undeniable as dawn and dusk upon the still horizon
as tulips reincarnate in bright hues on blue grass gardens
so is the scent that lingered in the folds of your leather coat
as it catches wind on someone else’s skin….so wrong….
familiar…just like my breathing….obsession in the air
aching like a thorn in my heart it bleeds a refrain of pain
remembrance should be buried in the earth where you lay
yet it haunts me still and taunts my soul in turmoil (indelible)
like midnight slaw mangled in a bowl of noose and weeping
somewhere you slumber (buried asleep) as my throat chokes
I still miss your laughter when that cologne hit’s a June breeze
if I close my eyes I still see your crooked grin in mid day sun
as tangible as wisps of smoke my fingers reach your smile
I toss the solemn words “I miss you” on the lakeside silence
I will see you again….this I know….and the scent assails
always like footprints dried in concrete….forever with me
*R.I.P my friend…..
Inspired by Sir Brian’s contest “Indelible Impressions”
A heart read and quoted by many in this lifetime
Battle scars that remain and yet shielded by a peace of mind
Walked several miles and traveled while teaching others how to embrace
Remains courageous, faithful and strong with persistence in any given case
Blindsided by those who are willing to love and cherish her to the end
Silence becomes her guard, her armor, her protector, and best friend
Tears of pain, and sorrow, all of which are from a past memory
Times shared, lost and gained, the negative days are history
Mental pictures are drawn from imaginations that lead her to an untraceable place
Recruit no one, for life has taught her that there is no room for more mistakes
A mind reader that has established herself to be two steps ahead
Portrays an interesting novel, a world kept secret unread
Admire her dearly for her patience, wisdom and knowledge untold
How does she continue to live life so freely far from her empty soul?
Oh sexy man,
in line ahead of me,
you look like a dream,
are you golden band free?
Oh sexy man,
you're looking at me,
my hair is a mess,
my jeans have holes in the knees.
Oh sexy man,
here you come,
asking for my number,
my hands just went numb.
Oh sexy man,
a movie will be fine,
then we will gaze at the stars,
and sip red, red wine.
Oh sexy man,
we are a perfect match,
together as one,
my fantastic catch.
Oh sexy man,
so kind, and strong,
I'll love you forever,
you complete my song.
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)
A child of four suffers recurring dreams,
disturbing parents and siblings with screams.
When she awoke, always sore in one knee;
next to a birthmark, it throbbed painfully.
Night after night she feared going to bed.
What caused these nightmares that raged in her head?
Even when grown, the torment persisted,
so a therapist’s aid she enlisted.
“Hypnosis,” said he, “might offer some clues.
Why not try it? You’ve just bad dreams to lose.”
Once under, he guided her to a room --
here people’s lifetimes in books were entombed.
“Find one that is yours,” her counselor said.
Quickly she did, but before it was read,
she felt an ache, saw just a faint title.
The words, she thought, said “Alister Bridle.”
The hypnotic trance now suddenly broke;
puzzling questions “Mr. Bridle” evoked.
For many years she thought that was her name;
perhaps a past life had been filled with pain.
Who was this man? She simply had to know!
Seasons passed, summer suns made way for snow.
In Florida now, 1998,
she thought all the nightmares she had escaped.
But strange dreams always catch us by surprise --
when the lights grow dim, our minds fantasize.
Cloaked in velvet, she left her parents’ farm,
stealing away on a late autumn morn’.
To meet her love, she climbed on the carriage,
knowing her folks would forbid their marriage.
Warm-hued leaves carpeted the hillside road,
and her pulse beat fast; she’d soon join her beau.
She thought only of him; joy cast its smile,
but that’s when he called, “Alice, the bridle!”
The leather band broke and wrapped ‘round her knee.
To the ground she was pulled; her horse ran free.
She met death, but past-life dreams recycle,
and she’d never been “Alister Bridle.”
*Based on real events I experienced.
I first read this gripping narrative as an entry for my contest & I
felt chills when I read this-& to know that it is based on real events makes this even more amazing for me. I placed this 2nd place in my first ever contest :D.
For me (& I think to so many others) Carolyn has a real gifted pen-- she can write just about anything & truly evoke emotions within you. She writes about realities of her life & she can take you with her. So Carolyn, continue writing your gems & we'll continue enjoying them :)
Also, thank you so much for all the wonderful comments, they're truly heartfelt & that's one of the things I love about you. Hugs & love!
