Believing that marriage was ordained of God;
that, like a seed, it needed constant nurturing,
she sowed her deep devotion with a hope
that stretched beyond an ordinary scope.
That hope scanned schisms that had left her desolate-
until it reached the heavens with her prayers.
Time and time again, her spouse complained or failed to do small things
essential to cementing the marriage bond.
With unusual restraint, she held her tongue, forgave. . . and listened.
If matrimony were the fire in a hearth, she supplied the kindling and the logs;
then lauded him for twigs that on occasion he tossed in.
Some nights she’d lay a weary head upon the chest
of the one she called her husband (when he was fast asleep and didn’t know).
In those moments, she felt the beat of that heart he never showed to her.
With humbleness she supplicated God
that she might find connection with her mate.
She wondered and she wondered why. . .if thoughts, invisible,
which were transmitted to the Lord, were able to be recieved by Him,
why could not her words, directly spoken to the one on earth she loved, be heard?
Daily on her knees, she telegraphed celestially with a faith most extraordinary. . .
and wisdom came. Her love would not be broken, and she grew.
The seed she’d planted took root too and grew until there came a time. . .
she laid a graying head upon the chest
of one that was her husband (not just in word only);
a someone who now watched HER as she drifted off to sleep.
With his heartbeat strong in her ear,
she heard him whisper softly, “I love you” as he kissed her cheek goodnight.
For Audrey Carey's "To Err Is Human to Forgive Divine"
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich
He called it love and his captivating way,
She called it fear and longed for the day.
All alone she cried those bitter nights,
While he ran around to his hearts delight.
He had her heart he pulled her strings,
All she ever wanted was the joy that only true love can bring.
He controlled her mind, her spirit, her soul,
All alone with no hopes of ever achieving her goals.
Completely stripped of confidence and pride,
She became a victim of his heartless and evil side.
She was hardly a child when he stole her heart,
Lured in to his web with lies and broken promises from the start.
Now all of her dreams have faded away,
As she musters up courage to try to make it through another day.
He has convinced her that what he says is the final word,
No matter what she had read or heard.
You can’t make it out there, alone, is what he said!
You won’t last a week till somebody finds you dead.
So callous and cruel he chose those frightening words to keep her here,
But she had reached the end and leaving was the only way and she saw it clear.
She said you’re right and I should hush so let’s not fight,
But her things were packed, she’d be leaving this night.
He got all dressed and went out to make the town,
She called her a taxi and left that clown.
She broke the bonds that held her there,
Now she’s on her own enjoying life and breathing in this new found air.
This little sparrow has found her wings,
Enjoying everything this life can possibly bring.
Copyright © Ronald Bingham
Lemme tell ya' about a
I met her one night
under disco lights
up at Candies
starin' at me
grittin' her teeth
aimin' ta' see
if I wanted a piece
by way of flashin' granny panties
actin' a fool
took a shot
and one tiny glance
but got caught
lit up a smoke
and tried to play it off cool
but it was too late
she had pulled up a stool
"Hey young felluh, where ya' been all my life!"
"Sorry to burst yir' bubble, but I got a wife!"
"That don't matter kid, what she don't know won't hurt the girl"
as she fisted my collar and yelled, "I'LL ROCK YIR' WORLD! Annie the Tranny is what they call me. Bet you been wanted ta' bone me since you first saw me!"
Fear and frustration danced on my face
I begged the bouncer to
"Get this he/she outta the place!"
My pleas were to no avail,
and that sea donkey lurked hot on my trail
flailin' it's arms and grindin' bar stools with it's tail
Speakin' of tails...
a shiny blue wale tail crept up her back
Her jeans were mean, but couldn't hold her underwear's elastic slack
but at least it beat feastin' eyes upon her crack
wrapped her grimy hands around my neck and asked,
"You n' me, boy, what the heck!?!"
"Look here lady, you seem real nice for a tranny;
to hit the bricks,
and yir' Granny Panties!"
At that point the joint started to really heat up
people were glarin' like they really wanted me beat up
I can't recall how the hell I got out of there
alive and free
it was like a big manly freight train
headin' dead at me
I'm pretty sure I owe the good Lord a big favor
that beast was the devil
and Jesus was my Savior!
It's a night I thought would never end...
the night at Candies Bar n' Grill
Granny Panty Annie got a thrill
tryin' to make me her sexy friend!!!
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO
A DINNER INVESTMENT (for Eve)
My husband Chris Adams loves to wine and dine my needs
In the most expensive places, one can eat.
Arriving in LIMO style
A humble waiter greets
After I viewed the menu I replied,
"Hun I am ready to order."
A T-bone steak -- fully cook the meat.
At our table, walked a gorgeous snake-eyed women
She leaned over my husband's seat
Approaching Chris with a big wet kiss
I stomped on my husband's foot
I gave him the look, of all looks
She slithered with her tongue in Adams ear
"Go to that hotel and relax, I need some cash"
With one stare I yelled, "Chris how dare you cheat!"
