Long The skinny Poems
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My son had come back home to stay for just a little while.
He brought with him his terrier friend; a lively, puppy child.
The skinny, little half grown dog came bounding through my door.
I couldn’t realize at the time, all he’d become . . and more.
For sure he tipped the apple cart when first he entered in.
His lively spirit made me think, I’d not know peace again.
The walks with my old terrier dog were all that I could want.
Soon slow and steady, calm, serene, became a grueling jaunt.
Old dog sniffed each bush and tree, as young dog plunged ahead.
While I was pulled this way and that and mostly seeing red.
And God forbid another dog come ambling on our way;
My stress filled walk would soon become, an all out frenzied fray.
He plagued the cats, barked at the door: he loved to sit and howl.
While I just tore my hair out: yet I found that all this while;
He simply grew to grow on me despite his naughty ways.
And as the time began to pass we had some better days.
While in his quiet moments; he just loved my generous lap.
Liked to have his belly rubbed: lay with me for a nap.
He liked to give wet kisses, till I had to tell him, “No."
Loved the car: turned inside out, whenever I said “Go”.
My son moved on, as sons will do, endeavoring to be free.
And by this time we both agreed; young dog should stay with me.
And when old dog forsook my side, because God said he must;
I found the young dog next to me gave all his love and trust.
He stayed beside me night and day and never asked to leave.
He seemed to sense I needed him, along with time to grieve.
I then began to understand what a nice dog lived with me,
For in the old dog’s shadow; he’d become all he could be!
But fate became unkind to us and time was not his friend.
The young dog only stayed awhile, then moved on once again.
And this time I was all alone, with no friend by my side.
My days were filled with missing him, while nights I'd lay and cry.
I know they are together now, in a place God made for them:
These happy creatures sent to earth to be my loyal friends.
I know their spirits run and play; nevermore will they know pain.
Because of this, despite my grief; I’d not wish them back again.
But I’ll remember each of them, through all my days that pass.
It's really hard for me to say, whose loved first and whose loved last?
© 2015 Diane Lefebvre
Proverbs 8:17 (KJV) - I love them that love me; and those that seek me early shall find me.
Before the sun crosses the mountains,
Slightly misty just beyond the seas –
There is a passion rising up in my spirt,
A need to chase after the fire, the brilliance
Of the One who silences the wind,
Glistens in the stars and remembers that my
Peace abides because He lives, because
He survives the darkest dread, the doubt
And the despair that create such fear in my head
Before the sunlight reflects the dew glittering
On the leaves, embracing the skinny branches,
Healing the soul with a colorless beauty,
A breathe of richest peace, silencing the darkness
Erasing the worst storms with a powerful
Beauty, a recollection of the sparkling stars,
Shimmering beyond the reach of a heart who
Only remembers the ache, the torturing touch
Feelings, both woeful and willful, urging
My soul to reach out to the One who colors
The entire world in a serenity that flows with light,
A brilliant stream of His paradise – whispering…
Before the morning kisses my cheek, there is a
Sense of the reflections brought to life by Him,
His gentle truth, His sacred reach into my soul
Where I sincerely believe – He is my reason
He is my hope – He makes a way through the sorrow,
He fills me up with a desire as I reach toward the fire
The passion that He stirs when He breathes love
Through the aching spirit that sighs freedom into
The prison of my doubts and fears, erasing the worry
Wiping away each tear with the assurance
That He is alive, inside, where He covers me in grace
That abounds and tears down every wall,
Each sorrow is released to the stars and the
Worst memories, the worst of the past…
Is gone like the hardness that once lived in my heart
He is a good, good God – and my love for Him
Is a love that says, “He spreads His laughter, His
Music, His breath of kindness and creativity…
Through my soul, where I know – I can always be
Certain that He is ALIVE and He is giving me a
Promise of the future, when I’ll be with Him in paradise –
Thanks to His greatest blessing, His greatest sacrifice…
The reason that I’m able to know Him like I do –
Because of His death and His rising – I can know the
Meaning of life, the meaning of love, the meaning
That draws each breath into a smile with that RISING SON!
