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Best 9Th Grade Poems | Poetry

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Details | 9Th Grade Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Music of the Wind

Helicopter seeds
from my maple tree
drift down,
swaying
back 
and 
forth
from the strong branches above.
They all fall around me,
I am encapsulated by the swirling seedlings.
Snug within their warmth,
the wind sends me on my feet.
Dancing with the music of the air 
that is rushing through my hair, 
I inhale the sweet, mellow essence of what life has granted me. 
Then I exhale the words,
"I am thankful for this life and the road, no matter how rocky, has served its purpose".
As I leave this place,
I hum the tune of the masterpiece conducted by the wind
that rustled in this tree.

~5/28/18~


Copyright © Pailey Gordon | Year Posted 2018


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Non-existent

your love is like a                 
f
  l
    o
       a
           t
              i 
                n
                   g 
                        lantern

one moment it burns so bright,
it's so warm..
so warm that people step right in

then...

once they loosen their grip
it grows cold,
               small,
               distant....
               almost non-existent 

~3/18/18~





Copyright © Pailey Gordon | Year Posted 2018


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Dancing in The Mirror

as i am dancing around my tiny bathroom, in my short shorts

i stop for just a fraction of a moment to look in the mirror
i see my reflection staring right back at me

i look closer...

i see how my eyes are as blue as the deep, lovely oceans of Neptune 

i see how my smile is like a light bulb that illuminates a room with the flip of one little switch

i see my stature, i see how it is almost like a flower just sprouting and learning to grow

i see how in the inside of my inner thighs have stretch marks that are rippled like the sea waves on a sandy beach shore

i smile...
and i start to notice all the beautiful little things about me
and i noticed how they combined to make a exquisite masterpiece
as i sit there i wonder why it took me so long to finally think this way about this perfect creation
but it doesn't matter
because now is the time to turn it around
and find self love

i back away from the mirror

and i start dancing

~4-3-18~


Copyright © Pailey Gordon | Year Posted 2018


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Do You Need Some Pixie Dust

Laughing, dancing, having the time of her life,
Faerie Fun went from mushroom house to toadstool cottage,
Spreading joy,
Playing with everyone
In a kind and pleasant way.
There was going to be no sadness
In Faerie Forest today if she could help it.
It is up to me, she said.
I am the catalyst for happiness today.
She ate breakfast with the Nymph family,
And they laughed about silly stuff,
But no people.
She watched Lila Leprechaun’s Lilliput dance,
And she clapped and clapped while
Mama Leprechaun took care of the
Unhappy baby. Baby calm. All is well.
Faerie Fun was soon skipping
Up the walk to the most challenging
House of all.
Change your attitude! She warned herself.
Change your attitude!
Her jaw was clamped tightly shut now, and she 
Was already filled with dread.
Pixie Dust! Her internal voice yelled. NOW!
The sparkly particles surrounded her, and settled down all over her, calming her instantly, and
Changing her attitude from not-so-great to wonderful.
Before she left Grump-Eater’s house, he gave her a long, lingering hug.  No one gets me like you, he said.
Progress at last.
Sometimes it is simply a matter of us changing our attitude.


Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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le stress dans l'education

I cannot stress enough how much this stress is stressing me out 
Stresssssssssssss
Extra stress on the last S
Because it just became unbearable
Bearing depression and anxiety in his arms, shirt tucked and hair combed to the T
Mr. Education System waltzed into my life and
Introducing himself as Mr. E
See what i thought was teeth in his smile
Was actually deciet and for a while
I was fooled.
So when he introduced me to his older brother S
And his younger sister A
I was excited because they seemed cool
And this was the beginning of my big mistake

I'm in form 1 now and everywhere I look I see a new face
New work, new teachers and everything at a new pace
So I pace myself
But I'm here to confess
The entire year I was frozen in work like a bust
But I managed to adjust
And somehow past my first end of year test

