Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Narrative Life Poems | Narrative Poems About Life

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Narrative | |

The Clouds

THERE HE WAS HOLDING OUT HIS HAND.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My voice= 
One more question My Heavenly Father.
Can I see her?  I meant, could I see them? My Daughter, Mother's and Sisters~

by;PD


Details | Narrative | |

Will You Tie My Shoes When I Grow Old

You were beautiful, 
my tiny child, 
wrapped tightly in my arms, 
close to my heart.
I listened to you breathing.
I counted your fingers
and your toes.
Helpless, 
you cried out to me
and I loved you
with every ounce of my soul.

Will you hear me
when I cry out? 
Will you hold me close
as I held you then? 

I remember the day
You took your first step.
There was no stopping you.
Your feet gave you freedom
to explore the world
like never before
but danger lurked.
I opened those doors anyway, 
cautiously, 
and introduced
you to the world.
Where will you be
when my legs
no longer run? 
no longer work? 
Will you realize
that I love
freedom too? 

I laugh
about that day
you first tied your shoe.
We tried and tried
to get that rabbit
in that hole
and you finally did it.
You pointed your toes
for everyone to see
how proud you were.

I am proud too, 
of my writing
and my drawing, 
of my needlework
and my cooking.
But my hands are beginning to ache
and my fingers will not bend.
I will lose the things
that make me proud
except for you.
Hopefully not you.
Will you let me
brag on you? 
Even tell wild stories
that are a bit beyond the truth? 
Will you be proud of me too? 

I waved good-bye
that morning when you left
on that large, yellow bus.
I was so scared.
I know you were too.
You waved at me bravely
through the dusty window
but I saw the water
forming in your eyes.
You came home, however, 
full of pride and joy.
You sang the alphabet song
and got most of it right.
You practiced for hours
until you could sing it
even in your sleep.

But 
I'm afraid.
I forgot
whether I took
my pills today or not.
I forgot
if I told this story before.
I even forgot once
who you were
and it terrified me.
My mind
is my treasure
the only thing I have left, 
and I heard you make
fun of me
for not remembering
that I gave you the
same gift as last year.
Will you love me
when I no longer
know who I am? 

You came home blushing
from the glow of
your first kiss.
Your first love, 
the one you thought was real.
You talked about him non-stop.
You changed for him. You gave.
But he left you anyway
for a blue-eyed girl
and I held you
while you cried for him.

I too have a
broken heart.
The love of my life
left me after
fifty-six years.
He left me here
to live life on my own
while he moved on
to another realm
And I cry for him too.
I long for his shoulder
and strong embrace.
I feel betrayed
because he and I
made a deal
that we would never
leave the other alone.
Yet I am alone
sitting in an echoing house
with no hands to hold.

You welcomed her home today- 
your tiny baby girl.
She has your eyes
and possibly your toes.
I see you counting them
as they roll me
into the room.
You finally came
to visit.
It has been a while.

You look up at me
with tears in your eyes
and ask
almost desperately, 

"Will she tie my
shoes
when I get old? "


Details | Narrative | |

Nevermore Will Raven Return

 *Note:  A 60-year annual tradition that involved a mysterious visitor leaving three 
roses at the grave of writer Edgar Allan Poe on the anniversary of his birthday 
ended in January 2010.  Curators of the Poe House and Museum are at a loss to 
explain who left these gifts and why they stopped.  On many occasions people kept 
vigils  near Poe’s grave during this period that began in 1949, but no one ever saw 
someone leaving the roses. In the morning, however, they were always on his 
grave.  Poe is considered the father of the American short story and 
his poem The Raven is one of his best known works.



Once upon a midnight dreary, Poe heard a tapping at his window
     While grieving the loss of his young bride, a maiden “angels named Lenore,”
A radiant teen whose long, black hair in gentle breezes would billow,
     Tapping at the window ceased, but suddenly it was heard at his door

Upon opening it, a Raven flew in repeating, “Nevermore”
     At first he welcomed this odd visitor until Poe whispered, “Lenore”
When he heard his word echo, the strange Raven he began to abhor
     He asked if he’d see his bride again and the bird replied, “Nevermore”

Though Poe died in eighteen forty-nine, a mystery evolved much later
     A century after his death, his grave had an annual visitor
Roses were left on his birthday by someone whose love appeared greater
     Who had left these floral gifts forever stumped the Poe House curator

Perhaps the answer can only be explained by reincarnation
     Did the Raven embody the spirit of Poe’s beloved Lenore
If so, perhaps the Raven returned again in a life rotation
     In human form she visited to lay roses on the earthen floor

And upon her death in two-thousand nine, she took to the skies once more
     A Raven who now joins the flock circling above her late husband’s grave       \/
Could it be her spirit remains with Poe, as it did in life before                         \/ \/ \/
     Bringing him in the afterlife all the roses a poet could crave                     \/ \/ \/ \/

For those who consider this possibility totally absurd
Just consider the fantasies Poe created with the written word



By Carolyn Devonshire
Contest Title: “Among the Dead,” sponsored by Constance LaFrance ~ A Rambling 
Poet ~


Details | Narrative | |

A Story to Tell

A heart read and quoted by many in this lifetime Battle scars that remain and yet shielded by a peace of mind Walked several miles and traveled while teaching others how to embrace Remains courageous, faithful and strong with persistence in any given case Blindsided by those who are willing to love and cherish her to the end Silence becomes her guard, her armor, her protector, and best friend Tears of pain, and sorrow, all of which are from a past memory Times shared, lost and gained, the negative days are history Mental pictures are drawn from imaginations that lead her to an untraceable place Recruit no one, for life has taught her that there is no room for more mistakes A mind reader that has established herself to be two steps ahead Portrays an interesting novel, a world kept secret unread Admire her dearly for her patience, wisdom and knowledge untold How does she continue to live life so freely far from her empty soul?
Pace, G INK-U-SCRIPT


Details | Narrative | |

Sweetest Love Note

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


Details | Narrative | |

Rules For Living



Respect for nature Respect for authority Respect for fellow man The rules of majority Honesty is contentment Honesty in everything Honesty of the heart Alive as the spring Joyful in common things Joyful of mind Joyful just being Gentle and kind Happy within your soul Happy with friends Happy to be living At peace to the end Creeds I adhere to Creed for giving Creed for success Great rules for living © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

The Sparrow

He called it love and his captivating way,
   She called it fear and longed for the day.
All alone she cried those bitter nights,
   While he ran around to his hearts delight.
He had her heart he pulled her strings,
    All she ever wanted was the joy that only true love can bring.
He controlled her mind, her spirit, her soul,
     All alone with no hopes of ever achieving her goals.
Completely stripped of confidence and pride,
    She became a victim of his heartless and evil side.
She was hardly a child when he stole her heart,
    Lured in to his web with lies and broken promises from the start.
Now all of her dreams have faded away,
    As she musters up courage to try to make it through another day.
He has convinced her that what he says is the final word,
    No matter what she had read or heard.
You can’t make it out there, alone, is what he said!
    You won’t last a week till somebody finds you dead.
So callous and cruel he chose those frightening words to keep her here,
    But she had reached the end and leaving was the only way and she saw it clear.
She said you’re right and I should hush so let’s not fight,
     But her things were packed, she’d be leaving this night.
He got all dressed and went out to make the town,
     She called her a taxi and left that clown.
She broke the bonds that held her there,
     Now she’s on her own enjoying life and breathing in this new found air.
This little sparrow has found her wings,
     Enjoying everything this life can possibly bring.


Details | Narrative | |

"Sacred Season"

A dream

To hear the whippoorwills' sad urgent  call
I was very glad when I was a lad
But now twilight nearing new season's fall
My Essence of truth my consciousness calls

My tears being not of my former years
For sake of humans I now turn my cares
As compassion of true identity
From sacred place calls from infinity
 
Within unlimited aspects' of me
A great white throne in the distance I see
Around sacred bend a familiar friend
Silhouette of me as my God I see

No more desirous of earth's vain glory
The mind's wilderness of exploratory
History recedes illusions of me
My ego thoughts I just had to be

Totality of Love I see as me
Enter into God's synchronicity
I now see my God as I now see me
As sacredness of the reality
 
As Sacredness calls a new season's fall
Recesses the former whippoorwills' call
As new life calls I now realize it all
New life is in the  Sacred Season's Fall

Mystified as I liquefied I cry
As in spirit of love quite high I fly
Above consequences life's  densities
As spiritual tears replace human fears

1-12-10


Details | Narrative | |

Pride of the Motherland

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~*******~~~~~~~

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

~~~~~~~*******~~~~~~~


Details | Narrative | |

An Escape

Have some time to spare in-between a work schedule 
burning me from the inside, out.
Wasted too much time on the computer already,
my body aches from physical inactivity.

Thoughts are racing faster than the speed of light,
the routine of modern life is trying to cage in a free spirit-
a pen for a wild horse with boundless energy,
a strong kick and large teeth.

Haven't come down to this part of the bay for years.
Not sure why anymore?
Not too sure about anything right now.
Believed I was too young to be having these thoughts,
but here they come like a booming drum beat,
keeping time with the pounding of my heart,
but always just a little louder,
to remind me how this warning isn't about to depart.

The putrid stench of kelp and dead crabs
baking in the afternoon sun,
curls up my nostrils, awakening memories of childhood....
....the salt in the sea is the salt in my blood;
we have been one since conception.
The salty, deep green rot, smells like bliss to me,
compared with the scents of over-heated wires,
burnt coffee, and industrial-gray carpeting.

Sit down on a large chunk of driftwood.
The waves aren't crashing in their usual rhythmic crescendo,
but lapping quietly like chortling laughter.
The ocean is chuckling,
laughing at my insignificance
in comparison to its almost limitless horizon 
of cruel, cold water.

A familiar pungent aroma creeps my way-
the high citrus scent of bergamot
mixed with the sweet perfume of skunk.
Two young punks are hauling on some reefer
up the beach from where I am sitting.
Can hear their youthful, carefree chatter.
The last time I smoked weed, seems eons ago now.
The smell invokes the rebel still alive inside,
giving a glimpse of who I had once been-
eyes blazing red,
mind full of humble awe
flying high above the clouds like an eagle.

The shrill cries of gulls fighting over a starfish
breaks my stupor of reminiscence,
reminding me of the hungry ways of nature-
the hungry ways of mankind and money.
Damn! My stupid job awaits!

As I make my way back,
pant legs causing the sand grass 
to sigh in dry moans and whispers,
I make up my mind to visit 
this old stomping ground more often.
In fact, I might start coming out here
on all of my lunch breaks.
Out here, the wild horse has ample room to roam,
even if for only a few moments of escape-
an illusion of escape is far better
than having only stifled dreams
and no hope left at all-

feel much better already.


Details | Narrative | |

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


Details | Narrative | |

Tea Leaves On The Bosphorus

Tea Leaves On The Bosphorus

Seated at a table by the stirring water,
My eyes absorb the shore of Asia.
Minerets and aged worn stone
Stand haphazardly along the banks.
Istanbul is a lady with secrets
She'll lure you with her unrevealed virgin beauty,
Then seduce you with her ancient lovers.

Grilled sardines filled my charger
Fish pulled from the strait just minutes before,
Lay garnished with parsley and mint .
Red pickled turnips and warm flat bread
Are the implements that help feed me 
And scoop up the humus,
Turkish nourishment for my soul.

The empty plates are cleared by a handsome waiter
With dubious intentions I feared,
But I was flattered none the less.
A bowl of yogurt was placed before me,
And my admirer arrived with a comb of honey.
He held it high above the creamy cloud and let the heavy ochre
languidly pour atop the milky whiteness of delight.
After his seduction,he left me alone to my pleasure
As I lapped at the sweet and sour heavenly temptation,
that parted my lips and elevated my being.

As I recovered from my rapture, two eyes caught mine.
The heathen that destroyed my diet approached the table uninvited.
He pulled up a chair and sat down across from me.
In his hands, a cup.
He offered to tell me my future.
White, small, as fragile as an eggshell with the top lopped off.
Within was a dark tea with floating leaves.
In a chivalrous attempt at English conversation,
He handed me the libation and the offer to read the remains.

I, alone in a man's world, unmarried, and of a certain age,
Did not need encouragement and I accepted his offer.
I drained the tea in one gulp and returned it to his hands.
He placed the cup in one palm , then turned it upside down,
Allowing the remaining fluid to drip out around the cup and onto the table.
Once the cup was upright again he studied the leaves, then he spoke.

His voice was soft, at times , unintelligible
His reading was honest, and truthful, and painful.
His prophecy, amusing, and entertaining
His vision and it's accuracy were astounding.

Fifteen years later, the leaves delivered on their promise.
Long fluid lines inside the cup foretold of a marriage,
To a man who  would cross a sea to find me.
Two shorter drippings were the children that now delight me.
The  tea ring that he was able to complete around the cup ,
Was the warmth of a love that would soon envelop me.


Tea, anyone?





Details | Narrative | |

---And the Angel Looked On

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Constance's Angels in Cemeteries contest
 June 18, 2011


Details | Narrative | |

New Road

In a new road,
Rain will fall,
Wind may blow,
Swifting our woe.

The road forever on and on,
Many paths to choose,
Many paths to take,
Home behind,
World ahead...

Through the shadows,
Through the night,
Clouds going by,
There we will lie,
Very deep,
Seeing shivered land,
Seeing the dead seas...

Through the edge,
Miles to go,
Singing by,
Darkness rising,
Vanishing light,
Hollow flourishing,
Going by,
World ahead,
Home behind...

Rain may fall,
Through the nightfall,
Through the twilight,
Through the dusk,
Through the dawn,
Beyond mountains,
Beyond stones,
Standing strong,
Wandering lost,
World ahead,
Home behing,
Paths on and on,
'Till the road comes along...


Details | Narrative | |

Together As One

Together As One
To dream as one.
When we dream we dream as one. When we laugh we laugh as one. We have a life 
together that compliments one another. We have a love that is like no other it’s as 
one. We reach for the stars and look for the moon. We support and care for one 
another on our journeys as our journeys cross paths.
We listen with excitement to each other’s dreams. To understand and encourage 
comes from the heart. Knowing with certainty that we deserve the love we give and 
receive as we are as one. What is wonderful for one is so for the other for our life 
path is the same. Knowing one so well is to know one’s self without a doubt.
Dreams that come together both big and small shared by knowing hearts that want 
the same want are as one. A love so strong can feel and guide with the stars and 
moon. Set in motion a force together nothing can sever but blessed be a dream 
together as one!
Dream, laugh, and love we do as one for we became one. Together we reach for the 
stars and the moon as we share the paths we take. Our journey takes us many 
directions to which we share our delight. A journey worth taking is a journey worth 
sharing…sharing as one!
                                                                                   Debbie Knapp



Details | Narrative | |

How a Blue Rose Came to be

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

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

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


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

                                  ~~~~~

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


		~~~~

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

 
 Written:  June 18, 2010

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










Details | Narrative | |

Crying In The Rain

he thought he knew her 
this man she married….

inside those morning glory eyes
her tentative blooms unfolding 
soft and pink with desires fire….
reserved for just his caress
that he crushed and stepped upon

whiskey is much better
when its aged…
and he has some growing to do 

amid the whimpers of a sudden rain
pelting with a vengeance
all the skin can do is take the cracking
as its human capacity is limited

where did she go he wonders 
questioning her disappearance 
with unjustified despondence
(still consumed with just himself)
as she vanishes without a trace

sometimes the ropes break…
and sometimes they come untied
even steel chains come unbound
in moments of clarity

he remembers how he once held her
(vapors are fragile but consuming)
even then in a choke hold
grasped around her once willing 
pale and bruised up neck
with rough hands and lies
he believed as well as her
leaving her mummified and torn

oh ignorance leaves one in nirvana 
yet…..

violins sound sorrowful when played at loves demise

so when the music floats upon a lonely air
going nowhere on a ripped up wind
does he have a right to grieve what is lost
(a bit like a baby that lost its toy)
when he threw it out with Mondays garbage

and only now 
when its gone 
(attempting to excavate a grave)
does he mourn its passing…..


Details | Narrative | |

Coiled Spring External

it is in this mural of splashing fuses 
that I am lit with a solemn torch……

I gaze with back deck musing 
but  front porch eyes….

I see the distance beyond this world
                   (my own cosmic existence)
a residence I squandered 
but my feet want to tread there

the green that surrounds me 
suffuses me with lakeside dew
melodies drifting only the quiet can hear
ripples that only valid observers see

the kentucky breeze carries a lonely wind
solitary….
               where has it been?
has it touched the sand I have?
                                (bare toes buried)

somewhere a child cries in the still
shattering  this serenity 
(though some don’t hear it)
along the bank of shoal like tranquility
the birds will wail for broken dreams 
(severed by thoughtless hands)

oh, its only a portrait
                     (an inspiring one though)
as open lashes stumble 
                        a horizons sinking sun
multi hues of reckless red and pink
a blue print  of what life should be
snap shot deftness in the perception
while beneath lay the sorrow

the last lingering tangerine shades
tease and taunt the tops of dogwood trees
oh beauty as far as eyes can see
a few silver shimmers of clouds 
                              in a blue grass sky

flowers bloom sweet pea and peonies
raw carmine kisses in the silence
pretty pansy faces 
                   and grass is verdant
green!! peacock sage and pine
 arrayed in darks and lights
a myriad of different shades 
brilliant in its lush velvet on my feet

to only live life this way (skimming surfaces)
just as the honey suckle does
how blissful that would be
(in all its exquisite ignorance)
branches sway in the song of a blue bird zephyr
as the fingers of it caress my skin

tonight
this expanse is my companion

but still I perceive it
what lies beneath
in stunning cognizance 
bearing a strenuous burden

it is in this mural of splashing fuses
that I am lit with a solemn torch

I gaze with back deck musing
but front porch eyes


Details | Narrative | |

Birth, in a Quiet Room

“Well,” She asked; her eyes wide. Beads of hot sweat glistening on her brow like miniature 
crystal suns. Her angst was palpable. “What is it!”
     The air was still. There were no words. Just the sound of bodies breathing in – and 
holding.
     “Congratulations.” He held out his arms, handing the mother, her baby, “You have a son.”
     The moment shone like glass in the center of the heavens – pure and eternal.
     It was redemption from every wrong thing she’d ever done. 
     It was the shining eyes of God smiling onto her exhausted face; lighting it with hope.    
     It was the only place there was – the only time, the only space. 
     It was the only feeling that existed. 
     They were the only two incarnate souls in the room; on the planet, and in the universe.
     This was her child –
     her son.
     And she was his mother.

     (there are no words for such things. suddenly, I feel like an intruder. there are too many 
eyes, words and moments here. so it is here, I take my leave; leaving this mother and the 
only soul in her universe to their perfect moment. they will have many more moments in this 
lifetime; but none as sacred, as human, or as eternal as the first look from life to life; 
mother to child; heaven to earth, as the very first. None.)
     
“It’s a boy.” she whispered. Her throat a crumbling tunnel; stunned, but not really. Like 
she’d known it all along. “My baby boy…” She smiled into his ancient, brand-new face; 
tracing his delicate cheek with the back of her finger. “He’s perfect.” 
     She ran her palm along the bottom of his soft, miraculous foot, and laughed. “Look at 
your feet – they’re huge!”
     And as she wiped the tears with the heel of her shaking hand – smearing what was left of 
her mascara - she looked in to his, as close to heaven as one can get, eyes, and said, “Hi.
I’m your mama.” He smiled at her. He knew. He’d known it all along. “And I’ll love you 
forever…”
     The world closed its shades then. Leaving the sacred to its history; the moment to 
eternity; and their universe to its quiet, little room.
     


*Inspired by Deborah's, You Must Have Been A Beautiful Baby, contest; and every mother 
who has graced this sacred room.


Details | Narrative | |

The Fire Rages On...

the fire rages on….

smoke hot and murky 
(like sodden dank  old whiskey)
burns the backs of her brooding eye lids
as she watches fires power frolic 
like a mesmerizing ghost
                  it consumes with licking fingers
the aromatic lavender and the intricate lilies
destroying so slowly 
                the dark hard leather
                           and delicate white lace
(it could be gone in an instant)

the quiet like a devastation spills into her
like bodies of the long passed
                                       (already ascended)
eyes like cheap gin
on a Saturday night
begging to be borrowed
in someone else’s head

forms of faces out of tune like an old scratched record
replaying into a wiped out ancient black sky
breeding dismay between what should be kissed lips

burrowing into flames she sketches with her ruby red
and shadowed pink mouth
(had it always been this way?)
she….with fragile fingers
                                    twining and untwining
(with temptation of a rose thorn)
      unhealed with lacerations 

does she own the capacity 
                                      on her own 
  to block the fierceness of the sun?

beneath the stale sirens
(pounding out a raucous rhythm
                                    on her heart) 
of a raw and frantic flutter
she hears the wild piercing
of wings beating in futility
        against harsh walls
rat tat tatting….rat tat tatting….
battering and scattering 
                                  trapped inside a cage

“fly free….just fly free!” 

she pleads to the lady she visits every  Friday
                 “why the hesitation?”
as she whimpers from the wounds
                  old and dead and long buried
in the ground beneath a willow

and still the fire rages and rampages
                                          steals the flower petals 
while ripping through the forest 
as she trips on tender heels of the never fast enough

smoke still burns the backs of her brooding eyelids….











Details | Narrative | |

My White Lace Tablecloth

I washed my white lace tablecloth and hung it out to dry
The bleach did the best it could-it was worth the try
'Though no one else can see, the stain still remains
As old as time itself 
Stubborn as mildew rot

One false step, one careless word forever etched in time
Travels the universe, endlessly
In search of a place to rest  
What would I not give to reverse that step
To retrieve that hateful word

Tread lightly in your daily walk, o'er hills and valleys in between
Plot well your steps and weigh your words
So you'll have nothing to regret, like the
Unkind words carved deeply upon your heart
I wash my white lace tablecloth again, again and again!
~*~
10/09/2007


Details | Narrative | |

Enjoy The Ride



Some days are diamonds, some are stone To quote an old John Denver hit Truer words were never spoken The “stone days” (not stoned days!) Are only sent to us to test our resolve And to appreciate the “diamond days” even more To prove, that as dark or as difficult as life can get There is ALWAYS a silver lining Otherwise we'd all be candidates for the looney bin Trust me, have I ever lied to you before? Okay... well only a couple of times And I was under the influence??? The influence of WHAT, you may ask Uh, I take the fifth... okay here are some examples Now let me see, watching a pretty girl go by Or the government sending me an unexpected refund Of a couple of hundred dollars YEEHAW Maybe sitting down to my favourite meal With my lovely spouse I've adored Since the two of us were dreamy-eyed sweethearts In grade school right up to the present And now happily married with a couple of wee ones Don't get me wrong, I do have days of stone But my diamond days far outnumber them So the bottom line is Live, love, laugh and be happy You only get one chance to travel life's highway So ENJOY the ride!!! © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

The Devil's Tide

I looked up at a silver moon 
Peering through a cloud of misty gloom 
As we sailed across the Atlantic Sea 
That fateful night in June 
 
And as I stood upon the bow 
A furrow crossed my troubled brow 
When I saw a dying star fall from the sky 
As the wind out of the north 
Began to cry 
 
'Twas then with fearful heart 
I came at last to realize 
That we were sailing 
On a wave of ill-tidings 
Known as 'The Devil's Tide' 
 
For no omen of the sea 
Brought more fear than thee 
A fallen star -  a silver moon 
Together in the month of June 
If legend true would surely bring us doom 
 
So with no trace of land in sight 
We sailed onward through the night
I -  the Captain 'Louie Lou' 
With my faithful crew 
Aboard the 3 mast schooner 'Angel - of the Blue' 
On canvas wings we flew 
Upon the wailing wind that blew 
 
Then suddenly a hush of malaise 
Crushed the summer night
Filling all the crew with dreadful fright 
As all the stars in heaven lost their light 
And the silver moon dipped completely out of sight 
Leaving us to drift without guidance 
To our unknown plight 
 
An eerie sound began to roll out of the west 
Growing louder and louder as we held our breath 
Until it was upon us and the ship began rise 
As we looked in horror into the Devil's eye 
As the Angel of the Blue began to fly 
Up the Devil's breast she climbed 20 fathoms high 
 
One by one the Angel's wings were torn away 
As she fought to save us from the Devil's rage 
Screams of horror falling from her timber sides 
As the crew fell into the Devil's tide 
 
And I -  tethered to the helm -  watched them die 
As we climbed even higher into the Devil's eye 
And as the Angel's body creaked and cracked
We finally scaled the crest and rode upon the Devil's back
Just before I fainted and my world went black 
 
I woke up in the morning high on a mountain side 
Never knowing just how I had survived 
knowing only that my Angel and my crew had died 
 
~~~ 
 
Many years have come and gone since then 
And I am forever haunted by each and every one of them 
My faithful crew and my mighty 'Angel of the Blue' 
 
I see their faces in my dreams 
As I awaken to their screams 
Wishing, too -  that I had died 
But someone had to live 
To tell the tale of the 'Devil's Tide'.

~~~~~~~~

Author:  Elaine George
Entry for contest:  Legends
Awarded:  First Place





Details | Narrative | |

This Shoe

There was An Old Women in This Shoe...
She had so many Children that it felt just like A Zoo.
She taught Them love,read poetry,and books...
They choose anger,hatred, and would not even look.
She taught Them reading,arithmetic,and writing...
They chose pain,aggravation,and dynamic fighting.
She Taught Them to Be Honest,truthful,never to fib or lie???
They chose words with devious vulgar meanness and demise.
She made Them scrap books with animals and art work of every kind.
They chose alcohol,drugs,Drug Dealers,and misery;Why???
She married a disease She knew not of its' severity or  how to beat...
These Children All adopted it and low and Behold became rather weak.
She resort to teaching Them how to Pray to God and have Mercy.
How They forgot Her,All Their Manors,and those taught curtsies.
She would still Pray for Them to Her very last Days smothered By Kids.
You know;They came in All Sizes;Big,Medium,and small Bids.
Oh How She would Say,"Please For The Sake of God!!!
She happens to Be Gone In there live now...
As Precious as Her words were...
They still Haven't heard Her and just nod.

By Charlene L.Wilcox 09-20-2014


Details | Narrative | |

Tadhana

I may never know what exactly happened,
but I think I know the why of it

Tadhana…Fate…Destiny…Kismet…

Put it in so many words,
but it all boils down to that.

Tadhana…

shivers down my spine,
tears prickling my eyes,
as I hear once more the story,
the destiny
of two souls
one stormy day in July…

She was being stupid,
crashing into the waves that day
just for the thrill of it

He was being pensive,
reflecting on how those waves 
just somehow seemed to soothe him

People slowly left the shores
as dark clouds loomed in the horizon
save for these two souls...

She wasn’t even supposed to be there,
just a spur of the moment thing,
forgetting her other worries
she loved storms, she loved the beach
combine them and for her it was bliss…

He went there for closure,
the 10th year of his brother’s death
trying to accept that he did all he could
he loved him, he loved the beach
but guilt drowned him…

The rains then came down in sheets,
winds whipping, storm waves crashing
she was almost at shore though,
when the undertow pulled her back

He thought he was imagining things,
his brother’s ghost perhaps?
When he saw her again,
and fear was tossed like jetsam

Was she the answer he was seeking for?
His redemption in another form?
Was this the reason why he was here now?
Her only hope for salvation?

Rushing out to sea,
adrenaline rushing through his veins
Faith and Fate working together,
he swam towards her

and as they reached the shore
the winds dropped to a whisper,
the waves went back tickling sand,
the raindrops trickled into drizzles

She was breathing, thank God
He lay beside her, exhausted
She could only thank him with a smile
well, a smile that could match the Sun

and she took his hand...
and put it over her heart

It was not so much that their hands fit perfectly,
but there was something else...
mole on her right ring finger
perfectly aligning
mole on his left ring finger

Tadhana.

Shivers down my spine,
tears prickling my eyes,
as I hear once more the story,
the destiny
of two souls
one stormy day in July…
and of why I am here.



** tadhana is a Tagalog word, it can be translated as fate/destiny/kismet


 July 25, 2010 


Details | Narrative | |

Leaving the Station

The smoke is a question mark...
My view of you is covered in gray
You pause, look back, then walk away
You’ve neglected to open your umbrella…

Tomorrow, under a different sky
I will listen to the songs of yesterday
The world leaves behind a sign language for broken hearts
It is cloudy, it is beginning to rain…
Goodbyes are bitter ales we drank today
I look again, through the smudges of the day
We are going to leave behind a trail of smoke
A sound like a tired mother calling in her child
The train whistle rings in the dusk

I take a last look through the window
I have said my goodbyes
The train begins to move
We are leaving the station platform
Tears weep down the window
Spilling over the imprints of my hand
I found myself dry eyed and my throat too tight to speak
Finding a place to put the carry-ons
People are chatting, settling in 
Happy, excited, anxious to be departing

A thin straight lift and a gray, silvery curve
Like a sickle for harvesting the first star…
The smoke is a question mark


___________________________________________
 "Write A Backwards Poem"


Details | Narrative | |

My Favorite Devonshire

Past-Life Nightmare
A child of four suffers recurring dreams,
disturbing parents and siblings with screams.
When she awoke, always sore in one knee;
next to a birthmark, it throbbed painfully.

Night after night she feared going to bed.
What caused these nightmares that raged in her head?
Even when grown, the torment persisted,
so a therapist’s aid she enlisted.

“Hypnosis,” said he, “might offer some clues.
Why not try it?  You’ve just bad dreams to lose.”
Once under, he guided her to a room --
here people’s lifetimes in books were entombed.

“Find one that is yours,” her counselor said.
Quickly she did, but before it was read,
she felt an ache, saw just a faint title.
The words, she thought, said “Alister Bridle.”

The hypnotic trance now suddenly broke;  
puzzling questions “Mr. Bridle” evoked.
For many years she thought that was her name;
perhaps a past life had been filled with pain.

Who was this man?  She simply had to know!
Seasons passed, summer suns made way for snow.
In Florida now, 1998,
she thought all the nightmares she had escaped.

But strange dreams always catch us by surprise --
when the lights grow dim, our minds fantasize.
Cloaked in velvet, she left her parents’ farm,
stealing away on a late autumn morn’.

To meet her love, she climbed on the carriage,
knowing her folks would forbid their marriage.
Warm-hued leaves carpeted the hillside road,
and her pulse beat fast; she’d soon join her beau.

She thought only of him; joy cast its smile,
but that’s when he called, “Alice, the bridle!”
The leather band broke and wrapped ‘round her knee.
To the ground she was pulled; her horse ran free.

She met death, but past-life dreams recycle,
and she’d never been “Alister Bridle.”



*Based on real events I experienced.
--Carolyn Devonshire

-------------------------------------------------------------------

I first read this gripping narrative as an entry for my contest & I
felt chills when I read this-& to know that it is based on real events makes this even more amazing for me. I placed this 2nd place in my first ever contest :D.

For me (& I think to so many others) Carolyn has a real gifted pen-- she can write just about anything & truly evoke emotions within you. She writes about realities of her life & she can take you with her. So Carolyn, continue writing your gems & we'll continue enjoying them :)

Also, thank you so much for all the wonderful comments, they're truly heartfelt & that's one of the things I love about you. Hugs & love!


Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

Battle Scars

Don’t judge that kid with her arms all scarred
Don’t brand that kid as bad
You never would have survived 
If you had the life she had
So say a prayer and show you care
She’s paid more than her share of dues
Don’t put her down or say bad things
Until you’ve walked that mile in her shoes
Those who suffered in war earn respect
They are greeted like super stars
She came from a war you wouldn’t understand
On her arms, the battle scars
Her own home was the battle zone
The desperation, feeling all alone
A situation she felt no escape from
Then late at night the urges come
Innocence lost like a bad dream
No self respect, no self esteem
It is an ongoing battle to feel whole
You can see the beauty within her soul
Sometimes I pray for a Judgement day
You have no heart if you look away
Flashbacks come and the anger stirs
The guilt she carries isn’t hers
There is a need for justice long past due
A need for acceptance from me and you
With anger, despair and fear demanding
The child needs some understanding
In spite of all the tears she cried
There are still battle scars deep inside


Details | Narrative | |

Color Me A Father

                   

A child with a crayon can color an imaginary world,
With dolls of mommies, daddies, boys and girls,
Full of horses, cowboys, cars and trains,
Can scratch them out and draw them all again,
Color me a rainbow with a pot of gold,
Color me a fairy with ribbons and bows,
Paint my face, a bright yellow sun,
In a green grassy field where a blue river runs,
With mountains and  trees set in a colorful scene,
Monkey bars, teeter-totters, an old tire swing,
Color my face with a bright happy smile,
In a wonderful world, if only for awhile,
I can pretend my life is happy and gay,
Not worry about the mean stuff, just for the day,
Not worry about what I will eat, or where I will sleep,
Or the cockroaches and rats that make me creep,
Color me a family with brothers and sisters,
Color me a man to call Daddy, not Mister,
Color my mom in a bright yellow dress,
Stretched in a hammock under a tree with a nest,
In the yard of the house, we can call our own,
With neighbors on each side of our lovely home,
Color my dreams carefree and wild,
Color my life always as a child,
Color me a father, color me a Dad,
Color me the life that I never had. 
Color me a garden with fruits of all kinds, 
Apples, pears with grapes on the vine, 
Color me a crayon that’s really a crayon,
Not this old sharpened pencil that I just found,
To draw my picture on this brown paper bag,
That was once filled with gin and Ole’ Granddad,
Now, Dream me a dream…Once upon a time,
 I had a real father that I can call mine!


Details | Narrative | |

and again

And again 

I miss the nothingness

And again

I yearn for something 

which isn't there

Never was 

and Never will be

And again

the tear of joy

becomes

a drop of myrth

upon pink lips

Incense of ashes

with golden ends

And again

I wonder

Why I'm still here

Why do i come back

What for ?

I must leave 

I must go

Afar 

from a shelter

which won't

protect me

Distant

from a nest

which 

dripples honey

in empty wells

Wells

too shallow

to get to

And again

I have

to travel

to a place

I do not know

to a horizon

without a line

And again

I'll be the vagabond

not to be searched for

nor to be found.


Details | Narrative | |

Sorrow

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Narrative | |

So many question's

One defiant blissful day, found myself upon myself. Couldn't walk with no-one else,
so many question's flutter apon oneself. "What will I do without you Lord", "what
will I do".  Lord, where could I go, if you hadn't provide roads for me! where
could I go. And Lord, the burdens of life hav-come down on me, lord is it just a
test....Lord-come you say to were you are, and you'll give me rest.
Where will I be without you(?)someday's aren't so grand. Lord if it were not from
you, my foundation will be like walking on quick-sand.  Lord it is said, that money
is the root of all life and domain. Evil peoples luv it more than all the star's in the
sky. One defiant day I ask myself Why Lord why?  On a cold night a short time ago
I was so spiritual lifted that I didn't notice the rain, it came on the hills of my burden's
that I started to cry. I was crying, I was saying, "what will I do without you Lord", and then 
you touch me, now my life will never be the same. Didn't deserve what you did for me
on that hill at calvary.  Lord, you gave your life for me.  "What could I say".
Thank you Lord, thank you, on this blis'ful of day's. Where will I be! were will I Lord(?)
if you didn't SAVE!!.


Details | Narrative | |

Everyone Has A Story

The clouds are now fading,
as the rainbow of life breaks through,
once my tears fell heavy,
but now only a trace of misty blue.

Sometimes we have no reason,
answers can't be found,
but we still stand on our Faith,
praying for stable ground.

Many pathways are given,
that's where common sense can't be blind,
for what we choose today,
can push us forward, or leave us behind.

Years are a blessing,
if we learn from where we've been,
but if we never humble our self,
the clouds will come again.

Everyone has a story,
our journey of tears, and smiles,
we are the keepers of the memories,
and all those lifetime miles.


Details | Narrative | |

The Beauty in Belle

There once was a girl,
Who's name I can't tell.
To spare her the pain,
I'll just call her Belle.

Belle was a beauty
And all the beasts could see,
She was everything in a girlfriend
That they wanted theirs to be.

Belle was so trusting,
Because she was never treated wrong,
But little did she know that
Her innocence wouldn't last long.

She had two friends,
Sasha and Trevor,
And a boyfriend that she thought
She'd love forever.

Her boyfriend, Sam,
And Trevor were friends.
So this fearsome foursome
Had fun to no end.

The youngest of the four
But the smartest, she thought.
But what a friend was
Was not what she was taught.

Trevor and Belle
Would hang out all day.
She would try to be like him
In her own boyish way.

You see, the Trevor I speak of
Was King of the Beasts
And everything he wanted
Was laid at his feet.

And, although curious,
Belle stayed true to Sam
And that made Trevor feel
That he was less of a man.

One day, in a summer
5 years ago,
Belle told me something
I needed to know.

She told me what happened
The day that she ran.
The day that will forever
Be burned in the sand.

She told me what happened
When she looked over her shoulder
And saw him walking towards her
As the room grew colder.

She told me her tears
Were no match to his power.
She told me what made this beast
A coward.

She told me she screamed
And hollered and yelled
But her cries were soon muffled
By his lips, dry and pale.

She told me how she felt
The day that she was bruised.
Never in her life
Had she felt so used!

I asked her why she didn't fight
Or get tough like she does on the field.
She just said I'd never know the 
Weakness that I would feel.

I couldn't help but to cry for her
As she blamed herself.
Belle had always wanted to be
The beauty on everyone's shelf.

"But not like that," she said to me,
"Not with one of my friends."
She let a tear roll down her face
As she spoke of her life's end.

Some may ask why'd she tell me;
"What made her come to you?"
I simply look at them and say,
"You don't know Belle like I do."

I know this story in great detail
And if you look real close you'll see
The tear I shed while writing this
Because...Belle is me.


Details | Narrative | |

You

On my journey,
through this thing,
that we call our life,
I have taken so much for granted,
choosing wrong over right.

I have hurt so many people,
with the choices that I made,
not realizing,
the sacrifice,
they gave.

Then a voice whispered,
in my ear so tenderly,
you are my child,
take my hand,
I offer eternity.

With open eyes,
that once were blind,
and a heart,
so full of love,
I was saved, in the nick of time.

Sin is all around us,
and our Free Will,
shall be untouched,
but God offers forgiveness,
because He loves us that much.

Now my journey,
is headed somewhere,
I'm not spinning in my tracks,
God fixed my broken engine,
I will never go back.

Forward, and upward,
His word is leading me,
as I share,
what He gave,
words for all to see.

Thank You Dear Jesus,
I speak these words so true,
for the cross that You died on,
freed my soul,
so one day, I'd be with You.


Details | Narrative | |

When I Cry

Majestic illusions, dwell in my mind,
my special place that is only mine.

Filled with miracles, given through love,
my little heaven , when life gets tough.

A voyage I take, no one else is here,
I feel no sadness, I feel no fear.

The quietness, and serenity of an ocean voice,
waves coming softly, the air so moist.

Peace all around, no hassle of life,
my safe Haven of refugee, whenever I cry.


Details | Narrative | |

Bubbly Cheerful And Happy

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







  

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

27.04.2012
A-L Andresen


Details | Narrative | |

About Me - p.d.

    "TELL YOU ABOUT ME "
   
Born a full blown Libra to a scale of blind justice
My hair & eyes are brown as can be
I come from a large family
Don't like to be called a princess 
every now and than you still find me climbing up a tree
My daddy paid for my expo ride
My favorite color comes in green
In my hometown I join the women baseball team.
I still own a lot of Mardi beads
I love boxing in my own back yard
I dislike when people think I am very brainy
I no longer care of the Physics of my stare
Funny to think I once knew that the mass and energy,
is related to the famous equation E=mc (tiny) 2....
c how I love the speed of light, gravity do to motion due
m &o are like the m&m of the mass related to the observation of me
LOL : - )  I still have a bit of physics dumb minded skills
Ask me this tomorrow and I will forget every # of square root
Yikes to geometry I want to c light when it comes to v for my velocity,
changing and walking to a straight direction to my four walls of dimension.
That is me not so nutty but a little crazy
With an IQ, to mix and match & play it out.
I love the challenge when I'm standing on my own high horse
Ask me to many questions you will get a beat around the bush
Who really needs to know the truth about being confused
I love to passion out my color pink.
I alway come across to many eye blinks
Get caught up in puzzles that help me think
Yes I love video games Just got done playing "Halo"
M.K. Liu K. is all I got to say/// me play Guitar Hero? hmm? ;-)
My spirit does not let go of the cartoon phase.
When it comes to favorites, I place my son as # 1
How about my favorite niece, she my only true buddy
My favorite all time poet, not many care for his dark eyes Mr E.A. Poe
Emotions to feel it all, why not let it show.
Do not give me coffee, I will over expose my silly charms.
I love my dog, hate his fleas, I keep him away from the birds and the bees
One thing I can not go with out is to solve a mystery when in doubt
I guess sometimes I can't even figure myself out, 
Why some one would say I can be a role model?
This is just a bit about me, ooh yes I forgot to mention 
I love the slamming world of all kinds of poetry.
                
 by:p.d.


Details | Narrative | |

Alone in a Hospital Room - An Alzheimer's Song

Don’t you remember, love, how we danced that first night;
beneath the sun’s rays, toes dipping in the cooling sand, 
to the tune of our favorite song –
with me humming the best I could – 
(I sounded terrible, but you told me I sounded divine, remember?)
while falling all over myself, and your delicate feet; 
and you, trying so hard not to laugh as I made such a fool of myself!
Did you ever think we would go 
from being love-sick teenagers dancing on the beach, 
to a couple of old-timers reminiscing 
about our best years – our long ago days together? 

Honey? 
Sweetheart, please…
If there is any part of that teenage girl 
left within that beautiful head of yours…please; 
please, just look in my eyes as you once did…
look at me, sweetheart…
Don’t you remember? 

My love, do you hear? 
They’re playing our favorite song…



*Inspired by Izzy Gumbo's Solfege Contest
I really hope I did this right! :)


Details | Narrative | |

Memories of You

There was a little boy whom I called “Joshie.”  He had a face like sunshine. He would play outside all the time; never coming in when I said to. He loved to skateboard until the sun went down. I would say “Joshie come in; this is going to get the best of you!”  He would just smile that silly grin and look down. He loved to help the elderly for he felt their pain. He charmed them with his compassion and passion. He loved pen and paper, brush and paint, too. For art was his talent, it was what he loved to do. Awards were plenty, recognition was abound. Once they found Joshie’s work, nothing could turn them around. He loved his dog Oliver, just a little thing at that. Whenever he would lick me, Joshie said he was giving me a bath! Joshie was good with the little ones for he knew how to play. Make believe was his specialty and it was always a good day. Grandma K-K and he were very close; little spats now and then. The best she only wanted, so she gave much attention to him. Jonathan, Joshie’s little brother, was the greatest of all. He did want not to be called Jon-Jon because that made him feel small.  Joshie taught Jonathan to ride, and Jon taught Joshie to skate. It really did not matter for they always stayed up late.  Jingle bells and peppermint sticks; our favorite time of year. Houses lit with colors. What is your favorite pick?  Joshie awoke with the sun, while Jonathan wanted none. So, the stairs down Joshie would go ready to take a peek; deciding to open everything just so we could sleep!  But, they grew older.  And, Joshie moved to the city. He was not well, but he did not dwell, 
He just did not reach out to us. The evils of this world encircled my son and slowly took him in. The devil and all his workers really did a number on him. I reached, and reached stretching my arms long.. I called for help, but no response for he was gone. He was going down a path of destruction, and there was no reason or deduction. I thought I would watch him simmer that the bad habits would slowly evaporate. But, the more I watched, the more he detached and Joshie seemed to dissipate. Merry Christmas, Mommy!..... I love you, Joshie. But, can we go back to bed?.....Only if you take me, ‘cause there is no one I want instead. The last time I said “Goodnight”... they were burying him in the ground. The pain remains; the memory will not fade. I just want him around.


Holly P. Moore
October 2012


Details | Narrative | |

I Remember When

With just a little coaxing I can remember when Excitement ruled my early days when you'd come home again. I was a boy, just seven or eight and you were fully grown. And it was a very special time when "Brother" would come home. You and your special Mildred, The two of you and "Wart"--- You see, I can't remember the three of you apart. Since you were up and married before I was ever born, I can't remember all the things that happened on the farm. But, things I do remember -- I can remember well -- Like the gifts you brought at Christmas none others could excel. – Like the places you would take us, Mildred, me and "Wart" -- We'd race the train to Cameron if that old Ford would start. – Like the times we'd all go riding and it seemed the car would wiggle -- We'd look and see you steal a kiss and me and "Wart" would giggle. Looking back, I realize the young love you both shared Began a life together that God himself prepared. So, no matter where I wander, No matter where I roam --- No thrills can match the ones I knew When "Brother" would come home. Author’s Note: This was written for my oldest brother and his wife, Mildred, on the occasion of their 50th wedding anniversary. During WW2 he held a most critical position with the government in New Mexico. “Brother” was a nickname we used for him and “Wart” was a nickname he gave his oldest son, my nephew, only one year Younger than me. He was an inspiration to everyone he met. His life story is motion picture material.


Details | Narrative | |

Try

We are living in a world filled with Chaos
Constantly searching on, violence taught
In books, education; history
Weapons, weapons, 
I declare my misery
For if not taught these things-
instead compassion, caring, subtle things
teach of peace
A brighter day
A new dawn
for a new age
under the sun
Where blood does not flow;
the effects of someones trigger
the innocent at the end of an angry gun
Can we agree when we disagree
that we are humans indeed?
Yes, We all have good and bad in us
Please tell me, my brother will not die for his difference?
Can we come to an understanding as people?
Not as politicians..
Not as Americans...
But blood, bone and spirit freely moving upon this Earth
for greater good
Could you save the world with one word?
I bet the world would be a better place, if you tried.............


Details | Narrative | |

Eat Pray Love

On the edge 
of the evacuation zone
Miyuki holds her daughter 
tip-toeing in pink sneakers 
her small hands fragile 
blossoms opening
to the man with the beeping wand 

They were outside in the karesansui 
washing and raking 
rocks, when the school 
heaved, convulsed 
then pressed into silence
one-hundred-and-seven 
voices rising inside

So now they wait with strangers
in ordered lines of sorrow 
for bread and drinking water 
as an adolescent, eyes downcast
sees the small pink laces and
offers up his only ration 
of precious onigiri

Hooded and white masked they walk 
three days and bed-less nights toward 
Ishinomaki by the ocean
to family, friends, and home forever 
transformed 

The landscape jumbles unfamiliar
with plastic wreckage 
and automobiles 
detritus flooded in a field
where Japonica once grew
while moon-suited men 
and women gather
albums for the living

And after sunset Miyuki moves 
her little girl away 
from a white-taped blue-bagged 
lifeless form 
toward the humming black-robed Monk, his
prayers for light 
and workers burned
exposed to radiation ten 
thousand times too high 

And in the shadows one old man kneels
beside a fetid pool and scoops  
rice to carry back to neighbours 
moved to higher ground, un-opens 
one last bottled spirit
bows his head and offers
Miyuki and her first and only 
everything  he has 

At last they reach the shelter’s glow
beneath the starless robe of night 
not used to wearing 
shoes indoors
Miyuki helps her daughter fold
sheets of painful news into
an origami box to hold
her last and only pair

And in the morning as they face
the stretch of road for home 
to unknown love and losses there 
they turn and gaze toward the east 
awaiting still 
spring’s warming breeze 
to rise with brilliant red once more
new light of wondrous dawn 


      ~~~~~~~~~

'karesansui' is a Japanese rock garden or 'dry landscape'.  Rocks are often washed.
'onigiri' is the emergency rice being distributed to survivors in Japan.
'Japonica' is a type of (short-grained) Japanese rice.



for Debbie Guzzie's contest, 'Tribute to Japan'

by ~Soulfire~ 

 


Details | Narrative | |

Adult Child of an Alcoholic

Your face and rotting teeth and heavy jowls
         and sunken breasts with bulging waist and
         wooden legs
         betray
Your image of laughter, lovemaking, seeking
         bourbon tweaked philosophies
         of life begins
         at  forty.
The hands that tremble as you tilt
         the glass that begins another
         day of
Tirade thoughts, empty lies, money spent on
         lipstick coated leeches who prey on
         your diminishing
         breath.

Through these wintry days pass faces long past
         into what was then
              while with the coming spring ...
                       at last!  at last!
One can remember
         and want no more 
              what could never be:
                      a Mother.


Details | Narrative | |

The Empty Tissue Box

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

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

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

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


April 14, 2013


Details | Narrative | |

A Memorable Person

On a train going south on business
For what seemed an eternity,
I chanced upon a memorable man
Who changed the path of my destiny

He was itinerant to look at
With tatty coat and shabby shoes,
An unshaven face, his hair unkempt
And string, as a belt on his ‘trews’

He boarded the train, peoples heads dropped
For fear that his gaze they’d meet
He walked down the aisle, disappointed,
As no-one would give up a seat

I offered the seat beside me
He thanked me for making the space
I replied with a sincere ‘you’re welcome’
And a smile warmed his weathered face

He asked me about my journey
And I asked of his in return
I felt in my heart, that by talking to him
There was much about life I could learn

I bought us both refreshments
As he told of his life’s history,
Once in a while I would interject
With a small anecdote about me

Behind the shabby persona,
Was a man of intelligent mind
He’d lived on the edge in finance,
Made his fortune, left it behind

As his bank account grew he’d lost everything
His family, his friends, his wife
He’d found out, too late, and at great cost
That there was so much more to life

‘You have to stop and smell the roses,
Make some time for those you hold dear’
And as he spoke, down his rugged cheek
I saw the track of a small, salty tear
As we reached the end of our journey
He clasped my hand at our time to part,
He thanked me for my company
And told me I had a good heart

When I got to my lonely hotel room,
I called my daughters on the phone
And told them ‘we’ll be together soon
I’m taking some time off when I get home.’