Ummm...
.
Sometimes when I linger in between the absolutes,
I look toward Heaven for some kind of cue,
But it seems as if Heaven is reluctant to move.
I’m impatiently waiting not sure what to do.
Again it seems like I’m the only one in the room,
Who hears the hushed whispers
Of the unseen Truth.
.
The frenzied crowd cries out for blood,
And the world gets washed away in the flood.
Disgraced face,
Covered in mud.
Flaunting the defeat as though a victory has come.
The broken hang their heads in shame,
Unaware of the Savior’s pain.
His cry muted by their self righteous refrain.
The empty promise,
Of religion’s lost game.
With their spit on His face Mercy still came.
Yet the less we give, the more we take.
Did we count the cost before we took His name?
What about the ones
Whose only glimpse of the Son
Came from the ones
Who only pointed their guns,
And then laughed as all the broken could do is run?
.
.
The skinny kid last to be picked on the team.
The fat girl ridiculed crying herself to tormented sleep.
The poor kid with worn out shoes on his feet.
Sitting alone at a free lunch table
As the populars flirt at the cool kids meet and greet.
The single mom that the judgmental church called a whore.
Like Jesus she stands outside of their self righteous door.
The little boy trembles at night on the floor
While the mean teacher by day berates him and demands he do more.
That same teacher that smiles on Sundays and stands at the Sunday school door.
Unaware that she’s playing religion’s new whore.
Laughing girls making fun of the Walmart dress
That the poor girl wears because it is her best.
The frail little boy fights back the tears,
As the bullying boys punch him and call him a *****.
He cries out for help
While the ones he trusted turn a deaf ear.
.
Will anyone tell these of heaven’s free gift?
That Jesus laid down His life so they could now live?
Those that society says have nothing to give?
Who will be
the example to them?
With blood on our hands,
How dare we speak of Him.
Yet His offer of life extends to us all.
The self righteous as well as the broken all have experienced “the fall”
He mends with His love both the great and the small.
“Follow Me” still
The greatest call of all.
Ummm...
.
Sometimes when I linger in between the absolutes,
I look toward Heaven for some kind of cue,
But it seems as if Heaven is reluctant to move.
I’m impatiently waiting not sure what to do.
Again it seems like I’m the only one in the room,
Who hears the hushed whispers
Of the unseen Truth.
.
The frenzied crowd cries out for blood,
And the world gets washed away in the flood.
Disgraced face,
Covered in mud.
Flaunting the defeat as though a victory has come.
The broken hang their heads in shame,
Unaware of the Savior’s pain.
His cry muted by their self righteous refrain.
The empty promise,
Of religion’s lost game.
With their spit on His face Mercy still came.
Yet the less we give, the more we take.
Did we count the cost before we took His name?
What about the ones
Whose only glimpse of the Son
Came from the ones
Who only pointed their guns,
And then laughed as all the broken could do is run?
.
.
The skinny kid last to be picked on the team.
The fat girl ridiculed crying herself to tormented sleep.
The poor kid with worn out shoes on his feet.
Sitting alone at a free lunch table
As the populars flirt at the cool kids meet and greet.
The single mom that the judgmental church called a whore.
Like Jesus she stands outside of their self righteous door.
The little boy trembles at night on the floor
While the mean teacher by day berates him and demands he do more.
That same teacher that smiles on Sundays and stands at the Sunday school door.
Unaware that she’s playing religion’s new whore.
Laughing girls making fun of the Walmart dress
That the poor girl wears because it is her best.
The frail little boy fights back the tears,
As the bullying boys punch him and call him a *****.
He cries out for help
While the ones he trusted turn a deaf ear.
.
Will anyone tell these of heaven’s free gift?
That Jesus laid down His life so they could now live?
Those that society says have nothing to give?
Who will be
the example to them?
