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Narrative Introspection Poems | Narrative Poems About Introspection

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''and that comes from within''


if I had all the money that I ever wanted,
                  I suppose that I could travel the world;

       live in a better home, buy designer clothes and stuff,

  if money was no object in my life . . . 

                     but you see money cannot help me,
each day my health is more delicate, slipping further away;

       and all the money in the universe will not change a thing,
                               this is my struggle and my daily reality . . . 

                                         the things I give myself are simple,

relaxing music to soothe this weary soul;
peace, tranquility and love to ease my pain,
and I ask the Lord for acceptance . . . 

             in meditation I try to fathom the why,
                      of course, with money I could go to a fancy retreat;
but a corner in my bedroom is set aside for meditation and relaxing,
and it is there I have placed peaceful things that cost very little . . . .

     perhaps with money I could get better drugs,
                but no drug is going to change this girl's destiny;

                                                this I know deep in my heart and soul, 
                       I have for a long, long time . . . 

I think a lot about my past and life so far,

                              the paths I took or did not take;
                              the things I said or did not say,
        could money have changed my journey in any way . . . 

                                     a warm bath, a cozy bed, a sweet purring cat,
                                                    paper and pen so I can write;
               my laptop within reach, a walk in nature listening to the birds,
      a loved one to hold my hand  . . . .

      these are my indulgences and they may not seem like much to you,

                              but I feel like the wealthiest person in this world;
              for money cannot buy happiness nor can it buy life,
                                      all I need is the indulgence of tranquility . . . 

                            ''and that comes from within''

January 28 , 2015


For the contest, Indulgence, sponsor Shadow Hamilton

First Place

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I Am Love

I AM A Father. A Son. A Brother. None are just titles. I live those titles every day through my actions. I am successful at those roles every day. I possess unconditional unwavering love . I AM A Director My profession as much as my titles defines me. It is not just my career it is my love. Directing theatre has my unconditional unwavering love. I am successful at this role every day. I AM defined by my actions. I act on my beliefs. I AM defined by my beliefs. I believe in the fiber of someone's character not their words, in their intent not just their actions. Peoples needs are important to me not just my own. I AM committed to forgiveness, Humans are basically good. The forest is dense predators lurk in the shadows. Fear plays too important a role in too many lives. I help others rather than judge them negatively. I believe Even though the task ahead seems insurmountable we will find our way through the black of these days. People with completely different views can and do bond. I believe We must learn tolerance for without it we are lost. I believe in priorities I do not give too much importance to words and ideas. I learn from nature like the mighty oak I can bend with the wind. I prefer more round tables, less round 'em up. In less locks more open doors, in more heart less knee jerks. I have the strength to accept I die the will to live every day. I worry about the incredible suffering exists away from North America. I Am Love above all else Love It is about put up or shut up. I am anything but silent. I Am one of many in the end that is who I Am. 06~11~2014 Sponsor: frank herrera Contest Name:"I AM"

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Faces Along the Way

Life is but a winding road
Filled with faces along the way
Coming in and out of your life
Coloring your every day

Yet most spend just a moment
A fleeting glimpse before your eyes
They giveth not and taketh not
And cause you barely a rise

And some stay just a moment
Earning a thought upon your mind
Triggers for countless memories
These are the most common kind

And fewer still stay even longer
And commune with you a while
Leaving behind dearest memoirs
Of sweet tears or a special smile

And rarer still those faces grand
Building mansions in your soul
These are the faces of a lifetime
Whose virtue you do extol

And know that you simply are
A feature filled soiree
A portrait in collage 
Of the faces along the way

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When Our Poetry Muse Beckons

Poetry is a highly personal endeavor for all who write
And answer the inspiration of Our Eternal Poetry Muse.

Why do we write poetry?
This a very important question for all of us who “spill ink.”

Poetry for me is a most wonderful magical medium and
An art and methodology which bespeaks the realm of the
Mysterious, Arcane, Uncanny, Mystical, Esoteric, and Divine. 

Poetry is my personal endeavor to master the complexity of
Relating my deepest thoughts and connecting with the reader;
Developing a memorable and intriguing theme or subject;
Choosing the right words and composing meaningful verse;
Finding the best metaphors and the proper tone and balance;
Exploring key theme attributes (to name a few):

	Feelings, passions, emotions, light, dark, happiness
	Sadness, humor, good, evil, intelligence, stupidity,
	Right, wrong, ethereal, ignorance, and indifference.

Our Poetry Muse touches each and every one of us at key times
When we least expect it:  morning, noon, evening, after midnight.

Our Muse, for me, captivates my thoughts and illuminates my soul
While compelling me onward to communicate and share with others
What I see and perceive, sense and feel, think and understand about 
A theme as it resonates in the depths of my innermost psyche.

I know that I have much to say now in my life . . .
Verse, meter, rhyme, tone, metaphors, metonymy, allegory, imagination—
All enliven my efforts and make easier my attempts to mirror my
Thoughts and views to the reading public.

I want my thoughts and doubts, as my passion abounds, to connect with
Those deepest elements of my human psyche and my emotions
In making my written message to be something that is: 
Meaningful and significant, resolute and spirited; 
Full of passion or compassion, humor or sadness, courage or fear,
Strength or weakness, Heaven or Hell, bliss or misery—or whatever
Motivates and inspires the Creative Process for me. 

Our Muse is there with all of us, in reality, to inspire us and help us
To bring passion, meaning, certitude, and direction to our thoughts
As we attempt to infuse these very attributes into our poetic narrative.

Our Muse, in the end, leaves it up to each and every one of us
To go one further step beyond Her ethereal influence and inspiration:
To invest and infuse at the end of this process our own “Free Will”
In making the final decision pertaining to what our final verse or
Narrative product will look like To Our Reading Public.

This is my take, my view on what happens when Our Eternal Poetry Muse
Tantalizes us and awakens within each of us that undeniable Spirit of  
Inspiration, and that giddy zest and irrepressible desire to “spill ink.”

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (October 3, 2014) (Narrative poetic format)

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If one short word could describe Betty, it’s fun
Gregarious, though seemingly loaded, falls short
You’d have to hear her laugh,
Have to see that lovely face blaze in every upward 
The voice is brown sugar, with hope of loving hugs
      In return
Betty can, on a cold, cloudy day, lift the face of any
Can inspire the weary to play
She is incredible, and yet?

I’ve caught her in a pensive mood
In solitude she is even more lovely, and yet?
This is not the Betty we know, flock to
She’s by the window, but gazes into space, 
Hand on cheek, arm supporting a downward frozen
Same auburn hair tied in a bun at back
Same petite, protruding ear, delicate nose and mouth
Same all alluring, adult woman dressed in 
      mid morning attire, and yet?
As though lost in a moment, or bygone moments,
      she is absent from the flash and hilarity of her
      other world

No getting into that descending, unbending tunnel of
      inner cogitation
Our playmate has gone wandering through fields of
      joy, want, and regret, and yet?
There is no doubt Betty will come out from the 
      hiding wings to a loving life, to play another
      day on stage

Dave Austin

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The Drying Of The Ink

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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And The Road Begins?

Mornings are dreadful time in life unless waking beside gorgeous woman hopefully 
a not married one  husbans can be such a downer.
And when ya wake to a warm beautiful creature by your side.
And the first thought that comes to your mind is i wonder whats for breakfest.

Then ya probaly cant read the menu to start with and desserve 
to have a oversized weight lifter re arrange your ribs.

Im a southern man once means several things  non of which means im normal.
And this morning finds my yerning for a trip and widespread  mischief.
My amigo had vanished after are trip south of the boarder I remember saying 
to myself as i watched him  running naked across the dessert  being chased 
by the flying monkeys  he was surley seeing after his consumption of a foreign substance 

There goes a fine american.

I would have ran after him  but  but i didnt want thoose things to turn there attention to me 
I herd they had a thing for southern  actscents.
And theres nothing  worse than a bunch of horney flying monkeys trust me 
Ive delt with this problem  befor.

and being it was happy hour i knew my slightly insane amigo would understand 
in all his naked glory.
Besides  I left him some sneakers  and a sixpack.
And kept his credit card for safe keeping.

Naked men have no place to keep credit cards and I figured he was in no state to handle 

So as i sit  behind  the wheel  ready to to get lost in the madness of fast food and
  the ant hill of insanity that is wall mart i turn my thoughts to vegas.
For where would a lost nude slightly insane person  run to and feel at home.

I had turn the music up to drown out the sound of whoever was in the trunk.
I figured if i had put sombody in there  in a drunken moment.
It had to be for a good reason.

And so with slightly hungover mindset are road begins.
and so with that do the games also.
And i figured hanging around with a cops wife wasnt the smartest idea.
That and im allergic to bullets.

My muse and 16 year old spirtiual advisor had phoned me to say that.
I probaly needed to Invest in the spirt of Jack Daniels  today.
And hey she had went to church more than once  so who was I to argue.

With a five five spitfire by the name of tinker.
so with A unknown companion in the trunk not helping my hangover i was off
to the races  Untill next time kiddies. 
Adios and im off to find my amigo.

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A New Road Home

I've passed it by, so many times before
While traveling this twisted asphalt highway
That weathered sign, nailed, so crudely fashioned
To peeling bark, upon the yoke 
Of one ancient, gnarled and battered cottonwood tree 

It marks a fork of the old backwood road
Where gravel branches, bends and sways
    And meanders through the glade
         Where the dry creek bed, goes high into the hills...
            Where poison oak thrives, and secrets hide...

There it is!.... That feeling, that inclination to explore...
 I've had before....
    Stabbing that place of my wanderlust
          My curiosity....
                An old dented mailbox....sitting alone...whose, do you suppose?
                     Where does the mail go?  Does anyone know?

So many times,.....we have passed on by...
I've caught a glimpse, and thoughts would rise...
What lies beyond this fork in the road?
What lies beyond the bend, the turn?...What would we learn?

What course, would we follow
If just this once, we turned, and broke away from the ordinary...
Changed our direction...followed the unknown
Where the creek runs dry
And the banks are rife...
     With chokecherry....and willow scrub
         Where leaves are layered with chalk white dust?...

Will we ever know?
     What lies beyond the fork in the road?....
           As I turn my head, and watch my chance disappear once again....
               Will I ever know?.....


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Moment of Clarity

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

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

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

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

                 -You're Losing it -

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

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

                  - You Wanna Hurt People -

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

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

                   - It's About To Go Sour -

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

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

                   - His Veins Pump Hard -

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

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

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

He Smiled as They Withdrew Their Weapons
From His Chest. 

                     - Fall To Your Knees -

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

                      - Close your Eyes -

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

                      - This Makes Sense -

His Face hits Sand...

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The Phone

The phone rings empty into the night.
Filling a void that brings strange comfort
to thoose around.

Rage eats away untill it bores a hole
straight through are hearts.
Whiskey cauterizes the wound.

Alone with fools we gather.
The bitter ones taking to there barstools.
the weak look to punish thoose happy
Who dare to feel anything in the place of  

She left so many years befor.
At least her mortal soul did.
I rememeber when it was when I still
dared to dream.

Long befor reallity was a friend.
Lovers lie.
Motions keep us living.

She spoke but the words were empty as her heart.
So as strangers we parted just as we met.
With a bitter taste I never did reply.

The phone rang it's last time.
I herd it echo farewell down the hall.

I had to go so I never unlocked the door.
i just left my emotions hanging  like some
forgotten coat pushed back in
the closet.

Its been almost a year since that phone filled
the emptyness of my soul.
If only I had answered.

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They listened to your clever lines,
Felt guilty when you gave them blame
Bought in to your stick man stories
The anecdotal evidence you proclaimed

So now adoption is the enemy
Christian families are a villain 
Gotcha day is doom's day
A horror story of joy killing

They believed you, "He was trafficked!"
But if that was true then what went wrong
The dollars would have moved me out of there
If these books were credible I'd have been gone

Of course you knew the true reality
Your agenda was so thinly veiled 
There isn't this army of rescuers
For years adoption numbers have fell

I'm not copy for your editors
Don't care about best selling lists
I wasn't a child for any Catcher's
Those kinds of children rarely exist

You'd think there was an evil industry
By the awful things you wrote
You created your desired fiction
The fact is agencies are going broke

So don't imprison me with narrow labels
I'm just a hurting human being
I'm not a product or a talking point
I'm a somebody, not a something!

No one shopped for me like it was Walmart
I'm a fatherless child, now an aged out orphan
I have a name, hopes, and fears
You sold me out and made a fortune! 


Sponsor: Chris D. Aechtner
Contest Name: Anything Goes

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Freedom From The Dead Earth

where were you when my world stopped moving? 
your hands were there as instruments of pain 
to inflict raw red burns and 
wounds that lay hidden and bruised 
           on a child’s skin and….. 
on tender hearts that can’t fight back 

are you haunted buried six feet beneath… 
as I shivered at night and grinded my teeth?   
do you think of me and wonder what shreds 
I managed to piece together of my tattered life? 
tell me to let go and forget this hurt 
that winds like poison ivy twisting 
my heart into a mere tenth of what it could be 
strangled in a mass of life eating lies 
and mangled sorrowful soul songs 
                      (mourning the sword slashes)   

you never knew me and would you have cared 
if you did…would you have wrangled with me 
hanging on a hook while you dangled me 
helpless and crying beneath a weeping moon 
that still watches me with helpless eyes 
                                          (pity resting there) 
             a child is priceless 
(innocence is worth more than gold) 
            and taking their lives 
unforgivable….so I wonder…are you punished 

do you cry in your darkness 
knowing what you have done 

will it pierce a naked sky with madness…. 
your cry? Or is any semblance of sanity gone 
buried beneath your shawl of rabid dog bites 
and sad listless body 
wasting into the sun as it flows back to earth 
going nowhere as I flounder in my own broken fate 
     (swimming upstream as I slowly drown) 

loss cannot be retrieved.....for it is lost 
                 and letting go 
                                    (finding peace) 
is my way of revenge on you …. 
so I let go now…I am free of you… 

and I toss it all back to you 
careful when you catch it…it burns the skin 

the hands of destiny are crying out to me 
I pull that little girl out of darkness 
and let her see the sunshine again 
as she smiles in to the light and takes my grown up hand 
and I will keep her safe from you 

hate is poison and I let it go….it crushes me no more

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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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The Bell My Mother Rang

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

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The Christmas Haunting

The old man had always had an unnatural fondness 
for the animal but could never seem to bond with human easily, 
with the exception of a special, dear grandmother. His mind 
wandered back to his childhood, the Christmas eve of 1958 about 
a special chore that he was required to do of his parents…….

To be or not to be
One two three,
Five more to go…
The eight year old counted the puppies his female Border collie 
had given birth to only three days earlier. The words of his parents 
echoed in his ears, “We can’t have so many dogs around the house, 
we can’t feed them all. You will have to dispose of them, 
she is your dog, your responsibility.”  The lad wiped the tears from 
his eyes, as he prepared reluctantly to smash another head against
a large stone which he had selected. “Smash!” not a whimper. 
He had become proficient at this chore.

To be or not to be
One two three four, 
four more to go. 
The remaining puppies snuggled together for warmth in the cold
December breeze. I can’t do this his conscience screamed as his 
young mind reasoned, “You have to, mom said, and dad will be home 
in the evening. You will get a licking such as you have never gotten before.”  “Smash!” not a whimper. The blood trickled down his finger tips.

To be or not to be, 
One, two, three, four, five, 
Three more to go, He looked at the huge stone, “The killing stone” he 
thought as he prepared to finish all three of the remaining puppies 
in one swift moment if possible. “Smash! Smash! Smash!” It was over 
he gave a sigh of relief as he gathered the tiny, still bodies into a small 
shoe box that was to be the coffin of burial. He quickly buried the box 
with the puppies’ corpses inside. He knew this was one chore on Christmas 
eve day that would haunt him for many days perhaps years to come.

In Honor of Carol Brown
And Contest

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The Captain and I

With the palms of well-worn leathery hands that in younger days guided a Tall Ship round 
the globe many times with the help of stars that still twinkled in his eyes, the old man made 
a porthole in the frosty forest of swirling ferns that had been painted on the kitchen window 
pane by Jack-Frost during the night.

As I sat on his lap, he told me the creaking sound made by the rockers from the rocking 
chair we sat in on the hardwood floor - if he closed his eyes, could make him believe he was 
back with the wind in his sails, rising and dipping and swaying with the whims of the 
waves ‘ore the sea.

Back- and- forth, back-and-forth, we rocked as the porthole on the window pane grew larger, 
exposing the winter wonder land outside where trees and roads and roof-tops lie frozen 
beneath a layer of fluffy snow that looked like icing on a birthday cake, as the house 
softened and swelled in the warmth of the burning kindling wood that snapped and crackled 
in the stove. 

Rocking  back-and-forth, back-and-forth, I asked him, looking into those eyes of green, with 
that far away look. “Grandpa, won’t you tell me please, what lies beyond the sea?”  He 
paused for a moment, blowing silver halos that rose from his pipe in an aroma of sweet 
smelling ‘Old Sail’ tobacco, and with the magic of his words, he took me on a journey, 
rocking across the sea where he showed me all the places and wondrous things he’d ever 

That was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, where an old man, taught a 
little girl, that life is but a dream.


                          In memory of: Captain James George the Third - My Grandfather

 2nd place in  'Anything Goes #2 Contest - sponsered by Constance La France 

Author's note:  

This is one entry of many that will appear in my next book ' A Journey of Roses and Thorns'. 
They are true events that have happened in my life - some where roses, some were 
thorns.  I have learned valuable lessons from both.

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Lunch With The Girls

.                           "Listen first, the voice in your head"

Mmmmm, …if we can catch the waitress’s eye, we should order more iced tea…
Can hardly believe it… Joan is still complaining about her in-laws….
Peg interrupts, excusing herself to go to the ladies room
What was that about Barb’s husband burning breakfast? 
It must have been funny.., the way everyone is laughing…
Oh well…
          My eyes wander to the window….
          I see some geese in the sky
          Heading north...oh my,…summer has gone so quickly…
          I must get the family together and go out to the lake one more time
          We'll take a picnic, and let the children feed the geese...
          I'll take a loaf of bread just for that,....... 
          But we'll have to watch the children..
          Last time one goose chased Suzanna, and she fell down, ....
          …made her cry,…poor thing
          It is so beautiful on the east shore….hopefully the water isn’t too cold
          Maybe the children can still enjoy a swim…yes…we must do that soon….

Oops,  she’s back from the Ladies......
I'd better scoot over, to make more room,.....
Hmm..looks like she's done something different with her hair...   
Joan is still chattering about her weekend with the in-laws.....


          How I long to be back at the lake again….on the beach in the sun….

           Oh there…outside the window…a whirlwind has gathered up a few leaves
           Already rust and brown…edges curled with the touch of autumn
                    Yes, ….summer has gone so quickly…

....                  ....                ....                     ....             ....                  ....

For the Contest: Summer's End

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A Walk on the Beach

Morning breaks in cheerful warm brilliance,
pale sapphire sky pristine.
Grey-white gulls glide vociferously above
in search of firma bound fare.
Reflections of Sol’s arms vault from the sea,
smooth but for zephyr stroked folds;
pure, sugar white sand kissed softly
by persistent waves subtle roll.
Soft ghosts of tepid breeze course random,
sensually caressing what be;
long thin-bladed grasses sway lightly
in synchrony and shameless delight.

With bonnet in hand an aged woman strolls 
beside the vast Gulf of blue; 
damp, firm sand squeaks soothingly
against the soles of her tired bare feet.
Her large eyes of brown focus ahead,
bear no witness to her days and shine;
fine flowing hair of luminous white 
draped over shoulders so slight.
A pause, though brief, in quiet reflection,
her gaze upon the distant view
and mind in stoic reminiscence
of past friends and loves and wonder.

His strong arms hold her close tightly,
warmth of body and soul unite,
while gaiety in unbound laughter
disclose love once again renewed.
A tender brush of hand upon cheek
raises fiery passion in both,
as excited young eyes meet in ardor
essence link in eternal embrace.
One warm briny tear born of these thoughts
streams slowly down her cheek,
she slowly walks on as sand squeaks soothingly
against the soles of her tired bare feet.

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Other Side of The Rainbow

It was on the other side of the rainbow
When I slid into a dream
I guess at that time nothing was, as it truly seemed
People came and people went
The needle played my blues
Through the rainbow dreams into leprechaun schemes
I was Papa Smurf with the magic brew
I built a Crystal Castle
On the shores of nevermore
I guess sometimes I wonder, “What was I searching for”
Beauty danced with big brown eyes
Though the faces always changed
Many times I slept with gals I thought were rather strange
Magic slides that no one hides
I wonder where they go?
I once slid down the rainbow just to see the show
The stars are bright it’s a beautiful night
Moonbeams illuminating mushrooms all around
Here by my house crickets and frogs are the only sound
Fairies dance like fireflies 
It’s really quite the sight
Ever tripped down Hollywood and Vine on a Friday night
I have lived through many dreams
Shared many angels souls
Shattered dreams and broken schemes, nothing but empty goals
Broken hearts torn apart
Blowing in the wind
Like fairy dust you just can’t trust
Not even your closest friend
I dove into a crystal pool on the other side of the hill
I swear sometimes in my ears I can hear the ringing still
I rode upon the tornado just to go spinning through the sound
Landed in a concrete room bouncing all around
Leprechauns and rainbows
Unicorn’s beautiful and white
When I finally kicked the horse
It wasn’t a pretty sight
Like a frog on the log or a sick old dawg
Just a skeleton in a box
With the strength of Arthur's sword and trust in the Lord
I shattered a thousand locks
Now I’m back on this side of the rainbow
And every thing’s looking bright
My Guinevere is here and I love her dear
She is such a lovely sight
Trials come like waterfalls
Flooding though our life
I truly am a lucky man to face them with my wife
Well let’s gig the frog and fire up the log
We’ll roast us a pig tonight
Life is good in my neighborhood
Nary a single vice
The other side of the rainbow now seems so very far away
I guess that is really about all I have to say

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Exposition of a Thrashed Soul

she dances to the beat of hollow drums
acoustic guitars with trembling strings
solemn in the archeology of the long buried
(bleeding raw wounds on the moon)
a lonesome flute on a two AM skyline
and saxophone symphonies that weep the air

offbeat sounds and taut muscles swaying
unearthing the sorrow with the echo of songs
reverberate harshly the wail of rain
(it rattles the panes with a shattered reply)

she seeks an asylum of solace from memory
caught up in the fluid ballet of surviving
a dark cloud hovers the streets of her heart
whispers come harsher as the sun finally sets

its alright to cry in a cell of solitude
 (hiding the tatters inside her hands)
buried beneath the soil of eyelids
moistened by tears that tumble downstairs

brown eyes bruised when she cannot shut them
and hiding is no longer an option for her
(her prison holds her chained on concrete)

reality lives like a bile in her throat
and the world is battered by the truth of itself
whiskey would hide only so much hurt
(upon  awakening it slaps you with its validity)
ending up on a dead end road…..

wherever she goes….there she remains….
those footsteps taunt and cannot elude her….

Remembrance is a heavy cross to bear….

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Chinese Scrolls

Poems from old and yellowed
Chinese scrolls make me sad,
make me sad: stored in shiny,
lacquered boxes of perfumed teak,
they crumble when unrolled.
And the hands that must have written
Chinese thoughts upon the rolls:
little, leathern, patient hands,
painting poems -- stroke and stroke
and careful, delicate stroke --
stopping, meanwhile, to twirl
a waxed mustache --
for someone else, a foreigner,
who cannot understand, to read,
mull over, and be sad.
And this when Chinese thoughts
are gone, and tiny, trembling
Chinese hands are dust.

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The Perfect Way Home

It's winter's evening, I am driving home.  The bare trees whisper my vulnerability like a secret to the sky.  I've come again to an all too familiar crossroads; the one of dreams and fear.  I stop at the traffic light waiting but I am lost within a cold ocean of myself.  Overhead on the telephone wires, a flock of blackbirds have gathered.  The electric current keeps their toes snug and warm as they chatter; eavesdropping on my thoughts.  I wonder why the birds have chosen this particular place with all its confusion?  Perhaps they are my muse, my witnesses and they wait for a change in the signal too.  With a slight ripple in the wind and the light, their wings lift up in unison and I am lifted too.  I have no need to tarry; I turn towards the fading sun.  My heart is carried by a light haven.  Inhaling a deep breath of me, I pass a billboard that tells me to have courage.  

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Contemplation of a White Line

There's a white line
Dead center of the empty road
The sky is clear, the sun is hot

I am sitting on the edge of this blacktop world
Waiting for a tow
Some shortcut huh? A back road error in judgement...
Sitting in this no-man's land of desolate boredom
A missed appointment, a disappointed friend waiting
Frustration billows up in the heat of Indian summer

Peafowl graze in the tall brown weeds behind me, hunting grasshoppers
Territorial hens and cocks at their banquet
The patriarch, with his vast train, reigns aloof
In the shade of a vagrant oak, that shadows the place where I sit
One lone hen, wanders onto the white line, and looks at me, with disdain
I am an intruder, in a world I don't belong....

I have been sitting here for nearly an hour
Mesmerized by the long white line that meanders into the distant horizon...
I'm wondering how long has it been
Since I've had such a moment
To contemplate such a a white line in the center of an asphalt road

Who put it there?  What sort of man?  Who drives the machine, that paints this line?
Did he do this all day...draw these straight white painted stripes?
Does he give it much thought?  This artist,...this Da'vinci of roadways?
Does he think of the life he might save?
The order this brings?   His touch of white on a blacktop world?
Does he do this all after day?
This artwork to pay for his wife's medicine?
Or for a son's braces, or a daughter's tuition?
Trivial contemplation, perhaps,  while one ponders by the side of a road.....
You is just a white what??

To someone....even a trifle....a white line on asphalt....
                           might be important......

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Angelic People

On starry, starry nights
On sunny, sunny days
Angelic people, whose eyes
Resemble wounded deer`s eyes
Angelic, fragile, gentle  
People sadly pray
You can hear their cries
And they say:
`We do not want any more lies
Take your evil deeds today,
And stay out of our way.`

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Hands Across Time

Pink faced, and warm, I stand at the kitchen counter rubbing flour and butter briskly through my fingers into a large mixing bowl... Apples are already peeled and sliced, that lay like petals, pale green, in the pie plate, waiting for a crumbled topping I know they are mine, these hands, I see, deftly working... So skilled, they are, that even I am amazed,.... Even before my own eyes, there is a moment, I watch, from outside myself Yes these hands are mine... proven by the swirls and the valleys as I when I'm asked to write my own name,... as when I scribbled this new recipe, in a familiar, weary yellow notebook Yet, as if I were wearing gloves, my hands seem to live inside the skin of others... I watch their motion and have no control of every small detail, Rote tasks, of which I have seen before No hand has held the amber weight of sun or tugged in summer wind, but silently some root has crooked a finger into the flour, intent to foster a long connection, some ancient comfort, a deep knowing, of heart and bone, of mind, and soul that assures me, I never will stand alone, with flour on my hands I will always have centuries at my elbow
__________________________________________________________________ Submitted for Nette's Contest: With These Hands Carrie Richards 12/21/13 Image #6

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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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A Note To None

If I rewrote the story and somehow are paths
did not cross.
In temptations fire.
We would only know the cold of others.

Freezing in the silent agony unable 
to speak.
The statue remains its meaning erased.

As into others we will seek.
The emotions we no longer share.
Alone I am now inthe isolation of many blank

The jokes are but a wall built to conceal.
All that I am.
That I could never reveal.

Use the substances to keep you numb.
And let the voices take you to another place.

Beyond the madness there lies 
beauthy in pain.
And always truth.
Destruction breeds art.

I light up in a room of vacant stares
and empty lives.
To blind in addiction to know the other does exist.

In this den like some scene from a opium parlor from the west. 
Ashes hit the floor along with my pride.

This battle im losing with devilish glee.
All but nothing is left.
so in the shadows I confide. 

Sometimes wisdom can come from great acts of stupidty 
sometimes pain brings us closer to the truth 
nothing stays buried   it just lays in wait.

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Call Me Gonzo

For thoose of you who may not know.
Just call me gonzo I write the absurd for life is insane and sometimes 
it takes a madman to speak the truth so very clear.

I write for the broken vacant faces that have lost all hope.
To the dreamer who's well is slowley running dry from everyone
telling him to stop wasting his time.

I write like a endless highway fueled by whiskey and wild women 
every adventure leads to pain but life is pain and i love in spite of it.

I thirst for every unseen mile the desert my brother it's people dwell
in the spirt of the west the opium parlors and brothels spirt still linger.
I write with a hint of danger and a promise of disaster.

Im a blues player whos trying to out run the devil.
Im a outlaw riding to cross the border a woman looking to the 
empty range for my return.

I write because I breath in a world were the creative air has gone 
The bottle sits apon table and I welcome any strangers company
I just rather that stranger be a warm woman instead of a 
unfriendly amigo who is a little jelouse.

Write to be more than just part of the highways landscape.
Some may call me crude crazy insane some even vulgar and 
liar and thief.
But aside from thoose compliments.
No matter what you may call me.
Dont ever forget to just call me gonzo.

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Held In The Arms of Midnight

It is only in sleep, that I unleash my fears
Released in my dreams, where no one can hear
Tumbling upward, note by note
Into the dark of a quiet room 
And only the night can measure the quake
Submerged by the light, as a new dawn breaks

It is only in sleep I unleash my tears
Held in the arms of the midnight sky
Briefly rocked by a cradle of stars
Where moon at my window can swaddle my trembles
Soothed by the hours, away from the day
Away from the morning that stifles my worries

And again and again, I will stand in the sun
While the world only sees a confident me 
Spreading more sun, spending more me…
Spreading my wings, spreading me thin…..

Unleashed are all fears of doubting seeds
A song that falls mute, by the light of day
Where pieces of puzzle will not go astray
Intact I must be, the paste, the glue

Denying the lack, of me, subdued
It is only in sleep I unleash my voice 
Unleashed from all judgment, pride and shame
Released to the night, the child in me
Unleashed are all the unsaid words
Revealing self doubt that is hidden away

From the whisper of sleep, I unleash my voice
Tumbling upward, note by note

Inspired by Paula's Contest: "Unleashed"

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A Slight Return

Darkness is my life that apears in
Has it come to just another fix.
The smile does conceal my losing fight.

The music the screams within.
The lies eat away at the man I can no 
longer stand.

Hollow is thy heart.
Crimson stains all that is never held in

It started a game now it's a curse.
In darkness I speak to you
all I could never say.
The man once known to you.
Has all but faded away.

And as I slip into adictions abyss.
Candle lit memories were taken
with the breeze. 
That killed that romantic glow.

As the stranger who exists in the form
once you did love.
Twist's into a form you cannot understand.

I ask out of love for you to forget.
The monster that haunts this form.

In memories true love we will forever know.
The emptyness of of this life.
And the once splendid candle lights glow. 
In truth we die. 
As we live. 
So must we cry. 

Not every every question has a answer my friends. 

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Shut Your Dirty Mouth

Tonight I thought I shook off a roach. Swore I felt it approach. Imagined it crawling down
my throat. My Dad came out from the den and asked What’s Wrong? I said, Nothing, I’m fine
when I still felt bits of dead roach nesting in my spine. That’s Divine.

I feel the Holy Spirit in me tonight. Jesus Christ! I must have done right! Don’t come
near me, I’m contaminated, clearly. Oh, God, need me! So that the sky doesn’t turn black
every time I look up to seek your advice. My chips are stacked, I’ve got them wracked.
Roll the dice six six six every time. On my Dime. I think I may have crossed the line.
Maybe I’m sick. Maybe I’m not hip to this.

Maybe I just need to settle down. Take a breath. Take a pill. Sit real still. Stare until
I become comatose blare my music so loud that my eyes become brazen and I can’t hear what
you’re saying.

Do roaches bite? I wonder at night. As I hide beneath the covers that used to shield us
from one another. Protect us from the evils in this world, bring no harm to little girls.
Now they just cover up old condoms and dirty food crumbs.

Numb. Numb. Numb. Can’t move. Limbs feel numb, limbs feel wrung, limbs feel slung,
stammering and slurring like grandma after her stroke.

This is a joke. The world’s a joke. We’re a joke.

Then why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing until our paws fall off, our mittens
become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.

Oh boy, here I go again. If this is a joke why aren’t we laughing? Why aren’t we guffawing
until our paws fall off, our mittens become smitten and we cough up our dirty lungs with joy.

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Living the Illness

Addle-minded, weak in the head
Or taken by the bottle is sometimes said
Cannot be trusted, keep him in sight
Lock all your medicines in a cabinet tight
Do not trust his judgment he is easily confused
And he seems to forget the substances he abused

Constant reminders of behaviors, not of me
Growth constantly made, but people choose not to see
A day at a time, living the best that I can
Living with the illness, I am just a man
I am called bipolar, alcoholic, addict by family and scores
I am a father, writer, man with an illness, who a little girl adores

I made a bed to lay in and so I do accept the doubt
Yet it would be nice if others saw my actions carry some clout
I do not react in anger, for the ignorant just cannot see
I will not waste my time trying to convince when I know the real me
Mental illness is no one’s fault and it does not define ones’ being
Judge us not by our past misdeeds, but by what you are really seeing

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Hit or miss

I imagine a world better than this
Only to realize it’s hit or miss
Some days you hit the ball out of the park
While other days it’s hard to see where to start...

Seeing is believing and belief it will grow
All that I need shall be all that I know
Sometimes things aren’t as they appear
The perspective changes as you grow near.

Hearing without listening  nothing is heard
To think you just know is quite absurd
Many things change from one day to the other
As your perspective changes you will discover.

 I walk out today with no destination in mind
I open my eyes and it’s a treasure I find
I get on board so I don’t get left behind
Vision returns where once I was blind.

I need to work more on developing faith
Make it a home a place that is safe
Sometimes I’m stubborn and try to save face
This is the time I must learn grace.

Te sun sets and the day is done
The horizon greets the vanishing sun
I hope to do better than the day before
 Only reason is because I want this more.

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this was me

it began so innocently
we exchanged ideas on poetry
his art, the suffering he endured
he preyed upon my compassion
as he meticulously bided his time...

i felt safe as we expressed
our mutual love of words
i was excited, i was learning,
unbeknowst to me, i was his prey..

many months and thousands of hours, 
talking, reaffirmed my trust; faith in him
he shared his life, triumps & tragedies
i supported all he desired for himself..

i understood, i felt his pain, 
his drive i admired, he overcame tremedous odds,
became a doctor so others would not suffer as he had;
he baited me; the innocent and naieve one.

living life with no regret,
i chose to take a leap of faith,
he guided me, alleviated my fears,
of promises to cherish and adore me..

as a tiger waits patiently to pounce on his prey
i was oblivious to his hatred inside,
he was a master of manipulation
his mission - to destroy me..

i felt he was worth giving 
up all i knew to build a life
he so lovingly described to me,
little did i know, his words - poison..

america bound i left everything i knew; i loved.
the terror of his drunken rages, his icy silence,
the cruelty of his words stung like red hot coals.
what he admired most about me,intensified his hatred.

the vacancy in his eyes was terrifying, 
i was alone in a strange country, 
knowing no one, in a house, not a home, 
full of tension, rage, abuse; numb and in shock;
this was my reality..

with each painstaking day of living in terror
dreading his arrival, my fear reached new heights;
i had enough; i was leaving.
his rage increased, his words pure venom..

i was numb, shaking, fear drove me to action
he became desperate, i did not sleep 
for fear of never waking, his actions so terrifying
i felt a strength within, empowering me..

planning my escape, fear became my ally,
i reached the airport and did not stop shaking
until safely on the plane, doors shut, 
moving down the runway to take-off;
i wept, i crumbled, i collapsed.

jubilantly at home, i felt peace, safe, 
and soaked in the beauty of my freedom; my home.
it has been six weeks; i have flashbacks, 
terror still haunts me; i am determined 
to not let another change me.

i am healing and am grateful for every
moment i smile, smell a flower, witness
the marvel of each sunrise and sunset.
i am a blessed girl.

~this was me~ 

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Death Of The Saints

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

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


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

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

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

The cousin proceeded to tale this story.

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

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

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

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

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

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A Story

It was on a Christmas Eve
early in the morn
into a world so often cold
a little girl was born.
Her parents, they did love her,
the way that it should be
but her father, who's a good man,
had been raised with cruelty.

When he doled out punishment
for all her childish ways
the lessons that he taught her
would stay with her all her days.
Growing up was never easy
and she grew up so confused.
Other kids did more than tease her
and at home she was abused.

But she grew up all the same
then came to that time of life
when she thought she was ready
became a mother and a wife.
They faced a lot of hardships
but tried to love anyway
and her husband, who does love her,
has been so mean along the way.

Yes, life is hard for everyone
this woman surely knows.
Hate and misunderstanding
seems to follow where she goes
with so many quick to tell her
that she is always wrong
so many times she has been shown
that she just don't belong.

She tries so hard to understand
the reasons for her tears
and is punished for her feelings
as she has been all her years.
She knows that there is more to life
than what always seems to be.
All she wants is to be loved
without the cruelty.

Note:  My dear friends, this is not an easy write for me but a necessary one.  I was at a very 
low point in my life and I prayed for God for direction or to let it end.  I wrote the poem I Am 
then joined PoetrySoup.  I know God led me to this wonderful site for a reason.  I may still 
have a long way to go but I am starting to move forward.  I want to thank you all for your 
encouragement and kindness.  Being able to write again is helping me and as fellow writers, 
I know you understand.  Thank you for sharing with me and teaching to become a better 
writer.  God bless you all and Happy Holidays!  Love, Robin.

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Today at the beach

Waves crash down on the rocks reducing them to sand
Then sweeps them away to some far off land
The wave roll in covering my feet in sand
In the concept of time I wonder just who I am?

I gaze before me the vastness of the sea
Represents all the possibilities inside of me
I can’t think of any place I would rather be
I have trouble describing there’s so much to see.

I walk out to the rocks to find some treasure
I find many starfish much to my pleasure
It seems that the only way to go is up
So I step up and take a drink from life’s cup.

Peace and tranquility fill me inside 
While the waves provide a pretty good ride
The water is cool and so refreshing
 All of the pieces seem to be meshing.

A seagull in the water and gets hit by a wave
I dawn a smile and feel I am saved
I like how the sky melts into the sea
Over the horizon sounds like the place to be.

The adventure I’m on may never be through
Sometimes I’m not sure what I should do
I just press on and see what shall become
I like what I see so I try to grab some.

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The Willows

Tomorrow’s times are in these eyes of mine.
Away and far my world shall part.
The Seas shall rise from their depths of deep.
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will weep.
The Sun will rise as my days still come,
The glory, the power, it is the rains with Sun.
Tomorrow’s times are in these days of mine.
Far and gone my world shall bond.
The Mountains will fall from their heights they climb.
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will shine.
Tomorrow’s times are in these thoughts of mine.
Gone and here my world shall fear.
The Lands will separate the world by Sea,
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will be.
Tomorrow’s times I know are mine.
Here it is that I fear I’m near.
My Land, my Seas, my Mountains of plain sight,
And in the glow of the shadows the willows shall shed their light.

®Registered: Ann Rich 1998

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A Understanding Of The Past

I remember summers past in the south 
and the sultry heat.
Iced tea and back porch confessions.

Making time with that first love.
The swing underneath  that old tree.
The radio playing softley in the background.

Thoose ways have long since died.
Replaced by a breakneck pace.
As were all to willing to forsake a conversation between 
two human beings.
It's all about one night stands and bragging rights.

It's like comparing velvet to burlap.
All harsh no mystery.
Where people would rather surf the internet
than ocean.

The passion of the kiss.
Is but a dinosaur that people 
view as some old silent film.

A blanket underneath the stars
Has been replaced by a encounter in a 
bathroom stall.

Upward we advance  as deeper  we sink within the
As the poet reflects  ink drying 
in he pen.

I recall thoose times so very slow.
To this sudden stand still.
Like a pile up on the interstate.
I no longer live I wait.

But the sunset still haunts me.
Along with the scent of the salt filled air.
that tree's swing does no longer stand.

As in dust and memories it's been taken with 
the wind.

The road echos  of another time.
For all that was free and wild.
Is slowley vanishing.

As we blindly advance.
I'll sit and watch the tide.
And be happy to be left behind.

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I whisked the heavens for a soothing sign
Swirled moonlight of Luna’s crescent smile
Searching for redemption's last sinew
That a wounded love faithfully clings to

I asked the stars for strength of sterling sight
To illuminate the missteps of a fractured mind
Trapped in a glass garden of Eden’s broken heart
Fragrant pieces of her sorrow carved into mine

I tasted the poison of regurgitated resolve
Memories marinating on the tip of my teething tongue 
But forgiveness does not dangle on unspoken words
Which need not be poetic, but merely heard

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My Search for Me

Grey are the days that past by my eyes
and the nights are scary to see.
A pall clouds my vision each day I awake
which hinders my search for me.

Blank are the stares I see each day
when I look at the eyes in the glass.
Reflection of the one I’m trying to save
from this suffocating morass.

Lost I am as I travel the road
that I hope will lead me to salvation.
The forks in the road are far too many
and my heart pounds from palpitation.

Deep into my mind do I bring my search
as I desperately try to see.
Yet twisted and tangled my thoughts all seem
as I still keep up the search for me.

In the eyes of my child I do see a glimpse
of something that makes me believe,
in the hope that I have something to salvage
as much as my mind tries to deceive.

The hands of my friends reaching for me
to help though I don’t even ask,
tells me that I do have my good inside
and I shouldn’t take myself to task.

But as much as the signs and the help I receive
give me a glimpse of the person I know I be,
I have so much pain and confusion in the way
that it’s so very hard to find the real me.

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Me, Myself, and I - (Part 1)

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

Me, Myself, and I...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Me, Myself, and I - (Part 2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

J. Scott Burns...

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My Conversation With God

I have been praying to God ever since I first understood the concept of a deity.  Although I have struggled through life with my acceptance of and belief in the religion I was force fed as a child, the praying has always stayed with me – on an almost every day basis.  In some way or some form or for some reason, it seems, I find myself praying to a God I am not sure I believe in.

Over the years, some of the things I have prayed for or prayed against have worked out in my favor.  Other things didn’t quite work out the way I had hoped.  So, I wondered, was this proof that my prayers are sometimes answered or simply the law of averages?  It really didn’t matter, I was programed to pray and so pray I do.

This has been going on pretty routinely for over 50 years; so, imagine my surprise when, for the first time last night, God talked back to me!

I may not get this exactly right, but, in essence, this is what He had to say:

(I am not sure what font to type God’s words in, so I will just keep on with the default.)

“Joe, Joe, Joe.  I have been listening to you for all your life.  And, whereas I do enjoy your thoughts; your words; and your sentiments; I find it is time for me to respond.

You really do pray a lot for lots of things.  Mostly good and humane things.  Mostly with a pure and caring heart.  But, son, you need to stop doing so much praying and start doing more stuff on your own.  I am not up here to make your life easier and to do things for you.

When you were young, instead of praying for that bicycle, you should have been doing chores to earn money towards buying it.  You could have cut more lawns, washed more cars, got a paper route, sold lemonade, or many other things other young boys were doing to earn money for the things that they wanted.

When you were in high school and prayed to me to help you do well in your wrestling matches, you should have, instead, been working harder at practice; spent more time on your conditioning; spent more time in the weight room; and studied harder on the art of wrestling.

In college, when you prayed for help on your mid-terms and finals, you should have, instead, spent more time studying and less time partying – I think that is something you already know.

Even when you pray on behalf of others – you should be doing more.

Instead of praying I would help old Mrs. Conner at the end of your street, you should have gotten up off your butt and walked down to the end of the street and looked in on her yourself.  You could have offered to go to the store for her, pick up her prescriptions or simply keep her company in her final years.

When you prayed for me to care for the starving children around the world, you should have been volunteering to help out yourself or donating more money towards this cause.  If you funneled all the money you spent on unnecessary junk food and extra meals you consumed throughout the years towards charities that help feed and clothe the poor, you could have saved many of the children you prayed that I would save.

Instead of praying that I cure your family, friends and acquaintances that you knew were ill or dying, you should have been visiting them in the hospital or writing them letters or providing assistance to their loved ones to help ease their pain.

Prayer is not the vehicle for you to be lazy and yet gain the rewards.  Prayer is not a means to have me do for others what you have the power and ability to do yourself.

I am glad that you talk to me, but you have been granted the ability and means to do so much more by yourself and yet you choose to take the easy way out and pray to me – the God that I know you are confused about.  Please, do me a favor, and before you pray, ask yourself, ‘Have I exhausted all avenues available to me to achieve the result I want God to perform?’ 

If, after you have done everything you can possibly do, then I may be more willing to consider what it is you ask for.

And now, my son, you can wake up.”

I sat up quickly in my bed, sweating and confused.  Was I just dreaming?  Was that really God talking to me?  Then, somewhere from deep inside, either from my conscious or a left-over message from the Almighty Himself, I thought (or heard): “What does it matter?  Whether it was God or not – the message is valid and something I probably already knew.”

“Well,” I said to myself, in prayer, “I will give it my best.  But, is it okay if we still talk?  It kind of helps to give me strength?”


I will take that as a, “Yes”.

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A Wandering Soul

My soul wanders into places unknown,
Barren, what happened to the seeds sown?
Plenty of sunlight and rain, still nothing grows.
Leaves start to fall as a cold wind blows.

I wander within, reality and dreams,
Reality bites, or so it seems.
Realizations of things yet to come,
Dreams are the source, where they are from.

The world is in color, I remain black and white.
First comes the sun and then there is night.
Circles of life my soul wanders through,
Colors paint pictures of all that I view.

It’s been raining for days, it won’t relent.
I see time pass and then wonder where it went.
I see a reflection in a puddle on the ground,
Perhaps my mind is too tightly wound.

I try to fix a hole where the rain gets in,
But the rain has soaked in below my skin.
I reflect upon times spent in the sun,
But I’ve hopped within, the web I spun.

Still my soul wanders, looking for a place.
It all disappears, without leaving a trace.
My mind grows numb from all these thoughts,
While my soul searches, it is tied up in knots.

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Midnight Again

Its midnight again, TV on
The sofa becomes my bed
As the confusion of our lives
Fills my weary head

At times I drift off
And think of days gone by
How I yearn for yesterday
So bad it makes me cry

Other times I feel just like a kid
With something new to share
And you put your soul around me 
And tell me how much you care

At times I think its working
Like I’ve finally met the mark
And all too quickly it ends
And I’m alone, on the couch, in the dark

Why can’t it all be the way it was
That day on top of the hill
Am I really as bad a person 
As you can make me feel

Inside I try so hard
Outside it seems I don’t
I want to meet your needs
But I don’t know what you want

I try to be your husband
Your lover and your friend
Somehow I never am
And I find myself here again

I try to be a father
But those efforts just backfire
Somehow I manage to destroy
Everything that I desire

I ask myself, “Is it worth it?”
Why don’t I start anew
And after hours of contemplation
Just one answer, “I love you”

And resolved to that end
I lay my heart to sleep
And I pray the lord
Our souls together he will keep

A silent kiss to you and the kids
In hopes of a better day
As I close my eyes to dream
And let my troubles drift away 

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The eraser belonged to me; it was saved by my mother and returned along with many other 
childhood items when I became middle aged. I was curious as to why she would save a 
stubby old eraser from the primary grades, so she reminded me of its’ one and only use. My 
faded memory of that time suddenly became crystal clear, as my mother recounted for me a 
watershed episode from my formative years. 

I had, as they say these days “acted out in school once again,” this time by writing 
unspeakable words in a textbook. Without any hesitation or forethought, I chose as my 
repository the teachers’ edition of our English composition book. Quite frankly, at the time, I 
thought they were literary gems worthy of publication. That’s why I knowingly inscribed them 
there for all to see. Upon further review by more knowledgeable minds, it was determined 
corrective guidance and a phone call home was in order.
I was to spend several hours after school that day sweating in contemplative silence as I 
erased the teachers’ edition and many other similarly defaced books. It was during this time 
of reflection that I ground that eraser down to the stub as it remains today. The last visible 
vestiges of my bad expositions disappeared forever that hot afternoon, along with more than 
half of the eraser.

Mother then reminded me of what she overheard the Superintendent tell me, as she sat 
mortally ashamed and waiting for hours in the hallway outside that sweltering classroom. I 
can still visualize her ample adult size, trying in vain to get comfortable, in a sticky one 
armed desk made for a 5th grader.

“ John, I want you to try and remember this:
WHAT YOU SAY to others might last with them until THEY DIE.
But regretful WORDS YOU WRITE, the residue of which, will last long after YOU DIE. 
So you keep what’s left of this eraser and I hope you never need to use it again.”

*For the "Rub it out" contest, i still have the eraser.

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The Wisdom of a Simple Man

I remember eating dinner in the glow of the burning lamps.
We all dipped our bread into a common bowl of oil.
A little bread, a little cheese, some salt, an apple, a little wine.
But for the salt all the fruits of our own labors. And Gods.
The enjoyment of fellowship and family at table and fireside.
Laughter and the soft sounds of evening chores and talk.
Discussing the work to be done tomorrow and next week.
Telling the old tales,  the good ones, and the family stories.
Children learn who they are from this and will remember.
Maybe a song or two, all voices raised, some sweet, some not.
Childrens prayers before bed, every night, from this comes faith.
A cuddle and a kiss with your wife, to let her know she's beautiful.
A snuggle with her beneath the warm blankets, face on a cool pillow,
And a whispered prayer of thanksgiving before sleep takes you.
God gave every man a brain, two hands and a heart.
With these tools we can build all of these things.
With all of these gifts, who needs more?

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Reflections and the Mirror

I gaze into the mirror and remember what was,
There seems little reason it happens because.
The lines on my face appear to grow bolder,
Meanwhile the past lurks over my shoulder.

Reflections appear from a life that used to be,
Still I’m uncertain of just what I see.
I wonder what this, how did I get to this place?
Beating heart in hands, I develop a little more grace.

What was and what is seems to join into one,
As the walls start to fall I can see the sun.
I look into the mirror to see what I’ve become,
Thoughts go astray as I just come undone.

I go for a walk to escape  from this place,
Still there that mirror and that same face.
Reminders pop up of what I can’t do,
Constantly thinking of all I’ve been through.

As I walk I can hear so many birds sing,
A smile comes slowly with the songs they bring.
I wonder what they are saying do they even know.
They just glide away as a gentle breeze blows.

I look all around and the colors I see,
Flowers awaken the life inside me.
I look at the trees that reach for the sky,
I’d be at the top if only I could fly.

I go to the pond and its reflections again,
I watch the ripples and remember a friend.
They gently wash up upon the shore,
The pieces I have scattered a little bit more.

I’m not always certain of all that I see,
I know what is and wonder what will be.
I see to return and then find myself,
The reflection I see seems like somebody else.

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A Quiet Exit

A Quiet Exit

Poetry is disciplined

However, sometimes at the executive table
when a situation is not going according to plans
It's better to excuse yourself because of evil man

however, before leaving, relief a quiet fart
then make the exit,  gracefully glance
 over your  shoulder and smile
watch and observed who sense your present.