"I had enough, I want a divorce MR. ADAMS!"
I reach over to slap him,
He replies, "She is my mistress Bath-Sheba my dear EVE!"
"I do not love her."
"I understand if you want a divorce!" Mr. Adams replied.
"But, remember, no more furs, luxury suite,
Winters in Barbados,
Summers in Tuscany."
"Infinity or Lexus, and first class plane seats."
"Forget about the Yacht Club."
"Party by the swimming pool, that land a hundred feet."
"It is up to you my Kitty Skat Eve to give it all up."
"You decide if these diamonds you want to keep."
Without thinking of taking a leap.
I saw Mr. Adams business partner Cain with a Jezebel in his arms.
I ask my husband Chris in a small peep.
"Do not tell me that Cain commits Adultery too?"
"Cain's blonde looks really cheap as if she works the street."
"Well, our mistress is prettier and looks real sweet."
"Honey, our mistress Bath-Sheba is worth the keep."
"Mr. Adams tonight you can call me Steve and not Eve,
Whatever it takes to satisfy your needs plus my gold lust!"
(The moral of the story is what some Eve's
will do to keep their investment, I mean Adam's.)
A joke and dedication to Chris D. Aechtner
For THE Eve in Eden* (Contest) *
Copyright © SKAT A
Don’t you remember, love, how we danced that first night;
beneath the sun’s rays, toes dipping in the cooling sand,
to the tune of our favorite song –
with me humming the best I could –
(I sounded terrible, but you told me I sounded divine, remember?)
while falling all over myself, and your delicate feet;
and you, trying so hard not to laugh as I made such a fool of myself!
Did you ever think we would go
from being love-sick teenagers dancing on the beach,
to a couple of old-timers reminiscing
about our best years – our long ago days together?
If there is any part of that teenage girl
left within that beautiful head of yours…please;
please, just look in my eyes as you once did…
look at me, sweetheart…
Don’t you remember?
My love, do you hear?
They’re playing our favorite song…
*Inspired by Izzy Gumbo's Solfege Contest
I really hope I did this right! :)
Copyright © Kristin Reynolds
Wedding Night in Raqqa
Cyclonic violet vision
Etheral and immortal
She swirls her sand baked torso.
Evoking the initial collision of primordial seed,
Swathed in gossamer purple veils,
Writhing to the stomping and clapping
Of jeweled ankles
And henna stained hands.
The tribes have united for my wedding to their son.
I ,foreign and naive, swoon to the power
Of ancient rhythm and verse,
Ripe, fertile gestures,
Pregnant with throbbing pulses
And scattered beats of flailing arms,
Bleating tongues, spinning robes.
A cacophony of incessant chant rose from the dancing women,
Growning louder, feverish in their pleasure
And the nearness of release.
I join in the dancing.
They swath me in voiles and lead me to the center
I dance, and I succumb to my wedding night in Raqqa.
Copyright © Brenda Atry
Girls, if you ever find a man of great persistence
Listen to your ******, and say NO! with adequate resistance
You see chicks, when a dude gets a hard dick
If it's dirty, it can make you super sick
Painful pisses and cloudy urine will follow suit
All because Dirty Dick Man wanted to discharge his root
So, ladies, beware...there are diseases out there
No Dick gets serviced until it's clean and faire
Run, scream, shout, "Spank your ****ing monkey!"
Please, I beg of you, do as I now propose
Keep your ****** sparkling clean-never let it decompose.
Copyright © Jennifer Young
Hot August, 1974, I was back for my second year at college,
having just settled into a new place at Anita Apartments,
right next to the guys’ apartment complex called Tanner’s.
My first night, we answered a knock at our door.
Steve Dietrich, a friend of my roommate, entered our apartment,
but my eyes went immediately to the younger man with him.
That would be his brother Joel, there for his first year at BYU.
My first thought was this: How shy he is, so reserved. . . but so adorable.
He was tall and thin and cute as the dickens.
They stayed for just a while, and by the time they left,
I’d formulated my big plan:
to get to know this boy Joel (who everyone just called Joe).
There was to be a parking lot dance that weekend,
and so I waited expectantly, hoping all week
to catch a glimpse of this boy I’d found so attractive,
but no matter how often I strolled past his apartment,
my opportunity for a “chance encounter” never occurred.
The night of the dance arrived and I was right there,
all decked out in my colorful tight top with bellbottoms,
long luscious lashes curled and pink frost lipstick applied.
When I caught sight of Joel, he was slow dancing with some girl.
A blonde with glasses, she was rather plain and smaller than me.
I was not pleased to see her with Joe, and I thought to myself:
Hmmmm, who does she think she is? I saw him first,
and he is NOT going to stay with her tonight.
As they danced, I fixed my eyes on him,
my beautiful, long-lashed, sultry green eyes.
He looked up and saw me then. I must have taken him by surprise
because I did not lower my gaze.
