Don’t judge that kid with her arms all scarred
Don’t brand that kid as bad
You never would have survived
If you had the life she had
So say a prayer and show you care
She’s paid more than her share of dues
Don’t put her down or say bad things
Until you’ve walked that mile in her shoes
Those who suffered in war earn respect
They are greeted like super stars
She came from a war you wouldn’t understand
On her arms, the battle scars
Her own home was the battle zone
The desperation, feeling all alone
A situation she felt no escape from
Then late at night the urges come
Innocence lost like a bad dream
No self respect, no self esteem
It is an ongoing battle to feel whole
You can see the beauty within her soul
Sometimes I pray for a Judgement day
You have no heart if you look away
Flashbacks come and the anger stirs
The guilt she carries isn’t hers
There is a need for justice long past due
A need for acceptance from me and you
With anger, despair and fear demanding
The child needs some understanding
In spite of all the tears she cried
There are still battle scars deep inside
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2009
They needed help
Walking alone in the dark.
A broken down car.
The child frightened,
But not understanding
That would soon
Come her way.
Her parents petrified
That their baby was gone,
Over forbidden images
That crowded their way
Past ice cream sundays
And birthday parties
And wedding days.
A doer of good deeds.
He looks into
the little girl's eyes.
The girl speaks,
"This is not my dad"
And the coward
who took her,
Believing he saved
From a long, cold walk,
Saved a child
From a long, cold death.
Copyright © Rachel Kovacs | Year Posted 2013
Winter be but two weeks old and already they lament.
No passion seems as strong as their loudest prayer for spring.
Spring will come when it will and wake the grasses and willow.
Let Natures brief time of slumber last long enough to rest her.
The winter be time for beauty to be found on ice etched panes,
And bayonets of glass, hanging from every eave to be seen.
Winter be found in crystalline air so pure only heroes inhale it.
And footsteps crunch like breaking luttuce upon the snowy ground.
Beyond winter times will speed and rush their way forward.
Spring then Summer and Autumn sprinting to their ultimate ends.
Let winter luff her way on tiny frozen feet while fire warms yours.
Add another log and settle in for a long nap and a dream.
Copyright © William Kershaw | Year Posted 2011
Prayer Cried Out In The Storming Waves
Fought the waves, the maddened tumbling sea
doomed ship sinking swiftly beneath me
Prayers to God,to every saint I ever knew
no desire to reside beneath this ocean blue
Midnight's stormy fury soon moved past
ship gone, me clinging to a broken mast
Fear, the kind that eats into your soul
rebuked my every hopeful, impossible goal
Prayers renewed with sad desperate pleas
Lord, let me survive these angry seas
The waves beat me about with great delight
I am tired, give me strength to fight
Master,find all the good that rests in me
save me, to do all that you may please
Prayer ended, my legs and arms do so tire
as the last ember was burning in my fire
Hope raced forth in a bright shining light
dawn broke forth from that darkest night
The rays hit me with a soft, sweet breeze
so calm,so very calm my soul was at ease
A single gull flew over my bobbing head
Hope cried out,you live,you are not dead
Land must now be very close hereabouts
So tired but that did not stop my shouts
Thank you Lord,this gift I will never forget
I believe,even though I am not home yet
A rescue ship's horn was soon blasting away
saved I'd be on this fine glorious day
Soon I was safe, safe on board her deck
I knew then faith and prayer saved my neck
Captain said, saw your flare just before dawn
thats when we raced and really poured it on
I was so confused and my mind it did so stun
I had no lifesaving flares and no flare gun!
Robert J. Lindley, 05-24-2015
Note: Was it a dream, my memory tells me I lived it.
In another life so long ago.
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
I seen your face
I felt your embrace
And it just wasn't the same
I finally walked away without lookin' back to call out your name
Once you were my best friend
Once I swore I'd be yours to the end
But I guess its time to say goodbye
Many of times you have clipped my wings but now its time for me to fly
I still remember all the drunken fights
I still remember all the sad lonely nights
It was constant infedlity
My only prayer was to be set free
Thats not a place a girl can call home
Life is better when I'm out on my own
Sleepin' in alleys, living off dumpster buffets, and seeking dope
Stealing and lying is no longer my only hope
I won't fall for what you have to say
I refuse to cry for you today
I have come so far and moved onto something more
Life is better than ever before
But I guess its time to say goodbye
Many of times you have clipped my wings but now its time for me to fly
Copyright © Sara Beaderstadt | Year Posted 2010
Speak, and be heard, let those feelings be set free,
our God given right, I once heard, freedom for you, and me.