Ladies and Gentlemen have a wonderful day!

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My Motivations in Poetry

My love of poetry started when I was still a five- year old child When my parents asked me to memorize verses and rhymes With all my feelings and actions, I recited my poems in front of a crowd Innocently receiving adulations but not a handful of dime The first piece I memorized was entitled, “Cradle Hymn” I was a small girl sent in a poem competition, so naïve When I’ve grown up , I realized it’s a song lyric with Christmas theme So, I sang it and started to develop my good voice quite a bit When I was a teenager, I memorized speech and declamation pieces My teacher sent me in a poem contest for a campaign against drug addiction I tried to deliver my piece like a candidate for a star award actress Acting like a drug addict teenage girl longing for parents’ love and attention As years went by, I turned out to be quite a flirty lady With puppy love and sweet crushes to some guys around me When one of them got me, so happy until I forgot all about reciting poetry Relationship went long but when we broke up, it created another life’s story All my heart brokenness has turned me out to be a poem writer I also wrote few poems for my family, dreams and for close friends’ requests My passion of poetry blazed and turned out to be greater When I found a writing spot, motivated and inspired by my friends-the great poets
Feb. 6, 2013 First Place Contest: Who What Where Judged: 4/23/2013 Sponsor: Poet Carol Sunshine Brown

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I sit at the table, an invisible guest. I speak yet no one is able to hear. Louder voices rule the day as the guests hang onto every word. For I possess not the proud demeanor of a conquerer, I have not been gifted with a regal presence. I exist on the outside of the fringes, my power exists within a quieter realm. I observe the small, what lays beneath the surface, subtle nuances, the unseen details. I feel the significance within the spaces, for I am not designed to entertain. I relish in my anonymity, for observation leads to discovery. I feel the significance of the lesser guests and watch them as they imagine their time. Unlike them I do not desire a spot light for within that light I may lose my power.

For Verlena's Contest.

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In Some Ways

Different worlds, you and I
Is it a blessing or a curse
All the luxuries of modern living
In some ways times are worse
The old man spoke of younger days
Time was so much simpler then
He thought about the hardships
And the struggles way back when
The old man said I’ll tell you a story
Of how things were long before
Of days when families had so little
In some ways, so much more
He told him of the friendships
That had lasted through the years
And he spoke of people dead and gone
And the young boy saw his tears
He talked about the innocence
When love was on the wing
Looking out his back yard window
For the first robin in the spring
Playing baseball in an empty lot
Sometimes fighting with his brother
Picking flowers for a May Altar
For Our Lord’s Blessed Mother
He talked about his mother’s eyes
And how she looked when he upset her
Times were very difficult
In some ways, so much better
He spoke of days when children played
Until after dark not knowing fear
Of monkey bars and merry go rounds
As he shed another tear
He knew all the shop owners by name
He had never seen a mall
Riding his bicycle all summer
Rolling in piles of leaves in the fall
The young boy smiled and said call it progress
We underestimated the cost
In some ways I have gained so much
And in some ways, I lost.

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Something Came In The Night

Deep in the night, in the well of my dreams
I'm here all alone,  and the silence is long...
I'm engulfed by old songs and memories of 
the life never lived, the words never said, 
the fears that grow strong, 
the things I might dread,
and the stories unread
There's a whirlwind of dust 
which blows through my head

Perhaps this is slumber and I wear a new face
Shades of a fire, and the smoke of the night
Have shadowed the things that are real, maybe not
Tomorrow I'll wake, with the first breath of dawn
I'll wipe the slate clean, start all over again
Rewrite all the pages, I never began
Take a road never taken, that waving mirage
as seen through the mist, where always, it's been

I have been a young child, afraid of the dark
There's a fork in the road, I am playing new parts
Something came in the night, something sparked a new flame 
Heroic and fearless, ........I will wake with the day
I will find a new trail that will show me the way

I'll not bend like the trees bowing over in wind
I'll not bend like the wheat strands, or the flames of the fire
Standing tall in the light, I will feel a new me
I will feel a new power, to be me,  .... just be me!

For the contest sponsored by Verlena Walker

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An unfinished characterization of QUASIMODO



Notes (not mine) on the beginning of something, a narrative poem perhaps? 
Found in a box recovered from storage, along with scanned photos from that time; 
An interesting characterization worth preserving... 
and possibly completing...? a PoetrySoup cooperative project?

Questions one could comment or expand upon: 
Are there aspects of Quasimodo in each of us?
I love the turn of phrase, "whose fated mystery is to summon the masses upon the appointed
hours of their faith." 
I ponder my own fated mystery. What is yours? 
How does it feel to be at the center (and the maker) of so much sound and not be able to
hear it? 
Do you 'hear' sound differently? 
What are you deaf to? a call to faith? love?
How does Quasimodo's sense of isolation mirror your own? 
The contrast of being a "denizen of high places", yet a "subterranean creature" roaming
forgotten 'streets' in the dark. What does that mean to you?

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Walking in the Wind

I was walking in the wind looking to the sky,
Seeing all that’s before me and wondering why?
How did I get here and make it this far?
Maybe I slipped in when I found the door agar.

So many things around me go into today,
The rules of engagement, games people play.
Win or lose you that that next step.
Secrets inside of tears you have wept.

The wind keeps blowing tossing leaves around.
Blowing off to somewhere never to be found.
The air gets colder taking my breath away,
I seem to get lost within the words you say.

I step inside as snow begins to fall.
The wind catches it and slams it to the wall.
As it falls from heaven it looks like falling stars,
Glistening in the headlights of the oncoming cars.

I seem to drift away, to where I don’t know,
I think it’s just a place that my heart longs to go.
I was walking in the wind looking to the sky
Seeing all that before me and wondering why?

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The Final Confessions I

These are my confessions
Secrets of my mind
Everything that mattered
Truth I can not hide

Nothing but a shadow
Distant memory
What I was, What I am
What I’m supposed to be

Forgive me, God, forgive me
For being so unkind
Cynical and blind

To those who thought they knew me
And those who never did
To those who hear my songs 
In the places where they live

I offer my confessions
Honest to the core
Offer my confessions
There won’t be anymore

No more…

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Count His Blessings, Keep on Stepping

I, Ram, breathed in this world
In the town once ruled by Lord Krishna 
Ever since I have counted his blessings 
And with His grace have kept on stepping.
Though born in a family of a teacher
 Received all the attention from my parents
That encouraged me to be in the noblest profession.
Culminating into D.Litt. from the most respected
Organization, World Congress of poets (UNO)
At Los Angeles, an undreamt honor so far.

Once I had been attacked by Cancer in 1994
But it was totally cured with clean health.
Cancer came to cancel me but I cancelled cancer.
Lord, has given me healthy body never to
Bother how many medicine tablets to be taken.
And freedom to take care of my passions I love
Other things being looked after by my children.

At 80, all my senses are active and quite in command
Traveled over four continents and still to travel but
Ready and waiting to leave any time, if my Lord desires
With no unsolved Karmic problems un-ruptured, 
But with atonement, ready to be judged by Him
I wait but still keep on stepping, counting his blessings.

September 7, 2014
Form: Narrative
Dr. Ram Mehta
Contest: Keep It Real by Skat-A

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Friday the 13th

riding out the night 
searching for that solar storm
instead, up ahead
columns of wind 
breach the scene
green trees clobber the place 
as bedlam pulls out the white swords
and once again it's on

808 Boom! 
808 Boom!
808 Boom!

moonlight exsanguinated
even though it was full as can be
no sign of Jason Voorhees either
maybe he's graduated from the mask

this place ain't so scary
I said, 
(stirring up the devils)
only 15 minutes 'till we're in the clear
Saturday 14 is near

©2014 ~JSL PoetTreez Publishing

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The Fog Rolls in

The fog rolls in surrounding me,
My hand before me, I barely see.
A heaviness as moisture clings to the air,
Ghost like shadows from trees that are bare.

I walk forward I don’t want to look back,
I grab a new card from off of the stack.
I think of it like turning over a new leaf,
I take a deep breath and hope for relief.

I turn the corner there are lights shining bright.
Blue lights resonate and glow in the night.
A Christmas tree lit, entirely in blue,
Like a beacon in the fog it shines right through.

The Christmas tree lights shine much like my hope,
I try to break free with some slack in the rope.
They bring a smile and fill me with content,
As the fog thickens the lights don’t relent.

They seem to glow within the fog,
I lose my bearing as I trip on a log.
I feel like a ghost upon a canvas of white, 
It all disappears within the confines of night.

I hear a bell from a church on the hill,
Its haunting sound from what was still.
It seems to call to me to just forge on.
All of a sudden the ringing is gone.

I stand in darkness just me and the fog,
Something awakens, memories it jogs.
I think of my journey and all I’ve been through,
What has been done and what’s left to do.

It hasn’t been easy though it’s not bad.
I have fond memories of great times I’ve had.
Still something’s missing as I look for the door,
I know it can’t be like it was once before.

The winds picks up, adds a chill to the air.
It awakens my senses so I really don’t care.
I stand at the threshold to the future and past.
I will simply step outside, the shadows it casts.

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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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Going Up

Going Up?...

Basement storage room

Body parts

spare pieces

dark places

replaceable pieces

Floor #1

Complete bodies

Perfect image

Absorbing life

Desired bodies

Scattered body parts
an arm
for jewelry perhaps
the head
displays a scarf
a leg or two
wearing pants or shoes

what part of me
do you need today?
a hand to reach out
my legs running about
my mind 
my heart
what part?

Come inside the dark space
Take what you need
store away what you don't
Use what is left of me
scattered yet still useful
attainable & reserved
contently invisible
no longer beholding to beauty.

all of this is freely yours
tattered..torn or new
all I ask is 
don't touch my soul
the one thing I can't give you
for I'll being "going up" someday
complete..unmarked..brand new

My soul is what is left inside
to this I have held on...
For I am "going up" someday
Floor #1

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Driving into the Light

I awoke in darkness then drove toward the light.
The stars and moon simply vanish from sight.
The sun starts to creep up to usher in today,
I see so much, I don’t know what to say.

Life does return with the passage of the sun.
The stillness of night, cloaking moments to come.
I hear birds singing as I look to the sky.
Their song set me free and I dream I can fly.

I return to places that I have been before,
Remember a time when I was so sure.
Things have changed though they look the same,
Like a different picture hanging in the same frame.

The sun does fade, obscured by the clouds,
My faith and hope lie behind this shroud.
This day feels different yet the sun returns,
I see what I have and desire what I yearn.

I’m not always sure where the day might lead,
I try to gather all the pieces that I need.
As the sun retreats and sinks from the sky,
Another day has just passed me by.

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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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Black Widow

There’s a dark place
Dawn has never been
Only pain can see
Deep within
I hear your candle
Drips of discontent
Your beaded breaths
Night's naked din
Thoughts grow cold
Scent grows dim
Window of hope
Cracking within
I feel your footsteps
Your cheek against mine
Rain bled palms
The emptiness of wine
Rust creeks by
Shadow grows thin
Dust of tomorrow
Deadbolted within
If I learned to speak
If you broke my fall
Could I touch your face
Widow on my wall

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Perhaps Tomorrow

I close my eyes and hope perhaps tomorrow,
I can lose this pain and shed this sorrow.
All I have left is myself to forgive,
Pick up the pieces and learn how to live.

I left behind all the things I loved most.
But with the darkness they appear as ghosts.
I try to pretend it is only a lie,
I know in my heart I forgot how to try.

I know what is and what can’t be.
Yet in my mind I can still see.
All of the things just like before,
Then the wind blows and slams the door.

I start to feel trapped as the walls close in.
I know to escape I need only begin.
Take one step and leave it all behind,
Try to embrace the new things I find.

The sun rises and peeks through the windows,
The light chases away all of the shadows.
If I close my eyes will this all disappear?
Just bring me back to this place that I fear.

If not today, perhaps tomorrow,
Can I pay back all that I borrowed?
Suddenly I listen and hear a bird sing,
Inside these notes, peace it does bring.

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The Woman In White

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

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

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My Bridges

Whenever I am sad, I can always hide
Behind the beauty and the purity 
Of the language

Whenever I am sad, I want to believe
In that wonderful truth that I can hide
Among the words

They blaze with deep magic, I collect them
And form into bridges, so I can 
Travel everywhere

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I believe
In the promise of yesterday
The reflection of tomorrow
The precipice of your pouty lips
The sheer of your jagged hips
Eternity blinds the depths
Of pain's echoing eclipse

I forgot
Why the sun never lies
Silence washing over me 
Like warm chestnut eyes
A whisper of winter
Swirled in your touch
A fall to remember
A contour to clutch

I watch
To hear your sweet name
The leer of your tipped chair
The saunter of sideways hair
Throw around legs
Curled naked feet 
Tapping the open perfumed air

I felt
The fingernails of your fire
Midnight's moaning barbwire
Teeth baring shadow lit drapes
Lust found in fogged disgrace
The night forever broke 
Love's glass embrace

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Fig Meant at Ion's

I wander into this dark, misTearYous room
—and there he was...and wow! What a Fig!

He with the long, lustRuse hair 
sitting at a corner table, nursing a cup of hot cocoa. 
Dang. He has better hair than I do!

“I’m  a  gin at  Ion’s,” were his first words spoken.
“I’m  a  gin at  Ion’s.” And then sighlens.

I was trying to look through his lens, and figure out his sighs
when he utters, “I can see you are number—“

“Huh? I am number what? I don’t see any lines here..."

“Ah, yes you are, as I was... NumBer as in more than numb.”


He definitely got me, he with the misTearYous eyes
so I sit down and ask him what he means
(but I refused to ask how he saw through my numbity)

“What do you mean that you are a gin? And where is Ion’s?”

“Exactly just that. I’m a gin at Ion’s. A di*k t’Eve.”

He tells me that Ion’s is nowhere, everywhere and knowhere,
of how anyone who takes even a sip of that gin can hold on to it— 
too much, so much so, as to lose that grip on ReAhhlity...

I ask him what he does there. 
Seemingly one word, two meanings— "aMuse," says he... 

He reveals he is also part-tickles, part abs-tackles
then he also exhails at wind ‘o pains, 
to fog or clear up views and relayshunships
But oh! How at one point he felt tieurd, of how he had so many callUses—
numb, tired of how it reCurse, of always being called upon, of being used


Been used So many times, he didn’t know who he was anymore...
a Duke at Ion’s, a con’s front at Ion’s,
an ex pecked at Ion’s, a lucid at Ion’s, a rebel at Ion’s...
oddly enough, even if he has been ‘d sign at Ion’s, 
he still felt blahtantly invisible,
even if he wore only a V-bra at Ion’s! 
He chalks everything up to exPeerience, and has learned from it.
And that's why he's also known as a sensei at Ion’s (his personal favorite)

He says even if he can go beyond infinity, he—
he stops (ah gain!) and yes, there it sneaked in... Sighlens.

Telling me through the void, through his sighs, through his lens
To close my eyes, and figYour out myself. And then I do...

ReAhhlieZing how much I could relate,
how I have been in DenyAll of my possiBElities. 
It is all a matter of perSpeck'tEve, of looking at each tiny speck of life,
of creating something from each of it, entire universes even—boundless

How odd that I myself felt like I'm a gin at Ion's...
Addictive, yes so I best be careful with where I take it.
I oh!pen my eyes and the fig meant to show me ReAhhlity had gone...

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Love?  But he always hurt you.  

Can’t leave the punk?  But he is abusive.  

In too deep?  Just leave him! 

Alone?  Isn’t that the best way to be?  

Need someone to lean on?  But the world is crazy.  

Want to share your thoughts?  Just pray to the Lord!  

Joe you wrong.  The color woman was suppressed by the white man for too long.  And now you want to fight.  I dare you to strike me like that.  

Why do I trust?  Any man today is a wrongdoer!

Intimacy?  But you should want to be free.  

Need to be loved? But you just end a relationship with a no good thug.  

Want comfort?  Why not find you a support group!

Depressed?  Isn’t by yourself a way to think.  

Need someone to talk to?  But people are not true.  

Desire a best friend?  I am always here!  

Steven isn’t good for moral support.  He will seek you for sex and enjoyment.  You say you are depressed and stressed from to many bad relationships.  

Why do you want to trust without healing?  

Not yourself?  But that’s because of what you been through.  

Can’t find sense?  But that’s within reason of the pain you feel, Honey Boo.  

Colors?  You have suffered now it is time to heal.  

Want to go out?  That’s it!  Learn to help yourself.  The world can be deep.  In depth you become to the life you live.  No time to hide what you feel.  Maybe a day to cry and then go out and chill!  

Want a drink?  Not so fast.  

Want to drown your sorrows as usual?  No time for addiction or developing bad habits.  Trust your instincts and know things will get better!  It is a sad thing to see a friend become a substance abuser.  You know what is wrong but can’t do nothing at all but tell her to not drink to solve any issue.  If you find that they are strong, you know they have listened.  

Want to scream?  

Why not do that to let out the steam?  This will help you to cope and not make a mistake to trust before you know him.  

Want to smile?  Just smile!  You also seem to desire affection.  You say this would be just a simple friend that cannot go against you.  But you don’t state whether that is me.  I am best kept as it seems.  Let’s sing and sing.  Let’s enjoy the life we live.  

Must you trust your heart with somebody?  You don’t.  Just wait until the time has come.  You can be by yourself for a while.  If you need a smile, humor your mind.  Never letting anyone one in and then before you know it you have met the prefect man. 

Why trust when you can be free?  

Why need anybody?  Love is true to those who define true meaning.  

Why trust when he is misleading?

User Name: Verlena
Psuedonym: Oblivion Dark Sunshine
Motif: Betrayal
Entry Date: February 26, 2014

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Glory Days

He oozed charm, this aging lothario.
Gallantry was his middle name.
Yet, he lived in the past
in the glory days of football wins
and cheerleaders…
denying his saggy abdomen
blind eye, and fungus crusted feet…

Gallantry was his middle name
and he wheedled his way into the affections
of many lost and lonely woman.
When the only women 
of true importance in his life  
were his daughters…

He lived in the past
slept with his dog, and swam in Speedos
bald pate shining in the sun.   
Once, long ago he was married to a cheerleader.
She’s stopped cheering, as his life filled
with their daughter and she was no longer his girl.
Caught between life, death, 
and the deep blue sea, he swam.
Arriving at the home of each new prospective conquest
with the requisite flowers and small talk.

The glory days of football still danced
before his single good eye upon the giant bar screen,
where he served mimosa’s and other drinks with a wink.
He smiled with a well-worn charm, and didn’t touch the stuff.
Still, he tried. But, most times, 
he felt more at home
with his daughters…

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Coming Clean

It's time to come clean, to own up and admit to my mistakes, misbehavior, and machinations. I joked about "plotting" and "ousting" people, and the joke went way too far because it was taken literally and seriously, as if I actually possessed the power to exile someone from the site. You know what? That was wrong, and in the process, I hurt a lot of people and I have been responsible and at the center of much of the drama that has plagued the site for the past week or so. My behavior helped to warp our haven, and I have been wrong on so many levels; I admit it. 

I am taking responsibility for my actions. I've talked smack about people behind their back; a lot of us have; let's just admit it: it DOES go on. I am guilty of it. The feuding must stop for the sake of peace and harmony. We don't have to all hold hands and sing kumbaya, but we can stand united beside one another and put our differences aside. I'm airing out all my dirty laundry here. I am owning my fault and guilt and apologizing to the people I hurt; to make amends is the only thing I know, and one thing that AA has taught me.

It would make me happy if we all come clean, admit our mistakes and make amends. I am just as guilty as some others; I'm curious if they, too, will come clean.

I've been wrong on so many levels it's not funny, literally. I'm not a bad person, but I have made big mistakes and I am here to apologize, sincerely. No more fighting or bad-mouthing. Let's all concentrate on producing great poetry instead of feuding. All I want is peace and serenity.

Again, I take full responsibility for my wrongful actions. I ask for your forgiveness and for your patience. This is a most trying and taxing time in my life. I battle addiction and the symptoms of my mental illnesses, all day, everyday. I have Borderline Disorder; look it up. It's a terrible affliction. I'm not going to blame my errors and poor decisions on my illnesses or my father's kidney cancer. They were just catalysts that brought out the worst emotions in me and I took my fear and anger out on mostly undeserving people (some deserved to be verbally eviscerated, though, and I make no apologies for that). But I do apologize for all my mistakes and bad behavior.

Again, let's all just put our differences aside and focus on our artistry. The Soup is about poetry and fellowship, not feuding and fighting. Let's have peace and harmony, for the sake of all. Thanks for listening. ~ Chan

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Soul Searching

There is the light in your soul
Something deep, deep inside
That you want to hide
Because its your precious guide

People are curious and cruel
They want to reveal 
The treasure they will steal
And you will never heal

The part of you will be gone
You will never be whole
If you let them unroll
The valuable secrets of your soul

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I Will Make Her Proud

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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She knew it wasn’t love
She knew it all along
But what her head told her
Her body did all wrong

And when he strayed with one
And when he strayed again
She vowed that she was through
She’d stay away from men

She went out for a drink
She did have three or four
And when she had another
He steered her through the door

This new guy was a gem
He treated her like gold 
The jerk was in the past
Her story now is told

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Johnathan, Innsley, Marie, and Paul ---
Tom, Trish, Bea, and Jack:  all of them.
Black, white, asian; Jew, gentile, zen...
Sex, art, love, mores revolved,
entering ever-shallower circles of discovery.
Clear ice cubes clanked on glass;
religion, sex, quality imported Scotch
and Cuba made the rounds.
Conversation calmed, each with his own idea:
the ultimate word.
Fake furs, donned, drifted into oblivion.
Feeling alone, J. C. cleaned up.
From the dulled Johnson's Wax luster
on a genuine Duncan Phyfe table,
his distorted rumpled reflection
stared up at itself.
J. C. looked away, noticed four new white rings,
picked up a soiled Canon towel,
and wiped away three beads of water,
a few ashes, and himself.

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He's Back

Richard Nixon is not dead, as we had all been told.
He’s grown a few inches and now has a good tan;
and again resides in his old abode at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
He’s the same old Tricky Dick we all despised with a passion,
he still doesn’t care about anything or anyone but himself.
The whole world is going to hell fast and furious,
and many are those who are searching,
but he is nowhere to be found.
Where is the great one you may ask?
He’s in Washington D. C. trying to accomplish
what he says is his most important task.
What task might that be you may ask?
He’s in the oval office, running around in circles, 
trying to kiss his own damn ass.

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In All the Crummy Little Barrooms of the Soul

I wait in all the crummy
little barrooms of the soul.
I look about and sniff the air,
drink, and wait.
In the demi-world of honky-tonks,
which vie against night's
inner gloom, beneath mantles
of thick smoke, pinches,
slurred speech and propositions,
I leer drunkenly about,
swimming in the haze
of my heebie-jeebies.
I wait.
After the smoke clears away
and the honky-tonk tones die,
when the scraggy light of the
morning after spreads, mustily,
across the floor,
I wait.
After the hangover, 
after the aching head, glazed eyes,
belches, and specks
which move around my head in circles,
I see a different sort of light:
A flatter sort.
In the sordidness,
ergo filthy waxy sawdust on the floor,
I have seen a conjuration
which I sought.
But soon it disappears
and will not come again.
Illusion slips from mind
with lifting drunkenness
and break of sensibility
(five syllables of collective myth) –   
and pain creeps in which
is not merely physical.
Oh well.
I must try again tomorrow night.
There will always be another night.

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"A battle against yourself is the thorns on a rose." 
                       ~Miranda Lambert

I walk
Head held high
Through a low valley
Searching … seeking … fighting…

I am the sand
That buries my feet
With every step I take

I pull myself down
Every step makes me weaker
I deceive my own eyes, and drown
Them in lustrous beauty

Deceit tells no truth~
Greener grass
Bluer seas
Seems preposterous to let pass
My mask is so divine
Nothing’s the same in a looking glass

Inviting myself to stay
Welcome arms wave my way
Deep into my allure
My own hypnosis forbade me to stray

Blinded by my eminent veil
That lured my feeble mind in rapt
Forthwith rooted myself in an underland
With silent moans of the entrapped
Over evil, good shall always stand

True sorrow sets my spirit free
Awake to delicate light
As it glimmers through my window
I hit my knees at the glorious sight

I’ve fought myself down an onyx road
At a time torn myself, borderline
I paid myself a visit
Defeated my inner monster’s shrine 

She refuses to remit~

Asks why do I fight scared
I thought we love the life we lead
Here’s your chance to choose your destiny
Time to emit your final plead

Not guilty~

Inner demon from me part
Clean parchment, brand new quill 
I can now renovate my heart

Miranda Lambert

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Una Visita con Mama -- A Visit With Mama

We walk the rocky shore
and you lean heavily on me,
Mother, bruising my balky arm --
muttering "Ay, Hijo!";
a few steps and, breathless,
we are both exhausted.
Your once-brown eyes, gone gray,
are like concentric rings
rippling from a random stone
thrown into a polluted pond
in winter: eyes as flat
as the latex paint that
coats a cheerless rented room.
Cataracts circle your lenses;
they have a ruptured look --
purple, jellied -- like the eyes
of a dead fish, which I poke,
perversely fascinated.
It is puffed and rotten.
Your eyes are puffed, too, red-rimmed,
moist with tears that brim over
though you try to blink them back.
That you love me and I you,
and that we wish to extend
our time together, is clear --
as clear as the black water
in the pond, as clear as your
cataract-clouded eyes,
as clear as my conscience
when I drop you at the Home,
cleverly inventing an important
meeting, to which I hastily fly.

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Interludes of a Night Rat

Interludes of a Night Rat

You can not plan out the day’s use of words.
You can not predict noon’s thoughts and moods.
You can not lasso in the interludes of reality
And press it here with the carnations
Destined for long life,
Pressed in the good book,
The big black book filled with violence and salvation.
You can not know the answers found in the twilight of now.
Know the reasons why life is a big test.
Know the questions never asked or seen beforehand.
The big test with no answer key.
You can not lasso in the interludes of reality.
You can not take time and sit on it
So it won’t get away.
But it does, my friends.
Like the night rat,
Time sneaks outside the house every night for
The bigger crumbs.
It’s comforting these days to look into the mirror
And see an old man ready for the voyage,
A final voyage beyond the noon’s thoughts and moods.
I sit in the still caressing of death.
I sit in the still cemetery
And I can hear the barn owl eating the night rat.

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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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Drowning in The Sky

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

                        - The Ripples Take Him From The Shore -

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

                         - Voyage to the Dark -

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

                         - Weight of Life -

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

                         - Camels Spine Snaps -

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

                         - Influx of Grief -

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

                         - Drinking Salt -

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

                         - Ceaseless Struggle -

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

                         - Radiating The Sink Holes -

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

                         - Replicating Them Perfectly -

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

                         - ...Sailing Between Two Skies -

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They Had the Wright Idea

Look how far we've come! What would have taken months of perilous voyage now just takes hours of mundane leisure. At your fingertips lies countless options of entertainment: music, movies, games.

But looking out the window I can't help but bob my head to ELO's Mr. Blue Sky (why indeed did you hide away so long, Mr. Blue?). Wouldn't it be hilarious if my flight neighbor woke up and saw my Jay-Leno-esque head and NO ear buds? Each time I notice her stretching out her arms I wonder; is she yawning or reaching for the call button? "Yes, ma'am, there's a horribly spastic man sitting next to me. Could you kindly ask him to stop or at least transfer him to another seat?". Wouldn't that be something? It's not all that unlikely though. I'm surprised they don't boot me off right now. "And we at Delta would like to wish you a very safe and pleasant swim! Coffee or tea?".

Sure would save time just wearing a giant button that said that. It'd also give those poor girl's facial muscles a break. Just HOW many hours are spent wearing that plastered on smile?

Originally the Wright Brothers experimented with the idea of flying, simply for convenient's sake, and relentless human curiosity. Imagine if I were to trade places with one of them right now. I wonder what he'd think of the lady, near the front, indulging in a ginger ale. "Well at least they have good drinks on this flight!". It's hard to fathom what Mr. Wright might say...

NOTE: This came to me while on my flight back to the states...

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Oh Happy Day

Oh Happy Day, when you were born.
For many years, my heart did mourn.
Childless I lived amid the throng.
Watching mothers rush children along.
Alone in a restaurant, twirling the ice –
Little girls with bows looking so nice
Brothers and sisters laughing out loud
While childless I sat amid the crowd.
Primary children would sing sweet songs.
Mothers would lovingly hum along.
Boys on the playground would tackle their dog.
I, like the old cliché, a bump on a log.
Watching, with my heart breaking.
Dreaming with memories aching.
I lost my first child before he was born.
Year after year, my mind was forlorn.
But then, it happened; you were on your way.
I prayerfully waited day by day.
Five and a half months within me growing.
Proudly knowing, greatly showing.
Then came six and I felt some relief.
Then, when you were born, you erased my grief.
I became a mother and not just a wife.
Your live birth, my child, 
Became the happiest day of my life.

© December 23, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen

Form: Narrative with rhyme

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Lest Ye Be Judged

Two men were standing in a public park hugging each other, with their heads lying on each other’s shoulder.

A man and his wife passed nearby saying:  “You guys make me sick.  Just because you won the right to get married doesn’t mean you have to flaunt your abhorrent behavior in front of everybody else.  Take it to a room and get your disgusting sin out of my face.”

The two men broke apart, said something to each other and then walked in different directions; one slowly away from the couple who had spoken and the other towards the couple.

As the man approached the sneering couple with contempt in their eyes and hatred in their hearts, he gently said: “That man just received word that he has terminal cancer and has less than one year to live.  He is not sure if he has the strength to tell his wife and children his sorrowful news.  I am his priest and was merely trying to comfort him.  You two need to re-evaluate your feelings toward your fellow man”. 

He walked away with a tear in his eyes, for several reasons.

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The Ferris Wheel and Being Bipolar

Riding so long, I feel nauseous
They won’t stop the Ferris wheel
My throat is dry and cracked from screaming
Stop!, Please Stop!
Up, up - ground shifting at dizzying heights
Down, down - crashing, stomach flopping
White knuckles from holding the grimy bar
Smell of metal and cooking meat all around
Creaking and moaning of hot gears and
Weight under tension
Unnerving canting and swaying of
A rickety car with black grease oozing from
Over-worked pivot points and hinges
Just another day at the carnival….
And being Bipolar.

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Treatments of Silence

So burdened by a crushing silence more weightier than words 
born from likened mirrored thoughts 
These reflections shown in slackened hunches 
They come to bear such cruelty 
Carried with this certainty , seen darkly down and dragging 
in the fell of fallen shoulders 
Which question in their ways of inner fearing fractured feelings 
Things best left or right unspoken
For answers to them may they be or not a gambles die 
cast in chance of truths best left unseen 
Toys for such capricious ways of wanting at a leisure 
that seems torturing to say the least 
When words of praise and tribute laid down thoughtfully
so willingly 
Yet none return to me

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Wackadoodles Versus Wackjobs

Wackadoodles are crazy silly.
Wackjobs are crazy serious.
Comedians are Wackadoodles.
Actors are Wackjobs.
Comedians know they are clowns.
Actors think they are doing something
for a living so very important that people
need to hear their thoughts and opinions
on politics, poverty, war and peace.
Note to the Hollywood crowd,
you are play actors, emphasis on play.
No one with even a half of a brain
takes anything you say seriously.
The dogs Rin Tin Tin and Lassie were actors.
Monkeys, chimpanzees and gorillas over the years
have been actors in the movies and on television.
So shut the heck up and play your little characters.
If anyone really wants to know what is on your minds,
they can go to a zoo and ask a hairy ape or funky monkey.

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SOLDIERS NIGHTMARE contest waking up from a nightmare

                         VIETNAM VET SOLDIER'S NIGHTMARE

Another dream –
I could not wake –
Escape from what would follow--
Grasping for a secret word, the letters stark and hollow--
I was trapped entangled there,
Just beyond the reach
Of men that could release me
Or a hill that could be breached

Gunfire was a backdrop 
Soft and pungent was its sound
Fell on me like raindrops--strangely harmless on the ground

Smoky gray encased me like a piece of sleeping net
Tunnel faces hidden —easy killing, no regret-- 
Felt terror and the aching for the friends around me cold
Standup guys with stalwart hearts--just did what they were told

Then my cell phone beeped a beep---
A message had come in ....
Now awake I saw your name---
My new day would begin.

Victoria Anderson-Throop
November 25, 2012
waking from a nightmare contest

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life choices

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

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

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

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

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

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

© Goode Guy 2013-12-26

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I Am Not a Victim

I had a dream the other night
Of  walking in a field of cornbread
Golden brown
Baked just right
One solid
Unbroken field

As I softly crunched my way
I looked up
Coming toward me
Was a line of tigers
With a man in the middle
No one was tethered
Just walking together
Enjoying the day

There was no fear
No predator
No prey

I woke up laughing
This was so silly!

I went to the Fair today
And during a break
I asked if anyone
Could interpret my dream

They came up with 
Corn bread = The South
And perfectly baked gold = Coming into riches;
Or at least, no money worries

The tigers = Strength; overcoming fears


As I thought about it,
I remembered a childhood dream/nightmare
When I went to bed angry
A big tiger showed up
I would point to everyone who had angered me
He looked at them and proceeded to eat them up
At the end,
With everyone dead,
He turned and looked at me
That’s when I woke up

And a true story (or from this side of dreaming):
A friend and I went to an outdoor zoo
Somewhere south of Kalamazoo
We stood on a wooden walkway
Looking at an open field through a thick glass window
In the stone wall
We spotted several tigers

Later, as I walked a trail to the next exhibit
I looked up to see a tiger
Strolling through the tall grasses toward me
A mere thin wire fence
Separated us

I gulped and walked steadily onward
As I left the area
I could feel his thoughts:
“Ha!  I freaked out another one!”
Tiger humor

As one grows and hopefully gains wisdom
One learns to handle fear
FDR stated during the Great Depression,
“The only thing we have to fear, is Fear itself”

Recently I’ve been angry
About my ex-husband’s condition
He is slowly and bumpily improving from a near fatal stroke
My/our son flew to help

And I’ve been without him since Spring

They are in the South
Corn bread was a staple in our family

Many things around the house have broken
And wait to be repaired by said son

He says that every time he thinks about returning home
His dad suffers a setback
After months of “I’ll be home in two weeks…”
I gave up
Got the garage door repaired
And am making do with things I cannot fix

The working garage door makes all the difference
I finally have access to rakes, the lawn mower
And snow shovels
The car has a safe haven from the weather
And I feel calm

Turns out I could afford the door
-  With only one person’s groceries
Money lasts longer than it did

God keeps telling  me that I will be OK
Financially and otherwise;
It’s up to me to lighten up
To let Fear walk away
Without licking another notch in his paw

I am not a victim

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Trapped in the Night

I am walking along this narrow road,
Looking for somewhere ghosts won’t go.
Soon blessings shall be wrapped in light,
For now I seem trapped in the night.

When I fall shall I hit the ground?
Will it matter if anyone’s around?
I see something within my sight,
Still I remain, trapped in the night.

While demons dance around the fire,
I’m really not sure what I desire.
Grab some wings and just take flight,
I do not belong trapped in the night.

The sun arises to bring forth the day.
Perhaps it will be different today.
When nothing can grow much like blight,
I need to escape being trapped in the night.

The stars and moon return once more,
What I feared, I no longer am sure.
I find I must fight with all my might,
I don’t have to stay trapped in the night.

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A trip to New York City

I drove this morning to New York City.
The scenery flies by the sky is so pretty.
As the sun comes up it shines in my eyes.
Painting different colors across the skies.

I went to a skyscraper it rose up so high.
I felt I could reach out and touch the sky.
I look down below to a world that’s so small.
From the top of this building I can view it all.

I notice the bridges connecting the parts.
They look like arteries connecting the heart.
I watch the traffic like blood it does flow.
Some cars are coming while others do go.

I look to the right and I view the sea.
It reaches for the horizon as far as I see.
They seem to blend and melt together,
Clouds remind me of impending weather.

On the left I can see Central Park.
The jungle within the center of the heart.
Surrounded by concrete still it grows.
The function of nature it does show.

I would like to stay up here forever.
As I see all of these pieces join together.
But I need to go and descend down.
The view is so different on the ground.

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A Word From Gonzo

Atlantic city had been a haze of slot machines and watred down drinks and loud nightclubs
that often  remendedme what disney land  could have been ifthatdam mouse wasntallowed 
to take over.

Never trust a talking rat.
 I had to go through a hellof a divorce because of it.
Good thing her brother was a lawyer cause  I might have
actully had something left oh well things are overrated like indoor living.
it's hell gettinga good internet connection in a tent.

But enough  time traveling  i had more important issues at hand
like my return and some unpaid parking tickets and that whole 
court case nonsense your place of business  burns down for the fifth time
and people all wanna  get uptight  hey i preffer to moron my lose 
in a casino they said i shoudnt be alone so  im just taking doctors orders.

But i had a deadline and it was almost happy hour the library was gonna be packed.
The subject   true art and  cenorship.
The world around us is totatl chaos so how could you restrict how people expressed 

Heaven forbid little tommy reads a bad word 
while him and and his best friend huff paint  
dear jesus man and i hope they dont play a violent video game.
Sure susan  go  have random sex with guys of fthe internet 
but dont read no cuss word on a poetry wed site 
you just might drop dead where you stand.

Its kinda like running a asylum and pretending that everyone there
isnt totally nuts.
No sir lets ignore the real world cause lord knows people 
cant filp on the tv   and see murder rape fires and war ya gotta 
love kids programing.

You cant restrict art for if it"s all the same cookie cutter stuff.
Then is it truley art or just a pretty dellusion.
Ignore the world and it'll run you over.

Life good bad  traggic is ment to be shared 
the secrets of the soul can rattle in that closet till 
madness breaks that perfect image we put.
but what I know.

Never restrict your mind for you will sufficate the soul.
stay proud and crazy forever 
Dr Gonzo

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A New Year Reflection

Partys for couples new lovers and just friends.
Music to fill the night the streets of New york 
breath life to old flames keeping even jaded souls warm.

The lonley gather round the TV.
sharing a glimpse at something we all yern to have.
And from the up high the streets seem magic tonight.

the soudtrack of the night will echo
into are hungover minds with a painful yet happy reminder 
of last nights celebration.

Late night lovers will smile and go there awkward ways.
So many acts in so many different plays.
creeping back to are corners in lastnights suit and tie.
Tight little black dress kiss worn lips 
acting happier than two kids ragged in need of a shave
you with hair in a mess.

And for friends that gather to relive not so real 
past glory.
The pages are left to the writter.
To add to lastnights not so original story.

As the barflys gather to battle another unsober day.
I watch this first new day anew.
Take a sip from my flask and thank the lord 
for one more year with you.

And tonight I say to you all raise that glass.
kiss that stranger you know so well.
Laugh love and live.
And thank whomever ya choose weve made it through another
year to tell.

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The clock is ticking

Ticks, tick I listen to the time go
An hourglass I watch the sand flow
Tick, tock I see the time upon the clock
I feel lost, wandered out from the flock.

My eyes view all that I’ve been through
The journey always brings me back to you
I can’t seem to focus and the time just flies
Another day passes and something just dies.

My heart feels passion, the clock keeps on spinning
I cannot see if I am losing or winning
I try to stand but can’t find my feet
I see pieces of myself in the people I meet.

My mind is racing to keep pace with time
I try to gather all the pieces that are mine
My life seems scattered across the floor
I need to escape so I head out the door.

The sun has returned and shines down on me
Its’ rays warm my soul, its’ light I can see
The world I once knew has all but disappeared
When I closed my eyes this is what I feared.

I walk down the street but it’s like I’m not there
I feel like a ghost on a journey to nowhere
I just wander around and the time still goes
My heart feels confused but my mind knows.

I try to find something to make some sense of it all
But sometimes the descent is worse than the fall
A cool breeze blows it seems summer is gone
The leaves will be changing before too long.

The time just keeps ticking another day ends
The hands on the clock it is time they defend
When I thought I had time it slipped away
Time did not have time for me today…

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Numbers make the world, 
no smiles or batted eyes here
numbers make the world, 
no sticky-sweet fingers or waving palms
numbers rule without qualms

Gross domestic products and 
tonnage of staples on actuarial tables
PSI and APY ratioed percentages
leveraged capitals 
daily numbers of sales calls - 
numbers are to do 'n' all

Numbers make the world, 
no full moon in lapis sky
no fresh-picked basil on peckish plate
no dreaming lovers to salivate
only numbers of bushels per acre
no smokey-sweet of roasted ears

It's numbers that count
no blessings of sermon on the mount
for the numbers shall inherit
by long or short division,
able to sway, today's decision

about what's important, what life is for 
it's all about a number, nothing more,
so don't worry 'bout what's next in store
'cause you can't count on it anymore
- it's days are numbered 

like counting sheep, now close your
eyes, 'n' get some REM sleep
dreaming now of days, away ago,
when it wasn't so - 
that numbers made the world

© Goode Guy 2013-04-01

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Final Plea

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

In a dream, tonight would be my last

and I demanded to talk to God.

Of all the things I've gotten past,

to go now seemed so odd.

"You've taken all my friends you see

and now you want me, too?

Unlike one who pretends to be

I've always honored you."

Those sinners who outlive me still,

all I have to ask is how?

It mad me question His very will.

Why take a good man now?

But God just sat and let me rave

on and on about my worth

and why I didn't need a grave,

but rather eternity here on earth.

Pride let my voice be rather loud.

He never said a word.

I told of deeds that made me proud

and good things that I'd heard.

And when I tired He simply said,

"No doubt your life's been good.

But many younger are now dead

and their legacy simply would

be the song that is never sung,

no children call them dad.

for they came to me so very young

and left the world confused and sad.

Yet now your time has come as well

and selfish thoughts are all I hear?

Your life was full and I can tell

it's really death you fear.

Just remember that you have no choice,

for you all will one day die.

Be strong and with a humble voice

tell loved ones they can cry."

And in that moment I knew a peace,

and I felt a tear well up inside.

That most feared was now the least

as my selfish motives died.

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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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My Shortcomings

Being made of fragile sensibility 
I relish being lost in my own creativity
Why, I even relish sharing it with the world
Such does make me feel like I am a special girl

But I am in all also made of shortcomings
They do take me to more than causing some disturbing
I do interact with difficulty
With those who do make up the walls of my city

I prefer to be alone
To my own demons I do become prone
I do keep my judgments to myself
And do pretend to be a solo queen, seated on the highest shelf

But hey, I do have a conscience
Many a times, it does show its magnificence
I do feel guilty, if I have been too cruel
I do show humanity, to those caught in my spell

I do have a sense of duty as well
Even if all I do wish is to be a rebel
A rebellious dreamer
Safe under her own cover

I do care to do my duty
With all sense of civility
So in the end I guess it all makes me a good person
One who can be trusted, for whatever reason!

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A Very Fine Line - The Restaurant

I just walked past the restaurant
A terrific place I used to go
Early in the evening hours
Of a chilly and recent past night
The fullness of the moon cast a memory
Reminders of my having traveled to these places so often
beneath its comfortable glow.

Places like this I used to dine
In what seems like so many moons ago
Could it have really just have been
Only seemingly late last year?
And then I realized I was outside a window

On the outside looking in
I am on the outside looking in
Of a place where I might or could have been
Tonight or any other evening
And I had been here oh so recently
Only a very short year ago.

Today the price of entry to this place
Is way beyond my meager means.
I recollected that being seen here
Had been so important to me
Now it is the last thought I hold dear.

I saw the fancy tables
of where I used to dine
With only the finest crystal
That held the finest wines.

I saw romantic candles
Flickering and burning bright
I saw tables surrounded with beaming faces
Flushed and filled with anticipatory delight
Anticipation of the wondrous delicacies
They would all soon have and behold.

I saw the sommelier pouring wine
Bottles and endless bottles
Of all the nectars considered to be in vogue
Every one of their prices
Deemed them to taste like liquid gold.

All drinks designed to compliment
The amazing and stylish cuisines
Posh dinners were arriving quickly
Looking as though from magazines
Arranged and prepared with minute details
Nothing ever missing, nothing out of place
Happiness was everywhere.
Joy radiated from every face.

And as the November wind
Begins to blow
I turned my head to go
To walk toward my empty street
My scarf wrapped tightly against the night.
Striding ever more quickly
Trying to beat the wind and cold
I had some thoughts and revelations
About that what I had just seen.

About those who have never been waited upon
Never in their whole lives
And about those who dine within those walls
Whose thoughts have never even considered
That they could end up on the outside looking in.

I who now know for certain
That it is such a very thin line
Between being poor and living fine.

And now I have to wonder
If being there had been some sort of sin
And now that is now the reason
I am on the outside
On the outside looking in
To The Restaurant.

(November 15, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)

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

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Untitled #351 / Sagittarius A

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

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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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I awoke an hour past mid-nite
oh what peace everyone is dreaming
made some warm milk cocoa
turned radio on.. tv on
am now multi-taskin..

stolen away by sweet sleep
right there on the couch...
couch potato now dreaming..
dreaming of strange lands
dream tourism is in vogue...

woken my house help preparing tea
she gives me a puzzled stare..
may be the boxer shorts am wearing..
have her vexed.. cud be.shes just sleepy
its already daylight.... already...

partake a luke-warm shower.
no time to get the water properly heated
rushing to the shuttle stage..
boarding a shuttle..engaging the driver.
alighting.... usual stage guru nanak hospital..

the guru ramgaria looks at me... or..
looks at the sky..we call him kalasinga
i ponder what the good guru was thinking..
staring to the sky..
idle thought.. short walk i arrive...

gad gados headquaters....
every one today is late..but...
but the hr ...shes already in..
i say hello she appears not to hear..
i sleek slowly toward my work station

TD B our receptionist arrives late..
we ponder over the why.. everyone's late
come up with the time thief theory
according to RU and TE..
May be the good guru knows...

the guru on the poster
daily trains... trains his creamy red eyes 
to the heaven in artistic communion....
the believers in him.. call him-enlightened one
us.... we find all of them weird.. intolerance?..

the artistic guru was there when
the superhighway was built...
when the terrorist bombed a shuttle
when our countries CEO was acquitted
by the imperialist court..

the artistic guru must know
must know.. who stole our time
he keeps looking to the sky
they say hes enlightened..
i say ted.. the guru knows.knows time.

of time thief's and time snatchers
here at gadgados we watch-out
watch out against.. or for
a different kind of thief
who has a very long hand...

Lewis k Nyaga
eastern african maritime.. 0915hrs

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Drunken Pen --- Pete's place could they notice, with so many half opened bottles laying around, so who the heck cares or gives a rip?, b'sides who would remember which ones were almost full?..ahh.., jus a little left in this over there look at Jack Daniel sittin' there smug, like it's somethun alive,  taunting me, leaving a big wet stain on these beat-up ol' steps, how long have I been sittin' here, I wonder... ah well, was going to paint this old tired porch one of these days, look here, if I pick at the paint, it peels off in a big long strip..and  look at the old swing danglin from its rusty chain, sitting empty, all these years, googlin' it's freakin eyes at me,...squeeking like that parrot that I owned when I was a kid, what was his name, oh yeah.. Mr. Jiggs,.. same name as the guy that told me so long ago, that I should check my engine more often, I hadn't been good about changing the oil in the old Chevy that Pete fixed up and painted two tone yellow and, haven't thought about that Chevy in a long time, lookin' like a taxi, what was Pete thinkin with that bright yellow lower half and white top, almost looked like a peeled banana, but I loved that ride!  remember how all the girls would cram in the banana, during lunch, we'd head down to Ricky's drive-in for a lime freeze, then be back to school too late for chemistry, and poor old Mr. Simon would shug his shoulders and not even give us a bad time, I think he kind of liked the girls better so made allowances, but the boys hated his guts, but maybe not as bad as...what was his name? oh yeah, Old Man Keller, with the dandruff....only we called him Mr. Killjoy...gosh, that reminds me of that Killroy was here, that stupid cartooooon dude that kind of looked like Howdy Doody peeking over a fence or somethun...what was that all about? I never exactly knew how that started, except that my brother had those lame comic books or something called "Mad magazine"..with that freckled face always looking over a fence at you, like some peeping Tom or pervert. 
Hey!! quit lookin at me, you old antiquated piece of rubbish, swinging there back and forth like you still mean something to somebody, you got a ghost sittin in there or somethun? heck, wouldn't surprise me if ol' Pete, came back to haunt the place....and noticed me sittin here drinking his rum...okay, where was I? oh yeah, was going to write about old Pete...about that first time, we met, ..who would've dreamed he'd leave the old place to me?  

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Before The Light

There are too many times when my eyes open and it’s still dark.

It’s useless to think that I’ll go back to sleep, and it’s no good at all to lay in bed and watch the passing parade of worries that comes marching down the Main Street of my mind. When I do that, the entertainment seems to take on its own life. The parade grows longer, more spectacular, with the noise of marching bands, my thoughts, growing louder. Clowns scurry ahead of the band leader, throwing red balls in the air. There are too many balls to count.

The best thing I can do for myself is to rise from my bed. But there are days when it seems too much to bear being home before the rest of the world rises. There’s just too much emptiness in my small house. 

I leave, escaping to DD's, where I sit and sip my coffee over a newspaper. Sometimes there are others sitting waiting for the light to come, too–like the woman who gives an animated “Hello” to everyone she meets, staring too long into our eyes. She takes out her cell phone to call a friend about the rashes on her legs. Something is biting her during the night. Raj and the other DD workers snicker, and I am drawn to–but at the same time repelled by–her morbid troubles.

Sometimes, in the winter, it seems as if the time I spend in the dark before the light comes is endless. I don’t think it’s normal for darkness to last so long; it’s probably one of the punishments for eating the apple in Eden.

I much prefer the early light of June and July, when the morning allows the gentle unfolding of life around me. Somehow, when the sun is in the sky at 6:30 a.m., a passing gasoline truck rattling my windows does not sound so lonely. Nor do I mind the sun revealing the stains from spring rains on my windows … or the birds loudly announcing their presence in the trees. Their manic chirping awakens schoolchildren eagerly counting down the days til summer.

When the darkness is especially long, and I have already sought out the comfort of others who cannot sleep, I will sometimes return home and do what I am so reluctant to do — sit still. I take up my position in a special chair near a window that looks out onto the street. I close my eyes and listen to the heated rhythms that only my body can make. My breath … my ins and outs.

But I wonder; why is it so hard to be still? Especially in the dark before the light.