Sometimes it takes a chance meeting
To give your whole life a shake
I felt I had met my ‘Hermes’
And now had decisions to make

When I got home, I made a decision
The missed years with my girls I’d amend,
My life took a different direction
All down to my indigent friend

You can’t judge a man on appearance
But if you look in their eyes you can,
I knew in the instant I gave up the seat
I had met a remarkable man.


Details | Narrative | |

BUYING LIFE

  BUYING LIFE                                              

                                                   
This is how 
She got the job
To pay the rent
That man did drink
The rent to house
To house the kids
That man did want
The kids 
That cried
Throughout the night 

This is how 
She crashed the car
To get to job
To help the man
The man who drank
To pay the rent
To house the kids 
That man did want
The kids
 That cried 
Throughout the night

This is how
The babe was born
Before its time
When car did crash
To get to job
To help the man
The man that drank
To pay the rent
To house the kids
That man did want
The kids 
That cried
Throughout the night

This is how
The babe 
Did die
Before its time
From crash in car
To get to job
To help the man
Who drank the rent
To house the babes 
The man did want
The babes 
That cried
Throughout the night

This is how
She packed the kids
To leave the man
That drank the rent
The rent to house
To house the kids
That man did want
The kids
 That cried
Throughout the night

This is how
She lived in peace
Without a man
And got a job
And bought a house
To house the babes
That she did want
The babes
That
Slept
Throughout 
The 
Night. 


Victoria Anderson-Throop


Details | Narrative | |

Old Pet

 I remember a riding pony I had as a lad which was born blind. A filly she was born during an 
Arkansas blizzard and we did not know that she was blind at first for we kept our horses in our 
barn for several days because of the winter storm. We all had fallen in love with her by the time 
we learned she was blind and could not bear to put her down. I remember training her to ride 
after she was mature enough and I named her “Pet” for she was my riding pony.
 
 We spent many happy days together riding inside the green pastures. 
I remember she never refused to let me ride her even the first time. And she learned very 
quickly to respond to my voice and she trusted in every command that I gave her. 
I would say, “easy Pet” when we would come to rough terrain or an eroded ditch in the 
pasture. She would slow to a careful walk, in response to my voice.
 
 I would ride her down into the lower part of the pasture to the creek in hottest part of the day. 
Pet could of course smell the water and when she would come near the bank of the creek I 
would again say, “easy Pet” and she would respond by slowing to a snail’s pace down the steep 
bank. 

 Pet would wade out about belly depth into the water where she would drink her fill of the cool 
clear water. And I would use her back as a diving board launch and swim to my heart’s delight. 
After she was through drinking I would climb on her back again and give her head to her and 
she would trot to the barn where she knew I would give her treats, such as carrots, apples, 
sugar cubes and so on. 

 I remember I never did have the heart to make her run full speed as 
I supposed that her blindness was burden enough in her life for her to bear. 
It is said of truth that one gets to keep in heaven those things of this life that were loved sufficiently. 
I know that my beloved Pet shall be my precious playmate again in the heavenly ethereal of the Spirit.

 Pet lives on even now in the depths of my childhood memories. Her loving low neighs as she 
approached me by smell, and her nuzzles into my pocket for the sugar cubes she knew would 
always be there for her. In heaven I shall see my Pet again, and this time she will see me, 
maybe for the first time.    

For and in honor of Carol Brown
and Contest.


Details | Narrative | |

Lunch With The Girls

.                           "Listen first,.....to 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


Details | Narrative | |

Bottled Up

Summer of '99

How ironic. There I was, waking to a magnificent kaleidoscopic sky 
and I had no one to share it with. I thought you'd be there but I knew 
that it was too good to have lasted. It was too perfect--
you were too perfect, all the way down to your cheesy pick up
line... "Steamy Summer Love" indeed...

But what is steam anyway? I guess the love that we shared
that summer literally evaporated. All at the heat of the moment.
How cliched. But it sure burned me, now I realize how true it is 
that steam is way much hotter than boiling water. 
Was it all a dream? I tend to think so, but then 
I finger the bracelet around my wrist, 
and realize it was true after all.
 Breath on breath. Skin to skin. Heartbeat to heartbeat.
Soul to soul? I thought so.

I've come back here, to this same spot where we were a year ago,
just for me to let go.
 Literally bottling up everything... 
this write goes in this bottle, as well as some sand here 
and your joke of a bracelet.
I'm tossing this out to sea, because that's where it belongs--
those memories to be swallowed up. 
Passion purged 
by angry waves...

Was it a fantasy? Maybe, but then I hold him close to me
and realize it wasn't. I named him Nicholas, you know.
See, I remembered your name.


---------****-------------------------****-------------------------------

Summer of 2008

I've come back to this place to mull over something rotten
 I did a decade ago. And remember-- that gorgeous face, 
those mesmerizing eyes and smile... that amazing spirit. 
And hit myself on why I was such a fool. 

Then I see this bottle, and in it is some sort of letter, 
and what is this? A bracelet? An all too familiar one--
holding it in my palm, I get a chill not brought on by the sea breeze.
Reading the note, I burn up, ashen.
I then weep till my eyes and soul feel like dying.

I have a son.
and her name has escaped my memory. 



** July 18 2010r06262012


Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

The Wedding

Wedding Night in Raqqa

 

 

Cyclonic violet vision

 

Etheral and immortal

 

She swirls her sand baked torso.

 

Evoking the initial collision of primordial seed,

 

Swathed in gossamer purple veils,

 

Writhing to the stomping and clapping

 

Of jeweled ankles

 

And henna stained hands.

 

The tribes have united for my wedding to their son.

 

I ,foreign and naive, swoon to the power

 

Of ancient rhythm and verse,

 

Ripe, fertile gestures,

 

Pregnant with  throbbing pulses

 

And scattered beats of flailing arms,

 

Bleating tongues, spinning robes.

 

A cacophony of incessant chant rose from the dancing women,

 

Growning louder, feverish in their pleasure

 

And the nearness of release.

 

I join in the dancing.

 

They swath me in voiles and lead me to the center

 

I dance, and I succumb to my wedding night in Raqqa.



Details | Narrative | |

Four Hours of Eternity - 3

I woke to the sound of sizzling bacon, the aroma of fresh baked Muffins and my Beautiful Lenore in her bright green Teddy. "Nubbies", I said, "what time is it." Lenore said" for You it is 3:30P.M., June 27th, 2013. You are in the O.R. at Dartmouth Hospital. For me it is time to bring YOU to Eternity for a short time."What are You talking about; Baby." I died last night before we had time to go to the Bridal Suite. I do not want You to go through that pain again. Please come with me to the railing on the starboard side of the ship."Below the shuffle board deck?""Nubbies, just
trust me." As we walked outside, I noticed there was no air,no breeze, no sea lapping against the side of the boat, the sun seemed pasted in the sky. Where is Mom and Dad;where's my Ma, Where is everybody? Harry we are frozen in time, for last night and today; never happened for you. I asked the Lord to give us this time together. I was 3 months pregnant when I said "I DO" I want you to see JoAnne Naomi Grow up. Now
 Full Moonlight Stand on the railing with me and when I say 3; Jump. 1, 2, 3. You would think we would plummet into the Caribbean Sea, but we splashed into the Full Moon. The sun was warm,the birds sat on my shoulders, singing a song of Life Forever. The Peace, Serenity and Tranquility was unearthly. I then saw GOD and the Son of Salvation hugged me and in a Mezmerizing Voice said Welcome Home.
                                   To be Continued 
I want to apologize to those of YOU who are punctuationally  bound to Poetry I do not know how to punctuate people talking. I know I'm suppose  to use "" marks Sorry I LOVE YOU ALWAYS and FOREVER YOUR Liege...Harry


Details | Narrative | |

Climbing Levels Of Spiritual Enlightenment

learning from the past turning the dark into light grasping a lesson from our Father climbing levels of enlightenment The Almighty presents us with lessons each and everyday it is our job to acknowledge the lessons and grow from them Although presented in different ways we all go through the same lessons in life I call it "climbing levels of spiritual enlightenment" if you grasp the lesson presented and live by that lesson you will begin your climb if you fail to live by that lesson you will tumble back down over and over hence the lessons will be presented to you once again until you achieve them The lessons are not always pleasant as the flesh cries out in pain as I climb and fall throughout my life the agony is soon replace with delight a little pain to receive a blessing from our King What appears to be a failure or a loss with no way out is simply a hidden blessing , a gift from our King...... It's time to start climbing!!! lets grow strong..........


Details | Narrative | |

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 
seen.

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.


Details | Narrative | |

What Matters Most



I'm not in competition with anyone I have no wish to play the game Or of being better than anyone I am just trying to be better Than the person I was yesterday If I can accomplish that goal My life has been a great success Fame and fortune are fleeting What's important when your time is up Is the kind of person your were Not the dollars in your bank account But how many lives you affected In a positive manner How many people you made smile With those silly bits of nonsense Those moments are worth All the wealth one can garner In a whole entire lifetime When that final day arrives You'll be remembered for your humility Your kindness and your positive nature In a world that needs it oh so badly No one is beyond reproach But I sincerely hope I'll be remembered As a caring loving person Who enjoyed my life to the fullest © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

Do The Math

On the banks of a river under the nest of a dove
He looked into the eyes of the girl that he loved

She was simply as beautiful as beautiful could be
He was bitter as the salt, which came from the sea

But something about him she could not resist
Perhaps it was the tender way that he kissed

They were truly as happy as two kids could be
Sitting there on bank under the shade of the tree

Sharing all of their dreams and all of their hearts
Not knowing their parents would soon tear them apart

She told him if I can’t have you no man will have me
Those words that she spoke were true as could be

She turned to God and he turned to dope
I guess each of them needed something to cope

She became a Nun a beautiful heavenly flower
He became a convict with a shot callers power

Throughout their lives as the story is told
Each held the other more valuable then gold

Friends to the end regardless of the path
Its all very simple if you just do the math


Written for Elaine's contest


Details | Narrative | |

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.  


Details | Narrative | |

The True Meaning Of Life



In the overall scheme of things What matters most in life It's the love of another human being The total commitment between two hearts That indescribable connection When you recognize that someone is oh so very special Of all the people we rub elbows with During our too short a time on earth One who stands out head and shoulders above the rest One to share our most intimate dreams with Almost as if we two are one When we meet that person The fire between the two of us rages The signs are unmistakable They totally consumes us To the point where nothing else seems important Only the deep love of another soul To know this love is to know the true meaning of life © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

Summer Scent

Summer scent is the smell of freedom
where we can escape the flavor of boredom
so we plan to have our vacation on the beach
where we can relax and fresh air is within our reach

The warm wind tenderly embraced my spirit
I felt excited on this first visit
on an island where refugees can find paradise
an island where spending time is wise

The dulcet breeze gently kisses lush green trees
and the mirthful sun smiles over the vast seas 
Where surfers play with gigantic waves
and are not certain on what road it paves

The fluffy clouds are smoothly sailing 
the birds are singing and harmoniously dancing
There are butterflies that are colorful in hue
like enchanted fairies changing colors from pink to blue

I need my sun block, it's time for swimming
the tables are full because later we're all eating
Ladies are smiling to many cool surfer dudes
Children are hungry seeing delicious exotic foods

I picked a shell that whispered peacefully in my ears
and we built castles that we fancied over the years
out of the small grains of white sands
and all you need is helping hands

God was really great in creating splendid wonders
that were loved by all especially the nature lovers
There are numerous oceans that are aquamarine
and abundant trees and grasses that are green

The brother sun was slowly hiding
because the sister moon was coming
I guess it was our time to pack
but there will come a time for us to go back

Go back to a place of leisure and freedom
where you'll not taste the flavor of boredom
It would be hard for us to say goodbye
because truly we will come back and say Hi!


Details | Narrative | |

A Country Of Addictions

In a country of addictions,
where we are trapped,
trying to find daylight,
and a safe way out.

Many are forgotten,
they are sent away,
when a little compassion,
could pave a new way.

Some can be saved,
by an outstretched hand,
if someone believes,
they can.

Addictions can manifest,
in many ways,
drugs, alcohol, greed,
some bad choices made.

We can't play politics,
with peoples lives,
provide them the tools,
so they can fly.

The time is now,
to turn things around,
give them our voice,
provide a safe ground.

This is my prayer,
may God soften our hearts,
give us understanding,
this is where rehab starts.


Details | Narrative | |

"Evil Twin"

"Spiritual Narrative"

After life began,  appeared “Evil Twin” mind’s obvious sin
‘Evil’  naught of nothing, using the power of love’s “something”
Giving rise to evil self, far to left, image of self
Love created, but mind deviated, it’s love abated

Love’s logic created Soul, but I am so bold, left heart’s gold
Lost in a wilderness mind, became the Soul of evil twin
Lost in it’s philosophies, mind’s logic of complexities
Has philosophically debated, Love that created

Saying, ‘how can this Love be the reality of me
I shall exalt above, this creation of heaven’s Love’
But crucifixion of mind regains Love’s self in time
As the mind is refined, Soul is re-aligned, with Love’s vine

Man’s discoveries, pieces of the recoveries, of true self
As pieces of the mind crucified, must learn to abide
From Love light’s truth  cannot hide, reality has not lied
Being one with reality, God true technicality
 
Evil self is naught, except, in a mind of worldly thoughts
Live of your mind if your will, create life’s bitter pill
Your bitter pill will not spill, into Sacred Heart’s will
This proverb is proverbial,  `Tis non swerve able

Within one’s love, one must abide, for on death’s cross it was tried
Also mind must abide, for on the cross was proven it lied
Death and life was set before, human mind to explore
To show evil twin, death’s sin, just no way for death to win

Make a tree good or make a tree evil, for is by man’s choice
Lie on God if your will,   lie `Tis your own bitter pill’
`Tis by your own choice, by your own voice, `Good or Evil’
Death failed, life’s tree stands still, on yonder hill, alive and well

12-25-09 johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com


Details | Narrative | |

Life's Void

On the edge of the void, that's where we must be.
Somewhere between the thrill of taking your life into your own hands and the cold 
realisation that you are finally in control of your own destiny is where you learn to 
really live.
It is not the same for you and I, each of us must find our own void and peer 
carefully over the edge, for we are human and we must look, or wither away, but to 
carelessly leap into the void would surely mean destruction.
So we tread the fine line of life and hope that one day we shall learn to fly and bask 
in the glory of that we can only watch from a distance.


Details | Narrative | |

A Dark Man

         This piece is dedicated with love to J.E. Gauthier, Jr. Active addict and father. 
Only by the grace of God may he be saved from the error of his ways.

 For years a dark man walked through a seemingly revolving door
 Steadily leaving his wife and kids as he searched for something more
 Occasionally calling home every now and again
 In his voice they could hear the taint of black sin
 
 Back then life on the road meant drugs money and women far as the eye could see
 He said he'd never look back 'cuz he was born free
 
 Life grew emptier as he grew older
 The drugs grew heavier as his heart grew colder
 His four children left behind with no place to call home
 From day one they made it in this world alone
 
  For years a dark man walked through a seemingly revolving door
 Steadily leaving his wife and kids as he searched for something more
 Occasionally calling home every now and again
 In his voice they could hear the taint of black sin

 Every few years he'd arrive unannounced offering money and a hug
 All while using the garage to hide his drug
 His spitting image could smell his guilt a mile away
 She rolled her gloomy blue eyes in unison with every false word he had to say

 Today his girls are grown raising girls of thier own
 December came and went
 February turned to Lent
 On a stormy midnight he still turns to his blue eyed spitting image
 As the clouds clear she is again lost in the scrimmage

 She lies awake with a bottle of wine in hand
 On her mind weighs a dark man
 His ways make him lonely and lost
 Yet to her death she will fight for him at all costs

  For years a dark man walked through a seemingly revolving door
 Steadily leaving his wife and kids as he searched for something more
 Occasionally calling home every now and again
 In his voice they could hear the taint of black sin


Details | Narrative | |

America, Why Did You Stray?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Narrative | |

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
stares.

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.


Details | Narrative | |

Seasons of Life

As spring brings life to all that sleep
Spirit, body and mind renew
Joy reflects in bursts of blossoms
Heralding new birth to God’s creation
As man and nature journey as one
In a dance of celebration
Hope reborn in all that live

As the summer of life screeches by
Visitors invited, welcome to share
Love, laughter, living and dying
Soon comes bittersweet joy of liberation
Knocking, bearing gift of freedom
As mountains rise along the way

As the autumn of life drifts in
The lights of my eyes will grow dim
Yet the hummingbird still sings
Joy of my vision, my rock
Through light of day or darkest night
Like a child I trust, I sleep

As the winter of life arrives
When my tresses turn white as snow
With the sound of my voice just a whisper
Though shallow breath, my prayers ascend
To the joy of my salvation
Just beyond invisible gates
I will in quiet adoration kneel


Note:  Written 9/17/09
          By Audrey Carey
          Entry for Constance La France's "Why Oh Why" Contest


Details | Narrative | |

Iowas Child

Gone are the fields of winter white
soon to be replaced by hues of greens and yellows,
in the interim, fields of barren brown and dirty gold
turned, to breathe warm air from departed winter chill

Plumes of black and gray from mans machine
kneading the back of Mother Earths desire,
before impregnating her with the many seeds 
that will produce offspring to quench mans many needs

oh, how lonesome she looks, so alone
holding yet to some remnants of children past,
left only to cradle her dead, left by man
yearning to suckle new life, as only a Mother can

Above, from the heavens, Father prepares
to germinate those so many seeds,
with life sustaining necessities only he is allowed
sunlight and life giving rain, loosened from the clouds

within days Mother is impregnated
she can feel the multitudes of organic life,
moving within her womb, yearning,growing, needing
the escape, to be warmed and nourished by the Sun

Minutes turn to hours, hours to days
suddenly weeks pass,and yet another life,
giving rain, descends from guilded clouds
arms and fingers, of her children, open, sustained

nearing the end of a warm and wonderful summer
it is time for Fathers other children,
to reap what he has sewn
time for Mother Earth to let her children go

My, how they have grown, tall,lush and full
of the fruit they were meant to bear,
to provide nourishment for the masses of seeds
grown to maturity, in need from the father

Again, the gray black plumes of mans machine
come to life, they move through her fields,
her children, like a predator among prey
until, she is left again, with remnants of children past

Soon she will be blanketed again in winter white
gone will be the warm breath of life,
her children taken from her, she is again barren
only to be betrothed to a promise of new life.


I wrote this on a day trip to Illinois from Iowa across wide open farm land.

                      God Bless....Taz


Details | Narrative | |

STARBUCKS AND COOKIE

STARBUCKS AND COOKIE

I sit in Barnes and Noble
Looking at the figure-display over the snack bar
Oh how out-of-place    in time    they look
Twain
Shaw
Hardy
Dickinson
Hemingway
Have read them all
Out of time
The artist has caught them from middle-to-old age
Twain    the Mississippi observer
            older than the river
                              that flame-gray hair
                                        nose-slipping specs
                                                                      cigar
Shaw    the same snowy mass
                                      but older than creation
                                             he contemplates the infinite
Hardy    stirs a cup of tea
                       has just exclaimed
                           “Wha! Pshaw!
                                  Jude isn’t as sad as that.”
Emily?
         Emily sits for an artist
             she has a sweater tied round her neck-
                      those drooping    slender shoulders
                         always protected
                                       but from what no one knows
Hemingway
    what’s to say?
        he be da man
            smokes his pipe
                  thinking about the slaughter of ‘brave bulls’
     “Good fight!” says Ernie
                    assigning some sort of ludicrous intelligence 
There are several more             
But I’ll leave them in their mothballs

The question arises
    at least in my mind arises
Given their various outlook
    would they earn a high place in today’s world?
I doubt it
None of them play guitar    or saxophone
The drummer they moved to had an unbelievable              
                                                                     subtleness
I imagine they could get through a work
    without need for a dripping    drooling bedroom scene
And then why watch anyone use the lavatory?
They obviously didn’t know how to burn film
                                                didn’t need to burn time
Call it imagination
Call it intelligence
Call it sanity!


Details | Narrative | |

A Blind Sunset

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Details | Narrative | |

Tangled Webs

Oh, what tangled webs we’re willing to weave,
When from our good senses we take leave,
Ignoring the Higher power.

With reckless abandon and lavish expenses,
We drink bitter dregs sin’s cup dispenses,
For sensual pleasures of the hour.

We pay for the pleasures we pursue,
For a measure of mirth, exciting and new.
“Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die!”

Why believe a lie from history cast
Depriving us of life with future vast;
Weaving tangled webs, empty and dry?
Christ is the answer. Give Him a try.

Oh what a tangled web we weave, 
when first we practice to deceive.—Sir Walter Scott



Details | Narrative | |

On Heaven's Doorway

I arrived at heaven’s doorway and found my friend, Walter, sitting on the front steps.  Walter had passed years before me.  I was surprised to see him still waiting in front of heaven’s gate.  Walter was, without doubt, the nicest, humblest, most religious person I knew during my days on earth.  How in the world could Walter be kept from entering into heaven?  If there was anyone who deserved immediate entry into heaven, it was Walter.

He looked so sad and forlorn.  I was so angry at God for denying this good man entry into his kingdom.

“Walter,” I pleaded, “why are you sitting out here on the steps to heaven?  Please do not tell me you have been denied entry.”

“No,” Walter replied.  “They have a place for me.  But I am torn.”

“TORN,” I screamed.  “Torn over what?  You lived the closest thing to a perfect life that I can imagine.  You took care of the sick, the wretched and the poor.  You never spoke ill of a single person and you shared all the goodness shone upon you with everyone you knew.  What is it that has you so torn?”

“Well,” Walter bemoaned, “that’s just it.  I was taught to live my life in such a way as to relieve the pain borne by my brothers.  I was taught to share my wealth and happiness with those less fortunate.  I was taught to love and care for my enemy.”

“And you did that without fault, my friend. So, what is your dilemma?”

“My dilemma is: why should I stop now?  How can I possibly enter a paradise of everlasting joy and happiness when my brothers and sisters are suffering in hell?  If I am the man that I pretend to be, I must refuse entry into God's kingdom and try to make hell a little more bearable for my brothers and sisters down below.  I must go down there and mop the brow of those sinners whom I still love and still care for.  I simply cannot accept this reward of everlasting light.  I did not live my life the way I did for this reward – I lived it for the simple reward of doing what is right.”

I sat down next to Walter and took hold of his hand.

“You are a good man, Walter”, I said.  “Come on, we are going to hell … that’s probably where I was headed anyway.  Grab your handkerchief; we are going to need it.  I am sure there are plenty of brows to mop.”

Walter’s face lit up with the loving smile I found comfort in so many times on earth.

On our journey away from heaven’s door, Walter turned and said, “Leave the light on God, we will be back when our job is done in hell.”

He is a good man.


Details | Narrative | |

At the End of Dr Ram s Words

Yesterday I caught the drift of a word
Almost at the end of Dr. Ram?s words
That I had it all, three in one, with music and no regrets
Stirred my mind and made me think
What regret really means

I suppose Regret is the truant of history
Often sneaking out of the schoolroom of the past to torment present time
...seeking a meek heart to mess with
But time has taught me to be wise
Hence I now know how to turn Regret into a good child
The secret is in offering him the candy of time

The present is just what it means
A present to be justly cherished
If I share it?s gift with the regrets of the past 
Sure, Regret will turn into a good child
And Regret?s deeds will fill my heart with pride

The power is in time
Each a new opportunity eager to be of service 
As soon as yesterday bids bye, today arises to take its place in haste
And it brings in its wake 
...the promise of forgiveness, reconciliation and reconstruction
In each day I find a newer canvas to repaint my dreams
And since yesterday I tried another style and failed
Today I?m that bit wiser
So I will try again with better skill...
To redraw the masterpiece of a life I dream in colours so beautifully vivid

So yes Dr. Ram,
Thanks-a-ram for reminding me how lucky I am
I owe it all to time
For teaching me how to turn Regret into a better child
Filled with lessons which I study 
Tomorrow in my life there?ll be less like his kind

Hey Doc! Thanx-an-awesome-lot 4 the kind words u post of my poems! 
This is especially 4 u!


Details | Narrative | |

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 
stale.
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.


Details | Narrative | |

The Wild, Wild West

Back in time,
in the wild, wild west,
a person had to stand,
to a face to face test.

If someone robbed you,
or stole your horse,
then to the street,
settled out of court.

Whomever drew first,
whether standing or not,
the people would scream,
he deserved what he got.

The sheriff held order,
in his little town,
and if one didn't obey,
he would lock them down.

Breaking in a home,
one better think twice,
or be willing to take,
whatever he got.

Then things progressed,
more laws were made,
and a peacemaker's life,
began to fade.

Politicians took over,
they had a plan,
and over the years,
we still don't understand.


Details | Narrative | |

Beneath A Cold Jeweled Sky

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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


Details | Narrative | |

Inscrutable Being

'Twas a timeless and starless era of dense obscurity.
But there! a self-perpetuating luminary--the deity:
Being of old, the first around.
No one knows his age... those numbers abound.
His name subdivides into many.
He can be called by any.
This entity subsisted when nothingness was.
Those infallible feet trod elsewhere made not of mass.
Thunderous lighting flashes he emitted amongst the black void--
the boundless space which was devoid
of the natural lamps now in the heavens--
That sky, base of his majestic havens.
This infinite Universe...his realm,
and it's inhabitants, for ever whelm.
The GOD nearest ministers--Angels, Seraphs, and Cherubim
execute his will verbatim.
These celestial citizens reflect the Omnipotent's refulgency
which allows their physiognomies to remain in juvenescence,
'cause they are the Patriarch's offspring--
Spawns of the King of Kings.
The Matrix of Life molded them and respired in those nostrils immortality.
Personal witnesses are they of his unique ability
as the Creator and Sovereign,
whom decievest not, nor feign.
Thier kindled eyes contemplates the magnificent Physique of Jewel--
The Source of Life which radiates life's fuel--
The Energy animating all living creatures
from since the moment he formed their features.
That Glory Supreme reverberates an elegant nimbus with spectrum,
thereof, the resemblance of his glow pierces the translucent city of gold and gems and 
electrum.
O' even earth and its plenitude are his monuments--
Planet rich with elemental ornaments.
'Tis him and he alone...the Genesis of all.
So praise and gratitude to the most colossal!




Details | Narrative | |

A Long Cold-Chill

I watched the penguins woddle along,
On cold-hard ice; where they belong.

From water to land, they scurried around,
Flapping their feet on frozen ground.

Herds of them were standing still,
Settling down to a long cold chill.

Mother passes her egg to father carefully;
Knowing he'll care for it, so, naturally.

He'll protect it from the harsh-cold nights,
In a warm snug pouch away from sight.

For mother must find many fish to catch,
While father stays until it is hatched.

Long-dark days of Winter will change to Fall,
Returning mother, with, her familiar call.

Such a sweet sound for father's ear,
Ending another, long-cold Winter year.

Giving father penguin a much needed break,
For their chick is born and fully awake.

With such a huge urge to quickly eat,
Yes, many tasty meals of fresh, fish-meat.


Details | Narrative | |

As The Clock Ticks On

Looking back on the winters of my life,
I realize now, each brought a new light.

Though at the time my eyes did not see,
the wisdom, God was planting in me.

Certain seasons, bring more rain,
and surely, some bring more pain.

As the clock ticks on, taking us through,
for it stands still for no one, this is true.

Change is for certain, as the harsh winds blow,
making us stronger, from that winter's snow.

We pick up the pieces, and our journey goes on,
another chapter finished, then another season born.

An endless cycle are the seasons of life,
and all will be remembered, for wisdom brings new light.





Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

The Old Rugged Cross Suffered The Worlds Greatest Loss

 

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


Details | Narrative | |

the crucible savant

The crucible savant..    by Steven Hudson
(Crucible: A place or situation in which concentrated forces interact to cause or influence  change or development.
  Savant:  a person of learning…)

Through sleepless, hopeless nights
With liquor on breath and dull head
Alone and cold in lay,
We made our passage to manhood,
Many days in suffer and want
Through tears and hardness of heart,
With sorrow for cellmates
In a prison self-made,
Rather hunger and want 
Then submission to those above,
Wild wanderlust thrust us into darkness
Uncertainty of survival, without care,
Knowing no other way,
We strove to understand the deeds done to us in violence,
Shiver, quake, lie awake, as hopelessness covered us like a blanket,
Thieves and murderers as strange bedfellows,
Ladies of the night for use and forgotten,
Laws of the land forsaken, 
In desperate want, Never knowing if we’d  awaken,
Making our way through this world
Boys living as men,
We threw the line, heaved and toiled
In bright sun and fear,
With hands and feet against the frigid snow,
We lived beyond the breaking,
Many before us have sought their manhood,
While others have had it thrust upon them,
Much has been learned, much has been taught
By the flames and the fire, the crucible savant,
It has been our right of passage
Through bloodstained cloth and scars,
The fathers who came before us, live forever in the Arms,
Painted grey, now I see, the path laid out for me,
By the Infinite Son, whose Glory was won,
Making the savant, a reflection of Thee..


Details | Narrative | |

The Benefits of Old Age

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


Details | Narrative | |

1-15-10 look into my eyes

i caught your eyes on me. dont bother to look away. ive already noticed. i wish i was 
brave enough to stare back. it doesnt bother me, just makes me curious. what are you 
thinking? or are you just observing? try to figure me out. but you wont. because youve 
only met the imposter. you havent stopped to look into my eyes.


Details | Narrative | |

A Slight Return

Darkness is my life that apears in
light.
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
hand.

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. 
Gonzo.


Details | Narrative | |

Potawatomi's Beginning...

The story I have to tell- was told long ago to me, 
About the creation of the Potawatomi Nation; 
In the beginning the Creator made Anishabe, 
And the Creator told Anishabe to name all of his creations,
 Anishabe set out with a wolf, his companion, 
And he went around naming everything; 
From the mountains and the canyons, 
To the Summer and the Spring; 
He became lonely realizing, he alone had no mate,
 And as he traveled everywhere searching, 
He traveled towards the Great Lakes;
 And there he heard a woman singing, 
Her song was a thing of beauty, 
About the home she was making for them;
 Anishabe crossed the lake to meet her, finally, 
The daughter of the Firekeeper-And quite a gem 
Their’s was the first unity bond, It is where life came from; 
Of each other they were inordinately fond;
 Their union gave life to four sons,
 Each of their sons went a different way, 
The First son traveled North, it’s color is White, henceforth;  
Given the first gift of the Creator-sweet grass-braided in a bouquet, 
He married the daughter of the Spirit of the North; 
The second sun traveled East, into the rising sun, 
He learned that fire is the essence of life; 
He was given the second gift-herbs to speak with the One,
East is the color Yellow, East’s daughter became his wife; 
The third son traveled South, known as “The Way of The Woman”, 
The way of seeds and all that give life, the color of South is Red; 
He was given the gift of cedar-to purify and prepare food for his clan 
And to the daughter of the Spirit of the South he was wed.
 The last son traveled west, towards the mountain highlands, 
He learned that the setting sun represents the circle of life; 
Black is the color of West-Sage was the gift for his hands,
 Married to the Spirit of the West’s daughter, Black stands for strife. 
This is the story of the Creator, That my Grandmother told to me,
 How my culture was started, And what our banner means.

~I've been holding on to this a while-Hope you enjoy the beginning of my culture~

~3rd Place in the "Broad Horizons" Contest by Deborah Guzzi~


Details | Narrative | |

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


Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

Time

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Narrative | |

Until

I'm holding your letters, here in my hand 
Each word is wrapped in cursive swirls
Of trembling, eloquent, handwriting...

You shared your life with me...

A gift of yourself,  like little grains of sparkling sand...
Slipping through my open fingers
But, it's only now.... that I fully understand...

They were small chapters, and stories....detailed accounts...
         of a picture you framed, 
                      a flower you grew, a morning of mauve,...
                             a dress you made, a puzzle you solved...
                                      or the rains that quickly came, then disappeared...

A little life, a simple day, so quickly came, and left....through fading years....

Snippets of a life that seemed unremarkable, too easily dismissed

Until you were gone.
  Until I missed you...
      Until I began to realize 
                  that I wouldn't have a second chance...
                      another day,  to pay closer attention, ...
                                      to ask more questions,...to show more interest
                                          to look deeper into your eyes,
                                                    those eyes of experience, clarity...
                                                        kindness and charity...
                                                         so filled with the wisdom of age
                                                            ....before the page of love had closed....

Your caring, ...your patience,...your understanding....
That in my neglectful ways,
                      I thought would always be....

These letters I hold in my hand,
            ending with words of love.....
                          that perhaps, I didn't really deserve

                                That only now,  I've truly heard....





By Carrie Richards

______________________________________


Details | Narrative | |

Don' Wanna Bee ‘Roun Ewe Noh Moh

Don’ wanna bee roun ewe noh moh.
Don’ wanna see da trajuhdee dats heded,
At yah doh.
Ewe wuz vary ahful tah mi,
God’s chile. Eye didden doyah nuttin.
’
Yah ‘sposed,  tah bee ah liter rite?
Butt ya playin’ roun  wit da won,
Whooz comin’ bak leyek ah,
Theef en dah nite.

Win yah ain’t treet mi rite,
Yah naglect’d dah powah uv God.
Cuz onlee wit Him ah wuz,
Ovalookin’ wat ewe wuz doin’,
Ta mi fah da harvest ,
Of God’s chirren bein’ edumacated,
Mi yah outrite hated.

Butt dats awrite God-n-eye,
Gon’ win dis feyght.
Ah wheel hav’ victuree cuz ah,
Choze ta spread luv butt ewe,
Choze ta spread mizuhree.

Don’ wanna bee roun ewe noh moh.
Don’ wanna see da trajuhdee dats heded,
At yah doh.
Ewe ramyned mi uv ol’Pharoah,
Hoo woodn’t lett God’s pipahs goh.
Ah didden wanna fase yah awl dose
Otha daze.

Butt God help’d mi leyek God help’d,
Moses speek up tah ol’Pharoah.
God tole Moses tah lett mah pipahs goh.
God telling mi ta tale yah phake  Pharoah
Tah lett mi chirren’s goh.

Ah noh ah hatta bee roun ewe sum moh.
Butt itell bee worfwile, 
Cuz God wantz freedom,
Fah ebbery chile.
Yah hut mi fah alil wile,
Butt we’ll bee at da prahmased lan’,
An out uv yah Egypt.
Cuz fah awl uv uz ta prospa,
Iz God’s plan.

Ansoon we won’ be roun ewe no moh.
Wheel nat laugh leyek yah didaht mi.
Win trajudee nocks aht yah doh.
Wheel helpyah cuz God, 
Wantz uz awl tah bee free.
Frum dah phake phone’ powah,
Uv da enumee.


wrote 6-27-10


Details | Narrative | |

Life Insurance

Very afforadable, this policy of protection,
you can read all about it, just look under
resurrection.

No monthly premiums taken from your bank
account; His Book of Life will show your net 
amount.

Sometimes His agents will come to call,
A reminder of sort, He sees it all.

Never a late fee to reinstate,
just His forgiveness, is all it takes.

Whole Life is the premium plan, He offers you,
paid daily, by the things you do.

One policy, one name, no one else can claim,
the owner and beneficary, are one of the same.

Upon death your policy is paid,
eternal life for the choice you made.


Details | Narrative | |

The Poetry of Hope

Every once in a while I lose myself
But I’m glad the dreams are coming back
I feel the thrill filling me
I feel my heartbeat rising
I see redemption rising in the days ahead
I still realise once again that I’ve earned another chance to begin anew
Still glad that it’s early in life
...and I can apply the lessons I’ve learnt before I’m twenty five

Phew! Boy, my heart’s beating fast
I shall no longer look at my past
For the past is just that
...opportunities gone with the wind, never to come back
I look towards the days ahead
I spend today to dream of the future I intend
For I know now tomorrow is bound to come
Today was but a dream ten years back
Had I realised then how soon today would come
I’d already be rich riding on the wings of independence
I pledge never to make that mistake again

Today I shall live like I plan
...and not like my neighbour Mr. Wright
For I know not how much he earns to spend the way he does
Today I shall not live like the society around me
For I don’t know whether they think ahead 
...of the days that are bound to be raining with storms of emergency
I pledge to live as befits me
I plan to live today in a way that enables me to save
For now I know I was right ten years ago
But I hadn’t the courage to follow a route of my own
Now I’m determined ten years to come...
I’ll be riding on the unicorn of delight

I pay no care for what those here and there may air
I wanna be happy today in my moderate ways
Knowing all too well I’m headed where
There, in the future where my heavy dreams will float in the air
I’m no hater so for the rest of the players here
I wish all the goodwill and good wishes my subconscious can air


Details | Narrative | |

Say Goodbye

 I seen your face
 I felt your embrace
 And it just wasn't the same
 I finally walked away without lookin' back to call out your name
 
 Once you were my best friend
 Once I swore I'd be yours to the end

 But I guess its time to say goodbye
 Many of times you have clipped my wings but now its time for me to fly
 I  still remember all the drunken fights
 I still remember all the sad lonely nights
 It was constant infedlity
 My only prayer was to be set free
 
 Thats not a place a girl can call home
 Life is better when I'm out on my own
 
 Sleepin' in alleys, living off dumpster buffets, and seeking dope
 Stealing and lying is no longer my only hope
 
 I won't fall for what you have to say
 I refuse to cry for you today
 I have come so far and moved onto something more
 Life is better than ever before

 But I guess its time to say goodbye
 Many of times you have clipped my wings but now its time for me to fly
 
 


Details | Narrative | |

My Mom

Dear God, how did You sleep.
I had a dream and it made me weep.
Did You see it, it was so real.
I think it might even help me heal.

Anyway that dream last night 
sure was kind of cool.
Except for the times  
I acted the fool.

I was a whole lot younger
then I am now.
I was talking with my mom
and I was wondering how?

We sat at the kitchen table
and she had on that grin. 
The one that always told me.
I know where you've been.

I could talk to her 
about anything I ever did.
Not only when I grew up
But since I was a little kid.

She was the only one
on this whole entire earth.
Who made me feel like I belonged.
Who gave me a sense of worth.

We talked for hours.
We laughed and we cried.
I didn't leave the table 
till the day that she died.

It was a roller coaster ride 
of every high and low I could feel.
Then Lord You got out the projector
and then You put on the reel.

We watched home movies
and most of it was good.
You would fast forward
those parts that you should.

There was this one scene
where Jesus had a part.
Remember when I asked for Him 
to come into my heart?

On a scale of 1 to 10
I would give it a ten.
But there was this one time 
I don't remember when??

When I asked for Jesus to come into my heart
He walked right in like He belonged.
But what I didn't know then 
was that He walked in with my mom.


Details | Narrative | |

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~ 


Details | Narrative | |

Straying Juvenile

My younger sibling, I brought you painfully up,  you brought me "pain"  fully
I myself struggled through  constant hard times, your constant struggling with yourself, hard timed me
I cleared a pathway through life for you, you clearly thought the pathways were lined with gold 
Today I had to repair,  Mums front door, the door you caused to be kicked down yesterday
I love you and will defend you, even when you are wrong, which as you know, you never are
You lost your parents some way back and now it seems you somehow lost your way




I can't believe you did this thing, I can't believe you did
The shame on mum and dad's memory and then you run and hid

You cannot mess with men like this, they follow no set rules
Wealth becomes a god to them, they do not suffer fools

I pulled you from a hole today, I pulled you from a hole
The talk was death to stinking thieves, I saved your very soul

You lost your mum and dad so young, is that why you rebel but life is not a one way street, I lost them both as well

You brought me lots of grief tonight, you brought me lots of grief
I brought you up as many things but one was not a thief

I handed back, the things you took, I gave them all right back
The men who stood at mums front door had shot guns in a sack

The offer that they offered me,  was one,  to not refuse
Return the goods the "bastard took"  or read it in the news

If mum and dad were still alive, for this you would pay dear
If mum and dad were still alive, do I make myself clear

I can't believe you did this thing, I can't believe you did
The shame on mum and dad's memory and then you run and hid




Details | Narrative | |

Quit That Tapping

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

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

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

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

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


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


Details | Narrative | |

Today

it hurts again today
i wake up in pain
tears flow
pain grows
no one loves me
all alone
please hold my hand
let me love
let me be loved 
make the pain go away
soon 
so i can stop crying on the inside
and live again
laugh again
be whole again
it hurts again today
go away


Details | Narrative | |

Family Camp

It was a special time of life
With my children and my wife
In a tent among the trees
At a place called Camp Louise

Sitting around a campfire Friday night
And the big old moon was shining bright
Putting marshmallows on stick ends
Just sitting, talking with some friends

Telling stoories about an old black bear
Trying to give the kids a scare
The stars were shining high above
A time filled with laughter and with love.

With our energy all spent
We crawled into our tent
The bags were musty and the tent was damp
But we loved it there at family camp

In the morning right after daybreak
You could find us boating on the lake
As we moored the boat along the pier
Right behind the shed, we saw a deer

Two more days of playing in the sun
Fishing, hiking, having fun
Plenty of food and a campfire at night
For a few days a year, the world was right.

Those days are gone and our children grown
We wonder where the time has flown
But no matter how far apart we'll be
We will always have that memory.


Details | Narrative | |

Black Death

The ooze keeps flowing; bleeding, the earth cries,
"Someone help!! Stop the leaching; stop the black death!!"
Cover the wounds of greed, cover the sickness.
Help the innocent lives, being destroyed by this flow.
Pulsing, life of the USA, our heartbeat is weakening with each gallon lost.
Who will revive the country? Who is our super hero? Who has the courage?
Black gold has turned to our death.





**Thank God for our mothers, family and friends. 
God in heaven, hear my plea, give the engineers the knowledge to stop the oil flow 
into the Gulf and help the sea life to escape. Keep the people safe who work and live 
on the coast and restore the economy of the USA. Forgive us our sins, keep us safe, 
praise you for your blessings!! I pray in Jesus's name, Amen Thank you Jesus!!


Details | Narrative | |

The Colliery

Summer days in a mining town
Lunch box sitting by the kitchen door
Whistle blows at the Colliery
Time for work, all my muscles sore
Long day’s work for little pay
No complaints, we’re doing fine
Wednesday, got a half day off
Have a few beers, forget the mine
Down inside that mine we give it a go
No panic here, no need to be hurrying
Mice are moving kind of slow
I’ll start to panic if I see them scurrying
The Colliery overshadows the town
Sometimes causes a bit of strife
A sense of pride putting that hammer down
For a miner it’s a way of life
Wife stays home to raise the kids
When that alarm goes off sometimes she’ll cry
Town waits quietly to hear the news
There’s a self-respect that money can’t buy
A constant struggle from day to day
Months pass quickly and the bills come due
Most times they are larger than the pay
But somehow, Thank God, we make it through
Though the times are hard trying to make ends meet
We get a perspective of what’s important in life
Our riches aren’t measured in the material things
They are children, good neighbors and a loving wife
There is a brotherhood within the town
A sense of belonging, a sense of pride
The colliery may have been shut down
But the spirit of the miner has never died.
Tamaqua, Pa. USA in the 50s.


Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

Tick Tock

Tick tock 
The clock is ticking
And the world is moving
Can you imagine
How fast can the time be
today

Tick tock
My head is ringing
And my problems is stopping
But my ending
Is just a beginning
Today

Tick tock
I am waiting for tomorrow
Unsure of awaiting sorrow
This time I had borrow
Will never return to me
Again

Tick tock
The clock is ticking
And the world is moving
My head is spinning
While I am loosing 
My mind

Tick tock, tick tock
You are gone
You are left alone
You won't see me anymore

Tick tock
There is an end of time
There is an end of the day
And that's is the end
Of everything

Tick tock
It's over now..


Details | Narrative | |

Crucified Clown

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

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


Details | Narrative | |

Let the Shepherd Lead

   

When I am lost and all alone,
   It’s then I turn to the Shepherd to guide me home.
When my heart gets bitter and full of doubt,
   I surrender my problems to Jesus, He seems to always work them out.
 I have been a victim of my own foolish pride,
    Not trusting in Jesus to be my guide.
Many times I have stumbled and many times I have fell,
    But that’s the good part of this story I tell.
For no matter how low in life we manage to sink,
    It’s Jesus who will always bring you back from the brink.
We are like sheep we all go astray,
    That is why we need our Shepherd to show us the way.
Jesus was the one who died for our sins so long ago,
     Redemption is ours if we ask don’t you know?
Without Jesus in our lives we would have no hope,
     And no chance for salvation or a reason to cope.
Imagine the pain He suffered that day,
     Picture it in your mind how He died such a tragic way.
Body racked with pain and longing for the death that seemed so slow,
     And being able to forgive those who did these things would have been hard for me,
don’t you know?
As I grow older in life there are things I tend to learn,
     Like the most valuable possessions you cannot buy you have to earn.
Love, respect, and friendship are a treasured gift,
     To have and to share will give you a blessed lift.
     


Details | Narrative | |

Stolen Soul

Your sad and your ugly
Worth not even a life
No good as a mother
Make a terrible wife

I love you my friend
You are my world
Can we make love?
As my skin crawled

So we got into bed
And I closed my eyes
A few minutes of torture
A few silent cries

He turned on his side 
When we were done
He shut the lights
Thanks, that was fun

A few moments later
He was asleep
I took a shower
Felt dirty and cheap

Every so often
There was no fight
I enjoyed the neglect
Just one easy night

On our tenth anniversary 
He said lets go away
We'll celebrate us
And we'll find our way

With naive dreams
I agreed with all smiles
To go on this trip
Just us for miles!

We laughed on the way
A few hours a lifetime
It was quite lovely
Until it reached nighttime

When we arrived
I put on my dress
Your to skinny he said
You look like a mess

So I opened my bag
And I had no doubt
A couple of these
Are just my way out

My hands felt the tingle
My head was now clear
I said I'll change
Will you be happy my dear?

Didn't remember that night
Then the sun would appear
And just as suspected
What would I hear

Get a hold of yourself
Your full of sorrow
You make me sick
I might love you tomorrow

With another day left 
I knew it would be rough
I'll just take one more
Then throw away the stuff

We drank that night
Then I think we got high
I loved him so much
For him I would die

We made love and the slept
Then when we awoke
From the first word I said 
Was enough to provoke

His veins were alive
His blood was on fire
So angry at nothing
Was it this I'd desire

Guess I don't have to tell you
It never has changed
He did this enough
Where my mind was derranged

Then one day it happened
I rose from the dead
I felt something different
When I got out of  bed

It suddenly hit me
I remembered my name
Now this was scary
Overwhelmed with shame

Ten years of today
Put my soul on display
To pick and to poke at
For this boy to play

A lot of wear on my body
But not quite yet broke
Put my pieces together
For I am no joke

My daughters a beauty
My son almost a man
I'll do it for them
I know that I can!

You cannot do it
You can't provide
If it wasn't for me
You would have died

Thats what he said
When we walked out the door
For the first time ever
I was honestly sure

Hope my story ends happy
Now that I'm in control
The rest is all mine
Forget the ten years he stole


Details | Narrative | |

If You See

If you see a heartless man,
feel sorry for him.

With that cold heart,
comes lonely.

If you see a man without love,
pray for him,

with that empty home,
comes sadness.

If you see a happy man,
be happy with him,

for a happy man,
can spread joy.

If you see a man with religion,
follow his lead.

for a man of God,
is the best teacher we have.










Details | Narrative | |

Not So Perfect

Here she comes, walking with pride.
Her face is so vibrant, she looks so alive.
Nothing can stop her, no one dares to try.
Her entire life is corroded with deals, tricks, and lies. 
Her beauty is everything, her smile kills all 
It brings down the strongest men, makes the highest building fall.
But when she comes home,
The story does change.
Her life’s not so perfect,
The positions rearrange.
Her father's an alcoholic, and not very nice.
She has a brother who gave up on school, and can’t read or write 
Of all of her family, her mother is the worse. 
Sometimes she wonders if she'll survive this curse.
He mother yells,and tells her that she's no good.
She would give it all up, if only she could.
At the end of the night she goes into her room,
She begins to weep, and eventually cries herself to sleep.
She wakes up the next day,
Puts on a happy face,
And goes to school as if nothing happened the previous night,
Or that absolutely nothing is wrong with her life.
So now that you’ve seen what’s behind the closed door,
I hoped you’ve thought about this girl a little more.
With the utmost respect,
I present to you, the life of someone "perfect".


Details | Narrative | |

His Worth

Touched by His wisdom, 
my heart now clear,
upon His shoulders,
I cast my fears.
His word is genuine,
as was His birth,
the truth He spoke,
revealed His worth.
Riches, not important,
they mattered not,
but those that knew Him,
never forgot.
Kings were frightened,
of this kind, warm man,
they never listened,
how could they understand.
Then an Angel,
came in the night,
He arose from the grave,
can you imagine the sight.
His new home Heaven,
by His Fathers side,
waiting to welcome us,
this is the reason He died.
Now it is CHRISTmas,
and we rejoice His Birth,
but still some people, 
don't understand His worth.



