Long poem by
Funom Makama | Details |
How the housefly gets attracted to organic decay
and an infant child traces the voice of its mother
are nothing compared to the intense attraction
Michelle and I possess on the guy owning not a strand of hair on his head
but is in command of all forms of feminine arousal
Our weakness was too glaring; our lust, too embarrassing
the chance to act rare and expensive we've lost.
All we've got is to dance to the tune of his authority
as he smiled and consented to our 'not so hidden' desires.
Now, he walks straight at us his every step, an additional load on me
I seem to carry the entire solar system on my chest.
My heartbeat, pulsations and breath are as loud as a live rock band
"I've never seen you here is this your first time?"......... He said
"Yeah, actually!".................. I said.
My friend and I responded simultaneously
our answers gushing out like a group of running horses,
mine seem to carry more weight as it tames any challenge from hers.
"So, how did two love Angels fall in such an unworthy place as this?"......... He said
"How unworthy?"........................................... I Said.
I've championed the game of words and emotions
and just as what inevitably defines the day is sunlight
so is my testament.
Michelle showed glimpse of disapproval to my replies
but my exclamation of her name gave adequate caution.
"yes, this place is unworthy, because I need to pass through seven Oceans
and seven hills to see someone like you"........... He said.
"Then you'll never find me there. I'm not a specie going extinct." ............................ I Said.
The gods of luck have smiled on the Lions once again
in preference to other cats.
The father of favour, shaking hands with the Eagle
while by-passing the other birds.
This is my exact situation as jealousy builds a castle in my friend's heart.
"So, what's your name, sweet damsel?"...... He said.
"Anna"........................................................ I said.
This is a familiar routine, his plan is as detectable
and as obvious as watered grass
but letting it turn green is what I must not allow
so that the security of my reputation is not compromised.
"Anna is a lovely name, do you like poker?"........ He said.
"No, I don't!"........... I said.
The looks of my friend, spoke 'awe' mine replied in aggression
then she flowed in complete understanding on its message on not acting cheap
especially to the one we've shown so much likeness.
"So what do you like?".......................He said.
"Going out to the Cinema or the beach or engaging in salsa".......................... I said.
Already scoring goals and dominating the game,
I felt my opponent was completely toothless and flattened.
But playing along is my aim to make him beg on his knees
which adds to my fame.
"Can we try any of those sooner?"......................... He said.
"How do you mean?"............................................... I said.
Another punch brings about another shield
and sometimes a strong defence feels more fulfilling than a heavy attack.
"Let's go out to the movies this night"............. He said.
"I'm busy tonight!"........................................... I said.
It feels like punishment to him but he takes it like a challenge
and this keeps me far from winning.
Being on top is my birth right and a step lower is deemed a sacrilege.
"What about going to the beach this weekend?".................. He said
"I'll be out of town"................................................................. I said.
Persistence could be rewarding but my protective walls
are just too thick for any form of penetration;
too high for any form of infiltration
and too deep for any form of condemnation.
"Then, when would you be free to teach me Salsa?"............................ He said.
"I'm not stable, neither can I determine my free time"..................... I said.
The game of attack and defense is never absolute
as the attacker may fall victim of a rare counter attack
or the defender, gets wary of his defense
with no chance to pull an offensive string.
Either, ending up as the vanquish despite the brilliant strategies being set up.
"Michelle, are you also unstable like Anna?"...... He said
"What!"............................................................... I said.
Envy plans on a historic transfer
while my friend poised not an aota of difficulty
and this makes me extremely furious.
She was just at the corner waiting for this opportunity
and even before it avails itself, she snatches it into her well guided belongings.
Looking at both in confusion and disappointment;
they share contacts and crack jokes.
"I'll give you a call this evening".................. He said
Nothing I said because now, Michelle is running the show.