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BIG data

So, I'm told I have 100 billion neurons
(by someone ignorant of youth's indiscretions)
each with about a thousand synapses,
to connect its own specific grandeur or fear
to a grand of other neurons and their neuroses

and all of these cadre's and feeling tentacles
are always moving - reaching - searching,
for input and an interested listener
for minute sparks of insights they may have,
maybe a few a second, and over the course of time
they begin to add up - these datum of days

Significant amounts of minutia and marvels 
in my minute-to-day-to-decade-to-lifetime
collection of me, in my own Icloud of inputs
what more could a sentient mind want but
a spoonful of sugar, and some free radicals
to really open up the ol' data pipes

BIG data, is what life's all about 
these days, of statistical medians and means, 
trying always to crunch our cramponed boots
to the top of the standard deviation curve
and look out at all the rest of 
experience below us, our own vista of life

Racks of digitals softly hum to us in our society
and like us, this evolution (perhaps) of life
abhors to throw anything back to the world
without gleaning profit or meaning from it,
no digital potato peels or binary bones tossed
without a specific mission statement satisfied

So, it's not so different today, in "modern" times
as it was back then, when chain-mailed or toga'd 
or animal skinned, or just buck-naked, we took 
in everything that we could as individuals, 
and stored its meaning, its grief, its joy,
part of our memories stock-in-trade for 
the core analytical questions of "what?" and "why?"

© Goode Guy 2012-11-16

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Scotch And Soda

From behind the bar I recall what led me here.
Not to see people fight over spots on a board.
But to bring them togather as friends.
Not drive them apart as enimies.

To see the glass stay full.
And the spirts to bring cheer.
Jokes hold truth.
As the jester I know pain.

Smells of perfume and smoke beautiful eye's
and that invisable desire.
We dance in hope of capturing life.

To embrace in darkness.
The page can never capture the passion
of two lovers spark.

From behind the bar I see life 
for more than what others belive it is.
Jokes comfort as the flirt kisses the ego.

Napkins written with numbers passed encounters
Some never to know the light of day.

Hungover friends gather whiskey laced 
plessures with a tinge of regret.
But life is one play my friends that no
single act shall we froget.

The drink sit's neat apon the bar.
You can see blindley for years.
And never know who people truley are.

Drinks as people dont last long.
They gleam the same under neon light.
So friends always mix them strong.

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A Thin Ice Life

Is what I've skated on.
Gliding on wishes at first try;
Then slipping and landing on my reality,
Again, again and again.

Early days showed me my bottom line.
Hoped for breakthroughs chilling my bones;
Then I realized I had been blind,
Looking with my eyes instead of my mind.

What you see isn't always what you thought.
Visions can lie when view ends just beyond nose;
This brain has let me take elevator trips to everywhere.
My imagination has carried me to places no one had been.

I used to worry about this throw away body,
Knowing now it's just a car for my spirit.
The mileage is climbing and the motor's going to die;
Yet my dreams will fly on until the end of forever.

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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She calls me stranger

She calls me stranger       By: Steven Hudson

I’ve watched you grow from a distance,
But only through second hand pictures and story lines,
Watched you grow from a baby girl, to little girl, and promising young lady
Silently, keeping quiet because that’s the promise I made
I know you, but you don’t know me, precious one,
For my life was a whirlwind of trouble then,
And I wished to spare you from the same,
If I passed you by, you wouldn’t even know my name
To you I’m just a stranger, a passerby, a no one,
But for me you are my little girl.
My blood courses through your veins,
And now I must confess, I do it now sadly,
That you have had to call another not me, your daddy.

I’ve often wondered if there would be a connection if you saw me today,
Even though you don’t know who I am,
Would I give it away, the way I gave you away, would my eyes betray the truth?
I really don’t know.
It has been heartbreaking at times my dear,
And I would spare you from the same,
So it was I who would forgo the introduction, and allow you to take another man’s name
And a stranger I must remain
Was it right? Was it wrong?
In my mind it has been so long now
But still I wonder sometimes,
If you were scared, did you have a hand to hold?
If you were uncertain, did you have someone to reassure you?
If you’re hurt, who was there to comfort you?
Questions heaped upon mountains of regret.

But find you, find you someday I will, my dear
And begin to build a foundation that will last,
In hopes of, She calls me stranger, a thing of the past

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A Moments Reflection

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

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

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

The clock of my life grows closer 
to closing time.

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

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

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The Buck

The light is fading, evening breaks
Between the oaken woods and lake,
It's time to finish with the row
And homeward bound, the trail to take.

With rake in hand I turn to go
To find my pick axe and the hoe,
When from the trail there ran a buck
And right behind him came two doe.

At first I thought, what rotten luck!
I'm here, my rifle's in the truck,
Then, as he stopped to look my way
He gave his tail a flip and tuck.

And then he spun and bounced away
The doe behind him sleek and grey,
Crashing through the brush and vine
Into the woods and welcomed shade.

He must have sported twenty tine
I thought as Shadow starts to whine,
Asking, should he give him chase?
I pat his head in soft decline.

The sun is gone upon my face
To lose the buck is no disgrace,
Although today I've been undone
There'll be another time and place.

Today the buck has rightly won
The hunters gone, the season done,
Perhaps we'll meet again next year
Before the season's had it's run.

The buck was ancient, and I fear
He may not see another year,
But then, another year is seldom clear
For man, or dog, or antlered deer.

                     Timothy I. Brumley

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the joy vampire

empty hearted herself
she cozied up to me
offering the magic
of imagination
of  stories in the moonlight
of dancing early in the morning
around the misty lake

it didn’t pay to argue
for logic was always on her side
she was always right
i was always wrong

except sometimes
she would shock me

when the worm threatened to turn-
she would acquiesce
gifting me with a rare compliment
i did know what i was talking about
i could sew a straight seam
i could create

until i expected it
then she would turn, herself
and accuse me of perversion
in my imagination
in my poems and stories

when i wrote about the simple beauty of a young girl
and a small boy talking to a magic tree

-  i must be a ‘closet something’
 and why did i write about child molesters? 
i had to stop sending her my thoughts
my dreams
my wishes

she was talented at opening me up
making me ripe for the killer sting
which i prayed would not come
this time

in that, she was always right
and i was always wrong
to hope she would ever change

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The Death Of A Friend

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Read more:

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It takes a word,
a jab,
to poke fun at,
regardless of the meaning.

From a inconsequential moment,
to a serious talk.

From being critiqued,
to a mean spirited attack.

It takes time to see
what the author is trying 
to say.

What was the motive?
What was the thought behind it?
Was the author doing it for their benefit
or the one they spoke about?

Why do we become so quick to 
react to a word,
that may or may not be aimed
at someone?

Why should a light hearted topic
become an out of control debate?

Yet at the end of the day,
the author must choose the words
not for his or her sake, 
but for the one they are speaking to.

May the words not become knives.

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''from birth to death''


I was born innocent and my consciousness began,
     And from the beginning like everyone I have struggled;
Those baby cries were my first protests about my life,
             And as a child I thought I was eternal.

So many times during my journey I have risked life,
     I have taken it for granted without any respect;
From the my first awaking into this world I have searched,
             And searched for the meaning of my existence.

Now, I stand back an observer and analyze my choices,
    All the paths taken, the twists and turns, the huge hills;
The people who filled me with love and even those now gone,
             And I realize that life is the opposite of death.

So my life needs to have meaning, a function, a reason,
     I want a journey with soul and depth and spiritual hues;
I will never have all the answers to the whys but that is fine,
             This life is a gift to be used well and to not be wasted.

            "so I take my life into my own hands"

February 11, 2015

For the contest, What Life Means To You, sponsor Jerry T. Curtis

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Cook Out

Shopping day today and my supplies are low.
I plan on inviting everyone to a cook out
so I better make a list of what I will need.
I will need tolerance – sure I have some, but
there will be many showing up and I doubt
they will bring their own – for my crowd
will be many and varied.
Humor, humor, humor. I had better stock
up on that. If these people don’t
just get over themselves
and learn to take a joke, then I’m afraid
they are in for lots of very preventable aggravation.
Common sense. Now, I know it’s not
the most sought out hors d oeuvre , but
it is the most important. If more people would
help themselves to generous helpings of
common sense,
I do believe things would be much easier.
Some charm, civility, manners – good God, yes –
intelligence wouldn’t hurt, and we could
have us a real good time.
most people like to pig out on the
jealousy, envy, pride, prejudice on the 
other tables. Scoop me some helpings of 
rudeness, guile, back stabbing and pity while
you’re at it. 
But, not at my cook out. 
You only get served tolerance, humor, common sense,
charm, civility, manners, intelligence …
Come join me, but be prepared to join in. 

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I had a dream where nothing 
was what it seemed.
It was dark and then too bright 
and all my words left my mind.
I saw a bright beam where 
everything was what I’d 
The darkness fell over the 
shadows and swallowed 
everything that was kind.
The light fled and tomorrow 
was a treasure I just knew I 
had to find.

Yesterday was lost and 
everyone stood with a great 
amount in cost.
It was sad and it was glad, but 
everyone threw it up for a toss.
Passing through time with 
glimmering bright lights,
Where were the dark lonely 

Flash-backs timing the tracks 
as most folks fell through tiny 
little cracks,
Each one flashed back on top 
of crumpling down broken old 
Then it was cold and then it got 
Today was here and being 
blotted out like a tiny black 
Flash-backs and flash-backs 
sending millions tracks of light 
to never forget me not.

®Registered: 2003 Ann Rich

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The Human Being : Object of lust

Tear away her skin, her bones,
Watch her curves move through...her tones
explore her body curiouser... and curiouser....
Sandwich her, squeeze her till her blood flows...
Let your sperms kill her, drown her in her woes.

Afterwards tell her how unattractive she is, how you hate her, loathe her, the mother of
your kids.
challenge her, walk away, leave her to lick her wounds.
Tell yourself its okay, this is what she chose!

Lie to her, abandon her and consume her soul,
Tell yourself its okay one day she will feel whole!

Trample her crush her... tell her how she is all wrong.
Tell yourself its okay she wont last for long.

Push her away till she falls over the edge...
But she will always come back.... for its your daughter she bred!

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another day

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

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

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

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

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

© Goode Guy 2012-12-17

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Sometimes you gotta get lost to find the emptyness of the true soul.
Bury thoose memories  to unearth old truths.
Cut the ties only to return to thoose past relations.

Ive seen the streets erase the picture only to relive the past.
Living ghosts a backdrop eternal.
I cant question thoose night's regrets like a blanket keep me warm 
on a  humid night.
When all is wrong why cant anything be right.

I'd never  curse you utter truths into your lies.
Tainted encounters in many ever changing rooms.
Neon lit dream's  sunset of my mind salt water taste the 
bitterness we love.

The mountain's veiw is empty and cold.
Have we lost the the spark.
Iced over thoughts leave only shallow promises 
to hold.

So I'll push you away only to hold the memory dear.
A coward  to live in the pressent.
A living ghost of the man  who once stood here.

I've lost track gone so far from all that ive known.
Sparks in the darkness.
Only illusion  paint's the reallity sanity grace me life 
once more.
I question has it vanished with my time?

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shhh bang

it starts underneath a small table
near the entrance to a motel lobby
and grows with great speed and sprite
quieting the house-guest at the counter
as it flows - muted down the hallway

glass doors opened with dampened yawn
and it streams across the parking lot
as sedans and pickups suppress 
carbon-laden coughs to sit sedately as

breezily it blows stilly past the 
man mowing his lawn, now silent
to a Parish church down a block
with its burked* spire bells

silently it presses over covered acres
of rural pasture and time-laden wood
a great enlargement of un-din
no bovine low, or snap of twig
creeking waters without gurgle

flowing past, and around, and over
people, individually and whole crowds
without even a whisper of apprisal
covering vast space at un-supersonic speed
oceans without roll or roil of waves

still, it moves on over island and isthmus
continents languishing on quiet molten
their ridges and troughs without groan
as the entirety of sphere becomes hush

no noise, no sound around, surrounded
without the slightest sound instilled
in ear, in mind, in thought - in me
in my own near-deafness, I wonder
is it to be peaceful, tranquil, or 
silence too vast without coo or cry?

© Goode Guy 2013-03-17

* #2

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So, Now What


Hello, God.


Yeah, I didn’t see that coming.


Apparently.  I just wish I had time to tell the people that I love, that I love them.


I guess they’re just stupid, like me.




About what?


Nervous.  I guess you know that I really didn’t believe in you.


Not, for everyone.


But, there are plenty of people who know you.


You mean none of the religions are targeting the right God?


What about the Old Testament?  New Testament?  The Koran?  The Book of Mormon?  And, others I don’t even know about?


Huh.  I guess it wasn’t so much the concept of you that I didn’t believe in; it was just the religious portrayal of you that I had a problem with.


Yeah, I guess you would.


I guess it helped lead a lot of people down the right path.




Well, even though I didn’t believe, I still tried to do the right thing more times than not.


Good.  So, now what?


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The world Outside

The world outside seems quite a mess,
What happens next is anyone’s guess.
So much senseless violence innocent die,
Raindrops fall from heaven as angels cry.

I tell myself I can make it better,
Yet it’s pouring outside, I get wetter.
The clouds pass over as the sun returns,
The fire glows as the bridge still burns.

I wonder can I make it to the other side,
The way around is a pretty long ride.
I opt to give it just one more chance,
It doesn’t appear bad upon second glance.

I convince myself the grass is greener there,
But when I arrive it is like a nightmare.
I need to learn to trust what I see,
As I search for a place I can feel free.

Maybe it’s not bad where I now stand,
I have to decide the time is at hand.
Seconds tick away and turn into hours,
I need to stop and smell the flowers.

I stand on a hill, view the valley below,
I wanted to climb but down I do go.
All of a sudden a breeze starts to blow,
I seem to recall all I used to know.

The day passes by and then it is gone,
I listen to catch a bird singing a song.
I come to realize the ups and downs,
As smiles replace so many frowns.

The world will have its good and its bad.
Moments of tears while others are glad.
Still I am thankful for all that shall be,
As the sun sets it shall be beauty I see.

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Surrendered to my Love

I searched for you night and day,
My lungs gave out and breath gave way.
It was endless in miles and vast in count.
The treasures in measure are heavy in amount.
Piece by piece I seek to find,
Gathering myself with a soul and mind!
I prayed for you day and night,
My heart gave way and my feelings gave out.
I was surrendered to my love without a doubt!
© Copyright: Ann Rich   2006

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"The Life of Man"

In the caccoon of two lovers embrace and ecstasy a minute wounderous bliss of 
begins......sometimes unbeknowing by the sheer feasting of pleasure in unison.
Nevertheless what was once a tiny seed implanted in the fertile garden of nature now 
new form;as it grasps out ,clinging at the air shrieking,wiggling,stretching as it 
makes its 
presence known to its new world very audibly and triumphantly.

As  time spirals quickly foward  trials,victories,failures and successes beats upon his 
like an African drummer in  a low  melodic monotonous tune signifying the right of  
from boy-hood to man-hood. " Bum-ba-ba Bum, Bum-ba-ba-bum, Bum-ba-ba-bum it 
ever so louder as it progresses through life's journey.
Steps always moving foward,bound by its audious beat he goes.........but 
unforeseen circumstance or bump in the road causes him to stumble and lose his 
He frantically tries to recover, maintains his course and the rythum of life's beat one 

Then one day as he is basking in the sunlight of the day,enjoying the fruits of his 
works ,he is 
summoned  by his maker to cease from laboring and making merry to take his eternal 
Thus he brings the mourners about the streets,wailing,wearing dark gloomy garments.
Faces of anguish and disbelief fills pews as they pour out their souls in despair as 
like one 
who is without hope as he lies motionless berfore them. 
He appears comfortable and at peace facing upward like one who has settled in for 
the night 
upon his bed. He is asked many questions but gives no reply...many gestures are 
towards him, he gives no response.close shouting is made near his head but he pays 
it no 
mind........for he does not have to answer now, because his time for questioning has 

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The familiar cadence in autumn

Cold spells get to a slow start this year,
with this month's full moon -
known as the Beaver moon.
It makes me think though;
of my homeland where people walk
and enjoy the precipice of the night.

While in New York autumn holds
symbolic meanings and stories to tell;
with a giant wind that looms over a coastline;
it's another landscape that beckons across the farmland.

Withered leaves drop and fall on the ground,
trees in their creeping sadness
continue to lose the sojourn of their youth.
At their height and moving branches,
make me stay up and watch them through the present time.

As I gleefully walk right up to the shrine of Our Lady,
there's a missing whisper, a song to my ears;
those birds spilling down the garden's main avenue.
Like an army, an orchestra that provides
melody in the midst of sympathy.

As a magical moment of Mother Nature,
I see enormous changes in forms and shapes;
an attempt to thrive for another threshold,
keeps me believe the power beyond
filled with images of life.

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We question God in every way:
‘What was that I heard you say?’ 
‘Why do children die so young?’
‘What of worldly wars unsung?’
‘Who allows the poor to starve?’
‘Why are pain and illness allowed?’ 

The truth is we live in a fallen world unmasked and God has some questions of his own to ask
“WHERE ARE YOU?” God thinks of us with persistent longing yet we hide ourselves in many ways a smiling face when we are sad feigning confidence when afraid we need to be honest about our lives share with Him longings, joys, sorrows and shame come out of our hiding and speak openly with trust take off our fig leaves, draw closer in transparency
“WHAT IS YOUR NAME?” God cannot transform if we are unwilling to reveal acknowledge He has created and called us by name no matter who we are or what we have done our new identity in Him provides a future not defined by past failures, sins and old pseudonym we are His dearly ‘beloved’- that is our true label He longs to bless us, so don’t hesitate to ask hear the Spirit of His love calling our new name
“WHO DO YOU SAY I AM?” I’m not a myth created by imaginations of clever gospel writers or sham not staying true to Biblical promises as other liars I am the Alpha, Omega—the beginning and the end The Creator of the Universe and yet still your best friend ©Kim van Breda—March 2014

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Tata Madiba

Some believe that many names is a 
sign of stature, of importance.
How appropriate Tata that you are called
father, well as all those other monikers

Father of so many, how did you fill the time?
Three short steps, two regular, from one end 
of day, to another then back again, and again
Plenty of time to think, to brew a strong disdain
yet tea and mercy are your thirst and hunger

Monumental change can come with oppressive legions,
masks on, bayonets fixed, marching, 
toe-in-step, step-in-toe, closing in,
or much more slowly, with a well-tempered gait
and careful steps, feeling a way to a new life

Sharpeville a dusty, bloody turning tide
turning emergency of state to state of emergency
yet another rational, to push, to oppress,
yet another opportunity to protest saying
"a change is gonna come", yet to wait on

I remember hearing on that cold northern Sunday
that you would be released, and drop into sight
after so many seasons, I became slightly aware,
vague to the happenings of the world, 
as ascension starts to awaken me

The life of president of a country is full,
full of courageous opportunity, and pitfalls,
but to transform a nation from majority oppression,
to an erect healing democracy, is a gift of stature,
of moral fortitude, decency, a respect for humanity.

Tata, the nation of South Africa, owes much
to its first democratically elected black leader
The world, owes much to the example of you.

© Goode Guy 2013-06-28

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Land Beyond Reason

I am pulled there again, to that familiar place
Where a voice in my head, on the brow of the past
Whispers to me, with a beckoning plea
Those speaking have been gone, for a long, long while
Yet I stroll through their words that have not gone away 

I tend to look back at the bends in the river
The treacherous waters, of the summers now vanished
Finding reason, after reason, for looking behind
Too often eyes focus on the years that have passed
Years that have gone, and dreams that are lost 

 I still hear old lyrics, and catch every word
Is it way beyond reason, to lean into that world?
Would my future be changed, if I went back again?
Would I make a U-turn, to live in the past?
There are reasons, I feel, that it gives me a bed
A soft place to land, a place that is dead
Beyond reason and logic, in the voice of my head


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Im Still Here

Friends one with whom I shared a drink.
Are now ghosts  who haunt my heart dear.
Most left to find that which in life they did thirst.

But with seasons  I did remain like some old pillar unable to 
Feet planted  tears caressing a bitter face hiding 
the fact that  goodbye had come all to soon.

Cards underneath my door.
Unfamilar faces make me question do I exist anymore.

Old passions destroy new flames.
Nights alone cast shadows.
You find more comfort in dreams   

The whiskey that burns is all that reminds.
You haunt this body  like a vacant building  
most seem to ignore  as  they pass its once warm  

My soul knows midnight my heart emersed in the 
agony of truth.
We yern for warmth in the comfort of pain.

Memories are like scars  a prison of the mind.
Greetings from outskirts.
For I am the at home with the left behind.

Like a character in a novle ment to entertain  im 
lost in the back pages of life.
But if you ever question  just turn back in reflection.
For they may have fled but im sill here. 

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If I Could Fly

If I could fly, where in the world would I possibly go?
Up and away my wings would carry me,
My destination not known!
If I could fly, I’d capture all of the Sun’s rays.
Up and away!
What a sight to see with such a grand milestone!
If I could fly, 
I would always look below.
Down and deep!
My eyes focused only on you.
My journey’s still unknown.
If I could fly, I’d stay on top with memories buried to keep.
Down and deep!
What an experience just to fly through!
Such a waste without you!

If I could fly, I would soar with my best perfection.
Soaring with pride!
My life achieved.
My destination excluding restrictions!
If I could fly, I’d forever remember this glide.
Soaring with pride!
What a thought to preconceive.
Such bright reflections!
If I could fly where in the world would I possibly go?
Up and away I would go only with you.
My destination remaining incognito!
If I could fly, I’d want to stay up and away!
What an incredible zone just to pass through!
Such a magnificent plateau!
If I could fly, I’d fly only for you!

®Registered: 1997 ANN RICH

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One gave, One took, One wanted

He needed her to be there so he wouldn't be alone.  He needed her to stay to make his life good and better.  He needed her to be what he could not.  He put her above all others in ways only he could know.  She never knew...never felt those ways.  He couldn't show them to her.  That was his only failing and her greatest heartbreak.

He wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman ever before in his life.  He lusted for her, desired her, thought of nothing but her.  He was consumed by her face, her body, her person...he wanted all of her because she was his ideal.  She made him feel alive with hope for more, hope for a life to be lived with what he had never experienced.  He wanted joy and kindness, conversation and sexuality, tenderness and playfulness.  He wanted a true partner in all of his life.

He loved her.  He loved her completely, fully, uncontrollably and longingly.  That came first.  The love.  All else--desire, mutual respect, lust, tenderness, spirituality--was right behind the love that was held so tightly for decades.  The love was always there.  It never left, never ebbed, never waned.  He ached for her.  He loved no other like her.  He thought and dreamt of her.  It was the love, only love, that moved him toward her.  And then, he carried the pieces of her broken heart in his heart...and he always will.

One gave, one took, one wanted.....and all that was left was me.....

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Deep See

I'm talking about spirits that live deep down in the depths of my thoughts, brought to life when the abyss flows over, I can't keep my mind focused, it's like falling asleep at the wheel but you're not the one driving, so everything is just outta your control,...the faster the time flies, the slower life hits, kinda like smiles that's being sold for gold, and love's never been the type that calls my phone, more like being on hold,...I'm typecast, cuz everybody's actors, I can feel pain around the corner, it's found on the walls, and mixes with struggle like asbestos, but inspiration lights the room up, it's lights the tomb up, but I wouldn't say I'm dead just yet,...they say I reak of depression, I tell them I'm just congested, and can't smell the roses in the cold, but nonetheless I'll make it through, we always do, as long as the girls around me understand when to lose their clothes, reach for your dreams, lose care to all underneath, cause all that I seem to see is the bottom, so if you feel like me, spark 'em if you got 'em, cause when you walk in my crib and you smell the nag champa burning, just know I'm trying to be a better person, like when the days worsen,...but every cloud's lining is silver, so I push the petal to the metal and speed into a brand new day, like there's nothing more to say,...nothing more to say...

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Is it a crime to dream?

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

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

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

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

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Willow's Bluff

An eerie little poem for your enjoyment. 

It's fiction but inspired by a little cave I found this weekend on my woodsy walk ;)
(minus the ghostly whispers!  "OooooOOOO!" heheh) Also a bit of a message in this one. 

Willow's Bluff  (Part 1)
    by Amy Swanson   2.9.2009

The other day I found myself
restless and ill at ease, 
so I thought I'd take a walk
forget my cares in spring's warm breeze.

The forest was so beautiful
and trees, once dead, were turning green
I couldn't help but marvel
at life's mysteries I had seen.

I started on the well worn path
and thought I heard a sound;
it made me jump, I turned to look,
but no one was around.

The sunlight streamed so gloriously
upon my tear stained face
my heart felt light, forgotten cares
just being in this place.

And then it happened once again
I know I heard a noise!
I stopped now, to investigate
This hidden, quiet voice.

I wandered off the walker's trail
into the woods much deeper
I chanced upon a darkened cave
... and the cave's gatekeeper.

A mystical sight to behold
unearthly glowing light
it rose a bit up from the ground
then faded from my sight.

I made my way into the cave
mysteriously dark
and there it was... that voice again...
slowly I embarked

My flashlight shining at full force
was still not bright enough
to counter with this deepening dark
I'd found near Willow's Bluff. 

I heard the eerie whispers now
quite clearly, in my ear
first one, then two, now several more
and though my pioneer

spirit got me into this,
I felt that it was time to flee!
I turned and ran the opposite way
the voices though, were still with me!

I thought I knew the way back out
I tripped my way along
my flashlight flickered one last light
... I found that I was wrong...

somehow my turns had led me
down a path I did not know;
I turned to walk the other way -
but there was no place left to go.

*continue to Part 2*

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By BJ Welsh

With life and living we take our chance
Nodding in agreement to a furtive glance
Waking up each day is a chance we take
That life will deliver us for Heaven’s sake
We awake each sunrise with a hope reborn
Chance seeing an other suffer and torn

It’s one other’s life you see at a glance
Hoping for approval, it’s but a chance
The life you witness as others pass
The pain inside may subside, alas
Hoping to see one as you
The chance you take to find two

Running out of time the clock is ticking
Chance there are others whose lives aren’t clicking
Great as that may be, the chance you’re all alone rises
Furtive glances from beneath disguises
Chance that hiding the pain and hurt won’t last
The agony you feel will not be fast

Chance you soon become discovered
In your waking hours its’ uncovered
You’ve lived a life of hurt and pain
 The chance you’ve taken may have been in vain 

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Silence can be deafening 
or scream so loud it hurts your ears.
Silence can bring peace and quiet
a space in time to slow down
and change gears. 
Silence can be torture 
filling one with fear. 
Silence can be loves waiting game
causing pain and tears.
Silence can say so many things 
it can even confirm your worst fears.
Silence can do many things,
except it can't see the tears it can't hear.

Kash was my muse for this poem with his Haiku My Voice.

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A Message To A Ramdom Reader

What do you see when you open that book? 
Words scattred across the page like a million ants. 
But that inwhich you view is more than just a clusster of 

The writter more than a source of entertainment. 
For every laugh i've had to feel pain. 
The cold dark night isnt a worn use but 
my life. 

Ive lived many times and when my flesh turns cold. 
I will live forever in this verse. 
For here I am that which I could never be. 

I am the creator , I am the clown, The lover , The one true beacon of light. 

Remember me as this. 
Forget the truth and embrace the myth. 
What do you see when you pick up that book? 

The ghost who haunts the back cover. 
The man I could not find even myself. 

See the story for what it is. 
Remember the name and embrace the shadow 
that is cast from the tree that once stood amoungst 
nothing in a empty field. 

Do not question what was only a thought of 
Seek for what can be. 
For amoungst the binding and worn out verse. 

Amoungst the illusion does exist the man known only 
to me. 
Apon the shelf a dust covered copy exists like a tombstone 
in a graveyard. 

When you randomly open to 
a page . 
I question what will you see?

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a flood of swollen words

I've seen a picture of a book
caught in a flood from the past
and marveled at what the view
revealed to me, the reader

The book, arced and curved to
its center, like a ship's bow
darkened with abandonment, and 
white crystals grown from pages' edge

Words crystalized from every
line written, touchable thoughts 
crystallization of the author's soul
the original, unreadable, unknown

The wish to witness at pad and pen
as soul pours ink to paper page
tonguing salty thoughts may be what 
imprinted from the writer to me

© Goode Guy 2012-03-03

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The Holiday On Highstreet Portsmouth VA

Red ribbons  around the streetlights.
  The lights from the commadore theather 
are a reflection of the past.
Coblestone streets the historic district across the water 
buildings are lit  haunting  shadows over the water.

Once  a year closed streets seem to travle back in time.
Roasted penuts  street corner preformers.
Familys togather homeless on benches not all is beautiful and bright.

Sweet city so cold and gritty.
Christmas lights like neon signs call to my jaded soul.
 Horse and carrige ride down by the water.
New lovers getting lost in the moment an season.

I sit apon the steps of the old church share a bottle with 
My new best friend  smells of the city echo back to another time.
Lights and sounds reflect a holiday on highstreet.
Hands held  togther  when  in another  life it seems you 
were mine. 

Cold are the streets  carols fill this night.
If only more than once a year.
We could embrase this spirt.
Then trap it for one peaceful day.

The traffic apon  Highstreet  is  is slowing 
The festival crowd is fading.
The bottle of christmas cheer is almost gone
so along with the I must  be going.

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Lost Paradise

I took a trip in my mind today,
Astonished by what I found,
You only weighed a pound,
All of you were at play.
I wanted to stay,
But I was bound,
Standing on my ground!
I tumbled where you lay.
The grass was jade green,
And the sky was baby blue,
A vision I’d never seen,
I stood there looking at you.
Smiles and laughter filled the air,
It was a lost paradise where all was fair.
© Copyright: Ann Rich   2006

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House of Memories

The dog is fretting over her bone endlessly. The time seemed to stand still and the house was a farrago of dirty clothes and missed placed items. I am wishing I could blink and the mess would disappear.
Painting supplies collect on the table dried from lack of use. No energy to be creative today. Another death in the our family....March first can't forget that day and that call.
Death is closing in on my life....Each year we have a deposit in the heavenly account. Yet life continues until there are no more setting suns nor sunrises. The aged have to make way for the young.

I saw the butercups bloom today purest yellow! Purple crocus and maroon violets have broken through the terra firma of the cold winter. The sun has been bright today; I saw a rainbow cloud reminding me of God's love and promises of protection.

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Willow's Bluff, part 2

** continued from part 1, please read that one first **

Willow's Bluff  (Part 2)
   by Amy Swanson     2.9.2009

The whispers getting louder now,
my screams rose silently
trying to escape my lips,
my arms now  beating violently!

"Let me go! What do you want!?"
my mind's voice now demanded
of the whispering captors
who somehow held me, stranded.

The pressure of the moment
held me paralyzed with fear.
Oh how I wish I'd stayed away
and never come in here!

Tightening around my chest
and whispers growing still...
my mind was racing frantically,
my body felt a chill.

And then... a human voice... a light...
the sun gentle and warm...
my eyelids fluttered... I awoke,
completely safe from harm.

My husband leaned down close to me
and said "Are you all right?
You took a spill and konked your head,
you gave us all a fright."

Confused, I nodded slowly
and my eyes turned toward the river
the path I'd taken in my dream was there...!
I felt a shiver.

"Yes, yes, of course, I'm doing fine,
don't worry about me.
I'll be right there, you go ahead,
but first, there's something I must see."

I saw the path, still beckoning
it looked as in my dream...
a little further down the way
...the same unsettling theme.

The cave stood eerily in sight,
but I did not venture in.
A million questions to my mind,
this journey from within.

What did it mean? and how
could I explain what I had seen?
I chose to bury it down deep
and call it ... just a dream.

They say that only fools rush in
where angels fear to tread
walking down an unknown path
can lead straight to the dead.

One thing for certain, deep inside
I know this was not fluff -
so if you find an unknown path...
beware of Willow's Bluff.

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Inside My Heart

It was a good day, there’s a smile on my face.
I feel some peace and with it came grace.
I started to feel old and patience was thin,
From all the ashes came a place to begin.

I don’t even know what direction to go,
As daylight shines I hope it will show.
I just take one step and then another,
Hoping somehow, this life can recover.

I feel quite content I have to say,
None of the bad shall get in my way.
The sun set like so many times before,
I seem ambitious for what is in store.

I look at the sky and wish upon a star,
Hoping the distance is never too far.
I start to find my way though it is dark,
I try to find a place to make my mark.

The stars appear like diamonds in the sky,
Challenging my courage to learn how to fly.
I think deep inside my heart it still knows,
There seems no boundary as confidence grows.

The moon glows and it doesn’t seem dark,
I climb a hill on the far side of the park.
I lok down below and everything’s still,
It seems like life is held against it’s will.

I make my way home it’s been a long day,
It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way.
The world seems at peace and I am a part,
Tranquility grows from inside my heart.

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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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The Pigment Of Illustration

Rain falls
Lights brighten the space above the sidewalk
There on the corner stands a girl
She stands tall yet frail
Her face is in anguish, so pale
Pain clearly controls her
The emotion on her face is washed out like the light softly brushing the pavement.
She screams, tears stream but there is no sound 
No way to convey the truth
No one to witness reality
Suddenly a crowd forms from the darkness
A wide range of individuals
Looking pained
Looking lost
They all scream in unison
Still their screams are hushed
She is in the center now
All the individuals are isolated from each other
Each in their spaces of pain
A new form of crowd immerges
They are bright and glad they laugh and there is sound
Ringing clearly
They whisper happiness is a choice
They burn bright 
Contrasting to the black and white individuals
Suddenly the girl stops screaming
Tears stop streaming
She brushes her coal black hair from her eyes and rolls up her sleeves
 She grabs a marker
She writes “Freedom of expression”
Along the pavement squares 
Like the completion of a crossword 
She draws a paintbrush and paints her heart
She spills her soul
She releases her grief
She draws a microphone and sings
Sings her mind
She spills her innovation
She draws and paints and creates 
Feels and thinks and exists 
She cries and laughs and breaths
She colors her world and when she screams
Notes and chords
Rain and sunshine
Light and dark
Pain and joy
Are set free
As the others watch her they begin to follow 
They scream and Rain falls
Everyone can hear the piercing  
Expression Is Freedom.

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Serenity, The Bridge That Brought You to Thee

how could a girl so sweet and elegant, like the most beautiful flower to exist, like the sun 
that sets in the east, be able to bring me to my knees, with tears streaming down my face, i 
look into those eyes, SERENITY, bleeds from the eyes of thee, we built this bridge from the 
northwest down to the south, the biggest smile comes across her mouth, we built this on our 
own, now we stand face to face, a picture perfect showing, by the grace of the gods, and 
with our own bare hands we built this  bridge from the ground up, with the finest forms of 
gold, now the beauty is ours, for the two of us to hold, don't let go girl, just take my hand, i'll 
place the whole world in your palms, you've given me the ability to stand on my own two 
feet again, everything is ours! you wipe the tears that fall down my cheek, that have 
covered the skin on my face, who knew the void in my heart could be so easily replaced, the 
light from heaven lays its hands down on us, the grace of your hands, such an elegant 
touch, this means so much, we built this golden bridge from the ground up. Everything will 
be fine. your eyes lock to mine, there is nothing that could have the power to bring this 
down, we'll stand here till the end of time! don't lose hope. keep the faith. realize that this is 
our place. our place in life. the silence exalts thee, not a word needs to be said, i can see the 
story written so delicately on your precious face, your smile brings me to my knees, dear 
God please, what we've given to save ourselves. what's happened between us, oceans have 
bridged us far apart, nothing could separate the passion in our hearts, the breathing never 
got too hard, i look into the eyes of an angel, we've written the pages of our own gospel. this 
is a story of courage, strength, perseverance, devotion, and and a woman and a man. 
whose backs have been pressed up against the the wall for far too long! now we stand hand 
in hand, as the sun beats down our necks, the breathing has gotten easier, now that we are 
not so far apart.

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Contemplation of a White Line---Drunken Pen

Look, there's a white line, dead center of this empty road
Wow, that sun is hot out here...
and here I am sitting on the edge of this blacktop world
waiting for a tow .......crying out loud......why, Lord, why today?.....
Some shortcut huh? You might call it a back road error in judgement...
leaving me sitting in this no-man's land of desolate boredom....
a missed appointment, a frustrated friend waiting, while all I can do is
look at heat waves billowing up in the heat of Indian summer and watch the
peafowl grazing in the tall brown weeds behind me, ......hunting grasshoppers I suppose....
Territorial hens and cocks at their banquet
One patriarch, with his vast train, it seems he reigns aloof ..sitting there,
in the shade of a vagrant oak.  At least there's one tree helping to shadow the place where I sit and oh yeah, that lone hen, wandering onto the white line, and looking at me, (with disdain, no less!)
I am an intruder, in a world I don't belong....she knows it.....should I apologize? "Okay, ....sorry you Chickadee!"  "Whattaya expect me to do?"......
Hmmm..... that fading white line................
how do they get it dead center of the road, I wonder?
I have been sitting here for nearly an hour, sigh.............and that long, long, line.......
going to you can be
mesmerized by a long white line that meanders into the distant horizon...
Wonder how long has it been since I've had such a moment
just a small moment to contemplate such a trifle...
a narrow white line in the center of an asphalt road
Who put it there?  What sort of man?  Who drives the machine, that paints this line?
Did he do this all day...draw these straight white painted stripes?
Does he give it much thought?  This artist,...this Da'vinci of roadways?
Does he think of the life he might save....or the order this brings?
His touch of white on a blacktop world?
Does he do this all after day?
This artwork to pay for his wife's medicine?
Or for a son's braces, or a daughter's tuition?
Trivial contemplation, perhaps,  crazy maybe to ponder by the side of a road.....
You is just a white what??
To someone....even a trifle....a white line on asphalt....
                           might be important......

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Unfinished Business

©Alfreda Williamson
July 2, 2004

Outside town boundaries,
bustling, noisy din,
Deeply in the serenity of peace, calm,
the country County,
Around a curve, sharp, blind.

There it leaped out at me.
Suddenly, unexpectedly
Catching me off guard,
Not foresightedly, not scary
Just by way of wonderment
. . . why this unfinished business?
The house without its finishings.

. . .  It rose up in the trees,
reaching the tops, for two stories,
Sweat/precision/deliberation imputed,
Reaching towards the sun.

Or was it toward a full autumn moon,
Or could it be the direction,
from the ancient star compass.
Harnessing a cloud drifting by, for clearing?

It stood among the ivory,
Entangled, entwined but
Not overgrown, not overtaken.

The roof covered in tin,
The setting for magnificent, earthly,
	heavenly sounding of
rain drops.

The windowed eyes of this
Unfinished  dwelling,
Finished, painted, shadowed, framed
. . . in pink.
Its back bone wood no longer
yellow /white/beige with youth.
The grey/brown color of rotting age and elements;
. . . time, neglect, exposure
. . . nature scraping and shearing away,
year after year,
after month, after day,
after time.

The frame finished, nearly so,
Peaking spaces left, or now,
There, some frame filling
Having been ripped/rotted
Away for outsiders to look in.

This business unfinished,
And not overtaken,
In the gulf of time.

Nature working reclamation,
Of the space, crawling,
Groundward, upward,
Yet unfinished in recapturing.

This unfinished house, standing
Alone in the word,
Sharing a space with no one
In its place.
The windowed souls,
	. . . looking, peeking at
	running pass,
	in a flurry.

This unfinished business,
Begs questioned consideration,
Sufficient structural invitation
	? who went there
	? what past passed
	? why this unfinished business
	? when
Where . . . 
	am I begged to inquire,
	invited to draw close?

But I can’t get there.
Though attention drawn,
And pondering invoked.

I can’t finish it,
This business.

By Alfreda Williamson
© July 2, 2004

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Life Stew

All I see becomes part of my soul.
Where are my arms to climb from this hole?
I see so much beauty yet it all fades,
The peace in my heart it always raids.

I look at things different yet they seem the same,
Sometimes I wonder am I in the same game?
The more that you look the more things do change,
Even the familiar, begins to feel strange.

From every angle I catch a view,
The old begins to seem like it’s the new.
Planting new seeds in hope that something grows,
But the seeds drift away as a gentle wind blows.

Even the simplest presents a new side,
Layer within layer the visions can hide.
It’s like peeling an onion, no layer is alike,
The journey before me seems like a long hike.

Like going cross country it is up and then down,
Silence is deafening though there isn’t a sound.
Lost in the forest you fall deeper inside,
No one seems  left, to be by my side.

I find myself walking but see no way out.
The earth is parched , it looks like a drought.
Battered and scorched by the light of the sun.
All things must pass and then they become.

Then the rain falls and life shall return.
The fire once wild , can no longer burn.
From out of the dust another can rise.
In a different form and different size

The wind starts to blow, the trees bow to me.
Reminding me some things can never be.
When they wither a new thing shall grow,
It may even appear like you already know.

Ashes to ashes,  the wind scatters the dust,
I don’t think I can go on but know I must.
All that you once saw becomes brand new,
The pieces together seem like a life stew.

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dead letter mail

the evening was a beautiful blue
when i got home from my workday

i went to the mailbox, retrieved a pile
and quickly perused the stack

i saw it quickly and was surprised,
my brother got a "handwritten note"

no return address, i noted,
yet it all returned, flooding back to me, 
the pain, the grief, the gladness,
all the stages of grief and life.

i held it up to the light, to candle it,
like a fresh egg from an older time

it was, as i suspected, a sales promo,
for foundation repair or perhaps 
for whole life insurance, or some
equally ironic useless instrument as,
my brother has been dead for many years.

i smiled, after the startle had subsided,
knowing, remembering, how my brother 
would have reacted, with a wry comment,
and perhaps a joke about always hoping 
he'd leave a forwarding address.

i got to the dead, 
just like us, long for a note, a letter, 
some quickly dashed off postcard? 
"Having a time of it here, wish we could talk.".

perhaps, a little something 
with cologne-sprayed paper, 
or a glittered envelope,
or more my siblings style, with
some hot habanero, or heritage 
cantaloupe seeds inside. - 
just a quick note that says 
"You are remembered, and missed".

{looking up}
"i'd like a fifty-cent postcard, 
and a book of forever stamps please."

© Goode Guy 2013-05-13

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Self Awareness

Just out of sight for all of this time
My reflection convoluted
Because it was effused through the eyes of others
Embarking on strange and harrowing journeys 
To find only an empty castle
Countless attempts I have made to fill this space
Cavernous and cold, even adorned with my inadequate furnishings
No more of this
The mirror shall be my own, 
Not the sleek dark orbs of strangers with their own intent
Within the comfort of my own reflection
My journey starts anew. 

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What is Light, What is Darkness

What is Light, What is Darkness
What is Light, What is Darkness where do they meet where do they part and what lies between them

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Stunning Armadillos

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

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The Emptyness Of My Night

Nights move  like a forgotten  ghost unwanted by all.     
A vision  unseen to all but one.

Down damp streets he haunts the same path every night just befor the dawn.
The empty hearts gather to drown togther in the sea. 

Togther feeling so very alone. 
Can we cast shadows in the darkness project happiness in such gloom to return the   same 
old haunts again and again.
A wheel  rolling  without question.
On into the emptyness of my night. 

Waitting for a return that  never will be.
Cursing the problem never understanding it was her and me.
As the dream turn to the drunk.

The painter paints no longer sunsets but
Nights and his thoughts of blue to gray.

Warmth in the darker corners gives a view to 
the young and  the still hopefull.
Tiping my half empty glass I wish them to never know pain.

Finding a home with other empty hearts caught.
In dirty sheets im haunted by the ghost of my
former self.

A puddle stepped in cast waves of reflected neon light.
As we play a roll unknown to all  
At typewritter  I sit.
Listening to To the bar and bottles clatter men and women's
laughter and soon forgotten fight.
Yerning to be free so is the emptyness of my night.

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It’s 3 am
I’m naked & naive
Undressed by shadows
Jetsam of scuttled me
I can feel their fingers
Howling down my back
Lightning crashes
Your window cracked

Pull me in
Cast me out
Bleed the truth
Suture my mouth
If hope is dead
Then grieve with me
Caress their silence
Now we’re free

Do you see my face
Sewn by jagged night
My burdened brow
Scorn’s lurid light
Reaching for perfection
In this world we bend
Am I really
Their means to my end

Pull me in
Cast me out
Bleed the truth
Suture my mouth
If hope is dead
Then grieve with me
Caress their silence
Now we’re free

I have no sword
But my pen is spry
Cut me down
These words will rise
Hold my heartbeat
Breathe my last breath
Are you my savior
Am I your friend

Passion and persuasion
Nothing I hate is
Life is love
Your faith my payment

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Alone Naturally


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Dream About This

The hero will rise
and prepare to fight to
the death.
The villian will not
beg for mercy, yet
he will not stand
a chance.
Both blades held
high in the air.
Both men preparing
for the stinging slice.
The dirt on the
ground surrounding
their pounding feet.
The sweat trickeling
down to their gritting
teeth and sharp tongues.
Anixety is building in
their chests.
They are growing weary and tired.
Weakness is taking
over both.
Falling and stumbleling
to the ground.
They both take one
last stand.
Raising their fists high
taking and recieving
one final blow.
Their legs crumble
beneath them sending
them face first
into the dirt.
Holding onto one
last breath as
tears begin to form.
For neither of them
has won and neither
will give up.
Both prepared to
die and kill the
other to satisfy
their taste.
But in the end, aren't we all just the same?

Written August 16, 2008

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What's on the Cover

What's on the Cover
        by Amy Swanson

"Fat, fat, the water rat,"
the other children said - 
and she could never after
get that phrase out of her head.

Little girl would anxiously
await the time for play,
praying silently that they
would not tease her today.

Every recess was the same
and each day she would cry,
at times she felt so hideous
she wanted to just die.

She had to work three times as hard
to lose a little weight
while others could eat anything
that sat upon their plate.

She grew into her teen years
all too quickly she found out
that if her food did not stay down
no longer she'd be stout.

She knew that this was not the way,
a miserable eating plan;
but it made the teasing stop,
she even met a man.

She kept her secret very well
continued it for years
while going through life's motions,
hid behind her silent tears.

Folks would say "You're beautiful,"
but if they only knew
just what it took to stay that way
they'd have a different view.

Life goes on, and time went by
no matter how she tried
she never felt like she belonged
sometimes she sat and cried.

Society cares far too much
for lust of lovely things,
And those that don't like what they see
will quickly clip the wings

of someone else who won't conform
to this world's shape and image.
It matters not, their brains or heart,
it's more about the visage.

She raised her head and looked into
the mirror, with wet eyes
she shook her head and suddenly
she came to realize

she was as good as anyone
with so much love to give -
she'd died inside, a slave to scales
she now wanted to live.

She splashed cool water on her face
and made a solemn vow
today would be a fresh new start
beginning here and now.

This is not just one girl's story
many share her tale;
warnings of bulimia
oft met with no avail.

If only we could look beyond
the flesh of one another;
True value based on what's inside,
not what's on the cover.

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Arrogant Poet -Part 1

Long long ago there lived a king
Who hath truly loved all poetry
Who never  was tired of  listening
To all forms of  beautiful poetry

Well read senior poet of the court
Also never stopped minting
And reading amidst claps in the court
Verses full of prise for the king

Not so named and all those young
Hardly got some chance to sing
Their some good works before the king
As the senior was disallowing

Even the king got truly bored
But was unsure how to express
Aging great can not be fired
Time he hoped would clear the mess

One day one young poet got a chance
In the coveted senior's absence
To read some poems on Siva's dance
And the king's joy was immense

Every letter of his work earned a lakh
Said the king there is no going back
Talented fresh please come forward
Read good poems and you earn reward

Lo, those words opened flood gate
But only a few could clinch reward
Protecting now the wealth of the state
Poet senior stood as a good guard

(to be continued....)

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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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" I 'AM"

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

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

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

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Reality versus Dreams

I start to feel tired and slip to my dreams,
I know much of life is not as it seems.
Reality enters and is part of the mix,
I’m left here thinking what I need to fix?

The dreams become grand but then fade away,
Still they are part of all that I say.
Waking or sleeping becomes a choice,
My heart joins in I can hear its voice.

I know of desires but feel it is good,
I’d try to do better if only I could.
Reality checks in and I’m back to earth,
I see so much beauty but what is it worth?

I want something better but settle for what I need,
The dreams become food for my spirit to feed.
 Somewhere in the middle I recover my hope,
I feel like my fate dangles from a long rope.

I dream of the high wire and balancing act,
Fire is on one side and ice at my back.
I try to find a place where I can be real,
Losing this dream can’t be part of the deal.

The sun rises up and reveals what’s dark,
Dreams appear to set forth the mark.
Dreams shall determine how high you can go,
Which one wins out I don’t seem to know.

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Air borne

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

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

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

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

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

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

© Goode Guy 2013-07-05

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discovery of companions read this b4 my companions

As the night is consumed by crimson mist, I stand surrounded by all manner of nefarious foes, both human and demon, living and dead as I stand my eyes burn with draconic flame I feel the lust ,the lust for blood and vengeance revenge for their words and actions, chains and abuse their acid venom The blades they used that flayed my flesh from my body leaving me with bones and sinew leaving me raw not an inch of skin left to protect me As I start toward my foes, consumed by blood lust and the flames of vengeance when wolves of silver rush in front of me and from the shadow of the wood a man and woman appear both handsome and lovely clad in white; from the black skies a wall of gold and black shimmering with light appear holding back my foes In the air clad in gold and black scales emanating power a dragon comes and from the earth rises a sylph ,a cold wind blows as summer leafs and the scent of honey mix with the frigid air around us and two Fae one of the winter and one of the summer court come walking out of the wind then dragon fire flames the barrier between me and my foes , the Fae speak in an unknown tongue immediately wind gathers gathering my foes in a tornado of such power that non could avoid the earth arose around the fury of the storm as the pair in white strode into the storm soon I heard not pain but moans of joy emanate inside wolves rushed in soon there came limbs flying from the maelstrom of power the dragon rose into the air above the magic’s of those around me soon the smell of burning flesh flooded my nose soon the carnage was over
this is also a personification

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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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Time for a new Teacher?

The pang of absence and joy of joining
Filling the mind with thoughts of the one
Seeing the sun rise over the mountains
Or the field of flowers covered in morning dew
Patting the inflated belly of your pregnant spouse
And seeing the smile on the face of your child
Letting your pet curl up in your lap for some petting
And helping someone carry their bags to their car
Waking each day with a smile for the mirror
While saying hello to people that you meet
Being grateful to be alive and living so
Believing this day is worth the effort to try
Poisoning all efforts of Love to enter from fear
Accusing eyes denying entrance of remembered pain
So much to embrace in so many ways, in every day
And it is built into all of us, God’s gift, our teacher
Is nowhere. A flower is not hate, nor the sun, nor the child
Hate is learned, and if you hate, it may be time for a new teacher

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Lady of the Night

With slick moves and feline grace,                                     
she pirouettes on the darkened stage,               
then suddenly turns, splits and tumbles.         

As she shakes her black silken hair,                  
undulates her hips while she teases,                     
the music becomes fast and frenetic.                

A temptress now she sheds her clothes,               
her unseeing eyes lasered onto                       
the crowd of animated zombies.                        

I grasp my glass of San Miguel beer                      
like a jealous, possessive lover,                              
unblinking eyes focused on this siren.                      

And while she moves, glides and fumbles,              
I freeze and I shake and I tremble                         
sitting by this smoky bar table.                  
Never will she ever know how                                     
she changes my life right this very hour                      
as I gape, stunned and mesmerized,
at the lady of the night.

