Long On a regular basis Poems
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Jesus Be The Bomb
I got this friend name Jesus, last name Christ
He died on the cross, so that we all might have life
He died for blacks, whites, all races that’s why when I kick it with him
I kick it with him on a regular basis
There’s something about the name Jesus that’s got me cheesin’
Grinnin’ from ear to ear what he did for me was enough
But he’s still here constantly blessin’ us, caressin’ us when the devil be stressin’ us out
He calms the storm, he don’t talk about what he gon’ do
He performs my friends got a track record and his word his bond
He heals the sick, he raise the dead
He also fed thousands of people with two fish, and five loaves of bread
Walked on water, shed his blood unconditionally he loved us
If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have duh
It don’t take a scientist to know that everything else is for the birds
But Jesus is fo’ sho
Ya’ll need to get ya’ll some, ‘cause Jesus be the bomb
All our life, we tried to do it our way
But we get left along the highway, we could’ve died
We was promised a lot by the devil, but he lied
Ain’t ya’ll tired, it’s time to give Jesus his
He’s been down for us for years
I got tired of sheddin’ tears of pain, when I could be happy
And all it took was change, we be stubborn set in our ways
Don’t wanna listen, you need to get some Jesus ‘cause that’s what your missin’
I’m glad I got some Jesus before it was to late
Although I sat there waiting on God, to remove them charges brought by the state
Whether he removed them, or let em’ be, I still walk around like I’m free
Free in my mind, free in spirit, you can run but you can’t hide
And while ya’ll runnin’, ya’ll need to get ya’ll some
‘Cause Jesus be the bomb
This Jesus I got, you ain’t got to wait in line
All you got to do is scream Jesus, and he gon’ get at ya dawg
He might not come when you call, but he gon’ handle it all
Problems great or small, he ain’t the type to leave you when you got your back against the
wall
He gon’ ride to the bitter end, that’s what you call a real friend
So if ya’ll got something negative, to say about my friend hold your tongue
Cause I know for a fact, that my friend Jesus be the bomb
© Clyde Phillips 11/04/2009
The girl stood by the window,
Her head turned slightly to best observe the dreaded finger,
When it walked into the room.
The finger that which by its very actions would seal her fate.
Would this finger seemingly no different than any of her own,
Foreshadow a steady income, or a requirement for her to leave this place to take up life on the street once more.
The door moved almost imperceptibly, just enough for the finger to be seen
Curved around the outer edge, as if it was making up its mind to
Fully enter or slip back out.
I watched from behind my desk, awaiting also a decision by the finger.
Would this girl be the chosen one?
Would the finger deem her suitable to grace our household on a regular basis?
I wanted the matter settled quickly.
This very day, three others had crossed our threshold only for the movement of the finger to show up their shortcomings, resulting in them trudging warily back from whence they had come.
Having made up its mind the finger thrust itself into the room,
Then stopped dead still so as to take the measure of it's newest victim,
Before sliding firstly along the skirting boards, then somersaulting onto various Pieces of furniture.
Every movement bringing the dreaded finger closer to the girl and myself.
Now it could be seen leaping from the top of one picture frame to another.
With one last swift movement the finger was gliding across my desk.
The girl turned against her will to confront the finger,
To dare it to turn her out.
Responding to the challenge the finger stood upright,
A healthy pink glow emanating from its tip,
Not having picked up even a single speck of dust or grime
From all that slithering.
"I'm sure you will do just fine dear, I'd have to do it myself to get it any
cleaner" said the owner of the finger in her most re-assuring and kindly voice.
'Is Monday too soon for you to start - that is if it is all right with you darling" said my wife as she turned to me to rubber stamp the deal.
"absolutely my precious" I responded in genuine relief as I rang the bell for a nice hot cup of tea for us all.
I went straight from High school into the service,
I was feeling proud but extremely nervous.
My mother cried with tears of joy,
she said, “I will try to stop referring to you as my little boy.”
I arrived at Basic Training with a bus load of candidates,
we were greeted quite loudly at the main entry gates.
The Drill Sergeants called us everything they could think of,
we knew, at least from them, we would receive no love.
We were too young to drink and barely able to vote,
we were all different races, but we were in the same boat.
We had eight weeks to learn how to work as a team,
we started to believe that it was all a bad dream!
We went to bed late but were up before dawn,
we do more before nine is definitely right on!
Basic Training was tough but we all got through it,
things would get worst and we pretty much knew it.
We would be on the front lines as Infantry Soldiers,
there would be a lot of responsibility put on our shoulders.
The first orders we received took us to the Middle East,
our primary mission was to bring about peace.
For the first time in our lives we were in a foreign land,
the things we saw you could never understand.
The precision bombings caused so much destruction,
the whole place looks like it needs reconstruction.
We are under attack on a regular basis,
our so-called enemy is in more and more places.
Perhaps we are acquiring more and more enemies,
the hate for us here is like an infectious disease.
We were instrumental in removing a terrible dictator,
but the level of danger here has gotten even greater.
Nobody wants to admit that we are in a civil war,
many of us are now on our second or third tour.
