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Prose Poetry Family Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Family

These Prose Poetry Family poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Family. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Family poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

She read me Dr Seuss

6:35 A.M.

Sunrise against my neck
that no cheap tan booth could ever match.

I ring the doorbell in anticipation of joy’s injection.

I needed it.

Because I left my cell phone in the car,
as I didn’t want to hear any chimed email
or text annoyances.

And the car just got cleaned,
only for the birds to have their way
on its waxy shine.

Bastards!

Time to grab the flamethrower from my trunk!

But, before I could scream in Braveheart declaration,
there she was.

Her 6 yr old smile,
made of 1/4 inch gaps between innocence enamel,
captured me like no other could.

“Tio”, she preached in angelica sonata.

As she held me,
held me,
with puppy love warmth.

Even the rainbows fell to its knees.

She took off my jacket with ferret-like perkiness and
asked me to sit on the floor with her.

But, not before offering to toast me some Eggo waffles
with a big glass of Ovaltine…
…in her Little Mermaid glass,
proudly made in North Korea.

It even had the dictator’s initials and a bucktooth smiley face stamp, signed in glitter
that said:
“Kid-safe”.

Thank God I just took my online course in Child Safety.
I was ready!

As I sip on Little Mermaid’s curves,
shaped in plastic, swirly straw weirdness,
a sound blasts off from a Barbie radio.

My 2 yr old angel galloped into this heart of mine,
with Tinnitus piercing scream & laughter,
tackling me in Incredible Hulk lunge.

“Hi Tio”, she whispered, before she hopped back upstairs, 
Ninja Turtle-style,
laughing maniacally with rapid head tilts, left to right to left.

Boys will fear her. 
And I couldn’t be more proud.

After two moments of silence, 
my 6 yr old angel places her Dr. Seuss book on my lap,
as she sits in front of me.

“I can r-r-read
with my eye-s
shut.”

She carefully completed the sentence,
as my eyes instantly fill with leaky pride
and an ingrained smile.

10 minutes later, she shut her book and asked me how she did.
“I am so proud of you my angel.”
“You have come so far.”

I had to hold back tears because I didn’t want to throw her off.
Yet I think she knew,
because she kept her head down and smiled with gentle starburst.

Mission accomplished.

And it was then where I heard her say,
“Those who matter don’t mind,
those who mind don’t matter.”

But she was quiet, looking at me with tilted head & smile.

For it was my inner child, 
speaking
clear.

© Drake J. Eszes


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Crystal Clear

The window guys came to install the new glass. They took away the old glass that had become filled with moisture. The seals had failed, the result of nineteen years of Okanagan sun beating down on them. It's funny how we don't notice how things deteriorate over time, it happens so gradually, then one day you wake up and see and wonder why it took you so long to notice. I have had this happen with relationships so now I am ever vigilant when it comes to the ones I love. Unlike my windows I don't wish them to be replaced or perhaps I should worry that they may wish to replace me. The light is now shining into our home and as I look at my wife I smile and we look out the window together.  The view seems better with someone I love by my side.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mama's Song

I wander through my journey, interspersed with joy and pain, always grateful 
Though not by choice, some days are somber; yet others follow with abundant joy
In my solitude, memories come alive with the recall of some old song from another time
When life was carefree in everyway! No worries and not one care!
First heard as a child; the title now lost to me, so I’ll call it "Mama’s Song"
It’d start off soft and slow; its rhythm smooth, graceful, incredibly beautiful!
Then lingering on my mind, gently reviving memories lost somewhere in yesterday
It’d calm my spirit, take me away- away from countless, mundane tasks
All necessary things, but they arrest my days, imposing, threatening, vying for attention

There’s a constant battle that rages within, and I often ask, “Should I lay down this burden  
of joyless pursuits which hinder valid expressions from my heart?  Should I?
And to what profit?  Surely monetary gain is a necessity, but at what cost to my spirit??
Were I guardian only to myself, I’d simply choose to live lean somewhere by the sea
I would cast my net for food, and barter for grain and herbs.  However, the compass is set
So, I escape in the melodies, with my eyes closed, and fly high, above this terrain
Sailing on the massive wings of a Condor, unafraid; over rugged pathways and
Jagged edges of mountains that rise above the seas, far away from this place of constant 
weariness, on my way to a place more tranquil, somewhere in yesterday
I hover over rivers that give life to green valleys below, quite an amazing view to see!
Like black velvet ribbons they meander through the changing landscape
At an angle they shimmer like fine crystal in the afternoon sun, and in one breath,
I am there! At Mama’s feet, studying her as she sews dresses for my sisters and me 
I watch, I listen to her, softly singing; feel her contentment and peace through the song
Never complaining, never too tired to go beyond the call, to love and care for family 
Teaching by example, using less words, her quiet spirit, ever steadfast, strong
Those times when I feel I can not go on, when afraid I'll falter, I still hear the the melody 
and "Mama's Song"!

Note:  For Mama - Thank you for putting us first! For the many lessons learned which we nowteach our children.  RIP w/Papa!!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

You Haven't Left

You haven’t left my heart
You haven’t left my mind
I’m just trying
To give you some time
Something happened in your life
You don’t care to explain
Or just can’t talk about
Until you feel the time is right
It’s o.k. my friend
I can understand
Just don’t think of my silence
As coming from an uncaring heart
For I would freely give
All that I’ve got and am
To be by your side
To be your confidant
For you mean much more to me
Than a simple hello
Or kiss in the night
You’re the very hope
That brings light into everyday
And I’ll be there for you
In any way that you allow
You’re not just a hand to be held
A touch to be felt
Or a pleasure conquered 
You’re the very hope
Of what life could be
Were I to be the one
To win your heart
So while you take this walk
Know it doesn’t have to be
Or really isn’t alone
For you haven’t left my heart
You haven’t left my mind
And should you need or care to reach
My hand is always here


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Bell's Blues

Staring, vapor locked, at my Hammond B-3 console organ, which dominates my 
kitchen.  Surely a symbol of my madness.  I can't help, but think, if the keys were 
the days of my life, and the black ones represented the bad days, are there 
enough black keys??  Fighting petulance, self-pity...losing...
     Wondering if I can stand another minute alone.  Atop my organ, music books, 
and the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe, another mad poet.
     Plagued by physical agonies that merely complete a perfect circle of anguish 
and distress.  Even to worrying of misspelling a word again.  Pure lunacy.
     Remembrance of my 1863 death at Missionary Ridge, something I became 
aware of as a young child before I'd ever heard of reincarnation.  Or just an early 
sign of the madness to come??
     I am lost in a befouling miasma of deep despair.  My life's hopes down to 2 
desires;  one last music band, and taking my son to Disneyworld.  Money is 
meaningless to me.
     I am well aware that death is as natural as life.  And I would venture to guess 
that the loss of my father, my young cousin Billy, my dear friend Mark Trotiner, and 
too many others, are "Business As Usual" in this universe.  But not for me.
     Being terminally ill myself is something I have long since come to terms with.  
And what a reunion it will be!!  But I must continue to go on surviving as though I 
cherish this long and barren life.
     My writing, especially my poetry, my poet friends, my music, my musician 
friends, and a few relatives and others; these are the meds that work for me; not 
the 30 or so pills I must deal with everyday.  So thank you all.
And now an addendum, one which brightened my day:
     Mark Trotiner long maintained that he gave Mark Knoffler (Dire Straights) the 
idea for his hit song "Money For Nothing", when Mark Knoffler came into the 
appliance chain store he worked in way back then, where he bought, and drove 
off with several T.V.s, singing the prototype words he'd gotten from Mark Trotiner.  
Over the years, I tested him repeatedly, looking for the tale-tell deviation in the 
story one finds in a false tale.  He never faltered, he never failed.
    Continued.....


Details | Prose Poetry | |

And Then I Pray

You came into my life, why? I didn’t invite you, I never wanted you around, you 
know this , but you will not leave, you don’t know how much I hate you, and yet I 
don’t hate anyone or anything. When you hate, to me, it is the same as killing. If I 
only knew how to kill you ……. It would have been done many times over. I awake 
every morning and there you are, ready to make my life miserable, the one thing 
you enjoy most in your life. Wherever I go, you follow bringing your misery into my 
life. Why cant you just leave and leave me in peace? I fight with you every day, and 
it hurts so much, so much it hurts to fight with anyone, even you. There is one 
way and only one way to rid you of me. I think of this often, but then where would I 
be? I would not be, because you are part of me, your name is bi-polar. Handed 
down from my father and from his father, and from me to my son, but he refuses 
to recognize you, so he fights you without help he could get. If he would only say I 
know who you are. I hurt for him everyday, and then I pray.
Oh God please forgive me for what I have brought upon my son. Son, I love you, 
and am so sorry for what you go through. Maybe someday we will talk again. Dad


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Your My Dear Friend

We have been together
treasured joy now for many years
we trust each other with our
emotions, with affection, tears,

Any day when you are sick or hurting
I feel your pain - significant other,
when eighter-one needs attention
we help one another...

These mutual friendly feelings
for assistance, approval, support
form our tight bonds,
usually never broken

Sharing visions, time together
we respect each other,
regardless of shortcomings
I know you, "I love you anyway"


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Woke Up One Morning

                              "I Woke Up One Morning."

I woke up one morning as if from a dream, 
I had lived from being a child, to an old age. 
I was struck by anguish and fear until I realized 
that this dream was my awakened past.

I walked this earth with steady feet, 
Carrying my mind in my heart.
Surrounded by some who cared and 
other's who couldn't.
I felt betrayed and in return I wounded myself. 
Those marks are invisible, yet the pain is deeply 
felt with inner scars.

Along my path, I met my mother, a passive soul! 
kind, and generous, unable to express her perplexed mind. 
I met my father! unsatisfied at who he was, 
blowing blows of anger and frustration, into his world, 
yet sensitive enough To overwhelm his children with 
silence and authority, which he called love and protection 
from a world he feared. 
And under his wings was no such living.

I met my eldest brother, who's joy on this earth was 
short lived! A soul refined with inner depth and struggle 
to better himself and love unbounded by more love 
to those he loved.

I met my little sister, who will represent a loving 
child within a grown sensitive, and sensible feeling 
woman Her inner space, glows in her outer beauty, 
which remained young coming from the depth 
of her feelings, and suffering, and re-suffering, 
while creating from her own flesh her home.

We left our native home where we laughed, 
and cried, growing, hoping to fulfill a dream 
not yet dreamt. 
Follows a life with pressure, discontent,
pain, submissiveness we walked, unconnected  
with our partners, divided, never holding hands 
along the path.

Four new lives,  time, events, war, death, tears and smiles... 
engulfed our existence, until all that we call freedom 
brought an unaccomplished freedom 
short lived, yet lived.

I met my younger brother he our enigma our flesh 
and blood runs together in different fields. 
Children and more children they are our treasures. 
Their pains and joys reflect in our lives.

Yet, nothing can cut through the thread that holds 
our lives together. 
Young and old and growing will remain enduring, 
with every breath we breath, away or close, 
we hear each other's silences. 
Awake at night we see a portrait of beauty, love, 
courage, and endurance and colorful.

Awake with a warm feeling that I am 
that multiplicity of them, I am not alone
as they live in me and from me as one.

 Therese Bacha
12/12/12

Contest Old Poem You Are Proud Of.  Nathan. A  WIN (Honorable Mention)


Details | Prose Poetry | |

7 Gifts of the Holy Spirit Prayer

Lord God,
Stretch our mind/s with deep understanding of Wisdom
To obtain positive understanding with every complications
Counsel us with guidelines in our work

Give us Fortitude, strength, Patience and Tolerance to finish in peace successfully
Deliver knowledge in our mind/s
For us to receive Piety, goodness and devoutness to get satisfaction
With Holy Fear of the Lord-God, I/we ask in the name of Father Christ Jesus to be with us now and forever.

Amen 
09122012

People can change the “our” to “their”, “him” or “his” when praying for others.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Changing Seasons

Changing Seasons

In a burst of color and animal choruses 
Sovereign sun heralds in a golden morning –
The air was delicate with the perfume of cherry blossom 
Blown in from the hem of pink rows that lined the 
driveway on Grandpa’s farm 

I looked across at hay stacked verdant hills that were
Tossed with yellow daffodils, purple crocus and white snowdrops 
They danced to the baton of the breeze and the 
Hidden orchestra of lilting bird song of that fragrant spring morn

Grandma sang to me her songs of childhood 
As we walked arm in arm amongst beds of fragrant roses 
and budding fruit trees that whispered promises of full baskets  
that would soon be heavy laden with the Summer fruits, preserves, 
Pies and jam of a bountiful harvest, a few months from now

Summer came rich with its harvest, merry hearts
and long hazy, lazy summer days and nights scented 
with wisteria, frogs and cicada, chirping and croaking 
their melodious summer anthem of  ‘All is well with the world’ 
as we toasted to our full and wonderful life

Autumn brought in a more somber note and amber tones
though warm and restful, they soon told me - life is changing again
time quickly moves on - it prepared me for the winter and 
the chill mirrored in the face of the full moon as it lit a silvery path
to my next season’s change

The cherry trees glowed white against the dark night sky like iridescent bones along 
the snow covered driveway - they waved their bony fingers goodbye 
as I crunched solemnly down the long white corridor with slow steps and a  heavy heart that was beating to the mournful dirge of  hoot owls and creaking limbs – I blinked back tears under that star kissed sky and full moon that lit my path 
The moon reminded me- each season has its bounty that I can treasure -I held those memories close to my well seasoned but thankful heart.

Brenda V Northeast


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Happy Family

Happy Family
 
There is no closer bond in our life other than with relatives.
How bad a problem between family members can also be always a thought about it from both sides with a desired reconciliation.
We can never choose on our own family, only when we get married to swear the oath for trust, our in-laws also can become the family member of us.
A Successful family is when everything is well organized in harmony with each other, so that every problem can be solved peacefully.
It will be grandiose if everyone in the family can rely on each other in any circumstances, this also give us a soothing and relaxing feel.
The family love is something that can go to the extremes between members with a limitless desire for each other and it is indispensable in a family relationship.
It’s give and take among themselves but without having any thoughts to extract benefit from each other.
We only able to meet a few people in our life in which we can treat them the same as our family member, but with them we can develop a super good friendship and they are indispensable in our life.
When our family grows then several new members has been added which makes our life becomes more meaningful and the love play a major role with mutual respect.
We would never miss our family, because we’ve learned a lot of life experience from them with joy and fun thus we becoming the person we are now.
And now we can be very proud with ourselves because of the family members we have with us all the time through thick and thin.
Our thoughts will always with them, even when they are out of sight , they still conquered a place deep inside our heart.
 
I wish you a healthy life.
Kindly Regards,
Author Jan Jansen
http://poems.easybranches.com/happy-family.html


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Mood


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Ode to the Orange Gourd

It’s that time of year again...
When family and friends gather together..
To share and give thanks for all that they treasure..
The young and the old, the tall and the small..
The Vegans and the Carnivores, come one come all...
There are dishes of tradition, like Turkey and stuffing..
Mashed potatoes, gravy, and cranberry muffins..
Green Bean casserole, and corn soufflé...
Are just some of the dishes of the day....
And of course a relish tray to take off the edge...
With that awesome Spinach dip in Pumpernickel bread...
So many desserts at this time of year...
But the favorite of all , synonymous of the Fall..
Is that Jack’O ‘Lantern, orange Gourd.....
 known as Pumpkin Pie...
As the children play a game of touch football...
Something that is 24-7 on this day in  Fall..
As Grandpa sits in the afternoon sun...
Remembering back ..when he was young...
Then the words of “ Let’s eat “ fills the air...
And everyone sits down in their chair..
Who wants the first slice ? Dark meat or White ?
Grandpa asks...then proceeds to take the first bite..
Everyone fills their plate, till it can’t hold no more...
Yet some go back, for more and more....
Finally everyone is full...can’t eat another bite..
Till the smell of fresh coffee brings on a plight...
Aahh  dessert ..and the best part of all....
“ PUMPKIN PIE “ !!!! ....It appears was a "Majority Call"...
This is “ my “ favorite time of the year....
When you mention "MY" name, everyone gives a cheer !!!
So without  further adieu  ...Grandpa picks up the knife...
As I am the “ MAJORITY CALL “ and receive the first slice....





Details | Prose Poetry | |

Always Keep the Harmony Within our Family

There are not many things in life more important which can give us a better feeling everyday than the values in family interests.
That there is mutual respect and always consider to make decisions together without hurting each other.
The inner peace and trust to each other give us that feeling to come home in a relaxed atmosphere and everything goes with a peaceful mind.
If we have tensions or unpredictable reasons somewhere which can disrupt our desire immediately, always keep in our minds that we will soon be going to our home and rest where the harmony prevails.
Home is a good base to be dealing friendly with each other about things what bother us outside and we can communicate to find the solutions together.
Our home should be a place for preferred love and avoid aggression to respect the harmony in the family and get a solution for everything.
Of course there are disagreements in every family, but that can always be settled again in a close relationship with love, when we are wise enough to communicate with each other and overcome our issues.
Because when there is love in the family, there will always be more suitable solution among themselves, because no one wants to be sad.
Of course we all make mistakes and sometimes we do something wrong  unconsciously but after a good face-to-face explanation, the peace will soon return again.
Understanding among each other is something very important in a good family and each member under the same roof must therefore have a task that they can arrange so that everyone is happy together and the parents remain as the leaders.
Many communication together in a family can give much clarity about how everyone think and the misunderstandings can be prevented in certain situations.
Can prevent wrong decisions or misunderstanding, in a bad situations due to an outside problem from a family member because then they can react quickly together to take everything under control.
Together resolve all things in the family one by one in a peaceful dialogue will always furtherance the harmony in every family.
Love our family and try to have everything under one sphere so that we can keep the harmony predominant.
 
I wish you a healthy life.
Kindly Regards,
Author Jan Jansen
http://poems.easybranches.com/


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Grandad's Missing

There's a void, now
Where once a steadfast heart beat time
The soul in perfect harmony with life's uncertain pulse
With those who clambered eagerly in solace or in joy
To scale that mighty pinnacle
The Rock, within the bosom of the family

There's a void, now
But marvel at the structure, the firmness of the ground beneath
The strata richly layered with wisdom of generations past
A fault free seam constructing firm foundations
Binding those within the bosom of the family

There's a void, now
A hollow cavern 
echoing the anger and the pain
Trust time; it has no fear of finite elements
The source of unremitting pain
Within the bosom of the family

There's a void, now
So fill the emptiness and catalogue the memories
Harvesting the richness of their meaning
The fullness of the seed sown long ago
To bloom forever within the bosom of the family


Details | Prose Poetry | |

STRONG WOMAN

Strong woman
That woman 
Who tears behind the mirror? 
Made me who I am 
My hardened heart she took
Tenderized it with love
Took my salty tears 
Turned into joyful tears

That woman 
Who sighs behind the mirror 
Sighs in memory
Memories and feelings
Hardships she went through 
To feed my whole stomach

That woman
The woman pulling back her mucors
Does so in fear
Fear that ill not be what she hoped
That teared woman 
Crys in fast and prayer 
Crys for my dark self 
Cries for my future 

That woman crying 
Tears down her body fluids
Hopefully that her anger and disappointments
May atleast flow out with them
Her body almost running dry by now
That woman calls upon God
GOD atleast make him better
That woman cries for me 
That woman cries for her lineage
That woman cries night and day

How I came to be 
To be what I am 
I don’t know how
A slave of the world
A slave with one work song 
A song entitled failure 
The first stanza of calamity
The last stanza dead man where I am heading





Looking at her cry 
Twists my brains 
Is this what I am?
Is this my purpose to the world? 
Is this the man the world wants? 
Is this what God spent time Molding 
Is this what the bible describes? 
Just for her 
Just for her I take my life back 
Just for her God I stand strong 
Just for her I say no
NO no no this is not me 

Come mummy take this handkerchief 
I don’t wannna see those tears again
I love you mummy


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A To Z An Amazing Couple

                ~A To Z An Amazing Couple~

A is for Allow me to write a poem about my best friends 
love affair with an army man, she was 35 years old he was 
the same age living together for the past 5 years.

B is for Believing his love towards her as thee perpetual 
love of the century their love is amazing, their sharing is 
united, intelligence, its endearment, understanding 
everything for a wonderful happy life together.

C is for Creative in her work, she is a born philosopher
so much she has patience, she loves her job, she exists 
to give all her entity to her lover.

D is for Destiny for a unison hopefully to be able
to have a child of their own. They try each month
the tests come out negative. 

