I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend
I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies
through speaking my thoughts into existence
I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen
I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry
I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards
I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels
I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent of it
I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012
You wake up in the morning to look in the mirror,
To say "This is me".
To Compare yourself to what you think you should be.
"How can this be?",
"Why did God do this to me?",
You put on some make-up or some acne-cream,
To cover the blemishes that others can see.
But it doesn't mater what others see,
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
And the beholder is me.
So stop annotating,
And start complimenting,
Not on what should be,
But on what is!
You were created in God's image,
To see who you really are,
In that mirror is not,
But a scientific creation from stardust,
Something that's way beyond us.
And what's inside is something so unique,
Because no one else has it,
You are the most amazing thing to walk on this Earth.
With the ability to wake up and show your worth.
So why wake up and talk negative?
When you could wake up and smile.
Why not be happy for a while?
Why try to please everyone else,
When all you have to do is be yourself?
People say "What matters is on the inside.",
And you say "But look at my outside.".
And I say there is no good side,
You as a whole is the creation,
There is no separation.
Each person with 46 chromosomes working in perfect symphony,
Destroying themselves with negativity.
You are beautiful because you are rare,
Because no one else can compare.
With your sense of humor to comprise,
Someone no one else can match.
Try to make it in a lab...
Try throw it down the hatch.
You compare yourself to everyone else,
When you are one of a kind.
Why can't you get that in your mind?
Diamonds aren't perfect so why should you be?
Beauty is not symmetry.
Look in the mirror and what do you see?
The beauty that you are...
This is me...
Copyright © David Neuman | Year Posted 2014
They ask me why I’m so happy
Asking me, if I just won a prize
I replied, well I reckon I did
Today is a wonderful surprise
When you have a past like mine
My today is always bright
There is no better feeling on earth
Than the joy of doing right
I may be an old man on a cane
My heart is skipping along
I learned to embrace the meaning
Life is a beautiful song
True life has its ups and downs
There’ll be forks in the road
With a smile I’ll stop for a while
Help you with your load
I had me a bag of popcorn today
It tasted exceptionally good
In fact, I will go as far as to say
Better then it probably should
For years, I had a guard in the pen
Popped him a bag each night
Then he would simply throw it away
His twisted little delight
He knew, it was those little things
Ate at our heart and soul
Movie with the wife Friday night
Popcorn in the bowl
I had a bag of popcorn today
Wife sitting at my side
I had a smile, which lasted awhile
One I could not hide
They ask me why I’m so happy
Asking me, if I won a prize
I replied, I reckon I did
Today is a wonderful surprise
For some reason today I was thinking about C.O. Talbert and
how he would pop a bag of popcorn even though he didn't eat
popcorn. He did it just because he knew it would make everyone
want some. I always felt sorry for him. His life must have been
very disappointing. The moral here: when you learn to appreciate
the little things in life your popcorn will taste a whole lot better.
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2011
You are the wild flower in my palm
With no stem to keep you anchored to this covetous earth
You are the fragile thing I dare not cup,
As your petals whittle away under the wind
And flit unfettered in the air;
Exaggerated fear leaves my fingers numb
Hungry need leaves my fingers twitching
And my hand is paralyzed by turmoil
As every breath of wind takes another petal from me
And brings to my lungs, my chest and my heart
An overwhelming scent of need-
You are the wild beauty in my palm
And I dare not hold you to my chest
For I fear to crush you
To know first hand
That caged beauty, is beauty no more.
Copyright © Samir Georges | Year Posted 2011
The bird’s house is capped with a snow drop.
The bird’s bath is a mushroom like form.
The branches all groan, snap, crackle, pop,
with the weight of the night’s snow so borne.
The cat’s on the rug near kitchen vent.
The furnace is pumping out more heat.
The tea kettle’s whistling with intent.
The old gal settles down with a sweet.
The car’s all shrouded, a sheet of white.
The trellis is a grand work of art.
Outdoors the benches all gleam with ice.
The new moon’s a rare, randy, upstart.
Darkness descends will a muffled whisper.
She sips tea and remembers who’s kissed her.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2010
Some lives are like a stone quickly skipping over the ponds top, forever tossed.