I wanted him to know that he was going to be mine,
so I willed him with my gaze to break away from that blonde
and come to me.
And so he did. . the rest is history.
Beside me at this moment, lying on our bed, watching TV,
is the man who today bears little resemblance to that
very young man I met 35 years ago.
I turn to him and ask, “Do you remember the VERY first time you saw me?”
He replies, “I don’t know; a parking lot dance?”
Well, at least he came close. . .
For Frank Herrera's Contest: Love Story
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich
A cousin called the other day saying "Another cousin has passed away".
Well my husband said "How old was she.""
A stalwart woman who had served family and community well. Producing one child that
became a missionary serving in a foreign land..
While talking the cousin asked "Did you know ______"?
My husband answered, "Well, I don't think that I knew them".
The cousin proceeded to tale this story.
"The man had been down with cancer for a while and passed recently..The funeral had been
conducted and the hearse had gone on to the cemetary..The family car with the family was
not to far behind..But when it pulled up, the wife of the deceased did not get out and the
funeral home staff was gathering around..The funeral home director decided to go see what
was going on ...."
The cousin said, " That this funeral home director told him". "That he had been in this
business for thirty-five years and faced something that he had never had happen to him or
any other funeral home director that he knew."
The funeral home director said, "When I got to the family car, I found the wife of the
deceased had passed from a massive corornary."
She had said, "I don't know how I will live without him." She didn't have to learn. God called
The roosters crow, the crows craw and are answered by the gobble of the turkey across the
Copyright © Sara Kendrick
He never seemed to have the time for her
Responsibilities kept piling high
His days just seemed to fly in blinding whir
He could not sense her love was soon to die
So tired from his work, he'd lie in bed
and kiss her quick goodnight, then fall to sleep
How could he know her needs he had not fed
For they had life and home and funds to keep
He felt that life was good, and all was well
They spoke of his good fortune and his wife
How could he know that flames reached up from hell
and soon he'd taste from cup of bitter strife
That night he planned to take her for a spin
He bought some chocolates and rose in bloom
Outside his bedroom door, he lost his grin
He found her being ravaged in their room
His best friend and his wife in love's embrace
it made his heart convulse in frenzied beat
Before he'd kill them both, he left the place
But how could he forget her brazen heat
They sat there in the office, pens in hand
their lives were torn in two, divorce: the end
She touched his arm as he prepared to stand
He melted then, but had to just pretend
"You never knew the love I have for you
I tried my best to keep you satisfied
Throughout my days, the best I tried to do
but your neglect just left me traumatized
You never praised the beauty of my face
The touch of love you kept; I died within
You did not see the negligee of lace
HE saw all these, and tried my heart to win
I tried to close my heart, I did not dare
to lose the home we had, I longed to be
the one you loved with soul and body bare,
yet all my pent up love, you did not see."
And with those words she gave a little cry
the tears that flowed struck cold his broken heart
He knew the fault he bore, he now knew why
But it was all too late; they now must part
There is a moral to this tale so drear
A wife is still a woman with desire
She longs to know her man to her is near
So take the time to please and stoke her fire
You need to show her that she is the one
Who makes you long to love, and laugh, and live
So let your passion rival heat of sun
And then her all to you, she'll freely give
A wife has needs and wants just like you do
To see her constant bloom, give love that's true
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Copyright © Eileen Manassian
Everything is so still as the morning slowly comes,
from afar, the sound of a babbling brook is heard.
Perched high up, I wait for daylight to surround these peaceful woods,
as I sat listening to the dew dripping from the trees.
What a beautiful place to be, on such a cold November morn,
the first day of Deer Season has finally come.
Shhh, listen, strange sounds coming from behind, as I turn to look,
I can't believe my eyes, he is big, so big, sniffing, and grunting
he comes closer.
Counting the points, yes, ten I see, trembling, I take my rifle
in hand, zero in, he is mine, monstrous rack..
The echo rings through the woods, perfect shot, he is down,
shaking I climb to the ground to take a look at this BOSS of the Pines.
My first hunt of the season, and what a deer, one for the record.
I have two and a half months of this to listen to......
and this is his dream every night, and I hear it every day.
Copyright © Christy Hardy
The tears I shed are not tears of pain but of grief for you my love. As life would have it or fait at least; you lost at what could have been. Really what should have been!
I know what you truly deserve and it's not me or the poor background of which I've come from. Your friends have managed to find wives with wealth and retirement. While all you can do is carry the load as you always do.
Do not think for an instant my heart isn't hurting; knowing I'm not good enough, never have been, and never will be. I can never catch up in life and will never be an equal. At no time is this far from my mind.
I used to think love was all that mattered but now I have grown up and realize how much more there is to life. A fine line drawn in the sand from the beginning has set us apart and down separate paths. Together yet not as one; this was never to be for our lives were directed by poverty and riches.
