Best Stations Poems
On arrival we kiss.
On departure we weep.
Lives so different merge.
Lives so similar diverge.
After the Sunday service, searching back to her
For a date. He will soon be walking back to her.
Bottle rockets popping over the Sacre Coeur.
She suddenly kissed him; he then leaning back to her.
Leave ending, the soldier takes the Gare de l’Est train.
Just outside, from his window, waving back to her.
She travels east by train. He travels south by train.
A weekend in Strasbourg, him meeting back to her.
“Hey! You have another letter. What did he say?”
She reads aloud. He’s always writing back to her.
Five-mark coins clank in the West German phone.
“Je t’aime” heard at her “boulot”; calling back to her.
The Army okayed it. His mother flew over.
Her father was there for the wedding back to her.
First residence in Sohren. First of two munchkins,
Playing under a chair, then crawling back to her.
All night in the post’s delivery room,
Holding her hand. Love sending back to her.
TDYs learning Serbo-Croatian
Through Germany commuting back to her.
Yugoslavia dies as a nation -
U. N. Peace Keeper writing back to her
From Operation Iraqi Freedom
Telephoning, emailing back to her
Now a civilian, travels behind him,
He’s always nearby, staying back to her
Commuting between Monterey and Salinas,
Both approaching retirement, driving back to her.
The Warrior Poet and his wife walk the old dog.
“Hurry Bella.” “Come on girl.” Whistling back to her.
"Spectacles, Testicles, Wallet & Watch,"
and everyone laughed, as he pointed
to each location.
Irreverent,
to some,
but in the rhythm,
a silent prayer.
No God could control him;
have him tow the line,
put fear of retribution,
or threaten him to a life
stoking the coals for Beelzebub.
He would give you the shirt off his back.
Comfort those he didn't know and
face death square on,
while laughing it down, to his last breath.
Courage, unending love for mankind, for life,
today, they talk of his character,
his gentle manner, and kind and humorous
heart.
With respect for his decency,
they honor him,
and still laugh at his jokes.
Form:
I fondly recall when "service" meant "service" at a service station,
When guys wore a uniform and exuded pride and dedication.
They always greeted you with a smile and friendly, "Howdy do!
It's good to see you! How can I be of service to you?"
While you sipped a nickel Nehi pop he filled the tank;
(You could fill it up without securing a loan from the bank!)
If gas exceeded nineteen cents a gallon, my how folks would holler!
In those good old days you could fill 'er up for about a dollar!
He'd check the tires to make sure they had ample air.
Why, he'd even offer to open the trunk and check the spare!
The windshield was cleaned of the slush and hapless bugs.
He made sure the wires were securely fastened to the plugs.
He'd always check to see that you had plenty of motor oil,
And open the distributor cap to check the points and coil.
If the battery and radiator needed water, those he'd gladly fill.
For all this service and the gas, you'd pay about a dollar bill!
Alas, times have inexorably changed, that's for sure.
Seldom to be found is the small-time entrepreneur.
Nowadays, stations are run by folks beyond the continental shelf,
And, alas, you must service the car and pump the gas yourself!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Panic stations
Uneasy the herds where packs rode
Panic stations
Packs close ranks when lone wolf notions
Disrupt the pecking order mode
It's the lone voice that bears the load
Panic stations
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2012
The gates of hell cannot prevail in the
sanctuary of the church, the enemy is
waving his flag today, within the sanctuary
of the Lord, boasting of his wickedness
planting seeds of mistrust and discord, the
church will not be made common, the church
is holy ground, and all that worship within
its' boundaries, by evil shall not be found.
The King of old, the God of now, the Lord of our
salvation, touch the hearts of all your people,
quicken your righteous nation, the doors of the
church are opened wide, our hearts need be
opened wider, to accept in much more greater
proportions our Savior and our provider. The
Lord does not forget the ways of the enemy, I
pray that all Christian intelligence increase, to
help us wage even wiser battles, against the evils
of the beast.
Salah
Psalm 74
I called the police station but there were no cops.
Every single police officer was at doughnut shops.
My store was robbed and I hate the cops guts.
None of them would do anything until they finished eating their doughnuts.
By the time they were through, the robber was long gone and so was my merchandise.
If you ever get robbed and want to call the police station, you really need to think twice.
Criminals are getting off scot-free and it causes everybody a lot of distress.
There would be far less crime if doughnut shops would go out of business.