My life is below the surface trying to reach upward with each breathe lost.
But there is still beauty, deep down here in the great depths below…
For the solitude holds me in its grip as I dwell with what I know.
My occasional trips to the surface leave me vastly wanting more…
Still, my life below the surface doesn’t scare me as it did, once before.
And the breaths will come when given, as my life continues to flow.
True it is dark but beauty lingers, everywhere the currents move below.
At times, the surface reflections seem surreal, as if it’s a place not to go.
Comfort comes more and more to my soul, as the deeper I glide below.
Here I dwell within myself, with words, and thoughts, that carry me along.
Perhaps I have found where I truly belong, as I sing my siren songs.
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012
Mornings are dreadful time in life unless waking beside gorgeous woman hopefully
a not married one husbans can be such a downer.
And when ya wake to a warm beautiful creature by your side.
And the first thought that comes to your mind is i wonder whats for breakfest.
Then ya probaly cant read the menu to start with and desserve
to have a oversized weight lifter re arrange your ribs.
Im a southern man once means several things non of which means im normal.
And this morning finds my yerning for a trip and widespread mischief.
My amigo had vanished after are trip south of the boarder I remember saying
to myself as i watched him running naked across the dessert being chased
by the flying monkeys he was surley seeing after his consumption of a foreign substance
There goes a fine american.
I would have ran after him but but i didnt want thoose things to turn there attention to me
I herd they had a thing for southern actscents.
And theres nothing worse than a bunch of horney flying monkeys trust me
Ive delt with this problem befor.
and being it was happy hour i knew my slightly insane amigo would understand
in all his naked glory.
Besides I left him some sneakers and a sixpack.
And kept his credit card for safe keeping.
Naked men have no place to keep credit cards and I figured he was in no state to handle
So as i sit behind the wheel ready to to get lost in the madness of fast food and
the ant hill of insanity that is wall mart i turn my thoughts to vegas.
For where would a lost nude slightly insane person run to and feel at home.
I had turn the music up to drown out the sound of whoever was in the trunk.
I figured if i had put sombody in there in a drunken moment.
It had to be for a good reason.
And so with slightly hungover mindset are road begins.
and so with that do the games also.
And i figured hanging around with a cops wife wasnt the smartest idea.
That and im allergic to bullets.
My muse and 16 year old spirtiual advisor had phoned me to say that.
I probaly needed to Invest in the spirt of Jack Daniels today.
And hey she had went to church more than once so who was I to argue.
With a five five spitfire by the name of tinker.
so with A unknown companion in the trunk not helping my hangover i was off
to the races Untill next time kiddies.
Adios and im off to find my amigo.
Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2009
Slice me with your tongue,
Razor blade wounds,
To suck out all my poisens,
Sweet lonely lullaby,
Accusing eyes of sadism,
Picture perfect prodegy,
My Deadly Sin,
A bitter taste of arson,
Burning in my vital organ,
Your the pyre that burns away my mortality,
A sip of tea made from Lilly of the Valley,
A shadow of Death stalking,
With odd angel like wings,
A Numbing kiss like Drowning in Morphine,
Sweet arms to rest in till my vision no longer holds,
Eyes neither like Hell nor Heaven,
That Drip of Drugs into your system,
Intoxicated blood stream,
I'd rather not dream,
And instead get lost within - Your paralysing,
Your Paralysing, Brain lapse,
Your moving too fast,
Stay slow and dreamy,
Like a burning forest fire,
Pain throughout my veins,
Ravishing and Beautiful,
A voice torn from my throat,
With my last sight of you. . .
Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2012
I will sit on the porch, with the August moon
The old swing sways, with a sleepy croon
... softly humming to make me smile *
In soothing rhythm, all the while
while shadowed moonlight knows our tune
A lonely owl, and then a lark,
calls out to me, within the dark
Starlight glistens, this peaceful night,
while the moon and I, together, listen *
How softly evening whispers twirl, and stir the branches in the breeze
The falling leaves around me curl,
to fall asleep beneath the trees
I'll make a wish, and close my eyes
and drink the splendid moonlit night
I will sit with the moon for awhile....
while keeping me company, with its gentle light....
