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Narrative History Poems | Narrative Poems About History

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Heinrich Heine Revisited

I can clearly sense your utter despair of Der Matratzengruft*
As you valiantly carried on your poetic works to the very end.
This did not change your literary accomplishments well-known,
And your courage through the misery and morphine* is undeniable.

Your lyrical poetry speaks volumes among all of German literature,
And it was most marvelously set to music by the likes of Schumann,
Schubert, Silcher, Mendelssohn, Brahms, and Strauss—to name a few. 
Their melodic tones as applied to your verses then, now live on forever!

Your role in and principal contributions to Romanticism fall in line
With the highest quality of your poetic language and its intention.
Your role in battling early nineteenth-century censorship in Prussia set 
You out front of many of your contemporaries who resisted much less.

It’s so tragic Herr Heine that your literary resistance so prominent in
Challenging Prussian censorship would make you ever so more noted,
And besmirched as the Nazis in 1933 burned your books and those of
Other German scholars as a reflection of their insane and twisted beliefs!

It’s with great irony indeed that the banning and burning of your works by 
The Nazis was parodied further by them as they ignobly quoted and used
Your famous line from “Almansor,”* when you likened that “where books 
Are burned, in the end people will be burned too.” We know what they did!

And so, with both honor and sadness I do understand the very cry of lament
From the confines of your mattress-grave about your final exquisite poetry,
Written through writhing pain and tears as you faced the end of your life.
It took great courage to face your end like this while staying true to your Muse!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (December 15, 2014) 
(Narrative Quatrain poetic format)

*Der Matratzengruft from the German means “The Mattress-Grave.” 
(Heinrich Heine was confined to his bed, his “mattress-grave,” in 1848
with various illnesses until his eventual death eight years later in 1856.)

*Heine poetically referred to his pain predicament in the poem “Morphine,”
written near the end of his life, when he noted in two famous verses: 
“Gut is der Schlaf, der Tod ist besser—freilich / Das beste waere, nie
Geboren sein.” (In English: “Sleep is good, Death is better—of course, /
Best of all would be never to have been born.”)

*Almansor was a play written by Heine in 1821 that had a most famous 
line in German: “Das war ein Vorspiel nur, dort wo man Buecher verbrennt,
verbrennt man auch am Ende Menschen.” (Rendered in English: “That was
but a prelude; where they burn books, they will ultimately burn people as
well.”) The significance here is that as the Nazis burned the books of Heine
and other German artists on the Opernplatz in Berlin in 1933, they actually
celebrated this event by “engraving” Heine’s famous words from “Almansor”
in the ground at the Opernplatz site. The obvious depravity of this terrible
event reflects the innate cruelty, stupidity and evil of the Nazis as they 
burned the books and defiled the names and reputations of Heine and other 
famous German writers. Their actions were monstrous and shameful, and 
were indicative of mankind’s base instincts at their very worst. Moreover, 
despite converting to Protestantism from Judaism in 1825, Heine’s Jewish 
origins played a continuing presence in his life and were one of the major 
factors for his being scapegoated by the Nazis later in 1933. And besides,
the Nazis were always more interested in burning books, rather than 
reading them!  

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Pride of the Motherland

Riding an elephant
Down the narrow trail looking triumphant
Scanning the golden landscape
Like Hannibal with enemies in flight
Sight from a lofty height
King of the jungle moving
With lioness by his side

Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro
Guides by my side with packs on their backs
Some paths steep with rocks
Boots slipping below our tired feet
Beautiful birds in unison flight
Moving with terrestrial light
Stunning sunlight summit on the peak

Praying in an Ethiopian Church
Preserved in rocks built by humans’ hands 
Never touched by conquest plans
Protected from the invaders’ footsteps
Queen of Sheba and Solomon’s nest
Touched by Arch of the Covenant
Mary, Joseph, and Jesus once slept

Eating yam, sipping palm wine, and tasting milk
Freshly squeezed by experienced hands
Taste of life in the mosaic grassland
Sustaining and soul refreshing
Cradle of humankind adorning
Invaded for its gold, riches, and human capacity
Birth of life on earth with tenacity

Respecting its living and arduous journey
Essence of life once was and is again to come
Riding a camel across the hot Sahara sand
Once wet now dried, exported gold from Mali…
Treasures from the hearts of once African empires
That which was, is, and shall forever be
Africa the birthing Motherland
We still love and respect thee!


Seventh Place Winner
"African's Pride" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Adeleke Adeite
June 30, 2010


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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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Ghost Ship Omen

Scientists say it’s just a mirage,
but sailors claim the ghost ship floats
in air, with stormy seas below.
Again he tries to round Cape Hope.

Captain van der Decken angered God
one savage 18th Century night.
Vowed he’d sail till “Judgment Day,”
to cross the Table Bay, he’d fight.

The Flying Dutchman disappeared
sank deep in foggy, wind-swept sea,
but the captain’s doomed to walk the deck
each night in perpetuity.

King George the Fifth, the Prince of Wales
are two who saw the Dutchman.
Although these royal heirs survived,
most meet death -- the captain’s omen.

His curse prevails in Wagner’s Opera
and Washington Irving’s story;
crews tremble, ghost ship emerges
Dutchman floats in frightening glory.

So many sailors and their ships
still meet demise on starless nights,
when demons steer the Dutchman
and a vengeful God reads last rites.

Till this day the Flying Dutchman
looms threatening on a ravaged sea.
For Judgment Day the captain waits,
luring crews to their destiny.

*Entry for the Story Poem contest.

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Where are you Fred Astaire

A man with impeccable charm, sophistication and grace,
Fred Astaire was at once both marvelous and enchanting
As the twentieth century’s greatest dancer and master artist.
He made his sublime dancing (“hoofing”) seem effortless.

Capturing the American spirit with both panache and verve
Fred Astaire glided across some quite wonderful movie sets:
Top Hat (1935), Swing Time (1936), Shall We Dance (1937)
Done magnificently—all harken back to a different America.

This America tho’ more old fashioned was one of “can-do”
And boasted a gutsy bravado even in times great hardship.
Fred Astaire with others was a sturdy star symbol of the then
Greatest Generation that helped bring peace to a war torn world.

Fred Astaire was part of this Greatest Generation entertaining
Packed audiences and dazzling them with steps of joy and perfection.
Tho’ now gone Astaire’s past accomplishments serve as a prologue
For new generations to come and to seize opportunities for greatness.

Where are you Fred Astaire?

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(September 2, 2014)

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The USS Indianapolis

It was in July of 1945 
  And the USS Indianapolis
Had a crew of nearly 12 hundred alive
  But a Japanese sub fired and did not miss
American sailors had completed their job
  Delivering parts for the first atomic bomb
Some sank with the ship, others in the sea did bob
  No food, few lifeboats, ocean deceptively calm

Surprise attack, no distress signal had been sent
  It was four days later those floating were spotted
The survival rate was just 25 percent
  With hundreds of sailors’ bodies the sea was dotted
In the movie “Jaws” as Captain Quint had related,
  “The sharks came cruisin'. So we formed into tight groups.”
Six men per hour were killed while for help they waited
  All were lost but 316 Navy troops

Some victims died of exposure or starvation
  But far more were killed by the sharks that had attacked
These men lost their lives in service to our nation
  But bomb parts delivered had a deadlier impact

One of the last ships that was sunk in World War II
  The Indianapolis had turned the war’s tide
With a mission carried out by a courageous crew
  Victory was soon celebrated by allies worldwide

This is an entry for the History Poems contest

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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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A World on Fire

We live today in a world of great tumult
And of rising uncertainty and anxiety 
Which pervade the world stage like a cancer

Despite soaring technological advances
Our environment and our home Earth
Are bearing an unimaginable burden

People are wondering what must be done
To right these wrongs and adjust our course
Before we turn the corner to “No Return”

Tyranny, Poverty, Disease, and War 
Are still with us today since the beginning
Of time and are mankind’s greatest shame

God may be with us intellectually
But mankind must be self-reliant
To survive an inattentive, distant deity

People see answers to these enigmas
Sounds are made, echoes are heard
But nothing comes back in response

Frustration reigns supreme for many 
Fear and anxiety multiple all concerns
There can never be easy answers


Tyranny still reigns alive in many countries
As the actions of tin-eared dictators abound
And are on ample display for all to see 

Poverty is still a shameful, terrible curse
Which afflicts the most unfortunate
And is paid lip service by the wealthy

Disease is a scourge still in our world
And still felt by those most in need
And never enough is done to change this

War is the ultimate insult to mankind
And its wide-felt swath and affliction
Plagues yet our modern, enlightened world 

What to make of all these challenges
Is not easy for any of us to digest
And let alone understand why

Yet understand, comprehend we must
If we want a better world for all to live in
A Sisyphean task at its very best

Man still holds the key to make change
Positive and real for our troubled Earth
But can it ever be really so in the end

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
Schoeningen, Germany (October 16, 2014) 
(Tercet unrhymed poetic format)

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America, Why Did You Stray?

America, why did you stray from the old way.
A constitution put forth, the foundation of our land,
barely recognizable what was originally Jefferson's hand.
Tarnished and smudged by misinterpretation,
overindulgence and greed, to satisfy political,
judicial, and journalistic need.
Once majority rule, now bordering on ridicule,
the law of the land, ever changing, meeting demands,
of whoever takes a stand.

America, why did you stray, parents unable to discipline,
fear children undisciplined now rule, school in chaos,
students unruly, guaranteed to pass, unprepared for their future,
parents unsure, wish for the past, hope the next generation,
won't be like the last.

America, why did you stray, streets used to be a place to play,
neighbors knew one another, socialized every day,
doors left unlocked, nothing to fear, families stayed close,
helped one another, took care of mother.

Now drugs rule the day, hate and crime more common than play,
multiple locks symbolic of today, rarely talk to a stranger,
living in fear; life no longer precious, taken away,
day after day, the bloody count rises, a country in crisis,
victims pay, guilty appeal, courts give them the best deal.
Nobody protests for victims rights, put a murderer to death,
they scream all night.

America, why did you stray, hatred and bigotry alive 
and well today, nationalities split, long for the old way,
when an American, was just an American, now hyphenation,
the accepted way.

America, why did you stray, once an industrial giant
you gave it away, too high a standard for industry to pay,
moved out of country, the new American way, unemployment,
poverty, homelessness rapidly increasing, ruined lives,
while billions are spent on so called allies.

America, why did you stray, what's written today,
barely address the wrongs building every day,
religion is accepted, God is not,
country divided, politically split,
presidential bashing provides journalistic wit,
hatred and bigotry, live for it.

America why did you stray, new chapters every day,
really a damn shame.

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In this centrifuge of sanctimony
Where I sip the atrophied air of my ancestors
The shipwrecked tide of my unborn children
Angels dangle from a precipice of silence
Strained by strings of a theoretical God
Sung by eyes of defiance
Which navigate the jagged epitaphs below
For that one sediment of salvation
That one moment of submission
Hoping he will see
His wonders, atrocities, his indifference
To cast a shadow of conviction
Over shivering light
Across the inlet where ivory columns crumbled
And modernity now deftly mumbles
Its fleets of fortune baptized
Nigh the bronze dust of golden millennia
Where history lies with its victims
A fugue of fossilized souls
A silent prayer remains

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On mulish Eardrums I Pound This Note

Before morning sun was dressed for the day, 
the white noise came and shook the darkness,
like swells swinging ships on the French Passage, 
cargo ships before the engine was pulled 
from the womb of modernization

Before the day break open the citadel of night, 
leaving weak traces of dark shadows in small crevices, 
the darkness was crowned with gold and diamonds – 
stars gazing on eastern isles
The sand storms came from Arabia 
and we walked with our eyes closed

The Atlantic rocked ships like noisy babies, 
the white surge broke like whips, 
pushing salt in our wounds, 
and we prayed to the God we’ve forgotten, 
but he must allow our curse to come to pass, 
it was written of us 
Souls were thrown in the locker, 
as we were dragged westward 

On rigid eardrums I play this song 

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The Choice of Bonny Aileas

Through shadowed forest glade she rode
'Midst grey and gloomy chill
No single thought of safety did
A moment stay her will

The mist clung to her nostrils as
She charged into the brush
The creatures of the forest paused
In terrifying hush

Foreboding seeped into her bones
Ghastly, from ages spent
Urging her mount to breakneck speed
Resolve would not relent

To slow would mean downfall into
A consequence of dread
She knew if she but lost an inch
He lover would be dead

This morn she was awakened by 
His servant at her door
And with his last breath utterance
Fell bloodied to the floor

It seems a tartan wearing clan
Appeared in red and green
‘Tis true that a more fearful sight
Is rarely ever seen

Unwittingly, they’d crossed the line
Into the Fraser realm
It was then they were set upon
In stand of noble elm

So, now she raced to intercede
Upon her love’s behalf
To beg for mercy from the chief;
That he withhold his wrath

The secret she had hidden would
Surely offset slaughter
It was true she had been born the
Fraser Chieftain’s daughter

She’d fled her home ten years before
With  young Lord Cameron
The rival clan’s incumbent heir
Her lover and champion

She’d not been sorry up to now
For following her heart
She knew the toll her love would take
Right from the very start

But this would be a sacrifice 
She'd never wished to make
That for his life she would exchange
Hers for the clan to take

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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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Beneath A Cold Jeweled Sky

Standing together on the upper deck
she clings to my arm, as if I might hold her up…
I am too young for a woman, too old for a child
But I feel so calm, ….strangely so…, 
And although she’s older than me, by far
The terror I see in my mistress’s face
brings a sense of surreal, that could bring a smile
if not for the horror surrounding us now

The news of an iceberg had rapidly reached our ears
It spread like fire, from lip to lip
Those ghostly white faces, wild looks of despair
Desperation unfamiliar, to the privileged faces
My aristocratic companions of this ill-fated ship

All through my tender years, as her handmaid, fulfilling her whims
wiping her tears, mending her hems, fixing her tea
laying her clothes, drawing her bath…wondering,  wondering
did she know who I am?  Did she see beyond, my uniform
The worn out girl,…. the hireling....?

     We are near the small boats, only room for one more
     Her life jacket, seems so out of place in the crowd 
     Over her sparkling jewels, the fur-lined coat

     But suddenly, she looks so oddly serene
     She….removes her fur coat, and wants to exchange
     Her fur for my old tweed….I don’t understand….
     She slips me the life jacket…and squeezes my hand
     Helps me adjust,…..and then quickly pushes….
     And into the small boat….I’m crushed with the masses

     The last time I see her….she smiles and she waves
     For a moment as equals….so boldly brave
     She knows what I’d longed for….what I hoped and I dreamed
     She knows who I am, she knows and she cares
     She is staying aboard, it is too late for her...
     And I scream! Oh my God!.....

               I can’t hold back my tears..….

Inspired By Tracie's Contest: "My Heart Will Go On and On"

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Greet the little King,
who has been born in a cold manger
on the holiest of nights;
and by the glitter of a descending star,
He will spread peace in the land...
follow the shepherds and find that sight! 

My gift to Him is my joyful song,
and with this clarinet I will usher in His coming...
walk side by side with the pretty angels and rejoice;
bring Him your gift, and surround Him with joy!
See the three Magi arriving on jewel-draped camels,
holding in their laps the gifts of His destiny.  

A winter's night has always been completely bright,
every hill is hidden by darkness, but an heavenly light 
appears across the frosty sky of Bethlehem, while divine
voices announce Emmanuel's glorious birth,
everyone wakes up and sees that star and follows it;
and where it stops, they find a baby without a crown.   

Greet the Son of the Highest, the Wonderful Redeemer, 
whom the Virgin Mary has borne in the humblest of places...
in the small town without a temple, or a palace for the Emperor,
where Mary and Joseph will train their child in Godly ways;
greet the little king, He will smile and invite you in,
and His smile will spread peace beyond the star-lit hill. 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Satan Rules

Speak, and be heard, let those feelings be set free,
our God given right, I once heard, freedom for you, and me.

Look at the picture, some paint covered in clouds,
isn't it our right, to speak out loud?

History in high school, was taught with pride,
now all those Americans we studied about, have long died.

With them went hope, and a chance of equality,
these are the things they fought for, not selfish greed.

The Pledge of Allegiance we said everyday,
and everyone stood, as the words were said.

The Constitution was studied, and reports were made,
in front of the class the next day, we would stand up, and say.

All our freedoms that were given to us,
now narrowing down,  "help,"  who do we trust.

A prayer was given, with our heads humbly bowed,
using our freedom of speech, we thanked God out loud.

Everything has changed, now we worry about safety in schools,
shootings, perverts, and God was evicted, now Satan rules.

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Twelve Toes

Catawba Joe, a full blooded Crow, married a cute as a button little Eskimo.
She bore him a son who had twelve toes and an elongated nose.
They named their little bouncing bundle of joy Curly Joe Twelve Toes.
After Curly Joe grew up he fought alongside Davy Crockett at the Alamo.
A Mexican shot off Curly Joe’s elongated nose, so Twelve Toes was no mo’.
The Afro-Americans amongst the brave sons of liberty said: “rest in peace bro”. 

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Literature was pursued
by the greatest individuals who ever lived,
and they left us works of unsurpassable wisdom;
human emotions have always been the same, 
and this can't attest to the fact that they will not change anytime soon,
but the freer we are, the further we go up in our balloon.

The richest heritage of Humankind
is found in the written word, which is heard often and not really understood;
where would we be today without the plays and sonnets of Shakespeare that were quite sad,  
or Dante's famous canto, not excluding superb works by modern writers?...
During the dark ages, monks translated books from Greek and Latin into common languages;
as the barbarians destroyed everything found in their path, civilization did not end.

Tragedies of famous people attracted the lucrative minds of poets who had heard of them,
thus embellishing them with their vivid imagination and present actual facts...I follow in
their poetic footsteps, writing down stories that have recently happened, or occurred
before I was born; and with ideas as interesting as theirs, I continue in that tradition
without envying their unaging expressions and distinguished style, but by aggrandizing them.

Literature has finally found its merited place in History, unlikely a hundred years ago,
more people are voraciously reading, and keeping the writers busy by admiring
their sensational works, making comments of encouragement to boost up their optimism;
and to theaters they go and spent an entire night to listen to drama and scoff,
laugh, or cry when emotions intensify by the sconces of the electric lights; and cheering,
they applaud the richest heritage of Humankind on stage, and are captivated by its scenario.

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Ring of Truth

The First Round

You are a pothole that I swerve not to hit.

But you follow my trail endlessly and the sniffing.

When I am cornered I lash and teeth bare menacingly.

We circle each other looking for an opening and claw.

The words make me bleed but ignoring the pain.

The Second Round

Hurling insults and curses the fight searches our past.

I am knocked down from a memory and slowly gain my feet.

I throw a cross at your fears and you stagger with pain.

The referee gives you a standing eight count and the bell sounds.

We sit in our corners and take water and advice.

The Third Round

The crowd roars as we touch gloves and you give me a hook to the body.

I am cut and its deep but the doctor examines me and says I can go on.

The hook brings deep shame and I can't breath and holding the ropes.

My corner knows I can't go on so a white towel comes.

The referee stops the fight and we pay him when we leave.

The next couple are in the lobby sitting waiting for the doctor.

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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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great aunt, kissed me yesterday
after bidding fond adieu's 
to fleeting flashbacks of youth

streaks of invincibility 
stiffened her spine when a gentleman came calling
courting her future
a legitimate suitor
awkward member in good standing of the Chicago Fire Department 
man unaware of the elements due to generations of Irish breeding
mule, mick, jackass, workhorse, turf-cutter, he responds to all 
these stones of rough leathered hands... make him free 
to cast a roving eye, flash a quick smile
share a wink with a girl hanging laundry out back to dry

aunt kissed me today, longer
holding on to that sweet floating feeling
that anything might happen and would
when the Holy Trinity cuts her a break
if Paddy can turn the other cheek
oblivious to water that Mary's mother threw off the back porch
onto his only brown suit 
onto his pride
onto Halsted Street
bright Sunday morning of June

The triplets had ruse in motion
ascetic, etched from strict culture
preordained her new life of solitude

Paddy, fresh off the boat
wet behind the ears 
soaked in shame
never came back
auntie grieved
will always kiss

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Nine Eleven

The old woman argued relentlessly, her case.
Resolute, she raved in her conviction; 
two thousand and one reasons were there for her to be mad.
Eleven was given to questioning eyes.

It was September, 
and Bernice brought home the bourgeois man, 
and the two fell 
from the pedestal
they held among friends in the big city, 
(the city) a melting pot, 
now a city in affliction.

Bernice’s brown eyes combed the neighborhood; 
two boys, with open arms, 
played aero planes; 
Across the street,
the rug pilot laughed his ass off 
as if mocking the bourgeois man,
and his woman hid her face in rags …, 
in degradation – 
but her sad eyes openly mourned her son’s suicide.

Grief of that magnitude brings offense, 
and the bourgeois man was red with wrath, 
and he abhors the old woman 
with every inch of his being. 
Racism was reversed.
He avowed by God to ruin the rug pilot, 
and the people that loved him consented. 

Hearts were left to wonder
what makes men so cruel.
The reasons for the old woman’s rant was explicable, 
and of the grounds for the revenge 
the negros conceded, 
in only one instance. 
Revenge was foreseeable, 
and the spirit breeds more phobias.

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To Those Who Survived

To those who survived
war’s awful tide:
welcome back home.
Remember always that you are not alone.
We who served in earlier conflicts
include you in our daily prayers.
We know the pain you are in
about your buddies who gave their lives
so we can continue to live in freedom’s embrace.
Those who gave their all on foreign fields
are waiting in heaven for those of us
who survived hell on earth
to join them in paradise
where there is no war, no pain, no grief.
We will again some day see our friends
in a glorious place in which happiness and joy
will never ever end. Be proud of your service
to your country and your fellow countrymen.
Your service and sacrifice are appreciated
by those of us who served before you
on foreign fields in far distant lands.

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For whoever think story telling is that easy,
Would properly from this hilarious incident,
scene or whatever you might call it, would know is not.


Just some couple of months ago, I was invited
by a friend who knows me too well, back then in 
school as a funny guy and story teller and so he taught this
night, that his grand pa (who is a famous story teller 
of his village) had fall sick, I would be in a better position
to cover up for his father's so called responsibility
to his people. "For he (my friend's father, Williams) is a good story teller.
But what about me who has never faced 
the ample crowd with my 'cripple' tale unless sharing it with friends?" I mumbled.

In the middle of this enigma, my friend, John called me to the hot seat
to tell my tale to the unbearable crowd of adolescence. 

"God why am I here this day... But it shouldn't have been this day" I retorted.
The barbarian noise from the seats infront of me showed that truly I was 
in the middle of something and not lost...

"Uncle tell us a story!... Brother tell us a story!" the crowd shouted.

This day, I needed a free moment but they couldn't let me be.
"Once upon a time" they heard me said and they all resited.
" I am sorry, I am sorry let me restart it all over again".

Now in old man's voice, I told my tale before them:

"Once upon a time,
In our mothers' womb, when she
Ate, we ate. Goodnight!"

They all cannot but burst to laughter while I stood and walked to the room with my 

Anything after good night means nothing more till the next day.
Maybe I escaped the night by dissatisfying the emotions of those children,
in that scene, what about my friend? 
"Have I not brought shame to John's family? Did I do the 
right thing that full moon night?". My heart beats!


Not even do the audience remember or care to ask me: (In kid's voice)
"What if my mother do not eat while in my pregnancy, what will happen to her?" or 
probably care to tell me: (Back to old man's voice) "What lesson they have derived from 
the tale before their departure... Oh! No sorry, my bashful departure from their sight." 

Note: The tale: "Once upon....Goodnight!" is a Haiku form of poetry.  

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Human Pythons

Iranians are Persians,
devil worshipping pythons,
on the highway to Hades.

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-Jesus- A Portrait-


   That curious Roman official

   named "Lentulus" with foresight recorded

   his description of a Man controversial.

   And His name too, for prosperity accorded

   That Man who the Roman so aspired

   was named Jesus, that Man of Awe,

   And Lentulus was one of few who desired

   that Man Jesus to portray and hence to annals store.

   So wont was Lentulus to see and hear

   what that Man Jesus preached and said,

   That he followed Him for a while, everywhere,

   So that the verity of his narration could by all be read,

   Then went on to relate what he saw,

   A Man of serene composture who courtly stood

   and how His prescence the crowds would draw

   and hungered the more on the words that inspired good.

   Of average height, just on fifteen and a half fists tall

   His nut-brown hair smoothed down at the side

   forming soft flowing curls, that did fall

   to below His shoulders with luxuriant pride,

   His beard boasted long and full, the same colour of His hair,

   Both His hair and beard neatly parted the middle down,

   As with the way that all of Nazarines share,

   And on a reddish face not a wrinkle, spot or frown.

   His eyes wide set with an unusual capacity for expression

   coloured blue-grey, exuding a sadness from within,

   Yet cheerful of countenance with seriousness held in remission,

   Sometimes seen to weep, not ever to laugh or sing,

   Though His feet were bare, He stood regally composed

   He lived in troubled times with  much woe abound,

   For there were those around, who would oppose

   Him for the freedom and peace His voice did sound.

   Now through what Lentulus and others alike, did relay,

   Artists and painters centuries ago, with care

   did Jesus to canvas, with dilligence portray,

   And His likeness to the world's peoples share,

   So that His teachings now so revered

   became all the more potent with vision aglared,

   For His words of enlightenment can so astound,

   But just in His Prescence alone can the Spirit abound.


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Mom's Malaise, part three

For all of this apparent tragedy in her life, and truly it all only set the stage for my
mother’s soul growth in this experience, what I remember most about my mom is her courage, her compassion and her ever-present service through her Words of Encouragement project that she carried on for the last nearly forty years that she was on this earth. She would collect inspirational writings, sometimes writing her own, and send them to her list of people “in bereavement”. She would volunteer at some local church that would allow her to print copies for mailings. People inspired by her faith would donate envelopes and postage so she could continue mailing Words of Encouragement to people she learned about who were dealing with some kind of difficulty or loss in their life. After she died, we found she had maintained a carefully hand-written log of all the people she sent mailings to over the years. This was her form of “selfless service” and I’m certain that it was her service to others that kept her in the world when it would have been so easy for her to just give up finally.  

I learned from my mother that we can pull ourselves out of our depression and self-absorption by turning our gaze outward and giving service in one way or another, how ever it is we can find a way to serve our brother. Even though it appears we have no material worth and nothing at all to give, on some level my mom understood the value and importance of giving encouragement to one another. She faced enormous loss, criticism and complete lack of support throughout her life but, time and time again, she found the courage to rise above, call to Holy Spirit for help, and carry on ... giving whatever she could give, whether it was a place to sleep on her couch for a homeless person, finding a market for handmade crafts created by women in prison, or even if all she could give was a Word of Encouragement. 

This is in tribute to my mom, Anne Pauline Theresa Labus King Coker, 
February 11, 1928 to April 4, 2002

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After the Liberation

General Eisenhower was a man of foresight
General Eisenhower had photographs taken
because he knew that evil is eternal
because he knew that Satan is immortal
because he knew someday some would deny
that it ever happened....

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Two of Twelve

Ten remain hidden, two thousand years lost. 

Two struck down by bullet, gas, and flame; the ghetto stage one. 
Six million perished before the world ended this crooked crime
Remanent of those lost rose like the cedar in Lebanon, Ezekiel knew best
Twas God who gave men courage; they fought such tyranny, such hate
Twelve mourned for a season while two given back old land
North and south, east, west flock to come home, a great exodus at hand
Two now settled, secure where they stay; diligently searching for those...

Ten remain hidden, two thousand years lost.

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The familiar phrase, The Windy City

I’ve a vast store of mem’ries about Chicago
as I’ve lived there for a couple of years
helping out in the parish of many immigrants,
especially Mexicans and Puerto Ricans.

I’ve made friends and a number of them
still continue to correspond by emails;
it’s like a treasure-trove of relationships -
where friendship makes a big difference.

I still remember when I get invitations
from people of other cultures in their homes;
their different cuisines and customs,
a great experience, a wealth of culture.

Chicago’s known for many attractions,
home of architecture with modern skyscraper
the neo-gothic Tribune Tower in the north
along with white Wrigley building in the city;
rich in architectural history, a sight to behold!

Its classic and modern architecture so far,
complements each other in visible terms,
with innovative ideas and creative designs
a special city with marvelous history.

Daniel Burnham, the famed architect,
designed the Merchandise Mart and others
significant to his life like ‘Paris on the Prairie’,
a tapestry of combined art of old and new.

Renowned architects with their respective styles
such as Frank Lloyd Wright and his prairie designs,
Louis Sullivan and his visible ornate facades
Ludwig Miles van der Rohe for modern styles.

Oh, Chicago, known also as the Windy City
so rich in history and its uniqueness too,
the time when a huge fire razed the city
destroyed lovely buildings in 1871.

Well, with the growing skyscrapers in the city
Chicago Spire, for instance, with its 150 stories
designed by a renowned architect Calatrava,
stands as the tallest building in North America.

With the so-called Trump Tower in its 92 stories
and then, Waterview Tower with its 90 stories,
Sears Tower, the skyscraper with its 110 stories,
that’s the only tallest among buildings in the U.S.

Oh well, this is Chicago in the landscape of beauty,
as a windy city, as well as a gateway to reality;
there’s meaning to trace back in history
there’s continuing progress towards this century.

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Mom's Malaise, part two

A couple of years later, at age 19, this farm girl married and, true to her Catholic
upbringing, began having children. She had four live births and four miscarriages over the course of less than seven years, long before the idea of “post-partum” depression was even a gleam of understanding in anyone’s mind.  After the birth of her fourth child, a girl who would grow up to study environmental sciences and eventually draw the correlation between that first atomic explosion and her mother’s first episode of mental, emotional and physical distress, that infant had to be taken by her aunt and uncle to care for lest she perish from failure to thrive because by this time, mom was so deeply depressed, she was unable to care for her newborn.  

In those days there was no such thing as mental health care, no understanding at all of how to nourish the brain or detox the body from the effects of poisons and radiation…for indeed these advances are only recently gaining traction and still only in the realm of “alternative health care”.  With no understanding of her condition, or of what would even constitute appropriate care, her state of mind and body continued to deteriorate. After more than one suicidal episode and losing her children to foster care while she entered a treatment and rehabilitation facility, she was eventually diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic and manic-depressive, giving her husband sufficient justification to divorce her and blame her parents for not telling him that she was mentally deficient before he married her. Even the Catholic Church agreed and granted an annulment of the marriage that produced his four live children and four miscarriages while he served in the Air Force and left her to care for his children while he was away for years at a time overseas on unaccompanied assignments. But nevertheless, the marriage was officially annulled so that he could marry again sanctioned by the Church and his Catholic bride could continue to take unholy communion in mass.

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Ranting At A Dead Man

Why’s that man gotta dog that cat,
that man’s got no right to dog that cat?
That cat’s name is Arafat,
that’s why that man’s gotta dog that cat.
Why’s that man gotta dog that cat,
gotta dog that cat named Arafat?
Arafat, he killed Jew babies,
he tried to kill them all and I don’t mean maybe.
That’s why that man’s gotta dog that cat,
gotta dog that cat named Arafat.
Arafat, he killed Jew babies?
Man that’s just downright crazy!
So go ahead man and dog that cat,
dog that cat named Arafat.
That Arafat, he’s no cat,
Arafat is a big fat rat.
So go ahead man and dog that rat,
dog that rat named Arafat.