Look at the picture, some paint covered in clouds,
isn't it our right, to speak out loud?
History in high school, was taught with pride,
now all those Americans we studied about, have long died.
With them went hope, and a chance of equality,
these are the things they fought for, not selfish greed.
The Pledge of Allegiance we said everyday,
and everyone stood, as the words were said.
The Constitution was studied, and reports were made,
in front of the class the next day, we would stand up, and say.
All our freedoms that were given to us,
now narrowing down, "help," who do we trust.
A prayer was given, with our heads humbly bowed,
using our freedom of speech, we thanked God out loud.
Everything has changed, now we worry about safety in schools,
shootings, perverts, and God was evicted, now Satan rules.
Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2007
Oh Lord Jesus Christ,
May we love with a holy love that distinguishes us as your ambassadors, servants and children of the one true God who gave His blood for us. Only by abiding in You can we do this daunting feat and glorify the Godhead...Prayer for peace in downtown streets of Waterbury, Ct. Father God, please we present our bodies as living sacrifices. Help us Lord to reach out to those lost souls that have turned their backs on you. Jesus, help stop abortion father God. Prayer for those suffering from Aids they need your healing touch precious Jesus. Pray for those elected officials father God that they may serve you in faith & righteousness. We need you Jesus we can't live the Christian life on our own. Help us to discover your peace that passes all understanding. Father, prayers for Kathy Griffin Lord that she may come to Jesus as her Lord and savior. Prayers for the LGBTD community that they may seek the love of God in their hearts. In jesus Christ name, Amen
Copyright © Mario Vitale | Year Posted 2017
Hello Friends... I suffer from Severe Bi-Polar Disorder and this submission was inspired by
actual events that occured during one of my especially critical manic episodes. Be sure and
read Part 2 to complete the poem and leave your comments on the Part 2 submission. Thank
you for allowing me to share my pain for pain shared is pain diminished
Me, Myself, and I...
“There are things that concern us,”
Consensed my “Selves” in earnest
““We” fear that “I” have succumbed to delusion”
“And after careful deliberation
It is with much hesitation
That we choose to delineate upon this confusion”
“Fact is your intuition
Is riddled with superstition
And your judgment leaves much to be desired”
“So you leave us no recourse
Don’t push us to use force”
It is then that the “I” was summarily fired
I exclaimed “By whose authority?” Response, “Rule of majority”
“The “Myself” and the “Me,” (forthwith the “We”), are experts in our field”
“And with much technique and time
And some forays into the sublime
The nature of your malady will be revealed”
“So to keep yourself from having a fit
Step back and just calm down a bit”
“We,” they said, “certainly have this under control”
“We swear this won’t hurt at all”
Then I felt my inhibitions fall
Still I said a prayer to God that He keep my soul
You know, fact is I do feel off axis
As evidenced by such parapraxis
As this prose that I, (or is it “Us”), seek to pen
And with my mind feeling numb
I finally chose to succumb
And allow the “Me” and the “Myself” to begin
And then came questions in a flurry
Answer, answer and please do hurry
Not one moment of respite did they give
They pushed and they prodded
With every “T” crossed and “I” dotted
My mind felt like it had gone through a sieve
And all this psycho-analysis
Is causing my mind paralysis
The questions, can you stop with the questions please
“Yes, oh yes indeed
I do believe we have what we need
To make an attempt to identify your unknown neuroses”
Copyright © James Burns | Year Posted 2010
If I Were A Stone
If I were a stone…without a doubt I would be a lovely marbled granite…
the center of attention in a newly updated kitchen.
All eyes would be upon me…the first choice of decorators and would- be buyers everywhere. I would be a “must have” and a “deal breaker” for purchasers the world over. I would lord it over the mundane and dull kitchen cabinets no matter what the style. While their doors would be slammed shut a thousand times a day and scrubbed till they were sore…(ouch!)… I would be lovingly and carefully wiped down until they could almost see their reflection in me.
