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Narrative Women Poems | Narrative Poems About Women

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

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Details | Narrative | |

Will You Tie My Shoes When I Grow Old

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Will she tie my
when I get old? "

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I tried to walk a mile in her shoes, 
fit my toes harder to feel her pride. 
I wasn't ready for what I've found. 
A wounded soul, a bleeding heart.

I tried to walk gorgeously in her shoes. 
And feel ashamed to witness those bruises. 
She concealed underneath her clothes, 
A misery of being abused and used. 

Along the road she speaks softly, 
Then her tears started to fall. 
A courage she used to grasp, 
to tell a story never been told. 

At the end of our journey I came to know, 
this pair of shoes I tried to own, 
was broken once in empty room. 
No hands to care, no one gives hope. 

I gave my best to polish once more, 
give it a glance like 'twas before. 
Although it's hard and takes some time. 
Soon each piece will be formed. 

Now, I see an image of a woman. 
Standing glamorously in her shoes. 
With pride and honor she firmly holds, 
A new beginning, miles to walk.  

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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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Burger Joint

Lucy and Matilda were on the job at the burger joint.
Bad boy Buzz Muldoon rushed in brandishing a gun.
Matilda kicked the would-be robber square in his junk.
Lucy bashed his head in with a badass ball-peen hammer.
The two hard working ladies continued cleaning up the joint.
They chunked Muldoon in the dumpster with the rest of the trash.
Lucy and Matilda opened the establishment without missing a beat.
It was just another typical day right here in the big bad city.
To be successful entrepreneurs in this old turbulent world,
you have to grow a pair of big brass gnarly ones, be you male or female.

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A Woman's Worth

A Woman’s Worth
By Nate Spears

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

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

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If she makes the mistake
Of loving him, he will make her
Suffer terribly for her utter lack of taste
And when he leaves her
After she had undergone
The great pain of rejection
She will find another HIM
For there is no end to the
Foolishness of a woman`s heart

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Sandalwood Girl

They are playing that song again,
The one that always reminds me of you,
remembered from some dim region of my past.

The radio weaves the lyrics
like sandalwood incense curling through the air.

       "All the leaves are brown, and the sky is grey
        I've been for a walk ....On a winter's day"

There is a picture I've kept, that wrestles with my envy
You at twenty-one, wild and beautiful in a way
I had never been

I  only knew you then, as that hippie girl that lived next door for awhile 
Playing a flute, tambourine, and your guitar... 
A gypsy skirt, a peasant look that took one's breath
A frizz of strawberry blonde hair that streamed thick of ribbons 
and the scent of sandalwood, that floated into my yard
from your wide-opened windows
as I hung bleached-white sheets on a clothesline

I had often wished I were you, ..... flitting about, barefoot in the morning sun
But, I was teaching my toddler to tie his shoes
Both of us twenty-one,.... on two sides of a cedar fence...
a thousand light years apart

       "All the leaves are brown, and the sky is blue
        I've been for a walk......on this autumn day
        and wonder what became
        of you" 


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Eliza's Escape

 from Uncle Tom's Cabin  (See notes for story background)

The long night was not long enough; 
The new master and his hired men
Soon will come; the river rages,
The water glistens in the morning sun. 
The boat is tethered at the other side,
but water beats against the wharf
And ice blocks bob as if on ocean tide.

The child sleeps. I can but wait,
For merchants traveling to and fro
Will need to reach Kentucky’s shore;
I dare not rest when freedom is so close.
But hark! The men are in the street;
I fear one saw me in the window—
I hear the pound of booted feet.

Lord, help me, they will not take my only babe;
With the river, I’ll take my chance—
No thought. Ice bobs and sinks beneath the waves,
I leap without a backward glance.
The ice seems not so slippery
I leap and leap and leap again
God gives me purchase—we will be free!

The last frozen block sinks beneath 
My numbéd feet. I toss my child to the ground
And lunge—gripping grass midst mud and sleet,
The river roars behind, a deafening sound.
 But o’er my head—an open hand,
A heav’n sent soul, my babe held in his arms—
A chance at freedom in an angry land.

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Why Can't I Be Young, Rich and Thin

That answer to that is painfully simple: I’m a disabled, thirty-something individual with compromised mobility…and I’m a lazy S.O.B...

But, oh, how I fantasize! And loath am I to torture myself by looking at all the exquisite, fabulous fashion creations by Versace, Comme Des Garcons, Missoni and Vivienne Westwood; elegant creations I will never be able to wear, let alone afford. Though I enjoy being a man and would have it no other way, I envy women and sometimes wish I was one, just so I could wear a Versace gown, even if it were just to take out the trash.