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2009
Refuge lies in ripples
Her head rests
on white porcelain
Fragrant lavender recalls childhood
Memory rises with the mist
For Chris's contest ~
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010
I do not know?
I am a large woman,
Broad lovely hips,
Soft round belly,
Big luscious lips.
Wherever I go,
People take notice of me,
Let them gawk,
At my massive beauty.
People that laugh,
Think they cause me dismay,
Too small to perceive,
The femininity I convey.
I am like a mountain,
Exuding simple grace,
Too vast and three dimensional,
To be considered commonplace.
I am a large woman,
With pride I stand tall,
I don't take up too much room,
This world's just too damn small.
Copyright © Dawn Sholun | Year Posted 2007
Marching down life’s highway, my feet became very sore
I then came upon a sign that read “Heaven’s Grocery Store”
When I got closer the doors swung open wide
Next thing I knew I was standing there inside
I saw a flock of angels positioned everywhere
They handed me a basket and said, “Child shop with care.”
Everything a human required was in that grocery store
With many commodities to carry, you could always come back for more
First I acquired some Patience; Love was in that same row
Further down was Understanding, you require that everywhere you go
I grabbed a box of Wisdom and Faith, a bag or two
And obtained Charity of course but more than just a few
And then reached for Courage to help me run this wicked race
My basket was almost full but remembered some loving Grace
I then chose Salvation for it was advertised as free
I tried to collect enough of that for both you and me
Then I started to the counter to pay my grocery bill
For I thought I had everything to do the Master’s will
As I went up the aisle, I saw Prayer and proceeded put that in
For I knew when I stepped outside I was bound to encounter sin
Peace and Joy were plentiful, the last thing on that shelf
Song and Praise were hanging near so I just helped myself
Then I asked an angel, “Now how much do I owe?”
She smiled and said, “Just take them wherever you may go.”
Again I asked, “No really, how much do I owe?”
“My child,” she said, “God paid your bill a long time ago.”
Copyright © Adam Kirkhoff | Year Posted 2010
I am the hypocritical Christian.
I say I follow Christ,
But I'm still consumed by my demons.
I go to church on Sunday,
But I refuse to invite someone back.
I want to serve on mission,
But I'm too afraid to act.
They think I read The Bible,
But I just fall asleep in it.
They think I'm positivity and smiles,
But underneath I'm death and addictions.
They think I'm clean and pure,
But I'm broken and mistaken.
I say I'm not worthy of His love,
But Jesus will never let me be forsaken.
I pray long prayers,
But inside they're empty repetition.
It might look as if my faith is strong,
But my core is too easily shaken.
I say the things I'm supposed to say,
But don't follow His actions or obey.
I speak the truth the church wants to hear,
But deep inside on matters I don't know what to believe.
I walk in shame as if I'm not good enough
To be loved by God and saved through Christ,
But there is nothing I could ever do to earn His peace;
It's a free gift.
Now forgiven, changed, and released.
Thank You God,
Thank You Jesus,
Thank You Holy Spirit!
In Jesus' Holy Name,
Copyright © Kevin C. Martin | Year Posted 2013
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
God is always love
Forever seek the kingdom;
Praise the creator
Keep giving what you can give
Please endure until the end
Protecting the meek ones earth
Watching over us
Helping us to cope with life
Comforted with hope and trust
When you find rhythm
You find your hearts inner core
Celebrate the times
Make them better than before
Reminisce and dance all night
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
The Middle Time is now upon me,
And the tune to which I dance is somewhat thin;
A ghost remembrance of that cacaphonous din
To which my steps were measured in my youth.
I know there lies now less before
Than all those days that lay within
The sepulchure of careless memory passed,
And I apprehend the sometime bitter truth
That evil days approach my door
When much of what I've come to love will bid its leave
And I be forced to gaze aghast
At sights my eyes would fain not see,
When I to faithful hope must cleave.
And yet, what better time than this, the high point of the feast?
