been,
This is for you.

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© By Holly W. Schwartztol

Early on that morning
I wracked my brain
Trying to solve
A computer glitch

As I left the wretched machine
I rose and felt suddenly dizzy
And as the room spun

I chided myself
Saying this isn’t worth
Your having a stroke

I lay down on the bed
Listened to a disc
That promised 
Relaxation and rest

My head stopped throbbing
And the phone rang
The caller ID said

What was she doing at 
Home in mid-morning?
Only the voice on 
The other end
Wasn’t hers

But the 
Maid I’d never met
Telling me of mother’s 
Neck pain and strange speech

And then I knew
That my pain had 
Really belonged to her

That my dizziness
Reflected hers and that
It was she who was
In fact having a stroke

Frantic calls ensued
Between Miami and New York
A neurologist
Saying that the stroke 

Had been massive 
That the prognosis was grim
Words of paralysis
And irretrievable
Brain damage

I faxed the living will
Which is really the
Will of the living isn’t it?

We sat by her bedside
For four endless days
And then her breath
Was no more and she was gone.

And at 62 I was 
Suddenly an orphan
Both parents gone
The older brother
Having gone 40 years ago

How do I live in
This world
On this planet
As the lonely satellite

The last member
Of my nuclear family
Here to sift through
The pictures

And the letters
And all the memorabilia that 
Make up a life

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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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The Wind

A man leaps from a tower's edge
And plummets to the ground.
His eyes are closed; his hands are clean.
He only wants to hear the sound
Of wisdom of the wind.

The seconds slow as he descends.
Floor by floor, he trickles down.
A sense of peace surrounds him so
That he could see the city drown
In wisdom of the wind.

He sees his image fall with him
Along the tempered glass.
A fighter for a worthy cause.
"At least that's what he thought he was,"
Says wisdom of the wind.

"I've seen this man do heinous things.
It's good that he jumped off.
The world's a better place because
This man has given up his life
To me," so screams the wind.

"But, as he's falling to the earth,
I think I feel a tear.
Now why would such a wicked man
Have anything at all to fear,
While falling through myself?"

"I think I'll just sit back and watch
This monster die tonight.
There might be something hiding from
My ever-present, clever sight
That glides through all the wind."

The man continued falling down
Until he reached the street.
A car swerved by the sudden splash.
The driver ran from the concrete
To speculate the scene.

The corpse is resting in the road
Amongst a pile of leaves.
A picture, then, falls from the sky.
This picture of a freshened grave,
Blown in by the wind.

On the back, the message writ:
"Here lies my little girl.
She was my life, my hope, my all.
And now that she has left this world,
I guess I'm leaving, too."

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A Vampire is kissing my neck..YECH!!

It was a quarter past one in the morning
as the echoes of last night quickly went calling
My bedroom window is open for a crack
I felt something crawl up my back
It was a creature of the night looking for a pinch
to drain my body of blood,for was a cinch
Mr.Dracula was looking for a vain
to satisfy the lust before daylight comes out again
Unable to move
nore blink both my eye
Transylvanians have this need to make the victim die
His teeth was razor sharp but the breath needed Dentine
However,I was surely paralyzed,these arms couldn't do a thing
He began to suck
my life's time ran out of luck
Now I am ONE of many devoted LEGION
Watch out for Mr.Bart Jonas,before he wings his way toward your region

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Most of us are too quick to judge
not knowing anything about a person,
and distrust is the outcome of ignorance
capable of setting us apart  from civilization;
first gather the facts, not useless rage,
and the belief that anyone can change
draws ourselves to a truth so unknown...

Hear all the words they speak, use intuition;
do they convince you to continue listening,
or throw you off with idignation?
If that voice sounds too unconvincing,
and can't confirm the answers you're expecting,
come up with questions that are pungent:
transforming those ideas with a thought,
and always believe that anyone can change...

Empires have risen, giving the obsolute power
to fearless men who were made into legends;
some were deserving, but most were tyrants of unclemency,
and did shameful and cruel deeds:
torturing or killing anybody who used to dare;
are we learning something from History?

When Attila the Hun rampaged Italy,
Leo the Great...the courageous Pope,
persuaded the savage king 
not to sack the city of Rome; 
and he also believed anyone could change: 
that any heart, with all its brutality and rage,
could replace its rampant fury and grim
with human compassion and mercy...

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Everybody was horrified of Paul's scruffy looks
with dirt and mud smeared all over his wrinkled face,
and his long nose with dark spots on its tip;
and a grave digger matched that image,
but he was the nicest person on planet earth:
hard-working, estimable, amicable and honest.
After the day's work was done, Paul stared
at the empty lots and whispered to himself,
" Soon I'll be in one of them...I feel it coming! "
One unlucky afternoon he was standing
on the edge of a newly dug-up grave and accidently
slipped and fell into the twenty-feet excavation;
no screams for help were heard...he was dead!
That same afternoon, there was a burial
and as the corpse's coffin was lowered into the grave,
Father Michael spotted a body lying on the bottom of it,
and it resembled that of Paul....suddenly police 
were notified and minutes later a fire truck arrived
to the dreary scene. Then two young firefighters
lowered themselves into the pitch-dark grave by holding
onto sturdy ropes, and without much effort, 
they pulled his bruised and broken body:
he was pronounced dead at two-thirty.
Paul had a near-death experience, one of the most
incredible ones: he visited heaven, the place of bliss!
And as he climbed the gold stairway, he heard many voices
of those he knew in the previous life...they chanted glorifying God,
who was seated on an ivory throne surrounded by Archangels,
Saints and the Prophets whom he remembered from his Bible readings.

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Birthdays come but once a year
A day we celebrate, a day to cheer
We all know the day we're born and our age
For birthdays bring us joy or change of stage

The day I celebrated my fourty-ninth year
On the other side of the world fear
Horror for a young girl named Heather
Who was swimming in ocean waters from boat tethered

Swimming around the ocean deep 
Working up an appetitate for something to eat
Was a great white shark fourteen feet, whopper
Jaws powerful enough to bite through copper

At home I thought I had turned fifty
I figured this year would be very nifty
My father who was in his nineties
Reminded me that I was only fourty-ninty

In a land way down yonder
A girl named Heather was pulled under
Great white figured she was good meat
Nice and tender a very tasty treat

A girl named Heather was saved
That very day lived to be one to praise
People who worked to keep her alive
She praised God who lives in hearts and on high

Sara lived many years
Saw her grandsons through tears
She was the strength and glue
Who saw her family's problems through

Just in recent years in a land down under
A fourteen foot great white shark did blunder
Caught in a fisherman's net
He'll probably live this mistake regret

No, the fisherman cuts the lines
Frees his catch and shark from bind
Now the shark he named Cindy
Follows him around even when windy

Follows him everywhere he goes
Let's him pet her on her nose
Rub her belly and dorsal fin
She even grunts and tries to grin

Which of these do you think is the most grateful
Heather who is now disable
The shark who was spared his life
Or Sara the mother, grandmother, and wife

(The story about Heather is true. The shark circled and bit her right leg.  Then circled and 
grabbed her left leg.  The people on the boat were hitting the shark and try to pull her into 
the boat and the shark took her whole left leg off.  She was only attended by a nurse who 
was on the boat and radioed a doctor on shore as to what to do.  She was 20 hours away 
from the nearest doctor.  She was lifeflighted to a hospital in California where she had to 
have multiple surgeries and now has an artificial leg.     The story about the shark caught in 
a fisherman's net was really not true.  The grandmother here was a true story.)

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Human Error

                            Scarlet scars , an open wound 
                  would summarize this ordeal of suicidal tendencies
                      damaged , the skin bares all frustrations
                    giving into temptation once to end deppression
               and such destruction might've avoided past difficulties
                              by arousing suspicion 
                       yet it's what treatment can't heal
                  fears clearer to caring eyes,then to herself
                    and an inherant wealth of personal pain 
               weighed hurtfully...emotional gravity...heart vacancy
                     relatives' deaths and unrealized dreams
                   pretentious display,is the envogue manner 
                   keeping conversational inappropriates hidden 
                  Her social diet quiet meditation ,journaling ,
                        asian tea and ancient medecinals 
                          experimentation's spiritual
          hoping their chemistry could suppress or at least ease insanity
                  yet impatience proves otherwise..narcotic overdose
                 to no one's suprise , modern news kills shock value 
                          which death's your pleasure 
                       the wiser transcend...human error 


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Taken: Part 1

Better to never touch than never be able to let go
Suppose that’s how it works, but how would he know?
He slowly lifts up his head and opens his eyes
To see there’s no life left to live within the scope of this light

Here he can see that everyone’s gone, everyone left
The shadows give his mind room to play
They bring back the ones he needs to feel home
To make the beating in his chest hurt a little less
Complacency brings the warmth back to his hands
Just as they used to be before the cold came to embrace him
Hands that held so much, fought so many battles
Once had a dream, once served a purpose
But now they hang there empty and aching
No strength left to fight, but is just as well
As there are no more battles left to lose
No burdens left to carry, no faces left to leave
His shoulders slump too low to hold up his head any longer
Corrugated roof finally gives underneath the rain
Curses this city and its apathetic elements
Automatons with hearts, but still without feeling
The bastard children of a father that abandoned them to their own demise
He hates them all as they keep walking, uncaring
Either a hamburger or a loaded gun would suffice
Maybe not; he almost enjoys feeling this unique
No one else hurts as much as he does
No one else ever had as much to lose as he did
Break in concentration; a strangely dressed man throws a card towards him
He knows it’s not trash as the man actually looked at him before he threw it
“Chance of a lifetime: One game, two resulting prizes.”
Ten o’clock and he’s waiting for the door to open
Finally, an over-sized man lets him in and shows him where to sit
Grateful to be out of the wet, cold alleyway he forgets about the game
A man with a deck of cards sits down in front of him
Afterward, four other men sit down at the table
Players, he assumes...