Was I selfish to want you? I did not understand then as I do now. Now knowing what I know, I cry for you my love. You could have carried on finding that special one to share all of you with. No lines drawn, no poverty or riches to separate. No tears shed or grief knowing ones' not good enough!
What's ahead as each day passes I wait to see. God has a plan, everything happens for a reason. A new job with more money, yet not even this erases the line. Not for my life of such little means even this can't bind a heart set on a different path?
Copyright © Debbie Knapp
My Fantasy, My Husband July 25, 2011
As a child I had a dream, was’ such a fantasy only a princess in a fairytale surely
dreamt such things! In my heart he dwelled; this prince my dream, my fantasy I
knew so well. My mind filled with thoughts of him day and night for our souls
touched in the night as I lay dreaming.
Life happens and everything in it for a reason. Having lost so much my baby in
heaven, my boys gone with their father, my heart’s broken! I lost all that I ever held
close now memories for this princess who once had a dream.
He exits the elevator and comes my way. I hope he stops to talk even if my boss
said to stay away from him. Once more, I have begun to dream and my fantasies
have come back to life. He dwelled in my heart as a child when I lay dreaming. This
is my prince, my fantasy the one whose soul touched mine. My prince and I shall be
People say we are too different; he would not ever marry you. Life and
circumstances are all against us. He is a wealthy, smart doctor. You are poor and
have no degree. What could he see in you or could you have in common?
Soul mates now together as one in my dream, my fantasy my fairytale alive and
true. My husband, My Prince surrounds me with love not caring what others might
say or think. Together as one, I continue to dream and share all life’s fantasies one
Debbie Knapp /Princess
Copyright © Debbie Knapp
We met in Heaven and hung in freedom
Laying in fields of clover and joy
Just thoughts and unable to express our love
You were wonderful and I called you Beauty
God met with us and readied
You will go where I send and wait
I had forgotten you until prayer
It was then I heard you calling
I saw you in my dreams and danced again
Tried to recall but there were no answers
I picked you and you picked me
But it was cloudy there
Your eminence diminished and the shining
We promised to wait until GOD sent his signal
And I waited at the crossroad
My lovely came to me and whispered
I saw you walking across the lawn
You caught me and the photos
My heart was full and the snapping and flash
I remembered and thanked God
The wedding came and love
The rice was thrown but you
Always you and your warm hands
The heart which I waited took
We were well met
But we had to go our separate
It wasn't convenient
Silently and moving
Love was placed in the freezer
Return to me
Our love can be thawed
We can baste and nurture
You bring the best of me
And the leaves crushed
Water boiling and rolling
Only the finest China
We were freshly brewed
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall
When I looked into your eyes
for the first time
I saw a couple of clouds,
and a garden in color.
You then closed your eyes, ...
Desperation took hold of my heart ...
My palms sweated,
My body froze
and my senses became airborne.
That's when I saw your eyes open
an emotion took over me
I became a child, adolescent and illuminated
My eyes turned fires
my hands were complements of your arms
My lips were your lips.
My life became his
when we said "yes"
till death do us part.
Copyright © Max Diniz Cruzeiro
That goofball husband of hers brought her to this joint to see her get drunk for the very first time. She actually plugged her nose trying to sip her first glass of beer. Good grief. 20 minutes and she barely finished it. She walked to the restroom and I felt her teetering just a little bit. She likes the feeling though, I can tell! I sure liked it when she started boogying to the beat of the band on her way back to the table. Too bad Mr. dingbat won’t ever dance with her. She keeps tapping her hands on the table to the rhythm of the music. That’s why I have to write so slow. . . .
Now she’s tryin ta drink another beer but she can hardly stand it an her husband sez come on don’t ya wanna know how it fills ta be drunk? She says well at list I fill buzzd now. . .
The nice buzz wore off. It’s at least an hour later. She and hubbie got this idea to go to the liquor store. First time she ever went to one. She thought maybe brandy would taste better so then she could drink something stronger and know how it felt to be drunk. Brandy sounded sweet and fruity to her. Boy was she wrong. She took a little taste and it burned going down. That stuff sucks just like the beer. . . .
Wow she jus finisht tha hole boddle rily fast lik mebbie ten minuts ago so she kud fil drunk an she put me down ta finnish tha boddle in one shot now she kant evin kip her eyez opun UH ohhhhhhh
Epilogue: The preceding narration was based on actual fact. Upon consuming an entire bottle of brandy in less than ten minutes, "she" immediately passed out, and I recall she awoke in the morning having forgotten everything that transpired once she fell asleep. Furthermore, when she went into the bathroom the next morning and saw some flecks of vomit on the walls, she was quite amazed. Why? Because she had no recollection of throwing up, and she realized her goofball husband had actually attempted to clean up a mess in their house for the first time in their young married life!!!
