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
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.
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
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
Thoughts of expression
No purpose has life,
Nor reasonable rhythm within,
The constraints of our time.
Soul siblings in spirit,
Human angels on earth.
Often denied of our strength,
Protection and pride.
As one's lip services.
A confusion of chaotic clouds,
An enraged heart of hatred,
A selfish road of fumbling,
Words from our emotional expressions.
Our reflecting memories,
Past, climbing in the distance.
Quantity exists by becoming extinct.
Shattered stained glass tears,
Rapidly falling to rest upon the cheeks of snow adrift.
Explanations of justifications
Finally knocking on the open door.
Pretending points of clarity,
With every breath we take.
Is a windfall of perseverance.
With the swords of words spoken from our lips,
Piercing our hearts tonight.
Eventually to see the same,
Reflections of others.
Faith ignites deep within,
Our souls aflame ablazing.
Ideas unheard of,
A variety of visions ,
Caused by our blindness,
Of a nation.
Distracted from the truth of
Life's true meaning.
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.
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
By John Weaver
At school I learned to read and write, to add and take away,
Of geography and history and sports I learned to play
They taught me all about the world and even outer space
And how to beat another as competition I would face
I learned of lands and cultures that had a different cause
And so we fought and beat them in many different wars
They said that strength and power was the thing I needed most
That I should learn to conquer others, no matter what the cost
They taught me how to be a winner at my work and play
And never mind the loser who may fall along the way
Through all those years of learning the plan was plain to see,
The only thing that mattered was what I could do for ME
Then I met my teacher who taught me something new
That all those things I’d learned had nothing at all to do
With living life with purpose and thought for our fellow man
By showing care and love to others as often as we can
My teacher taught me that life is a level playing field
That we’re all in it together sharing wounds that must be healed
There simply is no difference between you and me
We’re all God’s own children and one big family
My teacher taught the needs of others and the hardships they have to face
May well have been my own, if not for God’s good grace
That handicaps and weaknesses are really there to prove
How fortunate I am to see and talk and hear and move
My teacher showed that happiness is just a case of choice
Instead of choosing sadness we simply choose rejoice
Rejoice that we are able to experience every day
The beauty that the blind can’t see and words the mute can’t say
To walk and talk and feed yourself are gifts you should embrace
It’s the taking part that matters and not who wins the race
And as each and every one of us is taking part in life
What matters most is our gratitude regardless of our strife
To be grateful for the gifts you have and not those you desire
Is the secret to your happiness and to which you should aspire
To show your love to others with help, support and care
To let them know if needed that you are always there
My teacher taught me lessons I never will forget; and I know it sounds absurd
But she taught me all of this and yet…SHE NEVER SPOKE A WORD.
(I call Emily my teacher because although she cannot speak and can do so little, she has taught me so much).
Welcome my baby welcome,
Yes, be a great read, come,
Tell the world your big bold tale,
Your birth is greater than a sale,
Surely, the dead must be sobbing,
Be a rude awakening to the robbing!
By John Weaver
Whenever I dream of my little girl she runs and shouts and plays
Like all the other children in all their boisterous ways
I see her skip, I see her trip; I hear her laugh and cry
Then when she’s had her fun, home she’ll run and into my arms she’ll fly
With a great big hug and a teasing tug, she’ll cuddle me close and say
‘Daddy I love you heaps and heaps’ in her cheeky little way.
Whenever I dream of my little girl, she’s healthy, fit and well
With eyes alight and a smile so bright it’s really hard to tell
That my dream is a wish and a longing, a hope for something new
For her life to be one that is normal and able-bodied too.
But then I awake and I have to forsake my dream for what is true
That she cannot walk and she cannot talk like the other children do
That she cannot shout and skip about and cuddle me close and say
The things she desperately wants to, yet in her own special way…
Instead she talks to me with her eyes and reassures me with her smile
That all is well and I can tell that she’s happy all the while
Knowing that one day in some magical way, we’ll play together and scheme
And sing and shout and skip about…in an everlasting dream.
A puzzle piece you are to me
Like a vine without any leaves.
Your heart is pure your soul is
Gold, the sweetest thing I'll
ever hold! A miracle in my eyes
it seemed, knowing they said
no babies for me! Always a
surprise you seem to be just
like a puzzle piece! At 9 months
you walked but not until 4 did
you first talk! Always a terror
making a beautiful mess always
a surprise that has yet to be
met! The twists and turns I
know we will see will seem
somewhat like a roller coaster
to me! The milestones and
special gifts you bring will make
my life seem Like a dream, my
special boy I have always said
How special I knew not till
Aspergers they said! The
journey will be trying the
journey will seem long! But
with our family together we will
chug along! My special boy I
love you so and cannot wait to
see you mature and grow! Now
we have a goal we have our
dream you see to make you the
perfect fitting puzzle piece!!