My island would be the gathering place and hub of the home…children would utilize me for their homework…my mistress would cheerfully hum a happy tune while rolling out delicious pies or cookies for dessert... my master would lay his briefcase down on me in order to hug the cook!
Unlike the living room rug (who thinks he’s king by the way.) I would not be stepped on, stomped on with dirty or muddy sneakers or roller skated on, (boys will be boys) or taken for granted in any way.
I would be the `piece de resistance` of the household and the most admired feature of the home.
And last …but not least…I would be carefully selected and carved, to serve as a towering memorial for loved ones to come and say a silent prayer for our nation’s fallen …and… bravest men!
I would be more than proud to be a granite stone!
For the "Stoned" contest.
Copyright © Beatrice Boyle | Year Posted 2011
A little girl lost her home this year, for her, Christmas wouldn't be there.
Her family was angry from all the troubles, they simply couldn't repair.
Don’t bother us about presents her parents said, they were depressed by their fate.
With bitterness they said, you’d be lucky to have dinner tonight, or even a plate.
Life was harsh, nowhere to go, anger and fear had put their souls, in a terrible place.
The little girl had found no hope or joy, lurking near their old car, of late.
The car was their home, gas money was scarce, and with few places they could park.
Yes, their troubles had slowly extinguished, that precious hopeful spark.
Without that spark, they’d never find their way, from this terrible place of cold and dark.
And life’s darkness grew deeper nightly, as hope vanished under a reality so stark.
Even the very fiber of her family, seemed to be shattering slowly, slowly, apart.
The child felt alone here in this dark car, as sadness tried to engulf her little girls heart.
The future seemed filled with hopelessness, as shame and dread, were leaving their mark.
Embarrassment to be seen and turned away, made it hard for them to reach out, to restart.
But life goes on, and we can’t fear to rebuild, or the future will be hard to impart.
The girl suddenly declared there’s more to life, and she wouldn't let it conquer her heart.
She decided triumphs will come, and all will get better, if she held to that hopeful spark.
Seeing the desolation and anger here, she couldn't stay around, she had to get away…
So she climbed out of the car, and she walked into town, not so very far to stray.
She went and looked at the store windows, where Christmas was being displayed.
The music and people filled her heart, lifting her spirits, deep inside, that day.
She noticed a store, way down at the end of the row, on the next block, where it lay.
No one was there, it seemed lonely, and the darkness was again, spreading it’s decay.
She ran there in time to see an old man closing up, with sadness on his face betrayed.
What use were his goods, if no one would shop, or come down along his way?
The super store down the block, was daily making him lose more and more in the fray.
He could no longer afford to hire people, and the season had very little time, to stay.
As they talked the girl saw that she couldn't let the darkness take another, so she prayed.
Then she told the old man, if he’d open the shop, she’d bring customers down his way.
She added, she’d find reasonable workers, if her family could live upstairs, she portrayed.
First bring the customers, he said, and the rest will be yours little friend, he conveyed.
She had him put his best toys, as a contest prize, and to add lots of lights on the display.
He set a contest, “Winners-the best collectors for families in need” on Christmas Eve.
He put out a bright contest sign, but still nobody came to his end of the block, to survey.
So she had him call the Salvation Army, for a kettle, Bell ringer, and Carolers, who came
Lickety split, their way.
Then she had him call a dear old friend, and farmer, to bring a tractor full of bails of hay.
Another volunteered his horse and sleigh, both, to see the city lights thru New Years Day.
This was a great idea, since the older drivers, could use the help, for their bills to pay.
The girl ran all over spreading the excitement, and to come see the prizes, his way.
The families suddenly started heading toward his door, and to those wondrous rides.
At that moment her parents came, and she explained what her hope, had improvised.
Her father talked a contractor into building a disabled family a home, to help advertise.
He could get a tax break; come to this store for supplies, and hire unemployed workers, he devised, so wise.
In the end, each night grew brighter, because of a girls hope, and heart-warming delight.
And the old man began smiling for the first time, in a long, long, time, starting that night.