E is for Eloping one day when she gets pregnant
marry and settle down in a beautiful country side 
mansion that has been bought already.

F is for Forgetting to think about moving now to their 
new home until she becomes pregnant. This month her
hopes were high as a future mother would sense that.

G is for Great news was announced on the phone to her
husband she is pregnant. That evening was a unique
celebration champagne dinner for 2 in the most beautiful
restaurant by the ocean. Following that evening was their
love making an enormous pleasure together never happened
before she told me. 

H is for Happiness to the beyond, apart her work the buying
stuff for the baby, the babies room was a heavenly event for
both of them, they moved that month to their mansion by the 
ocean.

I is for Induced her delivery in the hospital that day, and her baby
son was born in 2 hours, so healthy and beautiful baby lying in
his mothers arms looking at her with yearning eyes.
 
J is for Joining close family and friends after a few days arrival
at their mansion. 

K is for Kissing the baby and his dream she's a mother & his
disbelief that he is actually a father.

L is for Living together when the wedding took place in a small
church only family and the bride holding her baby boy in her arms.

M is for Married an hour ago their entry to their mansion was an 
unforgettable event the house was decorated with roses everywhere.

N is for Never would they both forget how important their sons
career will be. Both vowed to stand by him grow together for the
utmost accomplishment of his success in studying as a lawyer.
 
O is for Ordering their breakfast after a sleepless night the baby
needing his mum every 3 hours to feed him the amazing sensation 
of a full house filled with babies soft cry.

P is for Presents that he had bought for his wife a Diamond ring
with a beautiful pearl necklace which she wore with pride.

Q is for Quitting her job after years of practice was so important
as her dreams for her son to become a senetor in her goverment.

R is for Running for PM after graduating from Harvard University
His parents mansion over the years was transformed into invitations 
huge gala for politicians finding him extremely adequate for this job. 

S is for Signing papers as her son started to get involved with the 
senators and sharing talks about her sons involvements with
politics. She was his right hand. 

T is for Turning over to the secretary all the confidential papers
and she was very happy with the choice his son made about the 
new secretary, his office was huge and employees everywhere.

U is for Unbelievable but true she was relieved at last and now
that her son is on the right track she will have all the time to be
again with her husband a normal life. 

V is for Very close to her husbands office she decided to stop by
and surprise him for lunch at her favorite restaurant. 

W is for Where is he the office was empty she has been so much 
involved with her son she had neglected her husband. 
She was told he went home already.

X is for Xmas was around the corner next month she went to buy 
the Christmas decorations to surprise her husband. 

Y is for Yelling for someone to come and help her instead she sees
her son in tears running towards her he hugged her and whispered
in her ear I have some news.
Mum dad I am already elected I will make you proud of me.

Z is for Zap will be my goal I promise you dad and mum 
he got married and was elected.The first youngest to gain that 
post.

Therese Bacha
21/3/2013
  











Details | Prose Poetry | |

HIV IS A JUDGEMENT

Kisses good-bye;  waved out the door.
Sitting at the shore.  The water is still rolling.
You want to know how much longer I'll be here for.

We'll all be here till death is at the door.  Methadone,
morphine will squelch the pain, but for that ONE day
when it won't work anymore.

All the threads have been cut around the spool ahead.
There will be nothing but pain and nothing at the store.
People like it when I'm cheery and I don't know where to
put myself anymore.

Sit, stand, lay; I have no real reason to stay.  I am warm
and cozy under this hood.  My body is clean.  That is
understood.  My cuticles are disgusting.  Is this the purply glut
they talk about in signs and symptoms of the dead and dying?
They are not the nails you see in Cosmo for manicure ads, you
know, manicures to die for.

My mouth feels mucky and brushing my teeth is a chore.  I can't
remember one breakthrough from another.   Holidays forever around
each corner;  it would appear I'll still be around, what a drag; the wet blanket.
Dead broad walking down the dining room hall.

If I could cry and know the river would actually wash these tears away 
for GOOD;  I'd lay down and weep for weeks on end if it we're understood
that this would be the bloody end.

Tears aren't painful, nothing more than a wash.  Not everything is as someone else says.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Honey's Light, Gold and Mahogany - Home

Dad looking at that weatherboard house, Old Tooters home,
A thrifty man.. us to him did his brother send,
Saying that the place could do with a mend;
The roof had red patches of pitted rust, the cost agreed, an aluminium spray, as if were new!
A bulge I saw like a big brown bag, ‘those eaves with bees were occupied’ my Dad said,
A bee man was arranged for tomorrow morn.
Off we set early that day to arrive at 8, for to watch the bees and the man perform,
He wore dungarees and a netted hat, and held a pot of smoke as well as that.
He pointed its puffs, ‘the bees were calm’, that’s what Dad said,
The man then moved this Italian swarm, they were productive he said; moreover than the norm,
Before he went saying no to pay, as these bees alone did make his day.
He pointed to the now vacant hive, saying there would 'bee' honey, most pure inside.
He told us cut it clean in two, the lightest colour  would be the new.'.
He then drove off us to leave, me, my Dad and Tooter made three.

We cut it through as we'd been told, there was honey like sunlight, then a ring of gold, the core was darker of long months ago, from each we ate squeezing the comb, it fairly gushed upon the tongue.
The first seemed sweetest, the lightest one, the gold was more subtle onto the palate,
The darker ring also was sweet yet with a herb like twist; it did us treat.
Old Tooter said there was a reason.
For ‘twas gathered in the springs plant life season.
We ate a lot till we felt queasy,
Then Dad said work would make our stomachs more easy.
We set to work upon the tin, scrubbing back rust, and knocking roof nails in;
Then dad spun the flywheel on our new Briggs & Stratton machine, 
Two hours later the roof was all silvered out, Old Tooter exclaimed it was better no doubt.
What Dad had promised was accomplished to the better; the old guy even wrote us his thanks in a letter,
‘Twas 40 years ago that day; on that I ponder as I write away..
Thinking on life, on seasons.. on reasons; just where is 'home?' where does it lie?
Under an immediate or distant sky?
Is it a street, a house, City, or shack?
Is it where you are safe from harm?
I'd say yes, with close good family, like that day on Tooters farm:
I look out a window its now dark night,
Tomorrow brings yet; the soft dawn light.
As I think, I recall a yeasty savoury smell,
Mom’s currant scones fresh baked from the oven; and risen well.
For me all these things are together tied
With what is home real deep inside!
And I know I'll never be parted, from that memory's treasure,
Where love was poured in generous measure..
So if I need to know of if, what, when and where?
I'll take a walk back up memory's stair...
Back to that day of sweetness fresh from the comb,
To say loud and clear; (honey I'm home).

©Joe Maverick 12-01-2014


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Wish

Wish

Seven years I’ve been waiting for
A Christmas with you I wish for
Just like the other years that passed by
My wish for Christmas never gone by

A thought bothered my mind
How do you feel fine?
How do I feel fine?
If it breaks your soul it breaks mine.

Everything you have to sacrifice
A tear drops in your eyes
I wish I could make it dry
But I too can’t stop myself to cry

I hope he will grant my wish
If not now, maybe next year
I would still be waiting here
The same wish that I wished.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Here Comes Winter Again

Here it comes again; softly knocking on windows at 2A.M, here comes the winter at a cold silent night, awakening my soul with the smell of dust after rain, the smell of mom holding me into bed, with the voices of my sisters playing next room, here it comes again with painful delights, here it comes again taking me back home.

Let the drops of rain knock on my door and let them ache my heart, let me taste the sweet smell in my tongue like a little boy getting wet beneath the rain, waiting to be rebuked, but none of this does matter because the burdens of life are slipping down with the rains being drifted on his coat, none of this does matter because the weight of life was just not this cold before.

Here comes the winter with empty corners in my head and echoes of laughters in my room, a piece of chocolate I can no longer find and a broken toy I’ve never thrown away, with good sweaters that never felt warm on a cold night like this, let the chilly breezes of winter take me back home again, to smell my father’s smoking cigarettes and my mother combing my hair, and the smell of coffee beans on one cloudy morning to refresh my day, oh here comes the winter, remembering me again and stopping by with few memories to take me home.

Check out my writings at:
http://echoes19.wordpress.com


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My,Grandmothers,doll,collection

Ever since I can remember we visit my grandmother´s house every Sunday.  In the dinning room were we usually spend the while there, she has always had this big glass carved showcase lying against the wall. This big showcase of hers has all types of dolls you can imagine. Is a collection a hobby of her that since I can remember it grows bigger every time. From Matryoshka dolls until Mariachi dolls we can see up there in her collection. Dolls from many places around de world: France, Russia, China and Germany are some examples. My father tells me she collects this dolls since he was a kid, from house to house they have lived on she has taken this big showcase of hers. My grandmother is a collector, and yes she has probably more than 20 different nationality dolls, but this doesn’t mean she has been all around the world. People that know her and care for her always bring her a doll as present when they come back from a vacation. Sometimes I ask her things about the dolls, and every single time no matter her age she always remember the dolls that are the most special to her. Some are presents from other people, and others were bought by herself, but from this special dolls she can give all the exact information. Off course the majority of the dolls she doesn’t even remember from which place they come from or who gave them to her, but I see the smile on her face every time we talk about this showcase, and I feel happy myself only by thinking how an object that she has save for so many years have a great value to her. But most of all I feel happy that one of this special dolls is a present from me and every once in a while when she remembers she thanks me for this doll and tells me that is one of her favorites. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Perseverance

                     Perseverance: a poem




Long ago or should I say sometime in the past?


I had dreams and now at the age of 31 I have realized most of them.

It’s funny how good luck; joy, pain, rejection, effort and ‘Perseverance’ with a capitol ‘P’ have played a part in my life and sealed my Fate.

I now choose to think more positive thoughts even though this is still hard for me when I hear a negative voice in my head or when I hear people say negative things about me.

Those things hurt me and stay with me until I let it go.
I am self-motivated and I was a star pupil in my memories of my childhood.

My main goal is to be able to take care of myself, be responsible for myself and for the choices I make in life.

I am finishing school next January ’14 with my Bachelor’s degree and I want to find a good Internship.

Then after that I want to have a part-time job working 20 to 25 hours per week and continue doing volunteer work.

Oh and poems, I will keep writing my poems and reading other people’s poetry.  Right now I am reading LIT a memoir by Mary Karr. I also want to write children’s books.



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Short Time On The Porch

As the crickets sing flooding, saturating my being__enveloped I am in sound and moist 
air..In the sky ballet figure dances dressed in very tight white leotard bounding across 
the stage, leaping into mid-air with a whole troop dressed in pink pastel costumes on 
back of the stage..The music crescendos swellinng to the final jump then the sun's tip 
comes up over the horizon..Life moves on and the day's work begins..Grateful I am for the 
few minutes on the porch..


Details | Prose Poetry | |

To Walk In The Rain

To Walk In the Rain
As the cold rain blew, I kept walking for miles with my little  dogs walking with me.  We were 
a little family and so we were in this healing thing together.  We had to walk as a family 
together.  Besides, don’t dogs like to walk?

I carried a big umbrella holding it over them.  The rain gently washed the tears from my face 
and masked my face as I cried.  I sobbed and sobbed as I walked.  Often pleading to God to 
end my pain or begging him to strike me dead with lightening.

As the thunder roared and my spirits soared, I could yell
with hostile anger as loud as I wished to yell.  Hours of
walking in the rain is the only thing that eased my pain.


My dogs must have thought that I had gone insane.  For months at night all we did was walk 
in the rain.  Only when spring came and the birds chirped at us did the sun dry away all of 
my tears.

Every night we still walked but not as many miles as before, until we were soaked.  I walked 
so much that I wore the soles out of my tennis shoes.  But it was all I could do to medicate 
my pain and sooth my broken heart way, to walk in the rain.

Thank goodness for the cleansing rain.  It healed me that year.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Symbiosis

"Each experience is locked within my heart and only I hold the key..."

“Dad, I’m going to straighten your closet for you,” 
my wife said as she set upon the task of pulling out his 
clothes and refolding and re-hanging each item.
“I have to go to the John.” was his reply.
“OK, you go. Need help?” she asked him.
“No.” Into the bathroom he went.
Immediately out he came again.
“Can you help me with my pants?”
“Sure dad, there you go.”
Back in again but leaving the door wide open this time.
She closed it and went back to the closet.
“Why don’t they put his things back the way they should go?”
Fold, hang, arrange.
“Dad are you OK in there? Do you need help?”
“No. Can you come in and help me with my pants?”
“Dad, you have them on backwards.
That’s why you can’t find the zipper. Here let me help.”
Out they both come. 
A successful mission.
“What do you think of your closet now?”
“Wow! I have the best looking closet in the whole place.”
“Yes you do. I’m going to talk to them about keeping it that way.”
Out the door she goes. 
A new purpose. 
Making things better for her dad.
“She’ll give them hell,” he said to me.
We watched the news for a while and then he got up.
He went to the closet and pulled out some clothes.
After unfolding them and looking at them he stuffed them back in.
Not in the right place. 
He sat down and smiled.

Tony Lane
A Fragment Of Life contest
Written 8/20/11


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Being Me at Last

We met at a time when we were young…
And believed in the words of love….
You wined me and dined me with your words..
I actually believed what you said…
I changed so much in those early years…
That I didn’t even know myself…
My friends and family became strangers as I put them on a shelf..
Only seeing them when you allowed me and gave permission to myself…
I had dreams of my own, to write and publish a book.. 
However you said..” what have you got to say ?” you’re not all that great anyway..
I put my dreams on hold, cause you told me mine were boring….
Although yours  were all talk, as you did nothing to progress....
You never even sought or tried to take a chance much less…
Your life became stagnant…and you blamed everyone else..
I gave you permission to run my life, so there’s no one to blame but myself…
You were like a person playing chess with themselves, never letting the other advance.
My life became so devoted to thee…
That I became no longer me…
The years slipped by, you became bored with me.
So you moved on to destroy another I see…..
But now I am happy as can be, and no longer bound by your words you see…
You left me with so much to say…that now I can write and publish  every single day….
 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Memories of grandparents

A twelve year old boy, village-bred   and  very shy
Having but token familiarity with buses, routes and places
Escorts his mom’s mom,  very sick and about to die
To the town forty kms and four hours away  those days
Involving  three buses, two junctions needing directions 
And a km on foot, where her other two daughters  lived.
She sat on the road and vomited, so bad was her condition,
The boy waited without a thought till she once again moved.
Finally on reaching the house  wanted,  everyone there was aghast
On how we two made it and critical of my mother’s foolishness
In entrusting  a boy who knew next to nothing with such a task.
(But mom with none to help did what she thought right in all seriousness)
Grand ma  gets  promptly admitted in a hospital nearby.
Along with others, the boy goes to see her daily. On the third
She pleads with him to stay back with her that night 
But, no, he runs away because he wanted to play with the other kids.
He never knew she was going to die that night till he was woken up 
To board the ambulance which was taking her dead
Back to her native village, and the boy who sat with her was I.

My dad’s dad was dead before I was born
But about him I used to hear a lot all through my life
Because he was  a big landlord who owned a village
Of twelve hundred acres, as the head of a joint family

He was a monarch of sorts, albeit, without a sceptre and crown.
Trained in herbal  medicines, which he dispensed for free,
And a scholar in astrology and all those esoteric things
And a man of great virtues, he was much sought after.
Then suddenly the rules changed and the system 
Of joint families went and after partitioning his  estates
Among his kinsfolk , without taking an inch of land for himself,
He shifted to his wife’s place where too they fed a hundred daily
But they fell on hard times with the litigations that followed
The new laws which ruined families and my grandpa died  poorer .









Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Hand Poem

Hands…
My father’s hands are very twisted
They’re strong and built with lots of muscles
They’ve helped me learn
So many things as I have grown

In my life
They have helped me learn
How to ride a bike
They’ve helped me defend myself when needed
And I have come to realize
That without his hands to guide me
Through this world
I would not make it

NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father’s Love Letters
To listen to the CD please visit
http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill
This was written by my daughter when she was nine.
One of the many reasons it’s great to be a parent :)


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Reflection's of you

A new year always brings about reflection. Usually on the past year, but sometimes on many years gone by. Today I find myself reflecting and keenly missing my childhood. Times past that bring warm thoughts of visiting my favorite aunt and uncle in the country. Of waking up in the "blue room" and hearing muffled conversation at the breakfast table or the sweet humming of my aunt working in the kitchen as the smell of breakfast filled the air. Looking out the window to see the girls (white face cattle) grazing in the field. A little slice of heaven to this city girl with a country girls heart. At this time in life where I can see more years behind me than I can in front, the past comes sweeping over me with a great sense of loss. Loss of family, of innocence, of special, irreplaceable moments. But that loss holds beautiful and treasured memories that lent themselves to the warp and woof of the tapestry that was to become my life.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

In Ten Years

there are too many indiscriminate yesterdays
in my memory
too many I'll do it tomorrows in my
vocabulary
i could blame my daddy for his absence
or I could fault my mama for her negligence
i could put it on uncle incestuous
who caused me to become promiscuous
but I'm a grown woman with plans
to be confident and advance
to inspire people not to become
hopeless mothers
or irresponsible fathers
I'll start today
not in ten years or tomorrow
but today


Details | Prose Poetry | |

ApplefortheTeachor

 ApplefortheTeachor 
ApplefortheTeachor 
 
MAS come on down front you have been chosen by the frozen tender tundra to eat the 
apple i can give her. Staccatto beating in the background leaning to the south moving in the 
night polish wont make green apple to shine. The love GOD has for all of us in is SON Jesus is 
also inside us in our Souls inside our Spirit. He did this even though none of us are worth this 
a freely given gift. Something that opens up inside us each and every day. Better then the 
food we eat the apple red and green. Better then what people give on Christmas Day the 
packages wrapped and placed underneathe the tree dont open that dont shake it up dont let 
Johnny see. Perhaps its all the things that boy has stored up all year long some new toy he 
saw on television laying on the lawn. He never picks it up now or plays for very long. This 
Christmas please think of how the Son Of God must feel when we ignore his gift to us. I feel 
so guilty of his love inside this green forgotten apple in the bucket in the snow. Sorrow not 
the answer the apple catches worms so the food stored in the bucket doesnt turn to molded 
into love when I get hungry having none I go to cuppoard never barren there. I cannot eat 
much fruit anymore but mix the trail will fill me up when there is none to find in town. For 
CHristmas is two missing weeks after Thanksgiving missing one. SUnday on the November 
twenty nine untill Friday December Eightteenth then back for three more days then Monday 
the eleventh of January I solidify for more solid days activities perhaps the apple won. Bright 
red and polished up for teachor loves. Look for me with love. 




Details | Prose Poetry | |

lead my hand o' dear life

lead my hand o' dear life

lead my hand
on this land
o' dear life, 
until the end

o' dear thought
of comfort

seed my life
feed me not in strife
bleed me joy from nine to five

lead me a journey of phases
a journey of ages
to face this

germinate in me a corn
of survival 
a history of possibilities
a record of living to afford
a source to live

for this life 
is a choreographer of life
a propeller of existence
an economy of spiritual commodities

a tear drop of opportunities
yet not so many does see its commonalities
an event of anomalies and regularities

lead me a way o' dear life
carry me a sledge on a journey of life 
a terrain of survival and life

a gemstone for many
a pentagon of any
a model of penny

an artwork of joy

a string of life on a journey
a script of many
a stanza of any

opn08022012/0106

from: 'journey of life' and 'on a journey', 
february 2012 

>> ntema's unique poetry (nup) 
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lead-my-hand-o-dear-life/


Details | Prose Poetry | |

AGRICULTURAL LOVE

I have discovered the importance of communication manure,

In the garden of life where the seeds of love and friendship are sown.

I have discovered that the healing of a broken heart,

Is in its openness to the wind of love that abide arounds.

I have discovered that the storm last only for a while,

But the peace that comes afterward abide within and ever.


(c) 2007


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Demon

When men were more primal, they were suspicious of all outside their clan, 
they would band together for survival, still today suspecting won't give way and 
lives in the heart of each, and every man. It goes by the name of indifference, the 
demon that breeds with hate. Now there's been a revival, but all men are still 
tribal, a victim of our fate. We all must fight this demon, for it is our very souls we 
have at stake.

  I never considered myself racist, because I did not hate. but I did not love; I did 
not feel, and I didn't even think. Men of another color were so little to me. I did not 
hate them, I did not loathe them, I just let them be. They were the object of my 
indifference, said that demon deep in me; buried too deep to see, the demon that 
would not go free.