I'm in form 2 now and I just found a new clique
Cuz the entire class just divided and apparently you have to be cautious where you speak
So I stressed over finding me a group
A group where I belong because I'm in form 2 now 
And a social life determines whether you weak or strong

Oh finally I'm in form 3 and introduced to Ms. NCSE
I never felt stress like this before
I don't even know what breakfast is anymore
I just wake up and drink tea cuz
This school thing changed my appetite to an appetighter
Destroying my body allnighter after allnighter after allnighter

In form 4 I learnt in order to get success you must first get depressed.
And so I made school my drug and I made sure I got hooked.
See I'm constantly crushed under everyone's high expectations for me when the only thing higher is my stack of books.
Studying 30 hours a day but aren't there only supposed to be 24?
I can't take this school thing anymore
I go to class and cry at the door
I'm sore. 
Mentally and financially because every term is a new list
But ofc I'm buying it because I turn those pages into chains and shackles and secured them around my ankles and wrists
I'm not even going address form 5 because I was dead inside for most of it.

I survived it all just to gain Mr. E's approval
I got all my passes and now suppsed to be finalizing my removal 
But I pause
And i sign up for form 6
Because I'm hooked to this lifestyle that's way too broken to fix
I'm standing and looking at my life from now to way back when I used to dance in drapes
Mentally readying myself for my new inamorata Ms. CAPE


Copyright © Leo CollinsII | Year Posted 2018


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Keep Right on Writing

1   Would you say that you’d like to write better?
2   Keep writing whether book or love letter.
3   Great writers don’t quit, they write quite a lot.
4   If tempted to stop they simply did not
5   The best of the best, I’d even dare say,
6   Wrote not a few that they just threw away.
7   When eyes of blank pages stare up at you
8   “Quitting makes perfect,” has never been true-
9   ly the more that you practice you’ll find
10 forsooth erelong you shall broaden your mind.
11 The pen is a sword of limitless might;
12 If something is wrong, words can make it write.
13 Words are like arrows that target the soul.
14 They twang, zip, then thump when shot with control;
15 Untrained words injure and never strike true.
16 So religiously write, routinely review
17 For words are the lamp, through darkness lighting.
18 So always, forever just keep right on writing.

8.28.18
Contest: A Litany of Poetic Devices
Sponsors Line Gauthier
Literary Devices by line:
1.  rhetorical question
2.  internal rhyme
3. consonance (t)
4. inversion
5. parallelism (and superlative)
6. litote
7. personification
8. antithesis
9. enjambment
10. archaism
11. metonymy and metaphor
12. pun (homonym)
13. simile 
14. onomatopoeia 
15. dissonance (via harsh consonants and uneven vowels)
16. alliteration
17. hyperbaton and metaphor 
18. pleonasm


Copyright © Jesse Rowe | Year Posted 2018


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Relatives Re-inact A Romantic Reconciliation

Oh, yes, Darling! Please meet me up the street, in fifteen minutes, right past the old tan house with that porch, bamboo.
We need to talk about things, you and me, without your mean relatives, and that includes your cousin Ted Stew.
I’d gladly trade this car for a completely untarnished marriage certificate, cleaned out of the day-old flu.
But, fiance’, dearest, you have yet to show me your love nest, your side honey, or your super-secret tattoo,
So now that you realize I might cost you money, you love me forever, and think you can let go and forget the Queen of Vooody-Voo- Doo?
Sure, Sweet Darling. Being pre reasonable, I would certainly like to review our marriageable status, and begin trusting you anew.
Of course, we had better hurry, so we get this trust thing sorted, and my family decides to re-include you,
I do not think any love-you-forever ceremony, fancy hall, or wedding vows I will seriously pursue.
If you decide to take the challenge, there on the steps wearing their juiciest smiles, are my mother, Grandma Kell and cousin Lou.
Sure, they do all have guns, permits, frying pans, and razors. Confidentially, they’re in a hum dinger of a stew about you too.
What more can I do, Sugar Bear?  I’ve led you right to them, right up these pretty blue and white steps, and frankly, honey, it’s the best thing I could ever do.
So saying, I guess all my relatives are ready to talk and slap and pinch and punch, and fight and scrap, and kick, because they’re sort of mad you made me so blue.
Bye, Sweetie. I’m off for the weekend with my new honey, Rick, a gentle, kind, God-fearing man, who doesn’t want to stick around to see what they’re going to do.




Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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The Whims Of Fate



Love's tethered to wishful thoughts, forever fueled by dreams, and yet, hope has never created a bond...time could not sever. ....................A wish, faint and fading. Suffering sharp thorns...I cradled a rose and in the throes of ecstasy love froze that's why it’s called fantasy...I suppose. ....................A wish, faint and fading. Happiness is an elusive feeling when a broken heart's in need of healing confronting the truth...trust was concealing. ....................A wish, faint and fading. I plunge to the dark depths of depression wherein shadows become an obsession and reality's...subject to question. ....................A wish, faint and fading. I seek someone to share my heart and soul allowing me to relinquish control to the whims of fate...while love makes me whole. ....................A wish, faint and fading. (Rhyme) May 19, 2018 Theme used - A wish, faint and fading Let Your Pen Drip - Poetry Contest Broken Wings


Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2018


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The Rain Is Here

The chill in the breeze 
Has got something Different 
Each flower , each tree
Randomly dancing to their zeal
And then our memories 
Inside my head are all alive
Now the sky is turning grey 
Innocent? yes! I wanted to stay
Storms are approaching fleeting,fast
Hardly will they ever last 
Even though I can't feel you
Rain always drags the past
Ecmnesia after you is all I got


Copyright © Harshit Rai | Year Posted 2018


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The Last Show

The stage was so spectacular I had to wear my glasses.
They only let a handful in with extraordinary passes;
written in a scripted font and lined with foiled gold,
for those of us who had one, they were something to behold.

The gullible sat waiting for the buffoonery to start;
the ratings in the papers were completely off the chart.
Some had heard of wonder, that it cured them of depression;
many left in disbelief; it made quite an impression.

The crowd began to stir with a ubiquitous roar of chatter,
every person in the house was pondering the matter,
when suddenly the room went dark and everyone was still.
With widened eyes and racing heart, I hoped it'd fit the bill.

A man appeared larger than life amid a frightening scene,
his head was framed in rising flames that billowed smokey green.
He shouted at the crowd and we all shuddered as he glared,
he asked a volunteer to approach if any of us dared.

A dreadful fright took hold of us as we all sat there in fear,
my spine seemed to be paralyzed while others shed a tear.
The air became uncomfortable as the man began to rage,
and that is when a young girl stood and walked toward the stage.

The crowd let out a gasp as she climbed the center stairs.
We hoped that she would stop as we stayed glued to our chairs.
She stood before the giant man who said with a deep voice:
"Who sent you to me?" and she replied, "I come to you by choice."

While several of us fainted, the man became perplexed.
He seemed to lose control and suddenly was vexed.
This wasn't what he planned and the show was off the script,
he stuttered and he stammered as the situation flipped.

"How dare you show me disrespect!" he said through smokey haze,
but the young girl stood in bold defiance of his fiery blaze.
She spoke to him with empathy and stared with caring eyes,
"I think this front you've shown to us is nothing more than lies."

He couldn't think of what to say, she'd called him on his bluff,
the tension cracking through the room was now more than enough;
the man let out a tired gasp as the smoke and flame went out,
he softened up his voice with no more reason left to shout.

"You're right," he said in solemn tones,"You've seen through my disguise,
I've never had this happen though I've had so many tries."
He turned to the astounded crowd and said "I'm from Topeka"
and ended the last show he did by shouting out "Eureka!"