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A Corpse

It was afternoon and month of June 
The Sun shone full in the Asian skies, 
Sending down scorching rays, 
Enough to cause death to those who sleep, 
On the cozy beds made of sponge. 

Beside the public place, upward face, 
I did see a corpse of a child lying 
With belly exposed, legs stretched wide, 
The arms folded on the unbuttoned chest, 
Slight afar from the callous crowd, 
Flies hummed around as if the Death Angel, 
Had done his job early in the morn. 

With chilled blood in the veins, 
And fearful heart in the chest, 
Riveted gaze at the frightening scene, 
Advanced I timidly forcing legs, 
Stood beside examining from top to toe, 
And shook it from the sooty arms, 
To certify belief occupying my mind. 

At the jerk first he sprang up, 
Sat, squatted rubbing the eyes, 
Yawned, snorted breathing aloud, 
To make me believe, he was not dead, 
But it is pity he knew not, 
He was a living corpse.

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Death to Smoochy

This is not how I thought it would end
The air is leaving me so fast
I am alone, without a friend
The world before me is vast
My lungs are starting to burn
This breath I am about to take, will be my last 

Forgive us our sins, just as we have forgiven those who have sinned against us.
Do not let me go without correcting my wrong
When they find out, my family will make such a fuss
My list of sins is far too long

Darkness is very near
I can no longer feel 
There is nothing more for me to fear
None of this seems real

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Grandma's Red Gem

My grandma had a red gem; it was her most prized possession.  When she looked at it you could see her bright eyes shining inside that gem.  She was poor but that gem made her rich for it belonged to her.  The gem and my grandma glowed together she kept in a silver gift box so no harm could come of it.
My grandma had a red gem; she told us stories as how she came to having that red gem.  Our great grandfather was a fisher man, one day he dived deep into ocean and parted the sand and up came the gem.  He loved the gem too for it reminded him of my grandma, so he gave it to her and she promised to keep it forever.
My grandma had a red gem; it was her most prized possession.  She promised to give it to me but I smiled for I knew it didn’t belong to me.  That gem had her heart it was a shoulder she could cry on and a friend she could talk to.  It didn’t belong to me it belonged to grandma.
My grandma had a red gem; on her death bed she sent for her red gem.  She rubbed and kissed it then she closed her eyes.  The red gem fell from her hands I caught it just in time. I connected the red gem to a necklace and at the funeral I placed the red gem around her neck for it was her most prized possession.  She will now be in paradise with her red gem telling everyone the kind and funny stories of that red gem.  

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The unspoken fear

While heading out to pick up a few groceries
in the Italian Deli ‘Pastosa’ on Richmond Road,
fear grips me as I’ve something that I forgot
and can only be available in other supermarkets
like Pathmark, Waldbaum , Cash and Carry, etc.

These are vegetables, fruit, and other ingredients
reasonably cheap and expected to be fresh;
with all the choices being displayed and shown
hordes of them can delight a lot of customers.

When I got home carrying all those stuffs
my mobile phone rang and it was from someone
whose voice sounded familiar with a sad tone
that a friend of mine had just passed away.

I couldn’t speak nor utter a single word
overwhelmed with sadness and shocking news;
struck me most as I recalled him, his mem’ries
that wrought an opportunity to pray for him.

This prayerful moment addressed to God
made me realize and think all over again
death as a surprise and yet an unspoken fear
for so many who seemed they’re not ready yet.

Between today and tomorrow I might include him
in sacred celebrations with the nuns who always pray,
in deep silence and heightened recollection;
I’d pray for him that eternal rest may be granted to him.

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Confessions of a Madman

no, this poem isn't about a psychotic killer. it's about a man who was hurt in a
relationship, so he hurt others the same way. I just used some symbolism. wanted to make
that clear. also, I'm not sure how I feel about this poem yet (how it rhymes, if it's good
enough, etc) so please leave a comment on what you think. thank you, enjoy

Confessions of a Madman

you come to me, a madman
who's heart has been taken
you're wanting a confession
about a monster inside, finally awaken

it all started out so simple,
I lost my heart
and that's when the monster in me,
the demon, awoke with a start

he murdered the girls who loved me
and when he was done
he ripped out their hearts
and ate them for fun

he fed on their emotions
their care, their trust
but his love for the hunt
soon turned to lust

to this day he continues to kill
he continues to feed
he lives inside me
he's all I need

so they call me madman
but wouldn't you agree
that the scary thing is
there are plenty more, just like me

people that are hoping, waiting
for their hearts to be taken
so the monster in them,
the demon inside, can finally awaken

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A Blessing In The Heat (Part 2)

Johnny Clare is an example of many a young man who Cowboy'd in the truest sense of the word. He did a job. He did it well. Though he met an untimely end, his life did not go unnoticed. Continental Oil Company put up a monument to a young man who worked for them, but Larry McWhorter's words made him real. The essence of who he was is immortalized in that poem. It is more than a poem about one is a poem about every Cowboy who ever rode for the Brand. It is a poem about the heart and soul of men who built our country through hard work and sacrifice. It is a poem about one man's basic belief that time may march on, but those everyday Cowboys like Johnny Clare will not be forgotten. The monument stands as a reminder of "where," but Larry McWhorter's words stand as a reminder of "why." His words, a tribute to the spirit of man and a lesson on how to live what you love.

I cried that day. Tears of joy for having shared this moment with Larry and Andrea; for having one of my heroes of Cowboy Poetry recognize me and for his gift of words to me. We have been friends since. I love and respect him and Andrea; because they are good, kind, strong people of the land with deep conviction in their faith and strong relationship with the Savior. They live each day with grace, they give that grace to others and they make all strangers friends. Proud am I that I know them. Lucky am I that I got to go to Weatherford, Texas that day.

I have learned that it's not the trail we ride, but the tracks we leave behind for others to follow that matters. Time may march on, but word and deed live on forever; as does the spirit of any person dedicated to living life to the fullest while serving their fellow man. The impression we leave is our memorial to this earthly life. Building a monument with words and telling the stories about others so they are never forgotten is our memorial
to those we love and admire. Johnny Clare, Larry McWhorter, all those men I grew up with and those I am privileged to call my friends; all living life their way by the Grace of God, all fighting the good fight and marching forward no matter the obstacles, all inspiring us to live life to its fullest. When it comes to great men of heart and spirit the memory never fades and the words of praise are endless. And that, my friends, is the greatest monument of all.

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Paul had a near-death experience,
one of the most incredible ones...
he visited Heaven: the place of bliss!
And as he climbed the gold stairway,
he heard many familiar voices he had
known in the previous life...they happily
chanted glorifying God, who was seated 
on an ivory throne surrounded by Archangels,
Saints and Prophets whom he remembered
from his Bible readings. He tried to look at
God's face, but he was blinded by an intense light...
more brilliant than the sun itself, then Jesus
approached with his out-stretched arms.
Paul smiled and was elated to have found salvation,
but Jesus kindly said to him, " Paul, your time
hasn't come yet, return to Earth and tell them! "
And briefly pausing He continued, " When that time
comes, your honorable name will be written
in the Book of Life, and angels will carry your new body
on their swift wings and you will enter Paradise! "
Paul's face was expressive of disappointment 
and bitterness and weeping replied, " The people
of Earth deride a grave digger so groggy and grubby,
and they mock him with their delirious laughs;
I would rather be dead than return to them! "
 " Go and show them your mercy! " Jesus commanded him.
Paul had only minutes before he would be buried,
so he rushed back and surprisingly saw a large crowd
attending his service as Father Michael, the Chapel's priest,
performed the last rites by splashing Holy Water 
in and around the shadowy grave. They heard a knock 
coming from inside of the coffin...Paul's voice became louder,
" I am alive, not dead...let me out! " Everyone was horrified
and shocked, but Father Michael ordered the mortician to open
the casket and let Paul out. Jubilation filled the chilly air,
and streaks of light filtered through the murky clouds...their shouts
were heard as far as the outskirts of town: Paul was alive!" 
I sat with Paul the day after under the shade of a fragrant pine,
and he told me about his visit to Heaven with tremendous joy
and fervent faith. He admitted that he was wrong not to have
shown them his compassion and with the sincerest smile
he proclaimed, " My anger and grudge have vanished;
I have forgiven them...I am so glad to have returned! " 

Entered in the ramblig Poet's contest,
" In Search Of The Human Mind"
Assignment: A Near-Death Experience

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Poe Much In Little Time

Introduced to Edgar Allen Poe, many and many years ago...
By a teacher who quoted to me; of his love for Annabelle Lee
How his bride died at an early age and left him sad and depraved
This resulted in his drinking to increase because he couldn't deal with grief
Consumption of much alcohol  brought to him an early grave.

