Have you ever imagined the world we live without women?
It is like a lung without some oxygen, agonizing and inevitably dead,
A face never with a smile, boring and unfriendly.
A cup of tea without some grains of sugar, bitter and foul,
A pool without some water, dry and empty,
A good ride on a bad untilled road, rough and uninteresting,
The earth without some drops of rain, an inescapable famine,
But how come with the great number of women on planet earth?
We still live to cry as a reggae legend sang “no woman no cry”,
It is because they permit evil as much as they permit good,
Gullible and instrumental in the hand of the wicked ones,
Ugly and nice, beautiful and dangerous,
Cunning like serpents, deceitful like chameleon,
Holy but liars, having a form of godliness but highly ungodly,
Lovely like little puppies, sweet like bees honey,
Women, an invincible force in our our world today.
Personally, we clash because we want to be different.
We have a chip on our shoulders as individuals.
We want to be innate; in which one must be the greater person.
Personally, we confront each other about dumb things when it is not business structured.
Our conflict becomes that of jealousy.
Non-bias to gender this is which cause differentiation.
We are the people of the cosmos.
Our brotherly and sisterly love is what unites us.
Let us learn each other through the structure formed and join for a greater focus.
The reality of today states life is a place in time.
Formed by animal and by humankind, our living determines our destinies.
A common cause unites!
We are all God’s people.
We must bond in some shape, form, or fashion.
This is for certain and ascertains a more meaningful existence.
Our personality clashes should not stop us as individuals.
The multitude is what matters and we are in that configuration.
Inasmuch, integrity integrates.
Amour-proper allows us to become more diverse.
A greater determination brings forth application.
Therefore, we must concentrate within these thoughts.
Our single-mindedness plus our constructive efforts manifests destiny.
This is our world our universe.
Let us not asunder.
MAY OUR WILL BE DONE!
Sponsor Chris D. Aechtner
Contest Name Anything Goes
Entry Date March 08, 2014
~Please read About This Poem~
Poet: Sparkle Jordan
My sister remember there is
No Wasted Time.. All Of Our
Time On Earth Affords Us The
Opportunity To Grow.. To
Thrive.. We Are Spirits On
Earth Having A Human
Experience.. Always Learning..
Always Loving.. Always
Thanking God For Our Time.. I
Love You.. God Loves You.. I
Believe In You.. God Believes
In You.. Believe In Yourself..
Forgive Others.. Forgive
Yourself.. Be Happy & At
My Sister when I was about 8 1/2, I am 38 now, passed away but before she did, she told
everyone this... "I am going to be Ok, and will be with God... I will get a new pair of lungs and
some wings to fly with Him in Heaven, and I will be His little princess..." On the day she
passed, in the midst of the dust floating in the room. Rays of light shown through that morning
right on her on her bed, covering her, and I truly believe that God came and picked her up
personally Himself that day, and carried her off to Heaven with Him...
Precious on her last litter had a kitten that looked, and I mean looked dead on herself... So
we named her Princes... She was the most crazy cat I have ever known... and had an air
about her that said to all... "Hey!" Look at me!" "I am a Princess" ... She was so very proud of
herself for this, but never neglected her Mother's way, and was never disloyal to the family...
She always loved to play with us and her Mother (Chasing her around the house, daring her,
and reminding her to play), because I believe this... She was just crazy about life... "Just
crazy about it, and as grateful as her mother, and my SIster," because though my Sister,
though she was very spirited about her condition. She still desired to live her life just like
another child her age would, and would carry this burden from time to time, as it would come
to the surface, and make her blue, the fact that in reality, she could not... So princes would
just fly around the house like a whirlwind, and would always come to land in someone's lap,
or arms or beside you in bed purring or at the foot of someone's bed at the end of the day,
and would awaken as lively and in a dead run, to do it all again the next day... We loved her
dearly too... because of her adoring for her life itself... and the energy that she put into
enjoying it... Because she too, had lost her little brother, a few hours after he was born...
She too reminds me of my Sister Tina, in this way... That life is sometimes a struggle, but is
always evolving and always comes back to itself in time, and is always turning full circle...
and is forever advancing towards all in gratitude... and exists and moves abundantly, within
itself and lives for this one passion...
The man made his way through the deep underbrush
The snow pelted against his face and thick fur coat
The forest quickly turned from brown to white
Snow kept on at a steady pace and he had to move
Or be caught in the raging storm that blew
He knew that as long as he kept moving
He would survive on his trek to the valley below
The snow mounted into banks quickly
Each step became more labored than the one before
The path became slippery on the downward slops
the steady pace slowed to almost a crawl.
The once clearly laid out path now
became invisible, he must pick up the pace
It was no place to be caught on the mountain slopes
during a blowing snow storm.
As he continued his trek he only hoped
that he was headed in the right direction.