Long poem by
Dorine R Spruill | Details |
Molested the first fifteen years of my life. My mother remained silent the whole time. As the molesting continued all those years. Forced to live a pretend life all my childhood. Beaten and punished every other day. For no reason other than being a child. After all this I figured I was a unwanted child. My mother couldn't love me abusing me. She brought me fancy expensive clothes every year. To cover up all her verbal, mental, and physical abuse. She tried to hide me from people, family and friends. So that they wouldn't see the embarrassing scars and bruises. Sometimes so bad I couldn't even go to school the next day. Or I would get into fights or act rude to get a suspension notice. That would have allowed my body to heal. One time I even tried to get ex-spelled. However, it didn't work. I only came home to more beatings. Her boyfriend watched and help hold me down on the floor as she would beat, and beat, and beat. Maybe this gave him a idea that it was ok to abuse me. Being that my mother was already doing it. Yeah! From the outside looking in my childhood was perfect. Every child wanted my seat. Name-brand clothes, shoes, computers, and almost every toy in the Jc Penny catalog. From the inside looking out I was screaming to get out. Scared, alone, abused, and still a child. So there was nothing I could do. I had no brothers or sisters at the time. All my family wouldn't believe me.No! Not him they would say, and did say at age fifteen I started getting older, and more developed. I had to put a stop to this. So after talking to some school friends. I decided to talk to my mother about what was going on. So later on that night I called my mother in to talk to her. I had told her what had been going on. while she was a work, and out late shopping. She in return asked me to draw a picture of his *****. As if she didn't believe me on the spot. What! I thought to myself. How could she ask me a thing like that? After one hour she finally called the police. I was brung in also for video questioning. I told them what had been going on in the house while my mother was away. The police in return asked me "what took so long for me to tell" I replied" I was scared, alone, and threatened. I had no one in the house to protect me. From my mothers abusive ways. I thought people would tease me." The next question was to my mother. The police asked "How could you live in the same house, and not know that your child was being raped?" My mother sat quietly and had no answer. So she got charged with neglect. My mother's boyfriend got charged with child molestation, and a few other things. I can't remember them all. After all that I was still scared, but finally free. Free to be a kid again.
Awh, hell the relationship between my mother and I went down the drain. After trial she hated me even more. Every day she was threatening to kick me out of the house. I was only sixteen so she couldn't just kick me out. Yet! She even got so angry at times. She went as far as not letting me communicate with my newborn brother. She even told people to keep him away from me. That hurt me so bad everyday. I prayed to God everyday to soften my mother's heart, but it never happened. When I turned eighteen she finally kicked me out the house for real. With no place to go, no money , and no food to eat. I ended up living with family and friends until she let me back in. I don't know why, but I thought things had changed. About a week after moving she called the police and told them that I was prostituting. Which was a lie. Thank God I didn't spend time in jail. Due to her lies and deceit. I never thought I would have to leave my own mother alone. However, after that incident that was my final decision. Sporadically I call her to hear her voice, and check on my brother. Unfortunately she never answers the phone. Her guilt for abusing me won't let her answer the phone.
I moved to Albany, NY for a fresh start. A new beginning! There I met more friends, moved into a brand new apartment, and fell in love. I wasn't expecting to fall in love, but I did. With a adorable, hot, and sexy Italian guy. For the first time my life was great, and I was happy. I even tried some plus size modeling, nursing, and I started self-publishing my writings. I was accomplishing things that my mother never encouraged me to do.
After about four years I started feeling homesick . So I came back to Virginia. Wow! What destruction was happening. My whole family fell apart. Nothing or nobody were the same. They all became police property. That was a sign to continue to stay away from them. Continue my happy life. Continue self-publishing my stories. Praying to God everyday. that I remain successful. This is a true story. Unfortunately it happened to me. From a mother who brung me in this world. Only to use and abuse me my whole entire childhood. Then pretend that nothings even going on.
Long poem by
Briana Lynn Minard-Adler | Details |
Bradlee Joe is mine, he's always been mine,
The younger brother of David Authur Rasmussen Jr.,
Those gorgeous brown eyes staring at me, natural hair color,
That's brown; just like his brothers, but he dyed it blonde.<3
That gorgeous angel face, I think of him everyday all day, think of,
Those memories, that smile, that laugh, that voice, those strong arms,
The strong arms that hold me, just like his brother used to.
The sweet things he says to me, those precious eyes look into,
Into mine, the way he runs his fingers through my hair, the way he tickles me,
The way we play wrestle, the way we talk, the way we look at each other.
Eyes full of wonder, wonder how long we'll stay together, then he says,
He says "Baby we'll stay forever", and I believe every word he says,
My God if he only knew, knew how he makes my heart pound, the way,
The way it's just so easy to talk to him, man I can tell him anything, and I know,
I know that he'll keep it a secret, that's why I trust him with everything,
Everything inside of me. Everytime he asks me if I wanna start,
Start over with him, I always say yes, because I love him!!