  It is few men that get to look within, at the indifference they have sown. Fewer 
men still get the change to kill, that demon in their soul. At the birth of my 
grandson Jordan, who was fathered by a race not my own. Love for that child 
shined bright through my heart, so that demon in me I could see. The object of 
my indifference my grandson could never be. His love I now hold, it fill the hole in 
my soul where a demon once lived in me.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

In the Eye of the Storm

As young people, we feel we are in fact immortal,
 like the pits of death will never cut the breathe of our pharynx short,
 until tragedy strikes and reveals to us that death and sorrow have no respectable persons
 regardless of race,gender,nor age, my revelation came in the form of a massive ef-5 tornado,
 as I sat in the hall along side my mother, we could feel such uneasiness and vexation,
 as if we were a two time felon in the courtroom during sentencing, then the mallet drops,
 wind consuming us,debris flying overhead,I heard the house I resided in being ripped to shreds,
 I felt my body rising off of the floor, I just knew I was dead,
 wish I could tell my family bye, I love you deeply within,
 then I begin to cry out Lord please forgive my unspoken sins,
 dirt circulating everywhere, I could not open my eyes,
 then I felt someone tightly clinch me, I guess he heard my cries,
 after the storm it was such a unique calmness, 
like a mother after she conceives, 
suddenly I heard people crying out, trapped under debris, 
I continued to ponder where did the hands come from that saved me...
 it was my mother, she told me she would die for me, because ill always be her baby..


Details | Prose Poetry | |

There is Always a Sunlight to Guide us Home when We are Lost

There is Always a Sunlight to Guide us Home when We are Lost
 
We sometimes see more dark clouds with rain and storm than seeing the sunshine in nature.
Many common situations like this it could also related the nature with our life.
There are times when so much trouble are coming to us that we no longer can handle it and actually there isn’t any direct solution can come to rescue us out of the problem.
This is often the psychological side of us which make us confuse and we can get into the into  panic zone,
We have use our thoughts and tried all other option to observe it but can not lead to a solution for the problem and this makes us desperate.
This can be only materialistic problems but usually it comes combined with the disagreements in relationships which caused too much pressure on us and we have a tendency of overstrain.
This is a very normal phenomenon, because our inner feelings can have much influence on our behavior and outward attitude.
At such a moment we just lost the direction of our daily life and do not know what place we are in this world because of all the negative events happen in succession.
But how dark it will be at that time, there is always light at the other end of the tunnel, so it is better to always think positive about it.
How difficult our situation will be, there is always something will guide us to the correct direction and we will accomplish that with perseverance.
The sunlight can sometimes disappear but will always shine through the darkest clouds and it will reflected from our house to guide us back home.
 
I wish you a healthy life.
Kindly Regards,
Author Jan Jansen
http://poems.easybranches.com/


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Visit to Grandma

You're not only from Kings mtn., NC, but also a Henderson, if you remember a kind of
chunky older lady sitting at the table playing cards, dipping snuff and spittin' in a can
on the floor, playing smut while whistling "she'll be coming round the mtn", between
her top two middle teeth, looking over the rim of her glasses and cheating with Ed
Whitstine who was sitting across the table humming.  Lord, I miss my grandma.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Family Meeting

The dreaded day of the family meeting arrived
Elder planning, liquidating assets and dispersing 84 years of belongings

Excuses, postponing, manipulations, whining and reasonings--
Valid each and present

Partners in crime, codependent family structure with high disfunctional
communicaton skills, L-O-V-E spelled out many times like the sword of truth
and breastplate of righteousness. 

Words were pitched and hurled then stroked like a fine persian cat with silken fur.
At the end of the day, with the word pile left in the floor like discarded dung; I 
tucked my tail and departed. I hope against all odds that tomorrow will be a better 
day and the grim reality of lost freedom will be swallowed with honey and accepted. 
Instead of preparing for battle with gloves and sword. Until the stretched car takes 
you away, be peaceful my love, L-O-V-E, spelled with emphasis on the OH OH.
My freedom is going quickly, along with my parents freedoms to chose and plan, 

I will become responsible to see they get a bath, meals, medical care and to the 

store. Will I have time for me?

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the lord my words to sweep
Away from the bitter heep
I pray the lord my heart to keep!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Education is Power

Who is in charge of our children's education?
What happens when parents don't do their job?
When children have no sense of reading, writing,
till they hit that school room head on?

Who is responsible to initiate, ingratiate, the word,
so language is understood from infancy and
not suddenly at five years old when
communication receives the attention it deserves?

Parents stand up and take notice
schools do not provide the only source
You are your child's first teacher
You are the one who gives him voice.

From you he will learn expression
From you he will learn who he is
From you he will learn his roots
Give him your love and attention.

Provide an environment filled with books
A place where reading takes precedence
Instill in him a joy for learning
With gentle hand and loving looks.

Model the love of learning
read on your own or with
till without even knowing
he'll develop a yearning
to know, to explore, to evaluate
all there is and more.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Confetti of Flesh

 
Would I rather go too slow,

Damp breath feeding the soil, 

worms to grow, an

old mans toil.

 

For me the answer is clear;

Though not today and I hope not here – 

To explode with love and feelings gold – 

Not too young and not too old

Wise enough to see my growth

But not old enough to have outgrown 

My sprit, 

Fun,

this place called home

That’s how to die

 

A confetti of flesh ruptures the Sky.

Feeding the air, water and earth.

Why you ask do I care how I die –

My love, that is the whole reason -

We’re here

to ask why.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Necklace

My mom and dad bought a necklace for me from
Scottland. It is sterling silver with a pendant and in the 
middle of it is my birthstone. A purple Amathyst stone.
I wear it all the time and never take it off, because I love it
so much and it is a gift from somewhere I have never been
to before. If I get to go there someday, I have no clue.
This necklace is my favorite one also because it is chosen 
for me, with love. I hope it never gets lost or broken, or I will
be very upset. As pretty as a sunshine on me and as bright as a 
star shining at nighttime out in the still beauty of the background.
I believe it means alot to me to keep me calm and to remember
My mom and dad, all of our good times together, as a family.
They are getting older in age , and sometime we need to
think about how much time we are spending with them.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Childs Concept

There was a little girl 
barely more than three.
She went for a ride
to the country one Sunday
with her family.

She laughed and laughed
with glee
at all the animals
that she could see.

Then she spotted
something that before
She had not seen.

Now from the back seat
came the cry
UTS DAT  MOMMIE !!
UTS DAT !

There in the field was 
a tractor and a wagon.
Her mother told her what 
it was and all fell quiet.

Being that it was about nap time
and she was quiet for so long
they thought her asleep.

Suddenly     
a cry rang out 
from the back seat.

aaahh !!!  A Twagon !











Details | Prose Poetry | |

My In Heritage

To know your history is to know your literature a lesson to learn, which will Stand the test of time and what one founds of their in heritage no matter how enduring and grim it may seem it something you should embrace- I came from a small city with big roots and routinely I was ask “where are you from”, especially from girls, if it wasn’t that it he thinks he cutie? And I’m asking why I would say something like that. Or He thinks him smart, God!!! I’m just answer the teacher question? But when I got older, older woman told me they probably think that ascent was sexy and I’m thinking where in high school what do they know about sexy? Man is her computer seat warm? America woman I just don’t understand them? I wonder what they do if they heard me speak a few difference language at same time? Thank god I’m quite because it not like they can read my mind. But it got me thinking from and questioning My Roots- What I found was the name Borgo had many difference Ethnicity & meaning with it as well as nationalities and that Borgo is Small Island between France and Italy. And if history may not mention it was a Borgia who captured Napoleon? How do I know where did it take place? BorgoBaby- No wonder I like Caribbean woman and it is this one that get my heart beat beating up to 400 beats per seconds if that is possible I can’t say it is a forbidden love but what I will say is breaking the ice and melt when think out loud? And yes she knows my name but why ask not why but why are some lyrics so deep my dear? Remember some old friends asking don’t you make beats? As I have some bread and tea. And that Bourbon is a drink, a Pecan Pie and a Street I’m thinking man if I have girlfriend What date it would be- Then I dig deeper and found the prime sources that seem to let to these events the Borgia or borja married into royalty which happen to be Louisa Borgia who married Philp De Bourbon or Philip V of Spain. He was rejected as King Louis legitimate son because born out of wedlock but later accepted but Philp never forgave and where he could have been both king of France and Spain he was just the king of Spain. Question I ask do any one know today the real reason why France has no nationality? Hurtfully to write or hear but i heritage mean full name as should other take to one, I have heard rumors that true bloodlines of nations of Kings that don’t rightfully take the throne it is a reason for that but not my place to say the way history is written is just to say to remember men wrote history but literature holds another tell? Who can tell the differences, but one question for god I always ask Why so much war my lord, I truly feel like a man without a country and Just walking away- I myself never came from money I start literally from nothing but as I got older I was given legitimate connection legitimate ideas and principals and the understanding of wealth but so trying of spending night and days with no day off of a seven day week wonder if I can make those principals work for me as sick as I am there are reason undefined why I do this things and money is not the endorsement my life is more complication then eye may receive to capture but if you listen you learn more than just hand written if you get the drift- I was never told of my in heritage put as one will it something like a scare or tattoo I had to found to adjust to my nick name is “Jason” but my full name is Louis Antonio Borgo III as I’m about to fall to sleep and lost all aim of conscience I see a email with my full name spell out in Ancestry.com question how did they know I was search for them and if I ever be accepted from this other half as I am a man literally without a country and in love with French woman more than American the phone rings and a woman from Canada called speaking French I drop the phone and finally I fall to sleep and As I sleep dreaming could anyone imagine wanting to go home but where? Remembering the ringing noise of girls ask ” where are you from”...


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~ (~) ~ (Four Parts-Part #1) Dedicated in Love to My Little Sister ~ Tina Marie Haynes ~ (~) ~

I was born into a family that had their own struggle, and struggled through my early years and the majority, of my adulthood... My mom, loving but fighting her own conditions passed away when I was 10, in 1980, and my father had his own struggle with the drink, but then I met these 3 wonderful people, and I got Married. Into this wonderful family when I was about 29... My wife had from a previous marriage, that had had its own struggles, 2 glorious and beautiful children... and we always thought and willed to embrace each other and God love and life... We are apart now, but are still open to this idea with one another... We had a kitten that eventually had 3 litters of kittens, that my daughter brought home for us one day... This little kitten, she was so adorable I felt, and I believed to be so truly precious and needy and lonely and vulnerable and weak, but she walked right up to me and gave me this gentle welcome of a weary meow... (She could barely walk up to me at the time, or even talk, but gave it her all to embrace me with her life just the same...). The people that owned her, we found out had had their own struggles, and just abandoned her, and a survivor, and one of Gods precious creations, she was brought to us, and we nursed her back to health, and she ended up giving us so much joy, and lessons of love... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HjDpKeiYxOU&feature=related


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Contrast

Pharisee went into the Temple to pray
Sure of his goodness and love for God
He prayed confidently about his deeds
Fasting, tithing, praying, He did faithfully
 
This man was glad when the sinner came
Into the Temple with eyes downcast.
For it gave a perfect contrast to himself.
So he thanked God he wasn't like this sinner.
 
Sinner was bowed so very low before God.
"God have mercy on me a sinner." he whispered.
No list of good uttered, as he could see none.
Jesus said Sinner not Pharisee was justified.
 
Simon the Pharisee invited Jesus over to eat.
Simon didn't have servants wash Jesus feet
He didn't kiss Jesus or draw near for fear,
Fear of what others Pharisees would think.
 
In came a sinful woman with unkempt hair.
She wept at Jesus feet without looking up.
Carefully she wiped these feet with her hair.
Simon was now sure Jesus was no prophet
 
A prophet could surely tell she was a sinner.
How could he let her touch him that way?
Reading Simon's thoughts Jesus taught.
Using this contrast in real life as a lesson.
 
He asked Simon if there were two debts
One greater, one lesser and both forgiven.
Who would feel greater love and gratitude?
Simon replied, "The one whose debt was greater"
 
"Correct" said the One who would pay all debts.
Those who know their debt to God is great.
Are filled with greater love toward the Savior.
Simon showed he had little need for the Christ.
 
But to the woman. Jesus said, "You sins are forgiven."
"Go and sin no more." She stood free and esteemed
Precious are those who come humbly to the Lord
He will forgive and welcome them to His Family forever.
 
Humility. Pride. Contrast. Mixed in all of us.
People who come to God feeling worthless, Christ lifts up.
People striding in proudly, Jesus humbles to allow entry.
For the Lord's Kingdom's door is incredibly low.
So low that we enter only through true confession
From the heart to Jesus as Savior who humbled Himself
Coming down from glory to earth's mess to make a Way.
By humbling Himself on a Cross – Universe's God tortured.
 
Jesus contrast makes ours seem small – so why wait?
May we take the humble road to Life, risen Christ made.
Joining God's family of forgiven, freed, joyful sinners.
New life's contrast with old will grow as we follow Him.
 
By a thankful sinner now saint by Jesus' grace


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Feelings The Unnatural

     A baby conceived is nothing more than the fruit of its mother's womb and the seed of its father's loin. In a mother's womb a baby is an unnatural, squirmy, annoying miracle of life.  
     When I was with child I wanted to runaway, but then the phenomena would still be with me. Everywhere I went those fluttering toes under my ribs, a grape fruit size budge trying to burst through my flesh. Oh how I wished for the movement to stop. When it did I prayed for my baby to start moving again. 
     As the fruit of my womb grew my belly expand beyond belief. Carrying that small bundle of joy is the most annoying part of having baby. The pushing  and the screaming was scary, but most rewarding in the end.
     






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Speeding Ticket

There… he… goes…
speeding down the mountain, 
he’s just enjoying life. 

He just wants to share 
TIME
with his friend.

To his provider’s misfortune,
TIME
varies her lipstic – I mean definition.

His description:
“I was just enjoying MYself,
it wasn’t MY fault.”

Her description:
“But you hurt ME.
What about ME?”

She was furious.
Her insurance rates became destined to go
THROUGH THE ROOF.

It’s so unfair for her,
she was just trying to provide for her man:
gave him a car and some freedom.

The interest her man once gave her, though, 
sped off so quickly that it
deserved plenty more speeding tickets.

That interest
Deserved stars, road blocks, and helicopters;
and a much more somber ending than that of a life in Grand Theft Auto.

Once you’re caught,
you’re caught.
You can still go back,

though, once you leave, 
you’re gone indefinitely.
Everyone else must pay your debts now.

She became dull,
she got fat,
every Christmas present gets old by the time Santa comes around again.

Not that any of any of those
physical characteristics mattered,
though.

It was true love,
so true that the betrayal was just as true.
But it was just a speeding ticket.


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Though Long and dreadful, the darkness has now become Light

Her clothes soaks in a sea of sweat, her skin wet, brown and muddy, as though floating in a Lake with debris. Notorious in her screams and dangerous in her gaze Making her the worst villain of the neighborhood been greatly antagonistic to Manhood as agony and frustration befell her, comparative to experiencing a difficult means of Livelihood. Medication may be an immediate remedy but will not stop her hatred towards the brotherhood. In difficulty, she curses and swears, her sexuality, been the target and victim. Increase severity of her present situation, makes her casualty to moral decadence and deterring her ability to be sane. Her thinking faculty, substituted with rage, and naughty questions flooding her mind like the spring as she wondered why Humanity is propagated through such pain The Balloon of Life gone so flaccid, her pains, like the infiltrating effect of an Acid. Just one last push to proceed, knowing fully well, she will succeed and finally, the glorious result of a seed. She has been in a Barren Land so dry, the feeling of darkness, she is ready to fry the transition to light, she gives a try which becomes accomplished with a Newborn's cry.


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Roses Are My Favorite Flowers

Roses are my favorite flowers
The reds growing outside my school
is blooming so gracefully
behind the stone fence I sat on

The round silver globe of the world
Sits carefully in the front courtyard
Water sprinkling up from her pond
Sparkle like diamonds in the sun

I love this time of year
Springtime is in the air
When all that's dead in winter
spring back to life in spring
©barbara writes


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Mr sadist

God gave me life
a family and a smile
but after he took my dad
didn't know why
maybe it was part of his plan
but it broke my heart
so the smile had to fly
then theft, violence and lie
took my entire life
Next i guess is the dealine
I've been beaten to death but i survived
Mum says i'm a deadman
others says tomorrow i'll die
For real every night i pray to jesus
but every time i act like the demon
i hurt my family and friends
Worst! i hurt my own self
in a mirror i can't recognise myself
all i see is a dark man, with a dark past
with a dak future, with a bad pass
i don't blame any body
i'm the architect of my own defeat
i think i want to die now
while writting this
maybe i'll already be dead when you'll be reading this
oh! suicide! suicide! come take me
NO! Jesus is Alive, Alleluha!!


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When Alone

When skies are bluer than ever before
and clouds disappear from sight
I am alive
When thunderstorms flash white
and the rains come
I am alone
When daffodils burst forth from the snow
and crocus peep through
I am alive
When winter cold and trees barren
and leaves lie on frozen floor
I am alone
I want to face life's storms
with friends who hold my hand
and family who clearly states,
"You are not alone"
Then, I will live.


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Congress Stopped

-Honey go to the Dr
-Melanie I don't know am I alive
-Do it for you it's ours strive
-And the watcher what I should say
-Tell him the all Congress stopped  
 
-Dr Congress Stopped
-we going to do some tests so  
"this guy is one in a million"
Came in two my dough  

two weeks 
10000 Doc critiques 
indecision
Deliberation: Not going
-Melanie and the Dr "so Easygoing how is he."
-Good so far Congress is Ok, Senate working well and Representatives OK
-"Trump(et)?"
 See this 
will never hit the be set in full
But with your help he is going (statistics show that)
to need help in the coffin door  49% and 51% 
Strong as a Bull

Dedicated to Obama Family Specially The First Lady 
With AN
We All Eat Well,
Thank You Very Much Mr President!


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Lifeless hiring centers

Lifeless hiring centers
look upon papers and not people
Hated for not having a coin,
who you are is ignored. 
Your family hates you for being poor
rather than loving who you are.
The soul despised society does oppress.

People's eyes blinded by greed does bind them in endless slavery.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Milroy Farm

Milroy Farm
11-30-08
By
William L. Moore
For
William McCracken Milroy

Sitting in my Deer stand
Upon my Uncles land
Feel the simple breeze
As it whispers through the trees

Waiting for the Deer
Not a single hint of fear
Hear the leaves rustle
In all of the bustle

As they encroach
The closer they approach
It’s really really strange
As they cross the range

As you hear the gun go CRACK
I may have hit his back
He stumbles gently away
And falls where he may lay

I must wait until he dies
Let alone through the cries
I am through with the season
Since I have accomplished my reason

Uncle Bill I thought of you when
I wrote this and wanted to make
Sure that you got it
Love
William Lewis Moore
Bill


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PINKY

Smiles, Hope, Dreams
Joy, Anxiety, Hushed voices
The thrill of the unknown
I lay in wait…….

Opening my heart, ripping apart my sadness
Tugging and lifting my happiness
I know it’s finally here……..

Forgive me if I do not spare you time
Understand me when I smile brightly
The cloud of uncertainty is no more
The rain is gone and the SUN has come

I smile, she smiles
I coo, she coos
I now know she is mine and will always be

She fills my days with untold pleasures and joys
An angel redefined
A pinky in her own shade
The treasure that fits the dig….

She hopes, she smiles
She cries, she sighs
She dreams

“My hand will be your grip,
My feet will be your path,
My eyes will be your sight”
That is my promise.

Arise now!
For your day has come to ascend to occasion
Wear your crown with honor, MY FRIEND!!

Today I pass the challenge over; so you may be finer as:-
A woman, daughter, sister
And someday, Mother…….


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Final Wishes of a Poet

Final Wishes of a Poet 
Arabic poem By: Rukn-al-Din Yunus
Translated into English By: 
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
========================
(Part 1 of 3)

Lend me a handful of earth
So that I may make you a statue 
You have not seen the like before
In your dreams.
Lend me a breath of spring
I’ll paint you cities, seashores 
And passionate rendezvous.
Lend me some of your crazy letters 
And I will dispatch couriers
To deliver them to gardens
And send elegantly dressed devotees
With a touch of sadness 
To receive them from the gardens
And read them to the river.
Lend me some of the words
Escaping from under your hat, 
Which has no resemblance to Pablo Neruda’s,
To write you an epic 
Spelled out by tyrants
Every night 
To cry their own fates in the morning.
Lend me an evening you could spare
To romp through virtual streets 
Named after living poets 
From different generations
Wherein a river of music goes over the heads of passersby
Drowning all in ageless glamour. 
Lend me the rest of the golden letters
In your pocket
To disperse them over the outskirts of my words
And the lanterns of my dreams
To light up what’s left of the opaque sentences 
In the imagination of the painter
And the wisdom of the poet 
Who is crazed about the clay
On the banks of the Hilla River.



