Long poem by
Vic Pister | Details |
When my life has finally left me and my last breath has been shed
And the silver cord is broken and my bodies firmly dead
I shall hover near the body, download the scenes of this past life
Noting all minutest details rolling backwards past my eyes
I’ll store these scenes ‘til later when I can take the time to learn
What the lessons have to teach me and help me to discern
How I treated other people, made them happy, made them sad
Examine all my actions, both the good and the bad
Three days later I’ll lose interest as my focus moves away
From the world that I just left behind, there is no need to stay
For a lifetime in the life of man to God is just a day
And my soul as God on the wheel of life must move along its way
I’ll take the download with me as I move into first heaven
It’s the first stage in the afterlife, in number there are seven
Here I’ll see and feel the good things that to others I have brought
And revel in the feelings of the kindness that I wrought
I will store these in my seed atom so in future lives I’ll know
They’re the things that I must multiply for my souls’ conscience to grow
For the conscience is the souls’ voice that guides you day by day
That still small voice that warns you in what you do and say
When that’s done my view will shift then to the things that I did bad
To the hurt I did to people that left them feeling sad
I will feel their pain intensely, ten times worse when in this field
For I’ll be purely spirit now with no flesh for a shield
These painful lessons will imprint upon my seed atom as well
In some religions we are told our soul’s in everlasting hell
In the stages of the afterlife, this is your punishment in heaven
This is the third and the most painful of the total seven
The Grim Reaper now has visited with his scythe so I will know
Through natures Law of Consequence I will reap what I did sow
He has shown me all my misdeeds and caused me many tears
And this purgatorial experience may last for twenty years
When my suffering soul recovers and the pain has died away
And I’ve incorporated the lessons to never act this way
In future lives I’ll be a better man from these lessons I have learned
One step closer to perfection that my growing soul has earned
Now I can sleep, Oh peaceful sleep, a state of heavenly rest
I’ll dream the dreams I love in life, of things I love the best
All desires that my soul has yearned, not a thing I can’t create
In the Great Silence of the spirit world to help me concentrate
The colors are much brighter, the scent of flowers more sublime
The senses are much sharper, there is no sense of time
I will see all other people as pure souls just like me
And I’ll know we’re all evolving to the bliss of eternity
I will hear the mystic music of the planets as they pass
Like a thousand singing angels, heavenly peace has come at last
Every planet sings its own song, we’ve grown deaf to this below
But in this super consciousness we’re in the eternal flow
I’ll be with my friends and family and others whom I love
The ones who left before me and currently live above
There they wait with arms wide open and rejoice when I arrive
In the fourth stage where I now live, it’s utter joy to be alive
I’ve incorporated my lessons, I now recall my goal
And my mind begins to focus on further growth of my soul
I must make further preparations and my vision starts to clear
I feel I must keep moving forward for all my works done here
I now have gone through five and six, there is just one more
In years it’s been from birth to birth one hundred forty four
The time has come to move along and leave this place called heaven
Prepare for life in the physical world, I move to number seven
My soul has gathered the material, I now know what I must do
To make some more improvements in the places I need to
I must take another body, I must live another life
To grow and liquidate more karma though it means more pain and strife
I build an archetype of the body that in future I will form
When embodiment is offered, and I can be reborn
I will see the opportunities and be able to discern
The ideal embodiment for me when the right egg meets the sperm
I will hover near the fetus, influencing where I can
And I’ll have the power to make it be a woman or a man
I will help to build the body to suit the lessons I must learn
To overcome more issues so more advancement I can earn
When baby takes its first breath and my soul is taken in
With the imprint of my seed atoms that it has brought within
Now the babys’ atoms resonate to my seeds vibration rate
Making it the perfect body for my soul to habituate
The new body will be my new home, I will live a life anew
Gain experience, learn more lessons, through the things that I will do
I’ll apply the added knowledge that I learned in this past life
More evolved than in the last one, and cause me less pain and strife
This will happen just as often as required by the soul
As it pushes ever onward, pushing ever t’ward its goal
Of complete re-integration back from whence it came
To the universal soul of life no matter what its name
Nature is not personal, it does not seek revenge
If we mess it up we have the chance to do it all again
We arrived here by this process, nothing’s changed it’s still the same
But our souls have evolved immensely since we stepped into the game
We started out as fallen angels with no experience on this plane
We’ve grown to this by coming back again and again
Though we cannot remember for each conscious mind has died
The feelings in the soul remained in our subconscious mind
And so this is the story of the cycle of the soul
As it struggles through evolution on its way toward the goal
It’s this way for all unfailing, from natures law there’s no relief
All living things go through it, no matter their belief
Long poem by
Laura Breidenthal | Details |
I saw how martyrs longed for love, and so began the play of my flitting heart
A strange girl had I become, with airs of fickle dream,
My heart an embodiment of wonder to all that dared to behold it
Closing my eyes, I would find myself knowing something new would shine my way
Had I known what was coming, the dawn would seem far less appealing...
