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Details | Giving Poem | |

Hands

Featuring: Leonora Galinta
----------------------------------
Take My Hands
I Offer Them To You
Hold Them Tight
Never Let Go Of Them!
---------------------------------

~MY HANDS~

With all the time on my hands
I gave my hands one job.
  My Hands 
-The Artist-

My hands paint everything in my life
they paint my weakness, my strength 
they paint the fire in my eyes
they hold me when I'm cold
my hands colored my childhood!

Like an architect, 
my hands drew the plans and layouts of my life.
My hands *very articulate, are they? 
They continue to sew and show the way  
Sometimes, my hands paint the truth
Sometimes, my hands paint lies
Painting hurtful images on dry wall
My palms, my fingers embedded calluses from every fall
Creating images, healing my heart
Sometimes my hands are the only friend I see. 

With no words to say
I caress the sky line like a mime
My hands ride the wind, 
My hands paint a world, 
each of their own. 

Young and pretty finger prints 
They feel, they hold, they grip
Don't let go!

Clever and cute
It's time for motherhood
My hands painted your first hold
Traced your first smile
A painting  I treasure forever in my heart
Yes! A Rembrandt they became during birth 
Now your all grown up...  :-(  
Embarrassed to embrace the hold
One day when I'm old you will hold my hands and remember the gold.

My hands paint many designs when it comes to love
sometimes a masterpiece 
sometimes a mistake
sometimes my hands felt images I can't describe
Made up moments of handicap when lost
My hands perfect when in love
They write songs when complete
So many interlock moment with you
Firm, the perfect match, my fingers spoke.

My hands 
-The Artist-
they've been told
held so many times
always meeting, greeting,  
waving hello's and goodbyes... ((you see my hands, they smile too))

Painful, arthritis 
cuts, bruises
Pinching my way through reality. 
Reaching holding on to dreams.
Snapping fingers, we are a team.

My hands age in every turning page
Shriveled and old
Still you embrace and love the hold
my hands touch and make a difference
my hands learned a lot
my hands prayed 
and knew their duty.
My hands employed by me.
When they are bored,
they tap and tap and draw THAT' annoying noise.

My hands know secrets, a fortune teller can never reveal
they hold the past, present, and  future in every line.
I extend my hands,
without flipping the bird
Thank you Hands!
I am enjoying the sign language show.

In my next life, or so
I will praise my hands
Yes so beautiful, tender, they love to feel...................

My Hands
-The Artist-
I can't believe with all the time I have on my hands.
I forgot to mention I'm left-handed.

by;pd

Details | Giving Poem | |

First Communion

The powdery snow gloves the fingers of maple forest protecting barren bark with the expectation of rose tipped bloom. A meeting point between pristine innocence and the veiled promise of spring ripening. Each trunk and limb mirroring the action of man Reaching, arching, swaying, creating aisles of church-like splendor, a sacrament where the virginal may walk toward communion with their God. Inward toward the birth of faith and outward toward the wedgwood sky in celestial sight.

Details | Giving Poem | |

If I Could

if i could,             

                         i'd  wish a magic wand.            

if i could,

              i would build dreams                

                                     brick by brick

                                                        the kind         

                                                                one could hang on to            

                                                                                                one could live in.

if i could,
        imagine 
               upside down 
                                rainbows                                                           
                                            so the sky 
                                                            baby blue 
                                                                        would look as if 
                                                                                         it was smiling.
        
my bestest hope 
                                  wipe away the tears from
                                                                 the hungry
                                                                 the abused
                                                                  the sickly 
                                                                      children
                                                                and elderly.            