(Part 2 of 3)
--------------

I'll die tonight...
O my dear wife!
I’ve never liked farewell ceremonies
In my life
So let things be normal and quiet.
Forgive me! I will not kiss you tonight
Just lie down beside me on the bed
For now.
Don’t tell the boys about my no-return journey 
Don’t let the girls cry with you
Especially the married one
And the little one
The middle one as well.
Let everything be as ordained for me
By those I don’t know
All I know for sure
I will die tonight.
How? ..... I do not know!
How? ..... I do not know!
At what time? …. The mind of the poet is unable to tell.
I will die my dear wife
But....
Don’t forget to feed the dog “Yoyo” early in the morning.
Don’t neglect spraying the garden 
First in the morning
Even if it was time for the funeral.
And don’t forget the seven o'clock news
Listen to it for the sake of your love for me
They always mention news of the lost homeland.
Don’t forget ever....
The chicken feed
I’d like to hear 
The cock’s crow every morning in my grave.
And hide the empty wine bottles
Out of the sight of mourners...
I don’t want them to accuse poets of infidelity.
And if they ask you 
What was with him before he died?
Just tell them:
He forgot to live!


(Part 3 of 3)
--------------

Before I died
My wife made me a clay statue 
And cried at it
She and her five daughters did.
But my two sons took no notice
Of their mother crying
Nor of their sisters wearing black 
But, rather,  
They seized the opportunity
And went out to join their peers
In a football game!

Before I died
My friends vied 
And jostled in front of  
Mercenary and non-mercenary newspapers’ buildings
Led by “Riyadh Alghareeb”
To provide their elegies for my immortal soul
Which reminds them of their own
As they greet death.

And since that day
I am holding on to my soul
Lest it slips away 
In a moment 
Of inattention
From me
The poet
Rukn al-Din Yunus
***
Translated by: Em. Prof. Inaam Al-Hashimi
USA
November 2013

* Rukn-al-Din Yunus is a poet from Iraq



Details | Prose Poetry | |

128

 128 
128 
 
 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
UnderwaterLover 

 I do love you Charlie Blue My brown eyed merman I kiss your hand Down by the 
sea Turn into me Eye love ewe fairest Ianthe just come there and drown me We 
live in caves Awash with waves Anemones our flowers We pass the hours 
Chasing turtle and fish Finding a lost kiss the hours at the sea make me weak in 
my human form my fins allow me to swim but only to your arms the legs eye use 
to walk allow me to be free but only fins can bring my back to ewe to kiss to 
drown the underwater lover there she is my mermaid playing me I do love you 
like the fish eye am used to better days sometimes sick and needing help yet I 
do love you the merman is so far away When eye drown in the desert cactus 
between the city and the mountain my mermaid kisses save me from the cretins 
she is fighting for my life eye can feel her call my namme Charlie Blue I do love 
you. Woman in the foamy waves 
swimming near to me, my love it comes. It is a heart, a mermaids heart. My 
brown eyed merman I do love you eye love to watch the shrim:Pe crawl across 
the ocean sea she feeds them to her strang pelican and water can be breathed 
by a Knight of drownded love. This was harder to do than it looks adding verses 
sent to me from she who loves the eye then reaching somewhere south to find 
the love to add the words to add our mixed and many feelings making this into 
this fabel. 


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Dear Sarah and Samantha

Dear Sarah and Samantha, 


It’s been a while I know * since I happened by your house in the Christmas snow.

I used to drop off presents on wintry Christmas Eve, * scoff a sherry and mince pie then 
hurriedly we’d leave. * We wouldn’t want to get espied by chigglers such as you * and any 
way the night was long with lots of work to do. * How I miss those mince pies from you guys 
and gals, * and carrots for Old Rudolph and all his reindeer pals.

But children do get older and sometimes even doubt * Santa Claus’ existence. “There’s no 
such thing” they’ll shout; *  and in truth I do confess to you assistance I enlist * from miles 
and miles of mums and dads to purchase all your gifts. *

But all I wished to say to you now that you are grown * is I’d be glad to help you when 
you’ve chigglers of your own.

Feel free to write on their behalf, Sarah and Samantha. * I’m always here to give my help. 

Merry Christmas, 


Santa.


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JOURNAL ENTRY

I lacked a lot of sleep these past couple of months.

and abandoned the routine I’ve grown so comfortable with

in this time by myself.

I didn’t realize how much slack was in my learning curve lately,

and I was starting to forget how incredible it is to wake up by

hairs being plucked from my arms.

Miracle workers.

My mother is the only one who saw me lose patience.

2 am on the wood floor, sweating like I just got done fighting.

Spewing out questions to God as fast

one would spit out sour milk.

Ground stomper. Neighbor waker.

A lot of people didn’t really like me talking to them during this time,

just like I didn’t like anybody talking to me

when I’m too busy worrying.

I was a jerk.

My swings get triggered far less than ever before

now that I’m more squared up with stability.

I’ve come a long way from a short fuse.

I sure am glad my brother was there to cover for me

while my sanity took a break, and

in the moments I had to check out

because the tantrums in my own mind got too loud.

My own thoughts, or yours. 

Together or separate. Relative or irrelevant.

It has been a roller coaster school year so far

for more reasons than are appropriate to detail herein.

Thank goodness for the true friends,

and the doors of her aunties house

and ice cream, and mindless television on soccer trips,

and family,

and people looking at me like a role model,

and the act of blowing on my little cousins belly,

and my skateboard, and Mother’s Day,

and having food, and graduations,

and getting lost sometimes,

and poetry slam night, and for Steven Brooks.

and for my elephant.

Really y’all, every last one.

L. Cohen said,

“And draw us near

and bind us tight

all your children here

in their rags of light

in our rags of light

all dressed to kill

and end this night

if it be your will.”


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A Mother's Love

 She had left him
 So very long ago
 Still, she haunted him
 His mind was a montage
 Not of triumphs
 Or of childhood
 But mostly of her
 He remembered everything
 How she walked and spoke
 The laughter of her voice
 And the way
 She held his hand
 As they walked
 Down the street
 Though the past
 Were faded pictures
 She was always
 Crystal clear
 As though he could reach out
 And softly touch
 Her smiling face
 Throughout his life
 His mothers love
 Still haunted him


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To All My Soupmates

Have a wonderful holiday.  Happy Thanksgiving!!!  Remember, the best things at 
the table are your family.   Tom


Details | Prose Poetry | |

To The Hearing Heart

Has the rain ever fell through your eyes?

Have you ever known stormy days?

Has the thunder ever shook you, body and soul?

Have you had the sun shine in your heart, even in clouds of darkness?

Has the lightning ever struck you beneath blue skies?

Have you ever known the meaning of complete?

Are you living for life, or is life living for you?

Will your life, without you, live?

Does your heart, understand?



(c)Rosemarie Schrock 
sept. 26, 2007


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an angel

An angel.

I thought I saw an angel today when I was remembering you.
You are in my waking day, I dream its just me and you.

When I go and walk a while I think your by my side
And then I remember the truth of it all and that you had to die.

I don’t know why im so confused
They say death is  part of life
But you were so little my love
You had not lived your life.

They say you have gone to heaven
And that you are a star
But I don’t believe them, not at all
I just know that you are far

I hope one day I will see you again 
And we will smile and laugh and dance
And I wait with anticipation for the day
That I will get another chance.

I love you


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Where I'm From

I am from my daddy's drunken heart, beating so fast as though flung from a 
furious circle of women who are welcoming the men back from the hunt.

I am from my mother's matted eyes.  My mother, a lil' orphan girl who often was 
told, "Step back, black! You too po."  My mother, who cried out, " I have my sisters 
to love."  My mother, who beat up the world to protect me.

I am from my cousin Cora's womb, which wasted away, but only after seven 
babies grew into children who lived in a ditch to escape the streets and ate out of 
garbage cans.

I am from the son of God, the Mother Hen of the world.  Careening down a dark 
alley, I run into myself, leopard legs, little streaks.

I am from the Yoakum Chaparral Chalet, covered in chicken grease and bathing 
in a washtub.

I am from Jasper, Texas, grasping my knuckles into the cement as I am dragged 
to death.

I am from music, Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring" and Ellington's "Catch the A Train."

I am from gardens, honeysuckled and herbed, growing health and healing.

I am from nerves, stressed, tired and tangled.

I am from the hospital today where I watch my dad's eyes grow big and his body 
shrink.  I watch my mother skate into the room nodding and dreaming.

I am from the bottom of the Atlantic, screaming Holocaust, millions of dead 
bones chilled and cried out, "Murderer, thief, betrayer."

I am from the eighteen hundred block of Isabella in Houston's Third Ward where 
Mr. Evans used to sit on his porch and nod and Mrs. Turner used to sit on her 
porch and talk, and everybody said, "Hey Baby, how ya been doin'?"


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When All

When all is said and done
At the end of the day
Week, month and year
At the end
When the finish is near
Nay, at hand
One thing will hold true
When the last grain of sand
Has left the hour
And the seconds have ticked away
When the last word
Has been spoken
And there’s nothing left to say
One thing will hold true
Through whatever time
Life has left
Till heaven and earth pass away
And eternity rules
Bringing life a brand new day
One thing will hold true
It doesn’t matter where roads lead
Nor how paths may cross
Doesn’t matter if directions are found
Or ways are lost
Doesn’t matter if freedom comes
Or at what cost
One thing will hold true
For when all have fled
And there’s no more to be bled
All battles have been fought
All conquests sought
When all that’s left to do
Is look around to see
Who’s left standing with you
One thing will hold true
Standing there 
I will be 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Plate

I bent over to pick up the broken pieces of the plate,
this was Grandma's favorite plate.
She had gotten this plate from her mom,
it had always occupied that same spot behind the couch.
The same couch we where not allowed to sit on.
It was still like new covered with a thick piece of plastic,
the plastic used to be clear, now it was yellow with age
Beside the couch on end tables there were cut glass bowls filled with candy,
the candy was multi colored with verticle stripes, 
they looked like miniture pillow but without the softness.
Like the couch the candies were meant for looking at, 
almost to much for an eight year old boy.
I wanted to be a good boy so I only took a few,
they looked better than they tasted.
I walked to the kitchen to find some glue.
I had hoped she wouldn't notice
back it went to it's special spot
When she got home and looked at me I cried and told her it was broken
She just held me and said it was okay
Grandmas are like that


By Richard Lamoureux
"Picking up The Broken Pieces" contest



Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Christmas Poem (For Lyn, et al)

...Have occasioned
I think to have been decor-
rating The Tree, it's 
 
piney quills & tines   
dressing in glassy festoons
weightless baubles of 
 
tins-led Christmas-candy
colors, like porcelain 
fragile-fine, hooked canes
 
& dangled barber-pole-paean
peppermint-stick Memories
of savored hangon 
 
trinkets & heirlooms
looming like a twinkling 
tapestry 'round 
 
wreaths of snowy popped-corn
dangling - "No, darlings, that's not 
for eating..."  Yes, I 
 
have occasioned the 
rows of bubbling light-tubes 
like glowing chains of 
 
warm caterpillars 
inching-on toward the Manger's 
Star of a chrysalis 
 
Christmas Joy to Light-
Up the World!  Oh Yes, I have 
occasioned The Tree 
 
Breathing in Ecstasy...
And the Wonder, of this from
a Guy whose Imprimatur 
 
might have been
"Tannenbaum!"
 
                         H.e.m.
                         12.8.MMvi.  
                         Noel. 


"And so, as Tiny Tim observed, G-D bless Us, Every One!" 
(" A Christmas Carol").  And...

A "...Merry Christmas to All, and to All a Good Night!" 
(Clement Clarke Moore, "Twas The Night Before Christmas").
 
Amen.

 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Soul Incarnate

(shiver) (blink) whiteness…light? 
form? the blinding? whiteness moves BACK
eyes? form? (shiver) (blink) the atmosphere moves over her
her consciousness is contained (shiver) (blink)…skin?
sound ? startles her and she moves…….
So awkward, so clumsy. SHE must coerce movement
no bright quick flow (blink) Her world becomes the world
of sound EVE….Yahweh’s sound…

In the beginning there was the Word and the word was God.
“You are the wholeness of all that is to be, Eve….
Here a companion made for you to guard and protect
your seed……….You shall bloom a world Eve.”
The arms? hands which had covered her ears? drop.
The wet warm air stirs. Color bleeds into her,
sun and sky and earth, so, they are named by Yahweh.
(flinch) a large branch from what ..He, who is all, calls TREE
moves…Eyes, arms, hands limbs appear, as she, but not she?

The daylight sky crackles with the energy of Yahweh 
"ADAM….. " Yahweh’s sound. “Companion, seed bearer,
protector you will be, Eve shall be mother and thee father
for you are the wholeness of all that is to be…
"SPEAK now!"......And Eve turned slowly to Adam
and he to her…the WIND, as it was called, stirrs.
“And so it shall be” said Eve to Adam “And so it shall be.”
said Adam to Eve. Their eyes meet, their hands clasped.
The primordial forest stirs and each new creature created by 
Yahweh comes forth and are named for Eve and Adam.
The trees and fruit and insects and birds all that was made
was named and it was good. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dying Dreams

The young dream their dreams away at night

Hoping they come true

A doctor,policemen,veterinarian and other dreams are developed by the young

Too naive to understand the ways of the world

Determined as ever to achieve their dreams

The old regret the dreams they could never accomplish

They had dreams but unknowingly never came true

You go from living a world full of dreams

To living the reality that is life

Why do we let our dreams die

We were so excited as young kids

At the foot step of our dreams

Were we haunted by the mountain we had to climb

To make our dreams come true

Did we simply quit

Because of society’s pressure

Did money deter our dreams away while we slept at night

Did we let doubt creepy into our hearts

Silently killing all of our dreams without realizing it

Why do dreams die so quickly

When we spent years of our youth

Hoping that we could get an opportunity

To make them come true

Dream big, chase your dreams and never let them die


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sparkling

 I watched the paper soak up the ink
as it blotched in breast strokes across the page...
 suddenly I was street bound
in hand signals
legs, pinned to the pavement
as July scrolled by in reverse
and a name scrawled across
the wheat covered hills...

 A single day took it's light 
from the crayon colored buildings
and the laughter rang from
a beautiful city where the call 
of seagulls brushed it's wings
against my cheek like friends
embraced, arm in arm, 
our hopes, crushed
long before infancy.

I plucked a locus from my eye
as petals of golden Roses 
littered the street like pieces
of shattered poetry.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

EULOGY FOR A FLY - PART ONE


OK  Let’s get started, huh?
Well, ladies and gentlemen, on this sad occasion, it is my painful duty to welcome 
You all to the farewell meeting convened in honour of our beloved Uncle Hector. 
We gather together on this heap of cat-crap behind the restaurant for two reasons.  
First,  it is  a familiar place full of pleasant memories for all of us, but second, 
And more important, it is Uncle Hector’s own favourite place for passing away 
A pleasant hour two, buzzing excitedly on a hot summer’s afternoon.
You all know, I think, that Hector was born into  a family of 115 flies 
From  his mother’s bluebottle fecundity. Raised in poverty, no education to speak of, 
The young Hector managed to learn the lessons of life the hard way, 
Narrowly missing fly-swatters in kitchens, sprays in toilets,  sticky-paper in bedrooms, 
And many other potentially fatal ends. When he was seven months old, he married  
The beautiful   Mary-Belle,  and they had  a lovely family of 8,236  children, 
Many of whom are the spitting image of Hector himself.  Uncle Hector is survived 
By Mary-Belle and   5,019 of their children. We are all heartbroken as we realize 
That the poor kids are still asking their mum, 
“Why is daddy so late coming home?  When will he be back?”
You don’t need me to remind you of the sudden and untimely end of this fine fly,  
And yet there are youngsters among us today who would do well to be reminded 
Of the pitfalls awaiting the careless adolescent fly.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen,  
Uncle Hector, despite months of expert practice at avoidance techniques,  
Allowed his attention to wander too casually and he accidentally stepped onto flypaper.
What a demeaning end for a leader of such stature.  
Hector blazed a trail  a mile wide 
Through the old-fashioned traditions of bluebottles. 
No mere dog-crap afternoons for him….no ! 
Hector didn’t hesitate to go for the unusual.  The half-rotten  kiwi  fruit. 
The over-cooked  -  nay, burnt  -  shashlik  at the beach or barbecue site.  
His favourites were the day-old vomit from  dogs with food-poisoning,  
And the two-week-old decayed carcass of a mouse or rabbit. 
Youngsters listening to me now would do well to attempt    even half of the stuff 
Practised by our beloved uncle. Indeed we would all do well to try 
And emulate the deeds of such a fly – a shining example to us all.


(continued in  PART   TWO )


Details | Prose Poetry | |

When they love their children as much as they hate us the war will be over

When they love their children as much as they hate us the war will be over

Its doesn't matter which side your on
Whether your a viva viva palestina
Or an am yisrael chai
You know which side is evil, committed all
Wrongs, sometimes you meet people who 
Extol the virtues of this treacherous, 
Terrible oppressor /terrorist
With their shock and awe tactics and 
Disregard for freedom or the right to life And the pursuit of happiness
And sometimes for a minute, particularly 
When you talk to someone you think is 
Intelligent it becomes harder to maintain the 
View on this malignant party you tried hard 
To campaign for and against and although 
Peace (of mind) is all you want
All you could dream of
With this entity at the negotiating table 
Independence is swapped for catastrophe And war
If you give them what they want you will
Have nothing except the need to a right of 
Return to a better time


Details | Prose Poetry | |

These Salty Waves Pt 1

What am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to say? All these lies you bottled up come sweeping, crashing with the tides. My footing's gone, the ocean real, but how am I supposed to feel? And here I am, a drowning mess, a loveless lie, I do protest. And here I am a drowning mess. So all those things you said to me? Where they just lies out of pity? So all those things you said to me? Or am I lost in salty waves? Yes I know my future's grave. Or am I lost in salty waves?And now the panic in my head, when I should be tucked up in your bed, reels and reels right here instead.I'm going down, a sinking ship, funny what name drips off my lips. It is not God, or Angles plenty, or even that I'm just damn ready To let go of the hell and the lies. I'm wishing for your gentle eyes. Or at least the way they always seemed, but perhaps that's just this salty dream. I have no clue what I'm to do! A drowning hopeless mess, for you-- think it's cute, and oh so funny, but here's the bitter truth now honey. I'm going down. There is no help. I can't be saved by God himself. I put my life, my whole world of trust, and you've thrown it away for lust. Well what the hell's a girl to do? I'm just so entranced by you!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A LITTLE TOO LITTLE

Fusty bread, larva infested water
Threadbare clothes, I dreaded morning
For it spells rumbling of my Pot
With no antidote to reverse that body butchery virus
Days longer, hunger worsening
My brow, an inch longer with sunrise…

Medicals shooting, Penny weakening
Condition worsening, my death chariot riding closer
No strength to hold-up our destined union
Till he draws near planting 
The kiss of death on my pale cheek
A pill could have delayed this rendezvous

I would call baobab my home, only I land down
Devils grass passing? I suffer its unending prick
Still the open remains my shelter
With crooks my entertainers
Rapists dancing in and out my skin
Robbers sharing my day old treasured bread

I hardly know this being they call love
They claim she remains compassionate
They say he is concerned
Be it her quality or his trait,
I know not! I never met either
This I know…

My chamber of food remains empty
My sugar level? Zilch…
Home remains my nightmarish
My voldemort, averting my rest
Chariot of death awaits me
My rider bids greetings arm stretched!


 ©Naa Takia, All rights Reserved 2012






Details | Prose Poetry | |

CONNECTION

I dreamt you
in golden threads of sunlight;
streaming, dancing, mingling with
azure waters...

dreamt you calling,
singing out my name in your regal orcan tongue...

dreamt you in each face that peered
from liquid silver seas...

dreamt your body's etheric touch
amidst cool tranquil waters...

dreamt our souls as one;
bound together; two spirit dreamers...

dream you now a foggy memory
since the whalers came...

but, as all dreams do;
you too soon…fade.

I awaken from this abysmal, astral realm…
reaching, stretching for your spirit.

Alone again, I will touch you again…
in another time.

Copyright, 2-20-14


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Families: The Most Important Social Unit

Families are the most important social unit in existence on earth today.  For it is out of the 
family that every worker, teacher, preacher, agnostic, librarian, construction worker, mason, 
mayor, Senator, Congressman, President, World Leader, mothers, fathers, and yes, every 
man and woman who fills an occupation (or not) grow to be the individual that they are.