As all journeys begin, a darkness began to veer its head
The plot of reality melted in dissonant chords...
Dark blue fogs of doubt caked my mind and heart
Though the longing for love never left...
And had it left, no dawn would await me
I saw there were rules setting a foundation for my intensely embarked mark
I knew if I were to feel any twinge of fire,
I must first be rid of the fog...or at the very least find my way through it
How it stung as it hit my virgin skin, not like gentle clouds talking me through it,
Caressing, surrounding and seducing. . .
No, like a poison, the bleak thickness of the doubt choking me
Reducing me to child's tears...I toiled through its torments,
I rested upon rough rocks of rhetorics
Admiring their vitality and honesty...
At one point in time I had convinced myself that I was one of them
A rock- cold, rough... hardened and overlooked...destined to crumble
Though more demands surfaced on this quest for love's Justice
Weakened by the blue fogs blackening,
I cried out in the pit of my heart, surrendering before me
Words...kept so long inside...
I freed them from the strongholds of my darkest nights
And soon there was a deep, hypnotizing reply...
Justice, tall and proud, said from above the sinking pit,
"True, I have seen you before,
A token of adoration you have become,
Crying night after night in melodious black,
With little to take, and everything to give...
My demands are simple, as your longing is profound,
You, yes, you! Take my hand so I may hold you tightly..."
My mouth agape, I stretched out my hand to meet the vines of his fingers
Clutching in sparks, he breathed into me life... and promise of love
"Surrender your heart to the hope of love
When you find you are not alone, as none of you are,
When you praise with your singsong words that passion has altered,
Giving all to a soul you have yet to see,
You shall feel my hand lift you as I do now...
Soon once more, you shall learn- the dawn will always be dawn
And the night will always be your velvet pathway to Beyond."
This, Justice proclaimed in the voice of a thousand cries of birth
The overtones spilling out in rainbows of rapture
It was soon after his visit, I knew I must perform...
Surrender, faith, and action Three keys to the same door...
And they, golden and alight, were in my hands to use
The time came when my heart grew roses, thorns and all
And hearts smashed their way through, though I cherished the burn...
Fogs still lingered in the alleyway of fear
And now I knew not to inch my way near
For the punishment he had whispered like darts in my ear,
"If you, now seeing the truth, dismember your heart,
I will crush your petals into black abyss,
I will reduce you to dust, leaving the thorns,
I am animal in the face of failure,
My tolerance for hate is shorter than an ant beholding a mountain
And if you so much as reject my call,
Hate is exactly what I will allow,
And it will destroy you, oh singing heart..."
This I ask of Justice, on the day of my calling, and yet still today... -
"Tell me, oh spirit,
Phantom of Epiphany,
When the love I so long for locks tightly upon me,
Shall it be as I dreamed,
Or shall I be wholly disappointed,
Left in the agony of reality,
Where roses grow, thorns and all...
Only to wither...and die...
He was so gentle...that he merely smiled and left me...
It was right away, soon after his departure,
That I felt he never would fully leave...
He allowed me to weave my own dreams,
Finding out for myself if reality was truly as magical as they write
And as for an answer, as dull as this may sound... it is...
I, like many tearful martyrs before me,
Continue to long for a love that will fulfill me
Often reality teases me, and I know not if she is demon or angel
Though one day, I will see reality is on my side, ugly or not
The play of my flitting heart still beating its rhythmic drums
The rainbows of overtones lulling me into ecstasy,
As I see words of wisdom thriving in the hands that save
This, though little, I know-
Love is justice of reward beyond our wildest dreams
He sings to us every night, never making promises...
He just smiles and allows us to live it
He allows us to discover, and in turn give...
To enlighten others still trapped in the ruts of fog
Once we feel it, there is no turning back
Please do not let him crush those roses you have made...
Even their foundations were meant to reach the skies
Touching the brightest dawn...and Beyond..
-For Justin Bordner's "Love Justice" Contest
Love you loads, and thank you immensely for inspiring me!
Long poem by
Princess Poetry | Details |
To all who have never known, it's time that you've been told.
Tell the population to change its ways before these lost lives and souls are all in vain.
Tell the girls to think long and hard before they let a man twice their age break their heart. Tell
them to think about who they are and what they want to be before they choose to conceive.