(Edgar Allen Poe, January 19, 1809 until 1849.)

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And there was Lucifer,
the proudest angel,
who envied God 
and His endless glory.
But Almighty Jehova
hurled him to Earth,
and Lucifer became 
the Serpent to cause havoc
among Nations.
Wars followed with destruction,
violence and death;
truth was veiled by deception.
Who could have defeated him...
if not Christ himself?
And because of Him,
we live with the vision of Heaven...
of governing with Him for perpetual ages. 
When Lucifer has finished
his kingdom of terror,
he'll be chained in the pit
with every soul he has deceived.
Is that a torture of eternal punishment?
It is worse than dying from an incurable disease:
with more acute pain and desire not to live!
Lucifer: the proudest angel..
willingly disobeyed his Creator,
causing rebellion and turmoil 
among obedient angels...
was he aware of the consequences?
No, jealousy blinded his conception
to foresee what was to come.

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Webs of the fallen
Welcome me
To these stone halls
Where the dead walk free

The path below my step
So creek
Alert the dead
To make groans weak

I see my father
Laid dead and bare
I’d shed a tear
But no soul would care

I see my mother
Down proud and strong
Never I cry
But I will play her song

I see a daughter
A girl I once knew
Her car crashed on the ice
And with her I flew

I see a son
A mind beyond its age
Loved him as a brother
Ending cancer took him that day

This murk, these catacombs
All death is but a lie
Amongst these decaying hearts
Their loving memories reside

Finally death is here
To send me on my way
If I only a question to give
Is the world okay?

Death lightly said to me
The world is weary and proud
Its souls are full of dread 
And are covered in my shroud

But surprised I am still
Your hope is all around
It is larger than my will
And muffles my every sound

You have lived a life so long
But welcome to my land
I’m sorry if this welcomes wrong
We have many a man

Now I walk so willingly
From this world to the next
But happy I am still to see 
My love for life was yearly met

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I Died On The Operating Table At Yale

I died on the operating table at Yale.
My brain aneurysm explosion was off the scale.
My heart, my brain and my lungs all failed.
My life was shaken like a 10 on the Richter scale.
My life, like a train, was totally derailed.
I left my body and above it I sailed.
I looked at my body and it appeared very pail.
I heard my doctor say, "we’ve lost him!"
My chances of resuscitation were very slim
I heard the machine going beep, beep, and beep.
I looked at my body and it looked like I was sleep.
To the other side I sailed like express mail.
Upon returning, I saw my doctors assail. 
They worked at a heroic scale.
They continued their work to keep me on earth.
I heard my doctor say, “we’ve got him back!”
I re-entered my body and began my comeback.
The number of days hospitalized was one-eight-zero.
Because of my miraculous recovery, I shout bravo!

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Sleep tight

What, the hell was that?
I,I can't see, is anybody out there? what!
What did you say? man! what the hell's going on here?
Whoa!! hey! did i just see that? no way!
What time is it? time! there's no time here.
Do you know me? bars! we all know each other!
More bars, no walls! whats your name? you know!
Oh, my god! no! you can't do that! no, wait, stop!
Oh damn! you killed him. what the hell is this place?
No, please don't! stop! put it down! my leg,!
Wait it's not bleeding. is, is this a dream?
What's that? it's a skull, but who's? it can't be,
My god it's mine! but i'm not dead.
Where the hell are we? we, who's we?
Oh, no not again! more bars, now keys, but no doors!
I don't remember sleep, i must be sleeping.
What's that? a light, it's a long way down.
I can feel the blood, and smell the death.
No bars, just a key, their bones, and no lock.
It's bright, it's loud, it's death!
No face, no name, no past, time gone,
So dead, it's done, so long!!

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Mischievious smile, friend of Marie in the Martha Mills, hard worker to support herself and 
Born older girl child of Rome in 1913
Sunshine and clear blue skies today
Freezing weather, so cold the ponds have a thin 
layer of ice still present after two weeks of subfreezing cold in Georgia(unusual).
Laid to eternal rest today, January 10, 2010, while the flute and violin played amazing grace 
and tears fall  on sobbing breasts.
Wife of Cleo, drunkard, forced to leave Butler after raising his hand to Flora one day.
Rome would not put up with abuse of his daughter. Rome would be sad to know that Flora 
had to endure abuse by her own son.
Flora lived a solitary life with a boxer named Mickey, down a dusty dirt road in Taylor county,
after her three children were grown.
Flora was a second mom to her 10 siblings and caregiver of her triplet nephews. She loved
family more than anything.
Life was hard alone, fears crept apon her nights; her tears shamefully came, she strived to 
be tough and mom and dad to her children. Work took her away too often, as all single 
parents must face. Flora outlived two of her three children causing her much sadness. 
Though she lived independently until her death at age ninety six.
Tears roll...

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Billy No Mates

I live a life quite solitary
friends? No, I don't have any
the stench of a loner I do reek
but, peace and queit is what I seek.
Down so low, where do I go?
When i'm in my rabbithole
more a rock without the roll
this hectic city's takin' its toll
all of these people in the street
yet no-one ever returns your greet
they just stare at their feet
pass you by like a piece of meat
their lives seem such a hurry
their faces etched with tire an' worry
they've got no time to spare
just pretend your not even there
some return a smile, every once in a while
but most run a mile, as if i'm an imbecile.
Humanity has gone to sleep
so much so I often weep
why most people are selfish creeps
who make me cry a river deep

I've had enough, i'm off to take a leap
goodbye cruel twisted world,
here I come silent eternal sleep!

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Who could forget what happened on that unsuspecting and sunny day,
when no visible clouds drifted over the Twin Towers?
Little after midnight, the cool rain adds to the melancholy 
of the descending angels; and I join them in prayer to remember the tragedy! 
This should be a day of remembrance, not of hatred for the ignoble acts 
the wicked committed, but would God accept unkindness instead of merciful deeds?

They called it another day of infamy,
and like Pearl Harbor we were taken by surprise;
that was an attack aimed at the military,
but on September 11 the terrorists attacked the civilians!
It seemed like lightning striking down sturdy trees,
and then fire broke out with smoke trails of a thousands feet;
" O my God! ", every employee screamed...quickly running down 
the stairs engulfed by fire...causing an indescribable chaos everywhere! 
" Take my hand, I will lead you to safety! " the firefighter said to the coughing woman. 
" Hold onto my arm! " the policeman yelled out to the frail man,
who had dropped his eyeglasses and couldn't see! 
Every firefighter and policeman acted like them, rescuing many without fearing death;
and hundreds of them, that awful morning, never returned home alive...
what a tragedy for their families that watched in horror and couldn't help!

Who wouldn't remember the courage of their noble and willing hearts?
And furthermore, who wouldn't engrave their valorous names on plaques and monuments?
Up above, by the gates of Paradise...Christ and His Father awaited them to accept their souls;
while archangels surrounding God's throne, sung hymns that humans couldn't sing...
those hymns that all the earthly heroes will sing with them when Heaven mourns again! 

Their portraits, pictures and memorabilia hang above the fireplaces,
and on the decorated walls of the victims' homes, precincts and firehouses;
how could anybody take them down as they were worthless items?
Prize them more than gold or diamonds, o friends grieving that tremendous loss even today;
don't hate those who caused you sorrow and unbearable pain, be forgiving and show mercy...
as God does toward us; o friends remember your heroes for their valor and sacrifice!  

My poem is dedicated to the victims and survivors of the September 11 attacks on America.

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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The Widow

What leaks out of the window pane,
And flows into the ground,
Is evidence of a widow's pain
That's heard her spouse's sound.

She felt his whisper graze her ear.
She heard his lowly call.
"Be safe, my love, and please take care
Within this gloomy fall.

I love you so, my dismal dear.
Please, create not such debris.
My soul's on the abysmal sphere,
So, please don't cry for me.

Sometimes I wish I hadn't died
And left you all alone,
But I'll see you on the other side,
Where we'll both be at home."

Her buried head, so warm with love,
And resting on the seal
Rose to see a cooing dove
Which made the time surreal.

Her eyes were wet with mournful glee
As she bowed to pray,
"Lord, please help my sorrow flee
And let my heart display

A sense of strength not pumped before
Through this old-aged heart.
And let my husband not ignore
The fact that we're apart.