All was saved, a home was found, and another built, as a sad little girl taught grownups to smile along the way…
You might say, A Spark of Hope lit a candle, then a raging fire, which was burning bright by Christmas day.
The moral to my story is:
Never give up on Hope; it’s your best friend, as life brings its troubles your way…
Know that with time, a good heart, good will, and friendly ways…
You can find God’s gifts again, if you don’t let the dark take you away…
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2013
I have been praying to God ever since I first understood the concept of a deity. Although I have struggled through life with my acceptance of and belief in the religion I was force fed as a child, the praying has always stayed with me – on an almost every day basis. In some way or some form or for some reason, it seems, I find myself praying to a God I am not sure I believe in.
Over the years, some of the things I have prayed for or prayed against have worked out in my favor. Other things didn’t quite work out the way I had hoped. So, I wondered, was this proof that my prayers are sometimes answered or simply the law of averages? It really didn’t matter, I was programed to pray and so pray I do.
This has been going on pretty routinely for over 50 years; so, imagine my surprise when, for the first time last night, God talked back to me!
I may not get this exactly right, but, in essence, this is what He had to say:
(I am not sure what font to type God’s words in, so I will just keep on with the default.)
“Joe, Joe, Joe. I have been listening to you for all your life. And, whereas I do enjoy your thoughts; your words; and your sentiments; I find it is time for me to respond.
You really do pray a lot for lots of things. Mostly good and humane things. Mostly with a pure and caring heart. But, son, you need to stop doing so much praying and start doing more stuff on your own. I am not up here to make your life easier and to do things for you.
When you were young, instead of praying for that bicycle, you should have been doing chores to earn money towards buying it. You could have cut more lawns, washed more cars, got a paper route, sold lemonade, or many other things other young boys were doing to earn money for the things that they wanted.
When you were in high school and prayed to me to help you do well in your wrestling matches, you should have, instead, been working harder at practice; spent more time on your conditioning; spent more time in the weight room; and studied harder on the art of wrestling.
In college, when you prayed for help on your mid-terms and finals, you should have, instead, spent more time studying and less time partying – I think that is something you already know.
Even when you pray on behalf of others – you should be doing more.
Instead of praying I would help old Mrs. Conner at the end of your street, you should have gotten up off your butt and walked down to the end of the street and looked in on her yourself. You could have offered to go to the store for her, pick up her prescriptions or simply keep her company in her final years.
When you prayed for me to care for the starving children around the world, you should have been volunteering to help out yourself or donating more money towards this cause. If you funneled all the money you spent on unnecessary junk food and extra meals you consumed throughout the years towards charities that help feed and clothe the poor, you could have saved many of the children you prayed that I would save.
Instead of praying that I cure your family, friends and acquaintances that you knew were ill or dying, you should have been visiting them in the hospital or writing them letters or providing assistance to their loved ones to help ease their pain.
Prayer is not the vehicle for you to be lazy and yet gain the rewards. Prayer is not a means to have me do for others what you have the power and ability to do yourself.
I am glad that you talk to me, but you have been granted the ability and means to do so much more by yourself and yet you choose to take the easy way out and pray to me – the God that I know you are confused about. Please, do me a favor, and before you pray, ask yourself, ‘Have I exhausted all avenues available to me to achieve the result I want God to perform?’
If, after you have done everything you can possibly do, then I may be more willing to consider what it is you ask for.
And now, my son, you can wake up.”
I sat up quickly in my bed, sweating and confused. Was I just dreaming? Was that really God talking to me? Then, somewhere from deep inside, either from my conscious or a left-over message from the Almighty Himself, I thought (or heard): “What does it matter? Whether it was God or not – the message is valid and something I probably already knew.”
“Well,” I said to myself, in prayer, “I will give it my best. But, is it okay if we still talk? It kind of helps to give me strength?”
I will take that as a, “Yes”.
Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2012
Hi Dad, I guess we all will see our time and all will pass
Sometimes I lie awake and cry, longing for another chance
So much I never said, so often I said too much
Once in a while i'll drive by where Grandma's house was
Stop and reminisce awhile
Wonder what Mom's childhood was like in that old farm house
Remember you saying how you loved the place
Talking about how you walked all those miles to see Mom
At night the sounds of crickets and the truck traffic miles away on 54
Fourth of July gathering on the back porch and in the yard, beer on tap
Burnt fingers holding sparklers at night, Grandma's cooking
Old Jack barking and howling, uncles throwing horse shoes
Kids playing baseball in the grass between Grandma's and Chick's place
Did we lose the Utopia we dreamed about, never recognizing it
What I'd give to take you for a ride again, through your old haunts
Caught up in the nostalgia of your childhood and mine.
