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Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Curse the Hour

I’ll not be the mask of your madness
I’ll not be the whip of your demands
I’ll not be the drug of your habit
I’ll not be the dough in your hands

I’ll not be the doll that’s your play thing
I’ll not be the container of your need
I’ll not be the victim of your anger
I’ll not be the object of your greed
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ll the bread that he feeds on
I’ll be the water that he drinks
I’ll be the cloud that he walks on
I’ll be the thoughts that he thinks

I’ll be the tent that he dwells in
I’ll be the heaven that he dreams
I’ll be the angel that he wants
I’ll be the sparkle in his stream

I'll be the star that he follows
I'll be the sun’s warmth on his chest
I'll be the moon that allures him
I'll be the treasure of his quest

I'll be the fairy of his woodland
I'll be the seductress of his need
I'll be the breast that he lies on
I'll be the dogma of his creed

I’ll be the honey that he savors
I’ll be the dessert that he craves
I’ll be the sea that he dips in
I’ll be the virgin he enslaves
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I would have been all that to you
I gladly would have made you king
But you gave all that to another
Now you must taste my bitter sting

You must watch his hands caress me
You must see his mouth devour
You must hear my sighs of pleasure
You must curse the betrayal hour

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

That Day, A Life Crushed

That Day, Life Crushed



I was resting on a lake dock that was in deep decay
it ran fifty yards out into the seamless water
that day my baby brother had went to swim with his friends
a normal summer day that shone with splendor
and peaceful was the soft blowing wind
only fate was awake and moving ever foward


there I was in peaceful solitude , resting
gazing at the lapping waves as they spoke
ignorant of what had taken place only moments before
the passing of a young and promising life, my brother


sun still beamed, wind still blew and life changed
a truck came racing across the bridge
I saw my best friend waving at me franticly
then I heard, I knew tragedy had befallen somebody
somebody I loved dearly


Moments later, the force of truth crushed me into a ball
it was as I feared, a death, an unimaginable horror
my baby brother was dead, my fourteen year old baby brother 
gone, gone , gone!


Electric current had destroyed his life
destroyed my life, sent me into a seven year rage
I said my goodbyes in a quiet rage and vowed that God, 
God would pay for this!
And so it began a terrible journey into a dark abyss 
one that consumed and slowly ate my soul
my soul it ate with relish and glee


I became a punisher of God!
Yes, such misery did I heap out by the bucket
by the ton and ate it's glory until-

Seven years later, light came into me as I slept
I woke one morning to find that the one punished was ME!
God had told me but I refused to hear
Now I heard and that truth crushed me again!


The road back took time but seven long years was over!
life returned, joy returned!
Majestic love returned to reclaim it's treasure-- my soul!


My soul rejoices to this day,
this day I see God stayed with me as I ran away!

I, he that runs no MORE!

Robert J. Lindley 06-30-2014

My first ever write about my brother, Billy Joe Lindley
fourteen year old and the girls adored him,
that summer electrocuted by a faulty electric pump at a 
friend's house by the river. 
1976, I think about him every day since, he was an angel compared 
to me and why, why did I live!

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Her Masterpiece Is Her Story

Her paintbrush is a razor,
Her canvas, her wrists,
"I deserve the pain."
She shrugs and insists.

One day the brush will push down,
And it will cut so deep,
That this girl will fall
into an eternal sleep.

She doesn't remember how she started
What brought her interest to this,
How do you discover,
that cutting is your form of bliss?

No one would have guessed that she does it.
No one would have considered this one.
This girl is forever fighting a battle,
that she thinks the demons have won.

Her artwork is all over her,
Her beauty is on her thighs,
and if you look in her old trash,
you'll find her letters of goodbye.

Her masterpiece is quite disturbing,
Her masterpiece is a little gory,
Her artwork is her escape.
Let me tell you her story.

She compares herself to every person,
She is compared to each girl.
She thinks she's hideous,
And there's this boy that is her world.

She was bullied and picked on,
She was teased from head to toe,
Hard to believe that her best friend,
was her one and only foe.

Then later she disliked every little thing,
Her body, face and even her mind,
Soon she saw she was a failure,
and it was just in due time...

That this girl couldn't take it anymore
She'd decided she was done living this,
So one day she went home
and decided to end it.