With blood on our hands,
How dare we speak of Him.
Yet His offer of life extends to us all.
The self righteous as well as the broken all have experienced “the fall”
He mends with His love both the great and the small.
“Follow Me” still
The greatest call of all.
Ummm...
.
Sometimes when I linger in between the absolutes,
I look toward Heaven for some kind of cue,
But it seems as if Heaven is reluctant to move.
I’m impatiently waiting not sure what to do.
Again it seems like I’m the only one in the room,
Who hears the hushed whispers
Of the unseen Truth.
.
The frenzied crowd cries out for blood,
And the world gets washed away in the flood.
Disgraced face,
Covered in mud.
Flaunting the defeat as though a victory has come.
The broken hang their heads in shame,
Unaware of the Savior’s pain.
His cry muted by their self righteous refrain.
The empty promise,
Of religion’s lost game.
With their spit on His face Mercy still came.
Yet the less we give, the more we take.
Did we count the cost before we took His name?
What about the ones
Whose only glimpse of the Son
Came from the ones
Who only pointed their guns,
And then laughed as all the broken could do is run?
.
.
The skinny kid last to be picked on the team.
The fat girl ridiculed crying herself to tormented sleep.
The poor kid with worn out shoes on his feet.
Sitting alone at a free lunch table
As the populars flirt at the cool kids meet and greet.
The single mom that the judgmental church called a whore.
Like Jesus she stands outside of their self righteous door.
The little boy trembles at night on the floor
While the mean teacher by day berates him and demands he do more.
That same teacher that smiles on Sundays and stands at the Sunday school door.
Unaware that she’s playing religion’s new whore.
Laughing girls making fun of the Walmart dress
That the poor girl wears because it is her best.
The frail little boy fights back the tears,
As the bullying boys punch him and call him a *****.
He cries out for help
While the ones he trusted turn a deaf ear.
.
Will anyone tell these of heaven’s free gift?
That Jesus laid down His life so they could now live?
Those that society says have nothing to give?
Who will be
the example to them?
With blood on our hands,
How dare we speak of Him.
Yet His offer of life extends to us all.
The self righteous as well as the broken all have experienced “the fall”
He mends with His love both the great and the small.
“Follow Me” still
The greatest call of all.
The place, the Twenty Third Precinct, Brooklyn, Vice. Detective Rodney Townsend,
The time, four thirty a.m. Report of incident, death of one John Doe. Ally on the
fourteen hundred block, Forth street. The deceased IE; perp is a white male,
approximately thirty five years old with lots of tattoos, some of them are kind of
indistinguishable. Hair, black, Mustache, black...Lots of rings.
The victim, person attacked, Maria Wiegold, tagged for prostitution seventeen
times in the past five years, was apparently in the process of being beaten and
strangled in said ally. She said the perp had a knife, the Homicide boys said
it was a flensing knife, I had to look that up. Flensing knife, I'll have to remember
that. The perp was struck down before he could kill her. Is this the Ripper?
I think we got us a live one here, in a manner of speaking. Maybe the killings
will stop now, by the Grace of God! " Yo, Brick"! " What do ya want Mikey, I'm kinda
busy here. " I done some checking with the ME, and your ice berg aint the Rip" He's
the broads Pimp, name's Gino Rondo" " arm long rap sheet, attempted murder
more assaults than I can count" " Your lucky you can count to ten Mikey, and
that's with your shoes off" "Awe Brick, cut it out, will ya"!
" Cheese Whiz, Mikey, I thought we had this one in the bag" " You always was a
hard luck story Brick" Yeah, yeah, I'm goin down to the Morgue, check on our
stiff. " William thirty Baker, central, show me 10-9 at central morgue, I'll be on
portable if you need me" " Central, William thirty Baker, will do Brick". Yeah....
