I was once a little twig with dreams of being a mighty tree
So people would come from all around just to look at me
As the years started to come and go I fell in love with the wind
I would open myself big and wide swaying to the music of my friend
My rings became many and my bark was as red as red could be
Then the day finally came I was the tallest of the tallest trees
I stood tall and I stood proud and everyone knew my name
As my rings continued recording my destiny to fame
Then the fateful day it came my friend and I had a fight
Looking back I can't recall who was wrong or right
I said, "You are but the wind something people can't even see"
" And I'm the king of them all the tallest of the tallest trees"
That night the wind started to howl she really started to blow
And I the tallest of all the trees learned we reap what we sow
My roots struggled to hold on tight but without a soul around
She who had been my dearest friend knocked me to the ground
The loggers came and cut me up then shipped me away
To my soul that truly was a sad and lonely day
Torn from all I knew and loved wishing I didn't have to feel
I was cut into boards and post down at the local mill
Now I'm back here at home just a few feet away
From where my friend the wind and I used to dance and play
I'm the deck on which you stand I lay below your feet
There is a bench made of me would you care to have a seat
Sometimes in life our roles change just take a look at me
The trick is no matter who are what you are be all you can be
See I was once a little twig who became a mighty tree
And now I'm a redwood deck as proud as proud can be
And of my friend the wind she visits me everyday
So I can thank her once again for helping me find my way
Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2007
Oh, how I cherish that bright sun! But she
must turn me often lest I grow deformed
and stifled in my quest for too much light.
And at the faithful window, day by day,
that glow appears—my sustenance of life.
Instinctively, I lift my leafy palms
as if to catch each golden ray, and lean
to kiss the glass, back arched in thankful pose.
And she, like God, keeps turning me around
to make me straight, aware that I must work
to find the light once more. An endless fight,
this turning, turning, cutting short my time
to fully drink of sun. And what despair
for me to face again the shadowed room—
to gather strength, confront the task at hand:
my twisting, writhing, standing tall, erect—
then leaning, reaching out for light again.
And yet I grow in beauty, health, and grace.
The secret lies in proper tension kept
between her God-like care to keep me straight,
and my strong will, to seek and worship sun.
February 10, 2015
Blank Verse: Iambic, 10 syllables and 5 feet per line.
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015
Distinct in its' precinct
It lies low
And remains aloft
Full of power
It moves about
To and fro it goes
Until it finds its prey
Rich or Poor
Cowardly or Bold
Master or Servant
Weak or Mighty
In its physical form
It was defeated
In its abstract
It was unseen
Around its prey
Until the time is come
The die is cast
And the command is
The soul is taken
As the line is cut
Life to the body
A tear to many
A joy to others
A curse to some
A blessing in disguise
It is to you
What you choose it to
Copyright © Babatunde T Ogunsiku | Year Posted 2011
We touched for a moment
From across the room
As only eyes allow
Standing in yen
And somehow fearful
I turn away
If I held valiance
Crass and fiery
I would dare to you
Though not today
I am of frailty’s ire
Flames of forbidden desire
That is you
A rare beauty of youth
I am lost and aged tonight
Afraid to look in your eyes
Fearing the burn
Of desire fulfilled
Heavy heaves in my chest
In a sigh of defeat
Up the empty pathway
I move on
Copyright © Charles Fuller | Year Posted 2007
The Cafe’s Appration
The Mahogany door... was smooth,
as my palm kneaded its rich burgundy finish.
neath the red door and golden handles,
Journal’s are leafed through, and written
in fine ink of a pen.
spiced cinnamon.. glazes the windows,
and allures Writers from the
homemade mugs of mandarin orange..
and teal blue.. stir within
the cafe’s serenity,
blue bird's warble their finesse..
The harp players, with marmalade
strum the gilded strings of people's
Steamed milk brews… sifts through
cinders of what was an Author's
Through coal caressed firewood.