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Archimedes - The First Pioneering Streaker of History !

Friends , I present to you a slice of History about the ancient Greek scientist and 
mathematician Archimedes , who ran naked across the street
of Syracuse , in his birthday suit, after he discovered the Theory of Buoyancy , with which he 
could find out the quantity of pure gold in the Kings crown ! Kindly read my 'Prose poetry' !

Archimedes: The First Pioneering Streaker
                Of History ! 
             ( Prose Poetry)

There lived in the third century BC, in the Sicilian
town of Syracuse, 
A Greek mathematician called Archimedes.
He was tasked by King Hiero of his town, 
To find the purity of gold in his crown; 
Suspicious of the goldsmith having mixed
in it , 
Some impure material of inferior kind, 
Which he wanted Archimedes to find ! 

Archimedes lost in thought one day, 
Entered the public bath on his way! 
And as his body began to get submerged, 
He happened to notice perchance , 
Water spilling over from the tub ! 
The answer suddenly flashed across his
And he jumped up leaving everything 
Wearing only his birthday suit! 
Running through the street of Syracuse , 
Exclaiming, ' Eureka! Eureka! ', 
(I have found it! I have found it!) 
Perhaps to become the first streaker of 
While establishing the Principles of 
Buoyancy! @

Archimedes, son of Pheidias the astronomer, 
Studied at the great Alexandrian city, 
Remembered even this day for his pioneering
In Hydrostatics, Mechanics and Geometry! 
With his ingenious mechanical discoveries, 
Held the great Roman galleys of Marcellus 
at bay, 
For more than three years, as Plutarch says! 
Later one day, while lost in deep thought, 
Trying to resolve a problem of geometry, 
Refused to hear Marcellus' bidding ; 
To be slain by the Roman soldier who had
come to fetch him! 
O those Romans, with lesser brains and more 
brawns ! 

And some hundred and thirty years after his
death, in 75 BC ,
Cicero, the Governor of Sicily, 
Found the tomb of great Archimedes, near 
the Agrigentine gate, 
Over grown with bushes and thorns , 
Lying buried in the scented dust of History! 

                                               -Raj Nandy
                                                New Delhi
@ Principle of Buoyancy = any floating object displaces its 
own weight of fluid ! Wt. displaced by a crown of pure gold and 
the one already made could be compared to find the truth !

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Little Irish And Big Ski

Little Irish and Big Ski
were both better soldiers than me.
Everyone had a nickname
and nobody’s was the same.
Mine was JayJay, I don’t know why,
probably because it didn’t belong to another guy.
Little Irish was a short stocky joke telling Irishman
and Big Ski was a tall skinny Polack from Chicagoland.
We served in a war zone we called “The Nam” so very long ago
where everyone looked the same, be they friend or be they foe.
I made it back home alive and well,
          except for nightmares forever in my head.
Not so Little Irish and Big Ski,
          both my good buddies have been a long time dead.

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Mom's Malaise, part one

The events that took place in a remote area of New Mexico about 230 miles south of Los Alamos during the predawn hours of July 16, 1945 forever changed the world. In the early morning darkness the incredible destructive powers of the atom bomb, code-named "Trinity", were first unleashed, and what had been merely theoretical became reality. Said General Groves, head of the Manhattan project, "We were reaching into the unknown and we did not know what might come of it".  Some feared the consequences of radio-active fallout on civilian populations surrounding the test site. Observers were sent to surrounding towns to monitor the results of the blast and medical teams were kept on alert. But the hope and the focus was on the feeling that we now had the means to ensure a speedy conclusion to the war and save thousands of American lives.

A bit over 400 miles north, north east of the blast on that early morning in July, in a
small Panhandle farm, a girl of 17 rose, as was her daily custom, to milk the cows by
hand, she being the youngest child and only girl of second-generation Polish immigrants who made their living by raising maize and wheat, cows and chickens and selling their milk and eggs in the small town nearby. But less than a month after the July 16th test of the atomic bomb, this otherwise seemingly healthy girl fell into such a malaise that she could not even get out of bed much less carry on with her assigned chores on the farm. She was brought to a hospital in Amarillo and eventually discharged with no diagnosis other than she must have had a nervous breakdown due to some kind of female hysteria. She was sent away to a convent to recuperate but no one, least of all her parents, ever really knew what could have caused her sudden “nervous breakdown” that took place downwind and less than a day’s drive from that first historic explosion of the atomic bomb.

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The Saturday After

My first concern was to contact family, friends and employees that might be in the 
immediate vicinity of the event.  We are one of those lucky stories where my wife 
had a doctor’s appointment and did not go to work that morning, otherwise - well, 
I’d rather not think about otherwise.

Given what I do and where I was living at the time, I spent the rest of the week  
trying to find corporate real estate immediately available for occupancy and doing 
interviews.  If you do a web search on my name and “eagle rock” you can still find 
some of those articles.

Early Saturday morning, I took my one son who still lived at home onto the city to 
volunteer our assistance.  We took the Jersey City ferry into midtown.  At first, we 
made our way to the Javits Center where volunteers were to gather.  Even at 6:30 
in the morning this place was pure chaos with hundreds of people wandering 
around with no organization.  

We decided this was a lost cause and started walking down towards the World 
Trade Center.  What a surreal experience this was.  For 30 blocks we walked down 
the middle of NYC streets without any traffic in site.  No taxis; no cars; no buses; no 
pedestrians.  It felt like a scene out of a science fiction movie with NYC totally barren 
of life, save for the two figures making their way downtown.

A few blocks from downtown, we were met by roadblocks.  We walked up and down 
a few streets to see if there was any place we could be of service.  We came upon a 
street with a man on the other side of the blockade handing out water bottles to 
rescue workers returning from the WTC.  We asked the police officer if we could 
assist the man and he let us inside the barrier.

The supply of water bottles was getting low so I gave the man $200 and he went 
off to purchase more.  Meanwhile, my son and I handed bottles of water to rescuers 
covered in sweat and soot.  Over time, a crowd started building up behind the 
barriers and people started cheering and clapping for each rescue worker as they 
came up to get some water.

Somehow, whenever the water bottle supply got low, a new supply arrived.  My son 
and I spent hours handing out water to tired and thirsty rescue workers as the 
crowd grew and the cheering increased.  It was just our way of providing what little 
help we could and it helped us, personally, come to terms with what had taken place 
in our own backyard.

This year marks the 10th anniversary of that tragic day on September 11.  I hope we 
never forget.

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Letter to taeljejohn

uncomfortableness, and hesitation arose that you might reassess a possibility for friendship or.... whatever with me.

A disappointment set in place in the event that based on some facet of my being (inexplicable flaws within this corporeal human male), forecast that an about face (booked on charges inherent in this googly eyed, earth-linked, kool hotmail of a yahoo) would be un liked!

Juno what i mean? 

In retrospect, no matter that this average boyish chap desires enjoyment, he admits that ordinary punctuating various stages of development difficulty coping found him msn (miss sin, missin, missing, et cetera) on ordinary interpersonal experiences!

No matter yours truly usually finds me each morning, noon or night conjuring up maximizing temporary residence on this planet earth versus bemoaning those futile and essentially counterproductive mind games sans could a, might a, should a, would a...

today = the moment to cherish, enjoy, help others, ponder the remaining years
since fruitless to expend tears
for suppressed emotional, financial, grammatical, hormonal, physical, and spiritual angst
 that roiled mine inner sanctum - mainly from decades in the past
   which unseen scars with humor this fellow (who by the way likes you) wears!

Notice the sly inclusion of my comment per -- affinity, desirability, rhapsody for you
although just but a mere inkling prevails about an ye taelje john thru
a rather contrived manner - albeit an online adult oriented website - amongst a slew
which yields to this bipedal hominid a scant few
initial responses - as if a ghost app paired in the recipient email - going boo
which unwittingly seems to turn the ivy blue! matter a constancy of follow-up electronic communiques occurs from ye
bringing tears of joy, that nobody can see
while simultaneously delivering digital glee
a reality check restrains proclivity and predilection to let thoughts run wild and free!

Immense and immeasurable mounts in moi little rock
inducing an electric arc for myself to kin neck embedded in all this schlock
for a sixth sense arises that this holme body strongly suspects yar self 
 to generate sunny watts as an s spy she lee Sherlock

but, reticence to gush with ebullience reins in a cascade
of utter delight washing o'er this less than satisfactory mwm 
 who as a boy and youth happened to b a frayed
of his own shadow - while walking along the boulevard of broken dreams
 listening to the sounds of silence on a green-day.

Thus => the following from one 

Cerebral being ™ in the am and pm
This ordinary human
Finds himself a mystery
Within the terrestrial
Firmament and frequently
Feels in a feverish pitch
At his existence
That seers the temple
Mounted upon this slender
Frame - wrought by the
Combination of genetics
In tandem with exercise
Which latter helps to
Sublimate the coiled 
Tension wound tightly 
Like an indestructible spring 
Without a healthy medium at large 
To channel emotions fraught within
Me might find demise
That would rent asunder literate fellow 
And thus annihilate without a trace
One true valued father of two us special
Lovely lasses as just another statistic among 
The obituaries!
As the world turns (indiscriminately oblivious of the harrowing days per one simian), an agreeable, amiable, edible, immeasurable, likeable, pleasurable, sensible woman (such as yourself - predicated on a gut level intuition) goads more seriousness to share

Plaintive unheard heart strings o mine that wail
Displeased with this marriage fraught with travail
As if in a maelstrom whip-lashed vessel without a sail
Yet - averse to lambaste or rail
Against abby (whereby we pass like two ships in the night) who married this male
When each of us happened to seem more similar 
   And thought each ourselves to fail
At any endeavor, though now confidence 
   Buoys my heart while she doth ail

And exemplifies attitudes, beliefs, efforts, 
   Idiosyncrasies, pathos that life does rot
Ill suited to Matthew Scott, 
   Whose bon vivant manifesting faith in him
   Perhaps from herself deferring many domestic 
   And child rearing tasks not
Of course being boasting - even when scissoring the umbilical cord
   As a now beaming papa, whose daughters 
   Blithely ignore "mother" a lot
Thus necessitating this quest 
   For a counterpart to offer succor 
   To eden (age 16) and shana (14 on february 4th, 2013) 
   Yet accepts that i must dispel any dreamy fantasy even this ours - a mere jot
At this juncture knowing full well how unwise to set myself up for disappointment
   By thinking and rushing like a fool, 
   Where angels fear to tread
   Though "chutzpah" i got!

U r slowly filling my mindscape with joy
Thank you so much - for accepting without complaint how atypically words this writer wannabe 
   Named Matthew Scott Harris dozen ploy.

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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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Spring Heeled Jack A True Story

Walking along from the public house late that night 
My lantern giving just a little light
My thoughts as I walked, was I very late?
The time unimportant the year eighteen thirty-eight.

A scream I heard, from a far off distance.
Commotion coming my way, do I make a stance?
A lone figure running towards me, I stop dead in my tracks.
Do I move aside or run away, or even turn right back.

My lamp is only a candle; its light is very dim.
I see a tall figure with glowing red eyes; he is tall and very thin.
With a hooked nose and ears, those look as if they are pointed
He bounds past in the lamp light, with a hood and cloak appointed.

I know not what it is, but to me it looks very evil.
Wrapped in cloak with hideous looks, I am sure it is the devil.
The mob that is chasing it, finds me standing in their way
With cudgels and with pitchforks, but they let me have my say.

Satisfied it was not me, the chase begins once again.
I join the mob in the chase; my heart begins to feels the strain.
We chase the devil along a dark narrow path hoping it makes a gaff
We catch up and corner him, he gives a demonic laugh.

The devil turns to the mob; he’s trapped by a fifteen foot hedge.
His laugh rings out his claws are drawn, silver talons, light glistening on the edge.
One of the mob shoots at him, but the devil opens his mouth wide.
Blue flames and fire shoot from it, blinding the shooter, who steps aside.

The devil leaps the hedge with a great agility
I am aghast with fear and shock, a demonic laugh reaches me.
We stand not knowing what it was, will it be coming back?
A voice from the mob, whispers you know what…
                                                    That was spring heeled Jack

Spring Heeled Jack was seen during the time of Jack the Ripper in the streets of London in 1838.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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A Mermaid and the New Jersey Devil

with cloven hooves and bat-like wings he waits for her as sunset paints the sky a much-feared societal outcast communes each night with his only love here on the Atlantic Ocean where waves sweep worries away she glides gently to the rock jetty hears a song that reaches only her ears how such a beautiful creature finds joy with a being so dreaded has been a mystery since 1870 she sees not his unsightly frame but lingers on every word he sings his song saddens her salty tears fall from her eyes the sea grows deeper with every drop only a mermaid can sense his pain his loneliness she shares
*”Sightings included one in 1870 by a Long Beach fisherman who said he saw the Jersey Devil serenading a mermaid.” – From the New Jersey Historical Society

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The Apple City New York

While listening to Schumann’s “Arabesque” 
and “Fantasiestüche” for the Mozart B flat Sonata,
I feel the warmth and love that’s powerful within;
a moment of instrospection, a source of intervention.

I live in a wonderful country, beautiful and well-known;
its historical significance and cultural diversity,
define those experiences with charm and closeness
that make something special how New York stands now.

The Statue of Liberty with its wide attraction to many,
a perfect landmark that speaks volumes about migrants;
as a gift from France that took a long voyage to arrive
between two countries there’s friendship and assurance.

The Ellis Island Immigration Museum is just close by,
where photos and experiences of the early immigrants
are showcased and memorialized as treasures of the land
so interesting that makes everyone know how they were.

In all five boroughs from Manhattan to the Bronx, Queens,
Brooklyn, and Staten Island, there’s a look of sheer delight;
great attractions and endless events scheduled for all seasons,
breathtaking sights with Broadway theatres and the brightest -
Times Square that has always been a rendezvous for tourism.

Oh, city of New York! filled with everything that one can claim
a known place in the world with so much to offer to all
like London in England, Madrid in Spain, or Milan in Italy;
all these cities have world-class shopping one can be interested in.

There are great places for dining, culture, tours, and transportation,
subways are convenient for everyone to explore Manhattan
with a number of museums, galleries, and centers for all promotions
like entertainment, history, arts, culture, music and literature.

Delighting audiences of all ages has got the Big Apple has,
it brings you up to date favorite and famous big-screen moments;
artistic and entertaining performances such as musical extravaganzas,
sci-fi fantasies, romances, sweeping epics, concerts and many others.

Trendy boutiques, funky cafes, velvet-roped nightspots and delis
are some places full of culture that one can probably explore;
their stories and history provide us with vistas and attention
Truly, places of glamour, excitement, entertainment, and much more.

Oh, city of New York it’s a great adventure to explore this, so far,
its fascinating neighborhoods with a variety of cultures involved,
a great experience, an enriching reality with multi-ethnic groups;
with legendary history that celebrates and shapes humanity.

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A Jaw Dropping Experience

Went to the ROM last weekend The Royal Ontario Museum An absolute and total eye opener for sure We, with our sophisticated smugness With our feeling of superiority Emboldened by today's amazing technological advances Need to stop and take a look back At the achievements of these artisans From centuries gone by Of generations with totally amazing skills Without the aid of of today's modern technology To help them in their endeavours Just their hands and their inventive minds The results of which were astounding I stood there in awe It was a totally mind blowing experience Everyone needs to take a break and look back It makes us realize what great things The human mind has always been capable of It was a jaw dropping experience! © Jack Ellison 2014

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Map of the Gods

He ceaselessly wandered across the vast desert,
with only a bottle of water. According to his archaeological
knowledge, it was claimed that gods, with fiery chariots,
roamed across the world, six thousand years ago; a period
that people read the stars, and knew where gods hailed.
Legend has it that a magical papyrus scroll, illustrating a map to gods' abode,
was hidden in an Obsidian Pyramid, that glowed in the day. As the Egyptian
Kingdom collapsed, an evil sorcerer threatened to steal it, but Isis hid it in a vault,
in the Obsidian Pyramid. "It's not the sorcerer who's a threat now, but the Nazis!", the
English archaeologist speaks in his heart.....  

Name: Teddy Kimathi

Contest title: IN THE WIND

Date: 15/09/2014

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Look at the facts not the Debate

Do you see anything to smile about?
Someone was on fire during the debate
He drank so much water he stuttered
That a sign the raft of hell is getting hotter
Now I am more confused than ever

Our life isn't a political flash game
Do you see anything to smile about?

Today for me; tomorrow for you,
It only takes a few, to see and review,
The outlook on life, sadly it’s fading.
Before we are too quick to judge;
Do you see anything to smile about?

Many work places are going under;
Many people are on the unemployment line,
Not knowing what to expect or digest
Do you see anything to smile about?

Occupy Wall Street protest continue stronger than ever
Trying to save what's left of our future.
Only time would tell according to the scriptures
Occupy our minds let’s think of our children's future
Look at the facts not the faces
Do you see anything to smile about?

One keep smiling the other kept drinking
Many head of the households worries about Health Care
 What is life for a soldier on the front line? 

Do you see anything to smile about?
Yes I know a man is still a man
Even if he wears an expensive jacket and ties
Only differents  we as citizens have place 
 Such men in a high position to spy
We have to back it up and vote or choke
Do you see anything to smile about?

Relationships are dying Men and women for themselves
Broken hearts all over the place,
 The love of our patriach seizes
Do you see anything to smile about?

Homeless shelters are closing
 With or without people demonstrating or voting,
Do you see anything to smile about?

This is not any fault of our citizens 
Its bad management, how much more can we take
 It’s hard to smile during the recession besides a rebate!
Looks at the facts, not the debate
Partake and foresee our future.
We need more smiling faces.
We need to breathe!
Hell’s getting hotter,
 Apocalypse in mainstream
Now do you see anything to smile about?

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Bangladesh: The Birth of a Nation - I

We were one people, neighbours and kin
Before independence and the politician’s whim
In August’47, the brotherhood ended
The country was partitioned and we were independent

Democracy worked in India, floundered in neighbouring Pakistan
Victim to army rule and the power of the gun
And many a times since ’47, the two nations went to war
As defender of sovereign territory or blatant aggressor

A tenuous existence was Pakistan’s, to our east and west
Their land and race divide put this bond to test
The East staked its claim to governance on the people’s mandate
But unwilling to yield power, the West unleashed a campaign of hate 

Aspirations muzzled after twenty four years, bypassing legislation
Saw the birth of a defiant East yearning for liberation
A hotbed of political activity, Dhaka University was targeted
It was spring that night in ’71, the campus was surrounded

Troops loyal to the West sealed roads under night’s cover
And shells were fired in haloed ground from battle tank and mortar
Shrieking death, it is said, arced through the sky that night
Exploding amid the campus buildings, in blinding flashes of light

Besieged and battered was the East’s cradle of intellect
A grim warning for the masses, March 25 was the date
Then ground troops with weapons of death silently moved in
To slaughter at close quarters, academics and their kin

As flames licked the sky from adjacent slums
Fleeing residents were mowed down by soldiers with machine guns
The stench of burning flesh filled the night air
As bodies piled on streets were set on fire
The sky glowed red that night, as Dhaka burned
The orgy in the campus ended after all found were gunned
The handful, who escaped death, shed silent tears 
As ghastly fires burned to ashes, family and peers

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Bangladesh: The Birth of a Nation - II

A civil war flared up and raged on for freedom
Unequal it was, this bloody war for honour and secession
The natives renamed their land Bangladesh
Inviting anew the wrath of a desperate West

The army’s presence then, was overwhelming in their land
 Due to the simmering discontent within and a border to be manned
And from ground and air the armed forces effortlessly struck
It was anarchy all the way with the West’s army running amuck

In thousands they perished, nameless sons of the soil
But the army had orders and the people’s aspirations to foil
They killed and burned and looted and raped
Digging mass graves to conceal evidence of the dead

Granaries were burnt and villages razed
The troops shot all that moved and Bangladesh bled
Women captured alive, endured inhuman pain
Brutally used, they’d be killed with a bullet to the brain

Through their brutal acts in ’71, a sovereign state struck terror
And as news of the carnage spread, an impotent world watched in horror
Protector of civilian lives, the army had turned butcher
Nine months later and a million dead, Bangladesh resembled an abattoir

Resistance was futile against the war machine
Would the aspirations of Bangladeshi’s remain just a dream?
In this riverine country that year, the monsoons suddenly arrived
Rivers in spate impeded troop movement and halted the state’s genocide

With the receding flood waters, India joined the fray
But now Nixon’s 7th Fleet showing solidarity with Pakistan steamed into Bengal’s bay
Mercifully the Indian leadership stood resolute and undeterred
And the rampaging army in Bangladesh was quickly outmanoeuvred

There was no resistance from the state sponsored killers
Ninety thousand troops surrendered meekly to the liberators
Reports of atrocities and mass graves were dismissed as slander and lies
The masterminds were let off the hook, pressured by powerful allies

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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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Memories Of The Sydney Tram

                       Memories Of The Sydney Tram

This fabulous road transport vehicle had it's humble beginnings
in the 1880s, were horses pulled the double-decker trams along
the various streets of Sydney, they moved pretty slow and the
people wanted to move at a much faster pace.
Soon to follow was the steam tram, although a faster alternative
it would cause all sorts of problems, especially the black soot
which came from the smokestack, this would never do.

It was approaching the turn of the century, in the 1900's
along came the cable tram, were the cable ran through a slot in the 
middle of the lines giving the tram it's available traction, although
a lot faster than the horse and more than a match to a steam tram
in clean street running, it was not until the first of the electric trams 
came into service, that people were satisfied.

Trams had a marvellous ability to move large numbers of people
from the racetracks and the showgrounds where they had the Royal 
Easter Show, they were environmentally friendly and the people
loved them, all except the Government and the Oil Companies of the 
time, they envisioned the future of transportation to be made up of 
fossil fuel burning cars and buses, yes it would seem there was no
room on the streets for the people's friend, the humble tramcar.

Trams came and went until the 1950's, when plans were made to scrap
Sydney's greatest asset, the trams, when 1960 approached there was 
hardly anything left of our great tramway system, and in 1961, 
Sydney's last two trams made their final run into history, it would appear 
the Government and Oil Companies had won the battle or so it seemed 
until the late 1990's when a move to bring trams back was achieved and 
they now run from Central station like their early predecessors, 
running around Darling Harbor almost like a parody of what they once 
were, still who knows what role the tram may have for Sydney's future.

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'Twas Irish blood that filled his veins, 
			this wretched man in iron chains; 
A gnawing hunger deep within  
			had forced his hand to steal. 
The man in wig, a magistrate,  
			then sealed the poor man's im'nent fate, 
He'd serve a term in New South Wales,  
			no chance to make appeal. 
First Limerick, then County Cork 
			in cells devoid of friendly talk, 
He could not bear the solitude,  
			it tore his soul apart. 
Then came a morn one dreadful day, 
			they led the broken man away, 
His native land he'd see no more,  
			all hope drained from his heart. 
Those months at sea were really tough, 
			his frame had simply borne enough. 
He only wished his soul to die,  
			to find true peace at last. 
His spirit struggled though to live, 
			for surely life had more to give. 
Perhaps this land of servitude  
			would heal all errors past. 
Assigned to serve 'round Richmond town,  
			he kept the count as years went down. 
Certificate of freedom earned  
			he cried with tears of joy. 
A lass then came into his life,  
			he made that girl his darling wife. 
She bore him children of his own,  
			the eldest was a boy. 
Those early years though took their toll,  
			she buried him atop the knoll, But knowing that he had a son,  
			roots of a fam'ly tree. 
He'd carry her poor husband's dream,  
			through generations it would seem. 
Til here today I stand quite proud,  
			for I've his blood in me. 

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Holding Back

Nothing here is wrong because nothing ever could.
It has been so long,
A time that just never would!

Nothing here was ever lost because nothing was ever found.
It has been a toss,
A time that simply counted down!
Holding back the tears,
Puddles of many lost years!
Holding back my time,
I’m a prisoner with no crime.

There’s nothing here to hold because there never was.
It has been so cold,
A time for just because!
Holding back the pain,
My chronic death inside!
I have nothing to lose because there’s nothing to gain.
Holding back the strength of all my earned pride,
I’m just a moment gained with a will that eventually dies inside!

®Registered: 1997  Ann Rich 

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Iris of Poetry

Introduction: We don't really think deep enough about "What A Poetry Actually Is", the
obvious question which we all know but don't think how to really elaborate on. We mostly
see the story, depth and the purpose it delivers. Well, here's one a little bit different
this time...

Poetry is the reflection of our lives like in the mirror,
It is something we can relate to and share.
It's our memories written in jumbled words,
It's like a song, with a meaning it holds.

A mere idea of our mystical lives,
Expressed in a way from deep inside
A way which only the heart can see,
A place where the eyes get cold-feet

The earnest truth and the sweetest lies,
It's all the irony that makes poetry so alive.

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ELVIS my impression

                           This is my impression of Elvis Presley 
I was vey lucky to be 16 in 1956 when Rock and roll came into existence the greatest music of all time and for all time, this is what it all met to me.

Elvis was the big bang to creating music like the big bang was to creating the universe
Before Elvis their was no rock and roll, no music, no dancing 
His look was unique
His movements on stage were unique
His voice was the greatest like nothing ever heard before
His songs started the greatest music craze in the history of music rock and roll
He looked dangerous 
He looked like he was having the best time of his life on stage
Elvis didn’t give a damm who wrote his songs black or white
He was the first entertainer who did it all before anyone else did anything
Both men and women loved him
Elvis was a mans man
Elvis was a ladies man
Elvis was a gentleman
Elvis was a Christian 
Elvis was a momma’s boy
Elvis was respectful of his fans
Elvis was just one man who changed music forever in America in 1956 
When Elvis sings you have to smile, to tap your feet, clap your hands, move your body, and come alive
It’s 2013, 35 years since Elvis died 
He is still the major Icon of the music world
Elvis is still the most worshiped singer and entertainer in history
Thousands and thousands of fans visit his home each and every year
Elvis didn’t smoke or drink
Elvis became an actor but could have become an accomplished actor with the right people and advice around him
Coronel Parker was both good for Elvis and bad for Elvis
Liberace taught Elvis how to dress with flash
Elvis had his own way of moving on stage when he sang no one has ever duplicated his signature moves God know how many tried
Elvis served the country he loved when he was drafted into the army no complaining 
Elvis asked fro no special treatment while in the army 
Elvis loved the woman and the woman loved him back
Elvis was the greatest entertainer of all time
Elvis met his tragic and to soon end to his life he was only 42
Elvis was hooked on prescription pills and that’s what killed him
No one could tell Elvis what to do many tried all failed
The music died on the day Elvis died
It was so sad that Elvis felt so all alone so much of his life that is what fame does to you
Elvis was the King
No one else will ever occupy the Kings throne
Elvis loved to sing gospel songs no other entertainer of rock and roll ever did 
No entertainers star shines brighter or ever will
You can ask any great entertainer and there are hundreds and will all agree Elvis was the greatest entertainer of all time
No entertainer in the history of music ever had a first year success like Elvis had
I saw Elvis in Las Vegas in 1972  when the music started and you knew that Elvis was soon to be coming on stage the excitement and the anticipation in the room was over whelming and beyond compare everyone in the room was mesmerized

This is my remembrance of Elvis Presley

Dennis Davis
March 15, 2013


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Shadowed by guilt and shame

Shame must have burned her countenance,
along with fear that gripped her heart;
she’s a woman in the gospel  brought into the open,
by those Pharisees and Sadducees in their attempt –
to entrap Jesus on the horns of a dilemma.

Known as legalistic in their respect for the Law of Moses,
they professed as guardians of moral principles;
they claimed as protectors of the Jewish traditions,
however, in truth, they had a wicked motive to ruin Jesus
to discredit him for all the things he’s doing for his own people.

His growing popularity especially to the Jewish men and women,
becomes a raison d’etre to ruin his good reputation;
oh, such a malady that continues to exist through generations,
the seed of original sin – its consequence to human behavior
reflected its aftermath, the evil tendency that is encrusted deep within.

Jesus’ statement, “let him who is without sin cast the first stone,”
made the religious leaders withdraw from the scene and,
starting from the elders they walked away and talked no more;
a sign of shame, an honest reaction to what is shadowed by guilt.

The entire incident focused on Jesus’ endless forgiveness,
his compassion for the woman being bogged down with disgrace;
like a moral stigma, a scarlet letter etched in the hearts of people,
with Jesus she had her past but she also has a future to look forward to.

Just as the prophet Ezekiel says, “I will give you a new heart –
and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone
and give you a heart of flesh . . .”  its power and meaning can assure,
God’s love is everlasting; our salvation is his prime concern. 

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A Two Woman Duo

A Two Woman Duo
By Missy Yourist 

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

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

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Flying Fortress Mi Amigo Rememberance

Mi Amigo It happened in the year nineteen forty-four Ten young lives from that day were with us no more They were flying a B17 bomber plane A ten man crew “Mi Amigo” was her name Returning from a raid over Denmark Badly damaged and struggling back to her mark Her radio dead and engine misfiring The skin in tatters from all the shell firing A nurse plane was left to guide her way home But they lost sight in the clouds and presumed she was gone But the pilot valiantly tried to find the English coast He needed to reach Charleston but managed Sheffield, their last post It was just before five on that February day Children in the Endcliffe Park with a football to play Mi Amigo couldn’t wait she had to come down She spiraled and tried to land in the Park ground The pilot he saw the children playing there He lifted the nose and tried to climb in the air There is a Memorial Stone in the park these days They planted ten oak trees for the boys they couldn’t save The boys were all American aged twenty-one to twenty-four February Twenty Second, they were lost far from their own shore The Pilot determined he missed the children and hit in the trees Heroes to the parents of the children playing in that February freeze My mother watched the plane as it struggled overhead The engine sound and smoke from it filled them with dread They had souvenirs made from the Perspex nose of the plane But they are now lost like the lives of the boys that were claimed
It was the anniversary in Feb of 10 American boys that died in a Park where I played as a child. My mother would normally have been playing there with the others but she watched it from her sick bed at home as the plane passed yards from their roof. Although she was an eyewitness this information is from A book By D Harvey called Mi Amigo Sheffield's Flying Fortress

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They stand alone in stark contrast to their surroundings.  Derelict, they speak of a time past, when they played a role in, no, were the heart of the community.  Gone is the smoke filled air billowing from the monolithic chimneys, spewing the acrid smell of wood and coal fired burners.  Gone is the cacophonous sound of the belt driven machines, never pausing, providing the textiles, the shoes, and the lumber for a growing nation.  The mill was the town.  The town was the mill.  Men, women, entire families, streamed in from Ireland, Canada, Asia, and Europe, all in hopes of finding work in the mills. .  Rural New England families sent their daughters to fulfill needs, wishes, and dreams,   Looking to find something better then the poverty and pain they left behind.

Cultures clashed and families melded.  Ethnicity's struggled to survive, while slowly being pulled apart.  Towns grew to cities.  Roots were set.  Standards established.  Normality changed virtually overnight.  It was a hard life, but one lived with pride.  Workers labored through twelve and fourteen hour days, six days a week, reserving only Sunday to reflect on how lucky they were and give thanks.

Through a war that consumed a generation, they toiled.  Those that could fight, did.  Those left behind molded the fabric and leather and logs and iron that became the clothes and tents and weapons that supported their effort.