I worship fashion and models; they are my demigods. They embody all that is outwardly beautiful. I don’t mind the shallowness of it. I wish I was Coco Rocha, Naomi Campbell, Janice Dickinson, Linda Evangelista, Tyra Banks, Milla Jovovich, all rolled into one. I wish I could strut and stomp the catwalk; to pound the runway in some outrageous creation by Rei Kawakubo. To jet-set to Paris, Milan, Tokyo, London…! I would die and go to fashion heaven, and see Gianni, and I would be his Muse. Poor, Gianni; why did that bastard kill you? Genius was lost that day and fashion has since suffered in your absence.

I wish I was as skillful with sewing as I am with words; since I’ll never be a model, I’d at least like to design clothes that would echo my influences. A mesh of the sex of Versace, the elegance of Missoni, the insane artistic destruction and anti-fashion of Comme des Garcons and the hipness of Vivienne Westwood; yes, that would be my style, as my poetry echoes Poe, Shelley, Keats and Dickinson. 

But, alas and alas again! For these are all but mere dreams and fantasies that shall never be fulfilled! But a gay boy can dream, can’t he?

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Hostile Times II

Hostile Times II
By Nate Spears

Busted love is my Crystal Ball's fortune
My heart hurts in a torturing way
Nothing ever works in my favor
Standing still 
I lower my head and pray 
Confessing to God 
All I have to give

A 16 year old rebellious daughter
A 13 year old son that’s dead
My father is in prison; so is the one of my two kids
Is this really a way of living?
I didn’t have a choice from the days beginning
Anything different
Would have a given me a chance
at living

Walls of barriers bearing on us 
On this earth we stand
Refusing to let go of this curse
If no bill is signed by Congress
My unemployment runs out next Thursday 
Now I contemplate what’s next?
Sex dollars or Creflo's Dollars?
Be an honest woman; or
Be a fool that’s starving?
When pushed to the limit
All governors are discarded.

Hostile Times rains upon us
Other nations joins the honors
The Elite makes me vomit
There’s plenty of resources among us
God have mercy and let it trickle down on us
Rather than become degrading
In this pew 
I choose prayer
Becoming Sunday Mornings best
Washing away my pains that become abreast; with my chest
Bringing in a new day, 
A today, 
For a better way
In these hostile times we live in.

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Rescue Squad 16

82571 lima echo alfa juliet please respond.82571 lima echo alfa juliet are you there?
This is Harry who's this? Its Tom Mansfield. Tom you realize its 11:30 P.M. Sorry we have 5 climbers missing on the north side of Mooseluck and there has been an avalanche in
 that area. Yea I thought I heard it earlier. I'm on my way up to Your place now Tom do you have an extra battery pack for the lamp mine's pretty low. Yep. I have 
Billy Williams with me, You have extra gear for him. Yep. I'll put the coffee on What's your ETA? 20 minutes. This is 82571 lima echo alfa juliet signing off.
  I'll never understand why these Dartmouth students have to mountain climb on the coldest day of the year, in a storm. Ok snowshoes, therma wraps, lamps, goggles and a map.Waiting for what seems like Hours I hear the bronco finally.
  Tom, Billy I was just going to bed when YOU called, What do we have? Four men and a women Headed up Demon's Bluff 10 a.m. this morning. A women they're usually more level headed than men. According to the Information we have they are all seasoned vets at rock climbing  In the winter time?? They were suppose to be back by 4P.M. 4pm why are we just hearing about it now. Gregg Tilman was the co-ordinator of a college dance, when he didn't show up to MC the dance we got called. It gets worst the only other name we have is his girlfriend, Elizabeth Townsend. I think it's going to be a long night Tom. Absorb the heat from the wood stove finish your coffee and dress warm
                                                           To be Cont.

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Tale: Mary Magdalene

Behold, one day was a woman who was found in possession of many men. Good men, enamored by some other concubines and some married. And in the year 30 BC the law was harsh and severe. And the woman was taken to a prophet who was in the region to be tried and sentenced to stoning.

The wise heard all the witnesses, the men who were involved with this woman claimed they were attracted by its impurity and its spells, the wives of men who lay with Magdalene really wanted it to be stoned.

Then the sage asked: where is the adulteress? And all pointed to the ground, with stones in hand ready for stoning, toward the woman who was in tears. And again the sage asked where the adulteration? And all again pointed to the woman who was on the ground crying.

His tears fell at the feet of the thinker who stopped for a moment and said to the crowd:

"When each of you pledged to love each other as a sign of respect for the Creator at least stopped to reflect on the consequences that the adulteration of thought would lead to their own destruction teaching?

What did this woman beyond just love?

I see in their faces adulterated by the expression of a thought that leads to hatred and seeks the destruction of the next as to what gushes misunderstanding.

Who really had adulterated the divine purpose? One that gave the body a sign of love for others or those who changed their initial purpose in interacting with the creator?

Then so be pronounced the sentence. He who does not have it in your face adulterated the true purpose of love that judge this woman for the crimes that have been allocated to it, ... "

And one by one all left without even a stone was thrown.

