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Narrative People Poems | Narrative Poems About People

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

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Details | Narrative | |

Granny Panty Annie, the Tranny

Lemme tell ya' about a
*ding-bat skit-zo 
bee-hotch* tranny
named Annie...

I met her one night 
under disco lights 
up at Candies

She was 
starin' at me
grittin' her teeth
aimin' ta' see 
if I wanted a piece
of he 
of she 
by way of flashin' granny panties

She was
shootin' pool
actin' a fool
so I 
took a shot
and one tiny glance 
but got caught

So I
lit up a smoke
and tried to play it off cool
but it was too late
she had pulled up a stool

She slurred,
"Hey young felluh, where ya' been all my life!"

I replied, 
"Sorry to burst yir' bubble, but I got a wife!"

"That don't matter kid, what she don't know won't hurt the girl" 
as she fisted my collar and yelled, "I'LL ROCK YIR' WORLD! Annie the Tranny is what they call me. Bet you been wanted ta' bone me since you first saw me!"

Fear and frustration danced on my face
I begged the bouncer to 
"Get this he/she outta the place!"

My pleas were to no avail, 
and that sea donkey lurked hot on my trail
flailin' it's arms and grindin' bar stools with it's tail

Speakin' of tails...
a shiny blue wale tail crept up her back
Her jeans were mean, but couldn't hold her underwear's elastic slack
but at least it beat feastin' eyes upon her crack
then she... 
wrapped her grimy hands around my neck and asked, 
"You n' me, boy, what the heck!?!"

I screamed,
"Look here lady, you seem real nice for a tranny;
ya' see...
ya' need 
to hit the bricks,
and yir' Granny Panties!"

At that point the joint started to really heat up
people were glarin' like they really wanted me beat up
I can't recall how the hell I got out of there 
alive and free
it was like a big manly freight train
headin' dead at me

I'm pretty sure I owe the good Lord a big favor
that beast was the devil
and Jesus was my Savior!

It's a night I thought would never end... 
the night at Candies Bar n' Grill
Granny Panty Annie got a thrill 
tryin' to make me her sexy friend!!!

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Faces Along the Way

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Pride of the Motherland

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

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

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

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

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


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


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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 
     “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 
     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.

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The Drying Of The Ink

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Lonely Violet Eyes

I'm running late, they will be waiting...
A busy much to do..
I should be going...the clock is ticking
I'll stick my head in, a quick hello
no need to linger, ...and then I'll go

I grab my keys, and make excuses...
She seems confused....unduly quiet 
Oh dear, it's useless...

"You must try a piece of pound cake. Made fresh this morning"...
"I'll put some tea on, no need to hurry"

(The clock is glaring.....I need to scurry....)
(My life is busy....this day's been crazy)

"I must not stay long.....  a late appointment"....  "I have to go"...

         (Oh dear, it's clear, she tries to hide, sheer disappointment!)


She taps her cane, across the floor,  her smile is kind...
She walks behind me, to the door

I have started to say good-bye,  my hand on the knob
"Want to see my violets?" she asks quickly
How could I refuse?? 

We walk to the screened porch near the back of the house.
Sitting proudly in the sunlight of the northern exposure
Eleven small pots of glorious blooming African violets, 
Several shades of pink, purple and blue
The most beautiful violets I have ever seen...

I express my sincere admiration
Her anxious look melts, and turns to delight...
And happiness and pleasure has taken years away from her eyes...

I ask her what is her secret to growing such beauties....?
"Yes...please tell me"......"Oh.....leftover coffee grounds? How interesting".....
           "Please tell me more...."

        We sit together the rest of that afternoon on the porch...
                      Have tea, .........and the most delicious lemon yellow pound cake.....
                         And as we talk .....
                          .... I can't help but notice....her eyes are beautiful
                                               wise, and beautiful....and the color of violets...


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King and Queen for a Day

We bound down the stairs, out into the light-of-day, and into the blue of the
misty breezes, heavily laden with the smell of wild sea salt roses that grow in 
perfusion along the winding road, that bends and turns in gentle lifts and dips to 
the other side of the bay, where it crosses the bridge and rises up and winds 
away, over the hill.

Overhead the seagulls screech and glide over the ocean spray that washes on 
the rocks on the lower banks behind our house along the Fundy Bay, where we 
run like the wind through the fields of fresh cut hay and make our  way to the 
rocky mantle below .

There in the volcanic plateau, worn smooth as glass by the constant rolling 
weight of the ocean, is our pool, known by all in our village, as ‘Lizza’s Bathtub’, 
created by the eruption of the earth’s inner core, millennia’s ago.  

We slip into the still, salty water that has been warmed beneath the blazing sun, 
and float with the perry winkles and tiny crabs and  listen to the sound of the 
ocean, that roars beneath us as it leaves in the receding tide, while we drift 
away, in our minds, my little brother the ‘King’ and I, the ‘Queen’ for a day on 
the ‘Fundy Bay’.

Details | Narrative | |

Moment of Clarity

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

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

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

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

                 -You're Losing it -

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

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

                  - You Wanna Hurt People -

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

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

                   - It's About To Go Sour -

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

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

                   - His Veins Pump Hard -

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

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

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

He Smiled as They Withdrew Their Weapons
From His Chest. 

                     - Fall To Your Knees -

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

                      - Close your Eyes -

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

                      - This Makes Sense -

His Face hits Sand...

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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.

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New Start for Captain Mazy

Wading through flooded streets as hurricane rain poured
A man fell into the flow when sharp thunder roared
As a journalist reporting live from the scene
I saw lightning crack through the sky, heard the man scream

“Is he homeless?” I asked the emergency crew
The director shook his head; the answer he knew
“He lives in our park now, but served in Vietnam
He saved his entire unit from the Viet Cong.”

The team pulled him from the gutter to the shelter
I brought him tea, forgot I was a reporter
I asked why he’d screamed, his memory seemed hazy
“Did you hear the bombs drop?” asked Captain Bob Mazy

The emergency director took me aside
“We call him Crazy Mazy,” he did confide
He suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder
Can’t live with the lives he took following orders.”

When Hurricane Kate passed o’er the Gulf Coast
I’d seen much destruction, but remembered Mazy most
His story I broadcasted and vets contacted me
The donations poured in; so many gave freely 

Soon we’d accumulated twenty-five grand
Just enough to buy Mazy an acre of land
Then people from his home state gathered one weekend
To build him a home, much effort they expended

Several social workers set up counseling services
To meet all his needs, everyone made concessions
Local stores gave him clothing, food, even a job
No longer “Crazy Mazy,” he was now just Bob

A gentle man who soon overcame all his fears
On Memorial Day, he was greeted by cheers
Accolades he’d never heard when he returned from Nam
But attitudes had changed and people’s hearts had warmed

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To All Four-legged AND Two-legged

Hello to all four-legged and two-legged friends in the big world
The people who take care of us, do not know as much as they think
We are probably smarter than they are
Take for example, that little cell phone that our people
always have with them wherever they go
What we do.....lift the foot and "send a message" to a friend
When I am out and walking with my people I get many interesting "messages"
Some "messages" are very interesting and take a little longer time to "read"
Then my people impatient, pulling and struggling the leash
What they can not understand that I must "answer" to all "messages"
Our "conversations" and "messages" are equally important
Think about it....they are also free....there is no expense
When their cell phone call or pling they take time to respond
Hello all two-legged humans our messages are just as important as yours

A-L Andresen

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The Ghost Dance

A shaman prays, the Spirit hears
While a Seventh Calvary regiment waits
Unarmed, a tribe endures a Union's hate
Their animosities, and their fears
As the blue coats begin to circle...
Their wrath begins to circle.

That shaman saw but a single Spirit
That was split between different beliefs
He could accept the white Spirit Chief
But the white men would not hear it
They would not blend their God
With the red heathen God.

Anger explodes behind powdered shot
Spraying death from muzzled shame
Cruelly winning their ill gotten fame
Painted heroes claim a tainted spot
History claims the Ghost Dance...
As death claims the last dance.

A Dakota creek runs darkly red
Forever silencing the Ghost Dance
A chanting shaman dies in his trance
One hundred fifty Sioux lay dead
Now, only blue coats remain...
Only the blue remain.

A creek ran red with Union shame
When a shaman called the Spirit Great
And that Spirit did not hesitate
He fell on Wounded Knee and came
To take His people home...
His people swiftly home.

                                     Timothy I. Brumley

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Silver Strands

Slate gray streets made even darker by cutting raindrops
Umbrellas popping up everywhere, people seeking shelter

But I stayed put, wanting to get drained with the rain,
then I hear this tinkling voice that says, “Don’t you just love it when it rains?!”

I look at her wearily and her eyes actually gleam with laughter
Oh geez, this lady was my total opposite.  I was brooding, she was brimming.
I power-up my go away vibes, but she was like a darned magnet…
Was I the ferromagnetic one, or was she?

She gushed on the metaphor of rain in her life, and I didn’t feel like drowning.
Listening to her amidst the onslaught was so refreshing, making me thirstier…

There we were, two drenched souls, sitting on the pavement, chatting up a storm.
Of all her descriptions of rain, one in particular stood out for me…

Pearl drops strung on silver strands …

She said, “Rain for me would be silver strands streaking an otherwise somber sky…
pearl drops strung on silver strands, broken by the heavens to share with us.
See how precious it is?” Then she continued on with the metaphor for pearls…

Her words felt like windshield wipers to me, and I could see clearly now
By then, the rains had softened, and a lone pearl drop landed on her eyelashes
-that made me look closer at her eyes… her beautiful, wise, yet cloudy eyes…

I have never looked at rain the same way since then.

For Andrea's and Susan's Silver Strands contest

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Jealousy in Unexpected Places

I’m really not a jealous person. I am happy for those who are fortunate in life.  If I see a lady who has a beautiful family that loves her, I am happy for her.   When a guy pull up in a fully restored ’57 Chevy convertible, complete w/ vanity license plates reading “AHH YEAH”, I’m happy for him. I have met two people in my life who have won large lottery jackpots, and I was very happy for them. Even when I see a drop-dead gorgeous exotic looking young woman wearing Chanel and four and a half inch Jimmy Choos, I am delighted for her.  Seriously, I’m just not an envious person by nature.

Yesterday, my tire blew out. While I was waiting for my husband, I went into a local pub.  A nice girl, Jenna, started a conversation with me. She was missing all four of her front teeth!   We somehow started talking about dieting, and she told me that it is impossible for her to gain weight. She mentioned she weighed 102 lbs. and that she would love to gain at least 5 pounds but just couldn’t. She complained about how her metabolism was just “too high.” I’m sitting there with that old country song playing in my head...“A metabolism too high…What’s that mean? It’s like too much money, no such thing.” 

Ironically, it happened to be karaoke evening.   Once the festivities started, I clinged to the hope that my DVR was working and recording American Idol so I could watch it when I got home. “Big Matt” was up first singing George Straits. He was actually good. We all clapped. Next, it was Jenna.

I watched Jenna sing. In a world where if most of us had the misfortune to lose even one of our teeth, we would not leave the house unless it was to be fitted with our Davinci Veneers, this gal was poised and confident. She sang beautifully.

I found myself actually envious of this young woman. Not, however, for the reason you think. I found myself envious of her confidence.  Despite her appearance, she sang with passion, poise and enthusiasm. Even missing all four of those front teeth, she could get up in front of that crowd and dazzle us all with her nice voice and pleasant demeanor.

As my husband came to my rescue, I left smiling. 
I left smiling knowing that there are people like Jenna in this world. 
I left smiling knowing that I do give people the benefit of the doubt. 
I left smiling knowing that I do always look for the best others. 
I left smiling knowing it is possible for me to be jealous of a young woman who is missing her front teeth.

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Lunch With The Girls

.                           "Listen first, the voice in your head"

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

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


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

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

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

For the Contest: Summer's End

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She walks here often, almost every day
She thinks of him
And each day he will appear
With a different name, a different face, 
But always,…. the story will be the same…..

His skin will be bronzed by the sun
Wet and glistening by the tide 
He will not tell her his name
Instead, he tells her she is beautiful

The sand scalds her shoulders and thighs
She will let him have his way
He will talk with his hands
He tells her she carries passion in the little hallow of her back

        Her walks along the beach
        And into the brambles 
        Are never without purpose
        She thinks of how he may be watching
        She is pleased to hold
        Her head tilted slightly downward
        If, while she continues
        Into the wildflowers and thistles
        With her clothing open
        With her skin borne
        To foxtails and thorns
        Letting them enter her flesh…..
        She will of course admit
        Astonishment, …….but no shame…
        And promises herself not to return again
        For at least a week

For Cyndi's Contest: Sensual

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A Christmas Conversation

Daddy, were you alive when Jesus was born?

No honey, he was born a long time ago, over 2000 years ago.

Where was he born Daddy?

In Bethlehem, a small town in the desert in a manger,

Whats a manger Daddy?

It's a place where they kept animals to feed them.

You see when Jesus was born the Inn was full, so 
they had to get Mary to a warm place to give birth to Jesus.
that was the only place they could go.

Daddy who is Jesus' Daddy?

God is his Father honey?

But who is Joseph?

The Chosen Father, who God chose to raise him, Mary's Husband

I don't understand Daddy!

God wanted a son, he could not have a son without Mary and Joseph's
help. God asked them both if they would help him, without even thinking
they said yes. God gave to them a great gift, God gave them Jesus.

At that moment God gave us all a great gift, He gave us the Son of Man.

The Son of Man Daddy?

Yes honey, you see God is not Man, not one you can touch, Jesus
was, he healed people who were sick, He showed people how to love God 
and how God loves them. There is one more important thing
I want to tell you honey.

What's that Daddy? Jesus did a coupla more things I think are 
important, there are many of course but two I like.

Go on Daddy!

Jesus taught us how to love without conditions, like the way I love you 
and you love me and your Mom and Brother. But how to love everybody
like that.  The most important thing is, is that he died because we humans
broke God's laws, which means we sinned. He died so God would
forgive us.

Wow Jesus really did love us didn't he Daddy...?

Yes he did baby, and the really good thing is he still does and always will.

Come on it's time for bed!

Not until I say my prayers Daddy!

How bout we Pray together tonight?

I'd like that Daddy!

So would I baby, so would I .

Jump up on my back and I'll give you piggy back ride!

I love you Daddy!

I love you too baby, I love you too.........

My Christmas wish is you all have Conversations like this with your 
kids. Trust me they bring tears of joy!

May God Bless you all this Christmas Season as he has Blessed me.

    From Mary, Josh, Shay and myself  MERRY CHRISTMAS and HAPPY NEW YEAR

                             With Love.....Taz

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America, Why Did You Stray?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Call Me Gonzo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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I Lost a Whole Weekend (Please Pardon My Rant)

I am your champion, I fight for your cause,
my love and devotion give some people pause.

When I saw you I knew you, just like with your dad.
I guess our deep happiness makes some people mad.

I work hard at my job, so that we can live,
and hear me now, son, when it's time to give,
I am the one who ups the amount,
I've done this more often than I can recount.

I also work so your dad will be covered,
for doctors and dentists and allergists and others,
and who do you think pushed him to go
to the skin doctor some two years ago?

From the moment I met you, you felt like my son,
but this is a battle that cannot be won.
When your dad and I married, I didn't steal him away,
he's just as devoted to you to this day.

I heard someone had told you that I was "controlling,"
(I can't even write this without my eyes rolling).
Who insisted your dad fly to LA to see you?
Who worked overtime to pay for this venue?

I encourage his freedom, I've not clipped his wings,
his happiness, above all, is the important-est thing.

I will not be silenced, nor be vilified,
and it just breaks my heart when you take HER side.

and I'm tired of being so misunderstood.

So, pardon my migraine, it wasn't intended,
my strength just gave out as your judgement descended.

I lost a whole weekend, I slept like the dead,
I was just too defeated to face down my dread.
I kinda' felt reality shatter, unsure what was real,
like in "Jacob's Ladder."

We're getting no younger, your father and I,
the older we get, the faster time flies.
I love you as if you were my own child,
I'll not carry this burden unreconciled.

©Danielle White

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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.

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In Between, Silence

The oath spilled over my lips
If you hurt me, said she 
I will never forgive you!
No, it was not the words
Probably the pose, or the voice
Or was it the silence between?
But there was power, and I swore
A daunting spirit 

In Between, Silence!

Today, I awoke to the mocking bard
I am sorry, said she
Forgive me, forget me
It was the words, no pose, no voice
And the sinful silence aside,
There was power in the words
The daunting spirit.

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I've  been a lot of  places in this land, 
From sea to shining sea. 
There's a  place in the hills of Arkansas
That means more than them all to me,
A little wildwood church where people meet 
To praise the Lord above. 
They don't have a lot of money,
But they're rich in a thing called love

You'll  see a friendly smile upon each face   
The moment you walk  in. 
They'll make you feel so loved and right at home,
That you'll want to go  back again. 
They will pour you out a cup of kindness
And hospitality; 
Then they'll take you home and feed you,
And they'll treat you like family.

You're always more than welcome; 
There's no lock upon the door. 
There's preaching and singing and praising the Lord, 
And they know what the altar's for. 
Don't look for a grand cathedral, 
Standing proud and tall; 
It’s a humble little church, beside the road, 
At Ben Hur Arkansas.

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A Slight Return

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not every every question has a answer my friends. 

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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

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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

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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.

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The Willows

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

®Registered: Ann Rich 1998

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

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

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

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

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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A Understanding Of The Past

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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.

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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!

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Jannes & Jambres cast their spell
On the ground their rods fell
Moses,brother did the same
In each rod a serpent became
Aaron's consumed them both,to verify God's oath

More @ Ex 7: & *:7 & 9:11 Num 22:22 & 2 Tim 3:8

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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.

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I Want

Yah! Let me tell you,
Let me tell you about the last struggle in our country
2000 political violence.
Those days thousands of people lay dead                      
The streets were full of blood.

I want to tell you about how people were suffering
Some they spend seven days without anything to eat
Some where forced to walk hundred miles
People where struggling,
People where crying
I want to tell you about how people were disappearing.

Brothers and fathers were forced to join the ruling party
Young stars were forced to join the green bomber youth militia
Mothers and sisters were raped,
Brutality raped.
Some were raped in front of their husbands,
In front of their children.
I was scared very scared
My tears were running down to my chick
When I saw a young 14 year girl raped in front of me
She was raped by 4 strong men. 
I sweated! Shivering nothing to say
Only I was shaking my head my hands were holding my mouth,

Let me tell you about the blood shade.
I want to tell you about the white farmers 
White people were forced to leave their farms
They left their properties they were not aloud to carry 
Some they were beaten
Their farms were burned in ashes
Crops were slashed by the so called war veterans.

I want to tell you about how people were murdered
Some you find their body parts missing.
I was breathing heavily, 
When my friend was hanged on a mango tree
Nqobani was innocent, he was a kindness man
But he died because he was an enemy to the ruling part.
He died whilst fighting for change
Her private parts were found missing.
Tears can dry but memories can't die
I will always remember you
And I will keep on fighting unless we set free.

I want to tell you about this government 
This government of ours has totally destroyed,
Our beloved country
It has totally destroyed the whole situation
From his excellence president to his exultant dictator
Let me tell you I want.

Only the government they know is to maintain its solders
And policeman by buying them new boots, new stockiest, new 
New underpants and the new button sticks
Yet the economy is going down.
Things are hard to get
No ballpoint, no sugar, no fuel, no water, even a toilet tissue 
You can’t find it
Or cry beloved country or cry beloved country.

I want to tell you everything and I will tell you
From south, to north, east to west.
From kwaBulawayo to Harare via Gweru
All corners of the country 
Let me tell you and I will tell you

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Lettie Died

Lettie died, the house is empty,
No one in the family left.
Flowered sheets once used as curtains
Faded now by brilliant sunlight
Rot and crumble to the floor.
Beer and Coke cans thrown at windows,
No one seems to care;
The lock is broken, all may enter
Look! the bed where Lettie died!
The front porch sags where Lettie sat
Passing all her summer days
Diabetic and overweight,
Withdrew from life when Mama died.
Noisy tots on tricycles
Pump their legs to get on by;
The house of ghosts, or so says Grandma,
Restless souls who cannot sleep.

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Reflections of Coventry (2005)

“Send them to Coventry”! I often hear them say
Please send them, send them right away!
We tend to tar people and a place with the same brush
Stop, look and listen your pre-conception is under crush

Difference can tear some places apart
In such a small Coventry, diversity pulsates to the same big heart
On the outside you may say it sounds grim
But if you open your eyes it brightens an opinion that was once dim

I often climb the cathedral spire
It’s a journey that takes me higher
Why? I can see the whole of Coventry
In each corner I see a reflection of you and me

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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.


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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

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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.

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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.

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Bad Grammar


When it comes to grammar
I always break the rules
I am from the old school
I never adhere to the “do and don’t
 I am a devious character indeed... oh! guess what!

 My Dali lama teaching
Was never influential because
Nothing else matters to me

I am who I am 
Prose and complete
And most of the time
 Politically or grammatical incorrect
Whatever, or whoever I am.
 I am a poetess with a mean ***** switch

my main focus is to get my point across
Artful and prose; I play the devil’s advocate
Guilty as charge, I am in charge of my anthology 
No outsiders can never curve my pen
To construct a well written poem

When I am on a roll I never stop to compose
Or worry about starting my sentences with “and our but”
Even if it makes me clunky; no biggie that me 
I have no intention of offering a toast
or pretend I am your host at your table.

I am the artful dodger, I know how to submit and watch
As my pen become public enemy number one.
                    (mostly to some)

Sorry my master! My mentor, Dali lama (my conscience)
May I examine my mind in all actions?
And as soon as a negative state occurs,
Since it endangers me and others,
May I firmly face and avert it. :  Quote Dali Lama

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The Beautiful People

Spent some time today amongst the beautiful people In the downtown area of the big city Everybody rushing about oblivious to their surroundings Intent on doing what they set out to do Alone in their own little world Unaware of hundreds of people passing by Other people, each with their own agendas Heading to business meetings, wining and dining clients Clandestine meetings of secret lovers All happening before our very eyes When you live in the burbs, it can be a real eye opener Surely the clandestine meetings are going on here too But on a much smaller scale and a much less obvious manner I don't think it has really changed much over the years Other than just becoming more overt The rumour mill is most likely still churning But the sensationalism is missing It has become more routine Well spending time in the big city was a real eye opener Makes me appreciate my retirement life in the burbs A WHOLE LOT more! © Jack Ellison 2014

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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!

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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.

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The Shoe

He could be someone’s father
Or brother
Or friend.
He could be
The one to cure cancer,
The one who
Saves a child
From a burning building,
The one who
Sobers up
And leads
Others to
Do so as well.
But right now,
He’s a drunk
Who has probably
Spent all of his money
On booze,
The one
Who is ungrateful,
The one who
Won’t remember,
The one who will
Lose his life
Over a fallen shoe.
And you are the one
Who can save him.

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Dancing Coins

Will you accept?
Not a challenge 
Rather an invitation
Let us explore each other's thoughts
Are we oil and water?
Will we have a meeting of the minds?
They say men and women are not the same
Do we both not bleed?
Do we not see the same sky?
Smell the same scents?
Strive for the same things?
I extend out my hand
I beg you, please don't turn away
I am trusting you with a part of me
Let us dance
Twirl along the page

A part of me and more
I lay here at your door
Your proposal is sweet
Oh, let our minds now meet
An invitation to dance
Is such a golden chance
To let rhythm and rhyme
Keep us dancing in time
Gender does not matter
Perceptions we will shatter
When it comes to poetry
We are the same entity
With words we are in love
Touched by inspiration's dove
We exude beauty fair
As our poetic souls we bare
My words a gift to you
You know just what to do
Oil and water don't combine
Each is unique and sublime
But they mix when making bread
By which hungry minds are fed
A sweet blessing our words bring
We can make the heavens sing

Like you, I am a lover of words
Looking for diamonds to capture light
Each word placed creates our delight
A symphony of colors shining bright
In the end I have a spirit of oil within
Long ago I permeated my lover's skin
She and I are now a we
From her comes the sweetness you see
You and I, opposite sides of similar coins
Separate, yet in subtle ways we are joined
Two coins jingle, create a sound
Tossed to the sky yet still Earth bound  
As we share what's on our minds
Only heaven knows what treasure we will find

Treasures don't lie on the ground
Buried deep, they must be found
The one with a passionate heart
Will get all, not just a part
Opposites attract, I'm told
Our poems, treasures of gold
You have stories and I have mine
Poem gems, sparkle and shine
Your love speaks to you; mine to me
Our ballads of sweet harmony
The treasure is this, our dance
Unsure, we still took a chance
You took the lead, steps just right
This dance with you, a sheer delight!

A joint poem with my friend Eileen Ghali, thanks for the dance.

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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. 

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Oh well I got an angry email to begin my day
Because of my last post on the Jabidah thing yesterday
Galit sa akin but greeted me with Assalamu alaykum.
And kung personal Moro friends ko naman ito 
They know I don't criticize Moro leaders
I always leave that to them to criticize their leaders
According to my friends baka nasa gubyerno or something
Next time I'll write na lang about the sea and the palm trees and the beaches 

Pray and pray nalang para walang provocation
ako nga ang daming nag-message sa akin nagalit sa issue ng Sabah standoff
Ikaw pa kaya na wala namanng masama na sinabi dun
Alam mo ‘buti na lang you verbalized that kasi iniisip ko rin ‘yun
I know you have reasons and you know better kaya; I just read your posts
I don’t have to go against parties kasi both have rights
And the issue must be solved

Wala, kasi sa akin kundi independence lamang ang kailangan
May ganyan din kasing realities? 
Minsan you are being asked or expected to take sides
Yes, my side is peace – with peace is independence
Yes, I heard that sa dating Jabidah Massacre celebration
Somebody said that, “Walang kapayapaan kasi walang kalayaan”
And that is very universal, kapatid.

Moro or non-Moro and writing should always geared towards humanity
That’s why for me it “anti-humanity” if you will not listen 
Or suppress when somebody will talk about freedom.
That’s the problem with Filipinos, they don't listen.
Kasi the leaders may sarili ring interests.

How do you see being Filipino?
Ako, it's a cage, Filipino nationalism 
Agenda ng mga oligarchs and landowners 
Filipino nationalism is violence against Muslims and lumads
Kasi ‘pag ako ang tatanunginmo I will never say I am Filipino
Because Tausug it’s not a name but an identity...
I understand but kaunti na lang kayo

Ako sasabihin ko na I am a Filipino but I have reservations
When I was a teenager hindi ako tumatayo ‘pag Lupang Hinirang
ngayon tumatayo na kasi napapaaway ang mga kasama ko sa sinehan
Yes and identity should be critically assessed and examined.
Kaya if they say Filipino ang mga Tausug masakit sa aking loob
But not all, kapatid. try mo pumunta sa Manila
Yung mga Moro na malalapit sa mga institusyon ng Pilipinas
Bakit iba ang Moro at ibang ang Tausug
kaya sila naging Moro at masaya na tawaging Moro 

May identity na naiiba sa Filipino
Pinag-aaralan ko rin yan and ino-observe ‘yung pag-yield sa 'Filipino'
‘Will give Filipinos a disservice
Because it is tantamount to be an accomplice to a corrupt system
And this system is the one that oppresses Muslims
At alam natin ang Tausug di lamang taga-Sulu
Pati Bisayan, Tausug din

As much as possible I am trying to make my writings 'away' 
Away from Filipino nationalism
That's the right way for me and my writing
I will ask first, “How it is to be human?” 
At super last na ang, “How to be a Filipino” 
And the Bangsamoro struggle is the greatest critique to the violence
And failures of Filipino nationalism

Ang problema kasi kaya di successful ang Bangsamoro struggle
Dahil nagdadala sila ng pangalan na di naman originally sa kanila
How come ang pangalan ko ay Abdul sa rights
Gagamitn ko ang Juan para sa aking bayan?
Kaya war of ideas ito and alam mo naman sa akin, ‘pag ideas 
And perspectives walang kompromiso and peace talks 

I do not compromise my language, my craft and myself, my writing
Filipino is an imagined nation, as well as Bangsamoro
Bakit di natin magamit ang orignal nation natin 
Na based sa Sulu archipelago and Mindanao
Yes, actually diyan ako papunta - papunta

Bakit hindi i-Bangsamoro-ized ang buong Filipinas?
It doesn’t mean na i-convert ang Pilipinas 
But the spirit, the struggle it should mean something to Filipinos
It should kasi ang dami na nagbuwis ng buhay
Kaya ko pa na tanggapin kung Maharlika

‘Yan ang gusto kong ma-achieve: Filipinos should listen to Moros
Siyempre marami pang madidiscover along the way
Indeed. Ikaw ba ‘pag sasabahin ko na ‘Tausug’ ano ang maiisip mo?
Tausug is Moro and Moro for me is something that predates 'Filipino'
But now, I would like to know the concept of “Lupah Sug”
I want to know it, I think there are more and beyond Moro on it

Before ‘Moro’ was named to Mindanao and Sulu people
It was first name to Aceh people, Melaka, Brunei and then Manila
Sulu and Mindanao were the last places to have been called the name ‘Moro’
Sulu archipelago was united under the name Sulu archipelago 
The name of people is Tausug. 
Tausug is composed of different ethnics:
Arab, Banjar, Dampuan, Buranun etcetera.
The concept of Sulu as part of dar al islam 
Is already a nation and state 
Where the government is the people and itself headed by sultan or raja

Yes, and I would like to feel this from the ordinary Tausugs when I get there
I would like to experience this from ordinary Tausug and on from place itself.
In the hinterland of Jolo, their laws still on the ground not of Philippine law

I believe in narratives
I want to hear and feel this from the place and from the people.
And then capture it; I have these thoughts 
That Lupah Sug has something that the Moro concept does not have
And it’s a bit metaphysical but sige lang.

I know my craft can capture it.
I think there is a language that can capture it 
And specific craft that can carry its soul
Not fictionalize but put it in a form like a novel or a narrative
Which have their own logic and truths as crafts.

This poem is made after the conversation and sharing with Filipino writer Rogelio Braga who also serves as the editor of the poem. He is currently in Mindanao, travelling and writing; he will then proceed to Sulu Archipelago soon. 2:28PM, 19 March 2013, Facebook Chat across Sulu Sea!

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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)

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Solace in the ghetto

As I stared out my project window into the streets were the predators never seemed to sleep and the dope heads that kept the neighbors in the private homes on pins and needles as they prowled the street, looking for the next cash cow to supply their drug needs. In the alley where we would play baseball during the daytime against the old trash bin, at night it served as the hiding place for the drug boys dope and guns…It’s sometimes hardto believe that decent people do live here in this place where I live, but they do. I don’t know how? But really they do, I swear. The alleyway was littered with so much broken glass on the ground, sometimes I would pretend that it was diamonds and would dream of running out one morning and picking it all up and then I would be rich like the people who lived in the private homes up on the hill. At night from my window in the summertime I could smell their grills cooking some expensive meat, that seem to overload my sense and make my belly growl in a hopeless thought that I might somehow get to taste it. In the distance sirens blare in the middle of the night as the ambulances race to the causalities of the night life. I can still recall those house parties that never seem to end, that’s until the men in blue decided to finally answer the calls and put an end to their night fun, but by that time they were all drunk and doped out or found a mate for the night…as they all spread out onto the side streets like cockroaches when you turn on the light and then shots rang out in the calm distance of the night. People scatter into the night. My eyelids are now so heavy I can barely hear my own thoughts inside my head. When all of sudden my door flings open, standing there in the doorway I can make out a shadow, I take a deep breath and continue to play like I’m asleep. Wow, it was only my mother, just checking in on her only investment for her future dream of a doctor or lawyer that would not have to deal with this mess, she shuts my door after seeing that I was okay…as she takes a deep sigh of relief, knowing she could take solace that her child was fast asleep.

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The poet and the Gavel

People Say poetry is for the broken,
As if nobody or nothing but words on paper can mend their broken pieces, 
As if their soul existence is put into paragraph form, 
each line representing some critical moment in their life.
Let us not acknowledge the fact that poets possess an amazing skill,
a skill where they articulate words, painting a picture as the words roll off the tongue.
A stranger whom can make you relive every beautiful moment,
re experience every sad emotion, and allow you to feel!

Now that I think about it...maybe they're the broken ones..

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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

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One Old Farmer-With No Name


He was maverick on a country lane
A bit peculiar, but not ashamed
He never said much to make us stare
But he lived with a certain air
His story, kept private, known by very few
He always said he had paid his dues

We are the neighbors who lived down the lane
We heard his stories again and again
Of knowing what the sun intended to do
With curly clouds, and why the blue
His talk of Nebraska, horses, hogs and grain
Discussed the crops, of frost, or lack of rain

We had seen him many a sun-drenched day
Standing in the field with the horizon in his gaze
Perhaps he dreamed of prairie skies
Yet there was a certain wisdom within his eyes
Lightly as leaves cling, the quick years clung
About his shoulders, till his songs were sung
Kept to himself for many a year
...but today, his story has ended here

Now there lies such sad disbelief...
Surprised, and unexpected, immense our grief
For what had begun over eighty years ago
There is still so much we will never, ever know
Who was the man who had no name?
He paid his dues, but no one knew

Exiled he was, but never his words
Words that "fell to the soul...
                                         like dew on the grain"....

For Paula's Contest: How Due You Dew

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She is the mother place of all humanity.
From her womb was birthed the first man.
The first self aware and inventive beast,
Standing erect, carrying tools of his own invention.

Science tells us that in the beginning....
All men were black of skin, Negroid of features,
With very limited amounts of body hair.
Befitting of the Continent that bore them.

Great civilisations rose and fell on her bosom.
In Egypt, Kush, Ethiopia, Somalia, Ghana,
While cities like Khartoum, Axum and Timbuktu rose,
We pale-skinned peoples were still living in caves.

Remember Stanleyville and Leopoldville and Carthage.
Remember Rhodesia, Zaire and Zimbabwe. Remember.
Tribes, not nations, in Rwanda, Sudan, Chad, at war.
Little peace, if any, protects the innocent and weak.

Still, the peoples are joyful and positive in outlook.
The Fishermen of Eritrea and Capetown, laugh for the fish.
The Masai, since the dawning of time, are cattlemen.
While Ethiopia is home to the oldest continuous Christian church.

Africa is a land no man may conquer but all men desire.
A continent where desert sands or jungles easily swallow,
And digest entire civilisations, leaving only scant traces.
I cannot but love the Continent and its inhabitants.

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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.

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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"


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

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

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

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

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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ATTENTION vignette form

In the base motor pool
See an off-limits card school-
A scheming Bilko takes the pot
Hoodwinking top brass was his game,
Fast talking his claim to fame.

Brian Strand  Rhyme me an olf TV show-Sergeant Bilko

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Bar is standing room only
Poetry reading
Hopefuls and veterans make the scene
Rub shoulders
Drinks in hand
Crowd at the bar
The place closes down
Quietly people move
Like silent shadows 
Without saying goodbye.

Second Avenue alive
Young people congregate 
Hustlers stand on corners
Neon lights twinkle in the night
A few street people
Sit in a doorway
Huddled and lost 
Hustle for change
Something to eat
Playing music that only the stars can hear
The beat of the city goes on
Never stopping
Only the vastness of night 
Reminds us
That we belong somewhere.

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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.  

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It was once a good and honest worker calculation area. 
His life was encode the world on your back in the form of numbers and proportions of these.
When he saw the sun, looking for the angle to calculate its axis, 
when he saw another human being quantified his features, 
gestures and inferred about their possible reactions. 
Poor man, he did not see the horizon as a screen display of Monet, 
who did not see the other as an extension of divine knowledge. 
So is the mason, electrician, psychologist, engineer, 
administrator, businessman, politician, ... 
men who are good at what they do, but each in view of the world that surrounds it. 
Because it is simpler to be one ... than having multiple views of the same mind.

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Jeepney Ride

Packed like sardines
inside a jeepney*—
Too full,
with a jeepney strike going on.

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” 

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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.

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Down he sojourned
On life's journey
Encounters upon encounters
Mistakes he made
Even offences...
To the people he met
"Apologize" ...he was told by some....
This he did
To erase his misdeeds
"Am I forgiven", he wondered
For others could not yield
To the gesture, so human
"Go get some counselling"
They advised...
Insinuating insanity
To such he said
"Apologize as well"

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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… 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…

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My Hidden Fear

People are my weakness and hidden fear
I just feel that some words they say set me in tear
For example I gave a person a smile one day and they gave me a glare
I did not know that smiling in the world today cause people to stare
These types of stare gave me chills down my spine a feeling that made me blind
Why? why is my weakness the people who are very unkind
Hiding is all I can do when people give me a unkind view
I get to a point that my fear seems to wonder and stew
People are who they are and what should I even do
I don't understand that they are evil and some times nice too
My hidden fear are people just because they are always around
That is no argument and my feeling are perfectly sound
The hate builds up in my mind, but does not bother, how my heart feel
I learned to undergo a change that my feelings become like steel
Hard as it should be in situations needed I forget how to use it
So it becomes my weapon and it is to some people heartless just a bit
My hidden fear is what I see in people today
They harm others and they think it is okay
That is why I fear my feelings for others at times because it is so confusing
My hidden fear is some what bad and some what a blessing

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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

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The Singer (Narrative Dialogue)

The singer looks at the now empty stage
His voice guarded deep in his warm throat
Shielded by a high neck shirt he wore
Singing with passion from down within
Rehearsing day and night until it’s right
Blended rhythms and notes run the scales
Clinging in smoky night clubs like a shadow
Getting your pay with crumbled dollar bills
Go from gig to gig if it makes you whole
Your songs will make them dance and spin
Like a magic spell being cast far and wide
Allow your words to heal wounds and scars
And when you have earned your keep
Collect the spoils from your conquest sweet
Gobbled champagne and fancy caviars
And your heart beats crashed musical chart
Find the singer who was once loved
The brilliant heart that once lived in joy
Consider yourself a singer without a heart
Who has traded his soul from the start
As it ends the conquest will lose its spark
Come to your senses and stop this slide
You may be witted and sharp as a tack
Don’t get eluded and slip—stay on track

Comments:  This is a narrative dialogue poem.  It sets the stage one may 
probably find in a conflicting situation. It develops into a complication, reaches a 
crisis then falls into a resolution.  It displays connections, alienation, 
disconnections, and a turning point where a change takes place between a 
protagonist and antagonist. The ending brings about a resolution after a 
dramatic point has been reached.  Give it a try one day, and I will give it a review 
for you.  It must be very interesting and relates to real life.

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Miss Lily Jane, the Iridescent

When Miss Lily Jane Bobbit arrived in that Alabama town, jaws dropped; all eyes were riveted on her. The ordinary street on which she lived would be no longer common, for Lily Jane now graced it with her presence. Not everybody liked this sassy lass. The girls in town were jealous and some folks were bemused by this lovely and precocious child with long, dark silken hair who, fashionably attired and immaculately groomed, walked and talked like some sophisticate! Ever the lady and the epitome of southern charm, Lily Jane was often mocked behind her back. Due to her solemn demeanor and unusual directness, she seemed starkly out of place in that small backwater town. Yet not a soul who met her would remain unaffected in some way by this woman who inhabited a young girl’s form. Wise beyond her years and blessed with intuition, she had a moral compass the bigots were unaccustomed to. She would not back down to the bullies who would shrink when reproached by Lily Jane for bad behavior. Defender of the downtrodden, she shone with the righteousness of one who sees no color; she was just! And in her eyes, everyone was equal beneath the skin. Both tenderness and mercy she extended to the meek. After all of this, there was more. Miss Bobbit had a dream! In the quiet hours of her afternoons, she’d go to her back yard, where neighbor boys might spy on her from behind the fence. In such moments, her dream unfolding could be observed as Lily Jane lithely moved her slender body - swaying, bending, and pirouetting across the grass. She dreamed one day to go to Hollywood, but not just for dance. Another talent glittered in that girl. Lily Jane could sing, and she performed one night before her townspeople in a talent show for the community. When she started singing, everyone grew silent. She sang of dreams and of never giving up on what you want. With her beauty and her angel voice, she exuded iridescence. Mesmerized, not one person could deny that if anyone could do it, Lily Jane would reach her highest star. I now conclude my summary of this woman child, a character of fiction, Miss Lily Jane Bobbit, who was brought to life by the marvelous imagination of a master storyteller named Capote. I’ve met many people in my lifetime, some who exhibited one or more of Lily’s strong qualities. Since truth, they say, is stranger than fiction, I like to think there exist other people peculiar in their goodness, lighting up our world as did Lily Jane, the iridescent.
*See "about poem"

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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.

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In her heart and in her mind

She walked on.  She let herself go where her legs carried her.  Her dress billowed around her feet.  She walked on down the dusty lane, feet touched the ground, mind deep in thought.  People peeked out of their windows at this beautiful girl, her eyes focused straight ahead.   No goal in sight.  No destination in mind.  People stared at her, then in the distance, deciding for themselves where it was she was going with such a dedicated stride.  People assumed, guessed, made up tales that suited their own reasons.  Turned her into the person they wanted her to be.  She walked on.  She either ignored, or didnt see the people, who continued to peek out thier windows as she went on down the lane.  Her face a blank slate.  Yet her heart so full it could burst and her mind so busy it threatened to turn itself into a tangled mess of words and thoughts.  She continued on.  Only she knew where she was going.  Where she wanted to be.  What she was doing.  And where she would stop.

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Contemplating atop the “Great Wall,” was Neruda comparing similarities of this and “Machu 
Picchu?”  Was there more commonality beyond stonemasons craft? High stone walls ancient 
cities, “great walls,” lesser ones (Berlin) are designated barriers between peoples/ideologies 
for protection. Long standing cultural isolation results. 

Constructing a fence of wood at Isla Negra afforded symbolic protection. Wooden slats 
allowed words over and through pickets to the world beyond. If “Machu Picchu” was “a trip to 
the serenity of the soul,” fences and “great walls” lie on opposite sides of that.

Neruda’s prolific poetry rose above politics unencumbered by walls, fences or dogma.

for contest on Pablo Neruda

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Squirrel, What is a Friend

It was a green semi-dry oak leaf,
 last and youngest of the family.
 She did not want to fall
 as she stared at the heinous wind
 on a cold night in late fall

Maybe it was best to jump down,
 since it’s been long
 after her family bade farewell.
 “Oh loneliness!” she mused, “you’re unbearable”
 “I can not breath, nor can I smell”

Pretty soon, a squirreled showed up
 hungry but,gleeful.
 “Oh God! why do you look so scared?”
 he asked in all his mischievous curiosity
 She replied,”I’m an orphan,lonely and snared.”
 “Wind is treacherous and life is no fun any more.”

“No! don’t say that li’l leaflet.”
 “You are so fresh,but rookie,” said the squirrel,
 “You’ll have many friends in rest of your life”
 “What is a friend?” asked the leaf
 while her desire to learn was rife

“A friend is a warm hand,
 clutching your hand in depth of the storm…
 A friend is the one who cried
 once your heart writhed in pain,” said the squirrel
 The tiny leaf smiled as her tears dried

“So, do you feel my agony in my heart now?”
 “I truly do!” replied the squirrel
 Just then a gust pulled and drifted the leaf away
 The squirrel shed tears as repined
 while she yelled “Do not cry, squirrel!”
 “Now, at least I have a friend behind”

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Their lived a man once upon a time in Hollywood
Who in peace and war his glory stood
Reaching by far his story could
For he was known to share holy food 
From a holy book in Hollywood

Always alone he used to be
With his broad sword no enemy was left free
He could slash and shriek zubb zubb like a bee
And took a holy book and said, ‘Lord forgive me.’
And finally admitted this is how it’s suppose to be

He went to the coast to enjoy the calm see breeze
And watched immigrant ships telling him to freeze
 He killed people who had pads on their knees
And preached to those who has none of these
And could finally pray as usual in the breeze

He stood for all joy and stood for anger
For he had to use both his book and his panga
As they both worked on people to kill their hunger
He gave a wait to his finger
Which pointed at the book to kill the anger

For his missions he never was late
I don’t know how because there were no calendars to tell the date
Nor clock to tell the time, but sunrise and sunset
When he hunted his need until he would get
And his book and sword was used on time, never late

He was known to be a Hollywood ranger
Who could welcome any stranger
Whether for peace or war he was ready for any danger
On Christmas he used to sing away in a manger
And he was ready to preach and fight as a ranger

Stories were flying about adventures of him
But publishers were scared to publish his film
Nor light on him could beam
For they were afraid of his team:
The holy book, the sword, and him

Now you may wonder how I’m writing about this man
It’s neither because I have a gun
Nor because I’m able to run
But it’s because he passed away and he’s done
And every creature in Hollywood remembers this man.

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Navigating the Stairs

School Rules: signed permission to stay after for the game.
Jake sits on the stairs a'wond'ring if he'll take the blame.
You see Jake had no note, and because he made no fuss,
I sent this kindergartner home alone on the bus.

Mom with her boyfriend live upstairs at 409 Heath;
Dad and his second wife reside downstairs underneath.
Four kids under ten, four adults under twenty-five
navigate the outside stairs; trying to stay alive.