Disease and infirmities squeezed the life from their bodies.  The ravages of the mills took their toll.  Many gave their lives to the mills.  Many others took their place.

From this a nation, grew and prospered on the backs of those that had a dream and chased it.  In the hearts of those that believed that there would be a better tomorrow if only they could get through today.  It became their country and they strove to defend it and nurture it, cost be damned.

I gaze now upon the mill.  Silent, it watches today, remembers yesterday.  A piece of history, long ignored.  I do not see the weathered stone and hollow windows.  I see instead a monument.  It says to me “ I am that from which this city sprung.  I did not abandon you as you did me.  Inside, my heart still beats.  I am the spark that ignited freedoms flame.  I provided the mothers milk of opportunity.  I am your foundation.  In my halls a country was built.  My empty floors now store the memories of a nation”.

They stand alone in stark contrast to their surroundings.  Derelict, they speak of a time past.

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For Our American Indians

                  Peace be to all humankind
                   We are each unique also amazing, modest,
                           so why turn us into their image
                Indians American at that, Proud, unassimilated

        Unable to destroy a way of life, for white cultural patterns
          ‘how’ we evolved, they believe we should be contented
            like those whose concept of happiness is materialistic,
            greedy, which is very different from our way satisfied,

         Peaceful with what has been done, establishing something
          or a way things are, we wanted freedom from white man,
             rather than to be integrated, part of an establishment
            to be able to hunt, fish also live in peace, was our plan

            Only wanted to be free to raise our children in our ways,
            we didn't want power, we didn't want to be congressmen,
                      or bankers....we wanted to be ourselves
                                               American Indians

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Thoughts to expound

Race is not color in essence we have different morals, beliefs, religion and birthplace; we are all different. Let these differences make life interesting not filled with hate.
Just as color makes life more beautiful; race makes life more beautiful like a rare butterfly. 
Victors of war have looted and reaped the spoils with little thought to the enemy.

The poor have had no voice in every country. No matter the continent the lowly hard working low income class has least interest in government. Their thoughts exist in survival and where the next meal will be bought.
Though I can sense the need for family and friends to help overcome the slim spells of life.

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The Titanic Saved My Life

Muscles bulging, sinews stretched, I know this ship inside out. Every rivet I have pounded is to help me to get out. This ship is new and will take me, to a life I am desperate for I hope we sail before the police come knocking at my door. I am free we have sailed, some of us to work on board the ship To keep an eye and maintain every shiny new little bit. I can breath they had missed me, I had made my escape No one could get me now the noose would not be my fate. This ship is huge, a floating city Titanic is her name. The guests aboard are rich and famous, but I’m not part of that game. I keep my head down, a few more days then I can start to live A life in New York I couldn’t wait, there is now no need to forgive. I felt a tremor, just a vibration, weird but not to worry Look at the faces of the black gang here, they are in no hurry. There is an order the ship is to turn, I can feel it but it is slow. On deck when I reach there, it looks as though there’s been snow. It’s now gone mid-night Aril Fifteen, things have gone from bad to worse I know that we are sinking, I really want to curse. I escaped the murder of my wife, who I found with other men I’ve taken another life and false name, to be on this ship again. I want to start a new life where no one looks for me. Now it looks like it will end, at the bottom of this freezing black sea. I crawl and scramble, with the rest gates are locked this cannot be Even the passengers are stuck; never mind the likes of me. I spy a life boat lowering, no one on board that I can see I take a leap into it, I pray I don’t miss and hit the sea. There’s a shout and shot as someone yells for me to leave Try and get me out, you’ll stand no chance; it will be for you that they grieve. The roar of this monster ship the cries and screams of all, The prow long gone under the aft raised high and then the aft does fall. The power of the sea is awesome as she devours this mighty ship The suction then the backwash, takes hold with a deathly grip She’s gone; the screams are dying down as the people sleep in death I pull aboard the living, my muscles weakening with every breath. The cold penetrates my brain but I work on endlessly Pulling the living and the dead; from this icebound deadly sea. We are rescued by the Carpathia, as she plucked us from our boat Blankets and food are handed out; someone wraps me in a coat. I am one of the survivors of that fateful night so long ago Running from killing my wife and her lover, but what face’s me I do not know.

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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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Make my life storm and shelter;
Earth and magic before mortal promises
Whispered into storm gray silk.
It is all fantasy behind green eyes
Laced with a tiger's grace.Golden earrings and ambergris
And the sweet scent of repletion...
The solace of one, pure, jewel bright
Unbroken bond
Held in the hollow of your heart and hands.
Sweep away the sorrows of the Past, my love;
Offer me unbridled passion with your kiss.
We do but simply rest in gentleness
Just beyond the lamplight's sweetest glow.
Time passes as it must.
The way of worlds turning
Is not so ordered by our standards...
And we live as we must.
We live, my love;
We are the softest of ripples
The soft ripples of laughter
Filling the air.
Storm and shelter...
Day and Night...
We are a righteous pair.
Passages through 
The reality of Storm and Shelter
We truly areA righteous Pair.

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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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Liberty Street and Church Street

An eerie perception,"lets go,grab my hand, lets go......" as somber as midnight black
amid horrific pain the shrieking iron grinds upon iron in an imploding imbrication upon a 
clear autumn day, a feeling fugacious in hope , a plan surreptitious had arrived in the 
innocent morning sky, minutes to hours hour to days, a truth that would cry out 
evermore. An eerie perception, a voice screaming within...."lets go, grab my hand,
lets go......"
Upon his powdered white face, a stream of burgundy flow, his love, woebegone....
she lay deparate below within a black hell penumbra as chaos ran ramped above,
she struggled to move within an airless tomb, her arm stretched out in a desperate 
need, survival would become apparently clear, her fate would find a willing chance, a 
hero had come near, her life, would be blessed.....she would persevere....  

survival......perched at the edge of Liberty and Church street.  

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I Remember When

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                Timothy I. Brumley

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Mr Testosterone

Easy there mr. testosterone control your speed put down the phone did you light the fuse when you turned the key rage bomb, speeding and weaving for all to see squeeze the wheel, music will blare clinch your jaw, your vulgar words, we hear you swear we’re all stupid drivers, bad traffic you say move over, speed up, get out of my way well, none of us care if you text or you’re a mobile talker either way your destiny will be a road side marker
Every year over 50,000 men, women and children are killed on our roads Share the road PLEASE

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Pharaoh Tutankhamun graced the Egyptian throne,
A negro, brisk and spry.
From his majestical hands, dangled a scepter
And on his handsome head, sat a crown.

His empire was at its peak
For he wielded influence all over africa. 
The bearded Europeans and nubianS sought his protection
For egypt, was a haven.

So organised was the land:

Amun-re and maat protected the people,
The country grew with the help of viziers.
Agriculture was  a noble profession in the land,
As her economic markets were the best in the world

Egypt gave light to Greece and Mesopotamia
For her civilisation altered many a life.
And also, was the birth place of man
Such, was the land of egypt

The middle ages stroke and Europe went to sleep
But mama africa gave birth to many strong children:
Ghana, Mali, Songhai and many more
These children shoke the world with their riches and organisation.

Such was the history that africa recorded before they came.

Fredriech Hegel in want of speech said:
"Africa never had a history before the whites came."
Such a mediocre declaration from an illiterate
For in place of his brain, graced a kidney.

Africa was well civilised before the bearded people came:
We had a religion
We had education as seen in egypt
We had a well organised system in all aspects.

We had everything needed for prosperity,
We attracted them with our gold, thus they came.
But most of all, we believed in equality.
Such was africa before they came/

But when the bearded people came,
They altered our ways and put us in stocks
Then said: "we had no history."
Oblivious that africa had made history,

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Dudleys Letter Part 2

Paer 2 of Thomas Dudley's Letter

If these errors were not enough, she claims to prophesy, nay, 
more than that, she claims to know them that are of the Lord’s 
elect, and to know them that are not! Even the saintliest of Papists 
would disclaim such knowledge! Of our ministers, she says they 
are false and unsufficient in knowledge, and,therefore, teach not 
right doctrine! Granted, a preacher might be justified in this 
judgement, but in a woman it is undeniable heresy! Her impertinence 
is outrageous, for she openly questions, contradicts, and durst 
correct our esteemed ministers at holy service, causing great 
clamor among the faithful congregants, while rallying the weak-
headed and proud to her perswasions. Is this not proof enough that 
she hath strayed beyond the wholesome bounds of true religion, 
and that she hath within her corrupt heart not the Spirit of the Lord,
but that of the Arch Enemy of us all! How it grieves me to set these 
matters down – see how my pen shakes and my script trembles!

I am most truly confirmed that she must of be convented, tried, 
and, if possible, made to recant of her blasphemies, and, if her 
heart be unto the Lord, as is her boasting, then she must repent. 
If she be impenitent, then she must be punished with severity; for 
on account of the enormity of her sins, so her punishment 
must equal it; and, as it seemeth to me, banished from our 
jurisdiction as a woman not fit for our society. Thus her explusion 
will be an example to others, those women in particular that have
gathered to her as flies to excrement, and who, the Lord knows, 
even now, having drunk eagerly of her peculiar poison, walk 
among us as unto a fatal sickness. Her banishment will rid
us of her, and what may befall her, as according to the will
of God (as I believeth), shall no longer be within the duty of our 
purview or concern; so that we may direct our prayers and pity 
properly to those whose unfortunate souls she has subverted, 
of which the number now is great enough to make me shudder.

Moreover, if she refuse that reformation of the heart, what hope 
doth she have? Is she not condemned by the very Spirit she 
claims to possess? How easily the blind see the errors of others, 
but not their own! How, then, shall we reason with her, if she be 
reasoned with at all? 

For she is obedient to no one except that diabolical voice within, 
but also perhaps her husband, a man of a very mild temper and 
weak parts, and wholly guided by his wife; who, I durst believe, 
has also come under her spell, forasmuch as he hath apparently 
no authority over her as Scripture lays upon him as a Christian 
husband, excepting, it would seem, when only on her back, for 
she conceives in great frequency, much like a sow.

But in her interpretations she is clever only, not having depth 
of truth to what she says, as to be expected of one descended 
from she who was deceived. And she doth brazenly and without 
shame usurp the authority – a grievous sin, indeed – of us 
whom the Lord has mercifully placed over womenfolk – to guide, 
protect, and, it is to be hoped, secure their salvation, which, she, 
blinded by her own conceit and arrogance, hath jeopardized 
to her damnation, this Jezebel who dares to walk among us as 
though she were the Lord’s appointed prophet!

For women are not of that strength of mind as men be, and 
cannot carry those burdens suited only to men. Her error, then, 
sensible beyond doubt, is that she has given herself wholly 
to reading and writing, and substracted herself from those works 
as belong to good-wife (if that she ever be!) – the proper care of 
home and children, submission to her husband in all things
especially pertaining to the Lord, His will and purposes; rather 
than meddling in those matters the Lord meant proper to men, 
and men only, whose minds the Lord hath seen fit to fashion 
stronger, for woman is the weaker vessel, so saith the apostle 
as plain as the day is light, and her place hath been ordained 
for all time, forasmuch as she was created for the man and given 
unto him and not the man given unto the woman. Of all of this, 
Mistress Hutchinson mocks brazenly as though she had never
read Scripture!  She hath effectively become more a husband than 
a wife, a preacher than a hearer, and a magistrate than a subject.

The hour is late, and my eyes tire exceedingly. There is much 
more to relate, and divers voices with grave accusations against her, 
which however I forbear until I am rested. In a few days I will 
convoke all members of the General Court to session at the meetinghouse. There, before our faithful elders, for all to hear and consider, 
I will expose and expound the nature of her errors and rebelliousness, 
and whatever other evidence may be brought against her. We must 
act with urgency and courage, lest this wicked leaven spread farther 
than it hath and more innocent souls be caught in her web and 
who might misguidingly eat the pernicious bread of her corrupt table, 
and the whole colony be lost in hellish disorder and discord – 
for already her power hath divided the commonwealth into 
quarrelsome parties.

I trust the Lord will make good speed of this matter, and in His mercy 
and wisdom guide and sustain us in this righteous endeavor. As it was 
with that wicked Jezebel of Israel, may she who now confronts us – 
this American Jezebel – be struck with the severity of the Lord’s
 judgement, that all may fear and tremble, see and know that the Lord tolerates no evil amidst his own. And having been rid of her, this 
heathen and publickan, shall the Lord not prosper us as before? 

May the Lord restore the peace and unity to this colony of 
Massachusetts which this daughter of Satan hath taken away, 
and may His hand be gentle and compassionate upon us once more. Amen.

– Thomas Dudley
Governor of Massachusetts by the Grace of God

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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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Forever in Memory

   Remember their faces, their music, and most joyishily their impact on the crowds
and thongs of popparazzi that love them and even the one's that didn't, from San
Francisco to New Mexico. Icon's yes, in a world of their own, "we are not along".
Micheal Jackson, Tupac Shukur, Elvis Prestley, the Beattle's, Muhammed Ali, Pres.
John F. Kennedy and Rev. Martin L. King. Something about each one of them and it
took on a miraculous transformation that force many to believe in a change. Icon-yes,
music is the gateway to the inner spirit, of which a majestic quality emerge when one
can sell out concerts and their records produce's extranomical sales and folks from all
walks of life gets goosebumps whenever ther is chance to see them!!..
   Micheal Jackson grew up right before our eye's, dance his way into our hearts, be
came such an Icon that, "Forever in Mememory", will become etched in history and all
of the contravercy that surrounded his life is a history to be learn and a talented human
being is thought of now as a part of the rising sun, moonwalking his way to become an
   Remember their faces, their ultimate accodote in creating listeners and the younger
generation, a role module. Someone we will tell our grandchildren about over break-
fast at Hardy restaurant. Listening to Tupac, "lets have a Gangsta Party". The Beattle's
I love you yeah, yeah and now the tune, "Gone too soon", shall bring tears and the
Jackson 5 and anyone awakening this morning to the smile of the rising Sun. Remem-
ber their music and in your mind, keep the light on. "Forever in Memory", we want for-
get the "Icon's"...

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The writer left it there 
He left if for the sharp minds
 Hided it to the beggers 
Sealed with the chains of wisdom
 Those wet behind ears are astonished
 They are taken aback about a useless book
 They see no greatness from the book

 The writer left stories that were never told
 The stories of the greats and their secrets
 Encrypt with codes to unlock the futures
 Envy to bring back what people lost
 But still they don’t notice and look beyond

 This is the book that has our stories 
The book that tells of the old age
 Written to change your perception
 Wrote for you to have appreciation
 Would it take your time to read?

 The book that never won any noble peace
 But the book that have all the greats in-one 
Teach me to see beyond the greedy
 Take me into a place where you promise me

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Who Will Redeem You, Mother Africa?

Africa…. Just the mention of her name creates a range of mixed feelings  
Feelings of joy, disappointment and rage, leave me baffled, exhausted!
So vast and beautiful is this land blessed with amazing contrasts 
From her people that range in colors, blue black to creamy white
From the snow covered peaks of Mt Kilimanjaro
To the golden hued savannahs, 
From the fertile valleys of her plains
To jungles and rivers teeming with life; her expanding desert devouring the land

You once were so full of promise, now you're like a left over meal
Best of which the masters have eaten, now only scraps and bones remain
Your children still go hungry and the strong fight over crumbs
The mighty rule with guns and tanks; the weak, out of fear, recoil
Incredibly, riches still abound, and yet, your children are denied
No longer by slave masters on ships from abroad
But by native sons dressed in military garb

Who will redeem you Mother Africa?
Will your sons ever put you first?
Perhaps it’s time you rewrite your history
Elevate your daughters instead?

*This dedication to Africa comes from my heart with love..the original birthplace of half my 

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The River

A simple God made paradice. 
So precious to behold. 
Once clear blue and full of life 
now dismal, gray and cold.
Sweeping through an empty forest 
flows the lonely river. 
Its banks a depot of trash deposits 
sends my spine a quiver.
Still peaceful in the deathbed sence 
I sit and watch astounded. 
Peering through a chainlink fence 
my memories recounted.
There were no signs that said "No Swimming" 
or "Do Not Eat The Fish". 
No soda cans or old yard trimmings. 
It was full of kids.
Ducks would gather once a year 
as they made their journeys south. 
Squirrels foraged with no fear. 
The water overflowed with Trout.
Though flayed of all its dignity 
I still find much pleasure. 
For in my minds imagery, 
it will always be a treasure.

                     The Applethoughtrotten

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Robert Frost

Born on March 26th 1874 in San Francisco
Where the streets are filled with dining alfresco 
At age eleven his father passed 
Then relocated to Lawrence Mass.
From the hills and the pastures blowing free
His words ran so deep and scrupulously dreamy
In the 1900’s he began forward to Derry New Hampshire
Where the broken apple limbs made fair bushfire
 Sweet fields swayed and the autumn sighed
Robert was devoted to nature and the great outside 
Blooming vivid colors in the musty breeze
Burnt amber firewood rests in columns and is seized 
Frozen grounds and lanterns aglow
Heaps of clad earth dancing around the spruce in a row
Where impulsive minds were left to wander 
A glorious view of the silvery birch around yonder
There a hunger grew like no other, and emerged 
In the myths of his seclusion inspiration ran with an urge
So there he traveled the courses
On posed dapple-grey horses 
Spent time in his teaching
Always in hopes of reaching
Though suffered many a personal tragedy in succession 
He later settled in Ripton Vermont and continued his profession 
Frost received the Pulitzer Prize for poetry four times in his life 
Having succeeding many children and a wife 
Robert Frost died on January 29, 1963, having had four children
And six grandchildren, and eleven great-grandchildren
He is and will always be regarded a master-poet and writer 
Leaving piles of verse for all to read thus making life brighter 

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You were born in Clermont, Queensland on December, twenty-four, 
Away back circa eighteen sevn'ty-two. 
Edward Jones now had a fifth child, whom his dear wife Anna bore, 
Their second son and both were proud of you. 
They'd migrated out from Ireland back in eighteen sixty-three 
And sailed upon the good ship Beejapore. 
Landing at Rockhampton harbour in the Queensland colony, 
Resettling on a strange and foreign shore. 
Childhood days behind you Victor you then joined the work force lad, 
Assigned to a gold mining company. 
In the range town of Mt Morgan you enjoyed the job you had; 
A diligent and loyal employee. 
You assisted the paymaster, though you left your posting when 
You chose to join your countrymen at war. 
For you heard the call of duty and you joined Mt Morgan men 
To fight for Queen and country 'gainst the Boer. 
Volunteering as a member of the gallant Q.M.I. 
You proudly donned that feather in your hat. 
First Contingent of B Company you waved this land good-bye, 
Enrolled as British troops and went to bat. 
Rebel Boers embarked on raiding farms of loyal colonists 
In Griqualand west district to the north. 
Counter measures were then put in place to stop these terrorists 
By sending Pilcher and his column forth. 
On the last day of December circa eighteen ninety-three 
This force would march from Belmont heading west. 
Information was forthcoming as to where the Boers could be 
And Ricardo led his party which was soon put to the test.
On the first day of that New Year Victor Jones you lost your life; 
They buried you at Sunnyside that eve. 
Since that day the world's continued to be filled with war and strife, 
So many die for what they do believe. 
But the nation recognises that the first Australian 
To die upon the battle field was you. 
So Mt Morgan folk erected to your memory young man 
A monument;  the least that they could do. 
In the not too distant future Victor, nations may yet  see, 
How precious all their young men really are. 
Then refrain from sacrificing them and let the young men be, 
Fine fathers to their families, not memories afar. 

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.The survivors. Yes, that's what we call ourselves. We've lived through the terrors of life. 
Gentle hands, soft spoken, safe in his arms. Obey, and listen, and the swirling melody of 
love plays throughout the scene. And yet, this masquerade is always broken to reveal the 
truth. Words sharper than daggers explode around our ears. Bruises appear on our skin. 
We've "fallen", the clumsy females we are. We fell. A sports injury, a car crash, a freak 
accident. Freak accident of hatred. Much like the lion, quiet and stalking, and then exploding 
into a flurry of the hunt. Of the hurt. Swift blows, and blood drips from noses, tears stream 
from eyes in a silver river of desperate please, bruises decorate us in tawnys and majestic 
purples. Reminders of our "wrong doings". We need to pay for our sins. The only witness are 
the walls, and the moonbeams that dance about our dizzy heads. On the ground. Steel toes 
to the back. A crack. Fire. Pain. And then, a cool silence. The rage subsides, and apologies 
appear. "I'll never do it again" and "I lost control" replay in the back of our heads. Our deja-
vu from the previous night. Always the same. Always the pain. The survivors. Thats what we 
call ourselves. And by the dark dance of the moon against the velvet sky, as stars twinkle 
like sequins, and fade into the dawn, we pick ourselves up. New excuses. New plates to buy. 
A new alarm clock. New knives, doors, but no new hearts, stabbed until the hemmoragging 
hurts like a firestorm. Alone. We are alone. We, the Survivors, have lived not an apocalypse, 
not a plane crash, but the darkest part of our lives. Therapy can lock it away, but never 
remove the dark stain of dried blood upon our souls. Lost. We come together, and escape. 
We start anew, but are never the same. Dark dreams, paranoia haunting our shadows, and 
the jumps that come with shattered glass of the clink of dishes. Never the same, but 
stronger. What doesn't kill you is sure to leave a horrible scar, but wounds heal And while 
scars remain as a reminder of the pain endured, we are, for the better, stronger. We 


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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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SOUL PARTNERS Majestic, glistening in the cascading full-moon rays The wondrous timeless monument of love, Awe-inspiring, vision of unparalleled beauty, Taj Mahal! Reminiscent of an ever green love story The angelic, divinely beautiful queen Mumtaz Mahal The brave and heroic Mughal Shahjahan... He took up a daunting task to immortalize his love for her To create this iconic symbol of unending love. Held in captivity, she would watch it grow Yet neither lived to cherish their dream. They lie here in Taj Mahal, side by side in their graves But souls ever entwined together! By: Yesha Shah for the SOUL PARTNERS free poetry contest Shahjahan and Mumtaz Mahal

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The Chapel Walk

My days within these walls are numbered, soon,
the piper will be paid to play a different tune,
of plots and plans, of futures, I'll not speak,
though, in my silence, I seem to others, weak,
whispers reach my ears, dangerous talk!
thank god I can retreat upon the chapel walk,
here is peace, where my thoughts are my own
here the tears drop from my eyes that are alone,
here in solitude do I stand and truly pray,
for my lord, my dearest husband, who is gone away,
gone, to fight for and with Elizabeth, our queen,
the months have passed, and still his face remains unseen,
but, by god's grace, a messenger is sent this way!,
to tell of news....her majesty has won the day!,
and my dearest rides with great haste to York!
while I give thanks, on bended knee, upon the chapel walk.

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Today is the birthday of that
long gone soul. The one spinning
in the centrifuge, even now,
on the counter, as the technician
in the lab coat pulls seven G's
worth of DNA from calcified skull,
in an effort to know what might
have been on the mind of the
Neanderthal still hanging around,
after all these years.

Before Julius Caesar and way before
Pope Gregory, notioned that any day 
might be different from any other,
he woke up around sunrise, quietly
rolled to upright and looked about 
the dimly lit space.

Perhaps he saw the female lying there 
who had brought forth a baby, 
now lying there with her, a young male,
a child of perhaps seven seasons, 
extending the lineage a bit further, 
the trek, apparently a bit longer now. 

It's a cold morning, really cold,
and he goes to see what's left of 
the fire from last night. Barely a 
wisp of smoke to mix with the early 
morning icy mist all around.

Thinking about what might be gotten 
for the few in his group from this hidden 
day he returns to her and his spear.
Her eyes open and he motions to be quiet.
The meal may be just beyond their camp.
Quietly his slips into the dewy mist.

He didn't have any notion of
wider questions, of glaciations or,
distant global warmings, DNA inheritance,
species encapsulation, or lyrical
language structure and etymology,
he only wanted to find a meal, to
provide, and stay alive another day.

Yet perhaps he had deeper, more
cerebral notions, about the beauty of 
the drops hanging from the pine needles,
and the bent image within them. Perhaps
he heard the early morning calls of 
robins or sparrows, and smelled the 
trailing smoke of yesterday's fire mixing 
with the scents of the season's flowers.

It's all about history, his story,
that we yearn to hear, after
forty-nine thousand years or more.
To hear his heart, to bare his soul 
through those mists of time, to now.
To be reassured, that our story, it's 
character, it's plot, comes from 
ancient roots, ancient tradition, 
ancient emotion, ancient love - of life.

© Goode Guy 2013-05-20

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'The multi-hued beauty'

Situated on the Southern tip of Africa Where two oceans meet, lies my country of birth A rainbow nation is what we are called With eleven official languages and many diverse cultures it is not difficult to grasp why... Skeptics said we would never make it, against all odds we did, Apartheid part of our history a history we will never forget, A history, we certainly should never disregard. The budding King Protea, The Blue Crane takes to flight and the Springbok that leap over meadows just a few of South Africa’s jewels...

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This January Day

As history was awakened,
on this January Day,
a man of hope,
takes his place.

Speaking to the world,
he told of his plan,
where equality is here,
for every woman, and man.

No more will greed,
be allowed to grow,
eyes will be watching,
this you should know.

We are survivors,
and like others before,
we will defend our great country,
from every shore.

Hard work, and sweat,
and prayers from our lips,
united we shall stand,
on this four year trip.

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whittlin' away

whittlin' away
- an essay

I went to buy a pocketknife
recently for a preteen I know,
a small boy with wide dreams
and spaces to live in that match

The usual hardware haunt was
quite limited in its selection,
so I went online to find the perfect 
treasure for an eight-year-old

There was a wide array of
overpriced stilettos and bayonets
but nothing of simple sturdiness
for boys with a woodsman's mindset

So I went to the long-established
area gun and tackle shop in search of
a small locking blade that a boy 
could rub and oil and admire

The sales clerk showed me several
walls of hundreds of knives
that in all probability included 
a full-size replica of a Jim Bowie
broad knife with blood channel

I naively asked if they had any
not quite so - lethal 
He replied no, all they carried
anymore where "tactical" knives

I wondered what sort of tactics
a eight-year-old who might still 
think little girls were "icky" 
would be in need of contemplating

When I was a boy, all boys 
carried pocketknives as a point
of practicality, whittlin' away our
childhood, by shavings and curlings

The thought of hand-to-hand tactics 
regarded only to arm wrestling
and sneaking past authorities 
meant parents and teachers - to play

Tactically bypassing metal detection
and doing terminal bodily harm
to anyone was completely unknown
to our innocence and, too, to society

"Tactical" pocketknives for boys (or anyone)
is a present-day mindset of our own
fear- and bravado-driven selves
that we would sleep better without

Nine and eleven are odd numbers
that do not add up to an even world
Even though we profess better selves,
our current example falls short

Little boys know not, and should care not, 
for such murderous dreams.
I, too, care not for this.
It may be true, someday, if we, as people, will it

© Goode Guy 2012-10-13

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Amid Chaos

Your garden is filled with bunnies –
 I see them hopping around like this ….
Oh, I have been fighting those things for so long; 
my husband thinks that I’m crazy.
I’m kicking against the resistance, tired and all, 
but I take a rain check on giving up. 
 Somebody is going to pay the piper.
 I am colder now; 
I haven’t been hot … 
for so long.
 I’ll be there in no time – 
my father is waiting for me.
I’ve spent milk money
 to see Jack Robinson and Willie Mays
 make their statements with hard wood and leather.
It is colder over here. 
I was there when Luther first had that dream; 
 the FBI had to shut him up.
Since then, black people stop dreaming; 
they’re scared of being shot.
Look what they do to my bed of lettuce.
My God, not my pak choi.
You guys are rabbit stew. 
Those fools don’t know how to do it, do they?
 All I want to do is get my tail back to Cincinnati.
 I’ll have a damn good time,
 just like I said, 
I’ll have a damn good time. 
You have got to know it for a while to see the changes. 
I had a young man, who was helping me, 
I told him let’s get the hell outa here.
What I was doing was the right thing to do;
 I was ready to go. 
I can’t handle it now, 
but I could handle it yesterday. 
I’m justice’s daughter; 
I believe in free will.
I was the lady that was there.
 It makes me feel good to know I’ve seen all struggles, 
but my time has come.
Don’t let those precious moments pass you by.
 Enjoy your life honey.

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Thomas Dudleys Letter Concerning Anne Hutchinson

Thomas Dudley’s Letter to Reverend Cotton Mather 
Concerning Anne Hutchinson

My good Syr, be it noted that on this day, Tuesday, 1636, 
in the year of our Lord and Saviour, in the teeth of an extraordinary 
storm of wind and hail, a certain Edward Johnson, woodworker, 
newly come to Boston, and of a mind as of a woman in travail, did 
report to me the matter I now submit to you and for which I am 
compelled, as a Christian man, and as by conscience, – namely, 
that Mistress Anne Hutchinson, hath for no mean time in her privacy, 
drawn unto herself sundry persons with whom she unlawfully 
and erroneously expounds Scripture; and that she hath boldly 
drawn unto herself a potent party of well-to-do, of merchants, 
and of certain preachers. Her disobedience to those whom God 
in his mercy and pleasure hath placed in authority causeth great 
disturbance in our colony, for she is a threat to the foundation 
of peace and order we have worked so hard to establish and 
for so long a time.

Whereas there was much love and union and sweet agreement 
amongst us before she came, yet since then there hath been 
censurings and judgeings and condemnings one of another. 
And I do conceive all these woeful opinions do come from this
 bottom, for if the bottom hath been unsound and corrupt, then 
must the building be such. Woe to that soul that shall build upon 
such bottoms! The fear at which I tremble most is that if she be 
not put in her rightful place, she will establish a community of 
women with their abominable wickedness, with its licentiousness 
and sinful liberty; and this colony of Massachusetts which the Lord
 hath seen fit to bless and prosper would be ruined utterly.

We must be prudent and proceed for she hath a head that 
doth excel in knowledge of Scripture, equal to if not greater
than our most learnéd divines. And her words are schooled 
besides, she having been taught when in England by her 
father, the Reverend Mr. Francis Marbury, himself, it is said, 
a defiant Puritan and Separatist who openly spake against 
the Church of England and the Queen’s authority, and later
the King’s, and who was confined in the privacy of his house 
and later imprisoned. It is from him that Mistress Hutchinson 
received her learning and rebelliousness. But she preacheth 
in error and depravity, for she twists the Scriptures so that 
what they seem to say in her mouth, they are not. Verily, a man 
must tread softly with her, lest he be tripped up by her deviance 
and contrivances and be made a fool. That she hath already 
perswaded not a few is testimony of her power and art of 
perswasion over men’s hearts and souls.

Moreover she wears an appearance outwardly of womanly gentility, 
modesty, and deference; nor doth she take much thought for 
the flesh as younger women do who pamper their bodies with diverse
dainties, – vanities of vanities! – for in truth she is plain in features, 
better suited to home than pulpit. Neither is she of a turbulent carriage, 
nor, tho’ it seemeth strange to me and others, that she be not afflicted 
by those distempers common in women of her years and much 
child-bearing. But it is all of a monstrous pretense as that of the ancient 
Pharisees who the Lord in his wisdom reproved fearlessly, and so 
it falleth likewise on us to do the same.