Author: Max Diniz Cruzeiro
LenderBook Company

How would the master: "Love one another as I have loved you"; "Love God above all things and your neighbor as yourself"

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Broken Treasured Flower

With his persuasive tone he continued 
Until she was convinced that the time was ripened.
After a long-winded foreplay she was stimulated,
Like the first taste of applesauce she wanted it.
Her mind poised as she lay back in amorous stance
But her muscles were tautened.

His fingers seemed roaming, but knows the targeted point
His fingers ambled, exuding great adeptness as she moaned
He asked her if she was indifferent and scared
Anxiously, like a baby’s mouth on mama’s nipple for natural milk
She mumbled pluckily with a not-at-all-response 
As she shook her head in affirmation.
In the twinkling of an eye his finger found the right spot.

Deeply his finger bumped into her
He assured her he would be as gentle as a lamb.
Reaching the ‘boiling point,’ shower of shivers rained over her
And goose bumps formed as her body became twitchy all over.
Profoundly both eyes met in enamored density; chemistry was mutual
She saw a telltale conviction in his eyes; her spirit was re-assured
His sedated smiles laid-back her muscles as her legs became wide-open.
Hush his tubular tissue struck softly-softly into her innermost sanctum.

In ecstasy she began to ask for more, oblivious of pains
She beckoned him for a hurry-scurry as her hunger for more continued.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      
As skilled in the game he understood the pain thereafter
So he took his time as he journeyed in grand pleasure at a snail's pace.
Deeply he invaded her sanctum sanctorum as her muscle cramped
And her network of tissues opened up to avoid 'traffic jams.'
Reality darkened fantasy as she felt pains oscillating insidiously all over her body
And dribble of bloods dripping from the broken treasured flower
Her eyes were filled with tears as she realized her tightly-held pride was gone.

She lay snuggled in his arms as he whispered into her ears lyrics like a lyrebird 
Like the Roman Janus her desired pleasure had fathered a two-faced offspring:
She was gloomy cheerless that her treasured flower had been broken;
She would never be the same again
She was worried that she might be gravid.
But she was pleased to have shared her innermost hush-hush with him
She was delighted that the days her peers’ poured scorns on her were yesterday
She would no longer be left out in their brash adventure natter
She was happy he left an indelible experience ingrained in her memory.

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A Thing Of Beauty

Some of my best friends are men... BUT WOMEN!!! When a pretty young filly passes me by, I still sit up and take notice There are so many sweet sweet ladies here on the Soup I've actually lost count From way back I've always related to women better than men What does that mean I wonder One thing's for sure, I'm more comfortable in the presence of the fairer sex When a sweetie gives me THAT look I'm a goner... I melt and become a tongue-tied old geezer My male hormones haven't stopped raging even at this MATURE old age I still love watching pretty young things walk by A thing of beauty unsurpassed The most gorgeous work of art that was ever created Some might call me a dirty old man... that's okay I just appreciate the finer things in life And a woman is right there at the top I LOVE WOMEN! © Jack Ellison 2014

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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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A Spanking Good Tale

A spanking good tale I read a blog -was it only yesterday I haven’t laughed so much, I can truly say About large women and I will not make fun That’s because I am turning into one But the blog that I read proved there is hope for all As long as we can make sausages, if I recall A massage or two with a pin rolling flat Is it to iron out wrinkles or reduce the fat? A spank a day or so I have heard Is what middle age men like, but girls think absurd A front bum, well that’s a new one on me I have enough in the rear to perhaps make up three But what gives me hope, apart from the front bum thing Is that some men out there seem to enjoy this sort of thing So send me you dreams followed by your numbers too I’ll put them aside for when I’m ready for you So thank you Chris for your blog yesterday You have given hope to all women and that’s all I can say
Inspired By Chris D Aechner's Blog 15/02/2012

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Female Companion

                                                     She is so typical
                                                           So critical
                                                   For most part difficult

                                   I never really could grasp her in such way
                                       She just wants me to some how stay
                               She comes to my man cave and makes me obey

                                          Shy she was and now I am scared
                                              In such way I almost cared
                              She thinks she can do everything for me I swear

                         She makes me guess everyday but I keep on believing
     Because it is fun to give her a kiss, while she does not know when she is sleeping
                She stresses out but I will tell her my love for her keeps deepening

                So for the most part I just keep her close to make her smile and me
                                When I do things I do it for her it is always a key
            Call me romantic or call me stupefied, but it makes her so, so, sooo, happy

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Human Hyenas

From the time of creation
Adam was brainwashed into
 Believing that he was the brainiac
Behind the Garden of Eden fictions

 Women got tired of men carefree life styles
They laid back personality, they sanctions,
And Most of all they diminished sex drives
It’s too late now, it’s too late now 

Too many wrongs, not enough rights
This world belongs to everyone
Not only Your average Tom, Dick and Harry
Men and women have lost respect for each other.
It’s no longer a man’s world theatrical standards
It's more of a mad, mad world with so much mental attitudes
“I was on first; “I was here first kind of society 

Some of us are human hyenas that 
take advantage in human suffering
Not so hard to believe… but it is the truth.
however, it is so hard to swallow

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Rest assured of pause

let's sit down,love and talk cause

mine is "you"

yours please?

the world, the light

what? say you might?

sensual n beyond.....

cut the bull n ****!!!!

don't be rude if hard hit



your eyes...

will wrinkle someday

your lips.....

not pink and dry when sip

your heart....

full of envy and angry sweat

what do u want?