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
Reporting live on the soup, with Americas MOST. WANTED. POETS.
Standing here with our host John,
With an exclusive update on criminal poets, captured and on the run.
Switching over to you John,. "Thank you P.D., lets give thanks to all the
P.M.W. tipsters, and our lovely F.B.I. agent Andrea Dietrich (Andy) & U.S.
Marshal Shirley Harrison (S.H.)
Capturing 1 infamous fugitive Nikko Palmario, a comment crusader going contest crazy.
Christopher Brantley, still at large U.S. Marshall (S.H.) says, "This brilliant fugitive leaves no
trace." A dangerous poet posting comments longer than his poetry. Leaving a distinction of
excellence in any short form. P.M.W.tipsters Demand to be brought down to poetic justice.
P.M.W. Tip, led Marshall (S.H.) to the most notorious blond bombshell on the soup.
Captured on her vacation Linda Marie Bariana, lost control of her blond moment.
Paralyzing her laptop with sand. Covering to other crimes with to much poetry rhyme.
Her # 1 crime, entering a dark poet contest, to bad for this SWEET HEART who shines.
Wanted in all nations Lynette Chachere a realistic poetic criminal against reality & dreams.
F.B.I.(Andy) Says"Our sweet Lynn, carries a weapons against all Enigma wonders."
A shameful crime to bring down a poets spirit with an intervene of her intense poetry.
F.B.I. Most wanted poetic lunatics, Billy the Kidster, with a Mental Poet Disorder.
A maniac on the rampage, a poet who lost it, with a crime slamming himself.
F.B.I. Most wanted viscous fugitive Christopher D. Aechtner, alias Vomiticus Grammaticus.
This former Canadian elusive bad boy, topping the hot list, a harmless poetic threat.
Dakarai Cobbs, a 30 year old soups spot robbing thug. F.B.I.(Andy) Says "We offer 1 million
For the capture of this accused space invader aka the Sonnet man.
A poetic gang banger posting out of control, with a drive by of 130 hits in less than a month
Nathan Dilts, at large with the biggest search in poet history.
A terrorizing poet implanting each poet with frightening thoughts and images so twisted.
Making his followers absorb his evil poetic plots, while connecting center of dots.
F.B.I.(Andy) Says he is a mastermind with explosive & twisted thoughts.
Marshall (S.H.)Says "there is nothing we won't do to take his Poet License away.
((sorry no room for the Poet Destroyer))
Back to you P.D. "thank you John, there you have it soupers a few top criminal poets."
Reporting live on the soup P.D., all across the world enjoying our poetry security
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eye'd,
Such seems your beauty still.
~ William Shakespeare
I have looked into the mirror
Looking for a trace....a trace of my youth
A trace of the girl that I used to be...
Is she there? Buried deep? Is she still part of me?
Years can't be halted, change can't erase..
And there...in my face, are the lines of experience
Stories and time...I see staring back at me
A part of me wants to grieve for that girl
The girl that I was.. Has she vanished for good?
Oh, I do understand....
That I can't hang on to "then"..
To days long ago, when time was our friend
When summers, together, seemed never to end
But, then............ , here by chance, we meet up once again.....
Our friendship born in childhood..so young, and carefree
You...with bright eyes, and brown hair that fell long
Around your high cheeks ...and a wide, gamin smile!
You were the one who's light shined so brightly
Who's charm, laugh, and wisdom I fondly admired
A girlhood where we danced together in sweet grass under sunny skies
And under nighttime stadium lights, to the music of the high school band
After years, that have taken us to separate worlds
In my mind, and in my dreams you have always been
The fair maiden, the one who held my hand
Two girls who made promises...who sat in the dark, under a summer sky
And talked of our "somedays", of our future, our hopes
By the light of the moon, we wished upon the stars
Now here in this moment, I have found you again
And here in this moment, I have found "me" again....
I can be that girl again....as we share our history
our moment in the sun, ....I am "her", again!..
I can be that child, I can be fifteen, I can wear a crown, upon a teenaged throne...