No matter how much he hurts, I'll always love him, I do, because,
Because I know it's real, I love him with everything inside of me,
I want to wake up next to him everymorning and fall asleep,
Fall asleep in his arms everynight, say "I do" to him, have his,
Have his children, be in love forever, my God I've never felt this way before.
I fell for him the first moment I saw his gorgeous smile light,
Up that dark lunch room, the way you hugged me tight, exchanged,
Exchanged numbers with each other, and the way we talked on the phone for hours on end,
Oh how I wished for you to be mine, How I still wish to change,
Change my name to Briana Lynn Rasmussen.
Babe I can't inagine a world where you don't exsist, babe without you,
Without you I'd honestly die.
The son of David Authur Rasmussen Sr. and Sandi Rasmussen,
The brother of David Authur Rasmussen Jr, and Cheyeene Rasmussen,
The cousin of Kenneth Michael Hampton, better known as Mikey :) You have
Have a older bro, a younger sister & brother, and you have you,
Father's eyes, your brother's strength, your mother's beauty, and your crazy,
Crazy sense of humor.
With you I can't stop smiling, laughing and giggling.
Babe I am finally home, it's been a long time, and I am glad you kept the bed warm for me,
My home is with you, it's the only place where I belong, and babe I am so glad to be home.
I love your curly hair, I love the way you hold me, the way you kiss me, the way yoy,
You love me.
I love everything you do, and everything about you,
Babe I really do hope that day comes where we say "I do."
Hell I'd do it right now if I could, if you wanted me the same.
I want to be the mother of your children, I want to be the on;y woman you come home to,
Come home to after work, the one you give sweet kisses to, and the one you tell,
Tell me about your day, the one who wants to fall asleep in your arms, and
Wake up in your arms with my head on your chest, see your sweet smile everyday,
Hear the words "Good Morning Baby, how'd you sleep?"
I'd reply sleepily "Great, how bout you Angel?" I love everything about you, everything
Everything you say, babe I love the fire in your eyes, the way you are protective over me,
The way you fight for me.
Babe I just wanna be your forever, and when we die baby,
I want to be laidto rest next to you, or with you in the same casket, because,
Because I'm only me when I'm with you, you are the only one who keeps me warm, The only one
Only one who makes me feel like I am home, like I'm finally alive,
Like I'm finally me, babe you are my better half and really honestly,
I've been so lost without you, and I am so glad to be back home.
Long poem by
Sharaun Bullock | Details |
There was this boy that I once knew
So handsome, so sweet.
And with just one touch from him I swear I'd get so weak.
He would tell me I was beautiful, and he always made me smile, couldn't ask for nothing more cause I ain't felt that in a while.
He was everything I wanted, thought he was every woman's dream.
I couldn't stand to be away from him, and he'd never treat me mean.
This boy was my protector, my knight and shining armor, and when it came time to have my heart I had givin him the honors.
We were friends before our relationship so I would tell him everything.
I love this boy a bunch, and dreamed of taking his last name.
We been together for three years and sum, yeah I'm talking real serious, but lately his behavior has got me kinda curious.
He went from the boy who kept me happy and always kept me smiling,
To a boy that doesn't care about me cause he hurts me and he's lying.
He brought a girl in our home and in the same bed we share, and f'd that freaking Girl and he didn't even care.
It hurt my heart real bad and he continues to deny it, I'm young but I ain't stupid and I know it when he's lying.
He loves her more than me and I gave him everything.
I was the best girl he had so why'd he cause me all this pain.
We get in this dumb accident and I get his butt to kiss, all this time that I spent loving him and now I see where his heart is.
I thought I had his heart but now he's torn between the two.
He said he has to find his self, I know that that ain't true.
My mind is sayin walk away but my heart it just won't do it.
I know everything he's doing and yet I sit here looking stupid.
Dwelling on the past, thinking about what use to be, thinking how stuff was before when he was so damn true to me.
Back when I was his everything and he showed it everyday, when he would cuddle up and kiss on me in every freaking way.
I'm Hurting deep inside, I try fighting back the tears, he don't love me no damn more, have I wasted three long years?