Brother forged his note and now he's at school with the key;
Dad's at work and Mom never gets off before three.
Thank God for caring neighbors who keep watch on the stairs,
they drove Jake back to school and then stayed to watch the Bears.

If only I had known that this fam'ly had no rules;
if only they had cared to find out about the school's.
Mom was angry with me.  "I want Jake out of her class!"
I was mad too, envisioning mutiny en masse.

I paid a visit to 409 Heath just to see
what was the real issue and why she was blaming me.
Climbing up those same stairs, sensing a terrible ache -
I chose to say the words, "Sorry, it was my mistake."

The door flung open, just because I admitted fault
and because I let it go, she felt free to talk.
I learned about her "rules" as I listened to her cares, 
taking just the right steps, we navigated the stairs. 

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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

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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?

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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? 

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Lunchtime at the Nursing Home

Hungry for munchies, on his way to the lunchroom, 
a rambunctious, persnickety,“fuss-budget”, elderly
jittery, fidgety, geezer, named Cassidy…
whose questionable dexterity, aghast by a massive sneeze,
teeter-tottered precariously. 
at the edge of the thingamajig, ...jigging one way, jagging the other!

Minding his own beeswax, without any rigmarole, 
topsy-turvy on his feet, he reached for the balustrade,
became quite flabbergasted, and very discombobulated 
when the doohickey provided for his ambidextrous aid
jiggled free from its screws, and found him footloose! 

It seemed the doo-dad, put there by some nitpicking pipsqueak,
some flat-footed, hooligan, who knew diddly-squat, who obviously,
recklessly, constructed a railing, only worthy for failing!

Such foolhardy shenanigans! Was it some practical joke
to lambaste aged codgers, eliminate lodgers, and boondoggle the old folks? 
Cass, was an old rabble-rouser, considered a blabbermouth, 
was thrown off his epicenter, while his cane went a'sailing, appendages flailing 
Onlookers, were outraged, stage of amazement
but  laughs grew contagious, and cock-eyed hilarious!

Those carpetbagger carbuncles of society….can’t stop this old fogy
Cass, brushed off his hinny, would not be blind-sighted..
Barbaric bedevilment, won’t halt his felicity!
Some even predicted, with his acid tongue lashings, and his eccentric behavior,
he would stir up entanglement, kibosh the haranguers
and strangle the caboodles, who hooted and hollered!

His face turned beet red, but no meltdown,......instead
He held his chin high
to the dining room, ahead....he ordered French bread
Ordered some bouillabaisse, toasted with balderdash and a shot of rye
He dined with the multitudes, ordered some strudel, and one snicker-doodle
Then he told folks a riddle, "There was a man with a cane, who slipped on a noodle,    a handrail came loose, he injured his caboose….and cooked his goose!"


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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 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.

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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.


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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My Tale

Listen to my tale of two lovers that ventured forth,_From two waring peoples for up in the north.__O now Littlefire was the daughter of the chief,_And she knew to tell her father of her love would just bring him grief.__Now Icefox was a noted warrior with stealth knowing and pride,_But his love for Littlefire he knew he just couldn't hide.__Now on a cold clear night they ventured forth to a place they were to meet,_A little house of ice their own small retreat.__But a vindictive soul fallowed and hurried back to the people to tell,_Oh and for the lovers this didn't bode well.__Oh untill it was to late they never heard a sound,_And there in each others arms the two lovers were found.__Now the chief's met to give punishment for what the two lovers did,_Oh the shame to their families was something that could not be easily hid.__So sentanced by the chief's death would be the price,_Their living hearts cut from there chests and togather barried deep with in the ice.__O but you can't kill passions flame or put out the fire of love,_Now the beauty of their hearts still burns in the night time skies above.Now if you don't belive my tale then you should venture forth,_Look into the skies up in the north,_And when there love is shining bright on cold clear nights._You will see what we call the great Northern Lights.__Oh Native people call it Icefire in the north But for their people that watched them die,_It will ever be known of as Littlefire loving Icefox in the sky.__So ends my tale of two lovers that paid the ultamit prece,_But the fire of their love will alway reflect in the night time sky from deep with in the ice.

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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.

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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
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

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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

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The Weekend

I stood in front with a long red dress 
I wasn’t sure what to do 
I hadn’t planned on this, and took off my left shoe 
I wanted to jump on the tramp, but oh the mess 

Every person took their turn 
Lots even got a burn 
Some fell and got bumps 
Others made large jumps 

I waited for my chance 
Standing behind my hunky boy 
He sized me up and jumped on the toy 
Moving like a dance 

I separated my two feet 
And tied my skirt in a knot 
The skirt became pants and I moved to the spot 
I smiled and bounced on my seat 

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a hole in one

twas a cold and cloudy day
nippy in nature with trees in sway
that time in winter when days were short
the kind of day when a grave digger 
would take a snort
to warm the bones, so to speak
a few more snorts to make it neat
but dig the grave ready for the next day
and the grave digger would earn his pay
it never bothered him that he made a living 
digging graves
sometimes he wondered why people were afraid
it's just a place where dead bodies are laid
as long as people are dying 
there's money to be made
on his way home singing a song
living in a world where nothing was wrong
or so it seemed
but while he was walking'
one of the thorny briers latched
on to one of his shoe latches
and in one step the bow was gone
unknowingly the grave digger
kept moving along, singing his song
like nothing was wrong
unaware that he could slip
never minding that he could trip
the old grave digger singing his song
without a thought that something was wrong
he reached in his pocket
for a pipe that was'nt there
and was sure  that he had droped it
somewhere back there
his search was so intense 
it took him all the way back to the grave
but just before he got there
he steped on his shoe string
there was nothing he could do
falling head long into the grave
where a broken neck was waiting
and also his pipe laid
so we'll end this story like Esop ends his
there is a moral to the story
for all the growing kids
smoking is bad for you

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Mom's Malaise, part three

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

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

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

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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)

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Salam, how are you there?
Wassalam, good, Alhamdulillah
How about the issue in Sabah
Nothing to worry
I am worried because you are my friend
I am okay; just want to know your opinion
No probs, what do you think of that opinion?
Does it hurt you personally?
Nope, it makes sense

I am not personally taking part, I have my own problem
Indeed but I am so sad, many don’t understand the situation
They are taking one side condemning Suluk in general
So as the other Suluk in Sulu archipelago 
Many also condemning Melayu in general
I always think about others
My cousin, a policeman is in the frontline

I am so sad, pray hard
Please cry with me
I am here for you to lend your cry
Can I pretend nothing happen?
We can’t pretend to be nothing to happen
Then rest and cry with me
To make people understand is not easy
Sometime we also take time to understand our situation
I am hurt to what happen, we are being fooled by colonisers
They ask us to inherit this misery

Hmmm I am so sorry to hear that
Hopefully you won’t hate the Suluk generally
So, as long as it does not contradict to my stand
What is your stand supposedly?
 At least I have one good friend from Jolo ancestry
I am a good friend because you are good

I know nothing about the war; I just wanted to know the peace
It’s really easy to smile and pretend that you are okay
Rather than telling people why you are sad
It’s not easy to imagine that war
I just want to keep it by my self
I wanted to keep this in my sleep
When I wake up tomorrow 
Peace is expected to blow
Let have this peace to reign right away

The poem is made through the conversation with Malay friends from Kuala Lumpur about the conflict happened in Lahad Datu. We shall never put the bangsa in general as what we are thinking is right: Suluk is bad and Melayu is arrogant. We need a better understanding to conclude that each bangsa like Suluk and Melayu have nothing to do with the situation. It is a matter of siding the truth and rights. I therefore personally accepted if everyone hates me because I am Suluk and that would make the world stay in peace and to save peace, I am willing to be called such: “Suluk is bad and Melayu is arrogant” but the “country and world is peaceful” is achieved. The war declared ended today by Malaysian authority. Let Us All Save Peace. Layag Sug. 11th March 2013, Sandakan, Sabah, Malaysia!

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12 Fruits of the Holy Spirit Prayer

Lord God, send us Your Divine and Moral Virtues to assist people

Faith, to deeply understand and produce evidence to the unseen

Impart Hope to be determined and persevere successfully

For persons to consider a little generosity to Charity

To present Prudence by being careful

For untruthfulness to bring into Justice

Give fortitude for lawmakers and government officials to be strong

Bring in Temperance to exercise Patience and Tolerance

We ask these in the name of Father Christ Jesus to send out the Virtues of the Holy Spirit


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The Median Death of the Red Delicious

“God bless us all when the door is shut behind us, 
only then will we breathe our first breath,
and awake 
from the long dream…”

Forging past the indisputable summit onto the 
shelf of the perfect medium (ah, ‘tis noble here!)
he sits, contemplating his balance. He does not sweat. 

The winds breath breaks upon his predestined neck, 
bestowing the gift of lily white scent upon a lapel that’s 
stiff, yet pliable – just stiff enough. A 72 degree sun 

shines its neutrality, (fueling his desire for nothing at all, 
just the concept of sun giving heat, like a heartbeat, 
unnoticed in its certainty) upon his stagnant face. 
He is wearing his favorite pants (soft, worn jeans with 

a little give, but not enough so that he forgets to hold 
in his stomach), and from the ample pocket, he takes 
an apple. It is a Red Delicious. Not quite living up to its 
name, but unassuming and secure in its redness – he eats. 

It’s not the best apple he’s ever had, but its good enough. 
The vultures, native to this coveted desert waste circle, 
vying for the core of his Non-Delicious, yet edible fruit. 
And as he Bites into the last white taste of just fine, a glint 

of sunlight flashes briefly – like infinity within dreams, 
off of the vultures black eyes. And all at once he knows – 
everything is. The death birds orbit the terracotta desert 
peek (red and inviting in its dry and unforgiving reality), 

the bird turns away so fast after catching his eye, 
he forgets that he’d ever seen its pulsing recognition. 
The forgettable sunset mollifies him - sedates him,
pacifying his every forgettable non-movement.

It is then, when the last dripping light of day descends 
behind the obvious rock mount; the definite edge 
of darkness falls. Shadows creep slowly and quickly
across the terrestrial rock spine, (engulfing its redness

in its totality) leaving just the remnants of burgundy
skin between yellowing teeth, and a deafening black desert. 
As the sound of raucous wings and ripping jeans dominates
the guttural desert - the vultures take their coveted prize.

*Reposted for Deborah's Something Wicked This Way Comes, Wickedness Contest. :)

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And Sometimes Why

I hoped to be with you today 
That once again we two might play
True friends forever we will stay
One thing that will not go away

A funny thing you’re asking me
For there is nothing wrong to see 
This time I thought it best to be
With friend awhile and live care free

Again persistent question why
Pounds at my doors for its reply
No longer can my sighs deny
A friend who really needs to cry

For breakfast Mama didn’t show
And where she went he didn’t know
He didn’t even see her go
What made my mother behave so

I don’t know why I’m telling you
With all the pain that you’ve been through
We’ve always been like brothers true
There nothing that we two can do

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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

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Juncture In The Road

I arrived at a juncture in the road,
and I took the left instead of the right;
I soon found a group of college students
who were praising the policies of Hugo Chavez.
I questioned them about Hugo’s dismantling
of the basic foundations of democracy in Venezuela.
They said he was merely crushing the much hated bourgeois,
and liberating the poor huddled masses of humanity.
The students were using the ATM cards their parents had given them
to purchase ten dollar cups of mint flavored cappuccino
to ward off the headaches they were sure to get
from talking to a capitalist pig of my ilk.
I drove a little farther down the road 
and came upon some aging yuppies
worshipping at the altar of Che Guevara’s dead boney ass.
I asked why they admired a murdering scumbag such as Che.
They said he had tried to free the poor huddled masses of humanity;
and only killed the oppressive bourgeois.
While we were discussing the situation,
they were drinking imported wine,
sitting in their benzes and beemers,
busily texting their friends in Malibu.
Still yet undaunted, I travelled a farther distance
until I was confronted by a group of well dressed
middle aged men and women dancing around a coffin.
I inquired about their odd behavior.
They told me that they were burying failed democracy
and trying to resurrect the body of old Joe Stalin
in order to try to convince him to run for president;
for they were sure that he would crush the bourgeois
so that the world would finally be in peace and harmony;
for then and only then could they return to their country clubs
and play golf and bridge and drink their little cups of hot tea
along with the rest of the poor huddled masses of humanity.
I stopped my trek, turned around,
drove back to the juncture in the road,
and promised myself I would travel by jet the next time I left home.

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The familiar phrase, The Windy City

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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".

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Tahan na, Glenda -typhoon Rammasun

I can't sleep right now, and I guess I just needed to 'voice' umm type out my 
thoughts somehow.... as I type this, the wind is howling and I hear the whoosh 
of rain...and through it all, I hear a croaking frog.

At times when there are typhoons, I do tend to step outside and just watch, BE there firsthand, such a mere fraction (nothing compared to, actually), to what others experience, since I can always just run back inside if it gets dangerous. For others, the danger is real... I do like to feel the typhoon (a different aspect, I guess I find a certain thrill to it) but knowing how it can also be so dangerous, also grounds me.

Typhoon Rammasun (Glenda) has been gaining strength the past day (flights have been cancelled, classes and even government work have been suspended and a lot of areas are placed in storm signals ranging from 1 to 3)--we are at signal 3 where I am... it is slow-moving, meaning it can gather more strength as it moves and this also affects a lot of areas in the central and mainly northern part of my country.

A lot of areas here are prone to flooding, are already being flooded and the 
danger of storm surges is also very imminent... hundreds of thousands have already been evacuated, and hopefully those who refused to leave their homes earlier, took warnings to heart and evacuated.... it was still sunny this morning, so it could have been quite deceiving, I guess.

In fairness to the local governments, they do what they can do, taking preemptive measures in evacuation, with typhoon Yolanda still fresh in our hearts and minds.

What is disheartening is that those who can be severely affected would be 
those who have less in life, the informal settlers near coastal and bay areas, the 
farmers, the of typing this, 3 people have already been reported 

There was this man featured on the news earlier, seen gathering plastic bottles 
and other trash from the bay, in order to sell, and didn't know there was an 
upcoming typhoon... 

There was a lady, who refuse to leave her home which is located in a high risk 
area, she said she'd rather ride out the storm at home, resigned, she said if it's 
your time to die, it's your time. 

Maybe it's hormones, emotions getting to me, but watching the news, saying 
our evening prayers with special intentions, I had to fight back tears. Sighs, what good would my tears do though? The heavens shed enough tears right now.

Here I am, in the comfort of my own home, safe. And others, I can just 
imagine, are feeling the wrath, with no roof over there heads. Those in 
evacuation centers, I hope they still have their houses to go home to after 

 Please join me in praying with them, that they can get through this typhoon, 
safe and without injury nor death.

 I hear the rattle of what I am guessing would be our neighbor's roof. The winds are stronger now, rushing through the trees.

The frog still croaks, and I hope it will be okay (and also for all the other 

   Glenda, tahan na, tahan na.... 
            Glenda, hush please, hush...

** "tahan na" --- the nearest definition I can think of for this phrase would be "hush" or maybe "stop crying" 

Glenda is the local name of Typhoon Rammasun

-- to my kababayans, nette, Aiyah, and all the others, please stay safe, I hope you and your loved ones are all safe.....let's continue praying for those who are directly in this typhoon's path. Yes, the typhoon is here, but I still believe in the power of prayer, that these people be given the strength and courage to get through this typhoon, and not give up hope. I guess I just really am hoping for minimal injuries and casualties (would it be too much if I hope for zero casualties?)

God bless.

ika-16 ng Hulyo, lagpas alas dos ng umaga


Rammasun did wreak a lot of havoc in the Philippines, leaving almost a hundred dead... it also crippled electricity in a lot of provinces and cities, downing and uprooting many trees. Some areas have been declared under states of calamity.

After passing through us, Rammasun gained more strength, and turned into a super typhoon, affecting China and Vietnam. Please continue to pray for those who have been affected by it. Thank you.

Also, my heart, prayers and thoughts all go out to the victims and loved ones of Malaysian Airlines Flight MH17. It may look so hopeless right now, but like so many others, even if the situation seems so complicated, with a lot of fingers being pointed, I hope and I pray for justice, that the bodies of the victims be returned to their families. 

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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

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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

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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.

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A talk with the devil

 A talk with the devil 

 One night while watching television 
 I suddenly fell asleep 
And when I open my eyes 
 This stranger I did meet 
A wild looking creature, 
 Bolder then I had seen 
Somebody shake me and 
Tell me this is a dream. 
I did not want to be here, 
 This is a mistake 
Wake me; shake me, 
 Before it is too late. 
The creature began to laugh, 
 As he laughs so hard; 
You are down here to stay 
So said the Lord. 
You had your chance 
 To live a Christian life 
But you didn't count on 
 Taking this deep sleep tonight. 
Listen careful my child, 
 Don’t you hear the bells? 
You missed the streets of gold 
 And ended up in hell 
I started to scream and plead to God; 
 He never heard me as 
 I stood there in the dark. 
 People was crying and gritting 
Their teeth; my night gown caught on fire 
 From the intensity of the heat 
 I yell out with pain saying 
 Forgive me, this is a mistake 
I realize it was the devil when he said; 
 Take your place I appointed 
You in the lake. 
All while you live, 
 I stayed hard on your back 
You down here with me 
And there is no looking back 
I showed you things 
That drew you from God 
Not giving you a chance 
 To receive him in your heart 
Oh foolish one, how foolish could you be 
I did not want you in heaven, 
 But down here with me. 
You did not have to come here, 
 Or allow yourself to be fool 
I do what I want, 
 I got nothing to lose. 
I know how heaven look, 
 But I did not care 
I want all of God’s people for myself 
Maybe you should have loved 
 God without a doubt 
The day I got unruly up there, 
 He simply put me out. 
.I got all kind down here 
 With me, young and old 
I am out to kill and 
Destroy all of God’s souls. 
As I talked with the devil 
 My heart did ache 
My head hung in shame 
 Because I knew it was too late 
I scream loud as I could 
To the top of my voice 
Suddenly I open my eyes 
And grabbed for my heart. 
I remember everything 
 I had seen that night 
I had no time to waste, 
 To get my soul right. 
I got one more chance 
 To try to save my soul 
I got one more chance 
 To walk the streets of gold. 
You may say that this is a poem, 
 And you are right 
But what if you fall asleep 
And go there one night? 
Do whatever it takes 
 To live the holy way 
Time waits for no one, 
 It must be today. 

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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.

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The Inquisitors

Right from before birth,
All men has got the talent of being
A philosopher.
There we where,
Still pondering,
Should we go?
Should we not come?
Before mother
Without our permission
Pushed us out.
Some said we cried tears of joy,
But was it?

As a child,
We always wondered
So many things
That even father and mother
Stopped to bother.
Is the bird a plane?
Is the plane a bird?
We never thought wrong
Of walking about with pants,
But we always wondered
Why does she bends to pee?
Any why do I stand to wee-wee?

Growing older,
Into a teenager,
We kept the questions on
Is the moon round and beautiful?
Is the moon C shaped like we see?
Where is the sun at night?
Does the star sleeps by day?
And though we've been told not to,
We still will ask,
Should I love?
Why should I not have sex?
One rather 'wise' question
We shall never cease to ask,
Some ask themselves,
Others, ask others;
Does love really exists?

Its quite funny,
How the questions never cease
And how they hardly repeats,
With different questions,
At different times
On manytimes different things.
Even when the God-given
Beautiful black hair turns grey.
We still inquire,
When will death come?
How will she come?

Even now as you read, you ask;
What do we learn from this?
As some will also ponder;
Did he really do this?
Won't you?
Despite I am here, still asking
Should we stop pondering?
Same me, still thinking,
Should I have written this?

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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 
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

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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..

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You who are neither human nor animal. You are furrie, one who is both. And are rightly proud of that heritage Others condemn you saying that you are childish Just an image, ones and zeros, lines drawn on paper But it is not true For you live and breathe if only in my dreams It is you I care for. It is you who I can never let go I find myself thinking that a furrie Is by my side when no one is there I count the days and hours till I can once more feel paws on my skin Welcoming me Letting me know man is not the only sentient race Nor the most mischievous race out there As you take my clumsy hands and teach me to live the life your kind leads Teaching me how to run, how eat, how to sleep, breathe how fight and how to love How to be a pack and how to be alone when you’re surrounded by friend or foes You show me your world the world I world live in all my life Running thru field and forest I learn to live again Furries may you live forever And maybe one day I will see wolf-girl that I see in my dreams in the flesh & fur One day we will run thru the fields In the waking hours your pack and I To see the Kitsune and cats the furries of land ,fire ,water ,air , and void and to the other furries out there where ever you lie waiting I welcome you whatever pack or clan you call your own I hope we meet soon So that we can teach each other how to live may we meet beneath the same sky one day soon and roam the night the grass beneath our feet the dew on our skin the land around us i am surrounded by fur the fur of you kin and for once in a long time i am happy

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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.

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Stolen Purse

From my car,
they took my purse,
I had to bite my tongue,
before I cursed.

All my cash,
and my diamond ring,
they took it all,

Don't leave your purse,
even for a second,
I thought I was watching,
but they're professional soon to be felons.

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The american economy is on life support has been for years. Sad it makes my heart fill with tears. The land we live the land we love. America is in trouble no doubt but i don't worry about it i let GOD take care of it that way i don't got to figure it out. I want to see my future but not as a blur.

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The Saturday After

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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.

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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.

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Time Moves Slowly

Time moves slowly,
and changes come fast,
each birth, death,
nothing forever last.

Learning to cope,
sometimes hard to do,
trying to fit in,
that is all you can do.

Streets once traveled,
now silent from your steps,
yesterday made sweet laughter,
now only tears are left.

Family now distant,
hearts left all alone,
quietened by anger,
wondering who was wrong.

Time moves slowly,
and changes come fast,
each birth, death,
nothing forever last.

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Take a Penny, Leave a Penny

You've seen them.  Those little trays on the store counter with pennies in them and often a sign saying “Take a penny, leave a penny”.  On occasion, I have dropped pennies in them, but until just recently, I never had occasion to need one.  Falling two cents short of my purchase price, I reached for another dollar, when the clerk said “I've got it” and added the two cents from the tray.  

Why bring that up you may ask.  Well, because I was thinking, which always gets me in trouble, how much those pennies are like reading poetry.  Most people do not avail themselves of poems that are lying there for the taking, waiting for someone to want them.  More people will probably leave poems then ever pick them up.  But when they want one, it is nice to know there is one they can have.

People say pennies aren't worth much, but I beg to differ.  Their value varies by how much you need or want it.  Poems are like that.  Their value is generally greatest to the person that offers it.  It is given for the soul purpose of pleasing someone else.  However, those that use them place their own value upon them. Some they are very thankful to get, while others, well, not so much.  

The bottom line, to me at least, is a penny is always a penny and a poem is always a poem. It is what we do with it that makes the difference.  I know that much that I write does not necessarily speak to the reader.  But to me, it's value does not decrease.  By the same token, I read some things and say “ok”  and move on, while others I keep.  It doesn't make any difference to me.  The author thinks it's great, and so do some readers.  That's as good as it gets.  If you don't like it, like the penny, leave it there.  But if it fills a need, pick it up and use it.

That's my two cents worth.

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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...

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A Word From Gonzo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Racial Discrimination

"Do you know such a work place
with racial discrimination?"
Asked some homo sapiens  friends
who aren't so tall but with fair complexion.

By the way, you can make a guess,
if it is in your local place.
Maybe here, maybe there,
or perhaps abroad or somewhere else.

For this is an absolute experience,
for some who migrate in other places,
When it comes to work payment,
their compensation isn't that worth and fair.

Many are also asking questions,
like those with more responsibilities and work load.
"Why those workers with less but receive more?
Is it because of their color?"

However, "Yes" is isn't the answer,
especially that black and white are paid higher.
Then, they continue to wonder,
and make other presumptions on this matter.

"Aha! The sharpness of the nose maybe 
and not either based on work load or one's ability."
So, they think their presumption will come more precisely
to the fact or to the reality?

But, they thought they need not to waste their money
to plan with the doctor for a surgery.
Because if they do and they're getting low salary,
their employer may think they came from a well-to-do family.

It's really hard for them to think
what is the real gauge and basis.
"Is it the height or color of skin?
Aha! It's the color of the hair, they concluded finally.

So, those poor homo sapiens  friends
went to beauty parlor in nearby places.
They asked the beautician for help
and colored their hair brown, red, blond and some were golden.

After all of what they did, nothing had happened
because their reward from their effort and work is still the same.
So, they just kept calm and never  ever whine again,
realizing that racial discrimination really exists.

Hence, they work harder instead
and never ever I  heard their complains.
However, one of them had mention then
that they'll get more reward if they work  for God in Heaven.

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A New Year Reflection

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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)

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To Hitendra Mehta - A rebuttal

Congratulations on YOUR 7th place Win in Linda-Marie’s Contest
“I am Bored With____” ; YOUR Boredom: “ POETRYSOUP ” 
I am not, or a least I don’t think I am, a part of Your reasoning 
YOU are right that some Premium members favor Premium Members 
However, I find that newbies, do not know the forms of POETRY 
Do not follow the rules of the contest or know the Theme to follow
We do not shut YOU down because YOU are not a Good POET YOUR 
Inexperience  is what holds a flowering Poet to reach the top, give them time
I have 3 contest sponsored and  all 3 have had “I don’t know”  as their Form
100% have been a New Poet on the Soup, Their POEMS are Exceptional 
Their Inexperience Shows,  if in 6 months YOU still feel, Premium Members are Bias
Please Soup Mail me and we can discuss  the growth of a Future POET LAUREATE

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The Indian Ocean Tsunami

My heart cries for thousands and thousands of people
those who perished in the earthquake-spawned waves;
known as tsunami, the worst natural disaster
that caused tons and tons of deaths across Asian countries.

It’s a great tragedy, a giant blow to humanity,
with its repercussions to all spheres of life –
a wake-up call, an immediate response
that needs to be attended to and done forthwith.

Global mourning takes its course in every nation,
particularly in these countries of Asia where –
Indonesia, Thailand, Sri Lanka are faced with difficulties;
in coping with destructions, tragedies, and other commotions
indeed, an urgent call that needs an international attention.

In four decades this catastrophe has ceased its wrath,
but after that starts another episode, so terrifying
that people who are caught up in that mere situation
can solemnly declare and profess their fears.

Oh, Mother Nature! at times we don’t know
your reactions that cause pandemonium,
tragedy, destruction, sorrow, and pain to all
like this one, a very strong and powerful disaster.

However, across the world, people show their compassion
with their unwavering generosity that floods in all levels
it’s an illustration that we’re humans with caring behaviors
to all those who’re afflicted and severely hit by this phenomenon.

I can’t imagine how the world mobilizes and responds
showing their love and concern to these people in pain
loss of lives, heart brokenness, and other misfortunes;
these generate an answer to be mindful of them in many ways.

I see the unprecedented generosity that rolls in every land,
institutions and other organizations make a collaboration
in what is conceived and put into action: fund raising,
charity, and pledges of thousands of donors.

Horrific media images shown in television channels,
are remarkable pointers for reflection and yet an invitation;
for someone who needs conversion and a return to church call,
that life can be as quick as those giant waves that killed many people.

It’s a theological reflection which embraces human sufferings,
Like a pathway to profound invocation, faith and trust in Him;
Oh God, our source of strength and goal to fulfill this portion
Where we unite ourselves to all those who’re in afflictions.

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

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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!!! ”

wriiten 10/21/11

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Scotch And Soda

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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

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One Capsule of Time

Excited, and hearts beating with anticipation
five of us held if declaring, "We're in this together!"...

Rising quickly,..into the clouds, it seemed....
Enclosed in a silver amateur astronauts, ...
we nervously looked at one another with the same wide eyed expressions.
"Such country bumpkins!"...."Do we look it?" I laughingly asked my husband....
"Hey, kids,  count the floors!...Can you believe it?"  
"Almost to the top!!"

A soft spoken gentleman, wearing a bushy, yet neatly trimmed, mustache,
smiled and said to us...."Your first time, I can see?"..

He wore a uniform, (host, or guide, I supposed)... with the warmest smile.
"If you like,....I can point out places of interest for your children?"...he offered, kindly.

Our three children nodded in delight.

When the steel doors opened, we stepped into a large room
Making our way through the milling crowd, we found a spot for observation.
Our mustached gentleman, chuckled when we gasped for air,
then saw for the first time, the incredible views...

As if looking down from heaven...

City lights flickered on, and we knew what it was like to look upon the stars...
Only, this time,  the constellations were below us...!

A magnificent city spread out before our eyes...
       Stunned speechless,  we were breathless...
Our new friend pointed out Ellis Island, the bridges, Statue of Liberty...
"Oh yes", ....he said,...."over there, can see almost into New Jersey"
"And there,...that is Staten Island.   "Do you see the ferry?"
He charmed our young daughter, and impressed our sons with his knowledge..

Here...on top of the world... in a magnificent twin marvel....

Oh, dear God.....the innocence....who could know...? 
Oh, dear God....the significance of that moment....

  one brief capsule of time....
      in company of one kind gentleman, who wore a friendly mustache

   We will never forget that day................or him................. Oh, dear God....

True story....and dedicated to a kind stranger....

For Contest Sponsored by Heather Ober

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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)

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A Moments Reflection

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

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

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

The clock of my life grows closer 
to closing time.

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

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

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The Apple City New York

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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It Takes A Whole Village to Raise a Child: The Truckers

The Truckers:
It has been said that it takes a whole village
To raise a child; How does the village help
Families raise the children?

Truckers live in the village; and together, they,
Along with everyone else helps raise the children.
How do they help?

The truckers transport the goods that merchants
Need so the merchants can sell the things 
That folks need to be smart, strong, healthy,
Entertained, clothed, and happy.
They work around the world…endlessly. 
Delivering products. Through towns and cities
Driving here, driving there; delivering goods.
Back in the times of the horse and carriages,
The “truckers” used horses or pushed handcarts.
If someone had an extra hog to trade or
Crops to sell, they usually bought directly.
The farmers or someone else in the village
Helped deliver the things that needed to be delivered.
Together, people worked, struggled, and helped
One another.  Children were responsible. 
Their help was needed for survival…appreciated.
Everyone in the village helped to raise the children.
Even the children helped with the younger.
People interacted, closely.  Thus, they helped raise the children. 
Today, men and women still help raise the village children.
The children watch truckers on the road.
Driving, passing, changing lanes, shopping in shops
They set examples, good or bad.
And children watch wide eyed with ears perked!

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
March 19, 2010
Poetic form:  Free Verse

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
March 19, 2010
Poetic form:  Free Verse

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Midst the mulga and the gidyea out beyond the old Paroo 
runs a road which leads to Yowah and a great place it is too. 
Where the populace is smitten by an urge they can’t withstand: 
Its the lust to find the queen of gems, beneath a timeless land. 
With her tantalising beauty and her taunting, twinkling eyes, 
Its the radiance of this desert child her lovers highly prize. 
Suitors come from every walk of life, from countries quite diverse 
and she keeps them courting tirelessly exacting quite a purse. 
And the charm of her charisma casts a spell they can’t escape, 
so they’ve built a little township there amid that red landscape. 
Quite relentless is their quest to toil,  a constant ritual, 
and they love their leisure moments like their Opal Festival. 
Chris and I were asked to join them and present our bush verse show 
through the festival proceedings and replied, “We’d love to go.” 
First we entertained the children at the school there for a spell 
then our host, Gwen Burney, took us for a tour that went down well. 
We were shown the local opal fields and dug for Yowah nuts, 
then we lunched and watched some golfers sink some rather dubious putts. 
But the opal bug had bitten and we sought a licence out, 
for we planned to do some noodling or at least just poke about. 
But the torture of the digging with just handpicks proved too tough 
and we chucked the towel in quickly as we’d simply had enough. 
Down in spirits we decided to search out the mulberry wine 
there at Roy’s, not far from Gwen’s place, which was said to be real fine. 
After scoffing down a sample we were feeling mighty good 
and old Roy was sympathetic to our plight and understood. 
He produced a bar and shovel and a bottle of his brew, 
then we headed back to noodle with our outlook all anew. 

Well we dug and sipped and dug and sipped, oblivious to pain 
and the next two days we carried on and did it all again. 
We were up each morning early and sat cracking all our nuts, 
though our hands were full of blisters and a mass of little cuts.  
We were both now surely smitten and could not resist her will, 
for the bug had surely bitten and we talk about it still. 
Yes, its tantalizing colour and its taunting texture’s fine   
and we’re flamin' well addicted to Roy’s home-made mulberry wine. 

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When the ships come to berth

Over the ocean's creed 
Lie in waiting with foreign breed.
Heavy metals laced the ocean's petals
En-route to the creek in cargoed cans.

Rice from the fields of Thailand,
Iced fishes from freezing Iceland.
Craps of computer hardware from Shenzen,
Packs of frozen skeletal turkeys from China.
Smuggled contrabands in hidden sacks
Matches and toothpicks from Japan's racks.

Cornfield of men at the wharf
Old and young, giant and dwarf
Exposing chest to the moment cling
Hurling sacks of rice the cargoes bring
Staggering weightless like David's sling

"No food for the lazy" the saying goes
When the ships come to berth,
Able men to the harbor dart.

A wave of pity descends my lung
Watching men so silly and strong-
Getting strangled beneath heavy loads,
Smiling wickedly at crumpled notes.

If only those energies could grace a trade,
And suffocate beneath the weights of knowledge.
When those ships come to berth,
May be they will someday leave this shore
Filled with the toil they bore
With our local brands in foreign lands.

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Mon ami Fred

I once had a friend in College,
who was a young man named Fred.
He had a funny crazy habit,
of making certain utterances in French,
to pretty girls he hoped to conquer.
One day he met his match in a lady,
who disgraced him without intention.
On that day, he walked up to the lady,
'Bonjour mademoiselle he greeted'
The lady was so happy,
 'here now is a brother,
qui parle Francais beaucoup' she thought.
She answered him with an alluring smile,
Ah, bonjour monsieur, je suis content
que vous parliez Francais
Mon ami was now in a hot soup,
when he knew the lady was no novice,
in what he knew nothing of any use.
The lady rattled on like a parrot,
and asked my friend 1001 questions.
My friend was only smiling like an idiot,
in front of the lady he thought of conquering
I had an ache from series of laughter,
as I watched the unfolding drama of a rascal
who wanted to use what he never had,
to make a fool of some of his fellow men.

10th August, '12

Mon ami-- my friend (male)
Bonjour mademoiselle/monsieur---- good morning Miss/Mr
qui parle Francais beaucoup -----who speaks French very much
Je suis content que vous parliez Francais-- I am happy that you speak French

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Cook Out

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

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Look at the facts not the Debate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The Human Being : Object of lust

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

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

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

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

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

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Thousands of people drowning in their self perception.
Hundreds of people, searching for a place.
Tens of people changing to fit in.
One person, feels alone.

She sits at home and no one even knows,
She’s breaking down, to the ground.
She can’t keep up, she’s so behind.
If you could see the thoughts she thinks.She thinks, they’d blow you away.

Perception is not beauty.Beauty is not perfection.Perfection is not love,but love is purely 

She’ll never live up to standards.Or be the top of her class.She’ll never be the pretty one,or 
the loud obnoxious ass.

She lets the old love drag her down.
Because to her it’s not old.
In her heart it’s still alive and well.
Although his heart doesn’t live there anymore.

She’s tired of misconceptions, and people’s preconceptions.
It’s a never-ending race,
That’ll leave you breathless in the end..
When you look back and wonder when it all started.

She’s prettier than me.
She’s smarter.
They raise the bar,
As she raises her hand,
And asks when this all started to matter.

No one will understand her.
She’s alright with that.
Just go drown in your self perception.
Nobody’s perfect anyways.

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A missive from the damned to whoever have a little time to spend with this nonsense - Page 2

But now, I wonder "Will I have the bravery to follow?"
Demise shall follow if I am to attain redemption and cleanness of my sins that tarnish my soul.
Sometimes, I cling to yes, sometimes I cling to no.
When the dark clouds blur my sight, I ask myself "What is worth living for?", some believe in god, some in money or in even a more mundane wish.
I lack this one thing, I lack the purpose that would impulse me forward. But then, I speculate "For me, must be love", but what is love? I do not know, I am an strange to it, perhaps this wasn't reserved for everyone.

Well, one thing is right, my passing will not be mourned nor missed. It will go like the wind, now here then gone and noone noticed a thing.
Many leaves were shaken, many tears soiled the ground, yet, none of this was spotted by anyone.

To the people I did wrong "I am sorry, please, do forgive me".
To the people that hates me, hate me more, be genuine with it and be the fuel of this endeavor. Hurt me more, make me bleed, cut open my flesh, as he once did when I was an infant, paint the wall with my crimson tint...
Make me regret to have been born, actually, this will require little effort, since I already regret that.
My mind is set, termination is the way to go if I desire to do something good, at least once, in this life.
No hope can be spied nor a glimmering light to lead this one to safety.

In a colorless world, only with shades of black and gray, thoughts of demise haunts me day after day.
I see the people around me, at work, on the the streets, everywhere and I cannot help but to feel disgusted and out of place and helpless.
I am tired of pretending, behind my mask, I weep, behind their masks, they laugh at me.
I am tired of being fed by deceiving tales and to feed other with my lies.
The lies... It is everywhere, one must tread lightly between them, or else will fall their prey.

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Time is a measurement point of reference in our lives
It is measured in hours, minutes and seconds
We are in fact a slave to time, in our daily lives
Everything is based on time, meeting people, working hours
Medical appointments, they are all controlled by time
Even when we go to sleep and wake up the next day
Time is there to remind us of the things we have to do
We are all slaves to time and we are stuck with it.
When we are late for appointments we rush to get there
Even to a point were we risk our lives to it's beckoned call
Yes we all wish we could be the master of time
A wish that we all know is impossible as we know that
We can never beat the odds to do this.
Time is and always will be a necessary evil in society
Because if there was no time, the World would be a mess
So now you have it, we can't live with it or without it
Time is here to stay and we are all slaves to this unseen enemy.

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Reheated road

Reheated road
Reheated road retired by moving pandemonium,
Altercating, bitching, clamoring and demanding 
sluggishly set forward 
Birds and flies dispersed towards different directions
Their infuriate cry overspread the moving commotion 

Against the riot the power standing 
highly fortified, uniformed with stars 
Attentively antagonized, barricading with iron bars  
behind the fuming

Uproar reached closer
and disagreement sparking 
Bottles, stones, whatever touching hands took wings
High torn and overfilled emotions animated  

in place of confirmation, coordination, and correlation
flushing water, smoky gas and rubber bullets 
find way to reach a peaceful solution
tears, vain juice and  screaming
flowed without win nobody
Road reheated seeking solution treatment!

Jayaratne Weerakkody

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The Christmas Box

I want to tell you a story,
about one Christmas morning.
The snow was falling,
and the wind was roaring.
Holly and Christmas ferns decorated the door.
Gifts piled high around the tree on the floor.
Home baked goods from the kitchen filled the air.
The children opened their gifts with great care.
Time stood still for a moment when,
I reached for the box to open.
The box was white like snow.
Delicately tied in a big red bow.
Inside the box was a gift for me.
A tiny silver bell laid silently.
I picked it up and it begin to ring.
The music of Christmas, so charming.
My little girl said, "I hope you like your present too."
"Every time you ring the bell, a note of love from me to you."
A silent tear fell from my eye.
What a beautiful gift, and such a surprise.
I placed the bell on the mantle with care.
Even today it still sits there.
This happened many years ago.
The Christmas box with the big red bow.
A tiny silver bell plays a precious tune.
A note of Christmas joy from me to you.

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Gypsies and Others

This happened many years ago
when I was just a child.
Dakota was still a frontier state
and considered somewhat wild.

The caravan of Gypsies came
going from here to there.
I never learned from whence they came
or where was their great somewhere.

They drove wagons pulled by horses
and needed a place to park.
They came in as the sun went down, 
to be settled before dark.

Many farmers said Gypsies were thieves
and would not let them stay.
My Daddy with his tender heart
could turn no one away.

He gave them the big pasture,
to park their horse drawn vans.
It looked like a little city
with the lights from the caravan.

My daddy didn’t let his girls
go near where the Gypsies park.
My brothers went, had fortunes told
and considered it a lark.

They never stole from Daddy,
he and the leader had a pact.
And I don’t know if they were thieves.
It wasn’t proven fact.

And then there were the working men
who walked our country lane.
We called them tramps, but they were men
who looked for work in vain. 

They came to work the harvests
and with harvesting all done,
they had no money to get home,
They walked from sun to sun.

Gypsies, tramps or common thieves,
my mama fed then all.
She said they were God’s children,
or some angels come to call.

She’d fix an over flowing plate
and set them on the stoop.
We never missed an egg or chicken
from our big chicken coop.

Written:  April 2012

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Valley and Mountain

Valley and Mountain

The valley in our lives is so often our own
hates, jealousies, and faults. 

The mountain standing majestic and tall 
is Love in all forms.

It beckons you, it says come here and find
what is in yourself.

Some think you need to be on top to have it all
others know this is not it at all.

The base of any mountain of Love is where the
top is found.

It bounds and bounds all around knowing the
steps to be take by all.

It is one at time as we come and go but best
of all this is not all.

It is more than standing majestic being tall or
trying to beat all.

It’s being there, for all.


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The Shadow Man

If you’re ever passing Auburn Street
Find him if you can
Though he is not invisible,
He is the shadow man

Eyes avert his corner perch
And voices thin and drop
Paces quicken at his sight
And no one ever stops

The shadow whispers, “help me”
But it never hits their ears
Sound hovers for a moment
Before realizing no one hears

“I’m busy,” “Didn’t see you,”
“I have no change,”  “I’m late!”
Sun setting on an empty hat
The shadow bears his fate

But one small hand
Holds out a dime
“You’ve got no coins sir,
Please, take mine,”

The child skips away from the practiced
“God Bless You”
Back to the life Shadow once had,
Young conscience clean and true 

The Shadow’s scars will never mend
And hunger takes its toll
But with the dime clutched in his hand
The shadow heals his soul

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A Most Uplifting Time

One year ago, Cathie and I moved From a thriving, bustling Adult Lifestyle Community With many many friends our own age To a new community where we knew no one I am still having difficulty coping Never in my whole life was I ever as happy As those wonderful seven years I spent there A truly life changing experience for me I was never a “people person” before we moved there It surely changed my life dramatically And I became someone I had always wanted to be Outgoing... enjoying the companionship Of both male and female friends It was the most uplifting, fulfilling time of my life I am missing it soooo badly Thank goodness for Poetry Soup! © Jack Ellison 2014

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Im Still Here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Dark she looked in the pursuit of light, 
someone told her she ain't worth a fight.
Crazy she appeared in the shadow of the unknown, 
restless is her mind in the company of the fearful, 
ugly she seemed as per their eyes of beauty, 
unworthy is her fate as decided by the lesser Gods, 
“denial should be alloted” said the people called odds.
Hopes and dreams should be ceased, 
must not behave like a lioness unleashed, 
try not to attain any success ever reached, 
for fortune must get her skin bleached.
Sad they were to watch her leave, 
in no case should she feel apart from grieve.
Not their fault but fate, 
prayers should be answered but late.
Their skin color is to blame, 
nothing they should ever claim.
Victory is not a tree they can climb, 
white and only fair is the sublime, 
equality a thought can a soul remind? 
Dark defeating fair is not fine, 
lesser Gods trade into the Rhine, 
their and only there is the shrine, 
putting them down is not a crime, 
neither do i need to rhyme, 
this not mine.
It's a journey people embark, 
so dark the color which calls them 'dark'.

note: this is about people who are called 'dark' because of their skin color, also, talks about 
how another race ignores and ill-treats them.

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Alcohol Grin

Give them a sentence,
of one to ten,
then go to the club,
and get your alcohol grin.

Who are you fooling,
your addiction is booze,
don't you think,
people don't have a clue.

We are judged,
by the fruits we bear,
what's missing from your life,
is waiting there.

Drive home drunk,
get stopped on the way,
but no one will punish,
they are not that brave.

People are human,
we all make mistakes,
get them some help,
for goodness sake.

So when you are sitting,
up high in your chair,
remember it could be you,
so try and be fair.

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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)

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Other Social Circumstances

Other Social

I'm not sure I
if understanding is
at all possible.
The diagnosis is
cheap and quick
but not necessarily
Nonetheless I try,
to define the social

Ducking in from the
to keep warm and dry
while an acute sun
shower washed the
I was briefly
An attractive girl
with falsely colored
and unusually red

I asked her for a
A fruit flavored
stained the color of
I could see clearly
through the fog
that something was
or at least it
should be.