In her opinions, she is most obstinate, with a pertinacity that 
overwhelms, confounds, and beleaguers the reasonable man. 
She is as bold and arrogant in her assertions as is a Papist, and she 
lets her tongue speak for her misguided and foolish heart without 
caution or restraint. I fear she is deceived to such degree that she
thinks her person to that of a man, in mind, intelligence, and spirit, 
as though she knoweth not her physickal nature, that of a woman, 
weak and mortal!  And it will appear that she is a very dangerous
woman, sowing her corrupt opinions to the infection of many, 
even to those who claim enlightenment but now whose light she 
has put out. You see how fit an instrument of Satan she is! And do 
you suppose he will relinquish his hold of her?

She is cunning, as women of her kind are. Her pride knoweth
no proper bounds. Like a hunter behind a stalking horse, she 
conceals herself, unbeknownst to her prey. Her tongue cuts 
like a sword, and the heat of her spirit, if not quenched, will sear 
every soul she touches.  There is also about her a most unpleasant 
sense that, though she be physical and a woman capable of child-
bearing, even so she seemeth possessed of something hidden within 
her flesh, a spirit unnatural to her sex, I durst think. Are these
not telling intimations of witchcraft?

She hath caused much unsettlement among the colony, and she 
hath gathered many to her perswasion; and, as with the Devil 
with Eve, she hath seduced them cunningly. If she be not reduced 
forthwith, this plantation, which is now flourishing, would soon,
I repeat, become desolate, and either repossessed again with 
savages or emptied by pestilence. Or doth she think in her 
perversity, nay, imagine this colony like Jezreel of olden, and she 
the self-enthroned queen who taunts with her impieties the people 
of  God?  And does she not build altars and offer thereon unclean 
and defiled sacrifices of her idolatry? I tell you, good Syr, she 
wears a mask hardened by use, for beneath the commonness 
of her countenance and carriage, there exists every vile thing – 
even as it was with that Jezebel of old, that witch and whore 
and heathen! Will not her end perforce be as that of her which 
she imitates? May it be so!

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"Sphinx - dom"

Your Highness, the Triads of the Milky Way galaxy “Planet Earth”
Have evidence of Your “GRAND” - Grand - Father’s”  ‘“ E T E R N I T Y “ ‘
As Your Shrine Shines in the heat of a desolate “Forbidden Dessert of Life”
Crumbled , broken, eroding “ The Shrine of Your Beloved “ FOREFATHERS “
I as YOUR Servant :  as the Knowledge , YOU bestowed upon my “Foreheads’ “

The  Triads have advanced  ; their technology today equals Yours of “ History “
How long before they realize ;  the  devastation they avoid  : they also “Created”
Shall they  think they have found  the “ Forever answer “ to Eternal, Everlasting “
How do YOU tell them that the Dreams they  Dared to Dream, were not “Reality”
Know that they can see the “T R U TH“, in Death, not the DEATH of Your “TRUTH”

The third Planet from the Sun ;  we call the “ Raven Star “  unraveling it’s destiny
As they did to the  Lineage of YOUR  “GRAND - Grand - Father’s” “ANCESTRY”
Will they SURVIVE?, Will they See, Know, Speak and PRAY TO their “GOD”
Do they learn to LOVE one another, to Help each other?  To keep History “ALIVE?”

“So VERY SAD to say ; My Friend , they do not Find  the Key to EVERLASTING LIFE”  

Author's Note : This POEM was Inspired by Two of My Favorite POETESSES
Carol Brown ( My MENTOR ) for Her Contest "STORY TIME " I dedicate this to YOU
Carolyn Devonshire ( My TEACHER ) for Her Contest "Sphinx Head on Mars?

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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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Fallen Angel

Fallen Angels. There was a row in heaven - this much I do know I know because I read the scriptures and they told me so. The great god Jehovah did throw out his heavenly angelic son Who became known as the 'Devil and Satan.' Yes check it, that’s the one. Be glad you heavens the scriptures say for he is not amongst you from this day But woe is to the earth; he is now there and he wants to do his worse He wanted his angelic brothers to follow him, and too mischief he is not averse. Some of his angel brothers when they saw the power Satan had Decided to leave the heavens and for mankind that turned out bad They caused havoc upon the earth and married daughters of men Their sons are named in the Bible; they called them “Nephilim.” Great giants of half men and of half angel too God knew this was wrong so he decided what to do. He wanted to wipe away, his creation from the earth But he found one man called Noah and he found he was of worth. He made him build an ark so his family could be saved And then he flooded the earth over forty days, so the Nephilim could be slayed. So remember “Angels descending bring from above Echoes of mercy whispers of love” beware there are some fallen ones Who on the earth did roam Make sure you get their name and address before you take one home.
Entry for Tracie's fallen Angel Contest. 10/02/2012

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I put aside All the hurt and pain, And keep in mind All the things I’ve gained. I still remember The good things too, From all of the ex’s I’ve been through. Ex Number One Was my first love, He gave me such inner strength That there’s nothing I’m afraid of. From him also came My special first born son, And my first wonderful daughter The second child born. Ex Number Two Emotional control came to me, He also gave my children The best grandparents ever to be. He fathered my second son A child so very wise, And my last little baby girl Who gets the eye from all the guys. Ex Number Three Gave me the dancing I still long for, Will there ever be another With such style and grace on the dance floor? I even gained a stepdaughter Who is as special as the rest, She is also my friend And I wish her all the best! Ex Number Four Was always thoughtful of me, And he taught me that a handyman Is something that I could even be. He tried very much To make me happy somehow, He was a wonderful friend And he’s still my pal. Florence McMillian (Flo)

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The Feast of Easter

Easter was originally a rural,
Spring feast day celebrating the
lushness and richness of the soil.
It also celebrated the fertility and
birth of all creation. The sparrow
and the doves began to sing and build
nests during this season. In a Germanic
pagan tradition, the Goddess of Dawn 
was originally worshiped prior to, and 
200 years after, the death of Christ. 
It was she who was known for 
blessing the richness of the earth.

Easter resides on a movable calendar, 
changing the date of its celebration 
every year. Easter mirrors Passover 
to the extent that Moses spent 40 days
on Mt. Sinai to receive the sacred 
commandments in the old Testament.
Lent and Ash Wednesday, practiced by
Orthodox Christianity, also lasts 40 days. 
It was basically 200 years after Christs’
death that the Christian church took
over the feast day of the Goddess and
filled it with Easter Sunday dinner..

"What Easter Means to Me" contest

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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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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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Stymied by moral transgressions

While the church of today continues to wrestle with prominent issues,
like those of leadership, moral credibility, or fidelity of her members;
society remains critical to address certain weakpoints already at hand,
those seeming endless lawsuits against the clergy and religious members.

Moments in time unfold the wreckage of moral credibility, trust, and confidence;
it’s like a downfall of the human castle formed with the sanctity of wisdom –
continuity in liturgical sacraments, prayer, and reliance on biblical life;
with faith that God is involved in many events both ecclesial and personal.

It’s on a soaring journey where the Jewish concept of bitachon   is needed,
to move on amid the struggles and other evolving deal of human problems;
so inextricable that make one stronger to cope with what life really means,
in this generation where a culture of arguments abounds in moral situations.

It’s sad to think of what’s going on; it’s painful to experience those afflictions,
the church grieves and suffers with all her leaders’ and members’ transgressions;
with the abuse of power, freedom, and prestige of being one of Christ’ ministers,
heaven weeps as evil triumphs to lead those priests into the world of failures.

The turbulent waves of scandals that have wounded the sacred priestly life,
people’s trust and faithfulness to the sacraments of life – a great turmoil!
the whole Catholicism has been shaken and struggled to redeeem her reputation;
her running sore of afflictions – so widespread that only time can heal the wounds.

With the words of Jesus at his farewell discourse in Johannine literature,
“I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you.”   It’s reassuring so far;
the Spirit of truth  is Christ himself who’ll walk with his own people of all races,
his covenant with them, promise to his disciples, and assurance to all who believe in him.

The church echoes hope and perseverance in the throes of sufferings and tribulations,
She calls everyone to look for the true light – Christ, in hiddenness and humility;
His epiphany  in a continuing journey of faith, in the gospel cries, in various events,
Christ shines in one’s heart, along with the Father and the Holy Spirit – the Paraclete.

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In a Used Book Store

The other day, in a new town and with some time to kill,
I wandered into a used book store. It smelled wonderful..
dusty and well loved.  The proprietor was more than happy 
to lead me to the poetry corner, and a corner it was..snug 
and cozy, with an entire wall of old books. In heaven,  I
settled in for some browsing,  Pablo Neruda love poems, 
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Khalil Gibron ,and many, 
many poets that I was not familiar with. The minutes passed..
and then my eye was caught by The Penguin Book of
First World War Poetry, .published in 1979...
edited by Jon Silkin,  London, England.
By the end of the next hour the tears were brimming.
The stories of unimaginable pain and horror, death ,
and yes, beauty, touched me deeply. And the final glory.. 
On page 85..In Flanders Fields ", between the crosses, row on row.."
In spidery script, someone had written.."In 1933, Poplar, Montana-
I recited this on Armistice Day, and I can still do it today..."
            An ordinary day, became an extraordinary day.. 

Barbara Gorelick
Inspired by the poem...Old Books..., written by Constance~~ A Rambling Poet
For the contest  --I Am Sending You a Gift of Poetry, Dear Heart..

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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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Daisies in December dec 2001

Winter have come and winters have gone some were very cold and some were a 
little warmer.
But this winter is different so far it hasn't been winter cold it has been so warm that 
the flowers have been blooming!
I know this isn't very spectacular to most because a lot of places have them 
blooming year round.
Around here the climate is usually to cold and the flowers are tucked away in there 
But this year there up late and showing there heads. 

On 09-11-2001 so many of our flowers died and were taken from us.
And we thought what a cold senseless act it was that caused them to die.
I thought they would never come out again, 
but Christmas is here and people are traveling and hurrying and shopping almost 
like they used to.
I took my daughter to school and the air was a little nippy. 
When we got out of the truck we saw two daisies standing tall and blooming! 
I said to my daughter look how nice God sent us daisies in December.

Life on Purpose Live it before you lose it! ©2009

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Hip Hip Hooray

                                     Hip Hip Hooray

              Hip Hip Hooray for today Naseby Day!
              On these Northamptonshire fields in the middle of England

              in 1645 (given a calendar change around a century later) 

              the Parliamentarians defeated the Royalists in the most 

              decisive battle of the Great Civil War, to in full time created 

              this royal republic that to tell truth to power Whitehall and 

              Westminster will be brought to book as to tell truth to influence 

              much of the media specially the oligopoly Press with its self-righteous 

              arrogance will be altered for good by the judicial Leveson Enquiry

              untying the Gordian knot tying party to papers as today most rightly, 

              should be sad too the as today is Liberation Day in the Falkland Islands 

              as we and the Argentinians remember the war dead, praying that 

              that these two Christian states and liberal democracies may truly 

              try to keep to the high principles that both claim as their truest cause.

              Hip Hip Hooray for Naseby Day, for Leveson Days, and for  Falklands Day!   


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A life long gone

Before smokeless zones and double glazing, 
when street lamps were powered by gas, and streets, 
were gleaming. Terraced houses, all linking, 
arms to form a line, all separated,
by an alleyway;  a place to put bins. 
Ruled by Rats, Cats, and lots dirty old men. 
Soot settled on the roofs from the endless,
line of chimney stacks, sending smoke signals, 
out across the Black Mersey. When it rained; 
washing the soot down walls forming ghostly, 
apparitions. Black slicks gathered outside. 
Families lived with families, sub let.
Shared rooms, food and lives. Kids played in the streets;
held bonfires in streets. Everyone knew, 
everyone, and everything, no secrets! 
Houses were so cold you had to get dressed, 
at bedtime, navy coat on bed. Hard times!

©  8/3/2012

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Grandma's Table

How long has it been,
since you dressed me up,
using your mother's silver,
and all those fancy cups.

You stuck me in the shed,
seems like forever now,
and closed the door,
and then you never came around.

Then today,
you drug me out,
polished me until I shined,
and took me back in the house.

I guess you know now,
I was made very good,
I am solid oak,
a very pretty wood.

Now I am wearing,
grandma's lace,
I love those flowers,
in your favorite vase.

I'll be here ready,
when your company gets here,
How I love dressing up,
thank you dear.

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Hard Times

Little to show for a hard days work
Maybe black lung, inhaling all that dust
Flip a coin, go right home or stop for a beer
Heads came up, In God We Trust.

Kids playing baseball in the street
Need to put a kitchen window in
Kids didn’t mean it mom, don’t get mad
They were just having fun, ain’t no big sin.

It’s just a little cut, no big deal
Timber came down inside the mine today
No bandage now, the air will help it heal
Gotta go back down tomorrow anyway

I get scared when I hear those timbers crack
Sometimes my blood runs cold as ice
Look above and hope I make it back
Then look down and keep an eye on the mice

Out of sugar, we’ll have to make do
I’ll pick some up when I get paid
Got a nickel raise coming next month
Two bucks a week, we’ll have it made

Yes I still hurt some but it’s time for church
Make some coffee while I get dressed
Sure glad we never had hard times
Living in this country, we’ve been so blessed.

Different perception of life in America 
from a different type of immigrant.

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A city made from nothing,
on a lagoon with shallow waters
to keep the invaders away ;
still today those bell chimes ring out
to remind everyone of her victory
at Lapanto...when the ships
brought back the banners
of the defeated enemy!

Venice's splendor is seen everywhere...
 even in San Marco's Square,
 swarmed with pigeons and visitors, 
 where the Venetians' genius built 
 a splendid Basilica reminiscent of their wealth
and power...making Venice:  the Queen of the Sea!
 Down the Rialto Bridge and the Bridge of Sighs,
gondolas row...carrying visitors and lovers;
the artists seek  inspiration for their works,
while their stunned eyes are delighted by beauty, 
which pulls them out of virtual reality!  

Intrigue and mystic fascinated 
many a devoted soul,
and the entire city echoed
with delirious voices breaking
the silence of midnight;
violins and lutes played in palaces 
and in gondolas on the Grand Canal...
did anyone stare at the brilliant stars?

A masquerade was an invitation to love,
all disguised themselves behind a mask;
many were seduced by passions with haste...
as Venice revelled in their merry-making,
celebrating a glory that knew no ending;
and when it declined, it was deserted by all! 

Venice's splendor seems eternal,
not diminishing through ages;
her fame ever-increasing and each stone
can tell a different story of people
who partook of her greatness,
leaving a legacy we regard as our own...   

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Another Holocaust?

Have we gone to far to take it back?
    Like a fast running train that has jumped it’s track
Can we gather the pieces that we’ve thrown away?
    And seek redemption in the words we pray.
How can we expect forgiveness from what we do?
    We’re so unfaithful and so untrue.
I know we weren’t there when Jesus died for us.
    So we take on the attitude what’s the big fuss?
They say He will return and claim His throne,
    Will you believe then when the proof is shown?
We can remove His name from everything,
    But when the final day comes whose praises will we sing.
Our government was suppose to be a voice for the majority,
    Instead they do what they please in this land lead by the minority.
In God we trust is what has always lead us through,
    But now they are saying God is not allowed only you.
I don’t know how this country got so turned around,
    But I know the course we’re on and where we’re bound.
I hope someone out there knows what to do,
   And lead us back to the things that will sustain us through.
I read an article about how HUD would not let this eighty some odd year old lady 
place an angel on her Christmas tree.
   Said it might offend some of the other tenants, WELL EXCUSE ME!
It reminds me of a one Adolph Hitler and what he did to the Jews,
   If we don’t stop this idiocy before it gets full blown then Christians might start 
feeling the point of the screw.
It’s not a joking matter and we can’t laugh it off anymore,
    Or we are going to have the Gestapo policing Christians like they did in 
Germany once before.
If you’re a Christian open your eyes and look,
    They’re removing our rights one by one, day by day, book by book.
I don’t want to start trouble but I want what’s right,
    And when push comes to shove are you ready to fight?

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Reporting Live on the Soup - Alaska

"Phew! got here in time to catch The Glacier Discovery Train. This journey is to be seen
to be believed. I am in Anchorage, Alaska. I am so out of breath running to the station.
Right, that's the film crew seated. We have all looked out of a train window anticipating
the journey ahead, lets enjoy"

"We are heading to our first stop called Girdwood. Originally called "Glacier City", it
was founded as a supply camp for placer gold miners. The gold being found in creeks
feeding the Turnagain Arm. Disaster struck the town in 1964 when the Good Friday Quake
struck. Due to subsiding, the town was moved 2.5 miles up the valley"

"OK, back to the journey guys. The next 12 miles takes us towards the port of Whittier.
This wonderful stretch captures what Alaska and Canada is all about. Be sure to look out
for the salmon in the streams as we chug on. Whittier is the stopping point for many
passengers today, where they will become lucky passengers on the day cruisers or even
better going on a fishing charter"

"We are now not far from the Placer Valley. Having left the mainline 12 miles back, we are
now back on track. This area is only accessible by train, which tells you the barrenness
of this wonderful state, country. Before we stop at Spencer Glacier you will see several
spectacular glaciers. The deep ice in these blue gems goes back thousands of years, but
sadly modern man has speeded up their melt. If you were to go camping here, one would
have to be so careful. The wildlife is second to none, with bear, moose, coyotes and
wolves. If you do venture here folks, always remember you are in their domain. So be safe"

"Ah! Spencer Glacier, this place is the future for back country playground themes. Having
formed a partnership with the U.S. Forest Service. Passengers can disembark, go on a
1.5-mile hike with a Forest Service Ranger. The highlight is being taken up close to a
glacier, not many of you watching will ever come close to a glacier. If you do, it's
something else"

"We are now leaving Spencer on the last leg of our journey. You can feel the gravity as we
climb towards Grandview. We will be heading into some short tunnels, and once we are
through them, the beauty is spell-bounding. The Kenai Mountain's with lush meadows is a
sight to see. Waterfalls fed by glacial runoff as snow-melt cascades over ancient cliffs,

"Well viewers, I hope you have enjoyed the journey"

"This is Jacques Pasquinel reporting live for the soup on The Glacier Discovery Train"

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Who I was to who I am

There I was and yet here I still am
once chasing that feeling,now with Gods help and by His grace
becoming a good man
my mother prayed and grandma cried... my actions said I didn't care
back there are haunting memories,situations,instances I seldom ever share
when He sat me down in a concrete room... I cried myself to sleep
wondering of who I'd become,trying on my own to be strong... but,still feeling so weak
I prayed and asked Jesus to pick me up once again
I apologized and prayed to my savior "Lord get me out of this sin!"
so here I am years later with a life I call my own
reading my Bible by the morning light,praising my God who has restored so much
and blessed me, with life, a saved wife, and a home!

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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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On Thanksgiving Day

It’s another red-letter day
a holiday in the U.S.
a national, religious holiday
known also as a ‘Turkey Day’
a very important day.

A chance to be reconnected,
a moment of being together,
a salutary occasion for gratitude,
full with family folderol.

There are historic reasons 
this American celebration
has its origin centuries ago;
as the Pilgrims did it and -
invited neighboring Indian tribes.

To hold it with a feast –
A celebration for God’s blessing.
giving thanks for a common purpose,
freedom, justice, and worship in God.
Through Sarah Josepha Hale 
this event has become a tradition
a realization that came to fulfillment
marked with significance, thus far.

With church services elsewhere
wth family reunions all over 
with customary turkey dinner
oh, a reminder of the historic past:
at the Pilgrims’  big celebration.

In many homes and families
Table fellowships spice up the day
with turkey, mashed potatoes, 
cranberry sauce, maize, pumpkin pie
and other vegetables and desserts.
a complete picture of this great tradition.

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I enlisted into the Army to protect and to serve the USA,
The badge I wear, the uniform I share each and every day,
Is the symbol of a freedom, a democracy, a land,
To which I do not understand,

It started in the year of seventeen hundred and seventy six,
When our founding fathers decided to fix,
The laws place upon them by the King and Queen,
To which they deemed to be outrageous and mean,

We moved across the ocean far beyond the sea,
To a land where all men can be totally free,
We developed a nation, to which we called our own,
Sent the British packing, told the French to go home,

Established a country so rich and so bold,
Imported slaves to be bought and sold,
Built the foundation with the sweat of the weak,
Crumbled their backs when freedom they would seek,

Dislodged a whole nation, scattered them apart,
Poisoned their water, killing buffalo as an art,
Those who survived had to learn to conform,
To become an American, A name unknown,

A nation divided, the South from the North,
A nation united to hunt Crazy Horse,
A battle lost at Custer’s last stand,
A war won at the invading nation’s hand,

A soldier’s diary found in the field…
“To my loving wife, if I’m found and killed…
I leave to thee my heart and my name,
I fought the good fight, I died not in vane,

Place my badge upon my grave,
Tell my sons, the life I gave,
Allowed them to live, to fight the wars,
The politicians shall lie at your doors,

Fight and obey the laws of the land,
Even if you do not understand,
Your reward will be given in the afterlife,
The end is near… Good Bye, My Wife.”

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Not for personal gain or glory

Like the Vikings who left us this word – ‘berserk’ 
some of us may have shown it through human reaction,
where we go berserk against disproportionate behaviors
such anger or infuriation that defines the immediate actions.

It’s still very human to act in this way with sudden eruption,
when inner anger overrules and makes us manifest towards others;
a strong element that fuels harsh words and outrage within,
oh, what a state of mind! so capable to influence us in many ways.

But Jesus Christ’s experience when confronted with torture,
suffering, crucifixion and eventually death in his heroic way;
his courage and humility which are worth mentioning here.
truly, a sublime reaction against those pains and persecutions.

He becomes human who copes with greater risks and pains,
identified not as a historical Jesus of natural stoicism;
with his real grasp of what his destiny may entail along the process,
his only response – to embrace the cross which means so much for us.
On Good Friday reminds us of his passion and crucifixion,
being betrayed, denied and left alone in humiliation;
in darkness and dread, in sorrow and bereavement,
he remains true to his mission and love for all the people.

His lonely agony in the garden of Gethsemane,
touches us so profoundly as he awaits for his destiny;
here is his obedience to the Father whom he prays to,
one with him, distinct in person, one in the Trinity.

Courage or bravery is worth remembering here,
it’s born out of a vision that comprises his self-giving;
that knows no fear but is moved with deep reflection,
all for otherness, all for humanity, all because of his love for people.

In today’s world where we’re constantly tempted with selfishness,
self-centeredness or obsession for power, money and prestige;
Christ’s journey with his disciples makes us reflect what it means,
to be a disciple is to be willing to sacrifice for the sake of others.

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Darker Blood

Rome was burning; the smell of invasion
deep in smoke, spread all over the Aegean Sea;
swords and shields were flooded in blood;
blood that belonged to Roman and Celtic race.

"It appears that we Romans have the same blood
as the Celts!" a philosopher exclaimed.

The Celts blood was believed to be darker than Romans',
for they were primitive savages, unlike the Romans;
the Romans tainted the etiquette of virtue by invading
the Celts' home of their ancestors.

It was now hard to know which blood was darker.......

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Question life

I'm told that I should just have faith
I'm told that is the road to God
the love of God is faith
With faith I should then follow

Do not attempt to see
do not attempt to understand
the thoughts that God conceived
yet faith to me is hollow

sometimes deceived by man
do not the suicide bombers
have faith within their hands
they walk with faith and then destroy

The innocent do bleed
the church with faith fought 
the crusades 
great money made with death

again with faith the witch hunts
took many to their deaths
no my friend I will not lead
I do not want that job

Instead I would then have you ask
yourself for Gods insight
do not follow do not lead
with faith do not make others bleed

Stand up for what you think yourself
and question what you read
is what they say the truth I ask
I do believe with questions speak

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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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the following poem contains scenes which may not be suitable for all audiences

The very word "anthology" means 
"flower-gathering", or "I gather flowers"
rooted in ancient Greek, to describe
the act of collecting

Perhaps on some rocky Athenian hillside, 
a maiden and too perhaps, 
a young strapping man
walk tentatively, 
amidst the rocky slides
of life and lust, 
to gaze at the beauty

of shining black hair, flowing robe
over curved bosom, and beautiful feet,
too sinewy biceps, strong torso
and voice, behind alluring smile

They regard each other,
as desirous lovers always do,
with wanton coyness
and amorous trepidation

pausing, from time-to-time
perhaps to bend and pick some
wild flower that bloomed on
antiquities hillside

He would hand it to her
and she would, take it in
for a few moments, then
warmly look at him and
carefully find the perfect
place in her expanding
bouquet of colorful hope
that she held for him and her, 

while perhaps,
the sun slowed it's 
interminable baking
of the earth, and grapes
and wood smoke 
added ambiance to

the possibilities
of an evening together
collecting a life
one bite, a touch,
a gaze, a scent,
a whispered adoration - 
one feeling at a time

© Goode Guy 2012-04-26

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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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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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The lush hill towered over the quite town mostly built with big rock;
it had three tall church towers
with different distinguished styles: Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque...
wondrous was every sunrise!

Oh, their loud bronze bells could be heard ringing
through the vast, sun-washed and peaceful valley
sorrounded by mountains that reached a sky so dazzling...
then the clock-tower stroke each hour so precisely!

The summer's aroma was kind of strong and irritated the eyes,
and it almost got me drunken as aged wine does;
and I ran to the lush hill thinking of finding a treasure
in a cave that the invading Normans might have hidden in there!

But to my surprise, only frescos of martyrs were discovered;
all the while, that treasure was in front of me:
Nature opening up with its magnificent beauty!
It took observation and reflection for the rare gifts it rendered.

Whenever I ran to the lush hill, either morning or afternoon,
I was astonished by the humble faces of saints showing no demise 
for their persecution and carnage by beast such as ferocious lions... 
as those pious faces looked to Christ for comfort in their doom!

Their image made me much stronger and believer in the Shepherd
whose sheep never was lost among grunting wolves waiting aside; 
and every mystery revealed, it grew to teach me not to be afraid...
when profound silence arrived bringing delights to an innocent child. 

Oh, lush hill...keep my image of young boy intact even after I die;
let it come alive when sheer curiousity arises and tantalizes...
to make me climb that lush hill again for the heart to fantasize,
and 'though my health may not be as vibrant as then, I must try!

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Beauty and the Unpublished Author

Far away in a little town tucked in the corner of a map
Lives the girl who ruined his heart
And broke his life

While with him she would smile and laugh so sweet
Tender as only she could be
In his heart she lit even the corners so deep

With time she became his definition of life
In all he did he had her in mind
Life wasn’t life without him seeing her smile

As moments grew into weeks
The flower of his heart started to reveal its wilt
In her eyes no longer was the sparkle he was used to seeing

Winds carried awful odour of their disorder
Tales went round of her illicit exploits behind the counter
The man with the shop at the corner savoured all the honey she offered

At first he dismissed the whispers with laughter
But soon he discovered he was the only one on the other side of reality’s border
Yes indeed, another prince had taken over

Trouble was how sincerely he loved her
Problem was that even she had only love to offer
Issue was he hadn’t yet sold a dime of the books he authored

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A Silver Fluidity, stronger than time Crystal shatters against me, in my prime I’m bulletproof, and echoes rebound Piercing ricochet’s, transmitting the sound I fell from Heaven, fast and strong Into a world, endangered by wrong I wasn’t a hero, just a moment of love A second chance for humanity, sent from above I’m a legend, a titan of Greek mythology The body of an Adonis, the dream of muscology I defend the greater good, and eliminate the hate My methods far from clean cut, they’re an ethical debate I was born Titanium, with a sword in hand I can manipulate thunder, with a wave of my hand I am Titanium, and the overlord is my enemy The creator of greed, money and the impecunious amenity

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" Keep Talking " by Pink Floyd

For millions of years mankind lived just like the animals.
Then something happened which unleashed the power of our imagination.
We learned to talk.

These are the words spoken by Stephen Hawking on Pink Floyd's track  Keep Talking
from the Album - Division Bell from 1994.

Is it not a sad indictment on us humans, that we were graced with the cleverist of 
yet we can hardly use it.

I wrote a poem today called Gorillini, and this is the last two lines:-

We are barely their servants
The real King of the primates

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The crumbling down of the Berlin Wall finally 
ended the Cold War as a defiant Reagan challenged
Gorbachev as his famous words were spoken mightily, 
"Mr. Gorbachev, tear it down!"...And he shouted them with rage, 
while the heavy sledgehammer cracked it from the other side;
and a divided, lonely city still felt its utter demise.

On November 9th, nineteen-eighty nine, Berliners of both sides
tore down the humiliating wall which had separated them,
and with sledgehammers and bare hands they frantically
stripped it of every brick that prevented them, for a long time,
from sharing what the neighboring countries enjoyed;
and what was most desired by them was national unity.

Today is another day of remembrance and profound reflection:
when the two Superpowers agreed to end the plague of a city
that couldn't breath and prosper as the other European cities;
and remembering Reagan's words thundering behind that tall wall,
convinced a socialist regime to comply and bring back the harmony...
everywhere there were delirious shouts and many shed joyful tears.

Humanity, don't put the blame on an entire Nation for the horrible things
done to another race:  their Dictator was coarse, evil and vainglorious
as many were, have been and still are throughout World History;
and to seize power, it takes a tyrant who loves bloodshed and condescends dignity!
Wars are won by intuitive generals maneuvering their troops and warships...
before there was the sword, later the cannon and airplane, now technology is supreme.

If folks are denied freedom in all its various forms, tear your wall down
with all the required tools, halting the evil-doers despicable deeds,
and still be able to defend your vision of liberty, so defend it with alacrity and write
an ode or a ballad with an allegro tempo and remember Reagan's words
by unfurling your flag to cheerfully welcome your kindred who were exiled;
use the same words he spoke to unlock the closed minds so intramural.

Where there was bitterness and sadness, now there's irrepressible joy
and the streets and boulevards are open to all who were given a boundary,
and as it was anticipated the Berlin Wall had to be taken down to establish democracy;
celebrate Berliners and enjoy the fruit of your labors, your spirit will not down,
reminiscing the separation and grief that was caused by a socialist tyranny...
remember Reagan's words when you recall your divided city at the beginning of each dawn.  

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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The gospel of hospitality

Described as a pillar of commitment
in relationships between hosts and guests
hospitality plays the major role
in making Scriptures speak to life situations.

The biblical recounts about these people,
like Abraham, Lot, Ruth, David, and many others;
their expressions of how hospitality is understood,
in the ancient Near East cultures and traditions;
dubbed as a sacred obligation that strangers 
be treated well and recognized as one of our own.

When the Israelites were freed from oppression,
God walked with them along the wilderness;
they might have complained so much
but God listened to them with the heart of compassion.

Those prophets and other biblical characters,
their sense of otherness makes a big explanation;
that part of being human there’s a connection
between what is needed and God’s call to everyone.

Well, Christ teaches during meal fellowships
inclusion of those who don’t flow in the mainstream;
these are the poor, oppressed, defenseless, and many others;
that they become the guests in his eternal kingdom.

It’s a great deal of openness to welcome those
immigrants in this country of opportunity;
in spite of growing difficulties in many spheres
America remains a magnet to all cultures around the globe.

While strangers these days become like a threat,
even a continuing question that knows no answer
here in this world we still find how hospitable
the American people in years of that long history of immigration.