Saucers meet eyes with each other..
their aged souls murmuring in
An apparitions chatter.
are nibbled by
poets.. sipping on their
Milk Foam.. dollops atop
the espresso brown
Traced within the facade of
spiced brown.. be
cursive hearts.. branching
off the rim of foam.
Although to me.. the laptops
with documents in view, and
fonts spontaneously printed,
neat papers written with french poetry..
so beautifully penned by the ease of a
be nostalgia’s message.
The apparition of it all..
the man behind the maroon curtain..
and effortlessly he always draws
the spirals of winters flurries
Upon our snow blessed hearts.
Copyright © Madison Demetros | Year Posted 2016
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
Here is our Indian Hero,MS Dhoni,
an ideal role model to many.
Whenever Dhoni is batting at the crease,
viewers say,"Do not disturb me please"!
He regards Seven as his lucky number,
and he is as cool as a cucumber.
Everytime he comes onto the field,he prays to the Sun,
and later returns to the pavilion with an emphatic win.
He looks calm and composed in any kind of situation,
and turns the team into a mood of celebration.
He is a real hard-hitter of the cricket ball,
and the target set by the opposition seems to be small.
He is very sharp behind the stumps,
and extremely quick between the wickets.
He is a perfect modern day game changer,
and the opposition can sense that they are in danger!
He absolutely loves executing "The Helicopter Shot",
and no other player can match his talent,in short.
He tries to bring the best out of every player,
and always looks at things in a positive manner.
He has been listed among the top 100 by "The Times",
and hope he achieves many more in his future games.
Copyright © NIKHIL GOPAL KRISHNA | Year Posted 2012
People travel me from far and wide
Cars, vans, trucks, people inside
Going places around the globe
I help them on my open road
Winding up and down the hills
Some stop to see ocean spills
Police surveying people’s speed
So, the traveler’s better take heed
I have ramps for people to exit their space
Of final destination or resting place
I am the highway that has some strife
Looking for my exit to start a new life
If I could find it, I could begin again
Just like these travelers when they come to their end.
©Holly P. Moore
Copyright © HOLLY MOORE | Year Posted 2012
Men of substance
I implore you
Come gather around me
I have no ears with which to judge you
Allow your ideas to resonate
Vibrate within my core
Bounce from my surface
Come to life
I was formed for a Holy purpose
Placed in this room
Enclosed within these walls
A host for your imaginations
A silent witness to community
Men of substance
Think each others thoughts
Breathe spiritual breath
Allow me to be your Altar
Join your hands
Bow your heads
Blessed and courages
I am your silent witness
Made for this time
For this purpose
I welcome you
My honored guests
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013
Sweet silence of a Sunday morn,
The world of weekday chaos shorn,
Not even the honking of a horn
As traffic idled,
Held back by the arms of the Law,
Impelled to wait, with tempers raw,
Stewing in the sun's hot maw,
And as I stood outside a shop,
Wondering why the world had stopped,
Out of the stillness came a "flop",
A sound so faint.
Repeated with a steady beat,
Approaching from the small side street,
Till into view, with flapping feet -
A sight so quaint -
Emerged a plodding mother duck,
Welded to her scrambling pack,
Never once e'en glancing back
To take a tally!
(Which baby duck would ever fail
To follow close on mother's tail
When upon the pilgrim trail,
Or dare to dally?)
A Moses on full purpose bent,
No glance to right or left she lent
As straight across the road she went,
To lead her brood
Down into the flowing stream,
Where ducks may swim and ducks may dream,
Safe from the ire and hissing steam
Of traffic queued.
And did she realize her luck
On reaching the promised land, Ma Duck?
That out of danger she'd been plucked,
By humans saved?
For some observant soul in sight
Had soon foreseen approaching plight
And brought the police upon the site
To part the waves!
Copyright © Hilary Aziz | Year Posted 2006
Sometimes I still use a cordless house phone.
When I call her I imagine her wrapping an invisible cord around her finger
as if she were only walking slowly the opposite direction as the cord stretched further.