Tell the boys who think they're men to think and think again when fatherhood is calling their name and
they're hanging their heads in debt and shame.
Tell them what it's really like to go to school, then work three jobs or more to pay child support, then
beg a stranger for a ten dollar gas tip to fill up their tank just get home at night and make the trip.
Tell them that their parents were right when they go to sleep, crying themselves to sleep at night.
Tell them their friends are traitors in disguise, watching and waiting for opportunities to tell them lies
and sabotage their lives.
Tell the preteen girls in every walk of education and life to take control of their lives and souls. Tell
them it's okay to tell the teenage boys that no means no.
Tell them that being different is something to be proud of. Tell them that being different will save them
for their true love. Becoming a Mother at thirty is a whole world better than being one at sixteen.
Remind them of the wishes they made when they were little girls when they still dwelt in their hopes
Tell them to value who they are and listen to their hearts. Their unspoken, sweetest dreams are what
and who they're meant to be.
Tell the young men and women who don't know what to do that with their lives not to rush into being
husbands and wives. Tell them to become who they were born to be. Tell them not to lose their passion
five or six days a week because they were given innate goals, hopes and dreams to fulfill their
Tell the girls who just discovered they're going to be a mother that they will make it one way or
Tell them that when the guy they thought loved them was only telling them a lie, that he's not what's
important anymore. Their little girl or their little boy is going to be their pride and joy.
One day, they'll have a reason to forget the hopelessness and sorrow they once met.
Tell the men who came home from war to find an empty house and home that there is so much more.
Tell them they are our honored heroes. That is something that goes far deeper than anyone truly knows.
Tell the children who were moved from countless foster homes that they are not alone. Tell them there
is someone who cares. Tell them that there is an end to their nightmares.
Tell the parents who lived their lives through their children that they can no longer run and hide.
They have seen, heard and ignored when their children have begged and cried. Tell them it is their loss
for living with their regrets and the lost expectations they never met.
Tell the criminals that live inside a demented state of mind that hell is reserved for the lessons they re-
fused to learn. Tell them insanity is never an excuse for abuse.
Tell every man who ever hurt a woman and forced her child to watch has their time ticking away on the
clock. Tell them they can't use violence to get what they want anymore. Karma is kicking down every
window and every door.
Tell the women who chose their boyfriends and their drugs over their babies that an apology will never
be enough. Tell them that nothing is ever worth the price they'll have to pay for who they hurt.
Tell the orphans that Heaven remembers them and hears their prayers. Tell them that Someone
truly cares. Tell them that there will be someone to tuck them in at night and greet them each
morning when they wake up to the sunlight.
Tell the women in abusive relationships that it won't get better. It will only get worse. Tell them to get
now before they're not the only one who gets hurt. Tell them to get out before he steals more than their
keys and their purse.
Tell the countless girls who struggle with their weight to go beyond the hate. Tell them they are
beautiful and perfect in every way and it doesn't matter what anyone else has to say.
Tell the widows who feel the most alone that the Universe empathizes and it knows. Tell them they are
loved and they are on their way Home.
Tell those who have lost it all, but still stand for what they believe in, that they are the reason we still
have a chance to win. Tell them their bravery is what we stand for. Their courage is our open door.
Tell them. Tell them all we are here with open arms and loving hearts. Tell them this is the perfect place
to start. Tell them they can be all they are. Tell them that. Tell them then. Tell them now. Tell
them time and time again. Tell them loud and clear. Tell them right here. Tell them. Oh yes, please tell
Long poem by
Poet Destroyer A | Details |
Lost in a poets convention,
I can't recall every poem, I've read through the years
50518, unique comments I 'validate'---
Thank You For Sharing Your Happy and Sad tears
Since March 24, 2010 In the mist of every line,
I'm sending special hugs, for he/she that favorite me through the years
A praise to all poets mentioned and not mentioned
I will miss, the sweetest girl on this block LEONORA G.,
She treats me with love, adores my words and twisted poetry.
I will start with the soups famous October, 7th babies,
Frank and Kash, Debbie D, and myself, these lines belong to us,
Our best characteristic has everything to do with the mind
In our poetic hearts you'll find the symbol of justice and balance
This is not a song, it is not a poem, it's a free falling memo written with style
Back in March 2013, I said it then, I'll say it again
Andrea, you and only you are the Poet Queen
By the Queen, sits the Poet King of rhymes, Robert L. Hinshaw
Thank you both for never stepping on your loyal subjects
Carol B., & Linda Marie, no one can replace the hole you left inside
I will miss all the little poetry pups, who came and sat by my side
MAHIMA and Saanvi, and Sabrina, thank you for the encouragement
Phyllis, Joyce, Francine, Rhonda, Betty, sweet Karen A., and Catie,
Clap your hands for the lovely quiet soup ladies.