Written by: Christina Kirks
McCullouch 04/05/2012 For
Jonathan S McCullouch Jr
Mommy loves you to eternity
and beyond! Forever and
The Sun will bring the light
It makes your day so bright
"I'll be here, I'll be here" said he
The light would bring eternity.
The moon shines with the star
That makes your wish went far
"I'll be here, I'll be here" said she
My moon light would bring eternity
The sun and the moon met one time
They never met each for a long time
"How are you? How are you?"asked they
Then both days and nights are gay.
One day the moon went away
And the sun was left and turns to gray
"Where are you? where are you?"asked he
But no response was heard for glee.
My fruit from the tree of love/
Branches of sweetness with no bravado our future’s fragrance is bravo/
I have no words without your rubbery skin and smooth lips/
I dished up smiles before your visit with no limits/
Though you grew in the woods/
Allow me to welcome you in my hood/
Life is drying up and dying rough/
Hunters peel any moving dressed up skins it’s no bluff/
Ship from your town to my township and that’s a tip/
Your fleshy vivid body sparkles predictable smiles and love from a distance trip/
Your body I would climb if you let me/
Your brunches I would massage if you let me/
I dream to seed your womb with vigorous multiple fruits till eternity/
I dream to rescue you from discarded cuddles and refrigerators/
Your cold days will be warm in my arms/
My avocado this is my shameless affectionate avow/
My heart holds no snakes, monkeys, scratchy cats, lizards or mythical wizards/
My tongue your shower/
My lips your perfume/
Your tears I will screen clean till they’re embittered no more/
And that’s a promise with a sexy salad/
How it must hurt you so on days like this,
Walking around with a frown clutching your fist.
Hearing the words that are meant to anger you,
Confused you cry because there is nothing you can do.
Your mind is playing tricks on you driving you to say,
I hate you all and the games you play please just go away.
Trusting nobody you are not sure which way you sould go,
It's not real and all in your head is what you do not know.
Waiting to see just what tomorrow will possibly bring,
All will be perfect and you wont rememver a thing.
Your thoughts they torement you almost every day,
Each night asking our Lord why your life is this way.
Feeling so alone thinking there is nobody who cares,
But actually there is so many but you are not aware .
If only you would hear me so you might begin to see,
You must believe in yourself if you want to be free.
You must have some faith if you are to understand ,
What God has in store for you and what he has planned.
All the hurt and anger will soon begin to disappear ,
You'll stand up tall again facing life with no fear.
Please remember always that you are never alone,
By listening with your heart your path will be shown.
On My Eighty Fifth Birthday
Another Birthday…I’m still alive
Never thought that I’d survive
To the ripe old age of Eighty Five!
But here I am…feisty still
Even though I’m over the hill!
Don’t count me out...Don’t ring that bell
I’m still here and raising hell!
Had a few blimps along the way
But I’m not leaving, I’m here to stay
Still have plans…I’m not done yet
I may do things I may regret
But I’ll have fun doing it
You can bet!
It matters not how old you are
You can dream your dream
Or follow your star
Your flesh may fail you
Your steps may be slow
More and more wrinkles start to show
But there is one thing I surely know
A man isn’t judged by how he looked
Or the size of his fortune or pocketbook
The greatest legacy he leaves behind
Isn’t intelligence or a fertile mind
But the love he gave to his family and friends
A heart full of love always transcends
Fame and fortune in the end
So Happy Birthday again to me
How many more…..?
We’ll just have to see
In the meantime friends
You’ll be hearing from me!
Copyright©2013 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)
If you should ever see me cry, it is not because I am
Weak...it is because my eyelids are heavy from holding in all
The pain in me...I have eyes to see the things I am supposed to
see...Jesus died on a cross...the tears he weep was for
me...I have the strength of all the king men!...and that
alone makes me a STRONG WOMAN! I have a gift that was given to me, and that is my passion for writing. My inspiration that burns inside of me...I write from my heart and from the things I have seen, therefore my wisdom made me the woman I am now, and many before me...my life path has been written out for me...and that's my motivation that guides me.
I am who I am, chasing me into the future of
who I want to be.
Running, running trying to catch my imagination as
it focuses on attaching itself to my hopes and dreams.
I am who I am, watching all of this as my hopes and
dreams run screaming to my goals, trying to get the
attention of my success.