                                             this first,
fore all else,       
                            yes the children and the elderly.


if i could,
                            replace every tear with a smile
                                                                              a hug
                                                                          a tickle

if i could,

snap my fingers make money obsolete,
                                               
                                                        plenty for everybody to share.

        clap my hands medical care everywhere would be there.


in my heart, live dried out tears.
there, i hear the pulse of our planet.
                                 so many good people,               
                                               people who care.

there's a black venom       
                       such a small dose
                                 affects the masses.    

if i could,
                    supply all with the antidote.



if i could,              
                   i would build an arc
                                sail 'till the world was cleansed 
                                                              move in with everyone           
                                                                                             on one land.

call it OURS.             
           yes definitely OURS.
                                           i like that name.
                                                      
i can't.          
              i can't do all those things.

i can kiss where it hurts.         
                                 give hugs freely.
                                             give what possessions,                                       
                                                                    i can do without,
                                                                            share my physical wealth.

i fear nothing.
              least of all poverty
                              happy to share what i can.

i can offer you my love
                                       love comes easy to me.

it never feels like enough.        

                                        but i am here,     arms wide open.


tell me what is it you need,        how can i help.


i love you,

                               unconditionally.




14~12~2014
Maurice Yvonne






Details | Giving Poem | |

Show Me Your Face


                                           Do not hide your face
                                    Let me see your beautiful eyes
                                          Do not hide your tears
                                          Let me wipe them away
                                         Do not hide your wounds
                                             Let me comfort you
                                            You should know that
                                             you are not alone 
                                    Do not be subdued by falsehood
                                          jealousy and backstabbed
                                       Raise your head and be proud
                                       Show me your face your grief
                                   No one has the right to judge others
                                   They must sweep for their own door




15.04.2013
A-L  Andresen :)

Details | Giving Poem | |

Windowpanes

An ancient river, centuries-old shops and restaurants steeped in a 2000-year history and 
culture set the scene. The ambiance seemed divinely contrived to facilitate the purposes of 
our meeting and the very fodder from which the greatest poets are sustained.
Not newcomers to the area, Kay P. and I were assigned to the Army Security Agency Field 
Station in Augsburg, Germany in 1974. We were colleagues in the intelligence community 
with no romantic overtures to our relationship, save an appreciation of poetry and profound 
philosophical discussions. Kay wanted to spend the evening with a poet, so we planned the 
evening to be appropriate for the purpose. 
At the time and place, we quickly found ourselves hopelessly immersed in the philosophical 
foundations of my writings throughout the evening. It was the first time since Vietnam that 
I'd felt worthy as a person. I still recall sipping the red wine and feeling the warmth of the 
large hearth inside the Balkan eatery. I still see the swans gliding by on the Lech flowing by 
our café.

When windowpanes begin to weep with autumn's chilly dew, I'm taken back through seasons passed to one delight held true, A rendezvous that time allowed, a gentle evening spent Amid a time of long discord when days were dreary bent. I feel the stretch upon my lips, the smile returns once more. Again, I smell the Balkan fare prepared on Lech's old shore, The mood is cast in high regard, the wine is tart and dry, As Augsburg ripples in the wake when swans go gliding by. The ancient windows frame our view and day begins to wane As rivulets meander down and streak the dampened panes. The ambiance of ages passed beseeched us not to leave And held us in its warm embrace throughout the ebbing eve. My heart was scarred, without regard and hardened by the war But her esteem unveiled its worth, while nothing had before. She saw the child that once was me, I'd long since cast aside, And bade he climb astride his mount, engage his life and ride. Now, she is but a memory, whose kindness soothed my heart, For we embarked upon our lives on paths ordained to part. Her subtle way escaped my eye till time had made it clear That her esteem had set me free, that night I hold so dear. The poetry that filled my soul remains these many years, Impassioned in my warmest thoughts when autumn first appears, When windowpanes begin to weep, a-glisten with the dew, And I return to seasons passed, to one delight held true.