Okay, maybe not Karen A., and Catie, these ladies love speaking their minds:)
SARA K., a mentor to some, a Fairy Godmother in my book
I will miss her "Magic Pen like Wand" dearly.
Gail, thank you for spreading your wings, and teaching us how to fly.
Hopefully --wings are a nice gesture, --waving--
"One day I'll see you again, my friend."
Daver Austin, "Go ahead, make my day" thank you for the show
Now, you know why I referred to you as, "The Clint Eastwood of Poetry."
Russell Survey, encouraged my days and moods with his kind words
Scribe ML., where are you my friend?
Don't you know your BIGGEST FAN misses you!!!
Dr Ram, Bindu V, Litan D., Donna J, Shadow, Sandra A., Peter Durgan,
Giorgio V., Mystic Rose, BL Devnath and of course our Nette.
Thank you for being kind and rewinding and replying to every note.
Joseph M., Caleb S., Vincent F., Juliet L., Lucy Carrillo, Scott 37, Johnny R.,
Kelly D., thank you for the honor in always honoring my words
Roger Horsch meets Eileen Ghali, your smile, her smile always made me smile,
No matter how many miles apart, our smiles always met on the same page.
Jenish, Don J., S.Z. Kamoonpuri, Gideon, Gary, Austin E., and Jody M.,
Fatima N., Mark N., Aiyah B., Ralph F., Kathryn C., Elly, Ayesha A.,
Clay W., Erich, Syam, MIKKI, John B., Olusegun, *Sukmawati* Gwen,
Delysia H., Frederic P., Richard L., Brenda L., Keith, Debbie G.,
Thank you for painting the best IMAGERY
Michale Clarke, Charma C., Wayland B., Jancarl C., Carrie, and Harry,
M&M, Abdulhafeez, Michael B., Maria P. S., CHAN and Mandy T.
You are only the beginning of what makes this a good community
Arlid A., Dinda M., Silly Billy, Tim Ryerson, we go way back.
Ravindra, Kim M., Richard S., Honestly JT., Wade A., Dom-X.
The ingredients in your poems, makes the best soup remix
Joe M., Jack H., James H., James P., Tim B., Jon A. C., Allan K., Matthew A.
Deb Wilson, David S., David William, Thomas S., Cecilia M.
Keep that pen flowing for tomorrow needs poets like you.
Justin B., Laura B., your words will continue to be a part of me.
Owen Y., and John L., your visits, your friendship I will never forget
Yasmin and Carl F., hanging out with you on the soup was the best.
Cherl Dunn, and Colleen Bono, SandyIvy, I will miss everything about you,
Mostly I will miss your friendship and the way you took care of me.
Poet and sister Skat, keep rocking what I can't....
Copy paste your love, welcome in the new.
Show Edwina, Robin, Sam B., and all the NEW POETS they belong
Last but not least-- Behind every mess, they are the best
--Craig Cornish and Cyndi McMillan
What have you done, I admit without you this place would have been no fun.
Thank you for the spin, making every penny worth our paid premium memberships
Before I forget,
I want to take this time to reminisce and add two old friends to my hot list.
Nikko and Chris A..... My first POETRY SOUP FRIENDS.
I will never forget you, and all the fun moments we had,
Back when the soup was not like this:)
Chris, can you ever forgive me, I never stepped up to say "I was Sorry!"
As you know my kindness is my weakness
Now it's time to be strong and move on
If one day I return, then you know, I fell off the wagon
And, into arms and luring fingers of Team Poetry Soup
The Poet Destroyer
Long poem by
Louis Borgo | Details |
I was born unresponsively of arrival on birth.7:01 Am, one of the coldest days to record,
I battle for my life for every beat to every breath I was born premature.
Being born premature I was born with learning and mental illness and despite
Of the disadvantage I broke barriers of stereotypes and prejudices that would follow.
Why Question that it is a recession does it mean mental illness rise?
No Question the research from
top website say no taking from thefiscaltimes, RecessionsSilent that would include That facts does not lie,
Question is now who is listening.
Why Question in the headline it’s the mental ill that’s making headlines
No Question they all ask for help put the system ignored or failure report those demeanor read between the lines.
Question is now could that have been your family or friends so why make fun of the mental ill to feel what;inferior?
Why Question they say that people with too much education is at a higher risk of become mental ill?