"i don't know and i shan't?"

then now

be the man and know

treacherous and torture

have me? or leave me? but hurry up and be sure

okay...okay...give me a... come another.... a delightful friend


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Long Live The Ladies, Ole

Someone mentioned to me quite recently They noticed 90% of the comments I receive For my poems here on the Soup are from the ladies Must be damn well doing something right!!! Now why do you think that is dear Soupers I'm not aiming particularly at the fairer sex Perhaps it's because I write with a bit of humour Which seems to strike a cord with the fairer sex Learned a long time ago you don't have to look like Brad Pitt Or George Clooney or Robert Downey Jr. To get the attention of the ladies You just need to make them giggle till they wet themselves! That sure made a lot of sense to me As far back as I can remember, I've always loved the ladies Can't imagine a world without them It surely would only be half as beautiful! Long live the ladies... olé!!! © Jack Ellison 2014

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The Empty Rib Slot

Dedicated to all of the guys who helped me to make the checklist - thanks!

The Empty Rib Slot I think I might have A perfect checklist Highlights from men Gathered now missed Yes special highlights Each man carried some Now added to my checklist For a guy having it all in one This could be the key to find The man I’m dreaming of Not with bits and pieces One filled full of love A man made for me No it would be not I should fit perfectly Into an empty rib slot Let me share this list With every one of you Then decide for yourself If it could possibly be true My first check comes from This guy with dreamy eyes He deeply touched my soul Way more than ever realized He even had a special smile That made you want to grin No matter if life was down He encouraged me to win There was the big hugger With squeezes oh so tight He lifted me off the floor Like if I was taking flight He never did grow tired Of giving me those hugs I never had to ask for them He always did it out of love Then there was the dancer He stayed light on his feet He loved dancing with me Carrying rhythm and a beat Now of course on this list There certainly has to be That best friend I count on Who can also count on me I am even going to count The good points of quality Generated from my brothers And even from my daddy From them they all carry A very good temperament Always being so easy going Not looking for an argument When I am nestled in that slot With a perfect feel of passion All of his glory will then shine As it eludes from my reflection The most important one of all He who shares a spiritual side Being spiritually open with me Not allowing his beliefs to hide I know how this all may sound Like a crazy thing that I’ve got I want the man I fit snuggly with When I match his empty rib slot Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Memoir: Crashing Women's Studies- Feminists, BEWARE lol

Don't ask me how it happened; I have no clear recollection. I have always had this brazen habit of coming right out and directly asking for whatever I want; I always figured "no!" was the only worst possible outcome, aside from a good cussing, perhaps. Either or both I can handle.

My best friend, who had invited me to this event, wasn't even a speaker; she was just present for class credit and I had nothing better to do so I happily joined her. Her professor was the director, or MC, of the night's festivities and proceedings and Jill introduced us soon after we entered the banquet hall and before the speaking commenced.

I also have this horrid habit of mentioning that I am an artist to anyone of any importance or significance whatsoever, hoping to sound gallant and impressive. I can only surmise that Jill's teacher asked me what kind of artist I was, and I must have boldly stated, with an air of haughty confidence no doubt, that I was a de facto grand poet of the ages. I was only 19 at the time and thought I was Poe! My style was sloppy and unrefined, but I didn't know it yet.

Given that this was a "Women's Studies" organization and all guest speakers that night were, obviously, going to be female, I don't know how I convinced, finagled, schemed, bulled, or mechanized my way into making myself an impromptu speaker as well that evening. It was an "anything goes" type platform, from women reading poetry to short stories, to essays or presenting artwork. I was, I kid you not, the first male to EVER be a speaker at this "Women's Studies" gathering.

Having committed many of my poems to memory, I just quickly jotted down four or five particular favorites, and when it was my time to speak, impertinently stepped right up to the platform, adjusted the microphone, and recited my horrible poetry to a group of...I'm not sure if "feminists" is quite the word for which I am searching. Let's just say that if Gloria Steinem or Gertrude Stein had been in the audience, I might have been yanked off the podium. So there I was, babbling about, having basically crashed this Feminist rally. That I wasn't mauled or had my eyes scratched out can only be attributed to luck, progressive-thinking, guardian Angels or plain ol' polite courtesy. In retrospect, I blanch at the thought of my shameless, unabashed audacity.