Details | Giving Poem | |

Lottery Winner helps Homeless

 
 As I walked into the banquet hall of the 
 Goodman’s Inn, the first thing that stood
 out to me were the eyes of the people. I
 felt as though I could actually see hope. Eyes 
 seemed to sparkle and everyone in the hall
 sat talking to the others sitting around them
 as they waited for the main course of the evening. 
 To understand this report we need to go back just 
 over a year ago when Lindsey Long won the 50 
 million dollar lottery. Apparently the multimillionaire 
 booked the Goodman’s Inn for December 24th through 
 to January 2nd of this year solely to house the homeless 
 over the Christmas holidays. Miss Long walked through 
 the streets herself over the last week inviting the 
 unfortunate homeless to come to the motel for these      
 festivities. Lindsey Long has not only provided the rooms 
 for this week, she also has clothed them with new 
 wardrobes and warm winter clothing and accessories.
 Now as the people sat around the table they were
 told Miss Long had an announcement. We all waited 
 to hear what this amazing lady had to say
 and excitement filled the room. When this 
 beautiful young woman began to talk there
 wasn’t one dry eye in the building. She told them 
 how she was not going to just send them back
 on the street next week but how she had
 built a new centre that would have sleeping
 facilities and showers to accommodate all
 of them. This new facility will be serving 
 three meals a day which will be prepared solely 
 from themselves on a voluntary bases. 
 The feeling in the Inn that night was pure joy
 and as the people realized the impact of this
 wonderful news, they all broke out singing
 It Came Upon a Midnight Clear. This is 
 Rhonda Reeds reporting for 
 The Good Newspaper.
 Merry Christmas everyone.

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
11.12.2014
Sponsor Mystic Rose
The Good Newspaper 
1st

Details | Giving Poem | |

Will You Tie My Shoes When I Grow Old

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Will she tie my
shoes
when I get old? "

Details | Giving Poem | |

The Malkavian..Part 1

The Malkavian..Part 1

His mind has all the meaning of a madman that is screaming
Tortured and tormented, a life lived to be lamented 
His family, drained and defeated, finally retreated 
Leaving him believing that he was beyond redeeming 
The doctors sent in talked of hope and healing  
The drugs administered only made him more demented  
Cementing the feeling, that his life is just an echo 
Of the endless, timeless, all consuming screaming 

His best friend is a dis-proportioned bird appropriately named Buddy 
Who’s monotonous motion in drinking is somewhat soothing to his being 
Though not potent enough to stop the persistent pounding of the screaming 
Often he stared into the emptiness of nothingness contemplating the beauty of its 
existence 
Only to find his mind is drowning in a confounding conundrum he can’t quite define 
It's hard to be philosophical when your mental testicles haven’t dropped to the appropriate 
level 
So sometimes he whispers tongue twisters until his brain blisters 
Madmen mask madness in mindless task of mass mayhem 

It was easy for him to pretend to be prim and proper 
Just a mask to don in order to dupe his doctor 
Circumventing the system that couldn't’t save him 
He was as he always had been and would be 
In constant pain and agony with no desire for sympathy 
Just in need of some freedom from his prisons and medications
Meditations and mantras had given him a sentiment of a design
On how to inhibit the screaming and maybe even end it
\
Four years preparing and plotting the perfect moment of promise 
A fire formed from a single flame fueled by an accelerant 
Raced through the halls up the walls and killed all the residents 
Eighty-eight inmates and staff burned alive in what seemed like and instant
Such little time to search through the bodies looking for a single person 
He found her on the fourth floor clinging to the bathroom faucet 
He lost his virginity to the burnt corpse of nurse Denise 
And to his amazed mind he was astonished to find the  screaming was silenced
 

Details | Giving Poem | |

In The Chill Of An Open Door

 
Cleaning out my refrigerator, an ice cube slides to the floor
startling the cat, and interrupting a locomotive of thought
that often tracks me down in a beam of  light---
Today it streams through a  window, where everything seems marred,
by doubt, and dust, crusts of ice and sticky jello spilled on a glassy shelf.

Oh, not the first time, this revelation of light, 
I've had it before while kneeling on the floor as I do now,
and many times that I've knelt on a floor, 
to clean up my messes,...
praying for help, praying for light, praying for forgiveness...
and now on the floor to sponge up melting ice, water and tears

Raising a young family...a life so demanding...
Caring and nursing...two sides of the coin...
My father and children....my husband caught between...
It wasn't the impossible...but was never enough...
The time took a toll....why did it seem cold....as cold as the ice?
Could I have held out?.... Could I have been stronger?...
A little while longer....

I shiver with memory,... or is it guilt, and regret? Regret, perhaps shame?
Is it only the chill of the open fridge door?
       Or is it more?... So much more?