I be sitting in this room kicking things, yelling ,cussing.
Stressing about the pain and knowing that aint doing nothing.
Cause stuff is still gone be the same
At the end of it all, cause i fell hard and really hard and I know it's all my fault.
He be out there Havin fun, I sit here miserable as hell, and I know then he's wit her and that ish makes me mad for real.
But like Vivian green said " I gotta go, I gotta leave".
I can't stay where I ain't wanted cause he don't wanna be wit me.
But before I turn this page Imma leave ya butt with this : all the love that we had shared I know I'll truly miss.
But I deserve so much better, more than u had given me, gotta let go of this now, I'll find someone who will love me.
And all the stuff I did for you will hurt you in the end , as I move on to a new beginning.
I gave away the heart of me ,it was a lesson learned, as I move on to happiness you will be sad and alone.
No one could compare to me , I'm high class, at least I got that trophy for the best you ever had.
Long poem by
Vee Bdosa | Details |
THE VALENTINE PHOTO--2014
Bubba was tired and his feet were aching from walking so
much. He and Carly had walked up and down the block 5 times
looking for his wallet. It only had $46 in it but he didn't
want to lose the pictures. There was a snapshot of them
making love on the sofa in their first apartment that first
valentines night and then a photo of Carly when she was in
her valentines dress. His drivers license was in the wallet,
too, but it had expired and he never could remember to re-
"I don't think we'll ever find it, Bubba," Carly
said, resting her backside against a brick building. Just
then Raston came around a building and saw them.
"Hey wots 'appenin Bubba?" Raston said.
"Lost my damn billfold," Bubba said.
"You lose you wallet in this neighborhood and it's in
somebodys pocket before it even can hit the ground,"
"Who lost they billfold?" a girls voice said. It was Patti;
and she had followed Raston around the corner of the build-
ing. "Is they a reward for that billfold?" She asked.
"Maybe, you know who gots my bill fold?" Bubba said.
"I seen that guy over cross the treet lookin in a
green billfold just now," she grinned.
"My billfold is a green one!" Bubba said, heading across
"You be careful now Bubba, that dude is one mean dude!
He chew you up and spit you out."
The guy was over six feet tall and looked like he should be
able to win some kind of a muscle contest.
"Hey man you find my billfold?" Bubba asked him.
"Was they a picture of you wife in a valentine dress"?asked
the guy, a big grin on his face.
"Sure there was," replied Carla. "Now we know you got
that wallet for sure."
"I ain't found nobodys billfold." said the guy, spitting on
"Did too," said Patti. "I seen you."
"Give my billfold now!" shouted Bubba.
"And if'n I don't?"laughed the guy.
"Well I just havta take you apart I guess,"
"You talkin pretty mean for such a little fella," laughed the
"You gonna give me my billfold now?" asked Bubba.
"Sure I give you your bill fold," said the guy, grabbing Bubba's
ding-dongs in a hammer hold. "But first I'm gonna make it with
your woman right her on Broad Street in broad daylight, and you
gonna hold my coat while I do it, and you better not let my coat
sleeves drag the ground neither."
Bubba was still wrenchig in agony and pain when the
guy finished and disappeared around the corner.
"Boy that guy sure was mean," said Carla after the guy
"Now I told you not to mess with that guy, I told you he
was one mean dude." Raston said.
"He sure was mean," Carla said, a sly little twinkle in
"I don't know about that," moaned Bubba. "I done let
his coat sleeves drag the ground three times!"
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet.
Long poem by
Andrea Dietrich | Details |
One summer in our youth group was a boy
I met. How I would love to understand
if what he’d felt was equal to the joy
that bloomed in me when he caressed my hand.
His elfin features feminine and fine
revealed him to be prettier than me.
His legs and trunk seemed half the width of mine
and deeper than his skin his delicacy.
He fretted, changed his moods; and ulcers grew
inside him. Once atop a ferris wheel
he vomited, and I was young and knew
that we were through. . . but how he’d made me feel!
Oh, where is John? I ask; no one can say.
We’d never really kissed. . . Had he been gay?
Where I grew up, a gent was hard to find
who shared my faith, and so I launched my search
for someone who was handsome, good and kind
at monthly dances sponsored by my church.
Across the river lived a Mormon guy,
tall, blue-eyed, intelligent and sweet.