I would love to know whether any more males ever took part in anymore of their events, but I guess I'll never know and can only hope that little bit of history I made that night remains intact. True story.

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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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My Havana

He followed a dream to Havana, Cuba –
amid communism and embargo.
A beautiful country this Cuba is,
and the women are soft on the eyes.
There are whores, yes,
there are whores aplenty, 
but not like the ones in Gomorrah.
I’ve been there before,
and witnessed drag-Queens offering hand jobs.
A sad place this Gomorrah is, 
and miserable people are those wanna-be’s.
He owns the streets, those streets the Spaniards trod, 
where women break their necks when he goes by. 
Eyes, like a lion’s, measured the prospects – 
zooming in on the most vulnerable.
His feet paint his story deep in concrete Havana.
The rum washed out shame and caution from his steps,
but moderation keeps thoughts in check. 
Those rapt minds in Gomorrah 
forced tongues to lie regarding the plights of Havana.
This is his city, his Havana; 
a place where life is regulated
and the unlikely steer clear of happening

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Since The Very First Dawn

Think of the most beautiful woman You've ever laid your eyes upon And the feeling of passion it stirred inside Men have felt since the very first dawn Only speaking from personal experience But I'm sure most men would agree Nothing's as exciting than this loving vision Of a gorgeous woman, guaranteed A primordial instinct takes over our soul Our thoughts are clouded with lust Of making love on a warm summer's eve Her face the moonlight does brush A scene of passion takes over our mind This fantasy her vision evokes The feeling of two bodies in perfect rhythm Sounds of love emit from our throats Think of the most beautiful woman You've ever laid your eyes upon And the feeling of passion it stirred inside Men have felt since the very first dawn © Jack Ellison 2015

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Ladies Of The Soup

An amazing group of gorgeous ladies Call Poetry Soup their 'getaway from reality' home Where their fantasies take flight Where the chores, the kiddies, the trials of the day Are brushed aside for a while Allowing their creative minds to soar Forgetting the washing, the dishes, the endless meals With creative thoughts, thoughts of love A perfect match, a getaway to some romantic isle With the man of their dreams The most current 'hottie' in Hollywood Or maybe even their husband Don't get me wrong, we men of the Soup don't mind As long as you sweet ladies allow us to have our turn I wont't name my favourite ladies But you surely know who you are I'm not very good at hiding my affections So all you ladies of the Soup I hereby send you some passionate kisses Some warm snuggly hugs But most of all dear ladies of the Soup I send you my overwhelming passionate love For making my everyday a whole lot brighter © Jack Ellison 2013

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The Kings Three Sons Part 3

He said, "You spend all day in bed with your women, and not one you have married. I think they could use a break. Your brother wishes to starve the people. If you were to be King what would you do?" "The army is week with loneliness." The second son said, as he pulled his wenches close. "I will let them take all the women they want." "So you will rape the women?" the King asked. "Are women not a vessel to be used in that way?" the second son spoke with mocking in his voice. The King sighed, for this was another son he mislead. "My son," the King spoke again, "I love you as much as a king could love a son but I love my people more. You shall not be King." Anger filled the second son And rising his fist up high, he spat, "When you die I will have reign and the guards will take every woman, even if it is before her time." So with his toys in tow he stormed out the room” The wizard stopped and looked me in the eyes, “have you heard this one before my child?” “No,” I answered back, eager to hear what the King will do. “Very well,” He said as he went on. The King called onto his third son; hopping he will bring what the other two could not. The King’s third son was short and small; with children as servants so he could feel very tall. "My king," the third son said, ‘what is so important that you must drag me from my chambers were I sleep?" ‘My son,’ The King went on, ‘your brothers wish to starve and rape my people. If you were king what would you do?" The third son raised a hand to his chin; thinking hard. "The army is all to tall," he began, "I shall take the children from their homes and have them trained as solders do." "You wish to brainwash children to do the evils not even men should so?" With a coy smile the third son said, "Precisely, my King, if it pleases you." "My son,"

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What Do You See

I found this old poem while helping to clean out a house that was vacant. I hope you 
don't mind that I didn't write it but it was too awesome not to post. Enjoy--------

                                   What Do You See

What do you see, nurses? What do you see?	
What are you thinking when your looking at me? 
A crabby old women, not very wise.
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes.
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply.
When you say with your loud voice, "I do wish you'd try."
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
and forever is losing a sock or a shoe.
Who unresisting or not lets you do as you will.
When bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what your thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes nurse, your not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still.
As I drink at your bidding, as I sit at your will.
I'm a small child of 10 with a father and mother.
Brothers and sisters who love one another.
A young girl of 16 with wings on her feet.
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at 20. my heart gives a leap.
Remembering the vows I primised to keep.
At 25 now I have young of my own.
Who need me to build a secure happy home.
A women of 30, my young now grow fast.
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At 40 my young sons near grown will be gone.
But my man stays beside me to see I don't mourn.
At 50 once more babies play round my knee. 
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead.
I look to the future and shudder with dread.
For my young ones are busy rearing young of their own.
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm an old women now and nature is cruel.
It's her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body it crumbles, grace and vigor depart.
There now is a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells.
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and loving life over again.
I think of the years, all the few--gone to fast.
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes nurses, open and see.
Not a crabby old women, look closer,  see ME.