By the way, Jenny, if you happen to be reading this, Shhhh. Please do not tell her other sisters. It would surely get back to you guys’ mother, and your poor upstanding church-loving mom might have a heart attack to hear of her daughter’s one transgression with the devil’s brew! Sincerely, Her Sober (albeit sometimes fanciful) Pen
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich
I loved you once years ago
Our passion was divine
Could see our life together forever
But instead I could not compete
For your lover was a bottle.
I tried all I could do
Being your wife and supporting you
But no matter how hard I tried
No matter what I couldn't compete
With the liquid you chose instead
It's funny how alcoholics live two lives
One is surface for those to see
The other the demon inside
Fighting to overtake the good
All the while hiding sipping alone
Codependence is also an evil
Depending on others for how to feel
Walking on eggshells became a cover
So as not to stir the tipping canoe
In the end it did not matter
For then you chose your battles to leave
Easier then to give in, just said "go"
No more arguing was glad to have you go
For life with addiction is weary
And heavy on the soul
I could not watch you kill yourself
The love we had was dead
Did not want our child to see
Up close and personal
His father failing at life.
To watch a loved one kill themselves
Slowly with a bottle
Is like watching a tree slowly die
First the leaves change color
Then they fall to the ground
With alcohol it's just the same
First the color starts to leave
The brightened eyes that once were there
Turn bloodshot and empty
Desire is replaced by need
Nothing is sacred to someone whose addicted
Possessions,home, family all are second
Jobs come and go over many years
People come in an out their lives
And families disappear.
Copyright © Jennifer Marie Oliver
I am just finishing my morning meditation when I hear my doorbell ring. It actually sounds more like that buzzing sound you hear if you fry a fat fly on one of those electronic bug swatters. On my way to the door I hope it's not my new neighbor who just moved in the first floor apartment below me yesterday. Nobody wants a too friendly neighbor, right? I'm from the "fences make good compassionately mindful neighbors" school of thought about neighborly interdependence, much less intimacy.
I open the door to a 60-something blotchy, ashy, white-skinned man wearing grey polyblend sweatpants, slightly too short, over a pair of black Crocs, screaming "I gave up on myself years ago," and a lighter grey zip up the front, grimy hoody with a ripped left pocket, sleeves pushed up over old-red-haired-man, possibly ex-athlete, thick creepy hairy forearms.
Before I have a chance to let him know this feels invasive to me, or even say "Hello, who and why are you at my door during my meditation time?" the new downstairs neighbor starts flapping his jaws as if my ears were born to listen to his cheery wisdom.
"Hi, I'm Oliver. My two neurally challenged teenagers, Ivy's the bratty girl, and Daquan is the perfect, but sometimes a little loud, sort of like a really ticked off roaring lion, but you'll get used to it, son, and I are your new downstairs neighbors, and I wanted to meet you right away because I don't want you to freak out and call 911 when you hear us yelling or screaming or crying or jumping endlessly hour after hour because Ivy is really hyper and because Daquan can't speak but often seems to have a lot to bark and roar about what sometimes seems like its just gas and sometimes means he's wet and is trying to tell me I need to put the novel down, or stop writing that dreadful sad poetry, or writing predictable lyrics for country-western songs, much less living them, and sometimes he's just playing Tarzan, yodeling in his make-believe jungle. He's legally blind and uses a wheelchair for school but at home he scoots and thumps around, surprisingly athletic, on his butt, kind of like an upside down inchworm if inchworms had feet and arms, which of course they don't."
I don't have the first clue where this is going but we have no time, and apparently not the least commitment, to discern my own thoughts about Oliver's communication and rationality skills, or lack thereof.
"My husband lives about a mile upriver in our cottage that we are trying to expand before the rest of us move in. He is tall, dark and handsome in an AfricanAmerican kind of way and is usually depressed, at least when he's around us, which I can't really blame him because Ivy is Oppositionally Ordered, I don't know why they keep saying Fetal Alcohol kids have Oppositional Disorder because her capacity to oppose everything is most certainly not out of order, or in any way under-developed. She will pitch a fit if all you're trying to do is get her up from her feeding trough to help her out of a poopy diaper. You would think that somebody was going to eat her food after she has already marked it with her drool. I have no idea why they would call that Oppositional Disorder. No one I have ever met has been more oppositionally wired synaptic than my daughter."
"Anyway, Valentino, that's my husband, he suffers from chronic depression which is too bad because he used to have this really nice soft sense of humor and romance, if you know what I mean, but now he's just quiet and sad and afraid to retire because then he won't have any friends that don't drive him crazy like his family does, including me."
"He complains that we're too loud and stinky and the house is always filthy and my cooking is terrible but he likes to cook and clean so I don't really get it why it's not OK for me to not like to cook and clean, or do the laundry, or the dishes. Do you know what I mean? So, tell me about you."
Finally, a question other than the parenthetical "do you know what I mean."
"Ditto. Except mine are named, respectively, Yang, Yin, and Attila. Do you happen to like Ginseng tea with lots of honey?