Written: 05.17.18
Joined: 05.17.18
The first poem submitted: This one - The Last Show


Copyright © Cary Snowden | Year Posted 2018


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My Bio Poem from Caren

Caren
Creative, Empathetic, Respectful, Helpful
Wife of Joe, mother of Angela, Tracy, and Susie, 
Mother-in-law of Josh and Andy,
Grandma of Emily, Cali, Molly, Tony, Jack, Josie, Lucy, Daisy, Max and Johnny.
Lover of children, dogs, and family.
Who feels joy, excitement, and amused.
Who needs people, work, and love.
Who gives happiness, soft words, and tender touches.
Who fears violence, anger, and rage.
Who would like to see the world assimilate as one.
Resident of Kansas
Krutsinger



Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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The F Poem

Five 
Fancy
Fleshy
Foxy
Friends
Followed
Feather-like
Finery
For
Fun-filled,
Flashy
Farfetched
Floppy
Flip-flops
Forever
Flowered.



Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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A Young Bully Named

There once was a bully named Jim.
He made people cry on a whim.
He was big, bad and mean
And had a name-calling machine,
because he was not very smart, this man, Jim.

There once was a bully named Thad.
He called names and pulled hair, when mad.
We made him our pal,
And he said, "you guys are a wow!"
And he changed his whole attitude and was glad.


There once was a bully named Day.
He did everything to keep people away.
We ignored his bad side,
which he soon learned to hide.
Our new friend, who now liked to play.


Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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My Everything, My Nothing

She whispered to me in my time of doubt
Held my frail figure when I was weak 
Pieced me together when I shattered

My everything was within her soul
I woke up and fell asleep to her
Never a time without my thoughts devoted to her

We were never apart
Us against the world
Fueled with hope

 But I turn around to find

She was only a ghost
A hollow, empty, nothingness
Who didn’t exist and never had

Still, I wept for her


Copyright © Jordan Babonis | Year Posted 2018


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A Message From An Atheist Of Pakistan

         A Message From An Atheist Of Pakistan
            Angels are real, and ghosts are fake, 
       They live in heaven,they drink milkshakes, 
         We are dying and they are eating cake, 
    Enough is enough don't push us for god's sake, 
    We are peaceful but we also know how to break.
             Written By Abad Ur Rehman Khan


Copyright © Abad Ur Rehman Khan | Year Posted 2018


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The Dreaded Language


Pi
What statistics?
What trigonometry?
Geometry bamboozles me
The math language completely shuts me down.
Pre-algebra breaks my brain waves.
Please let’s not speak of these
Crazy math terms.
Pi


Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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13 And Confident

She is assertive.
When she does not want to do 
something, she lets you know.

She honors herself.
Her heart shows her the way.
She listens to her inner voice.
She is 13, and confident.

She cannot be cajoled, swayed, or lured.
She is her own person, following her path.
Making choices that delight herself, and no one but.

She is a dynamo.
On a clear course.
She has met no one who can fool her.
I pray she never does.


Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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Sometimes

Sometimes it feels like I'm floating on air
Sometimes it feels like the weight of the world is on my chest 
Sometimes my mind is a blank canvas 
Sometimes It's full of thoughts 
Sometimes I feel like I'm surrounded by darkness
Sometimes I feel showered by light
Sometimes my future seems bright 
Sometimes it feels like I have no future at all
Sometimes I hurt myself
Sometimes I hurt others 
Sometimes I feel like I'm in love 
Sometimes I feel like I'm not loved at all 
Sometimes I feel important 
Sometimes I feel like I wont be remembered 
Sometimes I value my life 
Sometimes I think my life doesnt matter 
Sometimes I feel like I'm happy 
Sometimes I feel like I'm in a ball of depression 


Copyright © Dakota Cooper | Year Posted 2018


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Loses Things Too

She was never on time
bought her a watch
she loses things too





Written July 17, 2018
Entered Mick Talbot's  Senryu Poetry Contest


Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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Life is Like a Caterpillar