Times were tougher, times were better, Paradise lost.
You measured riches in family, friends and neighbors
Somewhere, somehow the present generation lost that
Seems as I got older, you got wiser, couldn't see it as a child
Never said I love you, Dad often enough
Never said thank you, Dad for the lessons on life and living
Got to go now, i'll say a prayer for you and mom
Who knows, maybe we'll find that peace within us
That we had growing up and you were here.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2011
Regardless of THE LONELY HOURS it must have sat IN SHADOWS EMPTY and
BANISHED since 1864, the CHAIR OF DESPAIR CONTEST(ed) is not LOST IN THE
PAST. It has evolved into GRANDPA’S PRAYER CHAIR even though it was nearly
FORGOTTEN amongst the BIRTH AND DEATH(s) of the family’s history. This is a CHAIR
NOT FOR SIT-DOWN TYPE because it isn’t plush, comfy or frequently used. Its’ true
DISCOVERY is seeing AN AGING PAGE of family dreams where you can
SIT WITH MEMORIES and be SOLACED by this CHAIR IN A SHADOWED ROOM.
To say NOTHING HAPPENED HERE only applies to events BEFORE THE SHAKERS SEAT
was in place. THE CHAIR has become the fabric of the family mosaic, fulfilling its’
destiny as A MUSEUM PEACE for all who have vision and are willing to see.
This narrative was inspired by poets’ winning titles in the “Chair in Shadowed Room”
Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2011
I remember eating dinner in the glow of the burning lamps.
We all dipped our bread into a common bowl of oil.
A little bread, a little cheese, some salt, an apple, a little wine.
But for the salt all the fruits of our own labors. And Gods.
The enjoyment of fellowship and family at table and fireside.
Laughter and the soft sounds of evening chores and talk.
Discussing the work to be done tomorrow and next week.
Telling the old tales, the good ones, and the family stories.
Children learn who they are from this and will remember.
Maybe a song or two, all voices raised, some sweet, some not.
Childrens prayers before bed, every night, from this comes faith.
A cuddle and a kiss with your wife, to let her know she's beautiful.
A snuggle with her beneath the warm blankets, face on a cool pillow,
And a whispered prayer of thanksgiving before sleep takes you.
God gave every man a brain, two hands and a heart.
With these tools we can build all of these things.
With all of these gifts, who needs more?
Copyright © William Kershaw | Year Posted 2010
Which way leads to the
land of green white
Which way are we
A country the wicked
bears the rulership, and
the people sighing
A terrible thing sprouts
beneath the sun: a
Imps come to lime-light
by snuffing air from the
goose that laid the
The blind guiding the un
The weak suppressing
the strong-a terrible
Like the overthrow of the
gods at Mt. Olympus by
A country where also
thieves appear as men of
Land of green white
A land where the
enlightened ones are
peanuts given to them.
The masses are dogs that
eat the crumbs.
Which way to go you
Iliterates stand on
podium of power
bellowing orders as milk
of sorrow known as
dividends of democracy
is passed around.
The machine of progress
manned by the
"There is better
tomorrow" we hear.
Land of green white
where rule of law walk
The proles are sentenced
to adversity,and there
endured death-like trials.
Chai! Aru! People
dancing on thorns
whimpering as they
I see a new sun rising
from the horizon,hope is
rekindled as its rays
grace on hopeless bodies.
Look!! there soon be
Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu | Year Posted 2013
Dreams Of Reality
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 in “Death OF A Rose” By Nate Spears
A difference of a world a way
A distance of a different kind
Love is blind and divine
Hold my hand
Let us touch the sunshine
On this hill of heaven we stand
From one another
Life and the world will never take us
Unless it’s together
Then we will become forever
Never leaving each others presence
Our bond becomes stronger in living
With every day
I stare into your glare
Wishing we live on; and long
Strong and healthy
We will grow old
In a happy union together
Looking beside me
Coming to a reality
You’re not there
My dreams are not reality
My love has perished.