That Jester, Youth, has left the table
Leaving us the better able
To speak of things which more befit the greyed brow,
Matters weighty and sublime
Which better suit our natures now, though perhaps in tone more sable
Than such issues as delight the Fool,
And content the simpleminded sow -
Let us worthily pass the time
To Banquet's End, in company merry and refined,
Reviewing all we gained in Life's long school -
Establish what we value most and least,
Then say we fed our souls while yet we dined.
O grieve not that thy step be not so quick nor light
As was it's wont to be in bygone days,
Nor pine for carefree, childish ways -
They had their time, and sweet they were,
But now thou hast a surer, measured step
And the nobler thought is the one which stays,
And Youth for all its joyful folly
Is not a state forever to prefer
To a mind and manner better kept
From fancies and seductions strange;
Who but a Fool would be forever jolly
And deny his Midlife's further sight,
It's deeper view, it's wider range?
Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2010
A burst of white light
gamma rays, overbearing
a flash of brilliance
burns through to my soul
everything is like hell
the world starts to melt
in the blink of an eye
just the cold blackness
I don't care if I am not again
what I once was, for at this moment
I am greater now
than ever before
I took the path between
teetering, tight roping walking
right up to my right
divined in my unholy state
I thought I told you
I am your king
still you sit there, hesitating
I know you hate me
what does that mean?
I hate just about everything
still I'm chosen
I did not wish before
now bow down to me
refuse me no more
for I shall always be your demon
until you accept me as your King.
I don't even know you
though you say we used to be
best of friends, you and me
the day you ditched me
I remember now
exactly how it played out
back when we were just tiny things
even back then I still was King
you thought me stupid
just a ruse
I would laugh inside, you see?
not one of you single, mean people
ever even knew me
in a world, mostly seen to me
that is why only I can be your true King
and bring forth a new source
of light everlasting.
As two worlds collide slowly aligned
one wrapped in shadows
one bathed in white
evils swirling in the clouds above
I'll always be the king you love
to hate or despise as in your blood
I thought I told you, I am the one
I am the way, the way out shall be shown
breathe in my spirit as it carries you away
breathe in my faith it shall carry your empty space
and deposit you gently on a cloud just enough
higher than you've ever dreamed of
for I am king now, and your in my hell
your in my imagination, I'll just never tell
you'll feel as though dreaming, you'll feel now
if you try and see
you were always found the most
shared in the light cast upon me
the last bright star in heaven.
Denounce my name, if you may
One year later, still not afraid
A black sheep, a darkened spade
That's just life, I'm not right
I'm in the wrong, follow along
Like a piper, I'll pitch a song
Mesmerized, the weak wills sing
I thought he told you, he's still our king.
Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2011
In life to get by, I really do try, very hard to live by,
the old fashioned ways, of how my daddy lived his days,
He often told me not to lie, and when he caught me, it made me cry,
and I still remember him say, son you'll be ok, tomorrow's another day,
Then daddy told me about the war, the first time he wrecked a car,
and of how it made him cry, when some of his friends died,
Then we looked up in the sky, and the whole world felt like ours,
staring high up in the sky, I just wished that we could fly,
Being young, I asked dad...why?...why do people have to die?
Then I heard him sigh....and say....my oh my oh my,
and he looked me in the eye,
as I yearned for his reply:
Son, people are dying without....and dying within,
with no way out.....hunger starves a friend...
Death is much about, bloody wars that never end...
The whole world, no doubt, suffers from serious sin,
Then we looked high up in the sky, suddenly a shooting star went by,
and the whole world felt like ours, as daddy told me about the stars,
Then I listened to him say, son...tomorrow and everyday...
let nothing stand in your way, and you'll succeed in life....OK.
Copyright © Lawrence Ingle | Year Posted 2008
My white-washed bars surrounded me -
they held me as I slept;
they soothed me when the days were long,
and mother’s blue-eyes wept.
A baby girl, six months or less,
awakened from my sleep -
stood up legs as sure as hope;
as strong as flat is steep.
My hands, my saviors, gripped the rail
so I could peek outside –
the bluest sky I’d ever seen,
As tall as it was wide;
came into view - between the blue,
an airplane gliding by,
its smoky streamer like a flag,
across my memory’s sky...
The memory is a simple one -
a window, sky, and plane -
but in my heart, it's heaven's door
and there it shall remain.