Details | Narrative | |

Visiting Hours

You didn't shake
as much in
the psych ward, 
possibly because
of the medication.
A cocktail of 
paxil, seroquel,
lithium and sedatives.
The white walls
dimmed your 
pale complexion.
The pink rosed
paintings on the
wall reflected
the first bit
of color returning
to your peaked
gaunt cheeks, and
big sad eyes.
You'd get so angry,
trying to hold back
cries...stressed
from all the secrets
of your condition that
the uniforms and 
clipboards kept 
from you.
We'd walk the 
circular hallway.
My black work loafers
and your socks 
circumfrencing the
middle ground of 
sanity.
We'd hold eachother
in the corner, under
the light wood
safety rail.
You, propped up
against the wall.
Me..pressed againt
your chest.
You'd envelope 
me with your
long arms and 
whisper in my ear
between your tears
that this...
couldn't last forever.


Details | Narrative | |

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
mud.
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.


Details | Narrative | |

Don't let death be a four letter word

 

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


Details | Narrative | |

Satan Rules

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Narrative | |

The Saddest Story Known to the Human Heart

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Narrative | |

Dear Friend

From my heart to yours,
you are a precious man,
from the very first time,
I read your work,
it was not hard to understand.
The trials you endured,
the pain, and the tears,
locked away,
you found your Saviour so near.
Let no man or woman,
who dwells on this earth,
spit on a heart so sweet,
all I can say,
is they have the nerve.
Walk tall my friend,
may the wind,
always push you forward,
and pray for the lost,
and the foolish cowards.
I don't know what was said,
or who is to blame,
forgive them dear friend,
and ask for the same.
We as a people,
have a journey of our own,
each, and everyone,
should know right from wrong.
Continue on your path,
you have much to do,
and remember the devil,
will use a few.
I call you friend,
as many here do,
and from my heart to yours,
I wish only the best for you.

Michael Jordan, you are a special kind of man.
One that I am proud to call my friend.......
One if ever needed would not turn his back...
I have never met you, but I can say,
actions speak very strong...for you are willing
to reach out, and help...to me, you have what it takes
to be a lighthouse for others....


Details | Narrative | |

Hope

When we give hope,
we give of our self,
something so special,
deep in the heart it is felt.

Prayer, and hope,
go hand in hand,
a miracle can be delivered,
across God's land.

People have needs,
some don't understand,
but God in Heaven,
turns His back on no man.

He gives us hope,
so we can carry on,
that ray of sunshine,
many of us have known.

With out prayer,
and with out hope,
life can be difficult,
and hard to cope.

God knew this,
so He provided a way,
to give us comfort,
on these trying days.


Details | Narrative | |

Emotion

Went to the man who sells emotion
To buy anger, get sad free
He held up a cup of happy
Said he had a deal for me

Said “I know what you’re looking for
Too bad it can’t be found
Not enough forgiving
And a little too much sound

But I can give you something 
To help take of the edge
A little sour maybe
But it’ll pull you from the ledge

You see this one’s called happy
And some say it doesn’t exist
They say it lives in fairy tales 
But I’ll show you it’s no myth”

He gave me a drink of his potion
And the world began to fade
I saw only what I wanted
In the world my sub-conscious made

There was nothing there to choke me
Nothing there to bring me down
But a little too much forgiving 
And not quite enough sound

So I reeled back from my daydream
And said it’s not for me
I need my world of chaos
Not a blindfold dream


Details | Narrative | |

Indigo Haze

 
Alone on a crisp seashore

Bellowing storm clouds engage 

Rolling above me as I walk the beach

A pleasantry lifting my rage

 

Bending my head back looking up

My arms stretched out to their sides

Cool rain drops lightly kiss me

Sensuous tempestuous skies

 

Taking in a deep breath

I let my repression fade 

Peace penetrates my Heartmind 

Removing the storm's I've made 

 

Slowly with each rhythmic beat

From these tiny three foot waves...

My anger vanished with the storm

Into a gothic indigo haze~

 



Copyright 2008


Details | Narrative | |

Standing Before God

Let's open our eyes,
see what is real,
offer a hand,
let our hearts feel.

Don't stand by,
and do nothing to help,
these are our people,
a bad hand they were dealt.

Help is ready,
lead them safely in care,
their problems now ours,
our love we must share.

Their future depends,
now on us,
let's all do our part,
or do we have the guts.

Not thinking clearly,
something's blocking their view,
we must find out,
we know this is true.

Standing before God,
explaining our life,
can we tell Him,
we did what was right.



Details | Narrative | |

No Fine Print

Into the book,
each name is placed,
a gift of God's,
amazing Grace.

Given to us,
with no fine print,
this was the reason,
His Son was sent.

We are His children,
in a world of sin,
He offers Salvation,
over, and over again.

The freewill given,
shall not be changed,
this is the reason,
for His book of names.


Details | Narrative | |

Masterpiece

Wonders of nature,
captured in time,
a blend so perfect,
as the rarest of wines.

A creation so beautiful,
a breathtaking view,
the inspiration of many artist,
as only they knew.

Each masterpiece different,
no two eyes see the same,
as the canvas comes to life,
and long live their names.


Details | Narrative | |

Merry Christmas

She stood at her window,
looking out on the world,
alone this Christmas,
this frightened young girl.

The night had come,
without making a sound,
as the snow began falling,
lightly powdering the ground.

Only eighteen, 
when she said I Do,
her childhood sweetheart,
and their love so true.

Ready to see,
this world as one,
planning their first Christmas,
so much left undone.

Then one day,
that dreaded letter arrived,
orders to leave,
and she held it and cried.

When he came home,
he held her close,
trying to comfort her,
reminding her, why he had to go.

He told her softly,
I love you so,
but I am a soldier,
this is what I chose.

Decorate our tree,
in red, white, and blue,
and this time next year,
I'll be back home with you.

Merry Christmas to our Military,
their families, and friends.
We love you all,
and our prayers we send......


Details | Narrative | |

DESTINED FOR GREATNESS

for such a time as this of political upheaval and economic uncertainty
how does anyone go about determining what is their God-given destiny?
what is our purpose in the grand scheme of God's desires?
what is it from us that the Lord Our God requires?

God gave each of us life for a reason
and will call upon each of us in due season
there will be some sacrificing and moving out of comfort zones
just remember that whatever God asks of you, you won't have to do it alone
for the battle is not just yours it also belongs to the Lord
and God won't let you write a check that you cannot afford

God will move you to a place and then give you an obstacle to overcome
but through Jesus you have the victory so consider the battle won
just trust in God to give you all that you will need
so that His set purpose for your life will come to seed

like Queen Esther, Harriet Tubman, Margaret Sanger and Rosa Parks
women destined for greatness who were beacons in society's dark
they did what was necessary for the greater good
to put the needs of others before their own as we all should
they stood up and confronted the so-called powers that be
in righteous indignation in order to save humanity

so let God position you where you'll prosper and be strong
and then use you as a vessel to make right a wrong
it might not make much sense to you and you might even disagree
but God knows what's best when it comes to determining your destiny

so just say yes to any and all that of you God does ask
and believe unconditionally that He'll equip you for the task
and as long as you remain resilient in your resolve
between you and God the situation will get solved

destined for greatness as mothers, mentors, lawyers or teachers
destined for greatness as activists, doctors, scientists or preachers
it matters not the capacity nor the career for you that God did choose
we're women destined for greatness and as children of God we cannot lose


Details | Narrative | |

Miracles Do Happen

She looked in dismay at her mail today,
her bills are mounting, how will she pay?

Soon a mother to be, and unable to work,
thoughts of regret, for trusting that jerk.

Caught up in a moment, she let herself go,
her Prince Charming is here no more.

Only eighteen, and all alone in a small little place,
her mother told her, you are a disgrace.

Phone turned off, and soon the power,
frightened to death, I despise that coward.

All he wanted was a one night stand,
all she wanted was a loving man.

Now a baby to nurture, and care,
all she can do, is worry, and stare.

Maybe a couple that has a nice home,
will take my baby, and give her a good home.

A very nice lady at the office down the street,
notified the girl, I found just who you need.

A couple had tried for 10 long years,
but all they got was bills, and tears.

They want to meet you, if you are sincere,
they want you both, these people are so dear.

Rich in material things, they have so much,
but the warmness of a family, is out of their touch.

So pack your things, and I'll take you home,
this is the miracle, you prayed for, so long.



Details | Narrative | |

The Key

Those raging waters caress my soul,
so many are here waiting, as His words unfold.

Hidden treasures that lie within,
silently manifest, again, and again.

Joyful faces unknown by miles,
suddenly familiar with their journeys trials.

Searchers of peace stand side by side,
awaiting an answer to simplify.

Graspers of riches, they have no rules,
much like a thief, taking all they can use.

Desperate is the path of a poor hungry man,
survival the key in every land.

Locked from the place where comfort dwells,
seeking refuge from the flooding swells.

Mountains so high they take your breath,
never to be climbed all by yourself.

The key to a good heart, was created with love,
understanding will be given from God above.

Those raging waters such a powerful thing,
all made possible from our Heavenly King.


Details | Narrative | |

To What Do We Owe Thee?

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




Details | Narrative | |

Sinking

A sip of wine from a heart-shaped glass,
This tempting intoxicating pleasure
Is crimson like your blood,
Cheering like the wind
Of evanescent changes, 
And so I'm giving in.

Droplets of crimson love
Ruin sandy castles fast,
Making this sand the bottom
Of some new sea,
Linking our parallel worlds,
Drowning old ways and turns,
Only there's no bridge back-
To reality.

You're indulging in this,
Constantly getting much deeper.
It is as sweet as a sin
And as soft as a kiss.
It's enough for an ocean,
Yet it will never link
Our made-up lands,
Which makes me turn to this potion -
I'm sinking again.


Details | Narrative | |

Super Soupers

I love this place,
it puts a smile on my face.

Super Soupers, writing away,
making me smile, and wanting to stay.

New soupers, joining everyday,
a super place for poets to play.

Old friends, new friends,
all joining in.

We are so blessed,
this is as good as it can get.


Details | Narrative | |

Upon A Gentle Breeze

As seeds spread new life,
to the corners of the world,
out there somewhere,
he is praying for that special
girl.
A season is not forever,
it lasts for only a while,
now dry those misty eyes,
and put on that hopeful smile.
Between the pages of a love that
has passed,
a faint little ember,
will bring a love,
that will last.
Hearts can't be made,
to go against their will,
when one tries,
then comes a barren chill.
Patience is a virtue,
such a difficult task,
and you are it's keeper,
if love is to last.
Open new windows,
let the seeds come to you,
upon a gentle breeze,
comes a love,
that will be true....


Details | Narrative | |

What Mattered Most

Company stores taking most of the paycheck
Days were long and hard at the breaker
It beat being down there, rats were moving
No injuries today, good news
Body hurts, but the kids will be home from school
Stop and have a few before supper
They're growing so fast, soon the hugs will be gone
Shower in the cellar, she doesn't ask for much
Don't want all that tracked through the house
Daddy's home, their bright eyes shine
Got to take care of what matters most
It doesn't get any better, mom, give me a hug
Supper was great, need help with the dishes?
Got some change in my pocket
Might be enough for some ice dream cones
Let's go kids, we'll take a walk
Stop by Grandma's house on the way
Piggyback ride for the little guy
No money left 'til payday
Got all we need. Grab a bucket
We'll pick some blueberries on the way home.
So nice. Almost a touch of Heaven
Just taking care of what mattered most.

          Life in a small minig town. Family, friends, co-workers were what mattered 
most. I'd trade it all for yesterday.


Details | Narrative | |

A Baby Was Born

Marching as one, they rejoice His Birth,
children of Faith, know His worth.
Gathered in worship, separated by miles,
all know the meaning of His given Child.
Wise Men came far, to look upon His face,
the child of Mary, asleep on the hay.
Shepards in the fields, were told to rejoice,
voices from Heaven, told of this boy.
A star led the way, across many a mile,
followed by many, to see the Savior Child.
One cannot forget, how Christmas began,
a baby was born, and Jesus, He was named.


Details | Narrative | |

Define Miserable

How does one define miserable?
A question with so many answers to this one, I ask.
It could be jealousy, as well as greed, these actions by
others, I have seen, indeed.
It could be poverty with no escape, or maybe ones wealth,
taken for granted each day.
I could be sickness with no known cure; or maybe an
alcoholic, who is miserable, I'm sure.
It could be such tragedy when a loved one dies; or maybe divorce, leaving tears 
in ones eyes.
It could be a beggar, alone on the streets, not knowing for sure, if today
he will eat.
It could be one, dangerously overweight, and every pass of the mirror,
only brings more hate.
It could be parents with a troubled child, trying to understand, why this one 
went wild.
It could be one, trapped in a place that's not home,
wondering, "why am I so alone."
It could be a war, taking our loved ones away, not knowing their fate;
will they hold us again one day?
So try and explain this one word if you can.
Impossible, I believe, by an earthly man.


Details | Narrative | |

I Cannot Be

I cannot be
Because I cannot see
I cannot receive
Because I cannot believe
Without you here
I am swallowed by the fear
Without you here

This life is hard
When you are surrounded by confusion
This life is hard
In your mind everything is an illusion

What is real
What is it that I’m meant to feel
Without you my Lord
The days are cold and lonely
Without you my Lord
This life all seems so phony
I need you here
I need you near
I need you to be the one to guide me
I need your light so that I can see
So please listen to my soul
Please be the one to take control
For without you here with me
I simply 
Simply cannot be

The End
By Greg P


Details | Narrative | |

Stranger

He was just crawling out of a cardboard box
And I turned in time to see him fall
Running over to help him up
He cried I don't need no help at all
Reaching under his arm, I helped him stand
I must have stared and I heard him say
Get out of here. Leave me alone.
Don't worry about me, I'll be okay
There's a shelter, can I take you there
You'll get something to eat and a place to sleep
He said I got all that I need ain't going nowhere
I sowed these seeds, now it's time to reap
Sometimes things don't work out no matter how well you plan
For each day of sunshine, you get a month of rain
Then one day you try to dream but no longer can
And the happiness and joy are replaced by pain
Then you drown your pain and move from city to city
You blame everyone else and to yourself you lied
Don't look at me. I don't need your damn pity
Each night you look back and that's when you cried
So thanks for caring but I'll be fine
Got all I want and all I need
Got a brown paper bag and a bottle of wine
Be going home soon, then I'll be freed
So I left him there and went on my way
At home, I thought about him when I got inside
I saw his obituary in the paper the very next day
An old man died in the street, and I sat and cried.


Details | Narrative | |

how would it be

my wonders wonder how would it be
if God had made me an insect a flea
how short of life would life be
and all of God's creatures
i'd fear and flee
so small and fragile
not easy to see
crushed by everything but me

my wonders wonder how would it be
if God made me into a bee
i'd rally with my brother bee's
gather pollen from plants and trees
build a fortress for a queen
work like the devil to keep it clean
if any should bother our domain
where it is
i'll give them my stinger
and no longer live
such is the life for us and he
whom god decides
to make a bee

my wonders wonder how would it be 
if God decided an eagle i'd be
noble, honored, swift and sleek
flying in the air for food i seek
secretly fishing with my eye
rarely is seen my deadly dive
I AM the symble for liberty and pride
i'll mate only once and then i'll die

my wonders wonder how would it be
if God had made me into a tree
standing tall above it all
save the mountians standing tall
in it's season making leaves
protecting both birds ans bee's
reaching high into the sky
growing wider than all living creatures
bearing fruit to feed the nations
eating the sun's rays before the hit they ground
my shade a cool shelter for everything around

my wonders wonder how it would be
if God decided a peacock i'll be
i'd strut and wear my tail so proud
my feathers match with any croud
my eye's and beak they match so well
the prettiest of birds
it is known so well
my feathers are emaculate
and my shape is so swell
i take great pleasure
in showing off my tail

my wonders wonder why it came to be
God made me a human being
so different and diverse are each of us
some of us praise , some of us curse
yet we struggle to believe in God above
one they think is evil 
and the other made of love
to us he gave intelect
with a capasicity to feel
complicated emotions that shatter and kill
but with this comes motivation
to create and build
an internal competition
to be better and better still

some men beg some men borrow 
and some men commit fraud
and most of them presumably
forgot about their god

but in this world of wonder
where wonders never cease
there is a visible God
watching man and beast


Details | Narrative | |

The People's Voice

The people's choice, not the people's voice,
this is what I hear in a country so lost.
Who do we elect to stand for what's right,
how do we know they will, when they are out
of sight.
Ron said it best with his poem, "ReUnited,"
and he can count on me, to always, be right
beside him.
He touched on life, the war, and death,
and he tells America, don't be led.
God made us equal, at least in His eyes,
we never have to stand for deceit, and lies.
We can lie down, and take what we get,
or we can join hands, and stop this regret.
Silence means acceptance, and no one cares,
but how can we let them betray us, do we dare?
I'm with Ron, stand up for what is right,
polygraph them all, on T.V.  tonight.


Details | Narrative | |

DRAG

Early 60’s feeling my oats, slow moving wasn’t my bag
56 Chevy, foot to the floor, looking for someone to drag
He’s a Rebel on the radio, smell of gasoline was strong
Marked off a stretch of highway, exactly one mile long

I made my way to the starting line, foot getting heavy
Ford was revving up hot, but nothing beats my Chevy
There’s no feeling on earth like starting to drag
Her sweater on a stick was our checkered flag

I said I’d like to hang around but I’ve got a hot date
So while you’re driving that Ford, read my license plate
I slammed my foot to the floor and could feel the thrust
When I looked in the mirror, the Ford was eating my dust

Next Sunday morning, I was on the way to see my girl
I saw a Nash Rambler and thought I’d give him a whirl
I pulled along side him as we approached a mile long hill
Thinking that beating his butt would give me a thrill

Now I looked over at him, smiled and waved good bye
Then he waved back and I thought I would cry
There was no way it should happen the Rambler went pop
I was half way up the hill, he was over the top.

Instead of seeing my girl, I drove all around town
Trying to find the car that put my Chevy down
The fastest thing I had ever seen moving on dry land
I just wanted to find the driver for a chance to shake his hand
			
Sometimes I think of times we had, drag racing way back then
Though I searched for years I never saw that Nash Rambler again


Details | Narrative | |

LOVE

LOVE being felt caressively,so sexually, 
intimately,intentively makes me feel so 
radical,speaking hypothetical-ly of how it 
makes me feel,

So real,the thrill I always feel,the ideal of me wanting to kiss,

I can't resist what this is, which is you only you.

No one else has made me feel what I felt, 
get me so hot until the point I melt,

I sweat began to pelt upon each other,

There is no other that makes me feel what I 
feel when we together for now until forever.

The LOVE we feel physically, mentally and emotionally.
But just to think I'm only speaking hypthetically.


Details | Narrative | |

Metamorphosis

Clouds coat the dreary night sky
A cleansing rain befalls me , as if to bring forth a new era
A cure to that which has plagued me, has all but swallowed me entirely
A wretched soul crying out  for mercy, for an end
For a beginning
The cool clean mist rips every sin from my body, only to be flushed into the earth
Soaking in re-creation, the cold cannot reach me
Nor can the damage I feared irreversible 
The dark my punishment
The rainfall my atonement
And the sun my freedom, my new life


Details | Narrative | |

The ReUnited States of America

Dark clouds on the horizon the hour is quite late.
    As I ponder my destiny and wonder my fate.
The foundation of my life was set in soft sand.
    With no guidance from above where does one take a stand.
The pressures of life can be so unjust.
    That is why he is called Savior, in our lives He is a must.
The roads that we travel sometime seem to never end.
     Filled with pain and heartache around every bend.
We didn’t come with guarantees or promises of good things.
     We dictate most of what our tomorrows will bring.
God sat down certain rules all men should follow and keep.
     If we choose not to follow then don’t get mad at what you reap.
The baby boomers now we’re starting to learn.
     To pay for the keep we must get out there and earn.
We’ve let to many things get out of control.
     We’re not standing up to the task nor fulfilling our roles.
Where once there were heroes .
     Have they left us forever only God knows?
We’ve gotten our self into an unusual state.
     For what once was a given has been removed as of late.
We idly stand by as our lives they destroy.
      Are we really that blind or are we being just coy?
It’s time we reunite and set our priorities straight.  
     The ReUnited States of America shall be our new fate.
Democracy and freedom they all come with a price.
      When is death pretty, when is it nice?
That is why bravery and courage should be rewarded and shown.
      To all our brave children and the battles they’ve known.
Give them the credit no matter the cost.
     And pray for the families of the fallen and lost.
     
     


Details | Narrative | |

Fact and Tale

Between the lines, of fact, and tale,
a persons life, we know not well.
Some insight we have, but not all the truth,
between the lines, read by me, and you.
A release of sort, in our words of rhyme,
our therapy to calm, when we feel like crying.
Days will come, and then they pass,
bringing sunshine, and shadows that last.
Thoughts rekindled from yesterdays mind,
reading the words written from a poet in time.
Miles between, separate our face,
but words of wisdom we daily trace.
Explore the words from everyone here,
although very far, they are always so near.


Details | Narrative | |

Old Love, New Love

The balcony of love, is the outer edge,
but it's the deep inside, where you make
your pledge.

Beauty I've heard, is only skin deep,
but it's the core inside, that's worthy 
to keep.
.
Looks, they pass with each tick of the clock,
and a fertile heart of love, is the only place
to plant your crop.

Love can be simple, but at times, a train wreck,
love can be worked at...or just say, "what the heck.'"

Love can be fun. with a partner so true,
then again, it can make you so miserable,
you won't know what to do.

Love is excitement, by just a brush of the hand,
or it can be the worst thing, ever encountered by man.

Love can be happiness that makes you smile,
or it can be jealousy, that puts you on trial.

Old love, new love, which is best,
no answer here, for very few,  pass the test.








.



Details | Narrative | |

A Love To Remember

Her children will always be, a mothers greatest joy...
Nothing more important, than her baby girl or boy...
From the minute of the birth, and she holds her tiny babe...
Her life forever changed, and her future is made...
All the diapers, bottles, and such...
She does not mind, for she loves them so much...
Her sacrifice is so great, now she is busy all the time...
A mothers love is like no other on this earth, that you will find...
A mother will always put her childs needs first...
From her sweetest, right down to her worst...
Remember your mother, when life makes her old...
This woman will be the greatest person on earth, that you will
ever know...


Details | Narrative | |

Forbidden Love

A love so forbidden
A feeling so tangible yet tainted.
Tainted because if the complexity 
of this charismatic feeling 
Flesh of my flesh
yet I crave this man 
as if it were predestined.
I've seen him in my dreams
He was sent to me, and I him.
How can this be.
Is it lust, curiosity, 
or is it the forbidden fruit.
Looking into your eyes everyday 
and I see the man that I long for. 
The man I crave, the man I want
the others to be.


Details | Narrative | |

An Autobiography of a Banyan Tree

I am a Banyan tree,
More than hundred years old,
Near a beautiful lake I stand,
In the heart of Mother Nature.

During my life span I have seen,
Days both good and bad,
I have experienced the strong forces of nature,
Surviving them courageously.

I have grown tall and strong,
By drawing nutrients from the guardian soil,
Soaking in the moist rainwater,
Bathing in the holy sunlight.

I have made some good friends who have,
Explored my heart,
Cheered up my soul,
And brightened my days.

One of my good pals is the lake,
Who has added meaning to my life,
A kinship has developed between us,
From him I have learnt the value of stillness.

I remember you well the nightingale.
You lived in a hole made in my trunk,
Many a time you have sung your melodious lyrics to me,
Providing relief to my aching heart.

I love breezy nights the most,
With the moon shining brightly in the sky,
The divided clouds passing by the moon,
And every instrument of nature showing an aura of magic!

My branches begin to dance,
My spirit awakens,
My soul becomes alive,
On hearing the hymning influences of the wind.

The Earth is a heavenly place,
The Nature is its heart,
With its mystic charms and wonders,
Has shown me a world next to impossible!

Oh god! Thanks for granting me a blessed life,
This life I have enjoyed to the fullest,
I hope I have satisfied you,
By playing my role in this universe sincerely. :)


Details | Narrative | |

Just for Me

In the past I remember how things were so simple
When I was little my cheeks had such cute dimples
Looking back I remember how sweet I was as a child
When I think again my heart told me I was so wild
Yet, in time my simple choices was revealed as true as anyone
The reason I was the way I am today, I did things, to get done
Finishing lots of my undone ideas was so incredibly hard
So I figure my heart and choices should never hold in no bard
I never thought I would learn heart aches and pain
With such under statement I did things for no gain
I was a child who held true to what he has learned
But as we got older those kinda perspective would get me burned
When I made up my mind that people was not kind
I led myself in a confusion that I was blind
In the past I do recall that seeing is believing
So I was the one who stood their with friends leaving
Alone, I felt I did not belong, I cherish each person who knew me
I got older too see how the world works it stung me like a bee
The feeling of tingling ran through my vain
My view of the world and people who knew me was stained
Now I know they are out for their selves with no kind feelings
Life I know is just a joke because of who I hung out with seeing
Today as I look at the world it is in such shambles and astray
And rather fallow everyone I just walk away


Details | Narrative | |

He Loved You

He loved you too, you know
Loved you like his very own
In away you were
You came into his life as my friend
Through the years you grew to be my brother in arms 
Along the way you became the son he never had

He loved you as a friend
He loved you even more as a son
A son he never had
When things began to spiral out of control
You stayed when so many others ran away
You helped when I couldn’t

You meant a great deal to him
You never looked at him differently 
Nor did you treat him differently
You stood by his side
When he fell, you stood by his side and mine
You were willing to help me fight his battle for him 
You were there from the beginning 
You were there until the bitter end
Always remember my friend, my brother
He loved you more than you’ll ever know


____________________________________________________________
Dedicated to close Family friend Rodney Howard. He loved my Daddy just as much as I did/do.


Details | Narrative | |

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”


Details | Narrative | |

Please don't judge me

Please don't judge me based on my religious preference, my hair, what I wear, or how I speak. I can promise you, I'm different than what you'd expect. I don't expect much, though that's still too much. I'm not sure if I like myself as of now, but I'm working on it. If I don't care, you shouldn't either. So you can keep knocking, but won’t knock me down, no love lost, no love found. When you so good, that you can’t say it cuz it isn’t even cool for you to sound cocky anymore,
I am myself nothing more, nothing less.
I wouldn't exactly classify myself as "normal". I can careless what you think of me. I don't like associating with drama queens, troublemakers and just stupid people.
I'm not perfect. To be factual, I'm very far from it. My point of view on things are different than most. I have values. I have a brain; some of you kids should certainly invest in one. I will treat everyone with respect, if they treat me the same in return.
                                         Here is the reply
sometimes people only gain self gratification by making other people seem bad when all they are doing is verbalizing their own shortcomings and pointing them in someone else's direction, they think by redirecting there self image will make others not see who they really are. But if you have brains you can see it and they will not to play into it, then eventually it will all crash down on them :) leaving you shining.


Details | Narrative | |

Baseball in Heaven

My grandfather and I had a special relationship.

When I was young we lived near his home in Baltimore.  But, my family moved away from 
Baltimore when I was five and we lived most of my life in another state far away from my 
grandfather.  Whenever he called, however, I was the one grandchild he always wanted to 
talk to so we could discuss his beloved Baltimore Orioles.  I was the one grandchild who 
followed sports closely and always remained a true Baltimore sports fan.

Later in life, I learned that my grandfather was actually a gifted baseball player himself when 
he was young.  In those days, he would explain, professional baseball players did not make 
enough money to support a family so he had to make up his mind to either play baseball or 
get married and raise a family.  As it turned out, his love for baseball was only surpassed by 
his love for my grandmother and, although he hung on to the newspaper clippings that 
labeled him a “can’t miss professional baseball prospect”, he hung up his cleats and glove, 
married my grandmother and went out to find a “real” job.

But his love for the game survived and year in and year out, he and I discussed the 
intricacies of the game and enjoyed or lamented each baseball season based on the 
successes and/or failures of the Baltimore Orioles.  As crummy as the Baltimore bums are 
today, I was fortunate enough to experience and share many more successful seasons than 
poor ones during those limited years that I shared life with this amazing man.

I always felt sorry for my grandfather, considering him a victim of poor timing.  Had he 
been born about 50 years later in life, he would not have had to pick between being a 
baseball player or earning a living – in fact, with his talent, he could have earned a much 
better than average living while enjoying the one thing he loved most in life.

When my grandfather passed away, I was sure that he was joining a heavenly nine to once 
again strap on his spikes and don the leather.  Without a doubt, they must play baseball in 
heaven.  And I wait for the day that I sit in the heavenly bleachers and cheer on a young 
grandfather playing this wonderful game with other boys of summer.

(Inspired by, “is there baseball in heaven”, by Constance, A Rambling Poet)


Details | Narrative | |

Wild Flower

Wild Flower
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 In Death Of A Rose by Nate Spears
 
Rescue this sunflower
It's capable of being a ray of light
Nurture it, value it, and love it
Its petals are more delicate than they appear in sight
 
 A wild flower it is; but it displays beauty
The facts of its species remain unknown
Its fight to reach its true potential is admired
It’ birth to existence is undetermined
 It’s roots shows trauma
Its presentation brings hesitates to potential caregivers
No one's prepared to take a chance
This flower is destined to win
 
All earthly roots sprout from above
At some point in a life’s span; we could use a kiss or hug
 He who refuses to display any element of the wild
Is merely real
An artificial representation of life
Stuck in Styrofoam surrounded by fake moss and dust
No breath, no soul, non-existence
A human being choked from an outer dimension.
Rescue this wild flower with love.


Details | Narrative | |

Me Myself I

                        A girl was born a beautiful summer day
                 She had beautiful blue eyes and light curly hair
                            The girl ...... it was me myself I
                      My mother has told me that I was a kind
                                     and happy baby
                    The baby became a chubby girl who liked to
                          play with soft teddy bears and dolls
                           Chaunted and singing all day long,
                                 yes I was a happy little girl


                             When I was seven years old and the
                                 commitments hour had come
                       First day at school, dressed in a dress with
                                  flowers and ribbon in my hair
                        I wanted out of the classroom, I wanted to be
                      free to play, sing and dance.... be free like a bird
                          Plus, minus and A-B-C... yes it all could wait
                      School years passed by and I learned: plus, minus,
                                   A-B-C and more than that


                   "Almost adult" - a teenager, yes waithing for the time
             Girls with menstruation, and acne wich we covered with powder
                         Boys with pimples, wich reflects like flashlights
                           Girls who "giggled" of everything and nothing
                          Boys who speakes with deep voices that bursts
                                     Interested in the opposite sex
                                       It`s was an exciting time ... 
                                     Distance love, blushing cheeks
                                              Will you be mine?
                             Go hand in hand and perhaps a gentle kiss
                               Heartbreaks....well who has been there?


                But as in a fairytales the princess meets her prince, they are
                   in love....married... and have many other commitments,
                                         work, home and children
                               Fairytales have always a happy ending
                                          What about the reality?






02212012
A-L Andresen


Details | Narrative | |

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?”

Silence.

I will take that as a, “Yes”.


Details | Narrative | |

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 
diminished.


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...


Details | Narrative | |

Paratrooper's Gracious Descent—Mother Earth Below

It was the day I wanted the most
Yet dreaded as the worst,
Seeing the jumpmaster’s eyes
Way up there in the sky,
Waiting for the scream
“This is a paratroopers’ dream
Stand in the door—lean and mean!”
C130 paratrooper’s Jet, 1500 feet above earth
M16 Weapon by my side, ready to hit the dirt 

Knees bent as a dog’s leg on the ledge
Crackling nerves on screeching edge
Cotton dried mouth like a Sahara’s wedge
Soldier before me threw up his lunch
Stomach flipping—fear gripping  
Paratrooper’s static lines scraping, moving
Shinny brand new paratrooper’s boots 
Shivering to a shuffling groove
Trembling to its new roots

Cold palms slippery from sweating
Camouflaged face twitching like electric shocking
Eyes like a road map dredged with red
Boots shuffling towards the elliptical edge
Heard the jumpmaster’s words 
“Go, go, go—jump soldier!”
I felt like a lonely hanging leaf 
Growing from the side of a cliff
Just dangling in the breeze
Like a trapeze with distance in between

The moment of truth arrived
Saw the green paratrooper’s light
Heard the Jumpmaster’s voice—“Go!”
Cannonball leap into the rushing breeze 
Wings of angels—still praying all the more
One thousand…two…three…four…
Parachute opened above—“Puff!”
Then I knew from the Lord
As I descended safely below
I am still His beloved!




Details | Narrative | |

La Belle et La Bête (Beauty and the Beast)

The sweet neck of her life came adorned with dazzling jewels of the ages;
jewels imbued with holy virtues, long before she was born.
She rose, alone, Venus veiled above a sparkling sea,
her love light flashing wherever she gazed.

As she spun her cosmic spiral, a tiger, hungry with anger and bitterness,
tore at the veil, hoping to claim victory—fire and passion.
Each time she dipped her head, trying to free herself from the ships of ancient
torments that lay anchored at her throat, the tiger roared for more,
devouring jewel upon jewel—fire upon fire, passion upon passion.

She lay, alone, her carotid adornment shortened by the tiger’s every move,
her virtues struck down until she was left grasping at a choker
‘round her throat, her life soon to end.

Then, in the billowing clouds of her torment, she saw Diana rising from the sea.
She stood on an iridescent ivory shell, her arrow poised to strike.
The tiger raged, but could not pierce the clouds.
A red fury filled with fire and passion shot from its hell-born eyes;
its massive jaws spewed hot saliva that set the sea on fire.

The sea itself cried out, “Golden Diana, make your arrow swift and sure;
the world in Venus is quickly fading.
Strike now, the tiger, and restore all aright!”

Even while the prayer was being uttered,
Diana’s aim proved its power as the arrow found the tiger’s heart.

In a flash, Venus was restored,
her long strand of jewels aglow,
the tiger at her side.
Together they stood in a deep, iridescent ivory shell
and made their way out to sea
with a wind that was sure and true.

All was set aright.  All was free
as they sailed into the rising moon,
her Venus jewels lighting the way.



Written in contemplation of Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee around a
Pomegranate, One Second before Awakening, by Salvador Dali. (1944)


Details | Narrative | |

Don't Take My Kindness For Granted

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


Details | Narrative | |

New Paths

A new path is what we seek.
The surroundings are taking a peek,
Going through, very meek,
Seeing no bleaks,
Getting piqued,
While hearing creaks,
In the new paths that we seek...

The new path is what is found,
Going through forests bound,
Going through the path inbound,
With soothing and raging water sounds.
Walking confound,
Silence profounded,
Sight astounded,
Passed through burial grounds...

Seeking for another way around,
Noises resound,
Spirits surround,
The paths newfounded,
Our instincts compounded,
Followed by the hounds,
Echoes in ultrasounds,
Passed through mysterious breeding grounds...

Going to stamping grounds,
Trying to get off this ground,
With those burial mounds,
Death moving the wheels around,
Silhouettes running aground,
Trying to leave safe and sound,
Passing through some hunting grounds...

Seeking for common grounds,
The mistaken path redounded,
Regretful screams abound.
Plans propounded,
Though some are fouled,
Throughout the paths that were found...

However, most are lost and wounded,
Most tended to walk out,
Some minds and hearts full of doubts.
Hearing salvation shouts,
From all these new paths walked and found...


Details | Narrative | |

Dreams Of Reality

Dreams Of Reality
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 in “Death OF A Rose” By Nate Spears

A difference of a world a way
A distance of a different kind
Love is blind and divine
Hold my hand
Let us touch the sunshine
On this hill of heaven we stand 
I pray

From one another 
Life and the world will never take us
Unless it’s together
Then we will become forever
Never leaving each others presence
Our bond becomes stronger in living
With every day
I stare into your glare
Wishing we live on; and long 
Strong and healthy 
We will grow old
In a happy union together
Looking beside me
Coming to a reality
You’re not there
My dreams are not reality 
My love has perished. 


Details | Narrative | |

The People Around Me

Things seems to be very clear,
When actually felt it is unclear,
What really seems to be clear,
May never ever be clear for ever.

Your help for others,
May be to be appreciated,
Or taken as what is called,
to be uncounted.

My question is clear,
Why the help for others,
Is sometime never appreciated,
However it is always delivered. 

In response to ethics,
lingers in my mind the answer,
To help others is not to be recognised, 
But it is to be called someone, 
Who can be respected.

To all, continue to help,
Not to to be appreciated by others,
But to be respected by yourself.


Details | Narrative | |

Spaces Between The Words

Reading was his sanctuary
From noise
From worry
From fear
He could curl up in the tiny spaces
Tucked between the words and pages
Of a book
Dream with the characters
Run with the plot
Imagine the illusions.

In his mind
The outside world
With its annoyances 
Loud talk
Racing engines
Flying jets 
Artificial deadlines
Could run without him.


Details | Narrative | |

Hurricane

Hurricane


By Edmund Siejka


There were warnings of a hurricane
People had been through this before
They knew what to do 
Why some of the houses on the water were worth over a million dollars
They would ride it out.

The hurricane came ashore and slowly marched inland
South of Merrick Road 
Cold grimy
Water was everywhere
Sewage and fuel coated lawns 
Soldiers patrolled areas hardest hit
Boats were strewed in streets and yards
Neighborhoods sat empty for weeks
And politicians worried about their future.

Spray painted signs warned
“You loot
We shoot”
Heat and electricity were luxuries
Cash was a valuable commodity
Most people were patient
Some were not
But no one seemed to care. 

Families returned to their neighborhoods
Tired, cold, and hungry
Water logged furniture lined the streets
Making two lane roads impossible
The only ones to show up
Were utility workers from out of State.

We don’t respect nature 
We build where we shouldn’t
We pollute when we should know better
We use up resources like there’s no tomorrow
And then we’re surprised when nature hits back and reminds us that she is  after all
…….Mother Nature. 


Details | Narrative | |

The Artist

The Artist
 


Once described as an intense artist
He now sits comfortably
Patiently being interviewed 
By a reporter
Half his age
He begins
When I was a younger
I would come home from school
To an empty apartment
To keep myself occupied 
Until my mother came home 
I would spend hours 
Drawing random sketches 
And imaginary shapes in a notebook
That I kept hidden behind a couch
My mind was full of images
I was young
I was vulnerable
It wasn’t until
I got much older
That I decided to study art.

Speaking softly, he continues
People respect art and imagination
But recognition for an artist has a life of its own 
An artist must push himself to do 
What he hasn’t done before
But art is complicated 
What often comes with it 
Is all extraneous stuff
Which you try to control 
Before it consumes you.

The interview
And the questions ended hours ago
Returning home
The artist gazes out his bedroom window
Outside 
The Greek Orthodox   
Dome of St. George 
Maintains a stoic vigil
Over the East Village
Facing upward
Toward the dusky sky
Light from an open window 
Highlights his forehead
Drifting down to his lips
Gradually disappearing
Near his open collar
Only to resurface
In the middle of his shirt
Hands, calloused and strong,
Are down by his side
The left touching his thigh
The right hand dangling in freedom
Deep lines furrow his face
Shadows under his eyes
Mark a life spent
Perfecting his craft.

In the silence
He takes a deep breathe
Grateful
That the Roman in his heart  
Always unwavering
Prideful and defiant
Never surrendered
A day of his life.


Details | Narrative | |

My brother

Nascent you were to this macrocosm,
Blessed  you were to parents,
Dyspoeic, unsounded from mother’s womb you emerged,
Many conceived you were with Jesus,
Afore brought forth into beingness.
Doctors resuscitate with oxygen mask,
Travail, thirty minutes passed brought you back.
Triumphant over death, won life for yourself.
Whence you cried, Father gloating in joy cried a river.
Thence avouch, sweven God’s work as you grow a man.
engendered after, saw father’s fond on you.
Through many years of togetherness;
Pettifogger we fought and punished.
Though non twins, grew more like identical.
when you cried a child, I cried and still does.
Such is the love of brother, my brother.
Thither you went away to boarding school.
Whereby learned ways, good and bad.
And drew more to wassailer, drunkenness.
dissever we became, perceived I abhorred my brother.
Fondly Imbibe in whisky, disremembering your sole purpose,
So fond nearly you died like once when born half dead.
And whence in hospital bed you battled for life,
I cried a river, my brother.
I do not hate as I hate cockatrice,
I care more than I care the girl of my life.
And whence you live wastefully rummy, I rue.
Come at able, find oneself and the purpose, my brother.
The life you once battled and won when first born,
Be not languish in vain.
Be cumbered and hugger-mugger no more.
Ere in final resting place you lay,
I invoke to envision you gratified after years.
Heedless of how you impeach, I despise;
I merely have one brother.
My brother! My brother.


Details | Narrative | |

Crazy

My friends and I had midnight hide and seek
One had to stand by a tree and not peek
In my state of hiding great I was hard to find
My friends decided to just be unkind
They all got together and decided to hunt me down
I first hid in the river near my house and almost drown
When they walk close by me I silently move through the grass
It was very hard to see, but I crawled a long time and almost ran out of gas
Then I heard one say that they were going up and wait by the tree
I had an idea that made a way to make them see
A shadow that ran in the distance thinking that would be
I had my horse pull a little manikin to make them think it was me
My friends took their flashlight and shined it toward it
I thought I had them but one thing was clear they did not fall for it not a bit
They all laugh and started to call out my name
They all asked how the heck did you have time to pull that trick that was so lame
I did not answer so they kept on looking for me, but I was so quick 
Some of my friends started to get really mad and tick
I was a master of doing weird things they all knew what I can do
The night was still young and the grass was collecting dew
I decided to make a distraction once again
To think of it, it would probably make the night end
My friends finally surrounded my tree house
I was quiet, so quiet, more than a mouse
I had some rope in the tree house to make my escape
To distract them I made a loud noise like an ape
The tree that my tree house was in was at least forty feet up
I had some stash in my tree house a drink or two in a cup
My final hour is about to end I did not want my friends to catch me till I got to the tree
I took the rope and tide it on a branch and pushed off and that was the key
I landed on the garage roof and sneaked my way to the tree
My friends knew me to well that they plan things before I could see
They had a fish net ready for me to step into
I thought that was kinda wise and some what like pew
The few feet by the tree there was two of my friends that was ready
Up in the tree they both jumped down and pulled me up in the net fast and steady
They thought they had won, the person had to tag me before I touch tree
She ended up having to get something to stand on to reach me
I swung my weight back and forth till I ended up touching and the game ended
My friends and I were so full of surprises and that is what the game handed


Details | Narrative | |

Like Gold Dust

Pile up treasures; rise and fall.
And want the lake and not the land fall,
Hold the bizarre beast, I wish wife.
My life is abandoned to the Life.

Behold an ideal idol of a wife:
The down fall will soon be late,
Whilst the crescent lake will wait;
This day will emerge another life.

Now bread and butter set on the table,
But miss the compassionate ring of able,
And call for the lonely wandering widower,
This moment can’t afford losing her.

Should I accept the defeat of livelihood,
And immortalize the spirit of widowhood?

My life is given to the Light.
These episodes of testing I can’t face:
I plant prayer for its erase,
And wind for a save and safe alight.


Details | Narrative | |

Upon A Bed Of Petals

                                                        Upon A Bed of Petals
                                    The fragrance is so heavenly full of romance
                            With petals smooth and colorful it puts me into a trance
                                    The light shines upon the area of which they lay
                               With the oasis of beautiful smell I fall in a deep delay
                                    The aroma of sweet beauty comes a dream
                                With motion that reveal emotions with great steam

                                                        Upon A Bed Of Petals
                           Comes a well spent year with joyous laughter and self appeal
                                   With open arms we embrace the life that is surreal
                             Comes a time that we do have to dream with petals of life
                                         With occasional choices of passion and strife 
                                   Comes a venue of flowers of many beauty with value
                                      With another part of each season we stand true

                                                         Upon A Bed Of Petals
                                  The scent of life passes through and makes new
                                With loops that can be seen in an open sky so blue
                                   The wind takes one petal or two to show a trust
                          With to passionate people lying by the petals love is entrust
                                     The beauty is that the petal lasts in memory of
                              With two people passion with love rules true and above


Details | Narrative | |

Follow the Yellow Brick Road

Follow the Yellow Brick Road As I was walking Along my chosen path Where each step marks A notch this world hath I caught a glimpse of A Yellow Brick Road Like the one from Oz Once long ago told Now how the glimpse Came my way I chose a path to take On a sunny day Back to work from break Strolling merrily along Head held high with joy Whistling a happy song I jumped over a little crack Just purposely out of my way Being sure to be aware Never matters which day As I came up to my office Tapping a rock with my heel Then the feeling hit me The vision seemed very real A comparison factor in our minds Creating obstacles out of fear Or do we step over them To prove we are there It’s our choice to place sunshine On the path we choose to go Thus creating a happy path To Follow the Yellow Brick Road Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

- EMMA -


My Emma I remember so well - an old lady with roses on her cheeks 
Lived in a cozy little white house with a garden so beautiful - flowers, berries and fruit 
Emma was old with a bad back and her feet were weak - but she was never grumpy 
The winter was hard for old Emma - lonely - no husband - no kids - no family 
When spring came - Emma came out to the garden - she loved it 
When neighbors or children came by - she waved and shouted 
  "Come into my garden and pick yourself a big bouquet of flowers" 
When summer came - she waved and shouted 
"Come into my garden and pick yourself some berries - they are red and nice" 
In the autumn the same - "Come into my garden and pick yourself some fruit" 

* Emma died many years ago - but the memories I have cherished in my heart

- * From reality :)






09.02.2014
A-L Andresen :)


Details | Narrative | |

AT FORTUNES FAIR

Oh sweet, sweet anonymity
Through the pressing crowds you’re calling me
Along the streets in city parks
Your presence waits by day or dark.
Just as the judge is passing law
As in so many times before
On parking offence or minor crime
On occasion a case that makes a national headline
The same hand takes the tea maid’s cup
Or swings a club on the Sunday golf match
As famous singers walk the stage
Of what matter is its matter made?
Plywood sheet or glass laminate
The "greatest moments" are a blip
On lifetimes stage where fortune sits
As greater life is lived unsung 
Of no recorded note or age
A bar to life’s great tearing pace.
Yes,, somewhere waits for you and me
That sweet sweet anonymity.
A girl with hair like golden down
Is smiling in a country town
Her eyes are soft, her spirit strong
She knows truth, love and easy songs.
She makes up a house where people meet
And lives are crossed so bitter sweet
From kindergarten to university 
She sees continuity
And containment of the life she loves
White picket fence and a cote of turtle doves.

 


© Joe Maverick 26-07-2010


Details | Narrative | |

Street Garden



Ever pass a street garden
On the lower East Side
You know the kind
Long and narrow
Squeezed between two tenements
Ever wonder how it came to be
Who made it?
Where did it come from?

Odds and ends 
And garden tools clutter one corner
Benches are set aside
A children’s swing waits at the far end
The garden is not magnificent
Like the ones you see in suburbia
But like every garden in the City
It beckons to you with a history of its own
Take a long look
When you peer through the chain link fence
See the rows of growing green things
They didn’t happen by accident.

Grassroots activists fought to stop the decay of the lower East Side
Squatters took over abandoned houses
Theirs were marked by struggle
Hardship 
And violence 
They and kindred spirits captured the activism of the 70’s and 80’s
From Alphabet City
Running along Avenue A to Avenue D
They used terms
Everyone understood
Affordable apartments 
Living spaces.

Neighborhood volunteers
Worked the soil
Hunched over
Hands black with dirt
Digging past bricks, rocks and rubble 
Breaking up the ground
Feeling the moistness of the Earth
In their fingertips
Their whole being 
Sensing the beginnings of new life.



 




Details | Narrative | |

A Woman's Worth

A Woman’s Worth
By Nate Spears


Her purpose in this world is hurting
She’s never been a designed of perfect
But she is a mom, so she’s super
She works
She cleans
Then roll up her sleeves ; and
Take care of the kids; and
The house 
Making it a home
For a beautiful family to roam
Building wonderful memories
Becoming a woman of worth
Keeping her faith through Christ
Keeping her pace through health
Keeping her sanity through managing
This is a woman’s worth 
I’m giving you


Despite of all the stress 
She receives her family with open arms
Through all the mess
She’s a fantastic mom
A wonderful woman 
Deserving a round of applause
Plus a standing ovation
For always being an American sensation
That held this continent down since day one
Since the Plymouth Rock landed on us
Thank you for her giving
Thank you for her living
Thank you for her children
This is ,
A woman’s worth.


Details | Narrative | |

Healing Words

My mother, my grandmother before has always held a place in my heart.
My father, and my grandfather before has the same part.
I was young and very active with unwillingness to listen fully to what they had to say.
I had a problem, never could be solved without my parents and grandparents till today.
With patience they all come to my aid when I fall on my face.
With little dishonor I listen to them and what they had to say, I embrace.
Over the years I go to them with no doubt a feeling of no dismay.
Over the years I go to them and they help me solve problems that to me is O.K.
Now I am getting a bit more aware of what had happen to me when I was growing.
Now I remember how the ride was in my beginning: it was a trial of not knowing.
With the guided words of my parents and grandparents I survive through them all.
With it some being a problem that I remember I recall.
My mother and my grandmother always said to be patient and it will be easy to solve.
My father and my grandfather always knew that I would grow and evolve.
I could wonder everyday what if my parents and grandparents was not in my life.
I could just think that would be fatal like a stab with a knife.
With knowledge that they had past on to me of what they had experience.
With their proof of teachings they had past on to me is their self existence.
Over the years I grew with life so full of happiness that was because of my families love.
Over the years it showed me the path that led me to all the above.
Now cherish those words that help me through my troubles in my new family.
Now I listen to my parents healing words of wisdom and except them gladly.


Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

The Awkward Poem

  By Edmund Siejka



A high school English teacher 
Issues a challenge
Her class
Is to write a poem.
 
Reading a student’s poem
Her experienced eye
Searches for
Imagery
Metaphor
Tone
Point of view 
Ultimately the student’s poem
Is graded a gentleman’s C.