"I could just cry,"
she said.
But I'm not sure I
could understand.
She was unknown to
a momentary
So I sat quietly
drinking my beer
along with the other

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By BJ Welsh

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

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

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

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

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Confused Beliefs at a Tender Age Part 2

It's hard to believe that was the "tame side" of the church when I was growing up. I can only imagine what it was like in its heyday. For reasons I still can't explain, the Stonehouse broke up and people were eventually free to live their own lives. Though I think a great many felt directionless. The building still stands, and there is still a congregation (a grand dozen or so, and the majority of them related). The funny thing is that even now I'm connected to it. My best friend attends there to this day (though for reasons, also unknown, the congregation have all but tore down their Hell-fire and Brimstone Brigade). The best part of those days was the amount of friends I had. The worst being the scars that refused to go away. I remember, sleepless nights, lying awake in a cold sweat. I was about six at the time, and staring at the ceiling, for several hours, there was one thought that took precedent over all else: what would it feel like to burn in hell, knowing it will never, EVER stop being painful? I was too young to know why such graphic images of flesh burning and flames roaring, would pop inside my little head. Or why I'd dread the night simply because I knew those feelings would come again, as they always did, like clockwork. For the life of me I'll never know...

NOTE: This cult-ish atmosphere is something I grew up in. And those sleepless nights, when I was 6 or so, were very real for me at the time. Though much has changed since then... my dad is still very religious, but it's hard to imagine that he was so uptight long ago. He's now extremely laid-back and one of the funniest people I know...

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Living For Now, Preparing For Later

People of the earth,
of mortal being,
get ready I say,
for strange new things.

Life as we knew it,
has been buried alive,
now some are saying,
we must choose sides.

Right is right,
and wrong is wrong,
maybe for some,
truth is gone.

Money turns heads,
and brings goodness down,
secrets are whispered,
and a crook is found.

Walk so lightly,
watch for snakes,
one wrong move,
is all it takes.

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Friday night in the Ghetto

It's Friday night 
In the Ghetto
From the dark ring out
A little girl crying
Daddy don’t hit mama
Sit down and shut up
On the walls
As neighbors threaten
To call the cops

Drugs in the hallways
Drugs on the streets
Who will that pretty girl meet
To make the money 
To feed the habit or pay
The bills or just to eat.

And still around the corner
Near the shops
The people stand 
And talk about the promise land
Its Friday night in the ghetto and the
Promise land is
The pawn shop
Fried chicken
Peanut butter and jelly.

The music from the barber shop
Makes a fellow stop
And touch fists
With a friend 
From around the way
Hey remember the day
Then out of the night air
Shots ring out

That little girl
Sitting on the floor
Playing with her dolls
Ken and Barbie
Dreaming of a time 
When she will meet her
Ken and maybe
Falls on her face
This is the place
The ghetto
And its Friday

Poem by SGSteverson
From the book"Four Pieces of a Silver Coin"
Posted 09/14/2011

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Sacrament of Baptism

The day of Pentecost, Church celebrated
Administered Holy Baptism
St. Peter declares
“Repent and be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of sins and receive the gift of the Holy Spirit”

The apostles offer baptism to anyone who believed in Fr. Christ Jesus
You will be saved
You and your household
St. Paul declared to his baptized and with all his family

Baptism is birth into the new life in Fr. Christ Jesus
In accordance with Lord God’s will
It is necessary for salvation
As the Church herself, we enter by Baptism

Baptismal grace includes forgiveness of original sin
Birth to a new life by man becomes an adopted son of the Father
A member of Fr. Christ
A temple of the Holy Spirit

Those who die for faith
 All those without knowing the Church under the inspiration of grace
Seek God sincerely, strive to fulfill his will
Can be saved even if they have not been baptize

With respect to children who have died without baptism
The Church invites us to trust in God’s mercy
The angel of Lord God said
The babies are safe in heaven

Written 09172012

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a flood of swollen words

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

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

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

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

© Goode Guy 2012-03-03

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Holding Back

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

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

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

®Registered: 1997  Ann Rich 

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Iris of Poetry

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

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

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

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

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Second Chance Prayer

Lord God,
Please help me get a second chance to make up for my past wrongdoing
Send me the Holy Spirit to choose the right path
Provide me Your Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit to help me better myself
Wisdom to have a deep understanding on what and how to change

Knowledge to know the reasons inside my sudden change
Counsel me to give advice in choosing to take on which direction to go to
Understanding to comprehend every situation 
Fortitude to have strength to be courageous on making a stand

Piety, to be faithful and offer goodness to others
Fear of the Lord to maintain Holy Fear to God
Thank You for Your help in transforming me
I respectfully ask this in the name of Father Christ Jesus for sending me the 7 Gifts of the Holy Spirit.


Written 09162012

(Change “I”, “me” or “myself” when praying for someone or a group.) 

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All About Her

I dont know much about her
but I heard she wasnt that talkative
She didnt like being alive
She was numb to all the pain she had to go through

I heard she didnt like anything that was green
She ate roman noodles everynight for supper
She always wore flannels and bellbottoms
Sometimes i seen her wear dresses and fancy tops
But lately shes been wearing band shirts

She wears converse shoes and uses an army bag for school
I know that she dosent like to communicate through talking... only through her peoms
or sometimes even her songs.

I see her drawing and painting all the time
She draws famous people
She would like to be famous and not so unknown
When she tries to speak to anyone they always walk away and leave her alone

When she gets home she goes upstairs to play her bass guitar
She hates chocolate cake but loves chocolate
Her family left her behind because she cant forget her past

Sometimes when shes alone she contemplates the meaning behind her life
Her favorite color is gray because her life is black and white
Everything she says is false according to the world

She is not so innocent
I understand that she dreams about the perfect life
When she opens her eyes they are pitch black

She is someone that is fake
She acts nothing like she should
She is very grungy and unclean

She knows of no safety
and of no time
Her life is smashed into pieces by the giant sun

She will always be a ghost
She knows of no god
She crawls around in the world of death
She remains forgotten

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Genuine True Love Sighting

Dedicated to:  Evgeniya & Constantine

Genuine True Love Sighting Just felt like I had to share A few thoughts that I wrote Of how you both inspire me So this is a thank you note Now first I will tell you A few things about me With a brief description And a little bit of history Been divorced five times Raised my children on my own Working several jobs at a time And now they are all grown With sixteen grandchildren And another one on the way I’m filled with many blessings And most thankful each day I carry a cheerful attitude Keeping on the sunny side Try to always help others And most rules I do abide There is just one little thing In this life I wasn’t certain of If there could possibly really be Two people who share true love Every once in a blue moon I’ve caught a glimpse or two Of some couples who appear To be carrying love that’s true My hopes have stayed high For there to be a possibility That true love really exists Maybe even one day for me Then the day finally came When I saw the both of you Walking together hand in hand With a genuine joy shared by two You both shined so brightly Initially it was a big surprise Then many more times again I could hardly believe my eyes I knew I had to say something So I could let you both know How much you encouraged me With true happiness that shows Today I saw you both again When I drove down the alley As you sat on that yellow bench Laughing together so happily I stopped for just a moment As a smile grew on my face To catch a view of two people Enjoying each other’s space You do share something special A relationship of the right kind That genuine true love together Most people are searching to find Some people never really find it And some will never even try Some never knew they had it Until it has slipped right on by Never let go of what you have Just hold on through eternity Because that’s what true love Is genuinely supposed to be Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Open Acceptance

Open Acceptance

Is to invite all into your life, regardless of  
sexual orientation, race, creed, nationality
or stature.

It is as to say sorry for not having done so 
before but like so many unable to know the
Love in all.

When we are able to put all our cards on the
table, an ace is still an ace, a spade is still
a spade.

In life’s experience we’ve know the value of 
our weakness, the merits of our victories and
shadows of our faith.

We’ve known God as the devil. In better days
we will sing a more triumphant song to the
only God.

A mighty fortress is our God…In our own  
strength confide…no mortal ills prevailing…
God’s Love is never falling.

It is in Christ we belong.

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The Boy at the Park contest

I met a teenage boy last night
He inspired me to write
His words penetrated my soul
He made me evaluate my purpose and goal
He asked me if God was real
Then why does his mom go out at night and steal
Why was his brother murdered at eighteen
Why is his biological father a crack fiend
Why are children in this world starving everyday
Why does God not here him when he prays
Why are so many people living without a home
Why does he always feel so alone
Why did he have to grow up in the hood
Why is his whole generation misunderstood
Why do babies die at birth
Why can’t he have any worth
Why did his friends backstab him tonight to commit a crime
Why is he alive is he just wasting his time
Why are Americans never satisfied
Why are Christians dying for their religious love and pride
Why was slavery allowed for so long
Why are so many people living wrong
Why do many teenage mothers now exist
Why are many children slitting their writs
Why are drugs so easy to find
Why does the government keep us blind
Why is there cancer and all types of disease
“Ms. Help me understand all this please”
I looked over at this boy while tears dripped off my face
My friend this world I admit is one crazy place
Many things God never wanted for the human race
But we are blessed to have his Amazing Grace
His love will never go away
Yet, many live in disarray
God gave us all free will
At this point his eyes started to spill
We were created with choices
we all have our own voices
Angels were created to do whatever God may say
Humans have the option to disobey
One day we will fully understand
God’s original master plan
Someday we will have the privilege to see
What God intended life to be
One day evil will forever be locked away
Many will have to eternally pay
One day all that was ever taken from you
God will reinstate and make bran new
One day in this life you will grow up and be
A man with morals, values and integrity
For your present pain will not be in vain
You’re going to break those generational chains
Your sorrow 
will help others survive their tomorrow
There are divine appointments and I believe you just had one
I know that in your pocket you have a loaded gun
I know where you have been
I promise you the dilemmas of your life, you will win!
Even when you fall
You can still fulfill your call
I must admit
You only fail if you quit
One day some teenager will ask you to explain
And you will remember this night and everything you have gained.

BY: Sabina Nicole
Contest: Dilemmas

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The Darkest of Hearts

The Darkest of Hearts

And you are...
   yesterday's pleasantries
today's impurities
   tomorrow's solace

And you are...
  what you want the world to see

And you are...
   a fallacy,
a union of falsehood and indignation,
   an ambassador of dereliction and delusion

And you are...
   what you want the world to see
               worshipper and lover of the most high

And you are...
   one who defiles
the most sacred of trusts
   a destroyer of inner peace
mocking the purest of hearts

And you are...
   what you want the world to see
       champion of causes
           treasurer of grace
              master of the ethereal
                  enchanting and desirable

And you are...
    the angel of deceit
pretentious and poisonous
    inebriated in repugnance
disheveled and insignificant

And you are....

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The Emptyness Of My Night

Nights move  like a forgotten  ghost unwanted by all.     
A vision  unseen to all but one.

Down damp streets he haunts the same path every night just befor the dawn.
The empty hearts gather to drown togther in the sea. 

Togther feeling so very alone. 
Can we cast shadows in the darkness project happiness in such gloom to return the   same 
old haunts again and again.
A wheel  rolling  without question.
On into the emptyness of my night. 

Waitting for a return that  never will be.
Cursing the problem never understanding it was her and me.
As the dream turn to the drunk.

The painter paints no longer sunsets but
Nights and his thoughts of blue to gray.

Warmth in the darker corners gives a view to 
the young and  the still hopefull.
Tiping my half empty glass I wish them to never know pain.

Finding a home with other empty hearts caught.
In dirty sheets im haunted by the ghost of my
former self.

A puddle stepped in cast waves of reflected neon light.
As we play a roll unknown to all  
At typewritter  I sit.
Listening to To the bar and bottles clatter men and women's
laughter and soon forgotten fight.
Yerning to be free so is the emptyness of my night.

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Tears upon fear

My head is heavy
And your know where near
Our lives are slowly crumbling
And we're not there to hear

Sand bag to wall
We're there when each other fall
Release your load
Only so much you can take
Give it to me
I'll hold your world on my shoulders

Sandbag to wall
I'll do my best not to fall
In turn
I know we'll soon switch
My shoulders are in a slouch
And life's becoming too big of a bit©h

Your silent words spoken
Things said but not heard
A hoax in communication
A bridge thats now been burnt
Each lie and blameful word
Melted in a smoldering pot
Craters into your life
Strips you left with only a soul to show

The meteoroid was left standing there
Some what in tacked
But left a tear
Like a dagger in the heart
You refuse to take out
Time over time
The meteoroid has dissapeared
but still you imagine its there
Stuck in the past 
Your stubborn as a ass
When will you move on

We cleaned up the debris
Everyday we came by
Between each heart fulled hi and goodbye
We'd fill our baby up
Trying to help him get by
But no matter how hard we tried
He was just a hole

I look back to dusk
And see my blooming flower
So many bees all around
They were bound to sting
Ignore all signs and look at you now
After they all fly high
And leave you under the great blue sky

Everyday Ill come
And lay there with a rope
Waiting to pull you back
And carry you into a world of hope
Because I'm afraid  of your other ways to cope


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It’s 3 am
I’m naked & naive
Undressed by shadows
Jetsam of scuttled me
I can feel their fingers
Howling down my back
Lightning crashes
Your window cracked

Pull me in
Cast me out
Bleed the truth
Suture my mouth
If hope is dead
Then grieve with me
Caress their silence
Now we’re free

Do you see my face
Sewn by jagged night
My burdened brow
Scorn’s lurid light
Reaching for perfection
In this world we bend
Am I really
Their means to my end

Pull me in
Cast me out
Bleed the truth
Suture my mouth
If hope is dead
Then grieve with me
Caress their silence
Now we’re free

I have no sword
But my pen is spry
Cut me down
These words will rise
Hold my heartbeat
Breathe my last breath
Are you my savior
Am I your friend

Passion and persuasion
Nothing I hate is
Life is love
Your faith my payment

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La Gala Grandeur

~La Gala Grandeur~

Revived from mine mortality,I adopt my rebirth
Through neonate eyes,the world now glows ethereal
As my resplendence arouses,death is relinquished dormant
Though newly formed,I step unteeteringly unafraid

Motlique auras,encompass my fellow scions
The firmament above,an wombous spectrum pletharic
Engrossed of adolescence,I become exhilarantly aware
My lineant precursors,swarm samely for my embracing

Free from fragility,I am no longer appraisal's prey
No less nor more than another,we abide incorruptable
Orchestras of saints and psalmists,exact an spectacled sonata
Devout and divinely,we dance dutifully for mercy's grace

This revel illimitable,is always available
Admittance thou art assured,whether or not of invitation
With none boundary of era,we know ye will attend
It is but a matter my friend,of just when... then

~Azaza~ June 19th,2010

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To Everyone on have all blessed me with your kind words of 
encouragement.  It has been such a treasure to have found this website and all of you.  I am 
a firm believer that things are meant to be and there is a reason for everything that happens 
to us.  It may not be what we expect or want, yet the plan is bigger and better then we could 
ever imagine.  As I'm sure you can tell by my poems that my life hasn't been exactly what I 
dreamt it would ever be.  I thank the Good Lord everyday for my two teenage, beautiful 
children (although there are days... LOL).  

I'm going through an extremely rough patch right now so it has been so exciting to see that 
my "Letting Go" poem has made it through the 1st round of the contest.  It is because of all 
of you that I continue to write - it shows me that it definitely helps getting everything off my 
chest and on paper.  

Thank you again for ALL of YOUR support and love and may you all have a blessed 2010 and 
a VERY Merry Christmas!!!!


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The name game

I’d never have guessed the fuss behind names To the rich and famous, their claim to fame To some a status of great importance Some changed by deed poll, classed as a hindrance Mr, a title and blend of Master Mrs, feminine can one go faster Such fuss over names, fill me with laughter They’ll always be here, before and after.

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Covenant House Prayer

Lord God,

All people have problems and troubles in the world.
Provide children someone to love and be loved,
Help them have someone to walk with as far as they wish.
Give them wisdom or understanding and knowledge to do what is right and what is wrong.

Help children have strength and courage to face their oppressors who tease and bully them
Those who gather socialize and trade their images
Children who are being rape and abuse
Enlighten people to realize their horrifying acts

Please help children choose the right decisions to the things that happens
Help the children's attitude towards people.
Give them fortitude or strength to hope for their brighter future
Help them reach their teenage years in peace

Give them courage to face their trials,
Perseverance to strive hard to reach their best and be successful
Help them have Patience and Tolerance when dealing with hardships
Comfort them mentally and physically to be calm.

We ask this through Your Son, Fr. Christ
Who lives and reigns with You forever and ever.  


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What's on the Cover

What's on the Cover
        by Amy Swanson

"Fat, fat, the water rat,"
the other children said - 
and she could never after
get that phrase out of her head.

Little girl would anxiously
await the time for play,
praying silently that they
would not tease her today.

Every recess was the same
and each day she would cry,
at times she felt so hideous
she wanted to just die.

She had to work three times as hard
to lose a little weight
while others could eat anything
that sat upon their plate.

She grew into her teen years
all too quickly she found out
that if her food did not stay down
no longer she'd be stout.

She knew that this was not the way,
a miserable eating plan;
but it made the teasing stop,
she even met a man.

She kept her secret very well
continued it for years
while going through life's motions,
hid behind her silent tears.

Folks would say "You're beautiful,"
but if they only knew
just what it took to stay that way
they'd have a different view.

Life goes on, and time went by
no matter how she tried
she never felt like she belonged
sometimes she sat and cried.

Society cares far too much
for lust of lovely things,
And those that don't like what they see
will quickly clip the wings

of someone else who won't conform
to this world's shape and image.
It matters not, their brains or heart,
it's more about the visage.

She raised her head and looked into
the mirror, with wet eyes
she shook her head and suddenly
she came to realize

she was as good as anyone
with so much love to give -
she'd died inside, a slave to scales
she now wanted to live.

She splashed cool water on her face
and made a solemn vow
today would be a fresh new start
beginning here and now.

This is not just one girl's story
many share her tale;
warnings of bulimia
oft met with no avail.

If only we could look beyond
the flesh of one another;
True value based on what's inside,
not what's on the cover.

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If I had lived yesterday
in that chaotic world echoing
of Gatling guns shots and canon blasts,
I would have made a difference:
hate and prejudice would have not prevailed,
and power wouldn't have been abused;
from History's records, we know that even 
when Jesus lived it wasn't that peaceful!
During the American Civil war,
Northerners fought Southerners...
did they hear Scarlet's desperation,
or the moaning of her loss as war went on?
And for sometime, it had become
a modus vivendi she couldn't change.
Let's return to the stark reality of the present:
have we noted some drastic changes
in Government and social behavior?
Yes, it has given us more liberty,
but another war has shattered many hopes
of ever seeing peace as blood continues to be shed...
while nations arm themselves to their teeth!
How can we welcome those winds of change and feel safe,
if we tell our children that danger still exists?
And has society been kinder and more caring?
Obscenity, teen sex, violence, greed, vulgarity
and exploited sexuality are being condoned by many;
we wouldn't be that cool if we didn't use obscene words,
and worst of all, we are called hermits or asexual
if we abstain from sex to prevent those sexual diseases!
Is this rebellion, or a trend of the new generation?
Having unprotected sex, making babies, 
laying the burden on their Government that's fighting
a terrorist war? Do we seen any future
for these lost kids who imitate the habits of their parents?
Blame them? Ah! Lots of things would be changed,
if they turned to God and ask for His guidance!
And to end my visceral narrative, I shamefully confess, 
" I hate to live in this loathsome age of greed!"

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Turth, Is It Nonsense or Not

The best kind of true stories are those unwritten. 
Time after time, there are people who tend to rely on books to tell truth.
These individuals should be able to take a persons’ word for it. 
However, it doesn’t work that way. 
The reason is there have been lies that have been told and spread by word of mouth which is why many lives are torn between the realm of the truth when it’s been spoken rather than written.
But, even then ones’ words or the pages of a book can be false.
 So, it really shouldn’t matter if ones’ mind escapes into the fantasy or reality world. 
The main point is, the decision relies on the readers and hearers. 
Whether, to believe what the truth is. 
In the end, what matters is the proof that truths are really what some things are in life. Will people ever really decide what is true or false?

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A Second Of Reason

May you rest another day in a wide awake vision of tommorows certain demise.
cast stones across dark waters just another wait to call a day.
Road signs places lost none ever cared to find.

Haunted in many senses just plain empty in a vacnt store front way.
You have to find the path but will you desire to walk it?
Im a fast buring ember only a fire does call friend.

Ive taken a moment to relize the other half never was there.
Choose the road careful for it's a lifetime to recall.
Wrong turns and faded lights cast in neon often comfort and seldom care.

Were going past the mark only to redirect the meaning.
Lost and found dreams collect well in vacant desires.

But like a zombie ive stepped towards nothing so long it's became a cause I support wiith my life.
One thats come full circle in a mock comedy.
Only dogs chase there own tails.   

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Debauched, extortionate and inconstant 
was the knavish and foul mercenary?
The perfidious praetorian reprobate
was a venal unscrupulous slug.
Debased in character and depraved in spirit
this purveyor of evil tended to his wicked ways.
Morally spoiled, he was a putrid putrescent 
and an aberration to integrity.
Nefarious and tainted in character,
he infected the soul.
Treacherous and two-faced,
underhanded and unethical, 
debased and unprincipled,
this snide poor excuse to humanity
defined the meaning of "corruption."

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The truth about independence

Since childhood, I had a strong passion for earning my independence. I always had to obey my parents’ rules. If I didn’t follow my parents’ instructions, I would be punished. Every time I complained about the way I was disciplined, my parents as well as other authority figures told me that “life is not fair.” As a child, I didn’t understand what that phrase meant. I was a happy kid who enjoyed this period in my life that is considered a “time of innocence.” During childhood, I thought that becoming an adult would be absolutely amazing; I would only have to abide by one person’s rules: my own. I could go to bed at any time of the night. I would never be punished for a rule that I thought was unfair. I could practically do whatever I wanted without suffering from any consequences. When I evolved into a legal adult, age eighteen, I realized that an individual can’t earn independence without responsibility. When I entered the “real world,” I was not ready to handle the responsibilities that are required to seek independence. The truth is that I wasn’t disciplined anymore for not obeying by my parent’s rules; however, the penalty for breaking the law was a lot more harsh than disobeying laws as a child or teenager. I realized that surviving in a complex world was going to be a rigorous challenge for me. Even though human beings are imperfect, people still expect perfection when it is impossible for people to be perfect. I didn’t know how I was going to survive as an adult when I was always depending on aggression for survival. It took about ten years after becoming an adult to be able to handle the responsible of adulthood, and I had to learn the hard way in order to be a responsibility individual. I was incarcerated in prison when I learned how to survive in this difficult world through righteousness. Being incarcerated in prison is the best circumstance that had ever happened to me in my entire life because I can now say that I am a mature adult in a proud voice without any doubt.

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The mouth, 
It enters with a crisp tongue and a spinning pendulum
Like a stick-shift on 4 pivots
Making its way through a flourishing garden
Delicious sounds wisp as smoke through pardons
Painting destructive criticism with delicate regard and
Proceeding as moth with flame, eyre in eyre
and skein in skein
Somewhere in the reigns, meaning becomes tangled in the wings
As it writes a story of friction
The diction of the beginning, end and enduring ambience
As was, is, and needn't admit 
It grips the listening agents and moves to the foregrounds of their lips
Roses blush from the insatiable pits of their stomachs
Breathing new life its first sentence
From the humbling utterances of syntactic structures
Modeled as people
Steepled in last years words
Mumbled and tumbled
Before you
The word

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Making money off the church contest

At the end of every service each Sunday afternoon,
While walking out the back doors many sing a special tune,

Tables are set up with food and toiletries on top,
It becomes like a free food store or a gift shop,

Some Sundays there is bread, cakes and different brands of cereal,
Other times there are candles, clothes and cosmetic material,

Whatever the blessing, it is open to anyone from the congregation,
This is just an extra, not the church’s obligation

Now some people who attend are very poor, while others just have hard weeks,
Even if you’re wealthy you’re more than welcome to take a peek.

One Sunday there were boxes of sweet scented candles
I watched as a woman took more than she could handle

I offered to help her bring the boxes to her car
I knew that she had parked very far

When I got to her trunk what I did see, were ten boxes, each holding about twenty!
At first I laughed and found it kind of funny

“You must enjoy lighting candles" I said, she said "no it’s all for money"
My eyes opened wide and I asked her to clarify,
She proceeded to tell me everything she gets free, she puts on the internet for others to buy,

Now I ask you is she a genius or a criminal?
Is this something that should be viewed as minimal?

This is like Robin Hood stealing from the poor to make himself rich,
I don’t think that I am wrong for seeing a serious glitch,

The stuff that’s supplied is to help  people that are struggling,
Yet this lady thinks its ok that she is smuggling,

That was the last box I ever offered to carry,
I hope that these act's of hers will somehow tarry.

By: Sabina Nicole
Genius or criminal " True Story"

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A Place Above the Crowd

Killed in Action....
   Now his absence will be grieved
   This is how they will perceive him

He was the boy, we didn't really notice
He always had a smile
A little shy, smaller than the rest
Although he tried, he was never the best

But he always had a smile

Never the best at hitting the ball
or winning a race, or having a face
that the rest of the gang would notice at all

But he always had a smile

He was the guy, that people forgot
It's not that they meant to do any harm 
It is just that they thought he lacked the charm

Rejected by some, neglected by most
Too quiet they stand above the crowd

Even though he always had a smile that heads are bowed....they notice him

Only the war had use for him...long enough to lose him

Killed in action....

Funny about that he is gone....they are even writing songs of him

But he was a hero....long before they noticed

For David's Contest: Heros or Heroines 6/7/12

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WHAT PRICE SAFETY? {Edited Version}

how much is it worth to you to feel safe and secure?
how much would you spend? how much could you afford?
what is the monetary value that you would place on your life?
how much money would it take? how much would you sacrifice?
what price safety? how much money would you spend
just to have that feeling of security once again?

too frightened to get on the elevator in the building where you reside
don't know if you'll make it to your door before a thief is at your side
too scared to walk to your car alone in a public parking lot
don't know if you'll get the keys in the door before you're assaulted or shot
America has been on heightened alert since the Twin Towers did fall
the airports, the borders and Homeland Security are constantly on the ball
so how much would you spend to remove from your life that spirit of fear?
how many dollars would it take to protect what you hold dear?

there're not enough police to go around to be in society's face
so security officers take up the slack and stand in their place
we've become the front line defenders that the community sees
to detect, protect and defend them and their property
yet without benefit of weapons, no batons, no vests or guns
we hold to our positions and we get the job done
but we're at a disadvantage when it comes to getting paid
for we barely make what would be considered a livable wage
what price safety? what would it be worth to you
to give security officers what they are due?
what price safety? I ask you once more
what price would you pay just to feel secure?

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My Grievance

I did nothing to you
I did my job
I worked hard
You didn’t help me
You had me 
At work until 7pm
Nightly for the first
As time rolled on
I started getting better
And you kept pouring
Showers of stormy weather
Giving me letters 
Stating false information
Doing everything
You can to wreck 
Tried to fail me
In observations
Boy did you
Dish a lot on my plate
I could never
Believe that one
Could relay
So much hate
Maybe I made
A mistake 
In wanting to succeed
The whole time
I stayed on my knees
You will be charged
For malfeasance
This is only
A fraction
Of my grievance.

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A Mother's Love

I am a mother filled with love
I wonder if they know we come from above
I hear people talk because their kids are bad
I see all the hate which is very sad
I want to be admired like the white dove
I am a mother filled with love

I pretend to be things that I'm not
I feel that people will put my child on the spot
I touch on my child's heart as much as I can
I don't worry because with that he will be a man
I cry at night to the Lord above
To make me a mother filled with love

I hope they understand the nine months of pain
Or the dangerous walks through the snow or rain
I say things to him so he could understand
I went through the suffering, not the man
I dream of living comfortable and nice
I try to make sure he is good though, for that suffice
It's not our fault if we sound stern or mean
It's just that we've seen more things than you seen
As mothers we love with the love that comes from above
The only way a mother could ever love

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1972, Butcher's Corner

Painted ladies 
Platform boots 
Mini skirts 
Stockings, garter belts 

Low slung Vs 
Bubbling over with mottled mummeries 
Hanging around Butcher’s Corner 
On the hook 

The pray orbit 
Slowing down, speeding up 
Around a corner, back again 

Red car arrives 
A Tom tentatively 
Extends his index finger 

Chubby whore saunters over 
Too much sass 
For that much ass 
She leans in the car window 

‘Ten quid.’ 
He scans her lumps, ‘I’ve got five.’ 
‘Go on then.’ 

[We’ll be eating tonight] 

Opening the door 
Pushing the passenger seat forward 
‘In the back, stay low.’ 

Ums and ahs; disgruntled, shamed 
Hard times, little pride 
Squeezing titanic thighs in-between fake leather 
Beehive head pressed to the back seat 

Familiar odors filling her lungs 
Milk, cough drops 
Shampoo, crayons 
Telltale signs of little ones 

Nostalgia boils 
Gulping, suppressing tears 
Shoving guilt from her nut 
There’s work to be done, no regrets 

Tires churn pebbles 
Arrival at Rubber John Alley 
Her office 
A life 

His zipper strains a loaded gun 
In under five minutes 
Dirty deed done 
Not even time to soft boil an egg 

With blind ego intact she declines a ride back 
Done for the night, enough flow 
Over the road 
Into the park 

To three little girls identically dressed 
On swings, dangling legs 
Ultra-white socks to their knees 

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Who Will Redeem You, Mother Africa?

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

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

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

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

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' Knock - Knock Jokes ... ( Quirky, Yes )

Aahhhh, The Quirky/Idiosyncrasies of MoonBee

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
     Icky …
Icky Who ?
… Never Mind, I’ll Come Back Later …

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
    Juan …
Juan Who ?
I Don’t Know, What Do You Have In Mind ?

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
    Hula …
Hula Who ?
Yes, When I Was Young …

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
   Toodle …
Toodle Who ?
  … Ok

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
   Bye-Bye …
Bye-Bye Who ?
Look Lucy, We Found Ricky !

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
      Nu …
Nu Who ?
Well, If You Know Who, Why You Ask ?

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
     Woo …
Woo Who ?
… Ok, Who’s In Trouble ?

(The Obvious-Obvious, One)

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
     Who …
Who Who ?
Late Night, Huh ?

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
    Yu …
Not Me !
Yeah … Yu !

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
    Yu ! …
You Who ?!
… Hi …

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
     Yu !
Naaaaa, Naaaaa Interested !

Knock, Knock …
Who’s There ?
    Boo …
Boo Who ?
Wait, I’m Not A Bill Collector !

                               Knock, Knock …
                      Who… who oo ‘s  There ?
                                  Sue …
                           Su suu sue, Who ?
            (but then Door Opens, With A Crash
               Double-Barrel, Points Out, Blasts
     The Knocker Runs Fast, as Voice Shouts Out Rash
“ … Sue That ! and Don’t Come Back Talking ‘bout Whiplash”
          And The Man Sits Back Down, To Finish His Glass

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

              Oh, Darn, I’m Out Of Egg-Nog and Jack D
               Now, How Can I Make My Moonlight-Tea
             Well, It’s Back To The Market, For MoonBee
                                       He He He ! …

                            Have A Great Day, Y’all …


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Mineral Baths - Saratoga Springs NY

Mineral Baths Saratoga Springs NY

She covers her private 
parts at the bath house. 
Mineral water fills a tub, 
centuries old. 
She feels cold until 
an old Women hands 
her heated sheets... 
now, her skin covered. 
Brought her clips to lift 
her auburn hair. 
The sheets cooled as the 
tub, now filled. 

A stray cat 
peers into the window... 
purrs, kissing glass. 
The old Women 
removes the sheet, takes  
the hand of a young lady 
as she carefully 
steps into aged porcelain. 
Tiny bubbles 
surround her skin. 

A soft pillow for her head... 
Now, relax. . . she tells herself,
dreaming of the 
cat kissing glass. . . 
alone, at last.

Nancy Duci Denofio

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Forever A Tourist

In many travels across this melting pot of a country I have found that every small town has 
it's own cast of characters every group has the asshole who cant handle 
The party girl who gets crying and wishes she could start all over again.
And the one to busy living this life to give a crap about what you think or how your 

After a couple  of weeks it gets to anyone the sense of not belonging.
the constant movement  it eats away at you like rot gut whiskey.
Once even though in agony you so joyfully keep pouring down your throat.

And the conversations become the same are we but playing a game 
saying whatever it takes to get what we want.
But what is it we truley want?

Comfort of a warm body by are side the feeling of flesh apon flesh.
It has to be more than just sex but out here I belive its to feel 
what its like to benormal and for one moment pretend you wont  be 
walking out that door to chase sun once agian.
Living like a pirate apon the land.

Not matter her body's warmth when you leave you never havea chance to
know the bad or the reallity of people.
thats why im forever a tourist.

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Oh, Pepe (Vignette)

Too enthralled by his works done
Last farewell been said and made
Mockingbirds and sparrows came
Las vivas and the sound of guns-
He faced the 7 o’clock morn sun


Dr. Jose P. Rizal- poet/author of  "Noli Me Tangere" and 
"El Filibusterismo", his famous novels that cost his life.

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Soda Machine 1 – Humans 0

A soda machine took them down.
American, Japanese, European, Indian
and Chinese I saw attempt to buy from
that machine. And the machine won.
Try and try they might, they put in dollar
after dollar with no success at all.
They swapped ones and asked each other
to try another one and they kept stuffing
ones in that machine, but to no avail.
I watched this with quite a bit of amusement.
Sociology 101 … a group of people immediately
becomes stupid.
Not quite what I learned, but pretty close.
As I stood there – having already figuring out
that the bill collection slot was full – I counted
out enough quarters and I sauntered over to the
machine to make a purchase.
The people there asked me to try one of my dollars
or if I had different dollars from what they had.
I had to do it – I just had that streak in me right
then. I pumped in my quarters and
bought a soda, turned to the assemblage and said,
The bill slot is full, idiots, use change.
And I walked away with my soda, but not before
I saw the looks of bewilderment in the eyes of
the people. It never even occurred to them.
So I made a silent toast to the stupidity
of the masses and the amusement they provide.
Ah, this would be such a great planet
if it wasn’t for the people.

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Calling Father


Eternal Father stepped down and gave His thrown to Eternal Son
We are on the New Testament with God the Son
Angel Gabriel told Mother Mary to name Him “Jesus”, when He was a Jew
He grew, started a Universal Church and was baptized by St. John the Baptist

Eternal Father, Yahweh gave Him a name of “Christ”
Apostle is a Priest
Eternal Son is the Apostle of Eternal Father
He is the Highest Priest of the Universal Church

Universal is Catholic or Roman Catholic Church
He didn’t need to be baptized
But He did anyway to for the righteous
He ordered 12 Apostles to preach His Gospel

Eternal Son is the Apostle of Eternal Father
Eternal Son is Father Christ
Father Christ is the Highest Priest of the Catholic or Roman Catholic Church
Should we not call Him “Father” for the righteous? >

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“Full house,”   she said     “Every seat’s taken
There’s an excitement out there!” she said
All he saw was the empty stage
                             a Steinway Grand       its bench
His accompanist stood off
          cigarette in hand     just exhaling a puff
                                                              so unconcerned
He was nervous    very nervous
                                                 but then
He was always nervous    and for hours before
He’d thrown up in the rest room a few minutes ago
Nothing new
He often threw up before a recital

Wild thoughts went through his head
    (those tall    thick    billowing curtains
                                         looked strangely threatening
                         so dark blue    grotesque)
His mouth felt dry
     (what if he should choke during the opening work?)
He felt a bit dizzy
     (what if he should pass out?
                       the fall shattering his priceless Stradivarius)
Was it too late to cancel the concert?
     (he was still slightly nauseous)
What would people think?
What would people say?
His accompanist was so calm
     (his accompanist must hate him –
                 hope that he might play poorly
                   look how he raised his chin as he inhaled
                      staring eyes
      what was he looking at?
                                             What was he thinking?)
There was that one passage in the concerto 
     (he’d played it hundreds of times
                        never satisfied
                                        never quite perfect
         what if he fumbled that passage
                                        even just one note?)
His tails felt tight
     (he should have had them altered
              What if the underarms split out?)

Everything at once!
He felt like running!
     (don’t be ridiculous!)
His manager was all smiles
“I tell you, Robert, there’s excitement out there!” she said

Robert’s knees were knocking
“You all ready?” she asked
Robert nodded, yes
The house lights dimmed
Boris, his accompanist, stomped his cigarette

“Out you go!” she smiled
(please don’t tell me to ‘break a leg’) he thought

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My Birthday Wish

I sit on the floor and wait from dusk to dawn, for a new day will soon be reborn. I count all 
the blooming flowers, and count down the long hours, while mum takes her shower. 
Today's the day, for it's my birthday. I hope I get A car, or A guitar or maybe even become 
A movie star, but that's asking A bit too much of me. I walk around singing out A loud, 
acting proud feeling as if my heads in A cloud. To my surprise I start stumbling over my 
words and begin mumbling. Maybe mum just forgot about me, or are they just hiding the 
presents from me? I walk through the hall, with my head dragging looking at the floor, 
and go to bed with my heart feeling torn. It's getting late and I can no longer wait. I turn 
off my light, and close my eyes and cry having so much things go through my mind. I 
drift to sleep but then I see, mum walking in my room in the middle of the night with A 
light. It's so bright. She raises my heart like A kite, taking of it flight and she says, good 
night, and turns of the lights. She raised my hopes high and then shot them out of the 
sky. I break down and cry, it feels as if I've just died. No one remembered why today was 
A special day for it was my birthday. I look at the sky and wonder why? I light my candle 
and close my eyes, tears dripping down onto my thighs, and I start to whisper in my 
mind. "I don't want A car, or even A guitar. I don't even want to become A movie star. I 
just want to be free of this disease called poverty, I just want people to stop running away 
from me. Free me of aids so I can stop feeling afraid. Stop me from being poor, so I can 
afford to stop sleeping on the floor. Make me smile for there is no reason to smile, but 
please make my life worth while. Take me away from Africa, for all I see is people being 
raped and all the kids hearts filled with hate, I'm loosing my faith for I am living each day 
even though there is nothing to live for". A Tear drops on my candle, And puts out the 
flame I whisper in pain,This is "My Birthday Wish"
We wish for luxuries that only money can afford. They wish for water for they are poor. 
People need to learn to smile, for kids living in poverty have A legitimate reason not too. 
Be happy for what we have, and never complain for what we don't have.
- Wiko Te Maru

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The Poets

They are truth wearers
They scream, cry, whisper, sing, laugh
Sometimes, people hate them
For displaying their wounds and scars
For making them sad and careless
For making them see the reality
Sometimes, people love them
Because of them, they dance
In the temples, on the beaches,
Through crowded streets
Because of them, blue sky , painted with gold
Rule the day
And when they read these wonderful poems
The veils which hide the light fall down
And the glowing comets 
Flash around their suns

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The Dentist's Chair

The Dentist's Chair

Staring up into the light
Your mouth and body
Frozen in unison
While your mind dreams of escape

The inane radio DJ
Is drowned out
As the drill's
Terror-inducing shrill
Sends shivers down your spine

Second seem like years
As you struggle for breath
With fingers and metal contraptions
Intruding like death

Is this what purgatory is like?
Pushing yourself
Towards the light
Away from what seems
Like eternal hell

When the reaper
Sinks his teeth into me
What awaits
When the waiting-room doors
Finally swing open?

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Sorrow for a Stranger

He sits down, alone,
in a cheap, plastic booth
at a fast-food joint,
and leans his cane 
against the table.
His right leg appears boneless,
just a loose appendage
hanging from his hip socke,
that he has to drag around.
He eats his hamburger
that he ordered off of
the dollar menu,
and moves on to his kid-sized
chocolate milkshake.
As he gets down to the last
few sips,
he struggles to keep the cup still
on the table.
He shakily lifts up his right arm
so that he can hold the cup with one hand
and guide the straw with the other,
but like his leg, his right arm
is limp and lifeless,
rendering his hand useless.

Sorrow begins to claw 
at my open heart,
eroding any emotional strength
that may have existed before.
I am overwhelmed 
at the sight of this fragile old man,
sitting alone in a fast-food joint,
struggling to make his body cooperate.
I can feel tears crawling
into my eyes and trying to escape
down my cheek.
Even though he might be
perfectly content in his life,
I feel this desire to help him,
and tell him he's not alone,
and that the aching pangs of loneliness
are familiar to me too.

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Swallow Your Pride

You were born with some sort of gift
Just remember this, my child,
Swallow the pride that takes away

You are a gifted human being 
You have grown a connection with God
He welcomes you to His understanding, loving family
He reminds you to never let go of humbleness 

Tell your foes, if you have some, swallow your pride
Don't be afraid of their actions
Be in tune with God...He'll get you through this living
and He'll send immediate help on the way
because you've been gentle, patient, and courteous towards people's 
emotional trials and dangerous tests
You have been healed by the Most High

Swallow your pride, woman full of spiritual life...
You are now a bride of humbleness

You are a gifted human being 
You have grown a connection with God
He welcomes you to His understanding, loving family
He reminds you to never let go of humbleness 

Remain humble 
Love your enemies...tell them to
Swallow their pride 

They'll never understand 
What the reward is for

Don't lack humbleness
Lack pride and practice
Patience before 

Men of dishonor, remain humble 
Love your enemies...tell them to
Swallow their pride 

Swallow your pride, you devious fools of shame!

Pleasure-seeking women, swallow your pride...
You are now a bride of humbleness

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To Be A Man

Who are they to judge?
Their voices matter not
What others choose to say..the names they toss about
The ridicule, the scorn, why must they be so cruel?
No value in the words they use
No merit in their rules

What it is to be a man?
Who can say?  They?  The jeering lot?
That's all they've got?    Not !
I'll tell you of a man, 
A man he was in every way 

There was a man of whom I speak
So like a rose, with gentle ways
A butterfly, alone and forgotten
Could safely light upon his palm
And want to stay

This man could love a poem
Could kiss a baby, could love a song, 
And still be big and strong
Would watch a bird, till the singing was done

Until his dying day, he was strong
He loved his roses, he loved the birds
Recited poems, enjoyed the beauty
His kindness walked with every step
Until his journey over, and he was gone
A stronger man?....there was none

For Joe's contest "Here Comes The Judge"

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A big hurray for the Yankees
for their stunning victory,
and a parade of confetti
to celebrate their twenty-seventh win
in the World Series on 
November sixth in New York City.
Fans tossing shredded paper they saved in their offices
for that unexpected event, revel in their triumph, cheering up
their heroes whose faces glow with glory from Battery Park
to City Hall as they ride down, " The Canyon of Heroes"... 
and all the streets seem a scenery of snow as Bloomberg
honors them with his poignant, thought-provoking wit!
The cheerleaders dance and the band wearing
their famous, colorful Scottish skirts,
don't mind the nippy weather...
what a joy to pay their tribute playing
their happy, memorable tune for 
a great team who fought against the odds. 
The crowds can't get enough
of their charisma and these rejoicing players
accept this honor with smiles...
and they know that there are
many more to come in the near future,
so let's cheer and hail our handsome champs.
A parade of confetti tossed down by fans
weeks before Thanksgiving Day,
when the jubilant, vibrant city forgets
all the worries to indulge in a carefree day,
revving up its passionate spirit and be jolly all morning...
a celebration indeed for every fan engaged in fervent hailing.

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New World Order

It is time for the world to change
It's time to take over the world
It does not matter what race or religion you follow
You can either be a man or a girl

To join our brotherhood
The reason why we are doing this is
Because we want the greater good
Of all mankind to be shown

We have all got a few words of advice for all of you
If you want to join our ranks
You're more than welcome to
But if any of you oppose us

Then stay out of our way
Because as far as you, and all of us know
It is the dawn of a new day
And there is nothing any of you can do about it

We're not here to maim or kill
We are just here to take control
Come now brothers, sisters in arms we are the New World Order
And it is time to Rock and Roll

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The Figures' Memory

The Figures' Memory 
Arabic Poem by: Abdulsadah Al-Basri
Translated into English by:
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)

The Day we devised oblivion 
We were canned in our memories 
And sent down by the clouds 
To body lust 
Our children slipped one after another 
From between our fingers 
And our women became wrapped in whispers
And contempt 
So we reconciled  
With our dreams 
As the night abused us   
And the birds lay 
At the stops of our lives!!!
 Translated into English by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
 * Abdulsadah Al-Basri is a poet from Iraq

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My World

when i think of my world its all a dream
in my dream world people don`t just come and go
but in the regular world they do\

i wish this world had people last forever
i would`ve never thought i would be facing realiity
where i wouold have to see my grama go and disappear

now i see theres a time where people get sick and might have to pass away
until then you going to have to deal with it in the only way that you can 
and my way is talking about writing about my feelings in poem 

sometimes i just think that life can be a preiouse thing or i might just say sometimes life can 
be thorn up and thrown away. i just dont get why when people are close to you they just die and go away.
some say to a better place is it true 

some may say its crazy to question a thing like that or they might even say that you won`t get in to heavean like that
but what i belive is that there is one but not everyone always get in the place called heavean.  depends on there soul.. but i hope when the times write when the time comes her precouice soul will be protected by a such thing callled i dont know God. i dont  question it i know i belive in it but i do wonder sometimes about it. is it true what they say or just they saying mytholical things so everything can blown away

i watch people abandon 
i watch someone die 
i even watched a women who lived a lie
i know whats wright 
i know whats wrong but tell me this is whats right not wtong

im confused im depressed help me now so i can be happy as an lovely dove if best

            writen for hope to anyone that lost someone that was really close to them 
R I P my loving grandma

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This January Day

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

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

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

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

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

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One cold Sunday morning 
I walked across the road
Cold wind striking my cheeks, leaving its bleeding marks
Hands stuffed in my pockets, feet peeping through my socks
I sat on the cold steps outside an old church
I had no other place to shelter.