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I Remember When

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                Timothy I. Brumley

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The Hidden Haven

What is held beneath the hidden haven is such a mystery.
Looking in and looking out never a dream and never a doubt.
Souls in need for mercy to plea a soul driven just to be set free!
The hidden haven remains such a mystery all throughout.
Obscuring what life is really all about and drenched in all of its diversity.
What is held beneath the hidden haven can never be known.
Many more tears are yet to come,
All hidden where we all begun,
A need to be loved with a place to belong with a chance to grow!
The hidden haven remains a dark mystery that’s all alone.
Concealing what life has really shown,
Omitting my every attempt to reach out and truly be done.
What is hidden beneath the hidden haven is between me with you.
A clear moment with your brightest light,
All given and laid before your eyes very own sight.
The force of strength will carry us through!
The hidden haven remains a mystery with the life we will choose.
Provoking the battle that is prepared to fight,
Crushing the life you always knew,
The hidden haven can never be known.
It is hidden!
For it is deep!
A soul that absorbs life alone,
A moment forbidden,
But held forever in my keeps!

®Registered: 1997  Ann Rich

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Turned Tables

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

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

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

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

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

In honor of Desiree's Contest "What If"

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Debauched, extortionate and inconstant 
was the knavish and foul mercenary?
The perfidious praetorian reprobate
was a venal unscrupulous slug.
Debased in character and depraved in spirit
this purveyor of evil tended to his wicked ways.
Morally spoiled, he was a putrid putrescent 
and an aberration to integrity.
Nefarious and tainted in character,
he infected the soul.
Treacherous and two-faced,
underhanded and unethical, 
debased and unprincipled,
this snide poor excuse to humanity
defined the meaning of "corruption."

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count on it

count on it...

that numbers made the world
we came to believe
after all ten digits 
long ago ran out
and we stuck our toes into the fray
to count and be counted anyway

and they too ran out
a foot at a time
and numbers became stuck to 
our rulers feet or by meter, 
our sole, soul repeater

then we counted awhile,
and soon wired some beads 
to a wooden frame
'cause, unconsciously we knew
it'd never be the same

and abacuses counted because
Sumerians knew the power of
columns of orders of magnitude to 
give counting a certain, amplitude

and soon balances were forged and 
everything compared to something else - 
grain to sheep,
sheep to amphora,
amphora to slaves,
slaves to children
children to wives
neighbors lives to our own lives

covetousness counted as 
a capital idea
long before Adam Smith
or any form of mercantilism
came to bear witness on a weakness of man

yet who can count on power
is there a conversion factor
that shows more or less
that less is more than some detractor

what's the ratio of 
desire to need to
redemption to volition to
love to life - 
there's a number of ways to count it

© Goode Guy 2013-04-11

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Gulf Oil Spill.

Fox news. Fair and balanced: “ We now take you live…”
MSNBC. The place for politics. “You are looking at a live shot…”
CNN. The world turns to CNN. “This breaking news just in…”

The President:
“You should know that I’m trying, straining so hard. As I squint down at the gobs of
petroleum lard.
The last guy was clueless I won’t act like him.
I’m cool and aloof and won’t act on a whim.”

The American Public:
“Never mind who.
Never mind how.
End this debacle.
Do something now.” 

The CEO:
“Let me say this right now, that we’re trying our best.
All our global resources have been put to the test.
I truly feel all your pain as I speak here to you.
As I have stated before, I want my life back, too.”

The Environmentalists:
“Do anything! Anyone!
May you burn twice in Hell!
So smug and superior!
Cap the damned well!”

The Press:
“We’re on this story, we’ll report, you decide!
And 24/7, non stop coverage, we’ll provide!
Keeping them honest, we’re the network news.
We want those ratings, Bring in our panel for views.”

A resident of the Gulf Coast:
“Yes, your pictures are priceless
And your words are like pearls.
I live here and fish here.
It’s the end of my world.”

A Pelican:
“I wear petrified slop as I adorn your news.
Once a fisher, a flyer, now shackled in ooze.
And I did nothing but live. Look me in the eye.
Why did you kill me? For what did I die?”

His Mate:
“Do you care how you forage?
Or do you ravage, instead?
Let your greed in your claws
Be all lathered with lead.”

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I lost me I lost you (Part 1)

It was so long ago
But my mind doesn’t see it that way
And like a channel that only plays reruns
Images of you keep repeating in my mind over and over again

Over the years I tried to reach out to you
But I learned that you didn’t want to know me
We last spoke on the phone with forgiveness in my voice
But the love I once knew was replaced by bitterness

You said I thought you were going stop trying to contact me
I promised that this would be the last time.
I said I just wanted to wish you the best and give myself peace of mind.
But in your voice it was the seething anger and resentment that I could not deny

I said I was sorry for all the hurt, pain and sorrow and if I could correct it I would.
Why cant you forgive me what did I do that was so wrong.
And that is when I learned about what was truly told to you  
To my surprise a giant lie, your sister said I raped her, now I understand why

She covered up her actions and turned me into a beast
This explains the hatred, the anger, and resentment you have felt for me.
However it doesn’t excuse the lust of my actions and what really happened 
For days, weeks and months your sister groped, kissed and hounded me until I gave in.

Yes I confess to having an affair I tried to be faithful, I tried to be true. I loved you
But your sisters’ sexual lust took control over me she pressed my buttons for her own sexual 
And even though I tried I was so guilt stricken I lied and said I didn’t love you anymore. 
Our break up was created by your sisters’ lustful attraction she lied to cover up her jealous 

But with a burning in your voice you didn’t want to believe and so you poured salt onto me
but the next day your phone call confirmed the truth, your older sister confessed to our 
but she also said that she was in love with me of which I never knew
suddenly you want to stay in touch, I said that would be too much, again you persisted 

Haven’t we endured enough pain to develop a friendship now would be insane, but you again 
All those years ago the lie you were told now I understand why you hated me so. 
and with a giant sigh I just started to cry and my heart just melted away
Unfortunately you said time has replaced me with someone new for you 


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Untitled #305 / The Traffic Teacher's Tale

They locked eyes. Engines revved and roared.
When the light flashed green, tires screamed across the pavement,
other horns were honked, and a cup of Coke
flew across the lane divider into the lap of the second driver
even as the car of the first driver veered off
into a ditch, overturned, cabin
crunched into a tree
and three souls rode their last.
The traffic teacher says we must control our emotions, but I know
this is impossible. Emotion binds the heart of every human.
We can control our responses to these feelings, or else
ignore them entirely.
I wish I could choose the latter.

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Ethnic Cleansing

****appalled wicked intoxication!

Tonight we are having a big evening
Brunch for the lot of them!
They are expecting to expect
The unexpected.....muuuuy! 
What shall we serve.....
And how do we split the bounty...

The curator exclaims, we are having Grey-PUPON
And Corn Bread.....
A happy customer ask! Where is the Hot Sauce...


Question: Whom do you serve first? The customer or the Gardner!
Warning: This is a rehtorical question...  OUCH!
Comment: Bladen figure it out!

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It comes again, that thought.

It lingers
just inside my consciousness;
just close enough
for me to feel it.

It’s dressed differently
and it wears a mask;
its voice is altered
and it has changed its shape.

But it is the same thought,
the one I’ve met a
thousand times before.


A million times before.

I feel the hair rise on my neck
and my tummy tugs.

(Why did I say tummy, not stomach?)

Oh, I know.
When I first met this thought,
I was very, very young
and my stomach was just my tummy.

I know now that it has come to me
in many guises,
many shapes and forms,
in rich apparel and rags too.

But it is the same thought, recycled.

So, old friend, you are no new threat.
Come in closer
so that I may
see you more clearly.

Say your piece
with the glandular need
that drives you.

Clearly now.
More clearly this time.
It will free you from your need.
And me from mine.

Two lumps or one?

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To the Siren of the faraway seas

I once thought to have the world within my grasp, that all I needed I already had.
I once thought to be unable to feel more happier than I was while you were around.
Only way to make it better, was to change our worlds of ones and zeroes to contact of the flesh itself.

Even though I realized it, I choose to deny it. I was sorely mistaken about you and I, and this and that.
You smiled when you lied about your feelings.
"I cannot give to you more than this" you said with an evil smirk while observing me from afar.
The smirk, was it real or imaginated?
I do not know, and I fear I will never know, my mind play tricks on me once and again.
Misleading me to believe, like it allowed me to believe in your words.

Words... Amazing how powerful it can be, use it well and one can find pleasure, use it well, and one can find the demise of the soul.
leaving an empty husk behind, like you left me. An empty husk longing to be filled, once again, with the colors of joy.

Coming from the other side of the world, I felt your words and disdain like piercing cold knives straight to my heart, once warm, now cold, since you left.
And following your words you went away to never come back.
Along with you, went away also the joy and happiness I dared to thought to be eternal, a sweet lie I was telling myself...

Even today, after so long, I still think about you and I, your mesmerizing gaze that made me forget and float, your enchanting laughter and the warm and soft touch I told myself that you had.
Touch that I will never feel, laughter I will never hear, again, and eyes that I will never meet, again.
When you left, I was torn, between love and hatred. Now the hatred is gone and the love morphed to friendship, which I would like to share with you.

The Mauritius girl, will my words reach you?
I guess they will not, but I like to hope, to dream.
Hopes and dreams, the accessories of the weak...
A weak being, that I am, a being to be filled with fake bliss, five by day.
Three by the sunrise and  two when the diamonds imbue the skies.
As like that, the curtains shall rise and fall before my eyes, at each passing empty day.

And so I live on, even if that means to not have you anyway I can... The only way I can...
For now, I just wonder, if will I ever find it again while I live? The joy and wonder, I mean.
I ask this chair, I ask the other me on the looking glass and I ask my shadow.
I guess these are the only companionships I will ever have until I meet my final doom.
My shadow, my other broken me and this chair and my memories, of you and I...

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In My Solitude

In my solitude there's been retreat
From worldly events that brought defeat,
When emotions were too weak to bear
I could always find asylum there.

Through childhood, grade school, college too
And as a Man, I always knew
An inner peace down deep inside
Where I would go sometimes to hide.

Then came one day the hordes of Hell
And darkness all around me fell,
A battle ensued in that black night
For my very soul I began to fight!

From the belly of Hell I began to pray
Like Jonah did on his dark day,
And just like then God heard my prayer
He came, and conquered my enemies there.

He restored my faith, He made me new
He gave me peace I never knew,
He gave me armor and washed off the mud
With nothing, save his own son's blood!

He told me that He was the source
Of peace I'd found through my life's course,
He said that He would always be
In my solitude, waiting there for me.

In my solitude the Master waits
With wisdom there He demonstrates
Life's lessons that He gives through strife
That prepare us for everlasting life.

The last thing that He said to me
On that glorious day of victory,
He smiled, and then He called me "Son"
"Go tell the world what I have done!"

"Thank You Father!" Your obedient son, Timothy I. Brumley

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I grasp visions of an ideal hue.
Dismay fades as light lives inside.
Images of gray rush through my mind.
I am defined by darkness,yet color burns bright within me.
Not who I am,but how I see.
Fluent rays set my blindness free.

for the ''Color Blindness Contest''
sponsored by...Olajide Adelana
written by...Kacey Greenlee,kaceymike29

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Let it go

Dinner was over an hour ago
Counters wiped clean, dishes are washed and dried
I hold my glass up to the light like a color slide,
   and see the world, warped, and blurred through the half glass of rosy wine

It makes everything seem clearer, somehow, and sobers my mind

From our long silhouettes, we sit on the lawn, and gaze to the mountains,
                    talking quietly, and sipping the pink charodonnay

Dark of the shade seems to drink up the light of day

Summer carols being sung by two mourning doves, 
                    are accompanied by a choir of crickets in the dewy grass
                    calling for reverence in honor of a dying sun
Soft voices are lifted in still air
The pink light seems to paralyze time.

We have found kindness here, 
                     and somehow the grueling trials of the year
                     seem smaller than they did yesterday

Now the day turns toward the darkness
                     and we have rid our taste of the dry and bitter dust
                     of everything that has been said and done

The north wind shakes the trees
                      and the last leaf that clung so fast and tight
                      releases its grip, and disappears into the dusk

We shall never need to see where it lands 
                      for we  are  forbidden strangers to the dark
Let us remain friends with the light

Let us unclench our old resistance

And after we have finished the last drop of wine
                      we will turn, and go inside
                      and thank our stars
                      for the pungent taste
                      that yet lingers
                      on our tongues

                      in case
                      we might
                      that some years will harvest a bitter taste....



For Deb's Contest: "Referential" 
reference: Chris Aechtner's Poem:  unclench fists

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Different strokes for different folks 
I've done a lot of different things in life 
from working on a farm lifting bale of hay
to working in a factory making chocolate

I remember I spent a weekend 
weeding every third carrot 
planted in roes and roes of carrots
I was no good at that job

My mind wandered 
thinking how bored
life is more fun 
when you're challenged

I've read other people story's 
where they hate farming
and yet I love working with cow's
on a dairy farm

You should never feel trapped in life
you are alway's capable of change
remember that we are all individuals
what one man like's another doesn't 

life is to short 
to spend it doing what you hate
grab it by the horn's 
and find a job you love

I spent year's working  
in a factory 
feeling trapped
now I work in aged care 

Perhaps the pay's not as good 
as some job's but I'm happy
become the person you want to be
that is all that matter's.

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Internet education

I have an internet education 
I graduate everyday
I have an internet education
I bookmark my favorite page

I know about civil war
In Bosnia and the Sudan 
and that one in the United States
that forged "American"
Water rights in Tibet
Afghanistan's hidden resources
Machinery for the war
we haven't fought yet
revealing plotted courses

Challenge me to any thing 
it not about how fast I type
It is a perennial philosophical reflection
that if one looks deeply into oneself
one will discover not only one's own essence
but also the essence of the universe. 
For as one is a part of the universe
as is everything else,
the basic energies of the universe
flow through oneself
as they flow through everything else.
So it is thought that 
one can come into contact 
with the nature of the universe
if one comes into contact 
with one's own nature. 

In seconds I can translate
Chinese and Tagalog
Create a web site, delete a face book
even start a blog (Beaureguard Schmeltzer)
I have an internet education
every day I am learning more
with my internet education
its about me like never before.

Now who do I share this with
my lessons of life
I spent twenty five years at the keyboard
my muscles are tight.
I miss me...
Until tomorrow and the school bell rings again.
Keep up your education any way you can.

Never keep to your self the beauty that is inside 
share your time, your life, your spirit with others.
Get out, enjoy, play music, paint.
Bring home the white clouds again. 

Beaureguard Schmeltzer
Arthur Schopenhauer, how did you know?

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Untitled #335 / Astronomy club

Astronomy club. After school.
Search for moon in vain. Play with telescope. 
Stare at clouds. Learn to juggle.
Admire Mr. Milligan (Clym Yeobright)
and the invisible stars.

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Mineral Baths - Saratoga Springs NY

Mineral Baths Saratoga Springs NY

She covers her private 
parts at the bath house. 
Mineral water fills a tub, 
centuries old. 
She feels cold until 
an old Women hands 
her heated sheets... 
now, her skin covered. 
Brought her clips to lift 
her auburn hair. 
The sheets cooled as the 
tub, now filled. 

A stray cat 
peers into the window... 
purrs, kissing glass. 
The old Women 
removes the sheet, takes  
the hand of a young lady 
as she carefully 
steps into aged porcelain. 
Tiny bubbles 
surround her skin. 

A soft pillow for her head... 
Now, relax. . . she tells herself,
dreaming of the 
cat kissing glass. . . 
alone, at last.

Nancy Duci Denofio

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Forever A Tourist

In many travels across this melting pot of a country I have found that every small town has 
it's own cast of characters every group has the asshole who cant handle 
The party girl who gets crying and wishes she could start all over again.
And the one to busy living this life to give a crap about what you think or how your 

After a couple  of weeks it gets to anyone the sense of not belonging.
the constant movement  it eats away at you like rot gut whiskey.
Once even though in agony you so joyfully keep pouring down your throat.

And the conversations become the same are we but playing a game 
saying whatever it takes to get what we want.
But what is it we truley want?

Comfort of a warm body by are side the feeling of flesh apon flesh.
It has to be more than just sex but out here I belive its to feel 
what its like to benormal and for one moment pretend you wont  be 
walking out that door to chase sun once agian.
Living like a pirate apon the land.

Not matter her body's warmth when you leave you never havea chance to
know the bad or the reallity of people.
thats why im forever a tourist.

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The Hobo

Time's moments takes it's toll
 adding gravitational pull
To a body, so weighed down
 His chin can touch the ground
With pain visible on his face
 He lives sans his wit, and grace
A life of selfishness, his crime
 now sentenced, to a duel with time
And time's blatent tenacity
 plus it's control over eternity
Reminds the man how much it's cost
 for him to realize what he's lost
So he wears time's final wrath
 As he walks life's thorny path
All alone without a friend
 He walks the path to journey's end

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Game Over

I was never able to see so clearly.
My view constantly obstructed by your hands.
As you kept my eyes closed.
But now as I watch you walk away.
I can finally see clearly for the first time in a long while.
Now it's not so hard to cut ties with mere memories.
As I watch you sink into the trenches, falling victim to your own disease.
The grass isn't always greener on the other side.
Especially when you fail to take the time to fertilize.
Fertilze the ground that you have laid beneath of your feet.
You mistake my silence for weakness.
This is when the cliche, "actions speak louder than words," truly speaks.
I will no longer cling to the strings that kept wrapped tightly around my shoulders&knees.
One scream,"It's over."
I will not allow myself to be fed by the hands of the likes of you. 
The game is over. 
How quickly will you succumb to the quicksand that lays underneath your feet.
How does it feel to stand on shattered knees? 
What's it like to fall straight backwards onto the sword that you buried deep into me? 
Your final days are brewing like the sweetest tea.
This will be our final confrontation.
Revenge is a sickening feat.
But I have never felt so bloodthirsty.
As blood runs black.
I will watch you oh so closely.
I hope you never forget me.

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The Musings of a Moron

People usually walk around without realizing how far deep they have sunk in life, amidst the lies that they tell themselves to keep going, to not stop and wonder about what are they doing, blindly and oblivious to how awful things can be. And, as like that, they talk
without pondering for the consequences of their words, that are more like slings and arrows.
No... Actually, they are aware, but most chose not to see it by how it really is and to not change the behavior.

I, for one, want to fool myself, also, in order to achieve their level of ignorance, or to sink even more deeper, so I can find bliss, then.

I want to experience it all, I want to know how it is to go deep inside of the other, to exchange caress and fluids. I and to feel the warmth and the slippery of the insides of the other, then, to go with the flow, all inside.
To say farewell to the crimson flow that stains my soul and my floor and my hands.
The moment of clarity is thin, really brief, so I can spy inside my self and realize I want it all or I don't accept anything.

Even though I yearn for such malice, I want, as well, to nourish feelings for the other, to love someone and let my hatred wither and die.
I want to love again, to feel loved, to live for someone and not for an empty and worthless purpose.
I do not want to pass my genes on, I want just to live a romance, even if it is just a fleeting moment, I do not care. Before my demise, I'd like to experience that...
My mind roams far when I do place those thoughts, those desires above anything else I do imagine 

I think I will stop swallowing the compressed wonders she gave me, they don't work as they should, else I would not wish for those things and I would not wonder about anything  as like that, I would be a puppet on her hands, a soulless puppet, that is what I would be, or am I already? Am I missing the strings or were my strings severed? How does my soul looks like now? Is it so tarnished that its filthy goes to my outer husk to everyone else to see how pitiful that I am? Is that the reason that I don't have my other half and it seems I will never have?

I do not know, I must not care, I must not, for I fathom how spiteful and worthy of punishment I am or I might end on the depths of madness while treading heavily on this dark side of the conscience, where the bliss and joy have no place.
And so, as I am becoming aware of that, I fathom the whys and hows that I am musing about these thoughts and not living them...

A glance at the looking glass show me why I am as I am... A constant reminder tht S.O.B. is...

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Title Taken

The page laughing at me the canvas cold and blank.
Winter filled room in the middle of june.
Why had my heart run a ground on such jagged shores.

Now I scavage for remains of my soul.
ragged I wonder would anyone remember me apon my return.
Would she stand smile apon face and regret in heart.

The page stayed empty for a reason.
They were all gone the great titles along with there writers.

Me the fool brave or foolish enough to  attempt the
impossible  with little to show for it.
A broken relationship and some bad tattos  in 
some  weird places.

To be stuck down in a  hollow .
Is fine  with suplies lowand the truth a sober mind brings 
time was ticking the false deadline was apon me.
And like a kid trying to cram in every answer on a school test.
I was stuggling  waitting for the teacher to say times up.

Hands shaking from the need throat dry  and a headache
that would last for a week.
Why had it always come to this  isolation.

Maybe it was the roads way of calling me back.
Like a lover calling me back to bed.
To entangle untill the mornings light.

Yet just like a passionet affair the struggle for the title 
kept me trapped to this place for nights on end.
You cant grasp what is never yours its 
like trying to see that sweet southern breeze.

Everytime you find  one with which your heart agree's 
 You find the titles taken.
life and love will always  bring you to your knees.

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Nascentes morimur

Twenty-three chromosomes from my mother
Twenty-three chromosomes from my father
Already, I feel loved
Three weeks now and my heart is beating
My blood is pumping
My brain is dividing into three primary sections
Already, I am alive
Four weeks now and my limbs are taking shape
By five weeks I have my kidneys and external portions of the ear
My hands and wrists are taking shape
Already, I am partially developed
Six weeks now and I have brain waves
My heartbeat can be heard, and I can respond reflexively to stimulus
Already, I have feelings
By seven weeks I have fingers and toes to wiggle
Knee joints are now present
All of my organs are present by week eight and I am only one and half inches long
I have breathing motions, my kidneys are producing urine, and my skin thickens
Already, I will soon know if I am a boy or a girl
By nine weeks my eyelids close, I can suck my thumb and swallow
I’m grasping and responding to touch
At ten weeks I now have fingernails and toenails, and my very own fingerprints
Already, I have an identity

But wait…something else is swimming in your stomach
It’s making me starve and die
Here I am born four hours later, but only six or seven weeks old
Already, I am born and dead
If only you would have let me live
But wait…now at nine weeks there is a tube cutting me apart
A machine is sucking me apart limb by limb
This is the fad
Already, I have experienced pain
You should have let me live
At sixteen weeks there is a large needle
It’s poisoning me
It’s dehydrating me, my brain is hemorrhaging
My organs are failing and my skin is burnt
The next day I am born…but not breathing
Please let me live
Now here…I am fourteen to twenty-three weeks old
But there is a instrument twisting my arm off
Now the other, and now my legs one by one
My skull is now being crushed and no longer am I whole
But in pieces
If you would have just let me live
I’m mostly developed now
I now have a chance of surviving outside my mother
Here I am being born, but feet first and face down
Just the head left arms and legs squirming about
But wait…no…blunt scissors are being put in the base of my skull
The scissors are now spreading apart
Something is being inserted into my skull
My brain…it sucks my brain out until my head collapses
Now I am fully born, but no longer squirming about
Just still, not moving
Already, I have felt hate
Why didn’t you let me live?

Written November 11, 2009

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Soda Machine 1 – Humans 0

A soda machine took them down.
American, Japanese, European, Indian
and Chinese I saw attempt to buy from
that machine. And the machine won.
Try and try they might, they put in dollar
after dollar with no success at all.
They swapped ones and asked each other
to try another one and they kept stuffing
ones in that machine, but to no avail.
I watched this with quite a bit of amusement.
Sociology 101 … a group of people immediately
becomes stupid.
Not quite what I learned, but pretty close.
As I stood there – having already figuring out
that the bill collection slot was full – I counted
out enough quarters and I sauntered over to the
machine to make a purchase.
The people there asked me to try one of my dollars
or if I had different dollars from what they had.
I had to do it – I just had that streak in me right
then. I pumped in my quarters and
bought a soda, turned to the assemblage and said,
The bill slot is full, idiots, use change.
And I walked away with my soda, but not before
I saw the looks of bewilderment in the eyes of
the people. It never even occurred to them.
So I made a silent toast to the stupidity
of the masses and the amusement they provide.
Ah, this would be such a great planet
if it wasn’t for the people.

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lay of the land

reading between the brow,
furrowed as it were,
the earth - the dirt of his face,
his eyes - his eyes tell a tale
seeded with rhizomes burrowing
deep in his psyche from all 
the rings of his years

what has grown down there?
mushrooming into fullness
of speculation and strength,
of oaken striations
lining all the creases
of life and the bird's-eye
whorls that are his eyes

the impossible is there,
the possible is there too
the anger of burnt suns
past ruddy iris's
is smoothed in saline
glistened to a cameo pink

stubble sticks out from
the furrows and cracks of
mounding cheeks and a 
bone-dry chin jutting 
into a world it has known
for seasons beyond the horizon

facing the future dauntless,
with a smile, his countenance 
beckons invitation to ask,
questions that he asked once 
and was given answers by choice, 
by others or simply by living

© Goode Guy 2012-08-22

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Love is someting on a daily basis that should always be displayed
A kind word,helping hands are ways it can be conveyed.
Hello there!How are you doing ?Or may I help you please.....
Are all but a few phrases that could be said with ease?

Instead.....its no thank you!I donk care or who are you anyway?
You're just trying to extend a little love and then they blow you away.
That's a nice dress,I like your hair or may I please see your hat?
All you can hear with a cold stare is what you think he looking at.

Our dear Father who lives up above,said to love everyone like your self;
I guess people these days got tired of that and put love back on the shelf.
We need to take it back down ,dust it off and give it another try,
Its not that hard to spread around even if its denied.

I still beleive that love has hope amidst the doom and gloom;
It may get better....I don't know?......before GOD comes,or when man
lives on the moon

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Lonely Violet Eyes

Oh dear, I'm running late, they will be waiting at home...
It's been a busy day....still things to do...
I really should be going...
I grab my keys, ...and make my excuses...
I've said hello....but it's late...
        A glance at the clock. Oh yes,  I must be going!

She had tried to insist I have tea...
"You must try a piece of pound cake, ...I made it this morning"...
But I had politely refused...
"Thank you,...but I really can't.... I must be going"....

Oh dear! ... ..She seems a bit disappointed...
But grabs her cane, and quietly walks with me to the door

I have started to say good-bye, my hand on the knob
"Want to see my violets?"  she asks quickly
How do I say no??

We walk to the screened porch near the back of the house
Sitting proudly in the sunlight of the northern exposure
Eleven small pots of glorious blooming African violets,
Several shades of pink, purple and blue
The most beautiful violets I have ever seen...

I express my sincere admiration
Her anxious look melts, and turns to delight...
And happiness and pleasure have taken years away from her eyes...

I ask her what is her secret to growing such beauties...?
"Yes...please tell me"...."Oh....leftover coffee grounds?...How interesting"....
        "Please tell me more"......

    We sit together the rest of that afternoon on the porch...
         She pours us tea....while I taste the most delicious lemon pound cake....
             And as we talk....
                .....I can't help but notice...her eyes are beautiful....
                          so wise, and beautiful....and bright as the color of violets....

Revised for Dane Ann's contest "What Kindheartedness Means to Me"

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Untitled #307 / It's mid-October

It’s mid-October, and the cool morning air
refreshes and replenishes the players as they march
across a muddy lacrosse field, the low sun
that manages to peek through the gray clouds
glistening off the beady surface of grass blades.
The stage is set for glory.

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NEVER MADE IT............................a blind man's prayer 

whenever i look towards the sky, 
i can feel your your radiant smile spreading it's wings 
around the heavenly dark skies 

it doesn't bother me why i never made it so high in life 
i couldn't be a wise man for i never had the sense and humour 
i couldn't preach god cause i had no hope 
i couldn't feel the sun for i was so lost in my drems 

now im here all by myself waiting for a new beginning, 
waiting for someone to show me the way 
all i my life i have carried over my thoughts 
i couldn't raise a family cause no one would want me 
i feel so lost, that i no longer need to see where im going 
it's surely not home where im headed 
for my eyes are so tired that i can never see the world 

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Sorrow for a Stranger

He sits down, alone,
in a cheap, plastic booth
at a fast-food joint,
and leans his cane 
against the table.
His right leg appears boneless,
just a loose appendage
hanging from his hip socke,
that he has to drag around.
He eats his hamburger
that he ordered off of
the dollar menu,
and moves on to his kid-sized
chocolate milkshake.
As he gets down to the last
few sips,
he struggles to keep the cup still
on the table.
He shakily lifts up his right arm
so that he can hold the cup with one hand
and guide the straw with the other,
but like his leg, his right arm
is limp and lifeless,
rendering his hand useless.

Sorrow begins to claw 
at my open heart,
eroding any emotional strength
that may have existed before.
I am overwhelmed 
at the sight of this fragile old man,
sitting alone in a fast-food joint,
struggling to make his body cooperate.
I can feel tears crawling
into my eyes and trying to escape
down my cheek.
Even though he might be
perfectly content in his life,
I feel this desire to help him,
and tell him he's not alone,
and that the aching pangs of loneliness
are familiar to me too.

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I've heard it said that if all the people 
who ever lived and died, were buried together, 
it would fill the size of Spain.

No gazpacho, no El Greco 
No Flamenco and no Bolero
Just row upon row, with nowhere to go
on a Saturday night
Dead all over, nothing to do

Of course Guernica might fit in 
as would certainly, the Inquisition
overseen by some church patrician
staking out his historical place
in God's eyes, of liturgical grace

But who would be then accepting
a place of Conquistadors amors
if all the American continents
couldn't be relied on to be invaded?
There's still the rest of Europe.

But stones and dates of birth and death
as far to horizon as can be seen
would be enough to put anybody off
Pablo Casals and his pals would
flee for less shaded climes
and maybe start again, in Portuguese

Pamplona's bulls unknown to run
would only be cast in marbled stone
above the heads of political deads,
world-famous and anonymous unknowns

So perhaps it's best to strew the gone
over on and around the world beyond
continental lands to north and south
to spread the wealth by word and mouth

We all in time will, without exception
join the breathless dance of sleep
Leave the Iberian Peninsula to  
Basques, the Castilians and Catalans
The lifeless can lie in hinterlands
peering up from past the Pyrenees

© Goode Guy 2013-07-27

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Important Pre-nap Questions

I came back from a cold windy walk
Off with my mittens and hat
And coat and boots
On with the tea kettle
I opened the box
“Lipton - 100% Real Tea Leaves
Serve Hot or Iced”
Oooo not ‘iced’
I don’t even want to think about that!
“72 Tea Bags
Decaffeinated with Pure Spring Water and Effervescence”
Effervescence?  What is that?  Fizz?
I do not want fizzy hot tea
Just plain hot tea, if you please
“Net Wt 4.7 oz (133 g).. “  OK 

I opened the lid to put the individually
Bagged teas… 
To put the bags in the glass jar
On the shelf
I opened the box and smelled the gentle green
And happily removed the cardboard separators 
-the bags are placed in rows
With two little ‘walls’ between
Which I use for book marks
Fresh green-smelling book marks

And I noticed more writing on the underside of the lid:’
“Why is there a frog on my tea box?”
Beside a picture of a frog
I closed the lid
Sure enough, there is the same picture;
Only smaller; so I didn’t notice it
The little green frog is framed by the words
“Rainforest Alliance…Certified”
Nice to know the frog is a certified frog

The lid goes on to explain that the Lipton
Tea has been grown on “Rainforest Alliance Certified ™
Tea farms…to Protect the Environment, Improve Quality of Life; and Improve Worker Welfare…for more information…please visit or”

Wow!  What an answer!
The first things that came to my mind
With the question
(In case you forgot, “Why is there a frog on my tea box?”)
1.  An elephant wouldn’t fit
2.  The gecko is taken (see Geico car insurance ads)
3.  Cats don’t drink tea – although they occasionally sniff mine
4.  Fish are too wet… well, come to think of it, frogs live at least part-time in water…         scratch that… except that I don’t care for fish, and I’d probably return tea with fish on the box
5.  Why not?

It is a charming question
It is a cute frog
And the tea is good; especially when drunk to accompany
A hot buttered biscuit with cinnamon on top

I sit back in my grandfather’s old chair
With a book and a cat on my lap
And drift off to sleep

“Why is there a frog on my tea box?”
I think that’s silly
The more important question would be
“Why is there a frog in my Christmas tree?”
But that’s another story

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Three truant scholars spending our sabbaticals
in crisp Colorado, we all re-read Walden,
dared to drink from streams so icy clear
the fish seemed suspended in mid-air.
Our flimsy nylon shelters shielded us
from what weather there was to worry on,
as summer slipped to autumn
and autumn waned winterward.

We walked well-wooded hillsides
of mixed conifers and broadleaf;
in deep drafts we breathed the earthy air,
interpreting the dent and trace of tracks.
Four full years past we trekked those trails
through stands of timber frequented by fox,
by birds, by deer -- and by growling grizzlies.

Now, when my son hugs his honey bear,
red-jacketed, black-button eyed,
I see the hellish maw, the blooded claw,
of the brownish-yellow raging beast
that tore off my arm and maimed two sages,
amid the yellow quaking aspen
where, yet, that gory grizzly ages.

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Two Drink Minimum

The bar is empty except for me and some old memories.
The smoke flows to the celling as I sit underneath the neon sign.
recalling old friends and new regrets.

Miles behind me yet only a thought away.
I recall the feel of the embrace.
The tortured soul that guided this broken soul to this 
empty place.

Theres a two drink minimum  and i nurse the forth.
As the whiskey burns taking me back to my southern roots.
far from these cold nothern nights and snow covred streets.

Far from her warm welcome arms  and  and soft gentle ways.
Emptyness and drinks dont always mix well.
Motels and dirty mirrors often dont reflect where you are.

As time slowley does pass.
Confessions to a tired bartender.
Who long since has outgrown the two drink minimum of this 
frozen empty bar.

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A Second Look

Time was, when I had far less miles and fewer oil changes, I had a mindset that there was a right and wrong to everything.  No gray, no pink, no whatever.  Serious thought about most anything resulted in a firm resolution, one way or the other.  Opinions, filtered through my paradigms, became fact and were stored  in a box labeled Conclusions, to be trotted out as supporting evidence whenever challenged.

I don't know how many times, over the years, I would open this box, only to find that many of the conclusions contained were, at best, suspect and in many cases obsolete.  This however had no profound impact on my system, and new conclusions were always available to replace them.

Experience taught me that I was not alone in my mindset.  Everyone had one of these boxes and  was more then willing to open theirs when occasions demanded.  Many an hour was spent making arguments based on preconceived and closely held opinions, arduously focusing on a result instead of the prevailing problem.  And we never questioned the ultimate decision.

But now, in my later years, I find that while my opinions are still important, they are just that, an opinion.  A man much wiser then myself once said “opinions are worth what you pay for them and most people give theirs for free”.  Now there are words to live by.

Today, either due to circumstance or suspicion, I tend to give  most things a second look.  I have come to realize that yesterdays grapes are today's raisins.  Everything changes, and it is important I change with it.  So, if you were to ask me the same question today as you asked yesterday, you very likely will get a different answer.  You will write it off to senility.  I prefer to think I am still evolving.  Just sayin!

Bob Quigley
Sept 27, 2011

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To Be A Man

Who are they to judge?
Their voices matter not
What others choose to say..the names they toss about
The ridicule, the scorn, why must they be so cruel?
No value in the words they use
No merit in their rules

What it is to be a man?
Who can say?  They?  The jeering lot?
That's all they've got?    Not !
I'll tell you of a man, 
A man he was in every way 

There was a man of whom I speak
So like a rose, with gentle ways
A butterfly, alone and forgotten
Could safely light upon his palm
And want to stay

This man could love a poem
Could kiss a baby, could love a song, 
And still be big and strong
Would watch a bird, till the singing was done

Until his dying day, he was strong
He loved his roses, he loved the birds
Recited poems, enjoyed the beauty
His kindness walked with every step
Until his journey over, and he was gone
A stronger man?....there was none

For Joe's contest "Here Comes The Judge"

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The Devil Made Me Do IT

Don’t believe what you may see 
for your eyes they do deceive thee 
everything they say 
poisoned with half truths and lies 
only rumors to stifle our way 

I couldn’t have done those things 
none of that was real 
just horrible awful dreams 
there was no color 
only lack of light 
that could not have been me that night 

It wasn’t like I had a choice 
no not even my own voice 
I wasn’t in control 
the darkness took me over 
trapped me in a room so cold 
then it locked the door 

You just don’t understand 
the shadows they sometimes need me 
their call I can’t defy 
they whisper what I need to do 
to them I must comply 
it’s not me, its them to blame 
the blood is on their hands 

Know the beating of my heart's what’s real 
it’s the only thing that is 
beats each beat for the love I feel 
together it says, forever it says 
always, you are mine 
I’d protect you with my last breath 
put it all out on the line 

I never would have hurt you 
that’s the one thing I wouldn’t do 
It wasn’t me, it couldn’t be 
it’s not my fault, I have no guilt 
this burden it won’t be mine 
the devil made me do it 
it was to him I built my shrine

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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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I had plans for my future, Was so sure would never falter Working hard towards achieving it So sure it was just around the corner People believed that I would Really sure that I would complete what I began. But one day something happened That I never thought would ever happen Moreover would never let it happen to me Now I am a wavering wreck I don’t believe what has become of me Really thought I had everything under control. But things have spun out of my grasp I want to believe that this is just a phase Am desperate for it to be over Though I also wish & pray for it to be real And prove every negative what I once believed To be outright wrong and justify That what has happened to me is true and real.

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

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The once mighty tree

There once was a tree that was tall and beautiful. It was the talk of the forest. Its 
branches were sturdy, its leaves full, its trunk straight. Kids came from all around to climb 
its height and swing from its branches. On hot days it gave them shade from the 
scorching sun, and when it rained it bore the heaviest drops without thought. One day a 
kid broke off a branch and used it to scratch his back. The tree trembled a little. The next 
day another kid sawed off four strong limbs. He needed to make a chair. The tree shook. 
The third day another kid came and stripped the tree bare, he needed to patch his leaking 
roof. The tree stood naked and alone. No one came around anymore. It had given 
pleasure when they needed it, it had given a seat in its lofty heights, it had been a shelter 
in the storms, and now it had nothing left to give. One day a stranger walked by. He 
looked up at this skeleton of a tree. He didn’t say anything just looked for a long time, 
then took out a piece of paper and sketched something. Then the stranger dug a moat 
around the trunk and filled it with water. He did this day after day. And he would lean 
against the trunk, now scarred and talk about how it was the most beautiful tree in 
forest. And the tree couldn’t help but wonder if he was blind. At first nothing happened. 
But as time passed small buds sprang forth. They flowered and bloomed. Leaves popped 
out the very trunk seemed to straighten itself as if the moon was within its grasp. The 
stranger looked at the tree, there were tears in his eyes as he pulled out a crumpled 
drawing from his pocket and held it up, it looked exactly like the tree looked now. But the 
tree now could see over the tops of the other trees. It saw a house with a small branch 
propping open a door. It saw a wooden chair sitting in the yard, neglected, with one leg 
broken clean off. It saw where the roof had been patched. The tree shivered and shook. 
Leaves cascaded from its newly formed branches raining down on the stranger, who 
looked up bewildered. But all the tree saw were four wooden legs, it saw a patched roof, it 
remembered. The branches started to sag, the bark peeled off like dead skin and in a loud 
sickening crash the tree started to fall. The man turned to brace the tree with all his 
strength. But he was not a whole man for one of his legs was made of wood, it splintered 
and cracked under the strain. And in the house not far away a man looked up in time to 
glimpse a mighty tree crumble to the ground.

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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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My Scars

We were both 16, we shared many firsts with each other. First girl I ever kissed, First person outside of family that I told "I love you" to and we took each others virginity. We were both young and foolish but to this day I still say I honestly loved you. The day you told me you never cared for me the day when you told me it was all just a game was the day I cut my first scar into my arm. I knew you longer then my own brother. We were best friends grew up together, we even got a house when we both left the "nest". Those were the best 3 years of my life we became brothers we became blood. The last day we ever talked is the saddest day in my life, even to this day I cry when I think about you walking away. The scar you gave me stands out from the rest, it's deeper and longer then the others. You were my star I gave you everything I had. I would of walked through the pits of hell just to see your smile. I thought you were the one, I thought we had a future and would be together forever. But one day I came home early to surprise you with this ring, yes I was going to ask you to marry me. When I walked into the house my heart was shattered and blown away by the wind. The image of the two of you is burned into my brain I did not say a word just dropped the ring on the floor and walked right back out the door. The pain of the knife cutting into my arm shocks me out of my thoughts. I watch the blood begin to drip onto the floor this makes 13. 13 scars on my arm

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Whiskey Wishes

from this barstool i have sat waitting for some moment 
of insiperation to come to me 
But the only thing that that comes to me is
a bartender with another drink.

And in empty reflection lost in a jukebox's song
played by a lonley heart shooting pool.
I cant recall where the spark went.
maybe it fell to floor like the ash from a cigarette.

the page waits at home like a wife waitting in worry as her husban is off doing God knows  
what  so worried only wishing he'd return.
And when he does the fear fades and the anger kicks in.

The bottle doesnt hold a key but it does know me well.
I kiss it's fiery lips and cant resist it's charm.
so I sit with it passing hours in a dance that will end in
nothing but another wasted night  and a bitter morning taken
out apon my  mind.

In a swirl of hungover thoughts id leave half written pages.
To soon find themselves collecting with my ever growing arsenal  of 
drunken rants.
All ending bitter and cold.

But when the whiskey hits I'll make such great plans 
that will never be.   
I'll write that epic that will keep in the minds 
other writers.
And in the warm arms of women who wanna love a 
trainwreck just to say they've known what it's like.

Whiskey wishes are like sparks from a much larger fire.
the sparks fly off into the midnight sky.
only to fade befor are very eye.

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Untitled #340 / Colored pencils

Colored pencils in an artist’s even hand
sketch rolling fields of wavy grass
sprouting from the barren plain
of barren pages.
Now she reaches for Burnt Sienna.

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Noxious Butterfly

I'm fine! Really, I am.
My eyes may give way
To emotions, but I've found
That hiding them is okay.
No one wants to live with
Their heart on their sleeve.
That'd be just fine if
People didn't care or need.
As it is, no one can
Survive. Not alone that is.
Clinging to one another and
Crying together like kids.

I want to surpass that,
I want to be able on my own.
In many ways like a cat,
I would do more alone.
Sometimes, when I think this
Loneliness pushes it's way in
And it gets so hard to resist
That noxious butterfly's sin.
Sure, I care for others
And want those feelings in return.
People are like wet covers
Weighing you down to get burned.

My feelings, I want to cut them.
To tear them down and rip them out.
But once it's dance has begun
The butterfly will win, no doubt.
No more! Leave me be I say.
You imploring noxious butterfly!
Feelings, I will not hear of them today
There are no rules that life goes by.
But within me the dance continues,
Those horrid things I want to forget.
Some sort of personal revenue
My noxious butterfly, my feelings, kept.


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Bujas entered the divisional intelligence office having very important business
business of national importance touching on high level national security issues.
so he was volunteering to be of the much needed help maybe help halt the bombs
and kabooms hitting his beloved city.. the copper looks a him in a certain way that
that suggested we don't deal with vigilantes only trained officers

Abujas left... saying behind sealed lips the officer hearing it none the less
your loss not mine.. my mother land weep on.. for your protector lacks in..
lacks in skills good enough to become a protector.. yet next day they sent
summoned for him to give them an enlightening lecture.. let hope the bombs
belong to the past year for we now have the good will of the vigilante

Pistol service guy made Abujas to leave in a huff.. only to recall the silver star
awarded vigilante... such are the happenings at the pistol service gatherers...
of Intel prohibited by law to act on the Intel.. yet their emblem a pistol in-circle
akin to throwing a stone in the bush failing to hit a bird and scarring a squirrel

Lewis kay
pmc, dpmg

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Can somebody please explain to me?
Why is it that she hates what she sees?
A seemingly perfect life
She is forced to hide behind a smile
Scared to face the truth
With a glance in the mirror, she doesn’t recognize her own reflection
A young girl’s view so distorted she feels so lost
Terrified to disappoint, she forces herself to smile
The girl trapped inside, so desperate to break free
And with every passing moment, the beauty inside begins to fade
It fades further and further away
She has lost herself
So desperate to belong, yet she is unable to move on
Unaware of the damage she has caused, she lives in a dream
She is trapped in the fog
She continues to live her seemingly perfect life
Never showing the fear
Never showing the pain
Never showing the tears, she hides from herself
Her reality is one where the truth can no longer be found
Why is it that no one can see the beauty of the girl trapped inside?
Why it is that no one can see that this girl is me??

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Two Heads Are Better Than One

A modern day scenario of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.  It’s after dinner and Eve 
has washed the dishes while Adam's disappeared to the den…communication is minimal...the 
boys are off somewhere..everybody's doing "their thing".  The old serpent..he's got all his bases covered - the internet,  so many disconnect, no communication...he's 
thinking: 'O, this is easy! Divide the family and conquer!'...He's got it going..or so he thinks..but he forgets that he doesn't hold the "Ace" card.   All this is temporary!

“Adam, are you listening to me?” How’s the budget coming on?”
“We have to have a budget in place so life can be manageable.”
“No, not later, not tomorrow, honey!” 
“Tomorrow’s too far in the future for this to wait.”
“Oh! What’s that you said?”
“Did I hear you right?”
“I should make a budget, that whatever I do is fine by you?”
“Babe, let’s work on it together. Here, I’ve got all we need to start.”
“Oh, you’re too busy, right now?”
“Ok, I’ll do it, then.”

“Adam, where are the boys?”
“Have you seen them today?”
“What are you doing?”
“Shouldn’t you be out there with them?”
“I can’t be running things around here and watching the boys, too.”
“Someone has to keep an eye on them; see what they’re up to.”
“Are you listening to me?”
“No, I’m not nagging..”
“I’m just gently reminding you that what’s left undone today,
Will come back tomorrow and bite you in the butt!”

Soon, Cain murdered Abel......

"Adam, now that Cain has killed Abel, we have..nothing"
"No need for me to stay around here"
"Good bye" 

Another lesson for mankind, but will we ever learn
That two heads are better than one?
Without balance nothing works as it should!

*To Any Present day Adam totally disconnected from family

*For Deborah Guzzi's "Eve in the Garden of Eden" Contest

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This state of confusion

It seems quite the same time after time,
I sort through the pieces to see what is mine.
 The clock is ticking, the spring unwinds.
I guess it peace of mind that I’m hoping to find.

I feel simply lost, in a state of confusion,
Is this what I dreamed or just an illusion?
The answer’s before me, but no conclusion,
I wonder if all that I see is just delusion.

I try just to swim but I go under,
I see a flash but hear no thunder.
Was it all real or another blunder?
I’m still quite uncertain so I wonder.

I look to the sky and try to believe,
I want to stay but see I must leave.
I get entangled in the web that I weave,
I haven’t a trick left up my sleeve.

I try to move but find I’m unable,
All that remains are crumbs at the table.
I watch from the edge the ground is unstable,
It seems so unreal like what is inside a fable.

I look for an answer but none can be found,
Life passes by, without  making even a sound.
My head in the clouds, my feet on the ground,
Time after time this continues to come around.

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. Passing By .

I've seen her there, most every day, rocking on the old front porch
She lives alone, I've often heard....she must get lonely on her perch
She watches the world passing her by...seeing her there,...just makes me sigh...
Sometimes I'm on my way to town, ...sometimes on my way to church
She's called out a word...inviting me in, ....but who has the time...?  I'll just grin...
And wave a little....and then...I'll pretend I hadn't that so unheard of??
Well!  Good see....I have things to do...important dates!!
Too much to do that cannot wait!!
If I were to hesitate...even for a minute...walk through her gate
Well...heavens to Betsy!!  I might be late!!...
No...I couldn't stop.....!   But I'll wave and smile....For heaven's sake!!
No time on my hands, to simply fritter away!
So I pass on by..don't miss a step....Don't look back,  feeling no regrets!

It's my day's journey...I really must scurry...I hurry away, not a backwards glance
Perhaps another day...then, we'll see......Perhaps another chance, when I'm free...

But then....oh dear,  how would I know, you see, life passed her by, 
And when it was over....well....."that was that!"
But my ears still ring out...from her calling me "Please come in and sit a spell"....
Well.....I must not dwell...what is past is past...

Yet......I don't understand....what's the matter with people??
You see.....I've been rather unwell.....under the weather....Oh,'s a bother!
I'm too sick to go out, ...too sick to walk....but no one will stop to sit and talk
What's the matter with people???   Don't they care??
I called out to a friend...but she went on her way....she passed on by
Like I wasn't there....
          Why doesn't anyone care??????

Inspired by Paula's word contest "PASS"

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Blame me

Last night, I stared out of the bedroom window
As I did, a few long years ago
I saw the fading image of a lost sad man
Wandering frantically in a twisted limbo
Subtlety I asked “why was he in such a chaotic state”
He looked at me with anger and said “Blame me…
Blame me for my dismal fate”

Blame you for what sir?

Blame me for not having the courage to make timely decisions and the right choices
Blame me for not trusting and following my own judgments, instead of submitting to outside 
Blame me for being too passive when aggression was warranted and truly needed
Blame me for losing my self-confidence, my self-esteem and self-respect when my goals 
appeared defeated
Blame me for cracking and breaking under my peers and family’s high expectations
Blame me for setting my goals too high -- after all, they were only my dreams and 
Blame me for fathering a beautiful little girl without the strings of wedlock
Hell blame me for believing she was actually mine, when most likely she’s probably not
Blame me for marrying a woman who surrendered her heart and love to another man
Blame me for loving her regardless and gracefully accepting her with our relationship as it 
Blame me for starting a family with her knowing of her traitorous deceit
Now cast stones at me for tolerating her ongoing hatred of my oldest seed
Blame me for not leaving such an unhealthy and toxic relationship
Instead, blame me for being infidel and searching elsewhere for love and companionship
Blame me for apologizing continuously, trying to work on it and make things better
Then blame me for discovering her viperous secret, the affair never ended, they were 
always still together
So now blame me for wanting to know and experience the fruits of a true relationship and 
what it could possibly be
Finally, blame me for discontinuing the games; I am tired, my heart hurts and I am now and 
forever free

I looked with pity as his eyes mirrored that of my own
We raised our hands simultaneously and he spoke again in a confident and stern tone

“Blame me young man for what you have heard and now experienced
Blame me for the one shot at love you lost due to my continued interference
Blame me for all of the things that causes you self-pity and personal anger
But blame yourself young one, should you allow it to continue and become your permanent 

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lone hangout

there's a spider in my great-room
high up near the apex of the ceiling
hanging from the whitewashed wall
a spindly one, like a leggy daddy
but surely of the arachnid order

it is now early spring and this 
patient arthropod has been there
since late last autumn, 
five to eight months maybe
hanging from a thread he spun
to end his life and hang upon

is there such thing as arachnicide?
or did he (or she) just naturally die?
either way, i must say, preferable
than some other way, like the
black widow's suitor, dated,
then out-dated and consumed

to hang out, about and alone
yet plain in sight forgotten 
all that ever was ever known
is or may well be the fate of all, 
bowing for one last curtain call

© Goode Guy 2013-05-23

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A Different Perspective

Spencer just turned 7 the other day.