Copyright © Nate Spears | Year Posted 2013
He woke and he got down on the creaking knees
He didn't know if God listened but tried
His grandson was in a coma and God was asleep
But he said the prayer but was afraid of the silence
God was the great politician in the sky
And his son Jesus would listen to the poll
When there was trouble God was the first name
Grabbing his coffee he humbly turned to God
In his eyes it was humbly but he loved the sugar
As he sat stirring and sweetened thoughts
The prayers flowed with his coffee
"Maybe God only listens to the regulars"
And he definitely wasn't one
It was years and God was famished
The whispered prayer ended with death and the anger
"Why did you not take me"
"I have lived and gladly would take the grandson's place"
The pastor warmed up and the sisters hummed
The cup spilled over as the prayer of the faithful
He became a hugger and he covered each drink
And the Irish believed in wake and liquor
He hugged the people tight and the salt became a scab
And God left him there with his drink
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2012
Lord God, send us Your Divine and Moral Virtues to assist people
Faith, to deeply understand and produce evidence to the unseen
Impart Hope to be determined and persevere successfully
For persons to consider a little generosity to Charity
To present Prudence by being careful
For untruthfulness to bring into Justice
Give fortitude for lawmakers and government officials to be strong
Bring in Temperance to exercise Patience and Tolerance
We ask these in the name of Father Christ Jesus to send out the Virtues of the Holy Spirit
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2012
Before I wondered how Jesus
was able to walk on water,
as his disciples watched.
"Only light things float on water!"
my physics teacher told me,
when I told him about Jesus walking
"Did Jesus walk on water?" I asked a priest.
He was silent for a while. He picked a vase
with a wilted flower, bowed, and prayed.
The flower gradually came to life!
"If you have faith, you can achieve anything!"
Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2016
In her womb she carried her child nine months,
Bliss and joy he brought forth.
Satiate her a ray of hope in newborn eyes,
She bosomed her gracile in first cry;
Nurtured, fostered and fledged.
He grew up a young lad,
Belligerent and wasteful he turned;
Scathe her emotions and physical,
Never heed mother’s wist.
deplore her for damsel beauty,
Abandoned and ill he felt;
Whence mother’s forbearing love aided.
Spued blood for months,
And in no hope of survival;
Mother’s earnest prayer and supplication convalesced him.
Lackadaisical and Impenitent natured,
By and by he erst;
Wend the lady who abased him his manhood,
His love forsook,
His last days embodied in insobriety.
On the day of funeral oration,
Mother retold unchanging love for her child,
And tears that never dried,
Bid her son last adieu.
And lived the rest of her life bewailing,
Till one day her body gave away to ageing,
And died a mother whose love for her son
Never be bought by any gold or silver.
Copyright © sukkum chang | Year Posted 2012
The wound saddened her and the scab would not dry.
She is frayed but with dignity sews and patches herself.
Time ticks as she waits patient, alert for the door closing.
And she waits.
Her clothes are torn from too many washings.
Too many stains.They should be thrown away.
But with tenderness she tries to make it work,once more.
And she waits
If you can hear me . Now is the time for help.
Sewing her dreams one by one helps and the waiting.
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2011
With beads of sweat on my forehead,
And my arms and legs cramped.
I concealed in a little locker
Away from the horrid mayhem.
Damp and worn; fear and torn
I seldom gasped for breath,
And even tried reciting
Othello, Macbeth and Hamlet.
Alas, all in vain!
Aware with each passing minute,
That I would face the same brutal end
As my tutors and friends.
I heard them moving closer,
I say a silent prayer.
With final memories of my beloved -
I await those crazy monsters.
"Bang, Bang!" I hear them shoot.
But it now sounds so afar.
I drift into a deep slumber,
When the door goes ajar.
Copyright © Radhika Bhangolai | Year Posted 2015
Pile up treasures; rise and fall.
And want the lake and not the land fall,
Hold the bizarre beast, I wish wife.
My life is abandoned to the Life.
Behold an ideal idol of a wife:
The down fall will soon be late,
Whilst the crescent lake will wait;
This day will emerge another life.
