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Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details |

I Was Born at a Very Early Age - Part 1

"I was born at a very early age",

this, along with many other immortal sayings, from dear ole dad, will always have a way of sneaking into my everyday life. He'd come into the room, unannounced, and lay this idiom on me, "I was born at a very early age". He would give a deep pause afterwards, letting the words truly sink in, as if it were some grand piece of wisdom that should be savored and mulled over. Then of course the laughter would swallow us whole, stealing thirty minutes (at least) of our day, and replacing it with utter nonsense. "How could you NOT be born at a very early age?". Rhetorical, mind you. Lest you want an overtly inflated banter of words let's leave it at that... rhetorical. Some have a dry sense of humor, yes, but this seemed to be the extreme. If it were any drier it might just rival with a Dominoes pizza. And this is about the time when 99% of the population leave the room... leaving dad and I to talk "philosophical". If you're laughing, great, you can stop by anytime. If you're not well... there's the door.

But more than just a terrific sense of humor (in my opinion), he has other qualities worthy of note as well. A love to learn... not just learn in the kindergarten sense (or even the college sense). To THRIVE off of knowledge... to be encompassed into it, to have it be your bread. This sorta never-ending craving for facts and figures is what drives him to hours of perilous typing, in his tucked away office desk. He'd come home, sweaty after hours of working with cabinets, or working on some guy's tub, give an efficient nod to the rest of the fam... and zoom! Off to Information Center (AKA Internet). There wasn't a subject too obscure or to trivial for his ready fingers not to plow away the rest of the night: Geo-engineering, worldwide politics, long and tedious Bible discussions, truth behind Monsanto... you name it. I remember one time, when the Mormon duo came a'knocking on our doorstep. If it was me, my mom, (or really anyone beside pops) we'd give a polite, "No thanks, we're not interested today." But one fateful day it WAS my dad who answered the door... and one thing led to another. I'd come home after work and see a set of three people sitting in the front lawn, two bicycles laid askew as well as two helmets. I'd think to myself he's at it again. And for the next three days dear ole dad would be chatting up a storm with these Mormon folk. One of the pair left still feeling strong in his belief (if not a bit blindly). The other well... it looked as it his world was turned upside down.

To be continued on in part 2 (even with becoming a Member this piece was still a hundred characters over the limit... darn).

Long poem by Heather Ober | Details |


the bright monitor
glares through inky darkness--
a clock ticks

My heart lurches painfully in my chest as my mind tries to process what I'm seeing. My mug of coffee sits on the coffee table -- how fitting -- beside my laptop, releasing its unique aroma into the dim room. The scent is usually comforting, yet I don't feel comforted. The liquid usually warms my sleepy body, yet I feel cold. 

Suddenly, life seems utterly ridiculous. I woke up ten minutes ago to the sound of a blaring alarm, and already I'm on my laptop. I haven't even been awake for a quarter of an hour, and I'm already on the internet. To read my e-mails, to skim over online newspapers, to check the daily weather forecast. To connect to an increasingly disconnected world. 

And now, inevitably, I'm on Facebook.

status updates
teem with comma splices--
eyes roll

Yes, it's all ridiculous. Why do I care that a "friend" of mine is having eggs for breakfast? Why do I care that another "friend" is shopping for shoes today and hopes to find a pair to match her new dress? I don't care, yet here I am. And now, as I stare at the third status update, I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood. With a metallic taste in my mouth, I re-read it once again: "RIP Timothy. You have touched so many lives and will be missed more than you know. See you on the other side."

The news crashes over me like ice water; at first, numbing, and then so painful I can't breathe. Someone I've known since kindergarten is dead. Gone. Forever. And even though he and I were never close, I have more memories of him than I do of some of my closest friends. 

And now he has touched me in a way that most of my friends never will -- he has reminded me of mortality. He has reminded me that death is not an abstract concept reserved for breaking news stories or unrealistic cop shows. 

morning light
leaks through heavy curtains--
a phone vibrates

I barely notice the blinking red light on my Blackberry. I continue to stare at my computer screen, unsure of whether I should be laughing or crying. Facebook has not only become a place for wedding or pregnancy announcements. It's not only a place for photo-shopped pictures of exaggerated happiness. It has become an obituary -- an early-morning slap in the face.  