And I can still dance to the sound of the drum, and the tuba,
I can sing football songs, and gossip about the boys,
and make fun of the stuck-up girls
and laugh about the teachers we didn't like,
and about the night of the prom, when I cried in your arms
I can hear Johnny Mathis singing "Misty", and the words will make me weep
I can hear "Canadian Sunset" as it lulls me off to sleep
Perhaps the stars have faded a bit...but beyond the weary miles
They still shine when I look into your eyes...my dear friend, from the past...
They will shine through the ages.........where a summer will always last....
For Frank's Contest:
Gone are the fields of winter white
soon to be replaced by hues of greens and yellows,
in the interim, fields of barren brown and dirty gold
turned, to breathe warm air from departed winter chill
Plumes of black and gray from mans machine
kneading the back of Mother Earths desire,
before impregnating her with the many seeds
that will produce offspring to quench mans many needs
oh, how lonesome she looks, so alone
holding yet to some remnants of children past,
left only to cradle her dead, left by man
yearning to suckle new life, as only a Mother can
Above, from the heavens, Father prepares
to germinate those so many seeds,
with life sustaining necessities only he is allowed
sunlight and life giving rain, loosened from the clouds
within days Mother is impregnated
she can feel the multitudes of organic life,
moving within her womb, yearning,growing, needing
the escape, to be warmed and nourished by the Sun
Minutes turn to hours, hours to days
suddenly weeks pass,and yet another life,
giving rain, descends from guilded clouds
arms and fingers, of her children, open, sustained
nearing the end of a warm and wonderful summer
it is time for Fathers other children,
to reap what he has sewn
time for Mother Earth to let her children go
My, how they have grown, tall,lush and full
of the fruit they were meant to bear,
to provide nourishment for the masses of seeds
grown to maturity, in need from the father
Again, the gray black plumes of mans machine
come to life, they move through her fields,
her children, like a predator among prey
until, she is left again, with remnants of children past
Soon she will be blanketed again in winter white
gone will be the warm breath of life,
her children taken from her, she is again barren
only to be betrothed to a promise of new life.
I wrote this on a day trip to Illinois from Iowa across wide open farm land.
There She was,all by herself in the room,lying on the bed,
The dim lit lamp reflecting on the white linen curtains,
making enough light for her to read,but she was not reading.
Her thoughts were carried so far away,on a journey filled
with velvet ebony skies,and dancing diamond twinkling stars.
There She was,lost in awakened dreams,thinking of him.
Thinking of his gentle whispers in the scented breeze,
thinking of his fragrant cheek brushing her own,
as her perfumed lips evoke deep passion,as they kiss.
She loved him as She had never loved no other,He adored her.
They were sweetheart lovers of forever,they lived the promise,
The promise of having only each other,They were so happily in lust,
in total care and understanding,They were so much in love.
She molded his face in her fantasies and smiled,but then she cried,
Yes,they were so much in love,but that was Yesterday,
that was more far than yesterday.Today the spell was broken,
Today She was alone,Today,He was in a woman's arms,
the arms which were not hers,and today he kissed the lips,
someone elses lips,The soft spongy lips which were not her own.
The smile faded from her face,and a warm tear drop brushed her cheek,
wetting her feathered pillow,the dream was over,all left,a memory,
a ring still on her finger ,a reminder of him,a reminder of when they hugged,
of when they loved,a sweet sad memory of the broken promise.
She put off the light,trying to sleep,Somehow she could still hear the engine
sound of his car,passing through the winding path,passing so close to her
green painted antique door,so close to her heart,yet, so far away.
She stood up from her bed and went to shut the wooden refined window,
She couldn't shut it, somehow she couldn't do it,and She had to put on the
light again,somehow she needed him to know, that little light would always flicker,
and somehow she still wondered,If his burning flame would ever die,If deep down ,
in the lost whispers of his soul,He still lived up to the promise,their promise,
the promise of being in love forever more.
I am your champion, I fight for your cause,
my love and devotion give some people pause.
When I saw you I knew you, just like with your dad.
I guess our deep happiness makes some people mad.
I work hard at my job, so that we can live,
and hear me now, son, when it's time to give,
I am the one who ups the amount,
I've done this more often than I can recount.
I also work so your dad will be covered,
for doctors and dentists and allergists and others,
and who do you think pushed him to go
to the skin doctor some two years ago?
From the moment I met you, you felt like my son,
but this is a battle that cannot be won.
When your dad and I married, I didn't steal him away,
he's just as devoted to you to this day.