Everyday for multiple days,
This girl would try to drown,
Hard to believe this girl at school,
never ever wore a frown.

Sometimes she'd just fall asleep crying,
Praying that she'd be enough,
Because she didn't want to leave her family.
She knew about their sweet love.

This girl found hope in small things eventually,
She soon would see this beautiful light,
and find a REAL best friend,
that helped her put up a fight.

Her masterpiece soon was leaving,
Her artwork was almost faded,
and it gave her a sick feeling,
the feeling of being jaded.

She found a boy that actually loved her,
And showed her love exists,
And this boy too had a masterpiece,
placed close to his wrists.

He related to her and she related to him.
She kissed his artwork and said he's not alone,
When she cut herself it hurt him,
Her masterpiece now wasn't just her own.

Her masterpiece effected others,
Her artwork wasn't just for herself,
She now had people, 
who saw her cries for help.

And then her family found out,
So then they saw the art too,
to them they were just scars,
To her they were the truth.

She's trying to be okay now,
She thinks she might survive,
Even though they didn't think
to take away the knives.


Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Classy Chassis

(Bill's 62 Ford Pickup)

She was very old, but she was quite grand,
she'd climb any hill, plough right thru sand.

She was loud enough to make your ears ring,
yet passing those hot rods made your heart sing.

She rattled like a chain, her beauty was gone,
upholstery was shot, we laid a towel on.

When she came to us, headed for the dump,
with her floor rotted through, rust on her rump;

Mel said "I'm through with her, take her if you want,
but you'll need to 'fix her up' she's begging for paint."

So we traded services, and chose the color blue;
Bill wired Rich's body shop, so we could use it too.

We patched all her holes, bought out the parts store,
gave her a hi-speed rear end, restored her 4-on-the-floor.

Her new body was sleek, cab and bed all one piece,
many people stopped to beg, "Sell her to me, please!"

High-rise manifold and cam, new brake system and clutch,
260 C.I. V-Eight engine, 4-barrel carburetor, dual exhaust.

Hounding those salvage yards took quite a toll,
but at sixty-five R. P. M. , she could really roll.

She took us back and forth, as we built our new abode,
lived up to every task, hauled many a heavy load.

We didn't throw her away when her job for us was done;
we sold her to a farm girl, who's taking her for a wild run.

We reminiscence about her as we rest in our new home,
we often miss the old girl, now that she's truly gone.

We wish someone could take us and do the same good turn,
give us a brand new chassis with energy to burn.

We'd like to join our old Ford, being restored now and again,
to our original beauty, with a souped-up power plan.






Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Her Heart Thaws

Her Heart Thaws


Ice crystals in her heart soon departed
as she met another very broken hearted
Gentle man destroyed by very dark witch
untrue to feed her gigantic greedy itch

Now bloody swords have been withdrawn
sun emerges, wind sings a sweet song
Old scars vanishing without a trace
smiles sprouting upon each happy face

Scales of justice now right old wrongs
joys spring forth in melodies and songs
Life rewards those that seek true love
with sweet blesses from the heaven above

Robert J. Lindley, 09-02-2014

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Confession Seeks Forgiveness - I DO NOT

Confession Seeks Forgiveness – I Do Not


I will not confess, nor beg forgiveness,
for the sins of others, unrepentant,
nor succumb to “Inquisition’s” game,
accept their scars in Jesus’ name.
Confession would relieve them of
their guilt as they stand in mocking
pose of staff and quilt.

I will write in metaphoric hell of
living in a demon crusted shell,
hearing only roaring of the beast
denying me my right to living’s feast,
carrying the weight of living death
tortured by the scent of whiskey’d breath.

Catharsis, the confession of the soul,
leaves me empty - never feeling whole,
frees me from rage’s pain streaked grip
the demons of the past escaping crypt.
Hate and violence turned upon the self
a loneliness that anger cannot quell,
an innocence long locked in private hell.

Confession seeks forgiveness, I do not.
Writing let me voice the things I thought,
spew the venom of a vile and putrid stench
that I’ve lived with from that day - and ever since.
Thus have I learned to live in guarded space
in endeavor to show only freedom’s face
to smooth the ever present strain
the somehow they might see my hidden pain.

I seek not absolution for their sin
but the destruction of unholy liars den
where they hide the children’s souls they stole
under flowing robes and crowns of mitered gold.