Hmm, interesting metaphor, "a open door"..........
          did I leave it open long enough,... wide enough?
Did I do all I could?  All I should ? Was I patient enough? Was I all I could be?
Was I tough enough to watch someone linger,
                lingering on, I ponder it now...

Difficult years......but a fraction of life, is how it appears,....
Now looking back.... black fades to gray..
but it comes back in spades, to haunt me today

A little while longer.....

                          I could have been stronger....





_________________________________________________________

Details | Giving Poem | |

Just a note-Humbleness is a virtue

Be careful when going up a ladder Be kind to those you meet Remember,going down that ladder the same people you will greet

Details | Giving Poem | |

Because He Gave A Single Rose

Her tired old eyes lit up bright.
A thankful tear, she could not hide.
A sweet aroma fills her nose;
because he gave a single rose.

Confined to this dreary nursing home;
having outlived family, she's alone.
Today, with a smile, her face glows;
because he gave a single rose.

He brings them often to his mother.
Today, one extra for another.
Talking, on and on she goes;
because he gave a single rose.

She asked an aid to bring a vase.
By her bed the gift was placed.
Happy and peaceful then she dozed;
because he gave a single rose.

Her final breath tonight was sweet.
Family missed, again to meet.
Her last day joyful, all heaven now knows;
because he gave a single rose.



July 17, 2014
Contest: Random acts is kindness
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi





Details | Giving Poem | |

giving thanks

Thankful for the time I am given,
Hope and happiness comes with livin'
Always having a open and mind,
Never knowing the adventure I'll find.
Kind words roll off my love inspired lips
So much to drink in, and I savor the sips.
God gave me the gift of words so I might share,
Inspiration and imagination everywhere.
Valuing the relationships continue to grow,
I am so lucky for all the friends that I know.
Never letting jealousy or hate burden my soul.
Giving everyone love, that is my treasured goal.

This Thanksgiving I am honored to say, So many poets and friends have inspired my way. I couldn't be who I am without those kind words, Your pen sings the songs I am glad to have heard. Time is a fragile thing, for it slips away like the sand. Don't let time slip away, let's all walk together hand in hand. Thank you for every line, every word and every smile, And I hope I can return the joy, in a Casarah sort of style :)
xxxx Hope everyone has a great holiday week xxxx 11-22-2014 casarah.altervista.org

Details | Giving Poem | |

I must Carpe Diem

I used to live life full of dreams 
Planning, for many years to come.
Where I will be, when I will go,
A future that was filled with fun.

Till the day my life was shattered.
Till the day when the hammer struck.
All my dreams now torn asunder 
Nowhere to hide, nowhere to duck.

I stood my battles, fought the fight 
We gathered and said our goodbyes,
Yet through all of your brave faces,
I could still hear the silent cries.

Last Will and Testament written,
Everything important was said,
“I love you,” still that magic word,
I’d sleep in peace tucked in my bed.

Then something magical happened,
I came back from places of dread.
Now more a part of the living,
Each day I get stronger instead.

Now I know what’s most important
Enjoy precious moments each day,
Learned not to live for tomorrows
That just might not come anyway.

I enjoy each sip of coffee,
Watching leaves turn colours and fly,
Kisses from my sweet little dog,
Every time I see a blue sky.

The music of my Children’s voices,
Love of family never ends,
Carpe Diem, just seize the day,
That is my new motto my friends.


Written 10.25.2014
For Regina Riddle’s Contest 
Seize the Moment (Carpe Diem)
5th

James 5:15
And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up.

Living for the moment makes everything more special.