And as I lay me down to bed,
I make this final plea:
Never let me lose again
Unless the lost is me."

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A Momentary Lapse

...a true story

Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

standing apart, the other houses still intact 
with painted jalousies and window curtains. 
She must have fallen asleep, the cigarette 
still dangling from her arthritic fingers;
I never saw her without one. 

She told me of her life in Poland during the war, 
but not her suffering, she never spoke of that. 
She smiled wanly as she showed me old photos 
of family and friends taken on holiday when 
she was younger, long before the ravages of war. 

TV was her constant companion along with 
her nurse and her beloved Pekingese, 
always sitting on her bed. We'd talk for hours. 
She was always interested in my schoolwork, 
and why didn't I have a girlfriend? 

Now she lay in hospital small and silent; 
there was nothing I could do but hope and pray. 
When they drew the sheet up over her I felt an 
emptiness, but no tears came. Fourteen years old, 
my first death close up. When I got home to mom 
and dad, only then in their comforting embrace 
did I sob my heart out.

Her house was just a shell, a burnt-out ruin...

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A Night of Silence

As I lie in bed,
I hear nothing
I see nothing
And I feel nothing.
I feel empty,
I am scared,
I am afraid
I am ready.
This is a night of silence,
In which is ruined.
I pierce it with my screams.
I cut the silence with my tears,
With my pain
I try to stay quiet.
Whimpers from my bloody lips,
As I touch my heart
The spot where I hurt worse
Where pain has no end.
Where I want to stick this knife.
Not the wrist cutting
Or the gun to the head.
No, it’s a blade 
A blade to my heart,
To cut off the pain
To stop the hurt,
To stop my fast hard breathing.
I pierce the skin
But then I stop,
I can’t go any further
Blood trickles down my chest
But I can still breath.
I touch my left breast
And I feel the blood.
I feel my pain draining
Draining from me,
As if I’m being cleansed.
I cry,
I sit,
I listen,
And I lie in bed 
And I think.
I cleanse myself
Now once again
It’s a night of silence.
I feel right,
I feel strong.
I am ready for the new day.
Ready for the darkness
And ready
For a night of silence.

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Man on the holy mountain

From the top of the mountain, so high
he sits and watches, his children play
he closes his eyes, and he cry's
Through the silver clouds of heaven,
rain begins to fall, washing his children
the lan runs red, turning dust to clay
The winds begin to howl, with a voice of sorrow 
as a father mourns, the loss of his child
the man looked up, toward the heavens
he spoke softly, but they are my children!
with that the sun and the moon moved together,
melting into one.
The clouds grew dark and began to rumble
the stars exploded into a brilliant blue,
while falling from their place in the sky
striking the ground with such force,
as to make the mountains quake
The children no longer played, they ran with fear
but it was too late, there was no place to hide!
Multitudes of warring angels, covered the day-night sky
lighting their way with swords, made from the eyes of, 
captured demons.
Watching as the iron clad angels, swooped down upon
the children, grabbing them up, devouring them whole.
The man on the holy mountain, pleaded!
But the lord god said"NO"
we must cleanse this sinful playground
destroy the rotten flesh, plant new seeds of love
and forgiveness in this dark world!
They smiled, as all went black!!!!

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The Cardinal and the King

There were once two men
Who both ruled a country together
The year was Seventeen Hundred and Ten
When the two leaders met each other

One man was a Cardinal
Who belonged to the Catholic Church of Rome
And no matter what he was doing or thinking
He always wanted to go back to his home

The other man was a king
Who was unfit and too young to rule a country
When the Cardinal kissed the King's ring
Something was brewing inside of him

Between the two men
The Cardinal would be seen at night
Sneaking into the King's bedchambers
But one evening, there was an awful fight

Between the two men
The Cardinal told his "friend"
That he was going back to Rome
And that their "friendship" would have to end

The king in a fit of rage
Struck the Cardinal with a statue across the head
The Cardinal was hurt badly
A few hours later, he was dead

Not only did the King get away with murder
But he was at the Cardinal's funeral, in tears,
And wearing nothing but black
In all of the years

He was never really happy
But when that Cardinal came along
He thought he had finally fallen in love with someone other than his queen
But he was dreadfully wrong

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You think you know me,
but you really don't,
your body, and mind,
I have come to haunt.

My purpose in life,
is to get you high,
I'm poison you see,
I'll take your life.

Many have found me,
they love me so,
I can take your women,
and turn them into w_ _ _ _ _.

Late at night,
or early in the morn,
your moods will change,
like a fast moving storm.

Everything about you,
I want to destroy,
whether you be a woman,
girl, man, or boy.

I really hate you,
but I'll never tell,
my mission for you,
is leave you in hell.

Rotting teeth,
sores that bleed,
these are my gifts,
so you can thank me.

I am of the devil,
I will always be,
now look in a mirror,
at the skeleton of need.

If you want free,
just walk away,
there are plenty more like you,
waiting to take.

Addiction can mean death,
for some you know,
addiction to Meth,
will drag you so low.

I don't want to scare you,
but I thought you should know,
the life you have now,
you will have no more.

Please excuse my graphic language,
but Meth is not a drug to play with, it will
kill you, .....there
is help out there in every town, city, and state,
find the nearest help center, and let them help
you if you are addicted or know someone who is....

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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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Death's Cure

As memory mirrors my younger days
I've chased my reflection in old age
My heart endured 
Fear of death as I've waisted time searching for its cure
Failure ends my quest
In joyful acceptance , I feel no pain , regret
or fear...though death is near

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' Jennie - Pennie (My Big Sister)

Everywhere I Look … I See Jennie
Short, Red-Hair and a Smile, So Bright and Pretty
Jeanette … my Older, Big Sister… I Wish I was More Like Her…
        … My Dear Jennie … My Sweet Jennie …

Treated me like I was Her Baby … That was Jennie
Helped me to be a Real-Lady … Just like Jennie
Taught me how to Share and just how to say my Prayers …
        … Jennie … Great Lady Jennie

She was in Her Early Adult Years and I was Young Too
… when Mama Left… There was nothing, We Could Do …
            … Cancer … is not a Loving Word …
        I Wish It Had Been The Last I’d Heard …
                … Oh Jennie … Loving Jennie …

In that Cold-Clinical-Room … Lay Jennie
She Would Be Leaving Soon – God ! … Not Jennie !
She asked me, ‘Did She Fulfill … God and Our Mama’s Will …?’
        Yes, You Did Jennie… I Said You Did Jennie !

… She was in Her Late, 40-Years, but Still, Much Too Young To…
… Like when Mama Left… There was nothing, We Could Do …
                     … Cancer … is not a Loving Word …
                    I Wish It Had Been The Last I’d Heard …
                           … Oh Jennie … I Love Jennie …

When I Wrote This Song … I was Missing Jennie
God … We Can’t Believe She’s Gone … I Loved Jennie
        Jennie-Pennie … You Kept Your Promise…
                  Mama Will Be Proud of Us…

… May Jesus, Call Jennie … When The Time Comes, Please Call Jennie
          Lord Call Jennie … Lord Call Mama … and Then Lord Call Me …

            Jennie, Left Loved Ones... February 29th, 1992 …
          I hate Leap-Years Now …. ‘til I Leap of Faith to You …
                     … Cancer … is Not A Loving Word ! ! !
                             Will It Be The Last I Heard ? …

                      In Memory of my Beloved Sister

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You Are My Curse

I had to let it all go,
The day and night,
Their hours ran too slow.
It was more than just a fight.
I trusted you and knew you,
My love succumbed to the worst,
Faith and loyalty just wouldn’t do.
You became my curse.
I was pulled down to Earth’s plane,
And judgment did set in.
Then new days begin.
I stood parallel as many went insane.
My heart drenched and my soul crunched,
I couldn’t let my heart take this very much.
I died and I died losing each endless breath,
I swallowed the victory and ate your death.
You reaped and I sowed,
But I saw no one grow,
Not even you.
What was I to do?
I let it go very slow,
Now I am all grown,
And I’m on my own.
I died watching you go.
I will always remember begging mercy,
I will always know this pain,
You are my curse you see,
And nothing did you gain.
I can never just be alright,
I can never love you the same again.
I died watching you go out of sight.
You are my curse and forever in my heart you made an end.

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Black Sin

Praying on my knees,
Hoping that Allah can forgive me
From the sins
That gives me pleasure,
Much pleasure.

Sin is all I know,
Sin is my way of living.
It’s the only thing that’s
Worth living for…
To me atleast,
Then came the torture,
My heart throbs, angrily
As the floor shakes, constantly.

I run to the place
Where I keep my deadly weapons,
“Black Sins”, some may call it,
But all I want to do is save myself,
Not my family…
I know what they are after.
I am dead,
I know, 
But I can’t go down
Without a fight.