It saddens me that all I know (or knew) of Timothy is what he chose to include in his Facebook profile. The little boy from my childhood is gone, and now the faceless man I never really knew is gone too.

I close my laptop. I eat breakfast, have a quick shower, get dressed. And then I go to work. Because, really, what else is there to do?

Long poem by Leonora Galinta | Details |

In Memory of My Dad

It’s already been three years now since you passed away, Yet, those mem’ries of you are alive, in my heart you’ll forever stay; Every time I think of you, I smile with pain, And wish that I can see and hug you once again. My childhood years with you were so much fun, I can’t recall any moment when you hit me with your hand; You always took care of me with so much love, ‘Til I dreamt of Jesus on his bike, showing Himself like you-a loving Dad. You were a very loving father who sacrificed everything, When mom was away for work, you crossed rivers if I get sick; You’d played the biggest role in my grade schooling, You’d always fetched and brought me to school through biking. I remember when you asked my teacher’s permission, I was sick and I couldn’t attend my Kindergarten Graduation; My teacher didn’t agree for I’ll be given an honor, Wrapped in blanket, you brought me up on stage to pin my ribbon. From my secondary to college life, You gave your financial, moral and spiritual support and guide; You’d honed your house-painting skills and you became well- known, A big help for mom and your three children’s education. December 2010 to January, 2011 was the happiest moment for me, You and mom visited me in a place so far away, A happy reunion of only four (with your sis/my aunt) but I was so happy We enjoyed your natal day… I never thought that was your last, Daddy. You went back home and suddenly you got sick, No matter how everyone climbed a mountain, you’d a remote recovery; Despite the pain of losing you as my eyes blurred with tears, I finally let you go to God, in Him you’ll find the most soothing relief. Today is your death anniversary and I’m writing my poetry, To express how much you are missed my ever dearest daddy; I offer you flowers and candles on the altar where I’ve placed your photo, Through my prayer to God, I’ll send my loving messages to you. Dear God, please tell my dad that I dearly love and miss him so much, Hug him for me and through the breeze, please send me his loving touch; Among the most beautiful flowers in heaven, please pick one for me, Give it to him- a symbol of my great love and forever he’s my best daddy.
Feb. 27, 2014 5.20pm A poem requested by my relatives for my dad’s Third Year Death Anniversary on this March/14. He was 64 when he died. It was sent back home through mail and will be read by my 11-yr. old niece on his memorial service day at church. >>Pls. click about this picture. TYSM

Long poem by louise nelson | Details |

the courage to be different

the courage to be different to buck the status quo
to be a child and disciple of the God that we all know
I know what it's like to be young, I remember my childhood
I remember all of those times, the bad and the good
I remember what it's like to simply stand out
to be different from everyone else who was about
I remember all the shame, the heartache and all the pain
I was tall for my age and always stood in the back of the line
from kindergarten to way beyond junior high
but not only was I tall but my family had little funds
I missed out on a lot of things after all was said and done
but I had the courage to be different for I had a dream
that despite my circumstances I would achieve great things
for God did single me out, He had me on His mind
He made a way when I could see no way and His path I did find

when I look at the youth of today, I see such anger and confusion
demonic tattoos, prison mentality, living on celebrity illusion
totally unaware that they're inviting danger
from unknown and familiar strangers
more concerned and worried about their appearance
not having the courage to try and be different
you don't need to run with a pack or hang out with a gang
God has a blessing just for you that He has arranged
yet He will allow the enemy to have a limited takeover
but He will eventually intercede with an ultimate makeover
just possess the courage and the faith to just believe
that the Lord God can do anything you can perceive