This poem was found among the effects of a patient who died at the Oxford
University Geriatric Service in England. Author is unknown.

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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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Scantily Clad Ladies

I don't have a problem with scantily clad ladies They all have a right to expose their parts Especially if those parts are firm and voluptuous Who am I to complain The Caribbean is overflowing with these latin beauties Had to look away... my old heart was a-pumping A mile a minute and my eyes started bugging out “Dangerous”, they say... “watch your heart!” Don't these young fillies realize what they're doing to us old guys Of course they do! And they love it! Do I sound like a lecherous old dude So what's so wrong with being a lecherous old dude Some of my best friends fit that description to a “t” Women's bodies are a work of art And are designed to be ogled at It's written on one of those ancient Egyptian tablets So next time one walks by Offer your thanks and quietly wipe the drool from your chin Scantily clad ladies... YEE HAW! © Jack Ellison 2014

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Simon's Story - Part 2

     There were several women nearby who were crying and wailing over  this condemned 
man. The convicted man turned slowly towards them and that was the first time Simon heard 
him speak. 
     Breathlessly, the convict stopped and quietly spoke to these lamenting women. Simon 
stopped with him under the weight of the beam. Simon never understood these words at that 
time, .. but he never forgot them. This blood soaked, ravaged dirty half dead man turned to 
the women and rasped ,…
      “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for Me …but weep for yourselves and your 
children.“  He caught his breath, wiped the dust and blood from his eyes with the ragged 
sleeve of his torn robe and continued…“For indeed the days are coming in which 
they will say, “Blessed are the barren, wombs that never bore, and breasts which never 
     The crowd had already become silent to hear what the accused was saying, because this 
kind of talk was unheard of in a time when bearing children and mother hood was considered 
extremely holy and a gift directly from God Himself. It was proof that he must have been 
     He continued , blood dripping from swollen lips, “Then they will begin to say to the 
mountains, “Fall on us!!” and to the hills, “Cover us!!” …“For if they do these things While I 
am with you,…what will they do when I am gone?” …… The sound of a lash slapped across his 
torn bloody back and he shuffled forward but not before looking directly into Simon’s  eyes.. 
The crowd again took up their noisy, morbid mission. 
     Simon grunted under the weight of the beam and thought they all sounded like a pack of 
hungry jackals. He was certainly confused and inexplicably terrified. 
     After that gruesome unholy nightmare ended and for the rest of his life while walking the 
hills, he kept hearing and was haunted by this man’s words over and over and wondered 
what on earth they could mean.   
     “ Do not weep for Me…but weep for yourselves and your children…for indeed the days 
are coming in which they will say, “Blessed are the barren, wombs that never bore, and 
breasts which never nursed!!”......
     This, to the people of his time was impossible! Children were a holy gift from God himself. 
Blessed are the wombs that never bore...and breasts that never nursed?! What could he 
have meant?

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Under the tree in africa

Under the tree in Africa, we sap strength
from the songs of the sparrows before sunlight.
as we walk to the farm, the 
morning breeze brush our 
body from the billowing branches.
We pick up our hoes and cutlasses
and keep our basket and calabash,
the big Agbadas of the elders and our little 
catapult hang on the bole as we plough and plant.

Under the tree in Africa we relish
 the radiance of reality as we rest 
after the rigor of raising ridges.
we break the dried branches to make fire
to roast the harvested maize;
we stroll with the spirits as we slumber,
 listening to the whispers of the wind
and wake up to feast on the roasted maize 
with some cold water from the serene stream.

Under the tree in Africa we share
the shield of shadows, 
shying away from the sun 
as we walk back to the village.
We use our traps to tame birds;
making some meat available mama's, 
meal by moonlight, throwing stones at some 
ripe fruits we have a feel of freshness 
and get some fruit for friends and family,
we get locked in luck as we get lots of grains 
and goodies that gives us passion and pride.

At twilight, under the tree is a place to be in Africa, 
the elders drink from the cup of culture.
Passing the calabash with love; there is enough Palm 
wine and bush meat to go round,
quarrels are settled, feuds are finalized as the echoes 
of the evening resounds.
The day's delight are shared, friendships are 
found and formed as fresh fragrance flows.

The children chant with vibrating voices, moral 
melodies are mimed with clapping of hands under 
the tree in Africa.
Graceful games and spirited sports go on as 
communal creeds cruise in their conscience.
The elders feed their seeds with the water of wisdom 
as they share folktales and facts,the children are charged to 
be charming as they listen to the tales by moonlight..