No Question they say that mental ill can’t have weapons if so then why is it 1.5 million roughly in the military that has sometype of mental ill with weapons?
Question is now that Bill Clinton stated on Cnn that gun laws will never go away because (forgive me if I miss quoted) the voters don't hold the people they voted into office to there word.
Why Question that a person got to do a violent act before you determine that there mental ill and if that is so why do we have prisoner that could be mental ill
or, is it one in the same thing and state from a television host “to do violence you must be some type of mental ill” it would be simply, if he ask the first question I stated then fumble with his words
No question my doctor said if you are depression more then three day then in there book a person is mental ill
Question is now why have smoking been written in constitution or some states and you know what type of smoking I’m talking about so blame.
Why Question that the medicine they give us that can make you aggressive, more violent and sometime even suicidal but when go to sue them it was not enough evidence to prove but ten years later you can’t sue because the statue of limitation has ran out
No Question a comedian made a joke about the same thing was it a joke or was it a movement you tell me much luv to him!
Question is now is if a person life is more valuable then a buck if not why is manufacturer making a G over one prescription not knowing all side effects.
Why Question what is the debt ceiling as well as the glass ceiling seems to be something to keep minority from stepping in the next class because it all revolved around money and who is usually get short stick? (the poor)
No Question food stamps being cut, health care require and we have been in a war over wars since I was born I guess my generation was a victim of society and they say it the Lost Generation indeed,
no wonder inmates believe government own them.
No question does this facts lie? If so why is history books rewritten in college every semester? Question is now
Why Question in the bible it speaks to the effects things will never be heard or seen would happen
(1 st Corinthians 2: 9) I paraphrase that….. No question Jeremiah 8-9 once again paraphrasing the people that became of power and knowledge used it in the wrong way and god later destroy the city
Now question god spoke lyrically and God creation us in his own imagine and I have research that a person can come out of depression naturally but does the doctor tell you that?
Once again it is a small percent of mental ill that does violence and most time they are the victims. I have giving my life to science I have giving my blood for 10 years and im only 25 years old my doctor told me by year 2020 it should be cure for my disease being born which such a disability may you know I gave my life to science so child like me will never know of harass words to endure.....
I will probably die before 30 or 40 because of malpractice and my disease Why question, No Question, Question is Now what is the definition of crazy and that of mental ill?
My last statement is, I am the not only person that speak out for mental illness October is mental ill awareness would you like to say you spoke for reason? better yet chance....
As of 2015 more information has came out and in a article stated there is lil prove that mental illness cause violence and also that what i have should be consider a brain injury not mental illness i wonder now that facts are coming out what will they say twenty or thirty years from now or even of me
Long poem by
Louis Borgo | Details |
To know your history is to know your literature a lesson to learn, which will
Stand the test of time and what one founds of their in heritage no matter how enduring and grim it may seem it something you should embrace-
I came from a small city with big roots and routinely I was ask “where are you from”, especially from girls, if it wasn’t that it he thinks he cutie? And I’m asking why I would say something like that. Or He thinks him smart, God!!! I’m just answer the teacher question? But when I got older, older woman told me they probably think that ascent was sexy and I’m thinking where in high school what do they know about sexy? Man is her computer seat warm? America woman I just don’t understand them? I wonder what they do if they heard me speak a few difference language at same time? Thank god I’m quite because it not like they can read my mind. But it got me thinking from and questioning
What I found was the name Borgo had many difference Ethnicity & meaning with it as well as nationalities and that Borgo is Small Island between France and Italy. And if history may not mention it was a Borgia who captured Napoleon? How do I know where did it take place?
No wonder I like Caribbean woman and it is this one that get my heart beat beating up to 400 beats per seconds if that is possible I can’t say it is a forbidden love but what I will say is breaking the ice and melt when think out loud? And yes she knows my name but why ask not why but why are some lyrics so deep my dear? Remember some old friends asking don’t you make beats? As I have some bread and tea.