I’ve hung it on my memory’s wall
Between that life and this –
It covers every hole I’ve dug
In sorrow’s vast abyss.
This picture brings the special peace
I knew when I was small –
Where mother’s just beyond the door,
and waiting for my call…
*Inspired by Danielle's Earliest Memory contest. I have blocked out almost every memory
from my childhood, and only a very few gems remain - this is the first. and I will treasure it
Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2009
I do not know?
As I place the pen
my soul beings
upon the pages
my secret longings
hopes and dreams
of which I hope to be,
how I want to reflect me
transpire into the universe
within my poetic lyricism
the warm sweet smoke
of my vega blunt
swirls about me, flickers
in and out of motion
as the vanilla candle nearby
fights the shadows in my room
the cool summer breeze
from my window
carries dancing sinsemilla
fog around me, allowing
to adventure elsewhere
into the nights abyss
of minutes, turned to hours
pages, of words
scribbling my life, struggles
Bob Marley and Lauryn Hills
“turn your lights down low”
beat inspirational peacefulness
on my eardrums
my small hands delicately pluck
my imaginary guitar strings
as I join her in a solo, Miss Hill's
magical voice cracks
with emotion, and my soul
tingles with excitement
For creativity flows
within my veins
I breath real music, such as
she, as soon as daylight opens
thine dark brown eyes to see
The poetic flowetry, carries me
and speaks to me
the notes capture my inner
disturbance and desires
until the soundtrack of my day
takes me into Summers night
thoughts of my dreams
of being a published poet
into my sight
Then, I sit
as I place my pen
upon the paper
black and white turn to one
and my soul bleeds
into an early sun
Copyright © Heather Hill | Year Posted 2010
Do we ever really notice them?
Those rare and perfect moments?
Do we pay enough attention?
Do we care enough to keep them safely tucked away?
It was summertime
I'm not sure of the year
We were sitting on our front porch steps
Our children were playing in the yard
The air was warm, the grass was green and fragrant
The sun had disappeared over the trees, and the nearest hill
The sky shone with hues of purple, pink and orange
You pointed as a first star appeared
Then reached for my hand,
carressing it with the roughness of your thumb
We never thought to get a camera
Or to write about this particular moment in a journal
We never mentioned it the next day....or the day after that....
Perhaps something we should have done
Just so that we would never forget
such a perfect twilight....
For Frank's Contest: "Stand Out Day"
By Carrie Richards
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011
fragile is the dream...
sailing over broken glass
without a compass
Posted My First Poem 5/2008
Image # 8
For Skat's Contest: "Glass Haiku"
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2016
Alone in loneliness
Amid forever nights
And these four walls
In faint, whisper soft your name
I beg out loud to the nothingness that remains
"Please not another nightmare, no more storms"
But, answers are merely glimpses of light
Filtering through the pane
Cast empty shadows on the wall
Of places where you used to be
Eyes wide open
Now asleep, afraid I am to fall
Trapped within this never ending dream
I cling to all the memories that I have
Spinning me closer to where you were, in parallel on the edge
The thoughts, like imaginary rubble, comes tumbling passed
A fire for you still burning inside
Why can’t I let go of the tragedies last
And silence your unrescued suicidal screams
Or is it only the rain falling faster as it taps harder, and harder upon the glass
Or is it of your wandering spirit
Haunting with its vindications
Of "why’s" I can never seem to grasp
All this amidst lost stares into black windows
Where gutters overrunning, burdened by the strains
And I swear I see your reflection
Among the flashes, tracing out illuminations about your face
And for the first time
You are noticeably absent of all the worldly pains
And your lips releasing out a comfort that for so long I've been seeking
As I hear the words echo within my stormy heart "That where you are everything is okay"
Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2011
The swordsman who draws his blade
Heart racing at the keening of steel on scabbard
Tension coiled, poised for the unleashing
Held back by muscles tight with glee.
I am as the soldier, held in stance,
The lioness crouched beneath the concealing grass
As it sways back and forth, as insects sing along the day
Her every breath is halted, her veins do not pulse,
And just as the swordsman stands
They are statues in this moment,
Statues of derision,
Mocking, with their stillness, the very charged tension within.