Intricate patterns hide beneath the surface
Waiting to be found by someone
Observant enough to see 
the beauty they can bring

Simple yet beautiful, 
They bring joy to all around,
And complete it once they are found 

The little lines lie listening for someone to look,
And suddenly they are found


Copyright © Ryan Ham | Year Posted 2018


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Here Comes Steampunk Annie

If I was part machine, a steampunk woman, or a steampunk dog, or a steampunk cat,
I would choose to have a machine heart, so I could be less soft. 
So my feelings would not get hurt so easily, so I could
Stop crying inside when people get mean and mad,
Or a tsunami kills a bunch of innocents.
I would also choose machine eyes – big round soft brown ones,
Because of the floaties I have in my older green and hazel eyes.
Floaties could not get into steampunk eyes, right?
I would choose bendable, new steampunk machine knees.
They would jump and summersault and do cartwheels and
Other stuff I can no longer do after tearing my ACL and
Meniscus which never got fixed, because it happened
At work and Workman’s Comp told me at my age,
Surgery would not be smart.
They would call me Steampunk Annie, and I would
Run up and down alleys, saving people from the robbers,
And the drug pushers, and I would kick the drug pushers
In their petootsies and make them cry
Because they would not have steampunk eyes
Or anything.  I would rock the Steampunk
World with sass and vim, and be
The super hero I know I can be!


Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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They Said

She is odd, they said.
She won’t talk to you.
She is stuck up.
She is mean.

He did not believe them.
Them who had lied about him also when he was the new kid.
He sat with her during lunch.
They laughed like hyenas; he found her refreshing and delightful.

After school they cornered him.
They accused him of being disloyal to the pack.
They were angry that he did not take their word about her awfulness.
They were incensed that he had a mind of his own.

She is depressed, they said. She is a downer. She is bad news. Stay away or we will not be your friends.

He saw her sad, and soothed it.
He understood her downs, she had reasons for them.
So he sat with her at lunch, and he walked her home, and they used their sense of humors and they laughed.
Being with her felt wonderful, being with her was cathartic, being with her was love.

They were angry now. They surrounded him with baseball bats and bully clubs.
If you insist on following your heart and being nice to her, we will hit you, they told him.
We will hurt you.  
We will kill you.
She is different, they told him. She is odd.  One of them spit on his arm to prove his rightness.

He threw back his head and laughed at them and he did not stop laughing. He laughed for hours.
Their faces were mad. They were upset. They were so angry.  They ran away, because they could not change him.
She came out of her house, ready to be walked to school.
What was that? She asked him.
A bunch of silliness, he told her.

They got married, and made friends all around the world.
Friends who liked them for having a sense of humor and minds of their own
And they lived happily ever after.



Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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A Yearbook Pickup Line

He wrote inside my 9th grade yearbook: "I'd like to get with you inside a kayak." Today I would respond: "Your kisses were so heavenly, but you abandoned me. So it's a 'no' to me and you together in a small canoe!" Dedicated to my first kiss, Glenn, a real son-of-a-preacher man.


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015


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A Dog's Life


Puppy

Lovable, Friendly

Frolicking. Jumping. Chewing.

Ball. Cat!  Bed. Window.

Sleeping, Pattering, Growling

Loyal, Loving

Dog


Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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Where The Vision Visits