I am who I am, shinning in the mind of the sun and
bathed in the midnight comfort of succeeding in the best
of what I thought, helped by the warmth of
determination, and finalized with a blessing.
I am who I am, because I was made by God to be...
who I am.
LAST NIGHT MY HEART WAS HEAVY AND MY SPIRIT WAS WEAK.
I WAS TOTALLY NUMB WITH NO WORDS TO SPEAK.
I SAW PEOPLE WHO HAD WALKED THROUGH MY LIFE WHO WERE NO LONGER ON THIS EARTH.
I WANTED TO CRY BUT NO TEARS CAME FROM MY EYES NOTHING BUT JOY CAME UPON ME.
I REALIZED THAT THEY HAD TO LEAVE FOR A REASON THEY WERE NO LONGER SUFFERING.
I GOT TO TALK TO THEM AND BE IN THEIR PRESENCE BUT THEN ALL OF A SUDDEN I WOKE UP AND IT WAS ALL A DREAM.
I BECAME SAD AND THEN I KNEW THIS WAS ALL MEANT TO BE SO I LET IT GO.
KEEPING THEM IN MY HEART AS I GO WITH THE FLOW.
Sun brightens with full blaze and smile,
darkness covers the sun like a blanket-total eclipse,
Moon rays spread out their hands from this shield.
CONTEST:"Trinity" sponsored by Debbie Guzzi.
Secrets one may hide
within me, those of your life...
I will never tell.
IN THE SPRING OF '1999' I WAS LIVING WITH MY DAUGHTER and HER FAMILY IN BLANCHESTER,OHIO. THE HOUSE WE LIVED IN WAS A NICE PLACE, BUT WE DIDN'T HAVE A SCREEN DOOR and SO WE WOULD SIT WITH THE DOOR OPEN MOSTLY DURING THE AFTERNOON. I WILL NEVER FORGET THE MORNING OF MARCH 16th THAT YEAR! MY DAUGHTER WAS AWAKENED BY THE SOUND OF A CAR STOPPING REAL FAST IN THE GRAVEL OUT FRONT, and AT THE SAME TIME WE BOTH HEARD MY SISTER SCREAM: 'ALICE HURRY UP MOM IS DYING'. MY DAUGHTER WAS HANDING MY PURSE and SHOES TO ME AS I WAS WALKING OUT THE DOOR. WE ALL GATHERED IN MOM'S ROOM and WE TALKED, CRIED, PRAYED and WE WAS THERE FOR EACH OTHER; and AT ONE POINT I ASKED HER: MOM, WOULD YOU LIKE US TO SING LIKE WE USED TO IN SUNDAY SCHOOL WHEN US CHILDREN WERE LITTLE? MOM, COULDN'T SPEAK BUT I THOUGHT I SAW A FAINT SMILE ON HER FACE and FOR ME THAT WAS ANSWER ENOUGH. SO, SOME OF US SANG SONGS LIKE: 'PETER,JAMES and JOHN IN A SAILBOAT - or - THERE'S A FOUNTAIN FLOWING DEEP and WIDE - or - HIS BANNER OVER ME IS LOVE' - WHILE THE OTHERS TALKED AMONGST THEMSELVES and PRAYED. MY BROTHER and HIS FAMILY MADE IT IN FROM GEORGIA LATER THAT EVENING and WE ALL VISITED IN MOM'S ROOM and THE ROOM NEXT TO HER'S THROUGHOUT THE NIGHT. THE FOLLOWING DAY ON WEDNESDAY THE 17th DAY OF MARCH IN '1999' AT AROUND 12:15p.m. - GOD SENT SOME OF HIS BEST ANGELS TO CARRY OUR PRECIOUS 'MOTHER' HOME TO HEAVEN. IT'S HARD AT ANY TIME TO LOSE A PARENT, BUT IT WAS REALLY ROUGH LOSING 'MOM', BECAUSE LESS THAN TWO YEARS EARLIER ON NOVEMBER 15,1997 - WE HAD LOST OUR PRECIOUS 'DAD, WHOM I KNOW WITHOUT A DOUBT WAS WAITING AT THE GATES OF HEAVEN FOR OUR 'MOTHER'. MOM, ALWAYS SAID THAT SHE WANTED TO BE BURIED ON THE FIRST DAY OF 'SPRING'; and YES, THE DAY WE BURIED 'MOM' JUST HAPPENED TO BE ON THE FIRST DAY OF 'SPRING'. FOLKS, YOU SEE GOD HAD LISTENED TO MOM'S PRAYER and GRANTED HER THAT WISH! THIS SHORT STORY SOME FOLKS WILL FIND HARD TO BELIEVE, BUT IT'S TRUE and REALLY HAPPENED. FOR THIRTEEN DAYS AFTER WE BURIED 'MOM', A ROBIN WOULD COME and SIT ON THE DOOR STEPS AT ABOUT THE SAME TIME. ON THE FOURTEENTH DAY I SAID: "MOM, IF GOD HAS SENT YOU IN THIS FORM TO CHECK ON ME - I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I WILL BE FINE. AFTER, I WAS DONE TALKING and CRYING THAT 'ROBIN' FLEW AWAY and DIDN'T EVER COME BACK! FOLKS, I MADE A PROMISE TO 'MOM', THAT I WOULD MEET HER and DAD IN HEAVEN WHEN MY LIFE IS OVER ON THIS EARTH and I INTEND TO KEEP THAT PROMISE!