Families are important because the beginning of all feelings originate right there in the 
home.  A newborn child may feel the love and affection of adorning parents.  Or, if the 
parent is a drug addict or mentally challenged, the child will have a different experience, an 
unpleasant one that no child deserves.  We are what we choose.  And our choices teach the 
young ones. 

There are a myriad of variables that influence an individuals feelings of self-worth, good or 
bad.  The family is the place where love and care are learned and shared.  Anger 
management, good or bad, is taught by example.  Manners, good or bad are taught or not…it 
depends.  Everything that a man or woman becomes has its roots in the family.

So, given this, let us all work together as parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, grandparents, 
nieces, nephews, cousins, and even friends to become the best possible individuals within our 
families that we can.  Let each of us strive for peace in the heart, the home, the city, the 
nations, the world.  Because we are all God’s children.  And we deserve the best possible 
life.  A little bit of heaven on earth can happen if everyone does their part to live, love, 
forgive, and enjoy what God has given them.

Written for the Rambling Poet's Narrative Contest.
Copyright 2-8-10  © Dane Smith-Johnsen


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I HELPED THE NEEDY

I    HELPED   THE   NEEDY

I took the money and kept it to support my own family for a year
Then asked  their permission to leave for a year and work in Africa
I went to  Kenya, to  a poor  family and their poor school there, which I had read about
Teaching is my trade so I taught them everything I knew
About English, math, wood construction, health, business
And many other things.   I showed them how much the rich
Westerners care for them by being with them and sharing their burden
The end of the year came  and I went home to my family
Glad to be back, but also glad to have worked  in Africa
Years later some children had pursued their education with their  better English
Had become doctors and teachers and builders and  businessmen
They made efforts to change their country and make it a better place for all Kenyans
All the sick people, the uneducated, the homeless, the jobless
Who previously had little chance of  improvement  now had a better start
I felt that the benefit of education would ripple down from generation t o generation
I guess time will tell if I was right to take the money for my own family.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

WHAT WOUND DID EVER HEAL

“What wound did ever heal, 
But by degrees”
…Shakespeare
Except my mother was dear
…Very dear

Count me among men
Who can read and write
Count me among them
Who finds book a delight
No!
Not about intelligence
Mother taught me diligence
Scrapped for a living
So I could get learning
I am a dead woman’s sweat
My worries cracked her chest
My mother was my literacy
My literacy is my treasure
My treasure…is you
I wrote what you can read
She was its measure.
I never paid back 
Never gave thanks.
Prodigal son playing pranks

On me,
She had learned to hope
Then died
In last breath still in hope
That I lose not hope
But what hope lies there 
For a drawing man to hope
Last straw, just sank in
Wide Sea without and within

Wounds heal by degrees
But some can’t heal
Only permitted to blurred
My tears blur my view
Soaks the ink in papers
Forcing me to rewrite and renew
She will not want me to cry
Rather that I sit up and try
Dab my eyes, let the tears dry.
“I know who you are my son”
You are awesome”
Mama, you always tell me that
But am breaking down.
Your lose never healed
Shakespeare said its by degrees
Said the pain will decrease
But I detest full healing
You were so appealing.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sounds Of My Father

There are those of us who were not blessed with wonderful, or even good 
memories of their father
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Exhausted by another night of sleeplessness
Alone in his home 
Not by choice but by fate
His mind raced ahead
Like a freight train on speed
Dashing franticly 
Down a steep hill

Looking at the clock 
He remembered his father
From long ago 
And the anger he held inside
Especially the morning sounds

Yes... the sounds
There were sounds his father made 
As he prepared to begin his day

Sounds that came
From the bathroom, and shower

Sounds his father made
As he prepared himself 
To begin his workday

Sounds
That as a child 
He learned to fear

For it meant 
His father was awake
And his father 
Was an angry man

Now 
As the fatigued child
Almost sixty 
Tired from lost sleep 
And lost dreams 
Prepared himself for the workday

In the bathroom 
Where he stood
Years after his father
Had passed away
From his own lips
Came the sounds 
Of his father


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Goodbye My Old Friend

you were there the day I was born
you sewed my clothes and spanked me when I needed it 
I wasn' t ready but you said it's ok your only a phone call away
so I moved away thinking it would be ok
then I got the call that you past away
I'm mad as he++ 
that much you can tell
I want to ask why you didn't say goodbye
was it because you didn't want me to cry
I'm going home but you will be gone
I think you went on
to make a home with a room just for me
you know it wouldn't be long before I come along
I didn't know I had brain cancer at the time you left me
I sit here and cry and hope it will not be long before I can come home
and join you again in heaven and sit by the fire then I know that is where I belong


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Apart From Me







Somber silly little Setter, English; painting trapped himself in the side yard whimpering, howling away wildly. 


Sunscreen-on, moseying on over, in His tenderness He offers a helping hand. Hot Summers cool vapors the blessings found  here, there to and fro leaning midst the still lulling; gentle calling of the Rains. 


Yes the Grace of God, in His joy humming, arriving just in time, and so is Patience the greater venture I suppose the eminent virtue. 


His Love always; Honest, Open... Willing already beholden... . Far beyond the wreck I make for myself and others... chains stretched bounded securing me yes, my freedom in kind stripped away from me given in the effort this provisional very prominence preceding me when in denial of these facts.     







Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Survived Janjaweed Part 2

     Hordes of screams sounded out all around and masses of slashed bloody villagers staggered into our village.  Grownups started running to finding stuff to clean them     They kept saying “Janjaweed, Janjaweed, Janjaweed” and talking about running away so they could live.  
     They said that hundreds of men had been hacked to death and they were the lucky ones.  There was rape…and death…and starvation…and disappearing thousands, not just in their village, but in other villages in Dafur, too.
     Since Uncle Sofarlo and grandma hadn’t arrived, yet, Mom became histeric.  Then, someone said a man with an old woman was still in the desert and they weren’t hurt.  Mama raising her eyes upward and thanked God. 
     I didn’t understand exactly what was happening, but a few years later, I learned first hand.  One dreadful day, the Arab militia rode into my village.  The first thing they did was ride over to the well and start cutting off people’s arms and pushing them to the ground.   They laughed as they drew water for themselves and their camels.  Then, they cut off my father’s head and started grabbing my playmates and their mothers.
     Terrified, I slunk back into our hut.  My parents had dug a hole in the floor beneath each bed shortly after my grandmother and the rest of the survivors had come to live with us.  They told me that if those bad men came to our village that I must hide in the hole and not make one sound.  So, that is what I did.
     Sometimes, I would lift the cover and peek out.  I saw one of those men slash Uncle Sorarlo’s head with a hatched and throw it in the well.  One of them grabbed my mother by the hair and slung her into a nearby hut.  Then he dismounted and went in. Her horrible screams still flash through my memory.  I saw and heard appalling things happening to other women, young girls, and even the little boys.
     I could hear loud voices and laughter as the Janjaweed savages watched the survivors scamper like rabbits into the desert.  Next, they set the huts on fire and rode after them.  Then, there was silence.
     I stayed shivering in that dark hole what seemed like forever.  Then, my older brother came over to help me out.  He had hidden beneath his bed, too.  We never saw our grandmother or cousins again, but we were alive!  
     Survival was the next challenge.  My big brother was smart and had faith in God.  It is because of his strength and bravery that we are both alive today to tell the story.  
     Please help the people of Dafur.

Copyright 10-13-2014
I chose Dafarian Genocide.

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: GENOCIDE: SPEAK FOR THE LOST... the FORM IS POETIC PROSE  Sponsor	Cyndi MacMillan

PART 1 SETS THE STAGE.  PLEASE READ


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Bedford

With childhood eyes, reflecting
Clear mountain day, remembering
Fresh cut hay, reviving
Together we’d play, etching 
Memories never to be forgotten

The morning crisp, awakening
Aromas hint, of baking
Small morning eyes, awaiting
The wrinkled chef, creating
The delicacies of home-made art

Calloused hands, observing
A rugged land, preserving
Unwilling souls, still learning
Dust and heat for hours, shaping
Young men soon to face the world

Cool mountain shadow, approaching
The weathered rancher, nodding
Nightly ventures, seeking
The crystal streams, providing
All a boy could ever want

The dinner table, calling
The cold night gently, falling
The glow from window, beaming
Through which family is seen, praying 
Thanking God for what He’s given

The warm fire softly, crackling
The elder folk, chatting
While childhood eyes slip, drifting
Off to pleasant dreams, forever
Calling my heart back home to Bedford


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hazel Eyes

Hazel Eyes
WLM
Wildncrazy555
September 15, 2011

Such beautiful eyes
So full of mysterious disguise
They have the sheen 
Of a light light green
And yellow as the autumn sky
As you gaze you wonder why
As I wait to meet
Surely my heart will greet
Of the feelings we share
Surely, Do we DARE
As we run through life amongst and with it
Through our devoted commitment
Follow the long forgotten past
In our hearts we know it will last
Our love is so fine
In our eyes you see it as we dine
To feel the warmth of her skin
The feelings I know she will let me in
From this day forward I know she is mine
Our love will last till the ends of all time
The feelings in my heart are a must
Truly, truly they are JUST!

Dedicated to a lady I know
Jacki Wahner McDowell
With Beautiful Hazel
EYES


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dreamy Affection

There are very few ones who care
There are very few who share;
There are few who affectionately glare
Number of those specials are undoubtedly rare.

People whom you can trust blindly
People whom you can forgive kindly;
People whom you love passionately
People whom you can show your stupidity innocently.

Those who'll never talkbehind your back
Those who loves you even if you lack;
Those who often abusively whack
Those who have the key of your heart to hack.

you must be thinking who are they?
Why without greed they are behaving such a way?;
Don't they deserve an extreme pray
Its your FAMILY, Yes none but they.

They can forget you even for the biggest mistake
They are the one if you'll sleep ,they'll wake;
Their affection is as pure as shell
They know your every next step very well.

I really call it a dreamy affection
Seems like living in the world of perfection;
They are your family never let them down
Their single love can bet the whole town.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Karma Twisted

Who am I to you?

I love you
No longer my fried
Our bond is a broken glass we can’t mend
This could possibly be the end
A broken faith in you snaps from within
When you’re not lying in my arms
You say you feel obligated to be there with him
Spare his feelings to obliterate mine

In trading that broken home for ours
Too blind to see the harm
You overlooked my witty charm
Favoring his dim-witted presence
Out the door into his arms
There you go

We can settle down and say ‘I do’
We’ll get back to being me and you
You’ll stop treating me like you do
And someday you will choose
Making me pay my dues
Now I’m waiting for fairy tales to come true
Dreams of ‘Happy Ever After’
I’m taunted by the burdens I choose
And wallowing in broken dreams

Inside your wicked lies
A sense of longing derives
To where our memories lie
Looking up through tear soaked eyes
While my child grows inside
Strumming your fingers across the wall
I imagine you on the other side
And intrinsic insanity leads me on

It rips my heart through and through
Tormented by this endless pursuit
Separating me and you
At night I lay against the wall
Our apartment split in two
By a life-altering war raging on

My love was thrown in the trash
Karma has twisted my dreams so fast
For my cruel and heartless past
I wonder if this is the punishment I deserve
A love that was never destined to last
Fate led my heart here

I love you
Who am I to you?


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Love Eternal

                                                  Daylight draws to a close
                             as puple shadows dance along mountain tops.

                             Arms intertwined, we walk the dark path home,
                   yellow porch light beckoning as bounder chases ahead.

                                    Another day has ended but life goes on...
                                                     Our love is eternal


Details | Prose Poetry | |

End

End
WLM
Wildncrazy555
April 24, 2011

End of the line
For it is directly time
That we will be
Just you and me
The way God has sent
You know we were meant
That we should always live
And always give
The way we see
And it will be
Together forever
Through all we will endeavor
Our hearts are one
And will not be undone
Will not separate
In this time not ever irate
But hand In hand
Listen to the band
I always long 
That they play our song
Across the threshold I will carry
Directly after I marry
And make you my wife
For the rest of my life
The beginning of the line
Forever through all of time


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Card Game

The Queen of Spades trumps all
In our game of hearts
And other organs
Tangled in Greek and Latinate names
Ependymoma
Epinephrine
Endymion
Wake up, Shepherd!
The Black and the Red
Call you
Kings and Queens battle
The rules don’t allow for discarding
Draw from the deck,
Choking the progress with wheeling lights and coloured geometric shapes
Hearts
Spades
Diamonds
Like crystals
Crystal methamphetamine to make the cards fly faster
Clubs
Club the senses 
Introduce new shades, purple kush
Orange and yellow sunrise
Swirling blue and gold
Smoke goes up and enter the kaleidoscope.
Your kaleidoscope is white 
Fluorescent light
Perfect background to lay the tricks
Deal the hands
And take your pick 
Buy? Fold? Try again?
And when we’re done
We’ll pick them up, one by one
Put them in order again
And lay them away in the dark.
Sleep, Endymion.
The Queen with the black eyes is your sign
In dreams, everything is fine.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Sweet

My Sweet
William Lewis Moore
Wildncrazy555
(Bill)
02-28-2010
My sweet
You make me feel neat
My heart skips a beat
On the day we will Meet
You brighten my life
Remove all the strife
Always be mine
Like an age old wine
For me I will Marry
I can not wait to carry
Over the threshold
I feel so so bold
You are my only love
Hear the cooing of the dove
Sitting in the tree
Just like You and me
The day will be bright
As the starry starry night
The sun will shine 
For I know you are mine
I will always love you
It will always be new
I give you my will
For my name is sweet Bill
For you will leave the mark
Deep within my heart


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Honesty And Woman

I learned my lesson the last time 
Only answering the questions 
That I knew would be safe 

Viewing herself in the mirror 
She said, how old do I look 
It was a trick question 

I kept remembering 
The last time she asked me 
If she looked fat in a dress


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Finding My Pure Heart

All the violence on TV was probably not good for me
All the decapitated corpses on video games not the brightest idea for me
Life’s real dramas just frustrate me
All the fabricated television dramas annoy me
We all love a happy ending yet we consume the misery and pain of others
Haunted by life changing events
At times I just simply need to vent
Why be educated and humble when being ignorant and shallow brings you fame
Why save your virginity for marriage, when society’s sluts take all the good guys that a girl covets
Why be a nice guy, when all the respectable women settle for assholes yet are surprised when they are mistreated and cheated on
Why live a life down the correct path, when the wrong path is glorified and admired by society
Beneath the darkness and rubble of life exist the flickering white light of my once pure heart


Find more of my writings and poems at jorgesouthkorea.com


Details | Prose Poetry | |

watching you die for my tia

just sitting here looking at you and  knowing your leaving us soon.
knowing that i cant do anythingabout this but to just let you go.
as i sit here and think about all the memories we`ve shared all been
good and happy and sad.

but the ones i will charish are those speacial moments we had together,
those i will always have close to my heart forever.

as i stand here looking around, looking at all these sad faces tear after tear
fall down there face, leaving the mark imprinted on there cheeks, i stop and think
it shouldnt be happening, why to you?

i grab your hand its cold as ice, so pail, so cold , so lifeless.
as i start to let go but i then start to cry but keep asking why?
wishing that time would go by slow, just so i could have you here just for a lil more.

but i close my eyes and take a deep breath,
its for you to go.
as i say my last good bye with these tears in my eyes,
 good bye for now but i will see you once again but untill then.
i will let you rest.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My Pa







Had a dream about my Pa tonight, We all went out with them to Lake Loral Nancy His wife cooking up a good ol' Chicken Pot Stew slow-cooked set way up high atop the hickory us loading up the Bayliner for our afternoon fishing trip. We reminisced, Canoe in toe as we used to do just in case, yes just as we did back then; you-know if either would wished to float to one or more sides with the Canoe tied to the railings of the boat, or more or less to widen the chance at a greater spot to cast a gander upon our luck... . My Father by adoption; having-stated many times early on in-all of our teenier all together, God being-in-charge of all good-Blessings and if-you will--luck... we'll always catch some albeit one Yes I began to see through this statement he mentioned often God is always presenting always providing this-His Honest Hope, for us both--as I believe like my Pa, for any one yes everyone who is patient remains-open... ! Our woes, and Peace abiding... uncertainty grievances questions yes laughter were our main recollections as we dropped our first lines as we cast them... . I tell you I truly did love Him, still love Him, will always I figure... yes I know Some folk are so defined never wish to grow any further their Character divorced by Cancer, Nary did my Father allow it. On the day he passed He told Nancy, "I love my life. My Family Children. Love all those close to me.... but I'm tiered just plain wore out." the Lord took Him that night, the next day forthcoming I was told and O how I cried — But then realized as I saw he lived the greater life - He worked on this purpose until the day he died, and so for all he work for this final reprieve — it was for all of the ones he loved, because I feel for all whom he loved, he'd prayed for all to do the same... Yes a suffering in kind the same I'm seeing now - All-of-it I'm-finding; because he taught me the greater of his Faith nary a day apart from Him, and me... his youngest Son two Others older Sons if you will, yes I feel his family and friends still have this eminent belief to boast; Yes, in-the Company--Comfort... of Jesus' Peace... !


Details | Prose Poetry | |

You Were There

You, you were there for me
You, you showed what life could be
Though time was short
Words were wise
The love ran deep
And you were there for me
You played like a child
When the time was right
Knew when to cuddle 
And give some space
Your eyes spoke in ways
Words never could
If I needed help
I knew you always would
And you, you were there for me
You, you showed what life could be
You never questioned why
Yet always answered well
Had a way of making me tell
Getting me to face
What I tried to hide
You always knew
What I felt inside
Though it’s harder now
I know you still do
Though you had to go
And wherever you are
Time will never erase
That you, you were there for me
The love ran deep
Words were wise
And you, you were there for me


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Tragedy---for Jon

Lost? 
Found. 
Never has life's cruel temper dealt its deceiving hand as this day 
Lost-found in a place, living know not. 
Kinship friendship - words, verbiage to describe mortal bonds 
While those of the soul grasp bonds endless and dimensionless 
Youth is but a stage of dying 
Time cruel to its very essence. Time blows through us all as our sight through glass 
Its dark fingers paint our walls and carry us to our HOLMES 
Its cruelty is its existence. Defining agony, depriving experience 
Youth felt emotion lost through existence 
Found youth soul existence beyond comprehension 
Youth to us all? Youth has been lost but found where else 
But where time confronts us all. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Interference

An innocent soul appeared to them as someone who interfered,
But helping and caring were the only things that it ever volunteered.
It stood and gave them unconditional support,
Unbiased and happy , it was comport.
Instead of cherishing the good times ,
for them it suddenly turned into a tort.
Days passed and 
Then, came the moment of truth, 
They didn't care about the soul ,
And busted their cruelty upon it which was so bold.
Saying it was merely a delusion of being nice.
They decided to walk out  leaving it behind, 
Withered and bleeding with cries of its lost pride.
It was like getting unnecessary punishment for giving their silent lives , a 
rhyme.
What could it do now ?
Isolate , kill itself or remain undisputed.
That day was when  humanity lost.
That was the day when the limits were crossed. 
It's hard to find people who live for others,
But in today's world who bothers.
They still sort for crowds of disguised happiness.
Purity of soul and love are now obsolete.
Because in this world no one is absolute.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Adulteress's missing thread

missing threads
----------------
She looks outside. The pale moonlight has fallen across the tributary, illusory moonshine,
like an intimate emission, now that the urgency is gone, meaningless. 
She looks inside. The sprawled bed sheet of flesh shines in luminous darkness which she
thinks she is. 
Remember the worth and compare with leaving behind the cords, one son and a lethargic
clergy who divides his self between interpreting the God and being her husband. 
She remembers the cats, the weekend cooking classes and small garden of oriental roses.
The pale moon is always hiding behind the clouds when you need it. The clarity is a burnt
out butt of the cigarette learning to jump overboard. She waves away the smoke. She looks,
once more, inside and outside.  
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Without The Box

So, there you are
Returned from fighting another mans war
Heard you’re quite the hero
Good for you my friend
Twenty years young
Couldn’t wait
To kick some terrorist ass
And so you did
So very well indeed I hear
Now you’re back
Nothing more to kick
What are you to do with yourself
Lying there as you are
Look at all of us here
To welcome you back
Can you not hear the joy
Can you not see the happiness
Or is it all hidden behind the tears
So here you are returned
In a flawless uniform
Lying there all smug and confident
With a peaceful look
Here you are returned
Fresh off the plane
In a nice tight package
Here you are returned
To never leave again
Good to have you back my friend
Only wish it could have been
Without the box