" Hullo Doc"! " Hello Brick"! " I'm here for the skinny on my stiff" " You mean MY
stiff, don't you"? " Well....the Skinny as you call it, is, One cut, powerful, downward
thrust, begins at the breastbone and ends at the groin" " Very precise, almost surgical,
except"! " Except what Doc?" " I don't know any surgeons that
use a sword to cut into people" " You sure Doc?" " Quite sure Brick, I've seen
something like this before, in Japan...If I miss my guess, this was done with
a Japanese Katana".
Samurai !!!
Clump of earth. Green glow. Clump of concrete clapping. Green glow. A grouped nylon is akin to a skinny pair of trousers swinging in a breeze. Twisting with furry knees. But not ever in trees. It is the pointed cradle fork that envelops a mysterious marshy rock into a music score. How rather talented. And how rather quaint too. But a tulip in a tutu is quite wild so shut the door on a barm cake. Ok then. Good. So don't put it down carry it. Vast amounts of miles. And don't sit down. Twenty three hours of sit down in a basket looks rather like a very large dog snoring in a bed. Rather remarkable when the banquet begins. The very long jewelled hands beckon to the plates. Then consume. Vast amounts. While the skinny cat looks in from the window. It might be thrown a pea. Hum. Not substantial is it? And very very very unfair, feudal and unbalanced. Economic egg eats erotic éclairs. In a bistro. Large belly grumbling in hugh waisted pants. Circumference of injections cannot control countries. Calling the rain. Singing to sun beams. In an iced cave. Or a tree. Moat built around a house to house a lord is quite similar to a ladle entering a soup. Or a kettle whistling to water. External shroud. Internally baked. And the state signal of a lemon with pursed lips is spitting words like a sour lemonade. With hardly any sugar. Snow then. Beams budding booming bricking bridges bringing benign baked bomber blooms. And the dusk brings the tailored iconic broom heads. Watch for the tightly woven hairstyles then. In suits. Lean lanky laviscious lecherous limpets. Often dress in red gowns. And hide hair in wigs. But no gigs or pigs. Ok. Ridicule not a rabbit ear or tooth of a rhino. Smiling sunnily. In pendants. In palaces. Paint no fallen star on an erotic empty feather or a leaf. And flock is not a fleeced sheet nor sheets of printed plagiarised rubbish. Zoom then burn. And when burning swim. Very good. Hahaha lettuce loving leeches. Hahahahha twenty cows plus sixteen minutes equals moooo. Xxxxx derogation dogs. Xxxxx humanitarian z this is the p y q reporting from 89.0. On a windy day. Ooh. X. Z 0%
Form:
Ever since I can
remember, goin
way back when, I've
looked for
something slightly
diff'rent in my
women friends,
intelligence and
plus the skills to go
hook up a steak,
the lady rollin 'round
with me can push a
little weight.
Not talkin Rick
Rozay, that kinda
weight can get you
10, to life as easily
as breathin, locked
up in the pen,
the weight I'm talkin
bout don't have a
point scale in
between, size 26 in
Big Girls World
physiques start
size 16.
A guy like me don't
sweat a woman's
stomach blowin up,
a treat when time to
eat I simply hold
the stomach up,
my nose needs
precious oxygen to
breathe it deep
inside, increase my
lung capacity
betweenst a big
girl's thighs.
The skinny chicks
are not for me, they
just don't do a
thing, in fact they
need potato salad
with some chicken
wings,
don't throw them
bones away half
eaten, go 'head, lick
em clean, and nap
out on the itis, put
some thickness in
those jeans.
No matter what
folks think or say I'll
make a big girl
glow, my dragon
was the last that
made her shine
from head to toe,
sho nuff there'll be
some opposition to
these ways I kick,
I'd treat the haters
like R. Kelly, they
can taste my rinse.
Enough with the
vulgarity cause I
won't miss my cue,
the big girls of this
planet, these are
words I spit for you,
to put it out that
Papa cares,
displayed with
proper flair, I'll grab
a white girl's goldie
locks so call me
Papa Bear.