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Like morning mist

                                         Like morning mist
                                                the tyrants disappear from Africa
                                         Like dew on the grass
                                                they vanish early in the day
                                         Like chaff before the wind of change
                                                they are blown away
                                         The wise leaders serve their people
                                                The foolish ones load it on their subjects
                                         The wise know it for sure
                                                That justice is but their savior

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On Watch

He stands behind a wheel thick as a mans wrist, ornately spoked and polished, its diameter 
half his height; which he fondly strokes as he gazes upon a horizon, red, as in anger, yet, 
knows this is not the case and smiles.

His beard, speckled with slivers of gray, hide a face strengthened by wind and sea weathered 
beyond his years, accenting eyes, dark, deep as an abyss, that bear witness to the years of 
hardship. His teeth clamp upon the stem of a pipe broken to perfection, one of his few 
pleasures in this life.

His clothes, unmistakable, upon his shoulder, two chevrons under an eagle, identify him, as a 
man of some esteem.

This late night he commands this ship upon the sea, as the deck below his feet creak softly 
responding to the pitch of gently lapping waves; reassuring men below all is well.

Gulls, screeching their displeasure, circle above the crows nest protesting the occupation of 
their intended perch, their appearance a welcome reminder, just out of sight lies a land 
young and rich in resource and history, a land he calls home.

Porpoise, leaping, play in the wake of the ships bow, as to guide this ship home, provide 
momentary amusement, while sharks aft of the ship maintain their silent watch, awaiting 
their next meal.

As he stands behind his wheel he takes in all of this, knows all is well and good, in the morn, 
they dock, once again on dry land, until then he maintains his vigilance, never faltering in his 
duty to protect and defend.

As he gently turns the wheel making minor course change, he removes his beret, reaches to 
scratch a head void of hair, adjusts his beret until it sets just right, for all who can see, to 
read, U.S. Navy.

With a draw on his pipe, America's guardian, remains on watch tonight.

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The Bottom Of The Pile

The taxpayer,
is at the bottom of the pile,
or so it seems,
by the upper class style.

What will happen,
when they smother us to death,
then who will they call on,
to cover their debt.

We are not strong enough,
to carry this load,
why shouldn't they carry their own weight,
for the lifestyle they chose.

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Josiah Pritchards Letter to his Wife 2

(Continued from Part 1)

My dearest, it is for these cherished things
we have left our homes, why we all are here,
what we are fighting for, what with all my heart 
and conviction I believe all decent and rational 
men desire, crave – what as yet, in our short 
marriage I have denied you – because without 
liberty no man is free to possess his happiness.
	Love, be strong of heart & courage by what
I tell you now. Should I not survive this war –
by cold, by hunger, by disease, by blood – think
of me as one who fought for cause & purpose, 
who fought as much for his own interests as 
those of others, who believed that liberty, 
justice, & the peaceful life are what all 
men of good heart desire, for themselves 
& for all others; that life is good, nay, 
a blesséd gift, if men only might live it 
to good purpose. For I fear, my love, that 
“Liberty & the pursuit of Happiness,” as 
the Declaration states, shall be a thing 
ever writ in men’s Blood.
	Dearest love, my Candle’s light
flickers wildly, as if knowing its flame 
must soon be eaten by the Darkness that 
presses in on it so hungrily. I must perforce 
bring this Letter to a reluctant end – 
my fingers cold and stiff, my script become
almost unreadable and shall cause you effort. 
I shall, as I have for so long a time now, sleep 
another Night in the uncertainty of what
another Dawn may bring. 
	My sweetest wife, words seem the least
comforting in times as these, & the most 
ardent sentiments are like a fire that 
cannot warm. Yet know this: do not doubt 
my burning love for you, even as I am certain 
yours burns for me as strongly. Dark hours
nightly hover over my heart in these 
anxious days. Daily supplicate the Lord 
for success in our cause, for He, in whose 
hands our destiny now rests, is neither 
blind nor deaf nor slow.
	To my last breath, I will ever remain 
your loving & faithful husband – Josiah.

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On the holiest day marks Ashoura

Watching television these days
can draw another line; a perspective –
with a variety of advertisements, news,
talk shows and other entertainments
indeed, a so-called form of ‘literature in a hurry.’

With a spate of information to know and digest,
with discoveries rolling through events,
with episodes shown in different contexts
provide certain answers in countless reportings.

A hodge-podge of issues trembles in situations,
with that continuing war, violence and kiling;
afflict the whole world with fear and sorrow,
oh, America! Cradle of power and opportunity.

Screaming headlines in various newspapers,
continue to soar almost beyond proportion;
with endless quest and wish against tragedy,
like a Christian mantra: peace in the whole world!

Religion among the Muslim countries,
plays a vital role in their whole life spectrum;
with the Shiites, Sunnis and Baathists, for instance,
another perspective, a magnet to all devotees.

As Shiites mark Ashoura in Beirut, Lebanon,
many Shiite Muslim men march the streets;
beating their chests and others slashing their heads
like a Christian flagellation done in Lenten season.

It’s a radical interpretation with inerrancy in their culture
Such a manifestation that shows grief in human actions;
adds substance to their celebration – being holy,
there’s deep supplication across the length of day;
albeit, the cry of pain makes them strong in their faith.


Ashoura.  The tenth day of Muharram – the Shiites’ holiest day.  It marks the killing of Imam Hussein, the grandson of Prophet Muhammad, in 680 A.D. battle at Karbala in Basra, Iraq.

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The Darkest - Blackest Tuesday (Part lV)

The thunder so loud scared Ginny , she tripped on the last step ,fell on the porch spilling her 
Another flash of lighting and in that split second “Mom” became a very dark and Evil  “MA’AM”
The Ebony Crop came out of the bow and with a force I’d never seen Ma’am use, across 
Ginny’s thighs
“YOU little Bitch, I slave all morning making breakfast , I take you out to meet mother 
nature; pick berries
And this is the thanks I get I want all of YOU to empty your buckets Right here on the porch 
Right  NOW”
Billy was first and then went to help Ginny; Billy YOU need help I said The Crop hit me right 
in the mouth
I spit teeth and blood all over Alice’s blouse; his name is William and then a sight none of us 
had ever seen
Ma’am hit Billy in the back of the head he fell on the floor and didn’t move Bobby tried to 
grab the Crop 
She split his face from forehead to chin. “Now dance, Dance on those berries; stomp them 
into the porch
Screaming, crying, blood , tears flying: a lunatic waving a blood coated riding crop in victory. 
Billy got up
“get over here William and start jumping on the berries, your not crying , there’s no babies in 
this house”
“HA HA HA HEH HEH I am the Queen, the ruler“---it didn’t seem possible but Ma’am’s eyes 
went black
“George Francis get your ass over here; ”Ma’am” open your hand OPEN IT Berries! YOU little 
Lightning lit up the yard for the fatal blow right in the throat blood spew from his mouth and 
from his neck
“Awice Awice wook down the dwive way Dawwy’s  coming home Bobby, Jim .and Joe tackled 
I couldn’t talk vewy well George, George “ Harry my real Mommy is right over there Calling 
me Home
Good-bye see you at my new house, tell everyone I Love them even MA’am.

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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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Steeped in memories

I can still visualize my hometown in Gumaca, Quezon 
both in my mind and in my heart, with vivid mem’ries
rich with natural resources, the place where I was born
source of my childhood, a passage to my changing self.

It’s like a landscape of my continuing inspiration
a connecting link to my goal, the beginning of my calling.
our neighborhood and other activities at the main población
reminds me of those people who really care for their neighbors.

Their echoes of pain, hopelessness and other complaints
motivates me to keep going, follow that path that leads to God;
being called to serve Him with his influential voice within me
I can see and feel what they need with compelling movements.
people’s endless dream to grow and make a difference anyway,
becomes my own struggle, my own wish to blend in situations;
providing me with a new language that shapes me with freedom.

It resonates with profundity and claims its meaning to everyone,
those customs and traditions, popular religiosity and occupations,
they’re Filipino treasures with labyrinthine ways to articulate them
indeed, they draw people in as they take part in varioius gatherings.

Mem’ries of the past, a treasure trove of what life is all about;
being in my own homeland I can feel that I’ve my own freedom.
where I was, I grew up with friends, siblings, and other loved ones;
sometimes a challenge but characterized with so much wisdom.

Realities at hard times, economy with shortage in many banks
they’re key figures in preparation for what church says and suggests
Potuit, decuit ergo feut,  and I remember that with real gratitude
deep within my heart I see myself then with thanks and blessing.

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There was a great English novelist I truly admired since my vibrant youth,
and his name was Charles Dickens; and his classics I read and revered.
He wrote many memorable novels, and one of them, filled with truth,  
was: "A CHRISTMAS CAROL", which he splendidly narrated...
as those London's bells tolled above a foggy, busy Avenue. 

Entered in Brian Strand's contest A Literary Love Affair                             

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Ever Rode A Mind - question

Climb aboard mine and hold on ever so tightly,
Fasten yourself safely for these coming thoughts.
My brain has ridden above a thousand pounds of steed,
Flying at forty per on pounding hooves is quite astounding.

Then again those were just my knightly times of past,
Yet if you could have seen through my eyes that glory.
To confront evil with only shield and sword a true wakening,
Looking into eyes of forever death can be quite astonishing.

Seeing dreams in bright vivid colors brings morning early,
Long before sun peeks just above mountain's lofty top.
That cold snow never touching you until you've been there,
Struggling to a place so unforgiving tells one of reality.

This mind you are now riding can tell of so much more,
It has done so for years and will continue until infinity.
Holding you in my memories is what I have done best,
For to lose just one of you would be my greatest tragedy.

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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The Darkest - Blackest Tuesday (Part lll)

Now Children the pink and purple pails are for the girls, blue and green for the boys
We are going berry picking down by the stone wall Mr. Bethel said we could pick his berries 
The stone wall off limits to the Webb household, Bobby, Joe and Jim had the scars to prove it
Oh, “MOM“, (coil in fear, no crop) Thank-you What did Millie say; Are we going to make pies?
Ma’am didn’t know sign language, of course we will tell her she can wear the number 2 apron
Dotty, George, and I started running to the end of our property Slow down They’re 
excited “Mom”
I know Alice listen you older kids will be paired up with the younger ones: Alice, George and 
Virginia, William and Dorothy; Joe Jim and Robert; Rebecca you’re the best signer, You and 
Alice, yes Harry why did Ma’am say we could call her “MOM” my voice shakes when I say 
 I think all of us feel that way; but make hay while the sun shines, What?  Just let her be 
MOM today
Pick them ,don’t eat them Wow, Al ,that’s what Becky just said to Millie look Millie said they’re 
so sweet
You can read that from over here Yep Millie and Becky have been teaching me. You know 
what this means
Easy: I Love you too Where is George? Over there George your not suppose to be on that 
side of the wall
It’s sprinkling , my pails almost full come on George let’s go back to “Mom” Alice go get the 
other children
This is the first time since I’ve been here that we were all together, laughing and talking 
while Mom smiled
As we got to the steps of the porch the sky opened sheets of rain a bolt of lighting , a sonic 
boom of thunder

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His young heart departed from 
that adored town adorned by the September's frost,
wisked away by an uncaring father
whose extramarital affair
marred the family's harmony;
and his pretty mother drying away
his tears so innocent and warm,
to console him with a touch that had no haste!

That unspoken wish lingered avidly
through the saddened and turbulent years,
resisting to give in to languidness... 
imagining, at night, each star gleaming
over his friend:  the moon which went wandering
to find that little boy, who loved to listen to the tales
of warriors and heroes that defiantly
wouldn't fall out of the History books!

He went on living, but couldn't forget at all
what he left behind:  a precious friend
even worthier than a treasure of gold;
and why had he to fulfill fate's prophecy in due time...
by sacrificing everything he wasn't willing to,
and opposing his will could have helped him turn the tide?
And as he grew older in foreign soil, 
it all became clearer to him that truth had lost its virtue!  

How could life deny him its fairness,
and make him choose at an age of fancifulness? 
To have outgrown time had its disadvantage,
depriving him of a wonderful youth 
not lived in spontaneousness 
and to have the chance to dream by night,
and, by morning, wake up in a brighter light...
to pursue another dream into the sunset! 

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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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The Day The Innocence Died

The cold winds are blowing the skies are so clear
Winter is upon me as the end grows near
No understanding just me and fear
The sorrow just grows as I shed a tear...

Visions of destruction are stuck in my head
As I look all around so many people are dead
A plane streaks the sky and then bursts into flames
As the fortress tumbles down nothing is left the same.

Sorrow grows in my heart as teardrops fill my eyes
There just seems no reason for all who have died
The towers tumble down and then fall to the ground
Death just arises without making a sound.

I look above thought I heard the angels cry
It just was the sound of the innocence that died.

Candles are lit as they flicker with hope
While the fate of mankind seems to hang from a rope
People gather together to share how they feel
It's just so much happened it doesn't seem real.

Visions reappear as the bell starts to toll 
It's seems to ring out for all those lost souls
Where once stood a fortress there now is a hole
I try to run and hide but there's nowhere left to go.

There's silence today no planes in the sky
The bell just tolls on as the day passes by
I feel so much sorrow I can't help but cry
A country in mourning the day the innocence died.

I try to make some sense but still can't understand
How can I go on I don't know if I can?
I feel like a stranger in a stranger land
It's the day of no innocence the time is at hand.

Visions retreat my mind needs a rest
I try to survive I give it my best
But I just can't stop thinking of all that has died
I can't shake the sorrow guilt stands at its side.

I wonder what happened where it all went wrong
The freedom that we have lost becomes what we long
It's history repeating as we hear that same sad song
Is it too late now that the innocence is gone?

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Flip Aside

Every thing was quiet and peaceful
Before that crashing day
A planet burst and left a space
For life to form and play
We  gained a moon 
That pulled in tune
With tide and winds and weather
Then thunder rolled
As lightning tolled
A spark of life to grow
That grew and changed
and rearranged
The world to fit her tether

There’s them that fly
and them that die
and them that float
and sink
And after maybe half a while
Or maybe past a wink
In all the time it took to pile
The explosion stopped to blink
And someone stopped to think
Progress ran her down
At once
Let’s have another

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A Males Prostate is 'Her' Business Too...Part 2

A Males Prostate is 'Her' Business Too...Part 2

How does one go about doing this, 
especially if it’s the first time? 
One of the things a male should overcome 
is the unease that he may feel at having some other 
Peirce through too his moon. 
Some males wonder whether they have latent gay feelings 
if they indulge in this kind of activity. 
But this isn’t so; all males can engage in 
self prostate milking whatever their sexual orientation. 
Another concern is that the moon is “dirty” or “unclean” 
because it is where bad breath comes from. 
Again, this is a misconception. 
In fact, the mouth harbors more bacteria 
than any other part of the body.
Still, i love it when you talk too me dirty.


some males report that while they do not achieve 
lightning and thunder when milking their prostate glands, 
the level of pleasure they feel is still very nearly memorable 
as to that of being born again. 
The milk trickles out or flows into a pool even though there’s no volcanic eruptions, 
in terms of how that word is often used in a midsummer's nights dream. 
Instead, one feels a deep sense of
it has been compared to a very good bowel movement – only a hundred times more or less 

You should be aware 
that there are studies indicating that certain males
who jog up and down the street alone 
or have volcanic eruptions regularly 
have lower incidences of prostate inflammation, 
prostate cancer, and or prostate enlargement. 
Given this evidence, 
self prostate milking seems to be a safer way too go, 
convenient, and inexpensive way to make sure that one’s 
libido and prostate health are in optimum condition.

and you don't need too die of cancer or have your 
needful things cut out prematurely.
Self checking should not be embarrassing, 
Nor should you be dieing for 
not doing it a little more aggressively.
and if not for you, then do it for 'her'..
........after all she is... 
....the reason..
that you are here and she is your other you.

Is It Poetry

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that's already 12 marks

I'm told to write the history of Korea
Told to tell her favourite tales
Follow her story dynasty by dynasty
Till I relate with the current world
I'm told to sing her special songs
Maybe not sing but write her poems
About kings that ruled with wisdom
And princes that destroyed her honour
About authors, singers and artist too
About her traditions and culture 
Those banished and those modified
About political conflict and sieges
About her music and rise to power
So for my worthy article
I went on my research for twenty marks
I learnt their language and their history
Heard their cries and felt their pain and joy
Fired up and excited, I began to write
Page I, page 2,page 3…
I filed my paper arranging it piece by piece
Till in all I counted eighteen pages
Filled with pride at my work
Whistling away I went for approval
So sure of what I had written
"OH MY GOD" my teacher exclaimed
But that had only been in my dream
For in truth I lost my work
Eighteen pages of hard work all gone
So in a rush for at least half of the marks
I rushed to write all I could remember
And all my research  became a two page article
It hurt me so much but what could I say
I had no choice but to take mine for evaluation
And when it was all over
With crossed fingers, I stared at my result
Lost for words I saw a sixteen
I went to my teacher for some sort of explanation
She smiled at me showed me two paragraphs and said
That’s already twelve marks

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From the parting pages of shakespare

Long i left
this room of rhymes.
Where poetry is our pen.
Price-tool, priceless
line full of ink line-chess.
where lord, nobles and kinks
read of the rhymes we bring.
Where the table is set of writers zest.

The rebirth is the spring 
of an offspring.
Better i don't swear and loss my hair.
Better i don't hide and stand half 
Like Adam  in Eden.
That i know is true
and i grow is a growth.
That i flow in my soul
makes me born anew.
Oh! weary soul put in a shoe.

Summer sink and sang
me once before i die.
lies are ever waiting.
Stories ever telling
Music ever sung.
A new one is born.
Poet are call to write.
News in the sky.
One sky to birth
For the rebirth is ours to write.
If i fail let my pen write me lie.

Killing, killing my limping lamp.
hurry staggered by a fairy wand.
pregnant still in moon light waves.
sparkling in sun-light waves.
Be quiet if thy lips ruined by teeth 
is blue and shining.
Trimming to tales, the rebirth told.
O' morning grave shall bury youth.

Old pages, weak and dusty.
Can you keep my poetic lines?
If yes, how?
Do not serve this rhymes with 
Do not fall as soaked sand slippery 
Thou parting pages of time!
save my line running fast.
Throne of two i fear thy ageing parts.

A second time thy throne my notes 
old margin.
Sacred scroll ruled to a metal toll.
Instrument in the finding length.
fear filing while the great brains
 summon the grace of thy keep.
Be still. old kiss.
Like the Greek of kings i beseech thee.

A third time thou make me small 
fainted by thy storm.
Maybe those rats visited with 
message deleted.
But teach us more dreams and 
that Grey green believe.
I am through to mine, hungry page of 

And  for the the fourth time
I bow like a maiden to a serve.
These pages delivered to a sleep 
spiting to a table.
Born to the dawn.
Finding these pages ancient of 
ancient age.
be burned, aged scroll,  I will read 
thou no more,
ancient lines of dreams.

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For over a century I have stood brave and free
and suffered many things even before my birth
yet I stood
I have felt the pain of pelting sand on my face
as it tried to strip away my very heart and soul
and I stayed
and heard the beating of drums across my land
and seen the trail of tears run deep into the earth
and I wept
Watched the buffalo roam wild on the vast plains
heard the thundering hoofs of wild horses run free
and I smiled
 Felt the rumble of black oil deep down in the earth
as it gushed forth from  beneath the solid ground
and I watched
I saw tall buildings go up from border to border
and great storms take them down in a moment
and I cried
People stood brave and strong and eager to build
Cities spring up from east to west north to south
and I was proud
I was born a hundred years ago  in middle of the USA
my people live in peace one with another I thank God

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The Fantastic Voyage

Living on the edge was a suicide way before my time!
A soul spread wide open with a spirit that truly believes.
Walking on water and backwards with life that glares over the sunshine!
The fantastic voyage rides the high and almighty waves of the greatest seas.
A voyage to never-never land right where I know I will always want to be.
True uninhibited expression is my addiction all within myself.
A soul climaxing in the exhibition of capturing all of the free empty space!
Walking the planks with the thrill of excitement from what’s consumed as it’s felt,
The fantastic voyage is aimed straight for that perfect little happy place.
My voyage to never-never land is where I know I will always want to stay.
Unpredictable with such balance is my mystery out there all on its own.
My soul opens and wills me to explore the depths of all that is real or such.
Walking the tight rope and looking down with my talent so proudly shown.
The fantastic voyage is never enough but is always over by too much.
My voyage to never-never land is where I know I will always want to feel what I touch.
Deep within the depths of all the deepness is where my connection is found.
A vibrant soul with brilliance magnified by a common need that has just got to give!
Walking narrow ledges with confidence and truly the one that has got to be proud!
The fantastic voyage gained my moments in time that I can say were actually lived.
My voyage to never-never land is where I will surrender standing on top of my deadly ground!

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So unappreciated, abandoned and unglossy 
you seem among other ordinary chairs  
with a less classical and unadorned design, perhaps
in the famous style of Queen Ann...
but silence can't reveal much, distrustful and sad friend;
then...start to talk about your history!

How many solitary and unhappy folks 
have relaxed in comfort while they lay into it gently, 
fearing to make those feeble legs crack;
and being one of them I must apply
the minimal tension deriving from these manly arms that
allow the blood to flow from my elbows.

I'm waiting for a reply to ignite this imagination,
but your stubbornness grows much impatience
in me, to force you to speak with me and clarify my confusion;
if this small house, so vibrant with sunlight, isn't your favorite place,
would you mind telling me where you would rather be...
possibly in the halls of a medieval castle, where you'll hide in obscurity?

Don't wallow in bitterness, begin talking to me;
what will benefit you to hide yourself under the cloak of mystery?
Not telling anyone of the greatness you've seen,
not feeling the touch of human hands...letting in the sun's sheen?
I'm very curious of how they treated you within those thick and dark walls,
have they ever protected you from the invaders blistering cannon's rounds? 

Before I stand up and desert you with disappointment,
I should honor you with an ampler and kinder compliment:
you've never attempted to stop me from dreaming, 
from seeing, through my fantasy, all the places you have been;
and now won't you talk to me and finally unfold that secret without hesitating,
because silence can't reveal much...when misery won't allow you to speak!  

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Everyone calls him
the king of rhythm and blues;
and with his electric guitar he plays his music,
strumming those strings with frantic fingers:
singing of his past delusions and unfaithful loves!
Decades ago, he traveled to many countries,
and everywhere he went he brought along
that guitar he named Lucille;
and even today it still emanates his will:
can you hum his most recent song?
A southerner from Mississipi,
uniting folks and making them sing;
and fame he found when he moved to Tennessee,
and who would have thought that he would have
become a living legend? 

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' In Knighthood Realm ... ' (Medieval # 8)

I saw a Band of Royal Knights
upon their mighty Steeds
Coat of Arms,  A-gleaming
Herald Heroic Deeds...

One is Valor, One is Truth
Chivalry and Might
Another, Honor, Loyalty
Justice and Light

Charity and Chastity
and Faith, Their Golden Spurs
Those Bold, Polished Lords
Oh! Such Handsome Sirs!

Their Pennants were the Ladies
Once Damsels in Distress
Banners were the Orphans,
Now Kith and Kin to Crest

Their Swords and Shields on Battlefields
Unsheathed for Innocence
in Fealty to a Crown
Obey or be brought Down...

I saw a Band of Royal Knights
They rode upon their Quest,
that the Noble Creed of Men Henceforth...
be their Shining Armor Best

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The long walk home

I remember as a child walking through the countryside,
People were so polite to greet each other – how are you?
With simple lifestyle in an agricultural ambience,
Theirs is my goal, my future longing to welcome.

While I’d always prefer to walk - rain or shine,
I couldn’t help but see first my friend close by;
my hero who saved me while getting drowned
the time of our town fiesta of Our Lady of Peñafrancia.

Old folks who used to hang out and visit us,
because of my grandma who’d say ‘come’,
some of them would really come and say:
‘we’re here to join you for a nice meal.’

On big celebrations like Christmas and town fiesta,
family relations would come in droves to see us;
their children would come along to ask something,
especially gifts and some money for this event.

For a child like these things serve as imprints,
a treasure trove of memories I still cherish;
a connecting link to my past with sentiments
indeed, it’s a heartland of true importance.

Described as a centerpiece of family interaction,
our home was like a rendezvous of some people,
whose attachments to our features of being hospitable,
welcome them to enjoy our kindness and compassion.

Though, to some of them our place was quite a distance,
but it didn’t matter to walk on foot, to come to our home;
It’s because they saw and felt truly a welcoming culture
from each member that fashioned to say no problem at all.

The long walk home may set the tone of exhaustion, 
But this reminds me of a pilgrim like in the bible;
The Holy Family who, in their flight to reach their destination,
Finds a place where they can be safe and call it a home.

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The natives are restless because of the economy,
turning to drugs, guns and brutality,
Even a good time makes them uncomfortable,
because beneath it all lies deceptions
and fables,

Restlessness is taking control of a nation,
turning good folks into vagabonds,
The lives that they have nurtured for so long
is going up in smoke before their eyes,
No one in power seems to hear or care about
their desperate cries,

Holding on for one more day,
only leads to more times that are gray,
When will the government heed their 
pleas and heal their discontent?

The natives are restless and harboring
thoughts of ill-intentions,
When will they be heard and given 
honorable mentions......????

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                          As we embark on the 10 year anniversery of 9/11,
                  I look up in the sky and realize how lucky I am to be alive.
                   So many people lost their loved ones on that tragic day.
        All the brave, couragous, selfeless people that ran in to help total strangers!
         They never for once thought about their life but, only wanted to others survive.
            The day the two towers fell, those suicide bomber's died and went to hell!
               The United States suffered a great loss, so much death was in the air.
        I pray every night for those who lost their life, for their families to keep astride.
          I know what it is like to lose loved ones but, in the mist of all the tragedy, 
                           a phoenix shall rise and the eagel shall fly high!
                        The terrorists thought we would just run and hide.
                             But, what we did was fly OLD GLORY HIGH! 
              We as a nation banded together and helped pray for one another.
                    September 11,2001, we will never foreget all the losses.
               All the people that did not survive, they are watching over us,
                                              dancing high in the skies!

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Sorry, Yesterday was a Bore

Sorry, yesterday was a bore
That wasn’t me on a roll
It was the other me – John Winston – who wrote it all
But now I feel convinced I’m back
‘Wise-the-Prins-Wins’ in white and black
So please just sit back
And wait for more than just another rap
From this Kenyan dude on this part of the map

So what if there I sat
Butt flat on the dirt
Near the boulevard of broken dreams
Bleeding within from the wounds inflicted unto me 
...while in pursuit of impossible dreams
Still I insist there is nothing impossible to me
I gotta heal quick and get back to the ring of dreams
I gotta fight for what I believe in with all that’s invested in me
Defeat is a word unacceptable to me

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Mistaken Identity

As the line’s listless structure leapt into attentive control;
It’s purpose for existence instantly acknowledged.

The double-tapered weight-forward shooting line’s condensation,
Informed of its instant transformation,
Leaps to the water’s corresponding constitution,
Each droplet acting as spherical asteroids of deception on the current’s rippling surface.

Instantly, a silent connection has arisen.
One derived out of technology,
Entombed in the cosmology of the seasons,
Originating before explorations in genetics.

Taking solice in a meal of two moons,
How could one resist this temptuos delight?
Emerging with swarms of life; Analgous in size, shape, and color,
Cleaverly disguised in the guile of organic structure.

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In Moses' Footsteps

And God led Moses to Mount Nebo
for his lush, new domain to survey,
in the riches of the Promised Land
among valleys of trees and olives.

Where birds in the sky soared free
and wild beasts roamed the land
along the dales and rolling plains,
Moses by his God was blessed.     

There he lived in that quiet place
wider than mortal eyes could see,
right in God's bountiful vineyard
till the day death took him away.

Yahweh was kind to Moses.

Eons have passed since that time
and here this pilgrim now stands   
where Moses once stood in awe
to view what God to him bestowed.

But what do I see?

Barren earth of rocks and boulders,
parched, lifeless, ugly to the eyes;
craggy peaks and harsh wasteland,
uninhabitable ravines and canyons.

Yonder out to the north the Golan,
once Syrian, now by the Jews own,
just like the serene lake of Tiberias:
grabbed, annexed and conquered.

In the western haze is a mighty river
whose waters once swiftly flowed,
blocked by a concrete Israeli dam
away from Jordan where it belongs. 

Far west is the ancient city of Jericho
where the Lord warded off the devil,
no more than a strip of old Palestine,
fenced in the West Bank, entrapped.

Lucky Moses and the chosen people
for by God from their bondage freed!
cry, Palestine, cry,  a homeland lost,
long overdue your awaited messiah!

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War World II was raging over this
southern Italian town* spared by a miracle...
a deluge that suddenly occurred: 
a night of blasting sounds, of rising flames 
as American planes bombarded its buildings;
the Nazis fled to occupied Naples.
In the North, the Fascits were executed,
as the Dictator Mussolini himself was. 

The farms could not be furrowed deep and neat,
fear hung over the farmers' shoulders;
and wheat couldn't grow abundantly to make bread,
and brazen women to a distant granary they went, 
risking their lives to grind the wheat kernels;
they were no young men in town, or the older ones
who had gone to war for a concept so deceptive.
Many youngsters and soldiers were kidnapped by the Nazis, 
to be taken to Germany as prisoners of war...who would have 
challenged the Third Reich, or disobeyed?

Old women with handkerchiefs on their heads, weeping loudly
and mourning the tranquil town it once lovely and happy, 
and their cry was too bitter and inconsolable to be hushed;
now, even bread was taken away from them,
damning the cruel Duce, who had betrayed them for vanity...
why did he bring prosperity to Africa, not to Italy?
Why was his ego so manipulated by Hitler's cleverness...
that he could have conquered peoples and lands?

Ruins and dead kindred...a scenery of dread and abomination,
and the lively memory of begonias on their sunny balconies 
brought a sweet nostalgia in an hour of horror and death;
and gathered among the crumbled walls, their rosaries  
recited with graceful whispers, gave them 
the strength and the courage to desperately grieve:
"Peace, o beloved peace, have you overlooked
the kindness of such humble and honorable spirits?

Darkness brought the silence they had sought under the glittering skies,
to hide the ugliness of the war in their gloomy shadows,
never to reveal the devastation of their town;
and with the new sun rising, hope would have been 
renewed in the sunrise's lasting glow.
They would have seen those wheat golden kernels 
bend under their heavy weight and bow.... 
and heard themselves saying," Mercy, o mercy
of our righteous God, let prosperity abound...
as the misty rain slowly comes down!"   

Southern Italian Town:  Baiano

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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And When the Thing Comes Down

The smell of beer glides across the room,
The darkness, sweet and deep
With smoke stacked like lumber,
Covering the cracks.
The roaches take shield.

Stiff lipped cockroaches that bite,
Their flaky smell covered by the beer,
But in dim silences their sound splits
The caverns of the empty cabinets, drawers and shelves.

Bare room except for bed and red
Light, radio and poster of Malcolm.
One poster of one man who lived 
And died, what more is there?

When in white heat discussions, gray women ask-
But won't your own people be killed? eyes concerned.
Bearded men answer in their minds.
The things people die of,
Are killed for.

Past the bed, one kitchen filled with
Dark men drinking.
Some with thirsts from dry cracked lips
Parched by strange suns.

Heat waves running through that blood
Like clapping thunder in a storm.

We have hurricanes down home
That turn men 'round.
And it rounds minds like twisters
This thing I speak of.

And when the thing comes down...

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An ancient people in an ancient land;
Thousands gather in their band.,

Living in the rhythm of the universe;
They keep at bay the sun god’s curse,

Knowledge surpassed their primitive ways;
Ritual and sacrifice filled their days.