He burnt the meat, He burnt the wood, the rocks and the water in the trench
God can do the impossible if you believe He can make a difference
He will take you to another level, He will lift you up
His power is omnipotent and will fulfill your spiritual cup
for it's not about the world's window dressing 
that the Lord God finds impressing
He cares not about your designer clothes nor the type of car you own
He cares only that you believe in His Son, the crown, the cross and the throne
He will overfill your treasure chest
just shut up and let Him do the rest

so raise your children to trust and believe in the Lord
to have the courage to be different and the balls to get on board
to march to the beat of a different drum
to know that with God victory has been won
to not have a spirit of fear
to know God is always near
that despite any failures, faults and all things disappointing
that the Lord God  can still bless them with an anointing 
for God has given them an inheritance
and the courage to be different


Long poem by John Beam | Details |

funny little things

at 3 give me you whistling kisses in the harshness                                            
slowing down or all you get is misses                                                                                5,6,7 urban rangers have now become the Jesus club                                                        every one can be in it for everyone knows Jesus!                                                               not yet Jesus would come I hope some day!                                                                      come see at 6 conquered his fear of heights still doesn't like looking at ground                     determined 5 and 7 even if they pretend it's a hot fudge sundae                                         my plump little friend is in the unfinished tree house along the fence line                             reflecting at 7 correcting da' big,big words out of context                                                  the convex of the a-pa-pa-noos is pie                                                                               at 4 some go by like I'll fly away old gordy                                                                        some may never make the dictionary like computantor and jeesanator                                on the satellite dish but they know what they are                                                              at 3 stopping a fight I liked to eat bob! a toy veggie named bob                                          is not a fruit of the Spirit but joy was there                                                                       got'ta go things getting slow not in the tub!                                                                      the dirty jokes I like yours better knock, knock who's there poop,poop who                         got angry at 5 over little to nothing saying sorry once again                                               anger management O-won-O kindergarten style                                                                raise eye brows up and down really fast to get the anger off                                               just arrived a crying 180 on the changing table                                                                 some things 30 right out of labor did you go to Boston to get groceries? what?                    jumping two feet high another one has arrived they are a blessing, to Jesus be the glory !

Long poem by Julia Hill | Details |

Down, Down Baby: Remembering When

There's something magical that happens when 
you are 10 years old, chasing butterflies, 
skipping stones, riding little pink bicycles
with streamers and white baskets on the handle 
bars with a big yellow sunflower on the front.

Roller skating down the street that looks like it
would swallow you whole, and revisit that same
street as an adult and think as you smile to yourself,
 "what was all the fuss about?" 

Remembering when-

The wind flowed through your tangled hair, because
when you were 10 you weren't worried if the boys seen
you with a "bad hair day!" 

Remembering hop scotch, and jumping rope.
Playing jacks, and sipping cokes.
Reminded of honeysuckle scented vines, 
picking a few and licking the honey right then 
and there. 

Not a care in the world. 

Me and my best friend singing as loudly as we
could "Down, down baby, down by the roller coaster.
Sweet, sweet baby, I'll never let you go."  Clapping our 
hands in perfect timing with the other, like a well oiled
machine. Never missing a beat. Going faster and faster
until our little hands and arms were worn out.

Climbing that big tree in her mom's back yard. We 
both climbed to the tree top, with her mom
yelling out the door, not realizing we were about 50 feet
in the air. We would giggle and she would tell 
us to come down, and we did. Even thought we didn't 
want to. She must have been horrified knowing we were
that high in the tree.

(We were 6 at that time)

Some of the most fun times I had as a child were with 
her. We even fought over who was going to be Shaun 
Cassidy's girlfriend. She always won, because I always 
seemed to give in, and take the other guy, just to keep
peace. Even though I was sad she didn't want to share
with me.

(I honestly didn't care, I just secretly wanted to like him
with her as if we were one soul, one heart. BFF's forever)


We did everything together.

Then we grew up.

Lost touch.
Regained it.
Had children.
Lost it again.
Found it once more.

Now  here we meet again, instead of 10, we are 38, nearing
the 40 mark.
I still love her today, as I did in 1974. When we first
met in kindergarten.

I've spent my lifetime thus far with her in it somewhere, either
in my heart or on my mind. 

We can still make each other laugh hysterically.

Remembering when, yet making new memories today.