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck
If deserted, was I, on an island, and was allowed only three integral items to take with me, what would they be?
If we are speaking of material things, I suppose I would take my favorite book in the whole world, "Ask Dr. Mueller" by Cookie Mueller. It is a book I cherish, and can read perpetually because it's just that good.
If, by some strange coincidence, there happened to electricity on the island, and an old, abandoned, yet functional CD player just so happened to be found, then I would want my favorite album in the world with me: "Live Through This" by Hole. I worship Courtney Love and her music. She is a grunge Goddess to me. I love every song on that album.
If pen and paper could magically count as just one item, then I would take mountains of paper and a plethora of pens so I could record everything and continue writing poetry while hoping to be rescued.
My acoustic Gibson Epiphone means the world to me; I cannot imagine not having it with me. I know how to play all the songs off "Live Through This", so perhaps I would choose my guitar instead; that way I can still enjoy those songs as I still compose more of my own; that makes sense, right?
If, by Divine Intervention, there was an abandoned, yet functional TV and DVD player, I would have to consider taking all seven seasons of "The Golden Girls"; I don't think I could survive without the Golden Girls; it's my favorite show ever. And also all of the "Star Wars" movies; those I cherish, too.
And also, since I am an addict/alcoholic, I would want to take tons of pills, whisky and Cola with me; I'm sure I could not survive without those.
I understand that perhaps people or pets may not be considered as "items", but if I could choose among them, well, I would have to take my loving partner, my best friend of twenty years and my two dogs, Sammy and Bilbo, and my three kitties: Marley, Archie and Punky (of course I count them all as one because I like to break the rules).
Since there are so many things I do not think I can live without, it's an impossible decision. But these are my considerations, nonetheless.
*What Would You Take Contest Entry
Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet
Her husband married his mistress
She closed her eyes and once again
she lost him to that *****
She thinks of him as omnipotent
At last! she wear his ring
Now it’s time to bridle her tongue
and show the world that
she belong to Master Shingh
What goes around comes around
Karma is a *****. Now its casual sex
with Tess the ***** switch
He smile, she laughs
He slow down, she picks up the pace
He sneeze, she said bless you”.
she began her new life without hesitation, without delay
To her the man is omnipotent God
worshipping the ground he walks
yes, master, no master
somehow, she manage
to love, honor and obey.
she steals like a thief
Copyright © Annie Lander
How is it possible? Sixty years? Ouch. I shudder to remember
those first attempts in the kitchen. At that time, the kitchen was
“hands off” to men. I began cooking at age fifteen. But only
desserts and breakfast food. I could make biscuits, cornbread,
pie crust, and fried potatoes, eggs, ham, or pork chops.
But I loved everything from fish to sauerkraut and fried okra.
He is extremely allergic to fish. He loved steak. The year was
1954. A thick T-Bone steak at the grocery could be had for 60
cents. In our first year of marriage, we ate a lot of steak.
He would eat only potatoes and corn, with his steak. I still love
baked potatoes, but soon grew tired of corn, and hungered for
veggies. Time changes everything. He now eats anything but
fish. No problem. When we dine out, I order fish.
If I haven’t cooked sauerkraut recently, he will say, “I think I’ll
go get some Polish Sausage and sauerkraut. He brings it home,
then goes to work in the kitchen. His tastes almost as good as
mine. He even makes the cornbread and stewed potatoes.
Copyright © Cona Adams
When I met Maizie, she was about eight years old. We were living in Kentucky and my wife's mother and brother lived near us. Her mom was a widow and suffered from some physical problems that restricted her to her home. Her son was an unemployed n'er do well who spent a lot of time drinking and living off of his mothers income. He had been married several times, none of which lasted.
It was a pleasant summer day when my mother in law called and said that her sons first wife had showed up to visit, along with her current husband and their daughter, Maizie. Since we normally were over to her house several times a week to clean and shop, we soon met all of them. It turns out that the husband was “between jobs” and it soon became apparent that they were there for whatever they could get, and quickly settled in. Her mother accepted everyone at face value and couldn't see that she was being used.
We kept a close eye on the situation, stopping by more often to see what was going on. It was during these visits that I noticed that Maizie was odd man out. She was a very affectionate child, but was usually ignored and or yelled at by her mom. She would frequently sit quietly on the periphery, swinging her feet and observing. I felt sorry for her and started to pay her some attention. We would talk, and laugh, and take short walks around the apartment project. Sometimes, when I would go shopping, I would take her with me.
One day we found out that they were going to move on. When we went over, Maizie seemed despondent. I asked if she would like to take one last walk and she eagerly agreed. While on our walk, Daisy suddenly blurted “would you like to be my daddy”?
I was at a loss for words, but finally said “Maizie, you have a father”.
“I know” she said. “But I want a daddy”.
That's the last time I saw Maizie. Today she would be a woman in her twenties and I can only hope she found the love she so richly deserved.