I heard someone had told you that I was "controlling,"
(I can't even write this without my eyes rolling).
Who insisted your dad fly to LA to see you?
Who worked overtime to pay for this venue?
I encourage his freedom, I've not clipped his wings,
his happiness, above all, is the important-est thing.
I will not be silenced, nor be vilified,
and it just breaks my heart when you take HER side.
I am LOVING and GIVING and ALL THAT IS GOOD,
and I'm tired of being so misunderstood.
So, pardon my migraine, it wasn't intended,
my strength just gave out as your judgement descended.
I lost a whole weekend, I slept like the dead,
I was just too defeated to face down my dread.
I kinda' felt reality shatter, unsure what was real,
like in "Jacob's Ladder."
We're getting no younger, your father and I,
the older we get, the faster time flies.
I love you as if you were my own child,
I'll not carry this burden unreconciled.
Will you walk with me?
I’m not looking for marriage
Past loves left me so lonely
This pain – I come with baggage
Will you talk to me?
For you erase my sadness
Your counsel helps so much, you see
Without you, I fall to madness
Will you accept me?
Trust issues I tote along
I have fears of what’s to be
But I vow I’ll not do you wrong
Carloyn Devonshire.One of the brightest stars of this site.A poet with a big heart.
And she bares it in her poetry.Very few poets do so.I remember when I joined this
site she always used to encourage me with her inspiring words.That time I felt my poetry pages were incomplete without her comments.She is one of those who
helped me to grow as a poet.In reply to her questions in the above poem,I would
say-- YES CAROLYN, I WILL!!!
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.
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”
WE ALL GOING TO A BETTER PLACE SOMEDAY. OUR REAL HOME.
Have a new friend here on the Soup
Her name is Jan
What attracted us to each other you ask?
It was the similarity in our names
Jan is J. Allison
Yours truly is J. Ellison
We were surely meant to find each other!
We have since discovered we have laughter in common
We rarely if ever write about doom and gloom
Basically two happy souls floating along on a breeze
Not to say we don't each have
Those everyday trials and tribulations
There's no escaping them
But our sunny fun loving approach to life
Helps us over the biggest challenges
Jan is so very special to me!
© Jack Ellison 2014
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-
for such a time as this of political upheaval and economic uncertainty
how does anyone go about determining what is their God-given destiny?
what is our purpose in the grand scheme of God's desires?
what is it from us that the Lord Our God requires?
God gave each of us life for a reason
and will call upon each of us in due season
there will be some sacrificing and moving out of comfort zones
just remember that whatever God asks of you, you won't have to do it alone
for the battle is not just yours it also belongs to the Lord
and God won't let you write a check that you cannot afford
God will move you to a place and then give you an obstacle to overcome
but through Jesus you have the victory so consider the battle won
just trust in God to give you all that you will need
so that His set purpose for your life will come to seed
like Queen Esther, Harriet Tubman, Margaret Sanger and Rosa Parks
women destined for greatness who were beacons in society's dark
they did what was necessary for the greater good
to put the needs of others before their own as we all should
they stood up and confronted the so-called powers that be
in righteous indignation in order to save humanity
so let God position you where you'll prosper and be strong
and then use you as a vessel to make right a wrong
it might not make much sense to you and you might even disagree
but God knows what's best when it comes to determining your destiny
so just say yes to any and all that of you God does ask
and believe unconditionally that He'll equip you for the task
and as long as you remain resilient in your resolve
between you and God the situation will get solved
destined for greatness as mothers, mentors, lawyers or teachers
destined for greatness as activists, doctors, scientists or preachers
it matters not the capacity nor the career for you that God did choose
we're women destined for greatness and as children of God we cannot lose
Every once in a while I lose myself
But I’m glad the dreams are coming back
I feel the thrill filling me
I feel my heartbeat rising
I see redemption rising in the days ahead
I still realise once again that I’ve earned another chance to begin anew
Still glad that it’s early in life
...and I can apply the lessons I’ve learnt before I’m twenty five
Phew! Boy, my heart’s beating fast
I shall no longer look at my past
For the past is just that
...opportunities gone with the wind, never to come back
I look towards the days ahead
I spend today to dream of the future I intend
For I know now tomorrow is bound to come
Today was but a dream ten years back
Had I realised then how soon today would come
I’d already be rich riding on the wings of independence
I pledge never to make that mistake again
Today I shall live like I plan
...and not like my neighbour Mr. Wright
For I know not how much he earns to spend the way he does
Today I shall not live like the society around me
For I don’t know whether they think ahead
...of the days that are bound to be raining with storms of emergency
I pledge to live as befits me
I plan to live today in a way that enables me to save
For now I know I was right ten years ago
But I hadn’t the courage to follow a route of my own
Now I’m determined ten years to come...