Details | Giving Poem | |

Faces Of Loneliness


Many are the faces that have carried me through 
Sad little clay masks that worked well for a time  
Be it momentary stares of un-encumbered ions  
Or nonchalant ways that trailed me unspoken 

In my youth I wore the pokered face of loneliness  
While standing undaunted by an onslaught of time 
Why I didn’t smash them proper those poached eyes 
I’ll never truly know, after all it was just a disguise  

The sagging mind no longer quilts a punch un-pert 
It cannot hide the furrowed brow nor the worries 
I long for the telephone calls the door raps visitors 
Anyone who wants to share a cuppa Joe with me

In the many faces of loneliness that I have ever worn 
Only one remains un-hedged, and longing to be shorn


November 19, 2014
Mystic Rose  
   

Details | Giving Poem | |

Soul mates solace

When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender 
and exchange inestimable treasures
recollecting memories 
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised 
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
change not
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
as masterpiece

Details | Giving Poem | |

The Forgotten Gifts

She sat in her little cottage
Her ears tuned
Her body alive
Waiting…
Waiting for that knock on the door
Anytime now
She pulled back the frilly curtains
And peered out at the gathering dusk
The time when most of her visitors
Would knock at her door
Looking for word gifts
To fill up their souls

It was the third day…
It was the third night…
And she kept her vigil
With her candle lit
To ward off the loneliness
That was creeping in on her
She fought it away
Repositioning the candle
To make sure that its light
Would be a welcome sight
To her longed for visitors

Only one thing worried her
What would she offer them as presents?
She had nothing to give
And this was the custom 
In these parts
The tradition
The giving and getting of word presents
That's why she had moved here

She fondly fingered on of the presents
Given to her 
By one of her most cherished visitors
A token of love and friendship
Of constancy
And yet….
Where was he?
Now when she was destitute
Now when she was dry
With no gifts to offer
She had been forgotten by them all
Forgotten by him
She fought back the tears
Willing to believe

The candle flickered and died out
The moonlight
Filtered in through her window
Comforting her with its magical
Dream formations
On her wooden floor
She sighed
She had given all that she had
Did they love her only for her gifts?
Could they not just reopen her gifts and look inside?
If not that…what about the other unopened ones
The older ones
The ones that she had shyly left
Outside their doors
When she had newly moved in
And was yet unknown

Once one of them had opened a gift
The news had spread
That there was someone new in the area
With word gifts to give
Some were crude
But others were beautiful
With her own distinctive design
All wrapped with her love
Each scented by her perfume
Her signature scent

Now she was poor
No gifts
No perfume
No words
Empty....
Why didn't they come to visit?
Why didn't they open the ones of long ago
That still lay around their homes…unopened

She brushed away a tear
Perhaps she’d been forgotten
Perhaps she just wasn’t good enough
For this part of the country
She decided
On the morrow
She would leave
Though it would make her heart bleed
But wait…
A faint knock on the door
A familiar knock
She sprang to her feet
And swung upon the door
There he stood
A smile on his face
“I haven’t seen you for a while
Your gifts used to bring me a smile
Sorry it’s late
I just couldn't wait
To tell you…
I found the unopened gift
It still bore your scent
It reminded me of you
The beauty of your soul
And how you make me whole
Here I am…
Here I am to tell you
I’ve missed your gifts
But more than that…
I’ve missed the giver!”

With tears streaming down
But a smile on her face
She took his hand
And led him inside
The home of her heart
For a nice long sweet visit
With one of her favorite
Giver of gifts!

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Details | Giving Poem | |

I Am A Gerber Baby

I am a super duper Gerber Baby all I love to do is wee- wee winning all the attention of my mommy so that all day long, she’ll stay beside me I love to loudly fart and burp after taking my Gerber Baby Foods prepared by dad all my tiny fingers in my mouth as I give them a crunchy baby’s laugh they both run to give me their sweetest kisses and hugs Oh, how I love to wear my soft baby’s diaper I walk around my crib producing sounds, “ mmma pppa brrrr brrrrrr” please bathe me in my lovely little bath tub or wash the smudges of my “ poop” now I feel them on my ass How I love to be an adorable baby no problem yet nor worry all I have to do is drink milk and sleep the whole night or day cuddled in the loving arms of my mommy and daddy In my cozy crib are colorful toys feeling like sitting over the rainbow with so much joy my picture books are scattered all around I pretend to read them smartly as I look at the picture of a clown
Jan. 27, 2012 First Place Contest: Gerber Baby (poem contest) Judged: 2/1/2013 Sponsor: Greatest Poet, Linda/PD First Place Contest: #1 Poem Only Judged: 17/13/13 Sponsor: My dearest Poet sis, Linda

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Faith, Trust and Irony

She's dressed in freshly laundered scrubs,
a floral top and pants pale blue.
There for a moment to hand me a gown,
and tell me what to do.