My wife and I adopted Spencer after many years of trying to add to our family the 
old fashioned way; then, after a few years of trying to add to our family the 
newfangled, medically assisted way.

My three biological children from a previous marriage lived with us from the time 
they were 12, 10 and 6.  By the time we got around to going the adoption route the 
two oldest were already in and out of college and the youngest was a senior in high 
school.  No empty nest for us, just a fast train to insanity.

I started my family, a story for another time, when I was just twenty-one.  After 
being the youngest father of most of their peers, I was now going to get to 
experience being the oldest father this time around.

People say that as an older parent you are more patient and understanding – I am 
not so sure that I agree; I just think fewer things bother you and you learn to 
realize that rules are not so important.  Many times, I think, as parents, we simply 
enforce rules because we can.

Spencer loves to dip his foods. He dips his mandarin orange slices in ketchup.  He 
dips his French fries in caramel meant for apple slices.  He dips his cheese in his 
yogurt.  Basically, whatever we serve him, if it’s a solid, of any kind, it gets dipped in 
the soft, liquidy food that happens to be closest to him.

Years ago, I probably would have not only tried to convince him that this was 
wrong, but I am pretty sure I would have forbidden him to do that.  Now?  What do 
I care?  If he likes it and he eats his broccoli, what do I care that he dips it in his 

A few years ago, Spencer and I went on a father son excursion to buy him his first 
gold fish.  I asked Spencer what he was going to name his fish and, after thinking 
about it for a while, he said, “I think I want to name him, Mmmgggghh.”  

I immediately responded, almost as a reflex action, “Mmmggghh?  That’s not a 
name, that’s a sound.”

Spencer, in his wonderfully innocent way, asked, “Why can’t a name be a sound?”

Why, indeed?  

He loved Mmmggghh and loves telling people the story about his first pet.

Now some of you may read this and think I am being too relaxed in my duties as a 
father.  You may think that I should be teaching my son the “correct” way to do 
things – even as simple as how to eat and what not to mix or dip in what.

Me?  Nah.  Instead, I wish to thank Spencer for teaching me to question the norms.  
Why can’t a name be a sound?

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entropy of probability

the certain concept of heading into the void
can't help but get me a little annoyed
the assertion that 
"if you're not part of the solution,
you're part of the precipitate"
is one with which I can easily relate
falling out, as it were -
from life's certainty of solution
to devolve into entropic resolution
- is chaotic at best

we are, after all in the best years
of our lives, and the future is bound
to look back to now - and agree
you're waaay prettier than you'll be
a couple of eons or epics from now
just some dust blowing in some Kansas wind
if Kansas is even around in the future then
with you're progeny sayin'
"you haven't been yourself for awhile now"
chances are somewhat improbable that -
you, in fact will never be again

S = k·log W

© Goode Guy 2012-08-06 S = k·log W

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Escaping Me

I stand at my window...

and I view the world

and wish for the impossible...

a transformation...

to step outside...

   outside my skin...

to be one of them.....

to be another,

to wear another face

just until this day is over

I'm not asking for more..

I'm not asking for a lifetime...

just this one day, just these long hours..

                                                                        Yet... who do I think I am?

                                                                        to think that 

                                                                        whoever I'm seeking to be

                                                                         in mind and body and soul

                                                                         to hold their life in my hand

                                                                         for just this one day,

                                                                         it would be any better 

                                                                         than my own? ....

It is just my wish.......

until I am past

the darkness of today


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"Sins of the Tongue"

Spiritual Narrative

(James Chapter 3)
As for me, having been, the Reptilian’s Pavilion
Has lost it’s appeal, earth’s abundant wonder, of worldly thrill
By source of truth now, Agape is revealing to me how
To build each day, Godly house of sacred  Flock, upon the Rock

Master reptilian, created a hell’s pavilion
As the brain of a mind's swell, the mind became in earth, hell’s well
A master of illusion, that some called, Satan’s protrusion
But only mind illusion, this parasitic protrusion

Al is boasting and toasting, some believe, the earth is roasting
Borrowing from debt, saying that humanity should not fret
Dwelling in this naught, that America has forever bought
Drinking in illusion large as the sea, none will be made free

(Psalms 104:26)
Steady now as she goes, Truth from all four winds of heaven blows
Love"s sure rudder of a ship, shall keep many a tongue from slip
The Agape was first, by which, natural tongues bless and not curse
From strife into life, tongues, shall put the earth's curse into reverse

(Isaiah 27:1)
Leviathan, piercing serpent, a dragon in multitudes
Stirring humanity's feuds, as world has seen, Hitler’s Nazi 
Very little member, boast this tongue, fascism of great change
Reigns, setting on fire, the very course of earth peaceful nature

As a beast, humanity has feasts, feeding on Hitler’s yeast
Images of evil yeast, come from serpent mind’s natural beast
But restoring a ship, requires a dip, life’s ocean of love
Wisdom from above, restores by Love, at least, the beast, be tame

12-29-09 For Constance’s contest

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Living Today

Living Today

By BJ Welsh

Waiting for the answer to come
Makes one’s life even more hum drum
Sitting and staring without any news
Is an impossible feat if that’s what you choose

How much longer can one be idle?
Losing one’s outlook as well their title
It’s easy to say just keep busy
The thought of moving makes one dizzy

It’s time to get over it, the pain of error
A life one used to treasure
But did you really believe that theory
Or did you grow tired and a bit weary?

Yourself or others, for whom did you live?
Did you really have all to give?
Suddenly, you put an end to it all
Now you have to accept the fall

Moving on is not so easy
The thought would make anyone queasy
Looking for acceptance in a loving place?
First try your young child’s face

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Skippin Stones

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

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

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

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

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

Bob Quigley
October 7. 2011

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Soul Searching

To shout outwards in ease is who we are
we think.
Then we whisper looking inside to find
something left behind
We realize we haven't found ourselves
yet, we pretend
we've been looking
but we haven't really.
It's all too scarey like Kafka's Gregory
afraid we'll wake up like roaches
too pitiful to live.
We place our masks on in the morning 
for it's too bright out in the sun
a different face we lean on at night
whether full moon or not.
I've noticed people are reticent to soul search
they're too afraid of what they might find.
I've looked
I've found
I'm not quite sure what I'll do now.
This new found information leaves
me lost.

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After Dinner

After dinner
Taco night
Nearly midnight
Running up the stairs

Oh God
I had done so well
The family ate
And I ate
Seven o’clock on a Tuesday 
Only two
I only ate two
No cheese
No sour cream
I had done wonderfully

Eleven thirty on Tuesday
Everyone in bed
Everyone but me 
I approached the kitchen
I ate it all

No one saw how much was left
They won’t notice it’s gone
I put it all away
They didn’t see it
But I ate it all

Running up the stairs
They have their fans on
They’re asleep
They won’t hear me

I find my familiar place
Kneeling at my altar
Forgiveness is always found here
It’s time to confess my sins

My fingers slip into a spot they know too well
I struggle for a moment
Nothing will come up
Oh God
Don’t let it stay inside me
Another moment
I feel it coming now

Oh thank God
It’s all gone
Now I can sleep soundly

I wash my hands and face
Rinse my mouth
I look in the mirror
Why is this happening?
Oh my God
Look at me
This can’t be me
This can’t be what I’ve become

But what choice do I have?

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To Emptiness

Part I:

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

Part II:

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

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

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

Part III:

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

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

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

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

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Do Si Do Your Partner

I hold three magic rocks, in My hand.
Rolling them over and over and over
leaving this reality far behind.

Amber, golden, polished, yet flawed and fecund,
a dollop of honeyed sunshine, light and pulse, 
surrounds the remnants of wing and limb.

Opalescent egg of rainbow and pearl, chill and slippery;
the second shape crosses the surface 
of the amber sun, warily and with grace.

Turquoise mottled and marbled 
with veins of ocean blue and pastoral green
the third rock spins around and between
the globes of white and gold.

Life writhes.

My eyes pierce the depth of ocean and 
atoms of hydrogen cling to singular atoms of oxygen 
positive and negative charges mirror 
the Earthly psyche of Yin and yang.

Within the amber ball hydrogen dances with helium.
Electron clouds orbit proton cores, 
just as the three globes spin round in the palm of the Universe,
Do Si Do ing with the uncharged, seemly barren, third opalescent egg
which mirrors the neutron in a molecular night.

Far below on the turquoise marble,
man looks skyward into the MY All Seeing Eye of God.
Then into his own palm where the dance continues.

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cat layin' in the sunbeam
catching the ease -
that falls through the stream 
jus' warmin' up to the notion
of fillin' in for the leisure docent
- life, now this is what it means

© Goode Guy 2012-10-28

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Untitled #304 / Juvenile Court

I was the only one to attend
the poetry write-in downtown at
Juvenile Court, though I thought I saw
the outlines of a couple dozen young souls,
already forgotten, bored as me
but blind as bats.

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Now You Know The Rest Of The Story

Outline of a figure in the clouds
Evil eagle on right shoulder
Angel archer behind aiming at the evil bird...

When we are unaware, an angel is always there
Following to protect from harm
How many times a day does things not go your way?
If they had happened as you wished,
Doom would have been your fate.

Praise God it is not too late
Praise Him for the Angels unaware!

Once long years ago, our son-in-law
Was late coming to pick up the grandson
We had to go to classes at Mercer in Macon
My husband was just so upset....

We was running about ten minutes late
When we got to a place where there was
An old homeplace with two huge oak trees..
Which were right on the edge of the road
There was a traffic backup and we had to wait.

I am thinking there must have been a wreck
No not a wreck ~~One of those trees had been blown over
It lay across the road where if we had been there maybe ten minutes earlier
Well! You know the rest of the story.....

(Andrea, the first part is what I saw in the clouds)

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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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office exam

a soft quick knock
then entrance of smock and laptop
a quick greet, small talk, then
"Well, why are you here today?"

"Well Doc", I say, "I've noticed this bump."
he looks at it with three score eyes and
begins to type. "I'd say it's benign, but 
we'll check it just to be sure."
he stops briefly, looks up, and smiles

"Anything else?" he matter-of-factly says
He's done this twelve to fourteen times today,
four to six days a week, fifty weeks a year
since he started residency nearly two score ago,
he knows the part in his sleep

It's about a comfort here, 
a few choice questions there,
then write a 'script to make it better
cool the fever, banish the pain, 
make 'em feel better
- mostly about their lot in life
What else can a good doctor do?

© Goode Guy 2013-04-30

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Testament Of Have Not

God gave me a life to visit the earth
To see the beautiful heaven
Full of fruits and awesome sky
Sets me free with joy and peace

God gave me a mother with full of love
instinctual, unconditional, and forever
persuaded me the greatness of motherhood.
I learnt how dearer was the mother for me
I enjoyed life with liberty and peace.

God gave me a dad with full of care
Affection and great regards
As everything was going grand
I start searching more pleasure and joy
Thus, I have been selfish being all my life.

I punished my parents for my own choices
For the pursuit of happiness.
All charming people, I fancy, are spoiled
And I forgot to wipe other’s tear.

I got sick and found that life is short
I know now how beautiful a day can be
When love and kindness touches the heart
with motherly love.
Be care and cared is only the route 
to our common good, then
Return to the God rest in peace.

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No expectations

I have no expectations I just do the best I can.
Sometimes I awake at night wondering who I am.
The light begins to falter as I slip into the dark.
I feel the void grow larger my soul it seems to mark.

Take me to a station place me on a train.
As the rain still falls it erases all the pain.
I step into the car I don’t know where I’ll go.
The more I see in life the less I seem to know.

The train leaves the station hope is packed on board.
I look into the distance my happiness I should afford.
I wonder where I’m going even if I’m on the track.
I find that once you get this far there is no turning back.

The sun begins to set as I head into the night.
The moon and stars like my hope are shining bright.
I head into this tunnel and wonder of the other side.
I tire from this journey it has been a long hard ride.

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I remember a time

I remember a time when I knew what to do,
A smile from your face would see me right through.
I remember the warmth I would feel from your smile.
My inspiration would soar, I could see for miles.

I remember a time when love was in the air,
It provided light and taught me to care.
Now time has passed and all of it has gone,
These kind memories become what I long.

I remember a time when I felt so alive,
Much like a bee, returning home to the hive.
Now I feel sad and seem to stand alone,
I’m just a lost soul in search of a home.

My pride was too strong you became someone else,
I not only lost you but some parts of myself.
I know I can do better and will always survive,
But so much had died I don’t feel very alive.

I remember a time I wanted better for you
I can’t understand some of the things I do.
Time passes by and then the memories are gone,
It takes all my strength to just learn to hold on.

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The day her life went astray
Just two days before her big day
Barely a teen, unaware of the battle soon to be seen
So adored by all, the first to be there for anyone about to fall
She now wakes up everyday just to find herself wondering why
Was it because of her past that she was destine to crash

She wakes up everyday
Simply to find herself wondering why
Each day the event becoming clearer
Like watching it unwillingly through a two-way mirror
Unable to stop the events about to unfold
He invades her mind, body and soul

Two days before her big day
She moves along emotionless
 Her sixteenth birthday spent in bed wishing she were dead  
Was it because of her path that she was destine to crash
Her life at the mercy of his will
Every sick desire she was forced to fulfill
Once so normal in every way, the last girl anyone thought would go astray

She wakes up everyday
Remembering how the were tears streaming down her face 
Believing that now she was a complete disgrace
To weak to fight
She survived that torturous night by knowing it wasn’t right
She was tricked… 
A repeat like him knew exactly what victim to pick
There was no going back
She then refused to let him derail her off the tracks

I wake up everyday
To find myself realizing there is no answer why  
No longer harboring any part of the blame 
No scarlet letter, no hidden shame
I get pleasure as he rots in an eight by ten cell
And I get to smile again knowing he is stuck in his own personal hell 
He who stole something so dear from me
I can chuckle as he will never be free

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I Loved Her For the Dance

I Loved Her for the Dance ,
 as moving and so becomely like no other.
 She stirred Me.Thine faltered Angel's Stately Grace, 
showed me once , such things with lone and whispered word .
 soul spoke Anon's thrumming Heart a litany did bring.
 A Grace that Felled My Daemons Grail aPt trick , it twere and twas .
 Reviled now I see them clear , so Crystaline in Shame.
I loved her for the chance , within our times encounter. Infinitely so entangled by design .
 So spirited and fractal , whirling while tender turnings did stream a River Blue.Caught handily so firmly there was a time I knew ,
 such gravity , so raptured by a dragon .
Flown fast and for the asking for the firmly bodied lasting .
 She the Tiamat d'amour woken fresh and born anew.

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Wilted and Willed

I'm lost, so lost,
Can't find my way
And the women there
Just point and wave.
Won't so much as
To try and help
This small, frightened person
Face the right path.

But I'm so lost,
Wanting to be found,
Hoping to find myself.
Just need a hint...
Anything is good enough!
Something has to give,
And I won't cave.
No matter the cost.

A leaf floats by
There is nothing else.
No complaints here, it
Will have to do.
Into haunted memories and
Down sinful thoughts, now
Starting to feel affections,
Feelings. Not just emptiness.

Almost there, keep going...
Just a bit further!
But no, the leaf
Is caught in water.
A wondrous, rushing river
Happens to hold it.
My dear leafy friend.
Still, I must continue.

Walking through scary feelings,
Violent emotions, vivid thoughts.
Walking is not possible.
Soon, dashing is all
That can keep me
Safe from all of
Those awful things inside.
Is this really me?

That is not what
Is wanted of myself!
Please, change these horrors!
Someone, tell me now,
Tell me to stop!
No forgiveness is expected
But please, help me...
Save me from myself!

Warmth, a certain type
Spreads all around me.
It swallows me entirely.
Holding my broken being
Together as if it
Were made of mega-magnets.
Then I hear it...
“That is all, now...”

Nothing comes to me.
Now I realize that
It never will come.
But I have to
Go to it, so
Sitting in one place
Will get me nothing.
Have to keep going.

The walk through emotions
Soon becomes a fight
For my self control.
Then the feelings rise
And I knock them
Down. Thoughts that were
Snakes, venomous and threatening,
Were felled by me.

I was completely lost
And not a single
Person would help me.
Found myself, and pulled
Through all of the
Sinful desires around me.
Now finally, I am
Just a calm entity.

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No Matter the Floor You Pass Out On

No Matter The Floor You Pass Out On

I awake as any other madman slash poet.
Apon the floor  naked  pizza box for pillow a members only jacket for a blanket.
yes the libary sure has changed over the years.

less and less people were reading buggets were cut meaning 
libraryies were under staffed and rarely did anyone dare venture into 
the stacks  and thank good for that. Cause being i preffered free sleeping
it was probaly for the best.

but no matter the the floor you pass out on most all fine 
american men wake up with are god given birth rite.
That which after a trip to the restroom like 
that early morning madness that was christmas  pressent openning
was over way to fast and was kinda disapointing.

Floors werent the best beds in the world in fact they 
sucked altogather but drinking and common sense dont even 
belong in the same room togather.

Portsmouth Va  was a strange world indeed a place where upscale colided with skidrow.
Me I preffer the company of a outdoor sleeper to that of a
spoiled spoon fed yuppie turd.
the art school cranked out angst ridden buble people by the second.

They walked the street soaking in the pain of life.
there heads stuck so far up there asses I always felt compeled to trip them as they walked 
acting as though they were outsiders  yerning to be mainstream
they'd rape there mothers on a mtv reality show as dad cried in the background.

Just for a taste of stardom. 
True talent who needs that?
but no matter the floor you pass out on one
thing was clear.

In a world were you could have a bus load 
of kids and get paid for it.
fame wasnt such a rare thing anymore.

The floor I passed out on was cold and cruel but surrounded 
voices from the past.
the floor these hollow  reallity show bottom  feeders
passed out on.  Had to besoft as there heads.

Otherwise there brains would splatter across the floor.
And some TV exect would have a brainstorm  to have a show
were washed up celebrities would have a contest.

To see who could bore us the most with there sob story  
Yes friends id rather have a pizza box for a pillow 
than a reality show  pillbox for a brain.

and the truth effectsus all form no matter 
which floor so you do choose to pass out on.

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As I lay on the floor
Lost inside the pool of my tears
I finally knew what life was for
And found that all that I had feared

Was nothing more than emptiness
Was nothing more than lie
I know that in the truth, sweet kiss,
Is found a feeling that will never die

My life is but to love and not be loved
To drown inside the sorrow of the years
To feel and not be felt, to lie untouched
As I yet watch her face pass ever near

Ah, I've never been loved
And never will
For I have known true love
And know it still

In my mind's eye
There, the night
That shrouds her face
Inside my sight
I've known perfection
Whole, complete,
Within that sky
Between heartbeats

So here I lie upon the floor
Lost inside the contours of my mind
And now I know what life is for
I know, have found what I could never find

Inside my soul, inside the sky
Of what's within the perfect night
I find my love, I find her there
The one who's now my only sight

A perfect grace, a perfect face
A perfect love, a perfect kiss
A perfect sleep will, perfect, keep
What perfectly exists
Within the only truth that I can find
Within these real imaginings, my mind

So still I lie upon the floor
Still lost within my own reality
So still I lie, in my heart's core
And drink the dew of what I'll never see

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An Old Photo

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

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

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

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

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Born Alone Naturally

                                     I am a man born alone
                                     prepared to die alone
                                     in between I will be responsible to me alone
                                     for what I do or who I become 
                                     or what I leave behind when my life is done

                                     my intentions will never be to bring about harm or misery 
                                     but I do intend to face my life and human strife successfully

                                     there may come a time when I’m knocked down
                                     and lay upon the cold and hardened ground
                                     but I will never cast a stone at those who were in my way
                                     only to get back up and start again
                                     in the morning of a brand new day

                                     if I fail that is my choice 
                                     not to listen to your voice
                                     if I succeed that is my choice as well
                                     you’ll never find me cursing or blaming
                                     anyone else that they made my hell

                                     to blame only brings shame in life’s eternal game
                                     when I look into the mirror and face my face alone
                                     I feel the pride inside that I have never cast a stone

                                     we are all self made
                                     but only those who do succeed accept this truth of life
                                     and are willing an able to fight for the right
                                     to stand proud and stand alone 
                                     before we are buried and lay cold under a stone

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Circles of Life

I try to find arms to climb from this hole
Feeling quite trapped, like a fish in a bowl.
Swimming in circles in waters of doubt
There doesn’t seem to be any way out.

With each dream that dies another is born
The fabric of life appears tattered and torn.
Life becomes a circle no beginning or end
Nothing returns from the intentions I send.

If I close my eyes will it all disappear?
Will I survive or surrender to fear?
I dream and it seems colors return
Meanwhile my life, bridges still burn.

I awake in the morning to a blinding light
Happy to escape  the demons of night.
I wonder if only I had some more time
But it disappears like the scene of a crime.

Life does come but then slips away
Somehow tomorrow becomes today.
I try to grab hold but it slips through my fingers
I start once again only memories linger.

I see this circle that still spins around
Like the universe to which I’m bound.
Each revolution provides one more chance
The view becomes different upon second glance.

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A Mighty King

Last night In the black of the night
Demons came a pounding the gates
Encompassing the walls of my soul.
So, I quickly raised my flag up high
Inverted, and then hid there to wait
In the dungeons for the King's patrol!

In fear, I tried to swim the sewers
To sneak past them by way of the lake
But the disturbance there was great,
And they were camped by the moors
So then, quietly as a water snake
I retreated again to await my fate.

Sleep did in tarrying finally come
And with it sweet comforting escape
From the din of my demonic siege.
I awoke to the silence of enemy drums
And the stillness of my soul unraped
Giving silent thanks to my Liege.

And then while taking tally I went
By the placid still waters of my soul
And there I found a beautiful thing!
My loving Lord's familiar footprints
Where in battle He stood to control
The disturbance, I serve a mighty King!

                               Timothy I. Brumley

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lying mid-dazed, on the great floor
beside the double double-hung window
i lounge, and snooze - sun-warmed lizard
and realize i hear the sounds of crickets;
a stridulation of exo-legs bowed
growing out of the lush grazing of daydream

knowing that, it being mid-winter i cannot 
actually hear any of family Gryllidae
as they are all gone to egg and
awaiting the warmth of spring solstice
ahhhh...the game is afoot, or, a leg up

tinnitus is such an interesting sensation
like catching a faint whiff of smoke or nutmeg
or seeing that certain Irish green 
that is so hard to describe exactly, 
what it is, and why it touches you

eyes closed i see his hind legs, 
like a warming steam-engine, slowly spinning
wheels before it gets full traction,
his compound eyes shining down his track

dozing, i hear the whoooosh of the steam
as the engineer pulls levers and water drips
from cups to brass plates it real brass?
this liquid/gas world in my head, or
just another encumbered dream from
under activated otologic nerves
expressing their voices, their cochlear art

© Goode Guy 2012-11-26

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Canada Dry

Apon are arrival once at times seemed questionable
We were greated by none.
Hawaii had spoiled us to all other airport experiences
Were else could a half hunover  yet slighty buzzed  madman
stumble from a plane to encounter a beautiful woman in a grass skirt
and cocunut bra once even now made me thirst for for a pina collada.

But in in canada there was nothing  to greet us there but cold 
As we stumbbled around dressed like soon to be doomed criminals awaitting trial.

Cananda its slogan should have been.
Welcome to Cannada  it's really dam cold.
But we knew where to find warmth in this enviroment.
Or for that matter any enviroment.
For we were drunks or as i liked to think of it consistant drinkers 

And on are journey into this land of freezing weather maple syrup
and ice hockey.
We had one true goal.
we had come to drink Cannada dry.

No bar would go untouched No bottle would not know are name.
we would hit on many women.
Score with a few and say we had slept with many.

I was a religeous man and i needed to get in touch with with the spirts
The spirts of Canadian mist  Jim beam  And my old stand by spirt Gin 

It was a bold mission for which we had set forth.
Are livers were alredy beaten to almost a pulp but 
we still somehow  walked and functioned in disquise of 
semi normal human beings  but nothing was further from the truth

we were writters once ment we were professional crazy people
On a mission to depleet this icey land of its alcohol
an drink canada dry

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What Do You See

I found this old poem while helping to clean out a house that was vacant. I hope you 
don't mind that I didn't write it but it was too awesome not to post. Enjoy--------

                                   What Do You See

What do you see, nurses? What do you see?	
What are you thinking when your looking at me? 
A crabby old women, not very wise.
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes.
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply.
When you say with your loud voice, "I do wish you'd try."
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
and forever is losing a sock or a shoe.
Who unresisting or not lets you do as you will.
When bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what your thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes nurse, your not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still.
As I drink at your bidding, as I sit at your will.
I'm a small child of 10 with a father and mother.
Brothers and sisters who love one another.
A young girl of 16 with wings on her feet.
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at 20. my heart gives a leap.
Remembering the vows I primised to keep.
At 25 now I have young of my own.
Who need me to build a secure happy home.
A women of 30, my young now grow fast.
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At 40 my young sons near grown will be gone.
But my man stays beside me to see I don't mourn.
At 50 once more babies play round my knee. 
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead.
I look to the future and shudder with dread.
For my young ones are busy rearing young of their own.
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm an old women now and nature is cruel.
It's her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body it crumbles, grace and vigor depart.
There now is a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells.
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and loving life over again.
I think of the years, all the few--gone to fast.
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes nurses, open and see.
Not a crabby old women, look closer,  see ME.

This poem was found among the effects of a patient who died at the Oxford
University Geriatric Service in England. Author is unknown.

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Gemini June

My daughter keeps the time
From a place where I was fine
To a night I won’t forget
To a night I could regret
But I won’t.

Great Meteor showers 
And unspoken words
Nine months, nine days and hours
And I became the Middle-aged Matron
Of a Beautiful Red Haired Daughter.

She came flying into this world
Just as the sky unfurled
During one of the most intense 
storms of that wonderful
Gemini June.

Then the rains that came 
Pouring down
Chose just as quickly then to go
The darkness miraculously abated 
And the dark clouds parted ways
So the sun could put on its show.

A double rainbow was soon filling the skies
God’s sign that he was nigh
A vision that could foretell
His promise that all there was 
And all that had been
And that all would be
Would be 
More than well.

His personal promise to me.
That this child was meant to be
And the world would someday see
In years and years to come
That she would someday mirror 
Both my image and show the better part of me.

In her being she will show
That I did the right thing
And that I didn’t take the easy road.

And I am quite sure
That she will prove
Through her actions, thoughts and deeds
That she will more than deserve
The chance to walk the earth
To live and love and laugh and breathe.

I gave her her life
The gift of having a life.
The chance to create a life.
The chance to be.
I love her so very dearly
She is the well cherished embodiment of me.

(November 13, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)

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

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The Palette

The tentative steps you take
is that of a baby learning to walk
you feel your way around
bumping into things
half swearing, 
when you bump into a chair
you can’t remember that chair
being in that particular place

the sounds you hear paint a 
vivid picture in your head
but since that day everything 
is shrouded in black 
you call to mind those pink roses
and the purple petals you use to smell, 
it brings a smile to your face

you still dream in color even though 
your sight has been taken away
you paint your day in every color 
that’s on offer on your palette 
you draw your strength from the fact that 
 you are still alive and
 the fact that  others were not so lucky…  

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Just for today, I'll pretend

I’ll Pretend

Just for today, today, I’m going to pretend.
I’m holding my child, as I did way back then.
When magic band aids and Momma kisses could cure all the ails
And that my child knew nothing of needles or pills.  
Today, I’ll rock you to sleep in my arms 
Kiss you goodnight and protect you from harms.  
Just for today, I’ll play a game of pretend
As we did together, way back when.
Tomorrow, I will cry, I’ll sob, I’ll rave.
As I always do when I visit your grave.  
But, just for today, today, I’m going to pretend
You are safe in my arms, as you were back then.

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Eden's epiphany

Eve came, her bush brushing through,
figuring fig was sufficient to 
leave that feeling behind, 
(was it even a word, good or evil)
to converse with her landlord
before her in the clearing, clearly annoyed.

"Where have you been Eve?, 
 I've been looking for you." 
Her first thought was not 
"You know very well where I've been, 
 you are the Landlord, aren't you?". 
She was a bit overwhelmed with 
 the fresh emotions in her mind.

Showing newfound respect (fear?) she replied 
"I have been in the lush green, 
 making love with the Other." 
She thought maybe the Landlord would tell her, 
 to go back to doing what she had been doing, 
 but instead, the Landlord said 
 "You haven't been eating the fruit 
 I told you not to, have you?".
Eve, new to the idea, might have
 thought "You know very well I've eaten it, 
 you are the Landlord, aren't you?". 
But innocent was her first thought
 and she admitted that she had,
 further offering "The Other did too".
Landlord, fixed his view of her 
 and proceeded to quote from memory
 "You have violated the terms of
 the lease to this land and therefore
 the penalty clause comes into effect."
"You, Eve, and the Other tenant too,
 will vacate said premises effective
Eve, taken aback by the newfound
 demeanor of Landlord, simply asked
 "But why Landlord do you treat
 me - us, so sharply?"
To which Landlord replied ominously
 "You have committed the original sin!"
Eve, having partaken what the Landlord
 had explicitly denied to her and a bit more
 sentient than when first awoken, replied
 "But I have not committed what you say,
 it is you in fact, Landlord, who committed it."
Landlord, knowing the rationale about to be
 uttered, played close to the robe.
"How do you believe that Eve?"

Eve replied "Well, my Landlord, you
 know everything about everything, right?"
"Yes, I do." returned.
"And it was you who made the knowledge,
 even before you made the fruit, right?"
"Yes, I did." was uttered.
"And you did so knowing full well ahead
 that I would, I in fact MUST, take the knowledge."
"Therefore, it was you who committed the
 original sin, knowing that the Other and I
 would follow the path provided to us."

"So good and evil have become part of us,
because it is part of you, right?"

"You give a persuasive argument Eve,
but I am the Landlord, 
therefore, I make the rules."

"God damn us." Eve replied.

© Goode Guy 2012-09-05

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To Pain with Love

Long withstanding and quite understanding;
Remorse replaced with resilience, stood I with someone not too new.

“Pain! What doth thou bring!
Is it in vain that we suffer thee?
Pleasure found none who cast their minds to sway from thee.

Contrary doth my mind think today.
And quite complacent my soul doth feel.
Coming in terms with the sequence of events that offer thee.
The ridiculed mandatory impression of thy vast foray.
That calls for compassion to scrub the scar thy reminiscence leaves behind.

Pain, how art thou?
Miniscule or in magnitude great?!
Prayeth I now, casteth thou not thy shadow on the ones I love.

Pain, thy image might scare the breath out of some.
Having been thy favourite and chosen one oft, I know thee.
Today, I laugh at thee. Sans fear, I mock thee.
If thy mandatory services are to be rendered, shower it on me; set my people free.
Spare them all you kill and give me all if thy will…
On bended knees I ask thee…”

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If you didn't know it was bad.
How would you know it was good?
If you didn't know how to be sad.
Would you be misunderstood?
What if someone told you something funny
but you thought laughing was insane.
Would you run inside when it was sunny
just to get out of the pouring rain?
Can you teach a child to hate
who never had any love to share?
Do you hurry up and wait
or do you wonder if you care.
How do you make up your mind?
Does someone make it up for you?
Do you follow closely behind
because you don't know what to do?
If you can't think for yourself
what kind of message can you give?
If you always ask for help
will somebody tell you how to live?
Will you happily plod along
until someone tells you it's time to run?
If you don't know it's right or wrong
then you might think work was fun.
Maybe that wouldn't be so bad.
If working hard made you feel good.
But I think It's kind of sad
that you never really understood.

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Fanciful Meanderings

Memories of illogical unreality saunter past my mind, 

Planning expectations of a future with no feelings, 

Deja vu days multiply with an intensity so unkind, 

Happiness is eroded by endless waves of lapping sadness, 

I fall weightlessly to the bottom of life's end, 

Regrets dashed upon ragged rock thoughts that scream to confess, 

My childhood laughter flows tears of wishful pretend, 

As I wait helplessly at the back door of destiny, 

Sharing Earth with billions I will never meet, 

A poet joining lonely words into meanings of complexity, 

I wander through imagination hoping to land on my feet.

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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He was a silent man.

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

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

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

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

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

They went home, and thereafter

He was a silent man; 
his child unspoken.

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I Remember AUNT B

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

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My Battle

I was broken and bloody My soul was torn asunder,So death came for me.He thought it would be easy I thought I was done. But when he reached out to take my soul My spirit which was fading fast found its last ounce of strength and began to glow with an amazing power. So a battle began a battle for my soul. My tattered body then feel into a coma to try and save the last bit of its self.The battle raged within me for a full day. Somehow my spirit weak and faded managed to give death all and more then it could take. The battle ended and I awoke....alive the victor. So the question I ask the world is "If I still won the battle that weak and tired. What is there that I can't do if given the time to heal?"

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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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Another Saturday night with her friends

Where the floor meets the wall,
She stands in her usual spot,
Craving a cigarette,
Observing, processing, psycho-analyzing,
Another Saturday night with her friends.

Their forced civilized exchange of small talk, 
Boasting, intellectual competitions and back handed compliments
Vainly covers the tension of secret love triangles,
Unspoken resentments, jealousies, and
Bruised egos until the alcohol takes effect and
 people start going to the bathroom in groups.

That is when someone puts on jazz album,
And suggests a game which
brings out the "realness" in everyone:
They tell stories, make confessions,
Share moments of tenderness before
Declaring war
Shattering several expensive wine glasses and 
Dissolving into fits of hysterical laughter or sobbing
a fight is taken outside 
a couple is having sex in the basement, 
 and someone is vomiting  in the kitchen waste basket.

Except her,
Lightly buzzed by some cheap white box wine,
She will  comfort and offer sage advice to
the  histrionic  and  the clueless
which they will soon forget or dismiss.
Refill the pretzel and chip bowels,
Break up a fight between two romantic rivals,
Pour countless whiskey shots and shake 20 mean Vodka martinis, 
Nurse the drunk and clean up the mess in the kitchen.

Years from now, these alleged group of friends will
Rewrite this night filled with fun and merriment 
Where the drinks, drugs and conversation flowed,
and the fire never died,

While she will accurately recall every detail and wonder
Why she allowed this group of sparkling, beautiful, broken  people 
To cast her as their resident 
Unpaid therapist
 Keeper of secrets
What was her incentive or her reward?
Beyond their peripheral acceptance.

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Once upon a time...

Once upon a time..

I have tried and tried to break the wall...
I have tried and tired to stand tall...
but there are no holes... 
there are no holes for the air to seep in...
I am stuck and I leave now...

I have spoken words.. I have pleaded.. cried .. and shouted....
I choose to remain silent
and forever will be ...

You will beg me to speak.... and you will not hear...
for I would have spoken ages ago... once upon a time...

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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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Have you had or seen teenagers,
who abused drugs like marijuana
and became truant and unruly?
That same teens could be 
exposed to temptation again,
if they worked in a hospital,
where the supply of medical
marijuana is kept in glass cabinets.
And we think that modern vampires
are fiction as Drucula's legend seems;
there are indeed doctors and nurses
who will steal blood to satisfy their urge,
and if I have revealed this...
do you think that I am crazy?
If the FDA approved it,
what would the consquences be?
It will certainly diminish the acute pain in patients,
or make everyone around them get high?
Our streets are swarmed with pot heads,
who are hit daily by cars, because of unclear thinking;
and those who drive cause many fatal accidents...
others die of an overdose in filthy corners,
their lifeless bodies are spotted in small towns and big cities.
Is it a good idea to make it legal,
or will it endanger everyone in public places?

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a place called home

A place called home I’m not welcome
A tear rolls down my cheek I must go.
I feel sorrow in my heart the toil burdensome
Memories wither along with all that I know.

As I walk away I can’t look back
Faces I knew are no longer friends.
I wonder where I am is this the right track
The river flows onward around twists and bends.

Now it seems I’m lost my heart is torn
I wonder through thoughts parched and dry.
The more that I learn the less I know
To this cherished life I say goodbye.

It’s been a year yet my heart is still torn
It becomes a void consuming the good.
My hands are rough my shoes are worn
I’m lost in sorrow I would lose if I could.

Daylight comes but soon shall fade
Darkness is loneliness coursing through my veins.
Still haunting are all the decisions I made
The rain starts to fall erasing all these pains.

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dreams under dust 2of2

{continued 2of2}...

the third girl took her
bullet reluctantly but
Mr. Mohammed Merah believes
in an eye for an eye

i wonder if Mr. Muhammad Wazir
would have preferred to take
his farming plowshare,
beat it into a sword
and bring writhing attrition
to still more children.

i think...i prefer to think,
that Mr. Muhammad Wazir, 35,
of Panjwai, Afganistan,
would tell Mr. Mohammed Merah, 24,
of Toulouse, France
that children are innocent

not just in God's eyes, 
but in truth, in his too,
that killing only begets more killing
Alas, it is too late for Merah's merit,
and the sky still shines blue

© Goode Guy 2012-03-21

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To Set Everything Right

I wonder as I look to see what I’ve got.
Things meant to be while others are not.
Did I miss anything, maybe just a sign?
I gather up the pieces I think that are mine.

Sometimes I feel like the puzzle is complete.
Yet I find new pieces in the people I meet.
I learn to be thankful for what I receive.
Some things shall stay while others will leave.

Life seems a balance between the highs and lows.
What shall happen next no one really knows.
The door flies open as the cold wind blows,
In the middle of winter nothing can grow.

Sometimes it feels like I am on a high wire.
One side is what I have the other what I desire.
I am trying to stay the middle and not fall down,
It seems like such a long way down to the ground.

I look at the night sky, the stars and the moon.
Although it is dark the light shall come soon.
The little bit of light seems to guide me along,
Still I can’t wait for the darkness to be gone.

The sun does rise and brings forth light.
Chasing away shadows that hide in the night
Where once I was blind now there is sight,
I get another chance to set everything right.

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When my body decided to get sick again,
six sinus infections since last birthday,
I marched into the best ENT specialist,
waiting room lined with Hollywood’s
finest stars begging for reasons why they
couldn’t reach the octave of the day before,
impatiently flipping through old magazines,
interrupted by cell phones ringing in unison.

I got the lead role, thanks for your inquiry,
want to go to Hawaii for the weekend? Susie 
died. Funeral tomorrow. Allan’s away on business.
This doctor sucks. I have lunch with Ellen at noon. 
Dad’s in the hospital. Freckles just had pups, want one?

My name is called. I shuffle behind the nurse,
my chart clasped to her chest like the baby 
she might never have had, into the shoebox size room 
packed with instruments I didn’t know, 
despite three years of nursing school.

The suave, forty-something doctor,
released my X-rays from their sleeve,
and mounted them onto a screen. 
He looked up through his sleek wire frames, 
“You’re absolutely beautiful on the outside,
but a mess on the inside.” I wondered if 
he was making a pass or soliciting
a surgical procedure and how many times 
he repeated that line, loud enough for 
the pedestrians five floors down to hear 
this and the other truths about my battlefields—
three C-sections, knee surgery, twice a victim 
of what strikes one in eight women, and reconstructed 
organs of sensuality with tattoos to hide their truths.

Now I dodge doctors as one avoids the cones 
at the scene of an accident, but I can’t dodge this one.
My voice is hoarse, my breathing is shot
and I envy those vacuous starlets in the
waiting room, listening to their chitter 
chatter on cell phones. I sit in the exam room 
before the surgeon tells me one more time, 
something I need to do to hang onto my life, 
but I’d rather be the person before the scalpel found me. 

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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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It Was Once upon a Time

Once upon a time not so long ago,
I turned my back on love felt I had to go.
I watched happiness become sorrow in your eyes.
Each time I saw some tears another part just dies.

Once upon a time seem much like a dream.
Life was very easy like drifting downstream.
I remember how you were my stars and moon.
Inspiration was served upon a silver spoon.

Once upon a time doesn’t seem so real.
I find it getting harder for me to even feel.
I wonder did it happen or was it in my mind.
This happiness I felt was just once upon a time.

Once upon a time maybe it shall come again
I hope for love to grow from the ashes of the end.
The sun is rising up time to start the day anew
Once upon a time I felt this love that was so true.

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Empty Woman

Once the strong, confident woman
She now struggles to remember the battles 
Battles fought and won
The triumphant joy

How foolish 

Now afraid, weak and lonely 
Beyond emptiness 
Complete and utter starvation

Sad, unforgiving, unkind
Filled with betrayal
Unarmed for battle

Share the wisdom of her pain
Don’t waste it

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the service

All the big men, the prominent
of community with dark-blue suits,
a few outta town, and an overall or two
gazed at the sky, and gazed at the grass,
and they all passed Grandma around
which sounds loose but it t'aint.

Grandma after all, is worth sharing praise
and they all took their turn with Grandma
and told of what they love of her.
Several agreed about her chicken 
and scratch cake as airy
as the breeze under today

And the little wiry man said
how Grandma came for two months
to take care of his kids - his babies
when his wife had "up 'n' fell down"
the steps and broke her leg

Welling up, he recounted how
she swayed on her legs as she cooked,
and this was what came to most of our minds,
we saw her legs and heard the violin playing 
of the man who brought it along,

Grandma, sang softly, or right out loud
as she walked through the day
A secular, or maybe a gospel tune,
and often, some bawdy blues tune
that'd make 'em all smile a while

All of 'em, the salesmen, and uncles,
the school teacher and the paperboy,
the women from her sewing circle, 
they'd all come to her for help
or advice, or as often, just a bite.

The kids came running from 
fields and woods and creeks
ravenous for a hug and some eats
from her feasting kitchen banquet of 
pies 'n' pudding or baked something else

The minister looked at the big men
and said a few passages they all knew
by heart anyway, and they all agreed
as how they'd miss her warm smile
and some knew they'd lost something else.

© Goode Guy 2012-08-22

for Sue 2012-08-23

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Boom Town

An abandon old town, from where life once thrived,
 now sets alone forsaken and desolate in the late evening sun.
 Empty shadows dance across the ground gripping the old town
 with an eerie reality of lost hope and futile dreams.
 Old building sags in the moonlight.
 Homesteads stretch out across the endless barren land. 
Empty like the promise of a new life.
 A cool breeze drifts aimlessly through open doors,
 and broken windows, scattering into time pieces of the past. 

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I look for myself

As I view a;; around me I wonder where the time went?
In the concept of time I was a speck that was spent
Nobody is left as I stand all alone
So I pick up the pieces and just go home.

I feel a bit betrayed I helped all that I could
I put my heart into it because I thought that I should
As I look at the returns they don’t equal what I put in
I wish for just this once it was my turn to win…

I gaze at the sunset as another day passes by
The beauty surrounds me the colors in the sky
I’m thankful for so my yet I feel a little empty
I’m feeling a bit lost in this land of plenty…

So many pieces I don’t know which to pick up
I feel like my life was inside that paper cup
Everyone ws done so it was just thrown away
So I just learn to live and fight another day.

Time keeps on ticking as ther clock unwinds
I still have my hope and the sun still shines
I just feel I’ve lost a little of my fight
I look for myself but I’m nowhere in sight,

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Being Human

Being Human

The term “I’m only human” 
Is often over used.
It is something  to  be proud of
Never an excuse.

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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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Domestics - blue berry pancake

Simmering,hot, pancakes, flushed.
Battered, beating, bruised,
Syrup, sweet, melted, dripping, 

Brown now, peeling, ripping 
Dark berries, smashed oozing bluish - black red,
Hands and words tossed instead,

Pancake Burnt! Pancake dead!

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Final Fantasy

Follow me and I will follow you only to sacrifice and pledge my soul.
Now known only as one!
Soaring in the winds with rapid inspirations exploding one by one,
It is your final fantasy to live again!
Victim of suicide revealed by fate and conquered by the depths of love,
Life of life has just begun!
The warmest touch begs respect for the quality found deep within.
It is your final fantasy to finally begin!
Encouraged by beliefs to uphold the strength of one’s destiny,
Yet, embraced with one final and endless thought!
A kiss of pleasure obscures the kiss goodbye,
Accompanied with its warmth to pleasure your need!
It is your final fantasy to bow down for these borrows and trade.
Subtle with perfection you are as pure as a white dove.
Your desire is to never ever get lost with what you’ve caught.
Insensitive delights begin to dwell from deep within,
You burn and ache for a place to finalize where it is that you belong.
It is your final fantasy to conquer these steps in which you alone have made.
Sacrifice those objectives captured and held in your time!
Acknowledge your very own self with the quality known only by the depths inside of you!
Fly away with me, but only for a moment.
Embrace only that which enlightens the moment seized!
It is your final fantasy to touch and feel everything that you never knew.
Life is our mystery, yet we uphold its true value with our righteous dignity.
Harvest your life moment by moment,
Make it your very own prey for the little ones who never knew.
Gather the sensations and absorb life as you breathe in your every breath of air.
It is your final fantasy to indulge with the intrigued and explore all of these parts inside of 
Release yourself from the depths of love and find what it is that you truly seek.
Life of life has finally just begun!
Looking up and looking down but never looking all of the way around,
The loss of control is the loss that you will gain!
It is your final fantasy to whisper in the dark and to cry in plain sight.
Open minds with open hearts capture the true essence, for they completely belong!
Spirits fly and soar through life with so much energy powered with intensity’s strength.
They find the treasures you’ve always sought but have never found.
Your final fantasy is to escape your darkness and to find yourself inside of this beaming ray of 

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Still memories haunt

If only you knew what you did today,
Would it all change words of yesterday?
Or did it all happen just so you’d learn? 
You can see better as the tables are turned.

The lessons we learn seem to come at a cost.
What we learn weighs against what we lost.
Things keep moving, time marches on.
Thing that are lost become what we long.

I wonder was it worth it the price paid.
All I left behind I wished could have stayed.
The sun rises up to greet this new day.
Memories haunt the events of today.

I know there’s no sense living in the past.
You can never outrun the shadows it cast.
You woke up today life passed you by.
Maybe you just forgot how to try?

I find myself older yet I lost some trust.
It was left in the rain and started to rust.
Once it is lost it’s so hard to get back.
I try some new cards from off of the stack.

It doesn’t seem better but it could be worse.
Maybe my destiny has plotted this course.
I don’t expect anything I see what’s to come.
I see what I need and try to grab some.

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Looking through this window
The gateway of life
One must be cunning
As sharp as a knife
To realize
Any choice made
Shall affect
Any plan laid
No matter how big
Or how small
Everything and anything seen, or performed
Will result in a rise or fall
Act fast, yet not foolish
Carefully plan
It takes good thought
To become a man
Use your skull
Not your back
Live longer you shall,
It is a proven fact
Windows are opening
Opportunity is at the doorstep
Chances are here for you to accept
Act quickly, yet not in stupidity
For this open window
Is not open forever

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The Affair

In the bar
they smiled,
eyes locking
in lust.

Out into misty night air
smell of the sea blowing,
they walked down a hill,
passed the park cathedral
steeple reaching
for a star sky.

When wind blew cold,
they ran
across washington square
weight holding
no meaning
in thought
or feet.

Laughter warmed
the child-like
anticipation as
moments later they made love,
years later they cried,
eons later they denied,
but time had stopped
three months before.

The beginning of death,
How many deaths
had they known,
how many would they die,
how far had the karma

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Living on the Edge

“Wow, life”! 

Always in the proper order organized and determined to stay intact.
Step by step rules with regulations and all judged with such strict order.
And all of this is what’s focused on me?
My, My! What a revelation in front of me a definite soul searching moment indeed.
Walking the plank I can see death before my eyes and visions with just way too many lacks.
I step further in to grasp this concept presented so directly in front of me.
Ha! A life with nothing but clearly lots of undistinguished metaphors!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but it encourages the will in me to succeed!


Ruled by the throne of ethical, morals, and values,
Condensed all into one challenging the best of my integrity!
Step by step an opinion is drawn or the matter disregarded at hand, 
And all of this challenged by me!
My, My! What visions are in front of me a time to expect the unexpected my constant need! 
Playing Russian roulette with a loaded gun, firm and adamant I maintain all of my dignity.
Pushing further for results to stimulate an aura I capture a much higher demand!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but it examines these laws that strive so hard to be!

“Wow, life”! 

Expectations meant for perfection encourage the best of me over and over again.
Step by step blueprints are calculated, analyzed and specified by the finest details.
And all of this is what’s focused on me?
My, My! What examples are set before me a moment to test my own integrity!
Sink or swim? A desperate moment I recognize and exemplify as purely sublime.
Getting closer and closer to the seed itself the core is mine to unravel and reveal!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but it’s argumentative from all that I can see.


A yes or a no, but never a maybe and all before my time so it seems!
Step by step a path has been laid before me all engraved in gold or stone.
Most definitely a challenge for my authenticity!
My, my what a grip on me, a chance to acknowledge what it is that I believe?
Suffocated by these laws that be, I’m caught in the rapture of my finest dreams.
I step further in to grasp the concept presented so proudly before me,
A challenge I care to defy on the Royal Throne!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but I know what I believe and I truly believe in what’s in the best of me,
And that my friend is strictly my authenticity!

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Working in a Factory of Words n Poetry Soup is the Hub

A hub stays put
But around it the wheel rolls
A hub only feels the weight of the load on the road
But the wheel rubs on the surface of it all

In mud, on dirt, on tar
The wheel is not afraid to roll for it fits within its purpose
The hub always stays put in the middle of the wheel
But with it everywhere it goes

Poetry soup is the hub
And around it like a wheel I’m gonna roll
Sometimes the surface maybe on a tarmac so smooth
Sometimes I may wade through mud so sticky and deep 
Sometimes I may leave so much dust rising on my trail
But an artist is all I am
A creature of emotions working shifts in the factory of words

Mine is just to pack
The emotions endeared to me in the wrappers of words
Each day different from the one gone past
Sometimes it’s heaven is on a roll
Sometimes it’s hell in a storm
But being the servant I am 
My position at the factory
Impels me to wrap it all in the assembly line of words

So please understand
Don’t blame the packer working shifts in the factory of words
Blame the company for producing all the sincere stuff

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My World

My world has always been a world of eternal dusk not so dark I could not see but not light enough to see more then a foot in front of me. There are other people in this world I can just barely see them. They are transparent just outlines of people when I watch them move it seems like the air around them is honey they move so slow. I have screamed at them them but they seem unable to hear or see me and I pass right through them If I reach for them. As the years have gone by I have grown to realize that they are not just outlines but I'm the one who is not fully here. This is how I have been living my life as an outline and as the years kept passing I found myself becoming less and less of what I was,slowly began to lose my mind. No longer trying to get people to see me or hear me I have been walking up and down the same road mumbling to myself for the past 10 years. But a week ago a light appeared just a dim light far off into the distance but a light none the less. I have been slowly drawn to this light ever since. It's still so far away but I have begone to hear a soft female voice calling to me. But I'm fading so fast I am trying with everything I have left to reach that light and find where the voice is coming from.