People came and people went
Carrying heavy hymnals
Wearing pretty clothes within fancy coats, stockinged feet in striking shoes
Some threw me coins, some just passed by
Till a little one came running up, took my hands in his little ones
Looked up into my eyes and smiled.
That my friend, made me warm
Forget my hunger and made me strong
To look through this cold day 
And see another
Better and beautiful one.

The winter went and Summer came
I had a little shop by then
Fixing bicycle tyres, mending broken brakes
Hands covered with grease, forever on my knees
I sat on a little stool in my tiny rickety shed
I had a place now to shelter.

Children came and children went
Bringing bicycles old and new
Gaily painted shiny ones brought some, some ones battered by fond use
To some I was a friend, to others just a bicycle-man
Till one day came to my shed, my little friend who took my hands
And smiled at me on the cold stone steps.
He brought his sparkling new bicycle
Steady my handle, I can’t handle
This bicycle, it makes me tumble
In his eyes, I saw fear and hope
I bent down 
And studied the cycle spokes.

“My little friend”, to him I said
“The fear is only in your head
Climb on the seat, look only at the road ahead.”
I looked down at him, smiled and said, “I know you can.”
He looked back a long moment and smiled
He gripped the handle and rode, bold down the road.

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Trumpets sounded loudly towards dusk
as they did in ancient times,
to warn all warriors of an imminent battle,
there I saw throngs of angels
with glorious Jesus in their mist....
a thick book was opened by Gabriel;
below, Satan was waiting for the condemned souls.
A huge crowd looked up gleefully
and was raptured as He called out their names,
I waited and waited, but there's was
no mention of mine through those pages;
could have Jesus, so perfect and just,
have overlooked, or forgotten to call it... 
I wasn't wasn't called!
I looked inside to scrutinize my non-so-spotless conscience,
and guilts of past deeds surfaced instantly
as the remains of a ship-wreck floating on a turbulent sea;
and to realize this tragedy, it took plenty of tears!
I wept and no one heard me, but Lucifer was hysterical and joyful
to have won and ready to torment me in Hell.
Oh, no...did Dante describe it well, if he had never seen it?
Horror, fright, despair, darkness and crackliing flames
were the awful feelings and eerie images of that vision too ambiguous.
I fell on my shivering knees and cried out:
" Lord didn't you promise from the cross,
 "You will be with me in Paradise, today?"
"If you forgave the Good Thief, why can't you forgive me?"
There's was no reply from the Savior whose blood
had the power to cleanse all inequities with His sacrifice...
I called out again with a frightened, louder voice,
"Lord, my Redeemer, have you searched for the other stranded sheep
which can't find his way back; is he stuck in a shrub with thorns?"
I looked around and all the raptured people followed Jesus,
leaving me behind as Lucifer laughed and danced down below,
but a terrible thought came to me, " Was I going to be his next victim, 
and allow my flesh to eternally burn in that abyss called Inferno?"
The first shadows dimmed the orange-colored sky,
I started to yawn and suddenly I fell asleep. When I woke up,
I saw Christ, the Redeemer and King, leaning over me softly saying,
" I haven't forgotten about you, Andrew...I wanted you to feel
the disappointment of not being raptured and saved;
even an imperfect person like you can enter my kingdom, if his heart repents.
My sacrifice is enough to wash your past and present sins with my shed blood."
My awe and disbelief surpassed the realm of my reality...
yes, indeed I had another chance for redemption and salvation! 


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Whiskey Wishes

from this barstool i have sat waitting for some moment 
of insiperation to come to me 
But the only thing that that comes to me is
a bartender with another drink.

And in empty reflection lost in a jukebox's song
played by a lonley heart shooting pool.
I cant recall where the spark went.
maybe it fell to floor like the ash from a cigarette.

the page waits at home like a wife waitting in worry as her husban is off doing God knows  
what  so worried only wishing he'd return.
And when he does the fear fades and the anger kicks in.

The bottle doesnt hold a key but it does know me well.
I kiss it's fiery lips and cant resist it's charm.
so I sit with it passing hours in a dance that will end in
nothing but another wasted night  and a bitter morning taken
out apon my  mind.

In a swirl of hungover thoughts id leave half written pages.
To soon find themselves collecting with my ever growing arsenal  of 
drunken rants.
All ending bitter and cold.

But when the whiskey hits I'll make such great plans 
that will never be.   
I'll write that epic that will keep in the minds 
other writers.
And in the warm arms of women who wanna love a 
trainwreck just to say they've known what it's like.

Whiskey wishes are like sparks from a much larger fire.
the sparks fly off into the midnight sky.
only to fade befor are very eye.

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I push the buttons,
You push mine.
The light above your head flashes,
Doors close.
I'm in for the ride.

The elevator begins.

Off to a shaky start.
As we move further, and further astray
from the building's foundations,
And closer to the heart.

The awkward silence looms.
We pretend we don't notice the glances.
You study the floor,
Whilst my eyes explore,
Making out the warning signs
By the side of your door.

As another person enters
And pushes, yet, another button
Your eyes look up.

We go down.

Back down to the ground,
Back down to the start

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My Scars

We were both 16, we shared many firsts with each other. First girl I ever kissed, First person outside of family that I told "I love you" to and we took each others virginity. We were both young and foolish but to this day I still say I honestly loved you. The day you told me you never cared for me the day when you told me it was all just a game was the day I cut my first scar into my arm. I knew you longer then my own brother. We were best friends grew up together, we even got a house when we both left the "nest". Those were the best 3 years of my life we became brothers we became blood. The last day we ever talked is the saddest day in my life, even to this day I cry when I think about you walking away. The scar you gave me stands out from the rest, it's deeper and longer then the others. You were my star I gave you everything I had. I would of walked through the pits of hell just to see your smile. I thought you were the one, I thought we had a future and would be together forever. But one day I came home early to surprise you with this ring, yes I was going to ask you to marry me. When I walked into the house my heart was shattered and blown away by the wind. The image of the two of you is burned into my brain I did not say a word just dropped the ring on the floor and walked right back out the door. The pain of the knife cutting into my arm shocks me out of my thoughts. I watch the blood begin to drip onto the floor this makes 13. 13 scars on my arm

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Sitting there she sees a flower.
It’s yellow and wilted.
Alone and discolored; overlooked;
She looks around and she’s no one else.
Like the flower, there’s still time to change.
Alone and discolored; not going to be her.

She’s still young and pretty.
Afraid of being a dying flower.
She stands up leaves, 
Calls everyone she knows.
Apologizes for the way she’s been.
Love and friendship surrounds her.

Sitting there she sees a flower.
Among the other it stands out.
It’s red and full bloom
Surrounded by a garden,
It grows strong and interlaced.
She picks it and puts it in her hair.

One flower is pretty.
A garden holds more beauty…
Than one wilted flower.
She turns and goes home.
She is happy and loved,
And always feels at home in a garden.

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Balance Within

Introduction: Even if you're tied to barely holding on, your control over will power shall pull you up towards the truth and success. But only if you believe up to all, that it's stronger than what you could be - that's when you balance the fall...

You may get old
Your memories may drown,
But your soul won't get cold
And beliefs won't breakdown.

Just don't you let go
As you never know,
Things you seek for all your years
They could be in your back yard.

Find the truth within the lies,
Fight your pride to end this cry,
Trust your soul; open the door
Balance yourself and roll the stones.

The one's you heart will always stay
So don't throw life out your doorway,
Life's too short and it's too real
Sometimes it's hard to see and feel

That's how you live a life,
The risk that breaks you down to bits
Saves and brings you back alive,
That's what we call the gift of life.

No matter how rough things might get
We get rewards for the risks we take,
No matter how hard or sad
Learn and value what you have.

Though, too much pride will leave you dried
Don't let 'hopeless', be your life's stride,
None of this will you take to grave,
Your deeds will lay, only your pave.

As you breathe in and do breathe out,
Make each one profound
And stand your ground,
As lies are just the fantasy,
The truth - is your ecstasy
And this will forever be plain to see... 

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God or Father Christ

Apostle is a priest
Eternal Son is the Apostle of Eternal Father
Eternal Father gave the name Christ when He was baptized by St. John the Baptist
He ordered the 12 apostle to preach His Gospel

He was the Highest Priest of the Universal Church
Universal means Catholic or Roman Catholic
There is a purgatory
Yes, purgatory is in the bible

The 2nd book of Maccabees, Old Testament
Purgatory or Purification
Intellectually understood 
All as in everybody should be under Eternal Son’s Universal Church

Eternal Son is the Highest Priest of the Catholic or Roman Catholic Church
It is for the righteous to call Eternal Son Father Christ
Eternal Father is in Him
Father Christ sends the Holy Spirit

Christians will be in the Purgatory
Until they learn from their Initiation before going to heaven
On earth is called Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults R.C.I.A. to be the true Christian
Three types are slain

Father Christ is the pathway to heaven
To face Eternal Father and the Divines
It is my job to inform everybody
Visit to know more

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Can somebody please explain to me?
Why is it that she hates what she sees?
A seemingly perfect life
She is forced to hide behind a smile
Scared to face the truth
With a glance in the mirror, she doesn’t recognize her own reflection
A young girl’s view so distorted she feels so lost
Terrified to disappoint, she forces herself to smile
The girl trapped inside, so desperate to break free
And with every passing moment, the beauty inside begins to fade
It fades further and further away
She has lost herself
So desperate to belong, yet she is unable to move on
Unaware of the damage she has caused, she lives in a dream
She is trapped in the fog
She continues to live her seemingly perfect life
Never showing the fear
Never showing the pain
Never showing the tears, she hides from herself
Her reality is one where the truth can no longer be found
Why is it that no one can see the beauty of the girl trapped inside?
Why it is that no one can see that this girl is me??

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What Have We Become

I took a walk in the city 
watched the people that I passed. 
Took a real good look 
then started to do the math. 

Not many paid the time 
to give a smile or even a nod. 
Barreling right through my path 
chins tucked down, ears plugged in 
barely stepping to the side. 

How is it we’ve become so disconnected 
from our fellow man... 
plugged in 
turned on 
zoned in 
turned up 
tuned out 
Too bothered with our devices… 
checking in 
chatting up 
updating our pages 
Distracted from the world around us. 

I pondered all of this as I went 
the lack of courtesy of years gone by. 
Realizing how accustom we’ve become 
with just civility, even on that you can’t rely. 
When now a simple please or thank you 
has become a rare affair. 

So as I walked the sun got higher 
the morning streets filled up. 
And a woman caught my eye 
with large boxes piled high. 
I could see she only managed just 
so I did a quick check round. 
There were plenty men to spare 
But not a single one offered aid 
not a helping hand was found. 
None could bother to be delayed 
as they continued on their way. 

Gone the days of curtsy 
a tip of the hat is just not that 
of something you still see. 
Chivalry is dead they say 
and I’m starting to believe. 
The manners that once were 
are gone and never to be seen. 

That what started as a silly game 
a way to pass the time. 
Quickly turned my day a sour, 
damaging my confidence 
in that of our mankind. 

I decide to treat myself 
before heading home. 
A little coffee pick me up 
is sure to get me feeling fine. 

As I reached for the door 
there’s a hand that brushes mine. 
Looking up I see a handsome guy 
with a flash of smile in his eye. 
“After you!” he says 
and gestures to go ahead. 
I thank the man, somewhat stunned 
and make my way on by. 

Warm with its creamy taste 
I savor my hot treat. 
And think maybe, just maybe 
death has yet to come 
to common decency. 

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THE UNIONS : one for all and all for one

before labor unions came into existence businesses were run like monarchies
where those in positions of power treated the workers atrociously
no sick days, no overtime, no vactions and no minimum wage
and some work place conditions were worse than an animal's cage

but throught the grace of God and American ingenuity
the laborers joined together and the unions came to be
organized for the advancement of the shared interest of the work force
a confederation of laborers who at one time had no recourse
fired without cause, no work injury compensation and hardly a lunch hour
but with the labor unions now in place the workers have a measure of power
bargaining for health insurance and decent salaries
negotiating for better conditions and job security

thank God for the unions as collectively we band
one for all and all for one, united we now stand

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Terror in the Night

In the peaceful night
The ululating pierced the silence
The roar of the big engines
Prompted the ears to cock
The lamps all got dull and died
The people all hushed

The thunderous shots 
Exploded the silence in the air
They tormented the spirits of all in despair
Obviously in multiple pairs
The boots stamped rapidly
All over the area

Here and there
Fear was so dense in the air
You could cut it with razor
The mothers sobbed in prayer
The children trembled in fear
The fathers languished in despair

Shrill cries filled the air 
As doors flew open into the air
Bright torches lit the helpless faces
Dark masks hid the reckless faces
Foul words tumbled out of the dirty mouths
Prayers murmured out of the angry mouths

Furniture were overturned
Houses were over burnt
Innocent people were slaughtered 
Culprits walked away in laughter
Children witnessed in fear
Old people spit curses in anger

The sun never seemed to come to life
The People wished it would fast arrive
When it finally obliged
The sight filled their faces with fright
The land was crying tears of blood
Gloom scratched the hearts of everyone alive

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A simple French Carmelite monk
Into a most menial role he sunk,
A singular byway of life he trod,
Often alone and on his tod-
Practicing the presence of God.

Tribute to Brother Lawrence.

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A wonderful life of victory shares a day of losses.  There is nothing too sad that you 
cant’ be proud, if you really believe life is about gratefulness, bright lights and 
breaking down barriers. When you open yourself up to the world , life responds as 
affable to any bitter moments. Happiness comes to people when they  realize that 
its not about being bad, but what you have done great your whole life. 

A smile received is an answer to gratitude. Those who share important moments 
and memories with sincerity, are those who have the most to gain. A person who 
suffers can carry on for life the remorse of never looking back to  the beauty 
encircled from within.  When someone offers you a hand, extend your emotions to 
respond well to their gesture of kindness. Some people die and never have time to 
say thank you, I love you, you made my day. This is a regret.

A humiliating failure comes with  the strength to carry on. When you feel your 
lowest  in your life, that’s when you have the inner power to change things for 
better, and change your destiny. Those who battle against torn, have no regret or 
feel sorry for what they have done. There is no shame in admitting to your self that 
you were weak. The shame comes when you fail to accept your own mistakes and 
blame it on something or someone else. 

To be immortal is to be able to see others as unique and different from you. No one 
is better because of their words or their communication skills. What make us stand 
is the ability to proclaim ourselves as still learning, even when others think we are 
the best inspiration they could ever have.  We are simply dust against our gigantic 
universe. Those who can’t accept life for its grandiose never feel the scent of true 
love. The difference of  each personality, is what make humans prone to discover a 
new reality every day. 

An abysmal day of losses  may never hit a victorious life. People are too immersed in 
finding explanations to every fall, every mistake or weakness that they share. Those 
who seek an explanation to why they lose a moment, may never see the results of 
living in glory. Don’t let a single episode take you down. Look at it as if it brought 
you tears of joy for the upcoming moments that you’ll never forget. Live life, love life, 
greet life for its moments of sadness or gladness. The experience to live life in full is 
what will bring you peace at the end. Nothing matters when you are gone, and 
always remember that people may or may not care.

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The trouble with knowing

I wonder what she's thinking   
whilst she pretends to watch T.V   
She's sat on that same spot     
on the same sofa for more years   
than I care to remember   
gradually not caring about   
the seven long hairs that grow     
from her chin or the stains     
all over her clothing from   
last weeks dinner   
She sips her cider   
I watch   
She sips   
I ask: "where is he?"   
"He's in bed." She answers,   
not removing her eyes from   
the commercials.   
"Pour me another, will you?   
and open the window"   
She is almost robotic.   
I can see past the piss stained   
mess that has become her   
well enough to know she   
is scared as hell.   
I open the window     
The breeze bounces past my cheeks   
"He can't open the windows   
anymore" she whispered- 
"He can't do anything"

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Not the Better One

She’s the better one
Beautiful and what you deserve
Comparison is not an option
A rock to a diamond
I make little to none shine
And she can make mountains
Upon a hill of grind

Full with hate of what I've become to day
Disgusted with the monster
That’s been created an atomic bomb
And I feel all the shame
Wishing to change everyday
I am a nothing compared to that

Perfect is what she is
Cute is what you two are
Monstrous is what I am
Killing is what you’re doing
Burning away every dream is what’s happening
She is better one
Wishing it was me
She is the better one

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Memories Of Christmas

Memories of Christmas through the years,
Have brought lots of laughter and many tears.
Memories of those who have gone on home,
Sometimes leave us sad and alone.
The good times that were had by all,
Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, their happy faces I recall!
The gifts that were given, the fellowship we shared,
The love we all had, showed each other we cared.
The trees were so pretty, the food, oh so good,
Sometimes we would go caroling in the neighborhood.
We would exchange gifts by drawing names,
Some would get clothes, others might get games.
The homes would be decorated with ornaments and lights,
And we would all feast on the many delights!
There would be cakes, cookies, sandwiches, pies, and punch,
Some might eat a lot, others would just munch.
Before you knew it the night would be gone,
And the wait for next year would seem so very long!
But Christmas means more than just these things,
As we remember the birth of the Christ child and the salvation He brings!
He came into this world in a meek and lowly way,
Born of a virgin and in a manger lay.
The Shephards were frightened as the angels came to say,
The great news of His birth on this special day!
Born in Bethlehem, God's only son,
Savior from our sins, He is the only one!
So as I remember the Christmas's of old,
The greatest of all, was the one the prophets foretold!

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He came from humble folks,
an adoptive father
and a virgin mother;
many didn't believe He was the Christ,
and still the parables, written in the Gospels,
amaze us to this day with their might!

Preaching with a fearless voice,
and speaking to them of hope,
of fraternity and unselfish love...
the prodigal son and the tears
of an indecent woman
are the  perfect reminders
how forgiveness can change someone's life;
are we on the same path to destruction,
and do we ever look back:
to reflect and avoid falling into the Devil's trap?

So hated and undesiderable,
 in the sinner's thoughts,
is the One who gave up His life,
so that we could enter the forbidden Paradise;
and didn't His blood, spilled on Calvary's cross,
save in sin and pride?

Pope Benedict condemns immorality,
and warns those violating celibacy...
while wicked priests molest innocent children;
what will it take to make this an obedient race?
If Jesus returned today, wouldn't he grab the whip
and start lashing them like a whirl-wind,
so that they would be punished for their sin
 and  their mocking faith?           

Religion has a deceptive look,
it changes and adapts itself 
to the ideology of modern times...
leading many down a dark road;
its light is a flickering candle:
making true faith so hated and undesiderable! 

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No Matter the Floor You Pass Out On

No Matter The Floor You Pass Out On

I awake as any other madman slash poet.
Apon the floor  naked  pizza box for pillow a members only jacket for a blanket.
yes the libary sure has changed over the years.

less and less people were reading buggets were cut meaning 
libraryies were under staffed and rarely did anyone dare venture into 
the stacks  and thank good for that. Cause being i preffered free sleeping
it was probaly for the best.

but no matter the the floor you pass out on most all fine 
american men wake up with are god given birth rite.
That which after a trip to the restroom like 
that early morning madness that was christmas  pressent openning
was over way to fast and was kinda disapointing.

Floors werent the best beds in the world in fact they 
sucked altogather but drinking and common sense dont even 
belong in the same room togather.

Portsmouth Va  was a strange world indeed a place where upscale colided with skidrow.
Me I preffer the company of a outdoor sleeper to that of a
spoiled spoon fed yuppie turd.
the art school cranked out angst ridden buble people by the second.

They walked the street soaking in the pain of life.
there heads stuck so far up there asses I always felt compeled to trip them as they walked 
acting as though they were outsiders  yerning to be mainstream
they'd rape there mothers on a mtv reality show as dad cried in the background.

Just for a taste of stardom. 
True talent who needs that?
but no matter the floor you pass out on one
thing was clear.

In a world were you could have a bus load 
of kids and get paid for it.
fame wasnt such a rare thing anymore.

The floor I passed out on was cold and cruel but surrounded 
voices from the past.
the floor these hollow  reallity show bottom  feeders
passed out on.  Had to besoft as there heads.

Otherwise there brains would splatter across the floor.
And some TV exect would have a brainstorm  to have a show
were washed up celebrities would have a contest.

To see who could bore us the most with there sob story  
Yes friends id rather have a pizza box for a pillow 
than a reality show  pillbox for a brain.

and the truth effectsus all form no matter 
which floor so you do choose to pass out on.

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Tis All About the Journey

I’m so thankful for the given path That began when I was just a seed The glorious plan that our God hath Tis all about the journey, indeed Each step in life I take with grace Filled with peace and tranquility Always keeping at a gentle pace I know the best is waiting for me You can’t reach the full bloom Without the growth of the stem Clear the space and make room For the journey provided by Him You gotta step through gritty sand To reach God’s calm sea of ecstasy Slow down and enjoy the given land As it says in that song, Feelin’ Groovy It’s good to be scheduled, almost mostly But some moments are meant to be still Which, always brings to stand a memory Of a moment in time, yes, a really big deal Where ever you are, as you go on your way And it doesn’t even matter where you start Take time often, to be with others and play But be sure you always carry a joyful heart Cherish the yester-moments and live for today Keep dreaming of what the tomorrows might be I may not know for sure, but that’s just what I say And I’ll keep believing, tis all about the journey Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Hurt and You Could Have it All

upstairs in my room
i put my ear to the floor
only to hear my parents screaming
the argument is about me
my mom yells "look at what your son has become!"
Heartless, unintelligent, fake...
my father replies back
"hes your son, hes your own pile of dirt!"
whenever my family is out together
we act happy like these fights never happen
but every night they do and i cant tell anyone
i have to act like someone else in order not to get introuble
What have i become?...hurt..dishonest..will this feeling dissapear?
I will drag you down and i will make you hurt..
I lift my head from the floor
still hearing the angry voices of my parents
i found an old needle, and i dug it into my skin
the next morning i go downstairs
with a cut off shirt on, and baseball shorts
My father grabs my arm
"what is this boy?"
i yank my hand away from him and i sit down on a chair
"its nothing sir"
my father repeats "are you cutting yourself?, why?"
i grab my bookbag and i disapear out the door
My father runs outside pulling me to the ground
"are you cutting yourself boy?!" he screams
i say "no sir i just scrapped my arm on my dresser"
My father grabs my face
"you better not cut yourself again" he replies
He hits my face, as i lay on the ground.
I didnt wake up until i felt something wet drip on my face
it was raining and dark outside
i run into the house and into the bathroom
looking into the mirror i see the bruise that was left on my face
My father wasnt home and my mother went to bed
"everything goes away in the end right, if i let him have it all, my moms pile of dirt?"
I sit upon my liars chair full of broken memories i cannot repair 
I become someone else, but the old me is still right there
if i could start again a million miles away i would keep myself
i will find my way

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A Town Made Of Happy


When you’re feeling low and don’t know where to go.
   I know a place where love just grows and grows and grows.
A place called Sappy Mountain in the town of Get And Go.
    Troubles there just melt away like the morning snow.
Smiling faces greet you with the morning light.
    Happy songs are all they play morning noon and night.
They have a sign outside their town.
     This town they say was built by clowns.
There are funny looking cars of every size and shape.
    Houses painted candy colors make up this great escape.
It truly takes your breath away, it’s such an awesome place.
    A smile is all you ever see it’s painted on their face.
Of all the cities in the world this one takes the cake.
    It’s full of love and happiness and none of it is fake.
So if you’re ever down our way won’t you come on in.
    I’m sure you’ll love the stay at our Magic Inn.
Only happy people reside there, come but leave your care.
    No money here will be found only love that people share.
Two hugs and a handshake is the price you pay here for a meal.
    And with the tip it still adds up to quite an awesome deal. 
Come on down and bring a friend.
    For Happy is the way of life it’s not some passing trend.

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Permission to stand idly by, sir?!

Please don’t give me your pity
Because I don’t need it
Don’t show me how you’re saddened by me
My own is enough for two lifetimes
As for guidance, only when called upon
Although I must admit
That a handful of acceptance would be nice
You don’t require my permission
To be able to say how you feel
So remember this one thing
I never asked to be who I am
Or even to feel what I feel
For that matter, neither did you
You can’t possibly imagine what it’s like
To fight for something that was handed to you
But I have to earn
You might think you’re in the minority
But you’re oh so wrong
The ones ridiculed for being different
Fearing to air bottled sentiments
Living, but not owning thoughts of it
Not looking to convert or be converted
They’re on the road less traveled
I urge you to let them be
Just as they do you
By doing so, you’ll set them free

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Tijuana Mexico

Casualties of an enforced lifestyle shiver in the breeze
Along the rugged roads of old dust and ditches that divide
Rest a group of modest enclosures they call home
Built out of left over wood and delivery slates in 90 degrees

They seem content with their simplistic lifestyles and unsightly miles
Water is delivered in worn out trucks and stored in their homes in discarded tanks 
There is no sewer system, very few working water systems are scattered
Yet, if you were to pass through for a visit, the women would be cooking with smiles

During the day, men are bused to work in factories and earn fifty dollars a week 
Few people have the resources to receive a doctor’s visit and medications
“Anencephaly” a brain birth defect that their infants have, now significantly rise
When it rains there the roads become virtually impassable and unusably bleak 

They are a hard working people with values and a drive to nurture their youth
Bathing their children in the same lavadora they wash their dishes in 
Tijuana is among one of the poorest places in the world  
With these living conditions, it’s hard to turn your back from the truth

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People of Heaven

  People of heaven 
of People each place from which 
they came.
If it is the plains on which they lived, 
then her hair smells of grass
sweet green grass high to the waist
waist high grass.
With her mate, 
he then appears in the grass, 
with his eyes wide open, she is there. 

Flowers and trees they have
gathered beneath having to think
both one for the other
grass under their feet feeling the wind 
having no need to speak with another
different some what from the source
but from awe though they seek. 
Hearts that beat, gathered from two
leaving one.
Plus the two with green grass and the breeze. 

Souls that have come, will they stay? 
Having to come from that which was 
Could they not remember or have known? 
Having no souls, yet they came, 
eyes of they softly, glowing with life
as the grass there so green.
Wholly knowing no strife gently
People of heaven; 
of People each place from which 
they came.
Did they know our values moralities
Beyond our knowing, others.
Both from the one and the other one
from which.
Eyes softly opened.
Wholly filled with green bloom
And rising as they rise, as the grass, 
yellow sun in their eyes and to know.
That all eyes are soft and waiting to open.
Faces turned outwards into words. 
Consciousness meets consciousness
saving unbeknownst words with, him self 
and warmth with that they know
it is good and they stay, just to know. 

Is It Poetry 

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My Imprint

I always used to ask myself this question, "What kind of imprint do I want to leave with people once I pass and am I scared of dying?"  I had come to this question again once my grandfather passed.He was an amazing human being who loved God by the way.Anyway, I have learned over time through experiences of my life I have realized something and its what I want others to know, its that Life is a gift.So cherish every minute of it even the smallest moments in time.See, everyday is a new opportunity for Forgiveness.Love.Reconciliation. etc. one will not always have the chance to live promisingly.I believe that people need to go about their lives with the perspective of not what can I do for myself.But, what can I do for someone else.For instance, How can I make someone''s day? Or just simply How can I make a person smile today? For me, there's nothing that brings more joy to me than knowing I may have made a difference in a person's life. I just want others to know that the bigger picture in our existence is not just serving Jesus, but its to serve each other. I mean, of course we need to live for the Lord and spread the Gospel and live our own lives. But, there's nothing wrong with a little selflessness and its very fulfilling to do so. Oh, and No. I'm not scared of dying. You see, The Apostle Paul said it well, "To live is Christ. But, to die is gain." I know that it's different when your told you only have so much time to live than when a family member or friend is told this.But quite honestly, to me it's just death. Besides, if I could leave this earth knowing I changed at least one life, it was very worth living it.


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13 Mayhem Street

A few meters from me is a man
on the breadline; secluded; a beggar—
with his cluttered suit and long parched hair—
add to that a greasy hand
        beseeching silvers from the people
        wryly staring at him 
        (at the life he didn’t choose) as they pass by;
        but no one seemed to mind.

At the other flank of the street is a soul—
murdered; guillotined; a victim—
amid her blood-smeared gown
she has been sauntering back and forth:
        pleading for justice
        (and perhaps searching for her head);
        but how could people help out,
        they couldn’t notice her.

Above me is a bird—
homeless; ravenous; a sufferer
of men’s egotistical doings.
Now he has nowhere to go—
        no trees to put up a nest;
        (and possibly, no bird of the same feather);
        and a breeze of infected air—
        all because no one seemed to care.

As the day turned into night—
uplifted; inspired; a noble man I became,
by these enormous stories I witnessed
that only few are able to see.

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Remember Us as Smoke

It’s a highway nightmare, or it should be,
but no one’s afraid (too much)
and the road just thunders and hummmms
on and on and on and on
under that greedy summer sun.

All of their guns are cocked and loaded
but we’re still wondering:
	Water or bullets?
	Joke or truth?
	Which is which?
I’m starting to like that you can never be sure
if that’s water or mortality dripping
from their barrels,
from their thumb-tacked smiles.

Then there’s us.
We live in the realm of
nonsense and secrets and
pure dangerlust.
I think it’s the hint
of the war zone in you
that keeps me in this.

You see,
I was born on a battlefield,
in the gunsmoke and sulfur
and dirt and lead;
I was raised in a war zone,
where I scrabbled for a wisp of meaning
among scores of hardened soldiers
(but mostly,
among the ones who had
no choice, 	no love, no fight).

I was forged in violence.

I belong in your
You’re a manifestation of trenches and dust,
of rubble and the cold thrill of martyrdom,
and I fit as a toy soldier
(too much truth there)
on the board of a child’s game.

Maybe real people
don’t fit together quite like we do,
but I’d rather be the
blistered pig iron ideal of a vagabond
than some shadow still hopelessly searching
for something that’s not there.

At the end is a firefight of old Hollywood proportions,
but I’m combat-ready and you’re battle-eager,
so let’s stop pretending that we don’t love this anymore.
(because I do I do I love it more than you)
We’ll keep writhing in the dark
until our time is up, but let’s see if
before we fizzle out, maybe we can
take a few of them down with us.

Fight me and love me,
don’t you ever settle
for an armistice, a cowardly end;
not if you want to go out as binary stars
or conjoined twins,
held together not by gravity or skin
but by the struggle to be
the triumphant,
the blood-soaked and victory-stained
of this whole affair.

So I won’t listen when they
say that this is all just something we’ve created
in our heads.
(If war is the opposite of creation,
how could we create one?
When matter and anti-matter
the only output is mutual annihilation.
Does that make us
n o t h i n g?)

We’re pushing 120 in this
high-octane pipe-dream set on the stage
of the bitterly hopeful Midwest. I’ll play
Bonnie if you’ll be Clyde,
but really, 
I think we’re a second Genesis
that’s been penned as a high-speed chase. 

We will never be hit.
We will never be caught.
We will only win. 

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The Michael Jackson School for Rock Stars

I'm at a new school. Its name is “The Michael Jackson School for Rock Stars.” The courses
here are Gay!

My first assignment is to learn to play the skin flute and sing like a rock star. To be a
good rock star, I'm supposed to feel around a lot, to give oral sex to the dude across the
stage, and to cum at the audience. I did not act like that at my old school, so I think
I'll have to work on it for a while; this will be interesting homework.

My second assignment is to learn to have an entourage, which is a group of people that
always seems to follow around a rock star. I have a lot of friends, but for this
assignment I suddenly have Pineapple people following me around, telling me how gay I am,
how they really like my tounge in there asshole, and how I am the most annoying person
ever. I can't be sure, but I think they are just saying that.

My final assignment is to put on a rock concert. I have to arrive in a Pink Inter-tube and
walk the Rainbow carpet, past all the horny slut fans with cameras flashing in my face.
Then, when I get inside, my entourage will be there and I will get queer with them to the
stage. Next, I'll perform Spongebob songs, all while Cumming across the stage, singing,
and Crapping at the audience. This will be the toughest final exam I've ever had, and the
one I'll never forget!

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Sitting in a room
Filled with darkness and gloom
Only I wish
To leave here soon

Yet locked are the doors
The sound touches the ear
A sound of devilish laughter, and terrifying roars
Is all i can hear
Where am I?
Where have I gone?

Is this place where
I truly belong?

Not sure of the path
My soul has chosen
Hazy and unclear
My thoughts seem frozen

Everything seems
Like one large test
Despratly i need
A good nights rest

Yet the sound of evil
Is knocking on the door
Can they do anything
Possibly more?

I'm at a crossroad
with two seperate paths 
Yet which shall bring
a reason to live once at last
Judged by everyone
Criticized by all

Still i am standing

Still walking tall

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One of America’s most treasured holiday and tradition is known as the celebration of Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving a plentiful feast of food and a gathering of friends and family a holiday began as a feast in the beginning days of Americans is one of the most celebrated traditions .To some thanksgiving is just another holiday that is  unimportant just another reminder that Christmas is just around the calendar .Just a day off of work or school ,a tradition passed on over the years, commonly excuse to over eat , an occasion that is between two months ,November the 4th  Thursday and October the 2nd Monday  for Canadians . 
But in November 1621 ,after the pilgrims first  harvest the Governor William Bradford established a feast and invited a group of the Native American allies .Now remembered as the “first Thanksgiving “ by Americans even though the pilgrims used this terms to describe the feast it was held for three consecutive days .Even though there isn’t a known historic banquet menu of there was record of that several of the Wampanoag guests arrived Bearing five dear by Edward Winslow who wrote in his journal .Also Many Historians suggest that many of the meals were served in traditional Native American spices and cooking methods . Because none of the pilgrims had oven and the Mayflower sugar supply had dwindled there was not the modern day traditional that featured pies, cakes and other desserts .The celebration of Thanksgiving has never changed through the year weather your nationality or faith background it is always been a time to express the thankfulness of family Thanksgiving is the day to reunite with family and feast upon food.
There are many traditions that come with thanksgiving but one that is know over all of America is the food. This tradition is know by many  households is that many families struggle to finish out the thanksgiving without having a Ham or turkey on thanksgiving . Also many us have all heard you cant have a turkey day with football, Not every family in America makes football a part of their tradition but the most do .This could range form watching the game to having a little fun playing a game outside .
But you cant forget the essence of thankfulness this can be saying a prayer of thanks to the family gathering to tell what there most thankful for and There are many ways that this can be expressed.

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The Mayflower Sails

Under a tall cottonwood tree that grows along the curb...
  two burly men stand next to a giant truck, and smoke one last cigarette...
              They inhale one final puff, before climbing aboard.
Trails of smoke intermingle with the white puffs of cotton, that drift from the tree...

The moving van wears a big red proclamation "Mayflower"...
  ....a big, white, dinosaur, that seems so out of place, parked along my street.

I grab her hand as we watch the driver start the motor...
           ,and soon the truck slowly lumbers down the road.
                  It turns the corner, and disappears out of sight.
In that massive monster, things were neatly stacked.
     Cardboard boxes, securely taped, memories neatly packed
               A part of her history, and mine, ...are transported away. 
Years of a sisterhood, a bonding
A friendship, like none that either of us had known before.

Fresh faced, young, and with great expectations, our first meeting was long ago.
Charmed lives, of husbands, children, homes, car-pools, PTA meetings.
A sharing of troubles, joys, the celebrations, the sorrows.  
Today those memories are taking a journey, tucked away on that truck.
          Chicken-pox that her Michael gave my son.
          My favorite chicken casserole recipe that became her family's favorite too.
          My shoulder for her tears, when cancer was feared.
          Little talks, over a painted white fence, that started our days,
                  ....And ended them too. 
          We grew into womanhood together, side by side.

And now, her husband, patiently waits by their car,
Giving her one last moment, her eyes glisten with unshed tears.
Mine sting too...but I had promised I wouldn't I don't.
A quick hug..       "Yes...we'll write...we'll visit...we'll call!"

She walks to her packed car, turns once more with that
    familiar smile, the same little wave, that she gave me
        on that very first morning, as she stood at her mailbox.
                    She jumps in next to her waiting husband.

     He starts the engine, and soon their car is heading down the street, 
         that is no longer her street.
               Around the turn at the corner, 
                    that is no longer her corner,

              She is gone.

                Tomorrow the SOLD sign comes down.

                       Perhaps a new wave, another smile, someone gathering mail
                                                                                ....   will brighten my day.

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Attention Fellow Soupers

Hey guys, thank you for reading this.  Ok it has come to my attention from poets who are my 
genuine friends that some uncouth people on here are gossiping about me; saying 
I'm "preying" on (soup women). You know who you are!!  I don't have to call names!!  R U guys serious?
     Number one I am single, I flirt, Number two everyone knows there has been several, 
relationships formed here on the soup and yet they say I can't flirt or find love, instead they 
say I am "preying " on women.
     So I offer a challenge my soup family;  Any woman who feels I "preyed" on her...leave 
a "comment" for this letter for all the soup to see.  If I have asked any woman for money 
etc. (that I did not know and who aren't in my friends circle)  please leave comment.
     It is time to pull the cat out of the bag.  No need for any more gossiping.  So you people 
that accuse me of this, WHERE ARE ALL THESE WOMEN AT?
     Let's ask some of my personal friends, Carolyn Devonshire, Laura McKenzie, Amy Green, 
Audrey Carey. These women I consider friends, real friends, and all these women are 
respected on the soup.
     Because I'm an inmate, I can't find love?  A good woman?  I am a part of this site, I can't 
get to know a woman on here?  Collaborate on poetry w/ a woman?  Remember family, I 
collaborated with some of these people who are gossiping and we wrote some beautiful 
poems.  You people doing this know who you are and your lying is catching up to
     I come home next year soup family.  I've served my sentence for a crime I did not 
commit.  So I'm not entitled to friendship and love???  Let me know.  Love you guys

Jimmy M. Anderson

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Wolves in full moon

"To best friends and brothers..."

Speed demons, derailed
Monsters of touch
More prudent, more potent, more…much
to the dismay of a boogeyman betrayed
My heart sank when I found out about you
And I even died a little more 
than I usually do
You leveled the playing field
you level headed freak
When you caused me to suppress the rage
It made me die a little
I’m flattered by your insolence
You’re cowardice and weak
Each time you open your mouth to speak
You make me die a little
I trusted the lies you spat
Swallowed the venom spawned
From the fooler of fools
Oh fool hearty one, you poisoned me
And made me die a little
Crown chopper, flatten my head
I’ll help pull the trigger, leave me for dead
End this lost crusade
though it makes me cry a little

I will never be on the wrong side again 

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The Sixth Floor

Accuse me at will
Tear my insides
Douse the fire
That fuels my pride

I’m still here
Whether you like it or not
Still standing tall
A battle presently being fought

Feeling as if
Friends turned foe
Knowing their thoughts
Their final blow

Execution awaits
There is no hope
Metaphorically feeling
The noose around my throat

Don’t struggle now
Stand strong, stand firm
For my integrity now
Many will learn

Corrupt are the peers
Only seen through their eyes
Accusations of being unfit
For the well earned prize

Satisfaction never arrives
Remaining forever desirous
Plagued with insatiable lust
Engulfed by this greed like virus

Nothing is enough
To satisfy the thirst
A flawless example
Of mankind at its worst

Criminate me at your will
Make me prisoner to time
Tarnish my soul, kill the spirit
You’ve been so kind

Feeling so far away
Oh so out of place
Take my feelings, take my suggestions
Rip the skin from my face

You’ve been so kind
To have put me in this living hell
Everyone in life
I seem to repel

My presence not matter
I am told now
You tell me what I’ve done
Feeling herded like a cow

Times that we live
The times of today
Concern of all
Based on pay

Rip me to shreds
Leave no recognition
Glance at me or stare
In your minds own suspicion

Take my love, shred my arms
Destroy my scarce trust
Pierce my body with daggers
Thrust after thrust

Leave me in ruins
Then let your friends scavenge remains
All is so wrong
Far past insane

A forgotten memory
I am no more
No recollection
The only traces are sores

So I wallow
In this god forsaken cesspool
Made by you, I contemplate
Why mankind desire the power to rule

You spit in my face
Symbolically with your lies
Don’t deny it
Its in your eyes

A disgrace, and an embarrassment
Sheer revolt is felt 
By your presence
Your not even worth a blow of the belt

May your rot
Rot in hell
For I am a shadow
Can nobody tell?

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I'm driving down Eighteent' Avenoo in Bensonhoist,
I am having a wallear for a hero; I jeet
nothin' yet, and metballs sound great
but I don't wanna wait on line...
like deeze nice kids from North Carolina!
I tried to jump the line, but duh big guy...
a mean-looking man yells,
" Get back on line, weisnheimer... I don't like doze
kinda of guys...yuh're just another customer! " 
I am so hungry I could jeet a big cow,
an' wanna give him a piece of my silly mind!
"Oh my god...he makes me mad!"
" Yuh got a lotta nerve, buddy! " I yell back...
" Don't yuh mess with a goomba! " 
" Oh, my god...I sound like doze guys from Duh Sopranos... 
I wanna no drama, just my meatballs hero and go! "  
Duh tall, chubby man stares at me an' says," Listen to me,  
don't yuh tawk to me like dat! "...
" Yuh think...yuh're so special!" I axeya
in a nice way, so go back to the' wait like dey do!...
" Do yuh understand? "..." Someone tell me...whatta I'm gonna 
do with an idiot like dat? "
" Yuh still laugh at me like I am tellin' yuh a whacky joke! " 
He freezes my words...I can't tawk;
and with a huge hero in my hand, I run back to my scash!


I'm driving down Eighteenth Avenue in Bensonhurst,
I am having a craving for a sandwich;
I haven't eaten anything yet, and meatballs look great,
but I don't want to wait in line...
like these nice kids from North Carolina!
I try to jump the line, but the big guy,
a mean-looking man looks at me and shouts,
" Get back in line, wise guy...I don't like those kind of guys!"
" You are just another customer!"
I'm so hungry I could eat a big cow,
and I want to give him a piece of my crazy mind,
but the tall, chubby man stares at me and says, 
"Listen to me, don't you talk to me like that!"
"You think you are so special! I asked you in a nice way,
so go back in line... and wait like they do!"...
"Do you understand?..."Someone tell me...what I am going to do
with an idiot like that?..."You still laugh at me like I'm telling you a crazy joke!"
He freezes my words...I can't talk;
and with a huge sanwich in my hand,
I quickly run back to my old-beat-up car!

 Entered in Debarah's Guzzi contest, " Dialects make the world go around "

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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

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

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

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

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

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Another Holocaust?

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

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Another Saturday night with her friends

Where the floor meets the wall,
She stands in her usual spot,
Craving a cigarette,
Observing, processing, psycho-analyzing,
Another Saturday night with her friends.

Their forced civilized exchange of small talk, 
Boasting, intellectual competitions and back handed compliments
Vainly covers the tension of secret love triangles,
Unspoken resentments, jealousies, and
Bruised egos until the alcohol takes effect and
 people start going to the bathroom in groups.

That is when someone puts on jazz album,
And suggests a game which
brings out the "realness" in everyone:
They tell stories, make confessions,
Share moments of tenderness before
Declaring war
Shattering several expensive wine glasses and 
Dissolving into fits of hysterical laughter or sobbing
a fight is taken outside 
a couple is having sex in the basement, 
 and someone is vomiting  in the kitchen waste basket.

Except her,
Lightly buzzed by some cheap white box wine,
She will  comfort and offer sage advice to
the  histrionic  and  the clueless
which they will soon forget or dismiss.
Refill the pretzel and chip bowels,
Break up a fight between two romantic rivals,
Pour countless whiskey shots and shake 20 mean Vodka martinis, 
Nurse the drunk and clean up the mess in the kitchen.

Years from now, these alleged group of friends will
Rewrite this night filled with fun and merriment 
Where the drinks, drugs and conversation flowed,
and the fire never died,

While she will accurately recall every detail and wonder
Why she allowed this group of sparkling, beautiful, broken  people 
To cast her as their resident 
Unpaid therapist
 Keeper of secrets
What was her incentive or her reward?
Beyond their peripheral acceptance.

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Once upon a time...

Once upon a time..

I have tried and tried to break the wall...
I have tried and tired to stand tall...
but there are no holes... 
there are no holes for the air to seep in...
I am stuck and I leave now...

I have spoken words.. I have pleaded.. cried .. and shouted....
I choose to remain silent
and forever will be ...

You will beg me to speak.... and you will not hear...
for I would have spoken ages ago... once upon a time...

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Embarking On The Next Decade

Here I am embarking on another decade
rearing to go and places to see with someone
 like you to guide me times three…

Planning on more than one decade, to be 
around to see all that I want and 
all that I missed...