Spectacular pyramid, a stone temple built high;
From the alter, beating hearts held to the sky.

Lifeless bodies cast down blood-stained stairs;
Life and death occurred before a thousand prayers.

In hopes that drought and flood would pass them by;
The Mayans became masters of the knowledge of the sky,

The movement of heavenly bodies, they would track;
With the pagan gods they would make a pact.

To track the days, the weeks, the months and the years;
They chiseled a stone calender that moved like huge gears

With this they predicted many a celestial event;
Hundreds of years before they would present.

They predicted a total eclipse of the sun;
Generations before it would have begun.

The calender is accurate to just a few seconds;
But it holds a mystery of which the mind beckons,

Scientists baffled, for answers they delve;
The calender ends December 21, 2012.

Scientists know an alignment will take place
The sun, the earth, and the galaxy, all in deep space

Were the Mayans telling us that time would then end?
Or, is the mystery too intricate for us to comprehend?

If the end of times is near, what will we do?
The mystery continues, for we haven’t a clue.

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Freedom before my lost brother

Freedom before my lost brother

They march before the rising sun with guns at six
We stand before sun down with signs of freedom

Who really marches to the same drum? 
When my hand have been blown off for beat
The beat, the beat, the beat

As he races from the explosion of freedom in his chest
For freedom
To escape this tide of hate
That swept us slaves of red, white and blue

And he is nothing like before when hate took him away
He is a man at six and we are still children as adult
War took my hands and feet I am no solider
I fight for freedom not money
You fight so this tide will not cross-oceans and sands

We fight here for food and light
And light, to breathe, to die for family
Across the ocean hand my son an ak-47
And he will march and kneel before God for forgiveness

Hand my brother a ruger and he will stand in the shadows for American greed
Greed in the land of freedom and hope, black in the shadows
And mother can mend wounds here across the oceans she can only dial 
Of relief
Mother over there must know how to be doctor and surgeon, and warrior for the 
Generation to survive, to live

We cannot procreate; we are the ends of mankind
With bombs in the hands of babies
To extend our left hand of hate across the ocean, across towers of hope

We must all be the same here a million mile from each other
My skin dictates that I hate, be hated, I rape, be raped
I bleed red, white and blue
Watching in shock, disbelief as red, white and blue goes up in flames in the 
Ashes of the wind just like you

Freedom can never come to me here before her with that torch 
My mother across  the ocean must be sending me a package of death to kill my 
four father
Your four father because my complexion means that no one can see me
 I am a lost brother, forgotten sister 
 Hated child with no hands, no hands in freedom

March me before television cameras, signs of peace, and words of love
I am still a lost brother............ before truth
But you knoe me so well..
From the the same box that caused my cousins in your land to be hung
Money means nothing here, Money means every thing beside her with the torch
Pass it to me so I may freedom---the truth

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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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vignette-THE BALLAD

Travelled from mouth to mouth
North,west,east & south
Far feom the censor's pen-
In memory now,long gone
This poetry of anon

Tribute to the many anon poets who use this form(often with song) 'merely written for the 
people' becoming worksongs/chanties etc outrunning the state censor & fanning freedom's 
flame in al men's hearts.

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On cobblestone street

Passing through the inner city,
I see old buildings and landmarks.
With paucity of people walking through the night,
a real picture, wonder and amazement.

It dawns on me the past, its history
as a key to understand the whole lot
I find some answers common to expectations
that civilization caused hard work and labor.

With all those stuffs and items displayed
explain the reason for certain attraction.
Like antiquity, tourism and social meanings
of old cobblestones seen across the centers.

There's an inspiring connotation 
along with a cross of light in the sky.
It reminds me of the labarum symbols
etched in Roman coins
Christianity, the reason for basic principles.

Known collectively as a main achievement
from the ancient age down the contemporary time.
It's unfolding and giving delight to everyone
that stands still amid nature's assaults and destructions.

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You had your dreams, your lives aching to change the world.
You spent your youth knowing the weight of hard times,
Yet playing with abandon amidst "The Great Depression."

As you grew to adulthood, the world was being transformed by the Tyrants iron hand.
There was no hesitation when your country called,
And your spirit built "An Arsenal for Democracy."

Those years were filled with fear, anxious hope, and a determined will.
The hard won victory was welcomed with prayerful thanksgiving.
Still, on the horizon loomed the spectre of a "Cold War."

As your loved ones returned, the hopespring of peace settled over the land.
You took your turn in raising a family,
Values passed from parents to children, as had been passed to you.

Pressed hard to protect that which had been passed to you, 
You struggled with the birth of "Civil Rights" for all, 
and the lingering pains of sending your own children to war.
But as always, the binding salve of love was administered to help heal the wounds.

Your memories were sparked by the cry of your grandchildren,
Knowledge now, of what your own parents knew.
Age and time would not wait, as you patiently guided your family's craft 
on the Sea of Transformation.

So now, as you join all the generations gone before,
Know that your legacy will not be soon forgotten.
Hold HIGH your heads!  You were truly "THE GREATEST GENERATION."

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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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The Truth At Hand

Out on the prairie,
up on the hills,
from corner to corner,
our voices must not be stilled.

We are the carrier's,
of the truth at hand,
let us be heard,
from sea to land.

No man can conquer,
our God given rights,
freedom is ours,
now rise to great heights.

Honor, and respect,
they must be earned,
instilled in our hearts,
forever to burn.

Many before us,
and more to come,
God Bless America,
His Will shall be done.

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ON THIS DAY: 01.20.09

In 1963 Dr. King gave a speech in Washington D.C.
it was a most stirring address that became a prophecy
he made mention of a dream of an America he had invisioned
one with justice, equality for all and no more racial division

In 1964 the Civil Rights Bill was signed and enacted
that federal law designed to have racism in America impacted
yet the struggle continued and the battle raged on
but God had something coming up on the horizon

In 2004 a man of mixed race decided to take up the cause
a Columbia grad with a Harvard degree who did not stop to pause
based in Illinois he ran for the United States Senate seat
and despite the odds against him the opposition he did beat

In 2007 God move Senator Obama to the next phase
the Spirit compelled him to step up and enter the Presidential race
many thought he was an upstart and by many he was rejected
as he wasn't a part of the early movement and wasn't what they expected
But God will use any kind of man to accomplish His goals
all He requires is an obedient servant who allows Him to be in control

In 2008 the Democratic Primary was a most unpleasant fight
it was not only about gender it became about Black and White
but the youth of today stepped up, joined in and took a stance
and the young Senator from Illinois now had a fighting chance
and after the dust had settled it became a very clear choice
the American people voted and the world heard their voice

that young upstart Senator Barack Obama won the Presidential race
and now the most powerful job in this world belongs to a man with a Black face
but more importantly he's a man who doesn't distinquish himself by his color
he's the President of every American citizen Jews, Gentiles, Sisters and Brothers

It was not a coincidence that on the day he won his party's nomination
it was 45 years to the day that Dr. King addressed the entire nation
it was not a coincidence it was all God's design
that this young intelligent black man would have his season at this time

a people delivered from slavery into the ultimate seat of power
on this day in U.S. history African American's shining hour
to be vindicated and now elevated
to be validated and now celebrated

Oh yes we can for hope has been renewed and restored
Oh yes we can pray that peace will reign again once more
On This Day the Rev. Dr. King's dream become divine
On This Day January 20th in the year 2009

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I'm Just What Your Looking For

since the year of 1952 the city of st paul Minnesota holds
their annual treasure hunt the king and queen of snows
goes out to a city park and hides a medallion worth
10,000 dollars if you are the winner and your carnaville
button is register with the st paul pioneer press
which gives out 12 cryptic clues and this little medallion
could be wrapped in just about anything from diapers to cookies 
and the frigid weather here just may make you want to just
stay by the fireplace and sip on hot coco with family and friends
even lucky finder gets to ride along with the king and queen of snow
in the closing ceremony of it's torchlight parade
also watch out for the vulcans krewe for they like to dethrone the king
and leave you with a black smudges across your sweet cheeks

Tribute To The Winter Carnaville

Carnaville runs
Jan 21-31 

Also Entry For
Carolyn Devonshire's
Christmas In Your Town Contest

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Italy: their triumph over France

It's Sunday afternoon
bright, lovely and good for outdoor functions;
with music that soothes one's emotion,
finds strength in transformation.

What a sight to behold!
with people across the world;
watching the Soccer's World Cup in Rome,
a milestone, a great pride and honor.

In trying to embrace their triumph
Italians at large unfold;
their victory in global doors
to the minds and hearts of every culture.

A big deal of preparations,
both time and effort combined;
a view of integrated system,
shows discipline, vision, and continuation.

Identified in today's world of ambition,
with certain trends as wide as Catholic religion;
Europeans, Asians, Americans, Africans and other cultures,
expand and deepen how sports can strive for perfection.

Congratulations to all Italians! 
such a job well done 
that is enough to understand.
A graced experience, a defining moment,
to tell the world your triumph over odds.

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Michel-Grabriel Paccard and Jacques Balmat
ascended the dangerous ridges of Mont Blanc...
without ice axes and their firm determination,
to achieve the impossible, nurtured their immense ambition.

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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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Trapped Deep Within Your Robes

When you, Trapped me deep Within Your Robes.

thus Forgiven; I have forgiven you so many times
and you and yes and you.
Yet lest you remember it now naught.
For Tampa, ' was in nineteen sixty five.
Lake Magdalene, I saw no priests nor a
single nun and my mother was not supperior.
What I did see was wrong to be there only seven.
When I am gone the sun so of't 
from whom did we protect me from.
Forgotten I have been by you, 
and you.
and all of the Chief Judges saw me, 
when back then, was it considered normal?
That which was done to one single child back then
went off too many men then grown from which
has left no middle ground on which too stand.
Being said, ' Would I then dare to so remind you
why have I been forgotton now 
and then if naught from whence or where is yours shame 
whose shame before I die.
Did you do it not to yours, 'but a skinny frightned child?
Mr.Wilson and me a few others and knew Tampa stadium
that night as the Washington Redskins played 
the Miami Dolpins when even before, 
Robert Allen "Bob" was so Griese.

is it poetry

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Josiah Pritchards Letter to his Wife 1

				Valley Forge
				February, 1777
My dearest wife, if a darker hour were 
elsewhere, I would count my present plight 
far differently & be of brighter mind.
	We are hutted at Valley Forge, twenty
miles from Philadelphia, & closer still
in distance to the frozen Schuylkill. Since 
November we have put down here, having 
retreated from Fort Mercer. For three weeks 
the king’s warships, those Goliaths of the sea, 
lobbed our walls by day & night. A French
engineer, a determined man and tireless, 
roused us to do our best to rebuild the walls, 
but the volley of cannon balls broke thro 
each time. When we could no longer defend 
the fort, Washington gave orders to retreat.
	It is now near to midnight. A heavy snow 
has fallen since daybreak. The camp is
knee high in snow, too deep for walking,
& a depth of cold as brutal as ever I have
known a winter threatens to annihilate us. 
An unearthly gloom grips the camp, if not
our hearts. It is etched on the face of every man.
Fires burn day & night throughout the camp. 
Haggard militiamen huddle around the fires 
in small groups warming their hunger-thin, 
shivering bodies; their faces gaunt, sullen, 
eyes full of restless sleep and despair. Many 
have not a scrap of either shoes or stockings 
to protect their feet or legs, and when they march 
they leave tracks of blood in the deep snow. 
Others wear only the cloathes they left home with, 
now torn to rags, & shiver beneath snow-wet 
blankets, staring blankly into the fire. We are 
stripped of every common comfort of house 
and home. We sleep on wet & frozen ground, 
for there is no straw for bedding. Food is 
scarce & many have not tasted meat in days, 
only biskits. The men quip by saying they 
dine night after night “upon a leg of nothing 
& no turnips.” Not even the blue-green
lichen so abundant on the stones here has
escaped the hungry eyes of some. We are 
without pay for some time, & the ‘Continental’ 
is worth less than a withered leaf. We are 
tired out, reduced to unwashed skin & foul 
odors, festering wunds, various sicknesses, 
broken like mourners rather than men who 
have taken up arms for Liberty; confused, 
discontent, discouraged, empty of hope 
and spirit. Bleaker still, the Pox has set in, 
& the dead are many & lie exposed 
on ground too hard to break for burial. 
We are daily being crushed to Nothing 
in this Crucible of Cold & Hunger, inhuman 
Miseries, & Death. In little time we shall 
have been reduced to an army of rattling 
bones, more gruesome than those Four Riders 
whose presence among us seems undeniable.
	The British army and the Loyalists are
still put up at Philadelphia. Word has it 
they are having a good time of it, and that
they grow stronger daily, both in number 
and in discipline; while we decrease by 
various casualties and much desertion. 
We hear the British may soon be embarking 
the city so that, soon now or later, I may be 
writing you from there. Only time will shew it.
	How long we shall be put up here, I know not.
The men wait for orders to face the enemy 
some distance from our encampment. We have
already lost many men and boys – not to
the fray of battle but to the deadly, 
bloodless cold – good, decent men, all of them,
eager to show their courage, almost blind 
in zeal to give their blood for freedom, that 
brightest jewel of human aspirations, 
eager to secure a new nation free 
from England’s greedy hand; fierce in intent 
to build the foundation of our new nation 
with their blood and bones. Until that time, 
we idle away and wait like starving cattle. 
	Many of the men are bored and restless. 
Fights break out daily. Many cannot read 
or write. Many cry – yes, cry like lost children 
without mothers or fathers. Others talk of 
wives and children left behind; homes, 
farms and livestock, plowed fields and gardens; 
nights by the hearth: warm, secure, rested from 
a good day’s labor; content with hard won 
prosperity, with bread and meat on the table; 
sons and daughters in good health and spirit, 
God-fearing; tranquil nights and untroubled days; 
merriment and barrels of good ale – contentedness 
like peace itself. They talk of these things until
dry of tears and until sleep overtakes them.

(Coninuted, Part 2)

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Hopper's painted a sober couple
with an unamorous sentiment;
two lovers with faces too distant,
with hands not touching, not feeling...
just being realistic and sensible,
reflecting on a tomorrow that was coming.

The exterior colors are of a depressing dark,
and the interior ones are mixed with bright
ones...with an ivory tone consuming their sober faces;
why are they staring into nothingness, sensing sadness?
We can't feel what they feel, or hear what they hear,
but their thoughtfulness is as intense as the evening' whisper. 

Theirs was an era when Elvis was the undisputed king,
and his music was played on an old-fashioned record player;
perhaps his blues were the ones they loved to sing,
but the pretty boy from Tennessee was much younger and happier than they ever were,
not wearing a blue t-shirt, brown slacks and a classic hairdo,
and he rode in his red Chrevolet with a style that was envied by everyone in Hollywood. 

Hopper's theme should have been much livelier than this,
not as morose as his summer's evening melancholic portrait;
and who could judge him for expressing himself in a such way?
Perhaps it was a realistic scene he had experienced with his fiancee,
observe the artist's rendition of the unpleasant mood he was in...
and shouldn't have he painted it with a more intimate and amorous sentiment?

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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The game

So, you want to play the game?
you do know the deck, is already stacked against you?
but you try anyway, you put your first dollar down.
before the dollar even hits the table, you've lost.
Play again sir?
you've lost long before your next card, is even dealt.
so, you go again this time, you put down a five.
then you drop aten, a twenty, then a fifty.
all the time saying, this is the hand.
My lucks going to change, but it won't, nor will it ever!
So, before you know it, it's you dealing out the cards.
setting the deck, as you wait, you start to grin.
As you see that first dollar hit the table.
new player, big money, here we go sir! good luck!
dealer hits 16, a 5 of spades, house wins!
Play again sir? Yes, then here we go!
Player bets a five, a ten....
Time and luck, you always have more of one than the other.
It's never the one you need....

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vignette- A POET' S POET

London born,Lancashire bred
Into Chaucer's footsteps,others he led
Medieval prosody,his 'little song' said-
Long may such sonnets be heard
Of the fountainhead of English poetic words.

Tribute to Edmund Spenser 1552-99

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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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Fallen Heroes

Fallen heroes of the past, 
present and future…

Let us not ever forget, those that
have given there lives for our
freedom and been there,
whenever they were needed…

Freedom does not come cheap,
and those who have given, there 
lives for us while protecting our 
freedom shall always be remembered…

We shall not forget, our fallen heroes!

By Sandra L. Hoban

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Under Cover

Scurry To Their Side
And Try To Catch A Break
No One Has The Time
For Decisions That They Make
On The Road To Happiness
Hopes Fall On The Grim
Out Here, On The Horizon’s Edge
The Lights Are Getting Dim

In The End We’re Animals
Victims To Our Need
Giving Not Too Easy Now
Fallen, To Our Greed
All The Hopes In One Hand
And The Let Downs In The Other
Bringing Balance To A Life
Best Lived Under Cover

Falling Back Now
To A Place We Can Control
Acceptance Always Granted
With The Payment Of Your Soul 
Today Is Not The First
And We Are Far From Last
Just An Upended Recurrence
Footnoted In The Past

It All Seems So Long Ago Now
Gazing Through The Mirror 
Is There Any Truth Behind 
All The Stories That I Hear?
For What Once Was
Has Been Redone Ten Times Over
And I’ve Become A Memory
Best Lived Under Cover

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Heroism and Passion

Flying high into the sky, 
I see you are sincere, kindhearted, 
fascinating and interesting…

How it really was when it mattered,
what was a long, long summer day, that
you brought history to our front door…

You could get your teeth into that juicy story,
 of remembrance, that was what kept you
 from going crazy…

Human character acts differently in 
each of us some can handle the stresses 
of war and combat while others cannot…

How and why we must self- justify 
what we do and how the world sees us 
and how the world is in upheaval…

To see you as a hero and your passion 
for freedom is overwhelming to say the
 least, but, it is greatly appreciated by
 the majority…

Keep up the good work,
 for we do remember and appreciate
 our freedom that you have fought 
so hard for…

By Sandra Lea Hoban

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Hollywood is trying to cash in
on an unrealistic movie about
the Earth's destruction bound
to happen in the next two years...
how could you believe it, fools?
Doesn't God create it to be everlasting?

It's all a myth leading everyone to believe 
that's what exactly will occur almost instantly;
those fiction writers wouldn't care less
where you stand on this ridiculous story...
as long they make a huge profit and laugh
all to way to their bank...don't you agree?

Hollywood used to make great, memorable movies 
to glorify the name of the Almighty, that even now
make a positive and sound impact on all of us;
every possible subject has been exploited
from drug to sex...from politics to bloodshed...
Hollywood has become the haven of ostentatious riches.

I wouldn't waste a buck and stand before
a screen that shamelessly proclaims this lie,
even the most ignorant person wouldn't fall for that!
Don't squander your hard-earned money on stupidity,
and make those greedy movie-makers rich for
a motion picture that promotes chaos and fret!

The Christmas' Season and Hanukkah are almost here and the Devil plots in Hell;
they couldn't have come up with a better idea, or a more inspiring story?
It's criminal and despicable to prey on a gullible audience,
and force them to believe in a fiction that goes beyond any credibility;
it's a time for redeem ourselves and get rid of pretense,
refuse to be brainwashed by the entrepreneurs who are awaiting their share! 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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She is a widow, never wanting to marry again, never defiling her vows, 
her five children have moved to other parts of the United States;
and they seldom visit her, except on the very special season of Christmas,
when she adorns her home with garlands and lights to honor the Child Jesus...

Her name is Amelia, a petite lady from Andalusia,whose passion is writing poems,    
and her Spanish accent is somewhat heavy, but the words are clear and precise;
on long summer's nights she speaks of her native land...meadows covered with camellias, 
and tells tales of Columbus and the Conquistadors with feathered helmets...

She was quite beautiful in her younger days, daises in her dark, lustruos hair, 
and sea-colored eyes that resembled the Mediterranean Sea, which brought her nostalgia;
and she often wore a folklorist costume of stripes of bright orange and yellow like her flag,
and now she's confined to a wheelchair looking sad...who has camellias for Amelia?

This past spring I planted a dozen of camellias plants in the empty and barren lawn,
hoping they would bloom when she would stare at the huge Atlantic Ocean;
and with eyes as sharp as a youngster, Amelia would see her beloved Spain, 
and those lush meadows covered with camellias to bring her bitter-sweet pain. 

In the quite hours of an early August' morning, Amelia rose to say her prayers,
and with the rosary in her devoted hands, she peaked outside and surprisingly smiled;
a beautiful garden of camellias appearing in front of her joyous eyes... she was so delighted,
but she couldn't go outside and caress them, but thought to herself, " Someone cares! "

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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' Monsters, Among Us ... '

‘ Monsters, Among Us … ’

 Scatter The Creeping Vapor-Stench, Away
  Expose The Wake of  Eerie, Fog and Shadows
And Nightshade and Fiends, and Vile-Beasts That Bay
 Begone, to Taboo, Grounds, Unhallowed …

… for there Are Monsters, Among Us …
Yea, Also An Ancient Curse
We Don’t have To Make This Up …
… to Make It Any Worse …

Yea, There Are Blood Suckers, Self-Styled, Vampires            ( Vlad, The Impaler )
Who’ll Drink Your Blood by Starless, Night
Creatures, Who’ll Make You Suffer Their Desires
and Ghouls, Who’ll Dine On Your Flesh, in Daylight                 ( Jeffrey Dahmer )

Yea, There Are Creatures of The Dark
Who’ll Catch You, If You Do Not Know …                                ( Rapists )
They Want To Get Inside Of Your Heart
And Make You Do Acts, Foul, Fraught with Woes

Yea, There Are Monsters, Among Us …
Merciless, Malevolent, Maniacal Monstrosities …                       ( Hitler )
They Do, Indeed, Want To Own Your Soul, Because                 ( Jim Jones )
They Want To Make You Commit, Their Atrocities ! …               ( Charles Manson )

And If You Walk Around Unwary
Doesn’t Matter, If Its Not, Stroke Of Midnight
… Anytime, Is Their Time, To Do Scary
Spine-Chilling Screams of Your Unending, Pitch-Black Fright …

Rituals To Silver and Golden Idols                                          ( Slaving For Riches)
Making A Virgin Sacrifice -                                                     ( Child Molestation )
Hexes and Voodoo Dolls
and All Such Abominations To The Christ …

… Now, by a Long Shot, I’m Not Pious
(‘Cause I Too, Like A Good Thrill !)
Just, Don’t Make The Mistake-Serious
By Thinking Wickedness, Isn’t Real !

And Humans, Please Be Aware
Evil Incarnate, Isn’t Just A Movie Theme …
It’s More Than Just A Joking Scare
… There ‘ Is’ A Wicked Scheme

(and there ‘Is’ A Wicked Being)

So, If You Find, You’re Chased or Caught
By Some Monster In A Living-Nightmare
Remember, No Potion, Amulet, Nor Incantation Taught 
Brings Almighty Help, Better Than Holy Prayer

Yea, There Are Monsters, Among Us …
Yea … Also, An Ancient Curse
(and We Couldn’t Even Invent The Stuff
to Make It Any Worse ! ) …

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Ben Ja Min

on Jan 17th 1706 Benjamin Franklin was born 
became a printers apprentice 
established the first lending library
was known as an uncommom comman man 
that taught self in science and inventions

Benjamin Franklin 1706-1790

Also Entry For Brian Strand's   Vignette
A Literary Love Affair Contest
         GL All

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I made history                                                 I made history
Day and night                                                 yes I am I turn the head of the
I write prom                                                     top leader and made all the plans
Until the sun come up                                      I made history
I made history                                                  don’t get mad it just word 
Why are mad                                                   writing from the my hand
Just put your sh—on the portey add                 I made history
You slam you talk with nice to me                   yes, even a half black/white can be
You can basket the hell our me                        prejudice. But don’t theyknow god got the  
                                       Yes, I made history
(this prom is not to be prejudice but to tell you story.

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The Setting Of The Sun: Part One

She no longer rules the waves,
no longer is heard the chink of ice
in gin glass beneath darkening Indian skies;
what jewels glisten in the corroding crown,
how happy now this happy breed who bows
collective heads and cries?
History’s pain trawled across the planet face,
when slaughter ruled and oppression demarcated
the only foreign policy;
exploitation and enslavement of the weak,
colonialism and the salvage rights
the tools of peace and democracy.
Empires of muscle, iron and discipline,
forged on the blood, bone and murder of millions,
so proud, so pleased as punch;
a bullish bite spreading wildfire rabies,
mad dogs and Englishmen
permanently out to lunch.
Empires of dreams, of glittering prizes,
home of the brave where freedom’s flame
burned naked and bright;
a cultural plague preaching death, destruction,
fed on subservient carcasses
in sinister shadows of night.
And now in dying feel-good days,
clinging to glorious dreams of the past,
of powder, bayonet, cannon and gun;
achievements in the global butcher’s yard
may be all that remains in bearing witness
to the setting of the sun...

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The Bag Lady

In the fall of the year leaves arrayed in copper tones 
crunched underfoot,  the crisp air collided
with the inner heat of her face.

The metal cart grew heavy as she smiled up at the trees,
the air, and the faces of the passing Automobile Riders.
She laughed aloud as the squeal of brakes
and the smell of burning rubber approached a changing light.
"Hurry up to wait!" she shouted.

With the walk light  she crossed,
turning to pull the cart over the opposite curb.
The sidewalk grate beckoned her tired feet home.

She thought of a world walking ...
when horse power meant trotting feet and flowing mane,
when bells hung from wooden carts jingled down dirt roads
and greetings were called to muffled figures passed.
When the air was fresh with sweet smells from apple orchards or bread baking,
while the sound of birds claimed ones' attention
in between the silence of the day.

Now, picking through the treasures of her cart,
she chuckled, speaking to the warm air
rising from the grate, "Wonder who lost these fine woolen mittens?
and looky here, someone dropped a whole bag of bagels!"
Perhaps they had too many things to carry ...
too many things in the fall of the year
as the leaves dried away.

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Getting into the Christmas spirit,
by examining my introspection
and making new plans for the future;
and sparking up your imagination...
could anyone imagine me dressed
as Santa Claus, who never has the minimal time
to watch a log consumed by a crackling fire?
Think again, I could be that Saint Nicholas so bold! 

Prejudice is not a part of this Christmas Season,
all kinds of people, of different ages and races, 
celebrate it; and it may vary from country to country
with traditions as far as Saturnalia or Yuletide...
that was a time when pagans started this festivity,
and with the birth of Jesus, the Christians
adopted these traditions as their own...
so should we object and put them aside?    

Getting into the Christmas spirit,
unpacking decorations for my new Christmas Tree, 
from boxes that waited too long for this day of joy;
and even my toddler, Jack, comes downstairs tripping,
handing me Grandma's favorite star, which
she had hidden away into a treasure chest so jealously,
to place on the top of this forest-scented pine tree...
when we all gather and sing," Silent Night."  

Getting into the Christmas spirit, 
adding, not taking away names from my long list;
and even though these are tough economic times,
I plan to be generous to all without feeling the pinch!
Give the very best of your intentions,
either in gift or in warmest embrace;
give and be content to catch that infant's smile in the distance; 
the tender smile of the Holiest Child, who will give of Himself!  

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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' The Four Horsemen ... '

On A Pure-White Horse, Sits ‘The Champion’
He will Ride on to Victory, ‘til the War is Won
On A Fire-Red Horse, Sits The Warrior
He Rides Forth into Battle, Blood, Rage & Armor

On A Bold-Black Horse, Sits A Dark Guest
His Name is Famine, Poverty, Gloom & Unrest
Scales Balance His Weapon & Weigh Out Threat
…. And On A Pale-Horse… Sits Death…

And The Horsemen Must Ride…
The Horsemen Must Ride…
On an Ever-Rushing Tide
… The Horsemen Must Ride…

On Gathered Clouds Above, I can See Them ‘Cause
This is What The Poets & Our Prayers Speak Of
They’re Racing On The Wind To Glory and To Send…
They Must Keep On Riding, ‘til The Very End

There… See Them On The Horizon…
Blocking Sight Of The Moon and Sun
Holy-Vision, Shows… Here They Come…
… Death, Dark-Guest, The Warrior & The Champion

And The Horsemen Must Ride…
Yes, The Horsemen Must Ride
Following-Each, Side by Side
Ever-Rushing Tide… The Horsemen Must Ride…

The Prince of Peace…
Is The Royal – Heaven Sent Champion
The Rage-Warrior…
Stands for All Wars, ‘til There Are None

The Dark-Guest,
Equals, Eye-for-Eye, ‘til Due is Done…
And Death…
… is Always Coming for Someone

That’s Why The Horsemen Must Ride
The Horsemen Must Ride…
Following – Side by Side, Ever-Rushing Tide
Ranging Far and Wide

The Horsemen Must Ride…

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The Setting Of The Sun: Part Two

Tommy Atkins was a good boy
grew to be a good man, good soldier,
packed up his troubles in an old kit bag and smiled
as his entrails blew out with aplomb;
he died as the black rain struck his slowly glazing eyes
good son, good husband, good father
left only good for fertilizing the Somme.
Damned carnage-strewn carnival
of barbed wire bisected mustard gas days;
how “great” was the great war,
how “great” was the harm
when old strategists cast generations of youth
into the stalemate jaws of trench warfare death
and all those young hopefuls who bought the dream
unwittingly bought the farm.
Two decades down the smouldering road,
up rolls Euro Death Circus
rolling out Four Horsemen and a Fascist regime insane;
now technology enhanced the butchery
with planes and tanks, boats and submarines
and all the young hopefuls bought the farm again.
Proudly she revels in her past glory,
wallowing and exalting, sucking rotten cold comfort
from the memorial corpse of a golden fleece;
learning nothing;
we’ll meet again, no doubt,
over the white cliffs of Dover
beneath Spitfire engine trails, perhaps;
for she may have won the war,
yet she has surely lost the peace.
A land once fit for heroes, warrior kings and demigods,
now freezes crippled and immobile
when the race into the future has begun;
in a pox of politically correct Fascism on one hand
and the real thing on the other,
where is the hand of reason to stop the fall of night,
stop the setting of the sun...?

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An aged cedar's fallen trunk was taken from 
              a remote, quite grove by a stone wall,
and brought to Jerusalem to build
              the wooden cross on which Christ was crucified, 
after He was condemned to death by Pontius Pilate;
              those rough planks, not smoothed out by skilled  
hands, made Jesus bleed, and Judas stared
              at His leaning forehead,
              pierced by a crown made
of thorns, not fit for a heavenly King...
              destined to die so young for Mankind!
On the way to painful Calvary, Jesus fell
               three times, crushed by the weight                   
of the heavy cross while being called an impostor
               by a crowd, which shouted and laughed;
Josephus believed Him to be the Christ,   
               whom Isaiah prophesied very long ago...
He called Him Wonderful, the Prince of Peace!
               Rejoice faithful, He has risen
from His tomb, and He's sitting by His father's right
               end for all eternity, to lord over nations! 
Look into those bright clouds...He's alive!        

 Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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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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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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Orb of the First Dynasty, Queen Merneith,

Scattering spellbound in search of this utopia
Minds-eye in shortfall dissects one's monopoly
Through no choice of own approach it sloppily,
Exude to a position such promised, Ethiopia-

As the diminishing dream on landscapes ensemble  
The probate illusion of Queen of Egypt's daughter
Who proceeds through this escapade of slaughter
And who am I forgiving one or either? I tremble.