I’ll be riding on the unicorn of delight
I pay no care for what those here and there may air
I wanna be happy today in my moderate ways
Knowing all too well I’m headed where
There, in the future where my heavy dreams will float in the air
I’m no hater so for the rest of the players here
I wish all the goodwill and good wishes my subconscious can air
FROM OUT OF THIS EARTH, IN EVERY GENERATION
MUST ARISE A MIGHTY PROPHET...
SO DON'T YOU HAVE NO FEAR, YOU HAVE DONE YOUR SHARE, YOU ARE THE HONOURABLE
YOU BROUGHT US OUT FROM IGNORANCE,
AND FOR THIS WE WILL THANK YOU HONESTLY.
ALTHOUGH WE KNOW THAT IT WAS WRITTEN IN THE BIBLE THAT MANY WOULD BE
CALLED,BUT ONLY FEW OF THEM WOULD BE CHOOSEN.
ROBERT NESTA MARLEY, HE LIVED HIS LIFE FOR WE.
AND NOW WE HAVE GROWN, WE ARE THE SEEDS HE HAS SHOW, TILLED BY HIS IMPERIAL
OH BROTHER BOB YOU WERE ONE.
YOU WORKED FROM DAWN TILL DAWN.
NOW IN THE PHYSICAL YOU HAVWE GONE, BUT IN THE SPIRIT YOU WILL CARRY ON,
THE WORKS OF MARCUS GARVEY.(CHORUS)
NOW BOB ARISE,
OPEN THY EYES.
BECAUSE WE WANT YOU TO KNOW, I 'n' I HAVE DISCOVERED YOUR FOE,
TRAMPLED BENEATH THY FEET.
SO IF YOUR TRODDING IN A STREET,
OR IN A HIGH MOUNTAIN.
DON'T YOU HAVE NO SHAME,
REGGAE MUSIC HAS BROUGHT YOU FAME,
YOU ARE THE HONOURABLE NATTY DREAD.
(C)1982, 1996, 2006 ALBERT WILLIAMS
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
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
Tomorrow’s times are in these eyes of mine.
Away and far my world shall part.
The Seas shall rise from their depths of deep.
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will weep.
The Sun will rise as my days still come,
The glory, the power, it is the rains with Sun.
Tomorrow’s times are in these days of mine.
Far and gone my world shall bond.
The Mountains will fall from their heights they climb.
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will shine.
Tomorrow’s times are in these thoughts of mine.
Gone and here my world shall fear.
The Lands will separate the world by Sea,
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will be.
Tomorrow’s times I know are mine.
Here it is that I fear I’m near.
My Land, my Seas, my Mountains of plain sight,
And in the glow of the shadows the willows shall shed their light.
®Registered: Ann Rich 1998
From my heart to yours,
you are a precious man,
from the very first time,
I read your work,
it was not hard to understand.
The trials you endured,
the pain, and the tears,
you found your Saviour so near.
Let no man or woman,
who dwells on this earth,
spit on a heart so sweet,
all I can say,
is they have the nerve.
Walk tall my friend,
may the wind,
always push you forward,
and pray for the lost,
and the foolish cowards.
I don't know what was said,
or who is to blame,
forgive them dear friend,
and ask for the same.
We as a people,
have a journey of our own,
each, and everyone,
should know right from wrong.
Continue on your path,
you have much to do,
and remember the devil,
will use a few.
I call you friend,
as many here do,
and from my heart to yours,
I wish only the best for you.
Michael Jordan, you are a special kind of man.
One that I am proud to call my friend.......
One if ever needed would not turn his back...
I have never met you, but I can say,
actions speak very strong...for you are willing
to reach out, and help...to me, you have what it takes
to be a lighthouse for others....