“Allah, please forgive me”…
I gathered my “black sin”
And headed towards the family room,
To my surprise,
I had several unexpected guests…
But only three caught my attention.
It wasn’t a pretty sight,
For I knew that I was going to die
A DEATH much similar to the people

They shot my wife,
But I just wanted to save myself,
I had plenty of wives…
I ran downstairs
To see my death approach me,
Something that I thought I would never see.
All of a sudden I felt pain,
An excruiting pain,
Build up in my brain.
“Allah, please for—“
I was out.
I was solid.
I was dead.

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Her First Homicide- part one

As I bounded down the stairs, I caught you watching me.
With blue green eyes, it was the first time I saw you.
My mother introduced you as her gay friend from work.
She said you could be converted, I wondered why she’d want to.

You were only a twenty three year old waiter
With mahogany waves of hair draped down your chest.
You became a regular at my house, drinking in my living room.
So the day you showed up hours early was just like the rest.

I sat down beside you as you poured a drink and handed it to me.
This was the beginning us, soon you were coming over every day.
You let me inside you and told me everything, It made me have to ask
How if you had never been with a woman, could you know you’re gay?

I’d caught you speechless, a rare thing for you
You couldn’t come up with any good reasons
Just that it was the first thing you experienced and you liked it
You’d only had sex with men. I had only willingly slept with woman.

One night, on the couch in your apartment
You leaned down to kiss my lips.
Everything after became a blur
Your body brail beneath my fingertips.

We gave ourselves to each other that night
For the first time, sex felt safe to me.
The beginning of you and I together
Another secret we both had to keep.

I wanted to experience everything new with you
And do everything I had done already, with you there.
I felt certain that your presence could make anything better.
The world could have been falling down outside, I didn’t care.

It was my own fault for seeing you stronger than the others.
There are some things I never should have introduced you to.
But I was so eager to run away form the pain in my life.
So before I took my hit, I emptied the syringe into you.

So began another lesson, I wish I had already learned.
Unlike me, you refused to come back from your escape.
And the more I would try to talk you back to the world
The more and more you would take.

to be continued....

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Forgive Me Father

Into the darkness,
where eyes can't see,
only voices crying,
"what is happening to me."
"Is anyone out there,
where daylight dwells,
do you have an answer,
does anyone care?"
Paper stacked up,
with no value at all,
vaults with guards,
behind these walls.
The forgotten word,
from somewhere within,
forgive me Father,
for I know I have sinned.

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Poor Young Paul

Goodbye Paul, my dear young friend, 
even thought it wasn't you're end, 
I still get those messages you send. 
You burned so bright you lived so fast, 
surely that pace could never last, 
you lived like a law unto yourself, 
left that rulebook on the shelf, 
you were a rebel, always in trouble, 
upto so much you must have had a double, 
but not a bad lad, just headstrong, 
it might have been right for you, but others saw it wrong, 
we all saw the good in you, 
a caring heart, pure and true, 
fate conspired to take you away, 
but you still hear every word we say. 
To be dead for longer than alive, 
fond memories and photos are all that survive, 
in our thoughts though you live and thrive, 
strength from your presence I now derive!

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Shadow Train of Death

As often as the wind still blows,
It stays constantly in my mind.
How many days are left? Who knows?
Today and tomorrow not promised nor signed.

Signed for a contract called for life,
Not even with the promise of some words.
Amongst the many nights of strife,
I've worn bandages for my cuts and burns.

War wounds that thus let's me know,
That I can't just let go now.
At the end of the day it clearly shows,
The defeat as my head nervously bows.

So weak from all the tourment,
Lacking with so much dispair.
Misery, I don't want to keep moving.
I see there's no point for me here.

So heavy with all the depression,
With gloom I'm permantly anchored.
No where to run when it leaves the station,
The train of ruin, migh as well climb aboard.

So sweetly I'm tempted with the kiss of death,
I pushed long enough, I promise I did try.
I was poor in life, but with the riches and wealth,
I must now say my final "Good-Bye".

The train leaves at midnight

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just look to the sunrise in the east

She'll always be remembered for her golden hair
Youll never forget her grey green stare
But youll always forget her writing
Youll forget her words of fighting
Her poetry of crying
And her pleas of dieing
Youll forget her screams
But youll still see her in your dreams
Youll always remember the beauty but never the beast
Just look to the sunrise in the east
There you will find her rising with the sun in all her beauty
And all her fraility
You will see her there rising dead and alone 
With her wrist forever sown
If you look to the east where the sun shall rise
You will find her clensed of all the lies
You will find her price
Her sacrafice
What it took to make her whole
And because of what you stole
This beauty will fade away
But not her wisdom
For in her book it shall forever lay

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a rose

A rose lay dead and dry
As a Girl sits to cry
The rose feels her tears
but knows not of her fears
The dead, dry rose can sense her pain and sorrow
For it too has no tommorrow
Alas that girl and the rose will sit there together and crumble
Their souls shall tumble
And the two will wither away
They'll both rot today
That girl and the dead, dry rose will never see another sunrise again
For today their end began....

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For Mom

S he saved us all from a life of mediocrity. 
silly smart beautiful barefoot dancer in the flower bed
Nurturing to everyone 
leaving the least for herself
She was my best friend, but we were hell at parties
I remember her in a paper dress
that was a picture of a cat
some hippie outfit, with a smile 
half way out of our house on wheels
Yoga dancing every day doing something for the sun
meeting each and every face of God
more often with the passing years she would
drink a disillusioned toast to lost chances and opportunities
as the medicine cabinet grew in color and content
Taking the brunt of our losses for herself
with inner mingled heaven sent victories and joys

One day she arose yellow as the sun and swelling
she took it lightly as a drop of rain
with one liners we'll never forget
"So much for retiring in Mexico." 
she would quip with a nervous laugh
It was the pancreas some say the very worst place
but there's a point where pain is pain
inseparable from itself

I tried to make it home in time to say "goodbye"
I missed her by four hundred miles,
I'll put that in my box of guilt and hide it somewhere
out of sight for now.
She didn't go easy, I didn't bother asking God 
why he would let her go that way,
thrashing holding on to life, maybe hoping against
that four hundred mile gap that I put on a mantle 
behind a broken vase
She was my best friend but we were hell at parties.

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Morning Star

Across her village far deep in to the forrest Morning Star found peace and 
contentment. Here away from her village, the young girl enjoyed the daylight 
hours with the sounds and beauty of nature and it's animals. Beyond the forrest 
the mountains held a mystery all their own. Their beauty touched her soul and 
spirit yet they seems so far off to her.Her thoughts wondered what lay over them 
and what new world lay beyond those haunting peaks reaching to the sky.
    Suddenly the early morning was shattered by the sounds of gunfire. With all 
the men gone hunting no one was there to protect the village. Morning Star's 
thoughts were of not only the others in the village but of her mother and baby 
sister, she had to get back to them. Screams of women and children cut through 
the forrest as the scent  of smoke and the sounds of horses grew closer.  
Suddenly the sounds began to fade and only the smell of smoke remained. As 
she stood at the clearing, Morning Star saw what was left of her village. Unable to 
move as her eyes looked across the bodies of women and children laying all 
around. Tears filled her eyes as she walked by so many searching for her 
mother and baby sister, hoping that they had fled to safety. There in the dirt lay 
her mother clutching her baby sister, both dead. How could this have happened? 
How could the soldiers have done this to them?
  Morning Star placed a blanket over her their lifeless bodies and slowly walked 
away. Her life as she knew it was gone, dead along with her mother and baby 
sister. She was the only survivor.  Slowly she walked back into the forrest. Dusk 
was beginning and the forrest would keep her safe for the night. Tomorrow she 
would search for a way up to the mountains, there she would find a path to her 
destiny and what the spirits have chosen for her. She would be the only one to 
tell the story of all who had been lost this day. She would be the only one to keep 
their story alive for generations after this.

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Taken: Part 2

The cards are dealt and the game begins
He can’t feel the cards as most of his nerves are dead, but he sees himself holding them
Seems impossible; he’s already holding two aces
Calls for three cards to replace the others
Astounded, he stares at his current hand
This additional ace makes three
One more go-around awards him with the last and final ace
He knows he’s won, but refuses to believe it’s real
Lays down the cards, the game is called in his favor
The strangely dressed man approaches him with the prizes
In his left hand he bares a .357 Magnum with one bullet to spare
In his right, a check for two million dollars
He briefly basks in the opportunity to finally have relief
To finally afford and buy the freedom he’s so long dreamt of

Seems ironic; the final betrayal, this last, final thought
Is of nothing and no one, but the one he lost

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A soldier's daughter

There once was a girl with pale blond hair.
	She went with her family one day to a fair.

	They played lots of games and ate lots of food.

	But none of this seemed to brighten the child's mood.

	So they went to the park and swung for a while.

	Her parents silently wishing to see their little girl smile.

	But deep inside she still felt sad.

	For she knew something terrible about her dad.

	Tomorrow her dad would be going far far away.

	To a place that's fighting nearly everyday.