Kentucky's late summer sunshine
sunk deep into their skin
as the boy rode on the back
of his Grandfather's coppered horse,
the tobacco harvest would begin soon,
aromas of sweet leaf darkness
were wafting in the field heat,
to the big barn they bounced
buoyant for the business of bushels
crafted by a lineage of fearless farmers
who knew the revolutions and roses of the land,
a stop at the pond for water and shade
would be wise, should be fine and fair,
Edgar lept off being swated in the face
by the horse's sweeping tail,
at the water's edge he could see secrets
loud in silence and wild in truth,
a shadow took form
at the horse's eyes
it reared violently, 
with a screaming panic it pounced
through the pond it charged across
with Grandfather desperately holding the reins
the breathing terror pumping
through the horse's body
was felt along it's spine by the old rider,
after madly striking the fence
it turned back to the shaken pond
with a furious stride upon the earth,
plunging in heavily
it's forelegs buckled badly
throwing Grandpa straight over into the broken water,
on his back, shocked to death under blue sky
the horse he raised from pony
hammered him with no mercy
into water pure,
standing there, deaf to death,
paralysed by slow motion murder,
the eyes and teeth of the horse
with it's mane electrified
and hooves lancing
is all he could see
while life stopped in the sun,
and then there was calm,
his Grandfather's hands 
slowly closed into that terrible water,
it would not be long before the boy
would see the spirit of Grandpa Tom
in the tobacco sheds, examining machinery,
scrutinizing the sheafs, singing the seed songs,
his spirit sight was not triggered by sudden tragedy, 
throughout childhood he conversed with the "playfolk"
the children of eternal outdoor youth
but as he grew they did not
and age seemed to seperate
the sense of their consanguinity,
it was time to live amongst the fellow flesh
to say goodbye to good ghosts,
the schoolhouse was a strain
on his simple soul,
his mind meandered into mazes
of biblical antiquity
daydreaming of divine deluge,
of wilderness wanderings
and sermons that serve the heart,
the Bible was the only book
that brooked the heartbeat to heaven,
by the time Edgar was thirteen
he had read the Scriptures twelve times,
possessed by the pedigree of passion
he pledged to read them for every year of his life,
the meaning of ministry pulsing in his purpose,
immersed in the verse of Monoah
by the clear water creek of contemplative quietude
the wings of a resplendent woman
swept Edgar's honest arid hair
as his fingers pressed the pages of prophecy
which lay upon his lap,
she simply glittered like glory
in the existence of true happiness
she was an angel of auspicious alms
come to ask the aim of his spirit
to which he replied shyly
to help the sick and searching
find healing and headway through Christ,
the angel woman declared with perfect joy
that his wish would be realized
as she went away with spellbinding evanescence,
that night his Father would berate him
for failing grammar lessons,
over and over
Edgar would sink into the questions
and his Father the "Squire"
would strike his apparent stupidity, 
the angel woman's voice
spoke within the boy's head
like violet against gray
suggesting that if he'd sleep a minute
with the lesson book under his head
the knowledge therein would be known,
when his Father woke him
Edgar knew the contents
as a clock knows the numbers,
the "Squire" was stunned
and a psychic gift had begun,
Edgar Cayce discovered a terrific talent,
an autohypnotic ability
that allowed him to read the body of the Universe
and everything in it,
he became a seer of stars,
in trance, his subconscious mind
could communicate with any other, anywhere,
the primary objective of his virtue
was to provide medical "Readings"
to those in earnest need of treatment, 
the medical expertise which he effortlessly espoused
surpassed the skill of the best professionals
in every conceivable field of medicine, 
physiology, diagnostics, pharmacology, psychology, 
physical therapy and so on,
eventually friends and clients
would implore him to explore
the metaphysics of Man,
to investigate ancient history
and the rivets of religion,
reincarnation would rise in import,
Mr. Cayce would report
karma is colorfully constant
that Earth is a special soul port,
to return to flesh is to return to rectifying flame,
he remained a Christian not just in name,
he found justice in Jesus and grace in goodwill,
after dying at 67 in 1945
this unrefined farmboy of a 9th grade education
left a legacy of 14,000 plus "Readings"
that have given healing and hope
to millions of human beings -

J.A.B.

This poem is dedicated to the life of "The Sleeping Prophet"
Edgar Cayce and his faithful wife Gertrude Evans Cayce.
I strongly recommend the biography,  "There Is A River, The Story Of Edgar Cayce"
Justin A. Bordner


Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2017