Want you to be my guide, throughout 
the rest of my life… 

Whether it be on this continent,
 or one of the remaining, it really makes
 no differences to me as long as you are 
with me…

By Sandra L. Hoban

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Have you had or seen teenagers,
who abused drugs like marijuana
and became truant and unruly?
That same teens could be 
exposed to temptation again,
if they worked in a hospital,
where the supply of medical
marijuana is kept in glass cabinets.
And we think that modern vampires
are fiction as Drucula's legend seems;
there are indeed doctors and nurses
who will steal blood to satisfy their urge,
and if I have revealed this...
do you think that I am crazy?
If the FDA approved it,
what would the consquences be?
It will certainly diminish the acute pain in patients,
or make everyone around them get high?
Our streets are swarmed with pot heads,
who are hit daily by cars, because of unclear thinking;
and those who drive cause many fatal accidents...
others die of an overdose in filthy corners,
their lifeless bodies are spotted in small towns and big cities.
Is it a good idea to make it legal,
or will it endanger everyone in public places?

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A Prince in the Belly of Poor Mens Reality

The walls are speaking harshly of me
They want me to hear what they think of me
I know I’m different from the descendants of their kin’s
I wonder why it bothers them that I am merely being me
Freed to live as I wanna be

They are guests in my territory 
Imprisoned by the chains of poverty
Whipped by the lashes of mediocrity
I wish to ignore them but their noise bothers me
Why this misfortune
Here to live in the core of pessimism

I am a prince lost in the belly of poor men’s reality
As self righteous as they can be in their impoverished reality
My thoughts of hope and my words of better dreams
To them noise to be done away with
They are a lot resigned to their reality
A dollar or two at the end of the day 
Does just well to satisfy them completely

They do not understand why a prince like me
Would one day wish to be king
I don’t understand why able men like they
Would not wish to reign on their mediocrity
But hey! The truth is that they are they
Meant to gather hey
And I am me
Moulded to be the prince
What’s a future king without a kingdom to inherit?

Unbeknownst to their conscience
Tomorrow they shall serve me

Whereas they toil for today only
I build an inheritance for eternity
I scratch a mark in the plaque of history
Here today, forever remembered 
As for them, here today, 
Tomorrow as insignificant as though they never were

So please by all means
Let them laugh at me
It’s the noise a prince must perceive
In his grooming to be king
Perhaps it will make me understand
Why there are a million subjects to one prince

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Unlucky In Love

There was this very unlucky man 
with a very unlucky past,
in a small town with his unlucky dog,
upon which stares were cast.
They knew to keep their distance
and how unlucky was he.
His family cursed through generations,
their luck was not to be.

His mother had passed giving birth,
then a plane crashed on their porch.
It burst into flames as high as the house
and the whole place it did scorch.
The family survived but, badly burned,
they would be scarred for life.
And his dog has walked on three, old legs
since that incident with that knife.

One day, the unlucky father decided
his only son would be forced
into an unlucky marriage,
after which, they should’ve divorced.
For their families, they suffered through,
but never got along.
That horrible family curse of his
made everything go wrong.

The only company that he enjoyed
was from his three-legged pooch.
His wife would start arguments every day
‘cause he spent all their money on hooch.
She’d break his family portraits and scream
for hours and hours on end.
Once, she screamed ‘til she fell to the floor,
so a doctor they did send.

Her heart was weak and soon thereafter,
the very next week, in fact,
the unlucky husband came home from work
to find all the suitcases packed.
His mean, old wife ran out the door
when that doctor’s car pulled up.
He just sat down with his favorite bottle
and slowly filled his cup.
His family came when they heard the news.
“Why’d this happen?”  They noticed the mess.
So he turned to them with a drunken smile
and answered, “Just lucky, I guess.”

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I have walked many hospital halls-
Entering each room to check on my patients
lying in their beds, looking at four walls,
Sick and alone and frightened of dark spaces.

Some of them were young and very ill-
Others were old and so very,very tired and pale,
I was so sorry I couldn't heal them with a pill-
But that was the fifties and we knew, sometimes we would fail.

My elderly patiens were quite sad,
I loved them all-they were so cute,
They were like children, sometimes good, other times bad-
But their histories told stories from which books are made.

The children all knew that they were very sick,
But they were so brave, it often made me cry-
It didn't matter if their name was Sue or Nick,
They knew that we were always on their side.

I could tell many stories about hospital halls
But I have to go now because my daughter calls,
I'll share more tales of when I was in love
With nursing and helping and serving my Lord above.  

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dreams under dust 2of2

{continued 2of2}...

the third girl took her
bullet reluctantly but
Mr. Mohammed Merah believes
in an eye for an eye

i wonder if Mr. Muhammad Wazir
would have preferred to take
his farming plowshare,
beat it into a sword
and bring writhing attrition
to still more children.

i think...i prefer to think,
that Mr. Muhammad Wazir, 35,
of Panjwai, Afganistan,
would tell Mr. Mohammed Merah, 24,
of Toulouse, France
that children are innocent

not just in God's eyes, 
but in truth, in his too,
that killing only begets more killing
Alas, it is too late for Merah's merit,
and the sky still shines blue

© Goode Guy 2012-03-21

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first PART of DRUG warning FOR your KIDS

I am a differeent incarnation of  a poet who garnered a lot of praise for writing a poem on a 
subject matter a lot people thought of  consequence, as do I.  So  if you took my advice and 
showed my other poem to your children, cool, and now let them read about how to do what 
brought six of my friends down in eight years…..I’m telling you dudes the s**t is deadly… 
Little Johnnie or Tommy:


Those are the breaks
For making mistakes
That’s how it goes
When weeds slay a rose

Look you all
because I’ve got something you probably don’t care to hear
But I have vehement verbiage I want to voice
I want to tell you people that I’ve been places that scare even Satan
Imagine that, 
The father of fear
Making hs own fear clear
I’ve used items you all think are totally benign
A baby’s pacifier, an eye dropper, a medical needle , and a thin strip of paper from money
If anyone had any dollar bills left
 …………because the end of the eyedropper is a bit too thin to hold the needle without what we 
called a “collar” 
It was more like a noose
That which we called a “collar” made to bring us relief

Oh, and this I never knew back then, 
but a lot of shirts come with cotton on the back of a button.
So if we didn’t have cotton to filter out the particles that may clog your needle we’d use the 
back of a button, a cigarette filter or invent something with junkie ingenuity.
And then you need a hairpin and a bottle top from a soda
And you use the hairpin as a handle for the little frying pan you cook the dope up in
I’ve seen people shooting dope in  bodily areas you may not believe
Because either he or she had no viable veins they could find
So they shoot it in incredible places such as under their eyeball
Between their toes 
All in an effort to make certain nobody knows
The genital area is excellent but mostly for a dude
Chicks don’t have as many places, and much thinner veins

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If all the things I have right now were taken away and I had nothing left I would fantasize about nature and how beautiful it is. I would imagine that I was swinging on an old tire swing in front of a river. In the river were little ducks and I would go feed them. In my life right now I don’t think of nature that way. I think if my freedom was taken away I wouldn’t take it for granted the way I do and I would know how much it actually means to me. I would also imagine my family getting together for my family reunion. We would usually have them in September. My aunt would make her fancy white cake topped with chocolate drizzle. My grandma always made her jello cake; I still don’t know exactly how she makes it. The others would bring KFC, at least three boxes full of chicken and fries. All the kids would sit together and play games and laugh as we threw food at one another. We would have a game where the kids lined up from age 1 to age 13 and you would get to pick a prize appropriate for your age. I would always get stuck with bath soap and tooth brushes.I take a lot of ordinary things for granted and I think a lot of people do but they won’t admit it. Sometimes I even take life and my freedom for granted. I think that if maybe we wouldn’t take things for granted like the trees or our freedom that maybe our lives would be a lot better and things wouldn’t happen the way they do. I have lived long enough to know that it won’t happen, nothing happens the way you want it to. Just a few months ago I lost my grandma and I couldn’t do anything to help her. I took all of the things she did for granted and now that she’s gone I miss her. She used to make this tuna casserole, it was just amazing but I never told her just how much she meant to me. I think if I would have told her that more then I wouldn’t feel so guilty or depressed that she is gone. I never told her what I needed to. If people could use the words of John Lennon “Imagine Peace” and actually think about it then maybe the world wouldn’t have to end because there wouldn’t be any enemies, murders, drugs, none of the bad things would have happened. If we could have just accepted everyone around us for who they are and known that one day we all have to die, we could have stepped back from it all and said I had a good life and I don’t regret any of it. I think it’s no good to step back from something and tell yourself that you could have done something to prevent it.

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My Generation

On a crisp blue morning
Like any other day
Abruptly evolving
Into a horrific display

Few words describe
This event of destruction
Automatically you blame
Political corruption

Who else are you to blame
But our elected chief?
In all actuality
Labeled in fictional belief

The cards are all
Now on the table
Justice must be brought
By any means able

Yet now you criticize
Our leader's standing declaration
Whatever happened
To this nation's protection?

Now watched by the world
On satalite television
Explosions and death
In high definition

Now shown to the world
This terror named war
And YOU now ask
"What are we fighting for?"

Freedom and independence
Our inalienable rights
For which often
We still must fight

Jealousy and resentment
Hidden behind religion based hate
Failed to be realized
Is this trajic date?

Enragement short lived,
By our nation as a whole
Crying and complaining
About our soldiers death tole

Fighting for us
They are defending our nation
Yet to be supported
By our ignorant MTV generation

All of your "children"
Signed up for their job
When needed they fight
Now they're purpose you rob

Hide in your burrows
For you should'nt be seen
Spineless is this generation
Lacking the integrity it needs

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A Blessing In The Heat (Part I)

It was 105 degrees that Texas day, and in the asphalt parking lot where we were performing it seemed like 150. But I was glad to be there. I had been invited to perform at a Cowboy Gathering in Weatherford, Texas and I had come there for one reason only...because Larry McWhorter was supposed to be there performing too. I had his tape at home and I was a huge fan of his work. After my set, I was approached by a lady who introduced herself as Andrea. She told me how much she liked my work and that she wanted me to come sit with her in the audience because her husband wanted to meet me and that he had a surprise for me.

We sat down in front of the stage and they introduced Larry McWhorter. I was thrilled that I was going to get to see him in person. His works stands high among the true greats of Cowboy Poetry and I identify with him because he is the "Real Deal," just like the men I grew up among. As I sat there Larry spoke to the audience. He told them that he had enjoyed my poem "Mustangs." I was thrilled! Larry McWhorter was talking about my work! He went on to say how he had worked in the part of Oklahoma I am from and that he had a particular poem about that area, that he was going to do it now and that he was dedicating it to me, the only Oklahoman performing there. He then recited Johnny Clare.

Of all the poems in the world, this is my number one favorite. I have stood at the grave of Johnny Clare. I have heard the stories about him since I was a teenager and a friend's uncle told us about him. While Larry recited, nothing else existed in this world. There was no background noise from the festival, the temperature didn't matter...all there was in the world were the words he spoke of an Oklahoma Cowboy.

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Lost Memories

Slowly fading away

Are your memories of me

Forgotten moments

Glimpses of recollection

Then disappearing

In confusion

Knowing without knowing

Familiar of the unfamiliar

Living in another world

Not remembering anything

Slipping away before my eyes

In silence my heart cries

Watching you slowly fade away

Loving you now like yesterday

Here I stay

Embracing hearts in reach.

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Yard Sale Saturday

The tables are set,
the tent is up,
yard sale Saturday,
getting rid of some stuff.
Lamps without shades,
an old garden hose,
and tons of socks,
and out of date clothes.
Rusty old rakes,
some clippers, and gloves,
and out in the field,
that old yellow bus.
Some goodies for sure,
come early, and browse,
if you have the money,
you can even buy my house.
I hope it dosn't rain,
until everything is gone,
there is no way on this earth,
I could get this stuff inside my home.

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Upon a donkey he rode,
Into a city he carried his load,
Palms were scattered upon the ground
Loud voices praising,all around-
Hosanna,Hosanna,was the sound

Full story @ Mt 21:1-11

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What makes real men

I’ve seen so much
In the few years I’ve been here
Some things witnessed
Are my deepest fears

Not too long ago
On July 26th of 2004
Two great friends
That I greatly adore

The first on this day
Was my dear ol’ grand dad
The other was a kid
And this kid had

A bright promising future
Just out of high school
And he always seemed
Oh so cool

Thing happen
Unpredictable and unjust
Yet push on
Everyone must

What is done is done
The past we cannot change
And at time this causes our lives
To be rearranged

Honor their memory with laughter
Do not dwell on the grief
Just move on
You must believe

I have lost men
Whose shoes I could only hope to fill
Some had passed
Because they were incurably ill

Some have died
Before their time
Passing in the very beginning
Of their promising prime

What makes a real man
Is not how he starts things
It is the kind of finish
He shall bring

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Domestics - blue berry pancake

Simmering,hot, pancakes, flushed.
Battered, beating, bruised,
Syrup, sweet, melted, dripping, 

Brown now, peeling, ripping 
Dark berries, smashed oozing bluish - black red,
Hands and words tossed instead,

Pancake Burnt! Pancake dead!

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Glowing Delight

Asked by a husband, each year before November ends.
His wife sits waiting, to see the tree upon the hill.
Messages of waiting, upon the first night, she sends.
To the building, that displays a tree, so still.

Each year, a tree lit on an, November night
She patiently waits at first, with anticipation growing.
Looking out her window, she gazes upon one delight.
This is a sign; Christmas is near as this tree is glowing.

He tells me she is watching, upon the mark of twilight.
He says it brings joy to her heart and tears to eyes.
To see the giant tree adorned, in brilliant color of white.
Truly a scene of beauty, which floats below the skies,

This tradition, handed down, before nineteen forties.
Vividly seen for miles, marking the seasons cheer,
Tree of lights that adorn a building rooftop with ease,
We all see this view, admiring, until the New Year. 

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The Boy Who Loved The Rain

Let me tell you of a boy,
A boy that I once knew;
This child once lived in Illinois,
Close to where I grew.

He always loved to play the games
Of Tag or Hide and Seek,
But he'd always play in rain,
And that's why he's unique.

I guess he liked the thunderstorm
And how the lightning struck.
He would run around the barn
And stimulate his luck.

One time, I guess, was his last run
As he went out to play,
The clouds that droned had hid the sun
And took away the day.

The lightning flashed and hit the grass
With so much bearing force
That people ran inside, alas, 
To dodge the bullet's course.

The boy stood out among the wheat
That grew inside the field.
He waited for the rumb'ling beat
That shook the grinding mill.

Finally he raised his arms
Into the sky, so unrestrain'd
And shouted all throughout the farm
That he was there to greet the rain.

That's when the final strike release'd.
That's when the boy had all his nerve.
And as the thunder pounded east,
All the people would observe

The death of one who loved the feel
Of water from the sky.
We buried him out in the field,
A tomb he'd not deny.

That's the story of a boy
A boy that I once knew;
This child once lived in Illinois,
Close to where I grew.

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I’ve been traveling life highway for so many years,
Some days were laughter and some days were tears.
Some days I would be so happy and acting like a clown,
Then there were some days you wouldn’t want me around.

I have seen my friends slowly pass away,
And I sometimes wonder when is it going to be my day.
I have seen people take a  huge fall,
From having everything, to having nothing at all.

I’ve seen babies crying because they have been neglected,
Used, abused and left naked.
Naked, because no one care,
Naked on the inside, because no reasonable adult was there.

So much pressure & stress being placed in our lap,
That I have seen the strongest person just snap.
I have traveled this highway for so many years,
And along this highway, I’ve had plenty of fears.
Fears of not knowing the unknown,
Some of us have the fear of  just being alone.

They say what don’t kill you, only makes you strong,
But there are some days I think that statement is wrong.
But one statement that I know is true,
And that is God will see you through.

While you’re traveling this highway of life,
Let me give you one piece of advice.
Ditches, cracks and even a pot hole or two you may hit,
But whatever you do, don’t give up and please don’t quit.

Written by
July 19, 2010

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Same Time, Same Place...

Same time
Same place
Different color
Of the face

Same K-12 system
Same university
Different college
Who gained 
More knowledge?
Who excelled?
Who got more hell?

Same job
Same school
Same students
Same certification
Different degrees

Who stayed 
On their knees?
Both of us
Yes, indeed.
Who achieved
Well let’s see!

Same time
Same place
Different color
Of the face
I made it 
By God’s grace
You are 
A Satanic disgrace.

You are the
Face of hateful
I settle for
None of your
Fallacious foolishness
And malicious mediocrity.

Same hometown
I keep it real
You a damn clown
God’s giving you 
A furious frown

A lazy witch
Probably born rich
Living in the sticks
Killing nature’s beauty
Just to get away
From people like me
An earth killer
Fake teacher
And destiny stealer
A true thriller
Makin fake scrilla

I worked hard
While you pressed bricks
Storing awful ATP
To make sure
You got the best of me
And people from my 

My adenosine triphosphate (ATP)
From glycolysis in my body
After Krebs cycle
Gives off love
While yours come
From hate
We’ve had the same bodily
Processes similar chemical makeup
I just have more melanin
You act the way you act 
Because of your grandfather’s mistakes

 I hate to see your fate 
If you don’t change
You are devilish
And deranged
I know your game
Your name
We’re from the same turf
You and I 
Are carbon based products
One tries hard daily to be just
So that when the minister
Says ashes to ashes
And dust to dust
That I get the reward
I deserve
You got my reward
I still work hard
Detests the enemy

It ain’t fair 
That we walked in the same place
Respect you received
And hate slapped me in the face
Walking around with on your face
Did a dissertation on me
If I looked like you 
With my knowledge 
At 23 I would have had
Ten PhD’s.

Girl please you got the nasty woman disease
Get on your knees for the right reas’
Pray to us Jes’
Save me from being a real bigot
And sometimes on the sly
Help me to love you
And all your creatures
And accept diversity

You need help with that dirty blond hair
Pony tails sticking in the air
Depicting your true savior 
Not mine that will catch the one’s
That are still alive and in Him 
Up in the midair.

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Ralph Zimmer Acrostic Poetry

ralph my great poetic friend 
after the puff of smoke ends 
last man standing will be you, 
provider of poetic words so true 
having great thoughts, not blue! 
zimmer has a philosophical blend 
in his poetry he has started a trend, 
man of excellent Acrostic poetic flow 
ahhh, the reader smiles with a glow, 
even after closing his acrostic page 
one remembers his poetic great taste, 
friends his poetic words are very kind 
openness displays in his rhyming lines, 
every syllable count is very great 
he always write with amazing faith, 
riding the poetic highlights today 
He sits on the “Dock of the Bay!” 

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Politics for Better or Words (The Narrative Version)

Politics for Better or Words 
(The Narrative Version)

Politics, by nature, nurtures pathological indecisiveness.
Self-appointed officials, being of a transitory nature,
Lavish themselves with costly entertainments, privileges, and travel expenses.
Convenient loss of memory of the events of specific periods comes in handy.
He who invents fables may succeed in dividing electoral districts.
For his own gain, of course, would be typical of a scheming, corrupt politician.
One who is impelled to carry out an idea and conduct public business for private gain.
Government by the worst, one might say, by those eager for selfish gain.
Corruption in a government based on rules of law. 
Yet, some leaders seek to alter the law by passing a new law.
All too often, though, it seems to be government based on the newspaper.
For a period of four years, we listen to politicians tell anecdote after anecdote to justify lost 
freedoms under the name of NATIONAL SECURITY.
And that, of course, costs money.  Thus, more taxes.
And on that matter, there is no agreement among the politicians.  
Opinions fluctuate and the people are promised miracle after miracle
Promises needed to hold the nation together during hard times.
After 9-11, leaders with quick agility made preparations for war. 
Now, people question whether the war is against terror OR for monetary gain via oil.

Dictionary Reference:


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Living on the Edge

“Wow, life”! 

Always in the proper order organized and determined to stay intact.
Step by step rules with regulations and all judged with such strict order.
And all of this is what’s focused on me?
My, My! What a revelation in front of me a definite soul searching moment indeed.
Walking the plank I can see death before my eyes and visions with just way too many lacks.
I step further in to grasp this concept presented so directly in front of me.
Ha! A life with nothing but clearly lots of undistinguished metaphors!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but it encourages the will in me to succeed!


Ruled by the throne of ethical, morals, and values,
Condensed all into one challenging the best of my integrity!
Step by step an opinion is drawn or the matter disregarded at hand, 
And all of this challenged by me!
My, My! What visions are in front of me a time to expect the unexpected my constant need! 
Playing Russian roulette with a loaded gun, firm and adamant I maintain all of my dignity.
Pushing further for results to stimulate an aura I capture a much higher demand!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but it examines these laws that strive so hard to be!

“Wow, life”! 

Expectations meant for perfection encourage the best of me over and over again.
Step by step blueprints are calculated, analyzed and specified by the finest details.
And all of this is what’s focused on me?
My, My! What examples are set before me a moment to test my own integrity!
Sink or swim? A desperate moment I recognize and exemplify as purely sublime.
Getting closer and closer to the seed itself the core is mine to unravel and reveal!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but it’s argumentative from all that I can see.


A yes or a no, but never a maybe and all before my time so it seems!
Step by step a path has been laid before me all engraved in gold or stone.
Most definitely a challenge for my authenticity!
My, my what a grip on me, a chance to acknowledge what it is that I believe?
Suffocated by these laws that be, I’m caught in the rapture of my finest dreams.
I step further in to grasp the concept presented so proudly before me,
A challenge I care to defy on the Royal Throne!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but I know what I believe and I truly believe in what’s in the best of me,
And that my friend is strictly my authenticity!

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The Art of Living Part Three

Everyone was crying except for me, I couldn’t cry. I didn’t understand the full extent of the situation. The doctor comes out of the room and tells us that Helen is gone. Immediately I hear Renee saying “Grannies dead”. She cried, and after that everyone did. Mom asked if I wanted to see Helen one last time. I didn’t want see Helen blue and cold, I didn’t want to see her not breathing or moving. I wanted to see her alive, talking, and laughing like she usually does. Helen was a very bright person. When you were sad she would be there to cheer you up. I remember when Helen let me go up to the third floor of the blue house; we found records and cassette tapes. Helen let us have them; I remember they were Beatles records and Neil Young cassette tapes. She also let us have blankets and books on history. I would never give those records away.It was time to leave the hospital. I regretted not seeing Helen, I didn’t know if I would see her again because I wouldn’t be able to make it through the funeral service. I mourned the loss of her and I still do, so I will do anything I can to get this guilt out. I thought about the weekend again and how I could have waited one more hour till she got home so I could see her, but I left. Grandma Sandy said Helen was happy because she got to see her grandchildren wrestle. That Monday Helen was supposed to have a meeting about her will, but she changed it to a different day because she didn’t feel good. She scheduled it for the following Thursday, the day of her funeral. A lot of times I hear her voice and I see her face. I don’t know if it’s because I’m seeing things or if I’m hearing things. I think about her all the time, trying to keep her alive in my memory. I think of that day when I was sitting on the bus after that Metallica song I listened to the Foo Fighters- Let it Die. The lyrics read “Heart of gold but it lost its pride, Beautiful veins and blood shoot eyes, I’ve seen your face in another light, Why did you have to go and let it die, in too deep and out of time, Hearts gone cold and your hands were tied, why did you have to go and let it die?” It was around the time when Helen was laying on the floor, a few minutes before I heard the news. Sometimes I wonder if she was frustrated because of the way people perceived her, or if she was happy enough about the things she realized about herself that she could tolerate the way people perceived her and for that I think she was able to die in a happy state of mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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lurking to Lure

A successful man with a beautiful wife,
Three great kids, loves God and his life,
Goes into work every single day,
Loyal to his beliefs and makes an extraordinary pay,
He married real young, did the right thing,
A good looking man, always wearing his wedding ring,
But a woman in the office next door
Has been working late too and is looking to score,
She admires his rarity and is attracted to his charm,
Lately she has been asking for help on her assignments,
what’s the harm?
They have become friends and her luring begins,
This man doesn’t realize she has begun to infringe,
He has opened a door to the wrong kind,
While he's speaking his heart, she’s picking his mind,
Now instead of sharing his tension with his lovely mate,
He can’t wait to get to work and talk to her until late,
His wife can tell there’s been a shift in their communication,
She asks him if everything is alright with a slight hesitation,
But he quickly snaps back that he’s fine and just tired,
This happens all week and fights begin to transpire,
He begins to tell his venomous new pal,
She comforts him sweetly, she’s quite the gal,
Weeks later he comes to work stressed and depressed,
It happens to be the night she is wearing a silky black dress,
After going over a case accompanied with a few glasses of red wine,
Their relationship spirals into whats no longer benign,
In one evening everything this man has worked so hard for,
Vanishes, as his wife shows up with dinner 
and opens his office door.

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I'm Looking

I'm looking for someone I can kiss Oh I'm looking for a good girl but finding a good girl is like surfing the web and not seeing porn. I'm looking for someone to hold at night, Oh I'm looking for a good girl but finding a good girl is like going to the strip club and not getting glitter on your lap. I'm looking for someone to love and love me back. Oh I'm looking for a good girl but finding a good girl is like going to the beach and not getting sand in places there should not be sand. Oh I'm just looking for a good girl.

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My World

My world has always been a world of eternal dusk not so dark I could not see but not light enough to see more then a foot in front of me. There are other people in this world I can just barely see them. They are transparent just outlines of people when I watch them move it seems like the air around them is honey they move so slow. I have screamed at them them but they seem unable to hear or see me and I pass right through them If I reach for them. As the years have gone by I have grown to realize that they are not just outlines but I'm the one who is not fully here. This is how I have been living my life as an outline and as the years kept passing I found myself becoming less and less of what I was,slowly began to lose my mind. No longer trying to get people to see me or hear me I have been walking up and down the same road mumbling to myself for the past 10 years. But a week ago a light appeared just a dim light far off into the distance but a light none the less. I have been slowly drawn to this light ever since. It's still so far away but I have begone to hear a soft female voice calling to me. But I'm fading so fast I am trying with everything I have left to reach that light and find where the voice is coming from.

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The Bitterroot

About eleven years ago through a genealogical search I found out that my adopted 
father is Salish Indian, thereby making me at least half Salish.  I dedicate this poem 
to the Salish people:

The sun rises and calls our people to the land
The babies clutched, children taken in hand.
Blanketed, shivering bodies in the spring air
Quickly we assemble for the journey
Voices speak quietly; our people are ready.

Rows of deep blue mountains fading into the sky
Keeping watch over us; sentries from high.
We walk past the spring where the water runs deep
Life blood of our people, quietly blessed
We trek along its path, continuing our quest.

A prairie breeze rushes past, pulling at our clothes,
It whispers in ears and tells of the woes
Of a woman who cried for her starving people
A bird was sent that spoke of bitter tears
Drops that fed a plant, feeding our people for years.

The biting wind was cold and our feet pushed faster
It moans and speaks for every ancestor
The land that we walk upon is our heritage
This earth isn’t ours, just a caretaker
Of this blessed land, the people of our Creator

Our feet stumble over the dry soil and rocks
Tracing trails our tribe still hunts and walks
Searching  for wild game and berries for the table
Teaching our young of flowers and fauna
Now focused on the ground, seeking the red diva.

The searchers part, fingers pull on the dewy brush
Pushing away grass, hurrying to rush
And find the small plant, the guardian of our land
The tubular sprout that hides in dry soil
From all hands that seek, regardless of the toil.

Both young and old are searching for the small, slight sprout
Ancient rocks are pulled, then heard is a shout.
A young voice cries, “I found it!”  Excited and proud.
Young and old group to see the succulent
Eyeing the pink buds and the roots of the green plant.

Small fingers pass the sprout to a Salish elder
The plant is taken and then held tender
Withered fingers lift it, thanking our Creator
For once again we harvest in tribute
The symbol of our ancestors,  the Bitterroot.

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Christmas Traditions

Christmas Traditions
     By Dane Smith-Johnsen

It was the Day after Thanksgiving and every store in town.
Had planned to opened wide its doors before daylight could be found.
It was an outlandish sight to see people sleep overnight. 
Shoppers camping on sidewalks people waiting in the moonlight.

The Christmas shopping season was formally set in motion!
Hustling, bustling, getting, and grabbing: bikes, pipes, and lotion.
TVs, wreaths, computers, briefs, trees, ties, anything money buys. 
Some starry-eyed children sway singing with Santa beneath skies.

Meanwhile, Jesus Christ, the nativity, and live manger scenes
Attempt to teach people what the Christmas season really means.
A few carolers come singing along their neighborhood streets. 
And the folks that they sing too, with big smiles, surprise them with treats.

A God loving soul amid the clamorous celebrations,
Gathers his family, to make costumes and preparations.
Mary, Joseph, Jesus, shepherds, and the three Kings with gifts, myrrh.
Reverently, they reenact our blessed Savior's Holy birth.

This poem was written for Carolyn Devonshire's Christmas in Your Town contest.
Poetic form:  A narrative written in couplets.

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Against Those Who Discourage mOTHER Marian Devotion

O Sweet Father Christ, do these people have Your spirit?
Do they please You in acting like this?
Does it please You, when for fear of displeasing You,
We neglect doing the greatest to please Your Mother? Who’s our mother as well

Does devotion to Your mother, delay devotion to Yourself?
Does she attribute to herself honor we pay her?
Is she a stranger has no connection to You?
Does it displease You when we try to please her?

Do we alienate ourselves from Your love by giving ourselves to honoring her?
Yet my Sweet Master, 
Greater learned not discourage to Your holy mother 
Even all that I have said were true

Therefore, they’ve been punished for their pride!
Keep me Lord, form their sentiments and practices
Please give me share sentiments of gratitude
Esteem, Respect and Love
You has in regard to Your Holy Mother
The more I imitate her, follow her
The more I may Love and Glorify You

As if up to this point
Still I said nothing in honor of Your holy Mother
 'Give me grace to praise You worthily,' 
In spite of all her enemies, who are Yours as well
Grant me say loudly with the saints 
'Let not that man believe to look for the mercy of Eternal God 
Who offends His holy Mother 

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Staten Island Ferry

There's a huge crowd
with alacrity,
with variety,
movements continue.

across cultures
vary in shapes and forms
it's an experience,
worth knowing.

along with conversations
comes another impression
languages stand to reason
like a soul - the beauty of one's culture.

expressions and reactions
among these people
interesting to watch,
a piece of literature.

young and old alike
show each own picture
either a facial expression
or in speech form.

the cool breeze from the island
soothes the body temperature
like a whispering note
provides an inspiration.

a time to dock now
a time to get ready,
a time to say thanks
and say welcome to Staten Island.

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When I was young and naive, I joined a company where I thought I would stay...
The stay only lasted two years, as the President turned out to be a crook.
I had, at that time a young whom I had hurt by joining this company against her 
better judgement and who had seen from the first where this would go.
When I got wise and realized that she was right all along, it was too late to save the marriage.

There I was, no wife, no home, no job, $14,000 in debt, and the creditors at the door.  I was 
staying at my mother's house at the time...and being alone one night, I decided to call one of 
the people I used to work with.  He wasn't home, but I spoke to his wife.  She had been one 
of our secretaries, and I knew her as well.  As we spoke of things going on, and the things 
past, she interupted me in mid sentence.  "Dan, don't do It!"    "Do what?", I asked.    "I know 
what you're thinking, and it's not worth it."  She then proceeded to tell me how she would not 
be alive if someone had not found her after she tried to commit suicide after her first 
divorce.  "So, don't do it!"  It was like being hit in the face with cold water!

After hanging up the phone, I realized that she had heard something in my voice to spark 
her comment, and I would have killed myself that night had it not been for her.  I tried to 
sleep, but to no avail.  I decided to go to see an old friend whom I had worked with when I 
was a youngster.  He drove a bread truck, and I used to help him with deliveries.  When I 
saw him I told him that I had nowhere else to go, and didn't know who else to talk to.  
Without hesitation he said, "How much do you need...1,000, 2,000...5,000?"   "No, I just want 
to borrow a few hundred dollars to keep the creditors at bay until I can get myself a job."  
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a roll of bills, handed me $200 and said, "Call me 
tomorrow!"  A second dose of that cold water.

When I called the next day, he had gotten me a job driving one of the bread trucks.  I 
worked for almost a year at that job, paying off most of the creditors in that time.  And 
every time that I wanted to give back the $200 he would say, "Put it in your pocket, you need 
it more than I do".   

That was long ago and seems like a different lifetime.  Yet, I still remember vividly those two 
angels who helped me to still be here to write this for you.  Yes, I was a real lemon...They 
made me into lemonade which can't thank them enough!

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The gospel of hospitality

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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A Man called Joe

Lend me a listen
And hear this tale of woe
The life and times 
Of a man 'called' Joe

Keep still, keep quiet
Hush, listen to the sound
The silent footsteps of a man
As he walks his native ground

Joe was born long, long ago
Across the waters blue
In a land of plenty
There, Joe the babe grew

Five generations deep
A lifetime of needs supplied
Hard work, respect for self
Full of heritage and pride

Now, Joe's given name was 'Shakka'
A father, a husband, a strong man
One day while hunting
Was snatched from the 'Motherland'

In a ship made of wood
With white sails full mast
Joe and fellow countrymen
Were in the deep below casted

Please, listen a little longer
Can you hear the pain
The fear, the confusion
The frustration of chains

Landing on the auction block
Stripped of humanity and pride
There, Shakka's name was lost
And all his rights deprived

The years were hard, the master cruel
In a strange and foreign land
With obstacles to suppress
Still Shakka (called Joe) remained a man

The whip couldn't break that freedom spirit
Held deep within his soul
Joe vowed that freedom dream
His people someday restore

Listen, can you hear the silence
As his people struggle on
Keep still? ...Keep quiet?
Has all the work been done?


Joe's dreams
Shakka's screams
Mother's crying
Children dying
Policemen hosing
Prison doors closing
Dog attacks
Refusing the back
College sit-ins
Integration begins
Malcom's plight
Martin's fight
Jesse's stand
Mandela's victory
Apartheid's history

A borrowed ear, Joe's tale's been told
Yet the struggle remains
Speak Out! Shout Loud! the time has come
Total freedom we must regain

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Dancing with Desire

The fire in your eyes, 
scorches my soul,
burning with an intensity,
leaving me to hunger for more.

I try to avoid your gaze, 
wanting to ignore your magnificence.
My self-control disappears,
as desire consumes me,
persuading my eyes to linger,
upon the flames of your soul.

The walls I build around me,
continue to crumble,
into debris,
when your captivating charisma,
envelops my heart,
surrendering to inevitable attraction.

I hide the curve of my mouth,
realizing that I must conceal,
the realities of my sin.
Your dazzling smile,
engenders me to pretend,
I do not notice,
 the pair of horns,
 upon your head.

The darkness of your spirit,
mesmerizes me,
falling into temptation,
without considering the implications.

You are precarious,
to my life,
a fact that excites me,
yet terrifies me.

I yearn to fly away,
abandoning the arrow of lust,
piercing into my purity.
Your devilish grin,
whispers melodies of secrets,
enchanting my lonely existence.

The moment I let my guard down,
you place your hand,
upon the small of my back,
and lean into my body.
Your lips caress mine,
leaving me to tremble,
with the taste,
of your intoxicating kiss.

Our bodies unite,
connecting as one entity,
tainting my celestial light.
I no longer want,
the halo,
hovering over my head.

I came to abhor,
the purities of the heart,
bathing in an ocean of thorns,
severing the wings,
of delicate feathers,
off my back.

Innocence evaporated,
from my pores,
becoming a raging phoenix.
I took your hand,
turning my back,
to an alleged harmonious world.
I took a walk,
 on the wild side,
running through my labyrinth,
of fears.

Your gentle touch,
transforming into a dominant embrace,
creates an adrenaline rush,
exploding into a fever.

I choose your destiny,
to dance into eternal flames,
a black rose,
between my teeth,
as we perform the tango,
into a blazing inferno of passion.

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Racial hypocrisy rages hidden quietly behind smiles and well scripted chat. Listening 
for the angry sounds of discord, waiting to ignite and explode.
What emerges is the horror of true self, the raw unbridled feelings of narrow-
White against black, black against yellow and yellow against red. 
Why must we reinforce hate into each generations head? Aliens to truth we each 
abide with the thought that our kind is superior to the rest.
The heresy of such hypocrisy of this planetary audience is that we each are to 
blame for the lack of change.
 If we learn to live and except our fellow man and stop judging by the color of our 
neighbors face, then and only then may we acquire the title  “The Human Race”!

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Happiness in the Making

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
A question I answered through a lot digging through a mental dump.
Most answer this question with the thought of fame or occupation,
And as a child I too gave the same answers without hesitation. 
Although rich and successful may be nice, to me that answer won't suffice.

An occupation is not a finite answer.
Anyone can be anything, so I consider what comes after.
Should the line for the answer to the question be drawn at the title that you carry?
After all, people change, titles change, and the results may vary.

What do I want to be when I grow up?
Thought after puzzled thought a concrete answer I finally mustered up.
Money and fame mean nothing to me, 
And financially I just want to live comfortably.
So what do I want to be when I grow up? I just want to be happy.

I don't mean happy in my situation or a relationship,
But the happiness only found after overcoming your hardships. 
I can't remember that last time I was truly happy
With myself, my situation, and the people around me;
Where I could wake up in the morning, look outside, and smile profoundly. 

In order for me to become what I want to be, all my goals have to come into fruition.
As of right now I'm just waiting for the pieces I know soon will to fall into place.
You can call it intuition. 

My happiness; well it's a work in progress of course.
I know exactly what I need and how to get it;
I'm just hoping logical progression takes its course. 

I'm in the pursuit of happiness,
And in it I'll either be a legend or another tragic story.

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Strive not for strife
But confront conflict on all fronts
When it strides past your ride
Dispense with all disputes
Spare not your fangs
When fear rears its ugly head:
When it rains; have a free cold bath
If sun shines, dry your clothes
At the reign of darkness
Find the inner light 
That lights your path undimmed
If the flood flows
Swim afloat on lifebuoy
And if fire rages and smoke rises
Expect the afterglow
When horde of odds assail like bandits
Never retreat, nor surrender
Turn around, turn aside, 
Never ever turn in nor turn back
Enjoy the war.

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On Watch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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What's Love Got To Do With It?

When she is pregnant, the father long gone, the street her home, she knows she cannot 
afford, or provide for you, yet, will not allow you to be forcefully taken from her womb.

When you are born, she leaves you on a door stoop instead of in a garbage dump.

Where after years of hardship and pain, she finds you once again, you reject her, then 
chastise her sin, send her away, do not let her defend against the hell she lives in.

When you marry in front of all your family and friends, the only one absent, your mother, 
you give nary a thought whether she is alive or dead.

When the day comes your children wonder why you never talk about your mother, they 
question what she did, to make you despise her, like no other.

When you realize there was no shame, she gave life over death, she gave you a chance you 
would never have, a home with a bed, instead of a crate over a grate.

When finally you search, years go by, until one day you discover her upon her death bed, 
your head awash with memories missed, those, you will never have, you look upon a face, 
you once looked upon with hate, tears held in check all these years, flow freely, 
overwhelmed with emotion, barely able to speak, she takes your hand, smiles, then closes 
her eyes.

The last she sees, her son at her bedside telling her he loves her, he wants more time, she 
dies peacefully, happier in this moment than any other time.

What's Love Got To Do With It?

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I have always been alone it seems. This life has taken everything from me all my friends have gone walked away into the light where I can't follow. All my family has left and wont tell me where they have gone. So over the years my defenses have been built up and are strong. First the towering outer wall, surrounded by the dead bodies of people that could never get through. Next we have the inner wall, with two guard towers at either side. This wall is not as strong or high but the towers always filled with guards and weapons to strike down any and all who approach. People have reached this far many a time but almost all have fallen here. Second to last is a huge iron gate surrounded by a moat of battery acid to keep all from swimming it. The gate is thick and has never been lowered willingly, the gate keeps all out of the city that is my soul and heart. Only a select few have reached this far and a couple have forced there way in. Then last within the city, there is a golden vault door keeping all out of my inner sanctum. These defenses have been tested and tried but never have they all fallen. So imagine how shocked I was the day I was walking within my sanctum and out of a puff of smoke you appeared without any warning.........

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Can You Hear Me?

I am screaming your name,
But you’re not listening.
Instead you stand there glistening.
But I can’t feel the same.
I can feel you with me,
But I can not believe.
Remember that I came!
To you I say can you hear me?
You see me when I look at you.
But your eyes are not open.
You see what will come in.
But you are lost without a clue.
You feel alive touched by me.
But you will never set yourself free!
Remember that I came once again!
I say to you, can you hear me?

I see you do this.
But it’s not you.
I see what you go through.
But you hold what you miss.
You are not with me.
But I can never agree,
Remember my bliss!
To you I say can you hear me?
You are calling my name.
But I can not hear you.
You see that I already knew.
But I am still the same.
You can not see me.
But you hold onto your dream!
Remember that I came!
I say to you, can you hear me crying “’Tis shame”?

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It was a glorious, hot day soothed by the August's breeze; the town's copper bells
harmoniously chimed in their old, sturdy bell towers
as the band tuned to their festive sound with trumpets, trombones and marching drums. 
The large square resounded with thousands of voices,
a procession of faithful flowed to the Church of Saint Stephen.
I ran upstairs with heavy breath to tell my sister to follow
them, but there on the flloor she layed with upward eyes, kind of lifeless;
and so hepeless not to find anyone, I stepped outside and saw
the saint's pious face and invoked Him for a miracle...suddenly I went back, 
and instantly her face regained color and she began talking. I was convinced
that such a miracle happened because of my firm faith,
and that vision reinforces my belief that saints are the intercessors of God.

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The Lobsterman

The Lobsterman

She sits alone, hands gripping her coffee cup
Staring out the window at the mist that shrouds the village,
Watching lazy rivulets of moisture meander down the glass
Where is he she wonders, her imagination fearing the worst

She brightens at the crunching sound of footsteps
Approaching up the cottage walk
The door opens, he's home, filling the room with his presence
He removes his slicks as the oceans scent permeates the kitchen

"You're late, I kept your supper on the burner, sit down and I'll get you a plate"
He drops into a chair, acknowledging her offer with a smile
"The traps were light today" he says, "my catch didn't cover the fuel"
He starts to eat the meal she placed before him, his thoughts lost within himself

"Tommy came home from school today, excited about a field trip" she says,"asked if he 
could go"
"Its gonna cost $20.  I told him I'd talk to you about it"
He looks at her and she can see the pain in his eyes, the stress lines on his face
His eyes red rimmed from too little sleep and too much worry

"I've got to pay my stern-men come Friday, and a payment on the boat is coming due
Might have to let one go til things get better, but a lot less traps I'll be able to pull
Can't make no promises about the field trip, but I'll see what I can do"
He pushes back from the table, says "I'm gonna go take a shower now"

She waits til he comes back to the kitchen and they sit and talk quietly together
Abruptly he says "I'm thinking I may have to sell the boat and take a job in town"
She is startled by his statement, shocked he would consider such a thing
All he knows is lobstering and the sea runs in his veins.  Her heart aches for him

"Why don't you sleep on it" she says. "You're exhausted, You need to rest"
Together they retreat to their bedroom, but sleep eludes them both
She lies there thinking how much she loves him, how hard he works to earn their 
He lies there thinking of tomorrow, wondering how much longer he can survive

She wakes before the dawn, the bed already empty,   
He has departed for the harbor in the dimness of the morn 
She knows the sea will always be his mistress, her siren song seducing him each day
She feels the helplessness and fear surround her, and she prays for a better catch 

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take me from this misery

* this poem has been inspired by Breaking Benjamin's Dear Agony....*
* and was written in memory of my grandmother Jeanne Gula *

My name is Jeanne Gula, today i found out that i have cancer.
Its in a tumor, that's very painful, its very rare, its 3 cancers into 1
they already took it out once... and it came back.
The doctor said it was to late to take it out again.
Its not the perfect end to my life, but its all i can have..
I don't really know how much more time i have.
I used to be able to walk by myself, with out help.
I can't believe this happened to me... of all people.
It's be coming torture, they called in hospices.
This cant be good...
I'm in my own home, slowly dieing...
I really don't want to leave, I will leave so many loved ones behind..
So I think i will stay a little longer...
Its January, i now can't do anything by myself, i have to rely on family to help with
everything, my organs are starting to slowly shut down, its very painful to go through.
but my daughters birthday is coming soon... I'm not going to leave now... i don't want her
to be sad, on such a happy day.
I can't hold on much longer.
I'm now out of this misery, its feb. 2nd, and I'm finally free.
Free, of all this pain, and I'm healthy again, I can walk, with out hanging on to anything
or anyone, I can finally be independent again...
now no one cry for me, because i lived a full long life, and no longer in pain..
I love you all.
Love Grammy

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Honor To Mother Mary is Honor To Father Christ

“The honor of the Mother reflects on Father Christ”
“Whatever honor and praise are given to the Mother bounces to the Son”
“The honor given to the Queen bestowed on the King”
The Honor we give to the Mother of the Lord was referred to Him Who was made incarnate (personified) of her”

The Mother is honored for her Son’s sake”
“Indeed in loving Mother Mary, we honor Eternal God”
“We will never love her as He loved her”
Father Christ was the first to honor her as His mother
“We will never be able to equal with which Father Christ loved her”


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In grey

As I stood in the doorway,
I thought my life a blissful grey.