8/31/2014
for Heart and Soul:  Confessionalism – poetry contest
sponsor:  Charlotte Puddifoot

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Jesus Christ Has the Power Over ANY Addiction

Jesus Christ Has the Power Over Any Addiction!

I often hear of people who battle addictions.
This often leaves many scars and afflictions.

There's counselors to help, "a dime a dozen."
Their patient could be a friend or a cousin.

As many battle lives filled with "pollution."
But too often, God is left out of the solution.

Many who need help are given little help at best.
Why they cope with fear, anxiety and stress.

The one who can help the most, is often left out.
As many miss what the real hope of life is about!

The very God who created mankind, knows all about us!
He sent his son Jesus, because he loves us!

We can trust him for his cleansing power!
He can meet every need!  This very hour!

If you're battling an addiction and are losing!
Won't you let God be the one that you're choosing?

He’s powerful!  And wants to help you so much!
Your life can be forever changed!  By his touch!

Come one and all!  Your needs, God shall supply!
Come and drink of his water which shall satisfy!

The sins and scars can be a thing of the past!
As you enjoy an abundant life, that'll always last!

The painful addictions can be healed this moment!
By the power and resurrection of Christ' atonement!

NOW can be time to lay your worries beneath him!
God shall restore those who diligently seek him!

Glory to Jesus!  The victory's already been won!
All honor and praise to God's anointed one!

By Jim Pemberton   08/22/14


Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Betrayed

Once significant and alluring, your luster faded. Perhaps it was the treachery in hollow eyes jaded. Was there ever a light in a soul dark as night? Promises of love only heralded grief; faith I once had turned to disbelief. She was younger, pretty, but above all newer. Agony in my heart came from betrayal’s skewer. How could I blame her when I knew that soon your allegiance would change like the inconstant moon? She would then feel the fickle pitchfork of pain - those knots in her stomach twisted by emotions feigned. Only now can I see you for what you are. Anger settled; no longer do we spar. Bitterness made way for resignation again. Maybe I shall once more learn to trust men. Then I can guide your latest castaway and ease the surging sting of her dismay. Your fate rests on a tremulous shore where, as looks fade, you can offer nothing more.
*Written November 21, 2014

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Addiction of meth

Emotions of addiction
pulling so seductively

like a long lost love

whispering my name 
over and over 
until its all I hear

yearning rumbles deep down
burning as it rises
like bile in my throat

So conniving in its game 
of love and hate

like peek a boo with a child
frightening when it is revealed

turn and run they say
where shall I go

the only recourse is to stay

fighting everyday

as it tries to tear 
to wear me down

He calls to me
i answer and somehow
i have won
a new day is here

exhausted and confused
howling growling in the distance
addiction pulls back

waiting patiently so patiently
to take me back to hell

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

One Eyed King Battles

One Eyed King Battles


I fought the bright sky, heaven and stormy sea
so quick to fight any that would dare fight me
Asking for love and life, so very little more
a master views a vast ocean from a safe shore!

Trumpets sounded a call to battle the light
so blind to hate my soul always was to fight
No thoughts of why ever bounced into my mind
a one eyed king within a world of the blind!

Now the fight is to never return to the dark
memories of great battles so evil and stark
No call will I ever take to end my new quest
victory calls for courage, truth is the best!

Robert J. Lindley

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

I Do Believe

"I Do Believe" 

The purpose of LIFE is to {Living In Faith Ever} 
to enrich God within us 
to an optimum level 
so that We as Humans 
can be guided by God 
to fuel out brothers and sisters 
with the same driving force 
to connect with the living God, 
to His existence and 
to See the Invisible, 
Believe the Incredible, and 
to Receive the Impossible 
to our everlasting journey 
to Heaven.

Rev. Samuel Mack
Copyright 2013

http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

In Need of a Banquet

He gave me only crumbs to feed my soul
A famished heart in need, I asked for more
I could not please him for he was not whole
His heart was hers and he had locked that door

I longed to eat of banquet of his love
The night grew long and in my heart an ache
I hid my face and cried to God above
And prayed that by his grace I would not wake

A little kiss, a quick caress, a sigh
The rest was left for dreams to try to fill
The fervent plea of heart he did deny
My hope of passion’s fullness lingers still

Yet bounty of love’s banquet I must taste
Another one will feed me what I crave
My lavish heart like crumbs I will not waste 
For I must feast on love before the grave

Eileen Manassian
August 21, 2014
For Giorgio's Iambic Pentameter Contest

Footnote:
Today I read a poem by Jan Allison entitled, Free Bird, in which she wrote of 
being thrown some crumbs. My response to her: “We all need love and 
affection. Crumbs must turn to banquet soon.” Thus, this poem was born. ? 
Inspiration works in mysterious ways. Thanks Jan for the seed! Give Jan's 
poem a read. It is sweet.



Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Last Night I Dreamt

Last night I dreamt you saw me
Really saw me for the first time
Not who you thought I should be
But the real me

I danced in front of you
Not caring what you thought
I embraced who I am instead of what I'm not
Unafraid
Unashamed
I watched you smile
I felt happy for a while
You were not playing grownup games
What I lacked not a source of your shame
I didn't feel like I was to blame
Sometimes I've wished for a different name

I watched as you delighted in me
Oh what a dream
Like the cherry on top of a dollop of cream
My nirvanah 
My elusive stream

When I wake I see your face
No joy there not a trace
I'm disappointed too
I'm hiding me and you are still you
So we continue
Like every day
Me not me and you being you

Richard Tarr's About Your Dad contest.

Hello Soup friends, do not worry I am not writing about a rocky
marriage but rather about the expectations of a father for his son.
This has long passed but I drew on the memory for this contest.

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

The Nameless Pain

This is about someone else.


How long have I waited for this pain to pass,
Sharp as a needle and cutting like glass;
It lies in my bones and drives me to tears
Turning my minutes and hours to years.

There is no cure, and it has no name;
My joy turns to sorrow and gladness to shame.
For the pain never leaves me; it laughs in my face
My victories are few and end in disgrace.

It always pursues me, relentless and grim,
Laughing at my own endurance worn thin;
It tears at my back and snaps at my legs
No matter how loudly or sadly I beg.

It stalks me and watches, never once leaving
Whether or not I am hoping, believing
That it would just go. Run away, run away!
It resides in my belly and aches every day.

What does it want? A believer? A home?
Or does it just relish my every moan?
What would appease it? What would repel it?
I wish I knew some way that I could dispel it,

But there is no hope, as of yet there's no light.
The unnamed assailant attacks me each night
And causes me suffering again and again. 
If I ended my life, would this pain also end?

Would I finally be free of this tormenting foe
Whose name  and purpose I don't even know?
Or is there yet hope for a lost one like me?
Some way to fight it, and finally be free?

Can anyone name it? Does anyone know
The source of this agony, or what makes it go,
So that I may rest? Or am I condamned
To suffer and let it consume who I am?


Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Lord, I've Been Hurting

		
	
Lord., I've Been Hurting!

This one thing I am
 most certain…
Lately I’ve been really hurtin’.

I trying to do right, but it 
turns out “wrong.”
Where, in life,
do I really belong?

So many people
 pass me by.
Sometimes, someone
may say;  “hi!”

I don’t know if this message is
 getting across?
I feel so confused and 
completely lost.

A message of “help” has my
 prayer and plea…
For God to reach out to me!

He reached down and
made me whole!
HIS love and compassion
 filled my soul!

Spending time with Jesus
 is time well spent!
It was for you and me that 
Jesus was sent!

By Jim Pemberton

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Desolation Prairie

Breathe deep and you will smell the suffering and death
The smell of burning flesh it will take away your breath
It was just a normal day, but in a split second it changed
When the bomb dropped from the sky the whole world it rearranged
Now there is nothing but destruction everywhere you look
Not a tree, not a plant, not even a babbling brook
Everywhere you turn death and suffering all you see
You have to become deaf to the endless cries and pleas
There is no one here to help, nothing you can do
No hospitals, no doctors, just people passing through
Looking for somewhere to go to try to start from scratch
With visions of their former lives from which they've been detached
Some looking for their loved ones who are more than likely dead
Thinking maybe they will find one or two of them up ahead
But I hold no such notions I know the truth you see
All that is left of my family is probably just me
To become part of a group again is the best that I could hope
Without the comfort of other people I don't know if I can cope
With the loss of my life and many others, everyone in fact
All of us making the same wish: that we could just go back
Back in time to computers and phones with our families at our sides
Back to a time and place before almost everybody died
That is where I wish to be and I'm sure everyone else does too
But all I can do is trudge along, hoping that I can pull through

I wrote this for a contest about a nuclear wasteland. Got 2nd place! I hope you enjoy. :)

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Something You Left Behind

I found something of yours you left behind:
Something I did not expect to find.
The sudden surge of memories
Shocked me so hard I couldn't breathe—
It almost knocked me to my knees.
My whole world came undone. 