And I am as the lioness frozen before her pounce
Coiled with motivation and purpose,
And I am as the tongue held with words clinging off its’ edge
Ready to lash out and strike with direction
But I am as the frozen purpose, held tight
Waiting, for a warrior to stand before me
For a reason to uncoil, to lash out with words and pounce.
But I am now as the pen halting before the purest of paper
White and supple, in askance for the lightest touch
A slash of the tip, drawing lines in ink
Lines like a hunter’s bowstring, taut with intent,
As the pen lies frozen above its prey, the falcon petrified aloft still winds
I am the need coiled tight like a wound jack in the box
But alas, there is no victim to frighten,
No pray to pounce upon, no sword or bared neck to slash against
And I am here, with pen frozen, ink ready to be drawn taut
And I have nothing to draw in the ink, no prey or purpose to evoke
I am coiled tight with energy, but it is release that so eludes me,
I am coiled tight with purpose, but it is direction that so denies me.
And here I am, pouncing at ground before me,
Slicing away at the air around me
Scratching away with a dry pen, on paper still white in askance
I write about…
I write about the coil within, and the lack without
And alone I wonder,
Is it enough, is it enough to go on, a wound up box
Waiting for the slightest touch, the weakest parry, to live.
Copyright © Samir Georges | Year Posted 2011
If heaven permits
I will be a robin
Up on a sunlit branch of a tree
Gazing at the far-off light
That flourishes out on the vanilla sky
I will sing
From June to the merry month of May
Every note of poetic symphony
That glitters ceaselessly
I will fly
Rough and tough
Beyond ferns and herbs
At odds with
The whirling wind
That might spoil my beauty
I will soar
Steeper than the milky way
As long as the world breathes
Author’s Note and Inspiration.
- Free Verse Introspection International Poetry Contest
Contest Winner- Honorable Mention(4th place)
March 15, 2008
Contest Sponsor: Deborah Simpson-Author of the Chronicles of a Sage: Spiritual Revelations
- The Celebrating You International Poetry Contest
Contest winner- 1st place
March 15, 2008
Sponsored by Kristine Reynolds
Copyright © cayetano young | Year Posted 2008
There was a time in America, when the Bible
was taught in the schools.
The ten commandments were displayed, as “God’s set of rules.”
There was a time in America, where the
cross could be displayed.
Even in public places, people came together and prayed.
There was a time in America,
there was no “church and state” separation.
As people all across this country asked God to help this nation.
There was a time in America, where
people knew right from wrong.
You could see it in the way they lived, and could here it in their song.
There was a time in America where one
was proud to be a Christian.
One could take stand for holiness,
without coming under “suspicion.”
There was a time in America, when
mom and dad were together…
Now, any kind of a commitment to marriage seems lost forever
There was a time in America, where many were proud of “tradition.”
There seems to be a lack of any kind of “spiritual nutrition.”
There was a time in America, where so many could proudly say;
“I’m going to read the bible and go to church on Sunday.”
This is the time for America, to wake
up and try to understand.
We need to seek God right now! All over this land!
This is the time for America, to listen and begin to hear…
The coming of our Lord is drawing ever so near!
NOW is the time to seek the Lord, while he may be found!
The word of God needs to be read in every city and town!
Won’t you too seek God and listen to his voice today?
Simply give him your heart and life… This could be YOUR day!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2012
I do not know?
I never did the
''He loves me not....
He loves me'' game
I already knew nobody loved me
so why should I listen
to a stupid flower?
I did make wishes
after the bloom died
and it was tiny spikes of fluff
waiting to blow away
till next year.
I hated wasting my time
but I couldn't resist.
''If there's even a small hope
that this will work....
I've got to try! ''
I would find a spot
where nobody could see me
and I'd whisper
my one wish
the same wish
Thousands of dandelions
by my pleading breath.
I never told a soul
I wished to be happy
with a husband
who loves me
and kids who love me.
I wished so hard...
I never thought
Copyright © Mary Nagy | Year Posted 2006
I had a horse named Suzie Haus when I was twenty-one.