In Africa the women sings with virtuous voices 
as they make mats, beads, basket and raffia
under the tree.
nursing mothers keep their sucklings on the mat
for the cool breeze to caress their soft skin,
at twilight, women roll out local pots, mortal and pestle, 
to prepare pounded yam and melon soup for their household,
as the food-is-ready alarm sounds, folks and friends 
gather to dine and wine as the moon peeps through 
the leaves under the tree in Africa.

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A Woman's Grief

He tells me it’s his duty
My chest caves in
Tears wash over me 
I feel sick all over
I do not leave his side for weeks
Fear won’t let me loosen my grip
He’s dressed and armed
I can watch his excitement bubble
The cries of women and children assaults me
Soothing words of their men fall on deafened ears
The buses roar a warning of departure
His lips touch mine
In his breath I taste his courage
I feel his heart beat with dedication
When our lips part all I taste is my defeat
My eyes remain closed
I can’t watch him walk away
I don’t want to see his back
The thunder of fifteen hundred men marching
Is drowned by women grieving
Our fear and pain comingles
We cry out loud and inside ourselves
Pleas to God, to saints and symbols
All sound the same
Please don’t let my man die!

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Feminine Perspective

I see women who come from all walks of life who have carried on in dignity and pride.

With self-respect and joy in her heart, peace in her soul and love that is sowed in her 

She wears many hats as a mother,daughter,sister, wife, grandmother,aunt and friend.

She can express her motherly duties through love, patience and charity even if it means 
to sacrifice her wants and needs.

She spreads the message of sisterhood with compassion and joy in heart and she will 
stop at nothing to keep her sisters together

She fights for freedom and equality for women and for them to have all that it takes to 
achieve their goals and reach their destination.

Her gray hairs define her wisdom and her wrinkles show her survival in this cruel world.

She fights for her respect and to keep her family together, she works hard to keep her 
professional career intact.

She carries another soul in her womb and goes through many hours of labor and pain to 
bring this person into the world.

She pours her all into doing the right and being all that she can be a feminine 

Whether she is in Africa and Mexico or right next door she is the one that you should 

She shines in all her glory spreading her grace and beauty sharing her holy duty.

The creator created a woman named Eve as a helpmate to Adam she came from his rib.

The woman is the backbone who holds it all together who keeps it all intact.

That it is a true fact.

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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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The Good News is for people
who have a sickness and need to be healed,
and healing starts with a reborn spirit,
but spiritual blindness won't make one look upward,
to ask for forgiveness and becoming whole;
the Good News can give you a new heart
with their revelatory message full of promise...
coming upon you form the Divine Source!

Who has the audacity to blame God
for not intervening in the world's affairs,
whose troubles are too numerous to mention?
Starvation causes incurable diseases,
bizarre and unrestrained sexual behavior kills;
state after state approves of the same sex marriage:
Sodom and Gomorrah lives on
with their merry-making mocking!  

And the same individuals who frequent
holy places, in which they worship their god with vain praises,
condone the filth and ugliness already tolerated by society,
making easier for them to express their sexuality
in offensive ways and disobey God's commandment;
two men taking the role of a lovable daddy,
and two women that of a devoted mommy?
Aren't they sending the wrong message to those tiny beings?

If men lay with men and women with women;
conception is denied the joy of blissful birth,
and the screams of babes, coming out of the belly, 
won't be heard anymore...what an awful pity
for children not to have mom's and dad's affection: 
to live a normal childhood on this beautiful earth!
O lost and uncaring people, receive and hear with elation,
the Good News with their revelatory message of salvation!

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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To All Of You Heroins

To all of you young women who unplannedly , unpurposely were and are pregnant in highschool.You, who chose and choose to still stick to finishing school whether its attending actual public school or online classes etc.I commend you.My reasoning for that is because, I really cannot imagine how it mustv'e felt or feel to go through something such as being pregnant at a young age.From what Ive seen before, its not easy.Especially, without a specific support system.Yet, you may have one either in your parents, your child's dad, loved ones or  even in your child.And, theres nothing wrong with that.From what I understand, there's alot of adjusting that takes place. But, seeing you ladies the ones I went to school with or the ones I've known for a good while, who went through it and graduated or are well on their way.You are absolutely admirable. I mean, not very many women could do what you have or are doing right now.You should be proud of yourselves, not just as individuals.But, as mothers or soon to be mothers. I believe you are all considered to be Real Heroes. =)

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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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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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Mother Mary's Motherhood

The Church cannot forget her mission
Was made possible by the Motherhood of Mother Mary
Who conceived and bore a Son
Who is God from Eternal God
True Eternal God from True Eternal God

Mother Mary is truly the Mother of God
Whose motherhood as the vocation to motherhood
Bestowed by Eternal God on every man raised to its highest level
Thus, Mother Mary becomes the mother of the Church and to be New Mama Eve
The mother of believers, the mother of the living


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Kelsuke de Eichmann

Kelsuke de Eichmann was a man of little yet complex words.
He used the word translucent instead of the phrase see-through.
One thing he knew how to do well was break a heart:(
He would see a flaw in a woman and just turn away.

