I met her in a pawn shop on a warm summer night
When running from the rubble of my shattered life
To sell a broken dream that would never come true
An engagement ring to pay for the rent that was due
There she lay sleeping in a battered rosewood bed
Heart strings breaking in a rusty sea of velvet red
So hauntingly beautiful, she took my breath away
Violin - an old reject who would change my life that day
So I bought Violin and lived out on the street
And played Rhapsody in Blue as coins fell at my feet
And soon we had a little flat high above the Bay
And every day, I got better with every note I played
Today I am a maestro playing Carnegie Hall
My name in lights blinking on a Marquee Wall
For it was I who saw myself in Violin
A tarnished soul and the beauty buried there within
Author: Elaine George
What is it to hear a poem?
I struggle to listen when such words cut open
my head and try to make a nest out of my brain.
I DO NOT WISH TO HEAR A POEM!
My body jolts under these straps of limitation,
tightened by my ability to hear.
Why must one be limited to hear a poem?
I cast out stones towards those who care to listen.
Why don’t we be the poem?
Climb inside the mouth of a poem and
understand it’s true voice.
Be the pen kicking fiercely at the paper,
leaving behind marks of genius and creativity.
Rip open the heart of a poem and suck its
Feel a poem.
Be a poem.
Live a poem.
See words rise from the paper,
as they dance between the strings
of your heart.
Grab a hand of the message and twirl
it around your mind and smother its
meaning with praise.
Curl up inside the dot of an ‘i’.
Slide across an ‘l’ and mold it into a ‘t’.
Travel across an empty plain were stubborn
Attack black and white ideas with shades
of blue and green.
Drive a sword through their hearts and leave
them dead to what is known.
Fight a poem.
Hurt a poem.
Heal a poem.
Turn the waste of sound into
vibrant waves of belief and inspiration.
Let yourself be swept away by
imagination and surrealism.
Find your soul inside of a poem and
claim it as your own.
Bring down the fortress of structure and
make its remains into martyrs of lost cause.
Open the doors of a poem and remodel
NO! I do not want to hear a poem!
It sends pain through my soul to see the
voice of a poem silenced by the ignorant
dangers of sound.
Help yourself and plug your ears.
Visualize the words through serene images of
beauty cultured by unmatchable craft.
See a poem.
Grab a poem.
Know a poem.
Be influenced by a poem.
Learn a poem and all of its meanings.
Threaten a poem.
Scare a poem.
Stab a poem.
Teach it how to live amongst a world of vultures,
hungry for mistakes and misinterpretations.
Guide a poem into a building filled
with a million little fingers.
Like a poem.
Be touched by a poem.
Love a poem.
Show the world your insides.
Show them the words to your poem.
I am the spirit of satin stardust
and the antiquities of golden memories alive
I call to you from the rising warmth of the sun
and greet you in the misty morning light
I am the steady and rolling drum beat
echoing from the jagged heights above
I am the mysterious curves of the raging waters'
and the freedom birds of love
I rise above the white summer clouds
in lilting songs of grace
and roam with the western tail-winds
to take you home again
I am a Spirit of our gracious Lord God Almighty
of love hope and faith
I have come to tell
Dedicated To P.D.
I am the ghost of heartaches past
I'm love's dark contrast
That empty seat
Beside you when you eat
The tear stains on your pillow case
I'm that new wrinkle on your face.
I am the gremlin of "What if?"
If you catch my drift
Who's biggest theme
Is to haunt all your dreams
I'm that loud echo in your life
That constant nagging extra strife.
I am that cold spot in your bed
I'm words left unsaid
I'm anger won
I'm promises undone
I'm that thing left to chance
I'm Lady Loneliness.....
Would you care to dance?
Timothy I. Brumley
Come out, I whisper, come out
peek softly from your veil of clouds,
grace the velveteen sky with your glow
Speak to me your tales of woe,
of lovesick souls in search of hearts,
lost in the labyrinth of desire...
then show me there is Hope
...Enchanted midnight moon
...of which the Moon whispers back...
Step out from the shadows, step out
bravely bask in my borrowed light,
fill the night air with your hope
Sweetly sing to me your wishes of love,
of ill-fated hearts to find their soulmates,
alive from the abyss of despair...
and I'll tell you all is not lost
...Courageous, faithful soul
** 2009. this was originally written separately, but decided to try out combining them in
John Weaver 2000 (Emily has cerebral palsy)
Her room is not the sort of room you’d quite expect to find
For a little girl whose love of life is clear
No toys or games or bats or balls, or fun things of that kind
No bicycle or skateboard will appear
But the little piece of crumpled silver paper
It's very cheerful and bright with pictures everywhere
A pump to feed her through the night and a big adapted chair
Though pretty dolls sit on the shelf and teddies on her bed
She cannot play with them herself so she holds them tight instead
And the little piece of crumpled silver paper
It was Christmas day some years ago with excitement in the air
When we opened her presents and then found
That she couldn’t play with them and it didn’t seem quite fair
That she would always be so cruelly bound
To a life without the toys that all children adore
And then we heard a new sound that meant so much more
A crackle from the little piece of crumpled silver paper
The expensive gifts didn’t matter to this special little girl
Her joy came from quite another caper
As the parcels and the packaging slowly started to unfurl
All she wanted was the silver wrapping paper
You see, she could grasp it tight to make a funny noise instead
And so it fast became a dear friend
And she holds it close beside her even when she goes to bed
And the lesson to be learned is, in the end…
Happiness is not always found in gifts so big and costly
And often simple things can bring the joy you need
Contentment is a state of mind and the choice is yours mostly
To be content with what you’ve got and with every little deed
Or, to always be in want and never satisfied
And so for me the real belief will never taper
That the truth of life is clear and very closely tied
To the little piece of crumpled silver paper.
Color so amazing - A pastel blend
Fragrance of tranquility
Bringing hostile thoughts - To an end
You help clear my mind, Keep it open
And off the one track side
Bring me to a subtle peace
Where it’s not so hard on the knees
To have you there, To share your land
Reaching out to understand
Believing in you is not real
Being filled with good - You are my shield
Inner strength, To its higher form
Through thick and thin
Through the strongest storm
Shine - with the realism,
Of realistic you
For you are my heather
In the mornings dew
the courage to confront ones fears
to accomplish ones desires and
manifest ones goals
even in the adversity where others don’t believe as you do
following the strength of your heart
will retain the flame of your dreams
when you feel that adrenaline coursing through you body
and your mind becomes a blur of confusion
over coming that fine line of fear
when droplets of sweat appear on your brow
and your body temperature begins to rise
a thought will finally break past uncertainty
over coming fear to achieve ones passion
means never giving up on yourself.
For My Children
I have cried so many tears
I have laughted over the years
I have given you my all
I've watched you stumble and seen you fall
and I try'ed to help you through it all
but now your grown and on your on
I hope you remember what you've learn
and teach your children all about heaven
and how much it takes to be a parent
I'm so proud this is true i want you to know
how much i love you
Clouds endlessly float
beyond broad horizon
Clusters of soft cotton
Light and Oh so fluffy
Only to be held so high
Up up and away we go
Drifting through the air
Slowly releasing wetness
Tribute To The Blind
Also this is my entry for