Now there's just something magical about that.

Long poem by Sierra Cowan | Details |

The Train

She’s walking past the tombstones,
Just came from her mothers grave. 
As she passes the last stone, 
her hand graces the top,
A chill shoots down her spine.
The wind is blowing her hair in every direction,
While the leaves dance around her ankles.
Tears are rolling down her cheeks.

She’d just been talking to her mother for hours,
Longer then she ever had before.
She explained to her mother how her life had been tumbling downward,
Her boyfriend for 5 years had just broken up with her,
When she thought he was going to propose.
Her best friend since kindergarten had just embarrassed her,
in front of everyone.
Just to take her spot as Queen of the School.

She hears the train coming.
She’d been looking for an escape,
An escape of her sadness, 
Of her embarrassment,
Of her LIFE.
And here is one, just being given to her.

Without even thinking,
She runs onto the tracks,
The engineer slams on the breaks,
Honking the horn all the while.

She grabs her phone out of her pocket,
Begins to text her father.
Just 5 simple words.
that will mean the word to him.
I’m sorry, I love you

She looks up at the stars shinning down on her,
then at the lights on the train.
She just keeps on staring, 
Without even thinking,
Her mind goes blank.

The horn is honking, 
While she just waits.
Her mind is beautifully empty,
While the train comes closer.

She stares down at the train from above,
While is halts to a  stop, just 100 metres away.
Her lifeless body now mingled with the tracks,
Just lays there,

She begins to regret, 
what she had just done,.
Her father wouldn’t be able to go on,
Her sister would be scared,
Her mother, if she were alive, would be ashamed.
To take a life, let alone your own, 
Is a crime, that can never be undone.
There is no punishment great enough,
To serve justice.

She wishes more then anything to just turn back time, 
To just erase what just occurred
To pretend it never happened.
But this is not like a simple fight with a friend,
Or a bad relationship,
This can not be erased.
Death is not that simple.

A bright light comes from above, 
A sudden rush of relaxation shoots through her,
Calmness surrounds her.
And then she lets go.
Her soul floats away into the night sky,
And it’s over now.

By Sierra Cowan
Written the Summer of 2009

Long poem by Akash Sagar | Details |

An Old Vintage Shotgun of Mine

A loaded pistol,
With youthful courage till yesteryear;
Now lies naked and dormant,
And Is found to be lifeless and dead.
Somewhere, buried in my Junkyard,
Playfully tested till now in all arms to shame;
As it shyly, blushes and whispers to admit,
Murmuring its helplessness into my ears.

Ooh! My Childhood friend,
It feels like an impotent;
To be so bullet-less today.
My Golden days have all ended,
Life has become so ignorant now;
As I've become so bullet-less today.

As the pendulum constantly oscillates,
Time has traded fast on twenty wheels;
Looking for some good fortune in distant lands.
And a store-room in my backyard,
Has always remained the same;
And is still kept unchanged.
But never was any eye caught,
Not even mine;
To drool upon the nozzle of that Gun;
Like the way I used to do,
Used to lovingly do before.

Strolling down my kindergarten alley,
When a Gun was gifted on a bright Christmas morning;
It used to amaze me in my childhood days,
As I so excitedly unwrapped and got it out;
From the mysterious and magical White socks,
Which was hung on my bed; Hung all night,
Waiting for a snowy white beard old man;
A laughing sage in an exception;
Who lived on the mystical hill-side view,
Of my Steel city.

Today, after so many years,
A long craved sight fell upon it;
And it instantly drove me back,
To flash my childhood nostalgic days.
When infant Army camps used to settle,
To battle in the air for all day long;
Under the densely old,
Never claimed tree by anybody - 'Our Mango Tree'.
Ooh! How then this pistol fakingly killed,
So many nappie buddies of mine.
Who played and just acted,
To be dead as my enemies.

Ooh..! How strangely it feels like,
A game of now.
When today the lil' me gazing at any topic,
Sitting in my backyard;
Stumbled and pondered to find, 
An old vintage Shot-gun of mine.
So curiously digging the wearily torn school bag,
Hanging since ages on the dampened wall.