What is the sound that I hear, the early call of the sparrow? their music is very
clear. Last nite-I heard gunfire and yes that's typical as in my neighborhood we all
live with fear. But each morning the mocking bird's makes noice of cheer. What
is that sound I hear, are they singing a tune of triumphant that seems to help ease
my fear. As the siren's and emergency personal pour into the hood, someone has
died, O'that point is very clear.
As another night of voilence-young folk's and old playing against the noon-early
in the morning the birds of prey, play's another tune. Jacksonville, once a proud new
city sparrowling with the promises of a Dreamer's dream. "Now the time has come-do
we take back or do we all cry". The sun will still shine tomorrow-but for many in the
city they all are asking why. Why is my young daughter hurting or my son spending
this night in the morgue, "do we take back the city, or do we all cry".
"Yes the Time has Come, will all ye pastor's not worry about the trouble or the crime".
But will your prayers help motivate some, give strenth that's excruciating to everyone.
"The time has come, apply yourself, before the rise of the Sun".
Jasmines are flowers of paradise...
an absolute work of God...
sense of the splendid inheritance...
omniscience of God to his servants...
nutrient for the pure of heart.
Nobody can be absolutely...
album, which sets no time...
The love for resemblance does warm the soul...
harmonic songs echo in the life of love audible noise...
actors are like living shadows...
nugget, voice and feelings of those who want to hear...
igneous flame that all travel...
exercise for the imagination of those who observe...
living is not for everyone - only the strong survive.
Birthdays are acts that comprise only a single contemplation...
equivalent to the jasmine garden of the Lord...
host for the coming...
real, for those who know how to love.
In the past I remember how things were so simple
When I was little my cheeks had such cute dimples
Looking back I remember how sweet I was as a child
When I think again my heart told me I was so wild
Yet, in time my simple choices was revealed as true as anyone
The reason I was the way I am today, I did things, to get done
Finishing lots of my undone ideas was so incredibly hard
So I figure my heart and choices should never hold in no bard
I never thought I would learn heart aches and pain
With such under statement I did things for no gain
I was a child who held true to what he has learned
But as we got older those kinda perspective would get me burned
When I made up my mind that people was not kind
I led myself in a confusion that I was blind
In the past I do recall that seeing is believing
So I was the one who stood their with friends leaving
Alone, I felt I did not belong, I cherish each person who knew me
I got older too see how the world works it stung me like a bee
The feeling of tingling ran through my vain
My view of the world and people who knew me was stained
Now I know they are out for their selves with no kind feelings
Life I know is just a joke because of who I hung out with seeing
Today as I look at the world it is in such shambles and astray
And rather fallow everyone I just walk away
He loved you too, you know
Loved you like his very own
In away you were
You came into his life as my friend
Through the years you grew to be my brother in arms
Along the way you became the son he never had
He loved you as a friend
He loved you even more as a son
A son he never had
When things began to spiral out of control
You stayed when so many others ran away
You helped when I couldn’t
You meant a great deal to him
You never looked at him differently
Nor did you treat him differently
You stood by his side
When he fell, you stood by his side and mine
You were willing to help me fight his battle for him
You were there from the beginning
You were there until the bitter end
Always remember my friend, my brother
He loved you more than you’ll ever know
Dedicated to close Family friend Rodney Howard. He loved my Daddy just as much as I did/do.
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...
Things seems to be very clear,
When actually felt it is unclear,
What really seems to be clear,
May never ever be clear for ever.
Your help for others,
May be to be appreciated,
Or taken as what is called,
to be uncounted.
My question is clear,
Why the help for others,
Is sometime never appreciated,
However it is always delivered.
In response to ethics,
lingers in my mind the answer,
To help others is not to be recognised,
But it is to be called someone,
Who can be respected.
To all, continue to help,
Not to to be appreciated by others,
But to be respected by yourself.
I hope that it's ok that I am posting a link here
on how to help the people who have been affected by typhoon Haiyan (Yolanda)
It is a link from Yahoo, which sort of consolidated links/ways in which
one can help, be they be from the Philippines or in another country.
This is in hopes that I could reach out to even just one person
who wants to help in any means that they can...
Seeing the devastation of the typhoon, not only in Tacloban, but in so many
other areas in central Philippines as well,
such as in other areas of Leyte, and other parts of Eastern Samar,
and I cannot wrap around my head the force and strength of that typhoon.