When she talks she says she likes to feel her voice as it runs away from me. She says that she wants me to believe distance is just a myth our minds created. When she held me I was a last box on a moving van. I was stretched out like piano wire waiting for a hammer to knock the breath back into me. Her hands forced me upward like keys pounding harmony.
She is the hottest day of summer telling me to wake up and find water and her bed is an oasis.
Our clothes scattered a mosaic across the paint spotted carpet.
We read to each other from the bookshelf on the corner.
The one that sagged in the middle until all its shelves were smiling, ready to laugh loose their stories.
The morning she left the half-closed shades left cords of sunlight stretching across her chest
and I traced them but there were highways, and she the smallest country.
When she calls me she traces her breath as it spirals like a hurricane to the wall and bounces between cities. Her voice is strangled with 350 miles of telephone lines.
The clothes we dressed our floors with for months have been stripped away.
The room is naked now and the bookshelf, half empty. When I think of that house
she is the only thing I can remember. Everything else fades, the room disappears entirely and I remember only having lived inside her. Home is where the heart is.
The first astronomers who looked up there had to have discovered sparkling new words about how far two things can be. We build telescopes to force everything closer.
I have built myself a telescope with bed posts and bathroom mirrors.
On warm nights I climb to the top of my room and look west where the world curves her away from me. I know now why the myth of a flat earth existed for so long.
It is not a story of people afraid of falling but of people terrified of growing apart,
reading that if you stare hard enough at the horizon, you’ll be able to find anyone who is left you. But “listen” she says. The blind man on my block had his cataracts removed.
He told me when he looked out his window for the first time he couldn’t understand why his hand was larger than the houses across the road.
He couldn’t grasp how things look smaller at a distance so close your eyes.
Stop looking for me in satellites fading below the skyline. Let us make this world flat again.
I am always right here.
This continent is just our kitchen table.
These highways piano strings.
The same note ringing resonating between us.
God keeps our sight stronger with eyes that we will never see by looking in a mirror.
Copyright © Spenser Jones | Year Posted 2012
*Wild Thang Monkey
All the things' you wanted to
Know about a monkey
But, was afraid to ask.....
1. Never touch one in the wrong place......
2. Never let a monkey see you naked!
3. Never let the monkey know that
you are about the same thang
4. Never let him see you pet or
disrespect astray monkey!
5. Never let a monkey go first!
6. Never ride a monkey out of anger!
7. Never let a monkey know all
of your business........
8. Never monkey around with another monkey!
9. Never let a monkey see you apologize.
10. Alway's remember that monkeys' are
naughturnal. Never let them see you
monkey around with another monkey....
Copyright © Gary Fields | Year Posted 2011
oh, mr. sunshine, how you do glow
on sunny days which your rays do sew
and oh, mr. sunshine, how i miss you so
on those gloomy days when you decide to go.
oh, mr. cloud, how you do impede
that mr. sunshine who is kind indeed
and block those shining rays we all need,
big, wet teardrops fall from your own guilty greed.
so cry, mr. cloud, cry your eyes out
cry me a river and wipe out this drought
for once you are done with this maddened bout
mr. sunshine, with golden rays, can again walk about.
oh, mr. sunshine, keep your head high
happiness is abundant when you are nigh
for even mr. cloud, who heaves a sorrow sigh
warms his fluffed limbs in your blue-crystalline sky.
Copyright © Stephenie Smith | Year Posted 2008
I have never thought of death.
Well, that's not true. Everyone
does at a time. A peopled perishing
if you will. We constitute it
with sickles or in a carriage
or call him soft names. Man
versus death; man conquers
this nothing by attaching arms,
ears, heart so it may feel its indifference
resonating like fingernails on fiberglass.
The great human figure, now
cyclical of its mortal fragility.
Were our endeavors false,
these simulacra, these apparitions
beset gaily on their creator?
Like a cement plant, are we
indebted to the dust made
by our hands, and fills our lungs?
All I know is
it's an inconceivable sadness to think
I have never thought of death.
Copyright © Collin Lam | Year Posted 2013
Do you find your-self
With-out a ladder and
Just don't know
What to do?