Ooh..! So clueless, I fumbled upon,
An old vintage Shotgun of mine.
Dumped and buried under thousand other,
Essential antique toys of mine;
Which notoriously has got rotten in rust.
In closed walls of adolescence,
Where white parchments seeps overall;
From moist doors of yesterday,
Ooh..! How strangely it still feels like today.

Long poem by Troy Nelson | Details |

sorry for the dirty laundry mom

I'm not wearing underwear
I can’t afford to clean my clothes
I shower every day
and sensitive skin from soap and psoriasis makes me itch
But I have bills to pay
I know you understand
Raising my little half brother and half sister
I've only met once
who are an ocean away
But this isn’t my story, it's yours
and the memories that remain

I know we've talked about it
Your pain and mine
About dad an alcoholic, and the abuse
and how you’re still attracted to it
But I still remember soo many nights
And soo many strange days

You dragged by your hair
I'll never forget
You thrown through the door
is embedded in my head
You with black eyes
you fell out of bed
The screaming 
The fights
I remember everything said
My name 
My brother’s name
Psychological abuse for you
soo long ago mom
You left and I don’t blame you
Years of you being cheated on
And dad would introduce us to his girlfriends
Easter holidays treasure hunt
While your husband was out betraying everyone

I know you know
That he talks poorly about you
And acts like the better man
But mom I remember
and you need to understand
What you went through
And the nights when I heard the door slam close
because you were fighting
and he told you to leave
That was how I met god in a sense
and always prayed for you to come back
Then finally I prayed for you sanity safety and for you to leave
And I would cry
as quietly as I could
cry myself to sleep
and chances are
dad either fell asleep
or went out in his drunken stupor 
to cheat on you again

The divorce is over
It’s been over for years 
But yet its still messy and I bite my tongue and remember
The night you came into my room
And told me you had to leave
I remember taking beer to kindergarten
Hiding it from you and dad
To throw it away
And my teacher in grade three finally asked
No lie mom
I had the same teacher in kindergarten and grade three
I could write an entire poem
about all of the people who shaped my mind
But I need you to see
When I come visit and am called an incest family man by your boyfriend
for giving you a hug
You’ve fallen into the same trap
And it’s like my own mother I’m not allowed to love

Long poem by Gwendolen Rix | Details |

My Super Hero

Jesus is My Superhero!
Ever since I was a little kid he was there
He would remove all of the monsters beneath my bed
And help me count the stars from my bedroom window
Ever since I could remember he was leading me on the straight and narrow
Keeping my head on straight too
One day I contemplated killing a frog and he was there to convict me
He said to me, “No! That frog is my friend! How would you feel if I did that to 
He was right again, always keeping me on the straight and narrow
He was even with me during years of child abuse
Comforting me as I was stowed away in a cold musty basement
He comforted me with an incredible imagination
I never had a single nightmare 
As I slept in that cold dark room with no furniture
No, not a single nightmare!
He would bring me dreams of flying and killing dinosaurs all through the night
He was my Lord and Savior and he knew exactly what to do for me
He entertained me in so many ways
Then it was time to go to kindergarten and mom couldn’t hide me any longer
It was out of the basement and into a single room with a single mattress
The entire world was now beginning to open up to me
Here I was now 5 years old and rescued by my grandmother
She was then allowed to pick me up every Sunday for Sunday school
Oh she was my knight in shining armor sent by Jesus
She brought me to a place where I received unconditional love
She became the most important person in my life from that point on
She always pointed me back to my super hero—that was JESUS!
Now that I am older and have three kids of my own
My superhero is still right beside me
Guiding, instructing, and entertaining my creativity
He is all I have ever needed all along
He is my heart’s song!
He is my Jesus!
So if you also want a super hero in your life allow me to give you some great 
Call upon the name of Jesus and he will see you through anything
He is the reason for my hope
He is the reason for my existence
He is the jump in my rope
He is my Lord!

Written for Super Hero Contest
My personal testimony of my super hero
Nothing is impossible for my God!
Gwendolen Rix

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