	She knows her dad is a very strong man.

	Still she fears she'll never see him again.

	The years go by and she grows older.

	Living each day the daughter of a fallen soldier.

	There once was a woman with pale blond hair.

	Who found out too early that life doesn't always play fair.

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Dusk’s gathering of souls each gesturing in solemn code Remembering their dead kindred’s past As flowers and their last remains are cast into the ocean’s embrace Nothing fulfilled their heart’s void or replaced Lost love , stolen during their most tender time Sometimes a child’s fate’s unkind Each kindred child yearning an intimate past An Inherent truth of fate , poisoned their sacred blood will everlast The lost’s kindred mature through solemn emulation How the young children integrate without elder expectations Practiced verbatim...echoes, remind... many of their trying times Each immersed in solemn prayer , in memory of the past Unseen their faithful savior’s task Some fail to realize some miracles are invisible to pain veiled eyes and to strangers whom the lost remain statistical Perhaps divine intervention’s mythical to those grieving whose belief is now disdain The dead number as the stars , each is a candle flamed burning in celebration of those unnamed Withheld faithless anger is diffused by regret as the elders were unable to avoid their children’s death Wisdom , blind faith, and prayer is critical Though most would trade this fate , to escape pain of vigil

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Never Ending Tunnel

Slowly walking down
the never ending tunnel.
A bright light blinds my eyes,
but I hear soft sweet music.
It soothes away the pain.
The light keeps getting brighter
and the music stronger.
But still as sweet as it was.
I keep walking down
the never ending tunnel.
I start to turn.
I can not go on.
Fighting for my breath.
Fighting for my heart to beat.
I'm back home
where I truly belong.

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Opening a Place

An empty darkness
Unable to fill
People walk slowly
In wonder of your will

Then they shoot nasty
Unhumane, and cold
Questions about how 
You live in this mold

And it is disturbing
How often something
Is said about
How often you are bumbling

When the world is about 
To fall on your face 
Only one thought comforts you
And its about losing your place

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	                             Old is my aging mind
	                       Its lost its perception of time
	       Fading memories of yesterday were sublime
	              Those memories ...forgotten over time
	             Exaggerated after depression relapses
	   Seizures , fainting spells , and sudden collapses
	             Tired and bored of forgetting memories
	               When most yearn to heal and believe
	                               in mythical spirituals
	                  in cures and in near death miracles
	       Reap confusion and regret as their minds rotten
     Forget those who’ve forgotten those who’ll forget those who’ve forgotten
	                   How to remember common sense
     I’ve committed murder , it’s bad karma and I’ve lived in purgatory ever since
               Contracting common sense has cured my senility and ignorance
	       Took these pills and I’m waiting in suspense
	Dead , soul journed for seven days than materialized
	         Took the same pills here on the other side
	                                    Eulogy for suicide

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Ocean's Death

The ocean’s waves beating
Beating against a huge rock
Ocean’s waves washing away the sand
The seagulls gulling
The salty smell of the sea
So overpowering
So calming
So relaxing
Then running towards death
I jump in the black, cold water
Feeling dead, as cold as death
The waves push me under
Their weight crushing my body
Feeling, groping, in the dark
Dying, fleeing, being…
I look death in the eye
It screams…I die…

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Freelance Contractor

Freelance contractor

I’ve been a ghost for centuries.
Qualified by experience.
No diplomas or degrees
 but plenty of self confidence.

  Although I died quite suddenly.
Beheading does not take too long
I just accepted readily
the choice of sides I made was wrong.

I lived my life as best I could
 like other men I made mistakes.
 And did not do the things I should
 One wrong decision all it takes.

 Although a failure as a man.
 I am a most successful ghost
 I do the very best I can
 Although I am not one to boast.

I take a pride in what I do
 I can appear and disappear
(I’m one of the accomplished few)
 to fill a humans heart with fear.

I’ve haunted stately homes with pride
I’ve walked abroad without my head
Through solid walls I quickly glide
 I am enjoying being dead.

Alive I earned but small respect
 in fact nobody noticed me.
But now in my ghostly aspect.
 I’m treated most respectfully. 

 Some day I know I must move on
 but I can feel no urgency.
Although my dearest friends have gone.
 A ghost is all I want to be.

I’ve been a ghost for centuries.
I find it suits me very well.
I do exactly as I please
The skills I have I freely sell.


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Quake-stricken town in China

I was truly saddened by the massive quake
that shook China’s Sichuan province;
It was a huge disaster, a furious nature
that at times like this is indeed doleful.

I saw images of devastation all over,
I saw human sufferings in this situation;
I couldn’t believe their profound sadness
seeing deaths in legendary proportions.

Described as one of the worst disasters
in terms of lives claimed and destructions,
there’s superstition or tradition they say
that this might foreshadow in any way
a reigning emperor to have met his death.

Like a historical phenomenon years ago,
when the famous Tangshan quake shook.
the entire land where thousands were killed
and this happened just before the death of
the famous Chinese leader Mao Zedong.

That’s history! An unforgettable event;
a tragic episode that never occurred
to some minds with deep attachments
to this country where Communism 
played the role in varied situations.

Quake victims received great attention
especially in the world of communication;
most of them I heard were migrant workers
from the countryside in search of fortune.

With the growing population elsewhere
I saw how Chinese people struggled
in their own way to overcome misfortunes
that life could go on with their convictions.

Right now, our major print, news and TV media
are sources and avenues of global information;
like epidemics and natural devastations
remind me of our shared, nationwide disasters.

Back in the Philippines where I was born
a litany of calamities and all kinds of anger –
they’re natural catastrophes like volcanic eruption,
all these shaped my vision and love for the people.

Oh, China, our neighboring country in Asia,
I could feel the shadows of your pain and mourning,
Your own people are also in my heart and attention
 with God I pray to him that you’ll be all right.

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beginnings and endings

i go in the morning, 
as i normally do, and 
warm my cup of coffee,
robust awakenings to today,
sit down and begin to arouse and 
contemplate the day before me

after a bit, i move about and 
down the last of the cup,
then i swish the final in 
and i realize immediately 
and run to the kitchen sink 
a few steps away
...and spit out.

i look down and see
a dark form in the sink
unmoving, i mindfully think,
a fly, as dead

with revulsion i feel
the solidness still
within my mouth bouncing 
across my tongue,
and glance again
to the bottom of the sink
and spy the second fly!

two dead flies i surmise
were stroking in my cup
in the romance of the night,
buzzing vaguely French soundings
between them, ripples expanding
in their caffeinated pool

"aaah, my dear you make me
feel so alive! so energized!"

"oooh, i too feel alive my love
in this cool dark water
with you...drowning beside me"

and i wonder if these
anthropomorphic house flies
really loved each other...really,
and would prefer to...go down,
together rather than fly alone
past one more night of 
speeding blissful intercourse

touching, still, it leaves a
peculiar taste in my mouth

© Goode Guy 2011-10-04

a guy, alas, a true story.



four days later, i wake and 
find my cup in the kitchen.
a bit more savvy now
i dump the inch or so
left in the cup, in the sink

a dark form, forlorn, lies still
the winged jilted lover, 
i think, how  bittersweet,
that the third too, wished
to commit caffeinated suicide

now that the pot is hot and
a new day is possible

© Goode Guy 2011-10-08

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often in the grand scheme of God's desires
He will use mankind to do what He requires
His providential purposes God's master plans
will utilize any and all types of man

the Pharoah declared a most horrendous decree
of infanticide on Jewish male babies
to put them to death to keep their numbers down
fearful of having too many Jewish males around
but history has a way of repeating itself again and again
as the young Black male populations today hangs by a fringe
with incarcerations, police brutality and killing each other
we're on the verge of eradicating our young Black brothers
a supposed threat to society that same old racist mentality

yet all it takes is for God to send someone to be bold
one person unafraid to break away from the mold
over 400 years of praying and keeping hope alive
a people once in slavery but today they now thrive
from Moses to Jeremiah to the Rev. Dr. King
to President Barak Obama God can change anything
One Bold Black Soul to say what needs to be said
One Bold Black Soul whose life is spirit-led

don't let the world compromise your moral integrity
let prayer be the tool you use to claim the victory
you need some solitude to simply reflect
on that which God desires of you and what of you He expects
God will be what you want no matter what you need
and He will do whatever is needed to help you succeed
so walk in the spirit and just wait for your time
and be ready to act when God gives you a sign
to be called into place with God's saving grace

Jeremiah told the people of the prophecy
about their demise if they confront their enemy
he was then thrown into a pit full of mud and slime
his death to be a certainty in a very short time
but One Bold Black Soul stepped up to the plate
and told the King to save Jeremiah before it was too late
One Bold Black Soul an Ethiopian man
told of the soldiers diabolical plans

to be bold, to be risky, to be resilient in your resolve
to step out of your comfort zone until the problem is solved
from Rosa Parks to Medgar Evers to Malcolm X
to do what is prevalent and not what society expects
creative in courage, inspired with innovation
by any means necessary to change the situation
One Bold Black Soul willing to step out on a limb
to stop history from repeating itself once again