I cannot even begin to comprehend the horror that these people are going
through right now, with the loss of lives and destruction and I can't help but also cry, just so overwhelmed, what more for those who were in the path?
Somehow though, I feel that my tears won't do anything to help alleviate
the pain and despair.
We all have heard about how every little bit can help, and I am holding on to that
We have a word in Filipino-- "bayanihan", which pertains to the "coming together"
of each person to help a certain cause. This also comes from the root word,
"bayani" which translates to "hero".
You can be a hero in somebody's life, in your own way, and I think this
particular disaster is calling all the heroes it can gather.
Tragic moments like these bring out something in us--
a solidarity that goes beyond borders and friction,
where the pain is shared and
compassion, empathy become palpable...tangible.
I know I type in too many words right now
but it is one of my ways of coping, not even sure it this makes sense.
As I type this, there have been updates about
another tropical depression (Zoraida) that is headed along
the similar path that Yolanda took...how I pray and hope that these places
be spared... I am grateful that Haiyan weakened as it reached Vietnam,
and that they have prepared well for it.
Please continue praying for the Philippines, for those who have been affected,
to be given strength, patience and courage.
Rebuilding their lives could take a long time, but if we can help in some
way, it would mean so much to them. Maybe we can try to counter the destruction
with the outpouring of support and care.
For all those who have sent positive thoughts, prayers, concern, donations,
in behalf of my fellow Filipinos, I would like to thank You from my heart.
You can also give support through Doctors Without Borders (DWB)
-thank you, Chris for the heads up on this humanitarian aid organization
you can even opt to make the donation on a more regular basis
or also through the UN World Food Programme (WFP)
It was the day I wanted the most
Yet dreaded as the worst,
Seeing the jumpmaster’s eyes
Way up there in the sky,
Waiting for the scream
“This is a paratroopers’ dream
Stand in the door—lean and mean!”
C130 paratrooper’s Jet, 1500 feet above earth
M16 Weapon by my side, ready to hit the dirt
Knees bent as a dog’s leg on the ledge
Crackling nerves on screeching edge
Cotton dried mouth like a Sahara’s wedge
Soldier before me threw up his lunch
Stomach flipping—fear gripping
Paratrooper’s static lines scraping, moving
Shinny brand new paratrooper’s boots
Shivering to a shuffling groove
Trembling to its new roots
Cold palms slippery from sweating
Camouflaged face twitching like electric shocking
Eyes like a road map dredged with red
Boots shuffling towards the elliptical edge
Heard the jumpmaster’s words
“Go, go, go—jump soldier!”
I felt like a lonely hanging leaf
Growing from the side of a cliff
Just dangling in the breeze
Like a trapeze with distance in between
The moment of truth arrived
Saw the green paratrooper’s light
Heard the Jumpmaster’s voice—“Go!”
Cannonball leap into the rushing breeze
Wings of angels—still praying all the more
Parachute opened above—“Puff!”
Then I knew from the Lord
As I descended safely below
I am still His beloved!
Oh well I got an angry email to begin my day
Because of my last post on the Jabidah thing yesterday
Galit sa akin but greeted me with Assalamu alaykum.
And kung personal Moro friends ko naman ito
They know I don't criticize Moro leaders
I always leave that to them to criticize their leaders
According to my friends baka nasa gubyerno or something
Next time I'll write na lang about the sea and the palm trees and the beaches
Pray and pray nalang para walang provocation
ako nga ang daming nag-message sa akin nagalit sa issue ng Sabah standoff
Ikaw pa kaya na wala namanng masama na sinabi dun
Alam mo ‘buti na lang you verbalized that kasi iniisip ko rin ‘yun
I know you have reasons and you know better kaya; I just read your posts
I don’t have to go against parties kasi both have rights
And the issue must be solved
Wala, kasi sa akin kundi independence lamang ang kailangan
May ganyan din kasing realities?
Minsan you are being asked or expected to take sides
Yes, my side is peace – with peace is independence
Yes, I heard that sa dating Jabidah Massacre celebration
Somebody said that, “Walang kapayapaan kasi walang kalayaan”
And that is very universal, kapatid.
Moro or non-Moro and writing should always geared towards humanity
That’s why for me it “anti-humanity” if you will not listen
Or suppress when somebody will talk about freedom.
That’s the problem with Filipinos, they don't listen.
Kasi the leaders may sarili ring interests.