Now bread and butter set on the table,
But miss the compassionate ring of able,
And call for the lonely wandering widower,
This moment can’t afford losing her.
Should I accept the defeat of livelihood,
And immortalize the spirit of widowhood?
My life is given to the Light.
These episodes of testing I can’t face:
I plant prayer for its erase,
And wind for a save and safe alight.
Copyright © Abdulhafeez Oyewole | Year Posted 2013
They bravely set sail and escaped on the Mayflower.
Those first settlers, common people from Europe,
Came ashore from the Atlantic with faith and hope.
Freedom is what they sought.
“No Bishop, no King”
Is what they said.
In a Mayflower Compact,
They established a body politic.
One quest done; four more to go
The American Revolution,
Mr. George Washington,
Freedom is what they sought.
Freedom is what they obtained.
Three quests more
The Civil War,
The cost was high
for the freedom they bought.
Three quests done
Desegregation and equality,
Civil Rights and Martin Luther King.
Bold symbols of the fourth quest.
Freedom: neither free nor cheap
Separation of Church and State,
Moral decline, War and Peace.
O’Hare says, “No Prayer in schools”.
Roe v Wade says, “It’s a woman’s choice”.
Supreme Court says, “Same Sex Marriage”.
Ever fluid, the Spiritual War is ongoing.
Symbols of the fifth quest, ever evolving.
Whether fires of emotion or literal flames,
Freedom’s Quest seems to be packaged in fire.
05052013;3302016PSContest, Where Freedom Finds the Fire
Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2016
Blinded, By The Light
If you can truly find yourself you can be truly happy
if not, well the world will eat you and beat you until you cry no more...
I see most people crying. Me, I ran out of tears and found myself the hard way.
I survived long enough to hear the Nightbird sing, a drunk rooster crow and
the coyote catch that damn roadrunner-in my dreams..
After that a light blinded me and within that blindness came a realization,
that three things are important - God, love and family.
All the rest is window dressing and leftover refried beans with no damn chili's...
Every morn that rising sun tells me , get up and be worthy of the air you breathe
Stand as tall as you can and never look down on a man unless extending a helping hand to him.
To do less is not only lazy but selfish and rude. Find a gift to give somebody, anybody at least every week if not every day. Does not have to be great , could be as easy as giving kind words when they are needed.
This was pretty much all told to me as a 10 year old by my grandfather. Some of it I picked up on my own after living a damn wild young life! With too many shallow relationships, broken hearts(including mine often) and more than a few real scars, all of which I came by honestly.
Now looking at the sunset I see rainbows just beyond the horizon. Each one has a pot of gold..
Methinks I will give that gold away and plant flowers in the pots to give to my wife.
And that folks is the wisdom sent in each ray of that blinding light I was blessed to have found!
Robert. J. Lindley , 04-19-2015
Stay tuned in folks. I plan on another shameful confession coming soon..
Starting with my first bout of stealing a kiss from a pretty gal that I loved..
"Ain't life great"? If ya answered no then you had best get to really living!
You are either sleeping too much or not trying hard enough!
Drink your coffee hot , black and with gusto. If you just can not manage the gusto, a strong shot of good whiskey will do!
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
Urgent request from
a friend; asking for prayer
for her daughter Caschel—
directly in hurricane's path—
refusing to evacuate.
No hotel will take
her, with all her animals.
She's holed up in her
bathroom, animals in cages.
My friend asks,
How do I pray for her
do I ask God to save
her from her own stupidity?
Later, as I pray,
I remind God that he created
animals, as well as humans;
gave Caschel a loving heart.
Remembering his promise,
if we ask anything
in his name—believing—
it will be granted.
So I asked, trusting . . .
abruptly changed course.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
Hostile Times II
By Nate Spears
Busted love is my Crystal Ball's fortune
My heart hurts in a torturing way
Nothing ever works in my favor
I lower my head and pray
Confessing to God
All I have to give
A 16 year old rebellious daughter
A 13 year old son that’s dead
My father is in prison; so is the one of my two kids
Is this really a way of living?
I didn’t have a choice from the days beginning
Would have a given me a chance
Walls of barriers bearing on us
On this earth we stand
Refusing to let go of this curse
If no bill is signed by Congress
My unemployment runs out next Thursday
Now I contemplate what’s next?