Try the "Law Of Reciprocity"
Fore only good thing's
Come back to you!
Be Prudent in all matter's
- And -
Always' do your part
And always' be care-full
In matters' of the Heart
Copyright © Gary Fields | Year Posted 2012
I can go ahead and personify the ocean
As this pen has been granted the poetic license
To carve a soul from a still object-
And make the ocean take the form of man.
The soft sand shaking forth beneath our feet
The sweet salty smell of the ocean-
Caresses our nostril to the presence of nature
As we watch the image unfold-
Of such huge expanse of water with ships lacing its trails.
So the sun came right above the sky
Embracing us with his scorching arms
Sending waves of heat upon the earth-
As we scamper to find a shade to rest our legs.
So we watched the waves wash the sea up the sand
And watched as half naked men dive headlong into the sea
And there by the shore some set their dice to roll upon the sand.
Just you and me; we watched as the day sailed by
And beggars raised their hands for token-
And little unfortunate boys walked hungrily behind their mothers.
Together we heard it speak,
As it tells us of how beautiful life is,
And how tumultuous the world could be,
So we should expect it.
It speaks to us about the joy that abound
When two people confide in the other,
So we should embrace it.
It speaks to us of how marvelous God is;
So we should seek Him.
Let’s bury our worries in the sand of yesterday
As the ocean speaks to us-
Of men who have been lost in the wind of vain
And of people staggering effortlessly in chain.
Man is history; just a filament of a story.
We heard the ocean speak,
So beautiful and terrifying,
We heard it shriek.
Copyright © Muyideen Ayinla | Year Posted 2012
The animals know better than us. The rain has never poured so loudly in a key so soft.
To the front, the sailing of city buses and mini vans cruising across in this weather makes the water underneath their tires sound like the street is crying out for 5 more minutes of sleep. Up above, the trees are protecting a nest of baby blue jays before they get washed away by the silence of their mother not being there. But with sky blue young spirits, and small empty stomachs, they keep hope alive in the fact that even children know storms and struggles don’t last forever.
Below the trees, nature has found a name to call it’s own. From the hole dug by the little boy next door, a family of three foxes have named human nature sanctuary, and burrowed their problems into the sediment to rest for a while.
To the side of the hole, a flock of ducks are swimming in the water with eyes open wide enough to where you can see their loyalty to love one another rushes wild.
To the right of the pond, caged up in a man made blanket, and lost in his own mind, is the boy. From what he remembers, last night was like a train accident; A head on collision of two people he could’ve sworn he saw holding hands just the other day. He hears the sound of plates shattering in C-minor, and the chorus of words that his parents screamed in F-sharp, so he imprisoned himself in his own bed sheets, accompanied by the courageous corduroy bear who he swears keeps hearing whisper “everything will be okay.”
It’s raining outside, and the crescendos of screams have been silenced by it’s peaceful security.
The boy, sleeps soundly now. The rain has protected his ears, and guarded his heart from being washed away by all of his nightmares.
He doesn’t care whether he wakes up. The baby blue jay, the resourceful fox and the brave little duck are all he wants to keep dreaming about.
Maybe he’ll run away into the rain? Or maybe into the arms if his mother?, whom he prays he can still recognize. To the left of his bed, he picked up the blank page of his coloring book and a crayon, and became a life long poet in that moment that morning. Taking a deep breath in, and giving a soft breath out, his first sentence was
“The animals know better than us.”
Copyright © Spenser Jones | Year Posted 2012
She is bronze colored in complexion...
She is not too tall nor too small..
She is found along high rise buildings to sidewalks..
She dresses according to the 90's, to the latest moda...
She has her own unique style...
She has of brilliance undefined..
She has the hands soft to caress and rough to grip..
She has of eloquence: smile that soothes...
She is from the southeastern seas..
She belongs to islands of myriads history..
She comes from the land of the tropics..
She stands out among the crowd..
Empowered through high quality education..
Unbreakable by dozens of life experiences..