All the feelings I possessed
dangling on display.

Gathered in one sentence
held tender in my hand.

I need a lover
a man.

Table was grey
waiter taking pay
Flowers were so pink
I could not think.

I just sood there
the music in my eyes,
No words to say
no lies.

To see if he would hold me
or flee.

To confess his love
or me mine
a time
in total grey.

R. Risley

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Steeped in memories

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The Art of Living Part Two

Monday, February 27th   
The bell rings and all the people walk out to get on their buses or to get to their cars. I 
walk with some of my friends as we talk about what happened the day before. I finally 
reach my bus, and find the number of my bus seat. I sit down and pull out my iPod, and 
I listen to “Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica. I am thinking about the weekend when I 
went to go see granny Helen on Saturday, but she wasn’t there, she was at a wrestling 
match. It is now Monday and I thought about her for some odd reason. After an hour we 
finally reached my house; I have to walk a mile to get to my back yard. I calmly walk up 
towards the house and I open the door. I sat my book bag down on the floor, that’s 
when I heard a sound coming from my mom’s room. I quietly opened the door and I see 
that she has been crying, my brother was sitting on her bed. She looks at me when I 
asked her what was wrong, if it was her boyfriend? Or if something happened to my 
sister? She responds “Granny Helen is in very bad condition, they don’t think she’s going 
to make it.”I asked “what happened?” She puts on her jacket and grabs the keys.
She started the car and said “Granny was sitting at the table, she told Gino (her 
boyfriend) that she couldn’t breathe, and he laid her on the floor then called 911. By the 
time they got there it was too late, she already turned blue, her eyes were bloodshot 
and wide open, when the paramedics came they used a breathing tube on her, they 
kept her heart pumping even though she was gone. You could hear the water in her 
lungs.” During that time my mom called several people and told them the news. I 
remember when I used to go up to the blue house where granny lived, me and my 
cousins would be up there and we would play, watch scary movies and eat grannies 
tuna casserole. I was four when I started calling Helen, Granny Helen.  
I sat in the car thinking about all the years I had with granny Helen. My mother and 
brother were still crying, there was no way a tissue could help. I couldn’t find a reason 
to cry yet, because I knew that there could be a chance she would come back. 
We finally arrive at the hospital. We see Jason, Megan’s husband and we ask him where 
they have Helen; he ignored us and kept on walking. I got upset, knowing that it was 
serious and maybe she was already gone. We asked the lady where Helen was, which 
room she was in.

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There I Stood

There I stood,
Taking deep breaths-
Overwhelmed with fear.
Then I took a step,
Stepped to the edge.
In a flash
The curtains raised
And you shoved me 
To my fate,
Because you knew
I would be disheartened
And back away.
I knew you were still there,
Urging me to face the music.
There I stood (again),
Wide-eyed and trembling-
All eyes on me.
My heart began to race;
My hands became sweaty;
I thought I would surely faint.
I retreated.
I ran and I reached, 
But I couldn't get to you-
I panicked.
You looked puzzled,
So I just settled down,
Stood still,
And tears came.
You came to me
With open arms,
Embraced me;
And in an instant, 
You pulled away
And my knees felt weak.
You ushered me to go on.
I turned and I faced them,
All awaiting.
I began to cry,
Until I recalled the feel
Of the hug you gave me.
I looked up, 
And the audience's eyes 
All welled up with tears-
Every one wanting to hold me.
I dried my face and,
I told my story.
Every painful detail.
They were attentive,
All knowing the pain I had.
When I had finished,
They all came to comfort me,
Shake my hand, 
Embrace me, 
Dry the remaining tears.
After some time had passed,
The majority had left-
No goodbyes.
Few had stayed.
They made me smile, 
Reveal my laugh once again.
They assured me
All would be fine,
And, eventually, it was.
I recall, for a second,
I was not being addressed,
So I turned,
Looked back to 
The drawn curtain.
You were not there.
I felt almost like panicking again.
I couldn't believe it. 
The one who had pushed me,
Encouraged me all the way,
The one who helped me through it
Was gone forever.
There I stood.
Lonely again.
Scared again.
Crying again.

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Thoughts of New York

The ashes and the dust fall like snowflakes to the ground
They seem to drift down gently not knowing where they're bound
I think of all those souls scattered in all the debris
In the ashes of destruction, their souls are finally free.

I think of people jumping like from the pan into the fire
People hand in hand, consumed by their desire
Just a few seconds, until it all will end
The thoughts that they had of making that final descend.

All those tiny pieces of what is left of a dream
The terror in their eyes as they faced the final scene
The dust that settles down are their scattered souls
Seeping into cracks,  falling into holes.

I wonder of life as the cloud of death surrounds
Their voices all are silent, yet their spirit's still around.
I wonder where the dream turned into a nightmare
As I look at the destruction, of the future I am scared.

Where once workers built they see nothing but destruction,
They cut through twisted wreckage, what's left of their construction.
I think of all the people that had to live through this hell
Then I hope we learn some lesson, I hope we learn it well.

There needs to be understanding that we're all not the same
We need to find the answer, instead of assigning blame.
I think of all those heroes, there were so many.
As they look for survivors, hoping to find any.

I wonder of the future what will all this bring
I think of those lost souls as the bell begins to ring.
People join together I hope we find a way?
We need to remember yesterday, as we rebuild today.

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Evidence of Genocide

For Abe's contest--Leather Voices

My body can be eradicated, but my spirit remains
My red shoes in a pile, like discarded leaves 
My shoes, held me firmly on the ground, my DNA remains
Attached to the red shoes with no person
The shoes are here, where have all the people gone
A sad, dry and dark mountain of shoes
Saved but the people were discarded...

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Speaking from the podium, to thank 
all for my Poet Laureate Award;
overwhelmingly glad to receive it
from the hands of a famous critic...
I discern how the audience loves my lyric!

I have never spoken so openly
about the idealism and realism of my poetry;
and they are listening, focused on my lines
recited softly to them with emotions and tears,
and their positive response is my reward. 

Applaud me for creating new rhymes and rhythms,
poetic words inspired by the wilderness of frontiers,
by the truthful insights I expressed with my momentum;
unlikely other poets, who are perpetuate in memoriam,
and lie into tombstones never having been given honor.     

Entered in Brian Strand's Poet Laureate contest

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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He was an old man, limping down the hall,
She was an old lady, leaning against the wall,
            He said," Isn't your name Ellen?"
            She said,"No, my name is Helen."

So here they met, in a hospital hallway,
             On a very warm summer day,
               He was 80, her age- 75,
    Neither had family still alive.

Two lonely, old people, wandering life's hall,
    Needing somebody to buffer their falls,
 Who would believe that in a hospital  hall they met,
               I would surely have lost that bet.

        Two lost souls, lonely and blue,
        Looking only for what was their due,
            A little company, a little love,
        Before their date with God up above.

        They found it there in that hospital stay,
                  It's with them still, to this very day,
                A Love so tender, a love so deep,
                  It will be theirs, forever to keep.

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love that sometimes we lose

in life,
times and tides,
come and go,
some people stay,
but some sway long away,
many people come near,
but only some become our dear ones,
many people think,
that they would be the king,
of ur lives,
but only a few,
can make us feel new,
many souls come near us,
 but only some can touch our heart,
the soul of love,
the soul of life,
the peace,
the calm,
all are just to be found in one soul,
that luscious soul of love.
this is the most lovable moment of our lives,
but the worst starts when,
we find that soul,
we are really close to it,
but then when the dream,
changes to nightmare,
that soul moves away,
and fades,
then we feel as we have lost it,
but still one thing is with us that,
we were not wrong,
and maybe one day that soul,
that love,
realises our value and comes near us!!
wait for the day when your decision would prove right!

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Gathering Strom

storm clouds gather 
in the gray of your eyes 
clearly I see the rage in you rise 
my heart starts to pound 
at my imminent demise 
knowing what’s coming 
the feeling, it’s numbing 
your hatred is clear 
even through the blur of my tears 
but I’ll weather this storm 
a routine that’s become our norm 
the bruises I’ll hide 
to no one will I confide 
for fear of being alone 
scarier than any violence you’ve shown 
because this too shall pass 
only a few moments will it last 
you’re always sorry, so very sorry 
holding me in your arms crying 
I know that you’re trying 
my tears become yours 
forgiveness your eye implores 
I should not have pushed you so 
knowing where the argument would go 
you tell me you love me 
so gentle you can be 
so tender your touch 
next time I’ll remember 
not to push so much

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A Brand New Fad

I watch the news,
I scratch my head,
at all the mess,
my mind is fed.

Nothing good,
only bad, bad, bad,
seems the scoop,
depends on sad.

Money is greater,
than honor or pride,
it sways a person,
to the darker side.

A rocket scientist,
I am not,
but to figure it out,
just follow the dots.

Dollars have a voice,
for the greedy, and weak,
an addiction some have,
still running the streets.

Their hands get slapped,
for being bad,
but the dollars pile up,
it's a brand new fad.

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OLD CROAKER spun me his LONG AGO tale

A friend of mine
Different time
Showed this youngster
The Spirit of being kind
Gentle Breath
His turn-of-the-century walking cane
Told me of his adventures
as a sprite lad through many pain:

"When the folks could afford
we would travel in my father's Ford
Dusting the roads between here and Maine
Perhaps an overnight stay over the borders of Canada's Plain
Life in the car
Home on the porch
Picnics and A&W root beer
Sun would descend over a quiet family near
But,daily routine was not always swell
Battling Turmoil of our own inner Hell
Brothers would fight and swear
Grandma,shaking and shivering over there
Ma and Pa would mediate yonder far
At early dusk,these would be put back in the Jar"

I listened to his story that he told
Surviving the years,
The Hardship,
and the World's Cold
His voice began to change
A tone of sadness that chokes
Still to entertain children who will sit
Listening to an old man's tale that evokes

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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

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

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The Deafening Silence

There is an explosion in all of us, we try to keep hidden away
But when we decide to get even, everybody must pay
There are so many things wrong people tend to ignore
The people in and out of our lives, the screaming next door
The ones we pass by on the street
One of them becomes a victim, than on a gurney covered with a sheet
Another shot fired, it becomes acceptable violence
What becomes un easing is the deafening silence
Some people hunt for a living, others for the thrill
Humans being the worst animal, thou shall not kill
An old lady conned out of her pension
A nobody takes hostages to draw some attention
Kids bring guns to school to settle scores
Now we have metal detectors at the doors
Is there really such a thing as a safe environment
Don't be fooled by the deafening silence
I remember when Bicycles, Hotwheels and for the girls Barbies were the 
greatest thing
Now it is all about the latest cell and the bling bling
Rap Artists, Rock Stars and movie Moguls are what influence the youth of today
It seems there is always a dragon for mom or dad to slay
Kids go wild without our guidance
The answer is not the deafening silence

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Untitled #203 / Logan

Logan’s such a beast
he mowed over me at least half a dozen times
when we played tackle football by the tracks today
“If you’re such a beast, run over there and stop that train!”

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

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

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

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

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

Southern Italian Town:  Baiano

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Her name was Love

Love was her name, her eyes the color of the ocean,
At only sixteen, she didn’t have the slightest notion,
Of what lay in store, what was the excitement?
The strange smiles, head nods and commotion.

Her parents sat her down one day,” Meet Rahul,”mom said,
In three months time it will be your wedding day.
“Oh,” she said, tears welling in her eyes,
“Gee thanks mom, dad, you too kind”

I’m getting married she thought, I must be in love,
But where is the love? Is it below or above?
Her thoughts suddenly are on Amor,
The boy on the corner, who carries her books for her.

But Amor is neither handsome nor rich,
He works hard by day, in a mill that hardly pays.
His family waits for their food you see,
Twelve hungry mouths to feed.

A second job he has at night,
Carrying wheat for the local dealer, Mike.
That extra money he puts aside,
For the beautiful anklet she so desired.

He’s too poor you see, so what gives him the right,
With no green eyes, and dimples or money in sight.
But mom knows best, she’s mom after all,
Getting rid of their daughter was their only reward.

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Everybody knows him as Alessandro,
the handsome gigolo of Via Veneto,
and his lucky charms he sells to many a gorgeous lady,
he approaches them and says,
" Mademoiselle, parle vous Francais?"
as he struggles with words, she replies,"Oui"
And he continues with a perfect accent, "Je t'ame!"
shocked by the womaniser, the slender French young woman
looks at him and starts to laugh with an entertaining wit;
but the gigolo insists, " Tu es tres belle!"
And the petite mademoiselle exclaims," Merci!"
How can his sexiness win him this French woman?
"Vouz habite a' Paris?" and smiling she nods
 " Oui...a' Paris, a' Belleville..un quartier de Paris!"
and the gigolo continues, " Un bel androit!"
" Beau garcon,, est-ce que La Fontana di Trevi...
est loin dici? And Alessandro excitedly replied,"
" Ce ne'st pas loin!"... and with a sign laguage,
he pointed to his red Ferrari, ready to steal her away! 

Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci


Mademoiselle, parle vous Francais?"/ Young lady, do you speak French?

Tu es  tres belle/ You are beautiful

Vouz habite a' Paris?/ Do you live in Paris?

Qui...a' Paris, a' Belleville...un quartier de Paris!/ Paris, in Belleville...a quarter in Paris!/

Un bel androit!/ A beautiful place

Beau garcon, est-ce que La Fontana di Trevi...est loin dici?/
Pretty boy, where's the Trevi it far?

Ce ne'st pas loin/ not too far

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As if to spy upon
some rapt adjourn
more devellish
than their own ~
existing for the slug of virtue
from some forgotten dream

Their aim ~
outdated with resent
yet stealthy earned.
Their ears, like prodding volts
reversed to bring return.

Life's focus ~ now forgotten
with its yearn,
seeking noticed space
that all but clutters . . . 

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Galileo made his elegant telescope with wood,
to discover Jupiter's moons, which were four in all;
and he saw with amazement what we see today.
Galileo's creativity and intellect changed
the definition of science and expanded its scope;
and his touch of genius intrigued even a curious Pope.
Never before was Man able to gaze at the wonders 
of the unreachable Heavens with the naked eyes...
he allowed us to admire them and praise them eloquently.
And with the superb creation of his Galilean lenses, he shortened
the distance of the galaxies, planets and dippers that had existed
even before civilizations claimed dominion over the earth's rough terrains.
I would have ensued the same cause that motivated young Galileo to choose
a path encroached with many risks and trails, and be the bearer of change;
powerful war machine he invented when the city of Florence was constantly under siege.
He defended the Copernican Theory and was found guilty of heresy,  
and while on trial, his innocence gave him more audacity...
that everything he had created, would have honored him with some recognition.

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Let us take a stroll,
into this war torn place,
where there is no answer,
and some people thrive on hate.

Let us take a stroll,
as we hide behind a wall,
one you cannot see,
absent of justice or law.

Let us take a stroll,
and pray for all this to end,
rebuild a world of respect,
even if we all can't be friends.

Let us take a stroll,
and question what is right,
the people of this place,
didn't ask for this fight.

Let us take a stroll,
and beg for peace right now,
we need to love each other,
and end this all somehow.

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Some mental notes about the poor

Every time I pass by Flushing, Bedford, or Lee Street in Brooklyn
I see Jewish people in complete uniform; most of them in black color,
their faith and loyalty to the Book of Torah makes me reflect
about my own relationship with God, along with my own people.

It’s become a reminder for me as I connect my own journey
to the mysteries of being called to serve and witness to faith;
certain things to develop and deepen along with inner longings
fidelity stressed by the Gospel marks the sign of being one of them.

Discipleship is truly costly as one invests his whole life in it,
there’s a radical shift of lifestyle that follows like a measure -
gauging that genuineness in dialogue with life and other cultures;
needed as a fundamental criterion to carry on God’s mission.

It’s in this way that some highlights of my faith enable me
to see beyond the texts of the Holy Scriptures, images of truth
that convey love relationships with people particularly the poor.

Being open to welcome some wounds and other afflictions
in today’s world where everyone competes with other factors
amid strong forces of secularism and cultural impositions
on life’s situations where the Lord’s teaching dwells.

Although God doesn’t give us all what we really want,
but he provides us with certain things we really need;
it’s a familiar wisdom, a continuing hope as Christians
that his great love for us is often reiterated in many ways.

A priority to “be mindful of the poor”  and have love for them,
an attitude with an evolving deal of surrender to God’s will
no matter how rough the roads will be in reaching out to them
reference to the poor connotes a constant clarion call for all.

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Vayikra of Moses

It draws me to think about Moses’ humility 
with his experience of the burning bush in Sinai,
like a place of discovery, so extraordinary!
that it’s burning and yet not consuming.

Being a leader to his own people of Israel,
his charism and fidelity to God he worships well,
reminds me of those responsibilities he had with them;
a great challenge and mired with so much pains.

God’s reassurance to his own people of faith,
his sheltering presence through all those years;
continued to abound with prophecies beyond,
in the heights of crises and difficulties at hand.

The burning bush or zarza ardiente in Spanish
is where God’s divine presence knows no difference
even in a lowly bush or an untrodden place
his message conveys that saving love for his people.

It is God’s Word, his plan and purpose he made with Moses;
there’s a defining experience that brings to fruition,
a remarkable change and perception of God’s will
that whoever believes and follows him becomes a disciple.

Moses in his intimate encounter with God through those years
walked with his people with constant faith in his will;
amid his humility and love for those who are suffering
his identity epitomized the “most humble of all people.” 


Vayikra: It is written in Torah scrolls with a small letter Aleph.  If we would disregard the small Aleph, the word would read “vayikar” – a word associated with a “chance encounter” – i.e. a much lower level of intimacy.  It is a statement which proclaimed his previousness in G_d’s eyes.  Moses sought to downplay this in a way that did not compromise the meaning of the original text, yet made clear to others that he was still a man of lowly spirit.

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Innocent Child

Raping my soul
with your angry thrusts
of domination
ceasing to exist
of your internal penetration
and your violation of my spirit.

Lost and confused
my feelings and emotions 
became immune.

A ruined and battered person
from your violent anger
and negative power.

Keeping me prisoner
in my own cell of fears.

Sleepless nights
nightmares of your face
reliving those moments
over and over again in my head.

You stole my essence.

It was not yours to begin with.

Robbing my innocence with your sick
and twisted ways.

I was just a child who thought it was a game.

Trying to lure me into hidden shadows to do the same.

I ran away but could not forget
or forgive without regret.

Feeling ashamed and blaming myself
for something I did not create.

I was too young to understand
to heal from my ordeal.

Time stood still when I was seven
from my living hell to my beautiful heaven.

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Me and Him

We can't share this body any longer Him and Me.He is killing me and draining me of my strength.He is a weak and pathetic excuse for a person. Oh how I despise him He is always crying and Constantly trying to kill us both. He has even come close a couple times it was my strength that brought us back! Oh how he makes my blood boil. I want him gone, I want to kill him! But he runs and hides from the light and has survived everything I have thrown at him. His only good quilty is that He just wont die. He is nothing but a cockroach and I want him GONE!

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I Think So

I grew up on a farm and  we never had an alarm clock
we had an old rooster and every morning he would wake my dad
three hundred  sixty five days a year
He never said  I think  I will sleep in today and not do my job
 I don't think so
He was just doing the job that God gave him to do and  never complained

And the little hen does she know  that when she lays her eggs
 and hatches her chicks that she is feeding our family
I don't think so  
she is just doing the job that God gave her to do and doing it well
she sings all day and never complains

When the little birds  pick up grass and string to build a nest in the corner of the 
house do they know  they clog up the drain so the water won't run off
I don't think so
They are just doing the job that God gave them to do to feed their  family
and when they began to sing  in the morning no choir on earth is more beautiful
and they never complain

I wonder why God didn't give us a bird brain  then we could get up in the morning 
and instead of complaining we could go to work  and lift up our voice to our 
heavenly Father and thank him for giving us our job
Are we not greater than the rooster  the  hen and the birds
I think so 

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The Bow-Wow Song !

I was ‘ Walking ’ back from grocery shopping
When I saw something, that had me hopping…
… mad, I mean… at what I seen
… a Man treating a Dog, just like a Queen !

They rode past in a top-down car
She had shades on, like a Movie-Star
My bags dropped down, due to shock…
… Now… What She got, that I ain’t got?

… Her big ears blowing in the wind
Now, I know, that’s Man’s Best Friend
But the only reason, I figured, I was Walking
is ‘cause I need a new kind-of-Talking :

Bow-Wow!     Get my  tail to Wagging
Bow-Wow!     Ain’t too Proud for Begging
Bow-Wow!     Learn another kind of Language
Bow-Wow…    … see I can Manage …
Bow-Wow !
I’m slowly Learning How
-	    to Bow-Wow
                    and it’s Alright Now

Now, I knew, something was wrong with that Sight
Can my Bark, be worse than Her Bite?
I started to Listen to the Canine next Door
Yapping and a Howling – made ‘em give Her More…

Then I hung around the Local Pet-Shop
I Finally figured out “What They Got !”
The next Man came, I Said, “They’s Expensive,
You may as well, get yourself a ‘Mrs’…”

                    … Bow-Wow!
Bow-Wow!      Get my  tail to Wagging
Bow-Wow!      Ain’t too Proud for Begging
Bow-Wow!      Learn another kind of Language
Bow-Wow…   … see I can Manage
Bow-Wow !
I’m slowly Learning How
	     to Bow-Wow
                     and it’s Alright Now

Well… We were already happily Married, when He said, “Let’s get a Dog”
I sat up straight… went to sniffing, as silent-whistle-warnings, went off
I jumped in front of Him … and started to Tease…
“We don’t need nothing ‘round with Fleas !”

… and if You scratch behind My Ears,
I’ll make the kind of noise, you love  to Hear ! …

Bow-Wow!      Move Over Rover
Bow-Wow!      Fe-Fe, Its Over !
Bow-Wow!      This is My Growler
                     Git’ A Little Louder … Bow – Wow !

                 Bow-Wow… Wuff  Wuff  Wuff

         Carol Brown… This One’s For You Kiddo’
         And Your Great Sense of Humor (Smile)
              This Poem is From Bygone Days
(Wouldn’t You Know… The Silly One’s Always Survive)
                         Hope You Enjoy It….


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And When the Thing Comes Down

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And when the thing comes down...

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Everybody was horrified of Paul's scruffy looks
with dirt and mud smeared all over his wrinkled face,
and his long nose with dark spots on its tip;
and a grave digger matched that image,
but he was the nicest person on planet earth:
hard-working, estimable, amicable and honest.
After the day's work was done, Paul stared
at the empty lots and whispered to himself,
" Soon I'll be in one of them...I feel it coming! "
One unlucky afternoon he was standing
on the edge of a newly dug-up grave and accidently
slipped and fell into the twenty-feet excavation;
no screams for help were heard...he was dead!
That same afternoon, there was a burial
and as the corpse's coffin was lowered into the grave,
Father Michael spotted a body lying on the bottom of it,
and it resembled that of Paul....suddenly police 
were notified and minutes later a fire truck arrived
to the dreary scene. Then two young firefighters
lowered themselves into the pitch-dark grave by holding
onto sturdy ropes, and without much effort, 
they pulled his bruised and broken body:
he was pronounced dead at two-thirty.
Paul had a near-death experience, one of the most
incredible ones: he visited heaven, the place of bliss!
And as he climbed the gold stairway, he heard many voices
of those he knew in the previous life...they chanted glorifying God,
who was seated on an ivory throne surrounded by Archangels,
Saints and the Prophets whom he remembered from his Bible readings.

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Once Upon a Christmas 1954 Part 1

.              Each year as Christmas rolls around, as I buckle under the pressure and stress of 
shopping for gifts for people that already  have everything, I find myself remembering that 
Christmas of 1954.

	Dad had joined the army that year and we  moved from the East Coast of Canada 
to Ontario, leaving behind our extended family and the only home I had ever know in a small 
fishing village along the Bay of Fundy.

	Now we stood gazing in horror at the rows of ugly buildings sitting on barren land 
in the middle of nowhere.  This was the housing provided by the army and was a major part 
of the wage agreement.

	My mother was inconsolable until dad rented us a small apartment over a Chinese 
restaurant in downtown Barrie.  There was no remuneration by the army for forfeiting the 
housing, so it left dad with a very small pay-check

	Pay day was once a month and we usually ran out of money in the last week, so, 
off we would go to the pawn shop with dad’s prized possession; his short-wave radio, won for 
superior marksmanship.

	Being kids, we finally adjusted to our new world as we watched the Santa Claus 
Parade march below our living room window amid the honking horns, blaring bands and 
throngs of people lined along the streets as far as the eye could see as we laughed with glee.

	We had seen them on our way to school in the window of the bicycle shop; 
gleaming with chrome spokes and handlebars and hand grips adorned with multi-colored 
streamers.  There I would stand until my feet grew numb from the cold, daydreaming of 
riding back to the East Coast.  I could actually see the sun glistening on the waves as I raced 
along the ocean on the way to grandma’s house.  More than once I had to stay after school 
for being late. 

	My brother thought maybe if we were really good, Santa would bring those 
bicycles to us.  I being the older and therefore the wiser, knew the state of the real Santa’s 
affairs and promptly convinced my brother I had heard from a reliable source Santa had a 
shortage of bicycles this year and we would just have to earn the money and buy them 

                                                    Continued in part 2....

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Most of us are too quick to judge
not knowing anything about a person,
and distrust is the outcome of ignorance
capable of setting us apart  from civilization;
first gather the facts, not useless rage,
and the belief that anyone can change
draws ourselves to a truth so unknown...

Hear all the words they speak, use intuition;
do they convince you to continue listening,
or throw you off with idignation?
If that voice sounds too unconvincing,
and can't confirm the answers you're expecting,
come up with questions that are pungent:
transforming those ideas with a thought,
and always believe that anyone can change...

Empires have risen, giving the obsolute power
to fearless men who were made into legends;
some were deserving, but most were tyrants of unclemency,
and did shameful and cruel deeds:
torturing or killing anybody who used to dare;
are we learning something from History?

When Attila the Hun rampaged Italy,
Leo the Great...the courageous Pope,
persuaded the savage king 
not to sack the city of Rome; 
and he also believed anyone could change: 
that any heart, with all its brutality and rage,
could replace its rampant fury and grim
with human compassion and mercy...

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Stalkers select an object to desire,
Then they plot and conspire to
take control of their victims' lives, by
following them, sometimes dressed
in disguise, cleverly trying to infiltrate
their private matters by turning into
insane, mad hatters,
Lurking, watching, waiting and if zany,
attacking, because their pre-conceived notions
have taken on their own life,
Their fantasies begin to play on their minds,
and in an unguarded moment their stalking
becomes a reality...........

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One could raise a laugh,the other sing-
Featured films of Bob& Bing
When Hollywood was king!
On a road to many lands
Movies,then had many fans.

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Passage of Time

Browsing the three dailies of T&T,
All I see are front pages covered with bloodshed, turmoil and misery.
Where is the country I once knew?
The multi-cultural twin island state: 
Where one can go out and not be concerned about the time he shall retreat,
Send his kids to a birthday party and know by night they would be returning with many treats,
A place where loud explosions can be heard at New Year’s or Christmas and know they are
simply in commemoration of these festive occasions,
A nation that can acknowledge each other with a glance and a smile,
Sometimes exchanging a few words of direction when someone ends up on the wrong aisle.

With the passage of time this peaceful atmosphere has changed,
And for that a spate of criminal activities has been exchanged.
Now I see my people crying out for attention,
Resorting to desperate measures to ease their mounting tension.
So they sprint to kidnap and kill,
For they think that producing chill would pay the bill.
But little do they know that the plans they concoct
Could have also been implemented to another situation to make a legal buck.
It seems that patience has departed from our people’s vocabulary 
And life is now being dominated by a blue periphery.

What happened to Sparrow’s “Education is a must,”
And Gypsy’s “Little black boy” that earned him gold dust.
Their messages were meant to be forwarded to future generations
Not buried with the public’s abominations.
These two songbirds highlighted the consequences of illiteracy,
Yet some people disobeyed and opted for anarchy.
Now that our country has entered a phase of endless confusion
The leadership is under attack for its lax disposition. 
While it would be fitting to place all the blame on the past and present government
It’s about time some parents took responsibility for their children’s detriment.

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Night club lights dimming low
The pianist  taking his bow
Play it again....Sam -
Across the smoke-filled room
A haunting ,tinkling tune.

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Fight for Freedom

Fight for what is right
and our freedom…

No dictators or magistrates,
just simple democracy, the 
spirit of the people…

For freedom is priceless 
and nothing quite compares…

We must all fight for the 
right to be free, to protect 
and keep it, for us our children, 
there children and all the 
generations to come…

Fight to protect our freedom
to the end, for freedom is
worth a fight…

By Sandra L. Hoban

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A Blessing In The Heat (Part 2)

Johnny Clare is an example of many a young man who Cowboy'd in the truest sense of the word. He did a job. He did it well. Though he met an untimely end, his life did not go unnoticed. Continental Oil Company put up a monument to a young man who worked for them, but Larry McWhorter's words made him real. The essence of who he was is immortalized in that poem. It is more than a poem about one is a poem about every Cowboy who ever rode for the Brand. It is a poem about the heart and soul of men who built our country through hard work and sacrifice. It is a poem about one man's basic belief that time may march on, but those everyday Cowboys like Johnny Clare will not be forgotten. The monument stands as a reminder of "where," but Larry McWhorter's words stand as a reminder of "why." His words, a tribute to the spirit of man and a lesson on how to live what you love.

I cried that day. Tears of joy for having shared this moment with Larry and Andrea; for having one of my heroes of Cowboy Poetry recognize me and for his gift of words to me. We have been friends since. I love and respect him and Andrea; because they are good, kind, strong people of the land with deep conviction in their faith and strong relationship with the Savior. They live each day with grace, they give that grace to others and they make all strangers friends. Proud am I that I know them. Lucky am I that I got to go to Weatherford, Texas that day.

I have learned that it's not the trail we ride, but the tracks we leave behind for others to follow that matters. Time may march on, but word and deed live on forever; as does the spirit of any person dedicated to living life to the fullest while serving their fellow man. The impression we leave is our memorial to this earthly life. Building a monument with words and telling the stories about others so they are never forgotten is our memorial
to those we love and admire. Johnny Clare, Larry McWhorter, all those men I grew up with and those I am privileged to call my friends; all living life their way by the Grace of God, all fighting the good fight and marching forward no matter the obstacles, all inspiring us to live life to its fullest. When it comes to great men of heart and spirit the memory never fades and the words of praise are endless. And that, my friends, is the greatest monument of all.

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My idea of Hell 
is not that of demons with red-pokers, 
emerging from hot flames... 
as Dante's Inferno; this is the harshest punishment!

Shouldn't all persecuted people have initiated a crusade against
the Catholic Morarchs in Spain manupulated by the Pope?
Nobody dared to defy the powerful Queen and King, who ordered
the Spanish a land of forced idolatry,
incinerating all bibles and burning people at the stake.
The Gospels in the hands of ignorant people?
God forbid...if truth were revealed to them! 
And should have, a disguised woman, ever been elected pope?
But what Martin Luther did was outrageous and crazy,
contradicting the Holy Scriptures and defiling the name of the Virgin Mary!

When Hitler invaded Poland, and built concentrated camps,
to burn innocent Jews in gas chambers, what did Pope Pious XII   
do to condemn this insane man? He kept his silence and let them die!
And why did all of Europe fear Hitler, who misled his own,
instead of taking him down? Much more could have been done
to spare millions of lives, who writed in their fleshless skeletons,
waiting on the compassionate American and British soldiers to liberate them!
And that confirms my idea of hell here...on our earth, where more
are facing innhaliation, while all nations seem unaffected or blind!

Lovers of lies and deceits, you can hate me for stating this,
but I had to let it out of the depth of my shameful pride...
of having been hiding this truth and never confessed it;
a naive Catholic, a lad like many forced to recite and not read,
a young mind deprived of receiving the truest message
from the very mouths of those who declared to worship Christ! 
Many false faiths make up this Babylonian, current system;
while other world religions claim their god to be the true one!
Soul, get out of this blazing inferno, where vengeful and fallen angels
poke my flesh and make it proufoundly bleed...don't let them torment me anymore!  
Archangels faithful to God, escort me out of these chambers that confine me into their walls! 

My idea of Hell
is not of that believeable word-of-mouth,
passed on by genarations of honest folks kept in ignorance;
my idea of Hell
is very real in my prospective, not a fantasized vision,
which doesn't corresponds to reality or reason!
Only facts that sustain plausibility make me a devourer of truth;
bringing me closer to the healing power of the Bible's words!

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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The lieutenant & his woman
An actress & her leading man,
A boy meets girl tale,
It happens every day-
In a play within a play.

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Amid a tempting generation
Is the presence of extreme desecration
History beckons on history
Evil now occupies mans memory
Where is love?
Where is peace?
What has affected mankind like a disease
In the land,i search for purification
Only to behold with mine eyes
         "Moral degradation"
I weep,i wail,i think,i am pale
For to mankind i ask,"which Creator do you now hail"
Are elevated in today's presence
Mankind has adopted treason
And as such,no longer reasons
Upon those concrete issues that create joy within
They now serve a god called "money"
Upon this noble earth are ignominious deaths
of people who were stars at birth
Where is the sacredness of human life
God Almighty established us in beautification
And now,man says no to sanctification
What a shame!
Who do we blame?
Millions struggle and hustle without aim
Life!Oh Life!Is surely vain
I wander out of my state of boredom
      And ask,
Why have we devalued our values?
Why has man left out the Holy tracks?
Where are the traces of love?
Where are the traces of hope?
      Why is mankind

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Just like my Daddy

Just like My Daddy
It started a long time ago as a kid, I was still young
Rebelling against the law, back talking adults, but I thought it was still fun
I always thought about changing but I figured why bother
When I did good, it wasn’t noticed, but when I did bad, “ I was just like my father”
That’s what my mother would say, when she got angry
Because she knew that the lack of love at home wouldn’t be enough to sustain 
My mother’s excuse was” my father was working” but I knew she was lying to me
I was emotionally dying inside, waking up in cold sweats, and crying in my sleep.
With no role model to correct me, all my problems just carried over
Because the same issues I had when I was young just got worse as I got older
I should have known that this must have stemmed from my beginnings
As a result I lack understanding and knowledge on how to treat women
Trying to find out my purpose when I roll life’s dice, and there is no luck again
Rationalizing with the punishing thought that I might have to grow up again
I found out my ex was pregnant, now she is already sending child support bills to 
I wasn’t taught how to respond to that, so I run, after all the responsibility was 
killing me
Now I spend my days on the road having fun and drug using
To escape the thoughts of what my life really is or what my son or daughter is 
My mother’s words echo through my mind at night, until the truth grabs me
I find myself crying, because I quit life and responsibility, Just like My Daddy
Stevie D/ Lover Boy
Dedicated to breaking the cycle

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Mulling Over

He was not a Rock Hudson
Nor she a Marilyn
But it was a glance
Maybe, perchance
She paused in thought
Yet, she felt that she ought – 
To return that smile
For it seemed worthwhile.
Did she over react
Or was it a fact
Is there time to consider
Or does something forbid her.
In a crowded hall
No time to stall.
Another glance
Now is her chance
Must not debate
Or could be too late
Oh, he's moved out of view
Now what does she do
Then, gone out of sight
Not a hope, not tonight.

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A New Direction

Today is just the beginning,
of what is about to come,
a man of new ideas,
beating a different drum.

He comes to give us hope,
where none had wings to fly,
and beneath the ashes of survival,
he has the courage to try.

The changing of old habits,
where hope shall set us free,
he sees the world is waiting,
for fresh new air to breath.

He speaks with words to all,
as his title is about to change,
speaking of new direction,
but remembering from where he came.

Together as a nation,
let us stand side by side as one,
supporting a new beginning,
knowing together, it can be done.

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One Day

One day

One day you are born as an infant 
As you cry others were in celebration
That a new child is born unto your family
Innocently sucking your mother’s breast
As you felt a haven in the warmth of your mother’s body
Being cuddled as she caress you with admiration in her eyes
Just one day

And one day your mental awareness will be awaken
As a boy with new physical appearance
Desiring a sense of belongingness
As a girl with developed breast and hips
With curved figure and feminine features
You’ll be the toast of the town and of all other girls 

One day you and your friends will talk about the female
Since opposite sex attracts
As the female talks and gossips about the boys
And as female you will share what interests you about the boys
And as male you will talk about what attracts you to girls

One day you’ll be so conscious of the way you look because of them
You would do every thing you can do for them to notice you
You will desire intimacy with others and others would, with you
You will desire to express your feelings and others would, with you
You will desire to tell a special person how you feel about them
And you would have a special person who always thinks of you

But one day all these'll change and
One day you'll think of how to create your world in your head
And structure your world with your hands
And feel your world with your heart
Its either you learn a trade
Or learn to trade with your talent and acquired skills

One day you will make a choice to either
Earn a-paid-employed job or Become Self-employed
You create what people want or you want what people create
You sell what people buy or you buy what people sell
One day you'll earn income with your acquired skills as services 
As you think of how to make money in business

Just in one day…you start being conscious of life this way
And become awaken to why you are here
And make choices to why you must be there
As you realize the place you where
You adhere to your dream as you are going somewhere
Knowing that going somewhere is better than nowhere

So one day you’ll be aware that life is your choice
As you decide to give birth to babies or/and dreams
And just one day the celebration will end
And the next day the mourning will begin
That we have gone back 6 feet down to "Rest In Peace"
From this uncertain world with its uncertainties
And those who celebrated with us from our birth
Are mourning and crying with them for our death
Just one day all these will take place in life

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Many Christmas Trees are seen
around the Yule Season in my city;
they all are very tall and beautiful,
but the Rockefeller Plaza's Norway spruce 
is the most gigantic and spectacular
with its multicolored lights that resemble stars.

Christmas is a wonderful experience on New York's City busy streets:
stores, pubs, restaurants and shops dress up with decorations so dazzling;
where else can you find a Santa ringing a bell and spreading good cheers...
wishing New Yorkers and visitors a Merry Christmas with a tone so thrilling?
On Christmas Eve, Saint Patrick's Cathedral echoes with joyful hymns,
and Child Jesus smiles at children as they caress His soft and divine face.

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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The Return (A must read)

       The trumpet of the Almighty God will blow.  Then the whole world will instantaneously 
know.  That Jesus Christ has returned for his sheep.  You may miss this train if your faith has 
been asleep.  Millions of your loved ones will disappear in the twinkling of an eye.  Christians 
will be lifted up to meet Christ in the sky.  Those left behind have chosen their own path.  
When people tried to tell them about Jesus they just walked away and laughed.  It will be too 
late to repent.  Not ever hearing about Jesus can't be your argument.  For everyone in the 
world would have had their chance;  To know about Jesus the Savior in advance.  
Unbelievers need to be concerned.  Jesus Christ is going to return!
       Eventually we will watch the rise of the Man of Sin;  He will be the devil incarnate, 
wearing a seductive grin.  Millions will believe and be deceived that this man is the predicted 
Messiah.  The Bible warns us in several prophetical books,  From Ezekiel to Zechariah.  THis 
false Christ will have powers unlike this world has ever seen.  He will wear a mask of peace 
and claim he is the coming Nazarene.  People of this world will believe this lie and will 
spiritually die!  Simply put the world will follow this man blind.  This false Christ will do 
whatever necessary to get into your heart and mind.  This man will rule the One World 
Government and claim to end all bloodshed.  His actions will be so convincing, he'll even 
raise the dead!  But this is the anti-Christ, he is not the One.  He is not God's Son!  Here's 
something for the ignorant to learn.  Jesus Christ the real Son of God will return!
       This One World Government is taking place.  Get that Bible down from your bookcase, 
and you will see.  That everything is happening right now according to prophesy!  Beware as 
we watch nations turn on Israil.  More than half the world will attend it's own spiritual 
funeral!  Cataclysmic events will unfold.  World catastrophe that has been preached since the 
days of old  The American dollar has lost it's value.  A One World currency will be issued to 
me and you   Millions are currently spiritually deceased.  Even thousands of priests.  We are 
no longer the super power of the East.  So prepare to receive or reject the "mark of the 
beast."  The evil of this world will burn.  Jesus Christ the Savior will return!!!!!

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The Truth At Hand

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

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

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

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

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

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Lee bridged the race divide
when prejudice had nowhere to hide-
Riding a mustang in the sky
His deeds gave bigotry the lie,
sterotyping his,to defy.

Tribute to Lt-Colonel Lee Archer (1919-2010) WW2 fighter pilot and VP of General Foods who 
died this past week

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And there was Lucifer,
the proudest angel,
who envied God 
and His endless glory.
But Almighty Jehova
hurled him to Earth,
and Lucifer became 
the Serpent to cause havoc
among Nations.
Wars followed with destruction,
violence and death;
truth was veiled by deception.
Who could have defeated him...
if not Christ himself?
And because of Him,
we live with the vision of Heaven...
of governing with Him for perpetual ages. 
When Lucifer has finished
his kingdom of terror,
he'll be chained in the pit
with every soul he has deceived.
Is that a torture of eternal punishment?
It is worse than dying from an incurable disease:
with more acute pain and desire not to live!
Lucifer: the proudest angel..
willingly disobeyed his Creator,
causing rebellion and turmoil 
among obedient angels...
was he aware of the consequences?
No, jealousy blinded his conception
to foresee what was to come.

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The Anniversary We All Share

As I cope with the grim realities, that are the anniversary of my birth, children are
being born to share it. However they unlike me are not informed about their reality. They
are not presented with a script that tells them when they can eat or when they'll be
loved. They are at the mercy of the first person they see and whether that person will
want them.

Condemned to live in uncertainty, with various educations. The ones with the least to
offer have my sympathy. These children unlike their wealthier counterparts will most
likely have worse lives then their parents, with less benefits and yet still be offered
the promise of happiness and financial independence, which is the cruelest lie of all.
Because ...fore most of the infants born today are equal in their first few minutes of
life, their places in society have already been decided.

Decided by people they may or may not ever meet. Their lives destined to fork off and be
divided into different worlds. Their small minds filled with various knowledge. Some good,
some bad and some deadly.
However we will always be linked by an anniversary. The only evidence we were ever equal.
A testament to innocence that's robbed from us all too soon. We go about our days never
thinking it, we concentrate on what we see. However a birthday is a global anniversary and
we should celebrate not only ourselves but each other.

The people we love, the people we hate,
...the old, the young and the just born.

We were all the same in the beginning. 

- This is an essay I wrote about birthdays and their paradox.  I posted it as a narrative
because I wanted to share it.

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ON THIS DAY: 01.20.09

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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A Simple Mystery

Why must the man hide behind his mask.
The false illusion to dazzle all.
His true emotions burried behind a deciet built wall.

The pen can cut like a razor a haunt the eternal night.
Is not the killer the victem.
The play but a test of true character.

Will you cheer the villian that that is me?
Embrace the pain and taste the darkness 
Fear drains like sweat.

For to long the words lay  vacant apon the page.
I wonder does she question in her empty thoughts.
As I regret are meeting yet ask for her hand.

Why must we live behind this mask
will others see through to what ive done.
see blood apon my lips smell the death apon the wind.

Will I be forced to reveil my true face.
Will you cheer the villian ask?
Sit and say its great theater never knowing what you see is no

Applaud the violence ignore the screams.
We all wear a mask for life is a illusion 
look beyond what you see for I assure you
it's far worse than it seems.

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A choirboy from Tupelo
Soon saw his fame grow,
From a gospel sound
To world-wide renown-
Ends suddenly in Memphis town.

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Escaping The Circle

Splendor in spin cycle...
No one escapes the circle;
For an odd man out... 
Rarely finds a way back in;
Life seems as though a blur,
When the circle’s in spin...

Render to the line...
That few have crossed;
A step ahead,
Leaves you left behind;
For we are all free here,
Found in what we find.

Sender with no return:
I sit abandoned;
The circle moves on...
As we lose touch...
Its lines have faded,
And with them our crutch.

Surrender to solitude,
There’s no turning back...
For we’ve found ourselves here,
In the front from behind.
There’s freedom in the rearview...
And thus an open mind.

For you see abandoned is found;
Where the circle is formed...
A world of one,
Taking until it drapes;
Soon a victim to your own borders...
Caught up in a circle, which no one escapes.