I found something of yours you left behind:
Something that you wore when you were mine.
You wore it with your wedding gown,
Like a tiara or a crown.
It turned my world all upside down.
You always were “the one”.

I found something of yours you left behind:
Something that my love for you enshrined.
I found it hidden from the light,
That thing you used to wear at night.
That came down when I held you tight,
Back when we were one.

I found something of yours you left behind,
Something that I never wished to find—
'Cause there's no going back, you see,
To times when you were here with me.
You left a painful void in me;
But still life must go on.

I think of what you left behind
And then it came to me:
The saddest thing you left behind
Turned out to be me.

(Chorus )
I thought I'd gotten over you;
But I was wrong, you see.
You don't get over love that's true,
Nor what was meant to be.

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Cracked Doors

Cracked Doors


It offered solace
an escape from life’s torment,
false comfort – oblivion’s
denial of the truth,
the lie of living’s afterlife.

Trembling hands reached out
in search of hope’s lost promise,
a door ajar,  a welcome,
open invitation
to shed death’s robe, to live again.


John G. Lawless
contest – Door to a Wayra
7/16/2014

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

My Ring Trilogy - The Poems

You Know Who You Are! 

I know that you probably know who you are...
Abusers who prey on women (or men) .
Your aberrance mostly extends to the weak, 
Your generosity just serves other's pain
And, of course, their misery's your only gain.
Do not think that you'll find me turning my cheek	
For doing so would just encourage your sin.
I'd rather see you in a specimen jar, 
Or displayed on corkboard impaled with a pin, 
Some place where your psyche has no powr' to mar.

Some say that it's likely that you were abused, 
The sins of the parents passed on as it were, 
God forgive me, if you're not really liable, 
But your friendship's not the company I seek
God grant you don't find fellowship with the meek
And your progeny all be un-viable.
It's not that I curse you, but I would deter
Your excess on innocents already bruised, 	
My prayer's not for you but for those you injure, 
God forgives but your deeds cannot be excused.

To see people like you removed from the earth
Would most certainly fill up my cup of mirth! 

Brian Johnston
January 12,2014

___________________


The Wages of Sin

The bush in which you hide
Reveals your cowardice, 
The wall, behind which you speak, 
Testifies against you, 
The seed which you so blithely sow, 
Grows bitter fruit that does not nourish
Or weeds that suck soil dry
So that good seed barely feeds the birds, 
Does not take root, 
Imagination insufficient, 
To wet the soil.
Bad intentions blow
What good soil there is
Across the sea to waiting deserts
More deserving in Africa, 
The rocks left behind, 
Only bruise your feet.

Brian Johnston
Sept.23,2014

____________________


The Troll

‘An interesting guy I think, '
People might say on meeting you for the first time, 
Oh yes, I've come to know you too well.
Thank God for the Internet, 
Although there are bodies in your wake, 
And stench follows you like a garbage scow
There is protection for many in distance from, 
In the miles of wire, the waves of wireless
Communication, and so like a deer
Caught in the headlight of your amazing ego, 
[Fashioned by the fires of Hell (like Gollum's ring)     
And as empty as the devil's soul], 
They stand frozen for a moment, 
Throwing it off finally, the vision of their own death
Shaking their heads in wonder, ‘What just happened? '

It's like the first lesson your mother tries to teach, 
‘Be careful who you choose as a friend, '
A cautionary tale for adults too.
‘Fire does burn' even when you reach adulthood, 
All that sparkles is not gold, my friend, 
And a ‘nom de plume' like Talvia Sprinkles, 
Just one more bush the troll hides in.
Sometimes that strange feeling that you have
Is actually another human? being? peeing on your soul
The golden shower they offer, however, 
Does not assuage your guilt (which is real, so what?)     
You've just been sold a bill of goods, 
Dr. Killdeers Magic Elixir, a not so benign fixer.