Molded flexible enough by Her culture
Zest enough to face the whole world..
Wether in the most sophisticated way..
To the simplest servant you can see at home...
What makes her so captivated...
Her full blown nationality of being a Filipina...
© O. E. Guillermo
Sponsor Poet Destroyer A
Contest Name a poem you have not entered in a past contest # 11
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2013
is not the sound:
of a banging gavel,
as the result of a man's decision.
It is found in the laughter of orphans,
or in the quiet tears of a widow's distress.
Justice, does not announce its presence noisily,
nor does it appeal to mere reason or fleeting thought.
It is in the silence of a still moment that it rushes in.
A flood of rescue, a team of unsung heroes, without banners.
In the simple embrace of a father to the orphaned, or mother to the widow.
There it is found in the least likely of places, the free offering of smiles.
An undeserved torrent of kindness that drowns out history's pain,
giving a new and beautiful fragrance to the debris left by injustice.
Tears lose their sting, they become source of life watering souls,
satisfaction is no longer measured by simple shelters, or full
bellies, and clothed bodies; this is not true contentment.
Joy ignited by the embers of love, fueling life.
Purpose, not dependent on fiscal wealth,
a life becomes a raging wildfire,
made visibly tangible,
Copyright © Bethlehem Derseh | Year Posted 2011
She's got a plan
just moved to Florida
one week in the hole
a forced proposal...
maybe if I get a job with insurance;
we'll get married...
then you'll have insurance too!"
the spider web is officially constructed
no...we'll name it
the Black Widow!
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2012
The being of peace
Humanity has long lost me
but it’s in dire need of me
Humanity considers me trivial
but I’m the most important factor in its focal
Humanity desires the change time;
but I’m the very needed enzyme
Humanity seeks for comfort
but fails to realize I’m its forte
Humanity clamours for conflict resolution
but I’m the very solution
Humanity is in a closed confused state
but I’m the key to open the Clarity Gate
Humanity finds a remedy to find another problem
but I’m the sure lasting solution claim
Humanity sees me as not serious
but I’m the most conscious
Humanity perceives me as un-inviting
but I’m the most encouraging
Humanity thinks it’s wealthy
but I’m what it really wishes: ‘healthy’
Humanity vicious circle will linger
if I’m not called to reverse the impending danger
Who am I?
I am simply ‘The Being of Peace’
Copyright © Chimezie Ihekuna | Year Posted 2016
You might look at me
with your blushed pink face
Your hard pimpled complexion
But above it all I know
that your sharp edged
square attitude is all a bluff
we can all see that you really are
two faced so double the math still
just a slab
standing the test of time
waiting to be cracked through age
when your crevices may be filled
to tidy your appearance
and make seem renewed
a little younger cosmetically
by the touch of skilled hands
steady in their chosen profession
Yet at the end of the day
you are just going to get walked over
Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2010
I live with my friends in their garden,
known as Moonshine I lead the fairies
as we tend to the flowers and plants
dusting them with a magical potion.
At full moon we have a special party
to which come the gnomes and pixies.
Not forgetting the mischievous elves
looking so dainty in costumes green.
We have a wild time sipping elderflower
or maybe raspberry wine with biscuits.
Grumpy hides away while the others
make merry as Snow White dances.
As day breaks and rays of sunshine
beam down its time to now depart.
We curl up together on luscious ferns,
and whisper exchanging fairy gossip.
Laughing as we remember the odd kiss
snatched by those cheeky elves.
Setting down happily in our garden
that blooms in great abundance.
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2016
If these walls could talk they would have said 'No!',
No!,to growth of green algae and mosses on their skin,
perforated with holes which allow water to flow,
Their colors fading and their beauties cannot be seen,
Their very foundation shaken with great intense,
The land they defend is no longer fertile,
Ideas and sovereignty they protect have become past-tense,
All their works become insignificant and futile,
Clay,sand and loamy quarrel;to divide the land they seek,
while soil flora and fauna fight with a bad motive,
Animals collide with these walls making them weak,
Cyclone,storms and floods ram unto them like locomotive,
With all these commotions,they would have cried not talked,
These walls regret for being together,they could have walked.