Somewhat surprised
The student admits his shortcomings
Indicating that poetry is a lot like writing
Disappointed 
The teacher  
Doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Coming home that night on a crowded train 
The teacher passes up a seat
Letting an exhausted looking woman
Sit down
Thankful 
For this simple courtesy
Brief smiles are exchanged
Strangers from two different worlds.

The teacher notices the smell of disinfectant
Hovering over the woman 
Thick fingers holding  tightly to her purse 
The woman
Begins an animated conversation 
With two other women
Broken English
Graceful hand movements 
Words interrupted with laughter.

From what the teacher hears
She believes the women 
Are cleaning ladies
The little people who clean the bathrooms
Vacuum carpeted hallways
Empty the trash
From windowed offices 
High above the New York skyline. 

The words ‘poetry is a lot like writing’ 
Linger in the teacher’s memory
One thing she is sure of 
The ladies know of life 
After years of 
Hard work for little pay
Hungry children
Angry husbands
Absentee landlords.

The train stops
Momentarily the ladies collect 
In a small group
On the empty train platform 
Suddenly there is no more talking
In the awkward silence
Each of the ladies turn
Toward the direction 
Of a place they call home.





Details | Narrative | |

CREATION

CREATION


Once upon a time, the Lord of spiritual consciousness
Was sitting peacefully on His blissful throne 
Ceaselessly contemplating upon His equilibrium
T’ was the era of no moon, no sun, no stars, no earth, 
No oceans, no rivers
Just a motionless, timeless and deathless entity it was
Happy with His existence  

Suddenly the thought of sacred motion was felt
Deep down in his essence
Seeking the chaos to be stirred 
From its core outwardly
Consequently separating the light from the darkness and
All the other elements that constitute the Cosmos
Thus giving birth immediately to old mighty time

When Time: This wizard of celestial art found himself alive
His expert hands stretched in advance, wanting to create
For that the plastic energy he took, that was everywhere around
And skillfully and patiently the Cosmos carved according to the Logos
Creating thus, the nebulae, the galaxies, the stars and all the other planets.

Then God looked at times creation and marveled with its beauty
But as there was no life to be seen in all of this creation
The thought of desire was born in God to inhabit every place
For that out of himself he cut myriads of blazing souls
Which like shooting stars he sent downwards to animate nature,

That was the way the souls beamed to manifestation’s cosmic sphere
Radiating their luminosity to reality’s lower planes  
Bringing with them the sacred principles to denser forms of life
As they were passing from the spiritual, the mental and the astral
And finally materializing, themselves on the physical solid plane
Where life began on earth, with God’s will and grace!

©Demetrios Trifiatis
    14 January 2013


Details | Narrative | |

The House Next Door

Some of the neighbors
Complain about the house across from me
It stands apart
From the neat lawns
Wide driveways 
And picket fences.

Some say 
The people who live there
Inherited the house from their parents 
Years and years ago
When the area was marshland
And it was common to see 
Hunters and fishermen.

A winding street
Wide enough for two cars to pass 
Serves as a boundary between us.

The house once had a broken window 
A gaping hole
That gave the house a reckless character
Like the missing front tooth
Of a mischievous young boy
Now it’s been covered by wood
Nearby, inexpensive white plastic chairs
Thin, stained and unused
Line the side of their house
Inviting phantom guests
To sit down.

In the upstairs bedroom
A curtain drawn as blinds hangs
Brightly colored
Defiant in the face of poverty
Inside a girl hides a diary from her parents
And dreams of the day when she is grown up
Young lovers kiss in the darkness
A hungry baby’s whimper is heard in the night
A radio 
Left out on the front stoop
Plays a familiar song 
To an empty street.

The people living in that house
Are proud
Keeping what they have
Admiring their courage
I ask myself
Who am I to complain? 


Details | Narrative | |

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!


Details | Narrative | |

A Bitter Brew

Outside, there is a small trail
and  six steps 
separating me from those that pass on by,

Impossible, to hide, behind my ruby house coat
and synthetic flavoured...  
bitterly savoured, morning coffee

An old man walks by,
paced, in slow - rhythmic strides
in order to balance three bags
his aluminum collection

Toes, emerging from the tips of his tattered shoes,

As he spies me
we engage in observations

He is courteous, as he desists,
lowers, his head in his travels,
continues to descend down the hill
around the corner of my house,
heat scorching
 
This morning, 
all I can hope for

Is that he does not rip my garbage apart.


Details | Narrative | |

No Regrets



When I was a young'un growing up Never really imagined how my life would turn out Back then, I was just happy to eat, sleep, and play with friends Well now that I'm an old duffer and looking back I can honestly say my journey was way above average With no regrets, no wish to change a single thing Except for one... Linda, my loving wife of 42 years Sadly passed away from breast cancer in 1999 We had a family of 5 wee ones, 3 of our own and 2 adopted We just lived a comfortable life not wanting for anything I wasn't famous... didn't own a mansion on a hill Had a successful career of 55 years as a graphic designer My present wife is Cathie, a second dear loving wife Tied the knot 13 years ago and have a beautiful union How fortunate can one person be So as the title says... I can honestly say I have no regrets! © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

True Valentine

True Valentine
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 in “Death OF A Rose” By Nate Spears

A lost woman the mirror reflects
Young; and it’s apparent
I can see it in her eyes
No focus and childbearing
Just ass, legs, and thighs in mind
No marriage

If she knew better
Learned better; and
Wanted better,
He would show her a better way of living
Instead of dealing with cowards
Seek a man with moral and merit
He’s stealing your joy
He’s bringing you pain
Removing your youth
He’s playing games

The truth at heart is
Reality should be your first thought
Loneliness is not your fault
It’s a part of life for most
Don’t let it destroy your values 
Just wait,
You’ll find a true love to treasure you.


Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

The Ego Monster

The ego monster came one day and settled near a vulnerable soul
Begot intended alteration, to turn Diamond, into coal
This soul it hurt from melancholy, a lost and lonely, sobbing mess
Perceived, drastic solutions, might remedy their grief and stress.
It whispered false suggestions, that soul needed none and was alone
And tricked the soul with toxic trust, then set it on a paper throne

The soul required more conformation of how unique. they lusted be
Then faked a mirror of illusion of everything they wished to see.
The ego monster taught soul words like biggest, toughest, richest, best
Offered soul a moral compass, that turned north to south and east to west.
Injected soul with huge desires to gain more power than they deserved
Convinced soul that their path was straight, though it was warped and curved.

One day whilst strolling round the past, desiring to re-visit there
Soul glanced into another them, a them, which laughed without a care
Then felt cold shards, cut cold shut eyes, saw emptiness within desire
And wondered why their heart was numb, when once there had been fire

They set upon an expedition to fix the damage to their soul
Compass in hand they trod the journey back, to fill the empty hole
The road was not as they remembered, signs there, did not belong
The compass pointed south, not north their compass must be wrong?

So blindly they retraced their steps to victories that they’d thought they’d won
Victories that they soon regretted, when they saw the damage they had done
The flimsy paper throne collapsed, as shame weighed heavy upon heart
At last they stood there, mortal, towing tons of wrongs upon their kart.

With open eyes and open mind they turned and faced their foe
Reluctant to face truths and lies, which lay within that ego
They battled insecurity, fought doubts and vanity
Till somewhere hid between it all they hacked up sanity

The harshest lessons learned are those that burn our souls repeatedly
A fool is only foolish when repeating their stupidity
Torturing ourselves for life about mistakes we now regret.
De-valuates the wisdom learned from wrongs we can’t forget
The ego monster searches for the anxious and defenseless
It’s swallowed, viewed, it’s said and heard, it’s touched, its smelt It's senseless
It’s thought about too often, confused with supremacy
But wisdom, strength and courage live in souls who’ve learned humility.
































Details | Narrative | |

Choices

Do we read newspapers
Or ignore the world?
Do we vote
Or do we complain?
Do we ask questions of elected officials
Or are we complacent?
Do we right a wrong
Or remain silent?
Do we stay
Or do we go?
Do we sing
Or do we dance?
Do we run or 
Do we walk?
Do we study 
Or do we wing it?
Do we listen or
Do we yell?
Are our stomachs firm or flabby?
Are we smart 
Or are we stupid?
Do we even care?


Details | Narrative | |

The Conversation

Swaying to the motion of the train
I look around 
Jostled by the crowd I move aside when nudged
Smile when someone takes a seat
Studying  my hands
Nothing has changed 
Still five fingers on each hand
Looking down I see my shoes
Nothing remarkable or unremarkable
Just a pair of plain shoes.

Hearing conversations
I turn to listen 
The first conversation doesn’t interest me
On my other side is a middle aged couple
Holding hands
Choosing to eavesdrop
I lean forward
Perched like an ancient bird of prey
With an incredible need
To hear what they are saying
So much so
That I forget the swaying of the train
The pushing, nudging and shoving
The heavy breathing on my neck
The sounds and smells
Of a living and moving
Steel monster.


Details | Narrative | |

Urge To Smile

Urge To Smile
By Nate Spears


The morning sun rises
My flesh is set back 
Due to my body needing 
Much needed rest
I wonder 
Does anyone else feel 
the urge to smile?
I know right now 
I'm feeling sour


A grin attached to my face
That lights up the sky
Behind my clouds of joy 
There lies a lie
With everyone wondering how?
How can he smile
with so much going on
Rapidly by the hour
People losing their homes


Some can barely feed their kids
The government is gone
They rather spend our money 
On billion dollar drones
Never the less
We're blessed
We're here to see another day
Being healthy and relevant
Gives me strength
To soar into a new day
With unlimited fight 
Packed up under my wings


Another day 
Another chance
For tomorrow 
Thanks in advance
As long as I'm living
I can better my condition 
It's mandatory to smile
A privilege to be living.


Details | Narrative | |

Dream Big

Re-dedicated to Rochel - Yes, dreams do come true!

DREAM BIG I feel lucky to have dreams Not the dreams in your sleep The dreams of things hoped for Those happy wishes we all keep Dreams can make you happy And fill your heart with delight In hopes they will all come true Who knows maybe they might There are some folks who think I’m just dreaming my life away But with all the joy in my heart Well it certainly must be okay Dreaming is a gift we’re given That’s stored in each one’s mind A form of imagination created From one individual at a time It triggers your energy level That makes you want to dance And you’ll hum a merry tune While others seem to glance Even if those dreams I have Don’t really ever come to pass At least I know my journey in life Was filled with smiles and laughs Maybe that’s what was meant In those words we used to sing About rowing your boat gently And merrily down the stream Then our journeys of existence Should be gently paced it seems With merriment along the way That’s why life is but a dream So I’ll just keep on dreaming big And always have my hopes high To carry happiness all around me Until the day when I actually die And who really knows for sure Some dreams just may come true So I bet you have a little dreaming That you've been wanting to do too Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

A Most Amazing Adventure



Was once a shy and retiring sort Never wanted to draw attention to myself Always listened, never offered my thoughts Never felt I had anything interesting to say That was then, this is now Have you heard the expression “Coming out of one's shell” That saying was invented for yours truly From black to white The transition has been astounding Extreme is another good word to describe it Poetry has allowed me to release my inner soul To say things that have always been in my heart But were never uttered for fear of ridicule The heartfelt joy and happiness That I now possess Is beyond description, it has helped me realize I too, have something to offer And the rewards for me Have been so much more than I could have ever imagined I guess every life has lessons to learn Every step of the way We never stop learning till our final day Life is a most amazing adventure! © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

life

life is a challenge 
meet it
life is a rule
follow it 
life is game 
play it 
life is an question 
answer it 
life is a truth
accept it  
life is an opportunity 
never let it go 

life is beautiful


Details | Narrative | |

My Aunt Willy Whos Silly

                                         

                                         She smiles all day she thinks it' s o.k.
                                       She makes weird sounds and it's all day
                         My Aunt I asked will you not make that silly sound today?
                            My Aunt looked at me and said why? she always say
                             In public she snorts when she laughs and I get that
                           But when things get out of hand she scares my the cat
                                    I have a cat but my Aunt well she kinda sat
                                      Poor little cat it was now a furry little mat
                          I get really mad at her, but she seems to make me smile
                      Because one day we walked, she sang me a song about a mile
                                   I was happy because she ran out of gas at last
                                She also could not speak at all, and that was a blast
                                                 Although she could not speak 
                                       She kept smiling she once never look bleak
                   My Aunt Willy who's Silly is the person who never does things in half's
                           I can not express any louder she makes me smile with laughs


Details | Narrative | |

Heartbeat

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seven hours
Of waiting,
Praying,
Hoping.

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

Again.


Details | Narrative | |

It's a Wonderful Life

Don't let the title fool you,
life is nothing close to wonderful.

I am starting to loathe this
thing called life I am living.

Sometimes I wish I would
slip into a coma until
death took me.

I really don't think many 
will really miss me.

I feel I don't matter to anyone
outside of my family.

I am tolerated,
shown a gesture,
when I am stand in 
someone's presence.

I wish I could live
the movie for a few minutes.

See if I really make a difference
in this world,
in the lives of my friends,
or acquaintances. 

Maybe I could see rather or not
I really mean a damn
to anyone.

Maybe it's best to consider
living this life alone.
It's what I do best.

I just wish it was more of 
a wonder life.


Details | Narrative | |

Don't Waste A Moment



Went for a walk in the park today First time since way back in the fall My spirits soared to the heavens above Felt a thrilling surge of happiness Reborn is the best way to describe it The absolute sweetest time of the whole year Too bad it can't be spring for the whole 12 months Naw! We wouldn't appreciate it then It would just be the same old same old But holy cow what a fantastic same old! Guess we should just be satisfied The way it's been since we first opened our eyes! We should just enjoy it while it's here So get out there and make every minute count We only have a relatively short time here on the earth DON'T WASTE A MOMENT!!! © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

LVII e e cummings ------A Copy Cat Poem

somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands            e.e. cummings
~
________________________________________________


" LV means Love" contrasting winds which carried particles of who we used to be circled and settled. to fold into one ...becoming us... that you are me...and i am you.. two hearts, one sun, one moon, that built a love where twists and bends, would melt into one, where eyes can't see where threads connect; a solid rock, yet soft as feathers where I can come to lay my head and cast away the darkest day, the cruelest night never will we understand the shifts and strains of wayward winds that whirl, and pound on fate's own door the knowing why is not what counts, what matters deeply more... is when I reach my hand to touch this vaporous thing...impossible to define where mortal words can not explain nothing to see, nothing to touch, just the faint breath of us a dream, not myth....that final sleep cannot erase.... so sure this breath of life we share is reason enough, that we are here
.............................................................................................................. For Joann's Contest "Copy Cat" My poem inspired by e.e. cummings poem LVII


Details | Narrative | |

The Day My Sister Broke Her Finger

One day my mother, my sister Debbie and I were out in the parking lot at school.
My sister Linda came to the car crying. She had an ice pack on her hand. When we got home,
my dad, who works at the hospital looked at her finger. Then my dad took Linda to the hospital.
When they got home, they told us that her finger was broken. The next day, she got a cast on 
her hand. Four weeks later, my sister got her cast off. I was happy that she was happy.




                                                        THE END







March 23, 1998
©2014 Honestly JT


Details | Narrative | |

Life

Where there is love, there is life
Where there is pain, there is life
When there is joy, there is life
You can not find happiness
By avoiding life
So may you live
All days of your life


Details | Narrative | |

In Pleasure

In Pleasure          
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 in “Death OF A Rose” By Nate Spears


White suit, top hat, pride feeling higher than spectacular 
The ugly duckling has opened a new chapter
Revealing transformation that’s becoming a true sensation
Buried in his inaugural feelings of gold treatment
There’s always a silver lining after the disaster
Every battle, each day 
Sanity is mastered
Life tries to defeat us, expiration tries to meets us
But tonight he’s on top of the world
He’s on top of Thee
He’s on top of a feathered fame beak 
This is one hell of a duckling I must proclaim.
Our love floats in current 
Through the City of Jacks
You’re the only Queen of my deck 
As we coast along these sparkling waters splashing our tails
The momentum of the St. Johns River flows to a love hotel
Vapors of our spirits arises above
Elevating beyond the skies
There’s no limit tonight 
As my mind is blown on cloud nine 
With love and happiness is in the atmosphere
Scrolling the screams of these peaceful waters 
With mean swagger
This night is unbelievable 
Unbelievable is this; unbelievable I won’t miss
 
I was once viewed as a total tragedy, with no immunity from havoc
Or grievance
Frowned upon by my community as a under achiever
As if I was an oil spill disaster 
With no relief at hand, 
But to tonight I clean up well with Dawn
 
The river flows peacefully after the storm deforms
Accompanied by grace, I’m accompanied by love
Accompanying my side 
Is a woman of grace.
As we keep our heads above these judgmental waters in Florida
The rivers will flow to Fingers Point
At the end of this place called home sweet home tonight
I’m just a kiss away 
From the Full Moonlight.
 


Details | Narrative | |

Peace Tonight

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


Details | Narrative | |

Things Change - Her Story

I went to the park anyway that day, knowing he would not come.

We had only met a few days ago but the connection was fast and strong.  We had dinner together the past three nights and talked late into the next morning.  Holding hands; sharing a kiss; and telling our life story to one another.

Today, we would take the next step.  I knew it.  He knew it.

The plans were that he would take the afternoon off – and the remainder of the week.  We were to share a picnic lunch in Central Park and then drive up to Kennebunkport for the next few days.  We had reserved only one room at the Bed and Breakfast we found in a regional traveling book.

It was a beautiful late summer morning.  The sun was already bright.  The skies were blue and clear.

I was so anxious to make the picnic lunch perfect that I started shopping for the ingredients as soon as the markets opened that morning.

I rode the subway to my favorite wine store with a smile pasted on my face.  I walked to the deli from there with a dance in my step.  I was so happy that I felt like I could fly.

Yes, I thought … I could fly.  Fly like the birds.  Fly across the big, beautiful, blue sky.  Fly.  Just like that low flying plane that passed over my head … minutes before my world; his world; our world – changed forever.

I knew he worked on the 104th floor.  That was a part of his life’s story he had shared with me two nights ago.

The city was both full of chaos and commotion and yet, ominously quiet and solemn.  

Motion everywhere.  People walking; running; standing still in shock.  People crying; gasping; talking to themselves; and, stunned into silence.  Cars all going in one direction – away from Downtown.

Although I didn’t know – I knew.

I went to the park anyway that day, knowing he would not come.

I laid out the blanket.  Spread out the food.  Opened the bottle of wine.

People hurried past me, looking at me look I was a fool.  Some asked me if I didn’t know what was happening.  I knew.  I knew.

I still have not been to Kennebunkport.  


Details | Narrative | |

Teaching an Old Dog

All I remember is going into the garage to get the snow shovel.
 
I am not even sure how much of the driveway I managed to shovel.  Apparently, I was lying in the snow for several hours before one of the neighbors noticed me.

The next thing I remember is waking up from a deep sleep to the sounds of beeping machines with tubes and wires stuck into and on my body.

As I slowly regained consciousness and my eyes were able to focus, I was aware of a young, bald child looking down on me.

“Hi,” said the smiling, angelic face.  Given the child’s age and complete baldness, I could not tell whether they were a boy or a girl.  And, with the tube inserted in my throat and taped to my mouth, I was in no position to return their salutation.

I tried to remember who this child might be and why they were here with me.  I guess my eyes displayed my confusion as the child said, “I'm Elizabeth.  They let me walk around the hospital a little.  Sometimes I sneak out of the oncology wing and look for people who have no visitors.  I like to make sure someone is there when they wake up.  I know I always like to see someone when I wake up from my operations.”

She just stood above me smiling.  I then noticed she was holding my hand.

“Sometimes it is hard for family members or friends to come visit.  Some people just really don’t like hospitals.  And, I guess”, she said, “not everybody has someone that close to them.  So, I like to become their visitor for them.  I hope you don’t mind.”

I didn’t mind.  Although it did make me embarrassed to realize that I fit in the latter category; I didn’t have anybody that close to me.

She just smiled at me and petted my hand as the medications worked their magic on me and I started to drift back off to sleep.  I heard a nurse come into the room and say, “There you are, Honey.  You need to get back to your room now and leave this nice man be.”

The next time I regained consciousness, I noticed a hand drawn picture of a house with a Christmas tree out front with a note that said, “I hope you get home before Christmas” and was signed by Elizabeth.

Each new day, I was welcomed by another drawing of Christmas scenes; smiling faces; reindeer; and, starry skies.  All containing a happy note and all signed, ”Love, Elizabeth”.

After ten days of recovery and following the insertion of two stents into my heart, I was well enough to return to my empty home.  On my way out of the hospital, I stopped by the Oncology Wing to say good-bye and thank you to Elizabeth.  When I asked the nurse at the floor station where I could find Elizabeth, she replied, “Oh I'm sorry, Elizabeth is no longer with us.”

I then said, “Well can you tell me her home address or phone number, I would really like to thank her for visiting me in my hospital room this past week.”

The look on the nurse’s face indicated that I misunderstood what she had meant.  Elizabeth was no longer with us.

Sadly, I started walking towards the exit.

Just before I got to the elevator, I noticed an open door with a man lying on his bed, with tubes in his nose and throat and nobody else in the room with him.  I went into his room and sat in the empty chair.

When he opened his eyes two hours later, I said, “Hi, I'm Joe.  I noticed there was nobody here when you were brought back from your operation and I know how nice it is to see a smiling face when you wake up, so I thought I would sit here with you for a while.  I hope you don’t mind.”

He squeezed my hand; gave a slight smile; and, slowly drifted off back to sleep.


Details | Narrative | |

Grandma

She measured only five foot tall,
With her stooped shoulders, even shorter.
Towered over by her strapping son,
My mother and each other daughter.
Grandma came from sturdy stock. 
On her own strength, she relied
To raise her five young children,
After my grandpa died.

Mother was only six years old,
She could barely remember when
Her daddy died of consumption.
That’s what they called it then.  
There was no such thing as welfare,
So Grandma was left alone,
To find a way that she could raise 
Her family on her own.

Opportunities for women
Before the First World War
Were almost non-existent.
The wolf was at their door.
So my grandma took in washing, 
Ironing and clothes to mend.
The enormity of her labors,
I can’t even comprehend.

I have pictures of her and her family,
All so neatly dressed
In crisp white dresses and starched shirt,
Attired in their Sunday best.
Did her children know her sacrifice,
How this woman had to strive
To see they were fed and sheltered,
And to keep them all alive?

My memories of my grandma,
Are when she was old and alone.
She was frail and ill but managed 
To face life on her own.
She had her little garden,
And planted by the moon.
She bragged that no one in the town
Was eating fresh peas so soon.

I never heard her grumble
About her difficult life 
Or that she had been a widow
Much longer than a wife.
My grandma had the steely will,
That has made this nation grow.
Without her kind, we wouldn’t have
The ease that we now know.

So when ever the days are rainy
And I’m feeling sorry for myself,
I start to remember Grandma, 
Take her album from the shelf.
Surrounded by life’s luxuries
Of the kind she never knew,
I wonder at my grandma,
And the way she battled through.

She barely knew of radio,
And  would have been enchanted
With television and its wonders,
Which we take so much for granted.
Grandma was a true pioneer.
Her road was long and rough.
Her granddaughter should be ashamed.
To claim she has it tough.

I salute you Grandma and love you.
I was  proud to call you Gram.
And no one needs to tell me that
You were of sterner stuff than I am.



Debbie:  Perhaps we could have another category such as  "Provider"





.
  



Details | Narrative | |

I cry for you

The tears I shed are not tears of pain but of grief for you my love. As life would have it or fait at least; you lost at what could have been. Really what should have been!
I know what you truly deserve and it's not me or the poor background of which I've come from. Your friends have managed to find wives with wealth and retirement. While all you can do is carry the load as you always do.
Do not think for an instant my heart isn't hurting; knowing I'm not good enough, never have been, and never will be. I can never catch up in life and will never be an equal. At no time is this far from my mind.
I used to think love was all that mattered but now I have grown up and realize how much more there is to life. A fine line drawn in the sand from the beginning has set us apart and down separate paths. Together yet not as one; this was never to be for our lives were directed by poverty and riches.
Was I selfish to want you? I did not understand then as I do now. Now knowing what I know, I cry for you my love. You could have carried on finding that special one to share all of you with. No lines drawn, no poverty or riches to separate. No tears shed or grief knowing ones' not good enough!
What's ahead as each day passes I wait to see. God has a plan, everything happens for a reason. A new job with more money, yet not even this erases the line. Not for my life of such little means even this can't bind a heart set on a different path?
Debbie Knapp


Details | Narrative | |

Straight to Hell - A Short Story

I was a seventeen year old senior in a coed, catholic high school.  Our gym classes however were still all boys and all girls.  My senior year we had gym every other day and music every other day in the same time slot.  The music classes, therefore, were also all boys or all girls.

She was a twenty-eight year old nun in her first teaching assignment.  She was in way over her head.  She was about five-foot-four and weighed practically nothing.  The nuns in our school no longer wore habits and I remember thinking it was a good thing because she would probably fly away like Sally Fields.  If you don’t know what I mean by that then you are too young to be reading my story.

The music class was a mad house.  She could not control a room of twenty some boys bound and determined to make her life hell.  I mean, music class?  Really?

We never did the homework assigned; never answered her questions seriously; never believed her threats at discipline; wouldn’t accept the demerits she tried to hand out; and basically goofed off for the hour that was supposed to be dedicated to learning about music.

For some reason, she seemed too proud or too green or too determined to go to the principal or another teacher for help; and, sensing that, we knew we could get away with our childish behavior and so we did.

One day, a handful of us “got in trouble” and she said she wanted to talk to us after class.  I was the only one that actually stayed.  She tried to lecture me on my bad behavior but I guess my smirk was evidence it was not sinking in.  Then, she started to cry, and for the first time I saw her as a person.

“What am I doing,” she cried.  "I can’t do this.  I am trying; I am really trying, but I am not cut out for this.  Why are you boys so mean and hateful?”

I stood up in front of her not knowing what to do or what to say.  I felt like a real jerk.  I was a real jerk.

Tears poured down her face, which I finally recognized as being a pretty face.  She bowed her head and just sobbed.  In my awkward seventeen year old manner, I slowly opened my arms and allowed her to lean into me.  And I hugged her while she wept.
   
At seventeen, I was no ladies’ man, and this crying nun was the first woman I had ever held so close to me.  I could feel her breasts pressed against me; the heat emitting from her body; and, the delicate nature of her womanly form in my arms.  I knew then that I was destined to go straight to hell for the thoughts that were going through my head and the feelings I felt between my legs.

She pulled away and whispered, “I am so sorry, I should not have done that.  You may go.”

I simply said, “You know, you are doing fine, you just have a class of a bunch of butt holes”, and walked out of the room.  It was that night that she started coming to see me in my dreams.  To hell I go, for sure.

I wish I could tell you I had the moxie and the influence to whip that class into shape, but I did not.  The mad house continued with one less student joining in the fun.  I tried my best to behave, answer her questions, pay attention and feign interest in the topic of the day – but I was just one in a sea of monsters.  I stayed after class and after school a few times to talk with her, ask her how she was doing, and see if I could help in any way.  She was actually starting to get the hang of things and was able to focus on the few classes that were willing to learn.

At the end of the school year, I was one of the few students who had not enrolled in a college for the coming year.  Because I was one of the better students, it caused a little bit of a fuss and a number of teachers talked to me about the huge mistake I was making taking some time off before going to college.  It seems they were all convinced that if I did not start into college in the fall, I was doomed to never go to college.  I challenged them by saying what they were really worried about was their statistics of percentage of students who went on to further their education.

During the last day of classes, the music teacher asked me to stay after class.  It appears, it was her turn to try to talk some sense into me.

“So, I hear you are not going to college,” she said.

“No, I’m going to college … some day, just not this fall.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet.  Take some time off.  Work.  Nothing.  I don’t know.  Why is it so important to everyone?  When the time is right, I’ll go to college.”

“They just care about you.”

“Bull loney,” I said, only it was another word.

She smiled at me.  I had been dreaming about her now for six months.  I changed the topic.

“Have you ever kissed a boy?”

She laughed, “You know, I grew up the same as every girl in this high school.  I did have boyfriends.”

“Yeah, but have you ever kissed a boy,” I challenged.

“No.  Not the way you mean.”

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like?”

“No.  Never,” she lied.

“If I told you I will register for college if you kiss me, will you?”

“No.  I believe you when you say you just need some time off.  I think that is a good idea.”

Then she walked up close to me and stopped a heartbeat away.  Suddenly, she reached down between my legs, grabbed the crouch of my pants and said, “Just don’t let this thing get you in trouble.”

She abruptly turned and walked out of the classroom while I tried to catch my breath.

During the graduation ceremony I saw her sitting with the other teachers and shared a private smile with her while walking back to my seat after being handed my diploma.  I would never see her again … outside of my dreams.

I often think about my high school music teacher and my ticket straight to hell.  Unfortunately, I never heeded her advice.  That body part of mine she grabbed ahold of for a fleeting second those many years ago, has gotten me in trouble time and time again.


Details | Narrative | |

If Only Tears Could Feed Them

have you ever went days without food?
long seemingly ceaseless nights 
as you hear the rumble
(like thunder in small ears) of bellies not filled

these tears I shed are wasted 
for they don’t feed the hungry 

in all the mourning lies a bittersweet fruitlessness
with its empty anguish poured on solemn streets
though I cry tears anyhow….pouring hot from my lids 
like tequila burns the throat of  a boy

this sympathy is wasted….for they still go unfed
though at night I wail at the injustice of it all…
(a bit like shouting into a deafened wind)

all my sorrow for those poverty stricken
poor little children with swollen bellies
and big sad starving eyes rips and shreds at my heart
pounding like a raging river on my congested chest
as I strive for some peace from the rampaging agony
of each little life that is uselessly lost 
                                        (slipped to a bitter dust)

yet….they still go without food…..my wailing did not end this….

a big deep well of darkness uncoils and envelops me
yes I cry….I weep crocodile tears in my solitude
(fat lot of good that does)
shaking what are fragile fists toward a sky unfeeling
and less than listening to the plight of these unfortunate
who drown in their destitution ….

it takes souls and tatters them
shredding lives with a razor sharp machete

but….I am fed….aren’t I?
and all the lamenting is pointless….isn’t it?
if they still go another night hearing the rumble
of hollow stomachs and brick wall barriers….

these tears I shed are wasted……yet…I cry them anyway
if only tears could feed them…



Details | Narrative | |

Losing Someone to Cancer

I did speak with them, seemed very confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By Sandra L. Hoban
©2007


Details | Narrative | |

The Wonder Years



I have very few gripes to tell you about But one major one is people who concentrate On what's wrong with the world Instead of concentrating on all the good things That have come our way in the past decades We tend to take things for granted after a short while And forget what it was like before Where is it all heading? When we were back in the middle of the 20th century We could only guess at what was ahead for us Not an inkling as to the progress The many many gadgets that make life so much easier More connected like never before And yet this is only a period in time With more unimaginable gadgets that will be available to us Our minds boggle at human ingenuity The last century was an explosion of new ideas, new horizons Never imagined possible before These are the wonder years We can only imagine and wonder what lies just ahead © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

22 Lines

22 Lines
By Nate Spears


I stand on top of the opinion of the mighty powers above 
Staring into the eyes of their dominion 
Keeping myself armed and fighting 
In mind
In the order of a new world
In the order of new eyes
My spirit is old
In the order of new times
My heart lacks no fear
My hands lacks no wrong
So I have no tears 
to let roll on

As The River Of Jordan splashes in red
My evil days shall past
Consistent with biblical teachings
I speak the truth consistent with loud speakers
Let freedom ring
While I’m running my fingers through the clouds 
I've discovered a savior to save us
Now drip my sun light onto the best
Now drip my sun light  onto the rest
Goodness shall fall from my fingers tips
Onto the pages 
of my ink.


Details | Narrative | |

A Soul Awakened

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


Details | Narrative | |

green life and the rain

Through the air they came, 
shattering the silent peace. A voice, 
"is that the rain, it is the rain," as 
they danced aloud on the metal 
roof.

A memory asleep sparked as a 
mighty flame;early in June when the 
rains would come, the thirst of a 
dying earth to quench, awaken 
memories.

I remember the plain, that big plain 
where children pranced: dead 
brown, had life surely sprung in 
awesome green, and gaping mouths 
therewith would close. The healthy 
plague spreaded, thus green life 
spawned,

I remember the trees, some fruit 
trees, when their naked armes 
would bud, then fruit came, along 
with the wild birds who had their fill, 
and the children, rambling with long 
rods and plastic bags to gather the 
spoils for later a feast.

The sleeping lands awoke and 
happiness could breathe once more.
The dancing fades now and the 
memory slowly sleep, for I will 
always remember the rains.



Details | Narrative | |

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?


Details | Narrative | |

GOING HOME

GOING   HOME

This train ride is long, too long. 
Seem to have spent most of my life on it
In and out of tunnels.
The glaring brightness of the stations
No reflections in windows there  - 
Brief  interludes between long tunnels.
We plunge into another dark tube and
See reflection of face with red hat in window

People crowding too close  
But shut eyes and think own thoughts
Of when I was younger, fitter.
I still look out of thirty year old eyes;
But reverie is interrupted by
A young girl who taps my sleeve
And offers her seat
To a sixty year old man in a red hat
Standing in front of her eyes.

Early in the trip  I mostly refused such seats
But am glad of them now
As the final tunnel approaches
And the train pulls into the terminal  - 
And I’m glad of the quiet in the carriage
On my way home.


Details | Narrative | |

When

It was only supposed to last a little while. 
The pain I suffered was temporary. 
You promised you would fix it. 
Oh and fix me you did.

I hate you for what I have become.
Tired. Lazy unable to work. 
You created this monster of pain
Inside my head. 
It never goes away.

But you were the lucky soul. 
Your death was quick and painless.
Leaving behind those who mourn.
But I am not one of them. 
I wish you all that you deserve.

I have something now that I cannot change.
This damage to nerves, and numbness and pain.
My life has become a struggle. 
I compete with pain each day.
Sometimes I lose. Occasionally I win

It never leaves this pain you made. 
I wonder how many more.
You destroyed like me.
So powerful being a surgeon. 
To hold someone's life in your hands.

sickness, depression, anger


Details | Narrative | |

Thirsting Heart Beats

Thirsting Heart Beats
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 in “Death OF A Rose” By Nate Spears

 	
During a moment in your deepest desires
do I ever cross your thoughts in mind 
for rehire,
while you’re clutching on your sheets of fire
cold and lonely
wanting to hold me
throughout the night
awaking into several dreams of a separation
without me 
in your life
 
This is bought to a reality
by a lack of understanding
of a heart given in entirety 
my love, my compassion, my good times
you insisted it was all a lie
 
I never claimed a proclamation of perfect
I’m wrapped in your bundle of hurting and burdens 
from opposed late love
bad decisions
hoping and wishing
that all is not lost 
in the cause of two wrongs
that were never made right
giving no guarantees
so what we adore 
is always subject to a slip,
beneath our feet and on the way down
we reach a thirsting heart 
that beats loneliness.


Details | Narrative | |

Jeepney Ride

Packed like sardines
inside a jeepney*—
Too full,
with a jeepney strike going on.

Rushing, 
mother and child ride along.

Greasy, dirty, malnourished…
The woman holds a can—
a makeshift drum.
Little boy hands out envelopes,
he looks like he's 3 years old,
he's most likely 6.

Woman beats her drum,
nobody listens
chatter drowning out the rhythm…
Invisible ears to go with
invisible envelopes

His head touches my legs,
dissipating heat—
an indicator of how long
he's been under the sun and smog
The thought chills me…

He stares at my sister's shopping bags
with searing eyes…
Windows that I can’t bear to look into,
afraid to see my reflection of clouded guilt and frustration

I shake my head, no food to share
but my hands reach out to his,
to give him some money.
My sister remembers a bottle of iced tea, 
and hands it to him.

He has a hard time opening it,
and asks for help from the school girls…
Invisible again.

I reach out and get the bottle from him
Temporary refreshment
for a body that is parched,
for a soul who is thirsty for so much more.

I cannot help but gulp in guilty air.

He sits on the aisle,
savoring the tea
as his mother thumps on the can.

The little boy retrieves envelopes, all empty—
as hollow as the sound of the beating drum.

What do you do,
what can you do?

The jeepney stops.
They alight from it...
The mother looks back 
and says, "Salamat.*"
It goes straight to my heart.

Her eyes move me most—
one eye is cloudy, grayed out,
perhaps a manifestation
of the storms in her life?

That single word seared through me,
and I felt how much she meant it…

Her thank you
made me want to give so much more,
to call out to her and give whatever I had at the moment
but they are gone...
Lost in a crowd of faceless people,
and I myself want to get lost,
hide my face in shame…

What can you do?





--For  Debbie’s Tell Me a Story contest…

*jeepney—is  a public transportation vehicle here
*Salamat is “Thank You” 


Details | Narrative | |

His Kiss

His kisses were illegal
  Passionate, yet surprisingly forceful
Better than his first
More memorable than his second
His third smooch was as cold as a Bollywood kiss


http://idyllmusement.freeforums.net/index.cgi


Details | Narrative | |

The Bad King

Ana Cecilia Callejas 

Rodrigo Perez Gavilan

The Bad King 

“Lexer” was a lion who was the King of the entire animal kingdom, during his reign all the animals lived in complete harmony, they were all happy and graceful, and Lexer takes care of them and protects them. One day “Lexer” and his wife had an adorable baby lion that was named “Dylan” as he grew up Lexer teached him a lot of things since he was going to be the heir of the animal kingdom. Dylan also made a lot of friends but his best friend was Jim. Dylan and Jim spend almost all the days together, as the time passed Jim started to hang out with the Rhinos, which were the bad ones of the kingdom. Jim turned into a bad lion and started to incite Dylan to make bad things and he became also a bad lion. One day lexer got very sick and a few days later he passed away so Dylan became the king. All the animals were very sad because they loved Lexer he has been so far the best ruler of the animal kingdom. Time passed and Dylan forgot all the good things his father taught him and started to become a bad lion and a bad king. Influenced by Jim and the Rhinos that were friends with Jim Dylan started to do bad things. He put animals to fight between each other just for their amusement and had some of the animals as slaves just to be his servants, he also ordered other animals to kill so he can eat and have feasts, and this caused a lot of panic in the entire animal kingdom. Dylan mother tried to make him reconsider and change, to do all the good things his father taught him for him to be a good king but Dylan just became worse. All this caused that the animals lost his confidence towards the king and started to live just with the ones of their own kind and also began to fight with all the other animals to survive. This caused that the world became a bad place and since that moment the harmony did not existed anymore and the animals had to take care on their own.
Moral of the fable: if you are a good person and you have good values don’t let anyone to influence you and change the way you are.


Details | Narrative | |

it's magic

it's magic!

A prestidigitator I know
graciously agreed to show me
how to make quarters vanish
for small children in costume
on Halloween night.

After insufficient practice 
the night came for me to 
offer the choice, "trick, or treat".

Few came by to engage in the 
uh..."hallowed" American tradition
but that is another trick.

When asked "Do you want the trick, or 
do you want the treat?",
everyone, said "treat!", much to my dismay.

The final costumed charges came up,
a probable four-year-old girl
and her younger brother in tow,
mother at the driveway.

I asked her the question, expecting 
the previous answer in return, but
to my keen expectation, she answered "trick!"

I proceeded to pull out a quarter
and do a slight bit of slight-of-hand, 
somewhat clumsily, but when I opened
my hand to drop the vanished coin
into hers, she looked at her empty
hand for a few perplexed seconds,
then began to giggle uncontrollably
- now that, indeed, is magic to me.

© Goode Guy 2012-11-01

she got the "magic" coin and a big candy bar.


Details | Narrative | |

Swan song

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Narrative | |

Little Things Mean A Lot



It's the little things in life that mean so much That steaming cup of hot coffee waiting for you as you greet the day The cheery hello from a neighbour As you stumble out of the house, briefcase and keys in hand Ready for the challenges of yet another exciting day The smile on the traffic cop's face at the corner As he waves you through after the kiddies have crossed the street After your gruelling hour long commute You get to the office and the day starts with high-fives The cute new secretary gives you a big smile As you rush by heading for your office Those long arduous meetings that go on late into the afternoon Where everyone finally finds out the company has had It's best year to date and you feel proud That you had even just a small part in it's success Then after fighting the late afternoon rush hour traffic You return home exhausted only to be greeted By your adoring family and you feel on top of the world None of these things individually make your day But all of these things combined make you aware We're all so lucky to be alive And that little things mean a lot © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

The Enjoyment of Life

Dedication:  Thanks to all of my dear family and friends who share the joy of life with me!

The Enjoyment of Life To find the enjoyment of life For the moments we live It matters not what we do It is who we do it with As we should find our joy They say for every situation Bad times can even feel good Being with a special someone We are filled with joy at birth Spiritually given from above Most folks forget it’s there Looking elsewhere for love We are also given friends Along our allotted path To remind us of the joy Deep within we all hath Cherish your special friends Treasure moments you share To find the enjoyment of life A true friend will take you there Let go of all your worries and smile Then you’ll start to feel the joy within Though you can always double the joy When sharing it with a good friend Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

Mission

Latin mission = sending
Mission is the sending of the Church
Father Christ mandate to all Christians
Proclaim the Gospel in word and deed

So that all men can freely make a decision for Father Christ
But be careful to choose the faith
The effect can be too late or not
Choose wisely which faith is the bridge to heaven

4102013


Details | Narrative | |

An Epistle To Our Daughter

   

Billie, there is not one person alive who has not sinned or made mistakes.
   And everyone in life sooner or later experiences heartaches.
No one is without fault, and it’s next to impossible to be perfect.
   We all have our little quirks, we each have our own little defect.
Being perfect is not what God is looking for, but to turn from sin and turn to Him.
   Learn to walk in His light, that is what will make you proper and prim.
You must follow Gods commandments and do not stray.
   And when you feel yourself slipping turn to Jesus and pray.
Let Him know what’s going on, and that you need His help again.
   Tell Him you are trying to turn your life around, one that’s free from sin.
Learn to put your trust in our Savior for that is what He is, Our Savior.
   When we know it’s wrong and we go right on ahead, there is a good chance 
this could be unforgivable behavior.
I personally cannot understand why someone would intentionally do wrong.
   Listen to your conscience, pray, and God will make you strong.
Bill, mom and dad have never stopped loving or caring about you, never will!
    This poem I wrote just for you to let you know just how we feel.
GOD LOVES YOU AND SO DO WE         MOM & DAD


Details | Narrative | |

Even the Hurricane has a Heart

Violent, disastrous, ruthless, merciless
Such words come to mind when one thinks of a hurricane
Destroying anything and everything on its way
Paying no care to the efforts and time invested in that reality
Paying no care to the pain and adversity it leaves behind
Intent to proclaim its superiority at the highest possible cost

...But even a hurricane in all its angered fury
	...has a heart
...and a hurricane’s heart is usually so calm 
...unperturbed by what is going on around it
While its fury whirls around violently destroying
...right in the middle of it, the heart is calm and peaceful

Times will certainly come as rain is bound to drop
...when you will be faced by many challenges
...and it will be like a hurricane has descended on you
In such times, seek the heart of the hurricane
...be at the very centre of it, and you will be fine
...for even a hurricane obeys time
Soon it will exhaust its rage
...and it will be reduced to a mere breeze
	...incapable of harming even a twig

All troubles are seasonal
They may come with storms and thunder
...but soon they’ll be gone
...they’ll be reduced to mere references in the past

Don’t take troubles as personal
Just take them as the experiences of life from which you learn
Each of us must pass through that class
Question is... will you fail or will you pass the exams
The key to passing is tolerance, patience, and understanding

The greatest blessing in life is the MIND
The heart is always weak and irrational
...thus it cannot be trusted to bring happiness that lasts
Empower your mind and use it when in need
When trouble persists, there is only one place to exist
...Ahead in your dreams
Always think of tomorrow when it’ll all be gone
And you’ll own as many happy feelings as your heart will want
Never let your emotions tackle your problems
Always call onto the three minds that govern all life
Your Conscious Mind with which you think
Your Subconscious Mind which turns your thoughts and dreams into reality
And the Super Infinite Mind (God) that has no troubles of its own,
...and is always willing to help you triumph over yours
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dedication to my dear friend Andrea
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Details | Narrative | |

LOVE Conquers All - Scene 3

Scene 3 - Easy Rest Adult Care Fascillity - Harry's Room

     "Do you know this Young man; Harry?" Yes his name is Kenny. "Where did you meet him?" We went to School Together. "What was the name of the School?" It was umm, I don't recall. " You see Mr. Potter he can't place Faces to his past. He may recognize your face but does not know Why or where. Let's go down to the office now, You can sign the intake papers. "NO no! Chef who won the World Series in 2004??" " World Series that's Baseball right, I should know this, was it the Yankees or the Cardinals??" Mr. Potter you told me yourself ; if he doesn't remember the 2004 World Series then he should be committed" " Chef please Think: surely You haven't forgotten "Ma Rock, Barbara Jean, Liz, or YOUR LIFE, Your Existence, Your FOREVER, Your Wife LENORE"
______________________________________________________________________
Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock Time stands still for no one, but memories of Time, are never buried 
______________________________________________________________________
 
"Ma Rock, finally a Mother that LOVED Me. Barbara Jean Gorelick, the Woman that Holds my Heart, the POETESS that healed my Broken Heart, Liz, my best student in 12 + years
of teaching, She died in a car accident 2 months before Graduation. LENORE my Most Only beLOVEd, soon we shall join as ONE with our GOD. Dr. Mendelsohnn I'm going Home Where I can be With All I LOVE"


Details | Narrative | |

Hostile Times II

Hostile Times II
By Nate Spears
	

Busted love is my Crystal Ball's fortune
My heart hurts in a torturing way
Nothing ever works in my favor
Standing still 
I lower my head and pray 
Confessing to God 
All I have to give

A 16 year old rebellious daughter
A 13 year old son that’s dead
My father is in prison; so is the one of my two kids
Is this really a way of living?
I didn’t have a choice from the days beginning
Anything different
Would have a given me a chance
at living

Walls of barriers bearing on us 
On this earth we stand
Refusing to let go of this curse
If no bill is signed by Congress
My unemployment runs out next Thursday 
Now I contemplate what’s next?
Sex dollars or Creflo's Dollars?
Be an honest woman; or
Be a fool that’s starving?
When pushed to the limit
All governors are discarded.

Hostile Times rains upon us
Other nations joins the honors
The Elite makes me vomit
There’s plenty of resources among us
God have mercy and let it trickle down on us
Rather than become degrading
In this pew 
I choose prayer
Becoming Sunday Mornings best
Washing away my pains that become abreast; with my chest
Bringing in a new day, 
A today, 
For a better way
In these hostile times we live in.


Details | Narrative | |

Strangers

Strangers

    by Edmund Siejka

Loud music  
Contagious beat
Eyes meet
Stolen glances
Before long
They walked hand in hand
Along the nighttime streets.

Pausing to adjust her jacket 
She took another look 
At the stranger next to her.

Once inside her apartment
They lost no time
Falling softly into bed
She crawling forward
Blouse opened
Unable to resist 
He pulled off her bra
She was free 
He was in heaven
Hands reaching and touching
Discovering one another.

She mumbled something 
He didn’t hear
The sounds she made were incredible 
Deliciously he held her tightly
Her breathe coming faster and faster 
As he moved over her
That in this act
Two complete strangers 
As close as they will ever be
So close that one moves inside the other.


Leaving in the morning
He never knew 
Who she really was 
What she wanted from life
Where she came from 
How she looked in the early light
The sound of her laughter
Or the softness of her tears
When something moved her.


Details | Narrative | |

The Hat - Part 1

Travelling on the road for business gets old fast.  The inside of one hotel room starts to look the same as another in any town you name.  When you travel by yourself it becomes even more mundane.  Customers, clients and/or prospects all have their own after-work lives waiting for them and seldom include you in their plans.  So, as you depart at the end of the business day you are on your own, in a strange town.

You do get used to exploring cities, towns and suburbs on your own.  You figure out how to avoid always eating in the hotel restaurant and you master the art of dining alone.  For men like Josh, that usually meant eating at the restaurant bar.  Even though he seldom ordered a beer, wine or other alcoholic beverages, the bartenders were always a willing party to chat with and enjoy some semblance of human interaction.

On this particular occasion, the trip was even more difficult than usual because Josh was having trouble at home with his wife.  Whereas, some may think it a blessing to remove yourself from the situation, it just made Josh feel even more lonely not being able to talk to her to try to work things out.  So, after putting on his happy and buoyant work-face all day to keep the customer satisfied, Josh donned his fedora and walked out the front doors of the high-rise office complex onto the crowded and lonely city streets.

The fedora was a relatively new addition to Josh’s wardrobe.  Not many men wear fedoras any more.  Josh’s wife thought he would look good in the hat and surprised him with it as a Christmas present six months ago.  Josh was still getting used to wearing the hat, but received many compliments on his appearance while wearing it.

Without even bothering going back to his hotel room, Josh slowly strolled around the city streets lost in thought about the situation with his wife and wondering how they might resolve the loss of passion, the loss of caring and the loss of love in their relationship.  Finally, he stepped inside the doors of an enticing pub to get himself some dinner.

The bar in this particular establishment had plenty of stools available to pick from.  Josh sat down on one and placed his fedora on the empty stool next to him.  On this evening, Josh started off by ordering a beer.


Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

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 


Details | Narrative | |

The Emptiness of Life

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

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

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

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


Details | Narrative | |

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


Details | Narrative | |

Lost and Confused

Lost and Confused, with life.
My Pain and Fear is all I have Left.
Standing alone with no place to go.
Just another Piece in this puzzle, I am.
Playing a role, that shall not be remembered.
But a piece that will be forgotten.
One that got lost along the way.
Lost and Confused, with Life.
Love is all but what we have.
Its what drives us everyday.
A motivation so deeply encouraged.
When achieved, all is but of greater value.
Lost and Confused, with Life.
I leave this place with one memory
but of you, and all its glory.


Details | Narrative | |

View From My Window



And what do you see
From your window?

I see young couples walking together
Shoulders touching
Unspoken tenderness 
Inseparable
Full of promise.

What is love?
Love is not one thing
There is no benchmark for it
It comes unexpectedly 
And can be
Kindness
Respect
Companionship
Or the soft touch of a hand. 

Is love important?
There is no truer belief
Than to be wanted.



Details | Narrative | |

A TRAGEDY OF PRIDE hubris or BIRD BRAIN

                     A TRAGEDY OF PRIDE ( hubris)
                       

In the Arctic nights the jazz born North Lights sound
with a music of their own. Fair winds ferry fragile birds--
take to the skies in search of sympathetic warmth profound

while white breathless silence magnifies each sound as it is heard
and few venture forth, like bears they dash to find a haven
where they can hide until reluctantly the sun has stirred--

But, there is one jay bird who is not one of nature’s craven
creatures-- Waiting for a spring call from his mate, he hops into the hungry snow
to dance a dangerous dance in icy morning with the ravens.

There is a God flung magic that dashes high above the haughty human know
among the ancient secret kingdoms of the mystery sky--
And there it is that Wisdom’s Word is spread by wing and wayward winds that blow

their way in worldwide splendor and intricate magnificence that defies
the mind of man.  It is a truth that dalliance in vanity is inborn---
Man or bird, into the nature of some spirits-- it low lies

and becomes incited when grand fame or imagined glory has been shorn
by another .  And , so-- in Persia when the Prince of Peacocks heard
murmurs of the razzing ravens and the sassy sparrows high sky airborne

a proclamation that the World knew now there lived a peerless bird--
plucky-proud, surpassing the peacock -- Jay magnificent with a spirit daunting, a weight
of valiant blue in shades escaped of double rainbows, color-blurred

who bedazzled all nature’s eyes and winds of ear, that judiciously beheld each trait.
The peacock, no longer Highest Prince of Birds, screamed a terrible and cosmic sound
of jealousy.   Ignoring all the glory that still made him great--
the vain and foolish peacock fell-- stunned and breathless to the ground.




Victoria Anderson-Throop  2012 ©
Written in Juja, Kenya
Bird is Stellar Jay, common in Valdez, Alaska


Details | Narrative | |

Waves of Change

Waves of Change Changes in life descriptionalized In comparison to waves of the ocean Our bodies are made mostly of water A body of water with flowing emotions Now an ocean will flow peacefully Until there is a bit of turbulence Disrupting from a smooth flow With the up and down currents As we walk onto a new path A different kind of feeling steps in New ventures can be scary in thought Of what is left behind when we begin An air of difference can bring on a spin To a funnel effect as does a water spout Sometimes when in the spin motion cycle We are shaded by clouds and cannot see out When actually caught within the spin We do not see the change is there Our sense of direction is lost We become totally unaware If you are the one caught Within that fast paced spin You will not be able to see The shape you are really in That’s the time we need someone To give us a tap on the shoulder It’s not a matter of who knows more Or which one of the other is older You’ll need a friend like Dory was Saying to just keep swimming the sea To never give up your hopes and dreams As changes in life really just happen to be Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

Polish woman made sure to cancel her own funeral



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





  - This is a true story !!! - 


   16.11.2014
   A-L Andresen :)


   


Details | Narrative | |

My Story Telling Can You Trust Me

Gun fire all around, bombs going off in the distance
It was some of the angry mobs and resistance
Father was the king of SafeHaven a small kingdom
Like all other kingdoms it fell in random
Fire started in the castle
And along with it came a battle

It was a distance memory now because the child has now grew
Many things in this child that made memories stew
My name is Mastrey, a young orphan who was there that night
Mastrey saw her in the distance and her father and mother in his sight
Everyone was loud that night and made all the children hide
But that evening Mastrey saw her mother and father die

She ran into the bushes in such a fright
And evil doers were running around with flashlights
Mastrey remember it as he distracted them 
Her eyes was so confused with problems
Mastrey new that it was because of what just occurred
His feelings of what those people did was not awkward

The distraction worked, he went back to were she was
Hiding and very scared she was, he asked her, can you trust me just because?
Her answer that night depended on her lively hood
As Mastrey was their with his hand reaching out to her as he stood
Pulling her up from the ground he looked into her eyes that were SeaBlue
Mastrey had made a life long friend and love, She knew it was true

Next: My Story Telling,  Who is this Princess


Details | Narrative | |

Love Is Life Itself



One can tell by the fields of clover That adorns the hillside The scent of jasmine, the taste of honey We only need stop And observe all the wonders of the world To realize how much we have to be thankful for The soft warm breeze of a summer morning The snow that covers the trees and rooftops Like a cozy warm blanket Curling up with a good book on a rainy day A puppy who's over-the-top happy To see you when you return home A symphony by Mozart caressing your ears The purring of a kitten The shimmering sunlight on the lake The first robin of spring All these things and many many more Make us realize what a wonderful place This old world is and will always be Love is life itself! © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

Keeping Poop in Perspective

I walk my dog every day – usually, several times a day.  I probably remember to take a doggie-poop-bag with me 95% percent of the time.  Because she also runs loose in our fenced in back yard – my dog probably only poops on our walks 25% of the time.  But – that 5% of the time that I forget to bring along a poop-bag guarantees that she poops 100% of the time on those occasions!  Or, so it seems.

This morning, I forgot to stick a poop-bag in my pocket for our morning walk.  She pooped.  So, I turned around and went back home to get a poop bag to pick up her mess.

As we returned to the scene of the crime, I discovered we were too late.  Two women, one hopping up and down, steaming mad and shouting obscenities, were standing near, what was now a smashed pile of doggie do-do.

“I am so sorry,” I said as I walked up to clean up the remaining mess.

“Sorry,” the hopping lady shouted, “sorry doesn’t help me now, does it?  Why the hell can’t you people clean up after your dogs?  How hard is it to keep your damn dog from sh*tting on the sidewalk?”

“I am sorry,” I repeated.  “I always pick up after my dog, I just forgot the bag this morning and rushed right home to get it.  I apologize I did not get back here before you came along.”

“Well, a lot of god-damned good that does me now,” she continued to shout.  “My shoes are ruined thanks to you.  God damn it!”

“Look, lady,” I said, trying to remain calm.  “I said I was sorry.  If your shoes are ruined, give me your name and address and I will send you the money for new shoes.”

“Thanks a lot”, still shouting, “but, you’ve just ruined my whole day.  I try to take a walk in the morning to start the day off right and idiots like you have to go and f*ck it all up!”

 “Ma’am,” I said, in as calm a voice as possible, “I think you should keep this in perspective.  You stepped in a pile of dog sh*t and got it all over your shoe.  It’s not like you stepped in a pile of cancer and got it all over your body.  You can go home and throw your shoes out and let me buy you a new pair – your prognosis looks pretty good.  And, it is up to you.  You can allow this small matter to ruin your whole day or you can go on with your day and be thankful that this is probably the worst thing that will happen to you today.  The choice is yours.  I suggest you make a wise one.”

Her friend, whose shoulder she was leaning on to keep the soiled foot off of the ground, although I am not sure why she was hopping around like she had a broken foot, couldn’t help but start to smile and giggle, just a little bit.

The furious woman looked angrily at her friend; looked down on me in contempt as I picked up the remaining poop; looked at my dog who just stood there with her tail wagging madly and, after a minute or two, miraculously calmed down; put her raised foot back on the ground; and, smiled.

“You know what,” she asked, “you are right.”  Her friend winked at me and she continued.  “It is just a pile of dog sh*t.  I can absolutely get over this and not let it ruin my day.  You know what else?  Of all the piles of dog sh*t in this world, I’m glad I stepped in yours.  Thank you for your offer to buy me a new pair of walking shoes, but that won’t be necessary, I’ll keep these, thank you.  And, every day I put these shoes on for my morning walk I will be reminded that I did not step into a pile of cancer and I will think about those poor souls who have and keep my miseries in perspective.  Thank you for that reminder.”

She and her friend turned and continued on their morning walk laughing along the way.

I patted my dog on her head; tied the poop bag closed; and made a promise not to forget the darn poop bags ever again.

(This is a fictional tale.  I thought this story up as I was walking back to my house to get a poop bag to pick up my dog's pile this morning after I forgot the bag.)


Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

A Tangled Web

Nearly empty inside, my life fading fast,which direction should I take.  Starring blankly at the T in the road, an important decision I need to make.

Sinking fast in an empty sea, scrambling to stay alive.  Struggling just to stay a float, loosing the will I need to survive.

Paralyzed in fear, afraid of moving ahead, leading a life of disappointments and defeat.  Locked down in chains, nowhere to go, caught in a tangled wed of deceit.

With a soul that's damaged beyond repair, displaying every intimate and personal detail.  There's humiliation learking around every corner I take, highlighting every moment I have failed.

Drowning under piles of secrets and lies, slowly suffocating with every breath I take.  Trapped behind the burning flames of hell, it's a gamble with my life as the stakes.

All of my stability and security stripped down, exposing every secret I tried to hide.  Running now on auto pilot, defensive mode my emotions I'll keep buried deep inside.

Where do I go from here, the damage can't be erased.  Reality sets in a little to hard, when it smacked me suddenly in the face.


Details | Narrative | |

Thank You All



The soul is a complicated thing It can be filled with joy and laughter one moment And filled with a feeling of utter despair the next It's the most mysterious of human traits It can take the smallest thing to make the pendulum swing Some happenings can effect our moods more than others But we are strong enough to overcome them I'm afraid I don't fall into the that category My ups and downs can be quite extreme at times Very extreme highs and very extreme lows I try my hardest not to be too sensitive But for people like me, it's nearly impossible It's inherent in who I am Perhaps this is what allows me to write To express my feelings I often disguise the true inner me with humour It's my way of coping But my life would be missing a major part Without my friends to share my poetry Thank you all! © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

WHY TRUST

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


Details | Narrative | |

Divinity

Finally..Mr.Whitman, I understand as my journey is symbolic to yours; but, through my poverty-strickened doors. Fighting your human instincts... while learning your internal glow within. Frightening, enlightening, inviting his omnipresence in and as your reward he transforms you into him. Breathing your FIRST breath again. Loving life from the core of the earth to the pull of the moon. Stuck in the middle yet understanding all of the connectivity; because I'm living in a state of Divinity.


Details | Narrative | |

Spirit and Faith

Spirit and Faith
I never walk alone no matter where I go. My thoughts never go unheard nor do my 
whispers fall on deaf ears. Always by my side waiting to hear my every thought and 
holding me close at all times. 
The things I whisper the wind carries as if to tell all the world there is a secret 
stirring in the breeze. You see my thoughts and whispers are set free. No I am 
never alone.

I have a warm feeling that surrounds and fills me with beautiful thoughts. I see 
exciting things everywhere I look and know they are to remind me of what is known 
within my heart and saved deep inside my mind. Somehow I know something more 
spectacular is to come.

Together we travel this life and hold each other to light the path and guide the way. 
Comfort comes from knowing, feeling, and sensing these things not shared with 
others. Instinct I say, “Just a gut feeling”, but beside me, although those around me 
are unaware ~ I never walk alone! 

Soaring with love bound by heaven bringing intuition, wisdom and passion keeping 
us connected stronger than any imagined emotion or dream. I know and feel life 
lessons from sensing, acquiring and accumulating knowledge given gently as you 
are forever influencing there beside me. Walk with me and keep me safe as you 
open my window of curiosity with insight, reassuring with a peek of what’s on the 
other side. Every beat of my heart and color of my soul follows a journey filled with 
open-mindedness and love. 

Knowing your there holding my dreams and safeguarding my heart with love gives 
me the strength to follow unknown paths. Courage is being gently guided over 
stepping stones with Intuition and held up as you walk by my side.   

                                                                                                     Debbie Knapp.


Details | Narrative | |

April 15, 2013


They say that the only sure things
Are death and taxes

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

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

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

Crowds cheered
As the runners crossed the finish line

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

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

They say that the only sure things
Are death and taxes

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


Details | Narrative | |

God's Time

She leaves in the world she doesn't appreciates;
Tendency, self-esteem depreciates. 
Counting material, neglecting particle;
Envious-- drive to asking miracle!

She wandered for solution;
Though there's actually no equation,
Keeping approach yet can't touch, Asymptotic...
Really can't figure the logic!

Later did she realize,
She dreamed of something hard to analyze.
God took something;
But replaces everything.

She looks above surrendering,
HE replies "turn 360° and see the surrounding"
Her heart sees the ordinary-extra different this time! It glitters in perfection;
Warmed her heart, breaking the wall of inhibition.


Details | Narrative | |

Leila's Journey

Her outlook had been a barren, rubble-filled landscape 
for as long as she remembered.

Leila lived alone, 
ate alone, 
slept alone 
and didn’t dream at all.

Staring out from her window she noticed a tiny difference, 
a delicate seedling.
The mornings gained a sense of purpose as, 
through a layer of glass,
she witnessed the growth of something new.

She began to dream of opportunity and desire.
The seedling blossomed 
with a rare beauty 
and she thought of its scent.

Determined to conquer her fear of the outdoors 
Leila focused on the bloom
…she never saw the speeding car.


**for Nikko's Twist and Shock contest


Details | Narrative | |

My Drunken Pen

Oh,no!not again,my book is in a mess.vomits of inks all over my notes.
My pen is drunk again.Stench!,stench of vomits everywhere.As it wobbles
from line one to line four...No!no matter what I must finish this piece,so
that I can have peace.I`m writing a Sedoka to  a wonderful damsel and....
the ground is spinning,I`m feeling very dizzy; Hiccups.....hic...cups this is 
frustrating,oh! it`s not me,it`s my pen....then I travel to the world of 
extreme bliss where I`m married to a princess in a golden castle....
with plenty cattle...the sky is blue as the flowers bloom and the stars
 are  sparkling;Oh,yes!I`ve been here before~the apex of glory...
cool cosy water fall touching my head....De ja vu ~~de ja vu....inks
dripping on my feet...Ha!my pen~~I jerk back to life....thick inks flow
out of my drunken pen forming a sea of water on my notes.Oh!smell
of whisky fills the air.......my Sedoka is ruin.Ha!my princess in the Ca..
cas..tle..;Wha..t  an illusion..Staggering..waggling...rambling, my pen
moves along.........



written by
Arowolo Olusegun.


Details | Narrative | |

The Gift Of Life



The rivers that flow The clouds drifting by The sun that shines All treats to the eye The breeze that blows The bright shiny moon The grass that grows A warm day in June The warmth of summer The colours of autumn The snows of winter Making smiles broaden The sound of the rain The children at play The sound of thunder Feeling love every day The colour of flowers The laughter of a baby The sound of the waves Those trees so shady A roller coaster ride The thrill of found money A marching band A walk with your honey Comfort of easy chairs The thrill of first kiss The air that we breathe The joy of all this © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

Life

My eyes are leaking because I’m allergic to life
The rivers of my eyes flowing immensely, one into another
For I am afraid of being blind to what lies ahead of me
There’s nothing worse than jumping out of an airplane with no parachute
Nothing to assure the preparedness and safety of your journey
On the way down thinking is “Am I gonna crash and burn?”
At this moment I don’t know up from down
Neither my heart nor my mind is calm
Too many thoughts and emotions rushing all around me
In a whirlwind of chaos
I need steady
I need stable
My feet on the ground
My head up proud
My mind clear and ready
To conquer this thing little thing call life


Details | Narrative | |

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…



Details | Narrative | |

L o n e r

I am lonely.

It's not an obsession,
or an art,
or a choice.

I am just lonely,

by default.


Details | Narrative | |

A Talk With Dad

Hi Dad, I guess we all will see our time and all will pass
Sometimes I lie awake and cry, longing for another chance
So much I never said, so often I said too much
Once in a while i'll drive by where Grandma's house was
Stop and reminisce awhile
Wonder what Mom's childhood was like in that old farm house
Remember you saying how you loved the place
Talking about how you walked all those miles to see Mom
At night the sounds of crickets and the truck traffic miles away on 54
Fourth of July gathering on the back porch and in the yard, beer on tap
Burnt fingers holding sparklers at night, Grandma's cooking
Old Jack barking and howling, uncles throwing horse shoes
Kids playing baseball in the grass between Grandma's and Chick's place
Did we lose the Utopia we dreamed about, never recognizing it
What I'd give to take you for a ride again, through your old haunts
Caught up in the nostalgia of your childhood and mine.
Times were tougher, times were better, Paradise lost.
You measured riches in family, friends and neighbors
Somewhere, somehow the present generation lost that
Seems as I got older, you got wiser,  couldn't see it as a child 
Never said I love you, Dad often enough
Never said thank you, Dad for the lessons on life and living
Got to go now, i'll say a prayer for you and mom
Who knows, maybe we'll find that peace within us
That we had growing up and you were here.


Details | Narrative | |

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.”

Epicfunny!

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

Sighlens.

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...
Scrunchscrunch...Imaginations.
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...


Details | Narrative | |

sun is every where where ever we see

when the rivers flow all along 
sun comes to meet it 
when mountains are all around 
sun comes to shine it 
when red roses grow all around 
sun comes to warm it 
when skies are dark 
sun comes to bright it 
when we are having a sleep 
sun comes to wake us 
sun can change day to night   night to day 
sun is every where where ever we see


Details | Narrative | |

PRIDE

						PRIDE

I went in search of pride
When  I found her; she was so proud of herself
She prided herself about like a peacock
I told her the humble truth of life
Pride, you need to get down from your high shoes
Only then can you realize that which you haven't realized
The ground on which you stand is not a levelled ground
This ground you stand on is only a stepping ground to a higher ground
Right now, you see it as a ground higher than mount Everest
Your pride deceives you; you are standing on a ground below sea level.

She is just a girl
She is in herself a self acclaimed goddess
She likes to be in control of everything
When there is nothing else to control; she controls herself
Though not good at it; herself controls her
Pride gets the best out of her; humility is her slave 
She is drowning in an ocean of fantasy and doesn't want to shout for help
She doesn't want to get real with reality
She is too comfortable to be uncomfortable in her comfortable comfort
Your pride deceives you; you are living an uncomfortable life.

He is just a boy
He is in himself a self acclaimed god
He likes to be in control of everything
When there is nothing else to control; he controls himself
Though not good at it; himself controls him
Pride gets the best out of him; humility is his slave
He is drowning in an ocean of fantasy and doesn't want to shout for help
He doesn't want to get real with reality
He is too comfortable to be uncomfortable in his comfortable comfort
Your pride deceives you; you are living an uncomfortable life.

				
										Lordvip


Details | Narrative | |

Confessions Of A Ghost

underneath a canopy of stars
only known by the universe
(there are so many….you see)
she waits…..

black silence permeates her mind
dusk is way past brand new
and she is stumbling on a dark pitch
neon lights glow inside her
                          (though seldom seen)
the eyes of a mask
pushing through the empty
               of a thousand masquerades

buried ghost of white light
hurried sounds of footsteps
and wells of blue ink burrow
                       beneath skin to fragile
as she trembles from the recall
                (inching in with devils claws)
somewhere she remembers
                  yet always on the outside
she stumbles in the night time

oh how it taunts  her lips
                    for just one taste
of sweet spring water
the luscious strawberry linger
as she suffers dehydration
quick flashes flicker past
and the stars call up a whisper
                she runs 
but remains motionless
              (feet glued to solid ground)

she waits…..

willow….weep for her
with your weeping boughs
                   (do you remember?)
for no one else can hear her
in the shadows of a maple
in a country full of desert
(muted by judging mouths)
            she cannot speak out truth

spirit sounds frolic
like fairies in the night
dancing in the wasteland
of what she thought was home
and she….lost inside the twinkle
of a billion lights that shimmer
with the mockery of reminiscence

underneath a canopy of stars
only known by the universe
(just too many….you see)
she waits…..

always she waits….


Details | Narrative | |

While Waiting For My Return Flight Home

"You in the military?"

I was confused at first and didn't know why the man would ask me such a question. But then I remembered my recent haircut.

"No... is it because I shaved my head, that you think that?"

He laughed, in confirmation. At the time he seemed good-natured and so I decided to try and spark some kind of conversation. After all why not? I had two hours worth of sitting ahead of me, and I was bored of the silence.

"Do you think it's weird that I shave my head?". Admittedly I'm not the most graceful conversationalist. "Not at all... so why are you headed to Boise?". I told him I live there and that I just got back from Europe. For some reason where I came from didn't interest him much.

"You study at BSU?". I told him no, and he started to sway back and forth. He had a weird habit of not being able to stand completely straight. "What do you do?". And I said I was just a pizza-maker, and thought the description was ample. He paused for five minutes and then said in a low condescending voice "I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that. Now what do you DO?".

I was exhausted from almost twenty hours of drawn out sitting, and plus I was never good at clever responses, so I said dumbly "I don't know". He said "What about CWI? You know, coll-ege-of-west-ern-i-da-ho", pronouncing each syllable precisely. Did he think I had mental problems or something? "I don't know, I haven't looked very deep into it".

He seemed irritated with me and continued that annoying sway of his. My shallow side got the best of me and I couldn't help but form conclusions of what he thought of me. Like for instance; this kid probably spends most of his time playing video-games... that is when he's not smoking pot. Hell, maybe he even does both at the same time. Those were the thoughts that came to me and I was helpless to stop them.

He showed me his military ID, saying proudly "See here, I'm in the military." Placing his finger right on his portrait. I said "Cool!". But I really just wanted some peace and quiet. He put his card back in his wallet. But he had this look about him, that showed deep disappointment. He looked as though he was waiting for some profound response from my end. Did he expect me to bow down, kiss his feet, and shout out "Oh you brave man! I'm simply not worthy of your presence!" But no, all I said was cool and continued to look at the giant digital clock on the wall. Will this plane ever get here!?

"C'mon man, you gotta know what you wanna do in life!". His badgering just wouldn't stop, but I was in no mood to breathe any comebacks beside mechanical responses. I could have told him I had a passion for composing songs on my piano, and that I was self-taught; or that I had enough material on my Kindle Fire to start at least a couple books. I could've even quoted Plato, stating "College polishes pebbles, but dims diamonds". But I don't think that would have jived well with him and would have simply caused me more stress. Why should I bother defending myself to someone who knew absolutely NOTHING about me? I just wanted to get home after a month of being away. Not get lectured by this complete stranger who refused to get the hint.

"My son is seventeen years old and has no idea what he wants to do". Was he talking to himself or me? "I'd like to show him brochures of Michigan or Hawaii," he snickered, "Heck, maybe that would get him out of the house!". I mentally rolled my eyes at him - I was simply too beat to do it physically. I've never been so grateful to have a dad like mine. That poor, poor kid! When the plane, at last arrived, I rejoiced that I didn't have sit next to that meddlesome man. I say this in complete seriousness, that he was quite possibly the most irritating person I've ever met.


Details | Narrative | |

Rummy's Mantra

“its ok“….he justifies it….”I have been hurt”
so he tosses back one more….seeking incoherence
that serves as his sanity….and his brand new bravery

it becomes his friend, as he swigs this rotgut…
takes control without a sound….(sneaky devil)
solemnly he stood on a blank street crying
into a wind that was too frigid to care
wounds too raw and rampant to console him
(in all his empty stark patterns and narcissism)

funny when you destroy pure love given freely
what is left is just a blind burst of bleeding
guilt and terror consumed his thoughts 
until he couldn’t face the eyes staring back
another chug and apocryphal bliss found
once again at the empty end of a lush’s swill

why not….when whiskey is warm…burns a bit
but calms the nerves and his are torn in shreds
(hasn’t got much too lose now does he)

“its ok“….he justifies it….”I have been hurt”
so he tosses back one more……seeking incoherence
that serves as his sanity….and his brand new bravery

he faces the world backwards in a prison bars jar
and sadly enough its lonely with steel walls 
(of your own making) as you bury your face
in a broken sand and the shoreline moistens
from your drunken weeping and wail of wine

poor man….who are you….does anyone know you?
stagger a little and sunken gray sockets bulge
Stooped shoulders and demeanor of a lost soul
sorrow fills my heart for you….as you waste a life
(thrown out like useless rubbish)
trashed by your own bruised hands and hollow cheeks

“its ok” he tells himself “I’ve been hurt”
so he tosses back one more…..seeking incoherence 
that serves as his sanity….and his brand new bravery


Details | Narrative | |

My Story Telling Who is this Princes

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

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

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

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

My Story Telling  Together In A Strange World


Details | Narrative | |

The Diet

I never eat breakfast 
since the mornings when, as a small child,
my older brother, 
sitting at the same cheery-blue kitchen table,
would arch one dark, thick eyebrow up from behind the cereal box 
and snarl, “I hate your guts.”


Details | Narrative | |

My First Time

Gnawed nails dig into worn plastic armrests
Stinging alcohol burns the skin
A sharp point glints in the fluorescent light

Rough hands grip the shoulder
Restraining it against the comfortless chair
He says to relax,
But the tremors intensify.

Deep breath
Lungs release
Cartilage crunches
Blood flows

Shiny metal ring
Rests against the ear
A new opening in the body
Diverging from natural design.


Details | Narrative | |

Physically and Mentally Abuse

I was born in a world of poverty and soiled life of a third world country
The way I lived till I was five years of age was walls of boundary
These walls had towers of guards that had no heart or care
If a child would try to climb the wall they lose their life I swear

Father had drank and threatened my mother with a knife
My father lost his job and wife and that was the hardship of life
He stopped my mother from taking off with me in her arm
Hoping that my father would ignore and left me be with no harm

When my father went off to drink one night and came home with rage
My brothers stood by my crib and took a beating that set up the next stage
My father had woken up to three scared children half starved and in pain
His final words as he walk away from the orphanage gate live life do not go insane

I was still a baby in the orphanage; the caretakers did not really care about the babies
They stole items and materials those wicked men and maternal evil ladies
They starved all the babies because it cost a lot to keep them alive
As a child of that age I could feel the sins and greed that gave out bad vibes

I was ignorant about what I drank and ate, as I see white maggots move in my bottle
As I see them move I thought about how they were playing and some were hostel
They ate each other to keep each other alive in a manner that took me by surprise
In the back round I hear others throwing things with sounds of painful cries

I got very strong at a young age I was able to start pulling myself up over the cage
My feelings were to see my brothers with strong lungs that I cried out of rage
My two brothers came to see me and sneak food into my crib
The caretaker would find the food in my hands as they grabbed it and hit me on my ribs

As painful as it was I kept eating the food with blood in my mouth as it was instinct
I sometimes laid in my crib dazed and confused with smell of death so distinct
With all my might I kept myself strong and climb the small wall
I finally was old enough to get out of the building and I could hear my brothers call

With tears of joy with short legs that ran as fast as my heart
I ran to my brothers arms and held their hands to have a new start
I grew stronger everyday but more things came into my life in a manner of dismay
If my brothers stay by my side I could smile and everyday their would be okay



Details | Narrative | |

SOMETIMES

Sometimes I feel like crying
on my really sad days
sometimes I feel like dancing
when an oldie but goodie plays

sometimes I feel like singing
when something stirs a note
sometimes I feel excited
when shopping I get to go

sometimes I need to whisper
so no one can hear
sometimes I can't remember
oh dear


Details | Narrative | |

Where Did All The Romance Go

Where did all the romance go? That once was so long ago That special kind so honest, fresh and innocent Expressions from the heart of what is really meant Let me point out a boy in particular then That other someone from way back when He was very athletic and really sweet He lived close by, just down the street Here are some of his qualities That seemed so romantical to me Like calling the local radio station To play a special song dedication Knowing he didn’t have very long He ran over to dance with me to the song And all those nights he climbed that tree Up to my bedroom window to visit with me Inspired with competition like winning a race To let everyone know he would be first place He really did run track and with every ribbon won He gave them all to me with his deepest affection Some of you may already know That I must be referring to Joe He was the one most romantical So where did all the romance go? These days no longer see it here Is it lost or hiding inside somewhere? I tend to think the boy inside will always know He feels the romance just no longer lets it show If happiness starts with one’s self with in Finding true love should have some romancing True love and devotion does exist I know Except the actual process can be slow Especially with romance lack – sooooo Just where did all the romance go? Our time on earth is very quick Are you waiting to get hit with a happy stick? So from reminiscing about the yesteryear lad Please don’t lose that romantic nature you once had You will find out that it’s not so bad And even discover you are more than glad So listen to your inner self and be like Joe And please don’t let all the romance go Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

Strange and the Stranger - A Short Story

Due to some rare, genetic disorder, Cliff was born with physical features that made him different from everyone else.  Although, most people would say “different” was a kind term to use to describe Cliff.  Many people were disgusted and horrified by Cliff’s disfigured face, twisted limbs and humped back.

As a result, Cliff was raised in a sanatorium and was sheltered from the rest of the world.  Well-meaning relatives pretended that it was for Cliff’s own good that they kept him away from the public, but they really knew, deep down inside, that they were protecting the public from being exposed to Cliff.

When Cliff turned twenty-one he moved out on his own into a cruel and sometimes, ugly world.  Cliff loved walking outside and learned how to avoid most crowded areas; how to ignore the stares, guffaws and outright rude and disgusting remarks sent his way; and, how to pretend that he fit in this world same as everyone else.

On this one particular sunny day, Cliff noticed a man sitting alone on a park bench.  The man seemed to be simply enjoying the sunshine on his face.  Cliff was quick to notice the dark sunglasses the man wore and the dog lying by his feet with a harness and handle that indicated it was a seeing-eye-dog.  Starving for some human interaction and conversation, Cliff got up enough courage to go over and sit down next to this man.

“Hi,” Cliff said, approaching the park bench, “mind if I sit here and join you?”

“No, not at all,” responded the stranger.

“Beautiful day”, Cliff offered.

“Absolutely,” responded the man, still just leaning back and basking in the sun.  “I just love the feel of the warm sun on my face after a long winter.”

“Yeah.  I love walking in the park any day,” responded Cliff.  “Sometimes, for me, it’s better on bad-weather days.”

“Really?  Why is that?” asked the stranger.

“Well,” started Cliff, “I’m a little bit different than most people.”

“Different?  How are you different from most people”, queried the man.

“Let’s just say I look different.  So much so,” admitted Cliff, “that I scare most people.”

“Now that’s just crazy,” said the stranger.  “Anyone who is scared by people who are different than they are, are really just insecure with who they are.  You shouldn’t take that personally, the problem is with them, not with you.”

“Yeah, I guess so”, agreed Cliff without much conviction, “but, my situation might be a little different.”

“Could it be that your difference makes you scared of other people and that you project this onto them and justify your distance from them by believing they are afraid of you?” asked the man.

Cliff thought about that a bit and just shrugged his shoulders, saying, “Maybe, but really, I think I scare them and I understand why.”

The two men then proceeded to talk about a variety of subjects over the next half hour.  Cliff was thoroughly enjoying the conversation and having another human being to talk to.  For the first time in his life, Cliff felt he had finally found a friend, even if just for one day.  He thought to himself, “Maybe I just need to find other people who are a little ‘different’ to become friends with”.

The stranger then announced, “Well, my time is up, I’ve got to get back to work.”  He then asked Cliff, “Do you mind watching my dog a second while I go to the men’s room?”

Cliff looked at the man and then at the dog.  He asked, “Don’t you need the dog to help you get to the men’s room?”

“Oh no,” said the man, “I am not blind, I train seeing-eye-dogs for those who are.”  

The man looked Cliff straight in the eye and said, “You need to have more faith in people.  You are a great guy to talk to, I enjoyed our conversation.  You don’t need to find blind people to sit next to.  There are people that can get past your outward appearance and find the man inside – you just have to give them a chance.  And, those who can’t get past your ‘differences’ … well, they are probably people you wouldn’t want to talk to anyway.”

“Thanks,” Cliff said, “I’ll try.”

Cliff now walks in the park every day, saying “Hi” to strangers he passes and often sitting down and talking to others on the benches.  He has made several friends that he chats with on a regular basis.  Some people still point and walk away from him, but this does not bother Cliff any more.

Cliff never saw that stranger again but he wanted me to write this story to say, “Thanks”.  Could you have been that stranger?


Details | Narrative | |

Before I Die I Want

Before I Die I Want….
Deep inside of me things have begun to stir. My hopes and dreams are mixing with 
my needs and desires. As feelings come to the surface suddenly my mind and body 
are taking on a life it seems all their own. Never before has such a sensation to fulfill 
what was once hidden demanded to  be made known. Now all that lies beneath 
waiting, longing to come alive bubbled forth.
It feels as though an unexpected force has entered my entire being pulling me, 
urging me on. Somewhere out there time and chance is going to come for me. Life is 
all too short at times so what do I do with what stirs right beneath the surface? Risk 
it all before I die for what I want!
I set my hope and dreams to the wind to carry forth. My wants and desires followed 
close behind. They whistled through the trees and brushed the mountain tops. The 
ocean waves carried them far away to places my eyes have never seen. The desert 
floor was sprinkled softly with each and everyone I whispered. The stars in the sky 
lit up with my secrets and scattered them near and far.
Now somehow they have been found out and are coming alive. I can feel it inside of 
me as now the demand to be filled has been sensed and demands to be satisfied. I 
spoke of hidden things only to have them set free. Dreams are private until spoken 
into the wind. Desire carries a scent that can’t go without stirring needs you 
whisper and only hope to fill. 
Before I die the things I whispered into the wind may come to be. I knew the risk of 
the whisper and that perhaps time and chance would take my secrets. These things 
have taken root and began to grow so strongly that not even I know if the risk of 
hopes, dreams, needs and desires will be fulfilled before I die.
                                                                                                           Debbie Knapp


Details | Narrative | |

I Have No Bucket List

I Have No Bucket List!
No hopes, No dreams, Nothing I want to do?
Life has shown me many things and taken me many places. Some have touched my 
heart so deeply that nothing can ever erase these memories from me. I have been 
blessed at times and cursed at others.
I have often wondered at my life and my choices. The path I choose for one reason 
or another would have me wonder of my sanity more times than not. I have spent 
many years crying in silent, desperate to be happy. I only wanted one thing in life 
and that was to be truly loved by someone; anyone just please love me!
I have had moments that gave me a glimmer of hope to have it snatched away from 
me. I have felt so special and beautiful just to be crushed and left wondering what 
happened, what is wrong with me? The moments of pure joy that has touched my 
heart has left a print so precious that I could carry on. I just knew that somehow 
love was out there and it would recognize me too!
What is a place but some where you go. What is a dream but another place and 
time? What are these things without any hope? I do not know what hope feels like 
anymore or dreams or even desire for life.
My bucket is empty except for the day to day things that carry me forward. My face 
smiles, my lips say that would be a dream come true, my heart always wants to give 
love and I make it through yet another day.

                                                                                              Debbie Knapp


Details | Narrative | |

Oh, My Beloved Africa

Oh, my Beloved Africa
Why are you always so behind time
Why is it that the world always has to be miles ahead
For you to follow in the trail of dust they leave behind

Oh, my Beloved Motherland
Why is it that these sons and daughters of yours
Are always so eager to get up and leave
Why is it that you always only get to keep
...those whose thoughts are to beg and keep the obsolete
...of history from the worlds abroad 
...which have nothing better than the makings of thee

Oh, Africa my Beloved
Even I sometimes get the urge to just get up and leave
But so strong is my love for thee
For it always anchors my spirit, here to be
Perhaps if you and I were to form an alliance
We would prove to the others
That indeed, even in Paradise dreams can still be achieved
We can prove to them that on the canvas of life 
Anyone can paint whatever his heart may like
For it isn?t life that matters
But the reality of what you make of the opportunities it offers

Oh, Africa you truly are my deepest love
For you, in my heart is nothing but pride
But there is just one teeny-weeny bit of help I need
Please speak to Mother Nature for me
And ask her gently to lend me her scriptures of life
So I may peruse through to see if I can find some answers I seek
For I feel inclined to believe
She has a lot more acumen to offer
Than of the realities that graces the ordinary minds
Of her intelligence, I wish to spread to the extents it may prevail
So in speaking to her on my behalf
Please ensure to make clear of my selfless intents 
So she may keep sealed from me the pages whose secrets she doesn?t wish 
revealed


Oh, My Beloved Mama Africa
You truly are such a Great Mama
You have seen it all in time, 
...and even beyond my time you will still continue to see it all as time strides
Truly, in me your roots run deep
For your were still here, when more than a thousand years back 
...plans to have me alive were hatched
Son after father after grandfather after great grandfather
...after an endless series of other greater grandfathers in time
So why should I abandon thee when it?s finally time for me live 
Just to show you gratitude for having me 
...this life I live I shall on behalf of all before me dedicate to the benefit of thee


Details | Narrative | |

Recluse......(Palindrome)

Curtains drawn, clouded moon
Silent streets, and swaying branches, silhouetted trees
One apartment upstairs, resides sorrow
Dimmed lights, windows are shuttered
Ticking relentlessly are clocks
Days, hours, minutes are passing
Closed are doors, but memories creep inside
There lived joy once, yet fate is cruel
Heart barren now, and eyes empty
Lingering stories dwell there
Young and bright days are gone
Love lost, years faded 
Bitter and alone
Remembering.....
Alone and bitter
Faded years, lost love
Gone are days bright and young
There dwell stories lingering
Empty eyes and now barren heart
Cruel is fate yet once joy lived there
Inside creep memories but doors are closed
Passing are minutes, hours, days
Clocks are relentlessly ticking
Shuttered are windows, lights dimmed
Sorrow resides upstairs, apartment one
Trees silhouetted, branches swaying and streets silent
Moon clouded, drawn curtains


Details | Narrative | |

Life's A Hoot



Today is the first day of the rest of our lives No matter how much time we have left A sobering thought as we reach our golden years Our number could be up tomorrow, next week, next year So we must enjoy life to the fullest, make every day count We don't get to go around a second time When we're young whipper snappers Old age is eons into the future Our main concern is dealing with everyday life With all of it's ups and downs, it's uncertainties With romance, with choosing a vocation But when all is said and done and we near retirement It's all water under the bridge So what I'm saying to all you young folks Live your life to the fullest Make every single day count as if it was your last Tell your loved ones every day how much they mean to you In case you don't get another chance Life's a hoot... enjoy it! © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

Heaven On Earth



In the dark recesses of my mind Dwells a passion for life and all it's secrets To experience the wonders of this amazing world To discover its vast oceans of knowledge To revel in the sweetness of a gentle breeze The fresh smell of nature's aroma after a summer rain The moonlit nights that light our way home The magic of those bright twinkling stars How fortunate we are to be alive To be able to experience the magic of the morning With the sweet smell of honeysuckle in the air As we stroll through unending fields Of lush greenery under brilliant blue skies Some would describe this as heaven on earth © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

Mask of Insanity

Mask of Insanity July 24, 2011
Masks are a masquerade between what’s real and things hidden behind them. 
Disguising one’s life behind ornate masks chances the fantasy and real mixing 
confusing the two. Mask can be beautiful and filled with dreams brought to life. 
What, when the mask becomes you and you the mask. Is this the mask of insanity?
 I wonder did I just say that out loud or was I thinking it? Why are people looking at 
me? Maybe they know I’m wearing a mask or maybe it slipped. I know someone 
called out to me; no I guess no one is there.  I am nobody, nothing at all. Have I 
now gone mad? I try to check my sanity as fear creeps up on me hidden behind my 
life full of many masks, confused and unsure; what mask if any am I wearing?
People and life continue to change around me. Changing mask often desperate to fit 
yet filled with screams, tears, and fear more often. Only these masks can hide such 
horror and mirror the fantasy from within. 
Insanity at times just under my mask waiting to expose me for the world to see! A 
masquerade of mask creating a fantasy filled life kept me from losing my mind. Being 
safe behind these mask left me not knowing who I am. Always in life I wore a mask 
not knowing what to do, now afraid I may be insane. 
Life has always hurt and distrust is all I know as pain and sorrow filled my heart and 
soul. I put on a mask to escape, to live and fit in. Now I wonder is this another mask 
or am I Insane?
						Debbie Knapp


Details | Narrative | |

Grandmother

"A child, more than all other gifts
That earth can offer to declining man,
Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts."

			W. Wordsworth
								

I am your grandmother.
I spent 24 years making
parenting mistakes, so I think
I'm pretty well trained now,
pretty worn down, open-minded
and accepting.
I think we'll be good friends.

At sixteen, your mother 
said she was having a baby 
and held up to me the blue pastic
device that tested her urine stream
like when she held up the blue ribbon
she won in kindergarten for the best
easter bunny nest made from marshmallows 
and dyed yellow coconut.

Then she threw the blue device out 
into the space between us on the bed, 
like it was the best card in her deck, 
her ace in the hole.
Your father waited in the other room
sitting in the thick silence,
afraid to breathe and miss
my response.

You and your mother did all the work,
but I was there at your birth, 
Standing alongside, coaching your
mother to good contractions until
I was exhausted from gritting my
teeth and pushing too.

And your dad was there, too,
but closer to the business end 
so he could be the first to know the sex.

 
An unsolicited psychic had told us
you would be a girl, 
and when your dad was told,
he sulked all day 
like it was a conspiracy 
between the women to produce 
only other woman.
He wanted another guy, 
someone to give the men the edge, 
a male child.

When your mother's body could 
keep you from the world no longer,
your head appeared, eyes tightly
shut and a pout on your lips.
Your dad was watching closely,  
the shoulder, the belly and then
his arms flew up in the air 
like he'd made the touchdown
and he cried, "It's a Boy, 
I told you, I told you,"
like he and I had placed a bet.

But then he saw how much
I could love the boy child.

I'm a pretty good grandmother, 
and I think we'll be good friends.


Details | Narrative | |

LADY OF THE NIGHT - II

Dreaming of a pot of gold, you came to town
It was sprawling, this metropolis, you knew none around
Your earnings were scant and engagements, irregular
The overseer assured steady income in lieu of a favour
You succumbed to ward off uncertainties, and gradually sank deeper

You were born of impoverished stock, high up in the Himalayas
Your clean looks and youthful age were your kin’s panacea
Your home, the arid plains, where land is mostly barren
Starvation a reality, your innocent world was broken
When it comes to sacrifice, inevitably you are chosen

You were a country girl, pubescent and barely thirteen
Travelling to the big city with a distant kin
To serve an urban family with mop and pail
A drug laced cup of tea made you vulnerable to a cartel
You woke, imprisoned, in a dingy room of a highway brothel

Battered and beaten and raped to submission
You forgot the gods and your daily oblation
Your escort paid dearly for his betrayal and malice
Was it your homage to the gods or backstreet justice?
You languish now in jail, but the brothel still exists

You were in your second year, studying BA (Honours)
With a weakness for the life of the upper class
And the knowledge to achieve what you felt, you must
The initiation was debasing – no niceties, just frenzied lust
The payment was in cash –the first time wasn’t the last

You are not alone in your tainted existence
Women arriving at the metropolis in suburban trains
Working by day and exiting before the peak hour rush
Living in opulence, in times past – barely middle class
Very discreet, these devil women and financially flush

You conceived, a professional risk, and the baby you resolved to keep
Now nineteen and actively trafficking, his misdeeds make you weep
His latest catch, a tender ten year old, the same age you were shackled
Your flesh and blood, the son, you had mothered from the cradle!
Your agony was incomplete, now it had completed its cruel cycle

Hail lady of the night
With time, you’ve overcome both fear and fright 
And blended the distinction between wrong and right
You’ve lost your vision, though you retain your sight
In a world shrouded in darkness where the sun still shines bright
 


Details | Narrative | |

Roads Traveled

  A hank of damp hair hangs limply on her forehead.  With the back of a work reddened hand she brushes it from her face.  From the galvanized tub before her, she withdraws a well worn shirt from the murky water and places it on the weathered washboard.  With lye soap in hand, she scrubs the sweat stained collar, stopping only to assess her progress.  Her back aches from the stooped position she maintains.When finished, she carries them to the clothesline in the yard.

  She is alone, free to occupy her mind with random thoughts.  Things to do, always so many things to do.  Things she has done or would like to .  She allows herself a little flight of whimsy, thinking back to the days of her youth.  She was pretty then.  At least, the boys told her she was and she never corrected them.  She would use her impish smile to flirt and lead them on.  She would watch them try to outdo each other, acting the fool to gain her attention. Like the time Bobby Edson brought her a bouquet of goldenrod although he was allergic to the weed.  She allows herself a quiet chuckle as she remembers him standing there, eyes watering, nose running, and trying so hard to be a man.  

  But that was long ago.  Many years since William, her sweet William, with slicked down hair, starched shirt, and Sunday suit, stuttered through a request for her hand.  And how, on her wedding day, he had borrowed his daddy's old Ford for their one night honeymoon at the hotel in town, only to have it break down a mile from the house, and William walking back to get some help.  Such a tragedy then, yet so humorous now.

  Where did those days go?  When did life lose it's luster and become so predictable.  All the years, one day stacked against another.  Two boys, grown now, out in the fields with their dad.  Truth is, William would not be able to do it without them, but don't try to tell him that.  While his body may have weakened, as has hers, their real strength lies within their love for each other.  They have not been strangers to their share of heartbreak, as with the loss of their only little girl.  But they have also  
had their share of blessings too.  Be thankful she muses.  He won't give you more then you can handle.

  The wayward curl again escapes and cascades down her face.  Absently, she brushes it back in place, and with a last glance out to where a tractors dust rises in the field, she blows a kiss, and turns back toward the house.


Details | Narrative | |

TEARS ON SANTA'S CHEEKS

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


Details | Narrative | |

Battling Addiction

I loved you once years ago 
Our passion was divine
Could see our life together forever
But instead I could not compete
For your lover was a bottle.

I tried all I could do 
Being your wife and supporting you
But no matter how hard I tried 
No matter what I couldn't compete
With the liquid you chose instead

It's funny how alcoholics live two lives
One is surface for those to see
The other the demon inside 
Fighting to overtake the good
All the while hiding sipping alone

Codependence is also an evil
Depending on others for how to feel
Walking on eggshells became a cover
So as not to stir the tipping canoe
In the end it did not matter

For then you chose your battles to leave
Easier then to give in, just said "go"
No more arguing was glad to have you go
For life with addiction is weary
And heavy on the soul

I could not watch you kill yourself
The love we had was dead
Did not want our child to see 
Up close and personal 
His father failing at life.

To watch a loved one kill themselves
Slowly with a bottle
Is like watching a tree slowly die 
First the leaves change color 
Then they fall to the ground

With alcohol it's just the same
First the color starts to leave
The brightened eyes that once were there
Turn bloodshot and empty
Desire is replaced by need

Nothing is sacred to someone whose addicted
Possessions,home, family all are second
Jobs come and go over many years
People come in an out their lives 
And families disappear. 





Details | Narrative | |

Focus on the Good

Inspired by a close friend to remind me to keep holding on to hope as I pass it along.

Focus on the Good To keep your focus Only on the good Doesn't come as easy As it seems it would All the daily hectic-ness With those ups and downs Brings the woe and worry That tries to chase you down It is like being trapped In a wilderness of weeds Ever growing wild and tall For as far the eye can see Then you see a little flower In the weeds bursting through Or was it the few kind words You heard spoken directly to you The fruit of the Heavenly Spirit Full of love, happiness and joy Lives within us to give to others For your goodness to self employ When that flower or bit of kindness Runs into more conflict somewhere Be sure to look before it fades away For another beautiful bloom to appear When you see even a little sparkle Clear away the debris to let it shine Turn away from the discontentment Keep only goodness in your mind For us to inherit His kingdom One thing the Bible does say We should focus on the good Before we find the pathway Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

NO

No poems here.

I am a reader, unencumbered. 

Thank me if you like, for reading your words.  Thank you for sharing them.

I am no expert.

I may tell you I "like" your poem.  (like facebook)
This may seem lazy or unimaginative, but, I read your poem and that is my opinion.

I may comment otherwise.  It will probably be positive, or I'll say nothing.  I have some silly "polite" bone in my body.  I think it replaced the spine.

I'll probably get excited and point out my favorite line or lines.  I like "one-liners."  Probably has something to do with my attention span.

I gave up my premium membership because I am not a blogger.  Oh, I got into reading blogs alright.  My, what drama!  But tiring.  My opinion (everybody has one) is that blogs should be about poetry or writing.  NOTHING is right or wrong.  EVERYTHING is subjective.
I will not argue the case.

There are many wonderful folks in soup land who are helpful, kind, caring and nice.  There are some who rub a bit—just like the "real" world.

Thanks to all you soupers for sharing the trail.  I look forward to reading many more poems in the future. 

Best to you all.



Details | Narrative | |

Message from a lost friend

Throat was dry
Even no tears to cry.
In  mids of the desert-
Failure was every try-
It was then-
A sudden change-
When I felt drops of rain-
Came and washed away my bane.
Breeze then whispered a doh-
Pointing to colors of rainbow-
Your message came like that “Bea”
Though this time not from Pretoria.
(sami)


Details | Narrative | |

Red Orchard

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

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

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

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




 


Details | Narrative | |

Surgery Waiting Room Clocks

Surgery waiting room clocks move very slowly.

Pages in the books people brought with them are read over and over again without the reader ever knowing what it is they read.  Magazines are picked up and put down again without being opened.  Windows are looked out of without the view outside ever being seen.