As I'm getting undressed, she checks on a man,
he's in the room right next to mine.
He's crying in pain and begging for help,
I hear her tell him that he'll be fine.

A few moments later, the crying has stopped,
as she leaves she turns out his light.
Whatever she did, it's done the trick,
he'll be able to sleep tonight.

She's back with me now and with her this time,
she has her tools in tow.
It's 3 in the morning and she must be tired,
but if she is it doesn't show.

Thermometer ready to check my 'temp,
lift my tongue and tuck it under.
As she wraps the black cuff around my arm,
I watch her and I wonder.

Working twelve hour shifts,
three days off then four days on.
Has she a husband or any children,
who miss her when she's gone?

Does she like cooking or singing?
Does she paint or like to read?
The needle, she pricks me, with such precision,
I hardly even bleed.

My IV's in place, my medicine given,
she says goodnight with eyes so kind.
Just as I'm drifting off into sleep,
a thought suddenly enters my mind.

To this woman I leave my health in her hands,
a serious matter, this isn't a game.
It strikes me as crazy just how much I trust her,
when all I know of her is simply her name.

By~Michelle Lacey

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Paranoid love

Tell me that this fear is just paranoia in my mind, 
we're not straining, we're not struggling, 
we're not sinking, we're just fine. 
I'm not perfect my dearest, but damn have I tried, 
and I'll try harder but I know I'll have the same results every time. 
Do you want me all the ways that I am? 
With all the struggles and the tears and the clinging to your hand. 
I fear your getting further and Im left on the shore to stand, 
watching you in the distance with a bullet in my hand. 
Tell me all this worry, its just clutter in my mind, 
tell me not to worry that we're doing just fine. 
Cause Im scared to run you off and I feel Im falling deep. 
And Im so frightened of these thoughts that its getting hard to sleep.
All I know is that the heart wants what it desires, 
because of you the match inside has turned into a fire. 
And I feel the broken glass thats sticking from my skin, 
Wondering if you'll remove the pain or push it back in. 
My hearts frantic wondering if you feel the same, 
pleading and begging for more than just a saying, 
but to feel and to see that im not alone, 
with being in this love thats overwhelming. 
Once I told you that we didnt have a spark, 
but you were lighting up and I was sitting in the dark. 
And this fire, this blaze its wrapped in desire. 
Im terrified to lose you, I think I might die or, 
maybe disappear from all the pieces falling out, 
im going crazy but when i open my mouth, nothing comes out, 
and I cant explain to you why I just need to hold you close, 
why every time you leave Im scared to let you go, 
why these tears are building up behind my eyes, 
all I know is that the heart wants what it desires 
and it desires to be your wife. 
So tell me in my panic, that your words are true, 
tell my my dearest what I mean to you, 
tell me that this paranoia is all within my mind 
we're not struggling, we're not sinking tell me we're just fine

Details | Giving Poem | |

Before the night is Over (He's coming back) pt.2

             
                  Well my friend, my conscience would not allow me the pleasure.
              The pleasure not to report the news that I treasure.  That as I
              open the book, the book full of new's, a book full of true's.
            
                  All that I know, and them to be in doubt, one day they will all
              shout, "He's coming back", "Before the nite is over".  That's what
              the Bible (the book) is all about.  "Enter ye in at the straitgate: for
              wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction.
              Lord (now): "Show me the way Home", the poem is all about subduction.

             "Before the night is Over, the attempt is to capture your mind".  So may
               you be aware, as he is lead, lead like a lamb to be slaughter.  He is
               beaten like as if they don't care, he look like news I cann't share but
               the book (Bible) say's the reason he suffer for you and for me.
                  Because Love, Well yes my friend, [Love] is the reason to feel free!!..
                