*These walls--past Heroes and Nationalists that fought for the independence of my country.
Now there are internal wrangling or fighting,commotion,dissatisfaction,tribalism,religious bigotry,killings and terrorism.The unity of the country is shaking...
*clay,sand and loamy soils--three major tribes in my country.
CONTEST:"If these walls could talk" sponsored by Black-eyed Susan.
Copyright © olusegun Arowolo | Year Posted 2012
They visit me here though they think me dead
They all think me a long time gone
The mausoleum is quiet, with only a dark shadow
Creeping upon its ancient walls, and thats of my own
The heavy door seems to creek all of sudden I think
Outside I hear the sounds of what seems like footsteps
I open that very old secret door which leads to my rest
And with a heavy heart consumed by this fire, I prepare for the kill
But then, outside, there is no one, no one is there
No one out there now to steal from me this time in here
Outside now I catch only the furtive and dark shadows
As I hear the lonesome cry of a howling wolf or hurting bird
I dart quickly another look again to my ancestral and cold coffin
My fateful resting place is one more time again safe
No friend nor foe to release me to free me tonight from my woes
And from all of my black and torturous betraying thoughts
I, Barnabas Collins, I stand here in all this darkness alone
As I close my weary eyes for another moment and rolling time
Then again I hear the wind moaning and hear the wind weeping
The dogs are howling and my wounded heart abates in the wind
They're my only companions in my endless and perpectual sorrow.
Dorian Petersen Potter
July 22, 2010
Copyright © Dorian Petersen Potter | Year Posted 2010
SOME PEOPLE ARE HERE FOR A SEASON AND SOME STAY FOR ETERNITY.
THERE ARE SOME PEOPLE WE WANT TO FORGET ABOUT AND SOME PEOPLE THAT WE CAN NEVER FORGET ABOUT.
BUT ONE THING FOR SURE THIS LIFE IS FULL OF JOURNEYS,TRIALS,TRIBULATIONS AND MYSTERIES.
THERE ARE SOME PEOPLE WE CAN LIVE WITH AND SOME WE CAN LIVE WITHOUT
LIFE IS A JOURNEY EACH MILE IS A STEPPING STONE TO SOMETHING GREATER.
LIFE IS LIKE A BOOK EACH YEAR OF YOUR LIFE IS A NEW CHAPTER AND THE ENDING VARIES.
THE PEOPLE WHO ARE THERE FOR US WE IGNORE THEN THE ONES THAT IGNORE US WE BEG FOR THEIR ATTENTION WANT TO BE NEAR THEM AND WANT TO CHERISH THEM.
WE FIGHT FOR SOMETHING THAT IS NOT THERE THEN WHEN WE REALIZE THAT IT WAS ALL FOR NOTHING WE LOOK SAD AND ANGRY
THERE ARE SOME THINGS THAT ARE MEANT TO BE CHERISHED AND SOME THINGS THAT ARE MEANT TO PASS US BY.
NOW WE MUST MAKE THE DECISION ON WHAT WE SHOULD DO.
Copyright © Quondreika Cheatham | Year Posted 2012
Peel back my skin & you will find bone.
Bone so white that it drarwfs the paper I scribble on now.
Just like your my bone.
Just like his bone.
Just like the bones of all of those who are black, yellow, red, purple & polka dotted,
my bones are nothing more than branches rooted deep in an idea.
An idea of a man filled with ideas.
Ideas which are seeds, seeds that when planted, grow when watered by heavenly droplets.
And when the rain falls, it will wash the dirt into the gutters & we will pretend that it was never even there.
Just like the innocent bloodshed of invisible African children.
Bloodshed in the name of love?
Bloodshed because men try too hard to be gods forgetting that when everyone at their feet are dead,
the only praises left will be of the voices left remaining inside of their own heads.
And yet we will do nothing about it, because far too many of us only believe life.