Rahul Dravid is called "The Wall",
A true servant to the game of Bat and Ball.
He is nicknamed Mr.Dependable,
since his dedication is Remarkable.
He displays a lot of commitment,
with his great temperament.
He is a man who is selfless,
and the number of runs he scored is countless.
He has played consistently against all nations,
indeed,with a lot of patience.
Though his game looks quite simple,
opponents have to do a job which is ample.
Everytime he comes out to bat in any session,
he seems to be like a Man on a Mission.
His technique to budding stars is like a guide book,
the footprints of Dravid in Indian cricket have the best look.
With airy moves the thinker tried to gulp
one more full glass of the potent liquor,
'das zould bee iit', he said, in English calque,
'afta zis bottle I'll be a quitter'.
His mind analyzed why Socrates drunk,
instead of this pure nectar, conium,
He started writing knowing he would flunk,
and his pen's gems would be zirconium.
He drunk and gargled the eighty proof gold,
in his blurred vision Philipp Lenard laughed,
and Karl Max Plank's postulate did unfold
quantized integration calculus' craft.
He wondered if the philosopher's norm
that electromagnetic energy,
could solely emit in quantized form,
was the discovery of last century.
(You know in zis vorld ze gut schnapps is rare,
like slivovitz und aquavit und kirsch),
he read somewhere from drinks to be aware,
- 'Chain nuclear reactions' book of Frisch,
Outraged he saw the drink's surface descend,
with airy moves he called the liquor store,
Maxwell's equations started to blend,
through electrodynamics slept with snore.
© 02-09-2013, G. V., All Rights Reserved
(a poem against excessive alcohol consumption)
Sponsor: Sheri Fresonke Harper
Contest: Personifying Science
The sky is blue with music beats
The stars are smiling in the east
The moon is tangoing with me
And the trees are waving their leaves
The lilies are swaying in the wind
The birds are flapping their wings
The sun is standing still
For the birth of a unique Prince
The duck is cooing a coo
The drum is booming with boom
The bell is jingling melody tunes
For the dancing shoe in jolly mood
Every teeth is stable, dappled with babble
To dandle and staple the victuals rounding the table
No squabbles to dabble or dangle
This fable is not a parable to scrabble
The world is now at ease
In my mother’s little arm with peace,
That is crooning a lullaby
For her newborn baby
Now that a diamond is in the sky
My mother is no longer shy
She could join the laughter of the night
For the birth of a new life
I’m a newborn baby today
Starting life afresh, again
The smiles on a baby’s face anyway
Is an anthem, enough for a happy birthday.
by Ellen Fahey
I'm trying so hard to hide in here,
but, her emotions won't release me.
Why does she fear?
I am just a tear.
made for healing.
If she'd just let me loose,
her pain I could ease.
But, here I am
I'm locked inside,
Lord, won't you help her, please?
Help her to see that it's okay
to feel what she feels.
Let me fall from her eyes,
and caress her tender cheek,
for it will be in my release
that she will hear you speak.
For I am nothing to fear.
I am just a tear.
made for healing.
white on blue
tears wave to
pain on cue"
~JSLambert © 2012 Poet TreeZ Publishing
The words in my head are beautiful.
They are dancing cheek to cheek
with Southern legato or London staccato
with Chinese tunes and Xhosa clicks,
with native Dutch, straight from the heart.
The words in my head are reluctant
to stand in line. They like
to dance and play. They like
to echo inside the skull, infinite
Ping-Pong straight from the heart.
The words in my head come alive,
naked at the stroke of a key.
Ribbons of red and green show
who’s been good and who’s been bad.
Dots on the screen, straight from the heart.
The words in my head are ready
to face the world. I comb their hair
and clean their nose and wave goodbye
until they disappear around the bend.
One day they will be back, straight to the heart