                    My conscience want allow me the pleasure, that I too was less inform.
                That, cause of my sin, I couldn't be reform, and many amonst many was
                 also in doubt.  "Before the night is Over, hope all once blind, now see".
                Before the nite is over, before the night is become dawn and just before
                the dew hit's the ground.   

               "Give your life to what is living and not to a deadless Clover".  Do this, feel
                this.
               "Before the night is Over".

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THANK GOODNESS IT'S ONLY ONCE A YEAR

Turkey so dry that I can’t speak Brussel sprouts boiled for a week Roast potatoes burnt to a crisp Lumpy gravy I feel Sick Jan Allison 26th October Inspired by Andrea’s contest but not written for it!

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Sunbonnet


She shuffled by our house, so slow and bent,
No second thought of where the lady went.
On her return, no one around to see.
A shaded path, she blended with the trees.

We children always giggled, as she passed.
A group emboldens others to harrass.
Our high pitched jeering from a hidden niche,
The frail, sunbonnet lady, we yelled "witch".

One day a fever kept me home from class.
I saw her weary shuffle down the path.
My over-active need to know convened.
I followed with excitement and unseen.

A house engulfed by weeds grown thick and tall,
As vines of every species claimed the walls.
Around the side, a window to peek in; 
A man in bed with twisted, throbbing limbs.
.
The lady rubbed a salve to ease his pain.
And hummed a long forgotten song's refrain.

I blurted all I'd seen to mom and dad.
He stood in shocked alert and mom grew sad.

How soon the path was plowed into a drive,
A grocer truck and red-light cops arrived.
I last recall a fancy bike, brand new.
Events seem blurred, with growing up to do.
.


Gene Bourne.
07-17-14




.

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A Special Needs Hero

Young and pretty, living a normal life
Suddenly her world would never be the same
Her lovely boy born with special needs
Her daily life now the toughest of games

She carries on with her head held high
Having a career, still being his mother
Constantly dealing with medical issues
Yet she would not change him for another

Nurses and doctors fill her daily life
Fighting for the services that he needs
Never one complaint does she voice
Knowing not where his path will lead

A special soul; accepting the hand dealt 
My admiration for this woman so deeply felt…..





note---
I am privileged to be one of his nurses...I have never seen a stronger
more dedicated mother..

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Loving

Loving is to through a pebble into the sea
and the ripple become a wave
to plant a seed
and it become a tree
to cook a meal
and it become a feast
to build a house 
and it become a home
to shine a light 
and it become a beacon
to speak a name
and it impart trust
to see what lies benieth
what is seen on the surface
to hear the secrets
of the heart being told
to touch and give 
comfort to a human being
to feel empathy instead
of sympathy in time of need
to let love be measured
by decades and deeds
where words are the least 
of expressions of these
but summerize the tears, fears
and tongue of our God
a relationship with both 
mate and Diety we laud
with works and prayers
love is more than words
it is the path we trod
love is a blanket
covered to keep warm
love is a needle
sewing socks while a fire burns
love is waking
before the break of dawn
love is baking and taking out
before it burns
love is a love note
found 
during the day
love is thought
finding words to say
love is sometimes saying
"You can have it your way"
and love is duality in saying
"Lord give US this day"
where hell and high water
have no say
a sacred trust
in giving time away
love is forgiving all that
is abroad
love is not giving 
that which belongs
to God
the only place to find this love
it is the place we call heaven
up high above

Details | Giving Poem | |

My Muse, I So Abuse

My Muse, I So Abuse

My muse crying loudly, please write this way
I replied laughing, that will be the day
She storms off in a most indignant huff
I shouting at her, damn isn't that tough?

No fear, she always runs as she returns 
she my heart so loves, as my mind she burns
I, that often sit on cold bed of stones
She, poetic judge that often breaks bones!

Dead of night she cuddles up to me near
utters words, sweet nothings and a cold fear
I inquire, but my heart you love so dear
She shouts, that was a folly from last year!

My muse and I play wicked cat and mouse
She may be the roof but I am the House!

Robert J. Lindley, 08-26- 2014

note: My muse is a vindictive little tramp
she makes me kneel humbly before she lights the lamp!