And, the clock hardly moves.

If fish could be described as pacing back and forth, that is what the angelfish in the oversized aquarium appear to be doing.  People sit in one chair, get up, walk around and sit in another chair, as if that one will bring them better results.  Bathrooms are entered and exited and the faces reflected in the mirrors within look more worried than the person looking at the reflection had hoped to see.

And, the clock has barely moved.

Hands that are seldom held are being held by friends and family.  Hugs that are seldom shared are being freely distributed.  Vending machines are being stared at for minutes at a time, but items are seldom purchased.

And, the clock remains the same.

Each new person that enters the room attracts every eyeball wondering if that person’s loved one is in better or worse shape than the one they are waiting on.  Then, the eyes return to the page that has been read fifty times; the magazine that remains unopened; or the window that looks out to an unseen scene.  Cell phones ring.  Strangers learn the story of other strangers through one sided phone conversations.

And, the clock appears to have stalled.

As surgeons enter the room, everyone listens for their name to be called.  You watch other families converse with the doctor, gather their belongings and relocate to other rooms with slow moving clocks.

Once you hear your name, your anxiety heightens and you learn the status of your loved one.  You gather your belongings to sit vigil by your patient’s side to be there when they awake.  Upon leaving the room, you glance one last time at the waiting room clock and notice it has skipped ahead seven hours.

You leave the few remaining anxious strangers behind and hope to never have to see that surgery waiting room clock ever again.


Details | Narrative | |

Where The Sycamore Grew

“to hold, as ‘twere, the mirror up to nature”  William Shakespeare, Hamlet, 1601


                                          +++++



The house seemed smaller, seen with older eyes...
The street seemed narrower, the trees taller..
Where once were open fields across the road
New construction had bloomed
The small fruit orchard had disappeared

But somehow we knew it would still be there....
Strangely different, ...yet the same
There was an unfamiliar young child's tricycle
On the flagstone path that we laid...
In front of this little house that lies
Beyond the curve, where the old sycamore grew...

Suddenly, thirty years faded into that autumn day
And quickly had become a springtime of our lives..... 
...of first Christmas trees,..of first anniversaries...
            ...a place where I cried night after night when mother died...
                       ...and spent long, starry nights holding newborn babes....
Yes....it is all still there, in the little yellow house

Funny, but I'm glad they kept the yellow...
It has the same white shutters...
The little yellow house, with a flagstone pathway that we laid
That sits beyond the curve, where the old sycamore grew...

                                                ++++++


4/20/11  Submitted for Constance La'France's Contest "The Tree"
By Carrie Richards


Details | Narrative | |

A DIVINE HOOK-UP: Loyalty, Love and Devotion When Women Worship God

Naomi and her family departed from Bethleham Judah the land of milk and honey
in the midst of a famine as they were unable to earn any money
so on to the region of Moab they ventured and prospered to some degree
until Naomi lost her husband and both sons and was left alone to grieve
to her daughters-in-law she told them both to their families they should go back
but one daughter-in-law Ruth refused to let their relationship come under attack
she told Naomi I will never leave you nor forsake you
I will stay by your side no matter what we have to go through
your people will be my people, your God will be my God
and wherever you choose to travel you and I will never part
with loyalty, love and devotion Ruth needed Naomi in her life
in order for her to develop a relationship with our Lord Christ
now worshipping God together placing their fate in His hands
for this was a divine hook-up that the Lord our God had planned

Now Naomi needed Ruth too but was to afraid to admit it
as she felt she had been forsaken by the presence of the Holy Spirit
but God was in the midst of that relationship from the very start
He had destined that Ruth and Naomi would never, ever part
for when women worship God great relationships are made in life
with loyalty, love and devotion in the name of Jesus the Christ
 
In the course of your life there will be people whom you need and require
to help you to be all that you can be in the way that God desires
the clarifiers in your life will help you to see what is your mission
the collaborators in your life will encourage you to come to a decision
the confronters in your life will nag you and stay in your face
while the comforters in your life if they're of God will help you find your place
then the celebrators in your life will help you to rejoice in your victory
with the spirit of love, devotion and a godly loyalty

Now Ruth went on to get remarried but kept Naomi as a member of her household
for their relationship was a divine hook-up that was under God's control
for when women worship God great relationships last an eternity
Naomi and Ruth a divine hook-up of love, devotion and loyalty


Details | Narrative | |

He Whispered

                                             He Whispered!
Finally I was going to get what I had long anticipated. Taking me by the hand he gently yet with urgency pushed me onto the bed. Climbing in quickly he whispered, “I’m going to make you mine.”
  Without hesitation he stretched my arms above my head and positioned himself firmly at my core. Kissing me he paused to whisper, “There’s no turning back”. 
  Deep inside a passion burning, filling me with such pain and pleasure; I would do anything as long as he didn’t stop! He had control; driving me crazy, only please escaped my lips. I heard him whisper, “I’m never letting you go.”
  I couldn’t believe how good he felt or that he had such control of me. As long as he was taking me, giving me what I so badly wanted he could do anything. Just don’t ever stop! He told me never tell him no. I needed this man who’s forceful and sexy yet I knew would never do me harm. Bringing me such pleasure I could hardly breathe; then he whispered, “I love you.”
  Sharing pleasure and exploring fantasies passionately he then whispered, “Your mine.”
                                                                                Debbie Knapp
                                                                                     9-26-11


Details | Narrative | |

End of Days

End of Days

    By Edmund Siejka

Pondering the value of life
He formulates a riddle
What is better than God?
Poor people have it
Rich people don’t have it
And if you eat it you will die?
The answer to his riddle is: Nothing.

Looking up
He notices a pale, glowing light
Clouds reverberating with music
Feeling movement
Chest about to explode
He is lifted above the turbulence 
Faster and faster he travels
Across a gray pallid sky.
  
Reciting a prayer
The old words reassure him 
He who never prayed before
Peering through a tiny clearing in the clouds
He is struck by the enormity of what lies below
Of what he is leaving behind
He feels himself giving way
His body changing
In shape and size
Feeling a calmness to the very end
Uncertain of what is to come
He now realizes 
That his crowded little life
Is coming to an end
And the only thing he can think of
Are the stories his mother 
Told him
Stories of how people always triumphed over evil
And the endings were always good.

Turning off the light
She would lean over him 
Gently kissing him 
On his forehead
As he lay still  
Not moving
Not afraid
Sleeping the long sleep
Of an innocent babe.  


Details | Narrative | |

Names

Everyone has a name
Some are simple
Plain and honest
Heirlooms 
Handed down 
As testimony
To a family’s history.

Names can be different
Something the parents thought of
Forgetting 
That in languages there are letters
And symbols 
Change their spelling 
And confusion results 
Names become whimsical
Empty and without meaning.

Others believe that if they change their name 
They will change themselves
And there are some
Who only ask
That their names be spelled correctly 
And pronounced right down to its last delicious syllable.


Details | Narrative | |

I've Lived My Life To The Fullest



People have opinions about everything It's our inalienable right I guess To believe what we believe without outside influences To discover with our very own eyes and heart It's much more likely these facts will be retained More than reading them in some ancient old manuscript Living, investigating and researching the facts for ourselves We learn by living through all of life's experiences The good stuff, the bad stuff, the happy stuff, the sad stuff But the moments that makes our hearts skip a beat Are the most joyous moments as we walk through life Watching the sun rise every morning We never fail to be amazed by Mother Nature Life is still the greatest mystery How? Why? What does it all mean? We don't need to know the answer to all of life's mysteries We just need to enjoy them while we're here And try our best to leave with the knowledge “I've lived my life to the fullest” © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

For Now It Is My Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Narrative | |

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 -












Details | Narrative | |

Desperate Measures (Complete Version)

"No!!!"-- that was the first thought that popped to mind-
I was in complete denial. 
I honestly thought I would be safe!
I did everything that I possibly could,
I laughed bitterly. But here it was...
Funny how your life can turn around in just a day--
My own personal demon was now mocking me to my face
 and slowly killing me. 

Inexperience made me struggle. Should I go for the kill or not?
 Either option would ultimately result to death by mortification. 
The former to a lesser degree though. 
So I decided to go for it, stepping inside a place where
desolation would meet impending horror.

I was now in familiar territory but my fingers still trembled. 
Touching on porcelain smooth surface, 
goosebumps~ as I saw that red, angry, stranger, giving me the evil eye.
 I was still contemplating on what I was about to do. 
Pain was inevitable but I was willing to sacrifice my comfort.
 Desperate people did this all the time, 
all without a care--why was I so nervous? 
It was now or never...

It didn't belong in this world, and absolutely not in my personal space.
Slowly, I closed in on it and tried to put a hole through its heart--
I started to pump the life out of that repulsive alien.
It was surprising though how silent everything was,
I did meet with some resistance, and it just didn't want to give in to me easily.
It was still mocking me in its own, evil way. But I was determined--
I was mentally willing it to die and my heart raced in a fiery flutter.
I was clenching my teeth, my fingers were turning white,
 and I was silently screaming in pain.
I didn't know I would get hurt this bad. 
I kept the pressure on until finally, it exploded-

Its life juices just splattered everywhere. 

I felt something sticky and warm on my cheek-
so I touched it and looked at my fingers. 
There was blood on it. Oozing blood and pus.

When I was finally able to breathe freely, 
I cleaned myself up and checked the damage. 

There was hardly a nick on my face after all. 
That wasn't too bad...
nothing a little foundation and concealer couldn't fix.  
The important thing was, my pimple was Dead~
and the Drama Queen was going to survive Prom after all.


**1005/June 2009---posted an incomplete version of this for the 
"Leave me Hanging Contest" here's the entire write :)
though did some editing today ;) --submitting this for
Paula's Bedevil contest :)


Details | Narrative | |

Three O'Clock In The Morning

There was a time when
You couldn’t leave my side
We lay in bed
Two lovers waiting in the dark
Wishing the night would never end
Listening to each other’s heartbeat
Instinctively knowing what the other wanted.

Then you turned your back on me
And just had to do your thing
I didn’t care for your new friends
Or was it they didn’t care for me?
You remember, don’t you?

Technically, you’re no longer in my life
But you’re still here
Somewhere deep in my memory
Pushing 
Shoving 
Clawing
Your way back in
Like you always did.

It’ll be a long, long time
But I’ve waited long enough
For the day
When I completely forget you 
Banish you to the garbage heap of bad memories
There’s nothing wrong with the way I feel about you
Next time I’ll be 
Stronger
Smarter
Wiser
Determined never to look back.


Details | Narrative | |

SHIPWRECK OF THE FISHING FLEET

SHIPWRECK OF THE FISHING FLEET                                 11/24/2012


He was lost in white surprise
Of drugs and doctors quips
His mind was filled with flapping sails
Of white that guide the ships
To dance among the white capped rocks
In North white nights of June
Bring in the catch to catch the maid
Who’d be his wife so soon.

Wild hair so white it shamed the sheet
That soft caressed the grass
The grass-plagued daisies held her there
As clouds triumphant passed
In columns white the bossy clouds
Marched brisk across the sky
But none of them could match the spark
Of whiteness in her eye.

Fishing was the fruit of life
their land bore little green
the joy and danger that it brought
left little in between
and men who braved those waters
better be prepared to die
for reaping nets and filling holds
bows to a fickle sky

And then his shocked brain shifted
Jigged timed across his life
How many white nights had escaped?
The maid now was his wife!
Saw breasts so white that milk they gave
Seemed paltry in contrast--
To feed the babe that snuggled there--
The fruit of love surpassed.

Then shipwreck banged into his head
The white-flashed lightning zing--
He tested feet and moved his legs
Seemed he’d  survived this fling
Of nature’s whims again he’d live
To tell the lusty tale
      of how north winds had jumped from waves
      to grab their ship's main sail.
Before the White-Christ
Had emerged from his Semitic genes
The sailors would have cried for Thor 
To ease his hammerings.

Sailors lost were prices paid
To live in Arctic shores.
And, lost at sea was ever feared
By them, and wives adored.

He’d play a trick, they’d think him dead--
Would make a crafty tale!
By his hearth and in his bed
would sound a mourning wail.
His house would be a feast of black
Mad weeping would impress--
Then his imagination called her tears
He vowed each tear to bless

He smirked to think of their surprise
When he stalked through the door--

       An unsuccessful leap from bed—
                       He’d rest a little more.

And being man-- he pondered sex
And pleasures it would bring
There was no sizzling passion like                            
His lover’s offering.

a putrid glass forced through his teeth-
Morphia drew him in
To dream the dreams of healing arms
       prickles kissed his skin
       He found her face beyond his pain, smile that could disarm--
       In dreams , with wife, in languid bliss
       he caught a fish of charm



Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

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

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


Details | Narrative | |

Distante

The fairest of seas surrounding me;
Nor clouds, nor breeze binding me;
Yet I'm bound on this ship and alone:
The void prevalent has left me forlorn...

I sail from strained waters to land;
Yet I despair in faith's hand;
But for now, I'm stranded here--
Like a soldier disbanded here;
I try to raise the sails to motion
And hope to see a little shore...
Yet I feel, in a dreary fashion,
I try but I can do no more...

What grudge have ye against me, winds?
Bluest water, for what cause
Dost thou stay me down upon
Whilst my vessel's gathering moss?

Answer, I demand of thee (yet no sound):
Nor stirring of water, nor sight of ground;
Yet I try to move in naught;
Yet, this courage in me has brought--
Fresh yearning brought to my sinew:
To the limbs, a vigor of new,
To try myself to advance,
Rather than to hold-on askance--
Who's to say another league,
Could free me from this other realm...


Details | Narrative | |

Life I have known

I have a fear,
still residing within me.

The fear of my own
stupidity.

The fear of living this life alone.
Maybe it is fitting that I deserve to be
this way.

To know that only one could have ever 
accepted as I was.
Yet I did not truly deserve her.

But that is behind me now.

To give up the only thing
I thought I wanted,
what I thought I needed.

Yet after the fact,
it wasn't something I truly
was ready for.

I have finally seen myself 
for who and what I am.

I do not know if I will ever get
another chance.
If I will ever be accepted by another.

As I look at the conditions
in my life,
the lacking,
the unwanted qualities,
and characteristics.

From the material to the immaterial,
maybe it is best if this life be lived
as I know it best.

The way I live right now, alone.


Details | Narrative | |

Kindred

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


Details | Narrative | |

Saints


Surrounded by a cloud of Witnesses who urge us
Who can bring hope and encourage us to follow Fr. Christ
Without counting the cost
In the midst of the storm
We call in mind the examples of Saints

Let’s remember that we are not alone
We are the little brothers and sisters of these great souls
Just as in the natural order older siblings protect, encourage younger ones
So it is our life of faith
Saints left us a road map

How to follow in the footsteps of our Beloved Savior
Not only that
They accompany us
Through their writings
And, Through their powerful intercession

Written 092902


Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

Ralph

i was just a kid the first time i met him
he borrowed my brand new wrist-rocket
and scampered off into the night, laughing like a ghoul
the sound of two young lovers on a beach, punctuated by howls of pain
the returning of footfalls and mad laughter
he had his fun, now it was time to party

i had no way of knowing this crazy man was to be in my life for many years to come
i had no way of knowing he would help shape who i was to become
he drug us from the beaches of Oregon to the deltas and forests of California
forever altering the path i strode upon

once, he had me and his son dig a 6X6 pit and bury him up to his neck
pre-emptive of him "Nutting up".
we fed him beer and fritos at his request... we unburied him after he came down
There are stories to be told that i cannot tell here.... but alive and fertile in my memories.
one day i will see him again and ask permission to tell some....
But it won't matter..... you wouldn't believe them anyway!!!!!


Details | Narrative | |

Diminished

Diminished
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 in “Death OF A Rose” By Nate Spears

A diminishing Rose Bush
With every pedal plucked, beauty is fading away
Losing its essence of greatness
As we proceed to deplete its history
Life flows away,

I remain standing above
Polluted soil
Naked,
Stems are bare and exposed
Vulnerable to the world and its nature
I give woes
I give worries
I give troubles
These are my possibilities
Then the death of a rose and destruction
Hits home

Bare my green,
My DNA shows traces of the best soils
Traced back to my mother’s land
Surrounded by fellow planted gold
Some will never know

Doing well isn’t doing well
We can’t bloom unless we unfold
Reproduce the best again
Stop dying daily for less than a win
There’s nothing we can’t do
That we’ve done once again

The next season will bring new pedals
I will never grow pass go anymore
Next year, beauty will flourish
Next season remains to nourish
Each season we should cherished
In our best moments
Each year is the best one of your life.


Details | Narrative | |

Dedication to Everyone

I feel that I have found a home in this cyberspace
with full of hearts and ideas in a special place
I wonder of all the people in the world to make me smile
with antics that help me grow in every mile
I do want to say to all of the people with respect
because of all of you my mind is not in a wreck
I would lie if I did not get ideas from all of you
without you my poems would not come true
I bless everyone with care 
with kindness and without dis-pare
I hold my hands high and put them together
with this I bless you with good weather
I do read some of the poems that people put out
sometimes I feel with out a doubt
I feel the pain in the poems that some has revealed
with hopes that they can read with their mind not sealed
I smile a bunch with every word
it is like a music in my head making a cord
I do want you all to know that you have made my day
to be a better day in every different array
I cherish my time with all the people in my heart
the words flow in my mind is just but a start
I'm happy with everyone in PoetrySoup.com 
with hardship that came this cyberspace makes me calm
I cannot choose five cause if I do I don't think it's right
just to tell you that is just my own insight
I thank all for helping me grow with all the poems that are shown
with faith and humor, with views of kindness this site has grown

If I had to say or dedicate my poems to who 
would be the first five who reads my poems with a point of view


Details | Narrative | |

Mementos From A Hidden Waterfall

Closing my eyes
I bring back the vision
Of a hidden waterfall
A breathtaking sight
Of water cascading
Over stubborn rock
And other things.

Over time
Rocks and boulders,
And everything else
Lodged in the river,
Will give way
To rushing water
Charging ahead
In its relentless flow
Downriver.

Of all things
On Earth
I think
Water will outlast
The possessions
We feel are important
The toys
The gadgets
The rockets to the moon
And all things human.


Details | Narrative | |

Opposites in Love collabaration

The crashing waves hit the bow, as we cut through waters deep.
Clasped in irons that cut the skin; forged in the fires that never sleep.

The desert was dry, the sun beat down, I am free as a bird
The breeze tickled through the oasis, near the camel herd

Now my love is fading, like the burnt embers of those flames.
I am now branded a thief and prisoner, amongst some other names.

The hate I felt for the whore that tried to give his love to me.
Was so strong I felt I could kill him, my love he will never see.

I stole for her a flower, a simple heart felt gift.
The perfume now a memory, on this prison galleon adrift.

I am traveling to my wedding, across the desert so hot and dry.
Perfumed flower petals along the way, by slaves are scattered awry.

Seven years the price for my gift of love it did gain.
Hard labour I endure, to avoid the leather cat pain.

My arms are full of bracelets, and pearls hang round my neck.
I never think of him, now shackled on that deck.

Her kisses sublime, a memory fading, the perfume of her skin and hair
The price is high but I will pay, I took her from him to be fair.

To think I could have kissed. him makes my skin fairly crawl.
But the plan worked well, for my new rich lover, it managed to enthrall.

Slaves to love, there is no choice, when our hearts lead us astray.
I stand here windswept and tear stained, with seven years to pay.

How dry my eyes now he has gone, freedom is beckoning me.
So easy it was to frame him, now he has seven years before he is free.

I stand in the wind, rope in hand, waves crashing all around.
My ankles are bleeding with the chains, and the cat makes a whistling sound.

I lay on cushions with rings on my fingers the slaves are fanning me.
My wrists are bathed in rose oil, and kissed perpetually.

My love is strong, my heart is given, and I know I will endure. 
My love will wait for me, my beauty, my life, my own sweet amour.

Thank goodness I kept my heart for me, and for me alone. 
This thing called love is foolish, my heart it has never known.

In collaboration with Declan Fitzgerald who started the story off which made it easy to alternate my side of the story as a femme fatale between his couplets.


Details | Narrative | |

Journey home

The journey home is harder
Than the journey to the abyss
Coming back from so hard a trail
Is something I will not miss


Details | Narrative | |

THE THOUGHTS ALIKE

In the greens, from the tree, 
Came the same fruits with the same sweet taste
Yet they thought of each other superior to the other
From each other’s eyes flared competition; 
Dwelling in pretence of likeness for each other
Secretly yearning for their freedom of speech;
Crouching in wait for their strike; 
Waiting in anticipation for their time
Swearing and cursing under silent breath
Never for once under estimating their opponents cleverness
For they know better than that
Tis better to keep a friendly fake face 
Than to make ones intention known
The secret ingredient of success? 
The element of surprise
To take the victim on, unaware
She never saw it coming; she never saw it explode
Hitting like that boosts the ego; sweet victory
Only hope it lasts; for the opponent won’t remain fallen
With a greater force she will rise and avenge
Unlike her, do have the upper hand and 
Rob her of her element of surprise
Or suffer worse fate
It becomes like a cycle; 
A cycle of score settling
It goes on and on, 
Till one surrenders victory to the other
That hardly happens though; 
For none wants to wear the face of defeat
It simply won’t happen!!!


 © Naa Takia, All Rights Reserved 2012


Details | Narrative | |

We Belong To Our Children

Today we need a miracle of revolutionized culture to survive with our heritage's past for our future.
 Many of us don't even know our traditional language no more. 
So much has already been taking from us that it seems most of our culture is forever lost.
 There is a big difference between white man's law and our Native American laws,
 Many of us have been here in America since time began here in the America's and the only waste we leave behind is the bodies of our people burried like our culture is being buried in the prarie.
 The white man has raped and took our culture and way of life from us. 
So what kind of legacy will we leave behind as a Native people? We must reject the white mans way, we must take no part of it, but how can we when we are now a conquered people among a conquering people which a majority remain white.
 We as a Native people only want to survive so that we can remain who we really are, and its our language and traditions who make us who we are and it is dying at a alarming rate.
 Our way of life is today is almost gone and how can we ask to pass on our culture when too much of it is gone and soon our people's legacy will be just that, a legacy.
 We are the lost generation of young Native's unseen to the mainstream American eyes.
 So with that said we as a people must cling onto what we have left because if we don't do it now we will never get back to who we once were as a people.
 There used to be millions of buffalo that feed, clothed and helped us survive as a people now the buffalo roam no morem and all that roams the prairie is a broken dream of many spirits longing for the living to bring back the buffalo.
 Many of our elders and great one's died are will killed too quicly for their knowledge to be passed down the wisdom of our great people.
 Now we have to pick up the many broken piece's where our ancient ancestors left off.
 Now for the one's who do want to keep our culture alivewe have to teach ourselves what we dont already know with experience.
 Now that the cultural leaders are dead and gone we have to search deep within ourselves to know who we really are as a ancient Native people.
 We must teach our children now for great grandma's and grandpa's are in our children, many or almost all just don't lnow it yet.
 My life and the life of my peers belong not to certain indivduals but the life we live and breathe belong to the people no matter our Native blood degree, it's not that our children belongs to us rather it's us that belong to the children.