And that Bourbon is a drink, a Pecan Pie and a Street I’m thinking man if I have girlfriend
What date it would be-
Then I dig deeper and found the prime sources that seem to let to these events the Borgia or borja married into royalty which happen to be Louisa Borgia who married Philp De Bourbon or Philip V of Spain. He was rejected as King Louis legitimate son because born out of wedlock but later accepted but Philp never forgave and where he could have been both king of France and Spain he was just the king of Spain. Question I ask do any one know today the real reason why France has no nationality? Hurtfully to write or hear but i heritage mean full name as should other take to one, I have heard rumors that true bloodlines of nations of Kings that don’t rightfully take the throne it is a reason for that but not my place to say the way history is written is just to say to remember men wrote history but literature holds another tell? Who can tell the differences, but one question for god I always ask
Why so much war my lord, I truly feel like a man without a country and
Just walking away-
I myself never came from money I start literally from nothing but as I got older I was given legitimate connection legitimate ideas and principals and the understanding of wealth but so trying of spending night and days with no day off of a seven day week wonder if I can make those principals work for me as sick as I am there are reason undefined why I do this things and money is not the endorsement my life is more complication then eye may receive to capture but if you listen you learn more than just hand written if you get the drift-
I was never told of my in heritage put as one will it something like a scare or tattoo I had to found to adjust to my nick name is “Jason” but my full name is Louis Antonio Borgo III as I’m about to fall to sleep and lost all aim of conscience I see a email with my full name spell out in Ancestry.com question how did they know I was search for them and if I ever be accepted from this other half as I am a man literally without a country and in love with French woman more than American the phone rings and a woman from Canada called speaking French I drop the phone and finally I fall to sleep and As I sleep dreaming could anyone imagine wanting to go home but where? Remembering the ringing noise of girls ask
” where are you from”...
Long poem by
Peter Duggan | Details |
From anxiety to joy
Hi to all my friends
I decided to write this story of me down, because I see so many unhappy people on this site. They make this very clear to me when I read some of their beautiful poems. I have tried telling it in verse, but now I feel it is time to write it down in prose
When I was a child I was not happy because I had very strict parents who robbed me of all my freedom. I was a very freedom loving boy and I felt so totally restricted in a family that never could and never would understand me. There was a lot of psychological cruelty handed out to me by my Father and a hell of lot of bullying, I was subjected to by the other kids, I came from a very rough part of London called Peckham, and I was an extremely sensitive young lad.
When I grew up I married a beautiful Australian girl named Vera who is still my beloved wife after fifty years. We immigrated to Australia, and after about three months, I decided to join the army, and I volunteered to go to Vietnam, so I could pay back the kindness that the Australians had Showed me by receiving me to their beautiful country.
I served in Vietnam for about nine and a half months, then they decided to ship me back to Australia because of injuries and illness. when I came back my troubles all started and I developed PTSD, even though I had not really been in much danger during my days of war. I was filled with a terrible anxiety, and was absolutely terrified of both life and death. I had these periods of deep, deep dread that completely ruled my life. I was angry most of the time, and I detested everybody I ever met with a vengeance so hard to understand
This got worse and worse as the year proceeded, and I tried everything to control it, from counselling to reading every kind of self help books, and I read every religion, and all the stuff by so many different Spiritual teachers until I had a bookcase brim filled with all the books I had read. I tried every kind of meditation, plus yoga, Tai chi, and many other things. However, nothing worked. They helped a bit but not enough to stop the ugly terror I felt.
Then one day I came across a man named John Sherman on the net, who has helped so many people, and thousands of people now practice what he advocates with much success.
John told me that all I had to do was close my eyes and look at the me ness of me, it was as simple as that. At first I laughed at him with this simplistic approach to gaining back ones sanity. But I was desperate; I had walked out on my wife for a year and given everything I had away. My anger was getting worse and worse, and when I finally came back to my family, I really wasn’t worth being with. My wife tolerated me because she loved me so totally, but I could tell that I was leading her into Pyschological, of physical illness.
So I gave John’s method a try, I meditated every day using my me ness as a meditation point. I don’t mean my thoughts or sensations, emotions or such. I mean the ‘me’ the part of me that actually runs the show. The ‘me’ that always seems hidden but is always there in the background. I noticed some changes in me very quickly, but then the progress came slower, but very steady. Now I have been doing this for nearly five years and the difference in me is phenomenal. I am so happy now, that I could almost scream with joy. I have no more anxiety any more, and the dread that once debilitated is totally gone.
My neurotic fear of death has faded, and although I don’t want to die, when it comes I will be totally ready for it. My life is so beautiful these days and everything seems so beautiful, and crystal clear. These days I walk on feather feet, and I am so grateful to John and his wife Carla for what they gave to me. I really want to share this with anyone who cares to listen. You would not believe how beautiful my life is these days. Thank you for reading, all you who reached the end of this story. I hope it helps you as it most certainly helped me….Peter.
Long poem by
Poetryof Providence | Details |
Not a day goes by I don't think of you
you have permeated my fortress and walk freely in all its rooms
(examining it's furnishings)
how did I allow you entry without the
usual search scan and seizure ?