How do you see being Filipino?
Ako, it's a cage, Filipino nationalism
Agenda ng mga oligarchs and landowners
Filipino nationalism is violence against Muslims and lumads
Kasi ‘pag ako ang tatanunginmo I will never say I am Filipino
Because Tausug it’s not a name but an identity...
I understand but kaunti na lang kayo
Ako sasabihin ko na I am a Filipino but I have reservations
When I was a teenager hindi ako tumatayo ‘pag Lupang Hinirang
ngayon tumatayo na kasi napapaaway ang mga kasama ko sa sinehan
Yes and identity should be critically assessed and examined.
Kaya if they say Filipino ang mga Tausug masakit sa aking loob
But not all, kapatid. try mo pumunta sa Manila
Yung mga Moro na malalapit sa mga institusyon ng Pilipinas
Bakit iba ang Moro at ibang ang Tausug
kaya sila naging Moro at masaya na tawaging Moro
May identity na naiiba sa Filipino
Pinag-aaralan ko rin yan and ino-observe ‘yung pag-yield sa 'Filipino'
‘Will give Filipinos a disservice
Because it is tantamount to be an accomplice to a corrupt system
And this system is the one that oppresses Muslims
At alam natin ang Tausug di lamang taga-Sulu
Pati Bisayan, Tausug din
As much as possible I am trying to make my writings 'away'
Away from Filipino nationalism
That's the right way for me and my writing
I will ask first, “How it is to be human?”
At super last na ang, “How to be a Filipino”
And the Bangsamoro struggle is the greatest critique to the violence
And failures of Filipino nationalism
Ang problema kasi kaya di successful ang Bangsamoro struggle
Dahil nagdadala sila ng pangalan na di naman originally sa kanila
How come ang pangalan ko ay Abdul sa rights
Gagamitn ko ang Juan para sa aking bayan?
Kaya war of ideas ito and alam mo naman sa akin, ‘pag ideas
And perspectives walang kompromiso and peace talks
I do not compromise my language, my craft and myself, my writing
Filipino is an imagined nation, as well as Bangsamoro
Bakit di natin magamit ang orignal nation natin
Na based sa Sulu archipelago and Mindanao
Yes, actually diyan ako papunta - papunta
Bakit hindi i-Bangsamoro-ized ang buong Filipinas?
It doesn’t mean na i-convert ang Pilipinas
But the spirit, the struggle it should mean something to Filipinos
It should kasi ang dami na nagbuwis ng buhay
Kaya ko pa na tanggapin kung Maharlika
‘Yan ang gusto kong ma-achieve: Filipinos should listen to Moros
Siyempre marami pang madidiscover along the way
Indeed. Ikaw ba ‘pag sasabahin ko na ‘Tausug’ ano ang maiisip mo?
Tausug is Moro and Moro for me is something that predates 'Filipino'
But now, I would like to know the concept of “Lupah Sug”
I want to know it, I think there are more and beyond Moro on it
Before ‘Moro’ was named to Mindanao and Sulu people
It was first name to Aceh people, Melaka, Brunei and then Manila
Sulu and Mindanao were the last places to have been called the name ‘Moro’
Sulu archipelago was united under the name Sulu archipelago
The name of people is Tausug.
Tausug is composed of different ethnics:
Arab, Banjar, Dampuan, Buranun etcetera.
The concept of Sulu as part of dar al islam
Is already a nation and state
Where the government is the people and itself headed by sultan or raja
Yes, and I would like to feel this from the ordinary Tausugs when I get there
I would like to experience this from ordinary Tausug and on from place itself.
In the hinterland of Jolo, their laws still on the ground not of Philippine law
I believe in narratives
I want to hear and feel this from the place and from the people.
And then capture it; I have these thoughts
That Lupah Sug has something that the Moro concept does not have
And it’s a bit metaphysical but sige lang.
I know my craft can capture it.
I think there is a language that can capture it
And specific craft that can carry its soul
Not fictionalize but put it in a form like a novel or a narrative
Which have their own logic and truths as crafts.
This poem is made after the conversation and sharing with Filipino writer Rogelio Braga who also serves as the editor of the poem. He is currently in Mindanao, travelling and writing; he will then proceed to Sulu Archipelago soon. 2:28PM, 19 March 2013, Facebook Chat across Sulu Sea!