If you have been in this dark place of the soul
And saved by Satan not in fact being God, 
Then rejoice my friend in God's provision
In youth or childhood, you did something good? 
Do more, bear witness of your weakness to others, 
Not to mortify your own flesh (God knows you're sorry)     
But so that those with ears to hear (also God's gift)     
Perchance will themselves not feel so alone.
Remember that half-truths strung together like pearls
Are still sh**, if you'll pardon the expression.
‘If it sounds to good to be true it isn't, '
Remember only God knows your soul, 
Satan is just a very experienced guesser
And revels in our penchant to deny our own sin.
His wisdom does not serve the greater good.
Do not look for truth among the cold stones
Of the temple that once stood at Delphi either, 
Or trust any oracle that does not bend his knee
To the living God, the creator of us all.
It is your life, it is your responsibility, 
Don't parrot Cesar's surprised last words
As a ‘friend' slipped his knife into Cesar's heart, 
‘Et tu, Brute? ' You have been warned! 

Brian Johnston
September 26,2014

Poet's Notes are listed separately because of space limitations on Poetry Soup. Sorry for the inconvenience. I hope that you will take the time to read them.

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

This poem is my own recovery from Valium O Little White Tablet

‘0 LITTLE WHITE TABLET’

O little white tablet, how I hate you,
I was only 21 years old, when introduced to you.
You looked so innocent, so white, so pure.
I was told you were the answer to everything,
(The cure)
No-one told me, when they introduced me to 
the rest of your family, the yellow and the blue.
The blue being five times stronger than you.
No-one told me of the dangers you held within.
Of all the pain I would have to go through, all the suffering.
No-one told me. YOU would rob me, of eighteen 
years of my life.
That I would be unable to function properly,
as a Mother and Wife.
No-one told me, I would get addicted to you.
Of all the pain and suffering, I would
have to go through.
To get you out of my system, alone took two years. 
Two more years of heartbreak, many, many tears.
Then to find out, I had Agoraphobia.
Several more years, destroyed by fear.
Which a lot of people, say is caused by you.
Not being able to go out, far or near.
Hurting all the ones, I loved so dear.
O little white tablet, how I hate you.
But in the end I was the winner Not you.

This poem refers to prescribed drugs

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Running

I've trained for this. 
Lungs burning, muscles twitching
as I close in
on the line-
24,25,26.
I see them clearly now-
My wife, my child-
smiling, cheering
as they urge me
through the echoes
of feet smacking
pavement,
through my 
tunneled view of
the victory line,
through my exhaustion,
through my pain.

I've trained for this.
Lungs burning, muscles twitching
as I close in on my targets.
Thousands! There are many!
I can see them clearly now-
a woman, a child-
smiling, cheering
as I slip past
and drop my bags.
And now I am
running
through the 
smoke and through the
screams as runners push
toward the finish line
without legs.

I've trained for this.
Lungs burning, muscles twitching
as I close in
on the scene.
175, 176...
I see them clearly now-
the woman, the child-
lifeless, bleeding
as they urge me
through echoes 
of feet smacking
pavement,
through my
tunneled view of 
torment and death and
I can do nothing but
hold their hand.

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Heartbreak over Yolanda: Link on how to help typhoon victims in the Philippines, thank you


I hope that it's ok that I am posting a link here 
on how to help the people who have been affected by typhoon Haiyan (Yolanda)

It is a link from Yahoo, which sort of consolidated links/ways in which 
one can help, be they be from the Philippines or in another country.

This is in hopes that  I could reach out to even just one person 
who wants to help in any means that they can...

 Seeing the devastation of the typhoon, not only in Tacloban, but in so many
other areas in central Philippines as well, 
such as in other areas of Leyte, and other parts of Eastern Samar, 
and I cannot wrap around my head the force and strength of that typhoon. 

I cannot even begin to comprehend the horror that these people are going
through right now, with the loss of lives and destruction and I can't help but also cry, just so overwhelmed, what more for those who were in the path? 
Somehow though, I feel that my tears won't do anything to help alleviate
the pain and despair.

We all have heard about how every little bit can help, and I am holding on to that
as well...

We have a word in Filipino-- "bayanihan", which pertains to the "coming together"
of each person to help a certain cause. This also comes from the root word, 
"bayani" which translates to "hero".