For the blinding snow hid all from his sight
As the cold began to seep into his body
his fingers and feet no longer could be felt
Yet, he pushed on knowing that if he stopped
he would be frozen or fall asleep.
He pushed on and came to the bottom of the
mountain just before dusk.
His determination kept him going and thoughts
of his family remained clear in his mind.
He had made it home and counted himself lucky
to be alive for outside the storm still raged.
Early surprise snow storms can catch a person unaware
And he counted himself as one very lucky man.
No one really knows
The True Mr. Right or the true Mr. Wrong
They all come singing, the same sad song
Her dad once told her Mr. Right
Will choose the right path to God
Mr. Wrong would lie, cheat
Make your head go round and round
Mr. Right would have dignity and pride
Mr. Wrong, false promises then hide
Ever hear Trini Mr. right or a Trini Mr. Wrong?
Full ah ma-ma-guy, fake smile...man be gone
Remember, be careful choosing Mr. Right
Be fearful of Mr. Wrong
And analyze all, their sad songs...
©Copyright November 1, 2011 by Brian Pierre-Alexander
© All Rights Reserved
Her eyes amused me, slices of January that held April tightly....
she could rain in snow, drop from upside-down skies, and we held tightly to the tears that
only appeared on the opposite side of closet doors as we marked our claim on unusual with
hand prints that never saw the sun.
Two days could have passed underneath us before we blinked, my windows whispered glorious
promises but we kept them closed for safety, for the opposition of who we could be, and
she knew the secret of every season, she knew how to laugh when bedroom doors...
I drew her behind the mirror and we created October across December stars, we became
disobedient underneath the glorious names we sang that night for lips speak magic when
they pretend to lie and dishonesty was but a kiss away from sunrise.
Time stung me come August, come March, come the age of thirty-two, her eyes had been shut
for years now and she sunk beneath flowers I am positive would be beautiful enough to
photograph had I the courage to glance, but my feet have never crossed the grass that
blankets her and roots her promises...
tangled beneath tomorrow with a tight grasp on yesterday, and I wonder if the days have
yet to fade the color of her hair.
It rained in January when I existed miles away, teardrops of memories that fell as softly
as the whispers of her name, I closed the bedroom door tightly and listened intensely for
the echoes of dishonesty, for she remained there, somewhere, behind mirrors that painted
her and the lies that bit my tongue, that reassured me...
our hand prints would hide from summer...
covered in ice-cream secrets that screamed her pain from a smile, from a foolish wish that
spoke us inseparable.
Her eyes, blue as October, slapped me, that day, as they painted themselves the secrets
girls are never supposed to witness, as they refused to allow April to fall but declared
with the beauty that she
could never see.
She reminded me of my Sister Tina... She had been adopted by a Christian Minister and her
family, as we all eventually were, each separately adopted... who lived life to the fullest of
faith. As they adopted so many children that had their own particular needs for love, and had
had their struggle themselves with their own desire for it... Tina had a rare lung disorder, a
form of Emphysema, and passed away at 6 1/2 years of age... But was as grateful for life as
I feel a person could aspire to be... Every time she was asked "Tina" How are you feeling
today?" She would fight, and I mean with all of her love for life to say... "I am just fine today,
and how are you yourself today?" And she would talk with them for a time. She could barely
even speak most of the time, and was in a wheel chair and on oxygen for the majority of her
life, but she wanted people to know still that her life was wonderful... and was still concerned
about another's day... She new that with God, she was well taken care of, and wanted the
world to know this too... "I have always found this to be the most precious and endearing
thing, among the very many things about her... and so the kitten that my daughter brought
home for us could barely meow, and welcomed life and struggled to embrace it even though
hers was distraught at the time...
We kept her, and loved her greatly, and intently for this one reason... and every time
someone was not feeling well, she would lay by their side or on there chest, upon their heart,
and would stay there purring until they were well...
A peculiar side note about her... My wife read the bible every day, and left it on our bed...
and every time Precious was in labor, she would lay on that bible, and "I believe" Be praying
to God for us and her new kittens that were on the way... That their life would bring a new life
of this kind to another's, and so I find that she reminded me of my Sister Tina... in so many
ways... because she was always grateful for life, and another's life, loved God, and moved to
show it in all her ways, and I always found that the name that we gave her "Precious". Was
the most fitting and adoring and endearing name that we could have given her... Because this
is what she, like my little Sister, was to all of us, and to everyone she came in contact with,
and who came in contact with her... .
There were seven Indian Government schools. All built alike. The
one I'm writing about is Spring Creek. He Dog, Soldier Creek and White River,
Grass Mountain, Two Kettle, and Black Pipe were the other schools. The
Headquarters for these schools was at Rosebud, South Dakota.