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Tear Soaked Pillow

As the pillow lies there quietly
it contemplates on asking the question, why?
why are you crying?
what are you saying with those blood-shot eyes?
what's being muffled into this brown cloth of mine?
than the pillow realizes why this man is also asking why
through those muffled cries
she hears the name merry and knows all is not fine
she met her before
one night she slept on her
the pillow knows she wanted more
she listened to the man on nights when he was in
she heard the laughs, she heard the fights
she knows the man was happy with her in his life
as the pillow listens to the man cry
she can't help but feel sorry because he takes out a knife
the pillow starts crying
"please don't end it now,
 you're hurting I understand
but please I'm here now,
punch me, kick me, release your tears into me,
I'm here for you when you need rest
I'm here for you please
the man can't hear the pillow pleading
the man gets angry and curses at god
the pillow stops and thinks
"hes talking about Jessica and the last time he was on the brink"
be careful what you do to people, especially the one you love
because one day that special person will die
with or without your love
it finally happened, the end of the path on an inevitable course:
the man took up the knife
put it to his chest and ended his life
with his last dying breath
he reaches for the pillow
he kisses her and puts her to his chest
she starts crying because she's alone
as a blood soaked pillow

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A soldier s tale

Trust on the basis of truth: endless war,
it’s a tragedy, a great destruction of humanity;
It’s suffused with blood, pain and mortality,
a case for the rest of the whole entire history.

  While many who go to war are pretty young,
  distinctions between human culture and God’s
  make a great difference on the basis of violence,
  a negation of the bible, the opposite of interactions.

Thousands of lay people have died in revolutions,
thousands of soldiers too have been killed in war;
it’s like a helpless nightmare that one can’t forget,
to leaf through the chapters of their bloody defeat.

  The reality is evidently a downfall of this country,
  It’s hard to see how America has failed in this category;
  unreasonably riled up about terrorists’ attacks
  that knocked down the mighty powers unguardedly.

This is the age that boasts science and technology,
this is the time that revenge validates its own reply;
It’s witnessed with fear and catalogue of disasters,
that run through the pages of history and culture.

  Stained with the blood of these poor, young soldiers,
  like blood of the martyrs who became a spectacle;
  It’s a reminder that we devote ourselves to prayer
  a continuing prayer, a deep supplication to our Lord.

Prognosticators of doomsday like those of wars,
have captured media networks in all nations,
Headlines frequently of late scream and stumble,
because of endless fights, bombings and killings.

  Overwhelmed by the mountains of complaints,
  criticisms, and recommendations to halt the disaster,
  war in Iraq that has plagued the global continents
  like fire and sulfur that rained down in the times of Lot.

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Memoirs of Pope John Paul II

He gave me a strong impact,
with his gift for immemorial gestures;
he embraced the sick and handicapped
he kissed the soil of the nation on his first vist.

As an occupant of the Chair of St Peter,
he brought the world, a message to everyone
his defense for the poor, a substance to carry on
as a church in her journey across cultures.

The awesome volume of his writings,
reveal the kind of pope he was
as a theologian suffused with faith;
as a philosopher endowed with reason.

In his very person, he was charismatic
as a teacher and defender of faith, 
he set new directions, left a legacy
and continued the Roman Curia, multicultural.

On themes expounded in his documents,
speeches, homilies and reflections,
he brought the Gospel vis-a-vis the Magisterium
in all spheres that concern contemporary life.

As the first non-Italian pope in 455 years,
since the Netherlander Hadrian VI in 1552
and ever since his election to papacy,
by any measure, he’s a man for all seasons.

Albeit, he’d his disappointments,
his own share of sorrows over clergy in misbehavior –
the scandal of sexual abuse, particularly in this nation,
he remained firm and prayerful as a leader.

In spite of his frailty, Parkinson’s disease and other ailments
he continued his journey with deep faith and sacrifice.
his interreligious relations made a difference,
he visited mosques, synagogues and convened those other leaders.

He canonized saints more than 470  of them,
he beatified more than a thousand men and women.
such a milestone in the life of our Catholicism,
the call to holiness woven in discipleship.

He impressed believers of every faith
with his greatness in many ways;
like one of his favorite phrases, 
quoting what St Augustine once said,
“Vobis sum episcopus, vobiscum christianus,” 
he celebrated life, helped shape Christendom
with analyses of countless human lives.

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Guilty, Guilty, Guilty


As the doors to my prison door slammed shut.
   It was then I realized just how deeply my life had sunk into this rut.
And why, what was the reason that put me here?
   Second degree manslaughter and they said it quite clear.
It seems I plowed into a van full of kids coming from a high school game.
   One mother cryingly said, don’t you have any pity do you feel any shame?
For she lost two sons that night, that night of the game.
    I was there executioner, I was to blame.
I was just out for a good time making all of the bars.
    I didn’t know I was that drunk but I still pack those scars
The jury found me guilty that very first day.
    And the old judge handed me my sentence he said son you must pay.
Well locked in those handcuffs they carried me back to my cell.
     I heard one mother holler, I hope you rot, you rot in hell.
Thirty years was the sentence but not near enough.
     For it was three young men’s lives that I did snuff.
The death penalty would have been more fitting for this deed that I’ve done.
     Letting a drunk person drive is like giving a crazy person a gun.
And I think the people that sell the stuff need to be accountable as well.
     Let them get a little taste of sitting in a cell.
Folks this is just a made up story but it could have been true.
    For there were many nights I was out there driving drunk uncaring of what I 
could do.
I’m the lucky one, for God took my desire to drink and I don’t anymore.
   Alcohol is an addicting drug with a swinging door.
It weakens all your defenses and it makes you a bum.
    And like the man in this story his life will never be worth nothing he turned it to 
So friend if you’re an alcoholic, admit it to yourself then seek help, and right away.
    But please do it before something like this happens, that’s all I have to say.

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I remember standing with my feet in the laughing waters of the lake
Watching a feather float on by 
Slowly down the shoreline it went
As if I was meant to follow it and so I did just that

I followed the feather
With its black tip and two stripes
Splashing along after it
In the cold waters 
With the sands between my toes

The sun shinning brightly above me through speckle clouded sky
Where a cooling breeze whispered in across the waters
To soothe my skin and breathe upon my face
Lightly run its fingers through my hair

And there on the lakeshore I came upon her
Beautiful with her black hair
Like the daylight shooting stars cascading through the sky above us
White dress and smile . . . 

A smile such that it held fast my breath
Across her eyes it fell sweetly, tenderly in her lips and cheeks
Sheathed by her hair swaying in the wind’s soft touch

She held the feather in her hand
Her eyes met mine and there in the early morning light of summer’s sighing
I did speak to she . . .

“That’s my feather,” my voice it whispered hardly more than a breath

“It’s beautiful,” said she with a soft voice and shy smile

And still when she smiled I remembered everything
I remembered her
I remember you
As my little fingers with the fullness of life yawning before them 
Tied the feather into your hair
I remembered in a wash of tears streaming down my soul, 
I do, I do, I did and I will again . . .

“My name’s Navriss,” I sighed and though I could not see through these tears

“Hi,” I heard you say. “My name is Rhane.” 

And I remembered then . . .

A smile

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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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A Rose Short-Lived

In the early days of March, at the very start of spring
I saw people plant roses, and praise the love they would bring
Well, at that point I had been saving a special sort of seed
And that spring I would plant it, even though there where warnings, I did not heed
And now loves rose is dead, and with it, burnt, is loves creed

Woe! That seed I had saved, held close and took care of from a very early age
That seed I had obtained from an accidental meeting, on the swings, at a very early age
Now I fear that this seed is ruined, and I fear I’ve lost a friend
It’s a fear that digs deep into my cold, melancholy core, I can’t pretend
For it was a beautiful friendship, that I never intended to end

Yes, I had planted this seed in the early days of March, the month of my birth
And though at first the rose was shy, it slowly stemmed out of the earth
 But it was soon growing faster, faster even than the fabled roses of lore
It grew with such a haste that one might have thought that it wouldn’t grow anymore
Yes, this rose, that might have frown too fast, had put love in my core

Now, on the last day of March, the very date on which, many years ago, I was born
This rose gave me a gift as it hid from me every thorn
And this rose, it seemed, had given me the will to succeed 
In my life, I had finally had the confidence to take the lead
I loved, more than anything, the rose that sprouted out of this seed 

And the month that followed, I can’t lie, was bliss
And it’s time I will, forever more, miss
For the month following, I regret to say, my rose died
Indeed, it was the only time that, for a flower, I had ever cried
It left me weeping, with no ego left to gloat, with no self pride

Yes, early in May is where you may date my death
Call me death, for without that rose, I’m not living, though I still draw breath
Lay me on my death bed, and let my quietly pass on, away
For any place without that rose is no place I want to stay
So please, lay me on my death bed, and leave! Let me lay