You can be a hero in somebody's life, in your own way, and I think this
particular disaster is calling all the heroes it can gather.

Tragic moments like these bring out something in us-- 
a solidarity that goes beyond borders and friction,
 where the pain is shared and 
compassion, empathy become  palpable...tangible.

I know I type in too many words right now 
but it is one of my ways of coping, not even sure it this makes sense.

As I type this, there have been updates about 
another tropical depression (Zoraida) that is headed along 
the similar path that Yolanda took...how I pray and hope that these places
be spared... I am grateful that Haiyan weakened as it reached Vietnam,
and that they have prepared well for it.

Please continue praying for the Philippines, for those who have been affected,
to be given strength, patience and courage.

Rebuilding their lives could take a long time, but if we can help in some 
way, it would mean so much to them. Maybe we can try to counter the destruction
with the outpouring of support and care. 

For all those who have sent positive thoughts, prayers, concern, donations,
in behalf of my fellow Filipinos, I would like to thank You from my heart.

http://ph.news.yahoo.com/reliefph-operations-for--yolandaph-135933279.html


You can also give support through Doctors Without Borders (DWB)
-thank you, Chris for the heads up on this humanitarian aid organization

https://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/donate/onetime.cfm?

you can even opt to make the donation on a more regular basis

https://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/donate/?


or also through the UN World Food Programme (WFP)

https://www.wfp.org/donate/typhoon-philippines-a


Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Why

I still hear    the stray cat clink of your teeth
       smell    a rage a brewing
        feel    tension build

as we sit silent
frozen porcelain figurines
emotionally hollow 
fragile
about to crack 
like ice on the drivers side window

front seat getting cold
wipers counting silent pauses
conversation, stalled

making life changing decisions 
someones future hanging on words
that will not come out no matter how I try

stuttering explanations about wa wa wa....why 

why     I did it
why     it happened
what    your gonna do about it
how     you gonna seek your revenge
when   can I expect retribution
how     long will it take my flesh to heal
are      plaster casts biodegradable
is        there gonna be a police report 
are      they gonna arrest me for your violence
might   they be serving baloney sandwiches
who     will post my bond
will       I be to macho to tell Officer Friendly
would   he even believe me?

searing into my torso. then memory
a drifting apart
like a parent and child
awaiting the smash
the smash

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

Affirmation






Think only Pleasant
As God has given you
His given Grace
To be pleasant
Be contrite for you know
That it is not negativity
Which brings' positive results'
              --------
Look for a reason to assure
          Not react...
   To not command, but
Appreciate and respect
Do not retaliate, but ingratiate
          Most of all....
Be well rounded and accepting
Rather attentive and benevolent
         And so be it,
     Fore it is there-by
   By the Grace of God
And to all that which is Holy



Gary Fields
Poet/Author

Details | Recovery From Poem | |

A Land Bearing Green White Green

Which way leads to the 
land of green white 
green?
Which way are we 
heading?
   A country the wicked 
bears the rulership, and 
the people sighing 
continuously.
   A terrible thing sprouts 
beneath the sun: a 
pregnant woman 
delivering not.
Imps come to lime-light 
by snuffing air from the 
goose that laid the 
golden eggs.
The blind guiding the un
blind.
The weak suppressing 
the strong-a terrible 
thing.
Like the overthrow of the 
gods at Mt. Olympus by 
the Titans.
A country where also 
thieves appear as men of 
integrity.
Land of green white 
green,which way?
A land where the 
enlightened ones are 
overshadowed and 
peanuts given to them.
The masses are dogs that 
eat the crumbs.
 Which way to go you 
Land?
Iliterates stand on 
podium of power 
bellowing orders as milk 
of sorrow known as 
dividends of democracy 
is passed around.
The machine of progress 
manned by the 
unproductive.
"There is better 
tomorrow" we hear.
Land of green white 
green,my country 
where rule of law walk 
beside anarchy.
The proles are sentenced 
to adversity,and there 
endured death-like trials.
Chai! Aru! People 
dancing on thorns 
whimpering as they 
throng 
along.
  I see a new sun rising 
from the horizon,hope is 
rekindled as its rays 
grace on hopeless bodies.
 Look!! there soon be 
change!



Note: 
This 
is 
poem 
full 
of 
Nigeria 
political
 angst.