Having reached two thousand years without absorb
Of having travelled miles, indeed was bronze;
Such ghastly size these statues, long lost sons
With indications seen through my crystal orb.

Precious filling educated, siphoning the syllable
Retracted.., words of larger scale were of faith
Those who muttered sounding, Queen Merneith,
-Alluring dynasties as Anedjib's was, as a fable-

Engulfed over as subsidiary benefactors cannibal
Over some archaeological find, for at the centre,
No godly size can interpret that this magenta,
Haze of gross sufficient was the alluring spectacle.

Expedient gauge eclipse this as the inferno; 
And making this voyage with the help of a globule, 
Whose crystal awareness has forgotten the rule, 
That language hosts devise quoted, 'quid pro quo'.

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Jeter Derek: the legendary champ
led the Yankees to a sensational victory,
defeating the Phillies
at City Field in the 2009 World Series!
And the crowds revelled
from their stands;
and he waved his hand,
and smiled proudly,
holding and cradling the championship trophy...
driving all the ladies wild! 
Jeter Derek made history 
by planning a clincing game,
over the opponents to break Lou Gehrig's record...
and all the thrill glowing on his face,
was also a thrill of mine!

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A visit in Munich, Germany

What a sight to behold! A home to immigrants,
a spectacular city rolled with a wealth of arts!
predominantly Catholic with its many facets
its historical resonance and genesis of existence.

While it’s a welcome contrast from other countries,
there’s evidence that it’s replete with triumph and fall;
just after Bolzano, Trento, Rovereto, Verona Porta Nuova, 
Peschiera del Garda, Desenzano della Garda-Sirminione and Brescia.

That from Milan Central Station the train arrives in Monaco.
Indeed, I was so impressed to see the main city
its combined history and culture; a satisfaction
just on the horizons they gave me an enormous impression
to the so-called civilization that München defines its soul.

Churches can be found almost in every corner
with their baroque or lavish rococo architecture, 
some artifacts and gothic designs in some parts
in the eye of the beholder, they’re indeed a treasure.

People from all walks of life converge at the epicentre
the bustling footpaths, crowded shops and restaurants
with families from Dubai, Abu Dhabi and Pakistan
Asians or other Europeans in common desire
this place holds a promise for future and families.

Germans in general, love to drink and hang out with friends
a place like Hofbräuhaus where huge crowds can be found
a good description, the best picture to recall.
Deutsch, the language spoken but difficult to learn
gave me an impression of its beauty in articulation.
With their conventional greetings like in many other cultures
respect is the by-word along with courtesy and reason.
like the Olympic Park, Marienplatz, Nymphenburg palace, 
English Garden, Königsplatz and many other sights
They’re beautiful places steeped with history and connection
to the people of München who love their own culture.

I may not be keen about other European cuisines
however, as  a person drawn to taste them all
with a sweet tooth I couldn’t resist a typical German version
of the American pancake served in the morning
kaiserschman, its name and it’s common to all.

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The Setting Of The Sun: Part Three

Behold a land of monarchic decadence as celebrity status
of family values eroded in a smorgasbord
of half truths and bare-faced lies;
what life-model this,
one of toe-sucking chequebook journalism,
degradation and scandal, contempt for the public.
TV vendettas and cellulite thighs.
She no longer carries the big stick
with which to shake the world’s foundations
and bring the dogs to heel on bended knees;
now the blue-blood veins have been hacked and severed,
blood jets black and turns to dust,
led by Uncle Sam with ring through the nose
a merry John Bull with spongiform brain disease.
In a dying gasp of colonialist logic,
and meathead fascist chapters
the coda of the empire thug gives free way
to remedial apologism in overkill
that suicide bombers may rule this day.
Come one come all, loot, execute and pillage,
we’ll protect your rights to murder and plunder
and pay you welfare cheques whilst you do;
it’s politically correct that you do what you will
no discrimination in this here global village.
She is all but a fossilized relic with a makeover mask
extremist surrender when all is said and done,
and our children inherit a legacy of illusion,
of redundant beliefs, nothing left at all
for we stood blindly by and never sought to prevent
the setting of the sun...
for we stood blindly by and never sought to prevent
the setting of the sun.

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Stones in the Wall

Of many, the stones in the wall have different sizes with different shapes. 
So many there are and each specific with their very own color.
The wall is long with the many miles of stone that support it and strengthen.
What a vision to see a wall that long, because of the many miles this wall has made.
Built stone by stone and layer by layer, yet clearly by the hands of amateurs! 
Old these stones in the wall are, for time can only damage what is already weakened.
Enduring the test of time are endless miles of broken down stones along this old wall,
Chipped away on the outside, but still standing sturdy and firm maintaining a delicate core!
Enduring such strength, for they are all very well defined by their evident and only weakness.
An endless wall of old broken down stones and still they will stand strong and still so very tall.
Miles of evidence from darker times for sure by their obvious structure of neatness!
Beaten and battered these stones are and still they maintain such a strong and sturdy core!
There are many weakened stones along this old broken down wall,
Yet it stands distinct and firm with its battle against its only known weakness.
Individualized by one is the other occupying the many miles of this wall from so long before.
What a vision to see a wall that strong, beaten and weakened only by its evidenced neatness.
Broken down stones hold this old wall and each one with their many different shapes and colors!

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Looking to my future

Being mindful of my own roots as a Filipino,
with episodes of successes and failures,
with mirror images of my own culture,
show a sliver of commonality with others
as raised in accordance with Catholic religion.

Beauty in the heart remains a focal point
a criterion that captures a specific connection;
to the highest level – God with people of all nations,
an ongoing conversation between faith and culture.

But with the emerging trend in our civilization,
heroes for youth, sports figures or popular icons
are role models for them with a great deal of competition,
yet, opportunities to strive better and be achievers of honor.

Understanding the mystery of life through faith and trust
in God, whose source of love and compassion never ends;
A lodestar in my way, source of hope and spiritual joy.
King Solomon’s  teaching enables me to recall
that some of our greatest actions come only -
because we fall and this makes us grow,
connect with Him and face what life brings.

As we used to say in Philosophy:
«nemo dat quod non haber» 
indeed, a challenge that, for me, should be lived
along with enthusiasm and commitment to life.

The world in its movement greets every traveler,
with different salutations meant to inspire him
that in spite of a decadent age or conflicting moral answers,
God’s presence never fails to make us aligned to His own will.

It’s with an attitude of optimism that I hangs on to Him
because He is the way, the truth, the life, and everything,
His authorship and genuineness to any need in life’s quest;
He’s my great spiritual achievement, a future for my calling.

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Faith, rationality and Islam: a crisis

The world shared some turmoil; what went wrong?
that was the question, deplored the argument;
It’s all about Pope Benedict’s address
given to his old university at Regensburg
in Germany where he had taught –
a number of years with total commitment,
genuine dialogue and contribution.

His theology speaks about history and faith
its rationality and intellectual debate
meant to participate without any regret;
with relationship between faith and intellect.

The darkness of a new episode or story to tell,
barbarism that the Pope fears in this generation;
perhaps abuse and neglect of fundemental values
that’s growing  decadence of moral continuation.

It’s how he sees now the postmodern Europe,
in different ways where there are revelations;
a climate of relativism and shared influence
secularism in the service of separation.

What’s binding in his theological rejoinder
church’s original faith expressions and traditions
a cultural product of time shared with modern trust
revisited and highlighted with modern ideas.

Plato and Aristotle are indeed proponents
of Greek philosophical tradition;
their influence in the medieval Latin formation
shared some dialogue along with revelation.

What was exactly quoted in Pope Benedict’s address
referring to Manuel II Palaeologus 
“show me just what Muhammad brought that was new,
and there you will find things only evil and inhuman,
such as his command to spread by the sword
the faith he preached.”

There’s a vivid brusqueness in this statement,
however, he explained between faith and reason;
the Muslim world reacted with anger and conclusion,
that Pope Benedict had denounced the Qu’ran in its existence.

Not in his own personal view how he said it,
without any polemics to pounce on its evil meaning
Qu’ran as an unmediated word of God;
the message of the Prophet it descended –
on Muhammad; it came from God.

Hostility continued to draw the line of division,
A process of theological need and understanding
With shared witness and value in today’s relativism,
Pope Benedict had reason completely credible.

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I am

I am inflection
Poisoned pawn of perception
The Black Hand of persuasion
Twisting pallid pillars of affluence
Mercurial marble garlands
Plotting in political repose
I am invention
Aberration of anger
Neurosis of Nero
Ignited incense of Roman ruin
Human torches of venomous vapor
Breathing betrayal’s mushrooming rancor 
I am wrath
Sword of Damocles
Shadowed fate of mirrored steel
Forged in sweaty palms of cold conviction
Serpents of Cesar 
Striking slumbering senses of state
I am volition
Harbinger of history
Crux of Cicero's sedition
Hiding in Everyman’s reflection
An assassin of contention
Wearing a sentence of death

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The Process or Kafka's Dream Part 3 (revised)

Could anyone think this uneducated?
and undereducated mass of unemployed
or underemployed, aged humanity,
should, could or would,
be able to rightly determine anyone’s fate?

What farce, this democratic process?
this capitalistic rigmarole;
Serving, in the end, to do little more
than place another Mc’D’s burger,
on the table of a fat civil servant.
This system of blind, weighted, judgment,
assured anything BUT justice.
Assured, as it always has, and always will;
only peons remaining peons;
busily buzzing about their self-important tasks
paid, unpaid and pissed on.
Aiding the true criminals, the ones;
perpetuating poverty, homelessness,
illness, and ignorance;
in remaining in power.
The Jury was called.

The clocked marked the passing of the hour
with black hands on a white face 
and all that was truly seen was gray.

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On this blessed shore,
every gate opens wide around sunset and dawn,
and the foreigners flow waves rolling along;
all movements and images sketched
in linear prospective as if reality didn't exist,
permitting subsistence not to evade
from the sublunary harbor draped in aqua suede.

Many explorers from the Old Word
paid her a visit on slow vessels loaded with necessities,
in the hope of finding precious stones and gold;
and Columbus succeeded in his quest,
and all of these he brought back...
a new frontier was discovered and millions
flocked to these friendly shores with empty pockets,
but with dreams that would have made that young nation great.

On this blessed shore,
all are welcome if their character is good,
and the desire to get wealthy, with persistent sacrifice,
is reflected in their undisputed honesty and endurance;
Emma Lazarus wrote of these immigrants in her immortal sonnet,
which the wretched, the impoverished and the persecuted cannot ignore...
Read it again, doesn't it ask your libertarian souls to devour it more?

On this blessed shore,
peace dwells at a tremendous cost,
soldiers have gone to foreign lands to fight, 
so that it may never lose its God-given right...
to spread it beyond its bounderies for all nations to admire;
and the proud citizens sing their national anthem to enhance its worth...
how can a Nation, guided and protected by God, not rejoice in its freedom? 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Fare well Paul Harvey

and tonight the rest of the story
let us not give the headlines 
the best of the glory

let's remember the times of old
a history, something told
a storyteller tells the tale
of the bold
listeners tune in to listen
to what is gold

a riddle, a clue, a mystery to unfold
who is the subject and what is the goal
and in the end remembered
the great invention
within the story meaningful intentions

the storyteller had a way
of keeping our attention
as we listened in the car 
or in the kitchen

for some he was our lunch time break
we listened to his commercials as we ate
the trick of advertisement was so sublime
we listened attentivly as he used his time

at times of mattresses, 
and pills we listened to his appeals
while he told the story his ad's would pay the bills

and tonight the rest of the story
lets not give the headlines
the best of the glory

Paul Harvey went to meet his glory
leaving the rest of us wondering
what would be the rest of his story

surely he knew how to begin
and how to skillfully draw us in
as every story the master would begin

but this time there are no commercials 
no special ad's made for his rehursal
only the quiet exit unto glory
and now we know the rest of his story

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There is just too much
drama everywhere I go
people talking behind each others back
too much fighting
what happened to the
respectful people
in this world
so much has changed
the drama is getting worse
why can't the drama stop
why does everyone have to fight.

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Our Time Is Running Out

What is going to happen when every ones credit gets shut off? 
   We will be like a bunch of pigs scrambling, only to find no food is in the trough.

If  the National Debt were paid off today, do you know how much it would cost 
every man, woman, and child?
    Each person would have to pay $29,000.00, now ain’t that wild?

It’s like we’ve gotten ourselves into a bog with no way out.
   Well I know of but one way but skeptics will argue and try to show their clout.

How did we get to be this great power, the Home of the Free?
   It was when God was given the honor and glory, this some will agree.

God is our Father and He only wants to give us His best.
   And all He asks in return is for us to honor and praise Him, such a simple 

But no something happened we let the minority rule,
   By taking away the simplest of things like prayer in our schools.

If you felt unwanted somewhere I wonder if you’d stay?
   Did you ever stop and think just maybe God too feels this way?

Has the Doom Day clock already been set?
    I think it can be turned around there maybe hope for us yet.

But first we must unlock and open the door and invite Him back again.
   Then we will see a change in things when our Savior is home my friend.

We’ve tried both ways and the latter did not work.
    So bend your knees and ask Him back, stop listening to those jerks.

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Yeah I’m Mad


Where do they mint our coins these days ?
    Seems they forgot one important phrase.
Like in God We Trust is missing now.
    Are have we stop trusting God somehow?
Isn’t In God We Trust our national motto?
   Are did we change it to buy a ticket, win the lotto?
Push came to shove I’ve had enough!
   Enough is enough it’s time to get tough!
Who am I fighting anyhow? 
   Show your self and feel my POW.
This is my country and I stand for God!
   I’m sick of backing up on my on sod!
Put God back where He belongs.
   You sicko bunch of congressional Ding Dongs.
You treat us like we don’t have a say.
    But I’ll keep praising my Lord till my final day.
If it makes you mad I hope it does.
    Because when they take God out of our country, we’ll be just a country that was.
In God I trust forever more.
   I think it’s time we show those pukes in Washington the door.

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A tribe of humans way back in time Just survival on their mind They only sought shelter, drink and food Tools they had were very crude They found shelter in a big dark cave Lived life in an open grave They had drink from a river near by Ran year around, never dry To get enough food for them to eat Was quite a difficult feat Inside the cave it was never warm Little shelter from winter’s storm Then came a major change in their life One that helped reduce their strife Heard a loud boom, went to inquire That’s the first time they saw fire Lighting had struck, a tree was ablaze Heat from of the fire did amaze They found that fire needed wood to burn Other things they also learned They somehow must keep the fire alive Knew it would help them survive One person became the fire keeper Up all night, not a sleeper A fire would keep the cave warm at night Also gave off needed light Later they learned to use it to cook Torches at night let them look Fire became the tribe’s greatest treasure It’s value, no way to measure What discovery of man is higher? Than the day man found fire

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Immeasurably triumphant

Like an epic battle of warriors in the ancient times,
rhythms of defeat and success punctuate the line;
either one wins or loses the game doesn’t matter,
it’s sportsmanship, fairness and attitude of respect.

Super Bowl kick-off highlights Sunday’s program,
championship in historic match cheers everyone;
along with mammoth crowds like on Staten Island,
jubilant fans who emerge and show their smiles.

Giants fans elsewhere blare their cars’ horns
a triumphant meaning, a victorious experience;
truly, it’s a huge and festive moment to share
with others who admire those players like Manning.

New England’s Patriots acknowledge their defeat,
their strengths and weaknesses make them authentic;
how they react and show about their abysmal loss
echoes a challenge, an experience worth reflecting.

New Yorkers herald jubilations and their triumphs,
faithful followers of their respective teams combined;
begin to celebrat and make a toast of beer in bars,
getting the whole clan, along with peers and friends.

Such a boisterous scene that makes the difference,
with ordinary games shown on TV or big screen;
however, the Giants in their popular name here,
has got their favor and trust from people elsewhere.

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It started at the harbor, The Harbor of Pearl,
When the Japanese shook up the White Man’s' world,
The bombing of the harbor brought tears to our eyes,
To see that the Japs took us by surprise,
This was our entry into the Big War,
The first time terrorism has touched our shore,
Since the British were seen the exit door,
In retribution to such a dastardly deed,
These slant-eyed people and all their seed,
Were gathered into camps, their property labeled Void!
The Island of Iwo Jima utterly destroyed,
We won the war at such an intemperate expense,
With Japanese Americans routed and fenced,
Stripped of their pride and dignity'
In the Home Of The Brave and The Land Of The Free...
Spoken in true Hypocrisy!
Our founding fathers built this land,
On the backs of the Slave and the eradication of the Redman,
ALL MEN ARE GREATED EQUAL, so it is written,
But when it was written, the Black and the Red, 
Were no more than a horse, cow, dog or kitten,
When finally realized and legalized as men,
The Civil War had come to an end,
When the North and the South reunited as one,
Separate but Unequal was the anthem now sung,
In the Home of the Brave and the Land Of The Free,
Sung in perfect Hypocrisy,
One vote, one White man is now the law of the land,
Enforced by virtues of the Klu Klux Klan,
Terror was the weapon used to destroy,
The spirit of the Injun and the nigger boy,
When the oppressed and the depressed rose above this Ill,
Freedom was the cry from doorstep to window sill,
I HAVE A DREAM, was the anthem to shout,
Equality For All is what America's about,
Freedom from illegal seizure and search,
Is now the law of the land,
Unless it affects the National worth,
And you're not a Caucasian man,
Profiling is the word they use today,
To route the Arabs in the same way, 
As the Cowboy herded his runaway stray,
In the land of the free and home of the brave...

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' A Poet, Goes To War ... '

‘ A  Poet  Goes  To  War … ’ ( Josh. 23: 10, 11 ) 

A Gentle-Poet … Goes To War
Oh … How Far … How Far … How Far …
Did You Push A Tender Heart
before Poet Finishes, What You Start ?

Just Like That Musician, Shepherd – Boy
whom a Lion and Bear, Dared Annoy          ------  1 Sam. 17: 37
Trying to Steal Some of His Precious Sheep
Poet, Showed Them … What’s His … He Keeps !

And That Same, Brave-Poet Went To War
Against Goliath’s Insulting, Roar !                ------  1 Sam. 17: 45 – 51
… But With just One Pebble Fling
That Poet’s, Sling, Thru All Of Time … Rings !

And If  A Wise-Poet Goes To War …
That Poet … May Wound and Scar                -------  Acts 7: 54, 57
For Words, Gouge Deeper Than Stones
Pen’s Mightier Than Sword … Cuts Clean To The Bone !

But, You made Poet … ‘your’ Foe, with Mock-Chimes
The First Thought … Just Give Them, Calm-Down-Time
But, Know … This Poet Thrives … Behind Enemy Lines
Forgiving and Wishing, God-Giving, Words-Divine !

‘Cause When Peace-Loving-Poets… Go To War …
‘We’ … Must Travel by:  The Bright Morning Star    ---  Rev. 22: 16
and Wait on His Orders … His Way
and I’m Cautious … Like ‘The Commander’ Says …  -- Matt. 10:16

So, Before you feel The Need To Spar                  ----  Zeph. 2: 2, 3
Before…  Big Poets … Have To Go To War             ----  Genesis thru Revelation
… Know That Such Poets … Are Word–Warriors
 … Don’t Make ‘em Go Off … on ya’ !

‘Cause you Won’t Survive … The Tongues of Fire    ----  Acts 2: 3, 4
( or The ‘ Lake ’ Either … If You Live Like A Liar … )  ---  Rev. 21: 7, 8
Gon’ Wind Up, Locked Behind Abyss’ Bars
… For Making  ‘  Poor-Poets ’ … Go To Wars !          ----  Matt. 18: 6

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vignette-OLDE MONEY

The first son inherited by right
The second,off with his king to fight;
Ab third in a rectory might dwell
The youngest was to marr well..
Family coffers...more to swell.

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The Wagon Train


The fire burned warm and brightly,
    As the little band of wagons were gathered close and their animals were 
tethered tightly.
The ladies sat about preparing meals for the coming day,
     While the men folk took on chores there wasn’t nary time for play.
Scouts were still out and their water was getting low,
     Restricting their selves was the only way to go.
The wagon boss was talking on changing their course,
      Said things ain’t looking good, best we prepare for the worse.
He said I know another way but it’ll be harder at first.
     But about a weeks ride south there’ll be plenty of water to fill our thirst.
Bright and early next morn the little train pulled out,
    Changing its direction added miles there was no doubt.
As they slowly plodded on the desert took on a new look,
    But the sun still shone brightly in the day they all cooked.
The third day in the scout came riding up,
     Said it’s a good thing ya’ll changed directions as he reached for the cup.
He said the last three water holes were only sporting dust,
     Real early next morning the old scout lit out said he’d find water for it was a 
He strapped a couple of small kegs on an ole pack mule,
      Took along a shovel in cased he’d need a tool.
Less than a day out he was taken by surprise,
       Found an old dry creek bed that had just been on a rise.
There stood a solid rock basin as full as it could be,
       He plopped down and drank his fill then rested for a moment by an old 
mesquite tree.
He filled up the little kegs then he headed on back,
       When he caught up with the train he told of the water and said there were all 
kinds of animal tracks.
Next day they made it there to this little glory hole,
      And rested up for a few days and then took off to their destined goal.
 You just hope for the best, 
       And make sure your guide knows the way west.
There is no guarantees whether you make it or not,
       The trip out west you’re either wet and freezing or you’re dirty and hot.

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Irish Woman A.D. 100

Timeless island woman,
I am the daughter
of the sons of Mil.
I am Badb, Derdriu, and
Medb queen of Connacht
dancing in our fertility festivals'
flickering firelight.

I watch my warrior go
naked into battle
with sandals on his feet,
the torc I wove golden at his throat,
sword and shield in hand.

I listen for the distant
possessed scream of his warp spasm
(a fearsome howling from the throat
and bulging of the face)
that with the screech of pipes
will bring defeat to our enemy.

I sit fiercely smiling
holding open my parted vulva
in anticipation of
coming home passion.
I am sheela-na-gig
Celtic god.

The inspiration for this historical piece is from a photograph in
Thomas Cahill's "How The Irish Saved Civilization" published
by Doubleday 1995.

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vignette-ON THE STRAND

She sells seashells on the sea shore
For in Lyme Regis she did explore-
Poor Mary's childhood hobby
This lass of tongue-twister fame
A fossil-finder,now of much acclaim.

Mary Anning (1799-1846) a carpenter's daughter,self-educated,but now hailed as the 
greatest fossil hunter ever known according to the Natural History Museum London

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Our Right

Under the vines,
of heavy ruins,
comes much regret,
of other's doings.
Give it away,
just spend, spend, spend,
when it's all gone,
what then.
Borrow more,
get on your knees,
they are probably tired,
of our many needs.
Foolish, and carefree,
falling fast,
many told them,
this can't last.
Blind as bats,
and dumb as dirt,
now look at the people,
they have hurt.
Things change fast,
just blink your eyes,
and cover your ears,
here comes more lies.
Clean fresh air,
is what we need,
let goodness prevail,
exit the greed.
We can do it,
we know what's right,
we must speak up,
that is our right.
If money could talk,
of where it's been,
another nightmare,

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Hetty,loved by simple Adam Bede
Yet her heart felt another need
Her head was turned by the fickle squire
With many a' consequence so dire,
Her actions set the village life afire.

George Eliot's novel of 19th century social realism-Adam Bede

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I Hold No Fear

Tomorrow comes and oh God how it goes!
Do I care, why should I lend all of my spares? 
I’ll never know what tomorrow holds!
“Oh my”, how could I, what is it that I need to do?
Blessed by God, sure he loves me but what about you?
Why today and why tonight I really don’t care! 
I know that I love me no matter what my eyes can see!
Take it all but hold the very last thought that we share! 
My God, My God how I hope you all know what it is that you truly believe!
“Oh my”, capture and redeem my mind!
Complete my being that lives alive inside of me!
God you love me, these eyes have no doubt with that which they can see!
“God”, you know you have done all of this to me! 
Oh how you have loved these things that I can see!
Sheltered, protected, yet, condemned by that which I know you believe!
If I could, I think that I would, but oh God how I do stand here!
Come and get me with all of that, which I know you believe! 
Please God, just come take my all of me! 
I am still here my Lord and I hold no fear!
Tomorrow, hmm just another day for me to believe!
Oh well! Guess I’ll just have to see it through!
Ask me anything and I will tell you! 
I think we all know what it is that we should do!
Escaping the reality of what really should be, 
Oh God, I am so very here do you know what tomorrow will be? 
I’m still here my Lord and I am holding absolutely no fear!
Each morning the Sun rises to approach a brand new day. 
No doubt that I do love me!
Embraced with the thought that you have come just for me, 
I’m engulfed with this moment that I have finally achieved.
Oh my, I know that I could because I am coming to you. 
Where are you my Lord I just need to be so very near!
God you do love me! Oh how I knew that you always would! 
I’ve walked so many miles with you each and every single day, 
And I am still right here my Lord and I hold no fear!


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America, Like It Or Not Is God's Country

Well it’s still the old Red, White, and Blue.
    And I just thank God every day for allowing me to be a part of it too.
Where else in the world could you ever find such a place.
    Composed of people from every nation, and every race.
And once you’ve tasted her freedom, and relished in her glory.
   Then you’ll know why America is always such a hot issue, the top story.
This Country was put together with such strong Christian values and beliefs.
   And who do they always call to supply money, food, and emergency relief.
Our forefathers followed the guidelines our Lord set forth for us all.
   They had sense enough to know that when the Lord is on your side you cannot 
They’d call on God, for wisdom, courage, and knowledge before they’d go into 
battle against their foes.
   Maybe we need to redevelop this kinship with the Lord that our forefathers had, 
who knows.
We cannot continue on the road in which we’re traveling.
   We must not remove God from our lives, He’s what held us together and kept 
us from unraveling.
We’ve had life so good, for so long.
   Maybe we just dozed off for a minute, and someone slipped in that didn’t 
We’ve just about reached that point if we haven’t already. 
    We’ve set ourselves on shaky ground that’s not real steady.
I for one think we need to fast and pray to turn it back around this very day.
   On bended knees, hands clasped tight, and heads bowed low we need to turn 
to Jesus and say.
Father please forgive us for what we do, we ask You to take the reigns, and lead 
us back where we belong.
   Father we admit we still need You, it was You that kept us safe, and it was You 
that kept us strong.
Lord show us Your favor as you did in days gone by.
   For we are lost in the wilderness, and without Your mercy and grace we surely 
will die.
So Lord, please forgive us just once more.
 And put Your arms around us and let us be the One Nation Under God Forever 
   Thank You Father!

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Beyond the surface, immigrants

Beyond the surface: immigrants

Watching them from afar;
those immigrants in our land,
images flicker in my mind.
Their courage and dream to fulfill;
as they strive to earn their living.

  More than a century has passed,
  since European immigration flourished in the land.
  Now, with the Hispanics, Asians and 
  other cultures to cite
  run wide and deep in American life.

Grateful as ever for the gift of life,
being able to partake of God's grace;
Increasingly, combined with potential assistance
to those who're deprived and wounded in their lives.

  While public media get saturated,
  with the ebbs and flows
  with the ups and downs, 
  permeated with fear.

Seen like a sublime refrain with deeper meanings;
allow me to ponder on being with Him,
my love and Glorious King.

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Earthbound sobriety

While crossing Verrazano Narrows Bridge
recurring mem’ries of New York recapture 
history and civilization of the two boroughs
provide me with deep interest and emphasis.

Brooklyn in its old Dutch for “broken land,”
and Staten Island named “Staaten Eylandt”
named in the early 1600s by Henry Hudson,
trailed off on a tangent through centuries.

A myth or perhaps a legend, the island thus far,
was like a quagmire of townships and disputes;
its meaning to immigrants’ culture and religion,
favored silence, security, peace, and integration.

The burden of too many choices based on clans,
growing businesses and stories of interactions;
new immigrants in droves through generations
like an orchestra combined with a sense of drama.

Reflections of their struggles to make ends meet,
reminded me of articulation through interpretation;
in sobriety of heeding of the composer’s intent,
such a musical piece made me suffer and sweat.

Oh, the pedal, rhythmic vitality and expression!
all these elements comprise what piano playing is,
the technique, in a special way, a benchmark item
indeed, a struggle to interiorize those conventions.

But as a human person with some limitations,
with my own history and capability in playing,
I see where I can be fit and freely express myself;
through movements in diverse missionary works.

As it says in French, “bon débarras, il est partí.” 
my life continues with a backlog of other issues,
a different world focused on service to the Lord;
with my own repertory – its beauty to humanity.

It’s true that my prayer for the church at large,
is also a bridge across the gulf of separation;
coming to this borough of Staten Island
a hodge-podge of concerns, covenanted within.

Now that relationship with God and people
brings me to nourish that faith and commitment;
with that long stretch of Verrazano Narrows Bridge,
a metaphor to my own journey as a missionary.

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My Dearly Departed

In this world, I can see many faces of you and me,
Boundlessly free with our new abilities to breathe!
I am a dime per every one dozen collecting my fee.

You see, it is just you and me rising upon this day.
Together we do be and forever on our merriest way.
It is just another day for you and me to pitch a say.

We are one word away you see my dearly departed,
We can all bail ship or get this whole thing restarted.
Or, we can confirm that which became our imparted.

Love me now and hate me later,
Or, love me later and hate me now.
Either or my dearly departed hater,
I impart onto you my Poof Bam Pow!

® Registered: Ann Rich 2009

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Words in the dictionary

English prides itself on being a well-spring of today’s language
like a magpie that freely picks up foreign words elsewhere
with an attempt to incorporate them into its richness of vocabulary;
a great endeavor that makes sense to be a global lexicon these days.

It’s a continuing effort that knows no barrier with other nations,
to the world of cultures with an attitude of openness and expansion;
widens one’s horizon and enables one to get a habit of insertion,
recognized as an inspiration that becomes a treasure trove of information.

Interesting it may be to find one’s word from a particular culture
that insertion in the dictionary which is a constant guide to everyone;
a close study, a reference to certain thoughts, backgrounds, and origins,
these words provide their meanings and usages in sentence constructions.

Yet their phonetic spellings are great indications to pronounce them well
according to history or origin that supply right definitions and implications,
their etymological meanings, derivations or other shades of meanings;
in their contextual variations or figurative implications thus far.

As they possess the power of meanings or as an identity of every word,
their roles make substance and clarity to what is necessary to understand;
they make a difference; they serve like guardian angels in every way,
whose central tenet and mission explore guidance and comprehension.

Webster’s, Oxford, McQuarie or Thesaurus as dictionaries used these days,
with idiomatic expressions provided in different contexts and origins;
however, profound or different as applied in many human situations,
they convey wisdom; so rich that many times they’re used in today’s parlance.

Words, words, words, as Hamlet famously moaned when Polonius asked him;
what he reads and wrestles with words and meanings generate an answer,
it’s the same thing with one’s attitude to consult or refer to a lexicon,
a dictionary, a thesaurus, or any similar print that provides meanings –
words that draw the link between history and experiences of humanity.