I'ts like a foreign substance and all
my antibodies are seeking to eradicate
your presence (anti-christs)
My mind and heart find your entrance exhilarating
like ecstasy ( a neurologically happy drug ,
which by the way I've never imbibed in but the
other one I'm only slightly familiar with)
My body wants to throw you off like some
intruder to the death it lies in bondaged slavery of.
I finally understand the WAR.
I want to isolate this substance and imbibe at will
or as often as I desire.
There's no corner on the market for this substance,
you can only get this by freely accepting it as your
own life blood , the loss of which kills us , but it's
flow is what keeps us alive.
I desire to lay in it's bliss
like basking in a warm sun's rays
unfortunately I burn easily , so I usually limit
my exposure to substances I feel may do me damage.
But OH , HOW GOOD this FEELS , as though I should
have been born to this naturally .
But NO , love is not the natural substance of the world
in it's battlements and fortresses erected by men and
so thoroughly indoctrinated into his very being .
I just want to bottle this and share it with everyone.
But everyone "knows" every really really great substance
wears off and kicking the habit is way way painful .
But I want to suck this up and live in it , to have the heat
of it never dim , until it is an all consuming fire that lights
everything in it's sphere . Yes LOVE JUNKIE , child of God
a shameless addict to truth about the paths people choose
to "lose" themselves on .
I've been like a bloodhound sniffing out every trail looking
for this substance the one that transforms you into fully
brilliantly vibrantly alive , and to roll in it until every fiber
of my being is saturated with it's fragrance.
The factory that manufactures this is built within ,
and I want unlimited access , but my own body has
set up perimeters and walls to fence off my full access
to my own God given life source ..(the curse)
You can only have full admittance when you can use
it's power to give life and not destroy others , to be
able to manage it usefully for the benefit of all.
But I'm a natural indulgent in what feels good ,
substances always on the intake , seeking to have a
balm that shields me from being abused or seeing
my own abuses of Life. My ability to utilize a substance
so powerful is limited by my training , my will and my
exposure to everything that seeks to sell it on the open
market like a thrill seeker , or cheap whore who can be
had for a bouquet and dinner , which is quickly consumed
in one night and disappears tomorrow . Nothing that the
world offers can even slightly imitate the magnitude and
power residing where Love dwells . When you've been
allowed to taste its manna , the desire for a plateful
is now not even enough but the drive to constant partaking
of its presence is now an all consuming fire and I am
driven to sign up for the lifetime plan . For better is a life
that feeds on love daily , than to choke and suffocate on
the bowls of hatred served up daily in the worlds menu.
I have relished the view from opposite sides of the room ,
when you're ready for the permanent plan you will
have to crossover to the other side . I know you read me,
like the good book , and when you understand you can
hide it from the world , but not from me , or yourself .
We want full access to the wellspring of life and love , I'm
willing to share the source , but it's a limited partnership (MLP)
on a lifetime plan , but it's riches are infinite and can only
be provided by the source. If you're willing to crossover ,
I'll allow you re-entry and full access ... Love
COPYRIGHT © 2013 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
Long poem by
Katee Surface | Details |
My Little Boy Lost
by Katherine Huffman
Hello? My son, are you here?
I can't see you, I can't find you, why aren't you near?
As I walk the streets in search of you,
I feel a pull, a tug, not sure what to do.
I passed the park as I looked for my boy,
Even passed our play spot, but in my sight, not even a toy.
After everywhere I thought that I could go,
There was one place, but it can't be right, this is all I know.
Hello? My son, are you here?
I can't see you, can't find you,
Why can't I feel you near?
This evening begins as I lay to rest my head,
There are some things I'm unsure of,
Like making your tiny bed.
Oh God, whats happening, haven't I counted your toes?
What about cradling your head or kissing your little nose?
What are these things I am unsure of, have I even done?
Where are you, where are you my precious son?
Mommy lays here, in tears, her face on something cold.
Where are you my son, it's you I need to hold.
I've searched all day, it's turning into night,
I'm tired, I'm lost, but I still won't give up this fight.
My eyes start to close, slumber is far too near
If I fall asleep, I may miss seeing you my dear.
Next thing I know, as I wake to the sun.
Wondering what it is, what has been done?
As I sit, my eyes focus, I start to look around.
Then, for some reason, they are drawn to the ground.
As I look, I see what has become,
This can't be, what's happening, where am I my son?
That cold my face last night laid upon,
Was a marker, with your name,
Of your body my little one.
Those things I wasn't sure if I'd ever done,
Were but the memories, I'd hoped to make with you my son.
You were here, I know you were here
My beautiful, precious son.
You were in mommies arms, such a little one.
As though it were as simple as reading a book,
I start to realize
These tangled webs have become unhooked.