I was sort of wild; he was shy,
but at a youth event we planned to meet.
Although at every chance we kissed and cuddled,
I sensed he thought I’d bring him to perdition.
I was his “Bathsheba” left befuddled.
Then later, Alvin went and served his mission.
So what if Mr. Perfect let me go?
He drove and spoke and moved annoyingly slow!
Eduardo was a Spaniard from Madrid.
I met him on my study there abroad.
I won’t list all the many things he did,
but I’ll attest that some of them were odd.
Eduardo was “muy guapo,” (very cute),
But still he was concerned that he was not
some burly hulk, so jackets to a suit
he wore downtown in June when it was hot!
And once, though I could not catch every word,
he had with his own mom an argument.
His threat to take his clothes off was absurd,
but when she screamed, I knew he was indecent.
I’d closed my eyes; I should have sneaked a peek. . .
I then could give a more complete critique!
*I have entered these in the This Poem Really S##ks Contest of Jerry T. Curtis with one of my first sonnet trilogies I wrote back in 2002. I was in a poetry club at this time, and after posting each sonnet of the trilogy separately, I received a very rude message which was posted anonymously to me. The note basically rejoiced that I would not be showing any more sonnets like these and told me they stunk. What is strange is that it was a private club and it had to be somebody I knew that had hated either me or the poems so much that he made an effort to reach me by some account that was not even recognized by the club (Only I could see the message. nobody else would see it). I'll never know who sent me that email, but it was my first time to be criticized in a rude manner. I have had a few other occasions since, but this was my first one. Are the sonnets that bad? You tell ME!!
Long poem by
Spenser Jones | Details |
Sometimes I still use a cordless house phone.
When I call her I imagine her wrapping an invisible cord around her finger
as if she were only walking slowly the opposite direction as the cord stretched further.
When she talks she says she likes to feel her voice as it runs away from me. She says that she wants me to believe distance is just a myth our minds created. When she held me I was a last box on a moving van. I was stretched out like piano wire waiting for a hammer to knock the breath back into me. Her hands forced me upward like keys pounding harmony.
She is the hottest day of summer telling me to wake up and find water and her bed is an oasis.
Our clothes scattered a mosaic across the paint spotted carpet.
We read to each other from the bookshelf on the corner.
The one that sagged in the middle until all its shelves were smiling, ready to laugh loose their stories.
The morning she left the half-closed shades left cords of sunlight stretching across her chest
and I traced them but there were highways, and she the smallest country.
When she calls me she traces her breath as it spirals like a hurricane to the wall and bounces between cities. Her voice is strangled with 350 miles of telephone lines.
The clothes we dressed our floors with for months have been stripped away.
The room is naked now and the bookshelf, half empty. When I think of that house
she is the only thing I can remember. Everything else fades, the room disappears entirely and I remember only having lived inside her. Home is where the heart is.
The first astronomers who looked up there had to have discovered sparkling new words about how far two things can be. We build telescopes to force everything closer.
I have built myself a telescope with bed posts and bathroom mirrors.
On warm nights I climb to the top of my room and look west where the world curves her away from me. I know now why the myth of a flat earth existed for so long.
It is not a story of people afraid of falling but of people terrified of growing apart,
reading that if you stare hard enough at the horizon, you’ll be able to find anyone who is left you. But “listen” she says. The blind man on my block had his cataracts removed.
He told me when he looked out his window for the first time he couldn’t understand why his hand was larger than the houses across the road.
He couldn’t grasp how things look smaller at a distance so close your eyes.
Stop looking for me in satellites fading below the skyline. Let us make this world flat again.
I am always right here.
This continent is just our kitchen table.
These highways piano strings.
The same note ringing resonating between us.
God keeps our sight stronger with eyes that we will never see by looking in a mirror.
Long poem by
Katie Pukash | Details |
It will hurt like a tattoo guns sting
as the ink infiltrates your skin.
Your first love will be like a tattoo on your heart,
always remembering the blessings and pain he gave you.
Be with a person who fills you with fluttering hummingbirds
even after the first and second and tenth kiss
who drinks the nectar of your demons and sucks them lifeless.
There will be men who you think will carry you forever
but after so long of holding
your feet above the water
they will throw you down.
They will not reach out a hand to pick you back up.
They will turn cheek,
kissless and forgotton.
