I traveled the world
And though it is vast
I still need a truth
That would always last
Studied some books
And know my mind too
The whole time God knows
Only love will do
Studied Religion and
Forever I found
Even God loves Love
On this I expound
My Mom in my life
Always there for me
Taught me that true love
Would there always be
Love doesn't judge man
And I'm very free
From color or type
Of good company
True love doesn't die
"Oh Love, you'll abound,"
Despite all the bad
You'll stand your ground
Love's the Law for me
We are always free
Love keeps me alive
This is Love's decree.
Copyright © Catherine Mary Airan | Year Posted 2014
Beauty of nature
Why condense it down to God?
Isn’t life enough?
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
Southern love, Southern hate
they are the opposite of each other
I have memories of both in the State I love dearly.
Going back to a old plantation home in the South ,
as a child I played in the many Pecan trees , collecting baskets upon baskets of fresh pecans .
the smell of fresh pies , of pecan and rhubarb , oh my Mom took the prize .
One afternoon , School was out , it was in summer , reminisce of fresh lemonade
My Mother called my name 'child come in here now " in the middle of the day '
she many times called and I would hide in this paradise full of honeysuckle and pecans .
This time the tone was one of fear , and alert , "come inside Now"
I ran to the top of the old plantation stairs to my Mother .
I saw in the distance what seemed to be a parade in the day .
This time the parade was of people in "white sheets ' going door to door,
just like salesman they would knock , they would greet .
my Mother said " We have no time for this here " leave now , and leave fast. yours is only teachings of Discriminate .
she sent them quickly away , giving back the paper , the invite
These people dressed in funny white sheets .
only later I discovered what this was about
Your Parents do their very best , to keep any Evil out .
These people are not just from the South , they are all over the World
Leaving me that day with no doubt . Make the choice you have , we all do
Remember Gods Children are innocent , and many a color , they could be Blue ~
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
The stars may wink their last goodbyes,
the sun may disappear,
the moon may shrink and come to naught
and I will shed a tear.
The universe may turn to dust
all flora, fauna waste away,
we may spend our time in darkness
hoping for a brand new day.
Will you still be here to comfort me
to fill my eyes with pride,
and swell my heart with tenderness,
my love, my blushing bride?
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2013
Read the Bible and the words that are said.
Times of trouble and tribulation are ahead!
All one has to do is read the book of revelation.
To read about this world and this nation!
Days of wickedness and evil that abounds..
Shall very soon. Come
“crashing to the ground!”
For our sin, there’s a price that has been paid!
Many have become sin’s servant and slave!
Many will not escape God’s judgment and wrath!
They’ve chosen the wrong direction and path!
Right now... There’s a path
and a way to “escape!”
Please do it right now! Before it’s too late!
The right path to take, is through Christ alone!
He must be the lord of your heart and home!
Jesus alone, can bring hope to your soul!
He’ll never leave you!
Is what he wants you to know!
Times of trouble and uncertainty
are well on their way!
Christ can help you to overcome!
He can do it TODAY!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation
The Not-So Distant Past:
The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.
They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.
Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,
and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.
19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,
a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.
I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,
our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.
Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,
babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,
yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,
needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,
for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013
The stars that glimmer most,
Are the stars often mistaken for stones
For they are not stones-
They are monuments of those past,
Who have worked to the bone,
For masterment and marvel,
For love unatoned.
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2016
If this dance be the last
For I see them throwing spears -
Not for its sport
This dance, a shrilling one.
When we come home for showers
Diapers of our babies, drenched,
Such aroma; a sweet-sour tale to tell
For being ready was the dance for...
Only the dead wishes not for this dance
But the living accustomed to its essence
Such a dance we struggle to get
Yet, a dance we fear to leave
Nor a dance to tango for!
Copyright © Babafemi Yinka Olubodun | Year Posted 2016
Tu le fera, n’est-ce pas, Papa ? – Translation of Kevin Gilbert’s « Won’t you, Dad ? » by T. Wignesan
Si toutes les jolies mélodies
de ce monde eussent été chantées
et toutes les chefs d’œuvres des maîtres
fussent être exhibées dans des meilleurs galléries
et toutes les statues de David et
les poèmes et autres œuvres de l’Homme
eussent été mis à feu pour la joie de la Mort
partout dans le monde,
un petit enfant me regarda et en souriant
et en étant tout fier rempli de l’amour et de la joie
et il dis : «’Tu ne laissera pas qu’on explose la bombe
sur ma tête, Papa. Tu les empêchera, n’est-ce pas, Papa ?’
Son signe d’interrogation
c’était comme un arque entouré
Je lui répondis en toute confiance :
‘Nous les empêcherons, mon enfant.’
Mais, dans mon cœur, j’ai peur et l’honte me consume
de faites je PAYE l’HOMME
pour fabriquer la BOMBE
Je lui donne de l’IMPOT pour chanter
sa chanson d’haine
Je tiens le chien de guerre en laisse
Je l’aide à éprouver la haine et la faire croître
Je PAYE l’HOMME pour fabriquer la bombe
pour garder le monde et mon enfant dans la peur
Je ferme mon cœur aux autres êtres humains
comme s’était j’avais peur
quand l’amour est en train de m’approcher
C’est MOI qui suis en faute
c’est MOI qui fais bruler la chanson
c’est moi qui fera bruler la jolie mélodie
parce que j‘ai peur que d’autres humains près de moi
peuvent d’une manière ou l’autre me faire remplir d’amour
la flamme se chauffera et fera fondre les yeux
de mes enfants en train de me regarder
et demander aujourd’hui avec amour
et confiance en moi :
‘Tu les empêcheras de faire tomber la bombe sur moi,
n’est-ce pas, Papa ?’
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2016
The people wish for love
Reaching out for the above
The stars have turned around
All this reaching brings them down
The people pray for more
They lost their love the day before
Now god has closed his eyes
When will they see what they’ve denied?
The people ask for death
Too tired of love to feel their breath
No answers to forgive
The questions raised and why they lived
The dead can see the end
Red shadows climbing in their heads
Pure nothing in control
As they become the blackest holes
Some people rose again
The dead are proof of why they came
To hold onto their own
To remember why they’re not alone
Copyright © Ian Petch | Year Posted 2007
Broke man all a-shiver
On another winter’s eve
He don’t have far to venture
Has nothing up his sleeves
I wonder, Where’s his Paradise tonight?
Child in a doorway
In a building, all ramshackle
Sees mother on the bedspread
This year there’ll be no travel
Tell me, where’s her Paradise tonight?
So sing another carol, play another tune
Maybe there’ll be snowflakes from above
Take your time reflecting
In your decorated room
With the ones you know and love
In the Limbo of the gutter,
Lost souls sleep with gin
No ties with the earthbound
And no pardons from their sin
But will they dwell in Paradise tonight?
Nations of corruption
Tied up to golden stakes
If they should push a button,
Would they clean the mess it makes?
Do they see themselves as Paradise tonight?
And sing another carol, and play another tune
And maybe there’ll be snowflakes from above
Take some time reflecting
In our decorated rooms
With the ones we know and love.
Copyright © Keith Dovoric | Year Posted 2017