I had wanted her since I was seven, the waiting was finally done.
She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, in the World up to that day.
And forever in my memory her beauty will continue to stay.
A painted mare with a black mane and tail, then brown over white.
She became the best friend I’d ever have, you might say we were tight.
I fed her every morning, as I talked to her as I cleaned out her stall.
Then every night I did the same, plus cleaned four hooves all.
I brushed her to a shine, I was so proud of her each day.
Then with a saddle, reins, and me…we were on our way.
The stable was near a river, on top a great big bluff.
A dirt road shadowed with trees allowed us to strut our stuff.
As we danced down the road, the lightening bugs rejoiced.
And gentle breezes touched us, giving the leaves their voice.
Then peace would settle round us, as off to trails we would sashay.
This was the stuff that dreams were made of, and I had it every day.
Birds could be heard throughout the woods, the serenade complete.
I saw the river far below, and the sky with clouds of fluff so sweet.
Sometimes we were with others, but most often we were alone.
But it didn’t really matter, for we always knew the way home.
As we turned to go down the bluff, the river urged us to come below.
Deer danced on the land beneath, in the fields a buck and does.
The gentle angle to the floor below, allowed us to mingle in.
They let us close within a few feet, they thought Suzie was a friend.
At the river the blue sky with a reddish sunset had lite everything aglow.
Soon river barges came floating by, and it was quite a show.
Fishermen sat there minding their peace, until the moon began to glow.
The moon twinkling on the river below, was always beautiful and clear.
We’d talk a while, and breathe so deep, the air had a different flavor here.
Once I met a young man looking for inspiration to write a song.
At that time it began to rain so I helped him quickly get where he belonged.
He thanked me profusely, as he made it to his car.
I had helped him save his love, a very beloved old guitar.
From inside his car he played a song he’d written, while he had been there.
I sat upon Suzie beneath a canopy of trees, that sheltered me, I swear.
Finally the rain and song were done, my serenade complete.
Then I rode off back to home, later achieving more memories and gentle treats.
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2011
envision harmony and mental clarity
focus on a journey of possibility
Meditate on transformation and
awareness of inner state
peace and healing
instruct your mind
to redirect the lost and struggling inner voice
Where you can’t see the wood for the trees
under your nose is the path of freedom
Put aside perceived struggles
revitalize, relax, respond
to body, mind, heart and spirit
Intuition, introspection and spiritual renewal
bring about personal healing and
Stillness of mind – concentration
Thoughts of the subconcious and subliminal
beyond all negativity
away from all interuption
To allow time for self communication and
expression of inner self
Senses – awareness of scent, sight, sound, taste and touch
Healing hands of the medical profession or alternative therapy
ambiance, temperature, oils, music, sounds and
sights of nature or universe
realisation comes in various form and shape
causing us to feel life in fullest expression
Connecting – whispers of wind
radiating everpresent warmth of sun
a blanket of love and light comforts consoles over and through the cosmos
rippling infinately through infinity outwards, onwards
connecting right back into where we are at right now
unmoved unchanged and as we were
Wise – responsible courageous allowed to let go of need to be judgemental or
let go of controlling enable trust wisdom and humility
intelligence of knowing others
wisdom of knowing self
strength in mastering others
power to master oneself
Energy -breath, force, spirit, soul, God, universe –
whatever – doesn’t matter how you refer to it on personal level
energy, balance, light, sound, vibration, peace
centered self – stillness – silent – eternal –
to have enough is a richness in itself
accept appreciate and acknowledge oneself
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2011
Exquisite the ravel of his comforting quilt
a pondering notion of wisdom is felt
I take a sip of his lovely red wine,
Dr. Rams words are better than gold..........simply divine
Susurrus hymns of love at times
or perhaps lissome words in flowing lines
silently I sit as his words come to life,
Dr. Rams words are better than gold...........simply divine
O' the words that linger, perhaps burn inside
his heritage, his love, his grand design
I fall in dream into his domain of time,
Dr. Rams words are better than gold..........simply divine
A song of one soul
a dance for all, profound
a story unraveling with pages alive
Dr. Rams words are better than gold.......... simply divine
Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2011