You will stand with dirt palms
and fall back into his inferno.
There will be loves like this,
who convince you to prick yourself with safety pins,
the ones who carry guns on their backs
but never shoot to protect,
only to hurt.
The ones who drink all the water,
leave you parched in the desert of his mistakes
telling you that they are your own.
The ones who shoot arrows in your lungs
and you lye bleeding
believing that the color of your blood is true love for him.
The hour hand will spin around the clock
too many times before you leave him.
It will hurt.
You thought it was true,
but after the death of it
you will realize you deserve someone so much sweeter
than a bitter apple.
Love the one who doesn’t cheat you blind,
but instead comes to you with truths in his wretched palms
and waits for you to
but never gives up and never stops wishing that the past could rewind
that he could change the things wrong that he did to you.
Love the one who feeds your heart warm apple pie,
who cries in front of your children,
who drives them to school and hugs them when they get home.
Be with someone who doesn’t ask for you to change
but instead loves your mistakes
cradles them within his fabric lungs
breathes them in with a grin.
Love is an interesting thing.
You will be thrown out of a moving car to the side of the road.
Some will come running back to you.
Don’t jump back in the front seat,
until you find someone who buckles the seat belt for you.
Drives five under the speed limit,
takes things slowly and waits for you to be ready to accelerate.
I am here for you.
Remember me, the one who loved you first,
the one who will never stop loving you.
Come to me after he breaks up with you.
You can cry on my shoulder,
and ill wipe your tears with my sleeve.
Find a love who loves you the way
that your father and I love you,
the way that your grandmother loves you.
Find a love who already considers you family.
Who meets you
and looks into your ocean eyes
and drowns peacefully into your heart.
Long poem by
Molly McCarthy | Details |
In my life I often feel I am alone; alone in my thoughts, alone in my musings, alone in my day-to-day movements and unsatisfying activities. I move like a ghost through hallways and down sidewalks, unnoticed and, at times, gratefully so.
I do not wish to be eternally alone. I long for togetherness. But despite this desire for a real connection, I find myself regularly retreating from that temperamental beast that is human interaction.
“Come on now, sweetheart. Don’t lower your head. Don’t look away. Look up! Smile at someone! No! Don’t go back into your bedroom. Don’t lock the door! Why are you doing this?” my brain will plea.
I can’t help myself. Aloneness is comfortable. In being alone, I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I don’t have to please anyone else. I can think anything I want, wear anything I want, listen to anything I want, and laugh at anything I want.
And still there remains that nagging desire to be loved and wanted and needed by somebody. I do not know the feeling of being truly desired. I do not know what it is like for someone to crave my company, my smile, my kiss, or my touch.
But I would like to…
I cannot make someone love me or like me or want me in some primal way. It may hurt, but I cannot make that handsome boy want to hold my hand or brush my hair back behind my ear. I can only struggle on. I can only work within myself. I can only try every God damn day to hold my head up, keep my eyes fixed ahead, a give the world the best smile I have. I and I alone can bring myself out of the safety of my bedroom and into the bright world that lies beyond that locked door.
I often find myself alone with nothing more than my thoughts and the ever-strong glow of a computer screen. But no longer will aloneness be the constant in my life. It is true that never having known the caress of a man’s hand on my thigh doesn't make me any less of a woman, but I fear that if I stay confined within myself much longer I will begin to become less of a human. A flower cannot grow if it retracts its leaves and petals every time it feels the warmth of the sun or the kiss of a gentle spring rain.
And I want to grow. I want to grow so tall and blossom so big and beautifully that every place on earth is touched by my shadow at some point in the day. And I will grow. I will push myself and share myself with the world, and finally
know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.
Long poem by
Thomas Hsi | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/your_mothers_heart_in_your_beautiful_young_eyes_599195' st_title='Your Mother's Heart in Your Beautiful Young Eyes'>
Copyright 2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
POETIC LYRICS BY GERRY JONES (Houston Rockets and Houston Texans),
THOMAS L.H. ANDRESS, VICKIE VILLEGAS, JOHN R. BADHAM (Fordham),
(Assisted by Samuel R. Vargas)
Remembering ALWAYS THE TRUE GENIUS OF APPLE COMPUTER...
Poet's Own Notes:
WORDS ARE CHEAP...ARE YOU?