How to rid myself of addiction
Let it run to the cross soiled
Here on the 1st station of the cross
Feel the self-hate go to its fate
Carry my new wood proudly
Condemned to crucifixion
I nail the addict while contrite
With kindness and patience
Threw away my paraphernalia
Break the doubt however tight
Like a fruitless wash and repeat
Get up only to fall again
Think of cancer and cirrhosis
Recall the tethers of a life
Teach me true forgiveness
Know that I am enough
But, addiction is insatiable
When it’s time to strike, strike
When I let go the trial starts
An addict is an addict for a lifetime
Walk the stations day after day
Naked and humbled each morning
Endure emptiness’ open palms
Find amity in fear's closed fist
Each iteration is not a failure
Be proud above happy people
With their sanctioned addictions
We are the socially unacceptable
Making failure our familiar
Our struggle the incomparable
If by chance you receive this message
Riddled by your daily choices
Addiction has no beginning or end
Returning to the 12th station
Eli eli lama sabachthani
Expire like thieves beside the helpless
Resurrect me on the 15th
Stumbling is better than stasis
Lay me beside you entombed
I am thirsty, Lord
Tetelestai
When I was young I wasn't much into hugs
or prolonged touch..
I tolerated a peck on the cheek or a kiss
on the forehead before falling asleep..
Probably due to my older sis and her bear like
hugging, a mixture of love and her strength,
that often felt like a mugging..
Many a time I'd balk at requests to be hugged,
two bodies colliding.
It felt too intrusive to me and awkwardly confining.
My second husband changed this all and in time
my hugging dislike was solved.
He gave such secure and comforting hugs, my body
would melt with the strength of his love.
Once a client asked me for a hug at the end of his massage session.
This is a definite red flag for therapists in that profession.
In these recent years now I live alone, several hours from family
and my native home.
At times I miss the intimacy of a hug, that close and calming connection
that leaves one feeling snug.
I'm certain there's others who feel the same way. Why don't we have free
hugging stations for humans today?
You go to the gas station and get a free hug, while the car's tank is filling you also feel love!
summer
foreshadows
satisfaction
Winter
deepens
cold
autumn
unravels
trees
spring
projects
smiles
Watch All Other TV Stations
Except FOX, all other news TV Stations watch,
Because all up things Fox does seem to botch;
Whittle away,
Night and day;
More irritation caused when Fox carved a notch.
Jim Horn
when i die send me 2 Thunder Bay
thundered thunder bolts r 10 dbs
Nipigon River Bridge Recharging Station currents
regenerate thunder like brook trout roe
restocking fishing rods 2 ur net,
brook trout wear speckles not glasses,
revolted thunder bolts r 200 dbs;
give 10 loonies to the aboriginal station guard
who’ll cross u 2 station No 8
Nipigon Bridge Lightening Cove,
where lightening recharges
from 1 GW to 10,000,000,000 watts;
when i die i’ll put 100 loonies on my eyes
4 the recharging station guard
2 choose 2 join the recharging
thunder or lightening at the
Lake Nipigon Recharging Stations
Sometimes I could just scream out loud
For we don't stand out in a crowd
I guess to some we look the same
We have no face, we have no name
It's hard to say just how we feel
As a small cog in a big wheel
So much that cannot be explained
So easily we are contained
And there are those so far from here
That stand above, that are revered
They toss the coin then write the rules
And pass the pages to the fools
Obedience is never asked
And authors are ever masked
It's been this way since time began
There'll be no changes to this plan
So here we stand within our frame
I often think we are the same
From diff'rent worlds, diff'rent times
With diff'rent outlooks, diff'rent minds
It might not come down to one's worth
Rather the station at their birth
No matter the path that is run
We're the same when it's all said and done
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=08v3eEgy1SU
Jesus, when you fell to the ground under the weight of a great cross, doggedly following the soldiers on the dusty trail, you were whipped with their lashes and kicked , until you went down. Oh, how they must have hurt you Jesus, as they ignored your pain and pierced your head with a crown of sharp branches.
Jesus, the cross you had been carrying got suddenly very heavy. You became weak and ready to faint. When you fell down, no one came to your aid. The soldiers wanting to get home, just yelled and told you to get up and move one. They asked Simon to help you carry the cross, but still they despised and humiliated you, my beloved one. Bravely you rose from the ground and taking up your cross, you continued ahead.
For the sake of your wayward children and for the sake of love, you never once faltered nor gave up.
It sounds like the angels are throwing furniture at each other
Such crashing and bashing! I listen to the hard rock channel
There is a lull; I peek outside. Rain drizzles down my window.
I switch stations to classical; the kind of music you find in Fantasia.
Lightning flashes outside smash along well with the frenzy in this music.