Details | Prose Poetry | |

10 reasons

Let me count to ways I love you
WLM
4/13/2011
1,  The awesome beauty of your sweet voice when you speak
2.   The fact that you are so beautiful to mine eyes
3.   That you accept me for all of my faults and medical problems
4.   That our lives together will be content, happy, and wonderful
5.   The beauty of your eyes and the smile upon your face
6.   Your luscious lips which I kiss as often as possible
7.   The fact that we will always be as one entity
8.   That we can lie in bed and talk for hours on end
9.    That when we make love, it is always as if the first time each time
10.  That I can change for my sweetheart and wife when needed 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Light

Light
WLM
Wildncrazy555
July 27, 2011

You are as the light which shines from heaven above
As you were sent to me for nothing but love
Our lives will be so grand
And for this we will make our stand
Love and life will abound
As it circles and circles around
The joy and contentment
Will be as we went with it
Our children will be fine
And pass through the ages of time
And grow beyond belief
Sending joy to our hearts full of relief
Life will be full of joy and hope
Upon these beliefs we will cope
Through the ups and the down
Which will always surround
And as the mourning jewel
We will never be a fool
For life will end 
But begin again



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Here's The Thing

Here’s the thing
Doesn’t matter what you say
Or where you are
We both know what was felt
Though we’ll never again add to
We both know what was done
What was shared
What we’ll miss
Though ones will fade
We’ll both have memories
Of what we did
Even if they come and go
When they reappear
For a time we’ll both know
During the times
One’s just a shell
The other’s strength
Will pull us through
When one seems so far away
The other will stay
To bring them back
As long as one has breath
We’ll not let the other down
And if the breath
Is not together lost
The other will not say goodbye
But be along soon
So here’s the thing
That no matter what tomorrow brings
Though what it is
We cannot know
Somewhere hidden there within
Our love will always show


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Almost Time

It’s been a while since you were announced
It’s nearly time for you to arrive
I’m about to see you enter into life
A life I helped to create
The time I’ve known about you
Seems to have passed too quickly
And now before I’ve realized it
You’re about to be born
For it’s almost time
It’s almost time to meet you
To teach you what little I know
And to learn far more from you 
Than you’ll ever know
Where have these last months gone
I haven’t had time to learn
The many things I should
I haven’t had time to forget about myself
For the sake of someone else
My God, it’s almost time
To let go of these feelings
I haven’t yet understood
To be flooded with new ones
When I first see your face
It’s so strange and new
To love someone so much
That I haven’t even met
I can’t say how your touch is going to feel
Or how you will change my life
I only know it’s almost time
It’s almost time to try

NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father’s Love Letters
To listen to the CD please visit
http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Finally a New Hope and Beginning

Finally a New Hope and Beginning
WLM
Wildncrazy555
April 8, 2011 


The Finality of My Life
Is Completely a Relief and Free From All Strife
I traveled many a mile
08 to 11 It took a while
At first she was my best friend
I know in my heart it will last till the end
I feel as I should be in a gurney
For it has been such a long journey
Weeding them out
Because of finding  out all about
Some were shy 
I know not why
Most of them always wanted money
Why should I pay to be their honey
But this one just wants Bill
For with him her heart will completely fill
Full of passion and love 
Sent from heaven above
And soon we will be as one entity
Which will last through infinity
She is extremely so fine
My heart knows she is mine
We are completely entwined like a vine
And we both know it will last till the end of time


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Gift

THE GIFT 		09/15/2011			1526

God is great and God is good
Each of us is a wonderful gift created by our Father’s love
How everything that we need is present and represented 
In all that surrounds us in our lives, He is the one that sent it
Seeing His son hang for our sins with 2 thieves by His side
With His suffering for our trespasses, there was no pride, 
Only a beautiful gift dripping away in blood
God’s tears as He gave us His only begotten Son 

He gave us more than any earthly person ever would
Gifts we don’t appreciate, so often misunderstood
During this journey, the people in our lives are where we see God face to face
Victory after victory, splash after splash of God’s thirst quenching grace
All in the face of the people in our lives who can never be replaced 
From conception to laughter,
In each of our stories, there are unread chapters
With lovers of “the word” sent with their own gift, their own message
Their own interpretation, their own blessing
Helping us to pass each “transgressional” testing,
By blood or by acquaintance, misfortune or circumstance
Those in our lives are here with provisions and life lessons
Preparations and encouragement, by order of God’s suggestion
Neither lonely nor dismayed, unprepared or without truth
We will flourish and continue if the “The Word” is our root

God is great and He provides what is good
The perfected masterpiece of love has been withstood
Friends and family who are God’s chosen ones
Sent to love us unconditionally whether we are considered something or none
With shoulders to lean on, and with an attentive ear
Someone to offer their support as we dry that last tear
With God’s light and His salvation whom shall we fear?
His love is always near… 
A gift neatly wrapped called family and friends


MyFreeCopyright.com Registered & Protected


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Christmas with You



I remember going out and chopping
the old big green spruce years ago.
You’re frosting cookies they were the best
and not jest coz ya was my Grandma.

I remember the antique bulbs all glass and
sparkling too.
How Grandpa let me hang the angel one year
and I fell into the tree.

My spirit is not so free this Christmas 
as' it was in the past.
not a little girl no more Grandma.

And this is the first time you will celebrate
it in your new home.
With The Lord and angels, I just know you
will have the best Christmas of all.

You finally will spend it with Grandpa once
again and that’s so nice.
For me this Christmas I am going to spend
it with you like years long ago.
Even if only in my heart.

Merry Christmas Both of you.

Peggy Jo


Details | Prose Poetry | |

behind our eyes


Beauty ,the tormented pain,

hiding deep within.

A web of abandoned emotions,

wasted energies and chaotic dreams.

A dark chastising silence,

engulfed with flames.

murderous contempt, within our hearts,

for our fellow self.

 

Thick black ashes, entangled in a web,

of Stolen time, and memories.

Learning life's lessons,

harshly, without a forgiving word.

 

Leaving us gasping, for the breath of life...

LOVE!!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Gone are the Gardens

After many years a man returned home to put to rest some very dark demons,
He left as a boy with hatred in his heart and an anger to match that hatred,
A wretched upbringing the spite from his family who hated him was so harsh,
What could a young boy have done to cause this bitterness the answer nothing.

One day very early the door closed behind him the young lad had made a decision,
He decided to leave that awful place and to make his way into the big wide world,
With experiences of his existence he understood nothing could be as bad as now,
With that thought he would not miss nor be missed, off went a lonely little boy.

Making his way it was hard but and he knew that there could be no turning back,
His father a vicious drunk would come home and blame him for his wretched poverty, 
His mother hated the boy she blamed him because he was the cause of this anguish,
His brother wanted him gone as he got scared he would receive the same treatment. 
 
As a man his mind now strong living so long with a monkey on his back he returns,
Walking the streets in town the place has changed a grey place of grim despair,
People he knows walk the same streets they have lines etched deep in their faces,
Etched lines are a calender of life's events of misery hard work and hard times.

Their clothes are clean but shabby why dress up when there is nobody to impress,
Shoulders rounded and heads down their lives are wasted they are nothing people,
Hard men from his youth are beaten and pathetic living on stories of yesterday, 
Years of drunken weekends and family abuse have clouded and poisoned simple minds  

How many years have these so called men drunkenly beat wives and their children,
Count the bruises made by the connubial fist through many many years of misery,
Remember the drops of blood that have flowed since the words 'I do' were said,
How many tears have been collected as trophies since a wedding day so long ago.

When these people were young and full of hope their life was rosy and scented,
There were stores of honey in their minds and a thousand acres of wild flowers,
As lovers they walked hand in hand along paths bright with a finesse of nature,
Look at them now how things have changed their garden is overgrown with weeds.

Once in a fountain of youth happy children chased after each other playing games,
The dancing spray fell on their flushed cheeks as it gushed in the warm sunshine,
It cast its silvery beads all around but now nobody listens to its rippling tunes,
And people have fallen away and crumbled beneath the tooth and finger of neglect.

Now all the flowers are drooping and faded no footprints walk the old path of youth,
They live in a freezing emotional wilderness growing tired of each other love gone,
Their houses are now gloomy and very unhappy it is hard to pretend this is not so,
No signs of any happiness no 'smile and be merry' as they have now stopped trying.

I am glad I returned to my roots where happiness was just a dream hate was reality,
Now I can close the heavy book I am satisfied that my leaving was the right decision,
The people I saw were ruined wasted people whose lives went where the rut took them,
I left and went back to my own life and like a ghost I faded from my own past forever.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Too Much Love

Too Much Love
WLM
Wildncrazy555
June 29, 2011

Too much love
Sent to me from heaven above
Why would they want me
Shall it ever be
I have finally found her
She will soon be here
Her name is Cindy
My heart goes windy
We were meant for fate
But was never out of hate
I may repeat
But never from defeat
We will always be
Just her and me
She has made me be
So totally free
People will see us
Amazement in their eyes
Of the love that we share
Yes, We shall dare
We shall begin
From now until the end


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Already Nine

My oh my
Where has the time gone
It seems like only yesterday
I was told you were mine
And now here you are
Already nine
This birthday I have to miss
But it makes me remember
And say thank you God
For having this little girl to kiss
To hug and snuggle
And watch as she grows
From the little babe
I once held in my hands
To the girl
I now hold in my arms
One day soon
You’ll become a woman
Leaving me with all these memories
Of how special it is, and how lucky I am
To be able
To watch you grow

NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father’s Love Letters
To listen to the CD please visit
http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Came To You

In my youth
I came to you
For love and warmth
When I needed words
That were strong and wise
I came to you
Now here I stand
Facing your door one more time
Oh how I need your strength 
To walk on through
There’s the couch
Where you watched TV
The kitchen’s still in place
Where you used to cook
The rocker’s still on the deck
Where you’d just sit and look
The pillow still has your imprint
Where you used to sleep
There’s your clothes all lined up
Waiting for you to give them grace
Look at the pictures lining the hall
With your smiling face
I remember how I came to you
With news of my wife and kids
And how you used to smile
Now I’m walking in this place
That has your feel
But not your smiling face
Oh dear God
How I need your strength
Who will I come to now
Now that you are gone
I don’t know how
But wherever you are
I’ll still come to you
In my time of need
Oh dear God, I’ll never forget
How when I needed strength and wisdom
You were always there
And how I came to you


Details | Prose Poetry | |

So Unprepared

Here you are on the verge
Of your very first road trip
All grown up
Ready to set the world on fire
So much excitement
Running through your veins
Ready to discover a whole new world
Even when it rains
There’s no need to wish you luck
Look at the person you’ve become
There’s no doubt
You’re ready to leave home
Make the world your own
Look at me with so much pride
So much evidence in who you are
That I’ve raised you well
How you became who you are
Living with a fool like me
Only proves 
There is a God
There’s no doubt that you’re prepared
To face whatever life throws your way
As I’m left standing here 
Savoring one last kiss and hug
Watching you drive away
I suddenly realize
In my haste to prepare you well
There’s one thing I forgot
One thing I left so unprepared
That has no idea what to do
Watching as you drive off
To a brand new life…
Me


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Blood, again

blood again 
-
The two hovering faces are white and brown.
They seem to look nice, saying, “we’re in your side.”
She aches; both her sides ache; bruises, clotted blood; 
She sees them, two men with the force; denies to complain.
The trust has been lying killed, somewhere in her den.

Discharge means returning home, to the fear’s room, 
where he may return for tearing her more.
But she won’t dial for force, at least not before 
she has put six inanimate hates into him;
not before she has seen blood once again, not hers. 
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Gentleman

On a cold misty morning an old man had some things to do but they could wait,
Taking his walking stick and dressing for a damp cold morning he began his day,
He stopped at his old florist every day and bought a flower he always sniffed it,
He was a a kind and loving man he walks on sticks his hair as grey as the day.

The shop next door a sweetshop and as always he ordered a packet of barley sugar,
Popping one in his mouth it was an orange spaceship and it took him back in time,
A time when all was good no worries or responsibilities a time never to be returned,
This gentleman had to hurry a little as he was running late the bus waited for him.

As he made this journey everyday we thought it might be interesting so we waited,
He got off the bus at its terminal stop the driver and conductor always shook hands,
As the old man wandered down the road there was the sharp tap from his old stick,
Then the tapping noise disappeared as he walked across some of the well cut grass.

The gentleman made his way to the town cemetery carefully walking round the graves,
He knelt down with the aid of his stick then planted his single rose on the grave,
There were hundred's of perished flowers all over his plot he stood up to go home.
We could hear the tapping of his stick again as he now walked on the concrete path.

The man in charge was sweeping leaves so we walked over to him and asked the story,
He was fighting in the war and spent thee years in these rat infested fighting fields,
He was in the Bangalor Torpedoes behind enemy lines right up to the end of fighting,
When he finally mad it back to England he was told his family died in the Blitz

Since all those years ago he has put a rose down on the plots and never missed a day,
His loved and dear family to him are always listening to his news and odds and ends,
There is something else that not many people are aware it's written on his own grave,
This sad very brave man held the Victoria Cross,when I pass the cemetery I lift my hat.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fading Away from my Past

After many years a man returned home to put to rest some very dark demons,
He left as a boy with hatred in his heart and an anger to match that hatred,
A wretched upbringing the spite from his family who hated him was so harsh,
What could a young boy have done to cause this bitterness the answer nothing.

One day very early the door closed behind him the young lad had made a decision,
He decided to leave that awful place and to make his way into the big wide world,
With experiences of his existence he understood nothing could be as bad as now,
With that thought he would not miss nor be missed, off went a sad lonely little boy.

Making his way it was hard but and he knew that there could be no turning back,
His father a vicious drunk would come home and blame him for his wretched poverty,
His mother hated the boy she blamed him because he was the cause of his fathers anger,
His brother wanted him gone as he got scared he would receive the same treatment.

As a man his mind now strong living so long with a monkey on his back he returns,
Walking the streets in town the place has changed a grey place of grim despair,
People he knows walk the same streets they have lines etched deep in their faces,
Etched lines are a calender of life's events of misery hard work and hard times.

Their clothes are clean but shabby why dress up when there is nobody to impress,
Shoulders rounded and heads down their lives are wasted they are nothing people,
Hard men from his youth are beaten and pathetic living on stories of yesterday,
Years of drunken weekends and family abuse have clouded and poisoned simple minds

When these people were young and full of hope their life was rosy and scented,
There were stores of honey in their minds and a thousand acres of wild flowers,
As lovers they walked hand in hand along paths bright with a finesse of nature,
Look at them now how things have changed their garden is overgrown with weeds.

Once in a fountain of youth happy children chased after each other playing games,
The dancing spray fell on their flushed cheeks as it gushed in the warm sunshine,
It cast its silvery beads all around but now days nobody listens to its rippling tunes,
And people have fallen away and crumbled beneath the tooth and finger of neglect.

Now all the flowers are drooping and faded no footprints walk the old path of youth,
They live in a freezing emotional wilderness growing tired of each other love gone,
Their houses are now gloomy and very unhappy it is hard to pretend this is not so,
No signs of any happiness no 'smile and be merry' as they have now stopped trying.

I am glad I returned to my roots where happiness was just a dream hate was reality,
Now I can close the heavy book I am satisfied that my leaving was the right decision,
The people I saw were ruined wasted people whose lives went where the rut took them,
I left and went back to my own life and like a ghost I faded from my own past forever.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Things To Be Learned

They say that in life
Each day brings things to be newly learned
Today at age thirty, I found that to be true
From none other than you
Though you’re just past four
I’d just finished yelling
Over some silly wrong 
I perceived you had done
And like adults so many times do
I only saw it from my point of view
After I left the room
I heard you crying
When I returned, I found you in the corner
On the floor sobbing
When I asked what was wrong
You said I really didn’t want to know
When I convinced you I did
Boy, you really let me have it
You said I didn’t need to yell
That you could understand
I didn’t have to scare you
That you had feelings too
That there are some things you didn’t know
Cause after all you were only four
It was then I realized, that yes
You are a person too
And things don’t always look the same
From your point of view
And that as we go through life, you just like I
Have feelings, thoughts, things you don’t understand
And so much each day to be newly learned

NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father’s Love Letters
To listen to the CD please visit
http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Shutting Down Arby's

Tonight, oh what a night it was
Nearly five hours spent
At a fast food restaurant 
Laughing and talking our way through life
Who else but you and I
Could get kicked out
For shutting down Arby’s
So folks could go home
We spoke of life
Of love lost and found
Of sex and dreams
The devil and Holy Ghost
We talked of beliefs
Work and foolish friends
Of places to travel
And goofy things we’ve done
We spoke of fantasies 
And how people are
Of puppies, kittens and relatives
Of future goals and lost hopes
Integrity and the things people think about
We asked why people
Are the way they are
Remembered childhood moments and scary movies
Came to know each other
Just a little bit better
Laughed at our life
While we joked about
Shutting down Arby’s
Such a unique distinction
To have done such a thing
But then again 
It was time well spent
Between a father and daughter
And all I can say
For letting it be so
Is thank you God

NOTE*** May all father’s have such a day. Happy Father’s Day


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Last Night

Last night we went to see a friend
Who has a little baby girl
And it makes me love you even more
The warmth, the smile in your eyes
The love dancing across your face
Makes me dream of the day
When that friend will come to see
You and me
And the little baby girl
We will make together

NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father's Love Letters
To listen to the CD please visit
http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Untitled

Within a last breath
It disappears 
A bond, a heart, and shed of tears 
Fragile, to actions revenge 
Forewarned and foretold true 
What I wouldn't give for more time with you.
The verse becomes shallow 
Following the ashes, wind, and rain 
Outward cover recognized 
Its only the true that will remain


Details | Prose Poetry | |

First Told

I didn’t seem quite old enough
Barely more than a child myself
When I was first told
I didn’t know quite what to say
Hell, it didn’t seem that long ago
I used the words myself
It didn’t seem that long ago
I called him daddy
And there was a special lady
I called my mom
Now here I am
Not yet sure of who I am
About to be called the same myself
Not knowing how to handle the feelings
The joy, the amazement, the wonder of it all
I never felt such a thing
Never felt so, so unworthy
Or had such a sweet song to sing
As when I was first told
How can one such as me
Be blessed with someone like you
It’s something I’ll wonder all my life
It’s a day I’ll never forget
When your mother
First told me about you

NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father’s Love Letters
To listen to the CD please visit
http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill


Details | Prose Poetry | |

English Garden

I have found the treasure
that lies at the Rainbow's end;
surrounded by Sweet William, for-get-me knots,
and crimson shades of velvet rose.

Near the cottage of old where I was young,
the quaint charm of the English garden.
Where time has not weathered with due harm,
swirls of hued asters still in the brisk fresh air.

Moments spent dancing with cupid in midst
of a sunny afternoon.
Seconds where dreams danced on the moon,
sweet perfume floats by to wisp away my breath.
Up ahead mine eyes view the grassy slopes
where a thousand of narcissus bloom.

I watch them sway the day away tossing 
their sweet perfume to the winds.
Wicker seats and ivory benches upon I sit and muse.
The soul cannot thrive in the absence of a garden,
a rose plot, fringed pool and serenity.

Burn the sage, the leaves of rose and wintergreen
Light the candles in the middle of the afternoon.
From within my center core I breathe for more of this
paradise near heavens view.

Sweet surrender to growing things, cupids chimes in
melody rings, for here is a heavenly peace that mirrors
my thirsty soul.


My x4 Great Grandmother was from England a Duchess but she chose to marry my X4 Great
Grandfather and lost her inheritance and rights for neglecting the wishes of the family in
England. He was a Captain of the sea and brought many to the American shores of Mass. In
reading and studying, I found she loved to write of the sea and those things she cherished
from England and growing up, from memoires, she has touched my muse and from time to time,
I let her speak of such cherished beautiful things.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

THICKER THAN WATER

I pushed at the open door,there was no sound,no noise,just darkness all around.Dust filtered 
my nostrils,a mustiness of lost years inhabited my senses.A loose floorboard creaked as I 
headed for the stairwell,the aroma of her Chanel provoked memories of my living hell.A tear of 
self-pity congealed in the dirt as I switched on the light."Hello son,...I knew you'd be 
back...He's gone..."


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Stay

Stay

Stay a little while because I don’t want you to go.
Will you stay a little while.  please don’t tell me no.

Stay a little while because your strength makes me calm
Please protect me from the world.  Protect me from the harm.

When your gone im always scared
I want to see your face

When your gone im all alone
I want your warm embrace.