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Poetry is

A bouquet of inner beauty,
unclothed, waits patiently
at the hem of wilderness:
it offers exuberant kiwis,
merciful bananas with an
ounce of disquiet: the sly ginger
root – this is me yielding to the
poetry of Mother Nature.

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The Waffle House Way!

Customers are like bouquets of flowers passing through our twenty-four hours.
Breakfast, lunch, or dinner all 365 calendar days guaranteed for a full twenty-four seven.
“Hello Sir”! Welcome to Waffle House America’s favorite place to eat!
Some say we are the closest thing next to God's Great Heaven!
We have a confusing language of our own, the blabbering towers of the real “April Showers”
Service with a smile that has walked the many hard-earned extra tenths of miles,
Nothing computerized with files, just organized by our own genuine unique styles.
Waitresses are serving with hard enduring time and each crosses over a mighty fine line,
Master grill operators optimize a divine talent marking your plates perfectly aligned.
Friday and Saturday nights the party train arrives blessed coffee to the many lips we’ll revive.
Regulars and irregulars you’re served just the same, pardon me did I really get your name?
Loud ones, quiet ones, and even the picky ones strive to come back to us,
Here we bring back the basics of being alive.
Scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, diced, peppered, capped, or topped? 
So do you want them “All the way or just partly aflame”!
Young, old, or different at being indifferent just being sane, 
Especially when the “Waffle House Way” is to say the first “HELLO”!
“Morning Mam”! Can I get you your usual or will you be having something different  “TO GO”?
Brief moments of insanity with the moods that walk through our doors, 
Thank God for every single one of those Jukeboxes!
The quality of service opening an eye to the sly foxes, 
We’d really be in trouble if we sold liquors!
Foreign, military, and even civilian are in and out, 
Our servers are like the gold stored at Fort Knox.
So what can we get you today that you haven’t already had before?
 “The Waffle House Way” America shouts!
 It’s like being home because that’s what we are all about.

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Untitled #33 / Dark hard dark rubber shoe soles

Dark hard dark rubber shoe soles
jiggle up and down in boredom
classy, they’re the same he’ll wear
ten years from now, graduated,
at the office, still bored, wondering
where his youth went.

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new beginning

In a dark room I hide my face, my shame I know they hate me I know I am different I have fangs and crave blood but that doesn’t make me a monster they can’t see that though... all they see is a blood crazy fiend that’s not what I am so ill go somewhere else somewhere new where they don’t even know what a human is I close my eyes and dream I dream away my life... I can feel my physical body decay many moons have passed though it feels like only a moment and now I’m on a whole different plain of existence my body is different than any you have ever seen or even thought to dream of it’s just the same but in a whole new place where limits are long gone and humans are forgotten humans died many years ago... wiped out by their own selfish wants but this new world is crisp and clean it is fresh and young here I am equal I am 'normal' no one runs or is in fear in fact many wish to be me and I let them... this in my new beginning here I rule here I am all that matters here I am loved... this is my new beginning

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When I was young and naive, I joined a company where I thought I would stay...
The stay only lasted two years, as the President turned out to be a crook.
I had, at that time a young whom I had hurt by joining this company against her 
better judgement and who had seen from the first where this would go.
When I got wise and realized that she was right all along, it was too late to save the marriage.

There I was, no wife, no home, no job, $14,000 in debt, and the creditors at the door.  I was 
staying at my mother's house at the time...and being alone one night, I decided to call one of 
the people I used to work with.  He wasn't home, but I spoke to his wife.  She had been one 
of our secretaries, and I knew her as well.  As we spoke of things going on, and the things 
past, she interupted me in mid sentence.  "Dan, don't do It!"    "Do what?", I asked.    "I know 
what you're thinking, and it's not worth it."  She then proceeded to tell me how she would not 
be alive if someone had not found her after she tried to commit suicide after her first 
divorce.  "So, don't do it!"  It was like being hit in the face with cold water!

After hanging up the phone, I realized that she had heard something in my voice to spark 
her comment, and I would have killed myself that night had it not been for her.  I tried to 
sleep, but to no avail.  I decided to go to see an old friend whom I had worked with when I 
was a youngster.  He drove a bread truck, and I used to help him with deliveries.  When I 
saw him I told him that I had nowhere else to go, and didn't know who else to talk to.  
Without hesitation he said, "How much do you need...1,000, 2,000...5,000?"   "No, I just want 
to borrow a few hundred dollars to keep the creditors at bay until I can get myself a job."  
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a roll of bills, handed me $200 and said, "Call me 
tomorrow!"  A second dose of that cold water.

When I called the next day, he had gotten me a job driving one of the bread trucks.  I 
worked for almost a year at that job, paying off most of the creditors in that time.  And 
every time that I wanted to give back the $200 he would say, "Put it in your pocket, you need 
it more than I do".   

That was long ago and seems like a different lifetime.  Yet, I still remember vividly those two 
angels who helped me to still be here to write this for you.  Yes, I was a real lemon...They 
made me into lemonade which can't thank them enough!

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Another poetry festival

Another poetry reading.
I arrive late and drop my phone in a workshop.

I capriciously retrieve it and slink to the corner,
My notebook and pen
Poised and ready
For my muse to be resurrected after
A long hibernation.

This is why I am here,
To absorb through omosis
Inspiration and guidance
By the brilliant featured poets
(clearly stated in the festival program)
Who grace us amateurs with their
Published verse and professional advice.

That is the reason I tell myself
And everyone else,
But, I also have a secret agenda
Which causes  me to compulsively
Scan the faces and profiles of each
Audience member 
In workshops, open mikes and  the main lecture hall
For one specific person, 
an ordinary man,
With dark hair and eyes

Who I once loved.

It has been three years,
But the need to see him makes my mouth dry

I want to have an awkward conversation
Peppered with stilted small talk and profound subtext
Which my posture, eye contact, tone of my voice 
Clearly indicates:

I still look good, don’t I?

I don’t want a reconciliation,
Only an endless moment
(Like a scene from  an old movie)
Where we wistfully stare into each others’ eyes, and 
Fused with old love, regret,  longing 
I telepathically communicate:

I am so happy we were together once,
Even  though it ended with us acting like 
Two toddlers throwing tantrums and telling lies,
It took me a long time to move on, but I did.

Day passes into evening,
My heart leaps and sinks in my chest
With hope and despondence whenever I glimpse a man
Who has a similar jacket, hair color or hat

But, he isn’t here 

Instead, my notebook fills with quotes, notes and poems.
My thoughts become occupied with 
composiing chap book  of poetry and 
Taking a writing class.
I finish the day
With relief  and confidence that my muse is alive
and I can write again 
and that is enough.

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Strive not for strife
But confront conflict on all fronts
When it strides past your ride
Dispense with all disputes
Spare not your fangs
When fear rears its ugly head:
When it rains; have a free cold bath
If sun shines, dry your clothes
At the reign of darkness
Find the inner light 
That lights your path undimmed
If the flood flows
Swim afloat on lifebuoy
And if fire rages and smoke rises
Expect the afterglow
When horde of odds assail like bandits
Never retreat, nor surrender
Turn around, turn aside, 
Never ever turn in nor turn back
Enjoy the war.

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In the morning
when the sun flash its first coysmile
behind the parting curtains of a sleepy sky
it rouse the world from harried slumber 
to the roar of monstrous machines 
and crawling cabs on congested streets
honking,hooting,swearing and sweating

At midmorning
its a floating disc;a kaleidoscope 
of pressurized breath and hooded brows
of grumbling bowel and galling juice
of idle hand and furious fists
of infernal fingers perpetually planted in public till
of sodden spirirtin fearful breasts
and mumified citizens in merciless cities

In the evening
a dying yolk knocking feebly on western door
shorn of blistering breath and scorching strength
trudging relentlessly with burdensome dreams
quietly,golden head rests in western grave

At night
a monarch ressurects with 
a retinue of chandelier stars and energetic drummers 
on the throne of a sombre sky
seething with ghosts of decayed dreams 
waiting impatiently for the birth of 
 a promising dawn            
                                     dejon 5.45am

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Sorry, Goodbye

You don't need this, and neither do I
We're at 2 different places, in our lives

A deprivation of likings
A misleading character
You're not who I thought you were
But I ain't even mad at ya

Situations continue to pass
But some things remain the same
Its true when they say
That a person cant be changed.

You only worry about "YOU"
Your feelings never make you think
My intuition told me so,
And the truth just made me sick.

The best thing u can do for me 
Is just leave me alone
I wont regret things anymore
So I have to let you go

What kind of legend am I
If I
Cant beat the world?
The things that I've been faced with
Have taken me for a swirl
You-Your life
Us-Our past
Just go about your business 
And I'll just let this pass.

Sorry... goodbye
I'll see you when I see you
You had so much potential
But I don't see what I used to see in you

Soon enough 
I won't miss your smiles 
And you wont have to try.

Everything happens for a reason.
So I'm sorry...

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I have always been alone it seems. This life has taken everything from me all my friends have gone walked away into the light where I can't follow. All my family has left and wont tell me where they have gone. So over the years my defenses have been built up and are strong. First the towering outer wall, surrounded by the dead bodies of people that could never get through. Next we have the inner wall, with two guard towers at either side. This wall is not as strong or high but the towers always filled with guards and weapons to strike down any and all who approach. People have reached this far many a time but almost all have fallen here. Second to last is a huge iron gate surrounded by a moat of battery acid to keep all from swimming it. The gate is thick and has never been lowered willingly, the gate keeps all out of the city that is my soul and heart. Only a select few have reached this far and a couple have forced there way in. Then last within the city, there is a golden vault door keeping all out of my inner sanctum. These defenses have been tested and tried but never have they all fallen. So imagine how shocked I was the day I was walking within my sanctum and out of a puff of smoke you appeared without any warning.........

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Softly Spoken Scream

I was once out walking
on the road of life one day.
Didn't know when I fell down
that, that was where I'd stay.
I didn't even know that I tripped.
I was tripping on something else.
I didn"t have any directions
but I sure didn't ask for help.
I wondered where I was going
at least a couple times I think.
I told the guy in the mirror once
and then left him with a wink.
I laughed it off so easily. 
I thought it was the life for me.
Sometimes someone would pull me aside
and try to make me see.
I thouight they were just jealous.
That they weren't having any fun. 
their lives were just so serious
and I was strolling in the sun. 
Then one day I woke up
and it was pouring rain.
I tried to think where I was
but remembering was a strain.
Getting lost in yesterday
with tomorrow still a dream.
Watching satan laughing
at my softly spoken scream.
I thought that I hit bottom.
But much to my suprise.
I looked and found a trap door
with a basement there inside.
I still didn't think it was my fault.
I blamed everything else instead.
The only way I was getting out
was either institutionalized or dead.
I prayed to God to help me.
To get out of my personel hell.
Then I heard my conscience
and it was clear as a bell.
That guy that was out walking
has now found someone to blame.
That guy that fell and didn't get up.
They're one and the same.

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tension in the muscles
where the strain takes place
places where the sweat
where the sweat accumulates 
deep breathing
heavy lifting
escaping only in ones mind
making my way carefully
far from this space

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Musee Imaginarie

knocking on the ocean's door.
Making the moon shine in the mist,
of this and that, and that and this.

The seacow and the seaweed meet,
and brush the sand off their feet.
Then sit and watch the waves roll in,
and kiss and kiss the beach's chin.

The sandbar tickles the seacow's toes,
and the white-caps dance on the seaweed's nose.
With too wildly wounded moments-
that close and open, and open and close.

Ave atque vale!
Ave atque vale!
The rest is missing,
with-in the walls.

The first-lady-in-waiting,
eternally feminine, eternally fading.
Felt his voice and nothing more,
in the desperate dunes of nevermore.

Where new fragile blues break into grays,
and the tap, tap, tapping tapestry waves.
To the faces that the wind is making,
behind the dressed-up-girl part par-taking.

Dance into this or that, or that or this,
the dripping drops, drop, and miss-
doe-see-doe here and doe-see-doe there,
spill your tears and let loose your hair.

So she cried:
tears for things,
things in dreams,
little by little,
the meaningless means.

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The Words Of Anguish

Surrounded by my past,
I have discovered a lot.
I have discovered at last 
The anguish of loss in my chest.
This anguish is all that I've got.

Surrounded by this gloom,
I only want to break through.
I only want thoughts to bloom
Like weeds by a foreigner's tomb.
He fought for the word, proven true.

Surrounded by this mist,
I have apparently drown.
I have apparently missed
The time that still runs through my fists.
My anger could burn it all down...

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This strange feeling doesn’t seem to leave
But it only becomes more extreme.
Everything around me seems positive
Ready to take on the world before me.
Nothing can diminish my enthusiasm
And I hope how I feel is not a spasm.

If only I knew what to make of it
I would know what to do with it.
I pray that this is not temporary
For I want to be in this state for eternity.
Now I see things I could never before
And want things I thought I never needed.

I hope this feeling that was a strange for me
Does not become a stranger to me.
No more do I want to put it off for long
But want to indulge in this till it lasts.
I wish to have this stranger inside me
And pray it lasts till the last breath in me.

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Can You Hear Me?

I am screaming your name,
But you’re not listening.
Instead you stand there glistening.
But I can’t feel the same.
I can feel you with me,
But I can not believe.
Remember that I came!
To you I say can you hear me?
You see me when I look at you.
But your eyes are not open.
You see what will come in.
But you are lost without a clue.
You feel alive touched by me.
But you will never set yourself free!
Remember that I came once again!
I say to you, can you hear me?

I see you do this.
But it’s not you.
I see what you go through.
But you hold what you miss.
You are not with me.
But I can never agree,
Remember my bliss!
To you I say can you hear me?
You are calling my name.
But I can not hear you.
You see that I already knew.
But I am still the same.
You can not see me.
But you hold onto your dream!
Remember that I came!
I say to you, can you hear me crying “’Tis shame”?

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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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Oh the changes I would have made.
I would have gone sleigh riding in the winter's snow,
I would have realized the miracle of the rainbow...
gazed at a sunset across the meadow.
It seems not so very long ago.
Forgive me Lord. I just didn't know!


Oh the changes I would have made.
I would have hiked through a forest and hugged a tree...
spent more time with friends and family...
learned the lesson of the honeybee.
Unawareness is such a tragedy;
I was blind and did not see!


Oh the changes I would have made.
I would have reflected more on what would carryon...
that which would endure long after I was gone...
thanked The Lord for the gift of each new dawn...
discovered the purpose of being born...
regrets forever I will mourn.


Oh what different choices I would have made.
I would have set my mind on things above...
laughed more, played more, and shared God's Love...
listened to the songs of the turtledove;
for this is what life is made of.
God is the hand and we are the glove.

My eyes are slowly closing.
Something is happening to me!
There's a Bright Light I see!
I feel such peace...a serenity!

Milton L. Delgado
October 6, 1998

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A Little Crazy

I went a little crazy tonight,
a little over the edge.
Reading the natal
chart prepared for me 
by an astrologist in Poetry
class and it all rang too true,
the good
and the bad
was hard to take
sitting there so alone
without you
without anyone
I began to cry
but not for your return
or theirs,
another path draws me now
and good
or bad
I'll have to see
it through until the bitter end
or until it no longer matters,
until my mother's
creeping, bulging, bursting 
tumors take over the body
the breast I nursed
the cancer I imbibed
my own breast barely saved.
What is our goal? the surgeon
said, and I said 
Save the breast
and we did.

Now I'm in college,
at my age can you imagine
and I surely have some reading 
to do and this higher
education is almost too much
sometimes but I love
it and hate that 
I failed to pay attention
for several months and now
no one moves around in my
space except me and 
I must have driven away
everyone and thing 
has left me now but
I do enjoy my solitude
though not quite enough sometimes.

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Whispers Through Head

Softly, mysteriously, it will appear Curtain thine yese if though are to adhere It is part of the role to be in fear Just do not try to be a seer Listen in close Otherwise be morose To believe thou need not see Inner vision is the key I wandered to a spring... After the vision and hearing of my final fling I started to reconcile and think Since, I have been left long a drink Abrupt! The spiders caught a butterfly Engulf in fear, stuck in the sky Snatched in flight, when it was high Time of night and death is nigh Hearken ! A faint heavy whisper 'Tis the shepherd or the reaper? If I listen... will it lead to my damnation with glee? Could it give me my desire of being free? Would iI conceive an ambition... spiraling in the fire? Or finally my heart, would I aspire? Heed for words for words... don't be scared! Keep them cclose... don't be dared.. Opened!, as if i don't care, The whisper vanished in the air? Again... I could not cross into the streamline... For there was another time I chose not to shine. I am stuck... in the sky, And my life is dry

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Tomorrow becomes Today

The world keeps on spinning, always moving on.
What we have today tomorrow may be gone.
The winds of change are blowing, changing my mind.
As I look once more who knows what I might find.

Time keeps on ticking, another day goes by.
Maybe it’s time to give something new a try?
Nothing remains constant, we just have today.
The world could change if we all do as we say.

It is not always easy but a part of life.
Sometimes it is joy, others it is strife.
I believe we can learn to turn it all around.
You can’t fly, with your feet upon the ground.

Still the world is spinning, leaving the past behind.
We have to do what is right, for all of mankind.
The wind continues blowing now it starts to rain.
It can wash away all sorrow, erasing all the pain.

As the darkness comes it consumes all the light.
With the clouds there are no stars  in sight.
I stumble for a moment before I find my way.
I closed my eyes and tomorrow becomes today.

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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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Dreams in slow motion,
Dancing in the lead;
Have you lost control...
Of the long planted seed?
Growing out of refuge...
The flowers in your mind;
Will you draw me a picture...
Of all that is undefined?

Draw them curtained;
Masked in the finest drape,
For reality needs not...
To find an escape;
But to see truth...
Behind these wall flowers;
Reveal to us...
The power of all powers...

For dreams bare nothing,
But hopes unknown;
While man seeks greatness,
To be written in stone.
In a day of souls for sale,
May you dream me perfection?
I have not a single hope,
Scaled in every direction...

Please rest young dreamer,
For we are all the same...
Tied to a faction,
Behind dreams that never came.
For your drawings mean nothing;
When we're all blind...
A sad proclamation...
But it's how we're designed.

This is but a moment,
In the poor dreamer's brain.
So don't forget the ending,
As we're inching down the drain.
Draw me a picture... 
Telling our future's tale;
And he threw me a dollar,
Screaming our future's for sale...

Before I knew it he’d left;
Running away screaming in his depart.
Who would’ve thought...
That a dreamer’s dreams could tear ‘em apart?
Beep... Beep... Beep...
And my eyes, I’ve just opened...
Shutting off the stupid alarm clock,
Realizing the dream that just happened...

The reality of it all...
Trying to put two and two together;
An idea by which to relate,
And changed my mind forever...
That we could all be dreamers,
Caught up in our own dream;
Subject to our curtains,
But never as we seem.

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I still see the beauty

I can hardly hear and I don’t care to speak.
The answers don’t match the questions I seek
I feel like a misfit, sort of a freak,
The day just dragged on, it felt like a week!

I hear all the sounds from off of the street.
Your mouth doesn’t move yet our minds still meet.
A strong gust of wind nearly knocks me off my feet,
I think to be safe, I shall just grab a seat.

Cars fly by on their way to tomorrow.
Gone are the tear shed from all of the sorrow.
I never have been able to just follow.
I think I’d rather buy, instead of borrow.

This day is Monday but I can’t seem to adjust,
I see with my heart yet still I don’t trust.
It’s starting to rain and perhaps I shall rust,
I put all in, Hope I don’t come up bust…

Everything seems to slip through my fingers,
Only a taste left behind, that still lingers.
I see all that is and imagine what can be,
It all is encompassed in the beauty I see…

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A Modern Travesty

I Did Not Consume My Exquisitely Delicious Boston Cream At The Local donut shop on East Colonial Boulevard For Breakfast This Morning While On My Ravenous Way To My Place Of Employment .

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Finishing End

why this question?
why this need to question?
why this need to write about the need to question?

How much of what I do, directly results in what gets done. And how much of what 
I do actually becomes the impediment in what I desire to get done ? 
Does every event have an individuality of it's own ? Like you and I have. Or is 
every event, every eventuality, a potential, a probability ? And then are you and I 
also a probability, a potential ? So I if I want to get something done, how many 
other events must come into synch before the event becomes a percievable 
reality ? Even an event like my striking a match must rely on the match being 
made, the box being made, the process of the match and the box coming to my 
hand, and the moment that I actually strike the match against the box. How many 
events must have to be created for me to have chosen that moment. This would 
go back to the 'chance' of the creation of 'fire' and to the very birth of the Universe.

So here is the question. If so many innumerable events must have come 
together, to give me the choice of striking the match against the box, surely it is 
just my ego that tells me that the 'end result' of all those events was my striking 
the match against the box. I am obviously just part of the immense, continous 
and infinite chain of interrelated events that never ends. My choice, if it ever was 
that, is just part of that matrix. Not anything I do, or claim to have done, is the end 
result. And therefore, why do I consider myself an individual, if I am merely a cog 
in the wheel of the infinite matrix of the events, and nothing that I do is the 'end 

"The journey is the destination"

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Retail Therapy

Yesterday I found myself slumped
into the saddest of trenches,
for no particular reason
other than a new moon cycle.
Instead of flopping myself
in my studio’s armchair to write,
I drove to the mall for an outing 
probably more expensive than 
what a therapist would charge
for an hour in his armchair. 

I wandered into the shoe store—
something about leather 
which grounds me, whether
the flimsy strapless heels 
or the closed-toed pumps or walkers. 

Already lugging two bags, I meander
into the lingerie store for silk 
to accentuate my only remaining 
middle-age curves, skipping over the thongs
and hesitating at the push-up section.

I try on four or five pairs of underwear
to accentuate my butt area,
the part of a woman which shares the 
secret of her fitness, that I work on 
each morning at seven.

I arrive at the boutique who sells my favorite 
blouses, gather some more bags, walking out
with an almost terminal case of rope burn,
until I finally decide it’s time to head back to my car. 
On my way I stop, smile, and realize 
there’s no better way to fight trench warfare.

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The White Rose of Good Bye

Today I lay,
a white rose,
upon your grave,
and tears,
seep onto,
the ground,
that now engulfs,
what was once,
my first love.

I kiss your tombstone,
remembering you,
at first sight,
as my heart,
skipped a beat,
as my eyes,
glance into,
the mystery,
of the pair,
of eyes,
that met mine,
that continues.
to travel,
through the labyrinth,
of my soul.

Splashes of red,
color my face,
as the memory,
of the night,
I felt your hand,
caress my own,
as you stole,
my heart,
with your,
that captivated,
the girl,
that thought,
no man,
could express,
towards her.

Agony consumes,
my thoughts,
running in circles,
that perplex,
my spirit,
with traces,
of my mind,
focusing on,
the deer in headlights,
that was slaughtered,
by the man,
I believed,
was my soul mate.

I laughed half-heartedly,
to ease remnants,
of pain,
as I viewed,
the bold lettering,
of your name,
etched upon,
this rectangular rock,
within this cemetery.

I placed a note,
beside your grave,
with a vignette,
of my rage,
and inevitable love,
for you.

Years of fearing,
of falling into your grasp,
were far worse,
than the night,
you attempted,
to taste upon,
the purities,
of my innocence.

There were months,
when I let,
myself drown,
in self-blame,
making excuses,
for your behavior,
creating a paradox,
of sadistic love,
and intense hatred.

On my wedding night,
I cringed as fragments,
of that early august,
morning encounter,
entered my mind,
and guilt became,
visible inside,
my deep hazel eyes,
as my husband’s gaze,
met mine,
and the night,
that should have,
ended with me,
giving him the gift,
that only he,
would receive,
was decimated,
with sounds,
of your body,
Pushing violently,
into me,
 as silence,
the words,
I begged,
to escape,
from my lips.

My feelings,
are now a scar,
no longer,
only a reminder,
of a hard,
 life  lesson,

So today I forgive,
with this white rose,
my pure heart,
that contains no love,
nor hate.

I whispered,
as I walked,
away from,
and prayed,

These words,
“my Innocence,
my heart,
now belongs to,
my lover,
who deserved,
what you,
believed to,
belong to,
without consent,
and I am letting go,
of every aspect,
that connects,
you to me,
with this good bye.”

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Pushing the button
Hot water through crushed beans
from plants that grew
far away from here
sleep sand dunes in the corners of my...
eyes focusing heart rate increasing
as reality chases away remnants of 
the nights dreams
a slight stretch with yawn 
sub consciously preparing...
the body for whats next
stepping outside 
hearing the melody of birds 
mixed with the interstate sound effects
I pause to... 
take it all in
flashes of my dream get through
taking me 
far away from here

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New hope carried my soul through summer travels
its timing good karmic irony ,found in ancient parables 
I've dared myself to exceed my expectations
I've survived with new creations
displayed on the walls of art galleries 
in towns I'll never see

sometimes wisdom must resolve indecision
No desire no vision
gave myself permission 
never to keep my distnce from success

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A Life of Abuse

Children are not aware that they are being abused
until they grow up to be abnormal human beings,
unable to differentiate reality from dreams,
inept to understand a helping hand from hate,
because they spent their lives around people
who lacked patience and were always irate,
A life of abuse becomes the norm for most
young folks, until they experience the world
at large and realize their tumultuous life was
always a joke,

In reality, abuse is not a way of life,
it is an atrocity, that many keep hidden
to avoid hate and infamy,
The irreparable harm that is created
at the hands of abusers can never be

So most victims go through life feeling
numb, hurt, and secretly believing they are

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Where do I belong

The sun comes up to start the day
I feel the warmth of it’s rays
I’m searching for the words to say
Something seems to get in the way.

I brought back to memories of my sister
I understand how much I miss her
A teardrop comes and then it goes
Where does the time go nobody knows?

I think about the journey I am on
The path is before me but then it’s gone
I wonder did I take too long
I just can’t find where I belong.

I wander through the rest of the day
I get lost in the words you say
We don’t have tomorrow let’s live for today
I begin to see things a different way.

I take an inventory of what I received
The world has brought me to my knees
I look to the sky and ask God please
I turn to run but I just freeze.

It’s funny how it all works out
Understanding arises from the shadows of doubt
I turn to speak but start to shout
What is my life all about?

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What Happens

I don’t know what happens it just does.
The simple explanation is only because.
I don’t think it’s because of what I know.
I just plant the seed and watch it grow.

I become a part of everything that I see.
They join together to become part of me.
Sometimes I wonder, I want to understand,
I’m not all that certain if I even can.

The sun rises up to start this new day.
Nothing remains the same it is different today.
I see this puzzle before me not yet complete.
The pieces are found in everything I meet.

As the day goes by the pieces join together.
I float through life as light as a feather.
I don’t have any answers, I just see.
I become a conduit for what can be.

The day comes to a close I take another look.
I see if there is something I might have mistook.
All of these pieces become a part of a whole.
They live in my heart and also in my soul.

The night arrives and darkness prevails.
It all stops like a ship without its sails.
I lay my head down and go to sleep.
I dream of everything that I did meet.

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Time marches on

Time marches on as the sun begins to set
I see what I want and what I did get
It seems that the minutes turn into hours
The day becomes what time devours.

The colors across the sky are quite inspiring 
As I take a seat I think of retiring
The days are so full and go by so fast
The first one seems to blend into the last.

I don’t always accomplish all that I try
Still time races another day has gone by
I guess tomorrow I shall try once again
Maybe this time with the help from a friend.

I try to sit down and take it slow
But I always wonder where the time goes
If I only had a little more time
The hands keep on spinning the clock unwinds.

I try not to put anything off until tomorrow
I put a down payment on what I had borrowed
Sometimes you may not get a second chance
It all may disappear in a single glance.

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This New Life I Found

My words always seem to find a new home.
The journey is easier when you’re not alone.
People reach out to lend a helping hand.
Help me to realize, just who I am.

The days pass and I move down the road
Over the rainbow may be that pot of gold.
First I must dream for them to come true.
What you become becomes a part of you.

As the day goes I slip into night.
The moon and stars are now in sight.
They are like beacons to guide me from dark.
The dogs bite remain much worse than it bark.

 I just close my eyes I am almost there.
I seem to remember I just need to care.
Whenever I slip I raise myself up.
When I have thirst I drink of life’s cup.

Soon the sun rises brings forth this new day.
Maybe the dream shall come true today?
As it shines down it warms the ground.
I look with surprise at the new life I found.

Every day is different though seems the same’.
I step up to the mark because it is my name.
I don’t know the future or where I am bound.
I learn to embrace this new life I found.

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Billy Bo Bob

Billy Bo Bob, woodsman his job
Was a hunter of faded flannel flair
He whittled wood with two left feet
And used Quaker State in his hair
He picked his teeth with a straw of hay
And slept between the bales 
But never missed a sunrise sing
Because his wall was driven by nails
Born in the backwoods, a man’s frontier
Where the only trails were fear
Billy trapped bears as he wrestled gators
And swiped jerky from passing deer  
With his snakeskin boots striking roots
He could outrun the whirl of whistling trees
Until one day he fell from sight
As a rogue breeze knocked him to his knees
Billy shielded his eyes and squinted at the sky
Thinking God had unleashed his wrath
When low and behold, armed with a bow 
Something cute and fuzzy stood in his path 
Now Billy wasn’t dumb, just a special type of conundrum
For he could neither read nor write
But he'd be damned if a furry little fox, no bigger than a box
Would leave him in an unfettered fright
Before Billy could breathe…beg, plea, or somehow flee
That cute and fuzzy fox shot him in the most fleshy of spots
With an arrow forged from the crow of a unemployed cock
Billy shouted in wretched pain, as he came up lame
Wondering how in the hell this could be the end
When speaking for men, quoting his favorite hen
The fox hungrily quipped, “Who needs civilized friends?”

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Dancing With the Carousel

 Raw boned, Time lines etched her face,
Her clothes hung from her frame,
Like the sails of an ancient ship;
Forgotten by the wind.

She drifted silently through,
Opened wide carousel doors.
Drawn by an invisible cord	
Wooden steeds began to move

Prancing, dancing up and down,
Carousel music stirring her veins.
Music pilots memory's flight
Her body a fluid graceful sway.

Musically transported to ,
 Another place, another time.
She moves with the rhythm,
Until she becomes the rhyme.

She's a willow tree,
One with the musical breeze.
Jeweled stallions rest midair.
The music stops.
She turns, and leaves.

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The state of my heart

It’s a journey to be reconciled with the past,
especially when one’s life still carries the wound;
it’s like a running sore that permeates the soul,
a gigantic barrier, an impediment in any way.

God’s promise, “The light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness did not overcome it.”   True!
Comparatively, some shades of darkness
have to be cleared and dispelled in one’s heart 
the revealing darkness that symbolizes pain,
closed windows that block God’s blessing.

Well, it’s a metaphor to the so-called ‘wound’
a kind of silhouette that’s difficult to mirror
a kind of misfortune that ruins disposition.

It’s hard to believe those who’re with God,
those who teach about love and respect,
yet, it’s a tragedy to see them on the contrary
because they live with hypocrisy and irony.

This is what I feel as I welcome the New Year,
mired in hope that someday healing takes place
such a great deal that needs love and understanding
that life may be whole again with a heart that cares.

The throbbing verses of cultures

Chronicled as part of history
the reality gives meaning;
it's a pathway to move along,
a commitment to future dream,
a response to what is ideal.

Addressed as a piece of literature
the struggles involved with one another.
It's a life of experience that forms,
a historical menu to savor,
an enormous task to fulfill.

Lived as a language I best hear
with silence and profound meaning;
It's a human action and reaction,
a point to what we're here for;
being called to serve -
a measure to Christian perfection.

Proclaimed as a gospel of inspiration,
with diversity of cultures
that runs through this generation,
its texture, zest and color,
aptly describes, "we're one nation."

Being grateful for various reasons
with different contexts and situations.
They're hallmarks to great civilization;
with the continuing growth amid some afflictions,
a message of hope, worthy of revelation.

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Under my roof

It’s a welcome departure
from the state of brokenness;
with its implication or
commitment to God, the most high.

At times in my own journey,
the struggles involved overwhelm me
make me feel unworthy
unable to see beyond
God’s message to my life.

but again, with sincere heart and acceptance,
that God’s ways aren’t our ways
to judge ourselves and others.

I see the image of God
who is the God of love;
endless in compassion
genuine in comprehension.

He welcomes the sinners
gives them another chance
like the story of Prodigal Son
his mercy bestowed on him
reminds us how merciful he is.

His great love for humankind
reaches far beyond the rationale
which is why he came here on earth
because he wants us to be like him.

His gift of life and love
the embodiment who God is.
I believe he’s always there
for us men and women
we’re part of his great plan 
to become recipients
of his saving love.

God of History, God of all
You’re the source of life
though at times I stumble
but with my repentant heart
You come under my roof
to show me that you still love me
with your love and healing presence.

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I’ve heard this many times before
But this time, my ears struck twelve
Heartbeats of life pace more and more
In sync with all that scratch and quell
While counting ticks on outlawed tunes
A solo, but oh, so off key
The cords of life anchored in June
The metronome of time in me
With passing phases of the moon
Accustomed to a self taught fate
Sheltered in my private cocoon
More room to grow and hibernate
In meditating out of sight
A healthy way for me to explore
Before I step out into the light
Before I look down upon the unsure
Such is the soaring Phoenix way
A merger of the heart and sun
To rise with burning passion each day
And brighten it for that special someone

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She may be gone into this world
but her memories linger
her inner soul transcends
like a wind blowing elsewhere
with its sound and touch to leafy land.

She weathered many trials,
challenges, difficulties throughout her life.
her faith and her good heart,
made her cope with life.

A constant niggle in the back of my mind,
stillness and peace at this time.
even in the silence of my heart
reigns that confidence 
about God’s indwelling in my life.

It gives light to what I feel
now that you’re gone, o dear mother!
your message of hope and endurance
remains a compelling force
to keep me going and be thine
O Lord of life, my refuge throughout my life.

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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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Last One Loving...

I got a call, I am to report for military duty in the morning..
I reluctantly tell my wife as she was doing her usual cleaning.

She covers her face with her hands and begins to cry.
I gathered her in my arms and told her I would be back by her side.

Holding my wife, I drifted off on the couch, listening to music.
She was singing and humming quietly to the songs and their lyrics.

She tells me she understands and shows her love and support.
Morning finally came, and she drove me to the airport.

We exchange vows again, and I kiss her tenderly..
She whispers that she will remember this moment blithely.

She received his letters, read and cherished every one of them.
Thinking of the times they were together and the essence of him.

A month went by and she tried every possible way to find her soldier.
She closed her pocket filled eyes and prayed he was out of danger.

Three months passed by without word of his well being.
Trying to stay positive but, in her heart was a dreadful feeling.

She felt so oppressed and worried her hands were trembling.
She was weak and weary, her gait was somewhat stumbling.

She hasn't slept, it seems~since he left.
She takes some sleeping pills and takes a long deep breath.

Couple of days go by and he "rolls" through the doors.
He looked at her paleness and begins to feel remorse.

His thoughts start to torment, right or wrong, was now confusing..
Tears fall from his weary face, his mind is loosing…

She deserves better, he tries to reason with himself.
Reaching, he loads the contents~placing the box back on a shelf......

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' 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 scars of losing my parents

Since childhood I’ve dreamed of having a happy family,
I’ve dreamed of seeing my other siblings in harmony;
Like seasons of the year where changes can be seen,
Similar to our human experience dubbed with ups and downs.

As a child I experienced the pain of losing my loved ones,
especially my own father who I never saw when he passed away;
He’s far away, confined in the hospital with my older brother.
I cried so hard, went to my parents’ room and blamed God.

It was one of the great storms that knocked us down,
my own mother had all the responsibilities to shoulder;
She brought us up with all the sufferings and pains
She bore with them like a humble servant of all.

My mother’s mother continued to support us in many ways,
She became part of our disciplined Christian formation;
Her love for us was like a gauge of a mother’s love,
with interiority of faith and mission to think about the poor.

Her role model in our family became a challenge for me.
She impressed in my mind how to live as a responsible man;
given the chance to explore my life in the world of today,
undaunted by fear; encouraged by those who really dream.

The painful spike in our journey as fatherless in the family,
was the tragedy of envy and hatred that truly ruined us;
Yet with an attitude of love and forgiveness deep inside,
I would say that God never sleeps - to be of help to us.

Along with my family relations who came into the picture,
their soaring irritation and impatience to assist us heretofore,
Just a lesson, a part of history that makes me recall in prayer,
a gateway to reconciliation, a ministry to those in trouble.

As themes on faith, knowledge, love and oneness with God
continue to be the revelations of Christ in our journey as persons;
I feel that he’s never written in straight lines but rather in crooked ones,
some of them are our own lines and living witnesses in this world.

I really miss my own mother, my own father: my parents,
in spite of their weaknesses and shortcomings as human beings,
Their love and sacrifices for their children never failed,
because they’re sibling souls who knew about God’s love for all.

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My true foe

Not to much longer now. I can now hear his screams of anger. Each day he grows in strength, each day another chain or lock is broken. My one and only foe will soon be free and my last battle will begin. I can't say who will win because we are one and the same my foe and I. Any day now it will begin

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For all we have..

For all we have …

The moonlight is all we have…
For the sun does not shine in our world!
Let us make the best of whatever little we can see …

Our hearts are not kind…  it beats faster than time… 
The moments don’t let us wait to feel what we touch
Even the rain waits for drops to fall…
Our souls are wandering away… only our bodies stand tall..

I will sleep with memories… and you with indifference …
Our destinies will also sleep deep slumber … and wake in a separate dawn…
Till our souls meet….

Details | Narrative | |


As if to spy upon
some rapt adjourn
more devellish
than their own ~
existing for the slug of virtue
from some forgotten dream

Their aim ~
outdated with resent
yet stealthy earned.
Their ears, like prodding volts
reversed to bring return.

Life's focus ~ now forgotten
with its yearn,
seeking noticed space
that all but clutters . . . 

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3,000 Miles Separate Fate

There you were
Just a blur
In the spur
Of the moment

A spontaneous rush
Of flushed confusion
An overwhelming lasting impression

This brief encounter
Bringing two strangers
A precious and a joyous sensibility
That's all too serene to be fiction

Effervescent euphoria
Permeates its way through the senses
Infiltrating effortlessly

Why did you have to go
And get on that plane

Now you're never coming home

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Square pegs for round holes

One thing, I've come to realise
to some this may come as a surprise
Realities a big bunch of lies
see for yourselves, open your eyes!
We've all slept for far too long
allowed way too many wrong
lost amid the maddening throng
not quite square, more oblong
a mirrored distortion of how we coud look
hiding how we really should look
I'm not sure how it was lost, or why it was took
but, our compassions been sold for gold
an' truths been traded for lies bought and sold
Sheople walk around like one big stupid herd
Money, Religion and Terror seem to be the keyword
That stops humanities caring message from being heard.

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Some mental notes about the poor

Every time I pass by Flushing, Bedford, or Lee Street in Brooklyn
I see Jewish people in complete uniform; most of them in black color,
their faith and loyalty to the Book of Torah makes me reflect
about my own relationship with God, along with my own people.

It’s become a reminder for me as I connect my own journey
to the mysteries of being called to serve and witness to faith;
certain things to develop and deepen along with inner longings
fidelity stressed by the Gospel marks the sign of being one of them.

Discipleship is truly costly as one invests his whole life in it,
there’s a radical shift of lifestyle that follows like a measure -
gauging that genuineness in dialogue with life and other cultures;
needed as a fundamental criterion to carry on God’s mission.

It’s in this way that some highlights of my faith enable me
to see beyond the texts of the Holy Scriptures, images of truth
that convey love relationships with people particularly the poor.

Being open to welcome some wounds and other afflictions
in today’s world where everyone competes with other factors
amid strong forces of secularism and cultural impositions
on life’s situations where the Lord’s teaching dwells.

Although God doesn’t give us all what we really want,
but he provides us with certain things we really need;
it’s a familiar wisdom, a continuing hope as Christians
that his great love for us is often reiterated in many ways.

A priority to “be mindful of the poor”  and have love for them,
an attitude with an evolving deal of surrender to God’s will
no matter how rough the roads will be in reaching out to them
reference to the poor connotes a constant clarion call for all.

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Me and Him

We can't share this body any longer Him and Me.He is killing me and draining me of my strength.He is a weak and pathetic excuse for a person. Oh how I despise him He is always crying and Constantly trying to kill us both. He has even come close a couple times it was my strength that brought us back! Oh how he makes my blood boil. I want him gone, I want to kill him! But he runs and hides from the light and has survived everything I have thrown at him. His only good quilty is that He just wont die. He is nothing but a cockroach and I want him GONE!

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The Oldest Part Of The Cemetary

She is standing alone under the street lamp,
The light reflecting off her hair, 
The steam mists from her lips
She doesn’t notice that I am there.

So I pause and watch her leaning on the fence,
Lips and cheeks blushed crimson.
Crystal snowflakes glitter all around her
And light up the solitude she sings in.

Suddenly I am noticed, a slight turn of the head
Your notes disappear so fast I wonder if I only imagined it.
And those eyes, yellow as the moon glow,
Went through me with the wind swirling off the surrounding crypts.

I can no longer stare, now that I’ve been seen
I feel you tense at the approach of possible danger.
So I put up my hands in surrender, with a smile.
Now you know me, we’re no longer strangers.

What kind of person waits until dark
Then walks through a blizzard to sing to the dead?
She said nothing could be worse than never hearing music again
So someone had to come out here to sing to them.

The snowflakes were melting on your eyelashes,
I’d never seen someone glisten, you lit up like a luminary,
I held your hand for the first time that night
12 degrees below zero, in the oldest part of the cemetery.

That was the first time he saw me, 
In the midst of one of one of my many oddities.
I’d been embarrassed by his presence,
Surprised when he hadn’t been quick to judge me.

I’d first braced myself for his attack
Though I felt protected amongst my silent audience.
But I hadn’t seen any malice in your gray eyes
As you took a place beside me against the fence.

You were only cutting through the graveyard after work,
I was the freak with this morbid intentional destination.
You would later say the lilt of my voice that night
Made my audience feather up into a standing ovation.

Always my lyricist, you would pen the words
And I would pour them out beneath the rain.
You were the gilded crow, some child’s pet
And I was a stray that you hoped you could tame.

You thought that because I was able to mimic
That I might succumb to your choice of conformity
But I would never become civilized if it meant giving up
12 degrees below zero, in the oldest part of the cemetery.

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The lost and found 
all walk this earth.
We trudge along
till death from birth.

At the age of eighteen
the Lord found me
wallowing around
in my misery.

I asked for His help
and He showed me His love.
But when things got better
I suddenly had enough.

I was bound and determined
to do it my way.
My lust for the flesh
led me astray.

I never even knew
I was so alone.
My heart was so lonely.
It turned to stone.

Believing my life wasn't 
as bad as it appears. 
Lost in my addiction
of sex, drugs, and beers.

Stubbornly I continued
to live the lie.
Pretending I was happy
with no love in my life.

No matter how hard I tried 
all I could do was fail.
I guess I was Jonah
and the earth was the whale.

Battered and beaten
after the world swallowed me. 
Confused inside the belly.
of the whale in the sea.

I felt like a captive
and I had to get out.
Quietly whispered prayers
with a head full of doubt.

So lost in my sins 
I didn't think He was near.
Softly I said, Lord are you there?
And You said, "I'm still here".

No longer living the life
of a sinners neglect.
Your forgiveness is love
that I'll never forget.

Now I know I haven't been forgotten.
Of this I have no doubt.
Because the Lord tickled that whale
and the earth spit me out.     Amen

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Wedded to the past

The iconography of childhood gives more vivid memories,
like an inward looking that draws to depth and human connections;
those relationships with family members, friends, and relations
the best of times and known to be the memorable years gone by.

To stir the pot and get myself riled up about human depth –
in many areas of concern and struggles to cope with life,
a culture of love gets developed and rolls through the years;
a dependable compass, an anchor that assures great strength.

It’s the habit of my mind and heart that keeps me growing
immersing constantly in the ordinariness of my routines;
form certain messages that shape my choices and decisions;
elsewhere in the context that brings me to embrace what life really is.

Perhaps it’s good to connect the wisdom of the past to present situation;
there’s complimentarity of actions with vision and interior inspiration
yes, with sense of connection and willingness to proclamation;
God, indeed, makes the experience worth thinking and sharing.

The crucible of commitment to the values of God’s kingdom,
reflects my interior disposition to enhance them through actions;
with endless thinking, meditating and ruminating the Sacred Scriptures,
can crown the heart that speaks volumes about dedication to my vocation.

There’s still the umbilical cord of my calling since childhood,
the ‘yes’ to God, the source and author of my priestly life;
with a great deal about ‘how I live and live out of my love,
like a climate change, a moral wavelength wedded to my calling.

Truly, it’s a never ending affair with God in many contexts,
amid the advancing forces of secularism and modernity;
not an easy world to live with; a real challenge with strident voices,
with so many meanings and understandings as life unfolds.

To find the language which describes mobility in my spirituality,
a point in time which braces for my daily encounter with God;
his mysterious signs and wonders that make me walk with him,
in worship and service to Jesus Christ, the Good Shepherd.

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Helplessly hoping

Helplessly hoping I close my eyes in search of a good night.
Tossing and turning they open to greet the morning light.
I rise out of bed running, hoping I can fly.
Only to stumble and fall when I hear goodbye.

Helplessly hoping I walk through the door to view a purple sky.
Wondering I keep to myself, thinking what I need to get by.
Seeing not so easy when you consider the meaning inside.
Just for a moment I linger, was I just there for the ride?

Helplessly hoping my spirit feels lost as the day goes by.
I seem to collide with the material world no matter what I try.
Seeking salvation I cry and drop down to my knees.
Feeling like I am forsaken I still ask God please.

Helplessly hoping the answers before me disappear from sight.
Suddenly I stand by myself in darkness who turned out the light?
Memories linger and my heart remembers yet retreat like the tide.
The moments before me are passing and then I turn to hide.

Helplessly hoping I just help myself but I’m so alone.
Searching again inside, I wonder where I shall call home.
My feet start to shake, I feel like I’m standing on a fault line.
Everything around me slips away leaving me with just time.

Helplessly hoping my mind starts to crumble like the ground under my feet.
I run just as fast as I can but there was only me to beat.
I listen as the wind it whispers, everything’s alright.
The circle of life is unbroken as I return back to the night.

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life begins

so the "majority" resound
that life begins at birth
and equally, the other "majority"
state life begins at conception

Senator Connie Johnson chimes in 
that life begins at ejaculation
or more equally, orgasm, a come-along
and tongue-in-cheek we hardly speak
in compromising tones, she bemoans

I'm thinkin' why not go the extra mile
...take the next step and say that 
life begins at a leer and a smile
since that's where the cheeks flush

or go just a bit further and say
it starts by the hall water fountain
or while showering and dressing up
for an evening of conceptualizing

life takes on special significance
when spritzing the cologne and
slipping into something tight
with high-heels and zippers

but since we're talking about
conception, maybe we should just
go back to the ceiling of the
Sistine Chapel where God touched Adam 

and said "ok young man...go forth
and conceptualize a civilization
and do many things in my name
but mostly remember to live life"

© Goode Guy 2012-02-24

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The FireWall (A Computer-Lingo-Love Analogy

You Are My Formidable FireWall
My Memory Image Chip, Thru Flash Floods
You Search Thru and Rescue my Heart-Site…
With A Barricade that Blocks Viruses – like Blood

You Are My Screen-Saver and Life-Log-On-Line
Top-Tech-Support; My Very Own Version of Refreshed Breath
… if they could Spam or Shutdown You, from my System…
… there’d be Nothing, but Frozen, Empty-Space Left

You Halt Hard-Core-Drive – Hacking Rain
You Turn Back Spy Infiltrating, Triple Whip Wild Winds
… more than All Other Hosts/Sponsors Here
… You’re My Best Net – Blog… Faithful, Code-Friend

My Address:  is Your Laptop  -   Yeah, I’m Your fEMAIL…
Sent or Waiting @will for you.come
To Download hope, trust, most learned Tools
And File Past Pop-up - Back-Door-Programs Done

You Are My Formidable FireWall
My Free-Path and Private-Property MainFrame
My Fault-Delete, My Final Password and Future Link…
And My Full-Force, Public Domain-Flame://______!

You Are My Formidable FireWall – Forever
Finest CPU; Fearless-Forward–Pentium-Pointer to Light
GOD!… I Love This Guard-Upgrade, speaking MicroSoft Words
… while pressing Safe=Surf-Kisses and Key-Strokes at Midnight

My FireWall…
                            My  Far-Reaching…              

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Birthdays come but once a year
A day we celebrate, a day to cheer
We all know the day we're born and our age
For birthdays bring us joy or change of stage

The day I celebrated my fourty-ninth year
On the other side of the world fear
Horror for a young girl named Heather
Who was swimming in ocean waters from boat tethered

Swimming around the ocean deep 
Working up an appetitate for something to eat
Was a great white shark fourteen feet, whopper
Jaws powerful enough to bite through copper

At home I thought I had turned fifty
I figured this year would be very nifty
My father who was in his nineties
Reminded me that I was only fourty-ninty

In a land way down yonder
A girl named Heather was pulled under
Great white figured she was good meat
Nice and tender a very tasty treat

A girl named Heather was saved
That very day lived to be one to praise
People who worked to keep her alive
She praised God who lives in hearts and on high

Sara lived many years
Saw her grandsons through tears
She was the strength and glue
Who saw her family's problems through

Just in recent years in a land down under
A fourteen foot great white shark did blunder
Caught in a fisherman's net
He'll probably live this mistake regret

No, the fisherman cuts the lines
Frees his catch and shark from bind
Now the shark he named Cindy
Follows him around even when windy

Follows him everywhere he goes
Let's him pet her on her nose
Rub her belly and dorsal fin
She even grunts and tries to grin

Which of these do you think is the most grateful
Heather who is now disable
The shark who was spared his life
Or Sara the mother, grandmother, and wife

(The story about Heather is true. The shark circled and bit her right leg.  Then circled and 
grabbed her left leg.  The people on the boat were hitting the shark and try to pull her into 
the boat and the shark took her whole left leg off.  She was only attended by a nurse who 
was on the boat and radioed a doctor on shore as to what to do.  She was 20 hours away 
from the nearest doctor.  She was lifeflighted to a hospital in California where she had to 
have multiple surgeries and now has an artificial leg.     The story about the shark caught in 
a fisherman's net was really not true.  The grandmother here was a true story.)

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Coffee House

They were a different breed, in thought as the coffee grinds
Gentler souls, dreamers with artistic minds
More acceptant than the average man
Substance goes farther than image can 
And I wondered why in these troubled times
Of violence hatred and senseless crimes
Couldn’t we have a world summit at a coffee house
I talked to a man who prayed for peace
And a girl who wanted all war to cease
Not like Washington I wanted to scream
People think and people dream
And I wondered why in all this turmoil
With our young bearing guns on foreign soil
Couldn’t we have peace talks at a coffee house
I listened to the morning news
It made me sad, gave me the blues
Storms, violence, disease, starvation
Governments seeking domination
And I wondered why in our darkest hour
And nation’s leaders obsessed with power
Couldn’t we change our world from a coffee house.
I stepped inside to find a book I sought
Found myself immersed in thought
There were poets, dreamers and works of art
People whose words came from their heart
And I wondered why in this time of strife
As our leaders devalue human life
Shouldn’t we listen to the dreamers at the coffee house.