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Music For The Deaf

Once in awhile, I get so low I can feel myself falling faster into the quick sand. In this case, your love is the pit in which I’m sinking. Can you not hear me crying out for help? Because, I swear I can’t do this on my own. I need you to pull me up.. I guess you don’t see that inside I’m all shook up. I’ll be better off without you, that way I can get myself up and dressed out of this mess. You use me for your own good, but what about my sanity? This lovesick melody that I keep singing to is tearing apart the innocence of me. If you can’t see that, then why do I keep on trying to catch up to you? You won’t have to hear about it anymore though, I’m done with what you made me out to be. I’m too good to be set up by a fool like you! You’ll see one day, my dear. This melody that had me dying inside, is nothing more than music to the deaf now! But, don’t worry.. Maybe, one day you’ll see.. Just Don’t come back to me.

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Fairy Tale - Part 2


The storm came out of nowhere.

She awoke bruised and bleeding 
Surrounded by rubble 
Amidst major keys and jewel tones and 
Girls in white dresses 
With pink satin sashes.

Everywhere there were smiling people. 
She noticed that if she smiled, too 
The smiling people would clean up the rubble. 
She smiled when the bright colors hurt her eyes 
She smiled when sharp major chords jarred her 
She smiled when the girls in white dresses gave her spoons full of sugar with 
her medicine 
Because she didn’t like the rubble.

She smiled and watched and began to remember 
That in her infancy 
She had called one of the smiling people Mama. 
Another had delivered the mail 
Still others had been with her when she learned 
That cows say moo 
And two ones are two.

Now they taught her 
How to smile 
Even when she didn’t feel like it. 
They tried to teach her to speak 
But she had lost her voice 
And didn’t know where to find it 
And when they offered to lend her theirs 
She found it didn’t fit. 

The rubble cleared 
Her wounds healed 
She smiled most of the time 
Even when she didn’t feel like it. 
She had learned not to feel when she didn’t feel like it. 


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There's No Oasis in the Desert

Skies that turning dark, 
possibly the heavy storm will come.
Storm that will not make you damp, 
I heard a strident blowing of the wind. 
Life in a desert is similar to a sand storm;
You will not know how dreadful will cause you. 
First time I step on this deserted land, 
In my heart and mind I pledge my dreams. 
A dream that I know will confiscate, 
all the burdens of my life. 
In the glass window, 
a sea that didn't make any noise from its water. 
Every day there's all men under the heat of sun 
or shivering cold of day.  
Sound from the mother tongue of different people 
made me hearing-impaired. 
In a gloomy night I didn't see the stars, 
stars that at least will give you light for the darkness of your path. 
Seasons that the tamar tree will bear it fruits.  
Suddenly I heard voices, 
but how I will distinguish it from laughter's or cried? 
Bliss on lips to the ladies whose selling flesh, 
Every time I saw this people I feel the pain from their heart, 
The bliss in their lips is not real.  
Money that you earned is not enough 
for those who lost their dignity. 
Now where's the oasis in the dessert? 
Every day I wake up and walk in the sand
but still I cannot see the oasis.

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        people try to be perfect
        but none of its worth it

                                       youll start being mean
                                        and youll see the thing

                                                                            you make people cry
                                                                               they dont know why
                                                                                           then youll get in a fight
                                                                                            that will cause a big fright
                                                       youll be on the groung 
                                               and theyll tell you you were crowned

dear people that read this.........dont try to be someone you arent because thats 
not you so dont try to be perfect because if you do you wont have no more 
friendships and youll look back and see all that youv done to hurt people.......

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Mi camma to America wid a passion for moni en fud,
hoppin to getta rich;
en de sai det gold is founda in striz!
Mi work en work ol dei
to meke sam dollar,
en mi eat pizza, en drink vino...
mi wanna be lika Al Pacino:
a famos attor ov Hollivud! 
En me veit too mani iers, to see butiful voman 
laika Marilin Monro...whata a fess!
Whata a bodi! A Diva so sexi!
En mi wanna be laika Valentino from Italia,
to sedus ol duh pritty ladi vid mi ciarma;
en ol kiss mi...O locki Casanova!  

English Translation:

I come to America with a passion for money and food,
hoping to get rich;
and they say that gold is found on streets!
I work and work all day
to make some dollar,
and I eat pizza and drink wine...
I would like to be like Al Pacino
a famous actor in Hollywood!
And I waited many years to see beautiful women
like Marilyn Monroe...what a face!
What a body! A Diva so sexy!
And I like to be like Valentino from Italy,
to seduce all the pretty ladies with my charm;
and they all kiss me...O lucky Casanova!!

Entered in Deborah's Gucci, " Dialects make the world go around "
(Brooklyn-Italian dialect)

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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I'm Just What Your Looking For

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

Tribute To The Winter Carnaville

Carnaville runs
Jan 21-31 

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

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Billy No Mates

I live a life quite solitary
friends? No, I don't have any
the stench of a loner I do reek
but, peace and queit is what I seek.
Down so low, where do I go?
When i'm in my rabbithole
more a rock without the roll
this hectic city's takin' its toll
all of these people in the street
yet no-one ever returns your greet
they just stare at their feet
pass you by like a piece of meat
their lives seem such a hurry
their faces etched with tire an' worry
they've got no time to spare
just pretend your not even there
some return a smile, every once in a while
but most run a mile, as if i'm an imbecile.
Humanity has gone to sleep
so much so I often weep
why most people are selfish creeps
who make me cry a river deep

I've had enough, i'm off to take a leap
goodbye cruel twisted world,
here I come silent eternal sleep!

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Who could forget what happened on that unsuspecting and sunny day,
when no visible clouds drifted over the Twin Towers?
Little after midnight, the cool rain adds to the melancholy 
of the descending angels; and I join them in prayer to remember the tragedy! 
This should be a day of remembrance, not of hatred for the ignoble acts 
the wicked committed, but would God accept unkindness instead of merciful deeds?

They called it another day of infamy,
and like Pearl Harbor we were taken by surprise;
that was an attack aimed at the military,
but on September 11 the terrorists attacked the civilians!
It seemed like lightning striking down sturdy trees,
and then fire broke out with smoke trails of a thousands feet;
" O my God! ", every employee screamed...quickly running down 
the stairs engulfed by fire...causing an indescribable chaos everywhere! 
" Take my hand, I will lead you to safety! " the firefighter said to the coughing woman. 
" Hold onto my arm! " the policeman yelled out to the frail man,
who had dropped his eyeglasses and couldn't see! 
Every firefighter and policeman acted like them, rescuing many without fearing death;
and hundreds of them, that awful morning, never returned home alive...
what a tragedy for their families that watched in horror and couldn't help!

Who wouldn't remember the courage of their noble and willing hearts?
And furthermore, who wouldn't engrave their valorous names on plaques and monuments?
Up above, by the gates of Paradise...Christ and His Father awaited them to accept their souls;
while archangels surrounding God's throne, sung hymns that humans couldn't sing...
those hymns that all the earthly heroes will sing with them when Heaven mourns again! 

Their portraits, pictures and memorabilia hang above the fireplaces,
and on the decorated walls of the victims' homes, precincts and firehouses;
how could anybody take them down as they were worthless items?
Prize them more than gold or diamonds, o friends grieving that tremendous loss even today;
don't hate those who caused you sorrow and unbearable pain, be forgiving and show mercy...
as God does toward us; o friends remember your heroes for their valor and sacrifice!  

My poem is dedicated to the victims and survivors of the September 11 attacks on America.

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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On the naming of a child
Certain protocols should be followed by the registrar

Protocol one

If the chosen name is Rainbow or Honey dew
Then firstly the parents should be slapped
And given a book containing sensible names
This process should be repeated until a sensible choice is made

Protocol Two

If the chosen name is Chardonnay or Champagne
Then firstly the parents should be slapped
And a large group of people should be assembled to laugh at them
The parents should then be given a dictionary
To look up the definitions of the names that they chose
This process should also be repeated until a sensible choice is made

Protocol Three 

If the chosen name is Moonflower or Gallifrey
Then firstly the parents should be slapped
And the child should be immediately taken into care
Then the parents should be put in the stocks
So sensible people can throw rotten fruit at them
Before finally being committed to an institution

PS – Should it ever be deemed that they have been cured
They should be sterilised before release
And their names entered on the pretentious parents register

PPS - Anyone from Cardiff, The Wirral, Norfolk, Suffolk or Essex will inevitably
Name the child after a piece of fruit, a place they have visited
The name of their favourite car or a product from a supermarket
As a result these people should not be trusted to name their children.
Registrars must name the children for them
In the same way that Hurricanes and tropical storms are named
If they complain go straight to Protocol three

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The Reconstructed Bridge

The bridge was broken and it can not be rebuilt.
It collapse and now it is in a tilt.
Before the bridge went down people had to walk around.
Now since it is down we hear a lot of sound.
From vehicles that just passes by to kids riding bikes.
I am a simple hermit that would get scared and say yikes.
Because of people passing by it makes me frown.
The green grass grew on the road side now it is brown.
So many people came from different places.
And I see their pets keep chases.
I look across the field were I see the bridge that broke.
It seems to have a rare perspective that made people sulk.
The town heard people wanting them to fix the bridge.
That made a steep hill and ridge.
With the bridge reconstruction people saw action.
They decided to not split up faction.
The bridge now is built with bigger and better structures.
Now it invites all different cultures.
I the hermit now am happy and some what sad.
I became use to the sounds and still I am glad.
People notice the bridge that moves hope faster.
With towering metal structure it stands still for disaster.

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dreams under dust 1of2

i read and hear online the words 
from the other side of the world, 
the bearded angst and deeply rutted face 
of a soul with far, far too much 
sorrow to carry.

my eyes well, as i 
cannot help but too, 
share in the sorrow 
of the loss born by 
farmer Muhammad Wazir

Muhammad, from Panjwai district lost:
his mother, Shakarina,
his wife, Zahra,
his four daughters, 
Massoma, Farida, Palwasha and Bibya
two of his sons, 
Ismatullah and Faizullah,
a brother, Akhtar,
a nephew and 
a sister-in-law

Only the youngest son
Habib Shah is still alive
How can a father, a husband,
a son, a brother, bare it?

"I loved them all like 
they were parts of my body,... 
All my dreams are buried 
under a pile of dust now"
Wazir states. "My little boy, 
Habib Shah, is the only one 
left alive, and I love him 
very much" says Wazir.

I have a hard time
with the concept that it
must be God's will
to condemn anyone to this

Did Staff Sgt. Robert Bales
snap like a twig in the 
wanton disregard to sanctity
of children and mothers...
civilians. Who can forgive?
...Who can stand it?

Bales' wife Karilyn sends 
"condolences to all the people 
of the Panjawai District ... 
especially to the parents, 
brothers, sisters and grandparents 
of the children who perished"

Though heartfelt to be sure
she must realize that Bob
is beyond "normal" forgiveness
A strength like the Amish 
is needed to look into 
enraged hate filled eyes
with tearful forgiveness

What good...what good can
we possibly squeeze from
such tragic carnage?
Maybe God knows that answer.
I can only feel the sorrow.

meanwhile in Toulouse, France
Mr. Mohammed Merah,
a Frenchman of Algerian decent
knows in his heart that
retribution is necessary

and three French paratroopers, 
of North African descent, 
as well as a Rabbi and 
three Jewish schoolchildren,
pay with their lives

the Rabbi, and his two daughters
might have been aware of their
responsibility for the Panjwai
tragedy, perhaps not,

....{continued in 2of2}

© Goode Guy 2012-03-21

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I Took A Picture

I took a picture once as a thought of love and compassion
It showed me things that I couldn't  hold, touch or imagine
Such details such care that GOD put into this air we all share
And when I was there old friends I did see for they too would stare
At the glory of beauty we all can have as a dare, can we believe
The love and emotion I felt when I look at this picture was received
For you to enjoy you must let go and go the distance
Truly open the mind and feel your existence
For that picture captured you at your best and kept a second of your essence
For others to love, feel and see when they think of the past or the present
Remember my words they will ring true
The next time you look at a picture, you will see things anew

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The Kings Three Sons Part 2

The eldest of the sons came first. He was large; as tall as a bear on its hind legs, and FAT. His chin was not one or two, but three! His stomach hung so far down, it took four servants to keep it above the ground. "My King," he barked out in a manner rather rude, "What has so much importance that you drag me from my table of food?" "Surely," the King said, looking his oldest son up and down, ‘you can afford to miss a meal or four." With a squeal the eldest son turned red. "As you know," the King spoke out, "I have not much time as King anymore, tell me what your plans are, if this future was bestowed on you?’" With a smile that covered his face in a pudgy haze, the eldest son spoke. "The army has grown tired of sitting around. They bother me constantly with boring sounds. The prisoners they usually torture, have rotted away, leaving only bones, not even the hounds will eat." "The land is filled with peace, my son, how can that be a bad thing?" "Because," the eldest when on, ‘they are bored and will not want to fight for us when peace breaks down to war."
"And what would you have them do?" "Send them out. They have free range with in the land. Have them take the food that is ours, and bring it back from me to enjoy." "So, you will have your people starve?" "They are not my people, but yours." With anger, the King said, "My son, I love you as much as any King could love a son, but I love my people more, and thus, I can not make King." With anger, the eldest son raised a chubby fist, and spat out, "When you die, old man,I will have your throne. I will have all the crops and meats and cheeses your people make, inside my stomach! And when I eat all their food, I'll eat their children too!" Storming off with his servants, hurrying ahead, trying to keep his girth from tripping his feet. Saddened, the King called forth his second son. The King's second son was thin and tall with women all around. "My King," the second son spoke, "what is so important that you must drag me from the women I keep?" "My son,"

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Someone very close to me has hurt me me badly,
vile words have come out of that vicious mouth,
condemning me of many unjust deeds,
am I to remain silent and defenseless as Christ...
while I'm lashed and stripped of dignity?
More bitter than a lemon, which has never enough
sunlight to sweeten the juice within it;
I have endured evil and have learned how to be patient,
not to fight back with the same viciousness.
O, hurt me again, I will not say anything...
a saint can be martyred for his belief,
but never he will be tortured in the next life!
He holds my weakened hand tightly,
giving me courage, keeping me safe; 
I look to the Heavens and glory is mine!
I am not as bitter as a lemon anymore,
forgiveness has taken long to come...
to make me realize that my agony
is nothing compared to the reward awaiting me!
Every angel smiles and welcomes me with joy;
every gate is open for me to enter freely,
and I wish that person could feel loved and be like me...
walking towards God to know how kind and forgiving He is! 

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God or Gods

God Made Man 
Man Made Gods 

Yes My Lord 

Thou Only Made 
Adam and Eve 

See, how many,
he has made of Thee 

Thou banished and 
Threw him out of Eden 

Roaming Aimlessly 
he became a Heathen, 

Angered further, 
Thou scattered him, 

Drove him in 
different directions 

Changing his colors, 
even his speech 

Making Thyself 
further out of reach 

So scared was he, 
that he made a God 

Every direction he went 
he made a God 

In Every Language 
he made a God

He made a God of  Gold
He made a God of Silver

He made a God of  wood
He made a God on Paper

He drew thee on the walls
He carved thee on the rocks

Made mountains of Gods
Made rivers into Gods 

No matter his 
color or creed , 

He made a God
He made a God
He made a God

So where is
He at fault, 

O My Lord, 

Thou Only Made
 Adam and Eve 

See, how many, he 
Has made of Thee 

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vignette-secrets sights and sounds

Beckmann's 'secrets' whispered loud
In Nolde, 'the spiritual' bowed
Kirchner saw a 'vision'-
Kandinsky,'sounds' he could not see
As Klee painted 'poetry' *

Tribute to the Expressinists

* Example of Klee's

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A Kid Named Spit met A Man in Rags

A sensitive man, whose mouth is stenched from booze
scrapes any bronze penny from the sidewalk or street,
or cuddles under the News Paper Times for a snooze,
and eyes the people who scorn in anger or pity in grief.

But as soon he awakes to hint of morning or until the sun
rises from an extravagant navy blue to the peachy pink of light,
And admires it like the bees to honey and child to games of fun.
But as soon a kid walks on cooly by to catch his sight

The kid clears his throat and spews his spit to the homeless man's rag.
It was his protector for thirty years, his father like object, and mother of his life,
his warmth of day. It was all he had.
And anger emerges under his rough dirtied skin into a sneer.

The homeless man, a sensitive, pure hearted man, curses him off
to the roads and said,

"Its boys like you who make a living dread!
I appreciate what I got, but you dont sir. I bet you would better off Dead! Your dread is
not the same as mine. You're emotionally disturbed! SO here's your gift from me, for you
are one who needs it the most!"

And he spits right back, splat. Right on his cheek.
No emotion to the kid's eye, a knot in his throat,
grown vulnerable, dismayed and terribly weak.
But not to even apologized, he wiped the insult off with his coat.

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An animal carival
Inhabits his fantasy zoo,
Lion,elephant & kangeroo-
Hearing other composer's phrase
Into his imagination we gaze.

Tribute to Saint-Saens

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The Kings Three Sons Part 4

The King answered back, "I love you as much as a king can love a son, but I love my people more, and you shall not be king." With anger, the third son raised his fist and spat, ‘When you die, I shall have this land and raise my army of children, forced into acting like men." And with that said, he stormed out, yanking his child servant behind him. Once out beyond the hearing range of their King, the three sons had a meeting. They were never kind to one another, but now, they had a new thing to hate together. So they banded as one to take the throne. The wizard posed and puffed his pipe. “But with them as kings the land would sure fall; would it not?” I couldn’t keep the question in my mouth. “Very wise,” the wizard said, before continuing on. “The three sons pillaged the land, taking the crops, raping the women, murdering the men and stealing the children. The land was at war, except their was no army to save the people from the three sons. The King; he wept from his death bead and called forth his only daughter. ‘My father,’ the daughter wept as she fled to kneel beside the King, ‘I have been waiting for you to call upon me.’ ‘Your brothers have brought ugliness to this land. They are starving the people, raping the women, murdering the men and making solders out of children. I am too weak to stop them from the cruelty they bestow on humanity. What would you do my child to stop them?’ The daughter sat back to think. "The people are scared, they're watching their mothers, sisters and daughters be taken against their will. Their husbands, fathers, brothers and sons are getting slaughtered before their eyes, and their children are being ripped from their arms, and their stomachs are full and blotted with hunger."Tears slid down the daughters cheeks, ‘I shall go into the villages. I shall ease back the pain with courage, and together we shall rise in a revolt against the evils my brothers have laid forth. With love and hope and truth we shall overcome the hatred that has swept through this land." The King smiled and spoke, "My daughter, I love you as much as a father loves his daughter and I see that you love the people just as much. Go forth, and save your people from those that wish them harm." The King kissed his daughter on the forehead with his dying breath.

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Wonder of the modern world
To the nation was unfurled-
Art Deco on a grand scale
Strung across this dangerous strait
The truly inpressive,Golden Gate

Tribute to Joseph Strauss

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Under Cover

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Thanx for the Welcome

Hey, thanks a heavy bunch for the welcome
Hey, thanks a larger lot for the welcome

My heart is duly enthralled
My mind has been positively stirred

Two days ago I had a lot on my mind
Now ‘coz of y’all, here I exist in delight

Heaven must be missing quite a number of angels
For what I read on my screen can’t be wordings of ordinary mortals

For now I don’t need heaven
For I have found myself a haven full of the soup I need to get well

A brick at a time, each with purity and love in mind
I’m certain this shrine full of wonder will rise to shine

Such are the blessings of men and women of initiative
Offering poets like me and you the mortar to build our dreams into reality

My heart fills with gratitude, tonnes of it in advance
For the doors of opportunity I’m certain to unearth, in this shelter of dreams

The beginning might be a tad bit rocky
But please bear with me as I drift off my ecstasy to clarity, as consequential of this 
new discovery

I promise to soon find my bearings
And flow at ease like a new Lamborghini on these sleek streets of many dreams

In the meantime don’t mind if sometimes I blurt
For a new soup like this always tastes so sweet, makes one reveal what he was 
meant to keep

Thanks indeed for allowing me to be a part of you
Allow me to advertise to others that you and I on Poetry Soup too

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Shakespearean Tale Mangled

Romeo, my Romeo, I adore thee, whispers Juliet,
oh you cause my heart to race with each tiny beat,
many times I dreamt being a wife and all your own,
end this torment, sire your babies, take me home,
oh, Romeo, beloved Romeo, say you will have me.

No, Juliet, I'm afraid not, replies hard-to-get Romy,
age and situation tell me we're just not meant to be,
circumstances do not smile on us, my luckless lady,
eighteen summers you are whilst I'm almost sixty,
sire babies? spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

Daytime arrives and starry-eyed Romeo awakes,
realizing he was dreaming from night till daybreak,
engaging in romantic thoughts he could ill afford
amid obligations and a quite unforgiving landlord;
might as well start working, go straight for the kill,
sleep and nightmares would not pay his utility bill!

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' Monsters, Among Us ... '

‘ Monsters, Among Us … ’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(and there ‘Is’ A Wicked Being)

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

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

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Running down an empty street
Her feet sore
Crying, she can't stop 
Believe me, she won't
She's hurting
Because of you
Why me, she asks so silently
Why do you do this to me, she whispers in his ear
Then she disappears

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Let's do it now before its too late.
The more we move closer,
The more i feel it nearer.
The more it comes closer,
The more our love becomes stronger.
Than we thought, it's becoming faster.
Oh! I can't hold it any longer
coz, it's now greater
Which makes it easier.
Let's quickly do it
That we might reach its peak in season.
Time's almost up for us to be marred or left to live.
It's our only choice for it to be kept burning.
Let me touch thy tatoos
And unveil that which no man has
Ever seen. Just this once, so as to sow a seed
For here they come to mar us,
And destroy all we both worked for.

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In A New World

I?m in a new world of strange sounds
I?m in a familiar world yet of different tongues
And I somehow feel at home
This was the dream I wanted to own

Yesterday I was so down, eager for a dreamy reality to own
Today here I am, my dreams having won, yet still stuck in ?Now?
I wanna dream even more of the heavens yet to be
I wanna live like a mortal with the destiny of a king

Still the sounds are so clear in my mind
I feel the vibrations of their laughter in my heart
I feel the fire of pain in the wounds they hurt
Yet I still have that voice of forgiveness humming deep in my heart

I am the prince and the prophet
The price of their peace is in my wallet
When the time is right I must pay for their rackets
Such is the game whose rules I squash in my racket

I still believe in the dreams of a better modernity
I still pine and plan to rise in spite of my bondage with mediocrity
I must find a means to benefit from the trash of my history
I must achieve my dreams so as to disapprove the unfavourable history

Warnings abound of my biting off more than I can chew
Confidence within assures me my mouth isn?t as weak hence I can aptly handle my 
I am dancing to a beat so loud within I do not need the party
The path I am treading is of a virgin destiny, hence it can only imprint my new 

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The Morning After

Sitting by the window at the Njogu-ini Hotel
I see my new people stream by
I can see them but they can’t see me
The window is a one way mirror 

So, this is how they look like 
Ordinary, though filled with immense purpose 
From this side of the window I can still feel their energy 
They are a people focused, a people determined
That is what it on the offset seems
But I know if most of them could be stripped within 
Much of what is common where I come from will be seen

They do have their fears
They too are enslaved by the system
They too do have their heartaches
They too have their poverty

The city may be defined by tall buildings 
And the streets lined with beautiful cars
But I believe astutely inside
They who mostly pass on foot outside 
Are victimised by the sites
Cars they can’t afford to buy
	Houses they can’t afford to rent
	The tall buildings are traps for their hard earned cash
	The supermarkets are large and their windows are lit bright
	Their purpose to lure and aptly tap
	The hard earned cash of my new cosmopolitan family

I pity them
Yet I adore their energy

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Ben Ja Min

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

Benjamin Franklin 1706-1790

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

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Idiotamic Expression

Alas, looks like some folks are plain lucky
going to the top just on sheer ability to talk
without doing time building up character
through real experience and hard work.

Reliant on gobbledygooks and catchalls,
he runs for office using his special lingo,
though hardly offering a sensible platform,
yet, still confident it all will turn out bingo!

Bereft of workable ideas to offer the nation,
hope is what we need, is all he could say;
there is nothing there but naked ambition, 
a sorry substitute for lack of actual policy.

Aren’t we taken for a ride and so gullible?
falling for the tricks of that messianic fool;
so full of himself the man eyeing election,
living off his idiotamic expression!   

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That September Day

As the towers fell on that September day,
our horror, and shock, at the debris that lay.

How could this happen on our very soil,
"We are America," "Oh our tempers boiled."

So many people lost their life that day,
so many worked endless, looking for the ones
they could save.

Never giving thought to the  hidden dangers
unknown, only trying desperately, to save

The reality of this tragedy is so very clear,
we are at risk, and we now know, a new 

We have to be careful, if we want to stay free,
because secretly, undetected, to our country 
they creep.

This is the reason our soldiers fight,
trying to prevent, another horrible

We have been warned, it will happen again,
these people are ready, they hate our country,
and for everything she stands.

God bless America, and keep us safe, and
protect our soldiers, in those lands, so
far away.

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Tell Me Why

Tell me why men and women go to war.
Tell me why they die for causes that know one has an explanation for.

Tell me why we rush to the aid of homeless and hungry people who are not from the united 
Tell me why our homeless and hungry don't get the same treatment and our elected leaders 
will tell you its still up for debate.

Tell me why the elderly should have to decide weather to get food or medication.
Tell me why some of them cant remember their name or the last time they went on vacation.

Tell me why I use to pay for my gas with the money from my pocket.
Tell me why now not only do the oil bigwigs get richer, but now i have to also lock it.

Tell me why people that retired a long time ago are suppose to enjoy tier golden years.
Tell me why now those same people are working again just to survive and exist from there 
worst fears.

So someone please tell me why these same questions get asked over and over with no 
certain reply.
I guess we will never know with any certainty the answers, so until then I'll just ask please 
tell me why.

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The Bottom Of The Tree

I am beginning to see,
what makes the world go round,
and I am quiet disturbed,
at some of the things I have found.
The higher you get,
the rules begin to change,
what once you were taught,
now is not the same.
Never lie,
never steal,
do what is right,
cling to what is real.
Every promotion,
brings some change,
the higher you go,
the more you gain.
These kind of jobs,
are not for me,
I am very content,
at the bottom of the tree.

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Secret Land, An Epic Poem Part 2

This is posted in 3 parts because it was too long to be posted as one.
My name is Kayla Thomas and this poem is for the contest Three Gems, in the contest section.
This was written on 7/29/11.

I glance back at the castle being set ablaze by dragons
I see villagers up ahead, they are all fleeing on wagons
What once was a world I could control, has suddenly gone bad
Seeing all this gloom and destruction to my nation makes me sad
I hear the cry of dragon’s and watch them overhead as they fly
I know that I can’t stay in this desolate land, if I do I will surely die
I say goodbye to my prince as a tear slips down my cheek
I prepare to leave the land that was once filled with beauty, but is now bleak
The people look at me like I’m their savior, like I’m some sort of knight
So before I leave I promise to return soon and set everything right
But I’m no warrior, no soldier, no master on the strategies of war
‘How am I to save these people?’ I ponder as I stride through the door
I know I must go back and save these people that I’ve created
But that also means I will have to face all the monsters I created
I take some time to plan an attack and gather up my courage
Then I prepare to return to the land that I had once deserted

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                            Pristine shores, their past erased by tidal grasp
                         Summer days, diamond sand and burning solarays
                    Observant camera eyes retrieve...photographic memories
                                        Sleepless nights, city scapes, 
               Its tourists' sights from vantage heights until daybreak
      City nights, secret rites, which darkness keeps,some cities never sleep
  Souvenir photographs telltale of passions veiled by distance strangers keep
           Enticed, foreign tourists reap culture shock and natives... paradise
                                Multi-culture, t.v. hype and nostalgic tales
                    Cheap sex and narcotics, black market products sales
                                  Gather souvenirs inexpensive and rare
               Day travel here and there, no tourist sight unspared
Tried and true, even old world culture is new,  remaining modern cultural affair 
             On an ocean shore jewel lights invite, which no one dare ignore
                              Earth's grand wonder...the city by  the shore

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Damaged (part 2)

One particular guy took advantage,
Of my dad choosing him to be with exclusively.
He ended up being with me in private and in public, 
With this chick who resembled a beast,
Who did not resemble in any way of her hometown symbol.
Her appearance made a mockery of a Ruston peach
He had the nerve to call me a “b”,
In front of her and called the authorities
Only after a few days of visiting me at my home,
And getting busy with me.
My home and love life should be described as this:
Complete tragedy.

The list goes on of the men who did me wrong,
But it all links to how I was treated at home.
Like a puppet, walked over, talked badly to constantly
Always being told that I would let men get the best of me,
Always being told if I wanted to do certain things,
 That I would be another word for a garden tool.
Often I was called an educated fool.
Being held on to by someone who meant me no good
Was not helpful to me at all.
Often I wish that I had no dad,
Because he is the worst man that I ever had.

My home life was simply disadvantaged.
It was bad enough that we were poor.
Women don’t worry about a man:
Only focus on God’s plan
For you.
The real Father on whom I depend,
Your life he will manage.
Don’t settle for earthly men and even your father
Look to God for your inheritance.
So you won’t be damaged.

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An ideal state

An ideal state?

The brazen blare of trumpets sounds.
As we approach the temple grounds
the rattling kettle drums compete
 with ominously marching feet.

The people gather here today
 in the old time honoured way. 
To hear our leaders justify
 why they have failed to satisfy.

The peoples wants, the peoples needs.
Explain their actions and their deeds
The leaders have no other choice
 but hearken to the peoples voice.

If they have failed without just cause.
The peoples justice will enforce
 summary execution.
A permanent solution.

  For politicians who have lied
by all their fellows they are tried.
Allowed to mount their own defence
 they must depend on eloquence.

We listen to their argument
 and we consider their intent.
Their motives are what we must judge
This is no time for them to fudge.

They ruled as triumvirate
 and so they must anticipate.
If one is guilty then all three
Will suffer the same penalty.

  If we adjudge them innocent
 by a unanimous consent.
They can retire honourably
having served us honestly.

We the people make the rules
 elect the leaders as our tools.
To do as we instruct them to
They do not rule the peopled do.

If we decide they are corrupt.
The peoples anger will erupt.
For them there can be no appeal
 it was their choice to cheat and steal.

An object lesson plain to see
for those who aspire to be.
Part of the next triumvirate
Chosen to serve our city state.

Ours is a true democracy 
where every citizen is free.
 To stand for office or refrain.
 Those who have served may serve again.

But every two years they must face
 the peoples judgement of their case.
Honest men need have no fear
 dishonest men just disappear.

Stripped of  all their ill gotten wealth 
 which they aquired by craft and stealth.
They pay the final penalty
 they’re put to death immediately.

The peoples will is sovereign
Offenders will not sin again
This is a dream I’m sad to say
 and not true of our world today.

Today our world is ruled by greed.
Use any method to succeed.
 rewarded for dishonesty.
The people pay the penalty.



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Morning Star

Across her village far deep in to the forrest Morning Star found peace and 
contentment. Here away from her village, the young girl enjoyed the daylight 
hours with the sounds and beauty of nature and it's animals. Beyond the forrest 
the mountains held a mystery all their own. Their beauty touched her soul and 
spirit yet they seems so far off to her.Her thoughts wondered what lay over them 
and what new world lay beyond those haunting peaks reaching to the sky.
    Suddenly the early morning was shattered by the sounds of gunfire. With all 
the men gone hunting no one was there to protect the village. Morning Star's 
thoughts were of not only the others in the village but of her mother and baby 
sister, she had to get back to them. Screams of women and children cut through 
the forrest as the scent  of smoke and the sounds of horses grew closer.  
Suddenly the sounds began to fade and only the smell of smoke remained. As 
she stood at the clearing, Morning Star saw what was left of her village. Unable to 
move as her eyes looked across the bodies of women and children laying all 
around. Tears filled her eyes as she walked by so many searching for her 
mother and baby sister, hoping that they had fled to safety. There in the dirt lay 
her mother clutching her baby sister, both dead. How could this have happened? 
How could the soldiers have done this to them?
  Morning Star placed a blanket over her their lifeless bodies and slowly walked 
away. Her life as she knew it was gone, dead along with her mother and baby 
sister. She was the only survivor.  Slowly she walked back into the forrest. Dusk 
was beginning and the forrest would keep her safe for the night. Tomorrow she 
would search for a way up to the mountains, there she would find a path to her 
destiny and what the spirits have chosen for her. She would be the only one to 
tell the story of all who had been lost this day. She would be the only one to keep 
their story alive for generations after this.

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Opera& music in every style
Establish his celebrity profile,
Living a life so mobile-
A genius with a raucaus laugh
Long lasting fame,his epitaph.

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Vignette-MEAT & NO VEG

In the Dandy lived a Desparate Dan,
Perhaps the world's strongest man;
A brawny westerner with stubbled chin-
His favourite dish was cow-pie,
Eaten whole...I tell no lie !

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dressed as a lady in waiting
You come unto me
In the myst of the night
The river so bright
The moon shines above
smiling on the stars
The tide roars in
almost speaking in voice
On the sand 
You approach 
Through a cloud of fog
First your legs
Then your arms as they swing
Followed by your glorious body
with a mysterious smile
You come upon me not stopping
We are engulfed
Waiting No more

Peter LeBuhn

Copyright ©2005 Peter B. LeBuhn 

Peter LeBuhn 

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The Might Of A Man...

The Strength of A Man
… is in His Eyes and Arms
And in His Harvest hands
… to Hope, Heal, or Harm

… Look into His Eyes and See The Storm
Will You Be Safe… in Sinew-Arms?
He Can Use His Hands to Help His Girl
But He’s Used This Strength to Harm The World…

The Power of A Man
Is in His Legs and Loins
In His Tongue to Command
And The Seed in His Groin

Every Woman On Earth, Has Felt Man’s Pulse
Or Pleasure – Pain…One Way or Another - Push!... Push!
Do What He Says, to Pull The Pressure
… He’s Pouring Passion, into His Pasture

The Force of A Man
Shows in His Face
The Way, He Walks or Stands
In The Human Race

He’s A Walking, Breathing, Forest-Fire
He’ll Burn You Up… with His Desire
See, The Way His Veins-Pop… Stands Out…
If A Tree  is Torn Down… Better ‘T I M B E R’ Shout !...

But The Might of A Man
Is in His Heart to Love;
And Mind, to Understand
The Higher Chamber Above…

With Spirit, Flesh, Blood, Bone
Might, Power, Force, Strength
… and A Woman, to Help Man Put On…
Some Breadth, Height, Depth and Width…

The Marvelous Might Of A Man

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Not poem sorry, but it's part of a story I'm writing, Comments and Opinions please

Chapter 1 – The Field
There I was, looking at the field. It looked incredibly long but was one of the most gracious fields I’d ever seen. It was about six feet high up off the ground and everything looked green. The field itself was not only a field though. It was full of fruit, freshly grown fruit. From watermelons to peaches to apples to oranges, the field had everything. It looked so tempting to eat. But, I dared not to. One of the reasons I didn’t though; I was warned. Now, the angel, he was at my side and as I approached the never ending field he stopped me. With just one tap on the shoulder I let him move past. Floating to the front, he explained to me about this field. He explained this field was a temptation field and to eat the fruit was forbidden. Yet, to do so at your own will, may cost you your life. He never told me his name, but he explained that this field is a test. He said, “If you make it out of the field, two more tests you will bestow against you. For to return home; you must pass all three.” As soon as he explained that to me, he vanished. 
As I walked closer to the field, I had this weird feeling that someone was watching me and if not someone, something. Yet, no one was to be seen. The field itself looked to be about two football field lengths wide and from where I stood I was unable to see the end. I kept thinking two more tests until I go home? Was it some sick and twisted game? All I wanted to do was go home. To me, it felt like an Alice in Wonderland movie, but there was no rabbit hole. Yet, I kept thinking about the angel. He looked so pure; so untouched. He had this tall like figure, not because he was floating but because he seemed to be about maybe 5’11 or taller. I couldn’t tell the eye color from his gracious glow but if I had to guess, it’d be hazel. Now, from the looks of how he dressed, he’s apparel looked as if it was one of gods. Like the togas of a 6th grade project times one thousand. His long white and gold gown flowed so evenly against his perfect flawless skin. Now, people have the ideas of gods and supernatural people all wrong; he didn’t have a sparkle or super abnormal muscles. His skin looked the finest of a male model, but more towards the average of any human. But, I think I’m ranting now. 

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

 Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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the preacher intones
"The Lord be with you"...
the congregation responds
"and also with you"
the Priest resonates Mass
"The Lord be with you"...
the Rabbi also desires
"Lord be with you"...
and the Imam, the Shaman

the faithful all around
are told the simple truth
surrounded by tomed tenet
what Lord deeply desires

"be with you"

the young lovers whisper
with quiet, frenetic passion
"I want to be with you"
and often say the other way
"I want you to be with me"

the simple secret, 
the DNA of what is, just is
that our being, 
our very existence
is ...together

whether is accented
"to BE with you", or
"to be with YOU"
it's about proximity
it's life shared
light shared
tears shared
love shared

it's about touch
it's about fingers
and hands, tangled limbs
warmth and cool reality
it's about gazing,
just looking 

just being there

deity ain't no fool
it's all about
"to be with you"

© Goode Guy 2011-11-25

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The Golden Sparrow

Of finding 
The golden sparrow
Dream ended in blue sky
Too late to wish
 Innocence’s lost

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Allowing the Experience

Like everything else in life, the more you do it the better you get.
But the first time is an amazing experience and something you will never forget.

Most people, however, never have a first time.

This is not something you will to happen.
This is not something you make happen.
This is not something that takes thought, intelligence, strength, endurance, or perseverance.

In fact, this is something that takes absolutely nothing to make it happen.

But, you see, not many people can achieve absolute nothingness.

To allow your spirit to disconnect from its physical casing requires you to forget everything you know about life; to suspend disbelief; to transcend into a world of nothingness; no thought; no sensual perception; no bias towards physical traits; no awareness; no expectations.

You don’t try to leave your body.  You don’t imagine what it is like.  You just allow it to happen by having no expectations of what it means.  You enter into the realm of nothingness.

The first out of body experience for the few of us that have been blessed with this occurrence is more like an accident than an achievement.  

You simply find yourself looking down on a body you hardly recognize before realizing it is yours.

This realization; this shock; usually results in ending the experience before you even realize what it was you were experiencing.  But, once it happens a second time, you can maintain the disassociation; you can remain distanced from your physical being.

Anyone who attempts to have an out of body experience is likely to fail.  You do not make this happen, you simply allow it to happen.

Some think they have achieved this state aided by drugs, alcohol or meditation … they have not.  People only think they have based on a misconception about what this experience really is.

Just like I cannot tell you how to have this experience, I cannot explain to you what this experience is like.  And the only way you can experience it for yourself is to forget all about trying to experience it.

Just like everything else in life, the more you do it the better you get.

But it is really nothing that you do and more something that you allow by simply doing and being nothing.

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A fool rushes in

You say you love him
but is it true
or do you believe it is true
I caught him up
you don't believe me
you barely know him
and you are his girlfriend
what happens when
you find out he is cheating
are you gonna take him back
you rushed in a relationship
what do you really know about him
is he really the one
you rushed in too quick
I don't want
you to get hurt
so be careful
and get to know him
and see if he really is the one for you.

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not long ago the earth was young
a dark shadow rose and blocked the sun
the people were lost in the chaos and hate
they lost everything to this dying fate
as luck grew low and people grew weak
they cried to the sky "its a miracle we seek"
this was the first time the moon did glow
yet not one soul would know
the moon was the miracle of which they cried
and without the shadow passes as the sun bound
by the moon, cycled the earth around and around

peace remained because day and night
slept peacefuly with dark and light
with their truth, protected us all
but with them soon came the fall
a fight broke out between anger and tears
night tried to stop it, but then came fears
fears and envy bred hatred anew
and chaos again spawned and grew
all was not lost at this time of pain
but hope was rare and almost found it vain
a balance must create a chaos
just as finding causes true loss
so if we could not have perfect peace
then how do we quell hatred the beast
if light and dark were truly the same
why was it chaos who was always to blame

finally the spiris decided to go their own ways
tired of wasting energy on the fighting days
their final solution was what saved us all
keep far from each other or suffer the call
if one met another we would all return
and this world that was protected would cease to turn

so now with fears, hate, envy, chaos, tears, dark, night, day, and night along
if these nine spirits had left one another and where seperated and gone
this is where twilight enters the truth
along with the others and joining them were; friend ship, joy, compasion, teamwork, turth
twilight you see was the one that brought with it the rest
twilight brought together everyone and their best
twilight truly showed them the way
and these are the words twilight spoke that day

as long as i remain, i reside of both
dark and light
of day and night
of chaos and compasion
of envy and teamwork
of truth and tears
of joy and fears
of friendship and hate

so believe in me and have no shame
it is only i that hold the burden of blame
i who am everything of you and yet
i who have nothing to lose or benifit
you must reason among one another
and find it in your selves to trust each other

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often in the grand scheme of God's desires
He will use mankind to do what He requires
His providential purposes God's master plans
will utilize any and all types of man

the Pharoah declared a most horrendous decree
of infanticide on Jewish male babies
to put them to death to keep their numbers down
fearful of having too many Jewish males around
but history has a way of repeating itself again and again
as the young Black male populations today hangs by a fringe
with incarcerations, police brutality and killing each other
we're on the verge of eradicating our young Black brothers
a supposed threat to society that same old racist mentality

yet all it takes is for God to send someone to be bold
one person unafraid to break away from the mold
over 400 years of praying and keeping hope alive
a people once in slavery but today they now thrive
from Moses to Jeremiah to the Rev. Dr. King
to President Barak Obama God can change anything
One Bold Black Soul to say what needs to be said
One Bold Black Soul whose life is spirit-led

don't let the world compromise your moral integrity
let prayer be the tool you use to claim the victory
you need some solitude to simply reflect
on that which God desires of you and what of you He expects
God will be what you want no matter what you need
and He will do whatever is needed to help you succeed
so walk in the spirit and just wait for your time
and be ready to act when God gives you a sign
to be called into place with God's saving grace

Jeremiah told the people of the prophecy
about their demise if they confront their enemy
he was then thrown into a pit full of mud and slime
his death to be a certainty in a very short time
but One Bold Black Soul stepped up to the plate
and told the King to save Jeremiah before it was too late
One Bold Black Soul an Ethiopian man
told of the soldiers diabolical plans

to be bold, to be risky, to be resilient in your resolve
to step out of your comfort zone until the problem is solved
from Rosa Parks to Medgar Evers to Malcolm X
to do what is prevalent and not what society expects
creative in courage, inspired with innovation
by any means necessary to change the situation
One Bold Black Soul willing to step out on a limb
to stop history from repeating itself once again

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Quake-stricken town in China

I was truly saddened by the massive quake
that shook China’s Sichuan province;
It was a huge disaster, a furious nature
that at times like this is indeed doleful.

I saw images of devastation all over,
I saw human sufferings in this situation;
I couldn’t believe their profound sadness
seeing deaths in legendary proportions.

Described as one of the worst disasters
in terms of lives claimed and destructions,
there’s superstition or tradition they say
that this might foreshadow in any way
a reigning emperor to have met his death.

Like a historical phenomenon years ago,
when the famous Tangshan quake shook.
the entire land where thousands were killed
and this happened just before the death of
the famous Chinese leader Mao Zedong.

That’s history! An unforgettable event;
a tragic episode that never occurred
to some minds with deep attachments
to this country where Communism 
played the role in varied situations.

Quake victims received great attention
especially in the world of communication;
most of them I heard were migrant workers
from the countryside in search of fortune.

With the growing population elsewhere
I saw how Chinese people struggled
in their own way to overcome misfortunes
that life could go on with their convictions.

Right now, our major print, news and TV media
are sources and avenues of global information;
like epidemics and natural devastations
remind me of our shared, nationwide disasters.

Back in the Philippines where I was born
a litany of calamities and all kinds of anger –
they’re natural catastrophes like volcanic eruption,
all these shaped my vision and love for the people.

Oh, China, our neighboring country in Asia,
I could feel the shadows of your pain and mourning,
Your own people are also in my heart and attention
 with God I pray to him that you’ll be all right.

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Greatest Treasure

As I walked through the park in the late sun's light,
Watching the people jog by and a bird's lazy flight.
An old man sat on a bench up ahead
With the sun's rosy glow glistening on his head.
He seemed so forlorn just sitting there,
The breeze gently ruffling his white, thin hair.
His hands were clasped around his trembling, gnarled fingers
And as I came closer I decided to linger.
"Excuse me," I said with a smile,
"Do you mind if I sit here for awhile?"
His head came up as the old gentleman slowly stood
And he said, "I'd be honored if you would."
As we sat we talked of several things
Of things in the past and what the future may bring.
He spoke of the people who had walked by
Never looking at him or saying hi.
He was old, he said, and past his prime.
He understood - no one now had the time.
People today have so much to do
Spending time with the old ones is not what they choose.
He had a son, he said with a sigh.
Who he feared was letting life pass him by.
His boy thought only of making money
And he seldom saw nature's beauty or things that were funny.
He was always in such a hurry dashing to and fro
That he would never have a chance for his soul to grow.
My eyes strayed from the man's wise face
And saw someone walking towards us at a very fast pace.
As he got closer he suddenly yelled,
"Hey, Dad, let's go, I've got a date.
We have to hurry, I don't wanna be late."
The old man looked at me with sadness in his eyes
As he rose and graciously told me good-bye.
He shuffled away, such a lonely old soul
Whose life's ups and downs had taken their toll.
"Wait!" I said, heading his way
There's something I'd like to say.
Thank you, kind sir, for talking to me.
You've been very enjoyable company.
Then quickly I leaned and kissed his cheek
On that face that once again had become old and bleak.
Now it lit up with eyes much brighter
As he walked towards his son with his step a little sprightlier.
But the son stood impatiently as his dad came his way.
Not realizing his greatest treasure was fading away.