Sex dollars or Creflo's Dollars?
Be an honest woman; or
Be a fool that’s starving?
When pushed to the limit
All governors are discarded.
Hostile Times rains upon us
Other nations joins the honors
The Elite makes me vomit
There’s plenty of resources among us
God have mercy and let it trickle down on us
Rather than become degrading
In this pew
I choose prayer
Becoming Sunday Mornings best
Washing away my pains that become abreast; with my chest
Bringing in a new day,
For a better way
In these hostile times we live in.
Copyright © Nate Spears | Year Posted 2013
Almighty Eternal God, we give You thanks
For You are the Creator
Of all life and goodness
We praise You for the world
You have made us to build up and enjoy
Loving Eternal God, help us to be
Faithful heralds of Healing and Hope
Grant us the awareness of healing needs
Of those around us and the compassion to
Respond willingly to those needs
We ask this through Lord Eternal God
Father Christ Your Eternal Son
Our Healer and source of all Hope
Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2013
Into A Dark Raging Storm, Tempest And Hail
Into a dark raging storm, tempest and hail
alas, sadly all was to be to no avail.
Twelve pounders broke loose crashing about
some over the wind praying in a shout.
Prisoners chained below all in great fear
great many had shed a tortured tear.
Captured when their frigate this enemy sank
praying for their life and safe bank.
Thunder rolled and invisible hammers pound
every loud creak an ominous sound.
That morn crew had blessed the arrowy sun
and good lord for all he had done.
Now hit by waves capable of breaking stone
each man felt terror and all alone.
Moment came when ship was tossed up high
and each one saw his life pass by.
Next splashing water and cursing the sea
survivors and no ship could they see.
Down it had went with prisoners in chains
sea graveyard dead,no longer in pain.
Found one life boat still there and afloat
six sailors climbed aboard the boat.
Storm had calmed enough for them to see
they may yet hold kids on their knee.
No longer daring to swear and deeply curse
thanks gave having survived the worse.
No time to mourn the stormy sea taken dead
each prayed to a merciful God instead!
Robert J. Lindley, 10-21-2015
A frigate /'fr?g?t/ is any of several types of warship, the term having been used for ships of various sizes and roles over the last few centuries. In the 17th century, this term was used for any warship built for speed and maneuverability, the description often used being "frigate-built"
(2.)" Twelve pounder"
The twelve-pound cannon is a cannon that fires twelve-pound projectiles
from its barrel, as well as grapeshot, chainshot, shrapnel, and later
shells and canister shot. It was first used during the Tudor
period and was commonly used during the Napoleonic Wars, 1799-1815.
At this time 12 lbers were largest caliber of long-barreled field
pieces, and were used both at long range against fortifications and
troop concentrations using round shot and against attacking infantry
and cavalry using canister shot. As such the 12 lber was a favorite
weapon of the Grande Armée. Later, redesigned 12 lbs were named after
Napoleon III and found heavy use during the American Civil War.
12-pounders were also carried on naval vessels of various sizes.
Unlike their land based cousins, such weapons were considered light
by naval standards. They formed the main armament of smaller frigates,
and were used on the upper decks of larger vessels, where their
relatively lighter weight would not be a problem. They were commonly
found on the quarterdeck of British Ships of the line like HMS Victory
though their main weapons were the larger 24 and 32 pound cannon,
capable of shattering the hulls of enemy warships and killing the gun
crews with a deadly shower of splinters.
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015
We'd scarcely begun our journey
to the sunny south when the sky's roof
descended and hung a shelf overhead.
"God is now joining us," she said.
On the long bridge over the ocean
toward Madeira Beach, an ear-splitting
screech interrupted speech. Brakes
screamed as an auto coming forward
crossed the median into our lane.
She immediately jerked the wheel
to the right. He missed us by inches.
We moved on in stunned silence.
Clearly, we had looked death
in the face, and won. Mere seconds
measured the difference.
Driving home in heavy fog, she fretted.
Zero visibility brought anxiety.
"I've got you covered," she heard.
"Haven't I had you covered,
from the beginning?"
cfa © 1/31/11
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014