Woe, that rose died, and I can only guess why
Perhaps I watered it too much, and forced it to be too un-shy
Perhaps I was too ignorant to say the words it needed to hear
Yes, perhaps, perhaps, that all I can say
And I will say it all the while 
While I walk away

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Cutter's Lament

He was supposed to be my dad
He was supposed to make me glad
He should not have made me sad
Now I don't feel the same.
He should have handled me with care
We should have had a world to share
He should not have touched me there
Why do I feel some of the blame?
I couldn't tell my mom, nor my counselor in school
I couldn't face myself, feeling like a fool
Now I lose control when my urges start to rule
Will these feelings never cease?
Now, in the darkness of my room, when I'm all alone
Feeling my life is over, I don't have one of my own
As I cut my arms, I feel as though my heart has turned to stone
With the blood there comes release.
I have no future I can see, but go on each day I must
I don't fit in this world at all; my dreams have turned to dust
There is no one I feel comfortable with, no one I can trust
All my days are filled with rain
I press the edge against my skin but still I do not feel
Oh God, please make it stop. My life's been so unreal
Sometimes I pray, sometimes I swear, but still I do not heal
Why, oh why don't I feel the pain?
My days are filled with darkness, only I can tell
Inside I feel the shame and know I never will get well
In my mind a sense of hopelessness, my own private hell
As I sit alone and cry.
Am I neurotic, psychotic? Is my mind nearly gone?
Why am I here? Why do I need to carry on?
In this twisted hell you created, I feel like a pawn.
Now I'm wishing I would die.

      This was written for the cutters I've worked with, all beautiful kids, all abused 
by the very people who should have been loving them and watching out for them. 
A reinforcement for me on my belief in the death penalty. a slow calculated death 

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Silent Thought From Inside the Casket

Lying in Stately Unconcious
People are Gathered around Me
These Eyes of Mine no longer View
Arms are folded across my chest
I cannot feel the Satin Silk or wooden support underneath
Somehow..this lowly Spirit is surrounding these relatives and Friends

Past and Present,every person is in this Room
Lovers and Bosses,Nieces&Nephew
Brothers of the Dearest Kin and Blood
Father of the Cloth is ready to give Comfort
To the beriefed that cannot afford
This Man(Who is I)was a Mouse of the World
Many did Taunt
The School Yard Bullies enjoyed picking on Him
Women wanted nothing to do with this Timidity
Alas He(Or Me,if you Forget)is now A Soul of the Sky
This stature that is sleeping,a Cold longer here

It is a Tragedy to bear Witness upon this Service of Wake
To unable but Move and only to glimpse
Haven't been exactly..MYSELF ever since
These Hands want to move and hold my Mother's Hand
Dad cannot reveal himself,yet,I do understand
Whose to say that He is far away
They can only find,
a peaceful Memory from another Simpler Time
Right now,Nothingness is all around me
Am I a Living Spirit..a Ghost that cannot move at all?
If this be the Case,then..
there is one less being,
here in this Human Race
He cannot Wander or Leave his Deathly State
It is now 8 PM and the parlor is closed
The Casket is locked and the Body will eventually Rot
I am that Silent Thought,from inside my Tomb
Just to remind you

In Case You Forgot!!

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Old Age Kills

Youth is bliss
old age cruel fate
when was I born I've forgotten the date
I'm old as Earth,dying since birth
every action's in slow motion near cadavic still
ther's no immortal youth potion ,only death pills
old age kills days are filled
with boring obsolete thrills
my mind betrays itself
until my will is forgotten
my flesh reeks,its begun to rotten
youth's our modern drug rave cause we age everyday
old age's perdition,suicide is wisdom
where am I now I've lost my vision
prayers to no one,who would dare listen
religion's myth and faith healings delusive
Tired ,near death,I've surrendered to painkiller bliss 
lethal injections and cheap narcotics
modern drug culture,youth sacrifice
stay high waste life
miracle news "Afterlife death cures old age too"
death is heaven
eternal life is memory
pain free forever , my death is destiny

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In Her Mansion Above........repost

The day momma died.
   I held her to my bosom, and then I cried.
Silenced by death this mother I love.
   She’s there in her mansion with our Savior above.
She left just a short five months after I had accepted the Lord.
   Father she deserves peace for this life down here was terribly hard.
Her and our pastor baptized me in the sunny month of May.
   Scared to death of deep water, she climbed into that pool anyway.
And when my head came up from the water, I saw that look in her eye.
   She said I’m ready now for my Savior, I knew she was saying good-bye!
All those years that she prayed this was her day.
    The joy in that beautiful face what else can I say.
I love her so much and I miss her even more.
   As my mind takes me back to that day I found her lying on her kitchen floor.
Without the Lord on my side I don’t think I could have bore that sight.
   Momma I can still feel your arms around me, holding me tight.
My wife loved her so their love had tremendously grown.
   Like a mother loves a daughter their love truly shown.
You were more than a mom, and a friend, you were also our pal.
   The Lord got Himself a mighty good gal.
                 Love you Mom!

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The Graveyard

The wind seemed colder that December day,
as I walked among the graves marked with
marble so gray.
Some had a story carved for all to see,
while others were just marked, Rest In 
Pictures of the deceased, were on a few,
as I looked a little closer,
to see how many I knew.
Then in the distance, 
I saw a crowd,
another loved one to be buried,
then my head I bowed.
Old graves stood out,
their markers so tall,
darker than most,
like shadows at nightfall.
Sad to think, some had to die so young,
but way back then, not much could be done.
Strange it may seem,
to visit the dead,
but facinating to me,
on the life they led.

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Widow Maker

This letter is to the love of my life.
     My precious sweet angel, my darling little wife.
Darling, I’m writing this to let you know.
      Just six more days then they let me go.
Oh how I long for your tender touch.
      You’re all that I think of I love you so much.
This place is getting so bizarre and out of control.
       Some of these people I wonder if they even have a soul.
Six more days and I won’t look back.
      Carlos, the one in the picture I sent was killed in last nights attack.
Well we fought them back they didn’t have a chance.
      But we have to stay ready, you never know they may try to advance.
Oh and you remember Bobby Rodgers, my high school friend.
      Two miles back down the road , Bobby met his end.
Sugar I’m sorry I shouldn’t be telling you all this stuff.
     It’s just that I’m so lonely and I’ve had more than enough.
Just six more days and I’ll be coming home to you.
    To restart our life and make itzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

This was the letter she received two days before his body was brought home, 
back to friendly shores. 
    Said he was shot by a sniper right out front of headquarters doors.
They said he was going to be mustered out that night.
    And he wanted to surprise his wife and he didn’t tell her of the good news in 
this final write.
Another widow was made by this awful war.
    I just hope it wasn’t for oil, cause if it was I’ll park my stinkin car.

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My friend

The one I grew up with
the one that was like a brother
to me
has passed away
he took his life
on accident
he has a newborn daughter
and a lover they will love and miss
him forever
the only thing everyone can ask
is why.

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The Bell Tolls

Its not an option,
You no longer have a choice.
The Bell Tolls
The sound of the door,
Begins to open.
It preys at your heavy heart,
The family slowly proceed,
Toward the front of the altar.
Cries and tears,
Saturate the thick air.
The ministers voice,
Cuts open,
The secret of silence.
The Bell Tolls
The casket lowers,
Tears dry,
Roses are frozen,
In dead space.
The Bell Tolls

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Wolf- Man, the middle

Day crackles clean and warm like burning coal
A new passion swam his veins, they bonded him
For that pheromone was strong in him, and abrim 
The pack bayed towards the sunlight burning gold
And welcomed a brave brother wolf into the fold
For he who before the bear stood calm, his noble
Suit displayed, found his totem in a moment bold
And transmigrated his soul to the new realm possible.

He could not make destiny again, but destiny chose
For him, the wolf man everywhere was known. He 
Was the hero wanted, yet scorned with circles closed
Like doors against him, for all his deeds of mercy.
But the dog gene made him a man's best friend still
And howling he brings the pack always to his will
Neither did they sit while any child or innocent ached
With fear or pain, and from the malice of evil intent.
The wolf man knew but little thought how each act
Propelled him to a higher level and another death sent
For seeds all die that spring to trees, and the same fact
Was true for him every new level he was to attain
While propelled upwards greater animals to become
He knew the bear level awaited him next in the chain
Of cycles. But for service alone his heart still hummed.

Nor did he know hes was hunted too, for one man firm
In his conviction to repay, the thing that from forest came
The thing massive in muscles, humble in every term
That dared the forking tongue of a livid flame
To retrieve a child, the only child the mother left behind
The child that was enblem and memory of that love
Whose death would perish his flesh and torment his mind
The wolf-like thing, the man beast on wings, dove
In from above, and came out with life between his jaws
Hair fried, and limping as if with injured paws
And the throng of them that rush upon the scene then
Making a barrier between it and curious but cruel men
And how it seemed in thin air he vanished without reward