But in order to believe life
you must first live.
And living only exist on a dying man's bucket list.
So go ahead, jump out of airplanes in the name of your mother's fathers.
Look at your girlfriend guys.
Let her for once keep her clothes on.
Remember that she is somebody's daughter.
Tell that man or woman how you really feel.
Hold the door for someone you don't even know.
Tell somebody a secret that will let their heart grow;
Grow so large that it burst from them as a shout of joy!
And them let them catch fire and call it the spirit.
What spirit you ask? I know mine.
Not dad, but Father.
And my heart and mind when with You, even if your spirit aint mine, that alone I find is true love.
So go ahead. If you're a brother
be my brother. If you're a sister be my sister.
Cause what the world needs now is lots of smiling faces,
Very giving people
And every single one of us putting together the pieces of the puzzle called peace.
So peace my brothers.
Peace my sisters.
Tonight, let these rough cuts
make us into love wishers.
Copyright © Spenser Jones | Year Posted 2012
THERE ARE SO MANY PREACHERS TRYING TO BE TEACHERS BUT INSTEAD THEY ARE LEACHERS.
LYING,CHEATING AND CREEPING AROUND LIKE A SNAKE IN THE GRASS COVERING UP HIS SLYNESS WITH SOPHISTICATION AND CLASS.
THE DEACONS ARE CREEPING ON WHO THEY CAN PREY ON NEXT WHO THEY CAN DEVOUR WHO THEY CAN EAT UP.
PRETENDING TO SHOW SINCERITY WHILE ALL THE TIME THEY ARE LOOKING FOR WHO THEY CAN PULL INTO THEIR OWN CIRCLE.
THE LADIES LOOK DOWN ON THE OUTSIDERS FAILING TO REALIZING THAT THEY WERE ONCE IN THEIR SHOES.
THEIR NOSES RISE SO HIGH IF IT RAINED THEY WOULD DROWN SNIFFING THEIR FANCY PERFUMES INSTEAD OF BREATHING THE WORD OF GOD.
INSTEAD OF MINISTERING TO THOSE IN NEED THEY ARE AT EACH OTHER'S THROATS TRYING TO UPSTAGE EACH OTHER.
WITH OUTFITS,CARS AND OTHER MATERIAL THINGS IT IS SUCH A SHAME HOW THE PEOPLE IN THE HOUSE OF THE LORD BEHAVE.
WHAT IS THE PURPOSE OF GOING TO CHURCH IF YOU ARE GOING TO BE ANGRY.
WHAT IS THE POINT OF GOING TO CHURCH IF IT IS NOT FOR THE LORD.
WHAT IS THE POINT OF GOING TO CHURCH IF IT IS NOT FOR THE RIGHT REASONS.
PLEASE HELP ME TO UNDERSTAND THAT IF PEOPLE WOULD STOP AND LOOK AT THEMSELVES BEFORE THEY LOOK AT ANYONE ESLE THEY WOULD KNOW THAT!
Copyright © Quondreika Cheatham | Year Posted 2012
Weak and alone,
As I follow each task.
Too much time,
Looking through the tears of an hour glass.
Looking for purpose,
In a world so humble.
My Heart, It Breaks,
My Walls, They Crumble.
Mountain to mountain,
Going up and down.
Along with the riches,
Whose being selfishly crowned.
Who is he to feed,
The hungry and the poor?
Who is she to bleed,
When a million other people come left and right,
Just to find out what they're put here for.
We're moving up one,
Then taking two steps back.
There will be many more times,
Where our lives gets all off track.
Waiting and watching,
As our world makes it's spouts.
Cursing and sobbing,
Not living any moment like it counts.
Watching people die,
From the inside, out,
As our world breaks down in heavy shakes.
The people start to scream and shout,
"I Pray The Lord My Soul To Take!!"
Copyright © Hannah Croy | Year Posted 2011
Of the Heart
When Fishing in the
Sea of Love
One simply must
Choose to use
Copyright © Gary Fields | Year Posted 2012