Details | Narrative | |

The Murder of Willow

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

~~~

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

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

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

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


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

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


Written:  August 26, 2014
Author:  Elaine George


Details | Narrative | |

Family

A decade in to
a new millennium,
a woman, nearing
a century on Earth,
braces herself in
a doorway of
the house,
she has lived in since birth.

Her oldest son unfastens his belt, and takes a seat at the end of her table,
where her middle son just fixed the legs of the chair; to make sure it was stable.
Her youngest son brushes the webs off the wall, and scrubs the stains from the floor.
Her only daughter packs up her pictures, and helps her through the door.

A decade in to 
a new millennium,
a life, almost
a century long,
comes flooding back
to the thoughts of a woman
who feels removed 
from where she belongs.

Her daughter tries to lift her spirits, (from the room in which, she slept as a child)
but no one could easily witness their memories, all being sorted, and filed.
Her house is dissected, and put in a truck that waits - like a thief - in the drive.
-The cumbersome stance; the delicate dance; together, they help one another survive.

A decade in to 
a new millennium,
a woman approaches
a century - passed.
A man in the attic
waves from the window -
Assuring her: 
This home will not be her last.


Details | Narrative | |

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


Details | Narrative | |

THE GLITTER OF LIFE

THE GLITTER OF LIFE A tiny sparkle of hope Hidden within the gloom We only see muddy water Occupying all of our room There is a pretty flower Beneath those tall weeds Buried far out of sight We look not that deep We seek bad news So eagerly caught We forget good news Should be what is sought Let us take a quick peek Of the descriptionalization It is what life is all about To reach full realization The hovering dark cloud Brings depression and woe Feeling trapped in sadness Pulling with an evil tow You become a hard rock Or it seems like one of them Now the trials before you only Sand and polish you to a gem Your eye catches a twinkle To tap your vision per say It travels far within to spark Happy thoughts your way Those clouds of gloom Cover up the shiny light The glitter inside of you That wants to shine bright All those weeds can hide you Even from your very own face So it is time to pull those weeds To clear the area of your space A crushed spirit as written Will only dry up the bones Whereas is your joyful heart A good medicine to own Our strength is from within The joy of the Lord in each one Our individual glitter of life To shine with strong emotion When you do shine your light To see your pathway grounds The glitter of life will be seen That most abundantly surrounds There will be a glow of beauty Like nature covered in sequins The flowers bursting through Even the tallest weeds of grim You will see the difference You will finally get the hint Even if you only shine a bit With a brief flashing glint To shine your light is simple Though it seems hard to do Hum a merry tune, or whistle Even a smile changes attitudes Clear the air with a breeze of hope Thus letting the light inside glisten A new wind of change on a good note Chiming a beautiful tune – just listen Lean not on our own understandings To form opinions of what appears to seem It is the faith within that holds the victory To overcome the world and conquer our dreams We are all sprinkles of the glitter of life Scattered through dark clouds of gloom Fighting our way through evil and such Brightening the path for happiness to bloom Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

First Love

You say, you say
But what do you do?
It’s always wanting more with you

How many hours wasted waiting?
Desperately needing...anticipating
Drawn out desperate un-returned calls
Echoes of reason, only faint footfalls

Still I wait and long for you
Because I love…..I’m hopelessly true
I picture you elsewhere, not alone
Blatantly ignoring the ringing phone

You’ll be here tomorrow, dripping sincerity
While I cry silently, developing clarity
I know this game…all too well
You’ll have another story to tell

And I will listen…take it all in
For I can’t bear to lose you, or let her win
So I pretend, accept, and forgive
If only to gain one more day to live

Because I love, I give you my heart
Even though you have been careless from the start
Intentional victim, I pity myself
While you court her with practiced stealth

My first love…you will always be
Impossibly perfect, if only to me
So I forgive you and delay the inevitable
My devotion to you is truly incredible

Now, looking back…I see you at last
For all that you lacked and all that you asked
How carelessly you held my heart in your hands
But I’ve taken it back, less a few strands

Thank you for the lessons; for teaching me
That love does not come easily
For all of your injuries and slights have been measured
And in the end, despite the pain…within my own heart, 
I’ve found abundant treasure


Details | Narrative | |

Conversation with an Angel Part 3

“Yeah, all the way. No ride, no bus, just walkin’. I can’t quit till I give you your
message, and finish drawing this sand script so you’ll know I’m not lying.” I was shocked 
by what he was telling me. I looked around half expecting to see one of my neighbors come
out laughing and pointing and shouting “HA! You’ve been punked!” but no one was around;
just he and I alone. The man began to speak, and this is truly what he said, “You’ve had a
hard road to hoe, and life hasn’t always been fair in your eyes. But your angel wants me
to tell you not to give up. You’re finally on the right path. And he’s proud of you.”
“He’s a he?” I asked, stupidly. “Yes, he’s a he (as if I’d just asked the lamest question
of all time), now will you let me finish?” “Okay, I’m sorry, I’m just not used to men
drawing angels and giving me a message.” The man stopped what he was doing, and looked up
at me. The look on his face was as if he was thinking “If I had a quarter for each time I
heard that…”, but he said nothing. He went back to drawing, and was working on the detail
of the face and neck, drawing an outline of the shirt collar, and then back to the face. 
I knew this picture, but I couldn’t tell who it was, I kept thinking it must be a famous
person, why was it so familiar? “Your angel wants you to know, you’re not alone, he’s been
with you forever—since you were pretty much born. He’s sorry he left when he did, he knows
you needed him.” I just listened now, “You lost him when you were about 12, and life got
rough on you. He was there watching, and protecting you best he could.” I was stunned; I
could see who the face was now. Then the man stood up, and placed his hand on my shoulder.
He said these words, “He says to tell you, don’t be worried about buying that house,
you’ll grow old in it, and even though the world seems bleak, you’re going to make it. He
says you need to hear that, because he says you’re going to have a heart attack if you
don’t quit worrying.”


Details | Narrative | |

Fellows Enroute


He was a bumpkin from the country
Walking with tardy steps up a hill.
A duffelbag on his back, 
Tattered rags on him to save from a chill.

On the way he met, who was sure a gentleman.
Sat stately on his horse, looking very grim.
He asked of the poor hapless man, 
What he carried in his bag within.

Out came his tinkerbox, 
Out came his tin.
And out came some bric-a-brac, 
Few shillings for his kin.

What transpired between the two of them, 
This we had no idee.
But off came his coat and off the horse
Was the man on the steed.

Beaming at the countryfellow
On the grassy verge of that dusty road we see, 
Dismounting from the horse he says, 'My man, 
Them more you need than me.'

This bumpkin from the countryside, 
Waved his tattered hat, face all-a-grin.
The gentleman walked with a lighter heart, 
Went tootling, carrying lesser load with him. 


``
Honorable Mention
for contest: 'Praises of Life Precept Prior Cause,or your God!' 
                   sponsored by john freeman


Details | Narrative | |

Look Memaw

Look Memaw!

I went outside when my grandson called me.
Down the wheelchair ramp I walked while looking.
I glanced all around, left and right, searching.
Then, I heard it, his wee small voice saying,
“Look, Memaw, I am up here in the tree!”
To my surprise, I had to look way up.
Not ten feet, not twenty feet, thirty feet –
Yes, tiny as he is, he climbed that high.
Afraid to show alarm, that he might fall.
I laughed and said, “What are you, my primate?”
“What’s a primate?” he asked curiously.
“A monkey, a primate is a monkey.”
After I responded, he replied, “No.”
With great pride, adding, “I am a tree frog.”

© February 29, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen



© February 29, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Narratives Free Poetry 
Sponsor	Catie Lindsey


Details | Narrative | |

Weather Forecast

The weather man on the local radio station had forecast a blizzard.
It was Saturday. Many folks were out shopping on this beautiful sunny day, 
one that sometimes comes in March on the North Dakota prairies.
We were having an early supper when Mama said, “Well I guess 
the forecast was wrong,” when it struck, coming out of a clear blue sky.

Spring was abolished instantly, as the arctic wind picked up snow
hurling it at anything in its pathway, and though we were safely home, 
we were worried about those who were shopping and had lingered
to visit with other shoppers or perhaps to have coffee in the local café.  

We knew that my brother and his wife and two small children
were among those stragglers.  There was no way we could check
on their safety.  The phones were out with that first strong blast.
It would be two days before we would hear that they were safe.

Others were not so fortunate.  Some died in their cars.  
Those who left their cars, perished anyway.

My last big storm, I married and moved way that next summer.





Details | Narrative | |

The Moon

A full moon is rising
And there is no avoiding it
I can not escape this evil face
There`s nowhere to hide 
 From this sinister, white smile
From this victorious gaze
For the moon knows everything
It sees through me
It reads my thoughts 
I suffer from being exposed
Looking at its translucent light
Finally, I submit to it and confide in it:
``Nobody loves me.
My life is unfulfilled.``
It smiles gaily and gives me
Its silver light
The feeling  of sorrow is gone
Being unhappy was just
A silly, silly dream


Details | Narrative | |

Dear Friends

Dear friends I have decided to return to Poetrysoup after my surgery and recovery. Looking forward to being part of this wonderful poetry family again. Thank you all for your prayers and kind comments. Have been working on some poems. Excited to start posting Love Constance


Details | Narrative | |

The reel of life

Life is one fascinating movie,
Whose cast love in a world,
Created by the imagination of splendor,
Beauty of power,
And the sweetness of success.
But at each scene of the movie,
Lies a minute des position, 
Of a dream forgotten,
Of a vision unfulfilled,
Of a dream unrealized.
As the reel of life rolls on,
So are fates and destinies reached,
Some so beautiful,
Others so painful,
The melancholy of life.
It is so unfortunate,
That the movie is shot without practice,
The cast with hardly an idea of the script,
Unfold the drama, 
Mostly with incorrigible errors,
And at the end,
It's a Bravo to one,
And a lash of regret to another,
The reel of life.


Details | Narrative | |

Football

It won't be long now, and football will rule,
those die hard fans, and there are quiet a few.,

One wrong word, and they are ready to fight,
can't miss this, grownups acting a sight.

They get painted all up, looking cute for TV,
the true fans stand out, ready for all to see.

Soon, very soon, football will rule,
so don't be on the wrong side, if you scream out boo.


Details | Narrative | |

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

http://www.npr.org/2013/12/26/257255801/after-moores-f5-tornado-storm-shelter-interest-increases


Details | Narrative | |

The Mountain

                      The Mountain
 
The Mountain, it could be the Matterhorn, the Alps 
Or any other large mountain around the World
But not all mountains need to be physically climbed
As a mountain can resemble a large personal problem
A stumbling block in the road of life that needs to be 
Overcome by a clever solution, yes problems are mountains
They are a way of life for us, our brains can solve the easy 
Problems, but there are others which are like mountains
Were you require assistance from friends or family
To solve these situations, man is not perfect and he has
No conception of the mountains that are before him.
A problem large or small can cause grief in some cases
These are the mountains that should be immediately
Climbed, it is our conquest to be the one who conquers
The mountain and become it's master and not it's slave.
 


Details | Narrative | |

Thanks for that Memorable Day

07/31/2012
Written by:  Florence McMillian (Flo)
Dedicated and written for my friend, Lisa Giessinger, as a special message from her to her mother, Hazel – about a most memorable day they spent together.

 
To My Mother Hazel Thanks for that Memorable Day This poem is specifically Being written just for you I requested it from a friend For she knows just what to do That special day we spent together Is so very memorable for me, I’d say I want it to be memorable for you too With a poem written in a rhyming way We’ve had our ups and downs in life With probably most of them being down You raised me to know how life can be Not easy to cope, with down things all around Well I’ve stepped up to a new level To be happy no matter what the hell Of any negative surroundings to be I live thankful that my life is all well That special day started out so bad for me As I was headed for back injections again I was really happy you were taking me there With a comfort feeling knowing we are kin It seemed like the first time in a very long time Where we just enjoyed each other that day You were kind of like that sweet rose One stops to smell along the way In this path I have traveled Through many overgrown weeds It was refreshing and pleasant this time With no discussion of what someone needs We got along together talking and laughing It gave me such a lasting good impression We even ate at Don Julio’s afterwards I sure hope you had just as much fun I want you to know how much I appreciate this time we spent together Making this a most memorable day for me To truly cherish for always and forever Now let me tell you, that day did get worse With everyone putting me down everywhere You were the rose amongst the trash talkers It felt good to know my Mom really does care Even if everything dips to the downside Within the journeys of my life I may go through No one could ever take our shared moments away They’re in my heart forever and I’ll always love you I had the best time with me and my Mom If I told the world, that’s what I’d say So I really want to thank you Mom For that most memorable day Love, Lisa Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

Soul of a Son, Life of an Addict '

There in a small town in Mississippi, a very poor family of (7) seven are yes struggeling but are yes abound. Jimmy the youngest of them at now 17 tell his father that he wants to be a Preacher The desire to teach is a privilledge that he inherited from his Uncle, and nowat that prunitive age he goes to his uncle (home) town. The soul of a son is one thing, but the life of a addict is another. My Brother, my brother he sit's down one day and listen in on one of his uncle's lectures as this friend of Jimmy is being lestured too.  You don't need to be weak at the knee's in this stage of dealing with certain issue's and as he comes to the end of his lectures he himself (jimmy) is in need of some "tissue". Jimmy is a member of the debate team(at school) one of the student is this friend, who is dealing with crack-cocaine habit that he just began doing for about a month now.  So this-this-ss partic-ular day jimmy takes him to see the preacher (his uncle) after this young friend said to him, "help-me". {I believe you can be of some help}. "Don't be afraid to seek God as your first step".
So after the two of them have elaborated over the matter for and hour, Jimmy feel's a
need of concern, so they leave together.  My Brother-my brother. "Life of an Addict",
will carry you places you never thought you'll be and keep you in situation's and you
will never be free.  Free to enjoy (life) and freedom from the depentacy of drugs
and living on the streets!!....
 These phrases becomes a part of the mindset in one's attempt to go forward with the
"Power of Prayer", and the belife of knowing you're not a "Coward".  "Soul of a Son",
is to surrender your all onto the source of everything(Faith).  And "Life of an Addict",
is knowing that God places people in your life to possitivily restore your faith in your-
self.  So when life throws you a "Nippy", (storms) that is when you're not to give up,
because the enemy wants you to think that you are always running on empty!!.
"For he is everywhere (Jesus) even there in this small town of Mississippi".


Details | Narrative | |

A Kind and Gentle Man

I had a dream that I walked behind
a man in white cloth - so gentle, so kind;
he told me his name with his fatherly voice
and asked me to follow, though it was my choice

He talked in stories which made me think,
while he told large crowds to take of his drink;
he walked among beggars, cripples, and thieves,
and he only asked us that we all just believe

I watched his miracles bring back the dead,
and I wept as they shoved thorns upon his head;
I watched him be beaten, spit on and cursed,
and on the day he died - the clouds rained with a burst

I cried because I had lost my very dear friend,
although, he told me that it was not the end;
I didn't understand this man, this begotten son
was the way to eternal life - for me and everyone

I walked alone without him there,
and felt so lonely because my soul did care;
this gentle man they did kill for me,
so I could live on and really be free

When I awoke from my dream I had a plan,
to live my life - to be a better man;
for what I learned from this only one
is that He is truly God's only son

I know my friend will always be,
even at times when I can't always see;
for a life is lost - without the One,
a kind and gentle man we call the Son.



For "What Easter Means to Me" contest sponsored by Gwendolen Rix.


Details | Narrative | |

The Patch

We live in the Patch, our own little town
Got a grocery store and three bars
We got a row of shanties, company owned
Ain’t got much space to park our cars
Yous guys got it made so don’t be complainin’
Workin’ out in all that sunshine
We gotta load 16 tons to make a livin’
Can’t breathe too good down in the mine.
We ain’t doin’ too bad from pay to pay
Barely make the bills and no damn more
Ernie was right when he sang that song
About owin’ our soul to the company store.
Got me a couple of kids and a good woman
Wednesday afternoon and Sundays I get some rest
Not much pay, but a honest days work
Livin’ in America, we sure are blessed.
Billy was hurt over in number eleven
Ain’t gonna make it in to work today
Gotta stop over and see him before I go in
Check on his kids, make sure they’re okay
Gotta get goin’ now, give me a hug
Gonna stop for a few on my way home too
Take Billy over some of your fried chicken
Ask Mary if there’s anything else we can do.
Livin’ in the Patch, not much changes
Got good neighbors and a place to lay your head
Work hard, play hard and damn proud of it
We sleep pretty good when we go to bed.


Details | Narrative | |

BLOCKHEAD

BLOCKHEAD

Some folks’ say all my life I’ve been a BLOCKHEAD.
Maybe if I could have gotten through that last ROADBLOCK,
news of my incarceration wouldn’t be such a family BLOCKBUSTER.
So here I sit all alone in my CELL BLOCK.
I’m suffering a bad case of WRITERS BLOCK,
without a clue the path my mind should take to UNBLOCK.
By the time I get out of here, I’ll need 100 spf SUNBLOCK.


For the BLOCK-BLOCK-BLOCK contest.


Details | Narrative | |

Sweet Nectar's Flower

 
 
Desirous winds 
now swiftly sweep 
down mountain slopes 
of stone so steep - 
where boughs of broken ash 
are scattered; 
random timber torn and tattered. 

I retreat to find 
my jade and ruby cup, 
to make sweet love to rich red wine, 
fill my cup clear up, 
drink and drain the goblet dry 
to claim its love as mine. 

Take me all or none, 
use me up, 
and when you're done 
wrap slender arms around my waist; 
kiss me there, oh yes, and taste 
of me behind the bower, 
planting seeds of need 
which soon will bloom 
sweet nectar's flower. 

Alluring is your kind appeal, 
like shimmer on green bladed grass 
with silver tips of morning dew. 
I glory in each inch of skin 
as I begin to gently stroke 
and marvel at its golden hue. 

The moss and mold of surface earth 
leave banner scents to please my nose; 
but bold and giddy-high in mirth 
are bawdy ballads sung and told 
in honor of your brightly painted toes. 

I ponder as I wander this old field 
once fertile with a decent yield, 
now overused, some say abused, 
for growth and life have not been fused. 

The butler has a sadness in his eyes 
I neither can dissect nor utilize; 
lonely, I suppose, I wonder if he knows 
one's life is but a grand surprise, 
a farce that slowly grows 
in drift toward death until life dies. 

A poet pleases with his heart-felt runes 
while singers please with oft sung tunes. 
A painter paints to please, 
on canvas or a wall, 
but men of age in pain 
don't gain or please at all. 

Let us take this bitter time, 
as winds whip high the mountain vine, 
to retrospect our lives complete; 
transparency without deceit. 
We may just make a break-through 
(though breaking through 
is not the purpose of the game) 
as we become both cast and crew 
to watch a world now flow for us the same. 

I once was young and now I'm old 
but still I feel so brazen bold; 
am I too old or still quite young 
enough to sing the songs once sung, 
not at the end--but just begun? 





 
 


Details | Narrative | |

Problem

Once and awhile we come across a problem,
it takes control of us,
depresses us.
Some how we come through,
we solve it,
show it that it wont disturb us any more.
we are strong,
and always will be.


Details | Narrative | |

Loneliness

Loneliness engulfs him
consumes him
like an arsons match
he ignites the bond
setting their relationship ablaze
now...that foundation
simply reduced to a pile of ash
in a distant haze

Loneliness entangles him
weaves thru him
like diseased roots of an aging tree
they wrap around his feelings
squeeze out emotion
and eventually choke the life
out of his reality

Loneliness is his soulmate
now...
and for all the years
joined together by selfishness and fate
at the expence
of someone else's tears
now, as the years drip away
they quietly disappear
leaving no trace
but landing ever so gently
and all to clearly
upon his lonely artificial face
though it's not by choice
that this partnership remains
but as a cruel reminder
of a love lost
and a heart tragically stained...

 


Details | Narrative | |

Baby's Father

I never thought you'd be just a baby's father.
How can you call yourself a man then turn your back on your own daughter.
I wish you had to tell her to her face that you don't love her.
So you could wipe the tears from her cheeks while you make up an answer.
I can only hold her while she cries tears that I cannot relate to.
And make excuses for you of why you're missing so she don't hate you.
It’s not fair for her to be forced to deal with emotions she can't handle.
And the worst part is you never even gave her a chance at all to love you.


Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

The Spirit Lifter Queen

This is dedicated to my new friend, Hope.  Thanks for keeping my spirits lifted!

A spirit lifter Lifts up your spirit To a higher level Than you can get They pull from inside Our God given light To share with others As we shine so bright Now every spirit lifter Needs their spirits lifted too The more their spirits are lifted The more spirit lifting they can do They are always so busy Lifting the joy of others To ever pick up their joy And that is their druthers There are times they notice not That their joy has fallen down It’s not until they see their face To find it is wearing a frown That’s when other spirit lifters Will come and jump right in To be quick as possible As they really do save them The Spirit Lifter Queen I finally met and got to see That she carries roots as strong As a magnificent old oak tree Her light shines so beautiful Hope is the name we call her As she is the picture of hope And the root of a spirit lifter Her roots run so very deep And her light shines on everyone As hope is to expect with confidence To cherish a desire with anticipation I feel most privileged To have acquainted with her As even one of her joyful giggles Always lifts my spirits higher When the joy bubbles up from in me I gladly bounce them back to her As she really is the Queen Of all the other spirit lifters! Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

My Mother

MY MOTHER          
Mother more than just a word; my mother is where my life began. My mother 
protected me from the world bonding together from the beginning. Safely tucked 
away I would spend the next nine months listening to her heart beat, gently 
floating in water. Our blood would mix and nourishment she supplied to me. 
My world and hers suddenly changed when my birth came about. No matter the pain 
we both endured, comfort quickly came as I found my way into her arms! Together 
we would make our way in this world as nothing compares to the love of my mother.
We listened to the birds singing, watched the lightning bugs, and talked of things 
on earth and heaven. My mother taught me love and gentleness’. Early in life I 
developed a sixth sense. I knew, “I had a guardian angel” and “God was always 
with me”.
Growing up was not so easy and I made many mistakes. Many times I did not 
understand my mother and swore she could not love me. I was looking through the 
eyes of a child and did not look through hers till aged and wiser!
My mother continued to love me forgiving my blunders in life for we bonded early 
when my heart first began to beat. With the passing of time my mother proud and 
supportive always tells me of her love for me. At times when I look in the mirror, 
looking back at me is my mother!
 I know life as I know one day may end however; my mother and I having shared 
life from the start will always be bonded in the heart. My mother gave from her 
heart and soul. Now to you my mother, in your honor; I dedicate and give this poem 
with all my love from all my heart!
						Your, Daughter Debbie 
Dew!
								
	July 20, 2011


Details | Narrative | |

The First Day


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


Details | Narrative | |

One Day I'll go Home

One Day I’ll go Home.
Home is where I could do anything. I would listen to my music and clean as often as 
I liked. There was no right or wrong as time belonged to me. When I listened to my 
music nothing else mattered I was just happy. Happy was a simple thing with only 
music and cleaning for my home was a happy place for me!
Music brought an upbeat rhythm to lift my spirit at all times. I felt the beat as I 
moved about doing all things in time with the songs. I enjoyed cleaning my home 
with joy as things shined so for my pleasure. A combination of music and cleaning 
nothing could beat. I wanted and needed to feel so complete.
Now a new house and life with music I still have. Now the music is less and the 
cleaning so rare. The joy of the shine is far from my home and the call of pleasure 
and being complete I’ve left behind. The feeling’s once felt while my music played 
and I scrubbed things down has been handed over to another. 
My purpose has changed to be that of another. I fill this house with things from life 
with part time music and rarely clean as someone other does this. I have a purpose 
in this house and although kept secret my spirit knows things come to pass. The 
rhythm of my music and the spirit of the song will ensure happiness come along!
Now as I grow old my mind turns inward to find my home. I am there at last the 
place where my music plays and I find rhythm. I see myself start to clean and the 
shine appears. What welcomed relief to hear and see these things that made me so 
complete. Once again I am just that for joy fills my heart and I know I am home 
again.
                                                                                                    Debbie Knapp.


Details | Narrative | |

What The Hell Just Happened



Live every day to the fullest Each one is a treasure that cannot be recaptured Life has a beginning, a middle, and an end No second chance to experience things for the very first time Make the most of every day Breathe in deeply the breath of life Remember the joys of discovering new things as a child Your heart throbbing first romance as a teen The night you announce you're going steady The union of two souls as you marry That scary time when your first child is born Suddenly you realize you are not young anymore Don't let life and love pass you by It is meant to be lived to the fullest Before you can turn around You're sitting in a comfortable old easy chair Wondering... “What the hell just happened!” Life just happened! © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

A Penny On The Sidewalk

He stepped out of his car and rummaged in his pocket for some coins to feed the meter.  As he stepped up on the sidewalk, he noticed a penny lying near his feet.  He briefly contemplated picking it up before dismissing it.  It was just a penny.  It's value hardly worth the effort.   

As he stood there, he heard a voice say “Sir, could you spare some change to help me out?”.  He turned to see an unkempt  man, languishing on the stoop of a vacant store. He held a cardboard sign on which was scrawled “Homeless, Can You Help, God Bless You” .  He looked bad, and, as the man walked closer, he noted he emitted an unpleasant odor as well.  His first thought was just to walk away, reasoning that if he gave him anything, he would probably just buy some liquor and drink himself to sleep. But he did not.  There was something about the man that held his gaze.  Instead he spoke to the man saying “the uniform jacket you're wearing says Walker over the pocket.  Is that you?”  “Yes” the man replied. “That's me”.  “Are you a vet Walker” the man asked.  Again the man answered “yes sir”.  “How did you end up here” the man questioned.  Walker dropped his head, then looking up he said “I got some things I can't forget.  They drive me crazy sometimes and  I do stupid things.  Caused me to lose everything.  It's my fault, but that doesn't change anything, they are just as gone.”  The man reached in his pocket and withdrew a twenty dollar bill.  As he offered it to Walker he asked “Will this help soldier?”.  “Oh yes sir, thank you sir, and God bless you” he replied.  

The man turned to walk away, and as he did, he thought about how, in just a matter of minutes, his opinion of the man had changed from one of disdain to one of compassion.  That was a real person sitting there, perhaps even a hero.  He had a name.  He had an identity. Under different circumstances, each could have walked in the others shoes.

He had no idea what Walker would do with the money, but it didn't matter now.  In his mind he knew he had found another penny on the sidewalk.  But this time, without regard for value, he had stopped and picked it up.


Details | Narrative | |

God IS Real Miracles Happen

God Is Real/Miracles Happen
By Nate Spears


God is real, and miracles happen
Despite of his struggles 
The middle class poet kept on writing his chapters 
Times were tough 
But he didn’t give up
Unpaid rent 
Eviction notes 
His bills were overdue  
No water, no power 
He used GOD as his source; and  
kept on writing his chapters
Then came a knock 
He opened his door, but no one was there 
There was a note left behind, along with a white feather on his mat 
A rent paid receipt 
Plus full payment of his utilities
He closed the door quickly, and went back in the house to his desk
The pages in his book was flipped 
to a ending page he couldn’t miss
A inspirational piece was left behind that he didn’t write
It read this: 


For your time and effort given 
to lead and inspire, this is the final chapter in your book that I so desire.

I restored your power, to give you energy to write.

I gave you water again, for the tears shed on your writes.

I provided funding for your rent, for the priceless messages your poems present. 

Those sheets of paper have inspired many lives in need to vent.


I read the final chapter, and started to cry
I glanced out the window at a river of joy nearby
A rainbow appeared in the sky
Under covering my darkness  
There lies a ray of light 
No matter how deep life pounds
No matter how hard things get 
If you believe you can overcome
Just keep up the fight 
The battle is already won
Just believe.


Details | Narrative | |

Narratives



Narratives have allowed the real me To come forth without hesitation My soul is exposed for all to see I have nothing to hide Nothing to be ashamed of A simple soul who loves life and love Even with all of it's ups and downs And it's scary uncertainties Love still comes shining through I am not unique We all have it within us or we couldn't survive This driving force that keeps us going The ultimate goal is and has always been love There is no purpose without it So I say to you all Purge yourself of doubts and fears The answer is oh so simple Love... sweet love! © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

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 
themselfs.

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


Details | Narrative | |

A Sea Of Nothingness



Some days are diamonds Some days are pure do-do Today was a totally do-do day I'm sure everyone has them every once in awhile But mine are a lot more frequent than they once were Is it my age that makes the difference Or is it my retirement Throughout my life, I have always been A very, very active person So to all of a sudden be without a goal I'm lost in a sea of nothingness The only activity my brain gets Is poetry and that's not enough to sustain me I need a challenge every day I have one of those brains that constantly Needs nourishing, to be challenged or it will die I wish it weren't true And I could just lie back in my easy chair And watch the world go by BUT... that's just not me! © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

Anchored thoughts

I see myself dancing out there in the shadow of an ocean Hands free in the air as seagulls surround me Then,I hide with the sun behind a dark cobalt sky I can't see me anymore I vanish,I'm gone Oncemore I find me again through the face of the moon which mirrors each drop of huge savage waves beneath my feet. All alone,scared but not terrified sad but not desperate I sail to the open winds in a ship without sails which sinks in the deep whilst i breathe in empty silence freezing the smile of a lifetime.


Details | Narrative | |

REFLECTION

This is dedicated to all of my wonderful reflections in life.  Thanks for always catching me and lifting me up!!

It is most important To see your reflection The image we reflect As an individual person Sometimes we overlook Seeing what we may reflect Then other people in the world Can see the reflection neglect We should always check out What reflections we portray The reflections given out Will come back your way Reflecting goodness to others Attracts goodness back to you As when bad reflections given Can invite bad reflections too Inner vision is connected With the soul deep within As we look out reflecting Images our minds imagine There are the times on occasion When we may reflect negatively That’s when we don’t even realize We’re not seeing ourselves clearly Some reflections in others That you may tend to find With some similar situations Will sometimes ease your mind To see reflections of yourself in life Looking at other people is the way A true friend will catch you though When you are having a bad day Those friends will reflect to you What you are unable to see Giving only positive thoughts And lifting you up spiritually Be a good reflection to yourself And to others who need it too Do not reflect as someone else Let the real you shine through Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

My Epiphany

I was very young, preschool age perhaps, when I had my moment.
Seated on the back step in the sunshine, thinking childish thoughts,
an ordinary day, nothing to hold in a long time memory, when it happened.
That child I was of long ago had a moment that was never to be forgotten.  
It seemed to emanate from inside my being. An aura of perfect peace 
and joy, a feeling of good surrounded me.  

It was as if the meaning of life had been revealed to me. 
There was no obvious reason for this, nothing I could see.  Later on 
in life as the memory of that sensation warmed me, I would try to analyze it. 
Had an angel brushed me with her wing?  Had God or Jesus stood
in my presence?

I never told anyone about my experience.  What was there to say?
A child’s tongue has no words to describe the wonder. I do know this,
of all the thousand moments of my childhood, this is the only
one that comes back to me along with all of the emotions it engendered.
It was my epiphany. It was a sure realization that God is good, God is
near and I am in His hands.  
 


 


Details | Narrative | |

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 


Details | Narrative | |

DEATH IS TOO BORING

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

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








Details | Narrative | |

Bittersweet

Alone 
I watch
The house across from me
The people who live there
Keep to themselves
A shallow creek 
No wider than a man’s gait
Water no deeper than two feet
Runs as a boundary between us.

The house once had a broken window 
A gaping hole
That gave the house a reckless character
Like the missing front tooth
Of a mischievous young boy
Now it’s been covered by wood
Nearby, inexpensive white plastic chairs
Thin, stained and unused
Line the side of their house
Inviting phantom guests
To sit down.

In the upstairs bedroom
A curtain drawn as blinds hangs
Brightly colored
Defiant in the face of poverty
Inside a girl hides a diary from her parents
And dreams of the day when she is grown up
Young lovers kiss in the darkness
A hungry baby’s whimper is heard in the night
A radio 
Left out on the front stoop
Plays a familiar song 
To an empty street.

The people living next to me
Are proud
Keeping what they have
Admiring their courage
I ask myself
Who am I to complain? 


Details | Narrative | |

The Magical Blue Ball



Why is today so special? Well pay attention while I bend your ear EVERY day is special, my friends To be alive on this magical blue ball we call Earth Why do I call it “magical”? Just look around and observe the beauty That fills us with awe every single day The majesty of the mountains The unending blue sky above The constant flow of the rivers and streams Yes! MAGICAL is the only possible word To describe the absolute wonders We witness day in and day out It is so overwhelming that us mere mortals Can only marvel at the vastness of the universe Or the beauty of a butterfly So when everyday matters become too much to bear Look around and marvel at what you see And be thankful you're apart of the magic The magic of life itself! © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

We Live

We live our life like a lie.
Never true to ourselves nor to others.
We live our life as a dream.
Never seen but is believed.
We live our life in disbelief
Never thought nor achieved.

We live our life as though it was all but a dream.
Believing that everything is not what it seems.
Taking what's for granted and not knowing what it means.
Living in this Great Society far beyond belief.
We live our life in all this trouble an grief.
Plagued by a disease that shall not be deceived.
Taking our life's an burying them with all that we believe.
Living as though our very souls have begun to weep.
We live our life to its fullest as though there's never an end.
Enjoying the life that we do have and to be forgiven for our sin.

We live our life as we believe.
Always true to those and others.
We live our life as a whole.
Always taking what we get.
We live our life as a belief.
Always in faith and God


Details | Narrative | |

CONNECTING LINES

We are living on top of the sphere.

Where questions of mind haven't yet revealed.

Some still stuck in pyramid's scheme/

Life has unforeseen purpose to prevail.

Questions are hanging up in the air,

Mind has been unleashed .

Setting one's soul to defeat the darkness/

Preacher and moron evocatively says;

A gift of salvation just like the other way,

Salvation granted for people who follow  their will/

As we seek for the answers,

our mind was built with faith.

To demand,to sustain  our starving flesh/

We all meet in a half-way where deliverance is dwelt,

Changing the world goes round on our feet.

In a mystical way we were molded by mud.

Our soul was given of a breath of life,

Sending us the spirit,the unknown force from up above/

And now,we as human creature--

Living the edge of life in a blast;

As the sun rest at dawn and the moon took its place,

As a newborn child sooner grow and life will be fade/

People had learnt to fall inlove,

Cries a river when someone has left/

From the peak of Everest to the core of the Earth,

Through the lands and the seas,

Blood is continuosly flows in our veins.

Life must come and go,but forever will be

Our hidden connection will remain mystery.


Details | Narrative | |

Small World

Seven hundred and sixty two feet from corner to corner.  From the huge old elm tree in Dr. Rooney's front yard on one end, to the lamppost that sat outside my bedroom window on the other.  That's how long the street that I grew up on is.

So who cares?  Good question.  It really is irrelevant isn't it?  Well maybe.  At least it was until one day when I went back and visited the old neighborhood after an absence of many years.  That's when I realized how much shorter it had gotten while I was away.  Time was when I would walk up to Washington Street on the opposite end from where I lived and look back, and it was a very long way.  If I ran from end to end, I would be huffing and puffing by the time I collapsed on my front porch.  

Sitting catty corner across the street from where I lived was the Lincoln Elementary School, surrounded by fields that ran uninterrupted the length of the street.  Only the Noonan's house broke the symmetry, sitting there in solitary defiance halfway down the street.  I never did know why it was there, but suspect it had something to do with the Noonan's getting there first.  

Today the school is a nursing home, but everything else is still as it was, except of course, the field too has grown smaller, and the Noonan house isn't at all as large as it used to be.   

I had a paper route back then.  It encompassed several blocks of my neighborhood, with my dad being the last one to get his paper.  It took most of the afternoon to deliver my route, given the distance and all.  I wish it had been as small then as it seems to be today. 

Anyway, that was a long time ago.  I left for the Air Force right after high school.  I remember waiting for the bus next to that old elm tree in Dr Rooney's yard.  My folks moved to another part of town shortly after that, so I never did go back.  Occasions to visit the town at all were few over the years.  It was my dads funeral that finally brought me back for a few days. 

Funny how the world keeps shrinking.  Once distant destinations no longer are.   California seems to be a lot closer to Boston then it once was, and when did Canada become just a few hours north of here.   I guess maybe I shouldn't be surprised after all that my street ended up being only seven hundred and sixty two feet from corner to corner. Small world, isn't it?


Details | Narrative | |

Soccer Crazy

Soccer was the thing for all young men to play.
And my little love wanted to join desperately in the game.
So he got to be the goalie… to wear that special crown.
He was so excited as he was sent in front of that net.
And we were so very proud of what this honor surely meant.
I told every one he was my son and we couldn’t be prouder of him, than that.
But it didn’t take long for him to feel lost as his friends went running in the game.
So alone, he started kicking at dirt clods and looking for bugs with which to play.
Then he spun in circles and showed off for some girls in every way…
So the girls were sent to help keep his eye on the ball… as best they could.
For he had been paying attention to them, as the first goal went sailing through…
At this point I said oops and boys will be boys… as I smiled, though in doubt…
But it got better as he suddenly started exploring the net, and I heard a shout…
He’d decided to play spider man as he ran and threw himself at the net.
He tried to cling up higher with every jump he brilliantly took.
As I was waving my hands back and forth while trying to tell him to cut it out…
I was getting really frantic, trying to tell him that the ball was coming close…
But he was half way up the net as the next goal came sailing past to score.
Now my head was in my hands for the team kids were looking kinda sore....
For now they had to run their hearts out… to try to win the game and score.
I began to wonder if the team would ever forgive him if they lost?
The coach made two more visits to try to get his attention at any cost…
He really was quite kind as he said in no uncertain terms to leave the net alone…
And so, my son paid attention for another moment or more, you know…
But while everyone was running and scoring at the other end…
I turned to see him hanging upside down, his foot caught in the net, up in the air.
Everyone ran out to save him with me… or was it to save the net?
When we got back to sit down the coach was looking a little strained.
And I was contemplating hiding under the bleachers as the other team scored, again.
At half time, my little goalie seemed happy relegated to the bench with all his friends.
But I was worried he might be… kicked off the team… I was in terror, my friend…
At this point, several turned to assure me every thing would be all right...
After all, last year it had been their kid’s turn for… hanging upside down...


Details | Narrative | |

Callie Cat, the Perfect Pet

    One day my daughter brought home a scraggly looking young cat who had always 
lived outside. In her first year, we learned she had given birth to two litters of kittens, most of which died. She’d always had to scrounge for food and had even escaped from the pound, only to find her way back to that place where she’d not been well-treated! When my daughter saw her, it was her kittens that were being given away. But my daughter saw a gentle quality in this mother cat that surpassed the sweetness of the kittens and asked to take the mother, who became known to our family as Callie (for Calico). 

   Callie grew plump and flourished in our home. She was no nuisance to anybody or anything. She became so pampered that she hated the outdoors and if a door were opened, she would approach the “outside” cautiously, only to come racing back inside the minute we returned from our porch. Callie loved to sit on laps and be petted. The older she got, the louder she even purred. If a visitor came to the house, she would climb to their laps. She was small and so likable that nobody wanted to shoo her away.

   When our children left home, she became my one and only baby, curled up by my pillow each night and awakening me with a little pat to my face every morning for her breakfast.  Callie lived a long life, nearly 18 years, but has since passed on. Dying of cancer, she clung to life until we saw fit to have her put to sleep. I have since adopted other cats, and my current cat is indeed charming, but I still believe there is not another cat in the world that can compare to our one and only Callie Cat!


Details | Narrative | |

The Script Of Life

When we are born, our life begins
This is the opening pages of our birth
And these chapters grow through our youth

We write these pages with our very actions
We still learn, so our story continues on
Building as we learn of love, hate and other emotions

But no matter what we try to do, try to alter
We can never go back to those times gone before
We can never change that which is already written

Like wise, we can never find a way to read ahead
It is impossible to glance at our last page
To see exactly what Destiny has planned for us

You see, certain things are still yet to happen
Because this script of life is yet unfinished
Each passing second writes new words to read

Your last breath will become your final sentence
When, at last, your book can now be closed
And that is when your script shall be no more




Details | Narrative | |

I Forgot To Read The Newspaper

It’s early 
Not a sound from the street
Newspaper lies in the driveway
Where it landed
Some time ago.

When I get up 
The sun is also up
Brightness
Clarity
Not a cloud in the sky
So why should I read the newspaper
On this beautiful morning 
To read about politicians
Taking bribes
Projects stalled by demonstrators
Economy still in the toilet
An actor arrested for God knows what.

They say
Not reading leaves one uninformed
But reading leaves me misinformed
Avoiding the need to choose
Between the devil and the deep blue sea
I choose to read the comics
Yes, those cartoon characters
Amusing
Unbelievably funny
Occasionally making a point
On things we ignore.

I take the comics seriously 
As I sip from a coffee cup 
Carefully placed nearby
Casually savoring each drop
As I contemplate the day 
And the morning leisurely wears on.



Details | Narrative | |

Life in the bottle

As I stagger to my room…my vision in a haze and my guts steering like a stew, my eyes 
look like a ripe red pepper and my bladder is filled up like a sponge that fell into a pool. 

My whole life has been one great big inaugural ball, with only one exception… I was the 
candidate that no one would ever choose…never mind the formalities just pass me the 
booze. 

A bottle of Chardonnay or be it a can of old Pabst Blue Ribbon beer? Never mind the time of 
day…its noon somewhere in the world today, just pour me a drink and let me party like it 
was 1999 all over again. 

Hell, my day starts with me looking into a half full glass of whatever is my drink of the day 
before and ends with one half filled the same way it began once I pass out. Dude my family 
just never seems to leave me alone…it’s always, “Bob you’ve had one too many” and blah…
blah or something like that, man I don’t remember it’s all a daze in my head. 

Before I use to be the center of attention at all the family functions, now I’m the last to know 
when the next one will come or when one has passed. Man…just past me the damn bottle 
and I’ll tell them where they can all hold their next get together without me? 

In a hot place called…Hell! My ex can bar me from my own home, but she can’t bar me from 
the local bar…she can keep my dog and the damn kids too, as long as she gives me beer 
glass collection with those Klondike horses racing thru the snow! 

I don’t care…anymore, just leave me alone and pass me by if you see me lying in some 
gutter on the street. I don’t care…anymore, just let me live my life in a bottle and I’ll keep 
my broken heart there too.


Details | Narrative | |

The Walker

I use a walker to get around
A device I need in order
To maintain my balance
So I walk slowly.

People rush by 
Not seeing me
Making me feel that I am in their way
Some are impatient
I feel their warm breath on my neck
As I try to pass through the subway turnstile
On my way to work
Just like everyone else.
A few say their sorry
Over time I’ve learned
That people say things they don’t mean.

I tire easily
Occasionally stopping to catch my breathe
When that happens
Gestures are all I have 
Since my hands are busy
Sometimes my face becomes like putty
Primed to be explicit in nature
Grimaces
Winks
Smiles
A nod
Laughter
Mouthing the words thank you for a door held open.

If forced,
By a unexpected blocked exit
Or a person suddenly veering in front of me
I do something
That crosses the line
Melodramatic
Emotional 
Or angry
I do this because it’s the only thing I can do.


Details | Narrative | |

Last of the Mohicans

I have a new cell phone
It allows me to text...

I have finally caught up with the civilized world
Me...who swore on my soapbox....
                       "Not for me! Thanks, but no thanks, ..I'd rather talk"
                        Why doesn't anyone want to talk anymore? !!

Resisting the change
Resisting technology
Embracing the old, scoffing the new

I've learned to text.....last of the Mohicans.......I've learned to text

Tolerated their smirks, their ridicule, tolerated their bahahas behind my back
Saying it over, and over, ...and over again....... 
                "Why do people resort to the cold, the impersonal,
                 glued to one's ear, purse, hip-pocket, mentality?"


Last night my daughter sent me a text
Then a photo...

The photo...well, ... at first I couldn't quite see what it was
But then I realized, it was an old recipe card...scribbled in my handwriting,
written by me, for her, long ago, when she was first learning to cook 

Meatloaf!! 
 
Same old recipe...that's also tucked away in my own recipe box,
only mine is scribbled with love, given to me by my own mother

I was startled, looking at that bloomin', handheld, tiny red, impersonal device...

reading... "Hi Mom...made this 4 dinner 2nite! Yum !!"....

So, here I am........spilling a tear over this stupid red phone
                                                              while falling off my soapbox


Details | Narrative | |

My Favorite Devonshire

Angels and Aliens

With the Biblical accounts of angels
Regarded by some as proof of aliens

Science and religion remain at odds
One says the other has no faith in God

Is there no room in Earth’s family portrait
For both sides to speak, not one view omit

If we believe God created all things
Can’t this be said of other-world beings

No life’s threatened by angels or aliens
So mocking of either just makes no sense

When God created both heaven and Earth
Perhaps a new species of life gave birth

In another part of His Milky Way
And, in friendship, they visit us today

Appearing from the sky basked in white light
Celestial creatures laugh at the sight

Of scientists and theologians
Pitting God’s angels against God’s aliens

And man’s ignorance they may deride
Since angels and aliens thrive side-by-side

Carolyn Devonshire

This is one of my favorite poems by Carolyn because she makes no judgements, and she offers an enlightened view of what we understand and do not understand, making her point in a logical manner with compassion for all beings. Her insight into the our world and other realms or unseen dimensions shows her great understanding of humanity and beyond.  I adored this poem when I first read it and seem to glean more and more from it with each additional reading. Her enthusiasum for the joy of life pours out from every line in celebrating the contrast of other worldly beings, that we might live side by side with in harmony. A very beautiful inspiring poem that shines a bright light on ignorant views.

 Connie Marcum Wong


Details | Narrative | |

The Three Things I am Proud to Be

How glad I am 
That a poet, novelist and artist
Are all I am

When I’m sad, I can strum it on a guitar
When I’m depressed, I can set my stress free in words
When I’m inspired, I can plaster it in the pages I author
When I’m creative, I can paint my heart on a canvas
When I’m disturbed, I can smudge it on yet another canvas
I can’t imagine anything that’d be better
For again, my reward comes in knowing 
All else of this earth I live comes and goes
...at ease on the wings of change... riding the breeze of fate

Thank you All Mighty Powers responsible for my being
For this talent you’ve given me
For with it I’m not worried like a celebrity
...if I’m a one hit wonder
And I don’t wonder if tomorrow I’ll still be a wonder
For in tomorrow is the promise that a scholar 
...is bound to pass over my works and evaluate its worth

Thank you Almighty 
For the immortality of words
Tunes change and movies fade
But words always remain the same
In it what this one doesn’t see
The other one is bound to see
And from it yet another is bound to be inspired
Such is an awesome power
And  for as long as I live
It’s mastery is what I seek

A poet, a novelist, an artist
The three things I’m so proud to be

As of now I have none
But I’m never worried about the cash
For even God knows that I work indeed
And soon I trust He’ll send destiny to reward me
For still I am like Him
Creating life where it didn’t exist
Inscribing life into each blank page
Endearing beauty to a plain canvas
Adding sweetness to a silent time

Oh, thank you Almighty
How proud I feel 
Whenever I glimpse and see the real me


Details | Narrative | |

Men At Drink

They sit there happily drinking
TV on
No one paying attention
Some talk about their aches and pains
War time experiences
Or family and sons.

Some prefer not to speak at all
Just staring into their drink
Facing old visions of unspeakable hurts.

Whatever it is, men drink
To forget or to remember
Well, which one is it
That makes men drink?

You stare out the window
Watching snow softly falling
Covering everything in a white mantle
And then you decide to have another drink.




Details | Narrative | |

Club Dancer

From our table
We drank
And laughed
Made cutting remarks
Each one of us 
Trying to sound smart.

Ordering another round
Heavy hands rested on the table
Waiting for the night to end.

I saw her dancing by herself
Others noticed her too 
Dancing with her eyes closed
Looking to nowhere in particular
Colored lights played on her skin
All the while she danced
Precariously
Like an angel on top of a pin
Moving and moving
Ever so gracefully.

Some said she was dancing for herself
Someone else criticized her dress
But there was tenseness in the air
As men followed her
With a wildness in their eyes.

I said she was dancing for herself
Spinning and spinning
Towards an unthinkable
Place in the night
The table erupted in laughter
And another round was ordered.

The night slowly reached its climax
Empty glasses littered our table
As we fumbled to pay the bill.

When I looked up 
The dance floor was empty
Our dancer was gone
Somewhere in the night.

Struggling, I made my way home
Through the empty streets
Searching the occasional light 
Left on 
In some empty apartment
Waiting to welcome a wayward traveler.

In the fog of night
Her memory
Tugged at me
And I wondered if she too
Had left a light on.



Details | Narrative | |

The unforgettable rant from a drunk Lady contest

It is five minutes to two
I don’t know what to do
It looks like I'm the last person this evening before you close
But can I have another, and possibly a minute to expose
You must get this often you’re really sweet
Cute as a button, to bad I don’t cheat
You see I am procrastinating to get back to my house
I live with a man; no he is not my spouse
Five long years, do you care that I share
Oh hun, watch out a flies in your hair
But seriously, it’s bad; we fight all the time
I haven’t the courage to tell him I am sick of his kind
Do you have a woman? oh you must you’re so cute
So what do you think should I give him the boot?
Oh and work is getting to me, my boss in always on my case
Sir what’s your name again? you have a mighty fine face
Can I get one more? that will be all
Good thing I live down the block in case I trip and fall
Can I give you some advice; you should finish your degree
You don’t belong here at this hour serving me
Last year I went away, when I got back I caught him cheating
I gave this guy one serious beating
Oh look it is raining
Am I complaining?
I know it’s time to move on
But it’s hard when someone is finally gone
Do you work every night?
Could you lower the lights?
I am getting a headache
Last night I went to a wake
It was my Coworkers sons, girlfriends, Aunt,
I am sorry did I just go on a rant?
What are you doing after work?
You must think I am a jerk
OH NO here come the tears!!!
Sir, it’s been so many painful years,
Why can’t I just leave him?
What is wrong with me?
can I get just one more, my glass is empty,
Wait, what are you doing?
Is that coffee I smell brewing?
Are you shutting the bar down?
I see no one is around in this town,
OH no I just dropped the glass on the ground
Boy!!! that made a really loud sound
Let me pick that up
I’ll buy you a new cup
That’s all I seem to do, clean and cook,
I deserve better right? I read it in Dr.Phil's new book,
Sir, where are you going?
Did you tell me your name?
OH I don’t feel well, can I puke in your drain?
Much better, oops sorry, I made a mess
This was a new dress,
Thanks for listening,
Did I tell you you’re cute?
I bet you make a tone of loot
My man has no job
and he wonders why I'm a bitter snob
Ok Im leaving, its late my new friend,
what did you say your name was again?
I want your number, Let me get a pen
Oh no my purse fell all over the floor
Sir Sir, did you just slam the door?

“I am not a sir, I am a Woman, and you need to Go the hell Home!!! ”

By: SNK
Contest: 
wriiten 10/21/11


Details | Narrative | |

Old Sam's Story : Night of the Fire

Yes…the house has been ravaged
But, what really matters, has survived
I can tell you a story in courage
That made all the difference,
….Whether we lived....
                         or whether we died.....

We have our routine,.... my master and me…
After our walk…..we will come in for a talk
I lie by his feet, ....he gives me a treat
When bedtime arrives, he’ll yawn, then retreat
Up the stairs he goes, into bed for a snooze
And I will circle my bed…several times… then I’ll head
Down for a sleep…under the laundry room sink
I had been out chasing squirrels, all of that day
So tired I was....I was nodding away....

Red in the night…I woke to such a fright!
With a crackle more sharp, than the fireplace spark!
One ember popped out….and before you can name
The sound that I heard….was horror in flames!

We don’t know who first spotted, that our house was on fire
I barked to my master, but since he was tired
He didn’t wake up, so I galloped up the stairs
To wake him and fetch him…though I was terribly scared!
He jumped out of bed in an anxious daze…
Then smelled the smoke, …and could feel the blaze
 He ran,... and ran…. calling “Come, come along, Sam!”
“Hurry, boy,… hurry boy….as fast as you can !!”
But in my confusion, and in the dark smoke
I felt my legs weaken, was coughing, then choked
I couldn’t get up, and felt the heat rise
And in the dark chaos, I was losing my life….

In the shadow of fear, I suddenly felt no alarm…..
Someone had lifted, and cradled me like a babe, I was limp and disarmed
He carried me to safety, ME !! JUST ME! Risked his life for old Sam!
He gently handed life to me, with such heroic, loving, arms

I don’t know how to thank him.   My master shook his hand…
The house may be gone, 
     but nothing worse went wrong….
So, in the soot, the smoke and ash, I rubbed against his boot
He knelt down, looked me in the eye…
                I kissed him with my tongue, gratefully upon his cheek,
                       He smiled, and winked....
                                    it was then,.... I think,.....that he began to cry....


.....................................................
Inspired by Joyce's Touching Photo, for her contest


Details | Narrative | |

Healing Hands

A long, lost dream lay dormant for many years 
Beneath a constant sea of delays and indecision
Stuck in a routine so unappealing to my spirit
Hours spent in self indulgence became the norm of each day
It did promote team spirit however, did nothing for my famished soul
At break of dawn, the alarm clock would sound, 
Anger stirred deep in my soul; hindering my commune with God  
Then along came Holy Matrimony, or so I thought it was 
Graciously, light revealed the cobwebs that draped my life
It was then, at that crossroad where clarity and strength revived  
My inspiration, one consolation, an angel sent from above 
In defining ways, she would teach me what it means to truly love
With no expectations, no remuneration, observing in awe and pure joy
It was no accident that I found my lost dream in yesterday’s ruins 
These gentle hands are blessed to heal, love and give care 


Details | Narrative | |

Robbing the Nest

I had survived how many summers? Five?
Six? 'til, self-taught, I learned at last
of terror that lurks in situations
which those I trust (myself included)
would swear offer only perfect safety...
My ball rolled under my Grandma's house
and I, well-guarded, scuttled after to retrieve it,
mindless of the tarry soil fleeced with fluffy,
small red feathers, newly molted by matrons:
hens that clucked contentment,
set upon their hidden egg troves.
Spying their nests, I thought to rob them
and so earn a Grandma's love for a city boy
unversed in country ways. Thinking, I acted,
reaching for a nest unoccupied,
half hid behind a house block.
I closed my soft, expectant hand
upon a wriggling creature coiled among the eggs,
drew back like lightning to watch
a brightly spotted snake slide off
into the farther, deeper darkness
amid a squall of squawks.
Emerging empty handed, terrified,
it wasn't Grandma's love I earned that day.
I have always since encountered similar brilliant colored
dangers whenever I have thought to grab,
for myself or others, unclaimed treasures
in strange places, in warmer or in cooler weathers.


Details | Narrative | |

Solitude

You feel alone
And can’t sleep
Another hour passes
Finally your close your eyes 
Dreaming of a place you’ve never been
At first you feel free
Arms swinging at your sides
Like a kid playing hooky from school
Just ahead is a
Worn path
A meadow is on your left
Fenced all the way
To where the land meets the sky
On your right is a forest
Dark green
Impenetrable
Quiet, not a living thing around
An unexpected breeze 
Brings a sudden chill
But you walk on.

You walk and walk
Until it becomes dark
The road
Becomes hard
You trip
And curse the darkness.

Overhead, now is a cold
Uncaring moon
Yet you begin to sweat
Feeling it run down your back
You’d gladly give your soul 
To catch a glimpse of something familiar
You really don’t know where you are
In the night what was once ordinary
Is now strange
Disoriented you finally realize 
That you’re lost.

You feel as though your heart will explode from your chest
An inner voice begs that the dream stop
Slowly you awake
To the sound of rhythmic breathing 
Someone is near you
A sense of relief
Envelopes you
In a warm cocoon
Of blanket, pillow and bed
Taking a deep breathe
You are grateful 
Not to be alone.


Details | Narrative | |

Pretend Friend

I would prefer an enemy to be my friend Than having a friend who is only pretend You’ve been caught in several lies From what I’ve seen with my own eyes Please don’t keep being a pretend friend to me That’s not how our friendship is supposed to be It’s very disappointing and it hurts a lot To know your true friend is truly not We’ve known each other so very long here You know coming from me it’s all sincere We’ve crossed a bridge with no back track Knowing we could only just glance back The intimacy we used to have is all over now Maybe our friendship can be saved somehow If you are a pretending friend with me You are pretending to others too evidently You’ll never find true love when you deceive You will only get tangled in that web you weave I do apologize for pretending to you as well God loves us both we are not going to Hell Now I was a pretend friend to you too Because I didn’t tell you when I knew The lies you told put me in a bad mood That’s when I decided to cock an attitude It was like a shield so you couldn’t get in It pushed you away from being my friend I tried to overlook the way you treated me And pretending you cared for me intimately We had no commitment just a deal To be truthful and to be for real Lies are like rubber bouncing all over the place They bounce right back up and hit you in the face Untruthfulness is an ugly sight to see No matter how attractive you may be The hurt inside comes from seeing you pretend Especially more so because you are my friend You owe nothing to anyone, no not you And can do what ever it is you want to do It’s just that it actually all boils down to A friend is supposed to be someone true Did you not really know what a true friend should be? Did you forget that the true friend was supposed to be me? A true friend is someone you are truthful to And one who is also truthful to you Now a one-sided deal Means the friend is not real And that’s the friend I would call pretend So please think twice before you do it to me Unless you are sure you want our friendship to no longer be Don’t lose this friend who wants only to encourage you Though it would be nice for you to encourage me too I thought I had a special friend that was true And I really thought that one was you Some advice from a real friend Please don’t be a friend who becomes so pretend Luv ya, Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

The Comfort of Poetry

Sometimes, I feel like a bird hiding
Under a thin hollow of a leaf
The bird which blinks at the sun
When a branch moves and starts
At a crack of a dry twig
Sometimes, I feel so abandoned,
So tormented, surrounded by
 The huge trees, by big clouds 
Of a callous, cruel world 
But when I remember my poems
I see little flowers out of the grass
Like floating lamps,
I can smell the sweet scent 
Of lime trees in June
I can hear the skylark`s morning song
And many birds fly above my head,
 Trembling,  painfully drawing out
These profound truths 
Which need an enormous effort 
To speak out
But here they are, comforting me,
Telling me that heaven is
Divinely merciful, infinitely benignant
For it has spared me, 
Pardoned  my weakness


Details | Narrative | |

Denial

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.


Details | Narrative | |

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…


Details | Narrative | |

Purpose we are on earth

We are on earth to know To love Eternal God To do good according to His will And to go someday in heaven Human being means to come from Eternal God To go back to Eternal God The Truth is Our origins goes back farther than our parents Our parents are Eternal God’s tool For us to be on earth Sometimes we feel our Creator is near Sometimes we feel nothing at all So that we might find the way home Eternal God sent His Eternal Son Who freed us from sin Save us from the Eternal Father’s world destruction Eternal God, wanted to destroy the world Depressed People He created were sinning Eternal Son stopped Him Eternal Father is Yahweh Means “I AM” Eternal Son is Jesus Christ He is the Highest Priest of the Catholic or Roman Catholic Church We call Catholic priest, father Represent Father Christ He is the Highest Priest The Eternal Father is in Him Jesus Christ is Father Christ He is the way The Truth The Life 4092013


Details | Narrative | |

My God

My God is shy and generous
He knows the secret of tenderness
Just like my mother
He loves me in strange, unpredictable ways
Just like my father
I gave him my sister`s clumsiness and sincerity
 My brother`s  loud laugh, 
 My grandmother`s dark, wise eyes
He  walks slowly like my grandfather
He resembles my family that
Enlightened the paths of my childhood
He  sings our favorite songs,
Dazzling the universe with their beauty
He listens to me and talks to me
 Sometimes  I interrupt him
But he doesn`t mind
This God is powerful  and confused
This God is weird,  quiet and kind
When I approach him, I am filled up
With love of life
Although  I know that
The sadness will  return again


Details | Narrative | |

Congratulations -- DADDY --

It was late when I finally rollover into a Dream
She was Young, She was Pure: She was Beautiful
I danced up behind her; I feel Her long flowing, Auburn Hair
She turns around and says, “Are You He? ”Are You DADDY”
“I am Joanne Naomi Johnson”. “ I see Lenore in YOUR Face”
“Your Eyes, more Hazel; than Green” ”Come on, let’s go Home”
“ Mommy’s been expecting You for an Eternity. “You should Know!”
“Mommy, Mommy; He’s here, Daddy is Home; show him Your Poem“
My Heart skipped a beat as She Opens Heaven’s Door : My LENORE
                                 “  M  Y    L  E  N  O  R  E “

                                    ~ To Be Continued ~

                    Inspired by ~ Mr. Robert Joseph Adams
                      Dedicated to All who Believe in LIFE

                        Please Read "About This Poem"


Details | Narrative | |

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
promised.
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.


Details | Narrative | |

The Wisdom I see

My mind knows what my heart starts,
Darkness surrounds yet clouds play their parts.
On the other side I can find my way,
I’m thankful to see, just another day.

Sometimes when I’m sad this is not so,
I still plant seeds yet nothing can grow.
Sometimes the changes in life are abrupt,
I speak my mind but don’t mean to interrupt.

When the words come I simply do say,
They part the clouds that get in the way.
I seem to understand after a while,
What I have heard brings such a smile.

The day comes to a close like many before,
I look to the sky, imagine what’s in store.
I can wonder all I want yet it doesn’t change a thing,
Heartbreak and regrets are the prize they bring.

Silence surrounds as I hear a birds song,
It adheres to my soul I simply hang on.
I watch to see some new pieces break free,
Many of the pieces were inside of me.

The ones that seem lost I try to find,
I pause for a second but get left behind.
I think of those pieces like parts of myself,
I search for the life I left upon the shelf.

I know I can’t always get what I want,
The rope around my neck seems to get taunt.
Still there is the hope that I can break free.
A man with his words with the wisdom he sees.


Details | Narrative | |

Sunflowers

Dearest hon,

You cannot believe how excited I was to see sunflowers in the market today!
It’s been quite a while since I saw these cheerful flowers, and it just made my 
day...the lady selling them was even kind enough to give me some seeds.
It felt like it has been months of endless rains over here, so seeing those 
bright yellow blooms was my sunshine for the day. 

And since it’s still going to be like 3 months before I get to finally be with 
you, I decided to enclose these seeds so you can plant them for me ahead of time.
You’re such a green thumb, I know that my sunflowers will be happily waiting for
me when I get back, and hopefully you’d be clutching them in a huge bunch, 
together with that great big smile of yours! Sure do miss your smiles!

Let soil embrace these little tokens of my life here without you. Nurture it with care
while I’m still not yet there with you and just shower it with your love as you’ve 
shown me...

Counting the days until I’m with you...

Yours forever,
Aurora

_____****______

Dearest Aurora ,

You won’t believe how moved I was to finally receive that letter from you, and those
sunflower seeds were such bittersweet tokens. I took what you said to heart and 
you would be so happy to know that those sunflowers are the biggest there is here
in our neighbourhood –very fitting for you, love –
since you always did have the brightest smile and the biggest heart.  Heaven knows
how much I miss you...God knows that my tears have also showered these plants...