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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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Your oval face
is framed by bouncy curls
you smile as if only for me
how I wish I could run my fingers through those curls,
gently move the ones 
That’s shading your hazel eyes from the world,

your bare shoulders an invitation 
to caress your soft smooth skin
that shimmers in harmony with 
the lighting of the room
everyone seems to fade away 
while my eyes see only you

the vision conjures thoughts of 
my favourite place, our secret place
where we would undress each other slowly
cover each other with fervour kisses 
your lips would pursue the trail left by your fingers
every touch would awaken my senses 

the words you whisper make love to my mind
as your touch made love to my body
a fool’s wish made in madness, that we 
could have those moments back
a wish that was not meant to be, 
your fire has died for me...

My replacement found
I hope he makes you happy
I wish you well 
or maybe not
it hurts like hell...
“it’s not something you did or didn’t do
it’s something I did or didn’t do”

That was your final words
as you closed the door
On our love, on our secret place…
See this face? I have survived 
my heart is still beating
it has not stopped
there is life after you...

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Dreams locked in a cage

Conspiracy theories dreams locked in a cage
Screams become silent as peace conquers rage
The means justify the way or maybe I have it wrong
I try to hang on but this journey is so long.

Gentle rain falls washing away all that passed
It’s within my reach yet I still can’t grasp
Mirrors reflect, like the eyes mirror the soul
If you want to pass this way you must pay the toll.

Fragments of memories sooth my weary mind
So much looks different as my thoughts realign
I look inside myself and see signs that change can grow
I feel like a lost soul, swimming in a fish bowl.

Transparent the shadows seem to unveil the truth
The dreams in the cage begin to get loose
Gray skies, the white blankets the barren ground
It falls from the heavens without making a sound.

I find myself up on the high wire
Where one side is ice and the other is fire
They meet in the middle I find my desire
I lose concept of time as my mind does tire.

Chronicles of things that are yet to be
Swirl in the wind and then come to me
Through these eyes I think I see,
The person that I always want to be.

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The unspoken fear

While heading out to pick up a few groceries
in the Italian Deli ‘Pastosa’ on Richmond Road,
fear grips me as I’ve something that I forgot
and can only be available in other supermarkets
like Pathmark, Waldbaum , Cash and Carry, etc.

These are vegetables, fruit, and other ingredients
reasonably cheap and expected to be fresh;
with all the choices being displayed and shown
hordes of them can delight a lot of customers.

When I got home carrying all those stuffs
my mobile phone rang and it was from someone
whose voice sounded familiar with a sad tone
that a friend of mine had just passed away.

I couldn’t speak nor utter a single word
overwhelmed with sadness and shocking news;
struck me most as I recalled him, his mem’ries
that wrought an opportunity to pray for him.

This prayerful moment addressed to God
made me realize and think all over again
death as a surprise and yet an unspoken fear
for so many who seemed they’re not ready yet.

Between today and tomorrow I might include him
in sacred celebrations with the nuns who always pray,
in deep silence and heightened recollection;
I’d pray for him that eternal rest may be granted to him.

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Situational Awareness Is The Undying Key

Disregard for effect
In the eye of the beholder
We sit in dire need
As the looks grow colder
Abandoned out here
At the horizon’s end 
We sleep all alone
With nothing to defend

The dreams come
But at what cost
When the lack there of
Has found us lost
The heart grows fond
In times of resistance
For reality lost touch
And with it our existence

But is that enough
To stand all alone
For solitude draws deep
Turning expressions to stone
The deals are dealt 
And dreams fell short
Where do I go from here
When every step I distort?

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Amid a tempting generation
Is the presence of extreme desecration
History beckons on history
Evil now occupies mans memory
Where is love?
Where is peace?
What has affected mankind like a disease
In the land,i search for purification
Only to behold with mine eyes
         "Moral degradation"
I weep,i wail,i think,i am pale
For to mankind i ask,"which Creator do you now hail"
Are elevated in today's presence
Mankind has adopted treason
And as such,no longer reasons
Upon those concrete issues that create joy within
They now serve a god called "money"
Upon this noble earth are ignominious deaths
of people who were stars at birth
Where is the sacredness of human life
God Almighty established us in beautification
And now,man says no to sanctification
What a shame!
Who do we blame?
Millions struggle and hustle without aim
Life!Oh Life!Is surely vain
I wander out of my state of boredom
      And ask,
Why have we devalued our values?
Why has man left out the Holy tracks?
Where are the traces of love?
Where are the traces of hope?
      Why is mankind

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Each day that I get up and greet the new dawn
Posing at the mirror, see what changes have been going on
My eyes cannot look at what lies before me
55'waist on a 5ft 7 frame
These hands reach into the old treasure chest in the closet
I open it up and there before me is
A Superman comic(circa 1986-A CRISIS ON INFINITE EARTH crossover)
12 vhs tapes of STAR TREK,the original series(courtesy of Paramount Pictures)
An E.T.The ExtraTerrestial costume that mom made for me
and of course,the most treasured possession of all:
A FRUIT-OF-THE-LOOM jockey short that I wore throughout Freshman and
Sophomore year in High School
The DIRTY jokes that my Classmen used to tell
Old and disgusting chewing gum sticking to the toilet bowl with this note:


I hold up that smelly jockey garment from long ago to my expanding waist
Now I do know WHEN and WHERE the years did go
too much partying with the cubicle nerds
PAPA GINO'S and A&W root beer just lying around for some aging X'er to take
a bite and a gulp
Every night before I trot off to sleep,the hemorrhoids keep acting up
disturbing the many custard pie remnants that exhale from the behind
Mother told me that too much of that would be Dangerous,sickening,and unkind
I can't help it if I do not want to let go of my young appetite,as yet
Creatures from the old yearbook,Ravishingly young and wile
It brings forth a pleasant memory and before I am off to dreamland
This face offers up,one more juvenile smile,from yesteryear

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Love, Lust, Or Joke

I did not seek love.
But love somehow sought me
I was hidden in the closet
Safely tucked away and sealed.

But when love found me
It was very much here to stay
I found myself bound--
And there was no escape...

The binding had permanence.
I can never be free...
It will hold onto me-
Throughout all of eternity

But as I  sit here pondering,
Bound tighter in these ropes.
The question comes into conscience
Was it love, lust or just a poor joke?

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The midnight plant-watering ritual

Long after the neighborhood sprinklers
had shushed the night into silence
the closing of a door interrupted
and a dark figure glided across
the lawn, behind a wall
and disappeared.

A moment later it reappeared
and the face of a man could be seen
flickering like a candle in the streetlights

Suddenly the man stopped
and the world
like a
beneath his feet.

It became unbearable to stand
and he sat on a porch step beside a stray cat

Sharp shadows crossed 
the man’s face and
an orange glint of
light was reflected
in his spectacles.

His cat purred as
he stroked it but
he looked straight forward
and did not smile.

His attention was focused
on a pinprick of light
in the vast dark canopy
called night.
He pondered his place
in the universe as 
tufts of hair fell
from his hand
and were

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The Best that I can

I awake this morning with anew bounce in my step
I’m not certain where I’m going but I’m not there yet
I just can’t believe how life changes everyday
 I am grateful and proud to be part of today.

I seem to meet people from all walks of life
They all want to leave behind the struggle and strife
There is so much more if you only just look
Go out and live it because it won’t be in a book.

I can never remember me being this way
As I drift slowly from the safety of the bay
Everything I see becomes a part of me
The more pieces that join in, the more that I see

I am really quite thankful yet what is it I deserve?
It seems I’ve found purpose and that’s what I’ll serve
It gives me direction a new path to go
The more that I learn the less I know.

I wish to thank everyone that’s along for the ride
With my heart on my sleeve, the emotions I can’t hide
You all join together and make me who I am
I hope with my heart I do the best that I can.

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passing letters

Dear Lee,

It has been a long time since I last wrote to you. 
I am sorry to have procrastinated so. Even though it 
has been a long time, I still think about you often 
and wish you were here.

Life here is good now...well actually it's kinda good,
kinda not so good sometimes, anyway never mind that.

Ol' Jesse dog, finally rolled over for the last time,
and went looking for you. I hope she found you well.
Scratch her ears for me will ya? Don't tell her too
loudly, but we got another puppy last year and she
right away went to Jesse's old spot and laid right 
down. I think she might actually be Jesse come back.

Jan is thinkin' of retirin', maybe next year. 'course 
I've heard that every year since the last election, 
but has it happened yet?...naw...'sides what would we 
do with all that extra time stickin' around? It'd 
get under my fingernails I reckon, and I dunno if I'd
be able to keep my wits.

I planted the garden again this year and used some
of those heritage tomato and squash seeds I had gotten 
from that stand we passed that day, remember? We had 
just gone for a ride and saw that place in the middle 
of nowhere, and we pulled over and that old lady was 
sittin' there in a straight-back chair snappin' beans.
She told us all the best vegetables to grow, and sold me
those seeds, and gave you a peach, and you dripped the 
sweet juice all over your T-shirt, and the wasps started 
buzzing around lookin' for the sweet nectar, and you 
started swattin' at 'em. She took another peach and 
squashed it in her hand and dropped it on the ground 
and the wasps lighted on it and started drinkin' it, 
and she chuckled and said they needed their share too. 
She had such a sweet, joyous laugh.

Oh damn jus' pop 
into my mind an' I start wellin' up...well you know -
I jus' miss you sooo much. It's's just not
the same, that's all. It's good to talk sometimes. 

I gotta get back now, I'll write later. I love you - 
I'll always love you.


© Goode Guy 2012-05-24

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The way that it goes

I awake to find it is raining today.
As I sit down to write what shall I say?
Sometimes it feels like I’m barking up the wrong tree.
The rain keeps on falling and I can hardly see.

Sometimes it seems I can’t get out of my way.
The fabric of life appears tattered and frayed,
I reach out to grab on to all I can get.
I can see the top but I’m not there yet.

Many times my life feels like a ball in the tide.
Drifting out further no matter what I try.
Other times it feels like I’m drifting downstream.
My life feels much like a perpetual dream…

There are times I really don’t know which way to go.
The more that I learn seems the less that I know.
Life appears like something from a picture show.
Life a snowball going downhill, it continues to grow.

I try to find sense where there’s none to be found.
The past sneaks up on me without making a sound.
I’m still on this Journey yet where am I bound?
Life flies right by me why are you still around?

When I feel hungry and my soul needs to feed
Still, I seem to drift much like a tumble weed.
Blowing in the wind the leaf falls from the tree.
All it really wanted was the chance to be free.

So I just start again as I take to the road
It is the way that it goes, so I am told.
I try to buy back the soul that I sold.
Not all that wiser yet another year old.

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Poverty through the eyes of a missionary

I was head over heels in love with certain mementos I keep,
they’re like my precious treasures unknown to everyone;
a place where I used to keep them were hidden in my room,
a kind of sanctuary, a private locus sealed with continuity.

I had those stamps collected from different countries and places,
post cards, books, key holders, rosary beads, stampitas, and photos;
they reminded me of my visits to these places where I’d been to,
living memories, collection of souvenirs with values deep within.

Significant places like my home country where my faith began to grow,
along with a diversity of cultures that truly honed and enriched me,
meeting those peoples and experiencing their individual differences,
made me a real person; vulnerable to the needs and issues of being sane.

Across the length of years that I’d spent in keeping those mementos,
some friends, relatives and family members contributed in my own,
as personal stuffs, memoirs, or proofs of having truly been in those places;
from the bottom of my heart, I thank them and indeed, a big difference.

With my constant mobility, however, as one called to serve with migrants,
there’s difficulty to keep them all, carrying them with me wherever I go,
hence, I thought it best to give them away and share with others who like them;
be a simple missionary with nothing much as Christ had told his first disciples.

It’s part of of my religious vows to put into practice what poverty means;
detachment may mean a lot and it embraces nothingness, renunciation –
of one’s will that reflects his agenda for the present and future that holds,
all gets the bottom line - ‘vow of poverty’ in the context of my religious calling.

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In Your Eyes

gathering a criminal profile I shall conjure up a madman's perspective

a performance of a desperate actor

a stunning display , quite a persuasive objective

leading me through blackened allies , his premeditated grandeur

I must sit back , recall all possibilities , ponder in retrospective 

illuminating a twisted motive ,I shall gain a devastating introspective 

now you see............
I am close at hand
I am on your trail
I am a thirsty dedicated undercover detective !

the guilt I shall read in your eyes 

yes , they are the key to thy soul !

and the soul is so very reflective



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Fairy Tale - Part 1

Raindrops on roses weren’t her thing. 
They were okay.

But patchouli and pine 
Curry and cloves 
Burnt orange dusks fading to midnight blue slumber 
Alto strings and reeds weaving symphonic tapestries in minor keys 
Woolen ponchos and leather boots and prairie skirts sewn from bandanas line 
dried for the hundredth time to soft perfection 
These were a few of her favorite things.

Depths of tone and texture 
Vast in richness 
Intriguing in complexity 
The labyrinth of wonder 
The land of the Prince.

He sought her out early in the season 
Just as the crocus bloomed 
In the exuberance that precedes 
Any need for discretion. 
Innocent, she held his hand 
Gladly following as he led her 
Spellbound though the sights and scents 
And sounds of sadistic nothings sweetly 
Whispered in her ear. 

So softly did he speak 
She didn’t notice when 
His voice replaced hers.

So slowly did he dim the lights 
She didn’t notice when 
The oranges turned umber 
The blues went slate.

So slightly did he turn the dials 
She didn’t notice when 
The harmony of the strings and reeds 
Changed to dull, discordant static.

So subtly did he administer his anesthesia 
She didn’t notice when 
The wool began to scratch, the leather tug 
The skirt tatter.

His seduction near completion 
Her will half a heartbeat from extinction 
With her next breath 
Her soul would be his.

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aging poetry

remember the simple poem
you wrote as a young kid
in the second grade for 
assignment one cold February week
for the upcoming Valentine's Day
on wide-ruled yellow paper
with a fat dark-green #1 lead pencil
then transferred to pink construction paper
and handed in to Miss Wells
with both pride and trepidation
even though you didn't know
what that meant back then

and remember the first
real "love poem" that you
weren't just assigned to read, 
but read, by Whitman, or Burns
or Dickinson, and how the
lightening of insight came 
to you from the first read
and you felt the flash of
both heartache and joy 

and now, childhood yellowed
and a bit fuzzy at this point
witnessing many hearts ached since
but still...still the yearning
goes on, to stand on a hilltop
with gray clouds hung in blue skies 
and recite from your own aged
memory how much you have loved
another, lost, and loved again
ageless in the life-long longing ...

© Goode Guy 2012-04-03

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The Hurricane

The hurricane, so viscous, so violent!
Yes, it must rain.
This force is behind, 
This force beyond!
Yet, finally it came.
The winds, clever and dangerously rough,
Please measure this poll.
Dark clouds consume the heavenly skies, capturing ones soul.
With a love so hard, yet, a love much too cold!
Our world now spins, hopeless and out of control!
You are you and I am me,
Together, our climates capture and debate this Sea.
These winds are too strong, our sky so dark and dim.
Stricken with fear, too afraid to release what is deep within.
The storm is here, so grab onto your soul! 
Yet, beware! This one is fearless and this one we share.
Scream its name and it shall cry its love,
For it be you, far beyond the heavens above!
Hold your strength with a grip so tight,
That storm will surely break, so where’s your fight?
This hurricane can surely hold its own.
Our little world can and will be shown.
Our damage is as our damage does,
Surely this tiny world isn’t our just and only cause!
You hold that thought and forever we shall be,
True love bound and forbidden to set itself free,
Held within you and deep within me,
This love was meant forever, 
One day this you shall see!
This hurricane loves, yet, 
It wills to hate,
The forbidden fruit conquered by its very own fate.
Give your seeds, but stand your ground. 
Forever in this world!
For once we shall not be lost, but found.            

®Registered: Ann Rich 1997                                           

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A Simple Mystery

Why must the man hide behind his mask.
The false illusion to dazzle all.
His true emotions burried behind a deciet built wall.

The pen can cut like a razor a haunt the eternal night.
Is not the killer the victem.
The play but a test of true character.

Will you cheer the villian that that is me?
Embrace the pain and taste the darkness 
Fear drains like sweat.

For to long the words lay  vacant apon the page.
I wonder does she question in her empty thoughts.
As I regret are meeting yet ask for her hand.

Why must we live behind this mask
will others see through to what ive done.
see blood apon my lips smell the death apon the wind.

Will I be forced to reveil my true face.
Will you cheer the villian ask?
Sit and say its great theater never knowing what you see is no

Applaud the violence ignore the screams.
We all wear a mask for life is a illusion 
look beyond what you see for I assure you
it's far worse than it seems.

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I Died On The Operating Table At Yale

I died on the operating table at Yale.
My brain aneurysm explosion was off the scale.
My heart, my brain and my lungs all failed.
My life was shaken like a 10 on the Richter scale.
My life, like a train, was totally derailed.
I left my body and above it I sailed.
I looked at my body and it appeared very pail.
I heard my doctor say, "we’ve lost him!"
My chances of resuscitation were very slim
I heard the machine going beep, beep, and beep.
I looked at my body and it looked like I was sleep.
To the other side I sailed like express mail.
Upon returning, I saw my doctors assail. 
They worked at a heroic scale.
They continued their work to keep me on earth.
I heard my doctor say, “we’ve got him back!”
I re-entered my body and began my comeback.
The number of days hospitalized was one-eight-zero.
Because of my miraculous recovery, I shout bravo!

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He took almost everything he brought to 
Or ever bought in nine years 
It's hard to remember what is whose.  

He may have forgotten the cactus in the den 
	with its big pulpy stalk,
Was the first gift he sent me,
The one that fell on the receptionist at the office,
Leaking a white ooze from its injury,
And she a red one from hers,
	because he took it.  
And my birthday lamp, too.
He took it.

I'm liquidating what's left, 
and even though I love that maple table,
I'll have to let it go.
There won't be room in my smaller place.

I want to press my cheek against its cool shiny 
Smoothness and smell the wood one last time, 
But my daughter already feels guilty enough 
For the fight they had 
The final one, the reason she thinks he left.

So Goodbye, I say, to each piece of the puzzle,
Unraveling the years like so much yarn.
Stepping out now into uncertainty, 
I'm hoping the universe opens up to
Fill this void with something other
Than what I have filled it with too quickly in the past.

That's how they get you, you know
With that great wonderful hook.

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Grand Piano

I remember your fingers
upon my teeth.
We were
bread and butter;
I was le Sac and you were Pip,
a strummer and a quip,
the mesh of wet and dry
that even distance.

But how long it’s been.
My wires are shaky, achy
with desire.
Once ago,
you put your money where your mouth was,
and you took me home
and you kept me there.
Now you’re broke
you’re condensing down.
And you’ve got me quavering the silence,
longing for the final touch.

I burned and resurrected
to be this Grand Piano.
And it was you who took me!
My strings are rigid
from temptation of your wrists.
Holding on to my keys
willing for you to play
me to use me

But I’m breaking in limbo,
away from you
and I am too late
to mend you.

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Long pressing 

Bears the weight of the falling world around me

Over tinkered days and hollowed years 

Has the growing spiral of downward turn 

Unwound before my eyes

As my heart and mind

Have weathered

And my soul and will

Have crumbled…bit by bit 

To the sorrowed step of un-kept time 

And I 

I have stood as if motionless

Looking on

While the blackened vines of ignorance 

And the fettered thorns of foolish greed

Have smothered, as would seem, all before me

And while I sat in huddled desperation 

Seeking not but to continue on in mere existence

A child passed by…

And suddenly I felt to leave all behind

And follow

…Jeff Bresee

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Untitled #80 / Long marches home

Long marches home
through the rain,
through the rain,
through the rain

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The Bottom of the Pool

Somewhere at the bottom of the pool
Beautiful shimmers of blue light and water
Holding my breath and wondering…
Can I ever make it to the top again?
My arms are so heavy and there are little black dots across my vision
Staying would be easier
People swimming above; playing on the surface don’t even know I’m here
I am invisible –
I close my eyes.

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strangle by society

threats regrets
pace and trace
connects the steps
to face my debts 
and get me along
my way... 
rent do.. baby crying
need a diaper or 
too.. just for this
night to get me threw
sweat.. nightmares..
waking up in the mornng
like night still here...
flesh bones 
eyes vison
hands felt 
that love  in a instant.........

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Toy boat in the Fountains

Out of the good
the bad emerges.
The cold wind bites.
The ocean surges.
Waves appearing
as big as mountains.
Like a toy boat
in the fountains.
Your miles from land
and it doesn't look good.
So you say a prayer to God
that's understood.
You've been here before
when all your hope died.
The promises were made.
I'm gonna change, you lied.
This time I really mean it
you convince yourself.
On your knees knowing it's over.
Again you plead for his help.
Please Lord, if I make it this time
no more lies will I be caught in.
But then the sun comes out
and the promises are forgotten.

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Talk is Cheap

Talk is cheap
That’s what they say
Say what you mean
And mean what you say.

Words of wisdom
For what they’re worth
May or may not ring true.

Verbiage can appear as anything
Close or far from fact
One has to listen carefully
To be able to discern the truth.

Words can say anything
Anything at all
Words can act as high fences between
Or they can be the bricks
Building up broken walls.

Words, just like people
Can appear to have no meaning
They can leave the versions
of their truer selves
Largely left unseen.

The higher words appear to fly
The farther their meanings may fall
One should always read words with caution
And carefully read between the lines
That’s the only way to know
If it’s true words
That one is hearing
By the author's own design.

(November 13, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)

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

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dreams under dust 1of2

i read and hear online the words 
from the other side of the world, 
the bearded angst and deeply rutted face 
of a soul with far, far too much 
sorrow to carry.

my eyes well, as i 
cannot help but too, 
share in the sorrow 
of the loss born by 
farmer Muhammad Wazir

Muhammad, from Panjwai district lost:
his mother, Shakarina,
his wife, Zahra,
his four daughters, 
Massoma, Farida, Palwasha and Bibya
two of his sons, 
Ismatullah and Faizullah,
a brother, Akhtar,
a nephew and 
a sister-in-law

Only the youngest son
Habib Shah is still alive
How can a father, a husband,
a son, a brother, bare it?

"I loved them all like 
they were parts of my body,... 
All my dreams are buried 
under a pile of dust now"
Wazir states. "My little boy, 
Habib Shah, is the only one 
left alive, and I love him 
very much" says Wazir.

I have a hard time
with the concept that it
must be God's will
to condemn anyone to this

Did Staff Sgt. Robert Bales
snap like a twig in the 
wanton disregard to sanctity
of children and mothers...
civilians. Who can forgive?
...Who can stand it?

Bales' wife Karilyn sends 
"condolences to all the people 
of the Panjawai District ... 
especially to the parents, 
brothers, sisters and grandparents 
of the children who perished"

Though heartfelt to be sure
she must realize that Bob
is beyond "normal" forgiveness
A strength like the Amish 
is needed to look into 
enraged hate filled eyes
with tearful forgiveness

What good...what good can
we possibly squeeze from
such tragic carnage?
Maybe God knows that answer.
I can only feel the sorrow.

meanwhile in Toulouse, France
Mr. Mohammed Merah,
a Frenchman of Algerian decent
knows in his heart that
retribution is necessary

and three French paratroopers, 
of North African descent, 
as well as a Rabbi and 
three Jewish schoolchildren,
pay with their lives

the Rabbi, and his two daughters
might have been aware of their
responsibility for the Panjwai
tragedy, perhaps not,

....{continued in 2of2}

© Goode Guy 2012-03-21

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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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I think I’m thinking of a thought I had,
but I’m not sure what it could be.
 Round and round though my thoughts fly,
I can focus on no single thought in me.

What to do, where to go, or maybe, I think,
should I just stay in bed?
Seems ‘twas another lifetime and I another person
when I could get up and work instead.

When I hear the phone ring I cower in fear
and the mail in my box weighs a ton.
My shades are drawn and I invite no one in,
it’s been a long time since I’ve had fun.

Over their shoulder or at their feet
sometimes I’ll just stand and stare.
And while it may seem I’m ignoring one and all
it’s that I don’t want to that’s not fair.

My sleep is uneasy, only moments at a time,
and my dreams are so vivid and real.
They hearken me back to the days I felt good,
yet at daylight they have no appeal.

Enough I say, now I take back my life
and I banish this sick feeling to hell.
This is the mantra I speak every day I awake,
but I can’t seem to will myself well.

Still, I remember how deep I fell in the pit
so for help I have had to ask.
And one day I’ll be the master of this polarizing
malaise; this is my solitary task

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Peri-Gonvre'(The Last of the Nerd who passed on)PART 1

Somewhere in the distant hill
lies a dilapidated old house that might give one chill
An old gentleman and his lady fare
were loners of life because they were the only ones there
Protecting a little child-teen of 13
A lonely  nerd or nebbish boy who only dreamed
to make friends with the outside but his inner self hide
the longings of a boy who was too bashful to confide
his parents took him from school because his
school-mates called him an Ugly and a Fool
Together,as three,they lived in this mansion ennui
The tales that can be told of this existence that
has kept them a Dead and one Cold
The Father took him Fishing(out back Yard there is a Hole)
to catch a big one-in their imagination mind-it is only a small peace
that both of them could ever find
Peri-Gonvre,the lad's name..that his school mates mocked LAME
All through the house,a child's laughter that scares away the most
disgusting cat or mouse
Both hands,left and right,has only two fingers each,that God made right
The attic above the 2nd story hall can only fit him because it is
5 inches too small(The Father-KinMen,designed it to be as confining as
the fireplace against the Stone Brick Wall)
Peri-Gonvre uses the room for his 'scape,from the island New England
that wanted to rape:the very spirit and the life of this like
sitting against the darkness,his eyes drifted far from the mortal Pike
SILVIA the feline little kitten coddled up next to him in this lonely Prison
She is the only cat to be allowed,
brighten up his disposition(disperse that iluminnescent Black Cloud)
Angel of the nightly SKY is first to shine upon the loneliness Guy

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I wanted to say

I wanted to say I meant you no harm.
I did not expect to cause so much alarm.
I did not wish to have ever hurt you.
Still this is all that I seem to do.

I wanted to say or maybe just sigh
I feel a piece inside of me die.
All that I say are merely words.
I wonder if they are truly heard.

I walk away with this lump in my throat.
It wasn’t my intention to rock the boat.
I see so much that I still don’t know.
Tears come to my eyes, I turn to go.

I wish for forgiveness, I hope for some.
The sun will rise and daylight does come.
I turn and start to walk back down my path.
Things don’t add up, I can’t do the math.

I wanted to say that I do really care.
Things have gone now beyond repair.
It makes me sad so I remember a smile.
I just get lost every once in a while.

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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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Yellow Butterflies

In the corner of my eye,
Ah, ‘tis just a yellow butterfly!
A swarm of bees on its tail,
And whipping in the wind with a trail!
Gallantly afloat and drifting in the air,
A cardinal bird it did meet and then a bear.
Flying through the leaves of a tree,
And circling across the roaring sea!
The yellow butterfly zips on by,
Flying low and then flying high!
Through the winds it did sail,
Gallantly afloat a great big whale!
A swarm of yellow butterflies came to share,
The journey of flying from here to there!
Yellow butterflies were everywhere for my eyes to see,
And I was dancing in the winds when yellow butterflies started chasing me.
© Copyright: Ann Rich   2006

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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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Mirror, mirror on the wall, Katrina is the most beautiful of all. Katrina is the mistress
of the glass moon. Hurricane Katrina moves like a great Olympian ice skater, performing
the triple axle. She swirled death and destruction across the New Orleans Delta. 

The eyes of Katrina unveiled an unjust poverty that smells like a dead corpse buried
beneath the foundation of our democracy. How can a Christian Nation who preaches God's
Word be so cruel to his follow man? We are all God's children.

Americans of African descent sacrificed their blood, sweat and tears, in building the
richest nation in the world. People of Color never received equal compensation for their
slave labor. They never received the promised 40 acres and a mule. 

Lord, why is justice so blind? Where is the home of the brave? Justice falls helpless to
her knees and the glowing light from her touch cannot find the land of the free. Still, at
night, we see the burning stars and the stripes, and all we are asking for is God’s love
and mercy.

America the beautiful, unveiled her torn garment to the world. Meanwhile, the local
newspapers spin fiction into facts. They know how to weave sensational headlines and
photographs for public consumption. Nobody heard the children crying, during the genocide
in Rwanda. 

America the beautiful, the world is watching. America, the beautiful, the world is
waiting. America, the beautiful, the world is listening. The world of humanity will
deliver justice to America, and she will be judge by her deeds.

Remember, a divided nation cannot stand on broken promises or broken dreams. History
whispered a secret that all great nations must have great falls. America, America, who is
the most beautiful of all?

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A personal anamnesis

Described as a great moment to remember,
with my niece Ann who came to pass by;
here in New York where she took some time,
a restful day, a huge opportunity that defines the day. 

  Such a beautiful name Ann which means “all gracious,”
  “all beautiful” in her soul; profound in Jewish interpretation.
  It’s been three years since we last saw each other,
  the time when my mom passed away;
  this streamlines our sense of reconnecting,
  like a journey or search for a deeper story.

I also met her friends who belonged to the same firm,
their smiles and friendliness mirrored  their inner souls;
showing good interactions and verbal articulations,
indeed, an inspiration and a focus of my attention.

  They’re always on the move as they travel across the world,
  loving and committed with one foot in their homeland;
  their Filipinism that makes sense to understand –
  it’s interiorized with a certain degree of importance.

I really admire them for what they’re doing,
Their service, working relationship with other members
as they embrace every challenge and effort up-to-date;
a good witnessing, a great Christian meaning -
suffused with love and dedication to their jobs.

  As I struggled to get a toehold in my forgotten past,
  revisited through our exchange of memories far beyond
  truly, a wealth of growth and a treasure trove of history
  engaged in conversations within the context of our calling.

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Shakespearean Tale Mangled

Romeo, my Romeo, I adore thee, whispers Juliet,
oh you cause my heart to race with each tiny beat,
many times I dreamt being a wife and all your own,
end this torment, sire your babies, take me home,
oh, Romeo, beloved Romeo, say you will have me.

No, Juliet, I'm afraid not, replies hard-to-get Romy,
age and situation tell me we're just not meant to be,
circumstances do not smile on us, my luckless lady,
eighteen summers you are whilst I'm almost sixty,
sire babies? spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

Daytime arrives and starry-eyed Romeo awakes,
realizing he was dreaming from night till daybreak,
engaging in romantic thoughts he could ill afford
amid obligations and a quite unforgiving landlord;
might as well start working, go straight for the kill,
sleep and nightmares would not pay his utility bill!

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All around our slippery ground
Rain dropping pellets
a quiet kind of sound
Darkened sky continues her cry
August is trying hard not to say goodbye
The passing of a season
Drenched as we forget
Hot summer to lay back
Even as we still become wet
There has been fair kind of weather
Downpours that make shiver
a lost flight of feather

Are we getting too old to remember the sun?
Deluge,God's Tears
made sure it was done
Quivering commuters,waiting on the platform
Waiting to be safe at home from her Storm
Laughing children of the elementary size
Dancing to celebrate in the dampness of the skies
Communion in Fall
Status not clear
As we continue to hope
that a Rainbow is near
Drawing to a light breeze
The sky begins to dissipate
Clouds are rolling on
A full moon above
September's rain is a memory in Song

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In the part tonight 
all the eminent guests arrived
with their best apparels on,
full of illimitable mirth.

The assembly hall danced
with the fragrances of the deodorant;
cheer lightening their faces,
smiles lessening their age
and every new entrant
being treated warmly with a glass of beer.
The ladies,
burdened by the sparkling ornaments, 
smiled with serene indifference.
Creams moistened their dry face,
powder cloaked their bleakness,
lipsticks glossed over their lips
and I watched them all with flaunting dependence.

Before the party could enliven, 
there arrived a weird guest
with rugged palid face,
his clothes torn
through which his emaciated body peeped,
depicting his uncommon penury.
Barefooted he was
with his soul on fire
but how admirable his green eyes were!
Every black eye scanned his features
and followed me,
    scoffing at me,
    demanding the exegesis
             ......those untrained eyes!!

I discovered discoloring faces,
             suffusing sullness,
             questioning wrinkles....
Impertinent remarks echoed
and crannies appeared on the walls.
He said placidly,
     "Sirs, even I've got the invitation card!"
And I saw
all the candles decorated on the banquet-table
pinching out one-by-one
except one
which burnt-
   in profoundity of the darkness.
And then I realised
I had no explanation.

And I was proud of my house,
         my house in the west
       with its facade facing east.

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Untitled #18 / A soldier-form

Shadowy, now constant
a soldier-form marched out of the void
before it arrives, it is gone.

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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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I have much to be thankful for

The sun comes up and the sky is so blue.
Still, I’m uncertain of what it is I should do.
I awake to realize I have much to be thankful for.
I open my eyes and my heart for what is in store.

Some days I get lost and don’t know what to go.
Sometimes it feels like any way the wind blows.
I seem to do better with the friends that care.
They make me see that they shall always be there.

When I get sad and feel quite alone,
They offer my heart a place to call home.
Though I feel lost I seem to get better.
Like when the rain falls, I only get wetter.

I usually have troubles with this time of year.
I remember the people that I hold so dear.
Last night I received a call and had to smile.
Today I shall rest and take care for a while.

I don’t always understand why I do what I do.
I just follow my heart and these feelings are true.
I hope for things to get better and look for a source.
I just need to find a way to get back on course.

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The Morning After

Sitting by the window at the Njogu-ini Hotel
I see my new people stream by
I can see them but they can’t see me
The window is a one way mirror 

So, this is how they look like 
Ordinary, though filled with immense purpose 
From this side of the window I can still feel their energy 
They are a people focused, a people determined
That is what it on the offset seems
But I know if most of them could be stripped within 
Much of what is common where I come from will be seen

They do have their fears
They too are enslaved by the system
They too do have their heartaches
They too have their poverty

The city may be defined by tall buildings 
And the streets lined with beautiful cars
But I believe astutely inside
They who mostly pass on foot outside 
Are victimised by the sites
Cars they can’t afford to buy
	Houses they can’t afford to rent
	The tall buildings are traps for their hard earned cash
	The supermarkets are large and their windows are lit bright
	Their purpose to lure and aptly tap
	The hard earned cash of my new cosmopolitan family

I pity them
Yet I adore their energy

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Forgotten Stretch

Subtleties seem apparent,
On the road to humility...
A pound of trust and a pinch of truth,
So profound within this reality. 
A car disappearing in the distance...
Leaves our hearts on edge;
For it’s just you and me now,
Exploring this forgotten stretch.

Abandoned among the wreckage,
For this is the home of exile;
Right next door... 
To what’s fading out of style.
Lost hopes and dreams...
Wander in the street,
Forgotten by us all...
And we never missed a beat.

Grant the change...
And give it a chance;
Dress to impress,
And prepare to dance.
Such a twisted cycle...
It chews you up and spits you out;
Along this forgotten stretch,
Before returning in route...

In a time destined for downfall,
We are all that’s sound...
Beyond a future commenced in falling,
We lie; resting on the ground.
The point of no return...
All of the abandoned beliefs and the far fetched;
Collect dust with you and I...
Along this forgotten stretch.

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I walk and walk the many miles for you.
I give and give until I have nothing more.
I go on and on until I drop or fall,
But I’m searching deep because I search for it all.
Everyday I die more inside. 
Eaten alive by myself inside of my core,
Because I’m left alive with life that only I can sort through!
I just want to see the Sun rising up so full and so high.
I want to see the Sun set so huge with shadowing bits that glow.
So I’ll just believe in this strength that comes through you to me.
I search for you but why should I be the one who has to be one that believes?
Everyday I’m alone and it’s nowhere that I go,
Even when it’s my thoughts that I clearly identify!
I just want to see the Moon so round and so high beaming me into the glow of light.
I want to see the Moon peering through the lighter of my brightest day.
I keep seeing all of these cushioned visions of just you and me.
Searching for you gives me the sight of all that I am to see.
Everyday I beg and beg until I hurt that you will stay.
But I’m left alone with reality in sight.
I just want so much for you and me.
I even want the same air that you breathe.
I keep holding onto this strength that I am I feel I believe.
Searching for you I’m with all that I can ever be!
Everyday I’m straightened by what my eyes can see,
But now I’m alone with what’s left alive and what didn’t flee.
So I’ll just keep searching for you while I search for what will be the all of me.

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A Flickering Flame

Ah, a flickering flame with shadows on the wall,
With glimmering lights rolling all around!
I will remember them all!
A flame so high,
But a flame so low,
A burn out in time!
A linger much too slow,
A flickering flame,
A moment that I claim!

Ah, a flickering flame where light covers dark and dark covers light.
With glimmering lights bouncing all over the walls!
A vision of true sight!
A flame so unpredictable,
But a flame so respectable!
A flame hard to know,
And one that can’t be controlled!
A flickering flame,
A moment that I gain!

Ah, a flickering flame showing dim light within its own domain.
With shimmering lights reflecting a glare of golden visions burning too bright!
How very well maintained!
A flame so harmless,
But a flame much too careless!
A flame too passive,
And one that’s way too captive!
Ah, a flickering flame,
A moment that I’m holding with no shame!

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Faced Myself

I talked to the mirror today
Tinge of surprise
And the man that spoke back
	Was wise
He told me a tale of a man
Survivor yet weak
Feigning strength to one and all
	Yet meek
Finding fault in everyone he sees
Saving them all
Solving the problems of all the world
	Then fall
It said the man seldom tried
Expected so much
A dreamer with visions unlived 
	Clumsy touch
Full of love to give but trust is guarded
Searching for love
Though torched he still strives on
	Aided above
I talked to the mirror today and in it was me
Not a surprise
I finally faced myself and told the truth
	Removed disguise 

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Oh, Most Beautiful Ra

Oh, Most Beautiful Ra
   Who oversees the creation of the world,
Thy Everlasting Sun of gold and glitter,
   To shine upon the Earth,
To see nature in full bloom,
   Spreads its bounties
Throughout Thy Kingdom.

To warn Thy Spirit against evil
   But to protect for eternal life
Becomes the identity of the beholder.

Thy Sun above shines brightly down on me
   And permeates throughout my entire being.
The warmth and glow of its rays
   Affects every element in my life
Of who I am today.

It is truly a blessing
   For I have been chosen for a special purpose
But for the reason why I do not know
   Unitl then I will know why
When cometh that day.

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Beyond 52

Age 52 
In the mirror I see
old, tired 

Age 52 
A life spent chasing that which is
no longer

Age 52 
Begin the journey to where I will be
when I turn
Age 53

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Watching the Moon Grow

Night after night I sit to see the Moon shining over me.
Watching its shield unveil a bright night I can just sit to be.
For each night gone by a star shines so bright,
The more and more I sit here this night.
Deeper and deeper I think tonight, 
“What if” I had no sight?
Watching its gleam covering more than a lot,
I just sit to see it shine its big light.
For each hour gone by the moments are sought.
So more and more I sit here deeper in my thought.
My mind farther than my further with what this glow has brought,
“What if” the man in the Moon was never sought?
Watching its shadows lurk in the glow,
I sit to see if he will finally be caught.
For each moment gone by clear nights I’ll now know.
So more and more I sit here watching the Moon grow.
There’s just so much to see because it covers over me.
I sit here night after night because it’s just such a true sight.
I give it quite a bit of thought because “what if” all of this was not?
For the more that it comes to glow the more and more I can watch it grow.
There’s just so much to know because it covers me with its tremendous glow.
I sit her with thought after thought because I have more than your lot.
I sit here night after night because “what if” there was no true sight?
For the more I can just come to see the more and more I can just sit to be.

®Registered: 1998   Ann Rich

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Used  to play cards Friday evening in Dublin 
With immigrant Soviets who had come west to work..
Guy mopping the floor in  hotel café  used to be
A scientist in some Soviet space program.
Took my breath away.

One  woman  was the ex-head  nurse of  
The  Accident and Emergency  unit 
In  a major Kiev hospital, specializing in eye injuries -
She could save your  injured eye and save your life.
She was a toilet cleaner in the hotel.
Took my breath away

A bed-maker in the hotel was an ex-mathematician
From a university in Minsk.  I did some card tricks.
He could understand the  tricks  purely mathematically
And could predict the exact card statistically.
Took my breath away.

The waitress in the café where we used to meet
Had been  a teacher of handicapped children in Moscow.

How is this waste of talent possible
In a world where the needs of many are not met ?
Takes my breath away.

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For a Moment a King

Painting our portrait with the colors we've been given
Each life's a masterpiece by the artist living it
We reach for the outer realms of the universe, glory driven
We take more than we replace, not caring who's giving it.
A life full of meaning
From the lessons we learn
To the bridges we burn
We tend to forget
No remorse, no regret
It will soon be our turn
The colors we use
Reds, greens and blues
As the days change to years
Bring memories of sunshine and rain
Fire and ice, laughter and tears
Looking back at it all
We could cry, we could sing
For a moment a pauper, for a moment a king.

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'Window Dressing (or) Mannequin Lessons

She had Velvet eyes, Satin lips
Silk skin … Seamless hips

Threaded her way into his heart
and Stitched his mind up Tight
But the Needle Point, was coming
Pricking… with all its might! …

… Posed her Textile-smile
Watched Fabric – flow
All the Lycra-while
Sticking Velcro …

and Ribbons and Bow
… he didn’t know
she was only after
Every Scrap of his Taffeta

He thought she was quite fetching
… didn’t know, she was just Window-Dressing

‘can’t hold the Cushion, when Pins, Push and Shove
a man, can’t live on just a Thimble-full of love! …
… can’t move the heart of a Mannequin
…  your living doll is running around, again …
… Window Dressing …

He was an honest man
nothing up his Sleeve
but, he had a gold-band
said, ‘Honey, Marry Me…’

… and he Wrapped her in Furs
Draped her in jewels
Lots of Cashmere
… she left empty Spools

She took his Tape Measure
and Material Cut
kept Sharp Scissors
for her Designs … but

… He’d seen the Hem Ironed
and Sew and Sew
He knew the Pattern
and which Embroidery to go…

… the last Fringe turn
and which Bolt to throw …

She sat in front of a Vanity
brushing her Gossamer hair
Basting in her Veiled beauty
like no Wool was there …

… to see her Window Dressing
To see him Yard-Catching
the Collar and Cuffs …
… He’d seen enough !

He saw them thru the Window
Zipper and Buttons undone
He had to stop the Fashion Show …
… then he dropped his _ _ _

… Velvet eyes, Satin lips
Silk skin… Seamless hips
Threaded her way into his heart
And Stitched his mind up Tight

… but the Needle Point came Darning
Pricking, with all its might …

…’Cause you can’t move the heart of a Mannequin
but your living doll won’t be running around again …

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normalized news

So, I'm listening to the radio
on the way down the road.
To a "local color" piece
about a some cowboys out west
and they're interviewing this
one cowboy,

"What's it like out here?"
and he responds "Well, we're
just rounding up some cattle
out here, bringin' 'em in and 
cuttin' their n(bleep)uts off".

For a split second I wonder,
then I realize, they've bleeped
out "nuts"...cows nuts obviously
an offensive term to burger
loving homo sapiens who might 
be listening over the air.

I think, "hmmm, ok so 
this is news normalcy, where
bovine killers are offended
to hear of cuttin' off cow nuts.

Yet yesterday when I was listening
and they spoke of gang wars
down south, and how teachers
were being threatened,

and how yesterday, six severed
heads were found in front of
a local elementary school,
but authorities were not sure
if the grisly discovery 
was gang related or not.

So, normalcy is when 
people's decapitations
for power control of gang
turf is not bleepable
to my sensibilities, but
cow castrations are.

Now I feel normal.
What the (bleep)!

© Goode Guy 2011-09-30

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New Year's Day Contemplation

Today is the Very First Day
The Very First Day of the Very First Year
The Very First Year of a New
And Very long awaited Decade.

I turn my head toward the Future to say
As if to say to all of the Ended of Days
'The Past Year is now all gone away
The New Year is what now is here to stay.'

And then I take off and begin to fly
Toward what is beyond Yesterday's Clouded Skies
And to look into the Virgin and Childish Eyes
Of a Future that has not as of yet
Been seen or spoken to.

I close my eyes to the Passed and Ended of Days
Of the Year has gone before these Hours
It is ended.
It is done.
It can be changed no more.

No more Days to be started anew
No more Sunrises, no more Skies of Blue
Or Cloudy Greys
Or Nights to be Forgotten
From that Year.

I shall have no worrisome Regrets
For what has been done
That I cannot redo
For what has been said
That I can never undo.
I shall live with no regrets
And I should hope that neither should you.

I shall strive to free myself from that thought
That stone...
That stone that would hang about me as a noose
That dreaded contemplation
Of all that is and what has come before
Of All that has ever been
That I cannot undo
That heartfelt beat of untimely unrest.

We can change it nevermore.

For what's Done is Done
Is Done and Gone
And for tomorrow and today
This very minute 
This very hour
This very second
This very day
Are when I can strive to start Anew.

To move ever toward my own Choosings
Toward skies that are ever clearer and more blue
To hold and grasp life's Golden Goose
To sail toward Uncharted Lands
Toward the Exciting and the New
The Past is in the Past
The Future has nothing more to lose.

To inhale Life as a Breathe of Air
To be as Free and Loose as my locks of hair
To live without a care
To be not afraid to dare
To never live in what has been left behind
In the Cobwebs of our last year's Minds.

To take care not ever to Lose
Any of your Stones that have been left unturned
And to not lose track of any of your Bridges
Any of your Bridges that you have left unburned.

And not to ever leave behind
A Minute or Second of Life's Cherished Time
To hold that thought firmly in your Mind
Along with your Thoughts and Ideals
That so quietly lie
Underneath those Precious Stones
That so often End up at the End of our Lives
So sadly left unturned.

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

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South Rim North Face

I'm going to get a new subject
or an old one back.
All my poems are about him anyway,
And my poetry group might like to 
see something light out of me.
So maybe we could fall in love again.
We could descend together once more into
the canyon from the south rim,
deceptively easy and peaceful on the descent,
the return trip much, much the more difficult.
You could tell me again of your 
adventure that summer when your
friend slipped and you saved his
life with a twig and a prayer.
And we could drive again over the Rockies,
My stomach rising with the altitude
until it is at my throat at 14,000 cold 
feet in August, glaciers of black ice,
never thawed in thousands of years
contrast with our rented Ford Taurus.
In that place time changes nothing.
Down below, the only thing certain is change.

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The Leftovers

I was cleaning my room tonight  
and came across a guitar pick,
one of your used.
A further search 
among broken staple cartridges,
multi-colored plastic coated 
and classic metal paperclips and 
pennies, produced  
five other picks, 
worn down from their
original rounded triangles
to somewhat odd circles.  
I laid the picks out in a circle
like flat quartz rocks against
the sand-colored formica of my desk.
Two sky blues, one pink 
and two tortoise shells.
I close my eyes and hear your blues,
and mine surge like a wave
until I gasp for air.  
I treasured away your discarded picks
in a heart-shaped ceramic dish 
that got broken somehow
in the move at the separation.  
There should be more than this,
but I became unsupportive, you said,
when I tired of the smoky bars,
and then I wanted a degree,
which absorbed any extra energy,
so you no longer pitched me your picks
or thought I cared.
Maybe someone new gets your leftovers,
But I'm better off not knowing, 
just in case there is a limit past
the pain of which I couldn't take.
But I'll keep living anyway,
As long as there is a sun in the morning 
and the moon at night,  
I'll live for the rises and sets
if that's all I get. 

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The Sun on the Horizon

Honeydew on the grass sparkles with life as the Sun comes up shining.
Way up yonder the Horizon’s preparing for its glorious arising.
Purple, blue and gray radiantly come together and all stand out alone,
Way up under this great big earthly dome.
Bird’s shadows fly at distances, yet each distinct by their flocks belted,
And each disappears away in colorful misty skies where all of them roam!
Beauty in foresight is clearly seen on this perfect unthought-of day, 
Even to my own likings of a surprising.
Too compelling just knowing that all days are counted by,
Each exact group already individualized by being numbered!
Foliage secretes from its many branches of trees per several hundreds.
All with there own story to make known to the unknown.
Consistently re-budding as season’s change to each one that is now arising.
All seeming to prepare for that God-awful battle called Armageddon.
Years pass on and still the Sun comes onto the horizon.
Life’s at a standstill, yet, steadily ticking with the hands of time to carry on.
Nothing can be done to stop the cycle of our Earth’s creation.
For every beginning there is and ending as it is to see 
Dawning is “The Sun on the Horizon”!
Be thankful that you have this very day,
For the Sun is rising upon the horizon,
What a wonderful liaison!

®Registered: Ann Rich  2001

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Final oomph

It seems as if it were like yesterday
when the Latino community made their dwelling
where they used to meet and celebrate on Sundays
at St Paul’s parish, the second home for them.
Their gift of relationships and act of thanksgiving
portrayed in many chapters of their involvements;
their songs, laughters, and humble supplications
reminded me of their belonging to a family of the faithfuls.

Indeed, as I think of what we’ve built and formed
especially in many occasions or sacred celebrations;
I can’t help but recall those mem’ries with inspiration
that our journey must go on with God’s mercy for all.

The genesis of human formation, along with participation,
provides us with a clear understanding of their culture;
it’s a languge of their customs and traditions as God’s people,
lived in an environment where there’s caring and loving.

I cherish the moments when we held the kids’ confirmation,
also, their first communion preceded by their catechetical instructions;
such a milestone that everyone made it to turn up on these events,
like a promise, a homecoming that God awaits us all.

The eucharist that highlights our community gathering,
makes us aware that Christ is always at the center
of every individual’s life and effort for thanksgiving
this sacred meal is fundamental to family sharing.

Well, as our parish merges with the parish of the Assumption
changes, however, enable us to welcome them with openness;
activities, along with the calendar of events  that’s in store for us,
a journey of discovery, a process that will make us grow.

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the preacher intones
"The Lord be with you"...
the congregation responds
"and also with you"
the Priest resonates Mass
"The Lord be with you"...
the Rabbi also desires
"Lord be with you"...
and the Imam, the Shaman

the faithful all around
are told the simple truth
surrounded by tomed tenet
what Lord deeply desires

"be with you"

the young lovers whisper
with quiet, frenetic passion
"I want to be with you"
and often say the other way
"I want you to be with me"

the simple secret, 
the DNA of what is, just is
that our being, 
our very existence
is ...together

whether is accented
"to BE with you", or
"to be with YOU"
it's about proximity
it's life shared
light shared
tears shared
love shared

it's about touch
it's about fingers
and hands, tangled limbs
warmth and cool reality
it's about gazing,
just looking 

just being there

deity ain't no fool
it's all about
"to be with you"

© Goode Guy 2011-11-25

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The rain keeps falling

Rain falls down puts out the fire in my heart. 
The cold wind blows ripping the rest apart.
Scattered are the pieces all across the ground.
The rain keeps falling, everywhere around.