Copyright © Bob Quigley
Still touching the hilt of the sword, she declares,
“No fencing for HIM at the end of the month.
His pastime is so bloody boring!”
The mouse in her house regards her with cockiness from underneath a chair.
“Yeah, BEN, my FRIEND, I’m talking to YOU.”
She returns the stare of the mouse.
“And you sure do make a racket at night down here on this kitchen flooring!”
The ashes she flicks from her cigarette fall soundlessly to the tiles.
She casually leafs through a travel brochure she holds,
then looks over at “Ben.”
“Yeah, that husband of mine sure thought he could fool me,
but he’ll never try that again.”
She fixes her gaze on Ben’s beady eyes and then back on the pages and smiles.
There were rendezvous spots of her husband she’d got
from a slime ball she’d hired to sleuth.
“He did a good job, that big tub of lard. Yes, I do have to give him that,
but he sure knew how to give me the creeps
with his body all sweaty and fat.”
She puts some milk on sweet rice in a bowl. “I only wanted the truth.
Cat got your tongue? Too bad there’s no cat.
I’d love to see you get swallowed.”
The mouse doesn’t flinch.
Now she looks down at a pile of the sleuth’s photographs.
“This first batch of pictures wasn’t so hot.”
She turns to the rodent and laughs.
“But this second group. . . .Every cent was well-spent
to have that bastard followed!”
She puts the rice pudding with milk on the floor
near a form that is centered there
and stoops as she pours from a bottle marked “poison”
its contents into the bowl.
She leans down beside the shape on the floor,
saying, “Soon you‘ll have Ben‘s company.”
And then to the mouse: “ Come here, little rat,
come now and eat till you’re full.”
Then grabbing her bags pre-packed for Australia,
she kicks at the form on the floor so carefully centered -
kicks right at the spot where the sword’s blade so easily entered.
For the Dirty Deeds Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich
The house is empty, my husband is at work,
I am sitting with my dog just relaxing when
PBS television broadcasts a music special.
Oh all those Motown tunes from the 1970s,
Now that’s hotter than hot, I feel the heat rise.
The Commadores, Stylistics and Patti LaBelle,
I am singing, She’s a brick house and feeling hot,
Moving my hips and swaying to the great music,
Still remembering all the words and those feelings.
The memories it evokes is only of pure passion,
The whole decade provided a serenade of love.
You could fall in love so fast with the right song,
Every song I hear elicits a treasured memory.
The Discos were the highlight of the weekend,
Spending the nights dancing, driving the men wild.
The bump and grind was probably the best dance,
Although a good jive would always make your night.
Earth, Wind and Fire can really bring on a burn,
Al Greene just makes me want to cuddle by a fire,
Wow its getting warm in here, see what I mean.
I think I’ll tape this show and put it on tomorrow night,
So I can take my husband back and feel the heat.
Written July 29, 2012
For Debbie Guzzi’s contest
Copyright © Lee Ramage
Looks of poison,
blood runs cold,
misery in chains,
my life unfolds.
Years of torment,
trying to escape,
useless to try,
Control you take,
dominate the nest,
time to leave,
I must confess.
Enough of this,
can't take any more,
my butt is heading,
out that door....
After I,m gone,
and you sit alone,
think of the many,
nights you were stoned.
Time is running,
full speed ahead,
I have to live,
before I am dead......
Copyright © Christy Hardy
Please help me get a second chance to make up for my past wrongdoing
Send me the Holy Spirit to choose the right path
Provide me Your Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit to help me better myself
Wisdom to have a deep understanding on what and how to change
Knowledge to know the reasons inside my sudden change
Counsel me to give advice in choosing to take on which direction to go to
Understanding to comprehend every situation
Fortitude to have strength to be courageous on making a stand
Piety, to be faithful and offer goodness to others
Fear of the Lord to maintain Holy Fear to God
Thank You for Your help in transforming me
I respectfully ask this in the name of Father Christ Jesus for sending me the 7 Gifts of the Holy Spirit.
(Change “I”, “me” or “myself” when praying for someone or a group.)
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza
In the first grey light of dawn, a young woman begins the morning song.
The simple cadences of her song are as tranquil and liquid as the monsoon rain,
Trickling down the broad leaves in her mother’s garden.
The steady drumming on the veranda roof echoes her rhythms.
She sings of joys, of sorrows, and of love … always of love …
This morning song is as familiar and comforting as a lullaby.
Her mother brought it with her from the South,
And sang it every morning for her father.
Now, she sings for them both, as they begin the day.
Today will be special for her.
She is to meet her future husband for the first time.
She has never seen him, but she trusts her parents’ judgement …
After all, they love her, don’t they?
She hopes he will be kind, and maybe a little bit handsome …
Like the boy she’s seen in town.
But she must try to forget him …
On another veranda, a young man sits silent, listening.
He sits here at every dawn to hear the morning raga,
Entranced by the voice of a girl he cannot see.
He, too, is to meet his betrothed today.