Regardless of the
race or creed I'll win
the race indeed, my
big girls grab your
running shoes then
come and race with
me,
to lust filled nights
in hotel rooms,
there's always
vacancy, we'll run
like DMC forever in
the place to be.
I'm stuck inside a
world where all the
girls are large in life,
despite that 90s
movie I'll be livin
large tonight,
as easily as most
can prob'ly spin a
string of pearls, I'm
not ashamed to say
it, yes I live in Big
Girls World.
whilst perusing the gallery o’ conditioners of
air,
a hand comes flying up toward him,
insistently shaking & uttering the man’s name
as if he is supposed to remember---
“john doe here, how are you?” remarks the man,
a salesman with tag on shirt,
quick on the chase of a prospective customer over
their way from the appliances to the
big screen TVs &
a bit bewildered, looking up to recall the face
possibly, a face to match a name already said &
suddenly the man being handshaked
remembers this guy from his
teenage years---
the man had flowing red hair back then,
said his brother was a supermodel &
no doubt, he had gotten the residual ladies as a
result,
heard back then that he had a great romance with
Lucy who went Swimming quite a bit in north
Dakota &
though his hair had been shaved, he was still
that tall skinny red haired guy whose eyes bulged
out of his head, regardless of how what kind of
chemicals his mind was racing with
at any given time---
but he saw the look in the handshaked, vaguely
remembering guy’s face,
something of an anti-social behavior,
something in the way of “i don’t really give a
flying ****,”
and he retracted into a place of insecurity---
the handshaked man doing his best to be polite
remarked,
“hey, how’s it goin’?” &
the skinny red haired john doe said with
embarrassment, “i’m selling appliances---
but that’s not what i’m really doing. i mean,
i’m working on something---going to school,
gonna work in forestry---yeah, that’s what i
want to do.”
so the handshaked man nodded & smiled,
said “sounds good”---
being cut off by the john doe---
“are you gonna be around the store for a bit?”
sick of the whole situation &
not wanting to reminisce about times that
hold absolutely no significance whatsoever anymore,
the handshaked man declined &
as he walked out of the store
he wondered just why someone would flail themselves on
a person from the past,
only to retract in embarrassment,
before even finding out just what it is that
the other party was doing with their own life.
On this road trip we make tentative plans as to the memories we’d like collected
but we often find the best memories are totally unexpected.
Take today for instance..
We planned to visit The Old Round Church in Richmond, Vermont
It was to be the first stop of the day…
This 16-sided church was built in 1812, and is the only one like it still standing In the USA.
In Montpelier we planned to stop for crepes at the Skinny Pancake
and in St. Johnsbury at the Fairbanks Museum…filled with a million things
where we couldn’t wait to see its portrait of Abe Lincoln created from beetle and butterfly wings.
We did all these and they were amazing…but let me go back to the church if I may
where something wonderful happened that wasn’t in the plan today..
The church was closed when we arrived…but as we stopped to enjoy it for a spell
a woman pulled up, got out of her car saying,
“I notice you’re from out of town…have I got a story to tell.”
Her name is Marilyn Cochran…growing up she told us she loved to ski.
She was the first of first of 4 famous siblings in the Cochran ski family.
She was famous on the World Cup Ski Circuit from 1967-74
winning 3 World Cup races…and accolades galore.
She proudly told us about her family…her sister Barbara who
won gold at the Japan Olympics in 1972…
Then she told us about Barbara’s son…his name is Ryan…who
won Silver at the Beijing Olympics in 2022
After visiting with us a while…(we loved listening to her reminisce)
she gave us a box of Raspberry Waffles (which her family makes)
then left us with a big hug and a kiss.
Deborah and I were overjoyed waving to Marilyn as she drove away…
This unplanned and unexpected encounter…totally made our day!
We met a famous skier…learned about her family…
ended up with waffles, a kiss and a hug….
Amazing! Because before we met her…we thought the best part of our day
was going to be seeing an Abe Lincoln made out of bugs.