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Dying on that blood-dripping cross,
Jesus felt sympathy for the wailing and weeping women,
and turning to the good thief:
He promised a place for him in Paradise...
and feeling forsaken He called out to His Father again.
Suddenly lightning stroke,
and thunder caused havoc!
A great earthquake shook the foundations of the Temple,
darkness descended as if it were night and made the Pharisees tremble!
He not only forgave one....but all,
and expiring, he gave up His breath;
and yet some did not believe He would have risen up! 
He lay there for two days, and on the third day He rose:
the tomb's stone swiftly rolled away...
as the Roman soldiers were blinded by a radiant light;
yes, they did see the Christ who had died,
a Christ crowned King: claiming His power and glory! 
He not only forgave one...but all by showing them a love so unsullied;
how could they have been so skeptical about a resurrection that really occurred?

Copyright (C) 2010 by Andrew Crisci

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It all started with the fall of our great towers
We lost our own citizens to a small group of cowards
For those people that died, we honored them with our flowers

We sent troops over to fight in foreign land
To find out who ordered the command, that brought our country so much sorrow
And the fear of what would come tomorrow

Our loved ones have been fighting for months on end
Fighting the enemy who brought us to defend, our nation who fear’s and cries 
because of them

Why has it come to this?
Years of conflict and days of pain
Our soldiers are still fighting, but in who’s name?

This conflict has had nothing to show except for our dead
Who lay to rest in eternity’s bed
Forever lost with nothing we can do

We look at our leader and say “It’s all because of you”
Are feeling have brought us to hate our own kind
We as a nation can not see past our own bind

Throughout all this agony and pain, 
Our troops still fight from morning to night

They fight for what they know
Will eventually lead them to the sought after crow

The crow of disaster, the crow of pain
The evil man that brought us this shame

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Blood Brothers

Rusted iron crosses 
Bled by ocean spray
Fascism’s fury rages
Churning ruptured remains
Haunted by steel specters
Drenched in frigid light
Waves of ruddy soldiers
Toppling tyranny’s tide
Machine gun masses
Deafening and fortified
Ricocheted cries crawling
Over fleshy speckled mines
Limbs of solidarity 
Buried on foreign shores
Blood brothers of freedom
Veterans of world wars

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Hold On Tight

Hold on tight,
get ready for the storm,
better seek shelter,
a place safe from harm.
It is upon us,
inflation gone wild,
bull is everywhere,
pile after pile.
What has happened,
I fell into a hole,
I know what Alice,
in a Fairy Tale told.
Everyday, is something new,
no one,
knows what to do.
Throwing money,
into a bottomless pit,
where the greediest of the greedy,
are taking all they can get.
Hello, hello, 
is anyone there,
hello, hello,
does anyone care?
Talk about the future,
let's worry about now,
if things get worse,
there won't be one anyhow.
Tread that water,
keep your head held high,
we're in this together,
you, and I.

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vignette-NOT BY MIGHT

The Philistines wanted the source of Samson's power
Delilah tried,nagged and then to her love,lied
In weakness,this Judge was soon to cower-
Samson' strength was never self-reliant,
The Spirit of the Lord had made him a giant

See more at Judges 15 & 16

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The huge sky overseeing the emerald and bluish earth...
wouldn't be the only sky in our incredibly diverse Universe,
if limited sight weren't the obstacle to the awesome images that surprise couldn't conceal;
but many more galaxies hiding their splendid suns and planets,,
are still unknown and Man, overtaken by such a magnificence, expresses 
himself in more atheistic ways not to compromise his own foolishness!
If we declare faith non-existent, cupidity can become our fetish... 
filling us with more rampant pride to enforce its hypocritical seal! 

More universes, like ours, lay dormant in their stillness,
" And will life be found on them? " is a question too inconclusive
that we can only answer by being so compellingly delusive;
more universes await the discoveries of the intelligent mind,
to lay out their awsomeness and beauty to discard the thought of finding life,
impelling us to preserve ours, not to destroy it by valiance or insanity!
Search history's events, are we capable of pursuing happiness...
without conquering and proclaiming our power with mighty armies?

In ancient days, they created unrealistic gods and goddesses...
not conceiving that the Supreme One wasn't a god in human form,
but rather the Invisible One, who often scolded them for their wickedness;
so in stone and marble they continued to sculpture divine faces
that the common people hailed and worshipped, and would they refuse
to obey their tyrant's wishes: their worthless lives would be taken...
and did Paul, the follower of Christ, go back to that cult so perverse?
We know, from the Holy Scriptures, he was converted and put down his sword...


More universes more magnificent than this one,
can be discovered and inhabited if they are livable;
and scientists are working hard along with astronauts to accomplish our dream,
and who isn't excited and show interest to take a voyage into the outer space?
Navigators ventured on perilous seas to attest that their concept was solid and real;
we, with more sophisticated computer science, are groped by the unthinkable!
Persuaded or not, discouraged or doubtful, researches must continue at our expense;
and what if we were successful, wouldn't everyone be taken by shock?   

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Across his back..
                        they laid a lash
Upon his head ..
                       a twisted crown
In his side..
                 they thrust a sword

Into his face they spat

On a tree left to die
                           ' it is finished' was his cry

Bruised,despised..he took my guilt

And by these stripes..
                               he healed

More @ Ps 53

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How I see God

I often wonder on which side of life reveals God’s identity,
in many events and experiences, a great measure to reckon
God’s involvement in human struggles, a way to know Him well;
His love for the poor explores the beatitudes in the Sacred Scriptures.

I know aphoristically, about pain and suffering in this world;
the lurking possibility that enables me to remain strong,
that what I stand for on the reality of God’s intervention,
in human history He has shown me evidences of His mystery.

While reading the beatitudes, myriad thoughts unfold;
but one thing that provides me with a continuing inspiration
faithfulness to His people that salvation remains His mission
virtually certain and assuring to all those who’re suffering.

It’s a gift of His love, unconditional and enduring  through ages,
it’s a gift of His kingdom where there’s eternal happiness;
truly, history can tell with opportunities along the way,
God’s presence in selfless giving, a reality so compelling.

That all of us may become like Him – a paragon of love
through moral clarity and sincerity of our rapport
with others who walk with us scarred and afflicted
yet the connection issue reveals hope and serenity.

Like all God-fearing men and women in this world,
I see God as a reflection of  man’s love to his neighbors;
It’s as simple as I wrestle with so many temptations
that in life’s struggles God is present and powerful.

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I've had my share of being blue
Now to have found someone true
He lightens my heart
Completes me in every part
He's a breath of fresh air
No one else could ever compare
He knows me inside out
The beginning of what love is all about
He's a blessing in disguise
A fool she was not to realize
Wash away all our fears
Here's to happiness, no more tears

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vignette- PA DOW

The svengali of American art
His teaching gave so many a start
'Harmony & balance' his famed word-play
'Filling space in a beautiful way'
In Georgia's heart,his words did stay

Tribute To Arthur Wesley Dow (1857-1922) Teacher & artist  Marsh Creek

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If Ever I Should Have to Wonder

If ever I had to wonder, 
I would simply wonder why our paths were even destined to cross.
Obviously, I have so many things I have to wonder, 
Because my love carries the strength of steel and an armor of cloth!
No doubt that I will think of the many things that could always make me sigh.
But I know that I’d forever wonder why so much pain comes with an inevitable loss?
“Tis a soul for a soul and one cast out with your solemn moment of pride”.

If ever I should have to wonder, 
Indeed I would have wondered where?

Where is the beginning and where is the end to this forsaken way of life?
Where does all this “hidden truth” lay and why is it that I’m still standing and I can survive?

No doubt that I will think of the many things that I could always compare,
But I know that I’d forever wonder how much warmth there really is out there to share.
Brought down from sorrows below my beliefs have become my sacrifice.

If ever I had to wonder, 
I’d simply wonder where?
Where do we go when we go away and why is it that we even have to leave?
Where is this truth and why should I be the only one that will produce my beliefs?

No doubt that I would think of the many things that could always make me instantly care.
But I know that I would forever wonder why there’s so much hope with all of this despair.
‘Tis a soul for a soul and each is in such a constant dire of eternal need”!

If ever I should have to wonder, 
I’d simply wonder why this was all even meant to be.

Why could you not see the power and the glory that God has invested in the life of me?
Obviously so many things to have to wonder because love carries so many will’s that fizzle 
and die.
No doubt that I would think of the many things that could always make me sad and cry.
But I know that I will forever wonder was it I, the one who has been received?
But most of all I will forever wonder what is it that you, as one, really believe?

© Copyright:  1998   Ann Rich

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Complex (2005)

Yes we are complex and have millions of layers up on layers 
No one knows us apart from us we are our life’s players
Everything has a reason and no one can see
None except me 
Misunderstood and never returned 
Life goes on and some never learned 
We are complex creates do not forget
Everyday is another layer, another layer that they won’t ever get

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The Destructive Hands of Time


The old Spanish mission had fallen down from neglect.
    Where it once taught of a different way, and housed anyone from the noble to 
the derelict.
Now it houses only varmints and things that crawl in the night,
    A place where man at one time could seek sanctuary when weary from the 
They were lighthouses in the most barren of spots,
     A place where troubles were brought in hopes they would be forgot.
This one had fallen because there was no water at all.
     The river stopped flowing and was the reason for the fall.
For without the water no crops could be raised,
      And it couldn’t support the animals which needed to graze.
The river itself had been a grand site to behold, 
      Teeming with fish and attracted all types of wildlife that was the story they told.
They said a quake must have happened the only explanation they had,
     And from the looks of things it must have been bad.
Artifacts of all type still clutter the ground, 
    From broken pottery to arrowheads can be abundantly found.
Outback of the mission an old cemetery is found.
    Such an uncaring looking place where no one ever comes around.
I found a date scratched on a stone that read sixteen forty three.
    Maybe a marker on a grave left in hopes someone might see.
A sad and lonely place that has been forgotten through time,
     Letting such an historical place go unattended should be a crime.

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Drawn from mainline observations

Described as a ‘nightmare scenario’
in Iraq and the Middle East;
the endless war – its mess
that afflicts people of all races.

More troops have been sent there
more personnel and other organizations
deal with their quest for peace and action
that shape the future for Iraqi people.

It’s like magnet in today’s newspapers,
where everyone gets the information;
either in television or other sources
of media networks and people’s discussions.

With emerging responses and allusions
to previous leaders in this nation;
like Franklin Roosevelt in history,
who saved this country during great Depression.

In his solitary and determination,
George Bush sees it with special attention;
his strategy, along with other options
proves his adamant decision.

Like a dynastic leader with great power
King Louis XV of French kingdom
struggled and fought many foreign wars,
he won but not successful in other invasions.

The eyes of the world remain focused on this place
where chaos, horror and mess create opposition
between Democrats and Republicans
de-funding of the war seems a solution.

Against culture and civilization,
the mark of death and destruction 
shows the collapse of human castle: as God’s co-creators
in sharing his love, peace, and reconciliation. 

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The Ill-Fated Lighthouse

Author’s Introduction - A word about Minot’s Ledge Lighthouse: 

The Minot’s Ledge lighthouse, built 1850, lying off the southeastern chop of 
Boston Bay, was the first lighthouse built in the U. S. that was not protected by 
exposure to the fury of ocean storms. It was, then unfinished, in the shape of an 
egg-shell painted red and supported by iron pillars. The first keeper, Isaac 
Dunham, quit after 10 months citing how unsafe the structure was (swaying 2 
feet in each direction in a storm). His fears were well founded, for in April 1851, a 
colossal storm struck the New England coast. The lighthouse was toppled and 
swept away, and the two attendants, Joseph Antoine and Joseph Wilson, were 

The following day only a few bent pilings were found on the rock. This tragedy set 
the standard for the construction of more solid structures using granite blocks for 
greater support and a new light was built by June, 1860. 

To this day, legend has it, that in dark and stormy weather, sailors hear a voice 
coming from Minot’s Light crying in Portuguese (the nationality of one of the 
deceased keepers – Joseph Antoine) – “Stay away!” 

The Ill-Fated Lighthouse 

The towering light that threw 
Its friendly beams afar 
Over the foaming waves, 
The sailor’s guiding star, 
Is quench’d – and darkness glooms 
Where late it bless’d his sight, 
As homeward bound he came 
In the dark hour of night. 

The thundering surges swept 
Over the rocky bed, 
From which the lighthouse rear’d 
Aloft its flaming head. 
And lo! They bore away 
In that mad fearful hour, 
The work that man had made – 
The tempest’s rightful dower 

And yet a richer freight 
The heaving billows bore, 
Than wreck of perished Light! 
For tossing to the shore 
The drench’d and lifeless forms 
Of youthful dead there were, 
Two brave and manly hearts 
That sadly perish’d there! 

Farewell ye faithful ones! 
Your memory shall live, 
While feeling hearts remain, 
Pity’s sweet drops to give, 
Or any to recount 
The terrors of that night, 
When the drear sea engulf’d 
The hapless beacon light. 

And you, ye rushing waves! 
Sweep – foaming, sweep along, 
And ever as ye go, 
Lift high your noisy song; 
For thou, remorseless sea! 
Maketh all things thine own! 
Then send aloft your tune, 
And madly thunder on. 

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Everything was so spontaneous 
and beautiful in my younger years;
a young heart reaching out to adventurous dreams,
making them as real as his imagined schemes!

Climbing a grassy hill,
pushing forward to reach mountains,
and discover hidden treasures
that lay in darkness for centuries;
frescos of saints in spacious caves,
a statue of an Archangel
guarding the dusty altar
as he thrusted His long spear
into the woeful Devil!!

Spring was a stunning sight of fireflies,
so incrediblly cheerful and thrilling,
when the impetuous wind
scattered the small white flowers
of a clustered viburnum
over the acient town of Baianum...
where I spent my younger years,
cherishing the liveliness of adolescence!

Coming down steep cliffs
towards early evening...
when the sunset was ablaze,
serenity was never felt so deeply;
and as weary as the canary's song would be,
it prompted me to sing!  

In my younger years,
all those days weren't a passage through brevity...
they lingered on like they were enraptured by eternity;
If  I had foreseen the misery of my misfortunes...
I wouldn't enunciate the loss of their affinity,
or the vitality of my unrelenting footsteps:
when I crossed,so unhastly,
 that magnificent land called, " Italy! "

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An attack of this magnitude
was completely unforeseeable;
and who thought that an unguarded city
had to feel that sense of solitude...
through an urealistic exodus so undiscernible,
and later reclaim its struck territory!

What we not the superb Twin Towers: 
the pride of the wealthiest nation on earth,
towers that can be rebuilt in years;
it's those lives that enmity cut short!
And they tried to disorientate us,
and disrupt our ingenuous and lively living
by spreading unrest and choas
with absurd and infernal thinking!

This infamy is so ineffaceable
from the mind of the unfoolish,
fair and reasoning man with greater intellect...
that it becomes so inexplicable;
a shameful act not condoned by civilization,
confirmed by unsympathetic sentiments!

What we lost truly irreplaceable
by every imaginable remedy:
its the worth, the comfort  and the unbroken joy, 
which dazzled in the NewYorkers' eyes...
making their days so livable! 
What we eternally
carved out into those shining stones:
bearing glorious names to withstand time itself1


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From ghetto where they were so badly used
Irene,saved over two thousand Jews-
She 'spirited' children out & away
Until the Gestapo had their final say
Ending Irene's war disabled & abused

Irene Sendler 1910-2008 a Polish heroine.Her actions went unrecognised until 
awarded the Order of the White Eagle in 2003 and was nominated for the Nobel 
Peace Prize 2007(the one awarded to Al Gore).In her last years she was nursed 
by one of the children she had saved from the ghetto fifty years earlier.

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Some have never felt the need
to sail on...far beyond their boundaries;
they had comfort and a good life
and enjoyed delectable banquets,
but others had to struggle for a loaf of bread,
and survive in the mist of poverty!!!

Those were the travels of the deprived men,
leaving, with the deepest regret, their own country
to face hardships,unacceptance and bigotry;
and from the offspring of these misunderstood men,
were born individuals who would shake and change society!!!

They worked long hours in mines
trying to catch a breath beneath those dusty caverns,
and when they came out they only saw a thousands of stars;
many built skycrapers, tunnels and bridges:
getting burned by an inclement sun, and through persistance,
they  had the honor and joy to see them shine!!!

Some have taken for granted everything
they were provided for...
not striving to get ahead in life;
living comfortly in their cosy homes and mansions,
standing by and ignoring the pains of the laborers       
along with the evils of their world;
they did not speak on their behalf...
feeling they were more powerful!!! 

And will God, open His arms of eternity,
look down on them and have a bit of mercy...
when they are approaching His gate?
We all came from two perfect parents 
who were as sinsless as angels,
but did not obey and fell from grace...
are we making that same,incorrigible mistake?

The travels of the deprived men,
left their intact trails where they went;
if some deny this fact to themselves,
is because they refuse to knowledge
they walked tall or existed at all...
and brought  a greatness so unimaginable!!! 


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A missionary,with medical skill
With a gospel,fulfilling God's will,
An historian,writer of song
Out of scripture his lyrics came from !

More @ Luke 1:29 Ave Maria ;1:46-55 Magnificat;1:68-79 Benedictus;2:29-32 Nunc Dimittis

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He loved his God every day
Sending arrow prayers his way
Lifting his praise in simple patter
Amidst the kitchen noise and clatter
Not separating secular,from the latter.

Tribute to Brother Lawrence

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Angolan Shipyard
Portuguese Courtyard
Indentured servants of
Black seed

Sadist sovereignty 
Dutch property
Herded into a treasure chest
Of disease

Shackled humanity
Shipwrecked Christianity
Baptized on the bottom
Of the sea

Altered Destiny 
English colony 
Stock on a manifest
Of greed

Work your land
Savage not man
A pound of flesh for
A crown overseas

Sold by brethren
Held by heathens
Your daddy was 
Born free

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Out in the meadow, a shadow stirs,
A thought brought back from many wars,
A love which has lasted for many ages,
Comes back again to haunt her book's pages.

She puts down her pen, lost in thought,
A shadow flows under the door as if it were sought,
The thought of love, long lost, steals into her heart,
And she gasps as she recognizes her Bart.

She had had visions of him since childhood,
His name was lost, but not his warm love,
In her dreams, they chased each other out in the woods,
They would scream and play tag as long as they could.

Now he was here- her love of all ages,
Coming to her with the help of his sages,
The wise men of old, the young of today,
Had brought him back again and here he would stay.

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Fitted In

You didn't roll a  wagon up to bring an apple pie.
The neighbors haven't come from miles to raise a barn up to the sky.
We didn't have to ring a bell to call your buckets to a fire,
'Cause when we had three surgeries, our hearts you did inspire.

Big homegrown chickens delivered in vans
And well tended veggies from your very own hands.
You spread your wealth with lots of love,
Always showing to our hearts the spirit of the dove.

The girls' Christmas dresses you made meant so much.
Our year was filled with your own special touch.
You handled, and cradled and poslished our kids.
Reflecting to them that their precious and His.

When that very last cent just couldn't be found,
You quietly gave and got us around.
Your cars, your time, your patience and laughter,
Have hellped us stay focused on what God is after.

He loves us and wants us to always draw near
And just like real families keep "bending" His ear.
Keep telling our heartaches and singing our joys.
Keep giggling and playing like small girls and boys.

We need to snuggle up close and hear His heartbeat,
So we can help those who live in hurt and defeat.
It is to God's family they need to belong.
For only in Him can the weak be made strong.

For those who are sensible and those who are "not so"
God keeps on reminding us - we've not far to go.
So "press toward the mark" are the words i our ear.
Don't turn to the left, or the right, and don't fear.

Jesus is all that we ever will need.
But here is the message He wants us to heed.
It's "us" and it's "we" - blood bought and in Him;
It's sticking together through thick and through thin

We are His children, His friends and His Bride.
We stand and we wait, and by faith abide.
Always, forever, His glory's inside.
We are His Body; We can't be denied.

Although we are grownup, He wants us to be 
Trusting and confident, knowing we're free.
He'll carry it all; both our burdens and us,
And longs, most of all, that we never be anxious.

He is our King; yet He's Daddy, friend too.
He made us; died for us; and will see us through.
Because of this promise and His love in you,
We are established, remain steadfast, and true.

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The Future

We can't see the future,
although, we can make a 
pretty good guess at what
may be ahead.
If you go to the store,
you need a hundred for bread.
Fill your gas tank,
now that's a shock,
you better run to the bank,
and cash in all your stocks.
Home repair,
yea right,
building materials are 
out of sight.
Trying to stay cool,
watch that meter run,
when the bill comes in,
you may be stunned.
What's that you say,
I don't have a job,
some other country
bought us out,
now what's this about?
Try to buy American made,
they are really hard to find,
do we have any factories left,
now do you see the sign?
We are in trouble, 
our voice is quiet, and still,
all the other rich countries,
are taking advantage of this deal.
The future, what future, 
may I ask.

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Stephen, man full of grace
Spoke out the word,face to face,
Unafraid to chastise or chide
As there was no place for truth to hide-
For this faith,was stoned and died.

More on Stephen @ Acts 6/7

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the #1 best seller

the basic instructions before leaving earth
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the B.I.B.L.E. the anointed word of God
the manual on how to live that we should take to heart

it's been in existence for over 2000 years
so there must be something of substance in there
the tenets of God and the teachings of Jesus the Christ
the basic instructions how we should live life

the #1 best seller since its inception
but today still receives mixed reception
it can be found on the shelves of most every book store
the #1 best seller that many still ignore

it's full of wisdom, power and Godly insight
history, poetry, truth and might
KJV, NIV, the Message or the Annotated
Contemporary, Amplified of Living, no version is ever out-dated

it tells of kings, queens, prophets, prostitutes and the ever-present poor
lepers, beggars, tax collectors, sinners, disciples and so many more
a continuous account of the nature of mankind
as seen through the lens of grace and the sands of time

the #1 best seller you should get this book
and once you start to read it you'll probably get hooked

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Around the line at Riverbend
And off the bridge into quicksand
Raised later by many hands-
Brushed & dusted,still very neat
Back into service,a story hard to beat !

The train fell in the creek in 1891,rescue then proved in vain
Four years later it was raised frpm 100 feet deep with little damage thereto.
Waste not want not in those days!
We could learn much from this approach in this 'green' era

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A stone font and white duck found it renown
This ancient saxon hill-fort town-
Growing to wealth around its four squares
With regular markets and seasonal fairs
Buying and selling sheep,cattle and mares.

Tribute to my hometown Aylesbury

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Now remembered for just one thing
Other topics made his bell ring
As music made his heart sing-
He saw life as a chance to shine
This poet,playwright..libertine

Tribute to Casonova

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Courtly Love

Submissive squire on his foot 
Helping his best knight, to put
On the weapons o’ not so cute 

Beautified horses galloping,
The sharpen swords clanging, 
And wooden poles jousting,

While this beauty, mocks by tear,
Huddling, silently, in her own fear
Because of her one and only dear

For her love,
She prays of-
“Use the speed o’ thy eyes, oh knight o’ mine
For a love to dwell, forever, in arms o’ thine!”

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Chained between church&cloister she chose to be
A picture of the Christian walk,for all to see;
A mystic life was her remit
Visions of Divine love,was her writ-
In the world..but not of it !

Tribute to Julian of Norwich(note Julian was both a man's& woman's name in the 

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As I have flash backs to things of the past.
   I remember seeing on tv a riot and how it got out of hand so fast.
In Los Angeles in a placed called Watts,
   There was looting and robbing, some were ducking while others were taking 
pot shots.
Buildings were burning there was chaos on the streets.
    It was like watching a movie but no one wanted to be in the first row of seats.
It was unbelievable the things that were shown.
   And in just a few hours how it had escalated and had gotten full blown.
They said it was caused by injustice, police brutality and they had taken more 
than their share.
    It didn’t have to happen, it could have been prevented if it were handled with 
People scoffed at Rodney King when he said why can’t we all just get along.
   After nearly been beaten to death by L.A.’s finest when they knew they were 
In Gods eyes we all are equal He created us all.
    So who put up the barrier who erected the wall.
Hatred is like a never healing festering sore.
     That is always demanding more, more, more.
I don’t have the answer, I don’t have the cure,
     But I know someone that does of this I am sure.
Communities in general need to help in policing there streets.
    Put a stop to prostitution and drug dealing let them know defeat.
Control what your kids do, who they see, just get involved let your kid know that 
you care.
    Be a part of their lives show them love and affection and that it feels best when 
it is shared.
This world can be turned around.
    But only where love can be found.

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Witches' Poem

Bubbling brains
brew remembrance
of witches' world:

Don't speak of it.
Don't talk of wealth or spend your coins.
Don't tell them what you know
   of herbs and salves and healing balms.
Don't offer to soothe, to care,
   to be a physician or
share women's knowledge
for it threatens power.

In their ignorant fear they will
pick and tear the flesh
they've branded with a hot iron and watch
as you burn.
The rack, the garrote, the gallows
greet your christian-lived soul with
flames flickering towards
thousands and thousands
of open mouths screaming ...
God ... oh, God

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Elijah sat 'neath a broom tree
'Lord,enough is enough, for me'
Within,he heard a small voice,
The Lord gave Elijah,this solace-
'Annoint Elisha in your place'

Read more @ 1 Kings 19:1-21

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A Message

The judge called it a crime against humanity,
   He said he had to have lost all reason and sanity.
How could some one do to a race of people what this one man has done.
   He turned a whole nation against them because they were called the chosen 
And gender didn’t matter to him just who you were and what you believed.
    If you were Jewish it was the death sentence you received.
They were used in labor camps and treated worse than a slave,
   Split up from their family and most were sent to an early grave.
Starved and beaten and packed in cattle cars and sent off to different camps.
   With no respect given they were treated worse than the lowest of tramps.
Animals were given more respect than this breed of people God had claimed for 
His very own.
    This had to have been one of the worst injustices this old world has ever 
But the thing that scares me now is that it may happen again.
    I feel like if we don’t try to stop it that God will punish us cause we are suppose 
to be her friend.
Israel pretty much stands alone and the center of all that is going on.
   Iran has made her threat when they have a nuclear weapon Israel will be the 
first to get blown.
America is strong as strong as can be,
   But we’re hated and despised for being the land known as the Free.
It’s time we pay attention to this world we live in.
   And quit catering to those who we know are truly not our friends.
We may have to tighten up our belts to make ends meet.
   But that’s better than losing what we’ve got and tasting the bitter taste of defeat.
We as a society think our good life can never ever stop.
   But what if tomorrow the bottom should drop?
All that I am trying to say is I think we need to show we support Israel,
    And be less trusting of all things in this world is what I feel.     
We need to give God all the credit for all that he is.
    For everything in this world is still His…….

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Full Circle


Across the river their campfires could be seen,
A Lakota village so peaceful and serene.

Where children played chase with a barking dog,
And old men spun tales while sitting a log.

A simple life was lived by them all,
They moved each spring and again before fall.

They lived this way for many a year, 
Before the white man started moving near.

Greed was not a part of the things they knew,
It was a bitter pill and hard to chew.

Their land had always provided what they would need,
But now they were facing a people so full of greed.

The white man came and found the yellow ore,
And told the Lakota’s they could not live here anymore.

They fought for a way of life they could not keep,
And forced onto reservations so many tears did they weep.

A proud nation that was brought to their knees,
It could happen to us so heed what I say please.

There is an old saying: what goes around, comes around.
There is much truth to these words I have found.

Things are a changing and it is our heads on the block,
We had better pay attention to what is going on, best be a watching that clock.

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A narrative poem in the charlax stYle 

Benjamine: he hath an oder oh mye qyeen 


Qyeen: yes he smells just like my camels butt 


Benjamine: eye meanteth 

He has a poet in toe 


Qyeen: eye have a blister in toe it is on my left foot 


Benjamine: the poet in TOW is the bard 


Qyeen: a splinter from a board why are you so hard today to understandeth 


Benjamine: he brings the bard in tow to proselytize to readeth prose and poetry 


Qyeen: why would he carry the board that the splinter came from to show me his 
toe would sufficeth 


Benjamine: confusion reigns today 


Qyeen: He is my Asian cousine. 

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They heard the Spirit call
To send Barnabas and Paul-
Good News proclaimed without fear,
The Gospel of Christ ,for all to hear;
Antioch gentiles, the frst to driaw near.

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Open Your Mind

Who do I vote for,
it is up to me.
No one can convince me,
don't you see.
Talk, talk, but not to me,
my mind is mine,
you can't take that from me.
Stand on the stage,
and blow your horn,
those shoes by many,
have already been worn.
I will decide, all by myself,
someone will sit in that office,
all by them self.
One by one,
I'll listen to their plan,
whether it be a woman, or man.
The good of our country,
which one really cares,
I will decide my vote,
let's not even go there.
Let us listen, and understand,
run on your own,
and your win will be grand,
not influenced by any, woman or man.

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Over a bottle of Stolichnaya vodka
And slices of kalbasa…. and cold breeze 
Of first September, you proudly spoke to me 
Of Lenin; we sat beneath the apple tree.

I disagreed not, with your thoughts
Neither, I agreed. It’s just I had no time 
To argue, nor speak about him right now, 
For my mind was fixated. A green apple

Teasingly, hanging above our heads; 
Come on, discussions…later, I childishly beg
As I kept lusting for the sweet juice of temptation; 
Tempted I was, it took me only one jump, for 

The fruit of my fleeting desire; 
Still, you refused to stop, talking 
About the great proletariat, who cares? 
Me? Hmm, nope, this green apple’s juicier 

Than what you’re telling; I wiped the thin dust off 
With my long-back shirt. Then, I opened my mouth 
To bite it; But, a passing, scraggy Babushka yelled:
“If you eat that apple, my son, you will die!”

Without asking her why? I threw it. 
Then, my friend Ruslanchik said: 
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,
We’re only 100 km away from our black history!”

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Flora found fame with  a simple tale
Of rural poor,in town & vale;
Recording family life,page by page
Whilst a clerk for Royal mail-
Now modern classics of their age

Tribute to Flora Thompson 1876-1946 English author of Lark Rise to Candleford,
Still glides the Stream and Heatherley

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The're heading north for gold
The last great rush unfolds
In the sub-artic winter cold-
Along the Chilkoot trail
Many thousands were to fail.

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Let My People Go-part 1


Who was this man of long ago?
     Who told the Pharaoh to let his people go.
He called down ten plagues to prove his hand,
     To free them from bondage in this Egyptian land.
The Pharaoh was stubborn he would not budge,
      He refused this man he carried a grudge.
Till the last plague was released for all around,
      This one proved deadly as it came without a sound.
The firstborn male would die that very night,
      Proving to the Pharaoh Gods awesome might.
The Pharaohs son was stricken down,
       So he prayed to his phony gods in hopes to bring his son around.
He lost his son for the stubbornness he bore,
      So he released the people to be free once more.
As the people gathered and headed out,
     They were excited there was no doubt.
Then the Pharaoh had a change of heart,
      Decided he would bring them back which wasn’t too smart.
He had them trapped where they could not flee,
     Till Moses asked God to part the waters of the mighty Red Sea.
He raised his staff high above his head,
     And God parted the waters like Moses had said.
Moses and his people escaped safely to the other side.
     But this is where the Egyptian soldiers and the Pharaoh died.
They tried to cross but the waters came down
      Those in the water all would drown.
There is much more to this story that I tell,
      How Gods chosen people have a story that is written so well.

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They went to the city with high hope
With what they saw they could not cope,
Until a man drew alongside-
His exegesis could not be denied,
Their hearts burning within,eyes opened wide.

Full story @ Luke 24:13-35

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He opened the book
In Isaiah he looked
And then, proclaimed the word-
All the synagogue heard,
His prophetic watchword

Full story @ Luke 4:16-21