If her beauty was overshadowed her brains he would walk away and never come back.
"When," he thought " when will I find this perfect woman? I have dated the young. I have
dated the old, I have traveled alone.
I have hung out with women from the far East to the far West.
I have suffered frost bites for the women of the far North & the same goes for those of
the far South."

He tried to create a woman from copper the next day and called it Stacy but we know it as
the Statue of Liberty.
He thought it looked perfect until he saw a red dot on her face.
He thought it was a pimple but it was actually a bomb!
He did what he always did when he saw a flaw in a woman, he turned, picked up his heavy
rain coat, and started to walk.
But he felt something against his heavy,gigantic, sticky rain coat. He looked and there it
was the red dot that was on Stacy! With his strong arms he hurled the coat towards Hawaii!
It hit Pearl Harbor and blamed the Japanese because they just happened to be passing by.

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Avodah zarah

Peoples across cultures
converge in a certain place to worship.
Bringing with them the baggage of their history,
helps to understand their ways and cultural flavors.

  Everyone shows his need
  in different levels
  with varying degrees
  in quest for an answer.

Others crave for more
beyond the limit in human proportion.
It's passion for a certain need
power, money and prestige.

  Like a foreign worship
  that centers only on oneself
  One's obsession just for self gratification
  describes a temptation to prevail.

That's contrary to our calling 
as men and women in the world with others
meant to be gifted to others
moved by God, the source of life and love.

Peoples across cultures
converge in a certain place to worship.
Bringing with them the baggage of their history,
helps to understand their ways and cultural flavors.

  Everyone shows his need
  in different levels
  with varying degrees
  in quest for an answer.

Others crave for more
beyond the limit in human proportion.
It's passion for a certain need
power, money and prestige.

  Like a foreign worship
  that centers only on oneself
  One's obsession just for self gratification
  describes a temptation to prevail.

That's contrary to our calling 
as men and women in the world with others
meant to be gifted to others
moved by God, the source of life and love.

Note: avodah zarah literally "foreign worship" is the formal recognition or worship as God of an entity that is in fact not God.

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A Great Catch

I read a poem, written by Ron,
and he writes about, women done wrong.
Whether it be physical, verbal, or mental,
abuse is a cowards way of trying to be in control.
So men...know that women talk, and the women
they are talking too.......well, they talk, and before long, your legacy
will be spread around town.  Now...aren't you a great catch...
Women always, listen to talk, if you treat one will treat another
the same way... IF,given a chance.  IF is a mighty powerful word.
Thanks Ron, you are the greatest.

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Me and Old Booger

Why his old head is so hollow you can see him think.
   Onlyest  time he ever makes any sense is when he takes to the drink.
And that don’t last too long caustit puts him right to sleep,
   Kinda like me whenst I go to count’n them sheep.
Well old Booger never claimed to be the sharpest knife in the drawer,
   Shoot he just now figgered out where he’s possed to sit when drivin de car.
He’s been want’n to get hitched but there ain’t no single kinfolk around,
  And besides they gots to be some of the ugliest women I’ve found.
Well me and ole Boog went in to town, just kinda piddlin I guess,
   When out front Langtry’s hardware  stood this ole gal, and I think somebody 
done shortchanged her on that dress.
Why old Booger said that wuz the pertiest thing he ever did saw.
   Said he wuz gonna marry up with her and take her home to meet pa and maw.
Well old Booger started to put the move on this sweet little ole thing.
    He asked her right there on the spot, said I’ll even buy you one of those 
wedding rings.
Well she turned him down and it made poor ole Booger cry.
    She told him she wuz a transvestite that wuz the reason why.
Well poor ole Booger wuz kinda like me
   He didn’t know she wuz a he well this( he-she) fooled him and me.
Well we headed on back cause our luck done went sour.
    And besides it wuz getting onwards of the drinkin hour.
Should you ever find your way back here in these hills.
    Bring your on jug and have it filled at one of our local stills.
Shine down here the best you’ll ever find.
    Just be careful of the women some of em are the funny kind.

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Thank You

From all walks of life they come to serve, our soldiers
our heros, and our respect they deserve.
What kind of country would we live in, if we did not have 
these brave women and men.
Mommies and daddies, husbands and wives, daughters and sons
from all walks of life, protecting our freedom day and night.
Our lives are much safer because of the jobs they do,
and their sacrifice must be remembered, they have families too.
Remember they are there in far away lands, always doing
their jobs, the very best they can.
We as a nation depend on them, our soldiers our heros,
our brave women and men.
Thank you so much from someone who cares.