That tug, that pull that led your mommy here,
It was your spirit, it was your soul,
It was your heart my little dear.
Here you were, here you were,
Right with me, so very near.
My little boy, my son,
Mommies little one was here.
You see? You led me where I needed to go.
For it was well past the time,
To accept this I know.
I feel a tug, I feel a pull.
I feel like I need to hurry,
Like I have to go.
There is someone I remember,
I need to get to I know.
He's a small one, a little boy.
He's your brother, my son,
He's pulling, he's tugging,
Needing mommy my little one.
I have to leave, I have to go,
To find my baby, my son.
Oh Thank You my boy,
For bringing me here.
For letting my mind begin to see clear.
You showed me the way,
I now see the light.
I am so close, so near in this dark night.
So here you are, here you are,
With mommy, my baby is so very near.
You are in my heart, my mind,
And this little brother of yours, my dear.
My little boy lost, my little boy lost,
it's you I have found.
You were there with me,
as I slept on that ground.
Hello? My son, are you here?
I can see you, mommy found you,
In my arms I hold you so near.
I've bathed you, I've clothed you,
And cradled your head.
I counted your toes,
I bent in and kissed that little nose.
As you fell asleep in your bed.
Would these be memories
we are making my dear?
Without him would mommy,
Be able to hold you so near?
We have a little angel to watch over us for all nights.
In spirit, with us, his soul,
Our endless guiding light.
He's your big brother, my son, my precious little one.
He's right here, a part of you,
Never again to be gone.
My little boy lost, my little boy lost,
It's you, I can see.
I have to Thank You
For guiding me!
Long poem by
Robert Nehls | Details |
He sat behind the counter,
Inside the used bookstore.
I thought I recognized him,
As if we'd met before.
"Can I be of service Sir,"
He asked with smiling face.
I'm looking for a book, says I,
Called, "Life's Impassioned Race."
It's poetry that touched my heart,
With words that long endure.
Though we've not met, I know him well.
The author Isadore.
Introduced in sixty four.
I was but a young lad then,
Whose race had just begun.
My wings were young and fragile.
My future plans were none.
Had left the comfort of my home,
Determined to be free.
Then, suddenly I found the world
A dreadful place to be.
I was hungry, cold, and beaten.
Had to fight the urge to steel.
And many times I fought the cats
In alleys for a meal.
It all seemed so unreal.
Yet, through the pain and hunger,
My wings began to grow.
I spread them wide and rode the wind,
Wherever it would go;
Until I found a friendly town,
That looked like home for sure.
I saw a sign, "HELP WANTED,"
Outside a Used Bookstore.
This very store we're standing in;
An old man with a flame.
In fact you look a bit like him,
And, Jacob was his name.
Into his world I came.
Oh, I was grateful for the job,
And Jacobs pay was fair.
In back a cozy little room,
He said that he could spare.
So, there I was, at home and work,
With time and books to read.
The wee-hours my companion,
As mind and soul I'd feed.
I read my way to poetry,
And high among the dust,
The title, " Life's Impassioned Race,"
Came at me with a thrust.
It's reading was a must.
I read it time and time again,
Surprised at all I learned.
I felt my soul cry out with joy.
A fire in me burned.
So, I brought the book to Jacob,
And asked of Isadore.
"Did he write any other books?
Are they here in the store?"
" Isadore? Oh, it's that old book.
The only one he's done.
Old poems of life's impassioned race,"
He then began to read one.
A strange phenomenon.
As if it was a part of him,
His heart poured out each line.
With Isadore, he ran the race
That God and man design.
And I could see, and feel, and smell,
The world of Isadore.
I thought that I'd found all his gifts,
But, Jacob gave me more.
I asked him if he'd read them all.
"Just one each day," he said.
Each morning we would journey on,
Until they all were read.
My need for truth was fed.
It wasn't too long after that,
I felt the wind once more.
"I'll learn of life's impassioned race,"
"Like he author, Isadore."
So, I bid farewell to Jacob,
With a tear and smiling face.
"You might be needing this," he said.
It was, "Life's Impassioned Race."
I carried it for many years.
It's wisdom served me well.
It's words have helped me gain the strength,
To shun the gates of hell.
There's so much I could tell.
Well, I came to see old Jacob.
The book has been misplaced.
Every man should have a copy,
Of, "Life's Impassioned Race.
Then, the man that looked familiar,
With a smile and a tear,
Said, "fortunes your companion, friend.
I have the book right here."
"You're right, I look a bit like him,
This was my father's store.
Well known as, Jacob to his friends.
His Pen Name, Isadore!"