Ive cried a million tears 
Ive died a million deaths

And now your gone, im here again
Lonely on my own.






Details | Prose Poetry | |

Broken Man

I got lost somewhere between hope and reality. I tired with all my might but things never seemed to go right. I had all my dreams ready but they never came true. I planned to achieve numerous goals but I never could. I had the perfect life planned out in my mind but now I feel as if I just wasted my time.  My best efforts never produced any success. Have I been walking through life wasting all of my breaths? Quitting and surrendering is the obvious choice for me now. Do I continue to fight until I have nothing left? Should I just hold my breath and patiently wait for death? Too broken to die and barely alive to continue. I just wish I had a clue to figure out this mystery called life.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Womans Touch

The gates of hell have been violently open. The world begins to rumble and scatter in fear. Earth’s volcanoes spew magma and ash from its core. The clouds quickly gather as the thunder and lightning signal the wrath to come. Earth’s crust opens its mouth ready to swallow cities and nation’s whole. Suddenly a white and peaceful light emerges from the horizon. This elegant and stunning figure seems not all frightened by all the chaos. She gingerly kisses and hugs the tormented man. All of this madness was inside the man’s mind. The stress and pressure of life almost got to the man. Drugs and alcohol never gave him relief but all it took was a woman’s touch.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

2009

2009
1-09
WLM
Wildncrazy555

We had a great time
Waiting for 2009
We waited up
For the time to count down
For all of the times
To set up the rhythms
With my BFF
Waited till it was up
We passed the night
With all that was right
And let the time go
As only we would know
Let all of the fear
As what seems near
We had to crash
Let all things smash
To start the new day
In our own special way
Let all things air
As only we care


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Stranger 'in some' Strange Land

  I Wonder lost, 
tired and afraid; 
an epidemic
in reverse
unto it's self repeats again.

How was I raped? 
Was it from the act? 
Did I do it to myself? 

Did some one tell you to.
To keep the home.
To keep the land.
To keep the child.

Without blame to roam 
the land
consumed in flame 
your brain.

Before her birth, I thought
you had disposed of 
like the first.

I never saw.

I know 'I' Raised my voice.
I never struck out at you.
Pink pigs that fly 
off all alone.

Dipsomaniacs full cup
of sweet white pearls.

How were you to live 
the way you did.
With all your wine.


Here I sleep, 
while standing up
alone
alone and all afraid; 
I whom swam with sharks.
I whom fought off death
so many times before.

I have now lost all count.
Gone not any more.
No not now.

Does my,
little healthy daughter.
When you are drunk each night
again,
must she fear what you might
say to her each night.

I lay awake for her.

Did you not think out if any
or at all,
about her life you took.
When you took
my soul from her; 
Her virginity before
it had evolved.


Her life, 
My hopes
Her dreams
one day because of that.

I wonder lost untill that day, 
like spring, 
that never comes around.

a 'MOTHERS' day with out
May flowers.

Like a
Stranger 'in some' Strange Land, 
walking on crushed skulls
of they whom came before.

What should 'WE' do with those like you.
Whom waste the men and little girls.
On 'Evil' such as you. 

Is It Poetry 
 
 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

ERIE

The house wasn't much to look at,
Although it was grand in its day.
But we never got tired of visiting,
Or seeing the family on Sunday.

The floors were old and creaky,
The walls were strong and tall.
The yard was ever the smallest,
Yet, we still found a way to play ball.

The clock in the kitchen kept pendulum time,
Its gentle gongs...as the hours were to go.
The louder sounds were of plinking from the front room,
As we banged the keys of the old piano.

The sweet aromas from the bakery next door,
Wafted over us, and the neighborhood in the air.
Always reminding one of that pleasant place,
Filled with caked and cookies and eclairs.

We didn't understand the words,
That our grandparents' were to say.
That "Polish" banter between them and our parents,
Have kept their secrets even today.

While our moms were helping Grandma in the kitchen,
Our dad were on the porch playing cards.
As for us...we ran our little games,
More and more noise from the yard.

Only memories now remain,
And sometimes after a day of aching hands and weary feet,
My mind turns to those more pleasant days,
As I remember the times, spent on Erie Street.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

2008

In 2008, we hope for world peace and wars to cease.
We will take hold of possibilities and cast away the impossibilities.
Embrace a new future to learn and nurture.
Remember new friends we have made along the way
and keep ever-close old friends to heart.

Let us never forget the losses we suffered 
as individuals or as nations.
Encouraging those whom serve us
protecting our freedom.

Let our words mimic our actions
Let us speak uplifting and 
Inspiring word verses.
Let the thoughts of the poets be
engraved in the inspiration
we set forth let us help
carve new truths for all.



In 2008 a Year of new beginnings.

Have a Happy New Years Soupers and thank you for allowing me to become a part of this
community in 2007.



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Strength

Everybody needs help sometimes
But not me she said
I need no one to carry me
I am strong enough to walk or run
Through anything I face
But are you strong enough I asked
To show the courage to reach out
During your times of doubt
Let someone’s hand be placed in yours
To help pull you back to even
When you fall behind
I know that deep within our minds
The only thing weaker
Than asking for ones help
Is admitting we need help at all
But those are just foolish thoughts
Placed by people who have never
Learned what it is to care
There is no weakness
In our need to share
In everybody’s life at times
Our emotions lie bare
All dragged out and spent
It’s only the strong among us
Who reach out to take an offered hand
There to help pull us back up
To make a stronger stand
Oh yes I know so well
You can take care of yourself
But even Superman himself
Needs a helping hand
To remove his kryptonite 
To regain the strength
To do what’s right
So here my friend
Here’s my hand to help
Do you have the strength…


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Want You To Know

If I should die tomorrow, I just want you to know
Just how deeply you have touched my life
And how much you mean to me
To have been able to hold you during your first breaths
To have been able to watch you
As you’ve grown for these nine years
Is the greatest thing I’ve ever done
I was fortunate in my life
For I got to see you learn to crawl, to walk, to talk
To brush your teeth, even your hair
I was there when you first two wheeled
I was alive to hear you laugh so many times
I was able to hold you when you cried
I heard you read and learn to spell
As I’d watch you sleep at night
I knew I didn’t always do things right
There’s so many things I could’ve done better
I should’ve thanked God so many more times
For blessing me with you
I just want you to know I’m proud to be your dad
And should a time come that I’m no longer here
And you feel like you’re alone and need a friend
I want you to remember
There’s no space, time, life or death that can separate us
I will always be your dad no matter where I am
I will always do my best to help
And you must always try to do your best
To treat others like you and to be yourself
Cause you, just being you
Made my life so worth living

NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father’s Love Letters
To listen to the CD please visit
http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Here I Stand

Here I stand
With no shoulder to cry on
Staring into empty space
At an unrecognizable face
After feeling so much
Why do I feel nothing now
All I tried to do was laugh and play
Tried to love and please
Did everything I could
So much more than was asked
And yet, I failed
Now I see you walking away
While here I stand
With no shoulder to cry on
I hear your footsteps and fading voice
The screams and the anger still attached
What was it I did so wrong
To make you feel so much
Why do I feel nothing now
And can’t even reach out to touch
I no longer feel my breath
I no longer feel my heart
I was just a child
As I watch you walk away
Why do I feel nothing now
Why are we both left
With no shoulder to cry on


NOTE*** Death should never be seen through the eyes of a child as you walk away… Child 
Abuse… let’s stop it! Not tomorrow, not today, but now!!!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Modern Florida's 'Chain' Of D.N.A.

It's been so long since i have seen her smile.
Thirty five years give a month or two.
Boy you best get back in that line, 
your dressed in blue to her you all look the same.
Boss she covers me, with all her dreams.
Reckless eye balling boy, no supper tonight for you.
I'm only asking why, 'Boss' man.
Boy your dressed in blue, your blue from head to toe.
Each day my wife, she comes and brings my lunch
besides that cup of fruit is not for fools.
Boss.
Boy now what! 
And then get back to work and just shut up.
Boss your eyes are blue and she is white like you.
Boy and whats the point your trying to make with me, 
be quick or back in side the hole you go to keep.
Boss it's the kids...I see inside the car.
I think and I may be wrong....I've been wrong before. 
But they look like twins or is it 'Boss' I'm color blind. 
Don't they appear 'Boss' and your eyes seem clear..
Are they not looking to be...of color the same as me.

Is It Poetry


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Sale

Sale
WLM
Wildncrazy555
July 12, 2011

Sitting at the garage sale
Waiting for the people
Stuffed animals plenty to show
Hoping, praying that they will go
Lots of clothes on the rack
Waiting to be put into a sack
Shoes galore
Placed all around the door
Ready, willing and able
Knock knacks on the tables
Books, books, and more books
A to Z with captain hook
Let’s not wince
See the sign on the fence
The chink of the money
Oh, my, my honey
Shorts, pants, jeans and dresses
To be worn by more than one
People milling amongst the run
Avoiding the hot sun
Anna playing the tunes
But not in the month of June



Details | Prose Poetry | |

And You

The first time I looked into your eyes
I knew my heart was gone
The first time I held you in my hands
I found new meaning to my life
I’ve known you for three years 
I’ve watched you crawl
And learn to walk
Giggled as you learned to talk
And you, you are my life
And you, you are all life means to me
When I’m, when I’m with you
There’s no place I’d rather be
There’s good times yet to come
Sure to be a few bad ones in between
Only sure thing is
I’ll be there for you
As long as I’m alive
No matter what you’ve said or done
You’ll have one sure place you can come
You’ll always have a place
That you can call your home
And you, you are my life
And you, you are all life means to me
When I’m, when I’m with you
There’s no place I’d rather be
And you, you are my life
And you, you are all life means to me
You’ll always have a place
You can call your home

NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father’s Love Letters
To listen to the CD please visit
http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Discovery

Well, you finally did it
Though you fussed and fought
Kicking nearly every step of the way
Once I turned you loose 
There was no holding you back
Watching as you tore through the grass
I saw you discover a new found freedom
And declare a form of independence
I knew right then and there
That what had fell into your tiny little grasp
Would never be let go
I could see in those little eyes
Just barely five years old
A stronger burning fire
Than I’ve seen in eyes ten times as old
It was the first time I knew for sure
My little girl would be all right
No matter where life’s path might lead
For in that instant of discovery
You did so much more
Than learn to ride a bike
You tasted what having freedom
And independence brings to life

NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father’s Love Letters
To listen to the CD please visit
http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Year Gone By

Has it really been a year gone by
Watching the flame of
The single candle on your cake you try
I think back on the year gone by
From hearing it’s a girl
To holding you in my arms
I don’t know who’s grown more
You or I
I remember when your eyes first opened
Wondering what it was you saw
The first time you smiled
I was wrapped around your finger
A year gone by of late night feedings
When I laid you to your mother’s breast
The times you needed changed
The times you needed held
The times you simply slept
I remember them all through the blur
Of the year gone by
I remember when you first left your mother’s breast
When you first tried to touch you knew not what
The first time you giggled
Your shock when you first rolled over
How quickly you learned to crawl and explore
So many things you did I remember
But my fondest memory of the year gone by
Is how I’ve learned to give love
And set aside myself
For someone much more special than I
Has it really been a year gone by

NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father’s Love Letters
To listen to the CD please visit
http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill
As the lead single it comes with a music video viewable at
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TlWpKk_J2bA


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Birthdays are Important

Birthdays are important,
because they celebrate
our existence,
The genesis of our lives,
It means that we are one year wiser,
smarter and better,
It is important to celebrate
because it means the folks around 
us truly appreciate that we are here
on earth with them,
In celebrating birthdays we honor ourselves,
for having the ability to share in another's joy,
because for one day someone special has the
right to feel extremely Important.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

and 'Ladies'

 
  and 'Ladies' young and old
do you even know
when i go into the grocery store
and how they come all around me
and i
not even paying attention
as they watch me squeeze this and
squeeze that
and they being all that you are
some what more and some few less
and they
take my hand and place it there
and in my hand they squeeze it
they squeeze it harder than they should
but i'm not paying attention 
and as i'm thinking about squeezing
that which needs to be squeezed
in my mind i am squeezing it more
and watching some become flushed
there faces grow dark and pink
so many
and so many my head spins around 
looking down as i feel
all of that juice run free
through my hands
and all of my critical thinking
has left me it's gone. 

Is It Poetry 
 
 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

If Walls Could Talk

We often ask, “If walls could talk 
Whatever would they say?”
They've listened to the laughter 
They've been witness to the horseplay.

They've heard the sounds of sorrow
They've been there for the rage
They've heard all of the whispers
What we forget with age.

Walls have seen the looks
That we give to each other
They hear the loving teasing
And encouragement so tender

But have they heard the thoughts
Chasing through my mind?
Do they see intentions
With all the actions, twined?

Surely walls would have
A lofty tale to tell
But if they knew our thoughts
Oh, how that tale would swell.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Much Too Fast

Did I fall asleep and miss a part of your life
You’ve grown so much, much too fast
Was I so involved in day to day life
That I simply didn’t see you grow
Wasn’t it yesterday you took your first breaths
And I heard the cries of your arrival
Wasn’t it yesterday you took your first steps
And now, now listen to you talk
Where have I been, what have I done
How could I have missed
Seeing how much you’ve grown
Both the year just gone past
And your growth, has happened much too fast
Listening to you tell of your day gone by
Of all your new found friends
And all the things you did together
And what you plan for tomorrow
It’s hard to believe you’re just past four
Seeing the person you’ve become
How well you comprehend the things about you
It makes me wonder
How much you think I care
And if you truly, truly know
How much I’ve missed seeing you grow
Seeing you today has made me realize
That my struggles against everyday life
Hold very little meaning
If I don’t take the time to look into your eyes
For my life, like your growth
Goes by, much too fast

NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father’s Love Letters
To listen to the CD please visit

http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill


Details | Prose Poetry | |

for the childrens sake

Sep 4 2007 
  
Deep pain and misery
 Shuts among the little ones
 They cry for help
 No one to understand
 Mother is always out drinking 
Father is abusing them 
Big sister and brother are at school 
Just only wanting to be loved 
But the family does not want to
 As the children grew older 
The hate sunk in 
Their mother was dying
 Father was in jail 
Big sister lived on the streets
 Brother was following his father's steps 
The children did not care
 They grew up not knowing what a family was like 
When they finally became parents 
The cycle began


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Spoken

Spoken!


Are we meant to walk a tight straight line,
Wouldn’t that be saying to walk like the blind.
How will the hollow be treated in the end,
The two edge sword is being used for family and friend.
A crooked smile is hard to bend right,
The strong is most needy when using their might.
Unconscious wisdom spoken to bring down to the top,
A cliff is extended in sight of the short stop.
Wrongful delight can’t teach a child confusion,
But a picture made by evil hands gives a right way illusion.
Falling short to the tall brings along a silent bed,
Hot air in a head makes no stop air blown on hot makes stop while ahead.
Carving your pumpkin with heart out of chest,
To take a heart out of evil empty chest is best.
Cut off your left if it hinders your right,
Close your eyes to see dark to realize whose light!

Ashley Hogan AH


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Time and Work

Ecclesiastes 8:6NCV
There is a right time and a right way for everything.
John 6:27
Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life.



We wonder sometimes with great worry about what time will bring. We must remember that 
God has given time to us as a gift. God was present at the beginning of time and He will be 
present at the end of time.

We cannot fear for the future because it is God's hand on eternity. It is you who dictates 
your time by the choices you make. We often feel there is not enough hours in the day to 
accomplish our tasks. We often feel there is never any time for ourselves. Remember to ask 
God to help you, and He will show you where and how to find the time.

God will put your mind at ease with time. Time is a gift, and everyday is yours. God wants 
you to live free and without worry of time. He will walk with us every step of the way every 
time.

As all of us on Earth must work to sustain our lives here, we must also remember to work 
for our spiritual well being. Your relationship with God will provide you with the food for your 
spirit. The food for your spirit is a great variety such as wisdom, understanding, joy, peace, 
love, and patience. In this job you have only one boss and that is God. That is a great 
comfort in knowing you have such a great boss as God. This is a perfect side job, working to 
feed your spirit. Start your application process now by praying to God. He will surely hire 
you and your spirit will be fed.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Help Me To Be

Looking down on the new born child
Our Father gave to us
I quickly looked to the years we have ahead
And asked Him, help me to be
The kind of father I should be
Lead me through the restless night
When our child lies awake
And the times she’ll need a change
Be with me through her younger years
And help me to calm her fears
Give me the words to say
When she comes for advice
That I might lead her
The straight and narrow way
When I’m about to show my anger
Over something she’s said or done
Please remind me
Of all I’ve said and done against Your will
And the love You show me still
But most of all enable me
To be a bright and shining light
So when it comes time to choose
Between what’s wrong or right
Our child will know
And want to share
In Your never ending love
God, help me to be
The kind of father I should be

NOTE*** This is from my CD A Father’s Love Letters
To listen to the CD please visit
http://www.reverbnation.com/#/mikehamill


Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Mother's Worst Nightmare

There you were

I held you in my hands

You were my gift

After nine months of care

I wished for you hopes and dreams to come true

You were my dream come true

I guess my prayers weren’t listened to

But someone took you away from me much too soon

I said hello to you

But I never said goodbye

I still can’t believe you died

My soul and heart forever broken

Nothing to make it better or fix it

I laid you to rest on many nights

Knowing you would wake up

Unfortunately,today I laid you to rest

Asking god to love and protect you

In heaven you wait for me

To resume our relationship of mother and son


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lazy Cuddle

Forget life and work today

I am just not in the mood today

Lets just lay in bed

Just you and me

Your head on my heart

Hear my dedicate heart beat

A few long kiss

No need to brush our teeth

A quick shower together

So we can enjoy the lust fruit called sex

Lets take our time no need to make it quick today

Let the sheets keep all our deep secrets today

Some Chinese food around noon

Your body is still in ecstasy and I am too lazy to cook

Lets watch all your DVDs while you cuddle right next to me

Tell me how much you love me and I will tell you how much I cherish you

You give me that innocent and girly smile

You are at peace as I run my hands through your hair

Tell you everything you want to hear

A few more long kisses and a few more rounds in bed

A good night kiss and our day together is over

Today was a lazy cuddle kind of day

Just me and you

Like how its suppose to be


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Family

Who is family?

Is it your own flesh and blood?

Or a really great friend

You can't ever tell which one will be a dud

What exactly is family

People who are there through all the ups and down's

They wouldn't abandon you when you need 'em the most

They listen when you need to talk instead of drown out the sound

Family should have your back

Whether they agree with you or not And when they disagree they shouldn't say a word Just stick behind you instead of leaving you to rot When bad things happen Is when you find out who family is It's pathetic that it has to happen that way But that's when you usually get dissed Family can be anyone But its those who stick by your side That are truly family And not just a stranger along for the ride.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

our fathers' sins

The patriarch of the family sets the tone
and direction of how families should be,
when they are troubled and misguided,
the family eventually gets obliterated,
sometimes the task of family protector
and guide creates angst and turmoil
inside,
high standards and expectations
make them crumble,
leaving foot prints that are indellible,
if only we could escape the legacy
and sins our fathers without creating
disaster,
the good would be purified and held
in high esteem,
while the bad would just drift away
into unknown emotional streams.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Day After Your Brithday

THE DAY AFTER YOUR BIRTHDAY,
YOU LOOK IN THE MIRROR TO SEE:
A) YOU'VE GOT A ZIT FROM EATING ALL THAT CAKE;
B) YOUR LOVE HANDLES HAVE EXPANDED A HALF INCH;
C) YOU SINGED YOUR EYEBROWS BLOWING OUT THE CANDLES.
THE DAY AFTER YOUR BIRTHDAY,
A) YOU REQUIRE SIX EXTRA HOURS OF SLEEP;
B) YOU CAN'T FIND YOUR LIVING ROOM UNDER THE BIRTHDAY DEBRIS;
C) YOU WONDER HOW YOU COULD POSSIBLY HAVE DONE THAT.
THE DAY AFTER YOUR BIRTHDAY, IT'S TIME TO:
A) RETURN SOME GIFTS (WHAT IS THAT, ANYWAY?);
B) CALL YOUR FRIENDS AND APOLOGIZE FOR YESTERDAY;
C) GET OUT OF THE COUNTRY, FAST.
THE DAY AFTER YOUR BIRTHDAY...
WE SHOULD ALL LOOK SO GREAT
AND HAVE IT SO GOOD!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
APPRECIATE YOURSELF AND YOUR LIFE!