I have lost some of my comrades along the way,
we all know the risks and that is all I can say.
We will defend our country from all enemies, foreign and domestic,
we are a force to be reckoned with and we are not to be messed with!
We will win this so-called war on terror,
messing with the United States was their biggest error!
A successful completion of our mission would be a thing of beauty,
we are proud we answered “the call to duty.”
Luscious Sausages Anyone
This early morning, I've viewed a most interesting video clip...
About how tongue licking tasty sausages are produced in the pink...
The latter half of the clip shows a very highly hygienic mechanical production line...
Complete with human handlers plastic suited, in face masks and with gloved hands...
It portrayed a super duper mass production environment......,
All clean and hygenic, all spick and spank, methodical and efficient...
You get to see fast producing lines of long strips of pinkish sausages...
It shows the stringent standards applied to have sausages properly sized and shaped...
There is both a human and a mechanical process to select only the best sausages...
Before they are packaged and stamped, presumably to be marketed thence...
Make no mistake, the production of sausages, a staple diet of the Caucasians...
Is undoubtedly undertaken by food manufacturers who adhere to the highest standards...
On hygiene, safety and countless other recommendations that meet all the existing food regulations...
After all, sausages are such a part and parcel of the fast food segments for generations...
But...
But people, if you watch closely the initial part of the video clip...
On how the tractor trough get ready all the processed meat...
Brother, be warned! You will be so disgusted that you may want to puke...
Seeing this clip, I can't help but feel extremely relieved....
For such a processed meat, be it sausages or burger patties or whatever you call it...
Does not featured on a regular basis in my family diet...
Now it is crystal clear why processed meat are are deemed extremely unhealthy...
Watch this clip and discover yourself why processed meat is so tasty yet unhealthy...
Sausages, pink and delicious, hot dogs and hamburgers, anyone?
@@ NOTE... a video clip on the production of sausages ,
from churned carcasses to packaged sausages...
Should be on the internet, look up on it and be educated...
Once upon a time there were Five key words,
We all knew by heart,
What, where, when, why and how,
And they all came out of our mouths wearing question marks.
We didn't just save them for special occasions,
Or make them rhetorical,
No, we expected an informed reply,
So, we could produce the goods on a regular basis.
We used them to explore and keep our neural pathways in good order.
They were likely included in a babe's first jumbled thoughts,
With why and who the biggest contenders for first and second place.
And when any child could utter their first words these five key words,
Were among the first,
Often precursors to the word Mummy or Daddy,
And when they were older before the word teacher.
For a long time, everybody was happy,
And thoughtful,
As IQ'S kept getting bigger,
And neural pathways remained healthy.
Suddenly, we don't know why or how,
We lost our faith in these words,
As they started producing dishonest answers,
And other words like greed, corruption, and selfish,
Started holding sway.
It was not long after that,
The questions stopped,
And the five words that had served us so well,
Were more likely to be seen on the printed page,
Where they could be easily manipulated for other than honest purposes,
Than witnessed coming out of all but the bravest of lips.
If that was not enough for those lamenting their passing,
Many neural pathways began to disappear through lack of use,
And the words but why Daddy or But why Mommy became a fading echo,
To all but those of us old enough to remember,
When, When, What, Where, Why and How kept us honest,
And inflated Our IQ's.
Lest we all forget Hope and Love Still dwell yet in this world,
And a pathway to our hearts,
Is seldom blocked for good.
Day 159 of A SNOWBALL for PEACE Another chance to make a difference.
It is Sunday and death knows no rest on days of rest as Sunday is supposed to be.
If Sunday really was supposed to be a day of rest, surely God would have arranged for death to have a rest too, the Grim Reaper really is a little hard done by isn't he? Having to work seven days a week, day and night.
How many Grim Reapers are there? Do they work in shifts and if so what are the hours? It is a sure thing people are going to die today on this Sunday and grief will spread like a well worn cloak over the four corners of the Earth.
Touching so many souls! Should we be sad about that, or glad about that? I do not know yet, but I am sure I will in the fullness of time.
Perhaps Sunday should be dying day? If heaven is such a good place to go to, it would make sense for us all to die on a holy day wouldn't it? But then there are so many folk dying daily, it would create a log jam at the checking in desk, wouldn't it!
Still if I could I would like to slow the rate of death down a little, I don't want too many people or spirits beating me up there before their time. To that end:-
Please, to Sign the petition go to:-
A SNOWBALL for PEACE http://www.thepetitionsite.com/188/569/134/a-snowball-
for-peace/#bbtw=510243396 … … …
That will take you to a site where you can place your vote, please pass this link on to your contacts as a matter of course, we need all the signatures we can get.
I wish I could stop pursuing this cause, but for the life of me I cannot. Therefore I have to power on and pester my friends on a regular basis, apologies but I will be back!
Terry Cooper Poet Artist and Philosopher
Form:
My first taste of GOD was fed to me by my dear mother when she prayed with me by the bedside each night as she resighted to me The Lord's Prayer.