On some summer evenings we were able to talk our mothers into
hiking to the lookout tower. We followed the ankle deep sandy trail road to the
cliff north of the school., A canyon lay at the foot of the tower but we climbed the
bluff. I don't know why we didn't explore the canyon unless it seemed dark and
sinister. The footing was better once we reached the summit. The closer we got
to the tower the taller it grew and standing at the foot of the steps looking up was
easier than getting to the top and looking down. My mother didn't usually make it
to the top because she didn't like heights. But she didn't mind being left behind
this time. We never could get into the building at the top because it was locked,
but we could climb the steps to the very last one. Even my little sister managed
to elude mom and followed us to the top.
From the bluff we could look down on the garden. My aunt grew a
huge garden and canned the produce for the hot meals served the school
children. We kids didn't work in the garden very often, but we looked for the arrow
heads and fossils. Which, I suspect the adults probably considered the best
place for us.
At the end of the road, living in shack, was Old Lady Grease. I have a
vague recollection of seeing her. Tiny, frail, wrinkled and gray headed is all I can
In spring and fall we were in school in Kansas.
It's Christmas now. Cold and usually snowy. We were in a winter
I'm standing at the fire escape window. The ghostly pale full moon is
illuminating the naked arms of the trees as they shiver in the wind, swaying to
and fro as if dancers in a ballet. I listen to the winter sounds. The frigid air
enhances their sharpness. The ax's thud echoes up the canyon as one of the
Indians across the river chops another supply of wood. One of his peers beats
on the drum. It is one-thirty a. m. but the thin walls of the tents do not keep the
cold out. Day or night this chore must be attended to for survival.
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
I will be
Bhai Phonta is a Bengali Hindu festival, usually celebrated two days after the Kali Puja or Sakti Puja where the sisters mark the foreheads of their brothers with sandalwood paste and pray for their safety, well being and success.
According to Rig Veda, Yama and Yamuna(or Yami) were twins (brother and sister) born to Surya. In their earthly incarnations, Yamuna(Yami) once longed to see her brother and invited Yama to her house. When Yama, the god of death visited his sister, his sister prayed for his well being.
However, according to folklorist and social historians, due to various societal changes with the advent of agriculture, the sisters began to pray for their brothers' safety, well being, and success. The Bhai Phonta festival is rooted in that social practice.According to the Bengali Hindu lunar calendar, the festival is celebrated on the second day of the Shukla paksha of the month of Kartik ( Oct-Nov) in late autumn. Sometimes it is also celebrated on the first day of the Shukla paksha.
The sister puts a mark of sandalwood paste mixed with curd on her brother's forehead with her left hand little finger thrice, while reciting a traditional rhyme:
THE POEM: BHAI PHONTA (n-nasal)
"I dot my bother's forehead
Let there be thorns before the door of Yama, the death
My brother lives long, for ages
And be dotted by his sister
Let my bother be happy
Let my bother be safe
Let my brother be rich
Let my brother be pious
O Lord, make my brother divine
O Lord , make his life sweet"
The sister then offers sweet to her brother. Brother touches her feet if she is elder and gives blessings if sister is younger. The gifts are exchanged. The ritual ends with feast and special sweets as desserts.
The brother-sister relationship is considered one of the most sacred relationships in Hindu Culture. From ancient times down to the present day there are stories a legion where a bother sacrifices his life in the battlefield to defend honour of his sister.
We have observed this ritual today, 25th October. My sisters came and dotted me. They prayed for my well-being and health.
NOTE: On a special spot of forehead. The spot is at the root of the nose and between the eyebrows. In Yoga tradition it is called "Kutastha"" Kutastha Chaitanya". They are synonymous to Christ Consciousness. We feel the presence of Lord here first. Hence the ritual of Bhai Phonta is closely related to Yoga , the way of life.
RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
(c) rajat kanti chakrabarty 25/10/2014
I am the formula that brings her to ecstasy
Her beauty as craved my fantasy
As she lay upon my chest
Through her blossom, I am truly blest.
She’s the rose of my life
The one to be my wedded wife
She’s my help meet through the hardship and strife
Every morning as I woke up
She’ as been my corn syrup
As I go out through the crack of dawn
I am the one to mow her lawn
In her fears
Through her tears
She yield to my warming embrace
I love her at every moment from beginning to end
She’s brilliantly wise
I tell you the truth
God has given me the correct prize
She has allow me to grow
None of a scare crow.
She’s hundred percent
She’s no less than a cent
I crave for her increase
Through Jesus Christ the one who paid the ultimate price.
‘Me n she’ trusty love will never decrease.
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
She sails on wings of the holy dove
He rides on a chariot of gold
The sun and the moon
Leading us on our way
But who shall they have to guide them
Through the three choices
But the one
Only one path on which we all tread
Which we all must pass
And this is the road that is so hard to follow
For with each step we take it hurts
For as we walk through life we love
True love hurts the most
Hurts the greatest
And it is a good thing
Walking down the path without it
Walking down the road never knowing it
Never accepting it
Is never to have walked at all
And this is the road that is so hard to follow