He wishes she might be a singer, or at least enjoy the morning song,
When she comes to live at his mother’s house.
He remembers a lovely girl he saw … sly glances, shy smiles …
If his new wife is half as pretty, he will be well content.
Yes! He will …
He believes his secret is safe, but mothers see everything …
And his mother loves him. So she whispered to a friend,
And her friend whispered to another, and, well …
A good husband is not hard to persuade …
The sun has risen above the clouds.
There is much to do today – and if the young people agree,
There will be a lucky Monsoon wedding to arrange.
But first, the song.
Entered in Elaine's "Tell me a story" contest
Copyright © Frances King
The doctors and nurses in the Emergency Room prepared themselves for the
longest night of the year – New Year’s Eve going into New Years day.
As morbid as it may be, they even had a pool going to guess the time of the first
alcohol related incident to come into the ER. He had 11:30. The clock showed
11:00. All was quiet, except for the broken leg in pod 1 as the result of a young
man falling off of a ladder putting up New Years decorations. This patient had not
even started drinking yet.
They heard the sirens in the distance as the radio call came in announcing two
ambulances were on their way with victims from a car crash – 11:15, Nurse
Thompson’s entry in the pool.
Dr. Sampson took the first patient, a 30-ish man, conscious with blood streaming
from his head. The smell of alcohol was prevalent. His patient was a young woman
on a respirator with IV’s already in place. Walking beside the rolling stretcher was
her husband, holding her hand, tears running down his face as he said, “We were
on our way here. Her water broke at about 10:00. This guy ran the red light and
slammed right into us. Is she going to be okay?”
An ER social worker took the husband to a waiting area as the doctor began barking
out orders to nurses and attendants in assistance.
The drunk driver, of course, would be okay – for some reason, they usually always
The husband and would-be father sat sobbing as police officers led the offender out
of the hospital and into their waiting patrol car. No word yet from the team working
on his wife and child.
He heard fireworks from outside the window in the waiting area and could hear a
few, “Happy New Years” being shared by doctors and nurses in the hallways.
New Years was also welcomed in in the Central Time Zone, Mountain Time Zone and
Pacific Time Zone before the doctor walked out to meet the husband in the waiting
area. The look on the doctor’s face said it all. The social worker joined them as the
doctor simply said, “I’m sorry. We could not save your wife – but your son is doing
The news crew that was at the hospital to report on the first baby born in 2011
decided to cancel their story. Nurse Thompson did not collect the pool money. The
father was led to a room in the maternity ward where he fed his new son formula
from a bottle.
Maybe, just maybe, someone will read this story and schedule to have a cab take
them home from the New Years Eve party and this story can remain a fictional tale.
Copyright © Joe Flach
Beneath my mother’s watchful eye,
We had been courting for a year
And now I’m traveling all alone,
Excited with a bit of fear.
A thousand miles to the big city,
Unsophisticated country girl,
Seeking among the million faces
The one who sets her heart awhirl.
The train has reached my destination
I’ve been traveling two days and a night.
What if he is not there to meet me?
An innocent in dreadful plight.
I need not worry, he awaits me
And is the first one at the gate.
And as I feel his arms around me
I know I’m with my future mate.
He has made all of the arrangements,
A license and a preacher too.
With strangers as our two attendants,
We pledge ourselves and kiss “I do”.
By: Joyce Johnson 8/13/12
For PD.s Kissing Game ontest
Copyright © Joyce Johnson
To my love,
Do you remember all of this?
A casual night, to party, that ended with a kiss.
June 19 two thousand and twelve,
the night our very first kiss was held.
We continued a friendship, although here and there
We would hold hands, look at each other, and stare
The love was there, it had been always
We were not yet ready, to ditch our single days
So we continued on, no rules, no pressure
As friends, with some benefits, some would tell ya
Nights would start out, with fun in mind
By the end of it though, I'd have your hand in mine
Very drunken nights, you would proclaim
This is my girlfriend, but by morning that would change
When we would rise, we would pretend
The night was just fun, and I was merely a friend
By November twenty thirteen, I had had enough
I took a chance, and I called your bluff
You didn't say yes, you didn't say no
I didn't bring it up again, I just let it go
Dec 5, two thousand thirteen
We were dates to a party, with a holiday theme
It took some time, but you came around
Jan 25, you decided to be locked down
I tried not giggle, as I thought FINALLY!
He does want to spend the rest of his life with me.
Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months,
We were head over heels, everyone had a hunch
Dec 5, two thousand fourteen
You made a proposal, and I agreed
March 11, we went downtown to get our paper work started
We did not expect to be wed, before we departed
We signed the papers right there, that day
But I wanted to do it, the old fashioned way
So on July 10, among family and friends
We shared words and a kiss, once again
This time was special, I wore a big poofy dress
It was our family and friends, who bore witness
I am so happy that you are my king.
With love from your wife, your best friend, your queen.
Copyright © Kathleena Hurd