Details | Prose Poetry | |

It Wasn't

Well, one could not call it a church for it was not white, pure, or religious nor could it be 
called a Police Department or Sheriff Department with the attached jail for it was not that 
bad or evil.  This place was unpainted, bare wood, and with four rock chimneys which 
sometimes smoked no matter how old or young they were but the smoke only appeared in 
the early morn and late afternoon for the occupants were about life or should I say survival. 
Making it from pay check to pay check barely getting by with nothing to spare.  Inside was 
emotional barreness, loneliness, and inferiority at the max for love and hope had died so 
long ago.  Isolation of the soul with preditory instincts to encapsulate all with the preditory 
instincts of a wild animal this being done to one so young rightly separates this place from a 
church but yet it is not a prison.  Permanently emotionally destroys the child......



(Is this prose poetry or do I need to work on it.  Be honest.  I need to know where to go with 
it.)


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Together we can


Together We Can

Hold my hand I will walk with you
Together we will ease your pain
Let sobriety be your sunshine
As addiction is your rain.

The path that lies before you
Will not be paved in gold
People will help and with your strength
A new life for you to mould.

Pain will come and pain will go
A mountain you must climb
Tears of grief will sometimes fall
As progress will take time.

My darling wife I promise you
I'll be here by your side
If you fall I'll pick you up
In me you can confide.

Together we can beat this foe
Together we can fight
Together we can hand in hand
March on into the night.


John B Scott


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Riddles and Fiddles

Ya, Shar, there are still open ones- will update later and add a new one.
Lilacs- we had a ton in our yard- on Mother's day me and my brother would
go down to the corner and sell bunches for 50 cents.  A good deal, and a fortune 
for us.  Lotsa' time for title search! PS- my friend John and I spoke earlier this 
morn, and I asked him to e-mail me copies of my TV Guises.  Easily the funniest 
and most creative thing I ever did.  From the seventies- one each year for my 
father for his birthday.  My originals somewhere in storage.  They will be E-mailed 
to me, with cc to you... I even did the ads and columns.  They were long a family 
favorite.  I was lookin' at 70's TV Guides as I did them, so the shows are so 
dated.. there are quite a few.  We should have them in a day or two.  I wouldn't 
know how, or even if, they could be ever communicated in this medium.  Got 
some semi- good news a few minutes ago...will talk to ya later.  Have a good day!
Love, Tom...


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Sicilian Manifesto

The Sunday meal at the Mena's.
Sicilian declaration of love. 
God and the Catholic saints rested on
Sunday except for our Mama Mena 
who cooked all day for family and friends.
Janice Mena and I were ten and best friends 
so this was a mandatory meal for me, 
I was told by her parents, Italian style,
that I had to stay for dinner.

But as far as I was concerned Mrs. Mena's 
Sunday dinner was a divine sacrament that 
included much more than merely bread and 
wine:
there was a special antipasto for starters
with fried eggplant and onions; roasted red 
and yellow peppers; sun-dried tomatoes; 
olives; provolone; prosciutto; and artichoke
hearts on a platter to provoke the appetite. 
A slow cooking pot filled with pasta sauce, 
leg of lamb, garlic and spices boiled 
all day until the lamb fell off the bone.

There were never less than eight for dinner
on Sundays and we all made ourselves busy
as the aroma of the pasta sauce infiltrated 
every inch of our senses. As we all sat down 
for dinner then came the arguing, loud, 
vehement arguments about anything and
everything, like Sunday clockwork!  
But who cared ... we were dining on Sicily's 
manna from heaven...I just shut my ears.

After I had eaten I had to go home.
My mother was preparing the usual Sunday 
roast...
I took a deep breath and passed the rib roast 
to my brother, afraid to tell anyone about just
having dinner at the Menas because my father
would have been very angry. So I stuffed down
two Sunday dinners for quite some time at age
ten till one day, by the grace of God
Janice and I got into a fight.


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BABY YOU MADE ME

am nuthin at at all
you are my call
thats why am at the top 
and not stop
you see your my heavenly
BABY YOU MADE ME


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Super Quiz and Other Bell Bull

Shar- sorry, vacuum is not correct, although I sure could use one for my home!!
Thank you Jaime- I will read your works tonight.
Shar- re Kitchen Perfume- I admit , baking bread from scratch; flour, yeast, etc.- is 
a labor intensive house perfume- but I tell you, you will then be considered the 
best cook by all your kids, and your husband will brag for years.  I like to use an 
old edition of Betty Crocker Cookbook from the 40's- where there is no such thing 
as a microwave; sometimes the old ways are better.  Make sure the whole family 
is there before you put it in the oven.
As for lamb, I only made it once, for my father's sake.  We had a huge yard, and 
wrap-around porch, part of which he screened off.  That was his favored spot- 
and that is where I'd serve him meals, usually, with his little B&W TV on a Mets or 
Yankees game.  Oh the hours of happiness there.  Love, tom


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SPECAIL DAY

its her time to shine
kept this in mind
mother is one of a kind
get her a card
thats  hard
make sure you sign
say you love her in
every way
and happy mother day
ITS a
SPEACIL DAY


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TAKE TIME FOR MOTHER

its mother day
have something
to bring
and nice to say
she bough you too
boy or girls
 in this world
don't be a stiff 
give her a gift
sister or brothers
TAKE TIME FOR MOTHER


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Someone above me

I know you said you will be there for me
You said everything happen for a reason
Everything that we do together is meant to be
The day you went a way
For me it was a bad season 
When you left I wasn't sad 
It made me STRONG
Because I know you in a better place
It was just a matter of time that I seen you then you where gone
Even though I miss seeing your face
When it's pretty outside 
and it's one beautiful day
I know you looking down on me with a smile on your face 
Saying everything OKAY


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Kitchen Perfume

To me, the sense of smell
Is very potent, and brings back memories....
Coffee brewing, pancakes, pasta sauce,
Baking meats, frying bacon...
And the very best, fresh baked, from scratch, bread.
Heavenly it makes the whole house,
and worth the hours of work involved...
These things are gone for me,
But in my memory.
So if ou cook for your family,
But you're awful tired too,
Remember you're building memories,
They'll always have of you.


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Just One Last Thought

If you love someone and they love you; consider yourself blessed.  Love will 
endure after the universe vaporizes...It's mark is untouched by time.  Nite, all.


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The Psychic (another true tale!)(Pt. One)

this may be hard to believe, but it's true.  will be written in prose for my sanity's 
sake (too late, dummy!!)...let's begin our story....
in the 70's, as a musician, I had a band with my two cousins.  the bass player 
and singer- of incredible talent, was Bill.  the rare kind of person who lights up all 
the bulbs in a room when he walks in.  he was also my best friend..though 
younger, I had him over my house every weekend.  the other cousin, Charlie, the 
drummer- also very talented (in a 3 man band, ya all better be smokin')- but 
Charlie was a dark character- never really to be trusted- he lived with me and my 
parents, cause he was always bein' thrown out from everywhere- and the cops 
had him on their radar. I was the keyboard player.  we did originals as well. all of 
this in the early 70's.  after each jam/rehearsal- we'd go out to party- beer, bars, 
girls, etc...... well for reasons we need not deal with..after a period of some local 
success- we stopped playing- I threw Charlie out when I found his drugs (our 
agreement was no such thing!!)-  and for years after, I would just jam with Bill 
and a revolving parade of others.  for fun.  in dec. 1977, I got the horrible news Bill 
had been killed in an auto accident- something I am yet to recover from...I had 
some pictures of us playing blown up into posters.  Charlie ran to Ariz- he's back 
and forth all the time, depending on where the heat is less intense.  so years 
later (1990) he came to town, and we had a reunion jam...and pictures were 
taken.  when developed, Charlie, arm out, hand open, as in greeting is shown in 
the picture...with a clear stream of what appears to be ectoplasm streaming from 
Bill in the poster directly into Charlie's open hand!!  wow, bizzarre!  best yet to 
come!  sometime thereafter, my girlfriend Rosie and I went to a local psychic- 
intrigued by what appeared to be real knowledge from elsewhere- so to test- 
we came back with the original picture of Charlie and the ecto...sealed in an 
envelope-  surprisingly- she said she saw the accident, she saw twins (he was a 
twin)- he died with his new white shirt on (he did) and a few other tidbits that 
startled me and Rose.  and she never opened the envelope!  some weird stuff, 
no?


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But For A Short While

They were with us but for a short while
Their good works now live on in memory to make us smile-
Their joys, their tears, their hopes, their dreams and yes, even their sorrows and 
pains still linger on; they still remain in the portals of the minds of all whose lives 
they have touched-whether little or whether much-

And as they have now gone and left us in body, gone back to dust-
In spirit, it's only but for a short while.

For they who die in the Lord, one day they must:

       At the sound of the trump, as the clouds roll back, meet us in the presence of  
         the Redeemer, Christ, when He returns to gather His Father's children      
          home to the Kingdom of God where we will all prepare together to return 
           to the New Earth from the New  Heaven  to dwell in Eternal Righteousness-
Where joy and peace will be forever and ever, for our eternal home will be 
restored to a place where we can join together to live, worship in praise  to our 
Lord, receiving our crown and  reward of Eternal Life.

So, sleep on sister, brothers, friends, and loved ones; it is but for a short while,   
 for the  Day will come when we shall meet together once again, and all of us will 
be at Rest

In the Presence of God's Glorious Eternal Bliss!


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The Hole

I was born in a very small town in the middle of a vast, vast land. 
It was filled with ranches, cattle and grass and the world’s toughest breed of man. 
I was raised with the mythical western cowboy but he halts no mystery for me
for they were my friends, neighbors and some were my family. 
Large ranches leave little room, for things that bloom, that a cow will not eat up, 
the mystery is not in the cowboy but it is in what the cowboy loves.
In West Texas there stands a great giant hole a void where only the cattle grow, 
there are few schools and little to do, but work and watch the wind blow. 
It is a harsh land and it has culled many a man for not being tough enough, 
he will pack up his kit and hit the road go looking for something more to love.
I was born and raised and culled from there and for me the mystery goes on. 
I have given it thought for many a year just what is it that the cowboy loves. 
If you find yourself in West Texas stop in on any little town
where you can shake the hand of the world’s toughest breed of man 
and ask him what it is that the cowboy loves. 
He may share his secrets with you. or just say he doesn’t know, 
stay only a day then drive away get the hell out of that hole.
For it is a harsh but magic land were you must bring your own opportunely. 
So if your ignore my warning and give to the lure of the Prickle-Pear and Mesquite tree, 
then I’ll envy you, to be the few, who live in the hole where I so long to be, 
for I love and miss those tough hardy souls with there open hearts, who greet you so
gracefully. 
Maybe that is what the cowboy loves and it was always there for me to see


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Thoughts, Comments, Bits and Pieces

Thanks to all, you are the best.
Rumplestillskin, I be. Awake 6 days, brain turned into porridge (What the hell is 
porridge??  Given my Druthers!  What are druthers?  Sorry, got sidelined there.

To those who enjoy "Memories in Time"- check out book- "Going, Going, Gone..."
(Amazon.com?)  Great old memories- like Doctor's house calls!!  What's that?
Closest now is an ambulance.

"Odd Sight" John Heck- Oh, sorry, didn't recognize you with the feather in your cap.
Also- they weren't Keds- I saw!!  They were P.F. Flyers!!

"Another Time" Vince Suzadail Jr.- How right you are.  We didn't have material 
wealth, and didn't need them.  As a kid, I was perfectly happy to play on the floor 
with marbles, bottle caps, odd buttons from Mom's sew Box.  I had a "Toy's-R-
Us" inventory in my child's imagination.  And, yes pity the poor children of today- 
when childhood is over by five.  Where seeing both parents at the same time is
limited to, maybe, Thanksgiving, or MacDonald's.  Where family dinnertime is no 
more real than Oz.

Sandra- Thank you, sweetheart.

I hope to catch up on reading more of you guys tonight now that my mind is 
somewhat clear again.  Thank God for my PoetrySoup Family- I couldn't imagine 
existing without it anymore!

P.S.  I have a new phobia- I refuse to open and reach into the refrigerator... That 
box of Arm and Hammer tries to smash my fingers everytime....

Later, Dudes and Duddettes....


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Family

It all began in the summer of 1876, in which Brother Clive Werthings had returned from 
feeding the sow.  He walked through the kitchen door and into the morning light shining in from the window.  With great distress he uttered the following:

	“The eyes of the pigs came alive!
	Their dead eyes and ordinary pig faces
	We’re preaching to me! Squealing
	Away with you, away with you! They shouted!
	I swatted them with my hands
	And as my hand swung towards their pinkish flesh
	My fingers turned to hooves!
	My arms shrunk to the size of their front legs!
	It was blurry, muddy, and I could not think straight
	And so I started to pray and I forgave God for all the things 
	I swore against him if he’d just release me now…

Brother Werthings took a deep sigh as his family of on-lookers watched breathlessly.  
He had been to the asylum once, his mother thought in communal privacy with the others. 
And now this, she thought.  She watched him finish:

	“And then he did. He released me.
	The next moment I was on my feet
	Staring at the stupid pigs.
	I simply turned around and 
	Walked back into the house.
	A new man.

Brother Werthings took a profound step forward, consequently out of the ray of sunlight coming in from the window.  He then repeated in the shadow:

	“I am a new man now.”

The family lived on, living out their lives:  a proud ship, slowly rotting in the vast sea.  And years from now, one looking out, or looking in, could never know the full truth regarding the validity of Brother Werthings’ statements.  

Though on his deathbed, struck by tuberculosis, he demanded on his 
tombstone be chiseled:

	Clive Werthings
	1847-1897
	The Eyes Of The Pigs Came Alive!


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Thoughts, Comments

From a sleepy mind, unable to sleep...
These words I do feel deep...
The Soup has become my
number one family
One I spend my time with great joy,
I hope I don't too often annoy...
But that's what ya get,
When ya read a dumb goy...

Seriously (or as close as I can get)- to Christy- I am so glad you love the Shivaree 
song- it was on the ending soundtrack to Kill Bill II.  I first heard of it on a great 
NYC college radio station, WFUV, from Fordham University...I was driving when I 
first heard it, and nearly crashed!  I was awestruck, and haunted...I ordered the 
CD from Amazon (you can get anything there!)...and have heard it many times.  I 
have not been able to "get into" most of the other songs, because if you put a 
Picasso next to the Mona Lisa, you can't really judge.  I have trouble lately getting 
a continuous clean video (on You Tube, same as you)- and hope there is a video 
available from Amazon, but haven't checked it out yet.  
To my precious Shar, you are so sweet, and easily the most popular poet on the 
soup (well deserved)- I often get so wrapped up in writing, I have to train myself 
to read more- And I've been trying...ever amazed by the talent I read, there is not 
enough time in the day...and the reading is so pleasureable, it ought to be taxed!
(oops, none of us want that, it was a pun..."Monty Python"...the parrot sketch),
what a joy to have this great library to enjoy for years to come...And Christy, why'd 
ya' send the racoon here?- He just left and I had to join "The Racoon Club" to get 
him to go...Ya'll great, and I still got an hour or three left in me...


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Valentine's Day Birthday

My sweet Ruby's birthday,
Naturally on Valentine's day,
In her honor, the NY city of Beacon
Will close their schools!
Ain't that a kick?
Though, sadly, 
She seems to be "missing in action" lately,
Many wonder why,
She is so loved on this site,
Many of us cry....
So come back home,
To the five and dime,
We'll even through in some 
Jimmy Dean sausages!!!

Or, as Kenny Roger's first song went,
"Ruby, don't take your poems to town!"


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To All Soupmates

In an effort to get our beloved Ruby Metzger back- I suggest each of you send a 
card or note addressed to her, care of me, and I will send the whole batch to her- 
who knows, maybe another "Miracle On thirty-forth Street"?

Mail to ; Tom Bell 95 New Hackenck Rd., Wappinger Falls, N.Y. Cell Block 24
I will mail them all to her on the last day of Feb.  Remember, her birthday is 2/14.
Tell all your other Soup buddies, please!!  Thank you, tom.

PS- Zip is 12590-1730


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BUCKINGHAM LACE

Sussanah,my great grandma,times three,a pillow puffed up on her knee;with 
daughter Ann in cobbled Cowfair,daily shaped their homespun ware.In such 
humble women,cottage-tied,a rare and dextrous art did reside.Fashioned 
out,stitch by stitch,pillowed lace in patterns rich.Tinkling bobbins with bewildering 
skill,inch by inch grew the intricate frill.Twisting threads in pairs and 
groups,knitted together with interlocking loops.An established craft of world 
renown grew around this county town.Plain or decorative old point lace,a lost 
rural industry of which there's no longer a trace.


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Fabel Sixteen

 Fabel Sixteen 
PART ONE
Fabel Sixteen 
 
CharlaX Fables 
 
Famous Charles' 
 
Historic “Charles” 
 
WE now explore the the Charles of HIStory or HiSTORY LOLZX. 
The History of Charles County 
________________________________________ 
Where can you find great seafood, enough history to fill several books, top-flight 
golf, first-class fishing and acres and acres of some of the most beautiful forest 
land on the East Coast?? The answer can be found just eighteen miles south of 
Washington, DC, in Charles County, Maryland -- an area that has become a 
Mecca for heaters and anglers, and a magnet for history buffs and seafood-
lovers .ed.note. This is a love poem of some propulsion to see iff she is looking 
closely at the mee. 
Saint Charles Inn 
The Inn, formerly known as the St. Charles Hotel, was built in 1913 by Mr. and 
Mrs. Charles Barthle. It was widely known for its' hospitality to commuters on the 
Orange Belt Railroad, which came through San Antonio. Many visitors came and 
stayed for the winter season. Word soon spread about the family atmosphere 
and delicious meals prepared from their garden lover. She is so faithful and so 
blessed and gives my heart a rest she loves me best. 
          Charles Demuth (1883-1935) 

                     
"Deem" as some of his friends called him, was born in a Lancaster house on 
North Lime Street. At age 7, he and his family moved to the King Street home 
where he spent most of his lifetime. Demuth's health was frail; from an early age 
he suffered from lameness and as an adult from severe diabetes. He graduated 
from Franklin and Marshall Academy and studied at Drexel Institute and the 
Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts in Philadelpia.P.A. Lover. She travels hard 
and she has to work too much she needs to rest. 
H 



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CARTMEL TO KESWICK

Buttemere to Ulla pike,our walk more ramble than hike.Up and down,rain or 
snow,two teenage daughters in tow.Haystacks,Loweswater overlooking the 
lake,now locked in memory's keepsake.Up Skiddaw and Wythrop beck,much 
much longer than our usual trek.Through the wood onto Dodds crag,both the 
girls now starting o flag.Down the slope to Underseer stopping to buy a small 
souvenir.Out on the fell with spongy moss,Wainwright in hand as the paths 
cross-cross.Along the beck in a tree lined walk,watching the antics of a hovering 
hawk.Deer grazing 'neath woodland trees,Cartmel to Keswick,just the place to 
take one's ease.lunch-time picnics on grassy banks,vacations now recalled with 
much thanks.


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SEEN BUT NOT HEARD

Forbears,Edie,Kate and Ann furnished apiece with brush and pan.Each 
Victorian 'Miss' tied in service's  abyss.Far off days,now long gone,their toil each 
day was lengthy and long.With fires to light,floors to scrub,and carpets to brush 
and drub.Mops forbidden,as they smeared the dirt and begrimed their prim 
alpaca aproned skirt.They cleaned 'his' tub,emptied 'her' commode,a regular 
chore in a housemaid's daily load.Must rise at six but never to mix and no matter 
what,keep a stiff upper lip.Never lose your cool,a formal curtsey the perpetual 
rule.Half day off once per month,so free to roam and catch the omnibus home.No 
other opportunities in store except a marriage at eighteen or before.Upstairs and 
down stairs ,no in between,starting out at just thirteen and just there to please as 
Master and his Lady take their ease.


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COWFAIR TO ANCHORAGE

We left our abode in old Cowfair,haggled a price for an old shire mare.Onto the 
landlord's canal boat,lock stock and barrel for a life afloat.Farewell to our 
Buckingham birthplace and its meagre living from old point lace.Dawdled slow 
up to Cosgrove taking our meals around a blackened stove.Our moveable house 
painted castle and rose,not a life we would have chose.Eighteen fifties harsh 
and mean,coal cargo so nothing stays clean.Doff your cap,torch your forelock 
every two mile at the gatekeeper's lock.Fresh food scarce except or fish,perch 
and roach a staple dish.Clothes dry on a washing line strung,home for a time 
whilst the toddlers were young.As their number increased and grew ,places to 
sleep all too few.Family life impossibly hard so back we went to a tied cottage in 
Aylesbury's Anchorage yard.