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the book of Esther embodies the courage and the willingness to take a stance
for such a time as this to be positioned by God and to take a chance
yet the situation in society today is not all that much different in fact
with political machinations and the moral of mankind completely at a lack
but God has situated us to go out and make a change
preserved and positioned for our promotion which by Him has been prearranged
to be pregnant with the possibilities that God has given us to be strong
to stand up in righteousness and tell the people when they are wrong
to be obedient and listen to the Spirit of the Holy Lord
to whatever is needed even if it means to come under the sword

as obedience is better than sacrifice you must hold true to your position
and don't worry about what the world is doing just stay focused on your mission
by saying yes to any and all that of you God does ask
and believing unconditionally that He will equip you for the task
presented with a challenge Queen Esther was given a godly instruction
to put herself between her people and their total destruction
she was positioned in the right place
with the Lord God's saving grace
preserved and positioned for her promotion from the Lord Our God
destined for greatness by possessing an obedient heart

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An air ace on a training spin
Fell out,survival  seemed so slim
Seconds from death,his world falling in
He landed by chance on a Camel's wing-
Then managed to wrestle his way back in

Note:Inspired by story of Graham Donald's ,WW1 flying ace,pilot of a Sopwith 
Camel,in 1917,fell out with no parachute(a deliberate policy  by the high 
command at the time!)on a training manoevre later landing on its wing at the 
bottom of its loop,regained the cockpit and landed the plane safely.Truly a 
magnificent man in a flying machine.

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Days of my Life

Last night I sat in my solitude n wrote some verses,
So listen to me as I spit them like chapters from pastors in churches,
Hope when I’m finish it will meet places, masses,
U see I’ve been faced with some problems lately,
Yeah I know, God will take care of them, they all say,
But I’ve been playing this waiting game a long time u see,
And as much as I plea,
Oh Lord help me, is like he never there to help me thru,
So I began to curse God out for giving me this awful life,
Daily I live my life with strife,
Now I see why people take knives and take their lives,
Because living a life like mine people really have to strive hard to stay alive,
Just like bees in a bees hive, raised
Yes, people in this world are ready to attack you and leave you staggering to revive yourself,
You proberly saying what life KG been living?
I guess it’s safe to say, one like if I was thiefing,
You know, like if u thief a lime from your neighbor, u have to hide,
Because in this place where I go to school, like it have people out here watching my every
So let me slip up and say the wrong thing,
Do the wrong thing,
Them aint waiting until the fat lady sings,
They taking me out like wind,
They look at me an underestimate me,
Cause apparently I look young,
But they aint know I kinda strong
But as I watch these people in their eyes,
Tears from my eyes fall,
But still I stand tall,
Remembering the saying “this too shall pass”
Only if I could kick them dutty minded people in their ass,
For being so hateful,
But I have to keep my thoughts within,
For am I am a minority in this place,cause all do is in it to win it…
Also remembering this life aint no race,
Wonder if they know God don’t sleep
Sometimes I do wonder if they open their mouth whispering the amazing grace.
For last night I sat in my solitude and wrote some verses
I hope those hating humans see and recite them like Sunday school memory verses
So now I rest my case…

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My Day

                                                      Morning Sweet
                                                     The sun to meet
                                                     exit the dawn
                                                     enter Late AM
                                                     Feeling better
                                                    Sipping tea
                                                    Hellos to my neighbor
                                                   The work,Today,to be done
                                                   Filling the Tank
                                                   Commuter conversations
                                                   Fixing the contours of the tie
                                                   PM is approaching
                                                   An IHOP for brunch
                                                  Meeting with Personal
                                                  Punching out at 2
                                                  Returning to suburbia
                                                  Watching the Plasma
                                                  Lathering off
                                                 Going to sleep

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A young rogue named Finn
Ran away with an escaped slave,Jim,
Down the river on a raft
On the Mississippi this tale was craft-
Encounters & adventures,fore and aft.

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

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A flash of lore
A contour of light
A shadow of awe
A birth of flight

A leap of faith
A hardwood stare
A tongue smitten
A signature of air

A game to envy
A will to win
A court to rule
A child of the rim

A legend of ball
A shoe of flight
A world palmed by
A swoosh named Mike

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Daisy was his dream
Luxury & wealth,Jay's scheme
This lover's bower,soon turned sour-
Gatsby quickly lost his cool,
Floating face-down ,in his pool.

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Different Strokes for Different Folks / Martha's Vineyard 2009

The fake isolation of the island insinuated the fostering of remnants;
remnants of religious fervor, close knit seafaring families, and rugged farmers;
remnants of power past and present.

A fog shrouded canvass awaits the onslaught of August revelry.
And, where widows walked the peeks of robber barons manses, the elementals now play.

Tomato red fire trucks ring the seaside green. Throngs of , oh so, polite W.A.S.P.S 
and multicultural couples dot the lawn in precise groupings.

The squeal of stroller strapped toddlers echo across ocean 
and down alleyways lined with painted ladies 

Gay blades and saucy sisters saunter unharassed through the crowds of young families.
Prosperously retirees with salt and pepper hair in pink and green golf shirts line the porches 
of the gingerbread homes ringing the green.

In the gazebo a brass band plays John Phillip Souza and closes by belting out 
the American anthem, after dark, no flag wave, yet random patriots stand.
Their forms silhouette upon the gray fog like their intentions 
mocking the holiday aire with their reminder of war….

those raging on in Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan.
and fade with the crowds roar to “Sit down your blocking the view!”

And as the elite, and privileged meet and greet chatting in wonder over the multiple sightings 
of airforce one choppers and past President Clinton.

The three times the worlds average wage is spent on FIREWORKS, frivolously, 
for the entertainment of the richest citizens of the planet. God Blessed America.

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Looking to my future

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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You've got me

Constantly going through my mind. 
What are you doing to me. 
Just to think about it.
I get confused.
Never knowing what you might say.
Or even do. 
If only I could get a glimpse or maybe even just a clue.
Just to show me just what it is that you do. 
Is it that you sweep me off my feet with your tender sweet words.
Or is it that you respect me.
Is it that all the things I do you observe.
Or never look down and neglect me. 
Please tell me just what it is you do.

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This Journey We Call Life

Happiness begins in the depths of ones heart,
a place of complete joy,
where all good things start.
A smile is a rainbow,
delivered in peace,
worn on ones face,
showing a soul so sweet.
Sorrow is a part,
of this thing we call life,
it will fade into a memory,
making us appreciate,
when days are bright.
Darkness will deliver,
troubles of some kind,
always keep your eyes open,
all of the time.
Never allow,
temptation to enter your home,
don't answer your door,
until you are sure,
it is gone.
Time brings us wisdom,
if we are open to truth,
don't take life for granted,
you will be sorry,
if you do.

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I’ve been to tenements, town houses, towers and mansions
And there are people in each doing what I’ve thus far described as a mission
Sans commission
Walk through a neighborhood that ain’t so good
As you convince yourself you should, you could, you would
And the only other white thing besides me in such a habitat was a white neon light
While we junkies bow to and bless the night
That another day has ended until begins tomorrow’s plight
I’m telling you  people I’ve lived on the right side, the wrong side and the middle of 
the tracks
Praying for me to nod out and not realize a twelve car freight train is speeding my 
Because sometimes it’s just too difficult to suffer another day
Another day to go places where children are un-fed
Because daddy’s dealing dope and mama’s charging a john thirty bucks to  give him 
They hand me my dope and cursed the fact that he didn’t draw a gun
And then my life would come to a blessed end

I’ve seen, gone and done things none of you would dare do
and the mink killing lady over there, especially you
I’ve done things to my  body that shouldn’t be done
Unless, of course you set your course for a pledge a place opf peace, gentility and fun
Alas all too  soon you find that the fun has been replaced by keeping on the run
(So Johnny or Tommy, you want to expend all the energy  having to keep up with a 

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Catalan moderniste
Or Art Nouveau catalyst
Extravagent and ornate-
Fantastic,eclectic & surreal
Sculpture,gardens & cathedral

Antoni Gaudi (1853-1926)Spanish archtect-neo baroque

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Bad Days

 I'm in a messed up kind of mood and it was one of 
 those days
 Where I realize that I have no luck but in all the
 worst ways
 The husband that's never home, and the inlaws that
 always are
 What is family anyway, just people who will scar
 It goes back to childhood really, I always just 
 came last
 What am I really saying, that it goes back to my 
 But the truth of the matter is, I wasn't well liked
 Always the second best and not first asked to play
 Such a young age when I put the wall on my heart
 Because of childhood lost and the family torn apart
 Never wanting to learn, and not trying to succeed
 But I played a good role at pretending to be happy
 Just going day to day, living a crazy life
 With every passing second just thinking I would die
 All these bad things seemed to happen and I seemed to 
 only cry
 Like I was born with too many feelings, and I had to
 wonder why
 Always seeming to suffer, and it gets so hard to live
 Because the feelings that are lost, it makes me scared
 to give
 Maybe someone will notice, maybe they will see
 That there really are some good pieces of me

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My friend

The one I grew up with
the one that was like a brother
to me
has passed away
he took his life
on accident
he has a newborn daughter
and a lover they will love and miss
him forever
the only thing everyone can ask
is why.

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I Know You Read My Writing

I’m glad you’re entertained,
Or better yet informed,
About your mate’s past,
And how he lies to and with,
Me and you.

I’m overjoyed to have a fan,
That I thought would never be.
It simply flatters me.
I know that I’m a fan,
Of someone.
I’ll be lady like,
And not mention any names.

Dude had a field day all year.
Every time the dreadful day got near,
I started arguments,
For the madness to end.
There wasn’t any hope indeed,
He wasn’t trying to take heed.

I heard constant brags,
Of I get it from both of y’all
And how good I was,
And I often complained,
Not good enough,
Because I don’t have a ring.

Boy, would  he get angry
And say I have to stop coming over,
That was music to my ears,
It never happened until now,
That I told you 
In my poem “The Ugly Truth.”
I am glad, glad, glad,
That it is finally over,
So glad, I consider this
One of the worst  life experiences,
That I ever had.

I’m glad you’re entertained,
Or better yet informed,
About your mate’s past,
And how he lied to and with,
Me and you.

wrote 7-25-09

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Immersed in the Jordan,flowing fast
In readiness for an awesome task
The Spirit descended like a dove
This man here is my beloved-
He still baptises from above

Full story at Math 3:16/17

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This tale of a child's dream,
Things are not all they seem-
An allegory in simple code
A parable dressed in modern mode
Of lion,witch and wardrobe.

CS Lewis/Walt Disney Narnia Chronicles

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Darfur, Sudan

Desert sand, tan and wind rippled
Dry, desolate, drifting-dieties' 
canvas evolving, serenity garden

Strife and soldiers, guerilla warfare
South of Egypt, West of the Red Sea
Land Cursed by God for  whorng against
God with other gods. Descendants still
pay the sin price today.

Confussion, hate consumed
Evil conduct, evil rulers
Abuse and cripple the refugees

Mercy on the children, Succor
their hunger and thirst
Give the weak, strength and compassion
Deliver the wicked to your justice, Lord.

I read about this region today and descided to write a poem, the people are being abused 
and raped. Pray for this people and area. this is north Africa.

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The Graveyard

The wind seemed colder that December day,
as I walked among the graves marked with
marble so gray.
Some had a story carved for all to see,
while others were just marked, Rest In 
Pictures of the deceased, were on a few,
as I looked a little closer,
to see how many I knew.
Then in the distance, 
I saw a crowd,
another loved one to be buried,
then my head I bowed.
Old graves stood out,
their markers so tall,
darker than most,
like shadows at nightfall.
Sad to think, some had to die so young,
but way back then, not much could be done.
Strange it may seem,
to visit the dead,
but facinating to me,
on the life they led.

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Tis The Season

As the children calmly sleep, snow begins to fall on this quiet Christmas eve. 
Mom and dad slowly find there way down the hall to pear in on the children all 
nestled tightly in there beds. Soon after mom and dad would retire to the front 
by the fire. Mom with her book and dad with his paper. They too soon would drift 
of into dream land. They all would dream of Christmases from yesteryear, here 
and now, and the future. Soon the anticipation would soon pass for another 
Christmas has come and gone. But don't you worry it soon will return with all it's 
shimmering lights, love, and laughter. And always remember tis the season.

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Different kinda of people

If you walk around town you will
notice there are different kinds of people

there are the stuck-up cheerleaders who
think they own the world

there are the jocks who have to have

there are the independent people which they
don't try to be popular they don't try to be
anyone else just themselves.

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I am

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

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Unkept Secrets

                                    If fate's when first impressions love
                                  Then regret's yearning what never was
                                    At ease entranced my eyes retrieve
                                                Forgotten memories
                                      Told this tale countless times 
                                  I loved an angel who lost her mind
                             Choose one word which rhymes with fate
                             Relive my life and transcend its mistakes
                             Reclaim precious time, addiction wastes
                      Some angels charm, yet their misery is shared fate

                                         Past memories,I can't forget 
                                   To cherish the past without regret
                                               Until my last breath
                              An angel's death is my secret unkept

                     If wisdom's embraced, trying moments mature
                                Some more fortunate, won't endure
                                Search the cosmos, search inside
                                Is regret volition's reward?And why?

                              Some lost souls embrace addiction
    Save precious time , their unfurtunate fate is an intuitive prediction
                        Some have past lives they've barely survived
                           Is pain volition's reward, or human error?
                              Is regret finite? Will love last forever?

                                         Past memories I can't forget
                                   To cherish the past without regret
                                              Until my last breath 
                                  An angel's death is my secret unkept                                        

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

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

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

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

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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On The Perimeter Of The Place Of Promise

to be in the right place at the right time
destined for greatness with God on your mind
when you're on the perimeter of the place of promise there's no time to hesitate
just trust that by the Lord God you've been set up for this date
at the appointed time there will be an obstacle to overcome
but through Jesus you have the victory so consider the challenge done
don't procrastinate, you need to keep pushing on
as your God-given destiny is just on the horizon
and if you perish, if you perish, if you should happen to die
remember nothing in life is worthwhile if you don't venture to try
destined for greatness with truth and righteousness in your heart
for nothing against you will prosper in the presence of the Lord God

Queen Esther was in the right place at the right time
positioned by the hand of God to for her people do something kind
uncertained and unsure at first she prayed and fasted with a heavy heart
urged by her beloved Uncle Mordecai to for her people do her part

sometimes we have to be pushed and prodded to do what is right
and then search inside ourselves to see the truth in God's light
and if a sacrifice is needed and a life must be given
it may be your destiny for by the Holy Spirit you've been driven
on the perimeter of the place of promise at your godly appointed date
and if you perish, you perish just be like Jesus and don't hesitate

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I have fear
of walking down the street
afraid of everybody
who comes near
fear is what's wrong
I can't trust anyone
I am afraid to go to work
but I go anyway
I finally learned
how to deal with my fear.

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A talent
that outlived
passing fame-
hidden beneath
her lover's name.

Tribute to Mary Evans ie George Eliot

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Sitting at the V.A. Clinic

in wheelchair
with a number tatooed
across the back of his hand.

Three rows of numbers.
Were you there?
His head is bowed into
hand/arm resting on the chair.

Bowed head
sparse white of hair
were you there?
Holocaust man reading.
In boots now he is
the lumber man,
or cowboy man ...
were you there?

Old velcro tennis
shoe men
in the optometry clinic
waiting for glasses
while they

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Cuckoos and quails
In this pastoral tale,
Nature comes alive
To a symphony of five
Titled well contrived

Tribute to Beethoven's Symphony No 6

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I Got Scared (2005)

He came in with a mask and pretended to pull out a gun
I paused in fright
It was just a big kid having fun
But the fear was at my expense
I smiled it off in defense
I don’t like to show my fear
Otherwise I’ll know what would happen next time they are here
The fear we live in, they haven’t a no clue
Next time you mess the joke will be on you
People around here don’t like clever dicks 
They will beat you at your own tricks 

Another idiot messing around in my shop! Hillfields, Coventry the root of all evil!

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

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Miss you

Bro I miss you
going through the pain you put us through
you always get out on bail
come on bro you know you'll never fail
all you need to do is do your best
and you can get on with the rest of your life
I don't understand why you do the crimes
because you never want to do the time
I didn't get a chance to say good-bye
but now is my chance to say I love you bro

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For the past three days,a torrid summer 
scorched the windy bay
with an intense heat that
discolored the lustrous,wild grass;  
even my light skin is turning dark,
resembling a blood-hungry gladiator
who fights for one reason only:
to earn freedom or die
in the arena where
people recite no prayer...  

A feeble father and a robust son
pull out of the flowing and glimmering water
the fishing canes wriggling in hazy air; 
this narrow beach adjacent  to a lovely town,
is the safest haven for birds fearing captivity 
and some traveled quite a distance
to find it without resistence or compromise;
my birds aren't found in a confined cage,
because they have never been subjected to rage...
they fly between sky and sea!  

Ruddy,bare-chested men
standing on a roaring yacht,
as the parching heat
from the middle-sky's sun, 
makes sweat flow from their skin's pores;
they ignore the inabriated teens
dancing to a heavy-metal beat 
while they throw pices of meat
to a barking canine 
that has seen nothing
but skeletons of shell-fish,
realizing his desperate wish!   

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Mansions in the Sky

The Stars lit up the skies and nothing could I see,
Except these huge Mansions that fly in the sky.
Swirling winds picked me up and carried me high.
Making trails in the clouds it was just me.
It was breathtaking just to be,
Afloat the top of mansions that fly.
The Moon was bright and the Sun a bit dry.
They were huge and magnificent to oversea.
 Mansions in the sky that fly above it all.
Mesmerized I went in and found no end.
None were too small.
None occupied, not even by a friend!
Mansions that fly fill a brilliant sky,
All emptied but not by I!
© Copyright: Ann Rich  2006

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My Only Desire

I never wanted to be with this guy.
After meeting and talking to him,
I got a message from the big guy in the sky.
“Help him, Nikki,” and I wondered why,
I still do.
Being around him made me,
 Happy sometimes and sometimes blue.

Every time I wanted things between me and him
To be through, the big guy would say no,
“I told you that I wanted you to see,
What I made him to be.”
I saw many great things and felt great,
After being with him, loving him,
And praying for him constantly.

I saw what God wanted him to be,
And how he was being held back by himself,
His family and those people in the streets.
I fell in love with this man,
Not because I really wanted to.
It was because He wanted me to.

My plan was for him to be with me,
For three days only.
It wasn’t God’s,
This situation is odd.
We started getting closer,
And doing things together,
Like we were supposed to.

This journey began as friends not lovers,
We had many good times,
As long as battles, trials, and struggles.
During this process , I realized that this man,
Was just like me.
Hurt by someone that was supposed to teach,
Him to love and how to be loved.

I did not do everything right,
But I tried.
Many nights I prayed and cried,
Because of the similarities of our lives.
My only desire was for him to be successful,
Not to be with me.
He’s still unsuccessful, so I’ll stay on my knees,
Until that only desire is achieved.

He fulfills the desires of those who fear him; he hears their cry and saves them. Psalm 145: 

(started 1-15-10 finished 1-23-10)

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vignette-PEACE...BE STILL

I saw the wind whip up the sea,
I sensed the fear deep in thee,
As we sailed across Galilee-
To the storm I then spoke these words..
Greater've never heard.

See more @ Mk 4:35

Inspred by Senses/Elements contest

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Schindler's list,Star Wars
Saving Private Ryan
Gadfly,Lord of the Rings-
Composers on a mission
To make their soundtracks sing.

Tibute to Williams,Shore ,Morricone et al...

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inna name

he contemplates
those Indian names that tell who, 
or what, they are as a being,
tell something important regarding
the actual person being named

Ron his horse is thunder
Bodaway the fire maker
Wakiza the desperate warrior
Kajika walks without sound

other cultures have meaning
implied in names they assign
to their children, 
though most refer to religious matters
seldom, if ever do they speak its meaning
even when known

Aasim, person who keeps away from sins
Abdul the servant
Yaman, good tidings
Jafar, a rivulet or stream

David, beloved one
Albert, noble and bright
Michael, who is like God
William, desire a helmet
(which seems perplexingly honest)

will today's peoples ever call 
themselves for what they prize or
what the person actually is,
Geithner too big to fail
Wallstare, wanna see big screen
Carb Manna, he who always eats
Runnin' Behind, perpetually late

Maybe my name would be
Thinks too much, 
or similar variant
perhaps something farther out
Dreams wandering
It's an interesting view from here

© Goode Guy 2011-11-30

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' A Poet, Goes To War ... '

‘ A  Poet  Goes  To  War … ’ ( Josh. 23: 10, 11 ) 

A Gentle-Poet … Goes To War
Oh … How Far … How Far … How Far …
Did You Push A Tender Heart
before Poet Finishes, What You Start ?

Just Like That Musician, Shepherd – Boy
whom a Lion and Bear, Dared Annoy          ------  1 Sam. 17: 37
Trying to Steal Some of His Precious Sheep
Poet, Showed Them … What’s His … He Keeps !

And That Same, Brave-Poet Went To War
Against Goliath’s Insulting, Roar !                ------  1 Sam. 17: 45 – 51
… But With just One Pebble Fling
That Poet’s, Sling, Thru All Of Time … Rings !

And If  A Wise-Poet Goes To War …
That Poet … May Wound and Scar                -------  Acts 7: 54, 57
For Words, Gouge Deeper Than Stones
Pen’s Mightier Than Sword … Cuts Clean To The Bone !

But, You made Poet … ‘your’ Foe, with Mock-Chimes
The First Thought … Just Give Them, Calm-Down-Time
But, Know … This Poet Thrives … Behind Enemy Lines
Forgiving and Wishing, God-Giving, Words-Divine !

‘Cause When Peace-Loving-Poets… Go To War …
‘We’ … Must Travel by:  The Bright Morning Star    ---  Rev. 22: 16
and Wait on His Orders … His Way
and I’m Cautious … Like ‘The Commander’ Says …  -- Matt. 10:16

So, Before you feel The Need To Spar                  ----  Zeph. 2: 2, 3
Before…  Big Poets … Have To Go To War             ----  Genesis thru Revelation
… Know That Such Poets … Are Word–Warriors
 … Don’t Make ‘em Go Off … on ya’ !

‘Cause you Won’t Survive … The Tongues of Fire    ----  Acts 2: 3, 4
( or The ‘ Lake ’ Either … If You Live Like A Liar … )  ---  Rev. 21: 7, 8
Gon’ Wind Up, Locked Behind Abyss’ Bars
… For Making  ‘  Poor-Poets ’ … Go To Wars !          ----  Matt. 18: 6

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The Picture Of The Past

Far in the distance, time screams out,
I'm all around you, that is what life is about.
I can make you weak, or I can make you strong,
give you a reason, or play a sad song.
I have the power to erase your mind,
any given moment, you may see my sign.
I can hold you captive, and show no remorse,
you my friend, will never know my course.
Many have tried to predict my path,
this one is a mystery, no one knows my wrath.
Enjoy each day, as if it were your last,
you only know for certain, the picture of the past.

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April decorates Nature
with snowy festivity...
to resemble a season so wintry;
will the unwelcome snow head for the shore?

The very disappointed skies gleam unpleasantly,
and the saturated earth weeps in agony;
who commanded the wrath of the tempest...
when winter supposed to be laid to rest?

The snow's showers cover the budding hills
quicker than the gelid rain of winter;
far and away...hope is illusory and brief,
and the questioning mind deflects its early coming!
Does this season have a late beginning,
or is it caused by an unknown factor?

April has smothered winter and hasn't protected
the trees, flowers and plants from frost;
almost everything has perished in its ferocious course,
and the desperate farmer deplores an harvest so scarce!

Inside is so cozy and warm, the gusty wind
is heard through the fireplace that retains the heat
of the crackling logs underneath;
some folks cherish moments like these!

April decorates Nature
quite beautifully and impressively;
brutally or unfairly...
it becomes an inevitable rapture!

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Pass us by

If he made it so I can see you why no glance?
I see another and another, but there is no chance
You see us walking
But did you look up in the trees? 
How stupid can we be?
Our feet are harmonious 
Our stash inside
However we may be different 
You don’t even glance you just hide
Its all our problems 
Containing our will
To scream
Or lack there of and therefore will remain sight
For that lack there of we cannot take flight 
For these white walls will crumble
We will all stumble
Into the great depths of our thoughts
Trapped like a rat in a cage
Forever inflamed in this summer sky
Or this winter dirt
Do you see the sun reflect our growth
To grow up and see our differences 
But how will we know?
We all look the part
So I throw it back at you
The constraining will 
To scream

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In his twenties band
Louis ' music fell from his hand,
The lyrics left his head
He used his voice instead-
Scat-singing then,baked his bread.

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Five Glychostones

There’s five glychostones and they’re hid very well.

One is a link to the future of a God given Grace.
One is a key to all of the boxes stuffed with mail.
One is a code to an ancient mystery and is a case.
One is a seed that grows throughout all the lands.
Moreover, the last is a main element for survival!

So we go journeying for the glychostones in the kingdom halls up in hands,

What a redemptive Holy revival!
Hands in hands they shall all go.
Not one, but two knows their way.
Just hope and always, always pray!
And never simply say I don’t know!

Just search for the five glychostones enriched in its purest true value,
Moreover, each has essential life sustaining merits of valor or honor, 
Hands fill up in the sands when the farmer awakens inside all of you!

Just search for five glychostones and seek to explore all you can do,
Each glychostone reaps in merits and honors ordained pure and true.

You will find every single one of them decked out in crystallites’ blue!
You are splendid with many abundant blessing hands upon your lands!

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Washington & Adams retired to their lair
Jefferson invented the swivel chair,
Taft went back to the law-
Of late,cashing-in seems the plan
Only Harry ,was a true man

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Rasta Ring n Ride

Rasta ringnride
Hop up; get inside
Travel roun da town
Hear some funky sound
Me bus me pride an joy
Me music don't annoy
Me keep it in me head
Me sings it in me bed.

I travel all roun town
To ferry sick and lame
The people phone,
I pick them up
No other bus the same.

I drive me bus for Africa
When I'm in Sollihull
I drive me bus for freedom;
me bus in wondeful !

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Irish Woman A.D. 100

Timeless island woman,
I am the daughter
of the sons of Mil.
I am Badb, Derdriu, and
Medb queen of Connacht
dancing in our fertility festivals'
flickering firelight.

I watch my warrior go
naked into battle
with sandals on his feet,
the torc I wove golden at his throat,
sword and shield in hand.

I listen for the distant
possessed scream of his warp spasm
(a fearsome howling from the throat
and bulging of the face)
that with the screech of pipes
will bring defeat to our enemy.

I sit fiercely smiling
holding open my parted vulva
in anticipation of
coming home passion.
I am sheela-na-gig
Celtic god.

The inspiration for this historical piece is from a photograph in
Thomas Cahill's "How The Irish Saved Civilization" published
by Doubleday 1995.

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vignette-WHOM DO YOU SEEK?

An outcast from Magadan
Healed by the Lord,her discipleship began;
Last at the cross,by the empty tomb in her loss
'Whom do you seek?' Mary he said-
With this Good News,to others she sped.

More of Mary's story @ Luke 8:1-3 & John 19:25 & 20:11-18

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Another On The Way

Seemed all was perfect,
in her carefree world,
an only child,
this perfect little girl.
Spoiled to perfection,
nothing she lacked,
a life to dream of,
everything right on track.
Graduation came,
the top of her class,
the gifts were many,
and so much cash.
She told her father,
I want to be a nurse,
but there is something else,
I have to do first.
So she joined the service,
she wanted to serve,
all her friends thought,
she didn't have the nerve.
Up in the ranks,
she started to climb,
such a caring person,
so hard to find.
Then overseas,
she had to go,
her future about to change,
but how could she know.
Into a hospital,
to check some charts,
she had no way of knowing,
someone would capture her heart.
When their eyes met,
she knew it was love,
a feeling like no other,
sent from above.
Now her father,
is tickled pink,
his baby's coming home,
wearing a ring.
Now she is busy,
nursing all day,
the twins are a handful,
and another on the way.

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The Big Fish

The acrylic line pulled taught as he bit down.
The lake was so still as to mimic a black oil slick -
She suddenly breaks away and churns like an overcooked pot -
Ripples glide along the boats surface
As he grabs the rod.

Closure burns hot in his mind as his weathered hands grip the reel.
The tug of the monster that lurks beneath the boat  -
makes his cameo appearance in the murky underbelly - 
Thudding against the bottom of the old boat
As the crickets sing.

His mind randomly jumps back to a memory.
He remembered his father’s old tackle box -
Remembering the pity he had on the writhing worm - 
And the sickening feeling as dad hooked him
And cast his line.

His wife knew he was out here and disapproved.
Even though she didn’t even say a word but turned over -
She avoided saying a word while he pulled the rubber waders
Over his plaid pyjama bottoms 
And quietly closed the door.

This was surely the biggest Bass on this cursed lake.
Confidence oozed from his knarled fingers as the catch came closer -
Finally he’d prove the old bat wrong and defy his lodge buddies -
No more mocking and no more duelling with the woman
He sighs with relief.

The rod bent under the heavy weight of the bass’s fight.
But he was determined to prove his wife wrong -
The lake was alive with excitement as if the trees themselves
Were watching every second leading up to the arrival
When the line broke.

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Once upon a long ago
Len became my closet friend
visible only to my 12 year old eyes
5 ft 9,he was just about my size
Helping me through the loneliest time
We would write some sad poetry together in mind
I was slightly small
But..that hardly mattered at all
the two of us could BE
Shy and all together silent
He was the only one who could see through my talent
The words in music and verse
We would put down the emotion in pen of chorus

It was US against THEM(they must have been blind)
to castigate this friendship without first understanding the meaning
Up against the brick wall
THEIR world considered us somewhat stupid and oh!so small

Our brain was reeling from their fundamental cruelty of pain
This poetry that we had composed was torn to shread(IN FRONT OF OUR EYES)
Len was the only one
to help me see beyond the pettiness of an I GOT TO HAVE IT ALL kind of world
My elementary school chums would punch us in the nose
Called us asinine names:TWO PANSIES WEARING PANTY HOSE

Len disappeared some several years back
He left me for good after graduating from high school
It has been a lonely existence since then
I was the only one who could understand my friend,LEN
Quiet now ,
in my 30+years
Poetry is the only partner of my life 
Right here,even as I write..


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Hush,is that a knock upon the door
A guest who is seeking more,
Someone perhaps come to dine
A feast together would be fine-
Conversation in fellowship divine.

Fuller story @Rev 3:2

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people's lives would be less chaotic and probably more sane
if on the road of life they would just stay in their lane
one shouldn't try to preach the gospel if from God you didn't get a calling
and you shouldn't attempt to go mountain climbing if you have a fear of falling
you need to stay out of the kitchen if you don't know how to cook
and don't aspire to be a fisherman if you're too squimish to bait the hook
don't dream about being a model if you can't even hold a pose
and don't take the sanitation worker's test if you have a sensitive nose
forget about becoming a doctor if at the sight of blood you pass out
and don't try to be a therapist until you know what you're talking about
God gave each of us His love, free will and a functioning brain
so find that vehicle that's just for you and learn to stay in your lane

stay away from a law enforcement career if you're too scared to carry a gun 
and a firefighter is not the job for you if into a burning building you're not willing to run
you might not make a good writer if you don't know how to spell
and being a referee is not your thing if you don't know when to ring the bell
don't strive to be a Navy seal if you don't know how to swim
and being a seamstress might not be up your alley if you don't how to sew a hem
and when you find yourself in a job that doesn't fit you have only yourself to blame
for you went against what God had in mind for you and you didn't stay in your lane

you might be a bettter long distance runner even though you wanted to be a sprinter
your game might be more powerful as a forward and not being the team's center
you'd probably be more successful doing the backstroke instead of being a high diver
and you might be more effective as an instructor and not a NASCAR driver
you might be a better player for the team as a tight end and not a running back
even though it's been your life long desire to be the team's quarterback
and your life might be more fulfilling if you go on to become a school teacher
and don't think that everyone you see in the pulpit was meant to be a preacher
so while driving on the road of life try to stay in between those white lines
and then seek the Kingdom of God first and you'll probably do fine
search inside yourself for that unique gift from God that has only your name
and in whatever vehicle in life you drive just make sure you stay in your lane

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America Shout

I can't say anything,
that hasn't already been said,
but you are in my heart,
as I break my daily bread.
Many of our loved ones,
are not with us tonight,
they are protecting our freedom,
with all they have got.
Called to do a job,
in a land so far away,
brave men, and women,
America can never repay.
I look at our flag,
flying at the courthouse everyday,
and you are the reason,
soldiers sacrificing, so peace can be made.
I can't say enough,
but I am so proud,
Thank You American Soldiers,
America, SHOUT............

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My Dearly Departed

In this world, I can see many faces of you and me,
Boundlessly free with our new abilities to breathe!
I am a dime per every one dozen collecting my fee.

You see, it is just you and me rising upon this day.
Together we do be and forever on our merriest way.
It is just another day for you and me to pitch a say.

We are one word away you see my dearly departed,
We can all bail ship or get this whole thing restarted.
Or, we can confirm that which became our imparted.

Love me now and hate me later,
Or, love me later and hate me now.
Either or my dearly departed hater,
I impart onto you my Poof Bam Pow!

® Registered: Ann Rich 2009

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Soon the magic will begin,
that special time, for all children.
Early to bed, early to rise,
with that Christmas look, in their eyes.
Toys galore, covering the floor,
and when grandma comes, there will be more.
Turkey baking, it smells divine,
it blends in perfect, with the aroma of pine.
Christmas stories will be on TV,
and dad relaxing, waiting on these.
Mom has been busy, baking cookies, and all,
and saying Merry Christmas, when anyone calls.
Yes, magic and miracle, describes this time of year,
and one special birthday is getting near.
Happy Birthday Jesus, you are welcome here.

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Time Travel

                                       Timetravel reading diaries 
                          of distant relatives' lives once mysteries
                  become souvinir memories of vanished places
                          lost loves and estranged freidships

                                      Travel the changing world
                   kindred neighbors move,visit old home towns
                       aging treasures where dreams are born

                      Relatives trading stories of new family ties
                                           perfect marriages
                             Passing lovers seiance romantic
                                 Grandchildren raise children 
                     play in flowered fields once playgrounds

           Familiar questions echo our own childhood curiosity
                Wiser with age,kinder hearts with experience
         Parents are keepers of children's forgotten memories

                          Past photographs keep memories alive
                                          Sacred kinships end
             Fond memories and promises could never mend
                 Find new passions,new love,new life begins

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As the fragrance fades,
of love once so deep,
into the unknown,
where she now weeps.
Silent she stares,
at what once was there,
pictures, a reminder,
when her children were there.
Silver is her hair,
her body frail, and weak,
she calls their names,
as the tears roll down her cheeks.
Where have they gone,
why don't they call,
forgotten in time,
trying to recall.
Miles are between them,
their busy days, and nights,
just trying to survive,
and a mother cries.
Lonely she is,
and lonely she will be,
as she hangs their pictures,
on her Christmas Tree.

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I was driving down Eighteenth Avenue in Bensonhurst
in my scash-a-bang Chevy Chavalier...and I was having a wallear for a hero, 
but I didn't wanna wait on line like those noisy kids from Mexico;
I tried to jump the line, but duh tall, mean-looking boss yelled at me,
" Get back on line, skinny molink...I don't like dis kinda of weisenheimer...
you're just another duh-ta-duh! " I wa so hungry I could have eat'n a cow,  
and want'd give him a piece of my silly mind! " Oh, my God...he sounds like those tough 
dudes from The Sopranos! " You got a loud mouth, wack! " I yell'd back 
" Don't you mess with a goomba! I said with the loudest voice " Oh, my God,
you get me so mad...I just wanna my meatballs hero and go! "
The chubby man with a face fins said angrily, " Hear me out...don't you tawk to me
like dat, I axeya in a nice way, so go back on line and wait
like dey do! Don't you laugh at me like I'm tell' you a wacky joke!"
He freezes my words...I can't tawk and with a huge hero
in my hand, I quickly run back to my scash! 


I was driving down Eighteenth Avenue in Bensonhurst
in my-beat-up Chevy Chavalier, and I had a craving for a sanwich,
but I didn't want to wait in line like those noisy kids from Mexico!
I tried to jump the line, but the tall, mean-looking boss yelled at me,
"Get back on line, skinny guy...I don't like this kind of wise are
just another idiot! " I was so hungry, I could have eaten a cow, 
and wanted to give him a piece of my silly mind!" " Oh, my God...he sounds like those tough
dudes from The Sopranos! " " You got a loud mouth, wacko! " I yelled back,
"Don't you mess with a clown!" I said with the loudest voice " Oh, my God,
you get me so mad...I just want my meatballs sandwich and go!" The chubby man
with the moustache said angrily, " Hear me out, don't you talk to me like that...
I'm asking you nicely, so go back in line and wait like they do!
Don't you laugh at me like I'm telling you a crazy joke!" 
He freezes my words...I can't talk and with a huge hero
in my hand, I quickly run back to my old-beat-up car!! 

Entered in Deberah's Gucci " Dialects make the world go 'round "

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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A defining moment

It was so nice to be part of this big celebration 
held at the Hilton Garden Inn, Staten Island;
roughly, I think, more than three hundred people
were in attendance to celebrate and congratulate
those deserving honorees of Project Hospitality.

  This year, too, marks its 25th years of service
  since its foundation to many Staten Islanders;
  those speeches and presentations made so far,
  made me think the work of quintessentially
  humanitarian aids to people who are poor.

It’s like a magnet of interest for people like me,
being a disciple, a man of God in my ministry
caring for both: bodies and souls of the people
crying for peace, justice, and sharing of wealth
especially those who hunger for food and shelter.

  I met some friends, fellow priests, and parishioners
  who came to witness and be part of this event;
  there’s emotional tugging that went along with it,
  tracing back the past clothed with memorable insights
  a wealth of faith and accomplishments to be kept.

Msgr Vincent Bartley, a friend and confrere in the ministry,
was indeed an inspiring example and a true priest to everyone;
his never-ending commitment to the poor and abandoned
reflected God’s love to peoples of different colors.

  He’s part of history, a living icon of service to humanity,
  with his years of experience in Africa as a missionary –
  was a triumph of blessings that continues to abound
  an evidence in his life, a gift that could be triumphant.

He received a long standing ovation after he’d done his role,
with that thunderous applause from people in attendance 
a moving experience, a sign of God’s love for him
with his dedication to serve the church across cultures.

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Untitled #3 / The hair on his arm

The hair on his arm was a tangled bush
not manly, but beastly
and when he smiled
they only saw the fangs of a predator.
So could the little girl have been surprised
when, under the light of a full moon,
he became one?

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All My Friends

My many friends, 
this is for all of you,
please know in your heart,
you are so important to me,
in this soup we brew.
Although miles apart,
we are only a click away,
visiting each other,
I love you all,
and I wanted you to know,
for so many times,
we forget to show.
You bring me happiness,
I become a part of you,
reading your memories,
when you allow me to.
Sharing your heartache,
joining in a prayer,
each one so special,
please know I care.
When one day is over,
and another begins,
I can't wait to read,
the new words,
of all my friends.

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Getting Next To Me Pt.1

I was on the other line
With a close homey of mine
About football and wrestling
Bin-Laden and Bush
After a half hour
I told him that I'll get back
Cause I had to wash
And cook
As soon as I
Was About to put the phone on the hook____---""'Bleepp!"""
Me:)I'm just getting off the phone because I got some thangs to do
Her):True. We all do
Me)So I'll get back with you later on
Her:)Will it be an hour or two before I can see you? I'll be home.
Me:)Look!! My lady is coming here for the night after her third shift
Her:) ... So,....Should I be on my way right now?!?
Me:) Can't you see I have someone coming over?
Her:) Yeah. I'll be there with your favorite.  Steak, sweet potatoes, rice and tomato 
gravy. A fifth of Hennessy and a Coca-Cola
Me:) You're not just somebody I just met!! What we had is in the past.  
Remember? Or is it that you rather not forget?
Her;) A week ago!! So! It's Like That!!
Me:) i...........I Guess so
Her:) With all that so call game...Huh, I bet you don't  even know the score]
Me:) What! I'm hanging up.
Her:) Fine with me,  but just one more thing baby. Look out your front door.
( She was right outside in my yard parking right next to me.)

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Oh, Babe
Pitched for the price of infamy’s name 
Springtime sold
For the tempest of a bambino’s bane
Oh, Babe
Stadium-made gregarious grin
Pinstripe promises
Playing for shoddy orphaned kids
Oh, Babe
Squeezing pine tar calloused veins
Slugging sunshine
Into brokenhearted pennant panes
Oh, Babe
Champagne on championship ice
Swinging splendor
Diamond dames batting bullpen eyes
Oh, Babe
Sultan of summer-simmering swat
Brawny blasts
Feasting on Yankee dugout brauts
Oh, Babe
Slumped over metastasized mic
Scratchy soliloquy
Imbued on replayed records of life
Oh, Babe
Pointing to ostentatious October sky
Homerun heaven
Where George Herman Ruth resides

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Poetry Soup A Wonderful Group

  Poetry Soup A Wonderful Group

To all my friends here on the soup, 
   you’re always there and such a caring group.
When my days are not right and sometimes dark,
   You’re always there to provide that needed spark.
Your comments I cherish so,
    They mean more to me than you’ll ever know.
You make me feel like I have worth.
    You give me a reason for being on this planet earth.
Writing poetry is all new for me.
     It gives me great pleasure it sets me free.
You guys are the classiest people I’ve never met.
     Your words speak wisdom and love I’m not done yet.
There’s pain and sorrow and humor too.
     People write of about everything they know or do.
I just want you to know, I care for you a lot.
     Just ordinary people of that I say to you, a special Thanks A Lot
I place you in a class above the rest, 
      You’ve won my heart, you are the best

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The Midnight Lady

The midnight lady
Is striking
In her tight silky 
Mini skirt, with a matching 
Seductive basque-bra 
Surely makes ones’ blood clot 
Though, she hides her beauty 
In heavy shades of mascara
Still you can notice
Her youthfulness
As she walks gracefully
On a cobblestone alley 
Passing, through a group 
Of night birds
With mirthless smile 
On their faces
As the hawkers
Enjoy, the last image 
Of summer
While, the moon’s hiding 
In a thick paled clouds
As I see her every night 
Rushing, to meet
The silent darkness
Yes, she has beautiful eyes
Like a cornflower blue
But, I rather want
Mine, in brown caramel
For I can see
Brightly, the things around   
Now, her glows
Waning, which 
She couldn’t care less
Her youth’s fading
For nothing 
But, for selfish gain
Of her beau
And, for the lovers
Of her flesh


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Enough is enough Mr. J.J.


This is dedicated to a one Mr. J.J.
    Enough is enough already today.
 Save a few for tomorrow,
     As we bow our heads in sorrow.
Didn’t your momma ever teach you about a thing called sharing,
      Space them out and make some good friends who’s hearts will be loyal and 
What’s the deal anyway
       Or you running out of time and if that’s the case then go ahead it is okay.
But if you’re just being greedy then shame on you,
      Because other people would like to post a poem or two.

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Hold On Tight

Hold on tight,
get ready for the storm,
better seek shelter,
a place safe from harm.
It is upon us,
inflation gone wild,
bull is everywhere,
pile after pile.
What has happened,
I fell into a hole,
I know what Alice,
in a Fairy Tale told.
Everyday, is something new,
no one,
knows what to do.
Throwing money,
into a bottomless pit,
where the greediest of the greedy,
are taking all they can get.
Hello, hello, 
is anyone there,
hello, hello,
does anyone care?
Talk about the future,
let's worry about now,
if things get worse,
there won't be one anyhow.
Tread that water,
keep your head held high,
we're in this together,
you, and I.

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vignette-IF AT FIRST

Off to the the Cevennes
This trip was not made in heaven,
Travels with his donkey was a bind-
Fame for Robert he was yet to find
'til treasure on an island came to mind

Tribute to Robert Luis Stevenson 1850-1894

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On granpappy's farm,in Arkansas
Picking cotton was the annual chore,
Recording the rural life,he saw-
Scraping a living ,on a small wage
A tender story..of coming of age.

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Vignette- A BIG MAN

Sword-and-sandals he often wore
Fifties movies,the fans adore,
Bibilical epics we see no more-
Unusual in a Hollywood life
Faithful,marriage to just one wife.

Tribute to Charlton Heston

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