Our FAMILY consisted of 12 children, mom, dad, grandma, and a dog named Jack. In my mind, I can presently see that big kitchen table and all of us gathered to eat. Our parents taught us by example the value of our family and our relatives. We visited our relatives on a regular basis and always feasted on the big three: fun, fellowship, and delicious food.
We all went to Sunday school every Sunday and to CHURCH worship services once a month. There were scheduled revivals and water baptisms once a year
In 55 years, I have spoken to only one childhood friend, and that was by telephone. I also saw him once more than 40 years ago. They were never
forgotten, but other FRIENDS took their place.
When I see where I am today, I remember all the ADVERSITIES and acknowledge the goodness and grace of God.
The CAREER path that I took was decided when I was 14 years of age. Every road I ever took always connected me to that path.
I remember the moment when I knew that she was the one. We have been
MARRIED for 50 years, and she's still the one.
The one ABODE that brings the most pain is the one that's no longer there.
In the 8th grade, I played on our school's basketball team. The games I most
Remember is one game that we lost by a large margin and one game that we won. There was no competition in the one we lost, 52 to 12. In that game, I learned about LOSING.
The other game was one of the games we won in which I scored 4 pivotal points that changed the tempo of the game. In that game, I learned about WINNING. 100322PS
I go to classes and everybody cheers.
The teacher is cheering the loudest of all, the kids laugh at this.
I am her thirty minute break, and it is a time for me to play with
children who needed one also.
You are funny! They tell me. We love you, one says.
Some run to me and hug my butt, and stuff.
I do not k now about funny, but I get to know them now
so when their grandma dies, or their cat spits up a mouse in front of them
and they cry uncontrollably, I can lead them away, to a safe place to
show their feelings.
I went to check in with my gangster six-year-old yesterday. We will call
him Tony. I have been checking in with him on a regular basis, as he
is sometimes in trouble, at home, in a bad place. In my twenty-three
years as a school counselor I had never picked up a kindergartener who
said this to me:
“I do not want to go with you.” Eyes glaring.
“Come on,” I coaxed him. “We will play a game or something.”
When we approached my office door he turned and warned me. “Why do you want to know about my business?”
I was shocked. Savvy at five; wow!
“I don’t,” I replied, “I want to learn about you.”
Our conversations after a week led the authorities to his house. They rescued him from a bad dad,
and a stand-by-and-watch-mom. He was given to grandma that night, which NEVER happens.
I went to get him yesterday. He refused to come. This surprised me. On his way out, he
gave the teacher and I his saddest, maddest, most angry face.
Two seconds before we reached the door, I turned to see him
pull another child out of his chair and throw him into a wall.
He is back with dad.
Thank you Social Services.
Great job.
I'm sat here wondering what you're doing tonight
Have we met before? Will we reconcile later on in life?
Are you a complete stranger who's yet to be in my sight?
This is a letter to my future wife
We're strangers at the moment, I don't know where you are right now
Are you happy or are you trying to turn your life around?
Are you loved up? If you are, I'm sorry that it's going to go wrong
But after the heartbreak and when you meet me, you'll see it was so you could meet the one
Do you have kids? Do you have them in your life plans?
It just means you'll have more experience to make me happy if you've had one night stands
I hope you'll laugh at my terrible jokes, Do you believe in Fate, Karma or destiny?
When you give your number out, do you sit wondering how long will it take him to message me?
Are you blonde or brunette? Do you dye your hair on a regular basis?
Do you prefer a chilled weekend, or to go out and get wasted?
Are you the type to steal hoodies off your man?
If you are, I'll make sure i'm stocked up by the time you land
I don't make promises I can't keep
But I'll always kiss your forehead before bed and hold you while we sleep
I'll always be there for you to call on
And I promise to remember anniversaries, if you're quiet when the football's on
I don't know if we've met before and are yet to get things right
I don't know when you'll walk into my life
When you read this, will you think it was something weird for me to write?
I hope you enjoyed my letter, future wife
Other women’s fingernails are styled, painted, decorated, clipped and buffed.
Movie star-type nails.
With little stars, stripes, polka dots, dainty designs for the seasons even.
My nails are not these.
My nails are chipped, not clipped.
I cannot stand the sound of a fingernail file.
You know how chalkboard scratching hurts some people’s ears?
I could scratch a chalkboard all day long.
It is a fingernail file that affects me like the rest of you.
I cannot stand the sound of a fingernail file.
I keep my nails in two modes: clean and dirty.
Clean lasts maybe an hour after I bathe if I go straight to bed.
Making dirty my usual everyday nail mode.
Neon paint resides in the corner of two or three of my nails on a regular basis.
Green and orange usually.
My nails are often clay-stained from my Kansas dirt, which is all clay.
Yes, thank you for asking, I do have garden gloves.
Lovely pink ones with yellow flowers and green leaves.
The cloth fingers are torn out.
Which I love, because then I can feel the dirt.
I have loved dirt since I was old enough to have a pail and a shovel.
When I meet my friends, I pick the place, choosing the darkest of restaurants.
Their fingernails glitter and glow in the dance of the tiny lights.
My fingernails laugh, thinking of our next play time.