My heart is literally breaking now, as I write this. People have told me you were 
holding the biggest bunch of sunflowers that day you left the post office, and you even had 
a smile on your face... know sweetest heart, that I shall take care of your sunflowers 
until the day I die. My love for you still shines as brightly and will never fade...

Your hon until the sun refuses to shine...




*** June 29, 2010 Written for Constance’s flowers contest 

uh-oh I don't know where to put this--narrative maybe??


Details | Narrative | |

WORST JAIL TERM

.

"I'm told I'm free to try, so try I did,
    but then the shrewd wins with the highest bid;
        I'm tired of being told that I am free,
            living free is the worst jail term for me."

These were what our friend, Honesto had said
    to drunken ears of addled, groggy heads;
        teasing him, we laughed and shouted, "Come here,
            Philosopher, beat it, knock down your beer!"

We knew the guy was simply down and out,
    his eyes betrayed his raging silent shout;
        the gang screamed, "Why don't you give life a taste?
            Philosophizing's such a wasteful waste."

"It's best for you and us to laugh and drink,
    kick out them blues and woes, don't brood, don't think;
        cursing your fate and the world's but a trash,
            we've got our beer, brother, and lots of cash!"

"Tonight let's smash some doors and hit the road,
    rev up them hot engines, burn down the load;
        let's break some wise guys' ribs and crack a nose,
            a boring thrill, but man, that's how life goes!"

Honesto swayed, stood up, drew out a knife,
    and from his bleeding wrists oozed out his life;
        we thought it was just a quick tipsy trick,
            but he died, leaving us guiltily sick.

.


Details | Narrative | |

Wobbling to Mount Everest

Grumbling,rumbling and Wobbling my pen moves on the white paper,staggering as it strides onthe line Gush!it belches as horrible sound comes out from its tip,the lines are blur and twinkle stars appear.I am drunk No!not me its my pen,different thoughts flow into the mind beclouded by mundane things repelled by celestial beings Why!why am I here grumbling;I need to write to my glover or lover to join me in this journey to the peak of mount Everest where I`m at the top of my write,did I say write,Oh no!right yes!right now,Think of singing lovely vibes to your sweet g~~lover on the top of the tower with all your power for her to pick a drawer,Yes a drawer Stop interrupting pen...Am I confusing you no! not me it`s my drunken pen Not drunk just being funky eventhough I`m not pinky,My pen sip~sip more brandy so as to be more randy and not candyd.....avalanche of words pouring like tsunami hurricane and tornado Enough! enough I need to be free from this possessive pen spirit~of  al~~co~~hol~~Blank~~blank~~blank...Black out~~back down...P~O~a~r~~inks spreading all over my paper Oh no!stench,stench of vomits~What a quagmire


CONTEST:"Drink drunken pen drink!!!" sponsored by Elliott Bowe


Details | Narrative | |

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


Details | Narrative | |

Happiness Street



Some days are bright and shiny But it's got nothing to do with the weather It's all to do with attitude Sometimes the smallest things Can send us down the path of negativity Or conversely down “Happiness Street” Depending on which way the wind's blowing It's a tough life if you don't weaken My advice to you guys is this... GO WITH THE FLOW! As hard as that may seam at times Not to say we should always succumb But compromise is the key word here NOTHING is so important That it stops us from kissing and making up The simple phrase... “I'M SORRY” means so so much True true love will win out every time TRUST ME © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

Long Shadows

He waited 
Under fluorescent lighting
The kind that highlighted
His salt and pepper hair
It was almost 5:30
Quitting time 
But he didn’t have to worry about that anymore
Today was his last day
The people in the office took him out to lunch
Had a round of drinks
Opened a few cards
Hugged one of the secretaries
Felt pretty good about himself
But what next? 

Adjusting his glasses he looked straight ahead
The tools on his workbench 
Grimy 
Cold metal
After twenty years still usable and dependable
Pliers, screwdrivers 
Lined up in front just the way he organized them 
Some lost
Some borrowed but eventually all returned
He wondered if he would miss holding the hefty hammer
The one with the smooth maple handle?

There was nothing more to do
Would he bring his tools home?
Or come back for them later?

Rubbing his hands
To keep his fingers moving
He lingered at his bench
Until it was time to leave
A day’s pay for a day’s work
That what his father told him
Back when.

Put off the final decision 
To retire as long as he could
When he signed the papers 
It felt like somebody lifted him up
And put him in another life
Careful with money
Saved all these years
With Social Security
He and his wife hoped it would be enough
To see them through.

Enough thinking
It was time to leave
Waving to a few co-workers
He walked out 
The shop door closing behind him
Brick building
Casting its large shadow behind him
Outside it was the usual scene
Busy streets 
Crowded coffee shop
Sounds of buses and traffic
In a hurry to get somewhere.
 
This time it was different
A cold chill of exhilaration 
Gripped him in a vise of uncertainty
He couldn’t believe he 
Was walking away 
From decades of 
What was once familiar
And part of him. 


Details | Narrative | |

Favorite Movie Performance by Actor Colin Firth: A Single Man

L.A ‘62. English professor George (Colin Firth) is mourning the loss of his gay partner. He's 
spent the day reliving memories, but that night meets his student Kenny (Nicholas Hoult), 
who secretly admires him, in a bar. The two end up at George’s house after a spontaneous 
ocean swim. Kenny has just emerged from the shower,wrapped in a towel. George is making 
a fire. When Kenny goes to get a beer, he discovers a nude photo of George’s dead lover in 
a drawer. His suspicions about his teacher are confirmed. A beautiful score of stringed 
music, nostalgic and tender draws me in to every nuance of Colin's performance.

George, feeling foolish and seeming a bit flushed with anticipation (yet restraining himself 
from improper conduct), sits on a chair across from the young man when the boy returns to 
the living room. A conversation ensues in which George asks Kenny questions, trying to 
discern the young man’s reasons for being there that night. The boy, too, is trying to learn 
things about George, but keeps hedging with his responses to George‘s questions, and 
nothing completely “telling” is ever said. Meanwhile, their eyes linger on each other. The 
young man’s eyes are an enchanting almost gleaming blue; I find it hard myself to look away 
from his sweet face. My eyes are also riveted every second to George’s face and to its many 
subtle changes of expression.. Finally, the boy asks George something and at that moment,  
George’s face blurs. My curiosity is very aroused when suddenly the scene has switched to 
George awaking at about 3 a.m. from his bed.. The young man, however, is not in the bed 
(as I had hoped he would not be). He is asleep on the sofa, and he clutches in his hands the 
gun which George had planned to shoot himself with. Had George revealed his plan to end 
his life that day to his student? Was that what happened in those missing hours? Had the 
boyish Kenny (while George was sleeping off his drunkenness) found the gun in the same 
way he had discovered the picture of George’s partner and now was holding it to prevent 
George from carrying out his suicide? I know I am soon going to learn George’s fate. . .


Details | Narrative | |

The Coldest season of man's life

Every man has his lusty spring,
Symbolized by errant love
As an orchid that bloomer’s colorful fragrant,
Still half a man, he is frolicsome
Like a morning star as though heralds the coming of dawn he lives.
Just like ethylene alters the fruit ripened,
He maturates whence his mother wit ascend.
Moral sense overwhelms his errancy,
He now is watchful and meticulous.
And most of who find sereneness in jeune fille,
Share many a moment of his life in her blissful eyes.
When impediments and unrqeuitedness besiege his love,
He strays, loses course and prospect,
And looks back his bloom of youth.
As tides of the seas wrecks a sailor’s abode
By gravity pulling of sun and moon,
His yearn for her jovial love
Engulfs his soul in despair of the lovelorn,
This is whence he love true.
And most of who cease love second time,
And nods nearby the fireplace in the coldest season of man’s life
So waits for unalterable death,
Turn to sand where his antecedents’ laid.


Details | Narrative | |

EMOTION IS MOTION

Why we usually face weird situations? Why we get hurt & feel miserable on some occasions? Searching for root of reasons? Just imagine a life without emotions, How would it feel, when we don’t feel any feeling? Will there be something missing? May be some essential useless thing, Always connected to human as a string, Cut it once, leave emotions, don’t let it flow, & see how life goes, No emotions, no relish, no sorrow, No care about future until morrow, No emotions, no enemies, no friends forever, No one is neither your kin nor stranger, No emotion, no attraction for gods any creation, No lust for any voluptuous seduction,? No emotion, no longer love will exist, But a life without love, can you persist? One may say no love, no heart breaks, no more betrays, But is that only thing, what love conveys? No love might give no pain, But being static, till when can you sustain? It’s harsh as its reality, Only love is the symbol of humanity, Only emotion is the difference between human & wild creations, There’ll be no longer existence of human without emotions, So feel the world & feel everything under the blue, Live with emotions coz it makes you being you.


Details | Narrative | |

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?


Details | Narrative | |

Left Alone

I am Canine lupus familiaris
Known as dog
Man’s best friend
Someone to fetch 
Someone to catch with
Someone to walk 
Since I cannot speak
I watch and listen 
I also watch my master drink sour water from cans
As he and his friends laugh
Their shrill laughter becoming louder and louder
Their voices hurting my ears until I leave the room.

One week master was excited
The phone rang constantly 
A jarring message
A three day weekend
More sour water
More loud noise
Then suddenly I was left alone
Quickly and firmly
The door closed to me
At first I was glad for the silence
My eyes grew accustomed to the dark
Hungry, I searched the house
Found food and some water
I could smell the bags of dog food in the pantry
But it was no use
I couldn’t unlock the door
But I was brave
I didn’t panic
I made do with what I had
I conserved what little food was left in my doggie bowl
I drank water only when needed
I pooped in the bathroom
Like my Master always did
But it wasn’t enough
By the third day the water was gone
The doggie bowl empty.

When the door opened three days later
Master walked in
Sour water on his breathe
Short angry hissing words escaped his lips
When he found me
Alone and hungry
Rubbing his face
More short words followed
Anger directed at himself for neglecting me
Then he hugged me
Suddenly there was water
There was food
Looking up at him
My eyes told him
My father was the Wolf
From the frozen North
My mother the She Wolf
Who ruled the forest
And guarded the wolf dens
I came from strong genes
I learned how to survive.


Details | Narrative | |

Daybreak

The air is cold and still.
Darkness has triumph over the day.
When all hope of daylight fades,
touches of a lavender sky emerge.
A royal blue sky to the east
highlight black silhouette mountains.
The west sky is dark purple with grayish
mountains sleeping lazily on the landscape.
As daylight looms there appears to be a
struggle with the night.
The heavens to the east lighten.
To the west dark with a reddish hue.
Darkness fatigues with this celestial
struggle as the earth begins to glow.
Victory is daybreak in Oregon

Edward J. Ebbs - Winter 2005


Details | Narrative | |

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!

So...no 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.



Details | Narrative | |

Night Time

You try to make sense of what happened
But it’s always the same 
Bad news hits hard
The cruelest part 
Is the lingering doubt
That things could have been different.

In your heart
You know that
You need to hold on
You’re running out of time
Like a drunken sailor
Lurching 
From one disaster after another  
None of your own making.

Alone, at night your imagination is on overdrive
Nerves stretched tight
Restless
You want to do something 
But there is nothing to do
You evaluate your life
The first thought  
Is outright denial 
Of what has happened
Followed by anger
Regret
Then an uneasy acceptance.

Life, which so often disappoints
Could have been better
Perhaps if you worked harder
Or studied longer
It might have been different
You have fallen down so many times 
On the long road of longevity
That you smile 
At your own stupidity
Reasoning
That it could have been worse
Or it could have been much, much better
But who is to say?

You survived
Wind
Rain
And storms
Life was not perfect
It was what it was
As you face the winding roads
It gets a little easier
The rough parts are behind you
Your life has already taken shape
And you could not call any of it back
From your life of long ago
Or sense how badly you missed the days
When you were young.


Details | Narrative | |

Biography of A Dream

=============================
Biography of A Dream 
Arabic Poem by: Abdulsadah Al-Basri
Translated into English by:
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
=============================
At... 
The end of the first decade 
Of the twentieth century 
The sun bathed in my father’s eyes 
He kept flirting with her 
And flirting..
to draw a dream on her silken rays   
A dream accompanied him all his life.
 
 In the fourth decade  
 He got married 
To build a nest in the heart of the countryside, 
Then begot a little bird 
Two  
And three   
Taught them how to fly with love 
Over the waves of the river 
And how to long for the bread
Baked in the outdoors tandoor 

But .. 
In the eighth decade of the same century 
He departed overwhelmed by grief
Over a dream
That would never come true
Never 
Never 
Never!!!
--------------
 Translated into English by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
 * Abdulsadah Al-Basri is a poet from Iraq
 


Details | Narrative | |

I FEEL DEPRESSED

My soul is dark
Blackened by my misery-self pity
I feel depressed
What does that mean?

At 30 years of age, I have learnt so much
Yet,accomplished nothing
My life is stationery, maybe regressing
But no forward movement

Progress?
Achievement?
Goals?
Words I so carelessly abuse 
But never apply
I, my own worst instrument of destruction

I am fearful of what I can become
Turmoiled by what I know but so often lack
I, so ambitious, contribute so little
To my life, my dreams, my existence

I, who give so much and expect even more
From those who give even less
I am surrounded by negative souls
Bodies that hold me back from reality

Boredom rules and empty promises govern
I am What? Who?
Where am I going?
What is my plan?
I am alone, so alone
Lost....
Again, I feel depressed.


Details | Narrative | |

My phone is Ringing

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


Details | Narrative | |

L O M L Always

The thought of her smiling gave me faith
From when we were little we bathe
My mother and her mother is best friends
They both took care of us and gifts they send
We pulled each others hair
And she was always quick to dare
When I smiled at her she knew it was no good
She learned to pull me up and she understood
I just wanted her attention and that she gave
She knew it in her heart love was my slave
From when we were a child with full of energy I had my way
She was the one who was my guide and she did not push me away
When I saw her cry one day and her eyes was so sad
I gave her a flower and I smiled at her and made her glad
When some one special leaves her heart
I sat by her and never wanted to depart
She is the love of my life always
She is the one who gave me my hope through out my days
So I gave her my heart and love from within
And I did not make it thin
I stood by her side since I was a child
I gave her my support when we were wild
She knew who I was and I let her go the distance
I did not hate her or give her resistance
My mother and her mother are great friends and their virtue will never end
Because of their love they both trusted us to live our ways to transcend
So my childhood friend was my best friend, and now my wife
She new it from the start that we part of each others life


Details | Narrative | |

Life Is Short



Life sure is short Was just getting into the swing of it When WHAM... the so called Golden Years Reared up and belted me on the side of the head It's bloody well not fair! Just when I thought I had it all figured out My body says, “Hang on there, buddy!” All my life, I looked forward to my retirement years Then when they finally arrived The gold is all tarnished and the body decides It just doesn't want to co-operate anymore So all you young'uns... it's as good as it's gonna get Life sure is short Enjoy it while it lasts! © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

The Crops and the Cloud

A vast cloud came soaring over a field of crops in the early winter, the crops waited in despair for the cloud to rain but it never did. It just flew by without leaving a single droplet.
The crops however weren’t burnt and ruined because the winter was young and other clouds will come. Thus, someday it will rain before the summer comes and the crops die. The crops were still hopeful and nothing broke their spirit.
But as the world works on a cycle there’s always a chance that the same first cloud might come back and the crops will always be waiting for that rain.
The first cloud was forgotten by the crops, but if it passed by again it would be like a new opened page.


Details | Narrative | |

The Empty Bar

At nights when they stumble back to there corners of the world I
sit keeping the neon cast shadows company.
Old dust covred piano plays to a concert of empty stools and 
a old ghost or two.

The music fades like a smoke ring to vanish where none will know.
As a homeless soul stumbles from the shadowsto cross the
empty street.

The glass sits half empty as I continue to play.
As beaten as a broken tail alley cat.
We all yern for comfort but in this life.
Often were met with a back hand.

I play as nothing will ever change.
The broken soul so very tender and strange.

And wait for the for them to return from there corners.
To mask my troubles and fill this dark empty bar.


Details | Narrative | |

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


Details | Narrative | |

my companions

 
My only companions are my dreams my only friends Who call out for me their voices a melody for me to fallow save me my friends from this Dark World Wolfs teach me to be loyal and to fight the dark and when make love to the dark embracing it becoming dark myself yet not to succumb to its control Fae teach me to kill with words And when to use them to save Of the meanings of speech and its clever twists To speak a truth one does not want to hear And still make them hear tote truth Twin sprits teach me to know the sprits Those elusive things some call souls Not knowing how to talk with them, we converse Not knowing how to feel their presence, I touch them I feel the hands brush against my skin As dragons, teach of fire, rage, and bloodlust ,when to use it and how to use it well like a well made WAR HAMMER ,and from the masters I learn lore and flight for though I have no wings still I fly with them Trees teach of patience And the earth’s presence and how to care her Of the minds herbs and streams to feed my roots As my branches wither Their Skills With The Wood Are Rival To None Succubus and Incubus you teach of the heart, it’s betrayals, loves, comforts how to guard the heart, and still feel for they know best, its mysterious ways Whilst my heart, mind and body scream Scream for release from this reality To dreams and the worlds found through their doorways Call out to me my friends save me from those who ridicule me who constrain me in chains of iron as they sear my flesh Holding me fast to things, I must not do or have cages of words, deeds, people, and their judgments I Hate Them, And Their Ways are both evil and cruel I know not how long I have left For my blood screams for vengeance To bathe in its fires ,to soar free in the skies where none but you can reach me SAVE ME, MY FRIENDS I BEG YOU!!! I long for your embrace your fiery breath the sweet scent of wet moss you warm sprit upon mine the pack running singing the songs that change me to your likeness the sleep where my heart lies in your hands as you feed your lustful hungers upon my troubles leaving me to sleep untroubled free of my cares and worries giving me my heart backed still with its worries and cares but unburdened you cleaver teachers I lust for your wisdom and the peace you bring me please come open the doorway to the forests and the fire moors save me my friends
this is also a personification


Details | Narrative | |

A message to the United States

Soldiers are strong for combat 
The fight is always an achievement of the previous day to the next 
It should be conquer the soul of freedom 
Live is to conquer each step day by day. 
Fighting is settling down before the chaos 
To conquer all eternity. 
Be pure of heart 
Oh noble soldier. 
For your virtue beyond the time barrier. 
Millions of fighters I see every day at sunrise arise. 
To build their lives in anonymity. 
As stars of perfection of dawn. 
Luminaries as the fire consumes ever. 
Although some brave not understand you 
The true spirit of the fight one day open eyes 
who insists stick with hitting you. 
We are all birds that roam in our ways 
The sun, the breeze, the moonlight, the jasmine, the horizon and the front. 
Why do you struggle so much? 
To get to the essence of yourself, I suppose. 
Of every man, of every brave, every woman 
Looks attentive towards the infinite. 
All for love. 
This rule applies to Soldiers North America.


Details | Narrative | |

Memoirs of one unloved

Memoirs of one unloved

I hear them refer to me as “it” or “the fetus”
Some underdeveloped miniature human, with no established status
For I am trapped in some fluid, apparently I know nothing
But, as strange as it may seem, I do suspect something
I cannot tell my senses apart or at all open my eyes
But I can detect outside of me a piling up of blatant lies
Disturbingly chaotic and deafening sounds I clearly hear
But they seem so far from one, yet closer to the other ear
How is it that I am able to point out what I feel?
Why do I get a foretaste of the world, when I’m a captive still?

Yes, you’d better believe your ears, I said, “captive”
I am afraid that in comparison to my carrier I am more responsive
For this seemingly young lady who claims to be with child
Expresses to me emotions that are anything far below mild
So the word mother surely does not apply in this case
It’s implied that it is better for me never to have existed in the first place
The insensitive words daily uttered by her literally send me balling over
She repeatedly does sit and only between two things hover
“Would it be a wise decision if I kept it?
Or should I rid of it and rather figure out how I can get back on my feet?”

Well the object she is referring to, is me
Her so-called destructive child-to-be
Then again, I wouldn’t burden her with the blame
Seeing that a situation such as hers is considered a great shame
An act that is socially and morally seen as highly abominable
Simultaneously makes me feel unwanted, a child so hideous and deplorable
Since when is it a mother’s first instinct to be so contemptuous?
Clearly of the feeling known as love is she not conscious

Oh, wait, apparently aware of love she is
But only when she looks deep into his eyes, love she sees
Not when she feels me move inside of her, no never!
Sometimes I wander, “love me, will you ever?”
At the same time I wander, “why bother keeping me alive?”
It truly is a struggle, for to stay alive I solely strife
When it feels like alcohol gushes from wherever into my system
Cigarette smoke from him blocking my lungs become an unbearable problem
Obviously, none of them care
The beginning of my life is marked by all things highly unfair

And him — don’t even get me started!
By now, I’ve memorised all the words he’s blurted
All his insults are now engraved in my once innocent mind
Truly speaking, in his voice, apathy is all you can find
I am partially disabled by his emotional numbness
And so is she, oh what an experience of sheer distress?
I would rather soon very swiftly disappear
And on the other world of nothingness reappear
For he slabs her and throws her around as he pleases
And for a moment the woman who ought to be my mother ceases

To seek a hiding place, safe and secure
To find for her heartache a temporary cure
But then the cycle begins again
And by the end, once again, not much did she gain
He hurls insults at her and once again, slabs her the face across
He overpowers her always and she is at a loss
For words, and only her tears speak of her anguish
If all this could go away, oh how I wish?
If only there’d be a moment of peace
If only for a moment, however short, everything would freeze

Just when I think my wish is going to be fulfilled
An even colder rush of naked Reality into me is instilled
He screams loudly “get rid of it or I leave!”
And she on the other hand, gasps for a moment brief
The verdict has been decided upon
But this time around, she tries to reason with him, “Please, come on”
To listen to her, he stubbornly refuses
For he cannot by a lady be in any way refuted
So now I am in the middle of all this
The two people who are supposed to protect me with their all are these

I have not yet stepped foot into the world but it seems twisted
The two who are to be united are against one another listed
Now I get the point very sharply
I got in the way of their happiness haply
In all honesty, I didn’t mean to exist
Then I suddenly feel him pulling her by the wrist
There, my thoughts are interrupted, as I sense a moment of rough wrestling
For the manner in which her body is shaken resembles no sort of nestling
I feel forceful Gravity mercilessly pulling us toward her
Our bodies fail to defy her, and I for one, disappointment I wear


How could he be so heartless?
To the point of knocking her out cold, almost lifeless
The unrest was born the moment I got here
So I’m leaving that they will be of good cheer
I have no idea whether I’m volunteering
But I sense that the fluid which I know as home, red is turning
Yes, I think they both stabbed me in the heart
The nameless, unloved object can no longer bear the hurt
I would be lying if I said anything of this world I’ll miss
Fare thee well, please do now without me enjoy your life of bliss


Details | Narrative | |

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.
Unfortunately,
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. 


Details | Narrative | |

On a Black Day - Death Survives - Series 1

I hadn’t seen a house for an hour ; talking to a social worker, is pretty short
I’m off to a new Foster home; the Courtermarshe’s, a new Big Sister; Brenda
How much longer, Mr. Hodges I have to pee, so do I ; Behind a Mighty Oak
Harry we have to talk, I have bologna sandwiches, the family your going to today:
The Courtermarshe’s, can not have Children of there own Brenda is a foster child also
She’s going to have a hard time being a big Sister, after Alice Loved me so much
Alice and me still write back and forth, She is the Very Best “BIG SISTER”
Little did I know, how close Brenda and me would become as Black Clouds Weep
Blocking the smile of the Sun, closing the door to reality for two and a half Years
Harry, wake up there it is your New Home; Wow It’s a farm, cows, pigs, and chickens
The happiest nine year old, bolted out of the car zipping towards the Big, Red barn
Harry! Harry!!  Yes Sir, Come over here and meet your Mom and Dad, Phoebe and Dan
Time for the (speech): Thank-you Mr. and Mrs. Courtermarshe, I'll try to be a good son


                                                         To be Cont.


Details | Narrative | |

Why Had I Asked Him to the Ball

My best friend, Suzanne, and I went to the same church.
I lived in Coral Gables; She lived in Cutler Ridge.
Her boyfriend went to my school; I had no boyfriend.
Being friends at church some of us talked at lunch.
Clayton was a spiritual, handsome, popular kid.
I was a shy and some said cute girl about 12 years old.
Girls my age living in Coral Gables could enter a pageant.
My parents saw me as Junior Miss Orange Bowl Queen.
But beauty goes more than skin deep and I was terrified!
I was so nervous that my ankles buckled while on stage.
Relieved, I was eliminated in the second round.
Being a looser was the least of my problems.
I needed a date for the Junior Orange Bowl Queen’s Ball.
Clayton lived in Coral Gables, too; so, I asked him.
I think we were all surprised when he said, Yes.”
I asked him because he was a friend and I felt safe.
Of course, Suzanne looked at it very differently.
She was hurt and they broke up not long after that.
I had a tonsillectomy on the day of the Ball.
My relationship with Suzanne was strained since that time.
I felt horrible about loosing our close friendship.
After high School, sadly, she ended communications.
Many years later, both of us married with children,
We visited at her home; she was dying.  I cried.
It was then, when we were in our late thirties, that she asked.
Why, had I asked her, then, boyfriend, Clayton to the ball.
Being so young, and not understanding attraction, then,
I thought it would be okay; he was just a friend…

ã June7, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest:  ORNERY BEST FRIENDS
Sponsored by: Carol Brown


Details | Narrative | |

Karma

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?


Details | Narrative | |

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!


Details | Narrative | |

Can't Say That I Do

                                                                                                                                       
Can’t Say That I Do
         
         by Edmund Siejka



Can’t say that I like to:

Listen carefully
Eat vegetables
Say prayers
Remember things
Pay taxes
Shovel snow
Stop drinking.

But I like to get
Something free.


Details | Narrative | |

footprints

Sittin here thinking of the life long trial I tried so hard to be apart of something in your life 

the more Im thinking Im realizing that everything is all regrets... I cant believe things 

turned out this way, now your speechless with nothing to say.  I loved you so much and I 

even showed you this, but in return all I got from this was a bunch of emptiness...

you cant make up for lost times nor can you turn back the hands of time....

but if you were down to one minute left before your last breath, Im curious if I would even 

cross your mind before your death...

you going around telling everybody that you are real but what about the times when my 

heart was ill?...

you didnt even pick up the phone to check up on me to see how i feel...

you can dismiss yourself out of my life with that fakeness cause how I am living is real

you can even stop calling me your sister or your homie cause when I look at you I will just 

shake my head and say I cant believe you turnt out to be so phony.


Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

Look at the facts not the Debate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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






Details | Narrative | |

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



______________________


Details | Narrative | |

Why Church is called Catholic

Church is a she Bride of Father Christ Church is Catholic Church is people Catholic related to the whole Greek kat’holon Father Christ called Profess whole faith Preserve all Sacraments To administer To proclaim Good News Sent her to all nations (YOUCAT) 4092013


Details | Narrative | |

It's Looking Brighter



On a scale of 1 to 10 Today, as days go, is a good one I would call it about an 8 So, in the overall scheme of things The future is definitely looking brighter The issues with where my life was heading Have been basically resolved by Letting the future unfold naturally Not exactly an easy thing to do But as I keep telling myself You can do it... you are strong! © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

Frozen Golden Hair

His smile was as warm as the summer sun.
But his cold-cold heart chilled the soul.
Debonair, golden hair, he often had to run!
Those notches scratched in his paltry pelt,
Lay evidence of his lusty embrace.
He was a hit and run, son-of-a-gun.
Many young women, 
Slapped without a trace.  
A new fair maiden fell for his heat.
He ripped virtue out, with a lusty hold.
Surprised at the end, not even a friend.
Her heart suffered.
The serpent’s sting –
All alone in the winters freeze,
Seething, in woman’s scorn.
- Loved and left without concern -
She had esteemed him, true.
What to do?
The answer soon was clear.
Death paid the toll in the winter cold.
Her sorrow would forebear. 
Debonair, golden hair, 
He no longer had to run!
Her smile was as frigid as the winter’s freeze.
And his cold-cold heart lay icy, still.
Death caught this man who left with fast feet
No more notches would he carve in his strap!
She grinned as she patted his manly pelt.
That winter of his frozen golden hair –

© February 13, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen


Details | Narrative | |

Let's Hear It For Life



The wisdom we possess today Is attained by just living and observing life In most cases it doesn't require any special talent It just requires a sponge-like brain With a willingness to open up to new horizons A willingness to accept there is always more to learn Until that final inevitable day The joys of exploring new avenues is overwhelming It can make our golden years A time of discovery, of utter joy and excitement Never experienced before in a whole lifetime We never stop learning We never stop discovering the complexities of life But through it all, love is foremost The ultimate passion, the reason for being The wisdom we possess today Is attained by just living and observing life Let's hear it for life!!! © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

So Much Love From God

God loves me so much From the heavens above He has truly given me So very much love Different types of love Each starts like a seed That grows deep inside Creating a special need First the undying love Is where it all starts With Jesus Christ placed Perfectly in my heart Then the individual love Of being one’s self As God made me to be Like no other one else The peaceful calmness That nature shares Offers the serene love To wash away cares The caring love of parents Is such a wonderful gift So many others have not And their spirits I try to lift The loyal love of siblings I am very thankful for Even with lives apart Our love is evermore Enduring love comes from My wonderful large family No matter the ups and downs They never give up on me The precious love of children My most cherished gifts of all Though my angels have all grown They are to me little dots so small The kind love of in-laws Is such a bonus I am given Making my loved one’s lives All worth a reason for living The joyous love of grandchildren Each a true blessing from above Bubbling joy flows from them all Filling me with a delightful love The devotional love of pets No one could closely compare To the never ending devotion That will always be there The faithful love of friends With truth of consistent fact I can always count on them To be there to catch my back True passionate love of a man I thought would never bloom I only dreamed of how it’d be So wonderful I would assume Now that I’ve been touched By the true passion of a man I feel the dreams come true Feeling so wonderful ‘tis am All these gifts of love God gives to me within Are opened very carefully As each is specially given For a seed of love to grow Takes patience and then some I enjoy each moment of growth As there is so much more to come Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

Little Jose (Vignette)

A half of him fell into the river running wild,
Yet still, his spirits remained in manner mild.
Then, he tossed freely the other half and said:
“Go! Seek thy mate that this great joy o’ thine
Be upon those who find you, slippers o’ mine!”





Note:

This tribute poem is about an event in Dr. Jose P. Rizal's 
early life. He was a poet/author of "Noli Me Tangere" and 
"El Filibusterismo", his famous novels that cost his life.




Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

Death Of A Rose

Death of a Rose
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 in “Death OF A Rose” By Nate Spears
 
The onion blooms this summer with an essence of pleasure
The winter’s rose brings the smell of death
As X marks the spot
I ask why?
The letters reveal everything in a perfect storm
As my fortune grew wheels I became bankrupt 
My pockets flat-lined into dust
 My days became a Knights reality
My short comings were the guiding in my life’s fatalities
My burdens became the struggles of my light
Each and every day 
I deal with this in this life
My soul is sun burned
My life has washed ashore
Times two; my son’s bring me rays of light
Allowing me to see everything with excellent vision
In all four corners of this ring surrounding my fingers tip
Victory stands bold in the middle 
Failure has lost to a simple slip
So who’s the real champion now?

Tears and sweat are only separated 
By the point in which they’re released
Beauty lies deeply 
Within the heart of the beast
One moment for the momentum 
That destroys the cells of venom
Black and cancerous, 
It sickens our society as we watch this rose die
The funeral we attend today stems from this
This is the Death
Of A Rose.


Details | Narrative | |

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


Details | Narrative | |

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.....


Details | Narrative | |

"The Life of Man"

In the caccoon of two lovers embrace and ecstasy a minute wounderous bliss of 
evolution 
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 
takes 
on 
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 
spirit 
like an African drummer in  a low  melodic monotonous tune signifying the right of  
passage 
from boy-hood to man-hood. " Bum-ba-ba Bum, Bum-ba-ba-bum, Bum-ba-ba-bum it 
goes 
ever so louder as it progresses through life's journey.
Steps always moving foward,bound by its audious beat he goes.........but wait......an 
unforeseen circumstance or bump in the road causes him to stumble and lose his 
steps;
He frantically tries to recover, maintains his course and the rythum of life's beat one 
again.

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 
rest.
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 
made 
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 
ended.


Details | Narrative | |

Circle of Life

When did this metamorphosis come about?
As I stand and watch.....wanting to intercede..
To be the one this little boy needs
The one who kisses the forehead, ...and wipes away tears...
It's who I've been....for all these years...
It's who I still long to be...
That private place inside of me...

As I hear the crying child subside...
I feel a phantom pain inside
A confusing rush, of sad confliction
A mother's pride, yet mixed emotions

I'm watching my daughter soothe his wounded soul
And bandage his wounded knees..
How did it change?...When did she learn her gentle ways?
What moment in time?
When did she become the one?
The one who doesn't look away with fear?
What day.....? What year?  Who knew?
What loving instinct told her what to do?

No,....not on the day of his miraclous birth
A new mother, she was, .. glowing with pride
A bit nervous with inexperience, who trembled inside
Those first timorous days...she had questioning eyes...seeking advice...
She gave me the gift, ...of needing my help, needing my words...
Oh ...how lovely it was...to offer my worth..

But so quickly it turned, and quickly she learned....
Perhaps she's even become even wiser than I
There is such confidence...such love in her eyes...
Now it's me letting go.....this turning of tide
Letting her shine....gaining her pride

He is her child.....not mine...
While I must stand aside
Her journey begins...
And I watch and pray that she won't ever need me again...
To brush away her own tears....her own fears
From her calm, nurturing face...
But I will be here....standing aside
                                           or by her side....
                                                         just in case






Details | Narrative | |

Don't Look Back

There is a time to look forward
Nobody knows what’s to be
The future hasn’t happened 
Not to you or to me.

There is a time to remember 
Good things and bad.
A time for reflection
On happy times, and sad.

There is a time for the living
The minute is here, with the wonder of what can be
So much can happen, so let’s live it and see.

But one thing I say is never look back.
What’s happened has happened 
So we don’t need to lose track.
The past is gone, and can be forgot.
Remember the woman that looked back;
                                                     The wife of poor Lot

She looked back to the place of evil and sin
She looked with a longing at the house she lived in
She looked back on the town, and that was her fault
The longing she felt slowed her, and she turned to a pillar of salt.


Details | Narrative | |

He'd Just Discovered Suspenders

No job 
No prospects
No optimism 
It took all his energy
Just to fake a smile 
Health eroding 
At the speed of light 
His world grew smaller by the 
second 
Former small pleasures 
Transformed into ambivalence 
Blank and numb 
He walked blindly 
There were no solutions 
To any of his problems 
And then one day 
Out of the clear blue sky 
He smiled without effort 
I even caught a glimmer 
Of a spark in his eye 
Life became a little more 
pleasant 
We all cheered him on silently 
Me his number one fan.

As his confidence had 
diminished 
His gut had grown larger 
He wore his belt below it 
But his pants always slid down 
Far enough to annoy him 
Another problem 
With no solution 
One day, after months 
With the spark in his eye 
He chose to die 
It was a shock because 
He'd just discovered 
suspenders.


Details | Narrative | |

NINE ELEVEN

It was another beautiful morning in the city , Workers  looking radiant as always
People  strolling , Cars horning as pedestrians throttled along the Zebra crossing
The subway was crowded with the smell of early morning rush and sweat
Little did they know that there was a shadow lurking behind the bright sun

The announcer’s voice towered over sound of luggage’s being dragged
Flight attendants smartly dressed hurried  towards the boarding gates
Passengers sat patiently at the lounge, awaiting the call of the day
How could they have known that today will change their very lives

Nineteen bearded men dressed in polo shirts scattered amidst the crowd
Each missing the silky feel of their long white robes and heavily woven turban
As they try to fit in with their newly bought Jeans and Sky blue snickers
They knew what was about to happen, their lives was fading as the clock ticked

People going about their work and children being dragged to school
It was the ninth hour of the Mane , The plane heading for a wrong land
Passengers struggled for their lives, calling their loved ones for the last time
They saw the rage lurking in their eyes, the clothing couldn’t hide the evil

A Woman standing in the office, talking to her fiancé on the phone
As she stared out the spotless white glass, she saw it heading her way
She couldn’t mutter a word as her fiancé called out on the other end
Not  a step could she take as the wall crashed on her, it was clearly too late

Buildings tumbling down the great heights, fire flying through the sky
Bodies rolling through the sky like the brutal fall of strong rain in spring
Oh what a sorry sight for a blind man, oh what a poison for the soul
Some watched with great tears, they could do nothing to save a life

Deadly cry of babies filled everywhere, smell of blood saturating  the air
Heads missing the body buried under the crumbs of the fallen bricks
Some puffing out the last breath in them, hanging on for the very last time
Thunders of sadness roared everywhere, Mourning voices everywhere

So many lives were lost along with Nineteen men who thought it as fate
Not a year passes that we do not weep, for the lost souls of this day
The brave hearts that left us , even at the face of death some struggled
They linger forever in our hearts, as their thoughts dwell within us.


Details | Narrative | |

OUR THOUGHTS

Our Thoughts
Top 09/05/2010 16:12:54

What are you thinking?

    * Every thought we have creates the words we speak.
    * Every thought we have creates every action we take.
    * Every action we take creates a reaction.
    * Every thought, word, action, reaction, creates our lives!

How’s life?  Bad?  Fair?  Good?  Great?

Life should be great and can be great with the choices we make!  The main choice being our
choice of thoughts.  I live my life by thinking in a certain way, a thought pattern that
drives me to everything I desire in life, rather than everything I do not want.  

I formed a habit of thinking in a certain way.  It wasn’t easy but I never gave up!  I
used Willpower! If you work out in the gym it’s hard at first, but depending on your
desire, the more effort you put in, the bigger the results!  You realise what a wonderful
gift willpower is.  When used, one feels amazing!

The trouble is most of us do not have any goals in life, nothing to work towards, nothing
to use these amazing gifts we hold waiting to burst out - willpower, imagination,
intuition, perception… I could go on!  We are creative beings with minds to THINK!

Unfortunately, what we think about are our perceptions of what we see and hear in the
news, on the TV, etc. All the negativity putting us all into a state of fear.

Fear is debilitating, it throws barriers up to stop us from reaching our goals.

Goals are the keys to direction in life.  Without goals we are the sheep following the
masses, following others who never have a clue where they are going.  We lose faith.

Faith is believing!  We all seem to think that seeing is believing.  I see it as believing
in something so much that you make it happen.  Having faith and belief in oneself, holds
the truest wisdom to the ultimate power of success!

When we can cast away our fears and doubts, stand up and brush ourselves down when we have
knockbacks, only then, can we attain our goals.  Everyone passes failure on their way to
success, in fact look upon failure as just a way of telling you there is a better
direction for you just waiting around the corner.

I study the greatest philosophers and scientists in quantum physics, from the past to this
day.  They all agree on one thing - WE BECOME WHAT WE THINK ABOUT!

Sometimes we read or hear things that really ring home true…. My life has changed, how
about you?!!!!!

What are you thinking now?

Love


Simone Segal

http://thegiftifonlyyouknew.com


Details | Narrative | |

I Shall Overcome



At this particular moment in time I'm finding it extremely difficult to follow my own advice Nasty stuff keeps happening putting a strain on everyday life Small things adding up to one giant feeling of negativity Not insurmountable but a real test of endurance to be sure Another major reason why Poetry Soup is so vital to my well being It's a release valve which is a good way to describe it To air our frustrations as well as our triumphs Our dreams fulfilled and those that become shattered More often than not, through no fault of our own External forces are at play that steer our ship And determine our path more than anything else Although these are part of life and almost impossible to avert Our mental attitude can and will allow us to survive As I stated, I'm finding it difficult at the moment But one thing that allows me to continue Is the knowledge that no matter what obstacles are put in my path I shall overcome © Jack Ellison 2014


Details | Narrative | |

Jose

Jose, the kid on the corner --
El Macho -- who knows no English
and who sells himself to eat
(being still not quite dry)
slept last night in an alley
shielded from wind and eyes
by the bulk of two dumpsters
positioned at angles to each other.
This morning, his smile's
as brilliant as sunshine.
And if he's not exactly squeaky clean,
he's only a little the worse for wear --
probably more immaculate than we,
potential buyers at whom he flaunts his wares.


Details | Narrative | |

"My Pa's Law"

Rhythm In Rhyme

Remembering back, was so very sad, to lose dad.
But congenital heart disease, please!  Is so very bad.
Was no thrill gathering my will, taking strife’s bitter pill. 
Dad died at ease seems God was pleased, passed the test, laid at rest.

At sixty nine, heart wasn’t fine, he had done his very best.
His life quirk, was it seems hard work, did his best with little rest.
But humor was not swayed, one day I realized as he paid,
on an old beat up car, international Studebaker.

He said, “Some people drive all their life, and never have a wreck.
Has been all my life, all I’ve ever driven, by heck, is wrecks!”
I remember his words, as yesterday, his severe life’s way.
His plain quality of life, still cuts deeply as a knife.

Could not read or write was his plight; surely to some a sight.
Though he laughed and lived, no fancy earthly material to give,
his friendship was valued, for miles around, even in town.
His friends’ obvious abound, the day we laid him in the ground.

John Henry was his name; though steel driving, was never his aim.
His name was sound, in town, and for many, many miles around.
Sawmilling was his game, that so many said, was his fame.
He could saw more lumber than any, to many, a wonder.

Laughing long and loud, of his talent to saw, so very proud.
But in my childhood years, was the shedding of so many tears.
For from him to get a nod, was for me so very hard.
To me I was just a clod, while to me he was nearly God.

But in my latter years, I put away my fears, dried my tears.
For love was always in his heart; from first day of my start,
though he was a bit short, not knowing how to show that part.
I learn to know from his ways `Tis tough love, ultimately pays!'

It is now tough love that paves, me through many of life’s maze.
I love him still; that’s the deal! Bitter pill, only a life phase,
so putting flowers on his grave, is to me not a bit naïve.
For tough love made life better of the letter; of my PA'S LAW!!


Details | Narrative | |

Welcome mat

Welcome Mat….       by: Steven Hudson


Hands tremble at the grip in my hand,
Two worlds collide in moments of time,
The trigger shakes, while onlookers scorn
What once was peace, now a violent storm

Away ye dogs of thunder come to plunder my house!
Who come to grant me the title of fatherless son
You knocked on our door looking for trouble
But when trouble rose to greet you, you froze like a mouse.

I did not seek you out, you forced a delinquents hand
It was only justice, to protect that which I love
The pulse that quickens, the fear that sickens
The weight of words preceding a heavy handed blow

What was meant to destroy me
Only proved to employ me
For in the face of my enemy the only choice remains
To stand strong, stand fast, that my losses, may become gains.


Details | Narrative | |

The Hat - Part 2


Josh’s drinking days were long behind him.  The three beers he drank before ordering his meal; the two beers he drank during his meal; and, the two Bailey’s he consumed after his meal had taken their effect on the middle-aged man.  He talked incessantly to the bartenders, bothered the two young ladies who sat at the bar a few stools away and staggered back and forth to the men’s room a dozen times.

Finally, reluctantly, after many hours had passed, Josh paid his tab, leaving a generous, alcohol influenced tip and wobbled out the door.  Not sure which direction to go to return to his hotel, Josh simply started off down the street, still thinking about his wife.

How much time passed is unclear, but he was many blocks away when he suddenly realized he was not wearing his fedora.  Josh did an about-face and tried to retrace his steps to the bar and bar stool where he knew his hit sat waiting for him.  Josh walked into and out of a number of bars he mistook for the one he dined in.  Although he was fooled by the outside facades, once he stepped in, he knew it was the wrong bar.  

When Josh finally stumbled upon the bar that he recognized as the one he had dined in, it was closed and the doors were locked.  It was 3:00 am.

Tears came to Josh’s eyes.  Josh felt as if losing the hat his wife had given him was a harbinger of the end and he was not ready to reach that point.  Josh simply had to retrieve that hat.  He had to get his wife back.  Somewhere, deep down in his drunken soul, Josh mustered up the strength to lift the city trash can from the corner of the street and smash it through the large glass window in front of the bar – he was oblivious to the alarms that started blaring.

Josh managed to crawl into the bar through the broken window unaware of the glass shards cutting his wrists, stomach and throat.  The moister from the blood simply mixed with the moister from his sweat.  The numbness and anesthetic nature of the abundance of alcohol he was not used to masked the extent of his injuries.

When the police arrived on the scene, Josh was found in the darkness, clutching his fedora at the foot of the stool where he had eaten his dinner.

Josh’s wife received the phone call later that morning announcing his passing.

He was buried with the fedora.


Details | Narrative | |

The Job - part 4

By 9:00PM I was ready to go.  Dark pants, shirt, shoes, and watch cap.  The classic night on the town combo setup for a not so hip killer.   But these days you could get away with it because gothic was a style.  I didn’t bring my girl with me.  I never kill on the first reconnaissance.  I did pack a knife and 32MM Walthers just encase things got dicey.  I took my time and slowly slipped up into the hills, no need to get pulled over by LAPD.   As I closed in on the house I turned off the lights and the engine and glided to within 50 yards of the target.  The upstairs lights were still on and I could see one or two shadows moving around.  I would have to get closer.  I figured I would give it about an hour after lights out and break in and get a lay out of the house and see who was there.  It was dangerous but I had done it before and learned that moving slow was the key.
  
Lights went out at 11:30 PM on the nose.  A man of habit I liked that in a mark.  I smoked and waited another hour and then slipped out of the car and moved quickly toward the house.  I went over the back fence and stopped and waited.  No dog.  Even better.   Staying in the shadows I moved to the backdoor and picked the lock.  Once inside I settled down for a few minutes to get my bearings and listen to the sounds of the house.  It is very important to know how the house sounds, how it breathes, moves, and lives before you start to move around in it.  It can give you away in heartbeat.  I calmed my breathing and started moving slowly through the kitchen.  I could smell fish and vinaigrette.  Some one had been eating healthy.  A bottle of wine was corked on the island.  The dishes were put up and everything appeared spotless.  Either there was a woman in the house or this guy was gay.  I settled for the former and not the latter.  There was definitely someone else in the house.  A familiar scent caught my attention and then faded away.  I needed to be careful.  Something wasn’t right about it this hit. Once through the kitchen I made my way to the master bedroom, which would no doubt hold, my victim.  He was asleep with a CPAP machine by the bedside and a mask over his face.  Apparently he had sleep apnea, which means he was probably taking Ambien and a combination of other sleep drugs.  I crept over to his bed stand and slowly took his medication bottles to see what he was taking.  I was right.  He was sleeping with the prince Ambien.  He was out like a log.  And even if he did wake he wouldn’t remember a thing.  Suddenly I heard footsteps upstairs.  I lay flat on the floor and froze.  Within a few minutes I heard the toilet flush.  He definitely had a friend.  Time to chill and then go upstairs.  I didn’t want to have to kill two people but sometimes it is necessary.

I don’t know how long I lay there on the floor but it seemed like an eternity.  I checked my watch and it had been 30 minutes.  Time to move upstairs.  Stairs can be tricky because they always creek and groan.  I have found that quickly but lightly moving up them causes the least amount of problems.  I was on the second floor in a matter of seconds.  Again I smelled a familiar odor.  What was it?  It seemed so familiar.  There were three doors in the hallway one closed and the two open.  I assumed the other person was behind the closed door.  I quickly checked the other two rooms and nothing.  A bathroom and a spare bedroom turned into  a study.  With the patience of a cat  I slowly tested the knob on the third door, it opened without any resistance.  I slowly pushed it open and stayed close to the floor.  I could hear gently breathing in a slow rhythmic pattern.  From the sound and the aroma I could tell it was a woman.  I was beginning to think I new this woman.  As I got closer I realized it was Anna.  I hadn’t put it together the last name of Collins but there it was, right in front of me.  I pulled up a chair and watched her breathing.  All I could hear was her and the clock ticking out the seconds.  Time seemed to stand to still.  I had a problem.  I needed to think. 


Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

In Stone

He is not considerate,
he has no heart,
and from his life,
I soon will part.

He is a drunk,
so hateful, and mean,
one of the devilish,
I have ever seen.

He prepares fine steaks,
upon his grill,
for he, and his son,
to get their fill.

After the beer,
they sit, and smile,
ignoring me,
all the while.

When I leave,
and the papers come,
he will ask himself,
what have I done.

Drunks don't change,
they live to destroy,
just like old devils,
this is their joy.

My children say run,
mom, don't hang around,
this old man that drinks,
will keep you down.

My life is a mess,
I am so alone,
and one thing for certain,
feelings can't grow in stone.


Details | Narrative | |

Kings of the Road

We were in a fast car
Running with the wind
Listening to the radio
Bruce singing Born in the USA
Us singing along
Me not knowing the words
Carried away by the beat
And the powerful male voice.
 
The sun went down
Red streaks in the sky
Feeling brave and invincible
We drove on
Three of us
Mike and Bobby
Me in the back seat
The music becoming stronger
Hypnotic
Like a powerful magnet 
Joining our voices together 
Until it stopped.

Up ahead 
A sign
Pointed to Jones Beach.
Walking along the deserted shore 
We found a dry stretch
Sat down facing the ocean
Rhythmic sounds of crashing waves 
Calming us down
In the darkness 
We talked about things
Questioning our teenage doubts
In anticipation of the exciting lives
That was sure to await us.

Occasionally I think about that night
But it never bothered me that we didn’t keep in touch
Last I heard Mike was somewhere out West
And I lost Bobby’s number
Years ago.
Recently
I had the chance 
To read the lyrics to Born in the USA
Lyrics that I thought were so catchy
And so right
In fact described the callous treatment 
Of Viet Nam vets
Who came home ignored and forgotten. 

As for the Three Kings 
From that summer night
Forgotten friendships 
Made in youth
Don’t seem to ever come back
Such are the mistakes in life.







Details | Narrative | |

If i have ever hurt anyone in any way I'm sorry

If i have ever hurt anyone in any way I'm sorry, cause I learned in the last two days that everybody has something wrong in their lives everybody has troubles in some way and one word u say could hurt them badly ... And one good thing u say could make their day so everybody I'm sorry if I ever hurt u in anyway.. And I hope everyone has a good day. No one deserves to be treated how u treat people, we all have feelings... And we all have made mistakes, and we all have issues but that's no reason to treat someone like u do Imam pray u get a heart and learn what you are doing is wrong. And I hope u stop. You say u hate drama? But girl u r drama! Just saying so from now on I am going to be me, I'm going to be myself not who everyone else wants me to be... (: cause being someone your not isn't right u shouldn't have to change for anyone..


Details | Narrative | |

Worry Not

I re-dedicate this poem to my sweet friend, Stephen Pettye, who is full of power and strength as he travels this lifetime in a number one status to reach the goals of his full inner growth.  This poem is to help clear his path along the way:

Take those piled up worries And let your troubles go They always go back and forth In our minds to and fro On a clear day With no clouds in the sky Cast you worries away Leaving no questions to ask why Giving more time to count blessings And be thankful for what you’ve got It feels so gloriously wonderful To truly and completely worry not Just clear your mind Away from all thought And enjoy the great feelings That fill the space you’ve caught There are messages to read When the clouds are out That’s when we’re given Something to think about On a clear cloud free day Leave all worries behind Well that’s what I do To clear my mind Yes, it feels good To be worry free And to leave it all With the one Almighty So when the sky is clear I will always worry not And thank our dear Lord For all the blessings I’ve got Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

Chance

Chance

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 




Details | Narrative | |

Doctor Please! Part II

Cont'd from Part I

But even worse than that this horrible thing
Has been handed down to my offspring
My oldest hates me for all she's been through
And reminds me of the sorry cards we drew
My one and only son turned to drugs to deal
One day it was his precious life it did steal
My youngest child now she's gone too.
When she was diagnosed it made her so blue
Could I find a partner who can withstand
This road of suffering for me now planned
If so it would only serve to make me cry
Seeing them in pain helpless as they stand by
I've been cut on and pieced back together again
Being born with bad genetics one of my sins

With so many wounds and scars inside and out
A life sentence of hell for me without a doubt
Upon my face you'll see I try to wear a smile
Hide the suffering and misery when all the while
Beneath my clothes is the Bride of Frankenstein
And if you got the notion that I don't mind
Let me tell it to you so plain and very straight
Would've been better to stay at heavens gate
Patients in the lobby know much more about me
Spending hours together waiting to be seen
Doctor please I could tell you so much more
But you have another patient waiting next door
And one of the reasons you don't get it you see
Is I can't tell all in the few minutes allotted to me

Inspired and written for all the people who live with a chronic illness.
Copyright by Scarlett Sepulvado Anderson


Details | Narrative | |

Burlesque

Upon the aged wooden stage of life a show of Burlesque did played a grand ballet of lampoon, mockery and imitation fell as the curtain was raised a farewell performance of Lady Petite and her partner Sir Dapper Galahad honor and prestige would soon be long forgotten as the antics appeared full steam with theatric's divine in a serious life story of a flower swaying in the wind the stage rolled energy with twirling streamers gripped tight in each hand and vibrate attire of outfits grand colors splashed and movement superb I settled in as the show did begin with the symphony rhythm slowly building at hand as the ballet played on in graceful shadow all seemed to go astray without much notice the accompanying symphony began a frantic comical display trumpets blared uncontrolled as each violin screeched in a confusing rage with symbols crashing and hard notes hammered upon the piano ivory both dancers scurried to keep up with the maddening musical pace losing rhythm as the winds built strong with violent crashing waves laughter filled the theater complete, with smiling warmth on each face entwined in their silken streamers, a hopeless thought emerge their feet now unable their bodies entangled tears of laughter spilled into the streets crashing about arms and legs in a bind the audience hunched over unable to breath the dancers visibly tickled haphazardly rolled of the stage O' this dramatic travesty and a delightful one at that! this graceful flowering performance had turned to a frantic blossoming mess Burlesque......................... _____________________________ cONteSt~


Details | Narrative | |

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.


Details | Narrative | |

The Poop of Life

THE POOP OF LIFE The poop word is a replacement For the other four letter word You know the one that means poop The one you have most likely heard There is a lot of poop in our life That is really like our body poop Both are really a necessity for living Let me give you the comparison scoop The type of food taken in your body Or what is fed into your life for you Will certainly determine precisely What type of poop you’re getting in to If you let the poop get all built up You tend to want to push and strain In hopes to hurry and force it out That can only cause cramps and pain Slow down and take a deep breath It really is always best to just relax The more you try to lighten up yourself The easier it will be for the poop to pass It’s time to worry if you have no poop Or if you just can’t get that poop out Keep it fresh and make room for more It feels great when it is all cleaned out A stall full of poop has the best worker As Proverbs 14:4 suggestively does say So a good worker does poop a lot Please don’t let it pile up for days No one wants to step in your poop Or even wants to see it for that matter We need to clean up our own poop Every little particle or a tiny splatter It is important to remember To always wipe twice It’s like double checking And it’s really the best advice If the same old poop is left Just every where lying around It only attracts the flies and scum Those pests from every part of town At times there may be a lot Of just stinky hot air Then sometimes you get The real poop coming there There are many different types Of shapes, sizes and textures With the daily poop we’re given The variety of life is measured I could probably go on and on Even you may think of more, I know So I’ll leave you with this one last note Try not to get caught in deep poop though Florence McMillian (Flo)


Details | Narrative | |

Time

Time for you to get a job
Time to remember
If you file untimely you may lose your right to government benefits
Untimely arrival at a job interview means no job
Time for you to grow up
Time to wake up
Time to fall back
I need more time to think it over
What time are you coming over?
Isn’t it about time we talk? 
How many times do I have to tell you?
Time waits for no one
The hand of time moves exceedingly slow
It’s time to change
It’s time to go
What time is it?
This time, make the time to make more time for yourself


Details | Narrative | |

Letter to Poor Dad

Hallo my friend
Pardon my intrusion into your domain
But you see, I am a student in the University of Life
Whereby I am pursuing a Doctorate Degree in the Science of Successful Living
As I was submitting my thesis of research into your life
It occurred to me that I might as well write to you directly
To save my notes from gathering dust on a professor’s shelf

Poor Dad
The notion that you are poor is a fact I cannot deny
So I will not try to convince you otherwise
This is actually in concern of your son
You and I know that he is a good innocent child
And I know better than you that he is at a pivotal stage in life
As of now you possess so much influence over the direction his life will take
For in as much as you may not be proud of yourself in front of your peers
...who overcame similar past to make something better of their lives
	...your son is very proud of you
He looks up to you with wondrous trust
And it only befits that you should be his hero
But being a hero comes with something which you are known to fear – 
RESPONSIBILITY

Well, I am not going to advise you to be responsible
For I know you live in denial mode, so you’ll look for the easiest way out
I will instead ask you to be a truthful teacher
Be brave and accept your mistakes
Then teach your son of the painful lessons you have learnt from your failures
Teach him not to limit his thinking to the unfortunate reality you have cast him into
But to dare to believe in himself
...and to listen to his heartbeat and follow its guide
Tell him that poverty is in fact a blessing 
That from it he can create vivid reference of what life will be 
...if he doesn’t diligently work in pursuit of his greatest dreams
Teach him to use his limitations as the source of motivation
And then tell him you believe in him 
...and that he can be whatever he chooses to be
As long as he tries his honest best to be it
Tell him you support him fully, especially emotionally

The reason I am asking you to teach him
Is because the secret is that of what one is keen to teach
...he is guaranteed to learn even more than he knew before
In you teaching your son honest lessons from your heart and past
You will retrace your steps to where you got lost yourself
You will be possessed by renewed desire for success
Of your selfless and candid teachings to your son
...will emanate insurmountable delights
Dear poor dad, 
It’s time to be a real dad
And you son holds that key... earn it and use it


Details | Narrative | |

Tonight, we have won

“You’re brave, you know
              …staying here with me in this brightly lit world
full of people with dark hearts.” 
 
"I don’t know if I’m brave." 
" but I’m not scared of dying either, 
because I never felt alive until I found you
                  …and the only reason this place is bright, is because of you.”
 
“The bombs flash, and light up my eyes, and you look into them deeper,
because we’re afraid. We’re clinging to life; using each other. Aren’t we?” 
"I am using you. I’m using your eyes as beacons, to find my way back to camp, your heart to calm the rhythm of my own; and find sleep in the chilling silence of my brother’s screams. He’s still out there, you know? His eyes were still open when we ran, I can’t believe I left him. I can’t believe he’s gone.." 
 
"You didn’t leave him, they took him. You would never leave anyone. You never left me, even when I told you to. Begged you not to follow me here…This wasn’t even your, nor your brother’s war." 
 
"Your war, is my war Angel…and my brother, he fell for the cause, or maybe he just wanted to protect me. I should have protected him!!" 
 
"Hush.."
 
"Listen to my heart Samuel, feel it. We’re alive. We’re together. Tonight, we have won." 
 
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.


Details | Narrative | |

Adrift

I’m adrift
Adrift in this ocean
This moving mass of humanity
Waves of faces
Adrift
Looking for a safe haven
To bring myself to shore

The sun has turned traitor
The one I adored
That warmed me with his rays
Now scorches my body
Ruthless
I dip in the ocean 
I dive underneath the surface
Get gloriously wet
My black hair flowing freely
Someone runs his fingers through my hair
My body relaxes
As it always does
When my hair is twirled and teased
But now the hand is pulling
My hair is getting tangled
He is pulling me to the deep
I yank myself free
Leaving some of the locks behind
And pull myself back out of the ocean
This ocean of humanity
Back to solitude
The fight for survival
I pull myself out
Only to find
The sun in its zenith
Showing no mercy

I lay prostrate
Running my tongue
Over my cracked lips
Longing for moisture
The sea of faces turns ghastly
Sneers….
Hands reach up to drag me down
Their laughter is in the wind
And I still look for my haven…my shore
The place I will finally be safe

Night comes
In the distance…a lighthouse
With the last bit of strength
I heave myself onto the shore
Crawling my way
My knees bleeding and torn
My heart shredded and worn
Following the light
The ever glorious light
That looms brighter and brighter
The light of your eyes
The true color of the ocean and skies
Your eyes
That have lead me home
Home to your heart
My safe haven.

Eileen Manassian Ghali


Details | Narrative | |

THE HIV TEST

He walks around town
bouncing
over size t-shirts
baggy jeans half way his butt
each day wearing a mysterious smile
today with this
tomorrow that
as easy as his wink
so they come and go

She thinks she is the It gal
Beauty and brains i am
Self acclaimed beauty pageant
She thinks the many she bed
illustrates the hotness of her brand
She forgot it is the cheap stuff
that sell-off fast.

Typical stories perhaps

But there is that of a graceful woman
loyal to her husband
a good wife
a great mother
a sister
a friend.
But her husband has no honour
He thinks being the alpha
one with all the pennies
his hood has a right 
to more than one honie
So someday
she is pregnant again
on testing
her D T C runs positive...

Then there is the brother
traveling
with a brother from another mother.
God forbid
they had an ugly accident
cuts 
open wounds all over
blood spill on the other
and boom!

Or the midwife granny
she aids the young bride in the village
no one told her these things
she has no clue what surgical gloves are
So her hands goes in
the cut from last night
absorb the +ve blood
from the bride...

They are not just narrations
they are events that occur everyday
Somewhere as we speak
someone is testing positive
their fault?
maybe
But there is such a huge number
who will never trace
how the contacted the virus

In the two decades i have lived
always said i never had a reason
to take the test.
Until last evening
No!
Nothing unusual 
just an urge
to know my status

So i took the kit
men am telling you
its doesn't matter if you are a virgin
a Shaman
or you "Holier than Thou" 
that test is scary!
Wait till the blood start to flow
you realize just how fragile life is
Another red line on that stick
and your life is changed for good
Yea
it is not the end of a life
but
its a start of a different
Something does change!

It got me thinking
how much we take for granted
The much we do not appreciate.

Well
my test did turn -Ve
Glory to God!
But am telling you
last evening i made a resolution
a vow that as sure as well will uphold

I realized life is an egg
One right yes
to the wrong person
or one wrong yes
to the wrong person
and sometimes
a right yes
to the right person
and it cracks!

Life is precious
and i intend to keep mine that way.
I will never take
unnecessary risks with my health.
My body is your temple
and i intend to keep it holy
So help me God

I don't know about you
but i do have a word for you
take care
do the test
whatever the result
keep on living Negative




Details | Narrative | |

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? 


Details | Narrative | |

The Apple City New York

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

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

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

The Ellis Island Immigration Museum is just close by,
where photos