The skies are gray and I cannot see the sun.
I remember sunny days when I come undone.
The rain keeps falling, washing all away.
I try to see the future, rain gets in my way.

A fog starts to rise as the snow does melt.
My mind goes numb, I know not what I felt.
I try to drop some cards I hold within my hand.
The rain clouds my thoughts I can’t understand.

I have to go inside seek shelter from the storm.
My body’s soaking wet I need to get it warm.
I wonder if the rain is ever going to stop.
Angels keep on crying, thousands of teardrops.

I rekindle the fire it never went completely out.
I slip within the shadows surrounded by my doubt.
As the fire starts to build I feel some warmth inside
I try to understand all those tears that are cried.

I just close my eyes envisioning the sun
I hope tomorrow shall deliver me some.
The rain keeps falling easing me to sleep
I think of the angels and for whom they weep.

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The Vengeful EYE of our KATRINA and the hope that never dies

We braved the wave
Surfed her ferocious tides
Hold together in one hand
Help those in need 
sitting stranded on roof-tops
Waiting to be rescued 
For hope to come and restore
Our city to former glory
Every resident is ready,willing,and able
to share a unique chapter in this continuous story
NO!We do not know that despicable meaning
Everyone is shelter
Even though the buildings have temporarily lost private comfort
Love continues to grow
As the water-logged streets begin to silently recede
Passing through a Moment in Time
Recording the Bravery and the Sorrow of many
A ruthless -ITCH when she is angry and hungry
We all peered directly in her Eye
and repeated in unison..


The World should not stop her revolving motion
For her Children will stand firm against an Angry Ocean
One path forever clear
It is a Fact that our Road will never disappear
Fate decrees
There is Paradise beyond the Yawning Seas
Criticism from the cynical few
Cannot stop the Giving within you
Grandparents will recall Katrina's point of view
and the victories that made us TOO
Dreams are borne from Humble Orphans
Kisses are wet but it came from The Good Woman's mouth
Celebrate Life
Her sincere meaning
One year later
Many Smiles,wide and gleaming

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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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The Witch Doctor

Face for fading music
Disappearing in the distant
Those that stood still
Were called forth by the mystic
To answer a question
To answer the inquisition
For this was not the path
That they had been thinking

The witch doctor stood fast
His crazy eye twitching
He spoke slow...
"Your path... You will be switching!"
Batting his lashes
His vibes bellowed long
Their initial reactions:
Over looked and over drawn

With a wave of his hand
His visions showed real
Finally their eyes opened
Now looking to deal
The shaman then laughed
And threw up his arms
The skies began spinning
Bringing down the stars

The chosen few looked all around
And before long at each other
Awe lost in disbelief
One right after another
While the mystic's laughs grew hysterical
The rest fell to their knees
For no one knew the awful truth
Behind what the witch doctor sees

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Waves of Reflection

My life is like the ocean,
oscillating to and fro,
in several directions.
I choose to swim alone,
within the chaotic waves,
crashing upon the pathway,
of my journey home.

The marvels of the sea,
captivate me,
as the wind runs her hand,
through the strands,
of my hair.
The sight,
of the cerulean sky,
the touch of sand,
caressing my feet,
as well as the taste,
 of brine,
leave me gasping for breath.

The ocean’s beauty made me,
like a mermaid,
traveling the vast waters.
The waves engulf me,
lifting up my spirits,
giving me strength, 
to travel the unknown,
of the sea.

My life is like the ocean, 
a beautiful mystery,
yet worth the chance,
to experience the ocean,
That is myself;
the ocean is a mirror,
revealing my reflection,
an unexpected surprise,
in the waves dancing,
upon the sands of time.

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                   Clairvoyance veiled by the unexamined presence fails
                                      To telltale what future prevails
                 Disguised as chance, fate rewards with wiser presents
                               Perfect timing and mystery its essence
                               In this sense our senses failed to grasp
                                      Until the future is the past
                 Like secrets seeds buried beneath the present keeps
                                             Futures unknown
        Intuition enhances senses deceived, though most reap what's sown
    Mythical, parabled, theoretical, volition's reward is considered good karma
            Our needs, granted through experience explains ancient dharma
                                  It's evident perfect hindsight's enlightment
                                      Trandscending sin, spiritual pollution 
                               Trial,error and inventive success is evolution
                                 Forsight time travel's the future is BRIGHT!

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Ripples in the Sea

When I see this Moon and gaze deep into the stars,
My mind wanders as I search for where you are.
Looking up, looking down, this enormous Sea is where I can now be found.
Standing alone at the Ocean’s edge and hearing its roar,
My heart pounds and aches for so much more.
Gazing deeper and deeper out into this vast blue Sea,
I can gather myself with this soul that was given to me.
Ripples in the Sea are all that my eyes can see.
One by one they collide with force to touch what was given to me.
Infinity with the depths of this Sea, 
This is what the Moonlit Ocean conveys to the truth inside of me.
Standing alone and afar from the depths of this Sea,
Ripple by ripple captures the every breath that I have inside of me.
Oh how they carry every single thought away from the insides of me!
Reflections of our Moon spread across this glimmering Sea.
Endless and endless ripples!
This vision I know I will forever see!
I hold my breath and carry a true smile, 
Searching for that last ripple to reach its hundredth mile.
Alone I stand at the edge of this Sea, 
The depth of this Ocean covers over me.
I wonder and wonder can I truly hold what was given to me?
So if ever in search for that which you know you believe,
Please remember that I left me standing with the ripples in the Sea.
One by one they collide crashing directly into me.
I stand with a force that was given just for this person that lives inside of me.
Come to me! Please touch what is on the inside of me!
Feel what has been given just for the love of me!
So if ever in doubt for that which you truly know you believe,
Look deeper and deeper out into this incredible huge Sea.
The ripples one by one know you will believe.
They touch, they feel, they hear what is left standing out by the Sea,
And that my friend is the life that God had already chosen for the soul that lives inside of me.

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In Silence

In silence 
I find my serenity
In silence 
You come to me
You give me quiet strength
To face my days
Wrapped up in confusion
You are the one to show me the way

In silence 
I can see the truth inside the lies
In silence 
The wisdom to know
Frustration can be my demise
Should I succumb to temptation
I am sure to fall
Spinning my wheels
I will hit the wall

When I close my eyes
I can see
The path you have chosen for me
I know you are always here
I will not fall prey to fear
Everything in you makes sense
I find you in my silence

The End 
By Greg P

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Creating Our Pilgrimage

the earth turns
our journey begins
crying out
our breath speaks
pushing through
high and low tide
we begin our pilgrimage
holding hands
with the sun the moon and the stars
we create our life and our death

moment by moment
life reveals itself
childhood innocence peels away
standing there naked and vulnerable
accepting the inevitable
we fulfill our dreams
we experience pain
we listen to our hearts
creating an energy
that is simply divine

the journey continues
we transfer our weight
from one foot to another
we press into the earth
creating our imprints
we multiply our steps
exploring new territory
we gather strength
gaining wisdom
from all our endeavors

with time
our feet no linger
burn or blister
our steps are more graceful
somewhat lighter
we feel the earth
in between our toes
resting within the spaces
we place our prints
with a gentle ease

finally motionless
our reflected imprints 
paint our pattern
across the open sky
with divine radiance
the rainbow holds our tired hands
lifting our weary feet
gracefully the power of the almighty
pulls the energy of our being
forever to the other side

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Memoirs of Pope John Paul II

He gave me a strong impact,
with his gift for immemorial gestures;
he embraced the sick and handicapped
he kissed the soil of the nation on his first vist.

As an occupant of the Chair of St Peter,
he brought the world, a message to everyone
his defense for the poor, a substance to carry on
as a church in her journey across cultures.

The awesome volume of his writings,
reveal the kind of pope he was
as a theologian suffused with faith;
as a philosopher endowed with reason.

In his very person, he was charismatic
as a teacher and defender of faith, 
he set new directions, left a legacy
and continued the Roman Curia, multicultural.

On themes expounded in his documents,
speeches, homilies and reflections,
he brought the Gospel vis-a-vis the Magisterium
in all spheres that concern contemporary life.

As the first non-Italian pope in 455 years,
since the Netherlander Hadrian VI in 1552
and ever since his election to papacy,
by any measure, he’s a man for all seasons.

Albeit, he’d his disappointments,
his own share of sorrows over clergy in misbehavior –
the scandal of sexual abuse, particularly in this nation,
he remained firm and prayerful as a leader.

In spite of his frailty, Parkinson’s disease and other ailments
he continued his journey with deep faith and sacrifice.
his interreligious relations made a difference,
he visited mosques, synagogues and convened those other leaders.

He canonized saints more than 470  of them,
he beatified more than a thousand men and women.
such a milestone in the life of our Catholicism,
the call to holiness woven in discipleship.

He impressed believers of every faith
with his greatness in many ways;
like one of his favorite phrases, 
quoting what St Augustine once said,
“Vobis sum episcopus, vobiscum christianus,” 
he celebrated life, helped shape Christendom
with analyses of countless human lives.

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Dream states develop

Dream states develop another day goes by
I seem to get lost yet I don't understand why
It's not like I haven't seen this before
My problem is I wanted something more.

As the dreams get much deeper I drift from this place
I just retreat inward to a place that is safe
I don't think it because of things that I fear
I just miss the things that I once held dear.

Transitions start to falter and it seems to get dark
I look for my place so I can just leave my mark
A haze clouds my eyes and then I don't see
I can't understand the way things will be...

Just like still water thoughts start to get deep
They come to the surface and then retreat
I just can't seem to find the path today
Maybe I left the path and went the wrong way.

As the dreams become nightmares I awake from this sleep
The pieces of the puzzle lie scattered at my feet
Where once had been reason I get consumed by the past
I was going to wait because I'm moving way too fast.

I awake and wipe the sweat from my head
Then I can't seem to even get out of bed
I gasp for my breath but I'm suffocating
So many pieces with none of them relating.

For all the mistakes and the price that I pay
I still seem to be able keep all fears at bay
I think I might leave that is if I may
It seems like tomorrow yet it is today.

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Life's Tapestry

My life has been a Tapestry
Woven of Thick and Thin.
Friends and Lovers and Children
All are threaded in.

Some Darks and a little Happiness
With some Highlights and some Lows
Some Accomplishments and Trials
My core Elements from where I began.

My life has the many Textures 
Of a Life that’s been well lived
And I wouldn’t want my Tapestry 
To look any other way.

I love the way that it’s turned out
The many Colors and Styles 
That make up Me
Are all contained within.

Copyright Christine A Kysely November 10, 2010

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

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Showing that you care

I think we need someone willing to just take charge.
The consequence of doing nothing seems rather large.
While society sinks deeper into social decay,
People can just start by doing what they say.

I look at all our leaders they seem rather lame.
Their solutions to the problems seem rather tame.
I think you have to believe in the things you choose.
If you decide to do nothing you have set the stage to lose.

In this year of so many decisions we all need to decide.
The problems still remain if you choose to run and hide.
Everything grows larger when you don’t choose what to do.
The future lies before us, the path is up to me and you.

We have to join together and find that common thread.
Nothing can be done if you don’t rise up out of bed.
It has to be a vision that everyone can share.
It starts by reaching out and showing that you care.

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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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I remember standing with my feet in the laughing waters of the lake
Watching a feather float on by 
Slowly down the shoreline it went
As if I was meant to follow it and so I did just that

I followed the feather
With its black tip and two stripes
Splashing along after it
In the cold waters 
With the sands between my toes

The sun shinning brightly above me through speckle clouded sky
Where a cooling breeze whispered in across the waters
To soothe my skin and breathe upon my face
Lightly run its fingers through my hair

And there on the lakeshore I came upon her
Beautiful with her black hair
Like the daylight shooting stars cascading through the sky above us
White dress and smile . . . 

A smile such that it held fast my breath
Across her eyes it fell sweetly, tenderly in her lips and cheeks
Sheathed by her hair swaying in the wind’s soft touch

She held the feather in her hand
Her eyes met mine and there in the early morning light of summer’s sighing
I did speak to she . . .

“That’s my feather,” my voice it whispered hardly more than a breath

“It’s beautiful,” said she with a soft voice and shy smile

And still when she smiled I remembered everything
I remembered her
I remember you
As my little fingers with the fullness of life yawning before them 
Tied the feather into your hair
I remembered in a wash of tears streaming down my soul, 
I do, I do, I did and I will again . . .

“My name’s Navriss,” I sighed and though I could not see through these tears

“Hi,” I heard you say. “My name is Rhane.” 

And I remembered then . . .

A smile

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Crack the Date

Guess what or guess who?

You shall sit old for I shall shape form and fashion your young.
Harkening heralds still laugh out loud bolstering it up with you.
You sound like a plummeting bee yet of all times now I’m stung.

Oh Really Now? 
Like I do not hear you?

If my truth is told then you are all that I can possibly do!
And poof! Your chord wraps only to get hung or strung.
You’ll still be silly but you’re just like a naughty old fool.

I know it,
And I know I know it!
I shall wait! 
While you knowingly remember to crack this once upon a time date?

Ah ha!

I scoff to my so be it with my most famous woe.
Obviously, you are late in my newfound state.
Now I am astonishingly confirmed as in lieu!

What does one do with the likes of one like you?
This is indeed my definite declarative stalemate?

I know you like I know myself,
I just know what I know I know!

So do check the date,
Or crack ye old mate.

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Different Strokes for Different Folks / Martha's Vineyard 2009

The fake isolation of the island insinuated the fostering of remnants;
remnants of religious fervor, close knit seafaring families, and rugged farmers;
remnants of power past and present.

A fog shrouded canvass awaits the onslaught of August revelry.
And, where widows walked the peeks of robber barons manses, the elementals now play.

Tomato red fire trucks ring the seaside green. Throngs of , oh so, polite W.A.S.P.S 
and multicultural couples dot the lawn in precise groupings.

The squeal of stroller strapped toddlers echo across ocean 
and down alleyways lined with painted ladies 

Gay blades and saucy sisters saunter unharassed through the crowds of young families.
Prosperously retirees with salt and pepper hair in pink and green golf shirts line the porches 
of the gingerbread homes ringing the green.

In the gazebo a brass band plays John Phillip Souza and closes by belting out 
the American anthem, after dark, no flag wave, yet random patriots stand.
Their forms silhouette upon the gray fog like their intentions 
mocking the holiday aire with their reminder of war….

those raging on in Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan.
and fade with the crowds roar to “Sit down your blocking the view!”

And as the elite, and privileged meet and greet chatting in wonder over the multiple sightings 
of airforce one choppers and past President Clinton.

The three times the worlds average wage is spent on FIREWORKS, frivolously, 
for the entertainment of the richest citizens of the planet. God Blessed America.

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Was It An Act of God?

Catastrophes,natural disasters and torrential rains
what causes these thing to happen, on whom do you place the blame?
mankind has misused and abused this planet on which we live
Mother Nature must make adjustments, the forces of nature then give
we have built too many buildings, taken over too much land
an earthquake may be a realignment to the acts and plans of man

aerosol cans, rain forest diminishing, the erosion of the soil and ground
when the rain eventually falls the lack of trees causes the mud to slide down
God gave us some power, many have called it free-will
mankind can use it for good or he can use it for ill-will
yet when many lives are lost and so many souls depart
why does anyone think to ask, was it an act of God?

air pollution, water pollution, the whole industrial age
has ravaged our planet and brought about Mother Nature's rage
we act before we think, we destroyed things that can't be replaced
maybe Mother Nature is trying to tell us to do an about face
tsunamis, monsoons and all types of major tidal waves
may be a wake-up call to how we have behaved

we need to come together and start making some major plans
stop raping our natural resources and start preserving God's land
so if anyone ever asks you, was it an act of God the Lord Christ?
just ask them for this planet, what has mankind sacrificed?
we are selfish in our deeds, self-absorbed in our needs
eventually we must bear the blame and we all will pay the price
just don't be so quick to place the burden of guilt on God the Lord Christ

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Wonderless {Lamart C}

I don't mind if you're not beautiful to those who only look outside of you
that's the only part that humans realize before they really see you
but Im alive and know I know I took my time to know you inside and out
so Im wonderless and im finding out that your beautiful eyes are still out there
I'll feel alright when you say you feel the same
but how can we feel this way,living five hundred miles away?

Im dying out here by myself,do you care do you even hear my heart shatter
will you catch the pieces when they fall
and will I ever see you when I come back home 

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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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I am unknown
Simply put..a gentle sort of guy
Every day from 9 til 3
Submitting my poetry
They are for all to see

Fame is not my game
Not looking to add
a writer credit to this name
It is the best of just a simple poem
Describing life:Where,How,When,and Why?

To call myself a Poet Great
Is an insult to those who long and wait
There are many who are more talented than I
They will be known
"Poets American Pie"

This "Unknown" writer  in sensitive
Prefers anonymity
Country home on a New Hampshire side
Winters in the Berkshires county

Fate has not been a friendly face
The clock ticks
Father Time points to my face
Even though my work may be shown
All,in all,though..
I'd rather be unknown

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Anger, jealousy, happiness, sadness, love and hate,
it's the feelings that penetrate,
the entire being of each persons fate.

Emotions are endless, powerless, powerful and most profound,
some cannot be hidden, some cannot be found.

No one is exempt from these unpredictable surges that erupt,
some good, some corrupt.

They can be dormant before working their way to the light,
suddenly exploding, day or night.

Controlling such overwhelming power can be hard to do,
Emotions, they belong to me and you...

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Old Age Kills

Youth is bliss
old age cruel fate
when was I born I've forgotten the date
I'm old as Earth,dying since birth
every action's in slow motion near cadavic still
ther's no immortal youth potion ,only death pills
old age kills days are filled
with boring obsolete thrills
my mind betrays itself
until my will is forgotten
my flesh reeks,its begun to rotten
youth's our modern drug rave cause we age everyday
old age's perdition,suicide is wisdom
where am I now I've lost my vision
prayers to no one,who would dare listen
religion's myth and faith healings delusive
Tired ,near death,I've surrendered to painkiller bliss 
lethal injections and cheap narcotics
modern drug culture,youth sacrifice
stay high waste life
miracle news "Afterlife death cures old age too"
death is heaven
eternal life is memory
pain free forever , my death is destiny

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Die to live

Die to live 

Life is a spirit to live.
Life is a soul to keep.
Life is found in a body.
Life is living alive.

Toiling and hassles represents life.
Struggling to live is part of live.
Making a living is live itself.
Life is in phases, live is in stages.

To die for life today,
is to live in life tomorrow.
Life represents future.
Life is fortune in function.

No one dies without living.
No one lives without dieing.

Life is like impossible possible mission,
mutilated by several battles over cattle’s, 
with rattles of kettles.
Life is a riddle.

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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 a slave who has always done what my master says.  Between me and my 
freedom stands the dragon, FEAR.  Fear clouds my purpose, severs my ties, and 
usurps all my effort, rendering my contribution meaningless.
I must learn to use the flame from my passion to melt my chains and build for 
me a suit of armor.  From the bars of my cage, I must fashion my sword.  I must 
breach this void of silence because 
I cannot do this alone, and the spoils of this battle will be my soul.
The dawn breaks, the battle ensues, but I fight alone. 
 My knight in shining armor is me, but I am well suited to my task.  
Knowing my purpose becomes my shield, 
contributing to the human race becomes my skill and precision, 
and the ties that I forge become my weapons.
The battle wages night and day – I become weary and fatigued. This is the 
crucial moment when 
I finally understand that the battle is won the moment that 
I value my purpose enough that my actions become unrestrained despite my fear.

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It all happens for a reason

Everything that you are happens for a reason.
With each passing thought is a change of season.
 In spring it feels like anything can grow.
The reason becomes just part of the show.

All that I am is a collection of what was.
The only explanation seems to be just because.
Because someone simply took the time to care,
These become all the memories in which we share.

I look out my window to the world outside,
I wasn’t sure so I went along for the ride.
When things got rough and it all feel apart,
I was left standing with this broken heart.

I don’t feel sorry as I view what I learned.
I see all before me as the tables are turned.
With ample sorrow the bridges shall burn.
I see all along what it was that I yearned.

I try to find peace but it is locked in resolve.
It’s like having a puzzle that needs to be solved.
I do realize I have much to be thankful for.
Yet I’m apprehensive of what’s behind the next door.

Everything that happens indeed has its season.
Although the price paid feels much like treason.
I remember the summer when the sun hardly sets.
But with winter approaching all I see is regrets.

I dream of springtime when life begins anew.
I leave behind all the things I’ve been though.
I find some comfort in everything  grows.
 I try to sort out the highs from the lows

But then I realize autumn is the season
The leaves shall fall no matter the reason.
Then all that’s left is to see who we are.
It’s all up to you where you set the bar.

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The Great White Shield

Held prisoner under His Stars, 
I have fallen under the shadows of THE “Great White Shield”.
At a distance, those shimmering lights covered over me.
Built on THE highest plains, I stand parallel even when His rains come down.
My wall stands tall as my fate is promised and sealed.
I see my passage through time as I hold sturdy to my only God given ground.
I am all that I know I can ever be.
Confined by a little world where all that there is has been lost or found,
My bleeding wall holds my “ ALMIGHTY’S Great Armored White Shield“.
Balanced with time even when His rains are pouring down!
It stands to serve and to protect the best of the living me.
Layer by layer it builds with the strength it has lost or found.
For, I am all that is genuinely real.
Conditioned by my endurance, His Stars my eyes still can see.
Ruling the way that I move, His existence is wrapped tightly and I abound.
Parallel on His plains, a sturdy wall I did gradually help Him build.
My wall protects the only person inside of me.
I secure my only ground as I hold onto His “Great White Shield”.
I am all that I have ever truly found.
When the rains pour down on me, 
I stand atop of all His battled ground.
When I am all with my realest deal,
I am all that can or will be found.
When I am all that I know I can ever be,
I carry a strength that alone I can build.
I am the carrier of my Almighty’s Great White Shield”.

®Registered: 1998  Ann Rich

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Longing For A Home

Windowed eyes stare out
to the rainy road
as I walk in my London fog coat
down Anytown streets.
Passing table lamp gleam
brings a catch to my throat.
How is it with the lives
within these warm nests?

The comfort of the glow
shining on manicured lawns
beckons to my heart.
What plays are played
within that house ...
or that one there?
Is it really a Home or
only an empty shell
with my longing installed?

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The Visions Blend

Sitting all alone in deep thought, I am a world away.
No Sun, no Stars, and no wind!
My mouth can not speak the words there are to say.
The visions blend carries me to where it never ends.
My God I am here and I demand to stay!
I am here, but gone to where I begin.
Nights and days have come and gone and are now decades away.
No life, no air, and no death!
My God I am alive and dead on this very day.
I am gone, but here with my journey’s quest.
The gift of life is mine as I catch my last breath.
My heart can not hold the words there are to say.
Looking deep into this world where I have come to stay,
No love, no hate, and no sin!
The visions blend carries me to where it all ends.
I am here, but gone to where I begin.
My eyes can see the words there are to say.
My God I am gone and I demand to stay.
Time and time my thoughts have traveled my days,
No time, no light, and no pretend!
The gift of life is mine all over once again.
My God I am dead but alive on this very day.
My ears can not hear the words there are to say.
I am gone, but here absorbing the visions blend.

®Registered: Ann Rich 1997

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As I endlessly stare at her  picture I cannot help but burn inside 
with the strongest heat of envy,
And I find myself viewing her as my competition
this thought is only held in the darkest of mysteries.
Her complexion is that of brown sugar
and she has skin that appears flawless to perfection as well as soft to the touch,
She has eyes that are the deepest of mahogony that seems to just dance and 
and a one million dollar smile that dazzels with so much love.
Her hair that reminds me of the color of midnight is always styled just right
not one single strand is ever out of place,
Her breasts, hips, and thighs are proportioned just so as to make her such a 
breath-taking sight
she walks with such ease and with such grace.
She has make-up, clothes, and shoes of the latest fashion
she could actually be a model for ESSENCE or EBONY  magazines,
I admit, she has such a kind and warm desposition
and she has the ambition and determination in achieving her dreams.
As I place her picture inside of my photo album
a great relief comes rushing over me,
Why on earth am I viewing this stranger as my competition?
when in all actuality  I am surrounded in just as much beauty.
A smile then comes to my face and my heart is light  and free
the confidence is oozing from deep within and out,
I then thank God for blessing me with such radiant inner beauty
and it is that inner beauty that really counts.

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Childhood innocence

Today I slip back to place of childhood memories
Like seeing for the first time and not believing what you see
I used to like to climb trees to the very top
One inch from the last branch I would stop.

I remember some of the views to me they were so great
I would stay in the tree until it was late
I remember I could see my whole world from this tree
The whole of the town in front is the visual I see.

I used to ride my bike for hours and many miles
No destination the wind provided the smiles
Sometimes I rode from dawn to dusk
I pedaled really fast to shake off the rust.

I remember like my life going by in a flash
I thought I could save time and created a stash
But I think about today and I still have these eyes
The blur of the scenery reminds me time flies.

I was always quite comfortable out in the woods
I’d go out and walk them as much as I could
Animals and I have always had a special bond
They would always come up to me as if I belonged..

I drift back to skipping rocks on a pond
Then wondering if the ripple would travel beyond
I have always wondered it seems to define me
It has always played a part in all that I see.

I’d like to think I’ve grown up but then I read my poems
My eyes still see new things my spirit still roams
I think of innocence and if it’s lost in youth
Perhaps I’m still a child to tell you the truth.

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I Wish

My two year old
Woke up this morning saying

I wish….I wish…I wish…

And then this is what she "talked" about in baby talk…

The Stars
The Moon
Her "Horsies"
And Apricorns (Unicorns)
And Butterflies
And Barbies
And about Being Happy
And about Going Potty

I wish that’s all I had to worry about.

I wish that these were all the things I had to think about.

That’s what I really wish.

(November 10, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)

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

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Mansions in the Sky

The Stars lit up the skies and nothing could I see,
Except these huge Mansions that fly in the sky.
Swirling winds picked me up and carried me high.
Making trails in the clouds it was just me.
It was breathtaking just to be,
Afloat the top of mansions that fly.
The Moon was bright and the Sun a bit dry.
They were huge and magnificent to oversea.
 Mansions in the sky that fly above it all.
Mesmerized I went in and found no end.
None were too small.
None occupied, not even by a friend!
Mansions that fly fill a brilliant sky,
All emptied but not by I!
© Copyright: Ann Rich  2006

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inna name

he contemplates
those Indian names that tell who, 
or what, they are as a being,
tell something important regarding
the actual person being named

Ron his horse is thunder
Bodaway the fire maker
Wakiza the desperate warrior
Kajika walks without sound

other cultures have meaning
implied in names they assign
to their children, 
though most refer to religious matters
seldom, if ever do they speak its meaning
even when known

Aasim, person who keeps away from sins
Abdul the servant
Yaman, good tidings
Jafar, a rivulet or stream

David, beloved one
Albert, noble and bright
Michael, who is like God
William, desire a helmet
(which seems perplexingly honest)

will today's peoples ever call 
themselves for what they prize or
what the person actually is,
Geithner too big to fail
Wallstare, wanna see big screen
Carb Manna, he who always eats
Runnin' Behind, perpetually late

Maybe my name would be
Thinks too much, 
or similar variant
perhaps something farther out
Dreams wandering
It's an interesting view from here

© Goode Guy 2011-11-30

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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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The Bed

A smell assails my senses
as I awake with a start.
‘Tis the stench of loneliness
which my life did impart.

A light invades my eyes
as the daylight streams brightly in.
I grimace at the earliness of the day,
but it’s past noon to my chagrin.

The lure of the blanket,
calling to climb over my head.
My will has been taken
by the pull of the bed.

Daily are the battles
I wage with my bed.
Real life struggles,
or just foolishness instead?

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our souls pathway to the heart

                    Innocence and peace are states of mind at the very beginning and 
towards the very end . Everything in between , the mid-cycle , of our lives are what 
create all the differences , through multiple emotional interaction . 
                     The dual mind , positive / negative , and how it effects our behaviors , 
which ultimately becomes who we project and how we eventually percieve 
ourselves , or decieve ourselves and others , by not knowing honestly who we 
truly are internally , our soul being , a spark of light which is that spark of love 
within' . Our physical being is a shadow of our spiritual self , our shadow 
becomes an expression , an accumulation of emotions learned through 
experience . From the moment of our birth into the physical world , our life 
experiences begin as pebbles . Through the course of time and space , our 
experiences , our spiritual growth , become larger stones , boulders , or better 
put , " weights of burden " . Once we begin to understand and recognize , at that 
moment of facing our heaviest obstacle , at that moment , we have to take an 
honest look internally and summon the strength and courage to properly remove 
it . Once we can unlearn to relearn , those boulders , obstacles , begin to get 
smaller , until they again appear as pebbles . A story in retrospect .
                            Imagine yourself as a fish in the river . One day the river floods 
over it's embankment , and you the fish , instead of staying in the river , you get 
caught in the wave of the flood into a pool outside the rivers edge . As the flood 
waters recede to normal , you now become stuck outside the natural flow of your 
existence , in an outer pool . In time as the water evaporates into the air from the 
heat of the sun , you begin to lose sense of your life force , the essence of your 
being , until the moment comes when you begin to die and as the ground around 
you begins to dry and crack , so do you , being reduced to dust to be blown in the 
wind . 
                              If the fish hadn't lost his way and had faced the challenge of the 
flood , and stayed true to itself and stayed the course of his natural existence , he 
may have avoided such a tragic fate . Like the fish , that monstrous boulder is our 
challenge to remove and stay on our pathway , our soul journey . The moment we 
look for the easy way around and head in a different direction , we could possibly 
be setting ourselves up with the same fate of the fish .

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Living life to achieve none lessens pride,
our purpose is to accomplish something;
rare individuals reached out and enticed.   
Were we born to live and die as others,
or create  great works to delight and inspire?
Start your flight today and follow your stars.
If all did this, lives wouldn't be wasted:
more scientists would find cures for diseases,
world famine would be wiped out completely;     
deserts would flourish as flowers gardens,
peoples would be overjoyed by their sight...
letting them live a fuller existence.

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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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Poison Secrets

It is said revenge is a dish best served cold
And the knife of guilt cuts deep
Yet no one knows of the memories deep within
Nor of the tears I weep

Knowledge is said to be a powerful weapon
Yet not all that’s known is good
There is knowledge that haunts my dreams each night
I’d jettison it if I could

We’re told that time is what will heal our wounds
Especially those kept from view
Yet that only works if the wounds are old
Not for those perpetually new

Secrets are kept by one and all for reasons varied
And causes misguided or just
Yet there are some secrets that are only poison 
And corrode your soul like rust

When or how do we rid ourselves of the
Soul-wrenching secrets we keep
Is vengeance or purging or finding peace the key
Of escape from the torment so deep

I live with the secrets that corrode my soul
And stunt my growth in life
Yet I believe that is to be my fate for by keeping them
I save my loved ones from strife 

No I’m not a hero nor a martyr nor looking for praise
I think I’m protecting those so dear
I hope I’m right and not just being vain
That that’s closer to the truth is what I fear

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Positive Thinking

I think of my misery and woe
And how depressing my life can be
And I think of how little control
Any has of it but me
I think of how I rail against
All who I imagine cause my grief
Then it hits me that I have the power
To create my own relief

I think of all the days and nights
I put myself down out of fear
The constant whining of my maladies
Caused only a self-spilt tear
I kept myself under my own thumb
So I wouldn’t have anything to lose
But I’m joining the world, I’m coming out
Happy and free is what I chose

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I'm thinking after talking 
to a dear friend about the death,
call it a passing, of his father,
about channels of communication,
of sorrow and too, channels of joy.

All the messages lining the county,
the state, a nation, even globe
like a satin-sheen of supple cloth
inside of the casket and the cradle

All the "comings-and-goings" 
as it might be said, of the family
"Did you hear that so-and-so passed"
or "I heard that they finally were
able to conceive and bear a child"

And times past, there were ponies and
postcards, and copper keys clicking,
and Alexander's operators plugging
us into our loved family and friends

And now, wirelessly, we blog
and update our homepage with
photos and tears of joy and sorrow
click here for an update,
click here to touch me now.

Still, your voice comes through
all the Dolbied hardware
attached to my head and I can
feel the emotion in your heart but,
virtual hugs are not yet, like real

© Goode Guy 2012-02-27

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Freedom's Price

What price is freedom? 
Does anyone truly know? 
Can it be tallied up?
Brought out for show 

How is freedom measured? 
By its losses or its gain? 
Do we value it more than life? 
So we suffer through the insane 

Do we too easily accept 
That it's the way it has to be? 
Any sacrifice not too much 
In the quest to remain free 

Way easier to accept I'm sure 
If your not the one fighting the cause 
If you were I think it really would 
Give you every reason to pause

To see caskets arriving home 
We know the price too high 
In the name of so called freedom 
Far too many will have to die 

For loved ones left behind 
No freedom will ever be gained
For they will be bound and tied 
To live forever in their pain 

The freedom flag may fly 
But who will be left to see? 
Dead men don't have eyes 
Their souls the only thing free 

We think we have evolved 
From the brutality of the past 
Turn on the news each day 
The die has already been cast

What kind of world we do live in 
Were peace can't be achieved by words 
Where brawn replaces brains in men 
And freedom is gained through swords

What is freedom truly? 
Does anyone really know?
If it means the right to choose 
Then I'm sure I would say no 

I'd say no to violence 
Every single day
We have to just figure it out
There has to be a better way

A way to keep our loved ones safe 
Ways to help those in need 
There simply has to be an answer 
To allow us to eventually succeed

For all the families that have suffered 
We have to make sure there are no more 
In man's journey for peace and freedom 
We need to learn to shut the door on war!

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Five Glychostones

There’s five glychostones and they’re hid very well.

One is a link to the future of a God given Grace.
One is a key to all of the boxes stuffed with mail.
One is a code to an ancient mystery and is a case.
One is a seed that grows throughout all the lands.
Moreover, the last is a main element for survival!

So we go journeying for the glychostones in the kingdom halls up in hands,

What a redemptive Holy revival!
Hands in hands they shall all go.
Not one, but two knows their way.
Just hope and always, always pray!
And never simply say I don’t know!

Just search for the five glychostones enriched in its purest true value,
Moreover, each has essential life sustaining merits of valor or honor, 
Hands fill up in the sands when the farmer awakens inside all of you!

Just search for five glychostones and seek to explore all you can do,
Each glychostone reaps in merits and honors ordained pure and true.

You will find every single one of them decked out in crystallites’ blue!
You are splendid with many abundant blessing hands upon your lands!

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Morning Glory

First light's crystal bright 
the rooster clock strayed 
sleeping through summer days
Passing slow in my old age
Jewel eyes blinking wide
blurred blind,eyes wincing hide
imaginitive high,closed eyesight
safe from morning light's
glare and artificial air

Narcotic vision offers spiritual distance from an invisable 
world changing without notice , sometimes without rational motives

Heatwave summer beyond the horizon thunder
Skin burning yearning effervescient rain
cool gray days eased sunburn pain
and dire thirst 
everydays the same almost rehearsed
walking dirt road paths through verdant fields
passed summer's yeild
cleared my mind bothered by old age
immersed in introspective gaze
yearning yesterdays

This existential path is dharmic bliss
stayed stoned on '60s narcotics
glimpsed the otherside...died

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Road trip

A number of times have I got lost,
trying to follow the direction of my destination;
with my map guide that serves me right,
to trace the streets and exits to make.

It’s a kind of familiarity with the place,
through navigation in the pipeline and outdoor;
goes evidently as the result of what it means,
to be on the road and be glued to one’s destination.

A passel of drivers speeds in the express highway
others drive like snakes along the way
with hardly considerations to those who drive behind them;
It’s lack of courtesy and insensitivity to those who care for safety.

Changing lanes in a safe way to do it,
accelerating in a normal speed required;
these are ways that a driver can make,
as he drives freely with caution and courtesy.

There are times when roads exhibit traffic congestion,
especially when it rains and everybody has to be careful;
flooded roads cause delays and commotion,
anger and irritation, impatience and exhaustion.

My own experience while on my way,
to pick up somebody in the airport –
like in JF Kennedy, Newark or La Guardia;
there’s always a need to allow a space 
to wait as flights may be delayed.

With a sense of humor this is gonna be of help
to someone who may be caught up with regret;
While on the way it’s a question of being careful,
focused and attentive to the signs of the road.

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Thursday Afternoon

The sky was gray, the air was cool
I skipped home Thursday afternoon
Down the hill, below the trees
A broken hose, a sea of leaves
Unbeknownst to me I stood
Watching, waiting, in the wood
When Missus Curiosity
Whispering across the breeze
Somehow got the best of me

Orange clay beside my feet
Autumn gray consuming me
Curious, I took a step (splash)
My shoes became so wet

Suddenly, below the ground
I heard a rushing, rumbling sound
Missus Curiosity then spoke
The septic tank below has broke
You better run, you better hide
‘Cause here comes the crimson tide

I understood, but I could not
Move myself to leave that spot
As the wave crashed down on me
I asked myself 'am I asleep?'
And I woke up.

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North bound train
Canadian land
Byways and the valleys
a time in quiet that may be found
Treasures of the Forest
Cars on a busy stretch,this afternoon
Later in the evening
I'll gaze upon the old man of the moon
A tourist touring
The splendor of Province country
The conductor is pointing out scenic spots
Still riding the rails
in Summer's time of Thunderstorm hails
Be as it may
I'll return to Boston somehow
some day
The children will be grown
nieces and nephew shake this hand
Knowing forever,
their favorite storyteller is now home

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Depth of discomfort

What a day! It’s pouring so hard . . .
I’d to go to the airport to pick up somebody
a wet day! ‘un día mojado’, such a day, indeed!
but, I’d to go for he must have arrived already.

When I got there passengers in drove were elsewhere,
cabs, vans, trucks, and many cars were waiting;
while waiting outside, a sheriff came telling us to move on
that made me decide to make another round and see
if he’d be when I come back to pick him up.

However, he hadn’t emerged as yet and therefore,
I decided to take another round and park the car;
still pouring, oh Lord of the Most High!
I found it difficult to get back with certain roads closed
especially in Terminal A where I was heading for;
indeed, what a day! What a disaster! What a mess, so to say.

I felt so sorry for him for that long procession of waiting
Hours in waiting while struggling to find other ways
to meet him – his Excellency, whose eyes were whitened
waiting, waiting, what an annoying day!
then traffic congestion greeted us on our way,
another experience, another test of patience.

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I know I’m not normal
   In the sense I want to be
      And I can’t make the world conformal
         Or the center of it me

I lived day to day always in the same day
   Caught in a mind I didn’t know
      And I couldn’t will it drink it or drug it away
        So I had to find some way to go

I went to the wife the doc and the shrink
   Anywhere for some relief
      All I was given was a little pill so pink
         And told to take it with belief

It took a long time to get the right pill
   To do what my mind needed of it
      Then at last one worked and my mind got its’ fill
         Yet I needed something more to get full benefit

Off to a rehab to learn to live anew
   And learn how to re-think
      So many things I had to learn to do
         And the process would at times stink
The process has been painful the process slow
   The trip has been a wild ride
      But for all the troubles I’ve seen myself grow
         And my smile is a mile wide

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Shades Of Smoke

Ten Feet From The Floor
No Disturbances From Here
Air Escapes With Each Breath
Awaiting The Smoke To Clear
The Bitter Aftertaste
Of A Martyr In Disguise
Just The Cause And Effect
Bleeding In Their Eyes

A Subtle Collapse Of Reason
Bearing Its Ugly Face
The Smokes Still Clearing
Drifting To Another Place
Shall We Soon Follow
Sifting Through In Shades
Disappear Into Nothing
As The Essence Fades

The View Is Lost
And The Shades Have Sleeved
A Mere Disappearing Act
To The Eyes That Believed
Sudden Shades Of Smoke
Filter In The Distance
They All Endure Coming Down
And Exit To Existence

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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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The Voices

The voices continue their menacing chatter
despite my fierce resistance –
unrelenting and merciless,
commanding my full attention and
trying to consume my every thought.

Their noisy banter overpowers my attempts
to ignore the ominous words – 
words that are evil and demeaning,
words that will drag you down to the depths of despair.

They try to dominate and control my every move.
I beg them to stop,
to leave me alone and
let me regroup and collect my thoughts.

Their response, however, was mere laughter –
sinister laughter along with insults and threats.

Disheartened and hopeless, I begin to realize 
the feebleness of my attempts to quiet the voices.
It is now so obvious they have no intentions
of granting me some peace – even for a moment.

In fact, they plan to intensify their attack –
to once and for all quickly accomplish their goal –
their goal of rendering me hopeless and helpless – 
incapable of having any control over my thoughts and feelings.

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left behind

This whole place is set ablaze. 
Smoke is filling these lungs. 
I'm looking for the fire escape. 
The sirens ring aloud. 
I can't make out a single face in the crowd. 
Where are you? 
You said you'd never leave me behind. 
Where do you hide? 
I can't breathe. 
These fumes are looking to take the life out of me, but still i push to make 
my way out. 
Forced to crawl as the flames reach for the skies. 
How desperate i am just to find you. 
I scream your name as i make my way through this burning building. 
Struggling as this structure tries to make its way to the ground. 
It's going down! It's going down! 
Searching for you, my eyes blinding by this haze. 
I'm trying to find my way out of this maze. 
Where'd you go? 
You said you'd never leave me behind. 
I'll make it out of this alive or die trying. 
I hear the siren's cries. 
Pushing forward trying to make my way through the door. 
I don't know how much more i can take. 
It's getting harder to breathe with each breath that i take. 
Save me. 
This is exactly what it seems. 
Trying to survive as this fire tries to baptize me. 
Get me out! Get me out! 
You said you'd never leave me behind. 
I scream your name in one last attempt as this fire consumes me. 
I'll never forget your smile as much as it haunts me.

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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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The Visitor

A visitor came to me,
in the middle of the night.
His presence filled my soul with dread,
t’was chilled three times with fright.

A visitor came to me,
from the other side.
I lay so still upon my bed,
wishing I could hide.

This visitor who comes to me,
doesn’t use the door.
Tonight he’ll take a little bit,
each night a little more.

I used to be a child,
each day went passing by.
The child that I used to be,
is gone without a cry.

I remember in my youth,
I was fast and strong.
Now my strength is waning,
reflexes almost gone.

This visitor who comes to me,
took my kids away.
Turned them all into adults,
to live good lives I pray.

Sometimes the visitor comes to me,
leaves grief that’s way too strong.
Sometimes he takes so much away,
I feel I can’t go on.

He’s taken family with him,
other loved ones too.
It hurts to lose a loved one,
cause they’re a part of you.

He took my marriage with him,
took it very slow.
Took the love she had for me,
left mine to wither so.

Sometimes he takes too much from me,
to the other side.
Right now so much is finally gone,
I wonder if I’ve died.

This visitor also comes to you,
from the other side. 
Each time he takes a little more,
from him you cannot hide.

copyright  Tom Welch

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Arrogant Thought of the Day

To read a poem
Is to enter the writer’s psyche
That is why I seek out
The well written ones
Otherwise, one has to slag
Through the muck of cliché
The mire of worn out phrase
And nothing is truly learned
No “ah – ha” moments of 
“Yes, me too”
No “Mmmms” of recognition
I can tell with a glance
If the piece is worth my attention
If the words are of the 
Moon June variety
I’ve got to move on 

To read a poem
Is to enter the writer’s psyche
So what 
Have you learned 
About me today?

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Just Because

Just because, 
I really thought I was!
I was coming and coming,
Holding nothing back!
I could go anywhere,
I could go running!
I came unlatched.
I just really can not compare!
Just because,
I just really knew it was!
I kept going and going,
Holding nothing back!
I went showing!
I was unlatched
I am just really glowing!
Just because,
It really was,
It was here and now!
Holding nothing back!
I go proud!
I am unlatched!
I am just really now!
Just because,
It really was!
But gone forever!
Holding nothing back!
I went clever!
I became unlatched!
I was prisoner, 
Just because 
I really was!

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Classical Guitarist

You perch on a low stool
of my presence unmindful, 
guitar cradled on your lap,
fingers each string loving.

While you delicately pluck, 
mesmerizing, hypnotizing,
with slow, flowing arpeggio,
my heartstring you touch.

Who are you to affect me so, 
just what kind of magic spell
you put me helplessly under?

'Moonlight Sonata' on tremolo,
'Gone With The Wind', play!
'Chariots of  Fire' galloping
right deep inside my brain.

As the night comes to a close
you make me desire for more -
seduced, intrigued and raised
to the clouds to stay right there.

A guitar you turn into a slave
to touch a chord in the soul.

  (Inspired by Liona Boyd)

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Untitled #75 / No other viper

There’s no other viper in the world like her
and when she bit me she slithered off
now I know I’ll have to let the venom run its course,
for her fangs are the only remedy.

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In These Eyes of Mine

In the glow of the day, rise the shadows of a dark night where I come free.
Walking slow yet running with hot flames drenched by my body soiled, I am here.
My walk, my life, I stand with this seed.
Taking me down, all the way because I am the only one who care’s.
In these eyes of mine, let the Sun make glow of my hair!
In the depths of the Oceans may the Mountains peak, I am free.
Stroking slowly, yet rock climbing with the pain of broken rocks, I go there.
My depth and my height I stand with this need.
Rolling me around, all the way because I am the only one who share’s.
In these eyes of mine, let the Mountain make depth of my care.
In the brightness of the Stars lingers a magical gleam, all scattered and free.
Breathing slowly, yet desperate for the air to give my last and final breath, I am there.
My deepest, my highest, I stand with this greed.
Pulling me down to the ground all of the way because I am here!
In these eyes of mine, let the Stars make bright of my fear.
These eyes of mine give to you this planted seed with all of my prayers.

®Registered: Ann Rich 1999

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Who Will See

Is my laughter
Tempered with disaster
Is my smile discreet?

Who will see behind the brave façade?
Who will notice the hurts unseen?

Who will see the pain in joyful eyes?
Who will hear the fear in laughter?

Who really knows
The troubles through which one goes
Who will actually try and care.

Who will actually try and help
Those who are in pain.

Who will make a stand for those in desperate need
For those who are starving and in the streets.

Will we be a Nation who cares?
Who helps their own
Poor and needy.

Or will we live 
In the denial
That these people need help
That they somehow deserved
To live as less than men.

(November 15, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)

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


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Gardener's Hands

There he is in the garden among the radiant blooms,
making time all by himself what he loves most doing.

He whistles and he hums out in the hot summer sun,
under a gently falling rain on a cold, drizzly morning.

He is a peculiar creature to those who know him not
for a little leaf he caresses softly like a woman's body.

To a tiny tree he whispers as if breathing to give it life
and at a newly-opened bud gazes with childlike wonder.

He finds peace and solitude amidst his vast, leafy domain,        
time flies by much too quickly as he bends, sniffs and trims.

How he labors and sweats, nothing by accident comes;
things grow only if nurtured, this the man firmly believes.

Trellis he patiently builds for  pesky vines to climb on,
not letting them to just crawl on wet and soggy ground.

In that lush, bountiful garden, living and dying he witnesses;
he won't have it any other way, it is his sole reason for living.

Each plant dying and withering pushes him to toil even harder,
sow new seeds to take its place so his garden will live on and on.

Ah, the gardener's gentle hands so perfectly loving and life-giving,
a mirror image of the Almighty's, the Gardener who created him.

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Cold window pane
Or prison bars
For Susan they are the same
Her imagination runs free
As she is trapped inside
But outside the dream
She can hear echoes of autumn
Leaves chattering
Rustling amidst dancing feet
So many children laughing
Her heart racing
Why is that not me
Yet Susan feels nothing
Except her breath on the glass
As reality comes between
She struggles to understand
Her only playmate her hands
Rocking her dreams to sleep
Cold window pane
Or steel chair
For Susan they are the same
Her imagination runs free
As her legs are strapped inside
But outside the dream

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My Shady Tree

I am not going to let this world stress me out anymore, because the lord answers prayers.
Recently, I passed away and made it all the way to heaven. This time, I am one of God’s holy
angels. I need to step out of this world again, and find me a shady tree. 

Folks are killing each other for no reason at all. Yesterday, the sun start crying
because, they build those skyscrapers too high in these neighborhoods. I am too scared to
go in an elevator, down town. Every time I look up at those skyscraper buildings, my
arthritis kicks in. Lord, in the morning I need a little bit of sunshine on my face. Where
is my Shady tree? 

Every time I pick up the newspaper, I see corruption, violence and bad news in this world.
Mama use to say, “What the world needs now, is love, sweet love?” Look at these kids
bringing guns and knives to school and participating in lock downs, instead of lunch
breaks. I know some of these kids are spoil rotten to the core.

Anyway, the kids figure it is economical selling drugs, then attending Yale or Princeton
college. Well, too many video games and all that bling, bling rap music on TV is
destroying their young minds. Look at the young girls having babies and leaving a helpless
and poor baby in the trash bins for them garbage men to pick up. We have babies making
more babies. 

Oh, heavenly Father and sweet Jesus, I need my shady tree to recover from all this mess!
Lord, we got too many children ripping and running these streets without fathers at home,
providing clothes, food and shelter. 

Cassias bring mama a glass of ice water. Have you heard about the good news, “Jesus is
coming back” Lord, just let me live 999 years or live as long as Moses lived. 

I remember, back in the day, when ever, I had any troubles in the world, I just go look
for my shady tree. Cassias bring mama her slippers, so I can rest these tired old feet.
Bless his little soul. Well, I don't have to worry about it anymore, because I died and
went to heaven.

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Time Travel

                                       Timetravel reading diaries 
                          of distant relatives' lives once mysteries
                  become souvinir memories of vanished places
                          lost loves and estranged freidships

                                      Travel the changing world
                   kindred neighbors move,visit old home towns
                       aging treasures where dreams are born

                      Relatives trading stories of new family ties
                                           perfect marriages
                             Passing lovers seiance romantic
                                 Grandchildren raise children 
                     play in flowered fields once playgrounds

           Familiar questions echo our own childhood curiosity
                Wiser with age,kinder hearts with experience
         Parents are keepers of children's forgotten memories

                          Past photographs keep memories alive
                                          Sacred kinships end
             Fond memories and promises could never mend
                 Find new passions,new love,new life begins

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The Burning Veil

My eyes were opened to a bright red burning veil.
Sun scorched and Moon dried,
It was fried!
But, I brought it some water in a crystal blue pale.
The more it burned higher went the scale,
God knows that I at least tried.
There was just nowhere to hide.
But, I wasn’t about to fail.
I put the veil in the water and made it wet.
I held it to the Sun and the Moon to air dry.
The veil melted and glowed where it was set.
It was sparkling and made me want to cry.
Perception had been weakened to what it rea